#the bad news really motivated me to finalize this first chapter and all the graphics and stuffs

[queers-ahoy]

I'm finally publishing my first Our Flag Means Death fanfiction! It's an Oops! All Lesbians fantasy/medieval AU where Ed and Izzy are lighthouse keepers and Stede is a mermaid. It's Steddyhands endgame and also the plot is heavily influenced by my ecological restoration degree. Writing this has been so fun. The "first" chapter is a fantasy map of the world and then the second is the actual chapter! Go check out the first chapter now on AO3!

[ruskaroma]

ordinary, corrupt human love. | chapter 1: written in blood.

Warnings: this series will include highly disturbing/dark topics such as stalking, unhealthy obsession, graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, manipulation, gaslighting, large age gap, emotional/psychological abuse, dom/sub undertones, bad BDSM etiquette, etc.

this is a dark fic, written in john's pov and a glimpse of how his mind works. if you still continue to read and get triggered, that is not my responsibility.

Summary: John finds himself a new obsession.

Author's note: this is my first ever fanfic for this fandom and i am beyond excited to share this with you guys! though i must say before you begin, english is not my first language and there might be a few errors in my writing here and there, so i apologize in advance.

but either way, i still hope you enjoy this piece, and i can assure you that once i finish writing this series there will be more to come! i really enjoy writing john wick be a merciless bastard who kills everything that breathes, and i hope you enjoy it too as much as i did.

please, please, PLEASE tell me what you think in the comment and reblogs and likes would be so appreciated. it motivates me to write even more :)

(also this is not edited so all mistakes are on me and i apologize)

Word count: 8.1k

also read on ao3.

It’s one of those days again.

The sound of his watch ticking is the only thing keeping his car from being too quiet. His eyes watch every single movement of his target, never leaving his sight. It won’t be too long for John to finally strike, he just doesn’t want too many civilians seeing the horror that’s about to happen right before their very eyes.

His mind is thinking of many things he could do with this target in particular. A lowlife thug that got himself involved with a very dangerous Italian mob, but then again that’s not the reason why John’s murderous intent is at its peak at the moment.

He’s angry at something, he just doesn’t know what. And this target of his isn’t helping his situation at all. Reading his criminal record made John think this could be a chance to cure his boredom. This man is not only a sex trafficker, but also a pedophile who has a history of targeting teenagers to rape and sell to the black market that’s as fucked up as him.

He doesn’t normally take his time thinking of ways to kill his targets. He points, shoots, leaves. This one in particular though, got him facing a side of him that John himself doesn’t want to face.

He would start by breaking every single one of the man’s fingers. And if that doesn’t do any justice, he’ll cut them off.

One by one, let the man savor the feeling, let John relish the nightmare.

He could slit the man’s throat, watch as life drains away from his body, watch as the man clings to his legs for mercy. John could even pull out the man’s dick, step on it, fucking cut it off and shove it so far down his own throat that he couldn’t scream for help if he tried.

It’s John’s version of Colombian Necktie. A classic, only ever tried it out four times, hopefully this would be the fifth.

John is never the one to take pleasure in killing people, but these past few months have proved him otherwise.

Maybe it’s because of Helen’s death, and the way he was basically forced to sculpt the demons he buried back into himself. His only remaining bit of humanity was taken from him, and he’s coping in the most unhealthy way possible. Perhaps Winston was right about dipping his pinky a little too much into the pond, but it was inevitable.

John has gone back to his old ways. Taking contracts here and there to distract himself from the void in his heart. He remembers how burying a knife into someone’s throat for the first time in many years has ignited something in him he didn’t even know he had.

That’s why he’s here, exiting his car in a swift move, following his target as quietly as possible into a narrow alleyway that stinks of garbage in piss. This would be a nice place to kill a guy like him – right where he belongs.

John’s movements are so discreet the man couldn’t even sense him until John wrapped his right arm around his neck and his other hand went to cover the man’s mouth. He walks them both to the back of a building as the man struggles, where John’s sure no more people are present, and he kicks him on the jaw to stop the man from making any more noises.

John can make this quick. Pull out his gun and blow his brains out. But there’s that sinister glint in his mind that’s telling him to do something unimaginable – grotesque even – a death a man like him deserves.

The man tries to swing his arm at John but misses pathetically. The poor guy’s already shaking and John hasn’t even begun.

John doesn’t respond to the pitiful attempts of questioning who he is and who sent him here, he simply pulls his knife from his pocket and wastes no time slashing it against the man’s throat, the blood spraying all over his face. The man tries to stop it by shakily covering the deep cut with his hand, but it’s useless.

He’s gargling, choking on his own blood, and John’s watching it all unravel with a familiar glint in his eyes.

John is contemplating if he should follow the plan he made in his head or just leave it like this. Somehow, the sight looks rather incomplete to him. He knows what he’s done is not enough, but that could be just the rage talking. The man’s already dead, and surely cutting off his dick and shoving it so far down his throat it comes out of the wound would leave an ugly reputation on his name. 

Would that be a good thing? John is already feared enough, would it be a good thing to make people fear him even more? But then again, this won’t be the first time he’s done it. Doing it again one more time wouldn’t make any difference.

He glances down at the dead body on his feet before he kneels down to do the unforgivable.

Slicing off a man’s cock is easy. Too easy. John’s knife is perfectly sharpened and stoned, he merely uses any strength to cut it off. The sight is so fucking ugly, too much blood, but nothing he can’t handle.

Once that’s done, John uses his other hand to force the dead man’s jaw open, immediately greeted by the foul stench of blood as he shoves the unpleasant dick into the man’s open mouth. The genitalia is definitely not long enough to reach the throat, but that won’t be any problem for John.

He grits his teeth as he forces his hand in there, not bothering to care even if the jaw breaks and the hole becomes even wider, his goal is the only thing in his mind.

The blood continues to drip and he has never been so grateful for wearing an all black uniform for this occasion. Soon enough, after a few minutes of such a brutal wrongdoing, John sees the tip of the cock reaching the deep wound on the man’s throat as it continues to peak its way out.

A sick, small smile spreads across John’s face. The smile is barely there, but he’s fucking enjoying this more than he’d like to admit. He can only imagine how the news would spread across the assassin underworld like a wildfire.

The Boogeyman’s back in business and he’s scarier than ever.

Perhaps this might be the way to lay his point across. This is a way to show them that it was not a good idea pissing him off, killing what’s his, and bringing him back in business. They’d regret it, but it would be already too late for that.

John uses his other hand to pull the cock right out of the man’s throat but not completely. Half of it is hanging out and John thinks he could even consider this as a masterpiece. There’d be flies and maggots that would make the scenery better, but the cleaning service is there for a reason. He can’t just not use it.

John stands up from his position, pocketing his knife back into his pocket before retrieving his phone with the other. He dials a number, waits for them to pick up, all while admiring his work on the ground.

His previous contracts these past few months all ended in such an unimaginable, ugly way. He figured that by showing them that he’s capable of such brutality, it would increase the numbers of people calling him in for more jobs, because this is exactly what they wanted. They wanted Baba Yaga, the ruthless killer of the underworld who stops at nothing to finish his job, and he’s simply giving it to them.

Someone picks up the call and he straightens his posture, checking the time on his watch before speaking.

“This is Wick. John Wick, yes. I would like to make a dinner reservation for one.”

The news spread faster than anticipated.

The notorious man John Wick, the hot topic of the criminal underworld at the moment, even gained the attention of The High Table, and it all happened in the span of one day. That’s how quick the news spread amongst his fellow assassins, though that’s exactly what he was going for.

John expected it so he isn’t surprised when he receives a call from Charon saying Winston wants to meet him.

He inserts a coin in the door and the small window opened briefly. The guy on the other side immediately recognized him, not wasting a single moment to open the door and let the man of the hour in. All eyes are on him the moment he steps into the club, but no one dared to murmur anything to anybody – not when the man himself is here.

They know better.

John spots Winston at his usual spot drinking his usual order, signaling John to sit beside him where a glass of bourbon is already present. 

“Jonathan,” Winston greets, raising his glass. “We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“I figured,” John replies, though not interested. He slides himself to the booth and takes a sip of his own drink. “I don’t understand why though.”

“Are we really playing this game, Jonathan?” The manager raises a brow. 

“I was just doing my job.”

“In a way you don’t normally do,” Winston then adds. “Or should I say, in a way you don’t even do.”

John gives him a look, but he could tell Winston doesn’t know how to interpret it. His face remains emotionless, not letting the mask slip and grant Winston the privilege to take a peak. John will continue to play this game until he’s satisfied, until he feels something again. Surely he’ll find what he’s looking for while doing the only thing he’s ever good at – slaughtering.

“Let’s just say I was trying out a new technique,” John says, voice deep and almost sinister. Winston’s scared, though he doesn’t show it, John knows. 

“I have known you ever since you started, Jonathan. Not once did it cross my mind you would do something so.. horrifying as this. You discarded the body like he was some sort of pig, so believe me when I say I couldn’t believe it at first.”

John has no idea why Winston’s whining about him being horrifying, when that’s all they’ve been saying about him ever since he joined. He didn’t gain this reputation for no reason, now he’s just simply showing them what more he’s capable of.

“You should’ve seen his record.” His tone is menacing, swirling the drink in his hand as he stares deeply at Winston’s eyes. “He’s worse than a pig.”

The drop of the curse word takes Winston by surprise. “So is that what it is, then? You killed him that way because you think he deserved it?”

“Not really,” John simply sighs, leaning back on the leather seat as he takes another sip of his bourbon. He really isn’t planning on staying longer, but Winston seems to be taking his sweet time asking him a bunch of stupid questions. “I couldn’t care less of what he’s done. I was simply… bored. Saying that I did that because I think he deserved it gives people a reason to think that what I did was justifiable.”

The look on Winston’s face says enough. He’s afraid of John, afraid of what he has become. Hearing John say he did such an unforgiving thing just because he was bored is beyond frightening. No man has ever inflicted so much fear on him before – at least not until John.

“I think we’re done for tonight,” Winston finally says, not wanting to hear any more disturbing thoughts of John, but he remains polite and calm for the sake of their friendship. “You have a good night, Jonathan.”

John gives him a nod, standing up from his seat and downing his drink in one go. “Goodnight, Winston.”

He exits the club with an eerie aura following behind him, not caring about the way people are looking at him like he’s got Death himself walking beside him.

It makes him wonder that maybe death doesn’t follow him after all.

Maybe it is him.

Someone offered him five million to fuck up a man who allegedly stole a fuck ton of kilograms of cocaine from their warehouse, and really, who is John to decline the offer?

Hunting the man is easy. It didn’t even take a day to locate where the man lives, and John’s already breaking into his apartment to shoot the guy and leave. There’s no point in rummaging the place for the cocaine, all of it is already up the man’s system by the looks of it, and killing him is John’s job.

John wants to finish this one fast, he’s got other business to attend to. As he backs up the frightened, pathetic excuse for a man against the wall, he takes his gun out of his holster and aims directly at the head, right between the eyes, and he watches in great pleasure as the residue of his brains splatter against the walls and the floor.

This man didn’t even put up a fight. John thinks this is a waste of time.

He exits the apartment with disappointment heavy on his shoulders, slamming the door shut. Although the gun he used has a silencer, the rooms are too close to each other. He’s sure there might be other people who heard the shot of his firearm.

The apartment building is located at the filthy side of New York, where most known drug dealers and junkies do their nasty deals. It’s no surprise that as soon as John steps a foot out of the worn out building, all eyes are on him, but mainly on the clothes he’s wearing. They’re planning on mugging him out, and John would like to see them try.

Just as he’s about to walk to his car, his phone rings abruptly in his chest pocket. He retrieves it in one swift motion, not noticing that a gold coin fell out as he does so, and he continues walking to not waste any more time.

“Sir! Excuse me, sir, you dropped something!” John hears from behind. He doesn’t bother looking.

The call isn’t nearly as important as the business he needs to attend to, so he hangs up the call and pushes his phone back into his pocket. As soon as he does that, he feels a small hand touching his shoulder.

John’s hand immediately flies to wrap his large hand around the person’s wrist, turning around to see a young woman with a bewildered expression on her pretty face, little fingers holding his golden coin that looks far too big on her hand.

She looks scared, terrified, and oh how fucking awful that makes John feel. Like he’s been punched right in the fucking gut. He’s enthralled.

“I wasn’t–you dropped it and I’m just giving it to you, I promise!”

She’s looking at John with big, doe eyes. She also looks freshly showered, wrapped in a black puffy jacket that makes her even smaller than she already is. John lets his eyes linger on her lips, so plump and glossy. Her voice sounds sweet, soft, something John isn’t used to hearing.

John can’t help but to stare.

“Are you–are you gonna let me go, mister?”

The way she stutters triggers a hot feeling in John’s guts, and can’t help but to rub his thumb on the girl’s dainty wrist before slowly letting her go.

So delicate, he could snap them in half.

“Sorry,” John apologizes, taking the coin from her hold, and his fingers itch at the way her skin feels so soft against his rough hands. “Force of habit.”

“It’s okay,” she smiles a little, and there goes that hot curl in John’s stomach once again. “That thing looks expensive so be careful next time.”

Just like that, John doesn’t get the chance to reply back. She makes her leave and patters away from him, and he watches. He watches until she’s out of the view, taking a turn to a corner, leaving John with something he can’t quite figure out yet, but he soon will be.

For the first time in a while, he feels something new.

Suddenly, everything is too good to be true.

John will find himself staring at his hands for too long, still feeling the ghost of her soft skin on his fingers, fantasizing about her pretty face and soft, plump lips.

It’s scary for him to feel something again because that only means destruction. John likes to believe he has a gift of ruining everything he touches, especially the pure ones – like her. It’s a proven statement. Just look at Helen and Daisy.

This little one won’t be any different, he’s sure of it. John’s whole body is heating up everytime he thinks about her. The look on her face when she saw John’s chilling expression, her wide eyes, so glossy and innocent.

John wants to see her again.

His fingers itch, yearning to touch her again. 

Why he’s suddenly interested in a young woman he just met a few days ago, he has no idea. John’s a bit confusing – fucked up, even. He long accepted the fact that his mind is nowhere near healthy years ago. He tried to push those thoughts away when he met Helen, but now he’s out of his shell and back in business, there’s no need to.

He’s always been one of the wolves, and now that he’s laid his eyes on his next meal, he will make sure there’s not a single thing that will get in his way to hunt her down.

He had a crisis for two days before doing the unexpected. It didn’t take long for John to find her. 

Now, John has been following her around for a week, and he noticed a certain pattern his little one likes to follow as she goes on her day.

The very place where they met is where she lives, surrounded by a bunch of goons who have no idea what to do with their lives. John begins to wonder why she’s living in a place like that. He could take her, put her somewhere safe, under his care and protection. Make sure no one will dare to lay a finger on her.

John knows where she works. At a veterinary clinic not too far from her apartment, which is why she walks to work every three in the afternoon, but not without stopping by in her favorite deli and getting a large order of her favorite sandwich. She’s a part-timer. She’d be at school from seven to twelve, and at work from three to eight.

John finds the little things she does amusing. He’d be seated in a cafe right across from her work, watching how she moves around her office through a big window, petting and cooing at the animals who come and go.

She’s so perfect, so pure, so naive. She has no idea that a monster is lurking ten feet away from her, watching her every move like a hawk, thinking about the ways he could destroy her, make her his.

John is not delusional. He’s fully aware of what he’s doing and he’s aware of what people might call him. 

Stalker.

Creep.

