#Greeks if you want to chime in feel free

[moony-2001]

I was going to do a double post but I figured I’d condense this because the posts would’ve related anyways:

For the newest chapter 267, literally wtf was Persephone’s “meltdown”?

I don’t know what Rachel was thinking, but there was zero dramatic impact in Persephone picking up a single couch and throwing it, especially since for the large majority of the chapter, we see her in such a disheveled state.

I was hoping for a really cool moment like back before the trial arch when she sprouts those vines from her back. Imagine if that had happened and she reopened her old scars, that would’ve been sick. Plus, it would’ve been a cool parallel to the scars that Demeter has.

BUT while going back and looking for this panel, I reread the scene where Persephone sells the comb Hades gave her and discovered this:

Maybe I’m being nitpicky, but why tf does Persephone have cash? Yes, yes, the realms are more modern, yada, yada, but drachma in Ancient Greece were coins like the Athenian drachma pictured below:

Greece didn’t start printing paper drachma until the 1900s, and even then, the colors of the paper were mainly earthy colors like red, light brown, and yellow. The 500 drachma was green, but not the aggressive green that is associated with American currency and not the green depicted in the above panel.

Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but this is yet again just another example of the disrespect Rachel has for Greek culture. Not only that, but how Rachel has either Americanized or Eurocentricized a story that should’ve remained Greek centric. Like, she couldn’t even depict the currency used by Greece (before it got replaced by the euro in 2002)? As people here have heard me say before: the devil is in the details. I know that the end of the day, it probably doesn’t matter to Rachel or a large majority of her audience. But it does. But all these little missed details, all these slights, have stacked on top of each other and amalgamated into what we have today.

Anyways. 

[floralovebot]

Hi, I want to ask your opinion on something. You made a post that said changing the Winx's races is bad. I agree that it's not okay but I have a question about Helia. I thought he was Native American when I was a child but you've said he's Asian. Is it wrong to think he's Native American?

I had to think about how to answer this for a while tbh! Sorry for the late reply

Anyway, I probably could answer this with a simple yes or no but I really feel like I should explain my answer.

I'm pretty sure you're referencing this post! Anyway, the biggest issue with race changing the canon characters of color is that when you do it, you're participating in erasure. Again, it's not more representation to, for example, make Flora asian - it's erasure because you're intentionally erasing her being latina. Now like I said, I don't have an issue with like,, children not noticing their canon races or ethnicities. It's perfectly fine if a little kid sees characters as something else! The problem is grown adults ignoring and erasing their canon races.

When it comes to Helia specifically, he is very much coded as asian, specifically east asian. I want to clarify that it's not explicitly canon. Rainbow has never stated what race he's supposed to represent and they've never said if he was based on a real person. We don't even know what planet he's actually from! So his race is all coding. However, that coding is still,,, fairly obvious. And I specifically want to touch on how Rainbow depicts their east asian characters versus their indigenous characters.

Most of their east asian characters have either dark blue, black, or brown hair and more narrow eyes. Like,, that's their go-to when trying to make a character Noticeably asian. They're also fond of putting their asian characters in traditional clothing (like qi pao or hanfu) rather than casual clothing. I added Helia at the very bottom so you can see how he compares to other, canonically asian characters.

While Rainbow has absolutely depicted asian characters in offensive ways (espero...), it's usually pretty respectful. Meanwhile,,, their depiction of indigenous characters is... anything but.

Like before, I put a picture of Helia so you can compare him to the canonically indigenous characters. As you can see here, their depiction of indigenous characters is,, extremely racist! It follows a lot of racist stereotypes like red skin, face paint, headdress, feathers, etc. Just,,, all around Not Good. And you'll notice that Helia doesn't really "fit in" visually. That's not to say that he has to look like that to be indigenous but remember that this is an animated show with intentional designs made by white people. If he was meant to be seen as indigenous, he would likely share more characteristics with these characters (like having darker, red-toned skin). Again, their depiction of indigenous characters is extremely racist. I don't think there's a single indigenous character in winx that doesn't look like a walking stereotype out of an old cowboy film. Unfortunately, Helia would absolutely look different and more like those racist designs if he was meant to be indigenous.

Now, to actually answer your question. Is it okay to see Helia as indigenous, and specifically indigenous to the americas? Well... as Helia's racial coding is still just coding and not explicit, it's not a crime if you don't see him as asian. Like,, while I do absolutely think he was meant to be seen as asian, it's still technically ambiguous enough that it's not a Bad thing if you don't see him as such.

That said, you need to be extremely careful with how you think of and portray Helia as indigenous. I've talked before about Rainbow including quite a few stereotypes about east asian men with Helia, and unfortunately, most if not all of them, can also apply to indigenous men. For example, Helia is calmer and wise (often shown to give advice in poetic ways), connected to nature (ie, birds, plants, Flora), frequently meditates, etc. These are all common stereotypes for indigenous men. I'd actually recommend reading this wikipedia article!

Anyway, seeing him as indigenous isn't inherently wrong, but there's absolutely a chance that you're picking up on indigenous stereotyping rather than coding or a headcanon. Like the long hair, connection to nature, the pacifist comment, the weird and kind of cryptic one-liners he occasionally has... Unfortunately, a lot of the indigenous!Helia headcanons/redesigns I've seen have been really racist. And the common reasoning for why they think he's indigenous often comes down to these common stereotypes.

So like,,, god I know this is long but honestly the answer is complicated. It's not a simple yes or no. It really, really depends on why you think he's indigenous. Like. Just ask yourself yknow? Why do you think this? Think of an actual reason that isn't just "vibes". And if you're creating any kind of content, even if it's just daydreaming tbh, how are you depicting him? Is there even the slightest hint of a stereotypical depiction? (And again, please research stereotypical depictions because there are a lot and quite a few contradict each other)

If you're confident that you're not stereotyping him, then honestly, it's not that bad to see him as indigenous. I do ask that you try to see and understand him being asian coded, as I do think that's important, regardless of whether or not it's in your face explicit. However, it's not like. a crime if you don't see him as asian. Just be very, very, Very careful with how you think of and portray indigenous!Helia.

Also,,, I didn't know quite how to fit this into the rest of the post but,, while it's not Bad for you to not see Helia as asian, you should think about why that is. For example, there are still a lot of people in the fandom who don't see Nabu as asian, despite his coding being extremely in your face and honestly canon at this point. But because he has darker skin, he's from Andros, and he was with Aisha, a lot of people assumed he was black. That's not inherently a bad thing, but some of those people get really mad when others point out that he's very much south asian which,,, is a bad thing. I understand the feeling of losing rep and wanting to protect that, but you shouldn't bulldoze other groups to do it.

I'm not sure what your opinion of asian Helia is, but if you're like,, against him being asian or refuse to see that very intentional coding just because you really like the idea of him being indigenous,, you should think about that and reassess things.

[cxptain-capsicle]

Beyond the Sea | Luke Castellan | II

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Unclaimed Poseidon Daughter!Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, slow burn flashbacks, established relationship present day, Gods being terrible parents

A/N: If you are new around here I love taking suggestions and incorporating your guy's ideas and headcannons in my series so feel free to leave thoughts in my inbox!

Series Masterlist Taglist

“So all of the major 12 gods have their own cabin where their children live. Children from one cabin can’t go into another god's cabin.” Luke explained as he walked you down the aisle of houses. “This one is ours.”

“Ours?” You raised your eyebrow questionably.

“All the new arrivals stay here, in the Hermes cabin.” Luke gestured towards a cabin that was much larger than all of the others. It wasn’t nearly as elegant as the ones around it but it felt warm and welcoming. It looked like a simple log cabin with a large front porch held by tall log columns. On the front of the house was a large green banner with a Greek symbol in the center. Over the door a semi-circle stained glass window that reminded you of the ones in the Big House. The cabin looked a little run down but that wasn’t shocking considering the amount of kids running around inside. Walking inside felt like entering a circus tent. There was yelling, laughing, singing, kids running around, hanging upside down from bunk beds. Even with the chaos it still felt cozy. The inside was dimly lantern lit, the walls were paneled with dark wood, in the center was a large fire pit that made the whole room feel like a warm hug. You followed Luke further into the cabin as several heads turned to look at the new arrival.  

“Here,” Luke said as he led you to a bed and dropped the few things that you had on the bed. “This one was mine, now it’s yours.” 

“You’re giving me your bed?” 

“Yeah, why not?” He shrugged. “I’ll move to the top bunk, it’ll be nice to have a change.” He was humble. He was willing to give you one of the only things that was his and he didn’t want any praise for it.

“Thank you.” You meant it, and you didn’t know what else to say.

“Everyone!” Chiron announced as he trotted into the cabin doors. “Your attention, please. This is Percy Jackson. I trust you will see to whatever he needs.” Everyone stared at the sandy-haired boy awkwardly. Everyone in the Hermes cabin was used to this by now. New kid comes in, new kid gets claimed, new kid leaves, and the cycle continues. Within seconds everyone went back to their conversations although many of those conversations now included the word: Minotaur.

You and Luke glanced at each other unsure if you should say anything to the boy. 

“He shouldn’t be alone.” You whispered to him. “Grover said the Minotaur killed his mom.” 

You followed Luke as he made his way to the boy, who sat up quickly when we approached.

“Look, if you want to give me a hard time, just do it tomorrow.” He said before either Luke or you could get a word out. “I can't do any more today.” 

“Heard what happened to you on the hill.” Luke said slowly, arms crossed over his chest. “And I just... wanted to say I'm really sorry.” 

“I know what you're going through.” You chimed in. “Believe me, I really do.”

“I'm Luke.” He reached out to shake the boy's hand.

“Percy.” He hesitantly grabbed Luke’s hand.

“Y/n.” You couldn’t help but smile at him. He reminded you so much of yourself when you first came to camp so many years ago.

“Rise and shine!” Luke’s voice boomed above you. You groaned and turned away from him in an attempt at protest.

“Five more minutes.” Luke chuckled at your words but he didn’t take it for an answer.

“C’mon.” He ripped the blanket off of the bed. “First day at camp, gotta make it count.”

“Luke!” You shouted, the cold air shocking your body. “Do you make it a habit to torture the new campers?” You groaned as you rolled out of bed and began to put your shoes on. Luke was already geared up and ready to go, twitching with excitement.

“Only the ones who make it easy.” He smirked. 

“Screw you.” You reached to grab your pillow and threw it at his face. It caught him by surprise causing him to stumble back, making both of you laugh.

“Maybe you’re an Ares kid?” He faked injury dramatically. “We’ll find out today.”

“What?” That piqued your interest. Ever since you arrived at camp yesterday you couldn’t stop thinking about getting claimed.

“We’re gonna figure out what you’re good at. Maybe that’ll help us figure out who your parent is.” Luke explained.

“Where do we start?” You stood up with excitement.

“Breakfast.” 

The two of you made your way to the mess hall, it was much more crowded this morning than it was the previous day. Each of the tables were nearly full with kids chatting over breakfast. 

“So what’s your story?” You asked Luke as you sat down with your breakfast.

“What do you mean?” He chuckled slightly.

“Your story.” You repeated. “How’d you get here?”

“Well,” He sighed. “I’ve been here for 3 summers.” He pulled at the necklace around his neck with three colored beads strung on the brown cord. “I came here with Annabeth, an Athena kid.”

He gestured over to a girl a few years younger than you sitting at the Athena table. “And Thalia, she uh- she didn’t make it.”

“Oh,” Your voice trailed off. “I’m sorry Luke.” 

“Thalia died getting us to camp safely.” He continued. “She died a hero.” An uncomfortable silence fell over the table. “Then I got here, got claimed by Hermes.” Even mentioning his father seemed to send chills down his back.

“What happens if I don’t get claimed?” The thought had crossed your mind more than a few times.

“Well,” Luke shifted in his seat. “It doesn’t happen too often but, you’d stay in the Hermes cabin. That’s where all the unclaimed kids stay.”

“Well if that’s the case, I’ll need to move beds because you snored above me all night.” You teased.

“Oh no way I’ll just follow you wherever you go.” He said as he took a big bite of his breakfast. “So who are we looking for, a mom or a dad?”

“I’m not sure.” You said through a bit of toast. “I was left at a firehouse as a baby so I have no idea who my mortal parent is either.”

“So where did you live?” Luke leaned onto his elbow on the table in interest.

“Foster families, group homes, things like that.” You explained. “Until monsters would trash them and I’d get blamed for it and get moved.”

“Well, we can’t rule out any god but we’ll start out with the olympians. We’ve got a lot of work to do,”

After breakfast Luke led you all around camp. He took you to Arts and Crafts and sat you down at an empty sheet of canvas and easel with a bowl of miscellaneous fruit in front of it. Luke went around to the front of  the easel and knocked the bowl onto the floor.

“I have a better subject for your painting.” He stood in front of you, placed his hands on his hips and looked to the side triumphantly. The pose of a hero. You laughed at him and did your best to capture him on the canvas. You tried to take your time but Luke quickly started complaining that his arms were hurting and urged you to hurry. The top half of the painting was pretty good, you could tell it was Luke, you even captured his smug smirk which made you smile. As you went down the painting got more rushed and sloppy but you blamed Luke for that.

“Tada.” You said enthusiastically as you took the canvas off the easel and turned it around to show him. He came up quickly to grab it.

“You didn’t fully capture my good looks, but other than that it’s pretty good.” He shrugged and you laughed and smacked his shoulder with a paintbrush. “So maybe an Apollo kid.” He took the canvas from you and rolled it up, saving it for later in his bag.

Luke continued to lead you around camp trying everything he could think of. He took you to the forge and quickly decided you were likely not a Hephaestus kid after you struggled to even make a dent in the hot metal. He took you to the archery range and despite never holding a bow before, you weren’t too bad. Artemis could be a maybe. He took you to a little training obstacle course by the arena designed to test speed and agility. You did your best but got hit by multiple bags of sand that were built to resemble flying harpies. So Hermes is a no. “Well, we’re definitely not siblings.” Luke laughed as you got hit by a sandbag that toppled you over. For whatever reason that felt very relieving to you. He took you to the strawberry fields where you propagated a few berries. Possibly Demeter. Finally Luke wanted to test your swordsmanship. You were excited for this. Only being here a day and a half you had already heard of Luke’s skills with a sword. Having been on the run from monsters basically your whole life you had gotten pretty good at fighting,

“We’ll get some swords and go to the woods to practice.” Luke told you on the way to the armory.

“Why are we going to the woods?” You questioned.

“So I don’t embarrass you in front of everyone when I beat you.” He smiled widely.

“I hate you-” You laughed but were cut off by someone yelling from up the hill.

“New girl!” Another girl shouted. As you kept walking closer she became easier to see. She was dressed in full greek armor and wore a helmet with a bright red crest. When she took off the helmet her dark curly hair slipped out and gave you a better look at her face.

“Her name is Y/n,” You swore Luke was scowling. “Play nice.”

“Am I not allowed to meet the girl we almost died trying to find?” She faked offense. 

“You were in the cave.” You remembered. “You thought I was dead.” 

“You looked dead.” She shrugged. “So what are you two doing out here?”“Y/n’s gonna try her hand at some combat.” Luke explained.

“Perfect.” Clarisse said menacingly. She grabbed a chestplate off the rack and held it out to you. “I’ll take the first round.”

“Clarisse, I don’t think-” Luke started but you cut him off.

“Let’s do it.” You eagerly took the chestplate and a sword off of the wall. Something about Clarisse invigorated you. Luke looked at you wearily but figured he was quick enough to stop Clarisse before she killed you. You and Clarisse were stationed about 6 feet away from each other, you armed with a sword and her with a spear. Before you even realized you’d begun she stormed forward, her spear pointed towards you. You took a step to the side to avoid being impaled and she quickly redirected the tip of her spear to follow you but you went under the head of the spear with your sword blade, sending the tip of her spear towards the sky. You took a swipe at her with your sword but she quickly deflected. While you were recovering from your failed attack she slashed the head of her spear down. You stepped back to avoid the spear hitting your face but the tip of the spearhead tore into your shoulder causing you to whine in pain.

“Y/n!” Luke cried out and he began to run to your side but you held out your hand telling him to stop. Your face flushed hot with anger. You weren’t mad at Clarisse, it was a fight and people get hurt. You had always been easy to set off especially in competition. 

“It’s just a cut,” You stared Clarisse down. “Let’s keep going.”

“I like this girl.” She laughed before rushing forward again with a giddy smile before taking a stab at you. You took one hand off of your sword and grabbed the shaft of the spear as tightly as you could. She pulled and pulled but couldn’t get the spear free from your grasp. You picked your foot up and landed a hard kick in her stomach sending both of you flying backwards. Despite your best efforts you lost grip on your sword but went down with the spear. You both stumbled to your feet and when you did were both met with a blade under your chins. You with her spear and her with your sword. A draw. She laughed and lowered the sword and you did the same.

“Good to know we didn’t risk our lives for someone completely useless.” You thought that was a compliment coming from Clarisse.

“Let me see your arm.” Luke panicked as he rushed over to you. He grabbed your arm and began examining the cut on your shoulder. The cloth of your Camp Half-Blood was torn and the gash was bleeding much more than you had realized. “Let’s get you to the big house.”

The entire walk to the big house Luke muttered under his breath how it was so stupid to fight Clarisse and it wasn’t until after a few of the Apollo kids treated your wound he admitted that he was impressed. Saying that of course you still couldn’t compare to his sword skills.

I would love to hear feedback! <3

Taglist: @fudosl @lenasvoid

[wisteria-cherry]

forty days and forty nights (day twenty-five!)

“welcome!” you chime.

“fake-ass customer service voice.” bakugo snorted.

“i’m sorry, i don’t know what you mean, sir,” you chirp, trying to hide your snickering. “what would you like today?”

“hot caramel latte with skim instead of whole. extra froth made with half-and-half instead of milk, and add hazelnut syrup, and those weird-ass chocolate shavings,” bakugo began to rattle off an annoyingly long order. this continued until you finally relented.

“okay, okay!” you laugh. “can i suggest a medium black coffee instead?”

“can’t believe people actually drink that shit.” bakugo grunted, immediately reverting to his regular self. “too much damn sugar.”

“and black coffee’s way too bitter. it cancels out.” you shrug as he swipes his card.

“you work at a coffee shop and you don’t like coffee?” bakugo raised an eyebrow. “the fuck’s up with you?”

“i do like coffee.” you correct. “just with stuff in it. besides, not everyone feels the need to have the body of a greek god at all given times, so they can afford to have some sugar once in awhile.”

“i don’t ‘feel the need’ to maintain my damn physique and have a healthy lifestyle, brat.” bakugo grunted as he sat down. “it’s called being a hero. gotta stay in shape.”

“wasn’t there that one hero though—“ your face scrunched up as you tried to think of his name. “fat gum?”

“that’s different, that was part of his quirk.” bakugo scoffed. “shitty hair interned with him during ua.”

“did he really? that’s so cool!” you marvel. “did you do an internship?”

“yeah, with icyhot’s old man.”

“and his dad is endeavor, right?”

“yeah.”

“how was it? did you do it with anyone else?”

“one question at a time, geez!” bakugo barked. “it was fine, i did it with deku and icyhot.”

“deku and shoto? but i thought you hate deku.”

“i do.” bakugo grumbled. “but there’s no way in hell i’d let him prevent me from interning with the strongest hero i could.”

“well, i’m sure shoto enjoyed it. i bet it was fun doing the internship with his dad.” you smile.

“he didn’t. he hates his old man.” he replied nonchalantly as he sipped at his coffee.

“he does?” you blink. “why?” bakugo shrugged.

“i don’t fuckin’ know. s’not my business anyway.”

“oh.” you fell quiet before deciding to change the subject. “how’s hiro today?”

“‘s’fine.” bakugo raised his eyebrows at your expression as you stared at him, clearly implying that you want him to elaborate. “…he did a patrol today. beat a villain.” you smile. that’s what you were hoping to hear.

“tell me about it.” bakugo only shrugged.

“nothin’ to tell. he encountered a villain, did his thing and beat ‘im.”

“what’s ‘his thing’?” you ask curiously.

“he’s got a pattern to his fights.” bakugo took a big gulp of his coffee. “he dodges for a bit. he uses the time to let people evacuate in case he wrecks something while fighting and to track down the villain’s weakness. then he exploits it. that’s it.”

“that’s incredible.”

“duh. there’s a reason he works f’r’me.” bakugo rolled his eyes.

“you’ve got high standards, then.” you smile.

“no shit.” bakugo snorted.

“do the high standards apply to your love life, too?” you joke.

“you wish.” he scoffed.

“do you even have a love life?” you squint teasingly.

“obviously!” snapped bakugo. you hold up your hands in surrender. bakugo checked his watch. “i gotta run.” he set his finished coffee down and stood up, rolling his shoulders as he stretched, showing off the aforementioned god-like physique. he began to leave.

“hey, wait, bakugo!” you call. he turned, and you grin. “you got a special someone?”

“you wish.” bakugo smirked and left. you froze. that smirk was different than all the other ones. it was more cocky. it was more toothy.

it was hot, and it was official: you like bakugo.

“do you even have a love life?”

(feel free to comment + leave ur thoughts :)

(he lied he does not have a love life)

@k0z3me @cherryblossomclarity @stevenknightmarc @failingstudents-blog @jazzafaye5294

[drivinmeinsane]

{ Eyes Always Seeking }

1/3 ※ Officer K (BR 2049) x Sierra Six (The Gray Man) ※ { masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

next chapter -»

※ Summary: Unpleasantly, K feels the return of the drowning sensation he had felt earlier. It is almost as though someone had placed a mirror in front of him in a dream. The reflection is him, but distinctly not. ※ Rating: 18+ for explicit mature content. ※ Content/tags: Canon-typical violence, Descriptions of a Crime Scene, Eye Horror, Descriptions of Injury, Frottage, Handjobs, Implied Reoccurring Sexual Abuse by a Supervisor, Emotional Hurt, Identity Issues, References to Greek Mythology, Hand Holding ※ Word count: 4,789 ※ Status: Chapter 1 / Complete ※ Author's note: I would have had this chapter up and ready to go sooner but the Saw franchise came into my life like a brick through a window. 😔 K and Six are close to being my Roman empire alongside Driver and Ken. I hope ya'll enjoy this pairing as much as I do. ※ Song inspiration: Like Real People Do - Hozier

Rice today. Not steaming, just cold and forming a congealing lump in the corner. There had been some sort of sad attempt at vegetables to go with it, but those had long since been further pulverized between K’s teeth and swallowed down. Currently on his fork is the last chunk of grub protein. It had been textured and flavored to look and taste like chicken. The replicant can’t vouch for the authenticity of it. Real poultry was something only the wealthy could dream of.

The tines of the metal fork are barely between his parted lips when Joi glitches to a halt, frozen mid sentence. She is “sitting” on window ledge, in the midst of prattling on about the breeds of chickens she might like to keep if they had the space. Privately, K thinks he might like to keep bees in another life.

A telltale chime of an incoming call seems to come from Joi’s open mouth, eking out past her teeth. It’s his madam. He knows it before the popup flashes to life to the left of his pretend wife’s face. There’s no one that would call him other than Lieutenant Joshi. He lets his fork clatter into the container, bite untaken.

“Accept call,” he addresses the projection.

“I hope I’m not interrupting your night. I’m sure you have plans.” Joshi’s voice sounds wrong, insincere, coming from Joi’s frozen figure. He averts his eyes, stares at the table so he doesn’t have to look at the mockery.

“Of course not, Madam.” K shoves down the ball of emotions that want to burst out of his chest like a living, breathing creature and keeps his tone free of anything resembling bitterness. She knows that she’s not interrupting anything. Even if she were, it wouldn’t make any difference. He’s always at her disposal for any whim. She owns his time. Owns him.

“I’m having you meet up with another officer. I’ll send over the coordinates. An informant tipped us off to a possible meeting place for some of the skinjobs we’ve been searching for. I need you to go sniffing around out there. See what you find. Might be nothing, might be a whole lot of something.

“Yes, Madam,” he agrees, getting to his feet. His body is thoughtlessly obeying.

“And, K? The officer.” He reflexively looks up at the sound of his name. “He’s one of your kind,” his madam says, ending the call. K stands beside his vacated chair, stunned. He accidentally ignores his pretend wife when she tries to resume their playacting like she hadn’t been stalled. Joi is talking, flitting around him with buzzing touches of her slender hands, but it feels as though he’s under water.

He tells himself that the details don’t matter, that who, or rather what, he works with is of no consequence. A job is a job. The officer forces his mind to compartmentalize as he goes through the motions of readying himself for night ahead. He is proficient at digging in the earth of his mind and laying thoughts in shallow graves. It keeps him out of retirement.

Mind carefully blank, he sets the remnants of his dinner inside the small refrigeration unit. His stomach needs to be as empty as it can be for this. If K had had more warning, he simply would not have eaten yet.

Once in the main room again, he “kisses” Joi goodbye before turning off the console responsible for her. The hard line unit that crosses the ceiling shrinks back into a neutral position like a kenneled animal. There’s no emulator to take her with him. Not yet. Soon. He’s only a few more payouts away.

K moves further down the hall that makes up the entryway. With slightly unsteady fingers, he pulls his long coat off of the peg and shrugs the reassuring weight of it over his shoulders. He checks the firearm in his holster. It’s firmly tucked into the synthetic leather, nothing amiss. He hadn’t bothered to take his equipment off before dinner, having had an uneasy feeling. Intuition had evidently been working behind the scenes. He’s already wearing his boots, usually is unless he’s in bed or in a rare state of undress. K prefers to avoid the feeling of cold tile against the bottoms of his feet. Satisfied that he is as prepared as as he is going to get, the replicant slides the door open and exits his apartment unit.

The stairs are as treacherous as always. They are perpetually overcrowded and K is resigned to knowing that the milling throng is on the cusp of a riot every time they are reminded that yes, he does exist and, yes he lives in this building alongside them. Conditions are not much better once he steps out in the neon lit glow of the night. He flips his collar up and fastens it shut against the smog and the near constant freezing rain. It’s a short walk to the parking garage where he keeps his spinner. It, like the apartment and his firearm, had been provided as a courtesy of the Los Angeles Police Department.

He presses his fingertip to onto the door lock for the spinner. It beeps in acknowledgment, releasing the latch and letting the door swing upwards. He doesn’t wait for it to open all the way before shoving himself into the pilot’s seat and slamming it closed. The replicant’s tumultuous emotions are not so suppressed that they don’t bleed out into his actions. He’s never been paired with another of his kind before. He was made to go solo. Organics don’t trust groups of them, not since the rebellion, the riots. Pack hunters would be too dangerous even with the compulsion for obedience woven into their assembled DNA. There’s a part of him that’s almost excited, being on the same side for once.

The spinner’s systems light up with the touch of a button. As soon as the computer screen comes online, K checks his messages to find that his madam did send over the coordinates as promised. It only takes a few taps of his fingers to get the GPS running. He straps himself in, harness material digging uncomfortably across his chest, and manually steers the vehicle out of the garage and off of the pavement. Once he reaches cruising altitude, he sets it on autopilot. The spinner can handle itself until he reaches his destination.

During the flight, Officer K studies the provided aerial photos of the location. Nothing of note to see, he memorizes the layout all the same. It never works out to be surprised. He makes notes of where the other officer parked, and unable to help himself, he looks for details on the replicant. His efforts only muster up a number, no photo. A Nexus 9, but so is K and most other police controlled replicants these days. They needed to be stronger, faster; more capable than the older models. Bred for compliance. No mistakes. No abnormalities. Never a state of life too late to cull.

A beeping sound draws him from his contemplation, the spinner has delivered him. He flips off the autopilot and puts his hands on the wheel. He puts the machine down next to the other officer’s on a patch of broken up concrete. It was an old parking lot for what his implicit tells him was a store. It’s nothing but a shell now, roof blown off and the walls crumbling in the acidic elements. Despite the ruin, it still serves to hide them from the more intact warehouse behind it. He ducks out of the spinner into the open air the moment the door lock releases. He pauses for a moment to lean back into the vehicle to deploy his parrotfish. Having it in the air provides a sense of relief. It ensures less work and more security if things go sideways outdoors.

He straightens up and casts a critical look at his surroundings. There is no one else around that he can see. The other spinner is unoccupied, but something catches his attention. There is something written in the growing flakes on top of the other officer’s vehicle. Closer examination reveals that it’s a crudely done map, clearly traced out with a fingertip. It depicts two rectangles and a triangle. There are dashed lined leading from the triangle to the closer of the two rectangles. At the end of the line is an X. Presumably, the map is saying that the other replicant left the spinner and looped around the side of the defunct store and will be waiting at the corner of that building to have a line of sight to the warehouse they are charged with investigating. K feels thankful. This will save him hassle in locating his assigned companion.

A faint shadow passes over K and the map he’s still staring at. He looks up to see that the parrotfish from the spinner is doing lazy circles. His has joined in on the motion. The effect is of two vultures circling a carcass. It would be a bad omen for someone superstitious. Good thing he wasn't made to be.

K follows the barely visible trail in the slush. Deep boot tracks, likely from a male judging from the size of the footwear and the length of the stride. They match his own in a way that makes his stomach roll. Before long, he registers a figure leaning against the wall right where the map had indicated. The other replicant’s head is turned in the direction of the warehouse. Snow has settled over the shoulders of the jacket in a similar thickness to the spinner’s dusting.

