#being killed i think by some other person in the hunger games like event

[thatone-highlighter]

dw about it i just have a lot of evil bird dreams. last night i had one where there was a giant raven in my backyard and i punched it in the face and ripped its neck open but that summoned a bunch more that attacked me. i always wanted to start the second chapter of this fic by giving sasha fucked up bird dreams but this one was helpful. or maybe not bc its so different from my normal ones

Every time i try to answer this ask i cant see any of the text. Even now what im writing j cant see it it doesbt show up its black on a black bacground. Not even tumblr wants me to listen to you about your messed up bird dream. Apparently

[squoosheez]

Sweet Relief

Finnick Odair x Reader

summary: Yesterday, the reaping took place. Your name was the one picked from thousands—and it was your last year to even be eligible. Being from district four, your mentor is none other than Finnick Odair. Prince of the Capitol. Your relationship is off to a rocky start, but on your second night, he starts to come around.

setting: The 70th Hunger Games. You’re the female tribute from District 4, on your way to the Capitol with your male tribute, Caspian, and your mentor, Finnick Odair.

pairing: Finnick Odair x Fem!Reader

warnings: smut, mentions of death, implied mentions of forced prostitution but not blatantly mentioned ykwim?

notes: I wrote this in two sittings and it’s not proofread and it’s also my first time posting anything on tumblr soooo…

word count: 5.2k

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socials: ao3 (that’s all I have bcuz my cc isn’t working rn 😭

Thick, humid air circulates through your enormous room. This was not what you expected when they had called your name for the reaping. You still remember it like it’s happening in the present. You find yourself laying on your memory foam bed with satin sheets—courtesy of the capitol. One thousand thoughts race through your mind as you recall the events of this evening.

To start, you almost punched your mentor in the face. You try to convince yourself he deserved it, but he was just trying to lighten up the situation and try to make you feel better. At dinner, he made a comment about the games. His words rang through your mind. “Even if you don’t win, just try not to be killed first.”

It makes your blood boil just thinking about it. You’re appalled by his insensitivity. You know those people aren’t any less smart or skilled as anyone else in that arena. Just because Finnick was the one to kill them off, doesn’t make them any weaker.

District four. Your home, family, friends, everyone you love is there. You can’t imagine not making it home to them. You also can’t believe this just had to be the last year you’re even eligible for the games. The worst luck ever. You groan as you pull the comforter over your body. One of the perks about being a tribute has got to be how well they treat you before you’re sent off to your death. You finally start to drift off into a semi-deep sleep—since real sleep is impossible—when you hear a soft knocking at your door.

You groan again before allowing the person into your room. You watch intently as the figure makes its way further and further towards your bed. You can only assume it’s an avox coming to give you a spa treatment or something else extravagant. But to your surprise, it’s your fatally charming mentor.

“What are you doing here, Finnick? Wanna piss me off some more?” You immediately bark out, not even giving him a chance to look into your eyes. This obviously makes him angry, you can see it on his face.

He bites his lip in frustration. “Listen here, little girl. You should try showing your mentor some respect for a change. I could be the very difference between life and death for you in that arena. I wouldn’t take that for granted if I were you,” his fake smile pierces through your blanket of security. He really knows how to make your spine shiver.

“Here to tell you that we’ll be arriving at 7am tomorrow morning. I suggest you be up and ready before then,” he continues. You watch as he takes a piece of fruit from your nightstand and bites into it. He gives another fake smile and walks out of your room, the automatic door sliding closed behind him. The sound of his voice makes your face grow hot in anger. It’s like everything he says is made to piss you off, but he had a good point. He’s the one who decides what gets sent out. He can help you live or let you die. Maybe you should try and get on his good side.

A good two hours fly by while you lay helplessly trying to grasp onto an ounce of sleep. It’s no use. You’re far too nervous to even close your eyes. The thought of losing everyone creeps into the back of your mind, but you deem the thought selfish. You’re not losing them, they’re losing you. More than they already have. Your mother and sister sitting at home wondering why it was you. Your best friends pondering what life will be like without you. It was your final year.

The good thing about coming from district four was that most oftenly, they were able to form alliances with the main careers, district one and two. Though, you deemed them to be quite arrogant, stuck up, obnoxious.. the list goes on. You were probably the only one in district four that doesn’t wanna prove they can win The Hunger Games.

The boy two doors down from you has been training his whole life for this moment. Technically, it’s illegal to train, but since when does anyone follow the rules when it comes to the games? The little boy whose name was picked at the reaping was only twelve. You thought that maybe they were related, but he just really wanted a chance to win. Foolish. The boy doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into, you think.

When it comes to Finnick, he seems to favor you—which seems peculiar considering the fact you treat him like shit and the boy is nothing but pleasant towards him. You always assume he just acts that way towards the girls, he does seem to be a charmer. Capitol’s prince, some would call him. That warning he gave you earlier, was probably him genuinely trying to be helpful. You find that very hard to believe.

You turn on your side and click on the bedside lamp. The light brightens up the room more than a lamp probably should. The Capitol needs to stop sucking up to us, you think as you sit up and tread off to your bathroom. The bathroom is huge, a big shower that could fit any toiletries you could imagine. There’s a vanity full of makeup and hair products that you have never even seen before in your life. Red velvet robes that look incredibly soft and inviting. Last but not least, it smells of roses. The whole bathroom smells like you just walked into a florist.

You stretch and look at yourself in the huge wall mirror. You don’t look like yourself. Your features seem distorted and different. You know that you really do look the same, but you don’t feel like yourself. It’s definitely the Capitol. You turn on the water in the shower and wait for it to reach your desired temperature. You discard yourself of your clothes, realizing that you had never changed into your pajamas. When you finish undoing your hair and undressing, you step into the hot water.

Ten minutes pass and you’re rinsing some rose scented conditioner out of the ends of your hair. Everything here seems to be rose scented. Do we smell that bad? You laugh to yourself as you step out of the shower and grab onto a towel. You quickly dry off your body and hair, wrapping the towel around your hair and slipping into one of the velvet robes. Soft doesn’t even begin to describe it.

You open the door to your bedroom and begin to walk into it before you realize there’s a figure sitting on your bed. You assume it’s the boy from your district, probably couldn’t sleep either. Wants to talk strategy with you, pretend to be in love or helpless or siblings, or something even more ridiculous. To your surprise, it’s not the tribute boy at all. Quite the opposite.

You take a few steps closer, examining everything you can in the dark before you come to a conclusion. It’s Finnick. His golden-brown curls falling on his forehead paired with his sea green eyes, it’s obvious.

“What are you doing here?” You snarl, earning a laugh on his end.

“Well, you’re very welcoming,” Finnick says in return. He yawns and stretches before completely spreading himself out on your bed. “I went to check on your friend, Caspian, but he was dead asleep. Just thought I’d make sure you're sleeping.”

I knew he had a name. You roll your eyes and give Finnick an annoyed expression. “It’s impossible to sleep knowing I’m about to be sent off to my inevitable death.”

Finnick smiles. It makes you angry. He sits up to look you in the eyes. “It’s stuff like this that makes me think you really do have a chance. Definitely more than your friend down the hall, hate to say it.” He gives a fake disappointed look and it makes you chuckle to yourself.

“I’m not so sure about that,” you say. You slowly approach the bed and sit down beside Finnick despite how wrong it feels. Finnick rolls his eyes and grabs your hand.

“I think you have the drive. If you really wanted it—which you will in the arena—I definitely think you have a good chance of surviving. We’re district four. Make some allies, I know deep down you can push that cold heart and face of yours out of the way.” He gives your hand a squeeze of encouragement.

It makes you think. Just two hours ago you were sulking about losing everyone and everything, when in reality you don’t have to. You breathe out slowly, taking in everything Finnick said. He’s still there, staring at you with his green eyes. For once, his face doesn’t fill you with rage. His voice doesn’t infuriate you. He looks gentle. Compassionate. Charming. Finnick.

“Thanks,” is the only word you can mutter out. He looks at you with an endearing smile and kind eyes. You didn’t think he was capable of being nice. He looks actually sincere for once. Wow.

Finnick stands up and starts to make his way towards the door when your voice cuts through his action. “Finnick—” He turns around to face you, curiosity plastered on his face. He mumbles a quiet ‘hm?’ and you freeze. It’s like your words aren’t yours anymore.

“Will you stay?”

Finnick’s breath hitches in the back of his throat at your words. Immediately, you regret saying it. You want to hide underneath the comforter and never show your face to him ever again. Your face lights up a bright red, and you hope he doesn’t notice this.

A smirk creeps up on Finnick’s face. He doesn’t even give you a straight answer, he just climbs back into bed with you—which in most circumstances is very inappropriate for a mentor to do with a tribute. It’s fine, he’s only twenty.

Finnick wraps his arm around you, it's only then you remember you haven’t put on pajamas yet. You’re laying there in the robe from your bath, and your towel is still wrapped around your hair. You pull the towel off and let your still somewhat wet hair free to fall onto the sides of your face. Finnick looks over at you and gives your shoulder another squeeze of encouragement. Him and his squeezes of encouragement.

You reach around for the remote before finding it and turning on some show you’ve never seen before. In the districts, you only really get Capitol news. It’s definitely nice for a change. You and Finnick watch whatever drama is unfolding on the screen, holding each other as tightly as possibly.

“What’s it like?” You mutter out against Finnick’s shoulder. His head perks up as he registers what you said. He stays quiet, probably because you weren’t specific enough. “As a victor, I mean.”

He takes a deep breath, his eyes closing as if he doesn’t want to tell you. Like it’s some sort of bad news your parents tell you when you’re ten. “It’s not as great as I make it seem.”

Your eyebrows raise. He always makes it seem like he’s living the dream out here. Money, jewels, fame, glory. He has it all. What could possibly be bad about being a victor?

“I want you to win. I really do, and I think you’re very capable of doing so but..” his words catch in the back of his throat. “I don’t want you to go through what I did.”

His expression is cold. He’s not even looking at you anymore, his gaze is fixated on the screen, but you know he’s not watching. It’s like watching him hold back tears with no tears to hold back. This time you give his shoulder a squeeze of encouragement. This makes him smile softly and return his stare towards you.

“It’s wonderful.. now. I do have money and jewels, fame and glory. But nothing in life is free.” His smile fades, and he brushes a piece of your wet hair behind your ear. He is so good at keeping you oblivious. It’s frustrating.

He pulls you in closer, his grip on your shoulder tightens. Your breathing grows faster. You can hear his heart beating in his chest, and it makes yours beat even faster. His hand starts to move towards your hair. He runs his fingers through your slowly, making sure not to tug too hard. Just three hours ago, you could’ve sworn he hated your guts. What is wrong with him?

All you can do is look over at him. You realize he’s staring at you, but he doesn’t look away. The look in his eyes is something to fear, that’s for sure. He has to be zoning out.. But he’s not. He turns his body to face yours, resting his free hand on your side. You’re dumbfounded. Star struck, even. You open your mouth as if to say something, but nothing comes out. Finnick smiles and caresses your jaw with his thumb. This seems oddly intimate, and you have zero experience in being intimate.

You want to pull away. You think. You’re frozen, a slave to his touch. You want to move, but you don’t. His fingertips dance across your hips and jaw. You start to believe he’s playing a trick on you. He wants to see how far you’re willing to go. Well, you’re not a quitter. That’s for sure.