They don’t know him though. They don’t know why he acts this way. They’d do the same if they were him, that’s for sure. He’s not the bad guy here, he’s simply just protecting her little one, even from afar. John went as far as destroying a whole Russian Bratva for a mere puppy and a car, he’d do even worse if she’s somehow taken away from him.

John sees her exiting the building and his first thought is to follow her. He stands up from his seat, the cup of coffee long forgotten as he makes his way out of the café and keeps a safe distance between the two of them. It’s risky, especially in the broad daylight, but John knows she’s too oblivious to notice.

She’s with her friends this time, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by John how she clings at the shirt of her co-worker as they cross the street, small hands fisting at the fabric. He thinks about how he won’t ever let go of her hand once she’s his. He’s not big on physical affection, having to grow up with no parents and a rather strict orphanage, but maybe he could be gentle. Engulf her hand in his, stroke it with his thumb, tuck her hair behind her ears, show everyone that she’s already owned.

They wouldn’t dare to lay their hands on her again.

John walks in the middle of the sidewalk, not bothering to move away despite seeing people approaching. He doesn’t need to, the look in his face is enough for people to give him the way. It’s interrupted however, when someone does try to get in his way, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back a little.

John clenches his jaw, pissed. He takes his eyes from his little one and on the person who so rudely interrupted what he’s doing – it’s Marcus.

“John? I was just looking for you at the Continental.” Marcus has a small smile on his face, clearly not aware of John’s expression.

His eyes dart behind Marcus, where his little one is supposed to be, but she’s gone. John feels something curl in his stomach, his fingers itching again, eyes rapidly searching for her in the sea of people.

He looks at Marcus again, deciding he’ll just find her later, but he worries that something might happen to her now that John’s attention isn’t on her.

“Why?” he almost snaps, voice deep and laced with no emotion.

“Why? Because it’s been quite some time, John. I haven’t heard from you since the Iosef situation, but I did hear you’re back in business,” Marcus replies, but when he sees how distracted John looks, his voice falters. “You working?”

“Yeah.” The lie comes off smoothly. “I’ll see you around.”

John taps Marcus’ shoulder, trying to sound as polite as possible even though he badly wants to break a couple of his teeth for taking his attention away from her. He knows Marcus is probably noticing something, but John’s never the one to care.

Marcus drops the subject. “Alright, John. I’ll see you around.”

With that, John disappears in the crowd with no looking back.

It’s been awhile since John last took a job.

He can’t seem to take his eyes away from his little one. He can’t stop fucking stalking her from morning to night time.

John’s afraid that once he takes his attention from her even for a second, something bad might happen to her. It’s engraved in his mind that she can’t protect herself and he’s solely there to be the protector.

No one would understand. He’s doing this for her own good.

John’s absence at the Continental doesn’t go unnoticed by Winston and Charon. They’re his favorite, after all. Watch his every move carefully ever since that ugly murder John did. Perhaps he could make his next kill even uglier. To them, it’s vile and grotesque. For John, it’s special and unique.

This time, it took a good self-beating before John decided to take a contract. Three million to hunt down a rival crime lord, nothing he can’t handle, but somehow it brings an unusual feeling on his shoulder he isn’t fond of. Perhaps because John’s leaving his little one for a while and he isn’t quite sure what to feel. Worried and pissed – but mostly worried.

That is why he hired someone to trail his little one on his behalf. Everyone in business would do anything for a coin despite how fucked up disturbing it is. John offered a generous amount of coins to keep the assassin’s mouth shut, but he also held him at gunpoint and gave him a good talk before he sent the dog out in the field.

His only job is to keep an eye on her, report everything he’ll see to John, and maybe even take pictures for safety purposes.

John has been overseas in the last three days, and everything that’s been sent to him has been his only form of entertainment. There’s videos of her giggling with her friends, videos and photos of her in the library, outside her school, her work, and even in her apartment. There’s also information sent to him about the background of her friends – every single one of them, because John didn’t pay so much for nothing.

There’s one particular friend that ticks off John in all the worst way possible. He’s young, around her age, and the way he hugs and touches her just fucking sets him off. John wants to break his fingers in half. He reminds himself that once he’s home, he’ll make sure to take care of that boy himself.

“What else have you got?” John questions through the phone, and it doesn’t take long for his precious dog to respond.

“Oh, he is one creepy motherfucker. I’m starting to understand why you’re so riled up with this guy, boss. The urge to strangle him every time he gets in the picture gets stronger and stronger everyday.” He hears a laugh at the other end. The guy that’s working for him – Alex, if he remembers correctly – is young, new in business, knows not to fuck with John so he keeps his job adequate. If Alex ever notice how fucked up John is for making him follow a young woman to keep his life in order, he doesn’t say anything about it. “Just tell me when I can shoot this guy and I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”

“Leave him. Keep an eye on him, but don’t kill him,” John advises, his tone leaving no room for discussion. “I’ll handle him myself when I get back. For the meantime, focus on Y/N and keep any troubles out of her way. Fail that task and I’d serve your head hot on a platter.”

“You got it, boss.”

John is playing nicely.

He’s not going to force his way into her life. He’s gonna be welcomed, with open arms, desired.

There are times he’d thought about giving in to his desperation and act with his dick instead of his head. There are times he’d thought about following her to a dark street, where no one’s around, he’s on the prowl and ready to pounce. He’d put a fabric against her mouth and nose, laced with enough chemicals to make her pass out and for him to carry her in his car with no problems whatsoever. John thinks about how he’d make it look like he’s just picking up his very drunk and passed out girlfriend and no one would know a goddamn thing.

John would keep her in his house where she won’t need anything but him. 

But of course, he’s not that cruel.

They’re only thoughts. Thoughts that he tries hard to keep away, but at the end of the day he reminds himself that he’s better than that.

John is not going to force his way into her life.

He’ll make sure to get her addicted enough to come crawling at his feet herself. She’ll be dependent on him, won’t be able to live without him. John will make sure his plan will go out smoothly or otherwise he’ll be the one bringing Hell with him on this land and seek as much havoc as he possibly can.

The death emissary himself will strike tonight.

A Friday night out with her friends has John on high alert. That’ll only mean she’s constantly surrounded with people, god knows what could happen if John even takes his eyes off her for a second. He lurks on the side, blending himself with the crowd as much as he can all while keeping his gaze on her. 

He doesn’t need any drugs to keep his mind insane, because the sight of a specific man getting very close to what’s his is enough to make him visualize all the ugly and twisted ways to kill a man.

She’s wearing a thin silky dress that’s low on her cleavage and shows her perky breasts. She’s currently the flame in a room full of moths, John included. Everyone’s eyes are on her, observing the way she sways her hips and sings along to the loud music – John’s fingers itch.

The itch to kill is back again, driving into his veins, his hands twitch on the table. John wants to pull out his gun and shoot everyone in this fucking room. He wants to stab them in the eyes one by one and make them feed it to themselves. He wants to grab this guy on the neck and slam his head against the wall repeatedly until his brain scatter all over the fucking place and there’s nothing left for him to ruin.

This guy is getting on his fucking nerves.

John watches as the man smoothly brings his arm on her shoulder, whispering something in her ear that doesn’t make her look so impressed. In fact, she looks disturbed, uncomfortable, tense. Despite the guy being her friend, John could tell she doesn’t feel comfortable with the way he’s showing her affection.

It’s hard to see her like this, but he knows he can’t just jump in between the two of them and beat the shit out of the guy until he chokes on his own blood. He’ll have to wait, maybe after this party, he’ll strike and discard the body in a way that’ll make even Winston spook in his sleep. It’s not a major offense to kill a man that’s not in the game anyway – or at least that’s what John tells himself.

This guy wouldn’t be able to be three feet near his little one once John’s done with him. He’ll be six feet under.

John sees her swiftly moving away from his touch, trying to make her rejection look as polite as possible, which receives a not-so-amused reaction from her little friend.

This guy doesn’t deserve her at all. No one does. Except maybe John, but that’s because he knows he’s capable of actually taking care of her and keeping her safe. Nobody would understand what he feels, what he yearns, what he wants.

Good girl, John thinks. Walk away.

His gaze follow her as she makes her way to the backdoor and out to the cold air of the city. John follows in a hurry, keeping a safe distance between the two of them, then opens the door as quietly as possible so he wouldn’t let his presence known.

There are a few people on the street, either having a smoke break or making out against the piss stained wall, but she stays just beside the busy road as she wraps her arms around herself.

His gaze burn daggers on her exposed back, the urge to cover her up with his jacket and take her home. A drunk man comes stumbling out of the club, accidentally tripping over his steps and he pushes her hard enough to make her yelp as her heels lose balance and almost making herself get run over by a passing truck.

Almost.

Everything happens so fast. One moment John is standing five feet from her, the next is he’s grasping her wrists in his hand and pulling her back to her feet and dragging her back to the curb. He was already on the act once he saw the man exiting the club, he knew exactly this would happen.

The scene looks strangely familiar, one John could never forget. The same position, same hand placement, same rough fingers around her wrist and dark eyes boring into hers – their very first meeting.

“You!” she gasps, not caring about the fact that she almost just got hit by a fucking truck. “I know you! You’re the guy outside my apartment that day! What are you doing here?”

John stares. Predictable. Of course she’s talking to him like they’ve known each other for years. She’s too friendly.

“Hello to you too,” John replies, though his tone is blank as well as his face. “You remember me.”

“‘Course I do,” she giggles, a little tipsy, pupils dilated and licking her lips nervously. “You’re pretty hard to forget. I remember asking my neighbors around the area if you’re new there, turns out you were just visiting.”

John furrows his brows, hand still not letting go of her wrist. What does she mean by she’s asked around the area about him?

His face must’ve looked confused, he sees her grinning childishly. “It’s a coincidence that I see you again!”

Not a coincidence, but fate.

John doesn’t believe in a lot of things, but he believes in fate. Fate brought him Helen, and now fate is bringing him another angel. If she really went as far as asking the neighborhood about his existence, then it must be fate.

“I’m Y/N. I figured if we keep bumping into each other then you should at least know my name,” she says, completely oblivious that John already knows everything that has to be known about her. From her little mannerisms to the last name of her fucking grandmother. “May I know yours or are you just gonna stare at me all night?”

“It’s John,” he gulps, not wanting to look like a loser in front of her, not after everything he went through for her. “It’s really nice to see you again.”

He sucks at this. He fucking sucks at this.

“You haven’t answered my question, by the way. What brings you here?”

It hangs in the air, John lets go of her wrist. Luckily, he thinks fast enough and says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Work.”

“Ah, work,” she nods. “You work here? In the club? What are you, a bouncer or something?”

“I don’t. Someone I work with is in the club.” A lie, but it’s not like she would know. “We had a talk.”

“Not really a man of words, eh?” she raises an eyebrow teasingly. 

“This is the most words I’ve said in the past few days,” John says. “I’d say you’re special.”

The look on her face is enough to make his entire night even better. Blushing, lips opening and closing, not knowing what to say. John wants to graze his thumb on her lips, thinking about how good it would feel stretching over his cock.

He blinks. Where did that come from?

“For someone who doesn’t talk much, you sure make it sound smooth when you do. Are you always this slick, John?” she giggles again, music to his ear. “That’s actually better than what I heard from my friend earlier, so thank you.”

“That’s good to know.”

Before she could say anything back, the door of the club opens once again and her friends appear, waving a hand at her and beckoning her to get inside. She looks at John, gives him a sympathetic look, as if apologizing that their talk gets cut off too soon.

“I’m really sorry but my friends want me back in there. Hopefully we can continue this again, yeah?” she smiles cheekily, tucking her hair behind her ear. “If you want, you could give me your number so we can talk someplace else? You know… with no one bothering us and all that.”

There it is. John didn’t think it would be this easy to sink the hook in. All he needs to do is pull and take what’s meant to be his.

“Sure.” He enters his number swiftly, feeling that familiar burn in his guts once again when he sees the wallpaper being her pretty face. “Feel free to message me whenever you want. I’ll make time for you.”

She looks at her phone and smiles before starting to walk away from him, waving a hand goodbye, but it doesn’t feel like a goodbye. John knows it isn’t. She’s already his the moment she started talking to him again.

“Of course! Get home safe, John! I’ll see you soon!” 

“You too.”

She doesn’t know John won’t be heading home any time soon until he knows she’s safe and sound in her apartment.

Jay Lopez.

The name burns on his tongue. Bitter and resentful. He stares at the photos his precious dog sent to him and he has to stop the impulse to burn every single one of them.

Jay Lopez is the guy that’s been leeching on his girl since the dawn of time, and thankfully John is here to put an end to it. 

He’s hideous. It’s interesting how John stooped this low that he’d be willing to kill a college student for being too near his little bambi, but alas, he’s never the one to care for such things. Morals and righteousness have never been in his book, not now, nor ever.

It’s only a matter of time until he gets rid of this pest. He’s fucking creepy, follows around not only Y/N but a bunch of other women. 

John doesn’t want his death to be quick and simple. He wants to do it in an ugly way, make sure his body will never be found, make sure he’ll never get to lay his hands and eyes on what’s his. The way Jay stares at her in these pictures ignites something evil within John’s veins. It’s been awhile since he felt something like this.

“Alex.” he looks at his pet standing by the door, waiting for the next command. “Bring him to me alive.”

“Can I at least rough him up a bit?”

John doesn’t answer at first, looks back at the photos on his table. “Do what you want, just make sure he’s still breathing when you bring him here.”

“On it, boss.”

Truth be told, John doesn’t need a pet to order around for this job. He has himself – a labeled attack dog of the Tarasovs for years, their hellhound, chained and muzzled unless they need him to kill. He’s a one man army as some would say, he doesn’t need Alex running around doing tasks for him, but it sure does make the job a lot faster.

It’s not a way to downgrade his reputation nor skills to hunt, he really just needs this Jay guy gone as fast as possible.

On the same day, Alex manages to haul a very brutally violated Jay to the floor of his basement. He stinks, pants wet from piss and a face John is having a hard time recognizing.

“You said rough him up a bit, not make him look unrecognizable.”

“Same thing.”

Jay is sobbing his eyes out, his cries of pleas falls to deaf ears and John just wants to fucking bash his skull with his own foot. “W-who are you guys?! What the f-fuck did I do?! Get me out of here or I’ll tell the fucking police–”

John kicks him on the chin hard to stop the goon from rambling. “You’re not telling anybody any shit, tough guy.”

“So, what are you planning to do to him? Can I watch?”

“Can you handle it?”

Alex shrugs. He’s in the presence of the most dangerous assassin in the underworld, wouldn’t hurt to learn anything from his skills and techniques, doesn’t matter how fucked up it is.

John nods towards the chainsaw sitting at the corner of the room, and Alex turns to face him with wide eyes. “Jesus Christ, man. You serious? Last time I heard you’re a hitman, not a serial killer.”

“Same qualifications. Same thing.” John grabs the man by the arm then drags him to a chair. He takes a rope from the table and swiftly ties him up securely. “We start with the head, then arms and legs. It would be hard to put his entire body in a drum full of acid, so we need to cut him off one by one.”

Alex looks like he’s about to run off somewhere safe from what he’s witnessing. “You’re talking like you’ve done this before, holy fuck.”

John gives him a look, and Alex immediately shuts his mouth. Right. He’d done this before. This is completely normal.

“I’ve been following you for a while, Jay. You’re a creep who befriends pretty girls, then you’ll drug them and make them have sex with you,” John taunts, the sound of his heels hitting the concrete floor is enough to send shivers down his spine. “Is that what you’re also planning to do with Y/N? Be her friend and fuck her once she’s drugged up and vulnerable?”