There is no reaction from the replicant, even though K knows that the other officer has to be aware of his prescience. He had not been making any effort to mask the sucking sounds of his boots in the slush.

“KS6-2.8.” K’s tone is neutral. It’s not a polite greeting. There is no need for one. They’re here on business and neither is superior to the other. Both came from an artificially constructed womb.

The other replicant turns.

Unpleasantly, K feels the return of the drowning sensation he had felt earlier. It is almost as though someone had placed a mirror in front of him in a dream. The reflection is him, but distinctly not. His mirror image has neatly trimmed facial hair where K has nothing but thick stubble. There are faint crow’s feet by his eyes that K hasn’t aged into yet. If he even gets the opportunity. More startling is a glaring similarity, one that he never would’ve expected. They have the same misalignment of their eyes, the same sagging eyelid. Their genetic source must have had the same flaw.

“KD6-3.7. You’ve been briefed?” The other '9 asks. Nothing is given away on his face. If he’s surprised to see himself looking back into his eyes, he doesn’t show it.

“Yes.” K feels his lips twist up in a smile that seems friendly enough if you don’t look too close. The other officer raises an eyebrow. He’s not fooled. K drops the smile, his eyes harden. His companion’s jaw is working, he’s chewing on something. Tobacco? Gum? Seems like he’s not without his own vices. K supposes that they all must do something to feel a little more human, a little more real.

“You ready? The lead’s not going to get any fresher,” K says as a follow-up when the silence drags on longer than he would like.

KS6-2.8 only nods. The other replicant pushes off the wall and trudges through the ankle deep snow, leading the way. It’s disconcerting watching him. K gets the uneasy sensation he’s watching his own body walk away from him. The hair is longer and the muscles are bulkier, but all the same…

The only sounds to accompany them are the sloppy crunch of their footfalls and the crackling flapping of plastic sheeting somewhere in the distance. They reach the front of the warehouse only to realize that it’s completely blocked off with layers upon layers of chain link. It must have been taken from the building’s product cages. There are no windows.

A low grumble gets K’s attention drawn back to his fellow officer. The other replicant signals him to follow with a crook of his gloved fingers. He’s taking the lead and K knows he should probably find issue with that, but he doesn’t. He is willing to be obedient, for now. It must be the novelty of working alongside someone who doesn’t have the room to maintain a moral high ground.

Once around the corner and at the back of the warehouse, the replicants split up. K briskly angles himself at the loading docks while his assigned partner checks the back door to see if it can be pried open from the outside. He spots a slightly raised loading door. It’s likely wedged fast, but there should be enough clearance for at least him to slide under. With any luck, the additional bulk of his fellow Nexus 9 shouldn’t prohibit him from getting through as well.

No ladder. K quietly whistles to get KS6-2.8’s notice. The response is immediate.

“Got something?” The other replicant asks, moving to stand alongside him. There is a yawning cavern of space between them. It doesn’t feel right.

“Open door.” K responds, a jerk of his head at the sheet metal in question.

With nothing more than a quiet grunt, KS6-2.8 drops into a crouch and offers his cupped hands to him. K accepts the boost, as foreign as the assistance is. Once on the platform, he offers his hand and hauls the other replicant up. There is something comforting about their interlocked hands. K drops it as soon as the other officer is settled and scrambles under the door. The rubber seal catches on the back of his coat. His partner joins him shortly.

The loading area is unlit. Dark. Without the moon’s light bouncing off the snow, K can make out the faint, golden glow of KS6-2.8’s pupils. There are still are still traces of the older generations in them both. If K were sentimental, he would say that his predecessors were something like family. Good thing he wasn't made for that either.

K’s boot catches on something and he stumbles. The concrete floor is littered with old, torn scraps of nylon rope and shreds of plastic wrap. The wood pallets that would have filled this place are long gone. Used for firewood most likely. There’s nothing of apparent value left.

They push their way through into the main part of the warehouse. The shelving has been moved to form corridors. It’s a maze, one with a high possibility of some entity stalking them in these enclosed paths. There is a faint glow accompanied by an odor that makes the hair on the back of K’s neck stand up. Without saying anything, both replicants work their way in that direction. It's slow going. They have to inch sideways in some areas, their shoulders too broad otherwise. K irrationally imagines unraveling a ball of yarn to mark their way out.

The smell is getting worse the closer they get to the light. Bile threatens to rise in his throat alongside the bites of dinner he had swallowed down not even a handful of hours ago. No amount of jobs will ever desensitize him to this. K does not have the stomach for this career. Not that it matters. He was made not to protest.

It’s as though they hit a wall of heat and rot when they breach the center of the maze. Both officers can only stand shoulder to shoulder and take it all in. Bodies circle a gasoline heater, tucked into makeshift beds on the floor. They’ve all been dead for a while. The decomposition appears to be consistent among them all. Mass killing? Suicide? They are all naked.

There is a lit lantern sitting on top of the heater. K can’t believe that the place hasn’t blown. Realization strikes him like a bolt of lightning.

“CO2 poisoning, you think?” asks the replicant at his side, echoing his silent epiphany.

“Probably.”

As one, they spread out into the room. While K turns off the heater, cutting the supply of carbon monoxide being pumped into the warehouse, KS6-2.8 checks each decomposing face. K watches as he holds open the right eyelids of each body to make sure they all still have the eye necessary for their investigation. For each replicant he checks, the other officer reads off numbers taken from one of the files that had been provided to them. There’s no data pad in sight, he might have memorized each face’s corresponding numerical designation.

K knows that they will still have to take the eyes in order for Joshi to be satisfied. Anyone can change their face with enough money and the decomposition is too advanced for their field scanners to read the slowly deflating eyeballs here at the scene. K is mostly just thankful they have eyes left at all. It makes things easier. Replicants rarely receive dental care. The chances of identifying them by their teeth are slim to none.

While he is in the midst of pulling out a roll of evidence bags from an inside pocket, he catches a glimpse of his partner suddenly going stiff and standing up from his crouch beside one of the bodies. He doesn't have the time to question the other replicant. There is a sudden, crushing pain in his side and the edges of his vision go dark. He crumples to the grimy floor and tries to struggle to his feet as his assailant is knocked away by KS6-2.8. His head is ringing. The image of a glowing, white fountain materializes in his scrambled vision. Bile clouds his throat before he realizes that it's only the lantern.

K stands, shakier than he would like, and gets his breathing under control. The scene unfolding before him is disconcerting. KS6-2.8 is wrestling with their attacker, clearly another replicant judging by the way he’s managing to hold out even slightly against K’s fellow officer. K reckons that he must be an older generation given that he’s gradually losing ground. He’s missing the final edge to make it a truly even fight. Despite the disadvantage, the replicant manages to shove KS6-2.8 hard enough that the officer’s foot goes straight through the chest cavity of one of the rotting replicants. Their would-be killer lets out a howl that drowns out any protest from K’s partner, as violent and earsplitting as if it had been his chest that was caved in. K’s fellow ‘9 is forced to let himself fall backwards into the soupy embrace of another corpse as the assailant takes wild swings at his face with a sharp piece of metal produced from a pocket of his ragged jacket. A rudimentary knife.

Still disoriented, K doesn’t think before he pulls his gun out of his shoulder holster and shoots. A red mist signals that the bullet found its mark. The attacking replicant is still alive, even as he falls to his knees and slumps over KS6-2.8. K didn’t shoot to kill. He has questions.

A few strides has him standing over the two replicants. He fists his hand in the back of the assailant's jacket and pulls him off of his companion. His gun is re-holstered and he’s not gentle when he hauls the replicant to his feet. Blood pulses hotly from the wound that K inflicted, soaking through a scarf that is tightly wrapped around his neck. He’s bleeding out. Rapidly. The bullet had nicked a carotid.

KS6-2.8 gets to his own feet with a groan, the back of his jacket soaked through with whatever liquids the dead replicant still had pooling in their body. He hooks his hand under the older gen.’s arm and together he and K shove him up against one of the shelving units forming the room. K holds their attacker steady as his partner slams the hand holding the scrap metal over and over into a shelf post until the replicant is forced to let it fall from his grasp with a clatter onto the concrete.

As soon as the makeshift weapon is out of the equation, K starts his questioning. “What are you doing here?”

Nothing, just a rasping breath. The replicant is wild eyed and frothing at the mouth like a rabid animal K had heard described in a decades old report. It had been from a time when there were still enough real, organic animals around to carry and spread the disease.

“What happened to the others?” He tries again.

That gets a response. “I saved them.”

“Saved them how?” K questions.

“I could have saved you too. But you wouldn’t let me. Sweet dreams. Sweet dreams. Sweet dreams. Sweet… dreams…” The pinned replicant laughs and laughs and laughs, eyes wide and gleaming with a feverish shine.

Suddenly, he lunges at K, tearing out of his and KS6-2.8’s shared grip. The open maw reaches to snap closed on his nose, strings of saliva shining obscenely in the lantern light. His contact is stopped short by a bullet blazing through his left eye, blowing the back of his head open in a nightmarish spread. It’s over. Done. KS6-2.8 saw to that. K can taste the blood in his mouth. His hair is plastered flat with another one of his kind’s brain matter. They had encountered the beast in the maze, their very own Minotaur, and they had slaughtered it.

KS6-2.8 holsters his gun, trading it for a small knife taken from his pocket. He pries the eye out with steady fingers, severs the optic nerve. They let the dead replicant slump down against the shelf. He’s a warden over the eternally slumbering bodies. K retrieves the roll of bags he had dropped in the scuffle. He opens one and lets KS6-2.8 drop the severed eye inside before sealing it. He fills out information panel printed on the thin plastic with a pen that had been stashed inside his pants pocket.

Together, silently, they approach the nearest body in the circle. It is the one with the caved in chest cavity. They both crouch. K steadies the head while the other officer removes the leathery eye. He offers another bag. His partner drops it in. They repeat this same procedure three times before the silence is broken.

“Six.”

K looks up from the face he’s holding. The other replicant is looking at him, blue eyes unflinching. Blood is pooling in the hollow of the collarbone K can just barely see. A question is forming on his lips, but before K can bring it to life, the officer speaks again.

“KS6-2.8. Six.”

Oh. Warmth floods him. They are the same. Interlinked.

“K,” he responds. Something forbidden is clawing at him.

The other replicant, no, Six smiles. His teeth are a dazzling white in the gloom. Predatory. His canines are noticeably sharp compared to the rest of his teeth. They are like his. Would they feel the same as K’s own underneath his tongue? He shakes the thought off, buries it with hundreds of others, and they finish collecting the eyes.

While Six is occupied with a final survey of the rotting scene, K approaches the recently retired replicant. He kneels beside him for a moment, as though he’s paying graveside respects, before he reaches out and unwinds the blood soaked scarf from around his neck. If he still had his eyes instead of one taken and one shot out… well, K isn’t sure how he’d be looking at him. The fabric of the scarf is wet and gritty underneath his fingers, packed with old, infertile soil. He rolls it up and slips it into an inside pocket of his coat. It won’t be missed. He legitimizes his presence at the replicant’s side by picking up the makeshift knife off the floor and depositing it into an evidence bag.

Nothing else comes out of the darkness. There’s old trash strewn on the floors. They don’t find any more bodies, only the drag marks of old blood. It looks as though not all of them had gone peacefully in their sleep from the high concentration of carbon monoxide. Their attacker had gone mad in the dark. They find his ramblings on the walls. Some of it is carved into the material, some of it is painted on with substances they don’t want to address. It’s a manifesto of sorts. It seems like this might have been a splinter of a larger movement.

A team will have to be called in to photograph the scene. K will pour over the evidence later, put the pieces together. He’s going to be spending more time in the bullpen than anyone wants.

They leave the way they came, following an imaginary string. Their pockets are laden down with bags of stolen eyes. The weight of what they had experienced together is a heavier burden.

K slides under first the door first again. He doesn’t need to assist the other officer into standing but he does. Six’s hand is a comfort after what they had just done. The other officer holds on long enough to assist with K’s journey off the loading dock before letting go to drop down beside him.

They walk side by side, close enough that their bloody knuckles brush. K wants to take the other replicant’s hand, feel him finger to finger. He doesn’t dare, not under the open night sky.

“You okay?” Six asks.

“He cared about them.”

His partner’s stride doesn’t falter. He merely makes a noise. Agreement? Placation? K can’t tell. Neither of them can say anything more without tipping their hand and potentially revealing more than is safe.

“Are you?” K asks, biting down the rising tide of things he wants to say instead.

“It’s just another Thursday.”

K nods. He can relate to the sentiment.

They reach the spinners, K unlocks his and drops into the driver’s seat. Six leans against of the side of the vehicle while K powers it on. The LAPD logo appears on the screen. “Madam, please.” he tells the unit. It dials her. She picks up on the second ring.

“You’re a mess.” her tone is curt. Her eyes flick to where she can barely see the other replicant in the frame. Her severe expression deepens to a frown. “Report?”

“There was one survivor. He took the others to the retirement home. Weeks ago from the look of things.”

“Those his brains?” She asks.

“Yes, Madam.”

She makes a considering noise, “You or him?” she asks with a jerk of her head to the other officer.

“Both,” Six cuts in before K can answer. It gets a sigh from Lieutenant Joshi. She is going to have to make sure they both get a bonus. One that, by rights, should be solely Six’s since he was the one who put the final bullet in the old gen. K feels appreciation curl in his gut.

“We have all the eyes, Madam. Should we turn them into evidence or bring them to you directly?” K asks politely, seeking to soothe Joshi’s ire. He does not want a correctional visit from her. He vaguely wonders if the gore spattered vision of him will linger in the back of her mind and keep her at bay for a while. Will she imagine the squish of brain matter between her fingers when thinking about pushing his head down?

“Drop them off. I’ll send a team out for the rest. Come on back for your baselines.”

“Yes, Madam.”

Joshi ends the call, forehead creased with agitation. K recalls his parrotfish. A quick rap of the knuckles on the hood of the spinner and a nod is all the goodbye he gets from Six before the other replicant gets settled in his own spinner and goes through the necessary motions.

They take off, roughly in sync with one another. They are both going back to the LAPD headquarters.

His mind races with the passing city, alight with more curiosity than he should be feeling. Six is not what he expected. He knows that it nearly unheard of to come across another law enforcement owned Nexus with a shared face. The police departments don’t like their skinners to have matches. It complicates things. Their genetic code is engineered to result in different features, even from the same source DNA. They are meant to feel alone, to feel dreadfully distinct.

next chapter -»

[officialdaydreamer00]

- Dies irae, dies illa -

"Holy be thy name, God of Warth, God of Fools,

Holy be thy bloody lance, holy be thy flaming tools."

The redheaded high priest knelt, prayinh at the feet of the statue of his beloved god, praying to hear their voice, praying for them to heed his call. Would his God appear before their loyal subject, who sacrificed so much in pursuit of their Grace and in pursuit of being their favorite - blood, riches... his very own heart?

***

"My Little Crimson Priest...

Pray for deliverance.

QUESTION NOT THE FORM IT ARRIVES IN."

(Elysium request: Priest Riddle x God Reader pls <3 Feel free to skip if you want <333)

"The Priest in red, devoted to whom he prays for

Shall learn their benevolence exists no more

The deity who lost, forgotten by time

Shall rise again to the third bell's chime

Witness first hand the lost one's wrath

And bound to forever walk on a crimson path."

pairing: riddle rosehearts x reader

content: it was supposed to be a short drabble ;-; this is a oneshot, reader is vaguely based after the goddess nemesis, mentions of religions and blood, there is probably crumbs of fluff in a sea of possessive behaviours but that's to be expected when dealing with gods, probably ooc riddle, greek mythology

the oracle speaks — genuinely one of the most jaw dropping requests i received (i don't like the ending i wrote hhhhhh)

The Fates cannot save you now. I am sorry, my child.

— the church bell chimed at three o' clock exactly in the afternoon.

riddle still knelt there, in a far corner of a temple, dutifully praying to the lone statue of the god he sworn his loyalty to.

in the midst of a quiet atmosphere, riddle briefly wondered how long he had been kneeling there for. time only seemed to keep passing by whenever he did what he was supposed to do, as per the elders' words.

he recalled the event a few years ago, how he, along with several children around his age, was chosen to be this god's followers. over the years, the number of their followers dropped, significantly so, that only riddle and a devoted priest was left. alas, they, too, left, leaving him all alone in this deserted temple.

riddle was baffled, how could someone just... abandon their god, the one they had sworn utmost loyalty to like that? especially when the god they prayed for favoured absolute balance, wouldn't the injustice left them wither with hatred? wouldn't they punish those who dared leaving them in favour of the others?

as far as riddle knew, regardless of what they represented, they were still a god, and they should have been treated as such. he looked up at their statue, their altar lit with candles and a plate of blood offering— his blood, and on his face gleamed a determined look.

he chanted his prayers, one that he had learned by heart, over and over again. if only his god could give him a chance. a chance to prove himself, his loyalty to them, and only them.

he heard a soft chuckle, and the next thing he knew, arms embraced him from behind. they were wrapped around his torso and over his eyes, like a pair of poisonous snakes, slowly tightening the squeeze as to puncture his lungs had his ribs had cracked from the pressure.

but the thing that finally set him on edge, was their presence. it was so familiar, he swore he had it on the tip of his tongue. but something about that presence was... off.

"my, my... it seems that i still have such a devoted mortal as my subject."

riddle felt his heart dropped. they called him a mortal, as if they themself was not one. the gears were turning as the rest of their words finally weight on him.

it was them.

"y-you're—" he wanted to turn around, to see his beloved god, to bask in their glowing glory. but the restraints that was their arms held him tight in his place.

"now, now, my dear." they chuckled again. "i do not want my precious final follower be burned for his little mistake."

riddle felt a piece of fabric was tied around his eyes. internally, he was a bit miffed that he couldn't see them with his own two eyes, but he would respect their wishes. however, there was a faint metallic smell wafted to his senses, and now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen the old patron priest anywhere, it was dead silent since he came here.

riddle felt himself being picked up and cradled in one's arms. their comforting presence calmed him down, as he let the god carry him as they wanted. he yawned, a sudden wave of drowsiness hit him.

succumbing to a dreamless sleep, he never got to see the soft smile his god had on their face. their eyes, however, held an unsettling emotion.

"I will not let you leave me. My dearest Crimson Priest."

🏷️ @dove-da-birb @identity-theft-101 @cookiesandbiscuits + riddle kissers ig

remember to reblog if you enjoy my works! ^-^

[cocrante]

I Start Over With You

[SOLANGELO FANFIC]

summary: After the great battle against the forces of Gaea, Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter had formed a long-lasting alliance. Everything had gone well, and everyone was ready to start anew. This included Nico, who, after confessing his feelings to Percy, was prepared to open a new chapter in his life—perhaps the happiest one the Fates had ever written.

note: the chapters will be updated every Wednesday. If you want to read upcoming chapters of the fanfiction in advance, I invite you to follow me on Patreon. Subscribing is not necessary, these chapters will be added for free on the platform on Mondays and Fridays. Following me there is just a kind and free gesture to support my work c:

Reblogs are highly appreciated c:

[CHAPTER 11]

THE TWO DEMIGODS SPENT ANOTHER AFTERNOON TOGETHER, exchanging words from time to time. Nico was happy to let the son of Apollo talk, occasionally chiming in when the conversation became interesting. Will mentioned more about his life outside of camp, the extracurricular courses he wanted to take that year. Nico raised an eyebrow, quite intrigued. "What kind of courses?" Will shrugged, replying, "I don't know yet, I have to see" He really had no idea what courses the school would offer that year. "What would you like to do?" Nico asked him again. The boy remained silent for a moment, reflecting on the question. "Music" he replied, unable to suppress a laugh. "Really?" Nico asked, finding it hard to believe what he had just heard. "Yes" Will replied, embarrassed. "I know I'm good at it, but I'd still like to do it" Nico nodded, as it wasn't a bizarre idea at all, considering he was the son of the god of the arts.

By now, the two had finished their work and were just chatting about what awaited them outside of camp. Nico had no idea what awaited him if he actually went to study in New Rome; he only thought he would have to study hard to catch up with everyone else. "I'll ask Jason or Hazel to help me with Latin," Nico said, even though a small part of him hoped there was no Latin or that they would turn a blind eye to him and teach him Ancient Greek. "Then you'll have to tell me" Will smiled. "I'll send you an Iris message every evening" Nico replied, fully intending to do so. He rang the conch shell again, drawing the attention of the demigods. Once again, they arrived at the dining hall together, greeted each other, and made plans to meet at the bonfire later. The son of Hades went to his usual table, surprised not to see anyone waiting for him, or so it seemed. For a moment, Nico had to admit to himself that he had felt lonely, now accustomed to the suffocating but pleasant presence of his friends.

"So?" Jason asked, taking a seat and placing his tray on the table. "So what?" Nico replied. "Did you ask him?" Piper specified. Nico looked at each one of them, almost sorry to have to give them bad news. "No" he replied, as if it didn't matter to him. "You should" Annabeth intervened, not at all satisfied with the answer. Nico just shrugged. "When I feel the need, I will" he replied, finally dropping the "Will topic". The demigods then started talking about something else, preferring not to interfere too much in the private life of the son of Hades. They also talked about the life that awaited them outside of camp; both Percy and Annabeth announced their decision to attend university in New Rome. Ever since Percy had told Annabeth about it, that place had become her new obsession. However, Nico couldn't deny feeling a pang in his heart at those words; he would see Percy Jackson even at the Roman camp. "Nico was also thinking of going to study there" Jason recounted. "Jason!" Nico hissed, not expecting his friend to reveal it. "You too?" Annabeth's eyes lit up, amazed by the news. Nico could only sigh. "Yes" he replied, running a hand through his hair. "But it's just an idea" he added, still not entirely sure of his choice, especially now that he knew that they would both be there. "You should go" Annabeth encouraged him, getting everyone's approval. "Yeah, maybe" Nico mumbled, repeatedly touching his skull ring. "You'll enjoy going back to studying!" Annabeth exclaimed, making it sound simple. "I hope so" the son of Hades said, his only memories of school being from the academy, and even then, they weren't any better than many other memories.

Later, the demigods got up and headed towards the bonfire, with Nico following them at a distance, sitting in the usual spot next to the same person. "Hey!" Will greeted him, offering him marshmallows to roast. "Hey" Nico replied to the greeting, accepting the candies. "Your friends are staring at us" he whispered. The son of Hades nodded, having already noticed that those four had been staring at them for evenings now. "I know" he replied. "Let them be" he advised, knowing they wouldn't see anything else but two boys talking between one song and another.

After the usual campfire songs, the boys were sent back to their respective cabins. The two demigods bid each other goodbye, remembering their appointment for the next day. Then each went in opposite directions, straight to their own cabins. As soon as he was inside his cabin, Nico threw himself on the bed, not bothering to take off his clothes. He sighed and turned over, staring at the ceiling, letting thoughts invade his mind, realizing how clear nighttime thoughts could be. He paused to think again about the morning, about when their two blades crossed paths, and he was just inches from Will's face. He closed his eyes, letting that thought out, not wanting to be influenced by his friends' ridiculous ideas. Although, in fact, those thoughts had been in his mind long before. The boy ran a hand over his face, wanting to fall asleep like all the other campers, exhausted after an intense day of training, instead of feeling his strength awaken only at night. He rolled over with a sigh, looking towards the window he always kept open, facing a slice of star-studded sky, and slowly, as he counted them, he managed to fall asleep. Even in his cabin, Will, like the night before, struggled to fall asleep. He, too, thought back to the morning when he was so close to Nico that he could hear his heartbeat. That morning had taken an enormous effort not to lower his weapon and get even closer to his face. He sighed, turning to his side, banishing that thought from his mind.

It was another night without dreams, which began to worry some of the demigods who constantly dreamed of monsters. Slowly, the sun rose, kissing the camp and forcing the demigods to get up and start a new day. Like every morning, Will followed his routine, assigning tasks to each member before leaving. Then they all headed towards the dining pavilion, taking their seats at their table or visiting friends. Will noticed that Nico's table was empty that morning, probably the demigod had decided to take it easy and give himself a few extra minutes of sleep. Later, other demigods arrived, taking the remaining seats, and as they began to arrive in greater numbers, Will got up and headed towards the arena.

When he arrived, he didn't expect to find Nico facing off against a skeleton he had summoned; it was certainly better exercise than fighting against an immobile dummy. "Good morning" Will mumbled, keeping a safe distance. Nico struck the skeleton one last time before stopping and making his opponent disappear with a wave of his hand, just as it was about to land its final blow.

"Good morning" he replied, turning towards the boy who couldn't help but notice the dark circles under his eyes. "Wow" Will whispered. "Did you even sleep?" he asked, getting only a tiny laugh in response. "No. Not really" Nico replied, running a hand over his forehead to wipe away some sweat. Will cautiously approached, looking around, hoping there weren't any crazy skeletons. "Did you send it away?" he asked, positioning himself exactly where the skeleton had been sucked in. "What's wrong?" Nico smiled sinisterly. "You're not afraid of a few bones, are you?" he teased, resting the sword on his shoulder as if it were a baseball bat. "No, of course not!" Will lied. "I just wouldn't want it to have gone to call others to invade the camp" he said, realizing only afterward that there was no logic in what he had said. Nico looked at him, unable to avoid raising an eyebrow "Solace, it doesn't work like that" he told him, holding back from laughing in his face. Then there was a veil of silence between the two, broken only by a sigh from Nico. "Come on" the boy hinted with a laugh. "We'd better start before the zombies arrive" he teased, getting a tongue sticking out in return. The two demigods got into position, repeating the moves from the previous day to see if the son of Apollo remembered them.

There were moments when Nico had to explain how to better grip the weapon, and others to adjust his posture, but for the most part, the boy was doing fine. He had quick reflexes, like all the other demigods; hyperactivity kept him always on the alert. "Let's get serious!" Nico challenged him, wanting to make the training more dynamic. Will didn't expect such an attack, tried to parry it, and then dodged the second by moving to the side. He quickly thought, responding to the attack. The two blades clashed and vibrated, metallic noises echoed throughout the arena along with grunts caused by the excessive force they were using. The son of Hades quickly cornered him and with a hilt strike, made him drop his sword. "You responded well" he complimented him. "Yes, but I lost" Will replied, massaging his struck hand. Nico shrugged, retrieving his friend's weapon and handing it back to him. "Thanks" Will said, taking the sword back. "You lost because you didn't expect it" he explained. "You lowered your guard when I hit you with that feint" he showed him the move again. Will mentally took note, suggesting they try it again. They practiced for almost the entire morning, with other camp members beginning to populate the arena. Their foreheads were now beaded with sweat, and their hair stuck to them. Will was exhausted, and what he didn't understand was how Nico could still be standing even though he hadn't been able to close an eye all night. The son of Apollo lost again, but he could at least say that he lasted longer than the previous times. "You're getting there" Nico encouraged him, quite satisfied with his progress. "I'd like to see you in a real fight" Will took a deep breath, catching his breath. "Yeah, me too" he said, aware that Nico had been taking it easy on him. Both sheathed their swords, wiping their foreheads with the backs of their hands "We'll try again tomorrow" "Okay" At the end of the training, they headed to their respective cabins, one to freshen up while the other rested a bit as soon as he got inside his house.

In Cabin 7, after Will finished washing up, he was approached by his sister Kayla, who had come in to retrieve her bow. "Already done?" Will simply nodded. "Are you going to meet him again this afternoon?" she asked suggestively, gathering her hair with green tips into a ponytail. Her brother was momentarily taken aback, then he shook his head in the negative. Kayla looked a bit disappointed. "We'll catch up later" Will said quickly, heading toward the door. "Will" she called after him. "You have to tell him" she looked at him seriously, getting only a nod in response.

Nico woke up, summoned by the conch shell. He didn't feel like he had slept for very long, yet it was already lunchtime. He stretched a couple of times before getting up and leaving his cabin, heading towards the dining pavilion. Jason was already waiting for him, and as soon as he saw him, he greeted him energetically. "Where were you? We looked for you everywhere." "I was sleeping" Nico replied, sitting down and finally eating something. "Rough night?" Jason asked, aware of his sleepless nights. The son of Hades just nodded, taking a bite of something from his tray. "Did you see...?" Jason gestured towards table 7. Nico raised his gaze, focusing on where Jason was pointing. "Yes" he replied. "He's not bad with a sword, but I doubt he'll be of any help if we get caught tomorrow" he confessed. "You can always use the skeletons" Jason suggested. Nico sighed. "It's not that simple" he explained. "If you tell them to attack they really attack. They don't have a conscience" he tried to make it as simple as possible. Jason parted his lips, thinking that Nico had full control over those things. "Well, the others don't know that" Jason replied. "We can leverage that"

"Sure" Nico answered absentmindedly, his thoughts completely elsewhere at the moment

The two quickly finished their meal and were joined by the son of Poseidon, who was eager to have both of them at the climbing wall. Nico rolled his eyes, forgetting about the absurd promise he had made. "Come on, Nico!" Percy urged. "Let's show Mr. Lightning and Thunder how to climb" he laughed, giving him a playful shove. Nico scoffed, pushing his hands away. He would have preferred to spend a quiet afternoon on the edge of the forest, maybe finding some monsters to have some fun with, but the son of the sea god was insistent. In the end, Nico agreed, following the two boys to the wall that now seemed to bear their name. Percy and Jason were the first to climb it, with the latter convinced that he would finally beat Percy. They started the climb, and Jason started well, ahead of Percy. However, what he hadn't anticipated was the hot steam blown onto his arms. He lost his grip a couple of times, allowing Percy to overtake him again. But the son of Jupiter didn't want to give up; he resumed his climb, at least wanting to reach the top. "Come on, Grace!" Percy exclaimed, now near the top. "Wasn't today the day you were going to let me win?" he asked, stifling a laugh. Jason grumbled in Latin, trying to climb a bit higher, but it was useless to say that he ended up getting stuck; a rung had literally disappeared, leaving him struggling to find a handhold. He sighed, giving up and dropping to the ground. "You made it half a meter higher" Nico tried to comfort him. Jason forced a smile, not at all satisfied with his performance. Not much later, Percy was back on the ground, celebrating another overwhelming victory over Jason. Nico, on the other hand, wanted to finish that ridiculous challenge as quickly as possible, hoping to silence Percy. "Let's get going" he muttered, approaching the wall with slow steps, casting a calculating look at it, trying to figure out how it worked and what pace it had. It wasn't easy, but in the end, he decided to leave it to Fate.