Instead of your typical surprised expression, your face morphs into a confident smirk. You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, in fact it does. Before you can wipe it away, Finnick presses his lips eagerly against your own. His tongue runs over the drop of blood, tasting the metallic substance mixed with your saliva. Jesus Christ.

His hands pull your face even closer, along with your body. Your robe is becoming loose, you feel the knot slipping slowly. Your hands are entangled in his golden hair, your eyes are closed so tightly. All you can focus on is how good he’s making you feel.

This is definitely wrong on some level, but when he’s touching and kissing you in all the right places, it seems to not matter. His lips begin to move downward. He places soft kisses on your jaw and neck. Once he reaches your collarbones, the kisses get more intense. He starts sucking dark purple hickeys and leaving discreet teeth marks on your fragile skin. He’s eager, but careful. As if your body is a porcelain doll and he’s the only one allowed to hold it. He’s so gentle yet abrasive.

Your muscles tense as you feel his hands travel down your waist and resting on your hips. You know his intentions. He’s not just kissing you in your bed while practically laying on top of you for nothing. He looks up at you, his sea green eyes pleading for you.

“Can I take off your robe?” He says softly. His voice seems safe now. Not infuriating. You give him a nod, but it’s not good enough for him. “I need to hear a yes.”

“Yes,” you say. And with that, he unties your robe in one swift motion. The sides of the robe fall off onto each side of your body, completely revealing everything. Obviously, since you just got out of the shower, there was nothing else underneath. Finnick observes every inch of your body before continuing to attack your chest with kisses.

It makes you smile. He’s so eager to make you feel good, and it makes you forget how you hated him moments before this. You feel his tongue trace the shape of your breasts, slowly making its way to your nipples. You’re quickly reminded just how bare you really are when Finnick licks a stripe up your nipple, his teeth catching on the bud. Your body tenses, and a chill runs down your spine. His hands move to your lower back, making you arch for him. You notice his smile at your helplessness.

You squeeze your legs together in a desperate attempt for any sort of relief. Your mouth drapes open as Finnick continues to tease you. Kissing everywhere, touching everywhere except the place you desire it most. Back to frustrating. You pull his head up by his hair to look him in the eyes. You’re pretty much begging with the look you’re giving, but Finnick still doesn’t think it’s enough.

He places another gentle kiss on your upper thigh, leaving his tongue to linger slightly longer. “Is there something you want, honey?” His voice was condescending yet so sweet to hear.

His words make you squirm, but the grip he has on your hips prevents you from going very far. You attempt to speak but all that escapes is a strangled moan you didn’t know was lurking in your throat. Finnick chuckles against your abdomen, causing your muscles to tense up. You realize quickly that he’s not going to resume his work until you give him an answer.

You roll your eyes at him to hide your embarrassment, like usual. He knows exactly what you want him to do. He knows exactly where you want to be touched. He just wants to hear you say it. “I wanna feel you, Finnick.”

Not good enough. He immediately refutes your statement.

“What do you want to feel, baby?” He places another kiss on your inner thigh. You can feel the throbbing sensation between your legs grow even more prominent when he calls you ‘baby.’ You can’t even form words; he just laughs at your struggling attempt.

“What about..” he begins. His fingers trail down the sides of your waist and stop at your hips. His calloused hands move forward to the front of your thighs, giving them a squeeze for good measure. “My tongue? You seem to be enjoying that so far.”

Fuck yes.

You throw your head back at the proposal. You would be laughing like a maniac if it weren’t for your inability to form words, which once again is not going too great for you. Finnick awaits an answer and the only thing coming out of your mouth is drool and moans.

Luckily, he starts to ease up on you. His hands find their way to your knees, spreading your legs apart as far as you’ll allow him. You feel so exposed in the best way possible. Finnick continues to leave sweet kisses on your inner thighs, teasing you on and on. You physically cannot take it anymore.

You grab Finnick by his hair, once again, and yank him forward. “If you don’t eat me out right now, you may never get the chance to. I would make your choice wisely and quickly.”

His eyes widen at your words, clearly surprised, but not unhappy. His sly smile creeps back onto his face as he licks a stripe between your folds. Your back immediately arches against his tongue. He takes the opportunity to grab the back of your thighs, allowing himself full control of your position.

You don’t resist whatsoever. As soon as his tongue is back inside you, tracing circles around your clit, everything fades away. He flicks his tongue over the same spot and a sharp moan echoes through the room. You come to the conclusion that it’s from you. Finnick chuckles softly. The cool air against your wet heat just makes you feel like you’re floating. And if he can’t tell how much you’re enjoying this by your body’s reaction, he can tell by the look on your face.

Finnick’s tongue continues to work its magic as your hands flail around for something to hold onto it. They end up grabbing onto the pillow and you’re surprised the whole train car can’t hear how loud you’re being. You swear no one else could make you feel this way. His tongue knows exactly where to go and what to do. You feel his hand move closer to your heat and it drives you crazy. His thumb moves slowly towards your clit, rubbing soft circles on it. Meanwhile, his tongue is prodding at your entrance. A loud moan escapes your lips as you attempt to focus on one thing at a time.

“Finn..” you whimper out. He pulls away from in between your legs, a mixture of juices dripping down his chin. He looks up at you, his chest heaving. He looks so good. Something about him looking so fucked out just manages to turn you on. “You look so fucking hot.”

A smile creeps up on his face at your words. He licks his lips and climbs up to meet your face. He places a soft kiss on your lips as a ‘thank you.’ You smile back and take the opportunity to give the obvious bulge in his pants a gentle squeeze. A groan leaves Finnick’s mouth and his hand makes its way back down to your pussy. He slips a finger in between your lips, flicking it over your clit again. Now you’re even.

You squeeze your legs together, making the pressure ten times more intense. You let out a soft whimper that seems to just push Finnick over the edge. He immediately pulls down his grey sweats, revealing his erection underneath a pair of black boxer briefs. You don’t even have to look twice to determine that’s gonna hurt.

You sit up and cross your legs to be face to face with him. You watch as he runs his fingers through his hair trying to determine what he wants to do next. His eyes flick back and forth between you and his dick before coming to a consensus.

“On your knees,” he smiles. You quickly scurry off the bed and onto your knees in front of him. You pull your hair into a tight ponytail and wetten your mouth, a smirk plastering your face. You allow him to pull down his boxers, his erection springing up towards his abdomen. The sight makes you ten times wetter.

You take Finnick’s cock into your hand, giving it a few strokes as beads of precum run down your hand. You can feel him throb in your hand and it makes you let out a small chuckle. He laughs too, not really understanding why.

You give the head a small kitten lick and watch as his face scrunches up in pleasure. You take the tip entirely into your mouth and Finnick lets out a loud groan. His hips begin to move slowly into your mouth. He makes sure not to go too fast or deep in case you can’t take it. You take at least two more inches to assure him you can.

You continue to bob your head up and down as his hips fuck the back of your throat. Whatever you can’t fit in your mouth, you stroke eagerly with the hand that’s not grabbing onto Finnick’s thigh.

Tears well up in your eyes and drool drips down your mouth as he fucks deeper into it. His little groans and whimpers are all the encouragement you need. You just sit back and let him have his way with you, every now and then you hum, sending the most pleasurable vibrations through his body.

You can feel his climax near when his hips start to stutter and his movements become faster and more desperate. You move your hands to rest on his chest, rolling his nipples in between your fingers. This throws him completely over the edge, because quickly after, he’s cumming down your throat. You take him out of your mouth and swallow what’s left of his cum before standing up to give him a sweaty, teary, drooly, cummy kiss. His tongue explores your mouth tasting what remains of his cum and you can see a string of your saliva when the kiss is over.

Despite your incredible blowjob skills, he’s still eager to make you feel as amazing as he possibly can. He moves his hands down to cup your ass, giving it a squeeze of encouragement. You giggle and fall back onto the bed. The satin sheets feel so good underneath your hot skin, and Finnick looks so inviting.

You close your eyes and suddenly he’s gone. You search around for a moment until realizing he’s gone to get condoms. Smart man. Not giving me a choice. When he comes back, he slips on the condom with ease and gives his hand a small squirt of lubricant.

“Don’t think I’ll need much,” he says smirking. “You’re already soaking wet for me. Yes?”

You feel yourself throb in between your legs at his words. He is seriously driving you insane. You watch as he coats his cock with the lubricant and gives himself a couple lazy strokes.

You can’t even think of a response, so instead you just pull him down to kiss you. After a few moments you break the kiss. “Finnick..”

“Don’t wear it out,” he speaks slowly. You just can’t take your eyes off of how big he is. “You’ll be screaming it in a minute.”

You smile at his cocky response. You feel him line-up with your entrance. One of your hands is resting on his bicep, the other is tracing circles on your clit. You let out a soft moan as you feel his tip slowly slipping into you. You don’t understand how he could be this slow. He wants this just as bad as you do, why is he being such a tease?

Instead of pushing deeper, Finnick decides to just use the tip for now. You’re squirming and writhing underneath him, desperate for something more. Every time you look at his face, he looks like he’s in heaven. Finally, he slowly slides more into you. You can feel every vein pulsating inside you. It makes you clench around him, which earns a very strong moan from Finnick’s mouth.

Your thoughts are being clouded with Finnick. Every touch he makes, every breath he breathes. Everything is Finnick. He’s murmuring something under his breath, but you have zero clue what. Probably something along the lines of ‘you’re so fucking hot,’ or ‘I’ve been waiting so long for this.’

You watch as beads of sweat drip off his forehead and onto your stomach. You realize very quickly why he wanted to take it slow. As soon as he tries to push completely into you, he bottoms out. You tense up, surprised by the feeling. Finnick looks at you and back down at his dick once again. By the look on his face, you can tell he is not all the way in.

“Fuck, Finnick. I didn’t realize you were that big!” You groan partially in frustration and partially in pleasure as he rolls his hips in a circular motion. He just smirks in response. Despite the little bump in the road, Finnick continues his shallow thrusts. He’s more careful now, he doesn't want to hurt you and now it’s become very easy to do so. You let out a loud whimper at his movements, angled to hit your g-spot with every little movement. Unfortunately for you, he’s still taking his sweet time.

He can sense your neediness. It’s driving him crazy. He starts to move slightly faster, but he’s still trying to savor the moment. Your back arches whenever he hits your sweet spot, which is pretty often. Your legs start to shake from using them to keep yourself up. Finnick notices and immediately pulls out and picks you up. This takes you by surprise and you flush a bright pink color.

“I wanna make sure you’re comfortable, how do you wanna lay?” His voice is soft and sweet. It’s crazy how fast his tone can switch between dominant and demanding to soft and caring.

You bite your lip and wrap your arms around his neck. “Can I ride you?”

That’s not the answer Finnick was expecting. He nods eagerly and flips the two of you around. Now he’s laying on the bed, and you're sitting on top of him. You line him up with your hole and sink down slowly onto him once again. Once he bottoms out, you start to move your hips in a circle. Finnick’s hands fly to your waist, guiding your movement. He watches as you ride him, tits bouncing directly in his face. He is surely the luckiest man alive.

His groans grow louder and more frequent, and your movements become faster and harder. His hands move to cup your ass, giving it a couple slaps as you bounce on his cock. You clench around him every time and it makes him so horny it hurts.