It’s a bold statement coming from John himself since he’s no better man than Jay, but at least his intentions come from a different place.

“You-you’re fucking sick!” Jay spits.

“I’m sick? I’m not the one going around making girls uncomfortable now, am I?” he picks up the chainsaw, then watches in enjoyment as Jay widens his eyes in fear. “We’re going to have a lot of fun, Jay. You won’t be able to use your pathetic little dick of yours to any woman ever again, and most importantly –”

John fires up the chainsaw, adrenaline coursing through his veins when he sees the horrified look in the man’s face as he tries to get up and scream for help.

“I can finally sleep well at night knowing you’re not in Y/N’s life anymore.”

As John steps into the light, a roaring chainsaw in his hands, Alex could only watch in horror as the basement gets painted with blood in mere seconds.

There’s a vacant apartment just across her room, giving John the perfect view of what she’s doing while she’s alone.

Most of the time, John will pull up a seat beside the window and take pictures. The other half of the time is just him staring, observing. It seems that she’s too comfortable knowing there’s no one across the building so she doesn’t close the curtains, leaving John no choice but to keep his eyes on her.

He found this place just three days after following her. He couldn’t help it. Following her to school and work suddenly wasn’t enough for John that he had to find a way to somehow watch her even in her sleep. 

He should be ashamed of himself. He should feel guilty for what he’s doing – he should stop, but he just can’t. John’s already done too much. This is like being pulled back into the underworld all over again but this time, there’s something good that’s waiting for him on the other side.

Maybe it’s the delusion that comes with it that’s not stopping John from whatever he’s doing. Lately, he’s been thinking about how life would turn out to be if his plan goes out smoothly. They’d live happily ever after, she would end up loving him just the way he planned it out to be, and John will make sure no one will ever dare to take those peace away from him again.

He’d make sure no one will ever come close to her again once she’s his. She’d be isolated but protected. Just how John likes it.

It’s been two days since John gave his number, but he knows she’s just giddy and nervous to text him. He’d seen her staring at her phone, biting her bottom lip anxiously, thinking if it would be a good idea or not. He knows she’ll give in one way or another because he sees it in her face. She’s too easy, too gullible, too naive.

She’s lonely, just like him.

John could tell she’s waiting for someone – she’s desperate, no wonder she asked for his number the second time they met. She wants someone to take care of her, to hold her, tell her that she deserves the world. That someone is John whether she likes it or not.

This isn’t just any unhealthy obsession. John finds himself too deep to get out. He knows her little mannerisms, studied her every action, has a red room full of her pictures and no one can’t say he’s not ready to give up anything for her. John has already given up his sanity ever since he mutilated a man for being too close to her.

She’s his life now, his everything.

John watches intensely as she shreds her clothes in her room, baring him the full view of herself naked, and John grips the side of his chair too hard his knuckles turn white. This is the first time he’d seen her naked, it’s so sudden and so… perfect.

His cock fattens in his pants as he observes every curve of her body. Her waist is fucking perfect and her body is thick yet delicate. John thinks about bruising her sensitive skin, leaving a mark that will show everyone that she’s owned. He would love to see her in a collar, hear it jingle when she crawls. 

She’s completely fucking naked that John wonder just how naive she is to think there would be no one seeing her like this. What if John isn’t the only one watching her? What if somebody else sees her like this? His fingers itch, jaw clenching.

He’d kill them. He’d kill them in front of her, and the thought somehow made his cock hard even more. He grimaces, disturbed at the reaction of his body.

John doesn’t really understand the sexual aspects of killing, but now he’s thinking about how she would react if she sees him working. He’d kill someone in front of her and he’d see the look of disgust and betrayal in her face. He can already imagine how her eyes would well up with tears and fuck, his dick shouldn’t be this hard.

She’d fear him, and John would be turned on. How fucked up would that be? Just how fucked up can his mind get?

He resists the urge to wrap his hand around his cock because fuck no. He would not stoop this low, he is not a teenage boy. No matter how strong the thoughts get, the thoughts of wrapping his own hand around her neck, squeezing it hard and cutting off her airflow as John forces his cock in her cunt, hearing her mewl and scream and beg to just –

John sucks in air, eyes back on her in her room, wrapping a robe around herself and heading to the bathroom. This is fucked up. His cock is incredibly hard and leaking, and his mind won’t stop thinking about how good her pussy would feel around him.

He’d talk her through it. Whisper sweet nothings in her ear as she releases around her cock, praising her for being such a good girl. Then he’d fuck her again, in a different position, debauching her in different ways not even the devil himself could think of.

John would ruin her, and she will have no choice but to accept it.

He brings his hand to his face as he sighs deeply. He wonders what Helen would feel of what he’s doing. Disgusted, no doubt. This is not the same man she fell in love with years ago. He would never do something like this, but fate has its plans, and John believes everything happens for a reason.

She was brought into his life for a reason and it’s up to him whether he takes.

John doesn’t realize that he’s been staring at nothing for too long until she comes back in his view once again. Her hair is still wet, still wrapped up in a fluffy pink robe, and John’s fingers itch to grab, squeeze, possess.

He sees her picking up her phone, staring for a moment before her fingers start typing. John has been anticipating this moment for so long, the time has finally come.

In his chest pocket, his phone buzz silently, the vibration sending excitement in his whole body.

There it is.

13.06.15 11:46 PM UNKNOWN NUMBER : hello! this is Y/N from the club the other night

13.06.15 11:46 PM UNKNOWN NUMBER : also that Y/N who returned your super expensive looking coin hehe ;) i hope you didn’t forget about me!

There it fucking is.

John’s lips curl into a small smile. His efforts are finally paying off. 

All he needs to do is to get what’s his.

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: V

“I must admit, I thought I’d like to make you mine

As I went about my business through the warning signs

End up meeting in the hallway every single time

And there’s nothing we can do about it.”

— Only Angel, Harry Styles

A/N: this chapter...it was probably my fav to write, so far!!! i just adore these two clueless morons so much like i just can’t shut up about them. quite a bit happens in this part and it’s all to build that slow burn, friends to lovers shit we all know and love baYBEEEEE!!! and also The Crew make an appearance because hello we love to see it, we truly do 😌😌😌 especially the man, the myth, the legend, Mitch Rowland and honestly?? this is HIS chapter fuck vampirerry!!! but yeah i hope y’all like what’s in store for the Dynamic Duo this time around and remember that feedback is truly, madly, deeply™ appreciated! and if you enjoy it, please reblog it! spreading content keep creators motivated! without further delay, let’s dive in  😼  

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

word count: 34k 

content/warnings: witty banter, some nice fluff, jacuzzi sex, more fluff, a very testing phone call, some face f*cking, a soft shower, rough degradation, the return of The Handcuffs, an unexpected visit from The Three Stooges, more cheeky banter because that’s their brand, and the reveal of jealous asshole Harry 

///   

Y/N giddly accepts Harry’s offer to stay the weekend and the vampire can confidently say it’s one of the best he’s had in the last decade. 

He’d startled even himself when the suggestion had risen abruptly from his mouth, leaving him blinking blankly as a result. He rarely allows anyone to spend more than a day in his condo— his friends being the only exception— because he’s grown to like the quiet solitude that comes with living on his own. He very solemnly has people over whom he hasn’t known for at least a few years, and that rule is reinforced on stricter grounds when it comes to humans. Especially when the only true connection they could possibly carry to him is through the area between their legs. 

But Harry has become strangely fond of Y/N in the last four weeks— fond enough to freely refer to her as a friend and endeared enough to bypass the fact that she’s mortal. She just looks so unbelievably cute padding around his apartment barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of crumpled, sunflower-doodled panties and his Nike olive green jumper, her hair a mangled mess with traces of his cologne smeared across the bruised skin of her neck. Admittedly, it’s a sight he wants to see more often, which is a stab at his ego because he’s never been one to dwell on sentimentality— not for a while. It’s a bit cliche and gross, in his opinion, but when it comes to this one particular girl...well, maybe it’s not too bad. Indulging some soft pastimes can't do much damage, especially when it aids his plan to keep her interested until he himself grows bored. 

It can only do good, which is probably what had spurred him into asking her to extend her stay. For once, he found himself not craving his usual silent seclusion. Not when that self-imposed isolation could be filled with her loud laughter, warm lips, and sweet moans instead. 

And much to his satisfaction, Harry gets just that. 

For the next two days, the creature gets all of his needs and wants attended to, both recreational and intimate. Y/N seems to enjoy it thoroughly, as well, walking— or rather waddling, really, thanks to some of their raunchier activities— around his flat happily, constantly clad in a pair of his boxers and one of his graphic tees. He gets off on it— it’s hard not to, especially with the way she fits his clothes so effortlessly, almost as if she was made to fill them. Or the way the scent of his shampoo is combed through every strand of her hair, his smell slathered all over her as if she’s unconsciously trying to mark herself as his. Or the way new love bites cover the ones his blood had nearly faded, which she dotes shamelessly by pushing all her hair behind her shoulders so Harry can get a perfect view of every welt he’s left behind on her throat. Or the way she unapologetically giggles at all his jokes and crude humor, and how she paddles his witty banter right back at him with that clever gleam in her irises. 

He gets off on the way Y/N cuddles into him on the couch while they’re watching some mindless Food Network series, her body heat expelling the stiff coldness from his limbs. The way she kisses tenderly along the underside of his jaw, forefinger tracing over his Adam’s Apple teasingly, a smile spreading against his skin when she feels it bob heavily. The way she’ll sneak her hand between his thighs and palm him over his briefs, taking the shell of his ear between her teeth and hissing lowly when his cock twitches against her fingers, her voice soft as silk but heavy with dirty intentions. “Want to make you feel good again, H. Can I?” 

The human girl is a blessing, while simultaneously being a walking, talking sin, and the monster’s never been more willing to damn himself to Hell. And he would gladly do it, if he wasn’t already living it in the form of blood-driven eternity.

It’s an eventful weekend, that’s for sure, and despite the fact that they share an abundance of memorable moments, there are a few that Harry deems especially unforgettable. 

The jacuzzi sex sits at the top of that list. 

Y/N had practically squealed when she’d laid eyes on the glorified tub in his bathroom, pacing over to it excitedly and leaning down to run her fingers over the control panel along the rim. Her voice had come out whispered, full of child-like wonder. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Harry had walked over to stand beside her, his icy digits pressing on top of her warm own, finagling the buttons into his preferred settings. Hot water begins to shoot out of all the polished jets one by one, slowly filling the pool and covering the dark marble wrap-around ledge used as seating. The vampire quickly fetches the bag of lavender Epsom salts he keeps close by, scooping a couple handfuls into the frothing hot tub, along with pouring in a decent amount of jasmine bubble bath. 

His lips jolt when he catches Y/N eyeing the jacuzzi in awe, her hands clasped to her chest in delight as she teeters back and forth ever so slightly on her heels. The water shuts off once it reaches the appropriate level, leaving behind a thick, luxurious sheet of suds that smells of sugary florals and clean linen. The second the jets retract, Harry doesn’t even have time to make a comment before Y/N begins stripping down hurriedly, obviously restless to take on this new experience. 

Harry spontaneously jerks to the side out of habit, averting his sight to allow her some privacy. His tone is soft and amused. “Clean towels are in the hamper along the other side of the tub.” He signals blindly towards where he knows the basket is situated. “Call me back in when you need help with the shower knobs. And don’t—”

The immortal spots something streak across his peripheral vision, cocking his head a bit just in time to see her flower-print panties toss onto the tiled floor. He rolls his eyes playfully, scoffing to himself at the innocence of the article. It matches her persona perfectly. 

He hears a splash crack through the air behind him, meaning that Y/N has submerged herself in the water and that it is now safe for him to turn around without threatening her decency. However, he doesn’t think she’d mind if he did and he finds himself wondering why he’d looked away in the first place. The answer comes to him simply: it was a residual mannerism from the era he was raised in. His default Victorian etiquette can be so fucking annoying sometimes. 

He spins around on his socked heels, lean arms folding casually across his broad chest, naked tattoos glinting under the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom. He slinks his head to the side, entertained at the view he finds. Y/N is sitting amidst the blanket of pink bubbles, covered up to her shoulders as she cups soap into her palms, blowing at it and watching the suds float across the air before popping. The adorable smile that breaks across her face makes Harry’s stomach flutter. 

The vampire steps forward to catch her attention, leaning a hip against the edge of the tub and pursing his lips to hide an adoring grin. The corners of his mouth betray him as soon as Y/N looks up at him, hair slicked back with water and bubbles, matted to the sides of her neck and across her jaw as she beams up at him. 

“Your place is literally an adult playground.” The human states wistfully, her arms floating across the surface of the bath as she drifts closer to him, creating more suds. “You’re gonna have to get me kicked out tomorrow ‘cause I’m not leaving on my own.” 

Harry snorts, ducking down and wiping some soap off the tips of her eyelashes. “I don’t think security detail was part of the lease, so I might have to do it myself.”

“I can easily take you.” Y/N remarks jokingly, waving a hand dismissively. “Better make some space, I’m moving in next week.” 

“I’d say I would start clearing out my storage room for you,” Harry leans forward, ghosting his lips over hers and thumbing over the curve of her chin, batting his lashes sultrily, “but I think we both know you’d end up in my bed either way. Best leave it as is.” 

“Yeah,” Y/N momentarily glimpses down at his mouth, eyes glitzing with the slightest bit of hunger, “I think it's best if we just split the bed.” 

“Oh, we’ll definitely split the bed— split it right down the middle.” Harry grips her jaw firmly and locks her into a wet, sloppy kiss for a few elongated heartbeats, tugging at her bottom lip and biting it jestingly before pulling back. 

Y/N chases after him, craving more of his taste, but the boy draws back fully and pats at her cheek with smug finality. Her begrudging pout makes him release a boyish giggle. “Anyways, as I was saying before, my last rule: Don’t pee in the tub. Cleaning it is a bitch and that’s the last thing I want to deal with.” 

The mortal laughs airily, nodding her head in confirmation that she understands. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

“Thank you.” Her friend huffs, shoulders slumping dramatically in relief. Harry takes on a theatrical ominous edge, quirking his brows warningly. “Didn’t end well for the last person who did.” 

“Is that so?” Y/N inquires daringly, lowering herself deeper into the water until it covers her chin. “What happened? Did you have to take on the role of executioner again?”

Harry thinks back to that instance, shaking his head in amusement at the memory. It had been Niall— anything that has to do with testing his patience almost always leads to Niall— and to make a long story short, the Irish bloke had ended up having to regrow an ear. But he can’t necessarily confess that supernatural event to Y/N, no matter how funny it is, so he just shrugs offhandedly and gives her a dark look full of faux mystery, voice adopting the same affect. “I’ve already said too much.” 

The young woman casts her eyes up to the ceiling humorously. “Moron.” 

“Watch it, love.” Harry tuts, narrowing his eyes at her pointedly in an attempt to suppress the smirk that is about to stem from his next comment. “I’m not the one with the degradation kink here.” 

Y/N scrunches her face at him mockingly, trying to hide the way his quip had made her heart hiccup. She mimics his accent, sticking up her middle finger from beneath a mountain of rosy bubbles. “Piss off.” 

“Gladly.” Harry bites back cheekily in an American accent. He leans down, retrieving his Nike sweater and her underwear from the rumpled pile on the ground, his intentions set on taking them across the hall to the laundry room with the rest of her clothes. That way, her stuff will be nice and clean for when she needs it again Sunday night. “Just call if you need me, yeah?” 