The two demigods started together, first placing one foot and then one hand, leveraging with the muscles of all four limbs. Percy was fast, having done it many times before, but Nico was still agile. More than once, he managed not to have his shirt incinerated, and he also dodged some arrows. He fell behind, but at least he didn't give up the challenge. He managed to reach the top, but Percy won anyway, as he was already descending. Later, they were back on the ground, their clothes scorched and punctured by flames. Their breath was returning. "See, Grace" Percy said. "That's how you conquer the wall!" he exclaimed, putting his hand on Nico's shoulder, who was too focused on looking toward the archery range to notice Percy leaning on him. "Nico" Jason called, noticing that he had missed the conversation. "What?" he asked, realizing only at that moment that Percy had been leaning on him. "I said, do you want to go throw javelins?" Jason repeated. Nico gave him an absent look, alternating between Jason and the arrows being shot. It felt strange not to spend the afternoon with Will. He shrugged Percy off, who had rested enough for his taste. "Yes, sure" he replied to Jason, walking with him toward the arena.

[CONTENTS]

1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 • 12 • 13 • 14 • 15 • 16 • 17 • 18 • 19 • 20

[silverstonesainz]

Oh my God! I am very excited about your history with the frat! and I would like to see as much history on this topic as possible! and also to find out about the other hero drivers in this story, can you have a couple of interesting facts?

i haven't really gone too deep into the history side of things in terms of what drivers were members an such but i mean i could state the obvious ones for now and if anyone wants to chime in then feel free.

michael schumacher– i think he would've served as president at least once. and then he'd do a second term bc the chapter was convinced that they'd go downhill if he wasn't. he was sooo charismatic in his time, smooth with the ladies, but was always faithful and loyal to one. he'll always go down in history as a great brother, a legend, and someone who personified the chapter values well.

lewis hamilton– contrary to what most people would think, he never actually had any interest in serving on e-board. but he was nominated as e.vp (which he lost to another brother) and new member educator (which he got). he also served as a representative of the chapter at a lot of events as well as the connect between the chapter & the advisor/nationals. he is the reason the chapter became as diverse as it is, and he advocated for his brothers when he needed them. now, he's one of the chapter advisors, and serves as a kind of elc for the fraternity.

sebastian vettel– this man was fucking WILD. he was soooo michael's little (his last little because you know damn well michael had a whole lineage). he was a menace in his freshman year, a party animal, just a wildcard. but he aside from the fraternity, he was focused, motivated, and did so well academically. he chose to stay single for the most part until the spring of his third year, thats when he kind of settled down. he definitely served as president in his senior year, and before that was new member ed, and ritual chair. and now, he is the chapter's current advisor. shows up to meetings every now and again, and has to talk them out of crazy ideas.

kimi raikkonen– a legend. A LEGEND. i think no one thought he would ever go greek but he did. he joined for the vibes, stayed because of the friendship. and sebastian being a menace to him. still holds the record for the longest keg stand, there is a photo of the moment up in their house. he didn't have any interest in doing exec, or doing positions. but he showed up if he had the time, participated if he felt like it.

fernando alonoso– a menace from the moment he got his bid to the second he became alum. he was so competitive, and it think was arguable one of the reasons the chapter would get in trouble during his time as an active member. was an absolute rager and was down for just about everything. he was also a pain in michael's ass. he's also still an alum brother that shows up randomly and fucks with the new pledges. tell me im wrong.

jenson button– what a fucking stunnnerrr this guy was. a charmer in his own right, i'd say he was what daniel is now for the chapter. he was i think someone daniel really looked up to. and id go as far to say that jenson was daniel's big. it makes so much sense to me. jenson served as i. vp, and was also the sweetheart to multiple sororities. he was loved, and appreciated. but also so respected because he has shown and proven time and time again, that he is not a person to fuck with. also-- was definitely alongside fernando a couple times making trouble. another pain in michael's ass i think

mark webber– he was sooo active during his time– and i mean active. like he was taking every opportunity offered, every position open. he was an all around kind of guy, and super reliable. i think that he ran for president but lost, but still served on e-board anyways. i also think he was broody in some ways, and sebastian used to tease him about it all the time. i think joining the fraternity really pulled him out of his shell.

nico rosberg– everyone soooo called him britney as a pledge. i think nico was like mark in a sense where he was active in every aspect. also super competitive and did everything in his power to make sure that phi gamma theta got the w in every philanthropy event. and he got heeeeaaated if they lost. also a super charismatic guy, and i sooo see him as the kind of guy to keep his relationship super lowkey. like so lowkey you would never know he actually had a girlfriend unless you saw it with you're own eyes.

this is as far as my brain will take me but if yall got some lore to add, pls do!!!

[alatismeni-theitsa]

Hey theitsa! I’m a second gen Greek-American and unfortunately a lot of my family is pretty racist. The reason why I bring this up is because they use a certain word for black people that, because of their ideology, I can’t trust is a respectful term. While I doubt it will come up in regular conversation, I’ve seen mostly debates about Ancient Greek terminology for black people and not modern Greek besides a quora post. Do you have any insight on this vocabulary issue? Ευχαριστώ θείτσα!

Hello there! The issue is not too clear in Greek either because the Black community in Greece is very small and also diverse. Looks like the most used and accepted term is "Afrogreek" but I've heard some call themselves Black ("Μαύρος") online and in a discussion by the Anassa institute.

"Afrogreek" is more prevalent because most Black people here atm are 1st, 2nd, 3rd gen immigrants from various African countries. Of course not all Black people identify as Africans so it's best to ask each individual what they're comfortable with.

In the TedEx below, Idra identifies as "Αφροελληνίδα" early on and few seconds afterwards as "μία Μαύρη γυναίκα". (Idk if "Μαύρη" should be capitalised but for now I'll keep it like they do in English)

Greek language doesn't feel too comfortable colouring people linguistically, especially since a few decades ago "Μαύρος" was used in the offensive call "ο Μαύρος" for Black people. (And still today) "Μαύρος άντρας/Μαύρη γυναίκα" are okay because "Μαύρος" in this is an adjective that describes the person. While in the offensive scenario the person is assumed to be their colour. In a similar fashion it's more polite to say "ο κοντός άντρας" instead of "Ο Κοντός".

In Greece people might not be too familiar with color terms for people but there's a need for the terms "Λευκός" and "Μαύρος" to exist in order for anti-racist discussions to take place.

The two words I mentioned (Μαύρος and Afrogreek) are the appropriate ones and - afaik - other terms are not acceptable. "Έγχρωμος" , the translation of "person of color" is not acceptable and it also doesn't make sense linguistically for us, as Indra also notes in the video.

Now, just in case you want to know about a specific word, I'd say go ahead and ask by writing the word. (In ask or in a DM) You don't have to do it, I'm just saying. This will be for educational purposes only cause there are quite a few bad words around and I cannot imagine what your family uses. And we cannot know the proper context of words, and if they can or cannot be used, if we never ask about them. As long as we don't endorse slurs and don't use them to characterise people, it is okay to identify them and learn why they're wrong so the next time we hear them we can also explain to others why their use should be avoided.

Check my tag #afrogreeks for more! Searching "Afrogreek" on YouTube also gives some very interesting videos.

Anyone who knows more feel free to chime in!

[stormwaterwitch]

I have a question about Deities that you can TELL weren't brought into existence by you, but take on a form of fictional media that you hyperfixate on?

Hyper-fixation vs 'Real Deities'

Heya anon~♥

The term you might be looking for is Pop Culture Paganism or the inclusion of popular culture into your practice. I have my own hyper-fixations and moods that I go through with my path so I'll speak from my place and hope that it translates well enough ^^); b There are forms of media that mean everything to me. Things that have helped form the very basis of who I shaped up to be. Through these medias I was able to define my very sense of self and I feel a deep connection towards them. In a way they are anchors to me, holding me together. Tethers to the parts of myself that I don't want to lose.

There is absolutely NOTHING WRONG with adding your pop culture fixations to your craft or to your path as your path helps to define you as a whole. These medias that you enjoy help to define you too. You see yourself in the characters, their struggles, their triumphs; their stories. It is natural to want and crave those characteristics for yourself, add them to your path or even celebrate them.

Ancient Greeks wanted the Strength of Ares, the Wisdom of Athena, the Beauty of Aphrodite. Were they not also stories that were told and are still told to this day? One of my personal beliefs for Pop Culture Paganism and the worship of Pop Culture entities as deities is that you just have to believe. Belief is part of what makes the magic real, what makes it happen.

-oOo-

Pop Culture MAGIC is something a little different but I do that over on my @pokemonmagic account more where I would utilize Pokemon for all the magical aspects they can provide to my craft as a whole~!

Some more great links and discussions about these topics can be found with these lovely people's posts!

Pop Culture Paganism & God Theory -@the-broken-stones Creating your own Pantheon - @thiscrookedcrown How I created my Pantheon Source Specific Pop Culture Paganism

Thanks for sending this in I hope it makes sense, please feel free to send in more if you'd like to keep talking about it!

Other Pop Culture Pagans feel free to chime in!

[mournus]

he's! just! so! chivalrous! it's driving honey a little bit insane, to be honest. they have to make a comment. it's impossible him not to.

"you're real old fashioned, huh?" which was almost too endearing, especially since honey had an affinity for things of the past. the interest in burlesque was evidence of this. " 's not a bad thing. you listen to frank sinatra, too?" with a smile of gratitude (and schoolgirl esque giddiness) she slides out of the car and bounces in place before leading the way.

"ya ever had greek food? i figured you got allergies or somethin' because you asked about the souffle-- but i guess it's cuz your buddhist-- so there's vegetarian and vegan stuff or whatever. i hope ya like it as much as i do." honey had actually considered taking chime somewhere high end. five star, fancy shmancy. but... maybe they wanted to prove to him that they had connections that weren't criminal. that were normal and good. and it would feel wrong taking him somewhere with iffy owners.

"Ah..." He shyly smiled, toyed with the back of his hair. Tae-hyun himself was a thing of the past, much older than he looked. Apparently it showed. "Yes, I think I do. I don't listen to music very much."

The car was locked, keys placed into pocket. The air caressed his chest in a way he wasn't familiar with. "Oh, yes, I'm a vegetarian. Usually I try to avoid dairy, too, but I think most eggs and milk are more free-range now so that suits my worries. I haven't really had Greek food before. What is it like? Is it spicy? Do you like spicy food?"

[haikyuuhoo]

Epithymei

Epithymei (επιθυμei), Greek - yearning, desire

Pairing: Tsukishima x Reader

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, weed, and sex (but nothing suggestive); mutual pining

A/N: College!AUs give me life, okay? I wrote this a while ago and I feel a little meh about it but I figured I’d post it anyway :)

Normally, Tsukishima would just ignore a call he got in the middle of the night. There was nothing that could possibly be so important that it required him waking up. Besides, if it was that important, they would just leave a message. However, this caller was insistent, and his phone had been ringing for the past five minutes. He groaned, snatching his phone and pressing it to his ear without even checking to see who it was.

"What?" he spat, slinging his free arm over his eyes in exasperation.

"Tsukkiiiiiiiiiiiiii!" your voice came loudly through the speaker, making him pull the phone away from his ear with a grimace. There was a lilt to your voice that he knew meant you were drunk, and he sighed, scrubbing his hand down over his face.

"What do you want?" he grumbled.

It was silent for a few moments on your end, but then your words came through a bit softer, and he swore he could hear the pout in your voice. "Were you sleeping?"

"Of course I was sleeping, idiot," he scoffed and turned to squint at his bedside clock. "It's two thirty in the morning."

"I-I know," you said quickly, and then you began rambling at such a quick pace that he couldn't keep up, let alone with the way your words jumbled together.

"Stop," he said firmly, flopping his head back onto his pillow, "Slow down. You’re drunk, Y/N. You're not making any sense."

He could hear the little whine you let out, followed by a chorus of laughter behind you. You must still be at whatever party you'd attended to get you this wasted. "Can you pick me up?"

"Seriously?" he sighed, but he was already sitting up and putting his glasses on. "Did you forget that we're supposed to study in six hours so you don't fail the last class you need to graduate?"

"I didn't!" you insisted, your tone much whinier than you intended. "I told Hinata I would only come if I didn't drink, but then he convinced me, and well…" you trailed off, and he smirked slightly. Tsukishima stood up to pull on a jacket, phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder.

"Go on, I'm listening." He grabbed his keys and made his way to the front door.

"I may have done a keg stand."

"Oh my god, you really are an idiot," he teased, laughing in a way that made your cheeks heat up.

No, it wasn't him. It was just all the alcohol.

He did have a really pretty laugh, though…

"Please Tsukki," you begged, stepping away from the crowd a bit so you could hear him better. "Hinata and I just need a ride, and—"

“Hinata?" he interrupted, freezing as he opened the door of his car.

"I was supposed to be the DD," you said, your voice laced with exaggerated shame. "And before you call me an idiot again, I know!"

He couldn't help the chuckle that left his lips. "Yeah, you are," he hummed, getting into his car and closing the door. "I'm on my way, text me the address."

He had to pull the phone away from his ear again as you squealed, but he didn't miss the "You're the best, Tsukki!" that made his heart flutter a bit.

"Whatever, I'll be there soon." He hung up quickly and turned the car on, staring straight ahead and gripping the steering wheel tightly as he felt a blush form on his cheeks. The chime from his phone snapped him out of whatever stupor he'd been in, your name coming up on the screen along with your location. A sigh tumbled from his lips, and he rubbed his eyes before putting the car in drive.

Tsukishima had never been very open with his emotions. He kept himself protected that way, but sometimes he wished he knew how to say things. Knew how to tell you that he liked you… But there was no way he would do that. You were friends, and he was fine with that. It was much more than he could call most people, and honestly, part of him didn't want to lose that. So he kept it quiet, and most of the time he was around you he acted like he just didn't care.

He was sure it made him come across like a stone-cold dick, but that wasn't his problem. You could take all the jabs he threw at you, and that was one of the reasons he was so drawn to you. If being a dick didn't push you away then he would be okay, he could just act like he didn't care about his emotions and would be able to keep you as a friend. Besides, why would you like him when he treated you the way he did?

He grimaced slightly at the revelation, and he put the car in park as he pulled up to the location you'd sent him. It was definitely the right house; if the way he could practically feel the bass when he turned onto the street didn't give it away then the front yard littered with red cups and sweaty college kids sure did. He got out of the car and leaned against it, scanning the crowd for you as he shoved his hands into his pockets. He heard a wail of something that sounded like his name, and he turned his head in the direction of the noise. You were making your way towards him, holding your shoes in one hand and using the other to drag a very drunk Hinata behind you.

"Tsukki!" Hinata slurred, making the blonde scowl.

"Don't call me that." He pushed himself off the car and opened the door to the back. "And don't puke on my seats either."

Once Hinata was getting into the car Tsukishima turned to open the passenger door for you, and he froze when he saw just how close you were to him. He was much taller than you, and the way he had to look down at you meant he had a view straight down the low-cut top you were wearing. Your makeup was slightly smudged under your eyes and your hair was a bit of a mess, but he couldn't deny the way it made his cheeks warm.

He cleared his throat and reached around you to open the door, tearing his eyes away from you. "Jeez, leave it to you to get trashed the night before we're supposed to study for your most important test."

"Why are you so mean to me?" you whined, but he just rolled his eyes and helped you into the car. He closed the door and made his way to get in on the other side. "'Sides, ya don't have to help me," you continued once he was buckled up.

He scoffed and looked at you with a smirk. "How are you going to pass without me?"

You huffed, crossing your arms and glaring at him. "I'm not dumb!"

I know, he thought, but he kept quiet, opting to just raise an eyebrow at you as he pulled away from the curb.

"As a matter of fact, this is actually a great plan. I'll just crash at your place and we can study as soon as I wake up."

He narrowed his eyes. "So you're just inviting yourself over without asking me first?"

"I'm asking you now!" It was a good thing he didn't turn to look at you, because you were giving him the biggest puppy dog eyes you'd ever pulled. Not that it mattered. He didn't need any convincing.

"Fine," he huffed, stifling an amused smile at the way you punched the air in victory.

A snore coming from the backseat interrupted the conversation and Tsukishima’s eyes darted to the rearview mirror.

"He is not coming."

"But Tsukki—"

"I said no," he cut off your pleading sharply, making the turn to go toward Hinata's apartment.

If anyone asked him why he was dropping Hinata off and not you, he would say it just made sense. Hinata lived way closer to him than you did—you lived on the other side of town. Besides, the two of you were going to study in the morning.

"Do you even have your textbook?"

"Nah." You waved him off and rolled down the window, closing your eyes and leaning back. "I'll just ask my roommate to bring it. She owes me a favor anyway."

"You know she'll think we're fucking," he said without missing a beat.

You scoffed, peeking an eye open to look at him. "Us? Yeah right."

Ouch.

He frowned. "Why didn't you just ask her to pick you up?" he spat, hands gripping the wheel tighter.

"She's with her boyfriend. They're probably fucking," you hummed.

The rest of the drive to Hinata's place was practically silent, save for the snores coming from the man in question.

Tsukishima cracked his window, suddenly feeling far too hot. Of course she wouldn't want to fuck you. You're always an ass. Why would you even say that?

You fiddled absentmindedly with the strap of your shoe that sat in your lap. Was he just trying to make fun of you? Does he know that you like him and was just using it as another one of his ways to tease you?

The car slowed and you opened your eyes, watching as Tsukishima pulled into the lot in front of Hinata's building. "I've got it," you said quickly when he parked, reaching to unbuckle your seatbelt. His hand covered yours and you could feel your cheeks tingle with heat, keeping your head down, too afraid to look up at him in fear that he would see the way such a small touch was flustering you.

"You're wasted. I'll do it. Plus, you might throw up if you stand up too fast." You missed the playful smirk he gave you before he got out and just offered him a small nod in return.

Once Tsukishima had gotten Hinata out of the car, practically carrying him to his apartment, you relaxed against the seat. Your hands came up to slap over your face and you groaned into them, pressing your palms over your cheeks to try to will the heat away.

Why did he have to tease you like that?

You pulled down the sun visor and flipped open the mirror to get a look at yourself. You flinched. You really did look wrecked, didn't you?

 "Let me help you," Tsukishima said, his voice uncharacteristically soft as you headed toward his bathroom.

You shook your head. The cold air had sobered you up—so did the realization that Tsukishima had never and would never want to sleep with you. "I've got it. I just need to take my makeup off."

"You should change, too."

You flicked on the light and raised an eyebrow. "I don't have any extra clothes."

"I'll get you some of mine. You can't sleep in… that."

You frowned at his tone. Did he think you looked bad? Were you trying too hard? Maybe he just didn't find you attractive at all and didn’t want to have to see you dressed like this. "'Kay," you mumbled and then quickly closed the door behind you.

Once you had removed your makeup—or as much as you could when you just had a sink and a washcloth to work with—you dealt with your hair, trying to get it somewhat under control and rid it of the smell of booze and weed that always seemed to stick around. When you opened the door, you felt a warm feeling settle in your stomach at the sight of some neatly folded clothes sitting on the floor just outside. You leaned down and picket them up, inspecting what he'd left you. A pair of sweats and a t-shirt. Before you could help it, a laugh bubbled quietly out of you when you unfolded the sweats. There was no way you could wear those—his legs were so long that you'd probably trip over them with each step. Instead, you opted to change into just the shirt. He was so tall that it fell far enough past your torso not to be revealing anyway, so you re-folded the sweats and carried them out along with your bundle of clothes that smelt a little too much like a frat house for your liking.

"These don't fit," you said when you found him kneeling in the living room to set up a futon for you.

He turned to look at you, nearly choking at the sight before him. You were wearing his shirt. Just his shirt. He cleared his throat and took the sweats you were holding out to him. "W-Won't you be cold?" he stuttered, not sure how else to ask you to please put on some pants without being so blunt about it.

You waved him off, dropping your clothes beside the futon. "I'll be fine."

He nodded and stood up, cheeks pinkening. "Okay then. Goodnight." He gestured awkwardly to the futon and then moved to leave the room.

You caught his arm before he could pass you. "Tsukki?" you whispered, and he had to stop himself from letting out a curse at the way your voice sounded saying his name. He hummed questioningly, looking down at you.

Wrong move.

You were looking up at him with the most adorable smile he'd ever seen, and when you gave his arm a squeeze he had to clench his fists and dig his nails into his palms to control himself. "Thanks."

He nodded curtly and cleared his throat. "Sure. Night." He left quickly, taking long strides back to the safety of his room. His back hit the door with a thud once it was closed and he pushed his glasses up onto the top of his head so he could rub his hands over his face.

"Fuck."

[san3mii]

✧･ﾟ:* 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐈 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑?

— Pairing: Surgeon!Trafalgar Law x GN!Reader

— Genre: Fluff

you want more? go to masterlist.

You woke up from the sun peeking through your eyelids causing them to flutter open after a few seconds of no luck on drifting back to sleep.

You start your day per usual but decide to at least take a walk and leisure with the limited free time you have in hand. Entering a mall you usually go to kill some time.

Though, it seems to be your lucky day as your repetitive day takes a drastic turn. Your eyes catch a glimpse of a certain guy, one you can say is on par with a Greek God’s looks.

You don’t care if someone called you basic with your taste but nothing beats a tall, dark, and handsome guy. To add cherry on top, he seems to be the mysterious type too.

He’s there with what seems to be two friends standing behind him, glasses on the bridge of their noses while he oh-so-gracefully and delicately flips through the pages of the book from the shelf.

Mustering all the courage you have left in your body, you take a deep breath and approach the mysterious guy. Before you can approach and tap his shoulders, a hand catches your wrist, a tight grip around it.

An audible gasp slips past your lips, shocked by what happened. You look up to see who rudely interrupted only to see one of his ‘friends.’

“Excuse you? Let go” Your tone laced with irritation. The one holding your wrist has his brows furrowed as if glaring at you like you did something unforgivable. Meanwhile, his other friend is in a protective stance in front of the mysterious guy.

You got no reply from the rude guy and he’s still not letting go of your wrist until the mysterious guy finally snaps back into reality feeling the tensed atmosphere.

The guy’s eyes stare at where your hand is halted before moving to scan your face, “You can let go of them, Penguin.”

Your face distorts in confusion, “Penguin?” You feel the pressure from your wrist fading away as soon as he hears from the guy. “Who are you?” The guy directed his question to you, fully disregarding the visible confusion on your face.

The guy raises an eyebrow at you while you gawk at him, taking in his whole appearance: his raven hair that shines dark blue under the fluorescent lights, his tan skin that has beautiful tribal tattoos etched on them, his chiseled face as if it were crafted by hand, and lastly the bags under his eyes that ties up his whole appeal.

The red haired ‘friend’ clears his throat making you jump in your place, blinking back to earth. Your face heats up feeling three pairs of eyes on you, “Y/n…” You manage to squeak out.

“I’m sorry, you don’t strike someone who I’ve met before” His rough and deep voice that vibrates through his chest makes your heart swoon more.

You shake your head at him, “No no, this is the first we met.”

The red haired chimes in the conversation after looking at his watch, “Sorry to interrupt sir but there’s an emergency message I received from Dr. Chopper” The whole situation with his two friends makes you more curious than confused. Intrigued to unveil more.

The guy hums and nods at him before looking back at you, “I’m sorry, darling. That’ll be my cue to leave… Is there anything you would like to say?” His voice is warm and welcoming.

Blood rushes up to your face as it heats up from the pet name he uttered, you try to cover it by coughing into your hand and diverting your attention to break eye-contact.

“I was gonna ask for your number” You whisper to yourself, “That’s only if you’re comfortable with it!” You voice out clearer.

The guy blinks one, two, three times and tightly smiles, “I’m sorry I didn’t quite catch that” You choke on your own spit afraid of uttering the same words again.

“They said can they get your number, sir” The Penguin guy repeats your words boldly. Your eyes widened and looked at him in shock and betrayal.

To your surprise, the guy simply smirks and chuckles, “Not even gonna ask my name, amor?”

There goes your heart skipping a beat merely from his words, “Well… I…” You stammer out.

The guy holds out his hand and the red haired immediately places a call card on his alluring sun kissed hand, “Trafalgar Law. I’ll be waiting for your call, darling.”

He seems to have a way with his smooth talk as he walks closer to you and hands over the small card on your palm, “You will?”

Law gives small taps on your closed fingers around the card, “I sure will,” With those words, he brings the back of your hand closer to him and leaves a lingering kiss on it.

© san3mii, 2022. rb is appreciated. allowing translation and repost on other platform as long as you send an ask first.

[snelbz]

Tempting the Fates {Chapter 1}

Summary: It’s the final semester of Aelin Galathynius’ collegiate career and she is so beyond ready to be done. Her schedule is packed full of nursing classes and labs designed to test her knowledge and hone her skills for the real world and her “big girl” job. However, she needs one last elective to graduate, so she decides to study a subject she’s always been fascinated by: Mythology. Who would have thought that a class about gods and goddesses living complicated lives would end up complicating her own in such an unexpected way?

A/N: Fun fact about this one, y’all. I wrote the first chapter over 3 years ago and it was for a completely different story. This one has evolved on it's own and Tara and I are so excited to finally share it with you.

Word Count: 3493

Chapters will be posted every Wednesday.

Tempting the Fates Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist 

Zeus

– King of the gods and ruler of Mount Olympus; god of the sky, lightning, thunder and law.

The waves lapped against the sand as Aelin sighed. Strong hands rubbed the muscles in her back and worked out the kinks in her neck as the warm sun heated her body. The smell of the salt water filled her senses and she settled into the cushioned chaise. Another set of hands set a fruity looking drink with a little pink umbrella on the table next to her head. She smiled at it.

“Can we get you anything else, miss?”

Aelin opened her mouth to tell them exactly what they could do to her.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Aelin’s eyes snapped open and she glared at her phone, chiming at her to get up.

She groaned, reaching for the offending device and silenced it, pulling her pillow over her head. She began to doze back off when her bedroom door flew open, smacking into the dresser on the wall behind it. She sat bolt upright and found her roommate leaning against the doorframe, a bowl of cereal in her hands and a gleam of mischief in her emerald eyes.

“Rise and shine, princess,” Lysandra drawled. Aelin just continued to scowl at her roommate. The bright warmth of the sun in her dream faded away as she looked out the window. Ice coated it and she could see a fresh layer of snow coated everything. “Aedion is about to be up, too. If you’d like any chance of taking a warm shower before class today, I’d suggest-.”

She was up and in the hallway before Lysandra could even finish her sentence.

Thirty minutes later, she sat on the kitchen counter, hair wrapped up in a towel, eating an apple and going over her schedule for the thousandth time. Her four classes were split into two days each, mercifully giving her Friday off.

Her cousin, long golden hair tied into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, came into the kitchen, pulling the jug of milk out of the fridge. He leaned on the counter across from her and drank straight from the plastic bottle, glaring daggers at her.

“Can I help you with something,” she asked him sweetly.

“You used the last of the hot water,” Aedion sulked, taking another swig.

She looked over, blowing him a quick kiss. “Maybe you should have gotten up earlier.”

He rolled his eyes, identical to her own, and came over to look at her computer screen. “What classes do you have this semester?”

She scrolled down the list, reading them off. “Pathophysiology, Caring for the Childbearing Family, Health and Gerontology, a few labs, and Mythology.”

Aedion’s eyebrows pulled together as she read the last one. “That doesn’t seem like it will be very helpful to a nurse.”

She shrugged, closing the laptop and sliding off the counter. “I needed one last elective. I’ve always been interested in Greek and Roman mythology and it’s a freshman level class. I figured why not study something for fun for once?”

He couldn’t fault her logic and began pulling ingredients out of the fridge to cook breakfast as Aelin headed back towards her bedroom. “Whatever you’re cooking, make two,” she called over her shoulder. She didn’t even need to look back to know the obscene gesture being flicked in her direction.

-------------------

Aelin was regretting studying something fun for once as she looked at the map of her classes.