Finnick flips you over once more, wrapping your legs around his neck. His thrusts are much more powerful now. They’re aiming to hit your spot and it’s so good. His hands are fondling with your tits, pinching your nipples as his thrusts grow faster. His other hand is fixated on your clit, rubbing it just hard enough to make your back arch and leave scratch marks on Finnick’s biceps.

You can hear his breath faltering and his thrusts become sloppy. He’s whispering words to you, but you can’t quite comprehend exactly what he’s saying. Loud moans are leaving your mouth, but you can’t hear anything besides the slaps of your ass against Finnick’s hips, and his groans.

You feel his hand get faster, giving your clit just the right amount of attention it needs to feel your climax bubbling up in your lower stomach. You clench around him in response, and that’s what pushes him over the edge.

He pounds into you relentlessly, hitting your g-spot over and over again until you can’t take it. Your moans have become broken cries as tears flow from your eyes. The only words you can form are ‘Finnick’ and ‘faster.’ It doesn’t take much longer for your orgasm to reach its peak. Your body tightens completely, causing Finnick to release with you. He cums with a loud moan, even though your senses are still clouded from seeing stars, you can assume it was probably a drawn out ‘fuck.’

You pull him closer as his body collapses into yours. You give him another kiss before pulling the used condom off of him and tossing it into the trash bin. He gives you a weak smile as he breathes in your scent.

“You were amazing,” he mumbles against the crook of your neck. You pull the comforter over the two of you and close your eyes.

“You were perfect,” you respond smiling. He gives you another kiss on the cheek since he can’t stand not having his lips on you. The reality of your situation sets in very quickly. You’re about to be in the Hunger Games and you’ve just accidentally fucked your mentor. Accidentally may be a stretch.

You look over at Finnick, somehow putting your emotions aside. You give him a sad smile and place a soft kiss directly onto his lips. It confuses him, but he doesn’t question it. You’re clearly in a vulnerable state and he doesn’t want to pry too much.

You look into his eyes for far too long. The beautiful sea-green color that completely encapsulates the beauty of the ocean. You realize far too late how you really feel about Finnick Odair. The worst part is…

The clock just struck seven.

[loquaciousquark]

okay but pls to tell me about the horror of hunger

BOY WOULD I LOVE TO okay so, first, it is imperative to understand that it's Tavish's canon that Astarion kills her the first time he feeds. This is because in playing the scene the first time ever, I was in MP with @mystery-moose & @eponymous-rose, and it so happened that the scene triggered on Tav & it so happened that she rolled TWO NATURAL ONES on both those checks & outright died, and it was so hilarious and unexpected that it simply had to become an integral part of her story.

Except of course as I got to know the character over several playthroughs, I was presented with a couple of questions! Why in the world would Tavish (selfish, self-centered, uniquely concerned with her own survival early in the game) firstly allow Astarion to feed on her at all, and secondly, fail so fatally to stop him before he killed her? How can I reconcile the dice with the narrative?

What I realized on the second run, though, was that Tav was a street kid from the age of 14. She had to fend for herself completely, unable to even scrounge up protection from the Thieves' Guild, and I think there were a lot (a lot) of nights where she went to bed hungry, especially the first few years. I think she developed a bone-deep fear of that hunger, and I think recognizing that same hunger in Astarion's eyes on bite night is what pushes her over the edge to allow the feed, even though it's not something she would have ever agreed to in a million years otherwise.

She likes Astarion by now, even if she doesn't like like him, and along with her realization that she doesn't mind helping others altruistically (some of the early tief stuff) comes the same realization about her companions. (It helps that Tav has additional hangups about her worth as a person being tied to her utility, especially surrounded by people she sees as much more competent than herself; if she can make Astarion dependent on her in this way, she can cement her place in the gang and they won't leave her behind. This is why she fails to stop him when she should, and then can't stop him when she must.) (This entire relationship is initially founded on bilateral manipulation and I love it.)

Anyway, the fic will start with an exploration of those events, then hopefully will move into other expressions of hunger & its dangers for both Tav & Astarion. She sees his ostensible hunger for power & recognizes his true hunger for safety & freedom, both from Cazador & the sun; he sees her hunger for gold and understands she's actually after the security of a warm place to sleep with food in her belly & someone who'll notice if she dies.

I have strong ideas for the first half of this fic & more nebulous vibes for the second half, but I think it'd be a really fun investigation of the way their characters mirror each other, & I like the idea of examining what they think "help" looks like, ahaha.

Thank you for asking! <3<3<3

[letherivers]

The Dynamic of Cellbit and the Fed Workers and Fed Workers hiding themselves, a ramble

This is the first time I'm trying something like this, but I feel as though I'm one of the only ones who has connected these dots and seen the parallels that I'm going to talk about in this post and I feel as though I need to explore my thoughts and type them out for other people to see, think about and comment on

This contains mainly snippets of Cellbit and Bad's lore, including them during the hunger games wars, and lore from the past few days, including Quackity's stream on the 16th (lore from October 15th and 16th)

Saying this, it will contain spoilers so please be aware

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On the 15th we learn about the A0 event that will be happening, Cellbit calls BBH to his castle where they talk about Ron and his kidnaping, and taking down the federation. Cellbit talks about how good it felt to kill a worker even if it was by accident and if Ron outwore his usefulness that Cellbit wished to kill him himself. BBH knows what Cellbit has gone through because they both went through it together. He is aware of the trauma that Cellbit endured and why he feels the way he does. Cellbit having to kill people to survive and do horrible acts (c*nnibalism, etc) in order to simply live. Cellbit was tortured by the Federation and wishes for it to burn to the ground and is happy to kill anyone (Fed workers mainly) who get in the way of it. He and BBH are happy to spare any workers who side with them, but Cellbit is very bloodthirsty

On the 16th, on Quackity's stream he disguises himself as Fred and infiltrates the Fed office and attends the meeting Fred is supposed to be at. There he seems the workers partying and having fun and checking in on each other, sharing information and drama and gossip.

And just being normal people, trying their best to live their lives, before having to go back to being a conformed mass, unable to show their personalities and unique traits except in small moments where they don't have to shove it all down and away in fear of being punished and possibly killed.

We learn from multiple POVs that the workers have had their memories messed with, some practically erased and have been forced from their original lives to work for the Federation, having to commit horrible acts against their will in order to survive. We see how cared for and loved Fred is to the workers during this time, all of them checking in, offering support and hugs, even accepting if he has romantic feelings for Tubbo and that they will be happy for him if he decides to pursue a relationship. One guard even states feeling grief and sadness over the loss of the eggs who have passed away, commenting on a photo of Quackity and Tilin stating he "hopes they [Tilin] are resting peacefully, and that he had high hopes for them". Quackity doesn't know how to process all of this due to his perception of the federation due to his treatment under them and sees them all as evil.

The parallels between Cellbit and the Federation workers is heartbreaking, both parties being forced to do terrible things in order to be safe another day and being traumatized by it; but unable to do much to escape what is happening unless they are finally given an out. So far it feels as though Cellbit and the other residents will be the out for the Federation workers, those that truly do not wish to be there and want to be able to live their lives freely without a looming threat that any outward traits that do not fit in a box carved for them will result in something terrible happening to them.

I hope that this can happen and that most of the workers will have a happy ending, because they seem to be just innocent people who have been put in a very terrible situation against their will.

Just a lot of thoughts that I need to get out of my head and my god does my heart hurt seeing so many similarities but Cellbit being too blinded by trauma to see that the workers are suffering just like he did.

[thegreatmelodrama]

I had a great chat with some online mutuals/friends about the Hunger Games and we were talking about the comparisons some people were making between Snow and other characters of the trilogy and more specifically Peeta, Katniss, and Gale. Apparently some people are saying that Peeta is very similar to Snow or probably would have had a POV similar to Snow’s if the events of the trilogy were told from his perspective (which is just objectively false). While others say that Gale is just like Snow, which again isn’t exactly true either. However, there is some truth in these statements and this is what I want to focus on in particular.

Peeta, much like a young and even older Coriolanus Snow, possesses a quick wit and the ability to turn his charm on and off. We see this especially in his interviews with Caesar. And the same goes for Snow, and we see this particularly in TBOSAS, especially within the first two chapters as he turns on this charm when interacting with the students and faculty at the Academy. It’s very much a performance of sorts. And yes, there is the whole “in love” (though not really live for Coriolanus) with a girl who also has a past with another guy type of thing. However, the difference is that Peeta’s love isn’t obsession/possessiveness/a need for control disguised as love. His is a true genuine love, the kind where he just wants Katniss to be happy and in his life regardless of whether they end up together romantically. However, it’s also important to note that Coriolanus Snow was given the chance to actually learn what love was and was given every opportunity to correct his way of thinking, and yet always went straight back to power and control.

Then we have Gale. Gale has probably the most in common with Snow of the main three, and yet still differs. People are very quick to hate on Gale, and while I dislike him, his character should be approached with nuance. And it’s important to note that Gale did not start off as a “bad” person or someone who was willing to kill Prim because Katniss didn’t love him back. With that being said, he also demonstrates behaviors and actions that are bad and wrong. Gale is someone who has been deeply affected by the actions of the Capitol and his feelings towards the Capitol are completely understandable and in many ways justifiable, at least initially. The difference comes in his inability to listen to other perspectives and adapt his views, much like Coriolanus. And his inability to do so stems from both his lack of experience of having to kill someone up close while looking into their eyes, and from his latching onto his feelings of anger and resentment in which he blurs and crosses the line between that which is necessary and that which is unnecessary. And while these things certainly allow for an understanding of where he is coming from, they don’t justify his desires for the people in the nut, his views towards Katniss’s prep team, or his overall decision to use the same rule-book as Snow and stoop to his level. His initial feelings may be justified, but that in no way justified some of his later behavior. The second he said that he was using Snow’s rule-book and the instant that Katniss made a comparison between Snow and Gale in her internal dialogue is the point in which alarm bells should have been going off in our minds as well. It shows us that in those moments where Gale made bad decisions, his line of thinking in many ways mirrored that of Snow.

However in many ways he is very similar to Casca Highbottom, someone who put words to a piece of paper which led to so much more: a mere hypothetical that had catastrophic results. And this is what we see with Gale and the bombs. It was something that Gale and Beetee created together to use for the Capitol, however I don’t think Gale or Beetee really considered just how far Coin would go to win the war. Just like Crassus Snow and Gaul took advantage of this hypothetical and employed it into action, Coin does the same and uses Gale’s and Beetee’s bomb designs to kill countless Capitol children and medics, Prim included. The whole point is that Prim’s death shows the unintended and catastrophic effects of war, but also of human actions and agency. Whether or not Gale took anything away from Prim’s death is unknown and is left largely to the interpretations of the readers. However, Casca Highbottom’s lingering guilt over The Hunger Games May serve as an indication that this is something that will most likely haunt Gale forever. With that being said, we see that Gale, much like Snow is taken down a certain path where he is steered and encouraged partially by an older figure (Coin in this case) but even more so steered by his inability to part with certain emotions and convictions in which he refuses to listen to the words of others trying to broaden his perspective and make him think about his actions. He blurs the line between necessary and unnecessary force and violence. However, this doesn’t mean Gale purely is evil or a villain or even close to being like the Snow we see in the trilogy. He differs from Snow in a lot of ways and we see this in all of the good decisions he makes. However, whether or not Gale regrets ever helping create the ideas of the bombs and whether or not he learns anything from some of his bad decisions is something that is up for interpretation.