Harry gets about three feet towards the door before Y/N’s soft voice halts him, piping up as gentle and timid as usual. “Wait…”

The vampire glances over his shoulder, eyebrows poised in question as he absentmindedly flips his jumper inside-out in anticipation for the wash. 

Y/N swims across the extent of the jacuzzi until she’s right in front of where he’d stopped, resting her forearms along the rim and plopping her chin atop her folded hands. She gazes up at Harry through her lashes and he can see the manner in which she shifts her footing beneath the small waves, almost as preparing to stand up from the water. “Don’t go.” 

Harry’s eyes go half-lidded in a flat expression as he hangs his sweatshirt over the inside of his elbow. “Didn’t you literally just tell me to piss off five seconds ago?”

“I changed my mind.” 

“Well, that’s just too bad. You already hurt my feelings. No take-backs.” 

“Idiot.”

“Try again.” 

“What’s that one insult British people say? Oh, yeah! Knobhead.” 

“You’re really not helping your case here.” 

Y/N sighs in exasperation, using her palms to boost herself up until she’s standing fully inside the hot tub. Water cascades down her shoulders and out of her sopping hair, following the curves of her bare torso and trickling across her jaw. She teeters forward until her face is only a few inches away from Harry’s, lulling her head to the side expectantly with a certain slyness swirling around her pupils. She chews on her lower lip as she gives him a suggestive once-over. “How about now? Does this help my case?”

Harry keeps his eyes pinned to her own, refusing to submit to temptation. He knows exactly what she’s trying to do, and he doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction of allowing it to work. Not yet, at least. He wants her to beg for it. 

The creature twists towards her entirely, irises bright with the excitement of a new challenge. Even with the slight elevation the jacuzzi provides, Harry still towers over Y/N at least a good four inches. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough that she has to tilt her chin up to maintain direct eye contact. The tip of his cold nose brushes over hers, eyebrows shrugging tauntingly. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that, darling.”

Y/N reaches forward without breaking their stares, taking the clothes from Harry’s grasp and haphazardly chucking them onto the towel hamper. Now with his arms free, the immortal props his hands onto his hips, his biceps and shoulders flexing with the motions. He’s peacocking to try and intimate her, and in any other circumstance, it would probably work, but Y/N knows she has the upper-hand at the moment; she’s naked and wet and docile, and with the way Harry’s handsome features are hardening in determination, she can tell she’s whittling him down. All it would take is one well-coordinated touch here, a lingering stroke there, and maybe a gentle caress of her lips down the valley of his pectorals…

Y/N goes for something better. She reaches upwards to intertwine her fingers around the nape of Harry’s neck, tugging him closer until their chests meld together, the heat from the water radiating off her waxy skin and sinking into his freezing own. His breathing catches as soon as he feels her pert nipples press into his chest and even though he’s keeping his sight trained on her face, he can just barely see the curves of her breasts less than a foot below. Their close proximity is making them swell upwards, urging him to give in and have his way with her however he wants. And fuck, does he want to. But he’s not going to let her bait him that easily— who would he be if he allowed this human girl to toy with him in such a fashion? Harry never lets anyone puppet him— not anymore, not ever again— and especially not when it comes to sex, which is one of his most skilled domains. He certainly isn’t going to let her win. 

Harry grabs Y/N’s wrists from where they are perched around his neck, giving her a hard look that lets her know who’s in charge of the situation. He brings her hands up before her face, flipping them over so she gets a proper view of the faint bruising that lines her flesh, leftover from the previous evening’s restraints. When he speaks, it’s low and throaty with a condescending undercurrent. “Remember what happened last time you acted like a brat?”

Images flash by the forefront of Y/N’s mind like a film on fast-forward, recalling the night to which Harry is referring. The young man had tied her to her headboard and fingered her until she was left a teary mess, refusing to let her orgasm each time she got close. Then, he had tossed the girl onto her tummy and rammed into her from behind until her aged bedframe had nearly splintered. If she focuses intently enough, she can still feel the satisfying ache he had left behind, which had haunted her for days afterwards. 

The mortal swallows heavily, nodding her head a tad. 

Harry raises an eyebrow with an awaiting air. “Remember what I said about using your words?”

Y/N bobs her head again quickly. After a moment, she realizes her repeated mistake, clearing her throat softly in order to fix it. “Yes.”

“Good.” The vampire drops her hands, coasting his palms up her neck to cup either sides of her jaw, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones almost tenderly. “Now let me ask you again. Do you remember what happened last time you acted like a little brat?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Do you want a repeat of that?”

“No, I—” Y/N pauses in hindsight, retracting her previous statement. “Well, actually…”

Harry’s ruby lips string into a coy smirk at her response, well acquainted with where her thoughts are leading. He presses their foreheads together, the damp stickiness of her warm flesh sending a shiver toppling down his spine. “Let me guess. You want a repeat of the part where I shoved your face into a pillow and fucked you until you squirted all over me?” 

He can feel blood surge into her cheeks beneath his fingertips as a result of his vulgar words. “Yes, please.”

Harry gnaws along the inside of his cheek as he recalls that event. He can practically feel her gushing around his cock all over again, her walls tightening around him as her whole body trembled in his grasp, her shattered whimpers stinging his ears as he continued to slam into her until she’d completely drenched both of their thighs. His eyelids fall shut in dreamy recollection and an image skims by of his initial rings marked across her ass; it nearly sends his knees out from under him. “Fuck, that was so hot, wasn’t it?”

“So fucking hot.” Y/N sighs shakily, lashes fluttering as his warm breath washes across her tingling mouth. “Harry, I just...I just want to ride you so fucking bad right now.”

“Yeah? Is that what you want?” Harry touches over her quivering bottom lip, somehow managing to feel her pulse. It’s battering so hard, he could probably sense it through any spot on her body, at this point. “You want me to sit in there with you just so you can bounce on my cock, baby?” 

“Please…” Y/N sounds as if she’s on the verge of crying, all of her desperate need translating into her wrecked voice. Her next phrase is something she doesn’t think she’s ever spoken before, but the intensity of the moment just feels so right to test it out, and Harry feels like the right person to test it with. After another heavy gulp and a lick at her dry lips, she chimes up once again, bashful and pliant. “Please, Daddy?”

The sound of a sharp inhale echoes off the marble and porcelain walls of the bathroom, stemming from Harry’s garbled throat. It feels like the temperature in the atmosphere has gone up twenty degrees, invisible flames lapping across the muscles of his taut back and across the tendons of his tight shoulders. His entire body seems to go into shock, lungs stuttering and stomach hollowing out. His lashes snap shut without a heartbeat to spare, webs of black veins materializing over the whites of his eyes as a reaction to Y/N’s brazen comment. 

He has been indulging fantasies of her calling him that specific name for weeks now, but had never asked out of respect for her boundaries. He figured that if she had an affinity for it, it would eventually make its way out of her mouth during one of their sessions, and he had been willing to be patient enough to wait. It had paid off, it seems. 

Harry releases his grip on the girl’s face, reaching down to messily shove his black briefs down his clammy thighs, eyes flickering open now that he has forced some control into his demeanor. He sets his intent on her expression, the jade of his irises bleeding lust as he catches her gawking at him. Y/N gazes down at where he’s occupied, her lips parting slightly with starved awe as his underwear falls away to pool at his feet, revealing the part of him she has grown so addicted to in the last month. It looks so pretty, with a neatly trimmed pubic area, thick girth, and pleasurable length. She never knew cocks could be appealing, considering she always found their appearance so odd and irrelevant. That is, until Harry. It appears she thought a lot of sexual things irrelevant until Harry. 

He kicks away his clothes, nudging at her boiling cheeks with his nose to garner attention, his tone low and inexplicably strained. “Say it again.”

Y/N’s fingers curl into loose fists against his heaving chest as she gathers her bearings, shuddering with a difficult exhale. She says it a bit louder this time, but still inherently weak, almost as if she’s scared their shadows might overhear. “Please, Daddy?”

Harry’s brows furrow with puncurting desire, a broken groan stirring deep in his lungs. “God, that sounds so good coming from your mouth. Been wanting to hear you say it for ages now.” 

“Really?”

He nods fervently, nose bumping hers with every movement and he takes this chance to peek down at her naked figure, swallowing thickly at how incredible her breasts look flushed to his pecs. “Think about it constantly. Always wondered what it would take to get it out of you.” 

“I wish you’d just told me.” The human mumbles, tracing his cupid’s bow with the crest of her own. “I’ve been wanting to say it for a while now.” 

Harry chuckles lightly, humming in amusement as he snakes a strong arm around the dip of her spine, drawing her closer as much as possible. He just wants to feel every inch of her wet, velvety skin. “Well, now you can say it all you want. Over and over and over, while I make your knees shake and your back arch.” 

Y/N sputters out a bundle of feathery giggles, looping her arms around his neck and carding her fingers into his shiny curls, pulling his lips down to meet hers in a restless kiss full of quiet whines and snippets of laughter. She talks into his mouth, starting to pant as the pace becomes more passionate, full of eager tongues and nipping teeth. “Now will you please get in and let me fuck you?” 

Harry mounts one knee onto the edge of the hot tub, his free hand jutting down against the marble for reinforcement as the other keeps her trapped against his body. “Yeah...Yeah, I think I will.” 

He crawls into the heated water, submerging up to his waist due to his height. Once he’s balanced himself within the pool, the palm pressed to the brim slips away, replacing the cold stone with the simmering skin of Y/N’s jaw once again. He tangles his fingers into her hair as he nurses her face to the side, deepening their prolonged kiss, and the whimper she pours into his mouth makes every cell in his body throb with longing. Y/N’s hands ride down his lean stomach and over his pelvic bones, fingers twitching the closer she gets to his cock. She stops right before she reaches his base, wracked with the slightest bit of shy hesitation. 

“Go ahead, doll.” Harry murmurs softly, hips bucking forward once against the pads of her digits. “I want you to touch me.”

Y/N’s palm disappears below the mounds of bubbles, cupping over his cock and giving it a rough grope. Harry gasps brokenly against her lips at the sensation, the corners of his mouth ticking upwards into a blissful simper when her breathing throttles just a smidge. Y/N gradually begins to work him below the gentle waves of the water, eyes rolling back when she feels him harden in her hold. She’ll never get used to how erotic it is having Harry shatter under her influence.

“I think it's funny,” she begins, voice delicate and humorous, contradicting the insistent actions she’s partaking below, “how you were threatening me with orgasm denial two minutes ago and now you’re being all nice.” 

The vampire thrusts slightly against her strokes, tiny noises escaping his taut throat as a familiar boiling begins to simmer in his veins. His tone is detached and pinched with the effort of maintaining composure. “S’hardly a fair point, considering you caught me off guard with that pet name.”

“Is that so?” The girl inquires playfully, giving the tip of his cock a hard squeeze and scoffing against his mouth when he releases a tight grunt. 

“Mm. You always…” Harry draws back from her intoxicating mouth, looking down at her over the crests of his tinted cheekbones to admire the faint imprint of his teeth along her swollen lips. His mind feels like it’s been pumped with syrup, thoughts swishing around lazily, his emotions still somewhat exposed from the mishap that had occurred during their breakfast serenade. It had been over two hours ago, but the wound was still fresh in his subconscious, causing small pinpricks of anxiety to stain his otherwise carefree personality. He feels as if his chest had been cut open with a scalpel, his insides had been rearranged out of order, and the gash had been resewn brutishly; he feels disarrayed and defiled. And because of some simple human girl who’s as fragile and insipidly transparent as glass. 

The immortal’s voice comes out as a whisper, carrying the weight of his confused, raw state. “You always catch me off guard.” 

Y/N blinks up at him innocently, gnawing on her bottom lip at his sweet compliment, her heart somersaulting within her ribcage. “You catch me off guard, too. Always keep me on my toes, which is something I was never really used to.” 

“Do you...” Harry forces down the lump in his throat, allowing himself to be vulnerable for the sake of seeking an answer. Though their problems are vastly different— she’s referring to her small-town, conservative mentality, whereas he’s shouldering two hundred years worth of emotional trauma— he’s more than happy to absorb any advice she could possibly offer. He needs to know how to shut this off; he hates feeling so unsure of himself. It’s like he’s wading through a forest blindfolded, disoriented and uncalibrated with no sense of direction or purpose. He hasn’t felt this helpless since… “Do you hate it?”

The mortal’s eyes fall shut, lashes dusting the apples of her cheeks in a way that Harry deems almost ethereal. She shakes her head lightly in his grasp, a hazy smile adorning her face. “Do I hate that you take me out of my comfort zone? I don’t think I do, actually. I like it. I like that every moment we spend together is something new. I was so used to following the status quo and retracing other’s steps, I never noticed how boring it all was. But you’re never boring. You make everything fun and adventurous, and it’s just so...” 

Y/N laughs a tad, trying to come up with a word she can’t quite place, too distracted in how her friend’s thumbs are caressing her jaw. The hand she has below the water has stopped its motions all together, her focus placed solely on the young man’s beautiful features. The copper specks in his eyes glitter in the white light of the bathroom, looking like polished amber gems. “Uhm...It’s...It’s so—”

“Scary...but exhilarating.” Harry finishes her sentence, a quivering sigh coaxing out of his tight chest. He feels like he’s going to vomit. 

Y/N bobs her head in agreement, hands drifting to wrap around his dainty wrists, giving them a soft squeeze as if to reassure herself that he’s real. “Yeah, that’s it. It’s...exciting, kind of.” 

The creature swallows heavily and releases her face, peeling his eyes away from Y/N’s for fear of letting her see him so defenseless, brows creasing in burning unsettlement. Instead, he lends his attention to outlining the speckling of white strewn into the dark marble of the bathroom wall, using that distraction to calm the raging in his belly. Out of the edge of his vision, he can see Y/N’s face fall, the grip she has on his wrists loosening. A spike of pain shoots through his unbeating heart— similar to what he had endured earlier— at the sadness behind her gesture, but he stifles it with stubborn spite. This isn’t him. It hasn’t been for decades now, and he’d grown to like it as so. In his experience, attachment leads to suffering, and suffering leads to misery. And with all of the centuries he has ahead of him, misery is the last companion he needs. 

Harry clears his throat emptily, slashing through the tension that had suspended in the air between them. He glimpses down at her, undoing the knot between his eyebrows and putting as much playful ease into his irises as he can muster, urging the corners of his lips into his signature smirk. “I guess we just excite each other, then. Though that’s become pretty obvious by now, I think.” 

Y/N purses her mouth to hide the immature grin his innuendo is attempting to weed out, all awkwardness dissipating from her aura. “I guess we do.” 

The monster ducks down to flirt his lips over the human’s, arms tying around her lower back and hiking her upwards. Y/N yelps in surprise, instinctively clamping her legs around his waist and giggling as he lugs her from side to side jokingly, pretending he’s about to drop her into the pool. “Why don’t we go back to exciting one another, hm?” 

Y/N’s nose rubs across the bridge of Harry’s and she gasps lightly when she feels the head of his cock prod at her entrance, dipping in a bit to tease her, spreading her open just enough to wheedle a soft hiss. She shivers in his arms despite the heat wafting up from the warm water, a very different type of warmth pouring into the area between her legs. The girl clings to the sides of the English boy’s neck, spinning a damp curl around her forefinger— he’d gotten his hair wet when he’d splashed into the jacuzzi, and the manner in which his ringlets are gluing across his flexing neck and sharp jaw is doing her in. 

She gives a small nod, eyes flickering down to his tempting lips and back up at his devious gaze. “Yeah, alright.” 