All of her classes, save for one, were in the nursing building. Of course, that one other class was all the way across campus, in one of the general education buildings. At least walking there would take her right past her favorite coffee shop on campus and with an eight am every Tuesday and Thursday morning, she knew she’d take full advantage of that.

Thankfully today was a Monday, so she’d be spending the entirety of her day in the nursing building. But first, she had to have coffee. The first day of the semester required coffee.

Aelin parked in one of the student lots close to the nursing building. Throwing her leather bag over her shoulder, she slammed her car door. It was absolutely freezing and she suppressed a growl as she saw soft white flakes drifting toward the ground.

What a great way to start off the semester, she thought.

She made her way across campus, hands deep in her pockets and face buried in her scarf. As she crossed the quad, she pulled her phone out to check the time. She still had about twenty minutes to get coffee and get to class. Snow crunched under her boots as she picked up the pace, wanting to be sure she made it on time. Aelin was big on first impressions.

As she approached the door of the café, she reached for the handle, but the door swung open suddenly, slamming into her and knocking her off her feet.

The young girl, eyes wide, apologized profusely but said that she had to get to class and ran off. Aelin was mumbling something about where the freshman could go, when she heard a deep chuckle and a tan, tattooed hand appeared in front of her face. She glanced up and the air was pulled from her lungs.

The owner of the hand was a handsome man in his mid-twenties, with hair the color of the snow swirling around his head and green eyes. Not emerald like Lysandra’s, but deep and rich like a pine tree. A tattoo, similar to the one on his hand, snaked up his neck and onto his face. She’d be willing to bet it ran down the whole length of his arm. She’d love to find out for herself. He smiled at her, a wicked, beautiful smile. She could only stare at the gorgeous stranger as she gripped her hand in his. He lifted her to her feet.

“You okay?” He asked. Aelin nodded, pulling her hand out of his. He opened the door and motioned for her to go ahead of him. She stepped into the delicious warmth and immediately got her wits back.

“I’m Aelin,” she said, giving him a man eater’s smile.

“Rowan,” he said, a slight incline of his head in acknowledgment.

“Thank you, Rowan,” she said, letting his name slip out of her lips like a purr, as she’d heard Lysandra do it to her cousin many times. She knew it drove Aedion crazy and for some reason, that’s exactly what she wanted to do to this man. She walked to the line. He got in line behind her and she pulled out her phone, figuring that would be that. A bit of shameless flirting with a stranger was never a bad thing. She ordered her coffee and was surprised when the barista handed her the paper cup, a phone number written on the side. She quirked an eyebrow at the girl, who gave Aelin a knowing glance and looked over her shoulder. Aelin turned around, meeting a pine green gaze, and smiled at him. She headed back out into the frost and snow, pulling her phone out to snap a picture of the cup to send to Lysandra, knowing her best friend would love this.

Finding the classroom in the nursing building where she’d spent the bulk of the past two years was a breeze and she made it into the classroom with seven minutes to spare. She enjoyed her time with Professor Hafiza in the fall and anticipated she’d like her this semester again, too. Nonetheless, she settled in about three-quarters of the way up and looked at the coffee cup again.

Feeling bold, she entered the number into her phone and sent a quick text.

Any chance you want to sweep me off of my feet again and grab drinks later? I’m free anytime after 5:00. – Aelin.

Her phone buzzed almost immediately.

My last class lets out at 6:00 and I have to go to the gym afterward. How does 8:00 sound?

She typed a quick reply and placed her phone back on her desk.

Sounds like a date. The Beer Cellar, on Church Street.

She smirked to herself and glanced down at her watch. 9:58. Not even 10:00 am and the semester was off to a great start.

She unlocked her phone, shooting a quick text to Lysandra, letting her know about her new plans for the evening when she heard the door open and students started to hush.

It wasn’t the most exciting class, Aelin had to admit, but she supposed the information was necessary. Hopefully it wasn’t an indication of how the rest of her semester would go. She needed a little excitement in her schedule, that was for sure.

Aelin liked to be kept on her toes.

After two classes and a crappy salad for lunch from the school cafeteria, Aelin was hurrying across campus and down the street, toward her apartment. Lysandra was nowhere to be found, which meant she was either snuggled up with Aedion somewhere or still in class. Aelin’s bet was on the former.

After organizing her deskspace, Aelin went to her closet, and attempted to pick out what she should wear for the night. It was her first date of the semester, which either meant that it could be a complete win or a complete fail.

She ultimately decided that the sluttier the better.

Laying the gold dress out on her bed, she let herself into the Lysandra’s room, borrowing a pair of strappy black heels she knew her roommate would absolutely approve of and was back out the door, ready to suffer through her first lab of the semester. Three hours was going to drag by, but thankfully, it was only once a week.

And drag by it did, but Aelin wasn’t sure if it was thanks to the monotonous recap of her previous semester’s information or thinking about seeing Rowan again. She usually wasn’t so forward, even though Rowan had clearly been the one to start it all, giving her his number. But still, she typically would have at least waited a day or two before texting him.

But there was just something about him that she couldn’t get out of her head.

She grabbed her gym bag out of the car, thankful she had a bit of time to get a work out in before she went out. Thanks to tonight, Aelin was a pent up ball of energy and needed to get it out someway. After a solid forty-five minutes on the treadmill and nearly thirty on the free weights, Aelin was heading for the locker room when she noticed a silver head of hair across the gym.

She watched him as he pulled himself up on the bar, his chin going over the piece of metal each time. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, sweat poured down his chest as his arms swelled. Aelin had been right.

That tattoo went across his chest, and all the way down his arm. He did the pull-ups so effortlessly, and Aelin’s mind began to wander to unholy places.

It wasn’t until his feet hit the mat beneath him that she was brought back to reality and hurried into the locker room. If he was here, that meant their date was approaching, and she had to get ready. She checked her phone. It was nearly seven.

Aelin hurried back home and showered. She had once vowed, during her freshman year, that she would avoid the gym showers at all costs and only used them under emergency circumstances. Luckily, her and Lysandra’s apartment was only five minutes from the gym.

After a shower and a full-body shaving session, Aelin was brushing out her long, golden hair and blow drying it until it was flowing freely down her back. She kept her makeup decently simple - at least, that’s how she made it look, and straightened the slight waves out of her hair before putting on her little, golden dress.

Once she had slipped on Lysandra’s heels, she was looking at herself in the mirror and even she had to admit that she was looking hot.

After grabbing her clutch, she hurried down the hallway and into the living room, where she found Lysandra and Aedion snuggled together on the couch, watching a movie.

“Going out with a stranger?” Lysandra asked, brow raised. “I'm so proud of you.”

“Yeah, just keep it in your pants,” Aedion mumbled.

“I thought I’d bring him back here,” she said, winking at Lysandra. “You don’t want to have breakfast together tomorrow?”

“Absolutely not,” Aedion mumbled and Lysandra chuckled, leaning into his embrace.

“Have fun, call me if you need me,” Lysandra called as Aelin blew them a kiss and headed for the door.

Her Uber was waiting when she walked out front and before she knew it, she was walking down the stairs into her favorite bar. Glancing around, she didn’t see Rowan sitting at the bar or any of the booths around the room.

So she bought herself a drink and claimed one of the pool tables, setting her coat and clutch on a bar stool nearby. Over halfway through the game, she felt eyes on her and glanced up to find Rowan standing at the other end of the table. Giving him a smirk, she knocked the cue ball into the yellow-striped 9 ball. It sank into the pocket.

“Playing with yourself?” Rowan asked, and Aelin caught a slight accent that she had missed earlier.

Aelin’s grin widened. “Well, if I’m left hanging, a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do.”

Rowan breathed a laugh. “Fair enough. And if I asked to join?”

“You sure you don’t just want to watch?” she asked, leaning on the table, making sure her cleavage was perfectly visible.

Rowan’s tongue shot out and subtly licked his bottom lip. “Tempting.”

Aelin pushed herself back and grabbed the rack, starting to collect the balls. “Buy me a drink and then we’ll talk.”

Rowan bit his lip to hide his spreading grin. “Fair enough. I’ll be back.”

Aelin watched as he left, watched as he went to the bar and bought her another drink, alongside one for himself. He came back with two glasses. One was the color of the sunrise, the other a caramelly brown.

“Sex on the Beach?” Aelin asked, brow raised.

He shrugged and handed her the glass. “Sounded promising.”

“So… Rowan,” she said, letting his name drag out as she said it. He was dressed in a pair of dark jeans and the black Henley he wore made his hair seem even brighter in the dim light of the bar.

“Aelin,” he purred right back, pulling a pool stick from the wall behind her, nearly boxing her in. She realized then how much larger than her he was.

She loved it.

“I hope your coffee helped you get through the rest of your day,” she said, resetting the game and racking the balls. She glanced at him over her shoulder as she reached into the middle of the table, and he was watching her, staring at her ass.

Slutty was definitely the right option tonight.

“It certainly did, especially considering how boring it was,” he replied, reaching around her for the chalk that rested on the edge of the table. “But when I got your text, it gave me something to look forward to. Even if it made the day last twice as long.”

“Happy I could help.” She picked her drink up and stirred it, before taking a long sip through the straw.

“Would you like to break, or should I?” He asked, nodding to the pool table.

“Let’s see what you can do.”

He grunted as he stepped forward, lined up his stick, and knocked the cue ball into the others. They broke apart, but none of them fell into the pockets. Rowan stood there for a moment, his lips pursed. Meanwhile, Aelin tossed her head back and burst into laughter.

“Alright, alright,” Rowan said, straightening up and turning to face her. “So pool isn’t my thing.”

Aelin stepped up next to him and aimed her stick, leaning over the table, her ass nearly rubbed up against Rowan’s front. “Hopefully you’re better at other things.”

Rowan’s hand brushed along Aelin’s hip, just as she got ready to shoot, causing her shot to go haywire. She spun around, eyes narrowed. “That’s foul play.”

“No one said we were playing fair,” he countered.

“What about playing for drinks?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

He lifted his own eyebrows and he said, “I’ve got an eight am…”

Shrugging, she said, “So do I.” Then she leaned in close, thankful for the three-inch heels she’d pilfered from Lysandra’s closet and breathed into his ear, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re up in time.”

“So sure of how this night is going to go,” he said quietly, just loud enough for her to hear him, and she felt his hand skimming over the curve of her ass. “Fine. We’ll play for drinks.”

It turned out Rowan hadn’t been lying about pool not being his thing. They played three games back to back, and he lost them all, but every time he returned with a drink for Aelin, he had one for himself as well. By the time she dragged him towards the small dance floor in the center of the bar, they were both stumbling and his lips found her neck before his hands even gripped her hips.

His lips were soft, gentle, nothing like she had expected. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe he was just getting tired, perhaps he was usually rough.

But, when his hands found Aelin’s hips and he brought her back into him, she felt that roughness. It seemed Rowan was the best of both worlds. Gentle when prompted, rough beneath the surface.

Aelin turned to him and slung her arms around his neck, bringing his lips to hers. Their mouths crashed into one another, and their bodies slowed until it felt like they were the only two on the dancefloor.

Rowan pulled away, just a little bit, and breathed, his eyes wild, “Aelin-.”

“Take me to your place,” she said, her mouth finding his, once again.

Before she knew what was happening, they were in the backseat of an Uber, unable to keep their hands off of one another. Thanks to it being a college town, the driver didn’t say a word, just dropped them in front of an upscale building, just off the east side of campus.

She noticed how nice it was on the short elevator ride up, but was much more preoccupied by the way his hips pressed into hers. He dragged her along the hall, his lips never leaving hers, until her back was pressed against a cool door and he was fumbling to get it unlocked. It swung wide and she gripped his collar, pulling him inside.

Throwing her clutch and coat by the door, Aelin let her hands dive into his cropped silver hair and he responded by cupping her ass and lifting her up. Her legs were around his waist and he carried her through the apartment and into his bedroom. Neither of them had any delusions about how and where this would end and Aelin felt like she was going to combust as he dropped her on the bed and gazed down at her.

His eyes were full of lust, full of hunger, a wild animal with his eye on his prey. He wasted no time stripping Aelin down and admiring her body with his hands, his tongue, his lips. Rowan may not have been good at pool, but he was right when he said he was far better at other things.

He worshipped her, and Aelin knew it wasn’t the alcohol when she was sent into utter bliss.

When he rolled off of her, breath still uneven, Aelin watched as he dealt with the condom and fell back into the bed beside her.

She cleared her throat. “I can go…if you want me to.”

Rowan turned to look at her, and she could tell he was still just as drunk as she was. “What? No, of course not. You said you’ve got an eight am, too, right?�� She nodded and he tugged on her hand, pulling her closer to him. They were both still gloriously naked and she could feel the heat radiating off of his body. “Then we can both make sure the other is up so we aren’t late. Or too hungover.”

Aelin snorted softly, resting her head on his chest. “I think that particular ship has sailed.”

“You’re probably right,” he mumbled and she could tell he was already starting to doze. She was on the brink of sleep herself.

Aelin decided then, as her eyes closed, that she didn’t care if she was hungover in the morning, or if she was late to her eight am. A night being praised by Rowan had been perfectly worth it.

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

The Last Chthonian

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

Part 1

Author’s Note: Had this idea living in my head rent free so hopefully I don’t butcher it.

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appear at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language

Part 1 , Part 2

“So, where are we going again?” Bucky asked Sam, confusion written on his face as he leaned back in the front passenger seat of the car.

“You’ll find out. We’ll be there soon.” Sam answered, his eyes glued to the road and hands gripping the wheel.

“But we’ve been driving in the middle of nowhere for an hour now.” Bucky fussed while staring at the never ending green grass that passed by, clearly irritated with Sam’s lack of details.

“I too would like to know where we are going.” Zemo spoke up only to add to Sam’s annoyance.

“YOU don’t get to ask questions.” Sam glared at Zemo through the rear view mirror before staring back at the road. He was starting to get fed up with their questions and lack of patience.

The three men had been driving with their windows down for what felt like hours through the Scottish countryside, watching the green highlands pass by. Though they admired the beauty of the landscape, they were extremely anxious to stretch their legs and get to their unknown destination. Not to mention, they were starting to get a little hungry as well.

“Are we there yet?” Bucky broke the silence after some time.

“We get there when we get there.” Sam snapped, his knuckles turning white from gripping the wheel a bit too hard. He was really looking forward to getting out of the car and away from those two.

After a short while they neared a small seaside village. The place was not that busy, save for the few locals and fishermen going about the cloudy day.

Sam drove on a little further before finally reaching a quaint stone cottage that sat on a hill at the edge of town, overlooking the ocean. He pulled up next to the 60s convertible cream colored Volkswagen Beetle that had a surfboard tied on the roof, parked next to the cottage. Sam took the keys out of the ignition and stepped out, stretching his legs as the others followed suit.

Sam smiled to himself as he walked up the path leading to the front door and glanced upon the flower garden and the decorations out front. He knew for sure this was your place. The other two quietly followed behind while looking around the residence, from the neatly kept garden and the vines that crawled along the house, to the fishing equipment hung up on the side, down to the handmade birdhouses and the wind chimes and sun-catchers that clinked melodically against the ocean breeze, including the collection of garden gnomes. The place reminded the men something straight out of Jane Austen’s novels, not that they’d like to admit they knew such a thing.

Sam stopped at the front door before turning to the others with a pointed finger. “Now whatever you do, don’t stare.”

“Wait what?” Bucky scrunched his nose.

“Just don’t.”

Sam paused for a moment, thinking of how to explain this situation to you before tapping on the wooden door. No answer. Sam could feel Bucky glaring at the back of his head, ready to scold him about how this was a big waste of time. So he knocked again, this time calling out if any one was home.

Before Bucky could open his mouth there was rustling coming from inside and the sound of someone knocking into furniture before a faint “ow” and “fuck” of a woman’s voice made Bucky and Zemo glance questioningly at each other. Where the hell did Sam lead them to?

The locks on the door were fumbled with before opening up to reveal your head poking out from behind.

“Sam?” You breathed out. You were slightly out of breath and your hair was disheveled with strands falling out of your bun at the front from under your silk scarf. The sleeves of your button up blouse were rolled up at your elbows, revealing your dirt covered arms. You were working on your vegetable garden in the back before you were interrupted by your unexpected visitors.

Bucky stood behind Sam and couldn’t help but widen his eyes when he saw you. He only met you a few times during the threat of Thanos and before, but the interactions he had with you were very brief. All he knew was that you were a good friend of the Avengers, especially Thor, Clint, Nat, Wanda, Tony and Steve and now apparently Sam. But after Thanos was defeated you disappeared and nothing was heard of you since.

Zemo glanced out from behind Bucky and tried to remain hidden behind the super soldier once he recognized your face. You weren’t exactly an Avenger and you weren’t on Earth when he tore the Avengers apart, you were helping Thor at the time and little to everyone’s knowledge, you were also defending your planet against an inside threat. But you had heard of him through your friends, and though you hadn’t met him, Zemo knew you would strangle him once you spotted him.

“Hey y/n.” Sam smiled at you, calling you by your alias name. He knew who you were through Steve, but even then, he didn’t know everything about you and about the recent events that took place in your home planet that still devastated you.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You asked with a mixture of surprise and annoyance, wiping your hands on your apron. There was a reason you chose to live all the way out here, and though you gave Sam your new address, you didn’t expect him to bring company.

“I came to see how you were doing?”

“Bullshit.” You scowled, crossing your arms over your chest. “If you wanted to check up on me you wouldn’t have brought someone.”

Sam opened his mouth to speak but decided against it, refused to meet your stern eyes and looking down at the ground instead with his hands in his pockets. He often forgot how well you were able to read people, almost as if you were telepathic. Little to his knowing, you were in fact a telepath but decided against telling him. You’ve known people who became uncomfortable when finding that detail about you and noticed how they tried to avoid you, constantly guarding their thoughts when around. If only they knew you never bothered to do such a thing because you respected their privacy and because you’ve seen things in people’s heads you wished to forget. You’ve only ever used your telepathy when it was absolutely necessary. Straightening up, you finally took a better look at the other man behind him and instantly recognized him as Bucky.

“Barnes?”

“Hi y/n.” Bucky smiled shyly at you as he looked into your eyes. And that’s when he noticed for the first time that your eyes were different from when he last saw you. Your irises were now a shade of purples and blues with flecks of gold that spread out, a reflection of the stars and the universe. So that’s what Sam meant when he said to not stare. But could you have just been wearing contacts? Bucky’s stare was cut short as Sam noticed, glaring at him and clearing his throat before elbowing him in the stomach.

Suddenly, there came the sound of a little girls squeals coming from inside your home, startling the men except for Sam. And before they knew it, a small girl in overalls who looked to be of 6 years of age sprinted through your legs and out the door. “Uncle Sam!”

“Oof! Athena wait!” You gasped against the impact as you tried to reach for her.

“Hey hey little Athena!” Sam smiled as he picked the excited girl up into his arms before setting her on his hip. “How’s my favorite little warrior?”

“I’m helping Mommy with the garden! See!” She squealed in delight before showing off her dirty hands.

“I can see that.” Sam chuckled. “Looks like you’ve been working hard.”

“God, I’m so sorry Sam. She’s covered in dirt.” You tried to apologize with an embarrassed face.

“Hey no worries.” Sam smiled at you. “Some dirt is not gonna kill me.”

“Mommy who’s this?” Athena questioned as she looked at the man next to Sam.

You looked at Bucky and gave him a look that questioned what name he would prefer, to which he nodded and mouthed Bucky to you.

“That’s Bucky sweetie.”

“Hi Bucky! I’m Athena!” She stuck her tiny hand out to for him to shake, a big grin plastered on her face from meeting new people.

“It’s very nice to meet you Athena.” Bucky smiled as he gently shook her hand, making her giggle.

The scene made you smile to yourself as you pushed a strand of your hair behind your ears. Maybe it wasn’t so bad that Sam and Bucky decided to pay a visit.

“Mommy who’s the man in the back?”

The man in the back? You looked to Sam and James with a raised brow before craning your neck to see who the third guest could be, only to tense up and clutch the door frame, forcing yourself to not go over there right now and throw him off a cliff.

“What the hell is he doing here?” You glared daggers at Zemo as he watched you with caution, before you turned to Sam.

“I can explain.” Sam tightened his jaw as he saw your expression.

“Athena, sweetie.” You turned to your daughter with a gentle smile. “I want you to go up to your room and clean up okay?”

“Okay mommy.” Athena looked back at you with a worried look as Sam set her down.

You caressed her head as she walked in, watching her go up the stairs and waiting for the sound of her bedroom door to close and her shower to turn on before shutting the front door behind you.

“Are you out of your goddamn minds?” You glared at the two, trying to not yell, your fists balling up in anger. “What in the three hells is going on?”

“Look y/n. He might be of some use.” Sam tried to explain.

“So you broke him out of prison?!”

“Well technically he got himself out.” Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. He was starting to think that this wasn’t such a good idea and felt guilty for coming here.

“Oh? So what? He magically decides to join your little boy band? The Wakandans are after his ass in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Look I get it. Working with Zemo sounds like a terrible idea and you have every right to be upset. We just need a place to lay low for now. Just...hear us out.” Sam responded with a pleading look.

You stood there with a hand on your hip, squeezing your eyes shut while you pinched the bridge of your nose, not even caring that you still had dirt on your hands.

“Please y/n.” Bucky spoke up, making you look up at him. “Sam wouldn’t come here if he didn’t know what he was doing.”

You looked between the two, rubbing your chin in contemplation as you thought everything over. Bucky was right. Sam would never try to purposely put you in harm’s way.

“Fine.” You breathed out. “You can stay for the night. But you are going to tell me everything. Every last detail.”

“I promise.” Sam looked to you as he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Well come on then. Get in.” You nodded your head towards the door as you opened it, letting Bucky and Sam in before putting yourself in front of Zemo and blocking him with a threatening look while speaking in a cold tone. “I swear to the gods, if you so much as try anything, I will bury you alive in my backyard and use you as fertilizer to grow fungi.”

“Y/n what the fuck.” You heard Sam utter from inside.

Zemo gave you a bewildered look and decided to keep quiet as you stepped aside to let him in, watching him closely as he went in. You stuck your head outside again, looking around for any bystanders and making sure the men were preoccupied before muttering something in Ancient Greek, waving your hand around and moving your fingers in specific gestures as a clear glass like film covered the area around your home for protection. You did another once over before going back in and closing the front door, readying yourself for the conversation you would have with Sam and Bucky.

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: IV

“I had a few, got drunk on you

And now I’m wasted

And when I sleep, I’m gonna dream of 

How you tasted.”

— Medicine, Harry Styles

A/N: if i said i’m apologizing for the way i left off ch3, yes i did ❤️ no i didn’t ❤️ it was fun ❤️ as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!! and if you enjoy the piece, please reblog it!!! it keeps content creators motivated!! without further delay, hope you enjoy what’s in store for Sherlock and Watson this chapter cause it’s uhhhh quite a bit of uhhhh ~stuff~ 😌

harry’s condo : ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist : ysijwa playlist

word count: 26.4k

content/warnings: a mild addiction to sexting, some pretty sparkly lingerie, a very interesting photo, a strange but satisfying gift, rough sex and degradation, pillow talk about the validity of the men in Twilight, the satisfying gift being put to even more good use, Y/N going over to Harry’s apartment for the first time, mild mentions of blood, and an impromptu Hamilton re-enactment amidst more lemon blueberry pancakes

///

For the next three days, the sexting grows more frequent. 

Harry feels somewhat humiliated by it, really. He’s an adult— a full-grown, two hundred and nine year old man— and trading nudes with a simple girl shouldn’t be getting him as worked up as it does. He should know how to handle his hormones better, and the thing is, he usually does. But no one in the last few centuries has made him feel as desperate as Y/N does; he hasn’t felt this helpless for someone since he was alive. The vampire just wasn’t prepared to handle the needy responses she so easily yields from his body and he’s horribly rusty on how to skate this thin sheet of metaphorical ice. It’s like he can feel it cracking and crunching beneath his feet, but he has absolutely no power over how to stop it. Any minute, it’s bound to take him under, and he has no choice but to allow himself to drown in it. 

The following seventy two hours are full of so many dirty promises and explicit images, his phone might as well be a porno hard drive.

After coaxing Y/N into a few orgasms through the phone and receiving just as many in return, a dangerous game is set into motion that Harry knows is probably unhealthy not only for his self-worth, but for the sensitivity of his anatomy. He can only get off so many times before his joints are begging for a break. 

He wakes up Wednesday morning with a stiff ache running along his inner thighs and ebbing across the underside of his balls, but there’s an undeniable contentment stewing behind it. He doesn’t truly mind the throb, comforted by the fact that Y/N is probably facing similar issues at the moment. He finds himself smiling coyly as he flips an omelette onto one of his marble-print platters, recalling the events from the night before. 

According to what he’d heard on the other end of the phone, present throughout the array of shaky gasps, cracked whimpers, and wet sounds of pleasure that had echoed from the speaker, Harry had made Y/N squirt. 

That was a tremendous stroke to his already huge ego. The idea that he’d been able to make her cum so hard that she’d soiled her brand new sheets had been circling around his head for the last couple of hours, fluffing his confidence. It’s a milestone achievement, to be honest. He’d done something that very few men have the skill to achieve in person, meanwhile he’d done it just by using his voice and extensive imagination. The arrogance he’s sporting right now is more than justified. His cheeks are starting to ache from how hard he’s grinning.

The vampire is so lost in his recollections that he nearly misses the chime of his phone, the unique ringtone that beeps out being as welcomed as ever. 

Harry scoops up his device while spooning a piece of his green pepper and mushroom egg dish into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he swipes into Y/N’s text conversation. He smoothers the giddiness fluttering in his stomach; he’s not a child. 

As it turns out, he’d killed those butterflies for no solid reason because the instant her message pops up, they come right back to life. 

Morning! Thought I’d show you what I’m planning on wearing to work today. 

Harry roughly swallows down his breakfast at the attachment following the caption, a shiver coiling down his spine. “Fucking hell.”

The photo is a mirror shot, taken in her tiny bathroom. It’s a full body image where she’s clad in a matching set of bra and panties, the material sparkly bright red lace. The bottoms are high-waisted, hugging her tummy and hips in a way he deems perfect, the lace decorating her skin beautifully. The bra is see-through, so he has an unrestrained view of her chest and he doesn’t know why, but he thinks he might love the way her breasts look in lingerie more than without it. Make no mistake, he’ll willingly drool over her no matter what, but there’s just such a refined beauty in seeing her figure in such an elegant piece. She’s like a present set out for him to unwrap, preferably with his teeth. 

Then he notices the garters and the next forkful of food lodges in his throat. They hug around her legs deliciously, the bands settled midway down her thighs as the straps run up the sides and clip onto the hem of her panties. Yeah, he would definitely use his teeth. 

After gawking at the artwork for a minute, Harry finally gathers himself enough to type back a decent reaction.

I’m pretty sure that outfit doesn’t apply to the workspace dress code. 

Y/N shakes her head in amusement at his response, giggling softly as she finishes shimmying into her black skinny jeans, buttoning them over the skimpy lace. 

I’ll cover up for the sake of the customers. But it’s just such a nice set, I figured someone else should get to appreciate it with me.  

Harry sets his utensil down on top of his plate, omelet only half eaten. His appetite has molded into a very different type of hunger. He pads out of the kitchen, feeling the ten AM sunlight filter through the glass wall of his living room and warm his bare chest and back. He heads for the bathroom that branches out of the entrance corridor, coming to a stop right in front of its mirror. He begins to clean up his appearance, combing his bed head into a presentable state (he hadn’t slept, per usual, but rolling around his pillows last night while he indulged fantasies about Y/N had done his curls in something fierce), fixing his royal blue briefs along his hips and dragging the waistband down to show off the dip of his prominent pelvic bones.

Once the immortal is done, he taps back with eager strokes of his thumbs. 

I can’t believe you’ve never worn that for me. That’s a criminal offense. Literally worth capital punishment. 

Oh, really? Capital punishment? And who are you to decide my verdict?

I’m the executioner, obviously. I’m in charge of dispensing the verdict and I promise you, I’ll see to it that you get what you deserve. It’s my civic duty.

Y/N scoffs at his quip, tugging her navy polo shirt over her torso and quickly running a brush through her hair. She puts it up into a neat ponytail, sighing lightly as she stares at her tired reflection. She wishes she could ditch work for the day and entertain more conversation with Harry, but she literally can’t afford to.

Well, you’re gonna have to wait while I go perform my own type of civic duty. Making the world a better place, one grilled panini at a time. 

Harry’s lips jolt. She’s so clever and witty, he doesn’t know how she could possibly be from such a dull, monochrome town. 

I understand. Justice calls. But before you go, can I send you a picture of what I’M wearing today? Could use a few style tips. 

That’s pretty ironic coming from someone whose last name is literally ‘Styles.’

I know, I know. But even fashion icons have their insecurities sometimes. 

Fair point, nobody’s perfect. Lemme see your OOTD, then.

The outfit of the day appears to be no outfit at all, according to Harry’s picture. It’s taken on a mirror, like her own, and it depicts him standing with one hand holding his phone in front of his face while the other seems to be doing jazz hands down his body playfully. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of deep blue briefs (probably because he’d completely ruined the maroon pair he was wearing last night, if his broken moans and heavy panting had been any indication) and they hug his frame flawlessly. The fabric is bunched around his lean thighs, tiger head tattoo peeking out to accompany the rest of the collection, which includes all the inkings running the length of his left arm as well as the butterfly and swallows across his torso. His v-line is evident as ever, dipping below the elastic band teasingly. His chest is broad and his biceps are taut, despite the fact that he’s not even flexing. He looks like a Greek statue and Y/N is positive the higher powers designed Harry with that specific thought in mind.