Lastly there are even similarities between Snow and Katniss. They both share this fixation with not owing anyone a debt. And while Snow is much better with people than Katniss is, both are still untrusting of the people they encounter initially, always keeping a part of themselves guarded from the outside world. And while these are probably the most basic, rudimentary similarities, I mention them for an important reason. Namely, to show that each of these characters and perhaps even more have all shared certain traits with Snow.

The point is that villains are made, not born. Snow was not born a villain or born destined to be a villain. If you remember the conversation between Sejanus and Snow in the arena, one can even see that even though Snow was saying anything to get Sejanus out of there, he did still have rebellious thoughts about the Capitol and the games. The fact that characters have certain traits that Snow has possessed further shows that he, like every single one of those characters, was at one point a kid and a teenager learning more about the world and his place within it. Snow became a villain because of the choices he made and what makes that so impactful is that it is inevitably a story about human agency and the choices we make and whether we learn from them or repeat the cycle. My point is that people have a tendency to view Snow in a manner very similar to the way Snow views humanity: as lacking any inherent goodness and thus having an inherent darkness. However, we are meant to view Snow (and I mean a young Snow) and the rest of the characters—and in fact human beings in general—the way that Lucy Gray views humanity: as having an inherent goodness or propensity to do good. The whole point is that Snow could have ended up differently, his story “might have been otherwise.” And that is so important because it makes his story and the results that came from his path that much more tragic and anger-inducing.

[darksideofthemamon]

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes movie vs book trivia

When I heard that The Ballad of Songbirds And Snakes was getting a movie, I was excited. Excited, but, a bit worried because as much as I liked the book, it was kinda long and did drag in some parts. I was worried how this would be onscreen.

Turns out they found a way to make it work! The 10th Hunger Games was way more action-packed in the movie than it was in the books, and that kept me engaged as a viewer.

On that note, here are some book-movie comparisons and trivia! This isn't a criticism nor is it a complete list. It's just a fun trivia post because I found the differences fascinating and need to ramble

Full spoilers for both book and movie!

First-scene cannibalism

I don't recall them getting into this in the movie, so here's some trivia: the guy who commits cannibalism at the very start of the movie is, in the book, the Snows' neighbor Nero Price, a titan in the railroad industry, and Tigris and Coriolanus recognize the person whose leg he was sawing off as the maid of the Cranes (whom the Snows also knew).

Nero has a daughter who is Coriolanus's classmate and fellow mentor in the 10th Hunger Games, Persephone Price. She and Coriolanus's best friend, Festus Creed, become close, which grosses Coriolanus out to no end.

[Festus and Persephone had] been spending time together, trying to come up with a joint strategy for their tributes, and Coriolanus could see that Festus was falling for her. Did you tell your best friend his crush was a cannibal? Never a rule book when you needed one.

2. Felix Ravinstill doesn't die in the book

The one who dies originally from the bombing is another classmate, a minor character named Gauis Breen.

This is one of the changes in the film that I think enhanced it! It's just a lot more impactful if the death of the president's son is what pushes Dr. Gaul to unleash the rainbow snakes.

3. Clemensia's fate, Coriolanus's offenses

"You're quite the rebel." "I'm bad news, alright"

It surprised me quite a bit when this happened pretty early on in the film. In the book, stealing food from the Academy is a major offense, and Coriolanus doesn't take to being called a rebel until after Clemensia gets bitten by Dr. Gaul's snakes (an event that really shook his belief in the Capitol as it showed him that even Capitol children were, in fact, not safe from the Capitol).

In the movie though, he does it before visiting Lucy Gray in the zoo (the same scene where Arachne dies).

On that note, the movie only shows the compact and hankerchief as his damning evidence. The book includes the napkin he stole from the Academy that got lost in the bombing.

4. Weaponized drones

In the movie, Coriolanus spams water bottles to distract the other Tributes from Lucy Gray. In the book, weaponizing a drone was a tactic used by the District 3 tributes, Circ and Teslee.

5. Lysistrata is more proactive in the books

In the movie, Coriolanus needs to ask Lysistrata to weaponize water against her own tribute, Jessup.

The book not only has Lysistrata display more knowledge of medicine (as her parents are President Ravinstill's personal physicians), but also has her be the one to initiate protecting Lucy Gray from Jessup.

In the film, Coriolanus says "Send him a drone." In the book, Lysistrata says "No, let me. He's my tribute, after all." (Then Coriolanus tries to refuse, but she insists).

6. Lamina was portrayed as more "impressive" in the book

I found this one really fascinating as I was watching it play out.

Lamina, at the start of the movie, was always crying. Then she climbed a beam and killed Marcus.

The physicality of climbing up that beam is treated as more impressive in the books, with Lamina's surprising strength, agility, and balance being attributed to her coming from the lumber district, District 7. After mercy-killing Marcus, she stays up on the beam, which is acknowledged as a good strategy, implying that she might actually win.

It wasn't a bad strategy. Safer than on the ground, for sure. She had a plan. She could kill. In less than an hour, Lamina had redefined herself as a contender in the Games.

While Lamina does all these in the film, less attention is called to it.

I liked that in the book because it showed us how swiftly tributes can go from underdogs to contenders with skills apart from brute strength.

7. Dill and Wovey's deaths get swapped

Another good change they made for the movie!

In the book, Dill (District 11) dies of natural causes (tuberculosis) while Wovey (District 8) dies of Lucy Gray's rat poison. We don't see Lucy Gray's reaction to this.

But in the movie, Wovey dies from the snakes, while Dill drinks poisoned water, which we see Lucy Gray's regretful reaction to.

I think this was such an impactful change they made for the movie. Why? Because Dill is District 11's female tribute... just like Rue. Except in the 74th Hunger Games, District 12 female (Katniss) regrets not being able to save Rue. In the 10th, Lucy Gray regrets accidentally killing Dill.

8. Treech does not die from rat poison in the book

He instead dies from one of Dr. Gaul's poisonous snakes that Lucy Gray kept in her pocket. On that note...

9. Snakes were not the climax (Reaper was)

The Games don't end with everyone covered in rainbow snakes. Some of the tributes survive, and the next day most of the snakes are dead (because some muttations don't survive well out of the lab).

Rainbow snakes made for a great climax though! Additionally...

10. Coral was not the final boss/main rival in the book (Reaper was)

Though she was a deadly opponent, she wasn't the last one Lucy Gray had to fight. In the movie, Coral dies from rainbow snakes, all while pleading with Lucy Gray, while Reaper accepts his fate as the snakes get him.

In the book, Coral dies from the snakes, but Reaper survives. Then there's a bit of a waiting game the next day until Reaper drinks from a puddle of poisoned water. All that said...

11. Lucy Gray flat-out wins in the book

But in the movie, Dr. Gaul was ready to kill all the tributes with her snakes, but then Coriolanus, backed by the student body, shouted for her to let Lucy Gray go. And she does.

This was such a great change for the movie because not only was it more climactic, but it very much reminds us of the power audience reaction has over the Hunger Games ("if it weren't for the baby", and such)

[captain-lessship]

The fanfic where reader is the oldest of Snows grandkids and he gets to crown Finnick as the victor for his games "Frozen Over", I want for reader and Finnick to have an happy ending. As both are being abused by Snow. Reader would also hate the Hunger game once they realize what is done to Finnick & wanting to end the Hunger game for good and defend Finnick from the Victor duties.

Finnick would have hatred at reader at first as he thought that Snow wouldn't harm his 'favorite grandson". When in reality Snow would hurt his family to prove a point, they ended up with some scaring or bruises on their face or body when they did defend Finnick from his Victor duties. Once Finnick realize that reader getting mysteriously injured and if asked as what cause them Reader explain what they said to Snow and what he did and to why they would defend him is because they believe that the two of them are friends & doesn't deserve what Snow making him do and Finnick would feel guilty as when he is using them to get a way to kill snow, he is the reason as to why reader is getting injuries by defending him from their Grandfather showing him that Snow would even hurt his own family. That when Finnick would really become reader friend once he realizes that their thinking of him, for seeing him not as a Victor but as a person with feelings & emotion.

Also if this is 75th hunger game, I feel that once reader see what the hidden twist for 75th, they would straight up lie and making something up like

"The quarter quell this year will be two separate games. The boys and girls reaped from each district will be one of each. The males will compete in one arena while the women compete in another. Then in the end, the final 4 Victor's will be brought together and fight in smaller special arena. There will be only one Victor" With them burning the envelope in secret as to no one know they lie.

As to why reader would lie about the twist of the the quarter quell is because they felt guilty as they couldn't fully protect Finnick from their Grandfather. Reader would tell Finnick of what they have done as to defend him from The quarter quell. Showing him the lengths that reader has gone just to defend him now that they can protect Finnick from his Victor's duties. (This when their friendship evolves to lover And they should stay as lover and get their happy ending)

Though also I believe reader would notice if someone was using them with the exception of the grandfather(Snow).

Thank you for this amazing series and I hope you continue writing. Seriously it's fantastic and Sorry for the long post, I'm just very into it, I just hope now Reader and Finnick can get a happy ending. Please get a happy ending

If you want to message me, just reply to this post, and I'll see it and message you.

First off, I love that you took the time to write this so don’t apologize and I am so happy you are enjoying this series as I am planning to also start another Hunger Games Series (and gonna add it to my request list)

Secondly, (spoiler) I already have written Finnick’s discovery of Snows aggression to his grandson.

I will have to think of changing the ending as I created my outline to have an unhappy ending and I write weirdly (I write the important events and then connect them with dialogue and action).

I would appreciate your message and maybe we can reach a compromise as I am sure there are other people who would like a happy end as well as people who would like to see the unhappy ending

[nataliescatorccio]

I'm ashamed to admit I didn't even know the book existed until it came out on adverts for the movie release in cinemas! I bought the book right there and then as I am a big hunger games fan, but it took me months to be able to read it as life got in the way and have just finished it last night!!!

I fell completely and utterly in love with Lucy and Snow/Lucy (well up until his true colours at the end of the book showed its ugly head)

Was it just me that felt the book near the end started to finish off things very quickly? Like with Senjaus and his plans to rebel Snow follows him and then it all goes to shit right there and then he kills the mayors daughter and the other rebel killed Billy which to me didn't make much sense cause he was charging at someone the rebel didn't even know over anger at killing someone he cared about but the rebel sided with protecting Snow? Unless I misread it?

I love how you were drew into actually quite liking Snow and his relationships even though he did have a kind of dick side even then, I also love his relationship he had with Senjaus in district 12 until he betrayed him like he did anyway it killed me reading that part :/ I hate how he became the Plinths son pretty much after he was killed also even though he was the reason. I feel after the deaths of the other two he may now of gone on the run and settled down for a while at least or maybe even ran off like Lucy did on his own in hopes he'd get away.