In Harry’s expert opinion, it’s safe to say they definitely excite each other. It’s pretty evident in the way their bodies mold perfectly, satisfying their own desires while simultaneously fulfilling the other’s. The vampire ends up sitting on top of the ledge that circles the inside wall of the pool, his head hanging over the edge with his mouth parted in an open grin, filthy moans and needy whines pouring from his tongue freely as Y/N rocks onto his slick cock. The girl balances herself on her knees, backside crashing down against his thighs in harsh slams full of reckless urgency— she needs this more than she’d ever care to admit. Her nails dig into Harry’s strong shoulders for stability, head thrown back in sheer bliss as her chest bounces with every thrust, the trench of her tummy rippling with contented heat. He just makes her feel so fucking full.

“God, y-you’re so big.” Y/N mewls, swinging her hips in small circles that draw an array of fractured sounds of pleasure from Harry’s taut throat. “You stretch me out so fucking good, Har.” 

Harry’s hands tighten into fists against the glossy plastic of the jacuzzi, arms slung casually over the sides of the tub in a relaxed posture. He doesn’t want to bother with taking control at this particular moment; he’s too busy reveling in the ecstasy Y/N is pounding into his system. He jolts with every rough dip of her hips, the corners of his raw lips winking his dimples awake as he looks up at her through barely-cracked eyes, the weight of his mounting orgasm heavy on his lashes. “Love that cock, don’t you? Can tell by the way you always kiss it right before you take it down your throat.” 

Y/N grapples onto her friend's neck blindly, one palm grasping the center of his jugular as the other cradles his defined jaw, her thumb smearing across his lips as a result of her choppy movements. Harry cranes his head forward a bit to get a better view, pressing a gentle kiss to the pad of her finger as an appreciative thrum rumbles against the hand she has covering his Adam’s Apple. “You look so beautiful when you fuck me all desperate like that.”

Y/N whimpers as she swivels against his lap eagerly, driving herself towards a climax that she knows will leave her utterly ruined. Harry glances down to where their centers meet below the water, worrying his lower lip between his teeth as he peers through the violently sloshing waves and frothy suds, watching Y/N glide over him easily now that she’d gotten used to his size. He leans forward, slowly planting a trail of suckling kisses up the center of his friend’s tummy and over the valley of her chest, looking upwards through his long lashes and smiling lewdly into her flesh every time her walls squeeze at the action. She’s so snug around him, he’s convinced no one could ever fit him this well. 

His words come out as a raspy growl. “You’re such a tight little thing. Never get tired of that perfect cunt. S’like you were made to take me this deep.” 

Y/N collapses forward, her grip shooting up to trade his face with his drenched curls. She sponges her mouth messily over his, gasping onto his tongue as the motions of the water batter against her sensitive clit. Her brows cinch with hunger, tone pleading. “Touch me. Please? Want— Want your hands on me while I ride you.” 

Harry shakes his head tauntingly, licking across her top lip and teething at the crescent above it. “I don’t think so, angel. I like seeing you do all the work, for once. You look so good using me to get yourself off.” 

The girl fists at his hair almost cruelly, her sanity gradually slipping. “But I...I like it when you use me, too.” 

“Trust me, I’m well aware.” The vampire muses arrogantly, spreading his meaty thighs wider so that her strokes have a more profound impact. His position works as intended, seen in how Y/N slows for a second when she sinks down to the hilt, a breathy, “Fuck, that’s so deep.” scraping past the cracks of her gritted teeth. 

Harry bucks upward symbolically, signaling for her to regain her rhythm; one look at his dominantly smug expression has her abiding instantly. He lays his head against his bare shoulder, studying every clench of her belly and every heave of her breasts, etching this picture into his extensive list of memories. His voice flows out as thick and silky as molasses. “I just can’t get enough of watching you make yourself cum around my cock.” 

“I j-just want you to fuck me.” Y/N is nearly sobbing, her fingertips carving into his scalp as she kisses over his colored cheeks and tinged nose, trying to swindle him into giving her what she wants. “I’ll do anything you want. Promise.” 

“Always so willing, aren’t you?” Harry chuckles darkly, groaning lightly when she suddenly tenses around his length. He can feel his nails breaking the skin of his palms as his fists contract. “You want me to make you scream, is that it? Want Daddy to pound you until you can’t stand anymore?”  

Hearing him refer to himself that way sends electricity coursing down her spine. “Want it so bad.” 

The creature reaches up with his index finger and brushes a sopping strand of hair out of Y/N’s face, tucking it behind her ear and tracing down her cheekbone admiringly. After a few seconds of thought, he appraises her with a decision, licking across his top teeth and pressing his tongue along the inside of his cheek teasingly. “Let’s make a deal, then. How about you get yourself right on the edge for me, and then I’ll flip you around and finish you off. Sound fair?” 

Y/N doesn’t need to be told twice. She regains her previous stride with more fervor and speed, hellbent on pushing herself to the seam of climax so she can let Harry take the reins. The young man watches her with sinful intent tainting the emerald of his irises, the golden smudges around his pupils glinting blood red for a single heartbeat. He decides he’ll lend his expertise just once, extending his arm and fiddling with the settings on the control panel of the hot tub, preparing a surprise he knows his guest will thoroughly enjoy. 

When the jets suddenly rumble to life, Y/N’s jumps in shock, the loud sound startling her clouded brain. But then two concentrated streams of water hit her right between her legs and she nearly faints as newfound bliss erupts through every fiber of her being. The insistent spray toys with her clit in a fashion that is indescribable, revving her closer to release as the overwhelming sensation pairs with the rapture Harry’s cock is hammering into her. She won’t last long, and he knows it. 

The monster eyes her reaction attentively, his forefinger lulling upwards across the water-proof screen of the controls, raising the intensity of the jets. The fragmented moan that betrays the human goes right to his core. He then slides his finger back down, reducing the powerful force to softer bursts. Y/N whines in protest against his mouth, begging him to set it higher like before. And Harry does, giving her exactly what she craves with one easy swoop. Y/N’s forehead falls against his jaw, her shallow breaths puffing down his collarbones and heating his icy skin. 

“Shit, that’s so—so— fuck!” 

Harry continues to play with the settings, teasing her with waves of strong geysers and gentle trickles. Soon enough, he’s perched behind her, her back sticky against his wet chest as she holds herself up on her knees against the marble seat, hands clamped around the metal railing that runs the circumference of the pool. The pole helps her brace his unforgiving pace, her entire body jerking forward with every ram of his hips as small hiccups of pleasure float across the fogged air of the bathroom. Harry takes the shell of her ear between his teeth, biting down with no remorse as Y/N pushes back to meet his adamant thrusts, his coral-lacquered digits sifting between her own around the polished metal. She gets a bleary glimpse of the cross tattoo inked onto his hand as she can’t help but snort softly at the irony. 

“Is something funny, love?” Harry’s deep baritone causes chills to wring down her arms. 

“Your cross tattoo,” Y/N chokes out, a soft grunt interrupting her sentence as the head of the boy’s prick nudges the pit of her abdomen, “it’s just so ironic.” 

It is ironic. Harry had gotten it for that sole purpose— to mock the fact that he was deceased. He didn’t get to have a tombstone, so this is the next best thing: a symbolic one, of sorts, sketched into his skin for the rest of his undead life. A bit morbid, but he quite fancies dark humor, given what he is. 

However, he knows Y/N finds it ironic for much different, much unholier reasons. 

“You wanna know what’s really ironic?” Harry quips, bottoming out harshly and cooing into the back of her neck when the mortal’s shoulders give a spasm in response. His tone is a mocking whisper. “That such an innocent-looking thing like you loves the idea of being my shameless little whore.” 

Y/N’s cheeks boil at his explicit comment, a delicate whimper striking her vocal chords. One of Harry’s hands leaves its post on top of hers, tangling into her wet locks and giving her hair a ruthless yank. He guides her head into the nook between his shoulder and neck, spitting his next words out against the thundering pulse in her temple.

“You’re nothing but Daddy’s little filthy fucking slut. Isn’t that right, baby?” 

Y/N nods frantically in his authoritative grasp, struggling to swallow due to the combination of his unyielding tempo and erotic statements.  

Harry twists her hair around his knuckles, drawing a broken mewl from her raw lips as his teeth skim along the top of her cheekbone. “Words. Now.”

“Yes, Daddy.” 

“Say it.”

“I’m...I’m your filthy little slut.” 

Harry scoffs in entertained disbelief at how willing she is to submit to him, pecking a kiss to the corner of her eye and tasting a salty tear across his tongue. He redirects her head forward, grinning into the side of her scalp. “You should see the way you smile when you say it.” 

Y/N can’t help it. It just feels so right with him— she feels oddly safe, knowing that what they share is something neither of them will ever give to anyone else. Their arrangement is one of a kind; they fit each other so flawlessly, nobody could ever possibly come close. And she doesn’t want anyone to try— doesn’t want anyone attempting to replace him. Harry just fills the gap perfectly, and she wouldn’t dream of letting another man do what he does to her. Not when she has Harry near, willing to mumble as many graphic promises into her ear as she wants, all while he fucks a sweltering throb into the area between her thighs.

The human girl finds herself wishing this could last an eternity. Little does she know that if it wasn’t for her mortal ignorance and Harry’s better judgement, it very well could. 

///

Later in the day, Harry vaguely recalls how the week prior he had made a passing joke to Y/N about how her sexual drive matches that of a rabbit. What happens in the evening makes him stand by that comment. 

They order in Chinese for dinner, and Y/N insists on eating out on the balcony, wanting to get a perfect view of the sun setting over the city skyline. She has never experienced the phenomenon from such a pristine view. 

Harry allows it, but only after parenting her into putting on a jacket to avoid catching a cold, sending her back into the condo in search of one as he sets out their meal atop the multicolored glass table outside. Humans are so sensitive, and the last thing he needs is his booty call nearly dying from a case of the sniffles.

She comes back out clad in his patchwork cardigan, wrapping it around her body snugly as she sits with her legs crossed on the patio chair, fitting her box of takeout into the hole created by her thighs. The fluffy knitwork had been the first coat she had found hanging in his humongous closet, and she’d thrown it on without a second thought, too caught up in the excitement of getting to see such a picturesque sight in real life. It’s warm and smells of Harry’s vanilla tobacco cologne, along with hints of other scents, like his chamomile and mandarin shampoo and spiced deodorant. She’d been more than happy to inhabit it.

Harry isn’t sure why, but seeing her sitting across from him on his balcony in a pair of his maroon plaid Calvin Klein boxers, his Keith Harrington Safe Sex t-shirt, and blanketed within his oversized rainbow cardigan, all while her hair falls across her face and tickles her jaw… It makes a fond smile buckle his cheeks, though he manages to tame it quickly. 

They chat casually as they eat, sharing silly stories and experiences as they pick at their stir-fry, taking periodic sips of the cranberry juice Harry keeps stocked in his fridge. He doesn’t know the science behind it— though he highly doubts there’s any valid scientific explanation behind the magic that runs through his supernatural veins— but he’s come to find that cranberries help curb his cravings. It’s why he always has a liter on hand. 

Y/N informs Harry on how her work week had gone, and about how one of her friends back home had gotten engaged recently. She says it all seems so surreal and that she doubts the girl will actually go through with it, which makes the monster burst into laughter, much to her confusion. Harry thinks that this is probably the first time he’s ever seen Y/N be so blatantly pessimistic; it’s strangely comical. Just hearing her opinion on the situation is enough to send anyone into a cackle fit, especially when she says it with such a straight face. “Yeah, I just don’t think she’ll do it. She says she loves him, but she always used to complain about his foot fetish, and I’m pretty sure she’d go insane if she had to put up with that for the rest of her life.” 

Harry wards off another bundle of giggles, pursing his twitching lips and bobbing his head once in understanding, using his chopsticks to pop a piece of fried duck into his mouth. “That’s a valid reason to abandon anyone at the altar, if I’ve ever seen one.” 

“I know, right? She told me he likes sucking whipped cream off her toes and, like, not to kinkshame, because I obviously have my own weird shit going on—”

“Yeah, I can attest to that.” Harry shrugs his eyebrows suggestively, picking a small chunk of broccoli off his utensil and smirking as he chews slowly. “Decently weird, actually.”

Y/N gifts him a deadpan expression, shoving a piece of veggie dumpling into her mouth and choosing to ignore his dig. “Anyways, I feel like that one is just on a whole other level. Like...what the fuck?”

Harry shares an anecdote about his own friends, as well, feeling that if he doesn’t open up at least a smidge, she'll start becoming suspicious. He recounts the time when he and Mitch had snuck into a Fleetwood Mac concert and met Stevie Nicks, though he’s careful enough not to tell her the date the event had occurred. He just lets her deduce it was one of their more recent tours, when in reality, it had been back in the eighties. The other detail Harry leaves off is the fact that he had tried to seduce Stevie, emphasis being on “tried.” It hadn’t stuck, unfortunately, and what had made the experience even more mortifying is that his idol had taken an interest in Mitch instead. Harry’s ego has yet to recover from that blow; first, because Mitch had the sheer gall to reject the celebrity on the grounds that he wasn’t looking to get involved in any public scandals, and secondly because his best friend refuses to ever let him live it down. “Hey, remember when we met Stevie Nicks and she wanted to fuck me instead of you? Good times, man.”

When the sun finally begins to dip over the horizon, their conversation dies off, replaced by the serene sounds of distant traffic and a light wind picking up as the temperature begins to drop for the night. Y/N stares at the sky in childish wonder as the bright blue starts to darken, streaking with mellow oranges, pastel purples, and buttery yellows, the colors painting across the clouds and giving the bustling city a timeless quality that can only be truly appreciated firsthand. A small, dreamy smile spreads across Y/N’s lips as the gorgeous canvas reflects off the glossy surface of her irises, her legs drawn up to her chest with her arms hugging her knees. She gazes wistfully over the place she has now grown to call home, taking in all it has to offer for the first time in two months, feeling oddly at ease despite the fact that she usually feels lonely wandering its streets. 

The mixture of drunken hues casts a hazy glow across her skin and hair, dim stars beginning to twinkle in space as the moon makes its debut. Y/N delights herself with watching the scene unfold, surveying the endless stretch of sky and soaking in its natural beauty. And as Y/N stares across Los Angeles during one of its most breath-taking moments, Harry finds himself staring at her instead. 

Once darkness has soaked across the skyscrapers and roads of California for the night, Y/N and Harry turn in, as well. They end up splayed across Harry’s leather couch, entertaining a new episode of Sugar Rush on the ninety-inch flat screen mounted on his glass wall; it’s simply in order to take up the last couple of hours left before bed. By some inexplicable miracle, the vampire had managed to actually fall asleep last night after he and his visitor had finished their regularly scheduled activities. He doubts he’ll be that lucky tonight, but he has no choice but to play the part for the sake of keeping up appearances. 

Maybe if the universe is feeling exceptionally generous, the human will fall asleep while they’re watching TV and Harry can just carry her up to his room without having to put on an act. It’s a favorable alternative to having to fake sleep until she gives into fatigue; lying awake with his eyes closed for an hour would make him feel as stupid as Niall’s golfing addiction. 

However, it appears that for the time being, Y/N has other plans to bring forward some tried and true exhaustion.

There’s nothing particularly sexual about the fashion in which their bodies are pressed together at the moment, given that it’s a pretty innocent snuggling position. Harry is slumped against the backrest of the sofa with his feet propped on his coffee table, comfy in a pair of black jogging shorts and a vintage Rolling Stones tee. Y/N is nestled into his torso beside him, her head burrowed into his chest with his arm slung nonchalantly across her shoulders and down her back, legs intertwined with his. She had done it out of instinct and Harry doesn’t really have an issue with the gesture; she’s warm and soft and the soothing action of her socked foot running up and down his calf helps him unwind from the day’s events. He likes this, he decides. She smells like him— with her usual scent of honey and lavender permeating through— and she’s decked out in his clothes, aimlessly doodling figures onto his tummy as they enjoy the baking show in comfortable silence. It’s strangely mellow. 