Y/N doesn’t realize drool is gathering in her mouth until it tickles the inside of her bottom lip. She snaps her jaw closed, clearing her throat sheepishly. Over a minute has passed of her just ogling and she can feel heat layering across her cheeks. She knows Harry probably has the cockiest expression on his face at the moment, obvious in the tone of the next comment he delivers. 

Damn, it’s that bad, huh? Guess I’ll have to change. 

No, it’s perfect. Simple, but effective. Very professional. 

Why, thank you! 

My pleasure.

Here, take this as a token of my appreciation. Hopefully it can help get you through the day. 

This specific photo is taken from an above point of view, as if Y/N were looking down at Harry’s body along with him. His pectorals and stomach muscles appear more defined, tattoos darker and skin more evidently sunkissed. Lower down, there’s the obvious outline of what lies within his boxers, snuggled up against his thick thigh and tempting her to let out a soft whine. Then, resting casually against his abdomen is his free hand, sporting a thumbs-up that gives a purposefully goofy vibe to the risky image. He’s such an idiot. 

The mortal’s answer is just as silly and lighthearted as his gesture. 

Thank you, I’ll keep it locked in my heart forever. 

I wouldn’t want it any other way. 

That’s the first interaction of many that further opens the door to their virtual sex life. Things hardly stay that innocent. 

That night when Y/N gets home from work, they undergo another round of phone sex. It starts off the same: cheeky banter that leads to cheeky pictures that eventually leads to utter filth. 

And that’s how they spend the next few days— taking care of each other’s needs digitally until Friday rolls around. There’s plenty of those encounters, but there’s definitely favorites. 

A session during one of Harry’s self-care baths, when he puts her on speaker and she talks him through tugging one out while the scent of lavender salts— which he’d chosen because they smell like her— leave his heated skin feeling soft and supple. Another instance where he makes her orgasm while she has gotten bored watching a scary movie marathon on her couch, the screams of the horror film mere background noise compared to all the sweet nothings Harry huskily mumbles into her ear, his dominant voice filtering through her headphone and instructing her on how to make herself feel good.

Harry messages her at three A.M. at one point, wide awake as ever, all of his thoughts occupied by the concept of Y/N laying on her tummy between his thighs and sucking him off at a slow pace. He can practically see her small hands wrapped around his girth, stroking up to meet her pretty lips, her tongue lapping at his tip eagerly as she whines around a full mouth. She’s always just so eager. Even at the crack of dawn, she’s awake by some miracle, and happily willing to delve into that fantasy with him. Her soft, timid tone drifts across the shells of his ears, explicitly sketching out how she’d take him all the way down her throat until she gags, and how she’d kiss all over the head of his prick just to smear his precum over her lips to then lick it off, and how she’d rock against his lap fast and hard while he takes her nipples between his teeth. How she wouldn’t stop until he’s dripping down her thighs and groaning into her throat. How she’d let him fuck her as many times as it takes to tire himself out. 

Harry obviously repays her, and it comes in the form of him painting out a scenario where she’s gotten home from a long day at the café. He tells her about how he’d be there waiting for her in nothing but his underwear, sitting back on his elbows in her bed, touching himself over his briefs just at the thought of pleasuring her. About how he’d lay her out and taste every inch of her body with his tongue, and how he’d run his teeth across her inner thighs tenderly while his fingers play with her clit, and how he’d have her ride his face deep and sloppy until she’s shaking and sensitive. How he’d tie her to the bed and toss her legs over his shoulders while he pounds her into the mattress, marking bruises across her neck as she sucks on his fingers and tightens around his cock like “the snug little thing you are.”

They even take their fun out of the confines of their houses and into public settings, just to give it an adrenaline high. Those situations are foreplay; it’s how they prep each other throughout the day for when they’re both finally alone and can truly help one another to the fullest. 

It happens Thursday on two occasions. 

First, to Y/N, who is sitting in the backroom on her lunch break, though she’s barely touched her food. She’s much more interested in what Harry has to say. Much more interested in how he says he wishes he could be there with her right now. That she could sneak him in through the back door of the restaurant and they could lock themselves in that tiny supply room, making sure no one would disturb what he’s about to do to her. That he would drop to his knees and drag her jeans down her legs, pressing damp kisses in the denim’s wake, biting hickies in the areas he knows she loves to receive them. He would mount her knees over his shoulders and bury his face between her thighs, looking up at her through heavy lashes as he licks into her desperately. He would have her grab onto his curls and guide his tongue just the way she likes it, and she’d have to bite into her cheek to keep from getting caught. 

He talks about how he’d take her against the supply shelves, one hand clamped over her mouth while he pants praise into her ear, her body jolting roughly upwards against the surface as she clings to his back. How he’d hold her up with the other arm and slam her down onto his cock, cooing things like, “Gotta keep quiet for me, sweetheart. Can’t make you cum if we get caught.” and “Such a filthy girl, sneaking me in here just to fuck you. Baby just wants to walk around the rest of the day full of me, doesn’t she?” 

That fantasy leaves her in a bothered haze the rest of the work day. It’s bad enough that she almost drops her tray three different times and has to ask multiple customers to repeat their orders. 

Y/N gets back at Harry, though. That revenge is the second occasion. 

The vampire had mentioned that he would be going out with his friends that evening to a bar and she takes full advantage of that. When the picture comes through, Harry nearly spits out his Manhattan drink. 

He’s sitting in a booth surrounded by his entire group and he’d been talking shit with Niall about golf. The vampire doesn’t care for the sport, but Niall loves it, and Harry loves getting on Niall’s nerves, therefore it’s all pretty self-explanatory. Mitch and Adam join in, with Mitch obviously supporting Harry, when he randomly decides to check his notifications. Even in the shrunken little banner, Harry can immediately tell the photo is graphic. Xander asks if he’s alright, telling him he looks freakishly pale and to get his eyes under control because they're in public. Harry blinks the red from his irises, hurriedly excusing himself and clambering up from his seat, jetting across the restaurant towards the restrooms. It’s occupied, much to his luck, so he settles for simply pressing his back against the wall of the corridor, leaning his head against the bricks and taking deep breaths to calm the raging in his stomach. He gingerly opens the message and his knees nearly give out. 

The image is taken from the back, probably using a timer. Y/N is wearing one of her big tees and another pair of cheeky lace panties, but this time around, they’re pastel peach and crotchless. She’s bent over with her ass up and spine arched, knees parted for balance, her shirt bunching downwards due to the angle. Her arms are pulled behind her back and her chest is flushed to the bed, wrists crossed submissively as she gazes at the camera over her shoulder. There’s an unmistakable sparkle in her eyes and he can tell she had sent this now on purpose just to fuck with him, knowing good and well that he was out and occupied.

The shot is more than he can handle and he has to swallow down the urge to stomp out of the bar, get into his car, race to her flat, and make her rethink her decision. Preferably, in the form of harsh spanks and overstimulation. He can see everything— the intentional rip at the crotch of the panties are meant for that sole reason. The closer he looks, he comes to realize that she’s wet, which in turn means she had been touching herself. She’d set this up perfectly, knowing that he’d easily be able to deduce that fact and that it would haunt him for the rest of the night. 

The monster releases a quivering exhale, typing back slowly and carefully, sight bleary. 

You’re going to regret that. 

Pinky promise?

///

When Harry arrives at Y/N’s apartment the next night, as he has for the last three Fridays, he doesn’t saunter up to her door and bang on it angrily. He doesn’t grab her by her hair and drag her into her room, how he’d intended. He doesn’t even have a single cinch in his sculpted brows. 

Instead, he raps softly on the door with one jeweled knuckle and waits calmly. 

The human goes to answer, her stomach twisting in excitement at all the possibilities of what punishment she might face for her antics. A small, sly smile buckles the corners of her lips at the thought, her fingers trembling as they wrap around her cold doorknob. She expects to find a furrow-browed, intense-eyed, red-faced Harry behind the threshold, who would shove past her, nab her by the arm, and throw her onto her bed. She expects him to yank his belt from around his hips while a distinct darkness swallows his emerald irises, his mouth curling into a sinister grin. She expects him to roughly command she get on her hands and knees, his palm finding the back of her head to shove her face-first into the sheets while he rips her panties down her legs and drags the cool leather of his accessory over her backside tauntingly.

What she gets is something— and someone— completely the opposite. 

When her door swings open, Harry is standing standing there, sure. But instead of looming over her with flaring nostrils and cruel intent, he’s decided to lean against the door frame with his arms folded casually. His body is completely empty of tension, his ankles are crossed offhandedly, and a small, bright red paper bag full of sparkly black tissue paper is hanging off his wrist. His expression is a relaxed facade of indifference, lips set into his usual signature smirk, no explosive emotions present whatsoever. 

That startles Y/N. This has to be an act; it feels like the calm before a violent storm and it has her shifting in her socked feet. Did he...Did he forget what she did? 

There’s no way he forgot. It was too brazen a move to dismiss.

Harry steps forward into her home, comfortable enough that he no longer has to wait for an invitation. Y/N moves to the side to let him through, hesitantly closing the entrance behind him, contemplating the man as if he were a ticking bomb. She does a quick sweep of his physique, looking for some other clue as to what he could be plotting, aside from the mysterious gift bag in his hand. He’s wearing a pair of flared denim jeans, a white tee with a royal blue cartoon bee printed in the center along with the words Enjoy health! Eat your honey! surrounding it, his white Vans, and an oversized colorful patch-work cardigan. The outfit is surprisingly domestic compared to his usual taste, but she finds it’s easily one of her favorite fits on him. He just looks so boyish adorable. 

The human comes up with nothing suspicious, glancing back up to lock eyes with her guest. Harry beams at her innocently and she knows for sure he’s planning something, but she can’t place what. 

“I got you this.” The vampire speaks up first, holding out the paper bag towards Y/N with his index finger, bouncing it encouragingly. “Take a peek.” 

The girl accepts the gift gingerly, giving him one more hard look before breaking away to investigate what lies beneath the tissue paper. She pulls out a small cardboard box, her eyes squinting slightly as she reads its print and surveys the label. The image on the surface appears to be of five silicone finger gloves, each about the size of a thumbtack, tiny metal plates embedded into the pads. She’s voicing her curiosity before she’s even finished studying the container. 

“What...What are these?”

Harry rolls his eyes jokingly, tapping the object for emphasis. “Read the fine print, love.” 

Y/N focuses on the region he’d pointed out, reciting aloud. “‘Vibrating silicone finger gloves. For the use of personal pleasure or with partners.’”

Then it all clicks. 

“Oh my God, you got me— what?!” Y/N’s head snaps up in shock, mouth parted and brows creased. “Harry, what?”

The young man laughs airily, gently opening the seal of the box in her hands, which she is now holding as if it were a weapon of mass destruction. It’s such a weird present to give in general, moreso all out of the blue, so she can’t be blamed for her reaction.

He uncaps the packaging, rummaging through its contents and pulling out two of the tiny rubbery gloves. They’re transparent and ribbed, obviously meant to deliver as many sensations as possible, and they’re about two inches in length. He slips them onto his index and middle finger, making scissoring motions for the purpose of symbolism, but mainly just to watch Y/N fidget. “I remember how you said you don’t have sex toys because you’d never really thought about buying any, so I went and picked these up down at my favorite shop. Jessi said they’re good for beginners.”

“Jessi?” Y/N’s voice is tight. She’s not sure how to respond to this; she’s never been in this situation before. No one has ever just given her a sex toy as if a were a candy bar. “Who’s Jessi and why do they need to know about my sex life?”

“She’s the manager.” Harry says matter-of-factly. He doesn’t seem to find anything strange about this encounter. “She helped me pick out my first pocket vag, so I trust her with my soul. Here, look. You just slip them on and—” He makes finger thrusting motions in the air, wiggling his digits playfully. “Big O. Not as good as what I can give you, obviously, but close enough.”

“Harry, you do realize this is a little…odd, right?”

The boy blinks at Y/N blankly. “What? Why? Sex is literally the basis of this whole thing.” He signals back and forth between them with his gloved forefinger. “It’s really not that weird at all, if y’think about it.”

“I just...it’s like…” 

Her argument fizzles to an end the longer she stares at him. He has the most wholesome expression painted across his handsome features, his eyes glossy with excitement. He looks genuinely elated about the present and she can’t find it in herself to question him any further. As unorthodox as this may be, it’s the first true act of kindness anyone has shown Y/N since she had moved to California. It’s the first time anyone has given the girl anything without her having to request it. She comes to the realization that Harry really is the only friend she has at the moment, and she refuses to pick and prod at that, lest he retract from her on the grounds that she’s ungrateful. Yes, this is a little atypical, but so is their whole dynamic. In his own twisted way, this is how Harry shows his friendship. 

The more she ponders on it, she starts to understand that this truly is something she should accept. He went out of his way to get her this gift, which solidifies their acquaintanceship. It’s sweet.

“You know what, never mind. Thank you! I love them.” 

The giddy smile that cracks his face melts her heart. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”

Harry then softly grasps her hand with his, tugging her down the entrance hallway, his intentions set on her bedroom. His voice takes on a deeper sultry twang, the corners of his mouth twitching suggestively. “Because on my way here, I was thinking, yeah? And I figured: who better to teach you how to use these than the person who picked them out.”

“Of fucking course.” Y/N huffs in amusement, shaking her head but allowing herself to be guided forward. “I should’ve known you had an ulterior motive.” 

“Heyyyyy!” Harry’s whine is offended, but the coy simper dimpling his cheeks ruins any defense he could possibly try to spin. “This isn’t an ulterior motive, it’s simply a supporting one.”

“Right.” Y/N states flatly, shuffling forward slowly as he backs down her corridor, momentarily glancing over his shoulder to orient himself. “Buying a fuck buddy a sex toy is totally selfless and mutually exclusive of the agreement.”

Harry takes a turn and crosses the threshold into her bedroom, releasing her arm and instead, he opts for wrapping his fist into the loose material of her large Transformers tee, twisting the fabric around his knuckles and giving it a sharp yank. She stumbles into his chest and almost drops the box. 

The vampire gazes down at her with half-lidded eyes, long lashes tempting and plush lips the color of roses. “I never said it was mutually exclusive. I just said it wasn’t meant to be evidently inclusive.” 

He takes the box from her grip, sliding it onto her nightstand so that any obstacles between them are eliminated. He beckons her closer with a flick of his wrist, feeling heat erupt across his chest as her palms slap down against it to steady herself. She’s always so warm, almost like a furnace. It’s a nice contrast to his ever-present coldness.

Harry’s cupped fingers nurse the slope of her jaw, tilting her chin up to level his, Cupid’s bow ghosting over her own teasingly as a grin threatens to betray him. His accent is thick, heavy with condescension. “Now do you want me to fuck you or not?”

Y/N gulps audibly, the sudden jump in her heart rate causing Harry’s cock to give a foreshadowing twitch in his designer jeans. Her eyes soften with a form of weepy desire, head nodding in his grasp. 

Harry’s top teeth catch on his lower lip as he appraises her from over the crest of his defined cheekbones. “I don’t think I heard you, pet. Must be the AC draft.”

The mortal’s eyes fall shut as she composes herself, a shaky sigh faltering past her nostrils. She tips forward onto her toes, connecting her itching mouth to his. Harry allows it, listing his head to the side to grant her more access, his free arm roping across the dip of her spine and pressing her front flushed to his. The kiss is soft and heated, full of drunken tongues and muffled whimpers. It’s tame compared to most of the others they’ve shared, but Harry likes it. It’s sloppy and intimate; only the beginning of what he knows will be a long night. 

Her words sting the ridges of his lips, hot and bated. “I want you to fuck me.” 

Harry speaks into her mouth, tone gentle but packing a punch. “Get my belt off for me, will you? I’m tying you to the bed tonight.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice, a dark chuckle vibrating across his tongue when her fingers immediately begin to fumble with his belt buckle. 

Once Harry has looped the leather tightly around Y/N’s wrists and has knotted them to one of the wooden railings of her headboard, he sits back on his heels to admire his work. Y/N is splayed out across her mattress with her arms suspended above her head, bare thighs clasped in anticipation as her t-shirt gathers around her waist. Her hands are curled into fists, nails digging into her palms as she watches Harry leisurely shrug off his cardigan, keeping eye contact with her the whole way through. His tattoos stand out against the buttery light of the single lamp on the table, tanned arms flexing sinfully. 

He shifts around, laying down onto his stomach and coasting his palms up her quivering legs, kissing over her kneecaps and along the crease of her inner thighs, bunching her shirt further up her body as he goes. As soon as he spots the first garter, he blacks out for a millisecond, vision washing red. 

“Fuck, wait— did you…?” His voice is strained and desperate as he shoves the rest of her clothes up her torso, pulling her shirt over her head and letting it rest at her elbows. He hums appreciatively when he’s met with the full cherry-colored lingerie set from a few days ago, garters and all. “God, you did.”

Y/N’s gaze falls timidly, a sheepish smile brushing over her face. “I thought you’d want to see it in person, since you seemed to like it so much.” 

“Mm...” Harry struggles to swallow, fingers hooking under the straps that clip to the hem of her underwear, pulling the fabric from her skin and letting them snap back into place. He revels in the tiny noise she lets slip, the pads of his digits now toying across the frilly bands encircling her upper legs. After a thoughtful heartbeat, Harry speaks up, wistful but vehement. “I’m going to make you soil your sheets again.” 

Y/N bucks a tad at his promise, wrists stressing against the leather belt, but Harry’s practiced enough bondage in his lifetime to know she won’t be getting out anytime soon. He parts her knees open with his palms, dragging his silicone-covered fingers down her clothed clit and tutting when she lets out a stuttery gasp. 

“Always so sensitive, aren’t you, angel?” The vampire pets at her core patiently, heat pooling at the base of his abdomen as he feels her panties damped with every stroke of his touch. “Christ, you’re already soaking through.”  

“Want more.” The girl’s plead is strangled as she actively forces herself to keep her legs wide open, knowing that if she were to allow them to snap shut, Harry would only pry them apart again. “I’ve been thinking about this all week. Please.”

“All week?” Harry drags tongue across the inside of her thigh, nipping at the flesh tauntingly, the amber specks in his eyes glittering amidst his lashes. He continues to rub through her underwear, drinking up all the little noises streaming from her throat. “Tread lightly, dove. You’re swelling my ego.”

“I just…” Her hips give another jerk when he wriggles two rubber-clad fingers into the crotch of her bottoms, spreading her open just a bit and grinning against her skin at how wet she’s become. “I just need it hard tonight, Harry. Need you to leave me sore.” 

“I always leave you sore.” The monster reasons mockingly, taking one of the garters between his teeth and tugging, releasing so it stings her like before. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.” 

Y/N trembles out an exhale, gathering herself enough to give him what he wants. “I need you to fuck me like you hate me.”

Harry grabs onto either sides of her panties, slowly peeling them down her legs and then scooting closer forward, planting an open-mouthed kiss right onto her bare clit. She mewls in return, her restraints creaking the bed. He continues pressing messy wet pecks to her cunt, feeling her tense up each time his soft lips suckle her fervently. 

“Is that why you sent that picture?” Harry wonders aloud, pausing his motions and raising one eyebrow at her. “Because you wanted me mad?”

The human nods, face wracked with guilt. It’s cute that she feels bad, especially because Harry had, in actuality, enjoyed her little stunt. Seeing her bent over like that, in a position that shows she couldn’t wait to please him— that she couldn’t wait until Friday came around so he could do to her whatever he deemed fit...It was the best form of edging he’s ever experienced. But for the sake of giving her what she wants, he’ll bite the bait. 

Harry rises up onto his knees, parting her thighs further as he fits himself between them, the pads of his gloved digits dancing across the thick of her damp clit. He bends down until his nose smudges over hers, the breath of his low words hot against her parted mouth. 

“Well, it fucking worked.”  

Harry taps his index and middle fingers against his palm in one quick flick and the tiny metal plates situated along the tips purr to life. He sinks knuckle-deep inside of Y/N, cold rings catching on her folds as he curls upwards to get at that special spot that resides along the pit of her tummy. The moan she releases it so raw and broken, it sends a zip of lightning through his veins. 

He fucks her like that for a while, with his strong chest poised against her heaving own as he marks love bites onto the cleavage spilling from her lace bra, his skilled fingers pumping into her at a harsh pace that has her legs shaking on either sides. He thumbs over her clit messily, the silicone molds sending waves of vibrations through her clenching walls as he relentlessly toys with her g-spot, her arms thrashing against his belt. Fragmented sounds of bliss freely stream from Y/N’s mouth without shame, his name intermingling amongst the whimpers as her head throws back against the headboard. Harry grips her throat in one hand, holding her to the sturdy surface as his other bobs between her thighs roughly, the bed groaning as a result of their intense actions. His wrist begins to ache from how hard he’s going, but the tears trickling out from the corners of Y/N’s eyes and the way she’s panting into his mouth are enough to keep him going.

“Look at me.” Harry squeezes her jugular tighter, garnering attention. She forces her eyelids open, inhales hiccuping when he braces his cool forehead to hers, his irises the color of a forest at midnight, pupils blown out of proportion. His teeth dig into her bottom lip just to feel it swell, a growl stirring the gravel in his chest. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Y-Yes.” Y/N boggles her head feverishly, glimpsing down over her sweaty cheeks to see the way his veins are chiseling along the forearm that is flexing between her drenched thighs. “Fuck, it’s so g-good.”

“Yeah? How about we go a little higher, hm?” Harry scrapes the pads of his fingers against that spongy place inside her, pressing the vibrators down and the motion clicks the toy into a higher level of intensity. 

Y/N writhes in his grasp, back arching off the headboard as deeper, more concentrated rumbles lap throughout her body. “Harry— I— that’s— God, just please!”

Harry takes ahold of her jaw as he continues finger-fucking her without remorse, his short breaths warm against her burning lips. “That’s my girl. Taking it hard and loving every second.” 

Y/N’s eyes lull back into her head. She doesn’t know why, but hearing Harry call her his girl satisfies her in a manner so deep, she didn’t know it existed. Just hearing him recognize her as his— as something he claims for himself, almost like an extension of who he is— stirs a foreign form of fulfillment in the back of her mind. 

“I’m—” The girl chokes on her sentence, finding it difficult to concentrate with so much pleasure coursing through her system, as well as with Harry painting hickies across the side of her strained neck. “I’m gonna cum.”

The immortal’s voice is stern and authoritative. “No, you’re not.” 

“I am, I can’t hold—”

“Yes,” Harry’s grip firms, pace sharpening into unapologetic slams, “you can. And you will. If you cum before I let you, you’re not getting anything else from me for the rest of the night. Do I make myself clear?”

Y/N’s cunt tightens around his fingers, warning him that she’s about to peak. “Harry, I’m sorry—but— but I—”

“Do I make myself clear?” 

Y/N has no hope that she can keep it in, but she adores the darkness swirling in Harry’s eyes at the moment and she’ll do anything if it means getting to witness it for a while longer. “Yes.” 

“Good.” She winces when she feels his teeth skim her earlobe, his whisper dripping with arrogant amusement. “I told you I’d make you regret it.” 

And he really does keep his oath. Minutes simulate hours as Harry continues to flirt her just along the seams of relief, pulling her back every time he sees her about to tip. Whenever he feels her begin to spasm around his slick fingers, he gives her a cautionary quirk of his brows accompanied by a testing, throaty, “Don’t you fucking dare.” or a simple, silent shake of his head. By some miracle, she manages to reign herself in every time, but each ruined orgasm makes it harder and harder to stifle the next. She doesn’t know how many times it happens; she stops counting after four. 

After what feels like decades of torture, Harry finally releases his hold around her jugular, allowing her to properly gulp air for the first time in a while. He sits back against his heels, pulling his hand from between her thighs with a sarcastic sympathetic hiss. “Poor thing.” 

He watches as a trail of her juices strings from his digits to her cunt, eventually snapping in the middle as he lifts his hand to study his work. Her release drips down his knuckles and palm, gleaming in the dim lighting. A mildly sadistic glint washes over Harry’s irises and for a split second, they look almost red, but Y/N dismisses it. Her brain is too fogged to trust right now. 

The boy’s sight flickers past his hand to where Y/N lies limply, wrists bruised from the bonds, arms quivering weakly, and legs trembling in overstimulation. He’s never seen her look more beautiful than now. 

He locks his bright eyes to her exhausted own, watching them shatter to pieces when he pushes his drenched fingers past his pillowy blushed lips. His lashes flutter as her taste washes across his tongue, sweet and decadent as always, a soft groan thrumming deep in his throat. God, he can only imagine how delectable her blood must be at the moment, honeyed by the plethora of endorphins he had repeatedly coaxed into her. He can't wait to feel its warmth fill his mouth later tonight.

Harry removes his fingers with a wet pop, licking across the back of his hand with finality and giving her a daring once-over. “Do you still want my cock? Or are you too sensitive for it, darling?”

He sounds so conceited and self-assured, it causes Y/N’s pride to flare. She wants to make him eat his stupid words.  

The mortal licks her chapped lips, wetting her dry throat and clearing it softly, wiping away the sweat on her forehead with her shoulder. “I still want it.” 

An impressed expression decorates Harry’s features. “You think you can take it?”

Y/N’s jaw clenches with dedication, her thighs spreading open a tad more and she wills herself not to flinch. Her chin cocks upwards. “I know I can.” 

Harry’s brows kink challengingly, a borderline evil smirk sewing onto his face. “Let’s see, then.” 

As it turns out, Y/N can take it. However, she knows for a fact she won’t be able to walk right for at least the next week.

Harry lowers his jeans and kicks them off, reaching into his navy briefs and tugging himself out, giving his length a few pumps for good measure as he shifts forward toward her. He flips the girl onto her belly as easily as he’d turn a sheet of paper, tying one arm around her hips and lifting them up as he slides a pillow below. He situates her accordingly onto the cushion, her ass slightly elevated to give him more range of depth. He pats at her backside lightly, telling her to part her knees and she does so obediently, gripping onto the leather strap around her wrists anxiously when she feels the bed shift with his weight. Harry lowers himself over her body, the tee covering his broad chest soaking up the thin sheet of sweat on her back. He moves all of her tangled hair to the side, burying his fingers into her roots and yanking her head back cheekily. He runs his nose across her damp cheekbone and chuckles when she jumps slightly at the feathery sensation. 

“You’re pretty stubborn, aren’t you?” 

Y/N gnaws on her bottom lip as she struggles to swallow, throat taut from the angle he’s put her in. Her voice carries a confident bite, despite her compromisable position. “I like to think I am, yeah.” 

“Well, you know what that makes you, right?” Harry murmurs as he lines himself up with her entrance. 

“Mm-mm. What?” 

The vampire presses a lingering kiss to the tittering pulse in her temple, feeling it thunder below his skin as he forms his next comment slowly with an ominous edge. “It makes you a brat.” 

He feels her heartbeat trip. 

“And you know what I do to brats?” 

Y/N shakes her head as much as his dominant grasp will allow, body tightening in suspense. 

“I fuck them until they break.” 

Y/N learns that he’s telling the truth. The first thrust Harry delivers is swift, hard, and unbelievably deep; it causes her to let out a choked scream that no one else has ever drawn from her before, except for him. It’s like he can tap into certain aspects of her body she was unaware of; parts of her waiting for the right person to come along and reveal them. She feels that stroke rip into her tummy, but the pain of his size is something she’s become accustomed to in the last three weeks. She hardly feels it anymore; it had molded from a sharp throb to a dull ache, due to how often she’s experienced it. 

Harry doesn’t waste any time, quickly picking up a sloppy, adamant pace that has her hips bouncing against the mattress. He twists her hair around his fist, mouth pressed to the side of her head as his hot pants of exertion send a prickling through her scalp. His other forearm keeps him anchored to the bed as he pounds into her with absolutely no hesitation, the sound of skin slapping, cracked whines, and raspy grunts filling the tense atmosphere of her chilly room. 

“Is this what you were hoping would happen when you sent that slutty picture?” Harry grits out, short nails digging into the comforter beneath. “Wanted to get me all riled up just so I’d do your back in?”

Y/N mewls weakly in response, hands clinging to each other within the makeshift cuffs. 

“If you wanted me to fuck you like I hate you, you could have just asked. I’m more than happy to give you whatever you want. You don’t have to tempt me.” The vampire gives a particularly deep slam, laughing breathily when the girl’s back instinctively arches forward, paired with a watery yelp of, “Oh!”

Harry’s tongue grazes across the shell of her ear, teeth catching the skin. “But since you did, I’ll give it to you just— like—that.” His thrusts match to each word, fingers coiling harder into her locks. “You deserve it. Especially when you had the nerve to act like such a spoiled little brat right to my face.” 

Y/N’s not sure what emboldens her to speak, but her snarky remark is already halfway down her numb tongue before she can stop it. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”

Harry hums tauntingly, circling his hips in long strides that urge a series of fractured whimpers to scrape out of Y/N’s sore throat. “Say it again. Go ahead, say it. I want to see you try.”