Also I wish we'd found out what actually happened between Billy and Lucy? It seemed like it was more than what was said as it seemed it happened much before the hunger games name call out? Do you think the mayors daughter really made her name come out and be put into the games?

i'm glad you finally got the chance to read it, it really is an amazing book! i was definitely just enraptured with lucy. i think the story does an amazing job at showing possibly 'redeeming' qualities in snow to make you root for him at points, but then entirely twisting it at the end so you're reminded who he really is. it's so cleverly done because going into it, you know snow is no good, so it takes a certain kind of special writing to make you forget that at points. you get so caught up in his relationships with both sejanus and lucy that you forget his only loyalty is to himself. while a horrible twist that he almost took sejanus' place as a son, it so perfectly fits who snow was, so much so that you almost want to kick yourself for not seeing it sooner.

i agree it wrapped up quickly at the end, but honestly, i feel like most books do. and i think it had to because it all amounted in a cascade of events which were interlinked, each triggering the other. so yes, while a lot happens, it does sort of making sense that it suddenly all starts to fall apart and does so quickly. it's been a while for me since i last read the books so i have to admit the details are not fresh in my mind, but i don't remember being confused by this scene. i think it's just reacting out of the sudden stress of the moment and the need to cover tracks and simply survive the situation before anyone either a) ran for help or b) turned on them.

i personally don't think there was anymore in the story between lucy gray and billy that we weren't told? i just saw it as a typical first love story, girl loves boy, boy leads girl on for a bit, boy leaves girl for another. lucy gray was incredibly independent, intelligent and hardy, this seemed a contrast to what billy wanted from a girlfriend which was stated as lucy as some girl to take care of him. and then their whole breakup got messier because yes, i really do think the mayor's daughter set up lucy gray's name to be reaped out of jealousy. to me this is the only outcome that would make sense for the mayor jumping to the immediate conclusion that lucy gray killed mayfair, why else would he be so convinced she would enact revenge on his daughter? however, i would love a novel from lucy gray's perspective that could show us a bit more of her life before the games. she's such a magnetic character and i'd always be happy to hear more from her.

[kreideprinz69]

About his illnesses, maybe he is even deteriorating during the simulation, because the pharmacy is on the second island, which is locked till chapter 2 (if Usami had full reins, I think she would have left it open), which he only explore for the murder scene. During chapter 3, even if he does get his meds, he gets hit with the despair disease, while in 4, he and the others don't even get food, and I don't think he carries around medications. Also the fact Hinata investigated his room in chapter 5, and there is no signs of anything he might need for his illnesses (he might get medications in the pod or the pod keeps him from worsening, but the mentality of not getting medications can actually make people feel worse. Kind of feels like this is hinted at in the manga where Nagito is tied up, he might not need food or nutrients are provided in his pod, he faints from hunger). Sorry if I made errors, english is not my native language.

that's an interesting thought! the mentality is definitely an important part. also no worries, there weren't any errors! i'm going to talk about his illnesses and some thoughts/theories i have but disclaimer; i really don't have much medical knowledge lol, my source is google and personal experiences.

i've always strongly believed he wasn't medicated during the killing game, which i've used as an explanation for some of his behavior. as for if he's being medicated in his pod, i'm not sure. but either way, he's not taking any medication during the simulation, which is the important part here. i've theorized he was probably on medication for a lot things, since symptoms of his dementia can include things like OCD and depression.

his behavior in the killing game vs, well, pretty much anytime we've seen him NOT in the killing game (aside from UDG) was noticeably more tame, at least in comparison to the killing game. i've considered that this may be due to a mixture between being off of his meds, and the events of the killing game being really triggering, which sort of caused him to spiral a lot more. being entirely off your medication and thrown into a kill or be killed disaster is not a good mix, to say the least lol.

[trashbag-baby666]

Between Tridents and Knives-Finnick Odair

Chapter Four.

Chapter Summary: Some flashbacks to the 74th reapings and games!

WC: 2,160.

C/W: death and mentions of forced prostitution.

Series Masterlist!

The Reaping For The 74th Hunger Games.

District Four.

Fawn sat down on the provided chairs for the past victors of District Four. Finnick grabbed her hand fast as she crossed one leg over the other.

Fawns stylist had her dressed in a long dark blue dress, nothing flashy but simple. Her necklace from Finnick inspired this dress, the neck was high and sleeveless.

It wasn’t cold by any means during the month of May in District Four.

But she felt cold, it was her and Finnick's year mentoring again.

Every year they held the victors at the capital for special viewing events and dinners. Not required but since Fawn and Finnick were capital jewels they had no choice.

She would usually stand at the drink table gulping down glasses of champaign, that's how she really got to know Haymitch.

“Slow down or we're gonna be similar.” Haymitch looked at his glass of whiskey and then at Fawn. At the time she couldn’t have been more than 20. She never got used to the sights of seeing children kill each other. A way that she had done about three years prior.

“Not the same,” Fawn scoffed, taking another champagne glass, “I only drink at these events.”

“Yeah that's how it starts,” Haymitch smirked, he was famously a drunken problem everywhere, sloppy, gross, a mess.

“Well if it's up to Snow I won’t end up like you.” Fawn sighed, thinking of the appearance she had to keep up.

“Ah, yes you and Finnick, the desirable ones.” Haymitch rolled his eyes and took another glass of whiskey.

Fawn wished she wasn’t a desirable victor, she’d do anything to have a normal life outside of being a victor.

“Yeah full hysterectomy done at 18. That's desirable and glamorous.” Fawn scoffed, another thing she wanted to personally slit Snow's throat for.

She didn’t want kids and made that clear to Finnick, she wasn’t risking having her children reaped for the games. But something like having a hysterectomy was a decision she wanted to make for herself instead of being forcibly mutilated by Snow.

Fawn sighed from feeling the comforting hands of Finnicks on her own as he rested their intertwined hands in his lap. Finnick had on a suit with the same colored blazer and pants with a white button up.

He knew how much Fawn didn’t want to be here, hell no one wanted to be here.

Finnick rubbed his calloused hand over hers a few times.

Then the District Four escort came onstage, Fawn never cared to remember her name. Maybe it was rude but she avoided anything capital related unless forced upon it.

As the escort began to talk Fawn shifted into the place she always went in her head when she didn’t care to be present.

She sat up a bit more straight knowing the cameras would be on them and put on her fake smile.

But inside she was thinking of their house in the victors village they shared. The smell of the ocean and breeze flowing through their house as the sounds of the waves crashing on the rocks by the beach basically in their backyard.

The thought of Finnick spinning her in the kitchen as they waited for their freshly speared fish to finish cooking.

Just them in pure bliss, but she was pulled from her thoughts as a young girl no more than 15 walked up on stage.

Her hair was a deep dark brown almost black and she was taller, her face sort of flat as she wore a monotone expression on her face. Her mouth pulled straight and her eyes dark as she waited for someone to volunteer but no one did.

Fawn found this as a regular occurrence for every child reaped, a dead expression or hysterical tears.

Fawn had even had that herself the day she was reaped, she stood on stage.

Hot flashes ran over her body as she waited for someone to volunteer but of course it never happened.

Then they moved onto the boys, Fawns ears were ringing as she watched it all play out. Finnick pulled her impossibly closer, scooting his chair closer to hers, Fawn squeezed his hand tight.

Her hands were sweating as she heard a boys name be called and a very young boy comes on stage.

His hair was red and curly and he was too young to go into these games. Fawn felt her heart pounding, she couldn’t watch these kids die. She couldn’t tell if she just wanted time to freeze or to just get up and run and keep running till she physically couldn’t. She knew those both weren’t plausible ideas so she sat there and acted as if this was morally right.

As the kids were led into the justice building they made eye contact with her and Finnick. Finnick took her hand and followed going out back to where their car waited for them. She felt numb every step she took in the uncomfortable silver heels she didn’t feel, her hand wrapped around Finnicks was her anchor from flying away into the oblivion of Panem.

Finnick helped her into the car as they always took the mentors to the train first then the tributes after their last visits with their family.

Fawn just stared straight ahead as Finnick held her tight. They got out at the train station, Fawn tried her hardest to not trip over her heels.

As they got into the train she collapsed into a chair in the den area.

“Fawn look at me,” Finnick took both her hands as she moved herself to look at him.

“I’m sorry, I’m fine.” She blinked a few times trying to recompose herself. Finnick cupped her face gently and wiped away her tears with the pad of his thumb. Fawn was trying to keep herself pulled together, she had to mentor these kids for three weeks knowing damn well they won’t last more than two days in the arena.

Finnick was able to keep his composure far better than Fawn could. He had been in the capitol spotlight longer and constantly spoke for the press when Fawn couldn’t.

During an interview with Caesar Finnick would cover for her plenty.

“So I heard from a little birdy that there's an engagement that happened?” Caesar leaned towards Finnick and Fawn in his chair. They were engaged but never planned to marry, something about sealing it just would make things difficult. They just wanted something to hold each other together.

“Oh yes Caesar.” Finnick spoke up, he sat next to Fawn. He was in a blouse that was the same ocean green color as Fawns long dress. An elegant ball gown with gold embroidered flowers on the bottis of the dress. The dress showed plenty of her cleavage knowing god forbid they be in the spotlight without being exploited. Fawn sat close to Finnick, their hands intertwined, “Here Fawn, why don’t you show them your ring.” Finnick looked into her eyes and offered a reassuring smile.

“Oh please,” Caesar took her hand with her ring finger on it, “Get a close up of this.” The band of the gold plated ring had a trident wrapping around one side and a knife on the other holding the big green emerald together.

“Finnick just has a knack for beautiful jewelry, he gave me this necklace when I came home from my games.” Fawn pointed towards the seashell necklace with the ocean blue heart pendant in the center.

“Well that's certainly lovely, Finnick you must have really liked her.” Caesar began driving in the romantic talk.

“Well like we said at the end of her victory tour, Caesar we are in love with each other.” Finnick smiled at Fawn then looked at Caesar.

“It was just love at first sight really, when I actually got to know him I just knew I had to be with him forever.” Fawn put on her best smile for the capital pretending that she loved them and loved her life.

They sat there silently for a moment, Finnick holding Fawns' hands. Fawn studied his ocean green eyes as she once again imagined the house on the ocean.

Finnick joined her in her fantasy, Fawn standing on the back deck looking at the ocean. The water crashing against the rocks, the feeling of Finnick's arms wrapping around her waist. The strong grip he had on her waist, the heat radiating off his hands.

Fawn was pulled from her thoughts as Nava walked in followed by the two kids.

“And this is the capital train, your mentors.” She motioned to Fawn and Finnick, they met her gaze with their lips pulled straight. Not impressed by the capitol luxuries.

Fawn felt her heart begin to beat, she could feel it in her ears. She grabbed the arms of the chairs and pushed herself up. She felt weary as her vision tunneled, she began hurrying to her room. She couldn’t mentor these kids, they were so young.

“I’m sorry, I’ll go get her.” Finnick put on his most charming smile and followed Fawn to the bedroom car.

Finnick came into their room,

Fawn had to excuse herself for a moment.

Fawn sat on the bed kicking her heels off and pulling her knees up to her chest.

Children…that’s who they were mentoring, children and it made her sick.

She knew everyone in those ‘games’ were children and not all of them stood a chance but these two…

The ones they were mentoring didn’t stand a chance. She knows she should have more faith, more trust or confidence but she can’t….more like she couldn’t it hurt too much.

When she went into her games she was different from who she is now and she knows that. But one thing that pissed her off more than anything was what they made her do after she won those ‘games’ she hates doing it and she hate’s thinking that those kids could have the same fate her and Finnick did.

Fawn sat in the bed sobbing into herself, her head between her knees the dress getting dampened by her seemingly never ending flow of tears.