Y/N is the one who instigates, as usual. Humans are so horny, it’s ridiculous. But he benefits from this specific mortal’s libido, so he’s not complaining. 

It starts with her drifting upwards from where she’d been tracing over his butterfly tattoo, her warm fingers stroking over the prominent structure of his clavicle, her eyes flickering up to gauge his reaction. Harry doesn’t move an inch, face maintaining a curtain of calm indifference. He figures she’s just extra touchy, as she normally is. Then the pads of her digits skim across the side of his throat and an impulsive flare of panic pricks the back of his skull, but it quickly dissolves, as it tends to do now around her. She’s the only person in the last two centuries who has managed to touch him there without inciting a rampage. 

Y/N coasts across the nape of his neck, twirling a baby curl around her forefinger distractedly, giving it a small tug in the manner she knows he likes. Harry’s body tightens for a split second and she bites into her lower lip to muffle a mischievous grin. She stretches up, dusting a lingering peck to the curve right behind his ear, running her nose across the shell tenderly. The vampire shifts slightly in his seat, the feathery sensation beginning to weigh at the pit of his stomach. She’s teasing him, and it’s working. 

The mortal flushes her puckered mouth fully to the side of his jugular, rubbing the ridges of her skin over one of the veins chiseling into existence, right over the area where a heartbeat used to lie. Harry’s hand balls into a fist against the dip of her spine, itching to grip onto something to keep his cool. Preferably, her throat. 

When Y/N finally speaks, the hot breath of her words makes his cock twitch against his thigh. “Wanna kiss a bit?” 

Harry cranes his head to look at her, eyebrows jumping up in amusement. “You wanna make-out? What are we, fourteen?”

The girl gives him an impassive pout and glances indicatively towards the armrest of the couch, where they had sat the evening prior while admiring his art wall. “You didn’t have a problem with it last night.” 

Harry presses his lips together into a playful simper. She makes a valid point. “Well, I was horny last night. Wasn’t in my right mind.” 

Y/N rolls her eyes at his juvenile answer.

“And you’re not now?” She prods softly, her gaze slinking down to his spread thighs, almost as if to check if he’s hard. Harry snorts as her action and she bats her lashes up at him with fake innocence, muscling down the sly smirk threatening to emerge across her face. 

“Not really, but maybe I could be…” The creature glimpses at her colored mouth for a heartbeat, reaching a hand up and pushing his air-dried ringlets back from his forehead, lips twitching coyly. “Persuaded.”

Y/N leans forward, buttoning their mouths for a fleeting moment. She pulls back a tad, ghosting the crescent of her top lip over his to try and compel him. “Please?” 

“Mm,” Harry licks at the corner of his mouth, eyes half-lidded tauntingly, “I don’t think that was enough. Show some team spirit, will you?”

The girl gifts him another kiss, this one longer and more intense, a palm making its way to cup his jaw. “Please, H?” 

He’s begun to pant lightly, hand flattening across the small of her back as if to guide her somewhere. He blinks down at her smugly, gnawing into his cheek. “You’re not quite there. Maybe a little more.” 

It turns out one more kiss is enough to convince his metaphorical meter. Y/N ends up perched in his lap, both of his large hands groping at her ass as she clutches the back of his neck, their lips sewn together in a filthy kiss full of gentle whines and impatient tongues. It’s going pretty great, and Harry thinks that Y/N is probably one of the most fun people he’s ever had the pleasure of kissing. Her mouth is as sweet as the sugary scent she always dotes, she ebbs and flows to his movements seamlessly, and the enthusiasm she carries makes every nerve in his body fizzle. The noises she makes are incredibly satisfying, as well. All her needy mewls and delicate whimpers string right down to his groin. 

After a few minutes of dry humping and jesting bites placed on overzealous lips, Harry boosts himself up from his relaxed position, feet knocking off the coffee table as an arm snakes around her hips. He sits forward, extending his free hand and waving it around blindly, too occupied to willingly break their embrace. He refuses to pull away, especially when she’s gluing such dirty moans to the roof of his mouth. His palm swings across the air stubbornly until it finally slaps down against the marble surface he’d been searching for, his grip tightening around its rim for confirmation. He proceeds to scoot the counter forward, intent on laying Y/N out on top so he can get on his knees against his furry carpet, get his boxers down her velvety legs, and get his head bobbing between her quivering thighs. 

Harry’s plan is about to pan out ideally until a high-pitched shriek cuts through the tense ambiance of the room. 

Y/N cracks their kiss, gasping and heaving as her head whizzes from side to side, looking for the origin of the annoying trill that had interrupted their playtime. “What—What is that?”

The vampire glances over his back towards where the ruckus is stemming, the insistent chime grating his heightened ears. He spots the culprit immediately, releasing an irritated groan as a result: his phone. 

From his spot on the edge of the couch, Mitch’s contact picture blazes across the screen. Harry loves that photo of his best friend— the way his emotionless expression and skinny middle finger are directed towards the camera makes it a wonderful shot— but he really wishes he didn’t have to see it right now. He has other more pressing matters. Literal pressing matters, if the tent in his mesh shorts is any indication. 

“Just ignore it.” Harry murmurs, turning back to slam their lips together once again. Y/N obliges without a second thought, happily re-engaging her previous activity of smudging her cupid’s bow across her friend’s as he stretches her out across the table 

Ignoring it works the first time. And the second. But by the third call, Harry has no choice but to break away with an exasperated grunt, his brittle patience forcing him to handle the blaring ringtone. 

He slides his thumb across the screen roughly, bringing it to his ear as he slumps back into the couch cushions, holding up a finger towards Y/N apologetically and mouthing a quick, “It’ll be just a second.”

His guest nods in understanding, letting her head fall back against the cold marble and distracting herself by counting all of the lightbulbs situated at the peaks of the chandeliers above. 

Harry turns his focus to the person on the other end of the phone line, voice snipped with aggravated anger. “What?!”

“Whoa, okay… That’s no way to talk to the elderly. Take it down a notch, Grumpy. Didn’t Snow White teach you any manners?”

The monster takes a deep breath to keep his rage in check, gritting out his words through bared teeth. “I’m fucking busy right now. What do you want?”

“Oh, well, I’m so sorry to be a bother, My Lord. I just wanted to check up on you and make sure you have all your stuff packed for tomorrow. Y’know, like the good friend I am.”

Harry blinks blankly, all indignation flooding out of his system, replaced by utter confusion. “You wanted to check if I’m...? For what? Why would I need to pack?”

There’s a pause on Mitch’s end, as if the man is waiting for Harry to come to the conclusion himself, static filling the speaker. When it’s obvious the younger vampire is clueless, his best friend elaborates slowly. “For the trip. The Vegas trip. The one we take every year around the same time. The one that we all agreed we’d roadtrip in your car tomorrow.”

Harry’s eyes widen in realization, his entire face paling. Fuck.

“The trip.” He mumbles, the fingers of his free hand coming up to rub at his temples worriedly as his mistake dawns on him. “God, I completely forgot about it.” 

“You can’t be serious.” Mitch deadpans, a long sigh following his comment. “Harry, you’re the one that booked the hotel this time. How could you possibly forget?”

“I…” Harry glances over at Y/N as guilt weighs into his demeanor. The girl meets his gaze, smiling sweetly and waving, completely unaware of the horrific ordeal he’s gotten himself into by inviting her over. “I got caught up with something.” 

A humorless snort crackles through the stereo of his phone, Mitch’s voice tinged with irked disbelief. “Yeah, that’s what you’ve been saying for the last four weeks now every time you bail on us. I just figured you’d get your head out of your ass for this one, but I suppose I spoke too soon.”

Harry drags his palm down his face, gripping his chin in thought. “I’m sorry. Genuinely. I didn’t mean to let it slip, I’ve just been so occupied during the last couple of weekends that—”

“That you forgot about our yearly trip. How nice. Just perfect.”

“Mitch, I know I fucked up, alright? But what if—”

The immortal’s solution gets cut short when out of his peripheral vision, he sees Y/N climb off the coffee table and onto the carpet below. Harry’s words lodge in his throat as he watches the girl crawl on all fours across the ground towards him, a cheeky smile ticking the corners of her lips as her irises glimmer schemingly. Shit.

“‘What if’ what?”

“What if...Uhm…” Harry finds himself struggling to keep his end of the conversation going, the reason being that Y/N has now reached the edge of the sofa where he resides. She sits back onto her heels, walking her fingers teasingly across his knees and grasping them with her palms, parting them open widely. “I…”

“For fuck’s sake, H, what are you trying to say?” Mitch snaps; even through the distance, he can feel its bite. 

Y/N nuzzles herself between Harry’s opened legs, a hand riding up one of his thick thigh as she sponges wet kisses to his kneecap, grinning into his skin when her fingers duck under the material of his shorts. His cadence comes out strained with the effort of keeping up an unfazed front. “What if I— what if we switch the reservations?” 

“How do you mean?”

The human’s fingers travel up the length of his inner thigh, sneaking below his cotton briefs and giving the tip of his semi-hard cock a gentle caress. Harry writhes in his seat, watching with bated breath as Y/N draws her forearm back out from beneath his clothes, her middle finger covered in a bead of precum— a result of all the grinding they’d done while kissing. She locks eyes with him and pushes the digit past her swollen lips, sucking off the small droplet while her lashes flutter in pleasure. She moans softly, his familiar saltiness always so welcomed. Her next whisper is sultry and needy. “You taste so fucking good.” 

Harry swallows down a groan and his voice suffers the consequences, coming out shaky and high. “Like...Like what if we switch out the n-names. I could call the hotel and put the rooms under your info instead.”

Mitch is quiet for a second, mulling over his friend’s offer. The instance is long enough for Harry to reach forward and snatch Y/N’s wrist, giving it a dominant squeeze as a scolding grimace dips the ends of his lips and furrows his brows. He mouths his words slowly with an ominous hue, making sure she interprets the message. “That’s enough.”

Y/N twists herself free of his hold, eyes gleaming in challenge. She talks softly as to not be heard through the phone, but she might as well be screaming thanks to Harry’s supernatural hearing abilities. “I don’t think so.” 

“Are you really not going, then?”

The gentle tone of Mitch’s question snaps Harry back into reality. He feels bad for flaking on his crew, but he doesn’t really have a choice at this point. Y/N is already here per his request, and kicking her out would be extremely dickish, even by his standards. “I’m booked the rest of the weekend, mate. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Y/N proceeds to grab onto the elastic band of Harry’s shorts, pulling the front down to expose the clothed bulge that lies beneath. A soiled patch has formed over the material of his underwear, and he can see her irises twinkle in satisfaction, which causes the faint burning in his veins to intensify. The girl palms him through the fabric, preening at the low, tight grunt that escapes Harry’s flexing throat. A shiver pin-balls down his spine and he tries to grab at her forearm to wrench it away from between his legs, but Y/N is determined to work him into a mess, simply groping him more intently and giggling lightly when his hips thrash in response. 

“Alright, I guess that settles it. I’ll just tell the group we’re taking Niall’s car instead, and that Adam and I will take turns driving. Just get the lodging handled, will you?”

“‘Course, I got it, don’t worry.” Harry chokes out, reaching a hand towards Y/N’s hair in a desperate attempt to get a hold of her, but she ducks to evade him. She tugs down his final layer of protection, her mouth immediately finding its way to his large cock and giving it one long lap from base to tip, staring up at him mockingly from beneath heavy lashes. She grasps it in both of her palms, gifting it a few quick pumps and spitting over the head sloppily, rubbing the slit across her bottom lip as she quirks her brows at him in a dare. 

The vampire fails to ward off the fracture in his composure this time. “Christ, you’re such a fucking sl—” 

He stops himself before he finishes the graphic statement, remembering that everything he says is being directly broadcast to someone else on the other end of his phone. Someone who’s oblivious to the filth currently taking place on Harry’s side of the call. “I’m on it, yeah? I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Wait.”

Harry is at the verge of tearing his hair out, his tone teetering at the cusp of sanity. “Yeah?”

“Would you mind telling me why you’re not going? I feel like everyone at least deserves an explanation, especially since you’re dipping on the plans literally the day before.”

The young man quickly clears his throat, forcing himself to keep control as he watches the mortal stick her entire tongue out to run his cock up and down its expanse. “I’ll—I’ll explain when you come back.” 

The textured surface sends zaps of lightning surging through every crevice of Harry’s body, but he somehow enables restraint, as weak as it may be. He silently warns Y/N once again about her actions, carding his fingers into her hair and digging the pads into her scalp. “Stop.”

“Also, why are you breathing so hard? What are you even up to right now?”

The human ignores his command, blowing over the leaking hole of his prick and giving it a playful kiss.

“I’m— fuck— I’m...I’m on the treadmill.”

Mitch goes quiet for a heartbeat. “You don’t have a treadmill.” 

Y/N tosses her hair over her shoulder, leaning down to rest her cheek along Harry’s inner thigh, giving him the perfect angle to view what she’s about to do. She presses her head forward, slipping his entire cock down her throat and gagging when it hits a sensitive spot in the back, her nails raking down his twitching tummy. She keeps him there for an elongated moment, allowing her walls to tighten around his length just how he likes it, toying with his swollen balls and moaning quietly around his prick. He can feel the vibrations burrow into the marrow of his bones.

“I told you to stop.” He doesn’t even bother mouthing his words this time, mood dark and cautious. He can hear Mitch exclaim in confusion through his speaker, but it’s the last thing on his mind right now. 

Y/N’s watery eyes dance with a devious gleam as she grins around his girth, removing him just enough so she can breath properly, rubbing his bubbling tip along the inside of her silky cheek. Her phrase is muffled, but it’s clear enough to completely shatter him. “Make me, Daddy.”

Harry’s features harden. He’s done playing games. 

He directs his attention to the microphone, voice calm and collected to the point where it’s frightening, all the tension and instability crumbling to ash. His brows crease dangerously, accent thicker than she’s ever heard it. “I have to go.”

“Harry—”

“I’ll text you after I fix the booking.” 

The device beeps and the call ends, the phone falling face-down onto the couch.

The vampire roughly jerks Y/N back by her hair, sitting forward until their noses brush, his cold touch sending a prickling across her cheeks and ears. He addresses her with the same type of undisturbed patience he’d shown his friend, aura teeming with quiet power.

“Get up. Now.” 

Y/N ends up with her back pressed into the couch cushions, Harry suspended above her with his knees on either sides of her hips, his cock ramming down her throat harshly as he guides her head with his knuckles twisted into her roots. He’s thrusting forward to meet her mouth, the emerald around his pupils electric with a type of carnal dominance that makes heat pour into her belly. She’s gazing up at him with water streaming freely out of her eyes and spit dripping down her chin, her hands fisting at the leather of the sofa as he fucks her face unrelentingly. 

“You think that little stunt was cute? You think teasing me like that was fun?” He growls as he peers down at her, ramming past her raw lips with no remorse, swimming in the damp choking sounds that bounce back from the furniture in the room. “Open wider. Wider.”

She obeys. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To have me down your throat while you gag around it until you can barely breath? To choke on it while you take that heavy load and swallow every drop?”

Y/N bobs her head feverishly, unable to form any coherent sentences due to his violent pace. 