She remains silent, spine shuddering as she bites down on her tongue to avoid making any more noises that might condemn her.  

Harry roughly cranes Y/N’s neck to the side, buttoning their lips together in a filthy kiss that has her cheeks boiling. “That’s what I thought. The only thing that sharp tongue is good for is licking down my cock.” 

She gasps against his mouth shakily, tears of sheer bliss gathering along her waterline. “You’re such a fucking asshole.” 

Harry can tell her comment holds no true malice behind it; she’s too sweet on him— too whipped on what he gives her— to ever mean it. She’d only said it to provoke him into a power dynamic struggle. But the thing is, Harry’s dealt with feeling powerless before, so he had spent years teaching himself how to win. How to always win. 

“Am I, now?” His next line dismantles her entire plan. “Would an asshole let you cum?”

And just like that, her whole demeanor crumbles. “I take it back. I’m s-sorry.”

Harry releases her hair and nips at her ear mockingly, beginning to withdraw himself. “Oh, I think it’s a bit too late for that, minx.”

“No, no! Harry, please. I’m sorry. Genuinely. I promise I won’t say it again. Just…” She tugs helplessly at the belt restraints, trying to twist around to look at him directly. Her voice is wringed out. “Just please.”

The boy pushes a few stringy curls out of his eyes, pressing his tongue into his cheek coyly as he glances down, suggestively smoothing one hand over her ass. He gives it a firm squeeze, lifting his palm teasingly and feeling her tense in anticipation. “Do you want it?”

Y/N glimpses at his bejeweled hand with hunger, then back at his eyes. “Yes.”

“Tell me you want it.”

“I want it.”

“Sorry, I seem to have forgotten what ‘it’ was, exactly. Jog my memory, will you? What is it you want?”

Her irises harden in spite at his shit-eating comment. He’s well aware of how shy she can be when it comes to admitting she wants a spanking, and he’s playing that to his advantage. He’s swimming in the way she squirms. 

“I...I want you to spank me.”

He tsks, shaking his head as he twists his HS rings around to face inwards. “You forgot something.” 

Y/N’s fingers tighten into begrudging fists. “I want you to spank me, please.”

“There’s a good girl.” His low, accented purr sends electricity through her nerves. “You’re so cute when you beg.”

Harry’s hand comes down swiftly, digits fanned out so that all of his rings print across her backside. It’s not hard enough to hurt, but strong enough to leave a satisfying sting. He loves the way she jolts forward with a hushed curse of surprise, and he adores seeing the shape of his initials marked across her clammy skin. It’s poetic, almost.

“So pretty.” His mumble is wistful as he massages deeply over the region he had just bruised, but it holds unyielding authority. “Whose is it, doll?”

“Yours.” 

“And don’t you fucking forget it.” The creature lifts one palm to do it again, pausing once more just to rev her further. He reaches forward with the other, shoving her face-first into the mattress to get her back to straighten out. “Look forward and don’t make a single sound.”

Y/N obeys, but manages to sneak a peek at his reflection through the waxy wooden surface of her aged bedframe. He looks so good perched behind her with bare heaving shoulders, looking down at her exposed figure over the crests of his sharp cheekbones, brows furrowed into a starved expression that gives away he’s enjoying this probably more than she is. Her voice comes out small and weak. “Yes, sir.”

Harry’s entire face tightens at the word and she feels him throb against her backside. 

“Now beg me to let you cum.”

///

The next morning when Y/N’s eyes flutter open to the grey light streaking in through her curtains, the first thing she senses is a pair of eyes staring at the side of her face. 

She turns her stiff body over toward where the sensation stems and sure enough, she’s met with a pair of sea glass irises filled to the brim with humor. Harry’s laying on his side with his hands tucked below one of her pillows, tousled ringlets sticking up in wild tuffs (thanks to the activities they’d engaged yesterday), he’s completely bare since he likes sleeping nude (though he’d had the decency to cover himself with sheets from the waist down), and his voice is slower and raspier than usual (a result of being dormant for the last eight or so hours). 

“You drool in your sleep.” 

Y/N tucks her hands against Harry’s cold pectorals, snuggling deeper into his chest and pinching at one of his nipples in playful revenge. “No, I don’t.” 

“Yes,” he reaches up and shoos her hand away, proceeding to wipe at the side of her mouth, where dried spit had accumulated. He makes a theatrical gagging face, cleaning his thumb off across the collar of her t-shirt. “You do.”

Y/N sighs in exasperation, making a bold leap to a different topic to avoid talking about her embarrassing sleep habits. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you staring at people while they sleep is weird? Like, serial killer weird?” 

Harry tucks a few matted strands of hair behind the human’s ear, thumbing over her cheekbone tenderly. He hardly ever indulges in such actions, simply because they’re typically reserved for actual couples, which he and Y/N are definitely not. But last night— after he had finally finished being a prick and allowed her cum along with him, and after she had fallen into the bed with exhaustion taking her under, and after he’d had his greedy fill of her blood for the week— he’d gotten bored of playing on his phone. He’d burned through three cold case documentaries on Netflix and played enough Mario Kart to memorize the race charts; it had grown old quickly, and he eventually just locked the device and placed it on her nightstand. He spent the next hour staring at her hideous ceiling, and the one after that fantasizing about taking down her tapestry and burning it in the oven. And finally, after hours of mindless daydreams and letting his eyes chase the city lights dancing across the walls of her room, he had settled onto his side and watched her sleep. 

Harry did it simply because he had nothing else to distract him. He figured it would eventually bore him enough that maybe— just maybe, if he was lucky— he would fall asleep alongside her. But he didn’t, so he just ended up gazing at her slumbering face until dawn. He had been surprised by how oddly beautiful Y/N looked sleeping— how relaxed and tranquil, with her features soft and skin seemingly made of flawless porcelain. That intrigue had bled into the moment they share now, resulting in his touch drifting down the curve of her jaw and across the faint dimple on her chin. He follows the slope of her neck and admires the smoothness of her flesh with the ridges of his fingertips, hearing her breathing stutter ever so slightly. His heightened senses make it feel as if he’s running his digits over velvet and the only concept he can compare it to is touching forbidden artwork at an exhibit. It’s exciting, but he knows that if he keeps going, he could end up getting himself into a crock of shit. 

When the pads of his fingers land on two prominent purple bruises he’d forgotten existed, he’s broken from his soft stupor. He retracts his touch as if she were made of iron, forcing himself to ignore the pout that automatically plumps her delicate lips. 

He clears his throat awkwardly, a tight chuckle stringing his vocal chords. “Staring at someone in their sleep seemed to work just fine for Edward Cullen, though.” 

Y/N snorts sharply, rolling her eyes up towards her headboard. When she sees his belt is still hanging off of it from the night prior, she hurriedly glances back down, pretending not to have seen it. 

“It’s funny you say that because as I recall, he literally admitted to being a murderer. I believe his exact words were,” she exaggerates her voice into an angsty cry, grasping at her chest dramatically, “‘This is the skin of a killer, Bella!’”

Harry bursts into boyish giggles, falling fully onto his back and swiping his palm up his face, fingers remaining perched over his closed eyes as he laughs. He sighs airily, shaking his head as an afterthought. “What a moron.” 

“Truly. His dad was hotter.” 

“Way hotter.” Harry agrees passionately, burying his hand into his messy curls, attempting to comb out some of the tangles. “And he was a doctor. What a man.” 

“Bella really fucked that one up. She had a midlife crisis over choosing between a sad vampire who looked like he had chronic constipation, and a yappy dog with a shirt phobia. All when Carlisle was right there. Brain damage, honestly.” 

“A moment of prayer for the mentally incapacitated. Couldn't be me!”

“Couldn’t be me, either.”   

“Fuck, yeah.” Harry throws his hand up, inviting Y/N to give him a high five. “To good taste.”

She gladly delivers. “Exquisite taste.”

An instance of comfortable silence suspends between the pair of lovers, filled with the soft thrum of the air vent and the distant chirping of birds outside Y/N’s windowpane. She traces her index nail over the wings of the swallow tattoos along Harry’s collarbones, seeming to be deep in thought. She then speaks up once again.

“Emmett was pretty hot, as well.” 

“You know what? I’m happy you mentioned that ‘cause— full disclosure here— I’d ride him like a fucking bull.” 

Now it’s Y/N’s turn to explode in a fit of giggles, nose scrunching and eyes crinkling shut as she loses herself at Harry’s graphic confession. 

“Why are you laughing?!” The fact that he sounds genuinely appalled only spurs her sounds of glee. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t take that chance if you got it. Like, okay, he’s an airhead, yeah? I’m aware. But fuck’s sake, look at his body. I’d happily let him beat me at arm wrestling if it means I get that celebratory dick afterwards.”

The mortal manages to calm down a handful of heartbeats later and Harry feels strangely proud of how he’d made her pulse spike. 

“You’re valid for that, don’t worry. I couldn’t have said it—” A single giggle interupts her sentence, but she reigns it in before it can spiral. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. Literally. There’s no way to express it better than exactly how you stated it.” 

Harry smirks softly up at the ceiling, folding his free arm behind his head as the other wraps securely down Y/N’s back, absentmindedly rubbing in gentle soothing circles. “My mind. It’s amazing, innit?”

“It’s definitely something.” 

Another span of cozy quietness fills the atmosphere of the room, longer than the last. Harry doesn’t mind. He finds it appeasing, and he continues to delight himself with running his touch up and down Y/N’s spine. He’s not sure how much time passes, but he’s aware that it’s probably a bit. His theory is supported by how he witnesses the beam of watery light that filters over the duvet gradually fade from silver to a sunflower yellow, indicating full daybreak. 

Even then, he doesn’t say a word, too caught up in this innocent bubble of domestic bliss to pop it so suddenly. He just lays there and listens. Listens to the birds harmonizing with each other across the branches of the tree outside. To the steady breaths that fill Y/N’s lungs with cool air, faltering past her nostrils in the same manner and fogging the metal of his cross necklace. To the faint sound of footsteps trotting down the staircase outside her apartment, and to the vague spritz of the sprinkler system going off at the front of the complex. To the distant honking of car horns in traffic, and to a random conversation between two friends as they walk past the pavement just under Y/N’s balcony. He hasn’t felt this at ease in eons. 

Harry just allows himself to grow in tune with the world around him— a world he’d been convinced was against him for the longest time. A world he was convinced stole his happiness and replaced it with the shackles of a blood-driven afterlife, for no other reason than because he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time and met the wrong person. But now, he feels like he’s in the right place, at the right time, spending it with the right person— or at least a half-decent person— and he doesn’t want to let it slip between his fingers so soon. He wants to bask in it, even if he knows it’ll pass. 

And eventually, it does pass, and Y/N is the one who brings it to an end. 

The girl slowly peels away from Harry’s side, his lips dipping downwards slightly at the loss of the warmth she radiates. He thinks she’s about to get up to probably go use the bathroom or to make breakfast, but instead, she just bends her upper body over the edge of her bed to retrieve something from the floor. She comes back up with the box he’d brought her the evening before (which had ended up on the ground as a result of her bed rocking violently), setting it in the small space between their laps. She then returns to her place cuddled into his torso, looking up at him with an expression that Harry can only interpret as expecting. 

The vampire glances down at the container and then back up to Y/N’s face, raising his eyebrows curiously, voice tinged with comedy. “What did I say about bringing sex toys to the dinner table?”

Y/N stares up at him flatly for a second, fighting off a smile. “I just wanted to thank you again. It’s nice of you to bring me a present, even as strange as this one.” 

Harry sucks at his teeth, waving a hand dismissively, blinking down at her with slyness sparkling around his pupils. “What are friends for, if not for buying you vibrating finger gloves and then fucking you with them until you cry?”

Despite having been acquainted with Harry’s crude humor for three weeks now, it still manages to make Y/N’s cheeks sizzle. It could also be the fact that this is the first time Harry has openly accepted Y/N as a friend. It’s the first time he’s ever mentioned her name and that word in the same sentence, meaning that she can now shake a weight off her shoulders— a weight that had insisted he was only using her for sex, that he would eventually grow bored of her, and that he would throw her away once he was done. It’s good to know that’s not the case, and that the friendship aspect of their agreement is true to its name. 

“Right.” Y/N’s smile is full of so much genuine warmth, Harry feels like she could outshine the sun. “What are friends for, if not that. Thanks, Harry.” 

He wonders what she’s thinking, and he finds himself wishing that he had the one valid trait that idiot Edward Cullen possesses: mind-reading. But he doesn’t have it, so he simply returns her gesture and skates the conversation how he best deems fit. “You don’t have to call me ‘Harry’ all the time, you know?” 

Y/N’s brows cinch in entertained confusion. “What would I call you, then? Sherlock?” 

Harry scoffs lightly at the inside joke, shrugging one shoulder casually. “I mean, you could, if you want to. It might take some getting used to, but I think I can shoulder a full-time second identity. Just for you.” 

“How chivalrous.”

“You ain’t ever met a man like me, sweetheart.” He boasts in an over-the-top American southern accent, prying another round of laughter from Y/N, similar to the one before. “But you could also just call me ‘H.’ It’s what most of my other friends use.” 

“H.” Y/N repeats, getting a taste for the new nickname. It’s simple, unlike him, but it somehow fits. She then recalls something from a show she’d watched when she was younger and she can’t help but bring it up. “So, like, just your first initial? Like in Gossip Girl?”

Harry’s face immediately drops at the comparison she makes to the cringey teenage soap opera. “You know what, I take it back. You’re not allowed to use it. Illegal. Banned. By an official court. Gavel and all.”

“I’m just making a point!”

“Yeah, a shitty one.” 

“Oh, whatever. You’re just mad I debunked your little hipster alter ego. ‘That’s a secret I’ll never tell. Xoxo, H.’”

“Restraining order.” Harry pinches at one of her love handles, an evil grin dimpling his cheeks when she squeals. “Actually, nevermind. We’re going straight to the electric chair. Immediately.” 

“You don’t get to decide my punishment, remember?” Y/N slaps at his wrists, trying to ward off his attacks but failing miserably. “You’re just the—stop!— just the executioner.” 

“That’s right. I get to strap you to the chair.” Harry finally lets up on the tickling, his lighthearted grin taking on a slightly seductive hue as he momentarily glimpses upwards towards where his belt is hanging. “Though you’d probably like that, wouldn’t you?” 

“Fuck off.” Y/N smothers her palm against his face, breaking eye contact as she feels her ears bristle with heat.  

“Mm, exactly.” Harry gnashes at her hand playfully, but she manages to yank it away before he gets a bite in. “You can’t even admit you like being called a whore.” 

“Hey!”

“What?” The vampire gives her a cocky look, wagging his head knowingly and then mimicking her voice in a higher pitch. “‘I’m just making a point!’”

“You’re a dick, you really are.” 

“And yet you still ride mine, so who’s the one with the real issues here? Specifically, daddy issues.”

“I’m done with this conversation.” Y/N huffs, returning her attention to the box beside her thigh, muffling the twitching across her lips. 

She takes the cardboard into her hands, tracing over the small flap used to pry the top open. Harry watches her with interest, pondering as to what could possibly be scurrying around her skull that she seems so caught up with the context of the gift. He’d gotten it because he knew they would both benefit from it. It’s as simple as that. 

“You know,” she starts, but her gaze remains glued to the box, “I feel kinda bad ‘cause, like...You got me this gift, I have nothing to give you in return.” 

Harry’s face contorts into a silly frown for a moment, tone humorous. “It’s fine, Y/N. You don’t have to give me anything back. I got it ‘cause I knew we’d enjoy using it together, and because this way, you have something to play with when I’m not around. And you can send me videos of said instances. It’s truly a win-win. A double-ended gift.” 

“I suppose.” She mumbles softly, continuing to pick at the lip of cardboard sticking out. “But I feel like it’s only fair that you get to use it, too, don’t you think?”

And then the reason she’s insistent about this dawns on Harry. The way she’s avoiding looking at him directly, how her heart rate is slowly ebbing upwards, how she is gradually scooting closer to his body, how he can feel her thighs are clasped tightly below the comforter. How the scent of honey and lavender has intensified. How she keeps glancing towards where the sheets are crumpled messily around his hips in a haphazard attempt to remain civil. 

When the monster speaks, it carries all the arrogance brought forward by his discovery. “If you wanna give me a handjob with the toy on, just say so.” 

The human’s head snaps upwards, her expression one of utter alarm at his lewd comment, but he can see right through her act. It’s obvious that was her intention all along— the desire in her eyes is poorly masked. She looks so adorable, pretending not to know what he’s referring to, her palms gripping the box slightly tighter than before. 

Harry twirls a strand of her hair around his finger nonchalantly, giving it a jesting tug. “I just find it funny how much of a horny menace you can be.”

“What—?”

“And it’s not even ten A.M. yet.”

“What do you—?” 

“Y/N,” Harry sighs tiredly, giving her an omniscient look, “I’ve slept with you enough times to know when you want something. It’s written all over your body language and you’re pretty shit at hiding it in your eyes. Just admit you want to and I’ll let you.” 

The faux shock slowly melts off her face, replaced by sheepish humiliation at being so easily sussed out. She chews on her bottom lip pensively, struggling to sew together the appropriate words to communicate the very inappropriate activity she wants to engage in. Harry has to withhold from leaning down and taking a bite from her tempting mouth.  

She inhales a deep breath through her nose, puffing it out slowly and tapping her fingers across the box nervously. Her voice pipes up so softly, it’s almost inaudible. “I want to give you a handjob with the toy.”

Harry gently cards his fingers into the mussed roots along the back of her head, using that hold to guide her sight upwards until it meets his. He leans down, smearing his lips over her own, feeling static pass through the ridges of their skin. “That’s all you had to say, darling. Go ahead, then. Make me cum.” 

Y/N swallows thickly, lashes fluttering bashfully as she pastes her mouth to his in a soft kiss. It’s a simple action with just their lips and nothing else. No tongue, no teeth, no sucking, nothing sloppy or desperate— not yet, anyways. He can tell she does it as a way to ease herself into this. She wants to, that much is arousingly obvious, but for some crazy reason unbeknownst to him, she’s still shy about it. That’s what happens when you come from a conservative raising: you get intimacy issues. He of all people— with his Victorian era background— would know. 

The hand Harry has cupping the nape of her neck shifts over a smidge, ending up splayed across the side of her face. His palm rests on her cheekbone and his fingers in her locks, his wrist cradling the back of her skull as he patiently deepens the kiss. His chest begins to heave slightly, a familiar sensation already frothing at the trench of his stomach. Harry can feel Y/N’s clumsy movements as she unboxes the vibrators, digging through the packaging and trying to slip them on blindly, not wanting to break away from his embrace. The way he’s flirting his tongue along the inside of her top lip is just too consuming to leave. 

After a few seconds of grappling and a string of annoyed curse words, Harry giggles lightly into her mouth, nudging the tip of his nose across the bridge of hers. The jade tint in his irises is waltzing with amusement, all at her expense. “Sometime today, love.” 

“I know, I’m sorry, I just— I can’t— they won’t—” The mortal releases an irritated growl into their kiss, reluctantly splitting away when it becomes clear she won’t be able to get the rubber gloves on without giving the task her full attention. “God, I’m such a...Sorry.” 

Harry rolls his eyes in mirth, pecking sweetly along the angry creases present over her forehead and between her brows. He thumbs over her cheek affectionately to soothe her nerves, his other hand scratching distractedly at the back of his neck. He filters curls through his fingers as he waits, bicep jolting in the process. “It’s fine, I’m just teasing. I’m not going anywhere, babe.”

“Thanks. Just give me—” The girl pauses her actions for a second, jutting her chin back up towards him and locking the vampire into another quick kiss, solely for the purpose of keeping him interested while she figures herself out. She breaks away again, returning to her mission. “Just give me a minute.” 

Now that she can see, Y/N successfully wriggles all five of her fingers into their designated molds. She prods at them gingerly, copying Harry’s actions from the night prior, using that experience as a manual. The mini-vibrators purr to life, a buzzing sensation trickling down her fingers. She glances back up at an awaiting Harry, who gives her such an easy, good-natured smile, she instantly reaches up and glues their mouths together again. 

“You’re so eager.” The boy grins into the kiss, jumping a bit when he feels her tittering fingers duck beneath the covers around his lower torso. “It’s hot.” 

“I just want to make you feel good.” Y/N mumbles, one palm braced to his strong shoulder as the other rides down his bare abdomen. She can feel his grip on her hair tightening the closer she gets to his cock. “That’s all.” 

“Guess I’m just the luckiest— shit.” Harry’s quip is interrupted when Y/N wraps her digits around his length, giving it one slow, testing pump. His jaw drops open and he begins panting into her mouth, the corners of his lips ticking upwards into a smirk as an intense pleasure swells between his thick thighs. “Jesus fucking Christ, that feels— fuck, that’s incredible, oh my God.”

“Yeah?” The human asks timidly, gazing up at him dreamily from below her lashes as his eyes lull back into his head. “Not too much?” 

Harry loves how attentive she is— how she’s checking to make sure he’s alright before continuing. If he had a heart, it would surely be glowing right now. 

Harry gulps down the lump in his throat, voice more strained and needy than she’s ever heard it. “No, I’m good, I’m good. Keep going.” 

Y/N gradually sinks her palm back down to his base, feeling his cock twitch desperately as the vibrators work their magic. She slowly slinks back up to his tip, thumbing over it carefully, pressing the toy on her thumb pad right over his slit. The garbled moan that emits from Harry is a sound her ears will never forget. It’s a sound she wishes she could record and listen to on a loop. 

“Fucking hell, don’t— please, just— oh—” Harry stutters through a plead, voice bleeding, naked chest now heaving wildly against her own. His hips buck forward into her hand, but she maintains a steady grip, keeping the vibrator pressed to the center of his cock’s head. 

“Don’t what?” She whispers into his mouth, suckling at his Cupid’s bow and reveling in the little broken noises he pours onto her tongue. 

Harry’s breaths are shallow and pained, the grip on her hair stronger than she thought possible as the fingers of his opposite hand yank at his own feverishly. He’s barely able to choke out his next sentence. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t.” Y/N begins to fish for a solid rhythm, her strokes setting into medium pace and gauging the receiver's reaction. “How’s that?” 

Bright colors web across Harry’s eyelids and he feels like his soul is being torn from his body. “Y-Yeah, that’s perfect, baby. It’s so good— you’re so good.” 

“I am?” Y/N swipes her thumb over his tip again, and when he whimpers brokenly against her lips, she does it again. It urges the same exact reaction, but more shattered. So she does it again. And again, and again, and again. And each time it happens, his hips jerk more violently, chasing her intoxicating touch. She can feel Harry’s precum drip down his length and leak between the cracks of her fingers. 

“You are, you’re just so fucking good to me.” Harry’s spewing words at this point, brain half conscious, half floating in bliss. Whatever dam of common sense holds his mind together crumbles, all of his thoughts rushing out in the form of jumbled phrases and cracked whines. “You get me going like nothing else, pet. You get me going so easily, it’s embarrassing. You make me cum so hard, it feels like I’m touching h-heaven. And your mouth— God, y-your mouth. It’s the best I’ve ever had. It’s so soft and warm, and your lips are so pretty and silky. I could kiss you for hours. And your tongue— you know how to use it so well. You lick me once and I’m already on edge. And every time you get down on your knees, I think I’m gonna pass out.”

Y/N sighs shakily at Harry’s string of confessions, staring up at him with wide eyes as his own stay shut loosely, long lashes perched on his rosy cheekbones, handsome features slack with euphoria. She doesn’t halt her motions, continuing to pump him excitedly. The girl passes her thumb over his tip every time she gets to the top, and gives a hard squeeze every time she thunks down against his base, twisting her wrist as she glides back and forth between the two points of reference. That combination seems to work well, evident in the steady stream of vulgarities falling from Harry’s swollen lips as he thrusts upwards to match her pace. His groans splash across her tongue, traveling down her throat and burning into her stomach. She wants him to cum probably more than he does.

Y/N glimpses down, watching her sheets tent as she works Harry over, the outline of her knuckles pressing into the turquoise fabric. It’s such an erotic scene and she knows it’ll be branded across the front of her brain for years to come. She cranes her neck back up to look at the vampire, her breath catching in her lungs. He looks so pretty with his dark pink lips parted in pleasure, his damp ringlets matting along his sweaty hairline, his structured jaw ticking, and his usually sharp traits softened by ecstasy. She’ll do anything to make that image last.  

“Tell me more.” Y/N murmurs, swimming in the praise he is so willing to dish out. 

His eyes flicker for a heartbeat and in that instance, they look oddly darker than normal. Almost crimson, but she knows it’s due to the shadow of his lashes. The words that spill from his mouth next make her forget all about that occurrence, his voice melodic and dark, sticky against her wet lips. 

“Your hands are one of my favorite things about you, I think. They’re smaller than mine and I love how your fingers don’t touch when you wrap them around my cock. I love how they leave my back raw with scratches, and I love how they look tied to the bedpost. I love it when they press flat against my chest when you ride me, and how you lean back on them when I’m on my knees with my head between your thighs. I love how they yank at my hair when you’re about to cum, and how they grip my upper arms when we make-out. I love how your nails dig into my thighs when you're going down on me, and how they look fisting at the sheets when I’m taking you from behind. And I love how they feel tugging me off, like you’re doing now. I just love how perfect they are— how perfect you are.” 

Y/N is left speechless, Harry’s monologue ringing in her heated ears as he gazes at her intensely amidst heavy, barely-cracked eyelashes. His broad chest gasps for air and he takes it upon himself— despite his wrecked appearance— to smush their mouths deeper together, pooling moans across the roof of her own.  

“I’m—” His breathing throttles, voice coming out softer than she’s heard it in the last three weeks. “I’m gonna cum.”

Y/N nods her head numbly, strokes becoming lazy and fast, eager for him to finish. “I want you to. I want you to cum for me so bad. Please?” 

Harry’s hips writhe in a tell-tale sign that he’s about to tip. His whimper tastes sweet on her tongue, the meaning behind it pure syrup to her ego. “You’re the only one who makes me feel this good.”

The mortal whines gently in return, eyes falling shut as she feels him grow heavier in her palm. “You’re the only one I want to make feel this good.” 

The knot of white hot pleasure in his belly begins to unravel, his entire spine shuddering as a result, all strain beginning to wash out of his system in spurts if blissful electricity. He can feel his orgasm racing up his prick, pulling his composure along with it. He gives one last jerk against Y/N’s cupped fingers, feeling her press her vibrating thumb over his slit one more time for good measure. When the first milky ribbon spurts out, that’s when he feels it. 

Harry’s eyelids fly open in alarm as black veins protrude along the whites of his eyes, all his muscles contracting at once, defense mode activated. Y/N’s lips are on his neck. 

His first instinct is to do what he always does and guide her away from that sensitive, highly forbidden area. His fist tightens in her hair and he’s about to yank her back up to his mouth when suddenly, the icy tension present in his veins disappears. It’s replaced by a soothing warmth, which travels through every crevice in his body and kindles his climax, his impulsive hatred for being touched in that specific region funneling away completely. He can’t remember a time where this has happened before. 

Harry’s grip loosens hesitantly as he treads into this unexplored territory, allowing her to continue suckling along his throat. The sensation would usually garner a reaction similar to that of a molten metal brand being placed on his skin, but now— for some startling reason— he doesn’t feel any contempt. He just feels relaxed and cradled in the best way imaginable. The impact is pleasant this time around, and he finds himself wanting more of it. So, he lets her give him more. He lets this strange girl kiss and gasp and lick against his jugular while she finishes getting him off, his own desperate sounds of need bouncing around the brick walls of her bedroom. He lets her coax wave after wave of cum out of him, feeling it splatter against her bedspread and coat over her hand. He whines and grunts into the hair along the crown of her head, tears blearing his eyes as her scent of sugar and flowers clouds his mind. And when his release finally sputters to an end, he lets out an elongated groan so deep, it makes his chest ache.

“Fuck. You’re...You’re an absolute angel.”

Y/N draws her hand out from beneath the bed sheets, turning off the vibrating finger pads by pressing them against her palm. She looks down at the milky substance covering the toys and before Harry can make even a sound of encouragement, she’s already licking it off each individual piece. The girl looks up at the vampire as she cleans every trace of him off her fingers, swallowing it all down with a doe-like tint across her hazy gaze and murmuring a soft, “You taste good.” over a full mouth. Harry just watches silently, heavy breathing slowly starting to even out. God, she really is such a fucking godsend.

The next couple of minutes list by in a blur, all of his focus taken up by the feeling of unsettlement pricking at the back of his brain. Why had he let her touch him there? Why had he let her touch him in a place no one has since before his death?

Y/N puts the toys back in their box, putting them off to the side to thoroughly clean later. She reaches down, bunching up her bedspread in her hand and wiping Harry’s pelvis, thighs, and tummy down until he’s decently clean, as well as whatever is left on her hand. She then snuggles up to his side once again, laying her head into the crook between his arm and pectoral muscles, staring up at the ceiling thoughtfully along with him. The irritating red tint across Harry’s chest, stomach, and neck gradually fades away, and he barely flinches when he feels her sponge her lips against his Adam’s Apple. She lulls the tip of her middle finger up along the vein of his cock one more time for finality, smiling slyly when he hisses in sensitivity.