She didn’t bother to look up as the door opened and Finnick stepped in.

Finnick sat down next to Fawn, she didn’t need words. He needed to just be in her presence right now.

Finnick helped her untuck herself from her ball of tears.

“I’m not ready to go back out there, Fin.” Fawn sniffed, rubbing her eyes causing makeup to smear over her cheeks. Finnick nodded and held both of her hands and kissed over her knuckles.

“That’s okay, we can just stay here for a bit.” Finnick said softly, Fawn nodded and laid down in the bed Finnick lay behind her as they cuddled into each other.

He couldn’t blame Fawn for how she was feeling they had to mentor these kids, they were just kids.

Fawn broke her silence as tears began to fall from her eyes once again, “Did you see how young they are? Why do they have to do this…it’s not fair, Fin. I hate this, this shouldn’t be anyone's fate.” Fawn cried as Finnick pulled her body closer to his. He knew these kids had absolutely no chance at winning these games. They probably wouldn’t last more than a few days.

“I know darling,” Finnick moved her hair away and kissed behind her ear. Every year they dragged out the victors and forced two of them to mentor children to their deaths.

“Let's get you cleaned up, I can’t stand these clothes.” Finnick helped Fawn up, she sighed pulling her hair away from the zipper in the back of the dress. She turned and Finnick unzipped her and she slipped out of the dress.

They took a shower and dressed in matching forest green sweaters and black pants before joining the others in the den area. Finnick held her hand and went first as they walked in. The two children turned to look at the two, they looked her in the eyes. Fawn stopped and squeezed Finnicks hand tighter, suddenly she could see everyone she loved in those eyes.

“Marina and Beck, these are your mentors, Fawn and Finnick.” Nava smiled introducing them.

“Hello,” Finnick sat on the loveseat near them. Fawn stood frozen near the doorway still. She didn’t know what to do, just stand there? Go back to her room and drink?

“Ms. Fawn, are you okay?” Beck, the young boy asked, looking at her. His eyes are a glossy blue like the ocean on a sunny day.

“Yeah,” Fawn mustered up the best smile she could muster and walked over to the love seat sitting next to Finnick. She sat so close she could basically be sitting on his lap, she just needed to know that he was there. She needed her anchor to keep her present.

[3kiripima3]

Hi! I just saw your post about Hazbin match ups & I’ve never done this before so I hope I’ve included everything I needed to :D

. Gender Identity -> Gender Fluid

. Sexuality -> Bi

. Hobbies -> Ok so I have quite a few so first off I absolutely LOVE reading (bit of an understatement) but it’s a really bad habit of buying books that don’t fit anywhere, as for a specific genre of books I quote like murder mystery or dark (as in spooky, mystery etc) fantasy. Some of the books I own are how to kill your family, one of us is lying, hunger games, girl in pieces, good girls guide to murder, five survive, welsh poetry & to kill a mockingbird. Secondly I’m apart of the air cadets! I do not have a rank and I’m quite happy with just attending events and such and I’ve been having such a great time with them, another hobby of mine is baking (especially for my grandparents) their diabetic so I love trying to find receipted that don’t have as much sugar that they can have. And lastly I do horse riding, while I did stop for a while because of money issue I’m starting to get back into it and I’m hoping to start either show jumping or cross country.

. Interests -> Hmmm as for interests I’d probably say FNAF, hazbin of course and at the moment I’ve been getting back into Murder drones (especially after the 7th episode come out, I was so shocked) but I honestly don’t have many I treated as most of my time is taken up doing things like my hobbies (all though I do love to give places a good clean)

. Overview of personality -> umm I honestly don’t know what to say to describe myself, but based off what my friends are saying I’m quite sarcastic & quick witted with my answers, but I tend to be concerning in my sense of humour & my things, I’m somewhat on the neurodivergent spectrum but I don’t have a special interest I keep changing them a LOT (hence why I haven’t put much down for interests) and I think my friends start to get concerned when I become interested in things like needles and phlebotomy before changing to something like cannibalism (I find it fascinating what drives people to these things). Anyway I have been described as being quite a lovely person especially by family me members and I think it tends to show when I’m around people I don’t know much because I like to make a good impression of myself & not embarrass anyone or myself.

. Any character I don’t want to be paired with -> Husk (nothing against the man just not my type at all yk), Charlie & Vaggie (their such a cute couple and definitely prefer to keep them together and not get myself shipped with any of them)

. Anything extra -> idk if this helps but I honestly SUCK at using technology, like I can’t do it to save my life 😭, but I do like to have a good poke around on stuff like tv’s, laptops, sat navs, just to see if I can find anything out. Oh and I hugely look up to my grandad, anyone asks me and I’ll always say I’m a grandad’s girl he inspired me so much, he was in the navy & worked as an engineer. And I t think to do something like that for a good chunk of his life is so inspiring.

Anyway, hope I’ve written everything I need to, and have a good day/night xx

Hi! Thanks for the request! After some consideration, I think I'd pair you with…

Alastor!

I feel like you two would be practically perfect for each other.

I see Alastor as the type to also read a lot. I think he'd honestly have very similar taste in books to you. I could imagine him often recommending you books, albeit rather concerning ones.

With baking, I don't see Alastor being particularly fond of that. However, I view him as the type of person who likes to cook instead of bake. So, you'd likely both end up making different food at the same time and talking with each other.

Due to Alastor's nature, I don't think he'd exactly be interested in shows at all. Yet, I can see him listening quite avidly to any of your interests if you discuss them with him.

Alastor would appreciate your personality a bunch. As he himself is naturally quite sarcastic and quick-witted, he'd enjoy having a person like you who'd be able to reciprocate. Alastor would definitely not have any issue with concerning types of humour unless it involves anything sexual towards him.

I think Alastor would also love that you're able to make good impressions on people and be a lovely and polite person, as he values his reputation a certain amount and would rather not be around someone extremely brash in public.

Sucking at using technology wouldn't bother Alastor at all. He'd probably bond over the fact that you both struggle using technology.

Thanks for requesting! I hope this is good enough for you :)

[tu-es-gegg]

14, 20, 31 !

qsmp ask game

14. Thoughts on Cucurucho and The Federation?

i think on the onset is the Fed itself doesnt seem all that scary at least to unfamilar new viewers. i think at first it definitely had that scare horror factor with that famous chainsaw hallway and how many times people got kidnapped. i think as time went on as people started to learn more abt the inner workings of the federation (from getting to knwo the actual workers like fred and walter bob, to the QSMP official streams, seeing all the goofs and gaffs of it all) it started losing its horror edge and characters openly mock it too. cucurucho too, liek these characters already been through hell and back that cucurucho and the federation are just lesser evils compared to stuff like purgatory eye guys

and that part to me is the scarier or at least on equal to the horror vibes it had before because that means people have just gotten comfortable with an oppressive force. the Feds are well... the feds, they enforce the rule of perfection and stability, they only care about presenting a perfect image and they dont really care about what they have to do to obtain it, so long as the veil of perfection is presented that is all they desire. no matter how much damage to children or islanders is done, they must achieve perfection; for what purpose we don't know.

i think a lot of people sweep under the rug the horrific stuff the feds do because its only looking at the very human and feeling workers. but workers do not represent the feelings and actual desires of the higher ups, we've seen what higher ranking federation workers do to dissents that decide not to work along with their assigned roles with walter bob. and we can see that some even higher ranking workers like elena are affected adn sometimes dont even know some things because of their manipulations.

the feds work with obscuring truths, lies and gaslights (yes im using this word correctly, they actively try to make present faults on the islanders instead of taking accountability for themselves), make themselve the better person, they trap birds in cages and when teh birds beg for freedom, they show them a polluted city and say "are you sure?", the bird says they'll stay and so the feds cut their wings. its less scary in that abject of horror of "what the fuck are they?" and more scary in the sense they are cruel.

i do wish we had more human experimentation, liek we cant jsut have qq be the ONLY one thats jsut unfair.

20. Name an event you’d like to see in the future

in terms of culturall events lmao i dont have much, i kinda hoped they did lunar new year earlier, i love lunar new year (IT WAS SO PERFECT THIS YEAR TOO, YEAR OF THE DRAGON HELLO), id like them do some sort of german holiday, Oktoberfest is a great one

likelihood of them doing something liek a nod to ramadhan and aidilfitri is low, maybe one day idk, they should do a whole day of night market GOD I FUCKING LOVE NIGHT MARKET

in terms of lore events PLEASE I WANT ANOTHER FEDERATION BREAK IN, OR AT LEAST SOMETHING SIMILAR, i know that kinda stuff is so fuckin hectic esp when you have the collective half of the server, but like i love that kinda

or maybe some sort of minigames sports day with cash prizes where they jsut play server minigames made by the players, like someone can make spleef or hunger games, they just hire badboyhalo to make a find the button and everyone collectively kills him.

31. What lore/arc have you enjoyed the most?

QSLIME CODEFLIPPA ARC PLEASE I NEED THIS CONCLUDED, im already a qslime sucker, i liek his cahracter and how he's played, this idea was already been a concept for other qslime fans when it was discovered the codes could disguise as eggs jsut because of how perfect it is. I think out of most people, he was one of the most succeptible to being manipluted because out of all the islanders, he was one of teh most desperate. someone like quackity or maxo would sniff it out immediately, by virtue of them finally reaching their acceptance. qjaiden to some extent also had acceptance, though BARELY just a hair, though her likelihood of being targeted would be thwarted by cucurucho and the feds if they ever found that fake bobby, also roier would just insta kill code bobby if he stuck around. qslime however, shown oveer time and time again very publicly he would never get over flippa. AND BY GOD HE WASNT.

i also was like dying to find out mroe about the nature of the codes themselves, not jsut as killing egg machines, liek seen with etoiles they were only seen as fighters, battlers, entites only served to be one-note killers. so when codeflippa came around everyone was immedietely in for a wild fuckign ride, it got even wilder by the end of the 3rd flippa hangout stream (tubbhole stream i call it) with flippa remembering something federation related and seemingly spouting honest endearment to qslime and GOD godd QSLIME AND HIS BEING A BEING A FATHER;;; like he is so self sacrificial to point it even hurts people around him jsut for the sake of making sure is daugther is the best and recieves the best, like;;; gah its jsut a perfect arc as a testament to what qslime is down toa core, a guy trapped in a cycle of grief and drowning in it over adn over, too blinded in denial and begging on his knees to have someone good ofr once in his life. when people want to know what qslime is i jsut point them to this arc in general. its executed so well thanks to charlie slimecicle and also codeflippa's admin (they do god's work being so patient by how many times charlie straight up just lets her go free) my only wish is that PLEAE COME BACK CODEFLIPPA I MISS YOU.