The grip Harry has on the crown of her head tightens, his other hand cupping the back of her skull to push her deeper down his shaft, her nose smearing over his happy trail as his heavy balls bump against her slobbery chin. “Take that fucking cock, then. Take every inch like the filthy fucking brat you are.”

Y/N’s blurry eyes lull shut, the edges of her stinging mouth curving upwards as he hits every single one of her desires with a skill only he possesses. She doesn’t know why— or if it’s even healthy, at this point— but she’s never felt more pleasure than when she’s at Harry’s disposal. She just loves seeing him come undone for her. 

“God, you like that, don’t you? Like being my little plaything?” The grin dimpling Harry’s cheeks is so utterly erotic and sinful, Y/N feels like she’s damning her soul just by glimpsing at it. He delicately thumbs tears off her cheekbones, contradicting his other much less tame motions. “Baby just wants to feel Daddy cum down her throat, doesn’t she?”

Stars begin spotting the girl’s vision, her mind vignetting as a fulfilling ache settles into her jugular. She nods her head drunkenly, coughing dryly as her lungs rattle with shallow inhales. 

Harry gives an exceptionally hard stroke, holding her in place and feeling her constrict around him, her nails digging into the aged leather of his sofa. He takes a pause, broad chest heaving as his head falls back to hang between his shoulder blades, the golden light of his chandeliers reflecting off the red shade inking his irises. His climax begins to tip into his blood. “Say it. Be a good girl and say, ‘please cum for me, Daddy.’”

Y/N’s voice floats out raspy and trembling as she ogles up at the monster wishfully, her ability to speak absolutely frayed from the exertion she’s been put through. Her sentence is barely comprehensible given her full mouth, but watching her try is what gets Harry off. “P-Please cum for me, Daddy.”

Thick ribbons of warmth suddenly erupt down her throat, coaxing a series of garbled moans to pour from Harry’s chest. His whole body tightens as an orgasm floods his system, the muscles of his back drawing taut, his defined biceps jolting, and his lean abdomen clenching in ecstasy. His fern tattoos ripple over his tanned skin as he gives a few more deep strokes for good measure, milking himself to completion and drinking up the tiny noises of sensitivity Y/N makes. He finishes dishing the punishment she’d earned, delivering burst after burst of cum just as he’d promised, feeling her flex around his slick cock as she eagerly swallows every spurt. 

“Every last bit, baby. All of it. Christ, that’s my fucking girl. ”

The boy cranes his neck forward again, taking in her disheveled appearance and humming in needy appreciation. Her hair is a disaster from all of his tugging, her eyes are puffy and red, and her lips are flushed and plump. There’s trails of dried tears tracing her cheeks and across her jaw, the collar of her borrowed shirt is soggy with spit, and he can just barely make out the damp patch she’s stained into his boxers along the insides of her thighs. She’s fiddling with her fingers across her lap, continuously shifting around in her seat and clamping her legs together, and Harry comes to the realization that she’s trying to ride the seam of his briefs in order to get a spoonful of relief. 

In his sexually demented opinion, she’s looks like a proper angel.

Harry gradually withdraws himself from her mouth, watching with empty content as she sputters into a coughing fit and gulps down air as if she hasn’t had it for weeks. She wipes at the lower half of her face messily with the back of her hand, staring up at him all moony and soft, feeling her cheeks boil at his conceited simper. The vampire carefully tucks his drenched prick back into his clothes, crouching down to her level and lilting his head to the side, tucking a strand of tangled hair behind her heated ear. The pads of his digits streak down the front of her neck and perch at the hollow between her collarbones, her pulse thundering beneath her sweaty flesh. He taps at the center of her throat for significance, tone fond and almost caring. “Is it sore?”

Y/N struggles to get saliva down, rattling her head in agreement since her vocal chords are refusing to work. 

Harry folds the hem of his tee over his fingers, reaching forward to help clean up anything leftover across her chin and jaw. Y/N eyes him with a form of detached admiration, enamored with the way he tends to her so gently now that the session has come to a close. 

“You like it, though, right?” 

The young woman doesn’t even try to mask the fact that she indeed does, nodding her head once again. 

“That’s good to hear, pet.” Harry drops his shirt back over his belly, giving her a chaste peck to the nose. Despite the ever-present coldness of his touch, the action sparks a warm glow that surges from the tips of her ears to the heels of her feet. “Want to make sure I wasn’t being too rough.” 

He stands up onto his knees, dismounting the sofa and combing a few rouge curls out of his eyes, nudging at her socked foot jestingly with his. Y/N kicks him in return as she busies herself with combing out the knots from her mussed locks, attempting to distract herself from the gnawing running along the inside of her stomach. She needs to get it sedated, but she’s too timid to ask the vampire outright, which she knows is ironic given what they’d just done. 

Harry sits down along the marble counter of the coffee table with his forearms propped along his knees, toying with his lionhead daylight ring (it’s the only one he wears at home, out of necessity) as he watches her tend to the mess he’d created. He smiles to himself in satisfied amusement— she always looks so pretty freshly face-fucked. 

The monster then notices how the human is still rubbing her thighs together, reminding him that she had been left unattended. He decides that he should do what any gentleman would and provide assistance to the issue; it’s only fair, according to the unspoken laws of their little mutual arrangement. He hooks his fingers along the rim of the table beneath him, dragging it forward until his knees meet the edge of the couch, knocking hers open slightly. He leans back onto his palms as she gives him a curious glance, the olive tone around his pupils glittering with hunger while his fingers tap knowingly along the surface below. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Harry’s eyebrows kink upward. “Can’t a man look in his own home?”

“Of course he can, but just not at me. Staring’s rude. Especially when I’m covered in spit and bodily fluids.”

The boy gives an exaggerated pout, pairing it with a set of puppy dog eyes and a honeyed drawl. “But you look so cute covered in my bodily fluids.”

Y/N stares at him flatly. “Wow. I’m so flattered. I’ll file that compliment right under the one where you said I look adorable with jizz all over my eyelashes.” 

“Well, you do! And that was a great compliment, if you think about it. It’s unique and creative— very avant-garde of me.”

“You need brain cells in order to be avant-garde.”

“Just shut up and get on your hands and knees.” 

///

Harry drinks from Y/N that night. 

He knows Mitch would scold him for it, considering the quota for draft beverages from mortal taps is strictly once a week, per his orders. But the creature just can’t help himself. She smells so sweet, and her neck looks so tempting when her head is turned to the side in sleep; even in the dark, he can see her veins pumping beneath the taut skin. He justifies it by telling himself that any vampire would give into weakness if they were in his place, and it’s not like he’s some uncultured, unhinged newborn who lacks basic control. He’s spent decades refining his impulses and taming his animalistic instincts to the point where he can walk through a butcher shop and not even bat an eye. He’s more than capable of double-dipping without threatening her life. 

However, Harry will admit that he does make some embarrassing sounds while he’s fang-deep in her carotid artery. He can’t be expected to withhold them, especially not with how good she tastes. Y/N’s blood reminds him of so many things that he can’t ever quite place its flavor. Sometimes it reminds him of green grapes and champagne, and others it dawns on him in the form of peaches and cream. There’s instances where she doesn’t even fall into the usual spectrum of taste, but rather reminds him of sensations instead of tangible objects. Sometimes she tastes the way the first breath of spring feels— light and soothing, with hints of fresh florals and dewy mornings. Other times, she tastes like strawberries on a summer evening— warm, tangy, and nostalgic. At the risk of sounding like a brain-dead junky, drinking from Y/N is a magical experience that he wishes could last forever; Harry has never found it more difficult to pull back from someone’s throat than when he has to recede from hers. 

After the immortal has had his fill, he pricks his finger along one of his fangs and smears a drop of his blood onto Y/N’s tongue, watching the two gaping holes on her neck heal instantaneously and leave behind a faint bruise that will likely be gone by morning. He spends the rest of the night twirling stands of her hair around his fingers and counting her heartbeats, vaguely wondering what it feels like to have one. It’s been so long since he’s carried a pulse, he’s forgotten what it’s like to have it thumping in his chest. All he has left is a phantom organ and not a day goes by where he doesn’t miss its steady rhythm. 

The second the first beam of sunlight filters in through the crack in Harry’s window shades, he’s up on his feet pacing around the kitchen, going through his daily morning routine of preparing breakfast with a lively soundtrack to keep him company. That is, until his actual companion awakens; then he happily replaces his playlist with her groggy voice and tired eyes. 

Harry has chosen to prepare parfaits as their first meal of the day, scooping vanilla yogurt into two marbled bowls and setting out an abundant array of toppings, smiling to himself at the way Y/N’s eyes light up the room. She fills her platter to the brim with blueberries, chunks of banana, diced peaches, and crushed walnuts, while Harry loads his with tons of raspberries, slices of mango, scoops of granola, and plenty of honey. He runs into some trouble halfway through squeezing out the last ingredient, proceeding to shake it vigorously to try and get rid of the clump blocking the spout. The bottle refuses to cooperate and Harry turns it towards his face to get a better look at the problem, winking one eye shut to focus better on the cap. He gives it another testing squeeze and much to his luck, the jammed portion squirts loose and he ends up with syrup dripping down his face. 

Y/N doesn’t even attempt to stifle her amusement, nearly choking on a spoonful of yogurt as laughter takes over her entire body. The vampire stands rigidly beside her, glaring at the teddy bear-shaped container with so much hatred, she thinks it might melt. When the human finally manages to tame her giggles, she reaches up and uses her index finger to collect honey right off Harry’s cheek, sticking the digit into her mouth and sucking it off with a loud pop. 

Her friend gives her a deadpan scowl, to which she simply shrugs her brows playfully while gifting him a bright grin. “Now you know what it feels to have a sticky liquid shot into your eye. Doesn’t feel too good, does it?”

“Fuck off.” 

“You look pretty, though. Does that make it better?”

“I will literally pour my yogurt onto your hair.”

“Karma’s a bitch, Winnie the Pooh.”

Harry ends up having to shower in order to successfully get rid of the gooey substance, though it’s hardly a hassle given that Y/N gladly joins him. It doesn’t turn too sexual, surprisingly enough. 

The duo stand under the shower panel covered in suds, steam floating around their naked bodies as water pelts down on top of them, matting hair to their necks and jaws. Harry doesn’t know why, but he likes the fact that they’re now comfortable enough to be nude around each other outside of their usual dynamic. It’s fulfilling, for some odd reason. 

The girl helps the creature scrub off the honey with some facial cleanser, rubbing at his flushed cheeks with her thumbs and fighting off an endeared giggle when he scrunches his nose in annoyance. His voice comes out as a childish whine. “That hurts.”

“Stop being such a baby.” She huffs, going in along his cheekbones and rolling her eyes when he grumbles. “Lean down.” 

Harry abides, ducking down so she can get a better angle, casually coasting his hands onto her hips to keep her from losing her footing to the slippery floor. Y/N leans forward onto the tips of her toes, squinting at him through the foggy air as she continues to wash off the syrup, wanting to make sure she isn’t missing a single spot. Harry watches her quietly with his sopping curls sticking to his forehead and along the nape of his neck, lips twitching fondly at how hellbent she is on getting the mess off. Her brows are creased in concentration and her tongue is peeking out of her mouth; he has to restrain the impulse to surge forward and kiss her. 

Once Y/N is satisfied with her work, she falls back onto her heels, washing any remnants away under the stream and pushing her drenched strands out of her face. “All done. Try not to do it again.” 

“I make no promises.” Harry tuts as he joins her beneath the water, bare chest a mere inch from hers as he quirks his brows coyly. “It got you naked, so I’ll probably do it again.”

“I won’t help next time.” 

“Then I’ll just rub my face against yours and get it all over you. Won’t have much of a choice, then.” 

“You’re a literal child.”

Y/N grabs the bottle of chamomile shampoo from the shelf carved into the polished stone wall of the shower, uncapping it and pouring a glob into the palm of her hand. She sets the container back down and beckons Harry forward with the forefinger of her free hand. The vampire drifts towards her once again and wraps his arms across the dip of her back, lightly swaying her from side to side as she begins working the shampoo into his roots, the pads of her fingers massaging his scalp in slow circles. The groan that betrays him is pitiful. 

Y/N pretends not to hear it, continuing to work a lather into his curls as the boy trails his fingers up and down the center of her spine, the feathery sensation causing her to shiver despite the hot temperature of the water. Harry leans down to nestle his face into the crook of his friend’s neck, laying his head along her shoulder and cradling her to his body as she combs her fingers through his locks. He can’t remember the last time he took a shower with someone just for the sake of it, with no ulterior motive other than to bask in each other’s presence. It’s nice. 

Harry begins sponging his lips across the curve of Y/N’s throat, feeling her tense momentarily before relaxing back into his grasp, the pads of her digits scratching at his scalp. 

“God, that feels so good.” Harry mumbles, tone so garbled in bliss, it’s barely understandable. 

The mortal slowly coaxes him back under the direct line of the shower, thoroughly rinsing the bubbles out of his hair and making sure to carefully wash any leftover shampoo out of his lashes. She then ties her arms around his broad shoulders, gently running her nails up and down the expanse of his muscular back, feeling the tendons unknot under her guidance. Y/N cranes her head to the side and flushes her lips to Harry’s temple, the pattering of the water camouflaging the fact that the area lacks a pulse. She sighs softly in innocent pleasure, the warm air sending a delightful bristling down the young man’s neck and drawing another drunken whimper from his lungs. This all feels therapeutic, almost. Neither had realized how much they missed domesticity until now. 

The human suddenly snorts humorously, talking against Harry’s waxy skin. “I’m surprised you haven’t tried to make a move yet.” 

Harry rattles his head sleepily, the ridges of his mouth tickling her jugular as he does so. His voice is distant and tender, but his words send a pang of electricity to her core. “I’ll fuck you afterwards. Just wanna enjoy this right now.” 

Y/N lets her eyes lull shut, allowing the sheets of hot water to numb her mind the same way it had his, a certain type of mellowness soaking into her bones. Her tone comes out as soothed and detached as her lover’s, all her attention funneled into how incredible his hard body feels pressed to hers in such an intimate fashion, his strong arms clinging to her like a lifeline. “I’m not complaining.”

Even in his distracted state, Harry still somehow manages to wriggle in a smug quip. “Of course you’re not. I give you nothing to complain about.”

“Dickhead.”

Y/N gives his ringlets a spiteful tug, which he responds to with an airy chuckle and a cheeky smack across her ass. The girl jumps slightly with a small gasp and a handful of select curses, which only causes him to cackle even further. “You love that shit, don’t you?”

“Go back to keeping your mouth shut.” 

“Mm. S’what I thought.” 

Harry keeps his sensual promise, as he always does. 

As soon as they exit the shower, he immediately wanders into the bedroom, the only towel in his possession being the one he’s using to shake out his damp curls. Y/N dries off her body patiently as she stands in front of the clouded mirror, rubbing the linen over her softened skin. She handles her hair second, patting and scrunching the water out as she thinks on what Harry could possibly be doing that is taking him so long. She doubts he’s getting dressed, if his earlier intentions are any indication, and he seemed like he had a plan in motion when he’d walked out, so there must be a method to his prolonged absence. 

When the monster pads back into the bathroom, he is just as bare as when he’d left, the towel he’d used on his locks crumpled in his large hands. He chucks it into the linen hamper beside the jacuzzi, sauntering up behind Y/N and she has to force herself not to use the mirror to ogle below his waist. She folds her towel neatly onto the counter, reaching forward and wiping the last bit of condensation off the glass so she can get a proper view of Harry’s face. Maybe it’ll help her deduce what he’s plotting. 