The immortal tilts his head down to appraise her, sniffling lightly and allowing a weak, watery smile across his raw lips. His tone is feathery and detached. “That was…Christ.”

Y/N giggles softly, nodding along to his unspoken opinion. “It was fun. Really fun. We should do it again sometime.” 

Harry splutters into a drunken laugh, mind still floating around the room. “I don’t think I could survive that again.”

Y/N grins up at him cheekily. “Pussy.” 

Her friend breaks into an expression of utter offense, cheeks still slightly rosy. He shoves her head roughly as vengeance. “Hey! Piss off. Don’t blame it on me, blame it on the male anatomy.” 

The girl shakes her head up at him, eyebrows shrugging mockingly. “Excuses, excuses.” 

“Whatever.” 

A moment passes, and then Y/N speaks up again, her index finger poking playfully into the center of his bare chest, right over the butterfly tattoo. “Also, you’re washing my sheets. Your mess, you clean it up.”

Harry grins against her forehead, scratching lightly at the back of her scalp. “Fair enough…Wait, is that why you wanted to do this? ‘Cause you knew I’d soil your sheets and you could force me to do your laundry?”

That hadn’t been her motive at all, and Harry knows that, but she plays along anyways for the hell of the joke. “Perhaps.” 

“Wow. I feel used.” 

“Too bad. Go do it. Now. Before it stains.”

Harry stares at her like she’s sprouted a second head. “I literally can’t walk right now! I can’t feel anything below my waist.”

Y/N lifts the comforter off her body, symbolically showing off the bruises his fingertips and rings had left the night before. “Well, neither can I!” 

Harry reaches down and touches the marks, chuckling to himself. “How unfortunate. Who’s gonna make breakfast, then, if neither of us can even stand?”

“We could UberEats some iHop.” 

“Who’s gonna get the door?”

“Well, I can’t solve everything on my own, now can I?!” Y/N slaps his hand away from her body. “Contribute! You’re the lead detective, after all.” 

“I am, aren’t I?” Harry cocks his head to the side in recollection, remembering his role in their imaginary dynamic duo scenario. “And because I’m the lead, I say…” He ropes his lean arms around the human and buries his face into her warm neck, pulling her close and intertwining their legs together, trapping her to the mattress along with him. “I say we just bum around for a bit longer. Just until one of us can actually muster up the strength to leave the bed.” 

Y/N makes an exasperated noise in the back of her throat, but makes no apparent attempt to leave his embrace. “Fine.” 

“Mystery solved, then! Elementary, my dear Watson.”

“You’re so dumb.” 

The pair stay cuddled for a bit, with Y/N’s hands loosely gripping Harry’s forearms, tracing across his mermaid tattoo absently. She wanders in her thoughts for a period of time, lost in the sensation of Harry’s warm breath fanning down her neck, his hot lips pressing small kisses behind her ear every once in a while. She likes their morning after routine; it’s innocent and fun and sharing moments like this makes it easy to forget her troubles. She wants more of this, and she finds herself trying to come up with ways to convince Harry to spend the night more often. This is only the fourth time he’s stayed until morning and she wants that number to grow. 

An idea dawns on her and she’s voicing it before her inhibitions can kill it off.

“Do you...Do you maybe wanna stay over the rest of the weekend?”

Harry draws his face from the alcove of her soft neck, eyebrows poised in curiosity. “The rest of the weekend?”

“Yeah!” Y/N shifts her gaze up to look at him, hope swirling around her pupils. “Like, spend the rest of today and tomorrow over, and then leave tomorrow night ‘cause I have work on Monday. Does that, like...Does that make sense?” 

“Yeah.” Harry says slowly, mulling over her offer, thinking back to his schedule. He doesn’t think he has any commitments this weekend that would require him being home— none he can’t cancel easily, anyways. He’d told Mitch he’d go see him play again at the pub later today, but it’s the same set as last time, so he doesn’t think his best friend would mind if he missed it just this once. Niall was planning a barbecue at his place on Sunday, but the Irish bloke does one almost every other week so it’s nothing Harry can’t make up. Plus, what type of idiot would pass up two day’s worth of amazing sex? The more, the merrier.

Y/N watches the vampire’s expression carefully, trying to interpret whether her request was out of their boundaries. She doesn’t want to make him feel like she’s trying to tie him down or suffocate him, she just wants to spend a bit more time in his presence, rather than through a phone screen. Her tone comes out dismissive, with just the tiniest hint of panic. “It’s okay if you can’t, though. Like, if you have other plans and stuff, I totally get it. Or if you just don’t want to, that’s fine, too! I just thought it’d be a fun little thing we can do since we already talk so much on the phone and everything, so I guess I just kinda figured you wouldn’t mind—”

“I get it, Y/N.” Harry interrupts Y/N’s unhinged word vomit, voice amused and nonchalant. “I think I’d like that, yeah.”

Y/N blinks in giddy surprise. “Really?” 

“Well, don’t sound so shocked.” Harry laughs lightly, fingers toying with the pearls laying across his clavicle. “The sex is pretty fucking good and I’m more than happy to have it at my disposal.” 

“Right.” Y/N gives him a deadpan look, shaking her head at his bluntness, reaching forward to fiddle with the chain of his cross necklace for the sake of having something to distract her from smiling like a fool. “Great, then. I have some old boxers that I know will probably fit you and an unopened pack of toothbrushes under the sink, so I think you’re set.” 

Harry’s lips purse at the mention of the men’s underwear, brows creasing a tad. “You just casually have men’s boxers laying around?” 

“They were my ex’s and I kept them out of spite. But don’t tell anyone, I don’t wanna get locked up for robbery.” 

The tightness in his chest— which he hadn’t even realized had formed— melts away. “My lips are sealed.”

“Good, or else I’d have to kill you.” The girl states darkly, a theatrical seriousness to her appearance. 

“Oh no.” Harry wails sarcastically, knotting a fist into her oversized tee and pulling her closer, connecting their lips and grinning into the kiss. “I’m shaking in fear.” 

Y/N gives in without much of a fight, hands still clinging to his forearms, a smile of her own creeping across her cheeks. “Asshole.”

“The only thing I’m relatively afraid of is my dick falling off. You have the sexual drive of a rabbit.” 

“Oh, like you’re any better?” 

“I’m innocent in all this! You’re usually the one instigating. I’m just a mere pawn— a poor, unsuspecting nun led astray.”

“God, I can’t believe I let you fuck me.” 

///

The following weekend, Harry officially invites Y/N over to his house. 

It had been talked about in passing a while back, and he figures it's only fair considering all the time they’ve ever spent together has been solely at her place. Plus, he could tell she was curious to see what his living situation is like, which is valid. You can tell a lot about people through their home, and when you’re sleeping with someone on the regular, you want to learn as much about them as possible. It’s important to know who you’re getting into bed with. Literally. 

Harry’s proud of his condo. He keeps it clean, he keeps it organized, and he keeps it styled in a manner that combines his Victorian gothic roots with modern day aesthetics. The floorboards of the apartment are made of waxed light-wash wood, most of the expanse of his living room covered in a furry dark grey rug. The lightness of the ground is contrasted by the matte mahogany walls, of which the largest is covered in Harry’s collection of first edition artwork. He had picked out every single piece himself throughout the span of the last two centuries, ranging from modern digital technique canvases to nineteenth century oil paintings, all arranged in neat alternating rows from oldest to newest. He can’t help that he’s such a stickler; his mom had raised him so. 

Though his art wall is his pride and joy, the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline comes in at a close second. Harry loves the city, despite the fact that he was born in a seemingly irrelevant town whose only redeeming quality was the bustling public market. Urban regions are just full of so much life, excitement, and potential, which are all concepts he never really got to explore before he transitioned. Cities represent everything he wanted as a young man, when he thought he had prosperous years ahead of him and an entire life left to build; they represent diversity, unique experiences, and endless possibilities. When that was stripped from him, he began to bounce around different countries and cities all over the world, seeking a place that would fill the hole his dreams had left behind. Los Angeles fit that space like a puzzle piece. 

That glorified window just means more to him than anyone could possibly know. Sometimes at night, he’ll just stand by it with his arms relaxed across his chest, watching the city gleam and glitter as individuals from all different backgrounds go about their business, blissfully ignorant to the beautiful concept that they all contribute to something much bigger— a concept that only centuries of wisdom could reveal. When he’s not wracked with jealousy and spite, looking out that window and witnessing the world change and evolve is therapeutic, in a way. It allows Harry to live vicariously through others who get to have what he never did. 

Aside from his art collection and the glass wall, the chandeliers that hang from his cavernous ceiling are third on his list of treasured possessions. They’re special and no one on this earth owns anything like them; Harry made sure of that. They were created by a Swedish interior designer Harry commissioned about ten years ago, so they are custom-made in every aspect of the term. They took months to construct and finalize, which is hardly difficult to believe, given their grandeur. Each chandelier is made of two extensive layers of delicate golden chains, all arranged around a wire center, connected by light bulbs at each peak. It gives his home a chic, avant-garde atmosphere that mirrors his personality down to the last chain link. 

The rest of his flat is tailored to compliment these three major determining factors. The wood paneling all around his apartment is carved with intricate, loopy designs, his two rounded coffee tables are made of the same marble that resides across his kitchen counters, and his kitchen sits directly under the second story ledge with elongated fluorescent poles embedded into the room’s ceiling, eloquently highlighting the creme walls and polished detailings of all his appliances. His sectional couches are made of an off-brown leather, covered in large rectangular couch cushions with a checkered print embroidered across the pillow cases, and weighted fleece blankets litter some areas of the elegant sofas. A wide staircase leads up to the second floor, made of grey glass steps and metal railings. 

The top story of his condo is less Victorian era, more modern composition. The ground is dark maroon carpeting, and the ledge leads to one singular corridor that splits into two seperate rooms at either ends. One is the master bedroom, and the other is an accompanying bedroom which he uses for storage. His room isn’t anything extravagant, per se. It’s big, but his decor is minimalistic, covered in all different muted shades of blacks and greys, from the comforter on his king-sized bed to the tall dresser. A fifty inch flat-screen is mounted on the wall, but he hardly uses it since the one in his living room is larger; it’s only really there as an ornament. Starburst lights hang from his ceiling— smaller, downplayed versions of his chandeliers— and his walk-in closet stands parallel to the entrance of his bathroom. 

The humongous bathroom was meant for two people, pretty obvious in the double-sink set up, but he doesn’t dwell on it much. He isn’t one for dating, and he’s just happy to have that luxury because it comes in handy the morning after one night stands. He has a jacuzzi-like bathtub, lined with water jets and all, and a big walk-in shower with a large overhead panel instead of a regular showerhead. The whole room is made of dark marble and porcelain, and he couldn’t possibly adore it more. Some of his best experiences had happened in this room, explicit and otherwise. 

In the end, Harry has every right to be arrogantly proud of his apartment. It had taken him months to decorate, years to fill with fond memories, and an immortal lifetime to find. He loves it with every trace of his soul, even when others disagree. Namely, Niall, who had mocked his sophisticated relics and old-timey architecture from the first time he’d set foot past the threshold; “You went the dark gothic route? Really? Way to feed into the stereotype, Dracula.” 

But no matter what anyone says, this is who he is, and he couldn’t be happier. After decades of migrating and aimlessly searching the globe, he’d finally found a place he could call home, and absolutely no one could take that from him. Especially not some Irish moron who doesn’t even know the definition of “foyer.”

How Harry manages to afford his flat is a whole other intriguing tale.

It had come up in a pillow talk conversation with Y/N once, and he had told her the story he feeds to any human who asks. He’s a regional manager for an offshore company and it’s mainly a lot of online work. Handling duties through business emails, videochat meetings, job portals, and things of the such. It paints a valid image as to why he’s home all the time. He also claims to be the company’s lone contact stationed in California, so he handles all of the responsibilities that would normally be bestowed upon three or four people. This paints a valid explanation as to how his imaginary position would tether such a high pay grade, which justifies his luxurious living arrangement.

That story is part of the truth. Harry does indeed have ties with corporate businesses. That is, ties to their CEOs’ pockets. It’s surprisingly easy to get past secretaries and security dressed in a nice suit and thousand dollar leather shoes, especially with the help of compulsion and Harry’s golden charisma. Thanks to those tools, he has managed to convince some of the biggest leaders in corporate California to quietly deposit generous sums of money into his bank account once a month. And with his persuasive supernatural abilities, he convinces them to write it off as regularly scheduled charity donations in their minds. That’s how he makes a living for himself— by scamming the rich. Xander likes to take the piss and call him a sugar baby, but Harry sees himself as more of a modern day Robin Hood, instead. 

Mitch says his charade is unlawful, but considering how corrupt the business world already is, the vampire feels next to no guilt. The one percent have always taken advantage of those poorer than them— that was obvious even back in Harry’s time— and he doesn’t see anything wrong with taking advantage of them right back, now that he has the means to. How’s that saying go? “Fuck the bourgeoisie” and all that. 

Everything taken into consideration, Harry’s pretty excited to show Y/N his condo. Watching people’s faces break into awe the second he turns the lights on always gives him such a deep surge of satisfaction. It makes all the hassle worth it.  

The immortal is currently sitting in his vintage car, flicking through his Spotify playlist to find something to entertain him while he waits for Y/N to finish her shift. He had offered to pick her up, knowing that it’s what any courteous host would do, and she had appreciatively accepted, telling him she’d be out by eight P.M. It’s seven fifty-three now and Harry had arrived around seven fifty, taking the slot right in front of the cafe’s entrance so she can spot him as soon as she walks out. These ten minutes are the longest he’s ever had to endure, which says a lot considering he’s endured tons of patience-testing moments in his two hundred years.

Harry swipes his thumb down the glass screen of his phone, sampling songs left and right to see what will stick. After listening to the first few chords of an array of forties dance music, seventies rock and roll, and twenty-first century bubblegum pop, he settles for Rodeo by Lil Nas X. Harry has a very intricate taste in music— it’s one of the traits he’s most proud of— and Mitch often tells him he’s too snotty when it comes to his preferences. He’ll admit it freely that, yes, he can be a piece of work musically, but just because he thinks the industry peaked in the seventies doesn’t mean he hates modern music. He likes most of it, including rap, and Lil Nas X happens to be one of his favorites, much to everyone’s surprise. Most of the artist’s songs are eccentric not only lyrically but also instrumentally, to the point where it’s almost comical— who names a song Panini, of all things?— but the music is catchy and Harry can let loose to it easily. 

The vampire also happened to meet the musician, on one occasion. He ran into him at a club and after a few drinks and some banter, somehow ended up getting invited over to a party at the celebrity’s Malibu mansion. That night is a blur, definitely due to the copious amounts of alcohol and psychedelics, but Harry remembers they had fun and that the guy was worth a listen. In fact, he was the genius that came up with the theme for the rapper’s Rodeo music video. 

A light knocking on the passenger’s seat window brings him out of his memories. Y/N stands outside, hugging her arms loosely over her tummy, decked in her usual work uniform of a navy polo and black skinny jeans. When the two lock eye contact, she gives him a soft wave and a tired smile. Harry lifts two fingers in greeting, returning her polite gesture and swiftly lowering the window. He leans forward across the center console, his grin taking on a playful hue, voice carrying the same effect. 

“Uber for Y/N?” 

The girl snorts and rolls her eyes, but plays along, reaching forward and jiggling the handle of his black Cadillac symbolically. “That’s me, yes. Open up.” 

“Eh, eh, eh.” Harry tuts, wagging a finger in her direction and then making a motion that tells her to back away. “I’m gonna have to see some ID. It’s one of our new safe driver policies. Gotta make sure you are who you say you are, miss.” 

Y/N’s expression drops flatly, eyes half-lidded as he smiles up at her brightly, batting his eyelashes innocently. “Open the door before you end up sucking your own dick tonight.” 

Harry’s shit-eating face falls so fast, it causes her to burst into laughter. A soft click vibrates through the handle below her fingers. “I’ll waive the background check. Just this once.”  

“Yeah, I figured as much.” Y/N taunts, yanking the door open and ducking into the shotgun seat, gently tugging it closed behind her. 

Once the human is situated in her spot, she releases a lengthy sigh, sinking down against the cushions as she grabs her seat belt and clicks it into place. 

Harry puts his cell phone down into the cubby hole below the stereo set, setting the car in reverse and slinging an arm behind her headrest to get a better view as he backs out of the parking space. His gaze momentarily flickers to her slumped form as the car retreats slowly, tone curious. “Long day?”

Y/N glimpses over, giving him a quick once-over and taking in his olive green Nike jumper, ripped denim boyfriend jeans, and pastel yellow Vans. He looks so boyishly cute, which is ironic given the premise of tonight’s rendezvous. The shoes (which he had worn the night they’d met all those weeks ago) and the position he’s in (perched above her with his sharp jaw and neck flexing as he cranes his torso to look for oncoming traffic) flashes her back to the first time she had been in his car. They had been way less acquainted, she had been much less relaxed, much more nervous, but the encounter very much carried the same exact intentions. That recollection makes her lips quirk a bit. The pair had grown so comfortable with each other since then, that Friday evening feels like it happened decades ago. 

“Yeah.” Y/N murmurs softly, gladly indulging a deep inhale of the vanilla and tobacco scent she had become familiar with, allowing it to soothe her nerves and wash away the stress of a hard day. “I’m just happy it’s over and that the weekend’s finally started. Wanna forget all about it.” 

“Well, that’s what I’m here for, love!” Harry plops back into his seat, shifting his car into drive and gifting her his famous brilliant smile, dimples winking to life as he taps his ringed fingers across his steering wheel humorously. “I’ve made you forget your name plenty of times before; I’m pretty sure I can erase one shitty work shift just fine.”

Y/N scoffs at his pompous claim, reaching up and prying the hair tie out of her locks, looping it over her wrist and shushing her stiff roots. She tucks strands behind her ears, the corners of her mouth twitching in endearment at the giddiness of his aura. “Just drive, Sherlock.” 

The mortal isn’t surprised to find that building in which the vampire lives is one of the tallest in the city, and that it’s basically smack in the center, as well. One look at Harry and anybody could immediately tell he thrives off being the center of attention, so of course his home is a direct reflection of that. Refined boy, refined personality, refined environment. It’s practically a law of science. 

Once Harry’s car is parked and the ignition rumbles to a smooth stop, Y/N unbuckles her seat belt and goes to unlock the passenger’s side door. Right as her hand is wrapping around the handle bar, the door swings open of its own accord and she just barely manages to stifle a blood-curdling scream full of shocked fear. When her eyes focus, Harry is standing there holding the door open for her, features painted with cocky amusement. 

“How did you—?” The girl whips around to look at the empty driver’s seat, eyebrows cinching in bewilderment as she turns back to face him. “How did you get around so fast?” 

Harry shrugs his shoulders offhandedly, reaching one bejeweled hand down to aid her out of the vehicle. “I did track when I was younger. Made me a fast walker.” 

Y/N hesitantly takes it, body language still slightly tense from the jump scare. With his help, she gradually climbs out, the door shutting behind her as she sweeps her sight around the parking garage in wonder. This is the first time Harry has ever invited her anywhere, let alone to where he spends most of his life. She doesn’t want to miss a thing. Even the simplest aspect can tell you a lot about a person. 

Y/N jerks a tad when she feels her friend’s cold fingers slipping down her palm, sifting between her own. She glances down at their intertwined hands for a second, a warm glow bursting through her chest. She’s always admired how his are so much bigger. 

Harry tugs her forward toward the elevator at the other end of the parking lot, bottom lip caught between his teeth in a sly smirk. “C’mon, Watson. Let me show you around.” 

Y/N stumbles after him, allowing the boy to guide her to where she needs to go as he weeds through cars effortlessly. She suddenly chimes up from behind, asking a random question to fill the leftover silence their footsteps spare. “That car next to yours had such a weird license plate. What the fuck does ‘craic’ mean?” 

Harry chuckles knowingly, perfectly aware of whose car she is referring to. “It’s this odd thing Irish people say. Utter rubbish, honestly.” 

A comfortable quietness fills the air of the elegant elevator as it shoots up towards the twenty-fourth floor of the skyscraper, the only other sound being the gentle lullaby of a nameless tune wafting through the speakers above their heads. Harry finds himself studying Y/N as she looks out at the city through the glass walls, the lights of the exterior buildings casting a beautiful buttery gleam across her relaxed characteristics, along with a radiant glint over the surface of her glossy eyes. Despite the slightly smeared mascara staining her waterline and the inherent frizziness her hair carries after being pulled into a tight ponytail all day, Harry finds that she looks nice. Pretty, even. 

The girl senses him staring, craning her head to return his gaze, the edges of her lips lilting upwards lightheartedly. He returns the gesture, peeling away to focus on something— anything— else. He deems the control panel a worthy replacement.

As the numbers on the dial drag by, Harry finds himself absentmindedly thumbing over Y/N’s knuckles. She doesn’t seem to notice or mind, so he continues doing it, massaging the crest of each bump and pressing down gently along the troughs. He enjoys the sensation of her silky warm skin heating his icy own, and he ponders whether she likes how cold his touch is, or if she hates it as much as he does. He expels that notion from his mind; he refuses to let such a stupid concept upset him. He just keeps caressing her hand, restraining his mind from ambling too far into its meaning. It’s just to pass the time. 

He keeps the movements going until their ride skates to a joltless halt with a sharp ding! and then he steps out, having to give his full attention to leading her down the long corridor to his flat. Y/N is so caught up in drinking up her surroundings, she almost bumps into the creature when he comes to an abrupt stop in front of the entrance of what she can only deduce is his home. Harry drops her hand, much to her disappointment, fishing into his back pocket for his keys. He patiently filters through his keychain, picking out the right one and working it into the lock, a soft click emitting from the mechanism. 

Harry pushes the door open with his palm, standing off to the side just outside the threshold and tilting his head towards it, posture bowing slightly. “Ladies first.” 

Y/N thanks him quietly, taking a cautious step forward into his hallway. She can’t help the way her heart skips a beat at his gentlemanly tendencies; she rarely meets anyone as respectful as Harry seems to be and she finds his old-timey attributes to be refreshing. Helping her out the car, taking her hand to guide her through the parking lot, rubbing at her knuckles innocently, holding the door open for her— it’s all such an archaic form of chivalry she wishes she’d see more often these days. She doesn’t know if it’s a British thing, if he had just been raised like that, or if he simply does it to get laid, but she’s thankful for it either way. 

With one last glance at her friend over her shoulder, she begins wandering down the dark narrow path unsurely. The sound of the door slinking shut behind her and Harry’s footsteps ease her. 

She stops once she senses the corridor open up into a larger space, which she guesses is his living room. A soft gasp escapes her at the sight before her. The whole area is washed in darkness, the only source of light stemming from the large glass pane that stretches from the floor of the apartment to its tall ceiling. Dozens of buildings and cars glimmer below, the breath-taking image of the lively city looking almost like a snapshot from a professional movie. It’s absolutely gorgeous and she feels like she could stare at it for eons. 

A chilly hand suddenly presses along the dip of her spine, ushering her forward an inch or two, Harry’s invisible voice and warm breath hitting the shell of her left ear. “S’cuse me, dove.”   

The boy reaches behind her for the light switch and the condo bursts into radiance with one simple flick of his wrist. 

“Oh...my God.”

Harry’s home is something straight out of a luxury catalogue. The light floorboards and the mahogany panels. The massive leather couches and hand-sewn cushions. The extravagant chandeliers and glass staircase. The marble kitchen and generously packed liquor shelves. The ginormous wall of priceless artwork, littered with pieces from all different eras of history. It feels like stepping into a decor wonderland.

“Not too bad, huh?” Harry pipes up playfully, anchoring her back into reality from the floaty stupor that had consumed her mind. 

“Not too—? Are you kidding?” Y/N sputters incredulously, whizzing her head to the side sharply. “You were keeping an entire Four Seasons royal suite from me?!”

Harry belts out a bundle of childish giggles, the edges of his eyes crinkling and the tip of his button nose twitching. “I never thought of it much, to be honest. I’d grown to like your place.” 

“Right. Because a creaky mattress and a kitchen the size of a broom closet is so much more satisfying than chandeliers and a fucking glass wall.”

The vampire glimpses around his flat indicatively. “Okay, I see your point.”

“Exactly.” 

Y/N drifts forward, running the tips of her fingers across the backrest of the aged leather sofa and along the corners of the throw pillow, doing a slow circle at the middle of his home, taking everything in a second time around to make sure it isn’t a mirage. “Fuck, this is incredible. Is your boss looking for any more regional managers, by any chance?”

Harry follows after her, tucking his hands into the back pockets of his boyfriend jeans, chewing along the inside of his cheek to suppress a proud smile— a result of her explosive reaction. “I’m afraid my position is the one and only, sorry.”

Y/N droops her shoulders in exaggerated contempt, presenting a shitty English accent to tease him. “Bollocks.”

It garners the designated feedback, her tummy somersaulting at Harry’s exorbitant laughter. 

The boy comes to stand before her, cocking his head to the side questioningly towards his kitchen. “Can I offer you a drink?”

Y/N glimpses over at his bar area, eyes dancing over his extensive array of fancy bottles. “Oh, please do.”

Despite only having known Y/N for a few weeks, Harry has gotten quite acquainted with her tastes, even outside of sexual matters. She doesn't like the taste of alcohol, but she likes its effects. And he likes them, too, if he’s being honest. Her blood always begins to smell more appetizing after just a few sips and the way her cheeks heat up so easily when she’s buzzed always makes his breathing trip. 

He works his extensive skills, pulling from his liquor cabinet and mixing flavored liquids and syrups until he comes up with something that he thinks the girl will enjoy. It’s fruity, with hints of peach, lime, and strawberry, but also warm and fulfilling, with a rich whiskey and a few dashes of bitters. He plunks in a couple of ice cubes and mixes it together with a bar spoon, tapping it against the rim with finality and swiping it over his tongue in a quick taste test. He’s pretty happy with his concoction. 

Harry glances up to where Y/N is leaning against the armrest of his couch, her legs crossed before her as she stares at one of the abstract paintings mounted on his wall. It’s an original, as are the rest of them, which he had purchased some odd seventy years ago from a barely known artist whose talent had gone to waste in the world. It’s a deconstructed sunflower, with the color palette inverted and the strokes of the brush uneven and jagged. Odd and complicated, but beautiful, nonetheless. Its complexity is what makes it significant. 

The vampire slowly wanders over from his kitchen, holding her drink in one hand and a cloth napkin in the other. He takes the spot beside her along the armrest, speaking wistfully as if recalling a fond memory. “It’s a flower.”

Y/N nods slowly in recognition, peeling her gaze away with the corners of her lips jilting. “Mmhm, a sunflower.”

Harry’s brows jump in shock. Barely anyone ever guesses the identity correctly. He’s found that as time passes and humanity becomes more reliant on technology rather than cognizant knowledge, society in general has reduced to a more pea-brained state than ever. As a result, the amount of people who can interpret and understand the meaning behind complex artwork has greatly diminished, unfortunately, so he’s pleasantly surprised to find that one of the few who still possesses that talent happens to be the girl he’s shagging. “Wow, that’s a first. It’s so unusual, no one ever really gets it.”

“I guess I just have an affinity for the unusual.” His guest quips, giving him a jesting shrug of her eyebrows and a suggestive grin. 

You have no idea.

“You underestimated me, Holmes.” 

“That I did. My sincerest apologies.” Harry returns her joking simper, proceeding to then dip an index finger inside the stout glass in his grasp, bringing it up before her face. “Taste.”

Without breaking eye contact, Y/N parts her lips and allows him to coax the wet digit in, the tangy flavor of the mixture making her taste buds tingle. She encloses her mouth around his finger, lulling her tongue along it slowly with a mischievous glint shining across her irises. 

Harry’s prominent jaw clenches as he watches the scene unfold, breath bated and a moan threatening to betray him. She truly wastes no time.

He gradually pulls his finger from her tongue, struggling to clear his throat, missing its texture already. “How is it? More syrup? More biters?”

Y/N gazes up at him drunkenly, though it’s definitely not from the liquor. Her lips quirk cheekily as a result of how visibly frazzled she’d gotten him. “It’s perfect. Better than anything I’ve had at a club, that’s for sure.” 

“Yeah?” Harry taps his opal ring against the bottom of the lowball glass, trying to reign in his previous composure. “Think I could be a bartender?” 

“You don’t hit me as the type of person who has the patience for it.” The girl remarks wittily, slinking her head to the side and biting back a giggle when Harry makes a face at her.

“You make a valid point, I suppose.” The vampire responds with an airy sigh, nodding in surrender. “The stupid blabbing from drunk morons and impending fear of being vomited on would be too much for me. I wouldn’t last a day.” 

“You wouldn’t last a single night, let alone a whole day.”

“Alright, pipe down!” Harry deadpans, bumping her shoulder with his vengefully. “You’re bruising my ego.”

“It’s humongous,” Y/N snorts, shoving him in return, “it can take a few hits.”

The pair sit there in silence for a suspended moment, just taking in the expanse of the art before them. Harry then turns his torso towards her once more, bringing the drink in his grip up to her mouth. “Here, have a proper sip. Put my all into it.” 