AND ALSO QBBH DYING, i think bbh bloggers can word that section better than me but holy shit the arc of him dying which went on so fucking agonisingly long, the wait for a shoe to drop and when it finally does, GOD ITS A WRECK, he's so interconnected with EVERYONE on the island simply by jsut being their babysitter, yet his death is so quiet, the news pouring out slowly and surely, and the fact only select few people were actually concerned in his process of dying, its a strange reflection of a very reoccuring themse of hidden sides and secret lives that mainly is a product of how streamed mcrp works, mainly for this style that the QSMP has, qbad's death was so satisfying beacuse it was the ending of an agonising wait, of questions being answers and new ones popping up, i could go on other stuff i cant fit in also cellbit's little federation detective adventures, that whole reveal where he is confirmed to be a fed employee and can never truly escape from their grasp was so fuckign good, the consequence of by all accounts selling his soul to cucurucho and the federation comign back to bite him OHHhhhhhhhhh that whole saga is so fuckign good. also the egg lore and developments like god sunny's whole drama with leo and also tallulah, the perfect representation of things little girls go through in life, litterally roier rat sage what the fuck (i dont know why doied exists but like ratoier is fuckign funny), FITMC AND AMDAGIO OHHHH BOY, i willcatch him with my bare hands, finally the answer after finding out he knew he ahd a reason to come ot he island oughghghh philza ender king lore ive been enjoying too i will catch that man too, etoiles and code interactions is also real fujckign good.

I think the main thing i like in lore is little things having big consequences, and the execution naturally blowing up, the thing i appreciate most is paying attention to all teh little memories and slights from before, and havign the comeuppance. some arcs i do appreciate, like bagi's search for her brother (the scene with her and cellbit mua chef kiss), litterally tazercraft getting arrested adn that whole saga, antoine daniel, whatevber the hell is ayrobot but i think what makes me not come back to those that often is mainly because... well i dont think theres a satisfying answer to them. not a conclusion or ending but more like, why did these happen? what sort of thing happens becausse of this? some arcs dont seem to lead into anywhere, and its not like filler episodes , its not jsut extra stuff to flesh out characters because they are actual stakes at hand with these arcs like there should be MORE consequences because of these things, stuff should be affected but instead are just little spice to these character and thus,, some jsut miss out on the depth they couldve had. its nto a diss to anyone, i jsut wish some arcs had more time to bake or be reworked to at least have a significant effect instead, they jsut kinda end up in my mid pile.

[ninas-gf]

I posted 4,220 times in 2022

That's 4,068 more posts than 2021!

1,091 posts created (26%)

3,129 posts reblogged (74%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@kaletalecowboy

@transxiao

@fishareglorious

@dandelion-wings

@fitzkn

I tagged 1,992 of my posts in 2022

#genshin impact - 65 posts

#genshin impact spoilers - 52 posts

#long post - 12 posts

#genshin spoilers - 12 posts

#sumeru spoilers - 11 posts

#this - 8 posts

#prev - 6 posts

#ty for the ask &lt;3 - 6 posts

#genshin 3.1 spoilers - 5 posts

#this is so good - 5 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#in a way i think it’s kind of nice how there are different ‘levels’ of understanding characters based on how you consume the game’s content

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

the sad thing about the weinlesefest event is that it proves that the citizens of mondstadt are perfectly capable of working together to complete tasks successfully… they just choose to regularly dump all their chores on jean.

163 notes - Posted October 11, 2022

#4

you know, the term “comfort character” doesn’t really work for me… like no, this character doesn’t bring me comfort, they have me in a chokehold. they crawled into my head one day and refuse to come out. they constantly plague my mind. they spin around and around and around in my head until my brain goes static and i can’t think about anything anymore.

175 notes - Posted August 19, 2022

#3

*yae trying to convince ei to finally leave the plane of euthymia after the vision hunt decree is abolished*

yae: alright ei, it’s been hundreds of years. you can come out now.

ei: i’m a lesbian.

yae: …that’s not what i meant.

195 notes - Posted January 31, 2022

#2

beidou: see you in hell.

ningguang: are you asking me out on a date?

ningguang: because if so, i accept.

237 notes - Posted January 23, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

i think it’s interesting how there are a lot of similarities between the playable cryo characters: they all tend to have contradicting personality traits, they deal with isolation/loneliness, and due to these factors they are emotionally repressed. i think cryo vision theories differ so much from each other because they have so much in common, and this makes it difficult to pinpoint how exactly these characters get their visions.

but personally, i believe that cryo visions have less to do with any of these things, and more to do with the concept of preservation.

(more details below)

think about it: there is already evidence of cryo having a rather…unnatural property of being able to preserve living beings. in xiangling’s story quest, we learn that a man from springvale was frozen for around three hundred years by a cryo regisvine (and managed to survive after all those years). similarly, in dragonspine (a region with an abundance of cryo energy) there are blocks of ice which are able to preserve elemental beings and living creatures without killing them…

now here is where we delve into the characters (well, at least all of them except aloy, who doesn’t have a vision story for some reason)…

i’ve come to the conclusion that a common theme of cryo visions is the desire to preserve something.

in shenhe’s case, this meant preservation of oneself (or survival). her story is simple: by gaining a vision during her struggle with a monstrous god, she was able to tip the scales in her favor and well, win and survive.

rosaria’s situation is quite similar. after she was captured by bandits, her life was a constant battle against hunger and cold. her cryo vision is what ultimately allowed her to gain the respect of the bandits, which was essential for her survival as she had already been driven by hunger and worn down from hard labor…

eula’s survival mechanism is definitely more of a mental struggle rather than a life-or-death situation, but in her vision story it is quite literally referred to as “her means of self-preservation” so… i think this one fits perfectly

qiqi’s vision manifested right before she was about to die, and in that moment she wanted to stop the flow of time. she didn’t want to die, she wanted to preserve her life and the memories of a happy past with her family…

now kaeya’s is one that confuses me a lot, because i can’t decide if his vision can be traced back to a survival instinct he felt during his fight with diluc, or if it’s something more complex involving his ties to khaenri’ah

the other one that i’m very unsure about is chongyun, mainly because he had three major ambitions when he received his vision: “become the greatest exorcist in liyue, control his abundance of yang energy, and rid the world of evil spirits.” personally i think controlling his yang energy would involve him preserving some kind of “emotional homeostasis” so that kind of works… i guess…

but it’s also important to note that preservation can extend to other things as well…

take diona, who desperately “wishes for her father to always be the man that she admires.”in other words, she wanted to preserve that positive perception of him

then there’s ayaka, who felt obligated to preserve the prosperity of the kamisato clan alongside her brother (who had just become the new clan head) as her mother lay sick and dying…

and as a pacifist who cares deeply for all living things, preserving the peace in liyue after the archon war was of prime importance to ganyu, and it seemed to be on her mind as she became secretary in the government and got a vision

i feel like there are many holes in this theory but there were also so many things that lined up, so i just wanted to make a post about it. i’m curious to know what everyone thinks, so please tell me 👀 (if anyone actually ends up reading a post this long and disorganized smehdmjdjd)

398 notes - Posted September 9, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[a-spell-a-rebel-yell]

August

hello hi people of the internet... i know i'm late yet again for the monthly post and that's why i'm writing the August one on the morning of September 2nd [fidgets] but i hope wherever you are, you're all enjoying life!

uhhh i'm gonna have to kneel down or something i am TERRIBLY sorry for being not punctual with the posting but in my defense honestly August is as normal as life has always been for me lsdkslfk so nothing really happened. unless you count me somehow gravitated back towards western stan twitter again after leaving it in 2012 as a major event, then yep. August in one word is monotonous. though i appreciate it so much, me being in my comfort zone heheh

and yes, the main fixation that dragged me back into western stan twitter is none other than Stranger Things. boom. which is weird because the last time i'm so preoccupied with anything from that side of twitter was in 2012 and all The Hunger Games/Divergent/The Maze Runner/Shadowhunter hype, and Stranger Things was released on 2016 aka six full years ago. this time i don't even know what made me so engrossed in Stranger Things but my porte d'entree is the one and only season 4's Eddie Munson. he has just a few screentimes here and there but i'm hooked. he's now one of my comfort characters, as i feel i resonate with a lot of his antics and personality... not to mention Joseph Quinn who brought him to life is really my type of guy (yes, joining Sebastian Vettel and Marcus Rashford) i'm still seething with the fact the Duffer bros or whoever decided to kill Eddie off. it's lazy writing i swear to god i can go berserk on how he could've survived the demobats attack while still saving Dustin and everyone else.

so now i'm mourning Eddie's death with reading fics (god bless ao3 and all the authors!) with canon divergence elective creative choice where he's alive and Max survives Vecna's curse and everyone is happy, healthy, and well. and even if any of them died... it's because of old age and they spend the last day surrounded by their real, found family. i guess at this point you guys can tell i love the Hawkins party so much and how shared trauma bring them closer than ever with a bond that will never break [sheds tears]

next up is the topic of coldplay's Music of the Spheres world tour (!!!) it's so funny how everyone now wants to go to the shows because the fact that coldplay is that cool is viral on tiktok when everyone used to say coldplay is shit LMAO and i love to see it! sold out stadiums in every country they go to! and the best part is, on Humankind music video, coldplay put in Southeast Asia leg of the tour hint!!! i'm so happy i have saved money for this, i will definitely try to chase them. my options are Indonesia (of course, i'm still not giving up hope they will come to Jakarta), Malaysia, Singapore, Bangkok, Manila, Seoul, and Tokyo. i will come for you @ coldplay!!! so, who's gonna come along with me?

oh i almost forgot - i can't believe just five days after my last post Seb announced his retirement from Formula 1 on July 28... when he made an instagram account and posted the video of his announcement i felt so dumbfounded, struck with many emotions, i literally froze for a minute taking it in. sadness mainly, but it's just me lamenting a wasted potential, though knowing Seb prioritizing spending time with his family sealed the deal for me. gonna enjoy the rest of 2022 season as it's his last, i'll miss him so much. now i kinda get it why some people stopped watching a sport after their fav athlete retired lol but then i reckon that's just like no longer having the attracting point for something that you're used to be interested in. though i think i'll still watch F1 just because.

i think that's all for August??? i'll update again on September post hehe (my dad's bday soon!!!) alright, see ya 😊

[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?”

[liptonsbabe]

I was wondering if you can do a request with Finnick Odair and my oc/me (Hannah). You don’t have to use my name, but it’s Hannah if you do. So here’s some backstory. So Hannah’s father is a district 1 victor of the hunger games, her mother is a stylist and her father lived in the capital now due to district 1’s privileges. Hannah was born and raised in the capital, but was taunt by her parents to be anti hunger games, due to her father being in the games and seeingnn the horrors along with being traumatized by seeing them when she was 8. So her and finnick met while her mother was his stylist in the games. They became friends and caught feelings when they were 16. She was one of the only person who knew the truth about his “many lovers” and she was there to help him through it. They started dating when they were 19 and when they were 21 (just after the 72nd games), they were able to sneak Hannah back on the train with them into district 4. The capital tried to get her back, but since this was great publicity and stuff, they just left it because it wasn’t as important and they could also profit off their relationship, as well as also continuing to see finnick. So I was thinking you can write something pretty recently after Hannah arrived to district 4, so maybe at first people don’t really like her because she’s privileged and from the capital, so maybe finnick tries to reassure her. And maybe you can do some cute things where they have a romantic walk along the docks and maybe it can end with them playing in the water after Hannah fell in.

I just thought it’d be something cute

We Remain [F.O]

Finnick Odair x reader

Word count: 2.7K

Warnings: Snow's a motherf*cker so yeah, he did awful things to Finnick

A/N: Very first request! hope you like it hun. My box are still open for request! English not my mother language so please let me know if something's wrong. Enjoy!

"So, what are you doing here?" Finnick sat down next to you on the thick warm sand startling you by his sudden arrival. You had been sitting on the shore of the beach for a couple of hours now and Finnick kept watching you from the dock not wanting to interrumpt your thoughts.