Y/N obliges, looking up at him with her signature doe-like air of trusting innocence, allowing him to tip the hem of the cup against her mouth. The cool beverage filters through her taste buds and down her throat, the sweet and sour mixture leaving an enjoyable tingle in its wake. A few streams of the liquid bead out of the corners of her lips and Harry impulsively gathers them with the side of his index finger, the napkin in his other hand completely forgotten. 

As he goes to pull back in order to clean up, Y/N leans forward and traps his digit between her lips like before. This time, there’s a more insistent sultry hint sparkling around her pupils. 

“Christ...” Harry pants, watching Y/N work her way down his forefinger with a silent groan hinging on his teeth. 

He doesn’t deny himself from indulging the dirty action this time around. Her mouth is as soft and warm as ever, sending chills racing down his spine despite the sweater hugging his body. His mind slips for a second, reminiscing in all the other ways he’s felt the inside of her mouth before, a faint red tinge splattering across his cheekbones. 

Y/N draws his finger out, kissing messily across its length and over the pad, looking up at him through tension-heavied lashes. She doesn't speak a word, but her intentions are clear in the electricity between them.

He can’t hold back any longer, his next comment coming out as a pained growl. “God, you’re such a filthy little thing.”  

She hums softly in the back of her throat at his explicit compliment, suckling at the center of her bottom lip needily. “I like being your filthy little thing.”

Harry swallows thickly in order to keep himself somewhat tame, fangs suddenly pricking his tongue in warning.

The mortal scoots closer to him, sifting her fingers between his around the drink and bringing it upwards, downing the last couple of inches in one go. She draws the cup from his grasp, reaching over to set it down carefully on the coffee table before turning back and snuggling deeper into his heaving chest. 

Harry scoffs in amusement, but he can feel a certain charring scratching at the back of his throat. “Drinks like that are meant to be savored, darling. You’re not supposed to just pound them.” 

Y/N stretches her neck upwards, taking his earlobe between her teeth, lips wet and cold from the alcohol. His lashes flutter when her warm breath hits his skin, contradicting the sensations from before. 

“Why don’t you let me worry about how I drink, and you can worry about a different kind of pounding.”

And that’s all it takes, really. That’s all it takes for Harry to completely drop any self-control he has left. 

The creature jars his face towards her, large hand shooting upwards to grip her jaw firmly, holding her in place as he crashes their mouths together. It’s all tongue and clacking teeth, desperate whines and stuttered gasps. Y/N’s hands fumble for something to tether to while Harry takes it upon himself to grasp at her opposite hip with his free hand, yanking her onto his lap. She buries her fists in the cotton fabric of his jumper, balancing her knees on either sides of his parted thighs. The boy’s fingers coast from her jaw down to her throat, tightening ever so slightly. The action is minimal, but it reveals that flare of dominance Y/N has become addicted to. 

“Do you want it here?” Harry rasps against her eager tongue, smirking into the kiss when he feels her start to rock along the bulge that is beginning to tent his denim pants. “Do you want me to bend you over the couch and fuck you, baby? With the chandelier making your skin glow? Where we can put on a show for the whole city to see?”

It’s a tempting offer and his words obviously have some form of impact, seen in the way Y/N’s grinding takes on a hungrier, deeper pace against his clothed cock. 

“I want…” Y/N finds it difficult to voice her desires, the responsible party being the manner in which Harry glues cracked mewls onto the roof of her mouth. “I want it in your bed.” 

She doesn’t know why, but she just wants him to take her some place where the moment they share is intimate, unseen by the prying eyes of others. She wants to christen his bed exactly how he had done hers; she craves that strange connection, for some reason. Y/N isn’t naive, she knows she’s not the only person Harry has had in his home and in his sheets. But she wants that experience, nonetheless, even if it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. She knows she’s not his only, but at least she’s one. 

Harry slowly breaks their kiss, brushing the tip of his nose across her own in a small comforting gesture. He blinks at her groggily, the copper specks in his eyes glitzing under the golden hue of the lighting. When he speaks, its soft and low, almost as if he doesn’t want to risk another soul overhearing. “Okay. Whatever you want, it’s yours.” 

Y/N almost doesn’t get anything she wants, given that she nearly kills herself on the trek up the stairs, courtesy of her weakened knees and wobbly ankles. Harry just barely manages to save her, but he finds the occurrence too hilarious to spare her the embarrassment. 

“Stop laughing, it’s not funny!” She exclaims indignantly as he helps her up the last few glass steps, clinging to him like a scared puppy, her hands still shaking with adrenaline. “I could have died!” 

Her shrieking only makes him laugh harder and he nearly keels over, palm clutching his stomach as if to keep it from popping. “I’m sorry, I really am, but it’s just— your face when you— and how you tripped sideways— I—”

Y/N shoves him hard towards the corridor where his bedroom lies, but it’s hard to maintain an angry demeanor when the young man’s giggles sound like bells and when he looks so cute with his curls flopping across his forehead. “Dickhead.” 

They’re almost at his bedroom door when Harry grabs onto her wrist, tugging her roughly so that she lurches forward into his chest. He plants a wet kiss onto the bridge of her nose, expression entertained. “Stop being such a bad sport. It was pretty funny.”

“Yeah, okay.” She huffs begrudgingly, glancing down impatiently at his plump lips as he walks backwards down the hallway with her in tow. “You can invalidate my rage once you have a near death experience yourself.”

The irony of it all. 

Harry kicks the door open, ghosting his mouth over Y/N’s and watching her sight do a quick sweep around the area. “Welcome to my lair.” 

The human likes his aesthetic. The room has different hues of the same color, so it all ties together nicely, and the hanging lights look like miniature versions of the two large ones downstairs. The bed is huge, which is a relief because for once, they won’t have to actively worry about accidentally rolling off the edge mid-fuck. “It’s nice. Very chic.” 

“Thanks.” Harry reaches up and cups either side of her neck with his palms, dragging his damp lips over her chin and down the center of her jugular, smiling against her skin when he feels her shiver. “It doesn't have a bookshelf wall like yours, but I make due.”

“Yeah.” Y/N wisps out weakly, leaning her head back as he speckles his mouth across that sensitive point on her throat he discovered ages ago. “I bet.”

She feels Harry’s touch travel down her torso, cold fingers suddenly smearing across her love handles beneath her work shirt. His grip tightens at the hem with the intention of pulling the polo off, breath hot as it washes over her collarbones. “Wanna find out just how good I make it work?”

Y/N’s arms instinctively raise on command, her reply shaky and fragile. “Yes, please.” 

Harry makes it work. He makes it work so fucking well. He doesn’t need crazy positions or any vibrating toys to make her feel good; he just knows her so thoroughly by now that he’s able to tend to every single one of her needs like it’s his sole purpose. The sex is missionary, with her splayed out across her back upon his mound of feathered pillows, her thighs clamped over his hips as he slams into her at a harsh, curt pace. Her calves are tied around the backs of his thighs, her nails are carving memories into the broad expanse of his shoulders, they’re both panting curse words and encouragement into each other’s mouths, and he’s cradling her to his chest as if he wants to absorb her heartbeat right through her ribs. If only obtaining one were that easy. 

Y/N allows her head to fall back against the cushions, drawing away from the prolonged kiss only because she needs air to continue. Harry’s lips busy themselves elsewhere, running down the valley of her chest and toying with one of her pebbled nipples. Y/N’s back gives a sharp arch the second he brushes across the sensitive nub and the taunting coo he releases goes straight to her core. 

“Liked that, darling? Like it when I kiss you there?”

The girl’s lashes have fallen shut, her eyes lulling around in their sockets as he maintains a steady rhythm between her thighs, ramming into her with so much force, the headboard is knocking into the wall. It’s loud and intense enough that Harry has to fit one of his palms between the railings, bracing the weight of the bed in order to prevent a hole from forming. 

Y/N’s voice fills the dense atmosphere, so shattered and raw, she can hardly understand herself. “It feels so— so good, H.” 

“I love it when you call me that. Sounds so pretty coming from your lips.” The vampire’s tongue flicks over her nipple a handful of times, dark veins momentarily webbing over the whites of his eyes at the cracked whimper she lets loose. “And of course it feels good. I always make you feel good, don’t I? Always make my girl cum so—fucking—hard.” 

Y/N’s trembling fingers card into the curls along the nape of Harry’s neck as he thrusts to his words, twisting them around her knuckles and swimming in the throaty groan he pours over the clammy skin of her breasts. Her whisper sounds distant and dreamy. “Please...Please don’t stop.”

Harry gazes up at her through heavy lashes, lapping at her chest more fervently, accent thick and deep. “I won’t, baby. Not until I have you dripping all over my sheets.”

After a few more minutes of fractured moans bouncing around the panels of the room and the noise of wet skin slapping together, something catches Y/N’s bleary eyes. She wills past the blissful fog in her mind, focusing on the intriguing object hanging from one of the railings of Harry’s bedpost, swaying back and forth wildly due to his strong tempo. 

“Are those...Are those handcuffs?” 

Harry’s attention jumps to where hers is pinned, his powerful stride coming to a gradual stop. He’s heaving and shuddering above her, ringlets matted to his jaw and across his temples, cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of cherry red. His Adam’s Apple bobs once and he gives a short nod. “Y-Yeah. I’ve had them for a while...”

The hope dripping from his voice is practically palpable and Y/N interprets it easily. She glances down at him as he takes quivering inhales against her chest, his eyes bleeding lust. Her mumble is so quiet and soft, he wonders how it’s possible for her to make some of the preposterously loud sounds he’s used to hearing whenever he’s buried this deep. “Use them on me. Please?”

Harry bends to her request without hesitation. He locks her wrists into the restraints, sponging a kiss onto each before giving them one hard tug to check for security. He then regains his rough slams, but with more fervor than before. 

The monster sits back onto his heels, groping her waist roughly and working her against his thighs, watching welts form on her flesh along the pads of his fingers. Y/N unconsciously begins circling her hips to match his speed and the fractured groan that rips out of him makes her walls tighten. He looks incredible looming in front of her, head toppled back between his shoulder blades, bouncing to his every ram. His throat flexes with the weight, jaw taut and inked pectorals glistening with sweat under the dim lights dangling from his ceiling. “That’s it, pet, just like that. Love the way you ride it. You’re so fucking tight and warm and...and just— Christ, just fuck me.”

She wishes she could frame this moment in time and drag it out forever.  

Harry swings his head forward again, blinking the blurriness from his vision to take in the image before him. Y/N just looks so fucking gorgeous like that, tied down at his beck and call, her chest bouncing pertly as her fingers bunch around the chain link, thighs clinging to his waist as she chews her bottom lip raw in an attempt to control her noises. 

The vampire ducks down, connecting their mouths in a sloppy kiss that cajoles her into spilling all the moans she had been withholding. He feels them trickle down his lungs and diffuse into his bones, flames lapping across his insides as their foreheads bump and noses smudge, ragged breaths intermingling. “Let it out for me, hm? Wanna know how I’m making you feel, don’t care who hears.”

As if that isn’t enough, there’s an instance where Harry’s animalistic senses suddenly enhance and he comes to the realization that the metal cuffs have made a tiny laceration along her skin. 

A thin trail of blood travels down her suspended arm, but she doesn’t seem to notice, too lost in the pleasure Harry is pounding into the pit of her stomach. So he simply leans upwards and licks the sweet droplet clean, feeling heat spark across every fiber of his being. He laps up the entire stream and then presses a tender kiss to her palm for good measure, grunting out a gentle, “There’s a good girl.” when she whines at the affectionate gesture. 

The release Harry is getting from between Y/N’s legs mixes with the ecstasy her blood brings, and it shoves him over the edge in a manner he hasn’t experienced since that first time they slept together all those weeks ago. Since the first time he tasted what lies in her veins, while also simultaneously getting to taste the indescribable relief her body so readily brings him.

After all is said and done that night, something peculiar happens. After they both milk their orgasms for everything it’s worth, and after Y/N gives into exhaustion in his arms with her wrists bruised and a content watery smile on her face, and after he gets a heftier drink from her neck and heals the two little puncture wounds with his own blood...The most bizarre, unexpected event occurs. 

Harry falls asleep soundly for the first time in months, and all he dreams about is how Y/N tasted. 

///

Y/N wakes up the next morning to her body covered in Harry’s Nike jumper, to an empty spot beside her in the messy duvet, to a familiar tune tinging her ears from a distance, and to a satisfying ache between her thighs. 

As soon as she cracks the bedroom door open, the smell of pancakes wafts in through the chilled morning air. Specifically, lemon and blueberry pancakes. Her grandmother’s lemon and blueberry pancakes.

A shiver runs down Y/N’s spine the second she sets a toe along the cold glass panels of Harry’s staircase. She takes a deep breath, pulling the extra length of the sweater’s sleeves over her fists and tugging the hem of the article downwards as if she could convince it to cover more than just half her thighs. She carefully works her way down the steps, flinching at the iciness that travels up her legs with every motion. When she finally thunks down emptily onto the light-wash floorboards, her body has grown accustomed to the temperature. As she pads across the furry rug in Harry’s living room, she finds herself wondering why everything connected to him is always so unusually cold— colder than any normal person could withstand. His touch, his lips, the tip of his nose, his forehead, his chest, even his thighs; everything is always freezing, and she doesn’t understand how he can bear it. It’s such an odd affinity to have. 

The human gradually wanders into the vampire’s kitchen, peeking inside the room from behind one of the archway’s walls. What she sees throws her for a loop. 

Harry is cooking breakfast, as she expected from the sweet scent she’d awoken to, but he’s doing it in a manner she never really expected from him. 

Music stems from a portable speaker he has situated at the center of the marble kitchen island, blaring loud enough to fill the entire giant home with high notes, guitar chords, and acapella riffs. The young man is dancing across his kitchen as he cooks, clad in nothing but a set of black Calvin Klein briefs and a pair of fuzzy magenta socks. Y/N rakes down his body, admiring the crimson and purple love bites she had left on his chest and the raspberry red scratches zig-zagging across his back, the marks flexing with the movements of his muscles. They’re strangely faint, for some reason. Practically barely there. 

She chalks it up to the fact that maybe she hadn’t bruised him as much as she’d thought. 

Y/N forces herself to keep her mind from straying onto anymore explicit topics; it’s probably not even ten A.M. yet. She needs to get herself under control.

Grooving while in the kitchen isn’t necessarily weird (she’s guilty of it herself), but Harry’s dancing techniques very much are. The only accurate depiction of it is that for a boy in his twenties, he dances like an old geezer in his eighties. His moves are choppy and old-schooled, almost like what you’d expect to see in a nineteen fifties disco hall, and watching him ebb and flow across the tiled ground to choreography similar to that of Dirty Dancing and Footloose... It would send anybody into a fit of laughter. Especially since Harry is so tall and lanky, so how he manages to move in such a way is beyond her understanding. 

Aside from that, his choice of music is baffling, as well. Not only because she recognizes the soundtrack, but because she would have never expected someone like him— with his cocky behavior and overly-confident caliber— to be into these types of songs at all. She always pegged him for the seventies rock and roll type. 

“You like Hamilton?” 

Harry’s actions creak to a halt and he whips around towards where the disturbance had stemmed, spatula clutched in one hand and a marble plate stacked with pancakes in the other. His face breaks into a bright smile, voice slathered with dramatic friendliness. “Well, look who finally got up! I was starting to think you were dead, Sleeping Beauty.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at him mockingly, walking over to the kitchen counter and propping herself onto her elbows, chin in hand as she watches him set down the platter of food before her. She tips forward onto her toes, taking a deep inhale of the homey, sugary smell, letting it wash over her in flashes of childhood memories. “Are these like the ones I make?”

“Lemon and blueberry, yeah.” Harry bobs his head casually, turning around to place his metal spatula down into the sink, as well as to retrieve a glass bottle of maple syrup from one of his cupboards. “They’re pretty close, I think. I’ve never seen you use a recipe or measuring cups or anything when you make them, so I kinda eyeballed it to the best of my ability. Hope I did your nan justice.”

He pours a decently-sized glop of syrup over the mountain of treats and Y/N watches excitedly as it trickles down all the layers. He then pushes back from the table, pulling open a drawer and rummaging through, continuing to whistle along to the tune of Satisfied as he bops the cabinet closed with his hip and sets down an extra pair of forks and knives beside the plate. 

Harry cuts a neat triangle out of the pancake at the top, pointing at her with his fork as he shrugs his brows nonchalantly. “And to answer your question from before: yes, I do like Hamilton.”

“Hm. Interesting.” Y/N murmurs, going cross-eyed as Harry offers her the forkful of food in his possession, poking at her mouth playfully and getting maple syrup all over her lips. She opens obediently, allowing him to feed her the piece. “You don’t really seem like the type of guy— oh, wow, these are actually really good!”

Harry bites into his lower lip with his two front teeth, a proud smile dimpling his cheeks as the light draft from the air vent ruffles a couple of his sex-mussed ringlets across his forehead. “Yeah? You mean it?”

The mortal nods her head vigorously as she finishes chewing and swallowing, wiping away some of the leftover syrup from her top lip with her middle finger and sucking it clean. “Yeah! You hit it spot on.”

“Aces. I should be on The Great British Bake Off.” Harry makes a small, celebratory fist bump next to his hip and the childish gesture makes Y/N snort softly. 

“Like I was saying, you don’t really strike me as the type of guy who would be into musicals.” The girl comments, watching her friend cut another triangle out of the first pancake and pop it into his own mouth. 

The vampire chews thoughtfully for a second, lifting one shoulder offhandedly and swallowing fully before talking. “I’m really not, to be honest. But this specific musical is pretty good. The songs are catchy.”

He nudges the other pair of utensils across the counter for emphasis, silently inviting her to dig into the dish along with him. She accepts, slicing down the other side of the stack as he leans forward onto his elbows, mimicking her stance. He gives her a curious glance. “What about you? Do you like musicals?” 

Y/N shrugs, poking a few chunks of food onto her fork. “Not really, but I had a major Hamilton phase back in college. That’s why I recognized it.” 

Harry hums in understanding, picking a blueberry off and chewing it slowly, a sly smirk beginning to tweak the corners of his mouth. “So were you, like, a nerd back then?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say a nerd, but I had decent grades and was pretty quiet.”

He swallows down audibly, blinking impassively. “That’s literally the definition of a nerd.” 

Y/N returns his flat expression. “Fuck off.”

Harry throws his palms up in peaceful surrender, but he still has that shit-eating grin present. “Alright, fine, fine...It’s okay if you were, though. You were probably one of those cute ones, y’know? With the clunky glasses and innocent goody-goody face.” 

“Shut up.”

“Oh, and with one of those short little plaid skirts?” He releases a pained groan, clutching his chest and closing his eyes for a second. She has no doubt he’s sketching some type of graphic image of her in his mind. “God, I bet you looked so good. Do you still have it? Can you wear it for me?”

“I said shut up!” Y/N reaches forward and stabs at his tummy lightly with her fork, ignoring the warmth crawling up her neck and across her cheeks. “Fucking perv.”

Harry smacks her utensil away with his own, giggling lightly as she tries to prick him again, continuing to fight her off. “I’m just asking a question! For science!” 

Y/N twists her fork around his, trying to outmaneuver him into dropping it. “How could my fashion sense in college possibly contribute to science in any way?” 

The vampire easily catches onto her play, slipping himself out of her grasp and trying to trap her makeshift sword down against the tabletop. He purses his lips into a simper, glimpsing up at her through his lashes and quirking his brows cheekily. “Biologically, of course. It contributes to my solo reproductive activities.”

“You are vile.” 

“Really? ‘Cause you seemed pretty happy to help with said activities last night.” 

Y/N drops her fork onto the brim of the platter, reaching up to massage at her temples and keep herself from swatting Harry’s eyeballs out of their sockets. “I’m finished.” 

“Yeah,” the jade of his irises glimmers coyly as he sets down his utensil beside hers in a ceasefire, “you definitely finished.”

Harry chuckles boyishly as Y/N drags her palms down her face, trying to hide away how flustered he’s getting her. She decides to change the subject, not caring to steer the conversation smoothly at all, but rather jumping to another topic right away. “So does this mean you have all the lyrics memorized? Since you like them so much?” 

“I do, yeah.” Harry taps his fingers against the marble counter to the beat of the song currently playing. “Do you?” 

“I was obsessed, so of course I do.” Y/N reasons, her own digits following in tune with the immortal’s. “I think Non-Stop was probably my favorite to sing. It made for a good shower concert.”

“Well, it’s settled then.” Harry quips happily, reaching for his phone and tapping across the screen. “We’re duetting this. Right now. C’mon, Burr.”

Y/N’s motions stop, shyness creeping in from the back of her brain. “Oh, I don’t know, Harry. I never really—”

Her refusal is interrupted by the beginning of the arrangement mentioned, the notes blasting through the speaker as Harry purposefully turns up the volume to drown her out. He taps at his ear symbolically, mouthing, “Sorry, I can't hear you!” and he doesn’t even attempt to ward off the evil grin creeping across his face. 

“Harry, I’m serious—” 

But it’s already too late. Harry juts his hand out in front of him, pointing at his companion with a theatrical edge as he begins to serenade, picking up the slack of her part. 

“After the war I went back to New York. A-After the war I went back to New York. I finished up my studies and I practiced law. I practiced law, Burr worked next door!”

He looks at her expectantly, urging her to jump into the next half as her assigned role. Y/N muscles down her hesitation and recites the lines timidly with her brows creased in hesitation, but at least she’s participating. “Even though we started at the very same time, Alexander Hamilton began to climb. How to account for his rise to the top?”

Harry joins her in the next stanza, grabbing her hand midair in encouragement, trying to shake her out of her rut. “Man, the man is non-stop!”

Y/N is surprised at how well they sound harmonizing together, and she can feel her discomfort slowly begin to melt. She watches as Harry freely boasts his solo with absolutely no remorse, making grand gestures as he slides down the side of the counter, his movements dragging her along. 

“Gentlemen of the jury, I'm curious, bear with me. Are you aware that we're making history?” The boy taps at his chin to symbolize that he’s thinking, acting out the story the lyrics construct. “This is the first murder trial of our brand-new nation, the liberty behind deliberation.”

He points at Y/N once again and she does the supporting vocals, gradually beginning to gain more confidence. “Non-stop!”

“I intend to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt, with my assistant counsel—”

Harry doesn’t even have to cue Y/N this time around; she picks up her half immediately, falling into line with him flawlessly as if they’ve done this a million times before. “Co-counsel. Hamilton, sit down. Our client Levi Weeks is innocent, call your first witness.”

Harry quickly rounds the corner of the kitchen island, giving her body a grand spin as he draws closer, coming to stand right before her. She gives him a fake exasperated look to match the attitude her character depicts, shaking her head in disapproval. “That's all you had to say.”

“Okay…” The creature yanks Y/N forward into his bare chest, leaning down and flirting his lips right over hers tauntingly, eyes half-lidded in amusement. “One more thing—”

“Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room?” The girl rolls her eyes dramatically, shoving past Harry’s shoulder and she finds it humorous how these lines fit so well, almost as if they were actually directed at him, calling him out on the arrogance he always seems to dote. “Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Soon that attitude may be your doom.”

Harry swivels on his heel, following her as she scurries outside the kitchen entrance, running into the living room. 

“Why do you write like you're running out of time?” Y/N grabs onto one of the couch cushions, pretending to scribble over it with a fake pen. “Write day and night, like you're running out of time? Everyday you fight, like you're running out of time.”

Harry swipes at her from across the couch, trying to grasp onto the jumper she’s wearing. “Keep on fighting in the meantime.”

Y/N ducks out of the path of his grabbing hand, chucking the pillow forward and it bonks him square in the face. She sticks her tongue out at him as Harry scowls dully, climbing onto his sofa and scuttling towards her on his hand and knees.

She jumps just out of reach, diving across the other end of the furniture. The vampire throws his weight to try and tackle her to the sofa, but she just barely escapes. He ends up toppling over the backrest due to his over-abundant momentum. 

“Non-stop!” Y/N waves her middle up at him triumphantly as he pushes himself up off the ground, giving her a challenging look as he takes off after her once again. 

The pair continue to sing back and forth, with Harry chasing Y/N around the living room and kitchen as he belts out his part of the song, Y/N always somehow managing to slip from his grasp as soon as her turn hits. They’re a mess of giggles, silly faces, and boisterous actions as they reenact the play and neither can recall a time they had ever had more fun. There’s never been an instance when they felt so comfortable with another soul that they are willing to run around half-naked, screaming lyrics at each other in their underwear, not caring who sees or overhears. It just feels so second-nature.

A section of the song comes up where a woman is singing and Harry immediately takes up the part, placing his hand on his bare hip and standing in the most feminine fashion he can possibly muster, fanning at his face. “I am sailing off to London, I am accompanied by someone who always pays.” 

The exaggeration makes Y/N bend over laughing and her distraction allows Harry to nab her. He pulls her into his embrace by her forearms, cackling through the following stanza as she wriggles and squirms to try and get free. “I have found a wealthy husband who will keep me in comfort for all my days.” 

Y/N finally gives up on trying to thrash herself free, going limp against his chest and glimpsing up at him with begrudged annoyance, but a fond smile is unmistakably buckling her cheeks. Harry leans down, singing right in her face just to flaunt his victory, their noses brushing. “He is not a lot of fun, but…”

And then, there’s a shift in the ambiance between them. 

Harry gazes down at her as she giggles up at him from his arms, full of so much genuine warmth and excitement, she could power the entire city if she wanted. Her shoulders are heaving slightly as a result of all the running, there’s still faint traces of black mascara smeared under her waterline and down her cheeks from the previous evening’s exertions, she has some acne scarring littering her cheekbones that look fairly recent, and her hair looks like it could nest a family of at least ten birds. But despite these imperfections, Harry finds himself feeling oddly endeared by it all. These flaws are all things he’s gotten used to and has grown to treasure in Y/N. They make her who she is. They make her witty, and they make her clever. They make her fun, as well as trusting. They make her likeable, and energetic, and kind. They make her a good friend and a generous lover. They make her... her. Harry gets the feeling that if she didn’t have all of these traits— if even one was missing— this little arrangement they have going wouldn’t have flourished the way it did. 

Yeah, maybe he would have slept with her once or twice more just to scratch an itch, but he most likely would have let it fizzle to an end after the fact. Her personality paired with these small details— albeit, not all entirely attractive— that make up her existence play a key role in the dynamic they share. And he wouldn’t trade them for anything else— wouldn't trade Y/N for anyone else. Not anytime soon. 

A warm surge travels through his chest, filling his veins like kerosine, heating him from the heels of his socked feet to the tips of his ice cold fingers. An unorthodox swelling sensation twists inside his ribs, right where his heart used to beat, and he finds himself reciting the next line in a soft voice packed with more emotion than he’s shown or felt in the last two centuries.

“There’s no one who can match you, for turn of phrase…”

Y/N seems oblivious to all of the unsettling experiences he’s undergoing, her amused expression not changing in the slightest. Harry allows the rest of the song lyrics to pass by, the lump in his throat too heavy to fight. Instead, he just keeps staring down at Y/N with brows frowning in confusion, his breathing coming out bated and shaky, and that knot in his chest continuing to tighten until it becomes painful. He gets the sudden urge to kiss her— to feel her lips press to his and feel her give into him the way she always does. The way she has for the last four weeks. He doesn’t want it to be sloppy or desperate or sexual; he wants it to be intimate, soft, and caring. He wants it to be special. Something they share. Something only they share.

Then, that moment passes. That flicker of weakness that had leaked through vanishes and Harry feels like he can breathe properly again.

He breaks their locked eyes, releasing Y/N from his hold and taking a swift step back, coughing awkwardly to try and rid the tickling sensation in the back of his throat. He scratches at the nape of his neck nervously, fiddling with his baby curls and attempting to piece himself back together after that unexpected and unwelcome intrusion of his innermost feelings. Though, he doesn’t know if that spectacle even files under the category of emotions; from what he remembers, they aren’t supposed to tangibly attack you in such a manner. It felt more like a violation— like someone had gone in and started poking and prodding at his subconscious with a metal skewer. 

“Harry…?” Y/N inches closer to him, concern prevalent in her voice and across her features as she stretches her hand out caringly. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to be sick.” 

“I-I’m—” His voice comes out higher than usual and quivering, so he coughs once again to get it under control, taking another step back. He's scared that if she touches him, that horrible burning sensation will come back. “I’m fine. Just...Just forgot the lyrics.” 

“Oh, okay…” The girl doesn’t sound convinced with the answer, but she lets the subject falter anyways, her hand dropping back down beside her thigh. “Just checking.” 

“Yeah, I got that. Uh, thanks. But I’m all good now.” He holds up a clenched first and juts out his pinky, wiggling it for significance. “Promise”

Y/N scoffs gently at his playful deed. “Alright, then.” 

Harry eyes her attentively as she returns to her previous spot in front of the plate of pancakes, retrieving her fork and starting to pick at them like before, as if nothing had happened. As if Harry hadn’t just almost had a cardiac arrest, despite the fact that the organ responsible had crumbled to dust ages ago.

“Are you gonna eat anymore?” Y/N signals down at the stack of pastries before her questioningly. “Because if you don’t get some now, I’ll eat them all myself. Don’t think I won’t. They’re better than the ones I make and—”

The vampire suddenly feels like bile is rising up his throat and his words spew out before he can think to stop them, though he’s not so sure he would. 

“Do you want to stay over the rest of the weekend?”