He knew you were not comfortable in his district. You told him how much you loved the ocean, seeing the sun reflected on the water in the mornings and the beautiful view from the lookout point, yet there was something that didn't make you feel at home.

You slumped your shoulders as Finnick slipped his arm over them giving you a small smile. Your eyes focused on the calm, deep blue sea in front of you. The sun was about to set creating strange shapes in the remaining waves and you kept your gaze fixed on them trying to find them some form.

Finnick sighed pressing you against him. Your body trembled from the closeness which made him smile. Finnick was damn cocky and he loved the effect he had on you. He kissed your hair waiting for his question to be answered. You closed your eyes, shaking your head.

"I...I was thinking."

"About what?"

"About home. I mean...in everything that was left behind."

Finnick nodded thinking you must miss your district terribly. You were born and raised in the capitol thanks to your father winning his games, but your home was always district one. Even if you never saw district one in your life, the stories your parents told about it created in your mind a sense of having a place where you truly belonged.

Your parents raised you to hate the hunger games. It wasn't a tradition, it was a massacre, a terrifying event that disgusted them and they didn't want you to grow up believing that taking children to the reaping every year and watching them die in a bloodbath was what was meant to happen, so, at their peril, your parents managed to get your name out of the urn every year to save your life permanently.

Then, when your mother became the stylist for the winner of the 65th hunger games everything became easier. You met Finnick and he became a protective shield against the capitol. He was only fourteen when he won the games so Finnick spent most of his time at your house in the company of your father. Then in the following years Finnick became a mentor to the new tributes and your father was always by his side creating between the two of you a very strong bond.

Sometimes, when he spent the nights at your house he escaped from his bedroom and went to yours just to talk sitting in your bed while you were eating snacks. You told him about district one and how much you would like to visit there someday and he told you how wonderful district four was and how he spent his evenings before he was the brightest star in Panem. Almost every night you met to talk and when he turned sixteen he stopped knocking at your door.

At first you didn't understand why he stopped visiting. No calls, no texts, no explanations why he didn't come to your house anymore. Until one day, as you were taking a walk downtown you heard the insidious gossips around him.

"Did you enjoy your night with Finnick Odair?" a woman asked another as they enjoyed a warm evening at the diner. Your footsteps stopped behind them feeling your heart skip a beat as you heard Finnick's name on her red lips. The woman let out a giggle waving her open hand next to her face trying to cover her blush.

"He's amazing! Oh my god, dear, it's... it's splendid. Really, he's worth it."

"What does he want in return?" the other woman asked. You felt your face turn green with disgust.

"Secrets. A very good one. One that will trace your path to the stars..."

You walked away from there as fast as you could avoiding remembering the words of those two women. For god's sake, Finnick was only sixteen, he was a kid and he was leading an adult life. It was disgusting. You came home with tears in your eyes and your breath hitching. Your mother squeezed your shoulders but you couldn't speak, you were too confused for that. You mumbled something your mother didn't understand and you ran off to your room not noticing that Finnick had met with your father that afternoon and was watching you from the open door of your dad's office.

Tears streamed down your face as you closed the door. You were speechless. Finnick had left you aside after sharing so many late night talks in his company, so many smiles and so many dreams only to lead a life like the rest of the people in the capitol. The glory and the power had finally brought out the worst in him and you couldn't hate the capitol any more than you already did.

You heard a couple of knocks on your door followed by a "(Y/N), are you okay?" from Finnick's voice. Your cries subsided waiting for him to leave, but that didn't happen, instead he persisted until he heard a response from you.

"I'm fine" you replied with a broken voice. You imagined Finnick frowning.

"Are you sure?" he asked. You listened as he tried to turn the doorknob, but you had locked it in "I saw you coming. I was talking with your dad about some stuff and i thought something had happened to you, may I come in?"

"No!" you replied. Your tears threatening to come out again "I'm-I'm fine, okay? I don't need you. Go away."

Finnick was silent for a moment, nevertheless, he kept trying to turn the knob

"(Y/N) let me in."

"didn't you hear me? I want you to leave. Now."

"Not until you open the door."

"You'll stay there, then"

"If that's what i have to do..."

You walked to your bed sitting on it crying silently. Your heart was aching. Deep down you felt something was going on between you and Finnick, something that went beyond the friendship you both proclaimed, but the blindfold had fallen off your eyes as you listened to those women talk about Finnick like he was a piece of meat. You didn't know what was going on, you didn't understand it either and Finnick was just there playing innocent. Finnick turned the knob one more time.

"Well, this makes me think you don't trust me enough like I thought you did."

Crying gave way to annoyance to that point. You jumped to your feet, glancing towards the door imagining Finnick's contracted face on the other side

"Look who's saying it."

"I don't understand."

"Stop pretending, Finnick"

"I don't know what I'm supposed to be pretending" His voice sounded so calm it made you rage. You walked over to the door "I just want to know what happened so I can help you. That's what friends do, isn't it?

"So we're friends now? After you left without explanation we're friends? We're friends even though you didn't tell me what the hell were you doing with your oh-so-many-lovers?"

Finnick was silent for a long time making you think he just left, but then you heard a deep sigh and the creak of the wood as he leaned his body against the door

"So you know it."

You frowned, opening the door with a smash taking him by surprise. Your eyes were bloodshot from crying and pent up anger. Finnick had never seen you so upset

"So you know it, that's all you're going to say?"

"I can explain"

"Then it's true. What I heard..."

"No, no" he denied walking into your room closing it with his foot. You walked backwards trying to get away from him. Finnick knew about the rumors about him in the capitol, he never cared what they were saying about him, but he did care about what you had heard and how you might miunderstand it "It's true. What you said..."

"You're sixteen, for God's sake!" you shouted, disgusted "How-how can you...?"

"It's not how you're imagining it. They're making me do it."

"Yeah, right."

"It's true" Finnick answered approaching you and caressing your cheeks. He connected his eyes with yours and you managed to see a crystalline layer in them "It's true, (Y/N)"

"What?" you asked, horrified. Finnick closed his eyes, pursed his lips and nodded "But how? who?"

"President Snow."

"Why?"

"He'll kill my family if I don't do what he asks."

Your mind went blank. Finnick opened his eyes pearly with tears.

"But, you don't have a family."

Finnick smiled.

"You are my family" Your heart raced "Ever since my games...you and your parents became an important part of my life. You've given me a home, a place where I know I'm welcome, a place where i know all of you don't care what I am, but what I was before I was a victor and what's left of me since then. Snow threatened to harm you and your parents."

"Really?"

"Really. He knows how important you are for me" His breath collided against your lips in a stormy closeness "There is no one I care more about. That's why I had to accept. It's not easy for me, I hate what I became, but I had no choice (Y/N), I swear"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Finnick took a few steps away, ducking his eyes.

"I was too embarrassed. I still am. At some point I would have told you, of course, but I wasn't... I wasn't ready, I'm still not."

"Finnick..."

"I'm sorry for disappointing you."

He tried to leave your room but you stopped him squeezing him in a tight embrace that take your breath away. Finnick squeezed your body tightly lifting your feet off the floor.

"You didn't have to" you whispered. He denied

"I have to and I will. I'm not going to let them hurt you or your parents. What happens to me doesn't matter as long as you're safe."

"God, Finnick, I love you so much."

You broke apart instantly, you were so embarrassed by what you had just said and Finnick were shocked in surprise. Your cheeks grew hot and you were about to run away if it wasn't for Finnick's lips that pressed against yours in a small kiss. Finnick smiled

"I love you too."

.

Even after you confessed to each other you couldn't have a romantic relationship, at least not in public. Finnick had to continue obeying Snow's orders and you tried not to interfere to damage him even more, so the only ones who knew about you were your parents and Maggs, Finnick's old friend.

He came back to visit you at night in your room, you talked about anything that came to your mind (except about Finnick's many lovers) and, one night, he told you every secret he knew.

"Why are you telling me all this?" you asked him, watching your intertwined hands. You were both nineteen at the time and the secrets Finnick had obtained were too many. He smiled

"No one lives forever" he replied "Someday the advantage I have against Snow will turn against me and if that ever happens I need someone else to tell the truth for me"

"That's not going to happen"

He shrugged his shoulders

"You never know"

.

When Finnick saw the opportunity to leave the capitol after the hunger games where the tributes from district twelve put on a show and unleashed the wrath of President Snow, he didn't hesitate twice in proposing to take you with him to district four.

He put together a plan to hide you on the train until you passed district three where you were out of the president's reach. You weren't sure if it was a good idea, but your parents encouraged you to run away saying it was the safest place you could be. You were still unsure about it because you knew that your parents' lives would be in danger if Snow found out, however, your father assured you that they would be fine, the capitol wouldn't touch them and you could leave with Finnick and start a new life. You accepted then, sneaking onto the train that left for district four the next morning.

Of course, Snow was informed of your scape weeks later when you and Finnick managed to successfully settle in a house away from the victors' village. Neither of you wanted to live under the government roof and Finnick took a small place near the coast, where you received an unwelcome letter from the president asking you to return immediately to the capitol before the consequences became severe. Finnick replied for you, saying in a single paragraph that he didn't agree with that.

"I have a mind full of secrets. It doesn't suit you for me to become an open book. (Y/N) won't come back and neither will I."

Snow calmed down. Finnick seemed very pleased by that and things calmed down a bit. But there, in the utter calm of the sea, you still felt something was missing.

Finnick rubbed your arms as the sun went down and the moon appeared. The days in district four were too hot and the nights too cold, it was hard to get used to the change, even more so when no one in the district seemed to feel comfortable with your presence.

You could tell by the looks of the women on the shore and the angry faces of the fishermen. For them you were an intruder, a privileged one who had never had to suffer what their children did every year during the reaping cause your father, being a victor, had saved your ass. To them you were a coward, a disgrace and a pest who shouldn't have made it all the way to district four.

Finnick kissed your temple enjoying the silence of the newly arrived night. You sighed thinking about how much Finnick lost when he met you. His freedom, his decision about his body, the affection of the people in his district, his home in the village and so many other things you didn't want to remember. Finnick clicked his tongue, rubbing your arms again.

"Stop thinking, love."

"I can't. This all feels like a dream, a very... devastating one."

"You know what people think or don't think about us is something you can't change."

"Yes, but I would like to show them that I am more than they think, I am more than the daughter of someone who survived the hell of the games. Let them know that my presence doesn't represent a mockery to their dead children in the arena, that I am not a bad person."

"And you're not. Give them time. They're not bad either. They are against the system just like us, at some point they will realize we are on their side. Don't worry about it, I won't let anyone minimize you or make you feel bad. I'm going to protect you, okay? That's what we do, protect each other."

"You promise?"

"I promise. Now come on sweetie, let's take a walk" Finnick lifted you up easily taking your hand to walk across the sand. Finnick's hand against yours brought you security and a relief you couldn't explain. As you walked you rested your head on his shoulder and he hugged you close to him "We'll be fine, (Y/N), just... trust me"

"As always."

"Fair enough."

Then Finnick pulled your hand into the cold water of the sea splashing you in the face. You played back at him and the two of you ended up having a little fight in the middle of the sea. Finnick reached over, grabbed you around the waist and brushed your lips together.

"We'll be fine," he said. You nodded

"We'll be fine."