The boy presses up against her backside, pushing her forward until her hips are wedged between his torso and the edge of the bathroom counter, moving all her stringy hair onto one shoulder with the back of his hand. Harry locks eyes with her through the mirror, speckling a few sloppy kisses along the back of her neck and grinning into her flesh when a shiver coils down her spine. He looks so fucking good with his damp ringlets glued along his sharp jaw, his jade eyes glossy with lascivious intentions, and his cheeks and chest still colored from the hot water, tattoos looking as alluring as ever. He nuzzles the tip of his nose across the shell of her ear, taking the lobe between his teeth and tugging teasingly, the warm air of his low, dominant tone causing her flinch in anticipation. 

“Arms behind your back.” 

Y/N obeys without a hitch, bringing her hands together atop the alcove at the bottom of her spine. She feels the unmistakable sensation of cold metal looping around her wrists, tightening with soft clicks and pinching at her skin. The cuffs sift into the designated setting and Harry gives them a quick yank to check for security, tying the excess chain link around his knuckles and pulling down harshly. Y/N’s body contorts to his influence, her arms straightening out as her back arches, chest swelling forward while her hips remain perched to the tabletop, held in place by his own. She can feel the head of his cock dab against the back of her thighs, his irises darkening as he surveys her bust with a type of barely-contained desire that sends heat flooding into her abdomen. 

Harry ducks his head further down to glue more kisses along the slope of her shoulder, nipping periodically and leaving behind a neat row of love bites that he’ll admire in detail later. The words he murmurs against her skin deliver a sweltering simmer in their wake. “Do you want it rough?” 

Y/N swallows thickly, nodding her head several times and whispering a bashful, “Yes.” 

“‘Yes’ what?”

The human licks at her lips tentatively, squeaking a tad when gives the metal hoops an expectant tug, urging a reply. “Yes, sir.” 

Harry’s lashes flutter shut for a second, the corners of his lips twitching in arrogant satisfaction. “You’ve got the filthiest tongue, but you know how to make it say the sweetest things, don’t you, baby?”

“Only for you.”  

“No one else?”

“No one else.”

The vampire’s eyes open slowly, head tilting to the side to assess her with sly amusement. “You wanna know how I can tell that’s the truth?” 

Y/N’s joints are starting to ache due to the position he’s fixed her in, but she doesn’t mind the burn. It feeds into the appeal. “H-How?”

Harry leans forward, brushing his wet lips up her jaw, the tip of his cock spreading her open just a smidge. “Because every time I fuck you, you’re always so bloody tight. Means I’m the only one stretching out that snug little cunt.”

A broken whine escapes Y/N’s sore throat— courtesy of what had occurred the night prior— and she squirms in the brunette’s grip, trying to shimmy her way further down his length. She’s anxious to feel him fill her. “Deeper.” 

“Pardon?”

“Go deeper. Want it all.” 

Harry raises an eyebrow in impressed curiosity. “You want it all in one go? Don’t want me to prep you first?” 

She shakes her head stubbornly, pushing back against him and succeeding in sinking an inch or so. Harry’s entire face hardens as she clenches around the head of his prick, attempting to ride down further to sedate her desperate need. He twists his fist tighter around the chain, his other hand coming up to grip her throat, forearm pressed between her breasts as he gets a decent hold to prepare for what’s to come.  

“If it gets to be too much,” Harry dabs a gentle kiss onto her cheek; it’s to communicate the importance of the message amidst the tense atmosphere, “you know to tell me, right?” 

“Mmhm.”

“Alright. Ready?”

“Always.”

Y/N nearly passes out. Even though she’s grown accustomed to Harry’s size and girth, it somehow never fails to shock her into a state of unexpected rapture. He just fits so well inside her— hits every nook and crevice like he was meant to touch every single one. That, combined with his unrelinquishing thrusts and sinful dirty talk...It’s enough to render anyone helpless. It’s certainly enough to have her shaking and screaming against his chest, and it’s definitely more than enough to drive her towards an orgasm that she knows will blow out her legs for at least the rest of the day. 

Harry fucks into her just how she’d requested— rough and vehement. He presses her bare back to his chest by using the hold he has around her throat, her head falling backwards onto his shoulder as he pounds into her belly from behind. His other hand is braided into the chain between the cuffs, controlling how her body seizes up and gives way. She’s standing on the tips of her toes, legs spread open as much as her weak knees will support, scraggly breaths stuttering from her nose and mouth as shattered noises of ecstasy decorate the space the fading steam has left behind. Her hips are ramming forward against the rim of the counter, the marble knocking against her pubic bone to the point where she knows bruises will develop later on. She doesn’t mind it; she loves seeing the memories Harry brands onto her, whether that be in the form of hickies across her thighs, fingerprints over her waist, or his rings fanned out across the swell of her ass. She’ll take anything he’s willing to give. 

The vampire is dismantling just as quickly as she is, obvious in the fractured growls and soft grunts he’s puffing against the side of her face. His pink-polished nails dig into her jugular, fingers twitching as her heartbeat hammers against his palm, sending vibration down his whole nervous system. His cock is slicking into her easily and it’s obvious the anticipation of what he had said during their bath had gotten to her; he can feel how wet she is with every stroke. It’s dripping down her quivering thighs and smearing all over his tiger head tattoo, damp slaps resonating from where her backside hits against his tinted pelvis. 

Harry stares down hazily at where he’s spreading her open, taking his bottom lip between his teeth as tiny mewls itch along the back of his raw throat, her own sounds playing across his ears with each buck of his thighs. They float through the heavy air like a lullaby and he can confidently say he’d listen to her moans forever, if time allowed. 

“I think it’s funny,” Harry starts with a comedic edge to his strained voice, mimicking the introduction Y/N had used the day before when they’d been in the jacuzzi, “that you’re always so willing to let me use you however I want. That you literally beg me to take you this hard. It’s almost pitiful, really, that you never had anyone fuck you right before I came along.”

The girl squirms in his arms, her hands flat against his abdomen, nails carving into his flesh. Her sentences come out cracked and almost pained. “I-I wish I’d met you sooner.” 

“Yeah, I bet you do.” Harry grits against the shell of her ear, smirking when she worries her lower lip beneath her top teeth, trying to keep a tab on what he knows is probably an embarrassingly loud keen. “I bet you wish you’d had me back home, huh? Spent all your time fucking around with those vanilla small-town boys, never had a real man treat you the way you wanted. Bet you didn’t even like those pricks, did you, darling?”

Y/N shakes her head vigorously in response. “They were so boring. You’re so much better.” 

She’s working his praise kink like a charm.

“Poor thing.” Harry scoffs sympathetically, running his grasp upwards until his thumb and forefinger rope around her jaw. He maneuvers her head into place, forcing her to look at herself in the mirror, hissing his words lowly. “Eyes up. See how pretty you look taking every last bit of that cock? And the way your tummy’s bulging? That’s how you know the sex is good— that’s how it’s supposed to look.”

Y/N gazes upon the image her friend is referring, her exhales hiccuping in her chest at the way an obvious bump rises in her belly every time he thrusts inside. Not only that, but Harry just looks incredible, as well, with his heavily inked arm flushed between her breasts, the art flexing to life as he yanks her down against his lap by her neck. She can see the sweat beading his hairline, his freshly-washed ringlets jumping to his movements as he groans into her scalp. 

Y/N’s lips part in a silent moan and the immortal takes this chance to shove his first two fingers into her mouth, weighing them against her tongue and instructing her with a clear, deep accent. “Suck.”

She does so obediently, her cheeks hollowing as she gasps around the digits, swiveling to match his tempo. Between her glistening body, the needy expression painted across her appearance as she conforms to his every demand, and the way her walls are clinging to him like a vice as she eagerly licks and suckles at him…

Harry loses it. 

“Fucking hell.” The monster unclamps the hand he has around her jugular and Y/N drops back down onto her heels, ankles quaking now that she has to carry her own weight. His palm finds refuge along the back of her skull instead, proceeding to shove her head down towards the counter, pulling at the cuffs to finagle her into a folded position. “Bend over.”

Y/N does as told, a small, “mm!” plucking at her vocal chords as Harry pushes her cheek down against the cold marble situated between his two sinks. He pins her head to the surface and she casts her attention upwards to try and get a peek of him through the glass. His eyes look unnaturally dark, though she can’t quite place the shade given her limited view. 

The vampire makes sure the chain link is secured around his knuckles, proceeding to use the toy to bounce Y/N against his cock. He yanks her towards his torso until she thunks wetly against his base, using his hips to push her forward harshly and pulling out until his tip is barely grazing her entrance. He repeats this action over and over, weak whimpers spilling shamelessly from his plump ruby lips as he keeps her face fastened down, maintaining some form of consistent stability. Every fiber of his being sparks with bliss as he watches her jerk against the counter, back caving forward and causing her naked chest to bulge against the stone panel. One of these days, she’s going to drive him mental. He swears it. 

“There’s a good girl, minx.” Harry’s head tips backwards, bobbing back and forth as his sticky chest heaves with the exertion of keeping him tethered to reality. “Take it just like that, yeah? God, you should see the way you’re so snug around me. Love that cock, don’t you? Say it. Tell me you love it.”

Y/N’s fingers curl into loose fists against the dip of her spine, nails digging into her palms. “I love your cock, Harry. I love it so much. Don’t stop, please don’t fucking— oh!” He prods over her g-spot and she shudders below him. “Shit, keep going! Right there, right there, right there— oh my God!”

“Right here? Is that what’s gonna make my dirty little whore cum?” Harry grinds his teeth, ignoring the rouge curls falling into his furrowed brows, jabbing the spongy area with continuous plunges. “More? Look at how you’re shaking, baby. And you’re just so fucking wet. Absolutely soaked and... and fuck, that’s my sweet girl.” 

The boy keeps delivering every plea she chokes out, his climax beginning to froth at the trench of his stomach and along the underside of his balls. A familiar glow starts to pour into his dormant veins. “I’m almost there, dove. Gonna fill you up until it runs down your thighs.”

“Y-You’re so good, I can’t fucking— I’m gonna—”

“Beg for it. Beg for Daddy, princess.” 

Y/N does so with no remorse, confessing to him how much she wants his load, telling him that she needs to feel him spill inside her all warm and thick and heavy. A dark, open-mouthed smirk adorns Harry’s features as he fucks a throbbing ache between her thighs, feeling his mind completely slip. He may be damned with eternal life, but in this instant, the immortal feels like he touches heaven. 

Then, that moment of pure euphoria is stripped away by the sound of his front door clicking open. 

Harry’s eyes snap awake, all his motions coming to an abrupt halt. He shushes a protesting Y/N quietly, tuning his heightened hearing to make sure he hadn’t imagined the sound. 

But no, it’s very much real. It’s followed by the noise of the lock clanking back into its hole, and then three pairs of footsteps begin echoing down the hallway that leads to his living room. He recognizes every single one and unhinged rage suddenly flares around his pupils, potent and bright red. If Y/N wasn’t in such a compromisable position, he wouldn’t have gotten away with that slip-up. 

“Christ, you’ve got to be fucking shitting me.”

Harry carefully withdraws himself from between the mortal’s legs, wincing a bit at the loss of suction and feeling a spoonful of guilt stem from the disappointed whine Y/N sobs. His swollen, leaking cock sways lightly as he takes a cautious step back, testing to see if he’s capable of moving without face-planting the ground. His mind is misty and he’s obviously drenched in the pungent scent of sex, but other than that, he reckons he can manage just fine. Especially with the newfound anger coursing through his nerves— a direct result of the unexpected trio of intruders chatting nonchalantly on the floor below. 

Harry stumbles towards the exit of the bathroom, knees wobbly and head spinning, an unsatisfied gnawing toiling in his groin. He needs to get that taken care of as soon as possible, but he can’t until he gets rid of the three morons milling around his foyer. He snatches his cherry blossom silk robe from the hook on the wall, wrapping it around himself tightly and making sure to cover all his assets to prevent any mishaps. 

He glances up at a pouting Y/N as he ties off the ribbon around his waist, walking back and helping her onto her unstable feet, cooing apologetically. “Just give me a minute, sweetheart. I heard some visitors come in downstairs ‘cause, apparently, they don’t understand the concept of privacy. This is the last time I’m trusting anyone with an extra key.”  

The girl leans back against one of the sinks, blinking up at him emptily as he thumbs over her chin in comfort. Her voice is hardly audible, raw with exhaustion. “How...How did you know they were here? I didn’t hear them come in...” 

Harry pauses for a moment, clearing his throat awkwardly and pecking her on the nose to insert a distraction. He throws some humor into the mix as well, wanting to steer the conversation to safe grounds, opting for using a bit of compulsion to get the job done. His pupils dilate as his sentences swim around her head in a soothing voice, heavy with persuasion. “I heard the door slam shut. I guess you were a little too busy screaming my name to notice.” 

Y/N’s pupils expand to match his, her face going slack as the supernatural magic sews into her thoughts and molds her perspective to his story. Her lashes flutter in mild confusion, brows cinching as her brain recalibrates itself. The creases in her forehead dissolve as all of her doubt melts away, the corners of her plump lips quirking at his snarky remark. “I guess so.” 

“Can’t blame you, though.” Harry taps at her bottom lip cheekily, shrugging his brows. “I was giving it to you pretty good.” 

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.” Y/N rolls her foggy eyes, but she can’t hide the way her heartbeat spikes— not from him. Then, her face suddenly wracks with embarrassment, eyes shattering with humiliated realization. “Oh my God, that means they probably heard everything…”

Oh, they definitely heard everything, Harry thinks. They’ve got nothing better to do other than pry. 

He nurses her downcast face with his cold palm, one shoulder rising and falling casually to show it’s no big deal. “Don’t worry about it, hm? I’m gonna go kick them out, anyways, so you won’t have to deal with it.”

The pet name and his kind gesture eases her woes a bit, but not much. “Still. I’m never showing my face in public ever again.”

Now it’s the vampire’s turn to roll his eyes at her theatrics. “Just stay here, yeah? It’ll only take a second, and then…” Her friend gives her naked body a suggestive once-over, licking at the corner of his mouth. “Then we can finish what we started.” 

Y/N kicks at his ankle, jokingly chastising him for his wandering gaze as she fiddles with her fingers within the handcuffs. “Just go.”  

The moment Harry’s bare feet step off the last rung of his staircase, he begins spewing venom at the three imbeciles standing around at the mouth of his entrance corridor. 

“Are you fucking dense?” He stomps up towards the group of young men with balled fists and bristling irises, all his spite trained on Mitch. “I told you I was busy! That suggests that you should’ve stayed away for the weekend! It meant, ‘leave me alone,’ not ‘come to my flat unannounced.’”

“Yeah, we know you’re busy.” Niall boasts with a loud scoff, shaking his head as an afterthought. “I think the whole building knows, at this point.”

The Irish bloke grabs Xander, who catches onto what the man is doing and happily takes a part in the action. He bends over while Niall grasps onto his shoulders and begins to mimic thrusting, arching his back forward and shaking his ass. He sucks one of his fingers into his mouth, moaning profusely to add authenticity to their vulgar reenactment. “Oh, Harry! Right there, don’t stop!”

Niall drops his voice a few octaves for symbolism, putting on a shitty British accent as he bucks against Xander’s backside. “Yeah, baby, you like that? Like it right there? Tell me how much you love that cock.” 

Harry’s jaw clenches as he tries to ignore them, refusing to give rise to their taunting. The two boys break into a puddle of giggles at his expense, nudging each other triumphantly and eventually dying down. Harry isn’t normally the type of person to daydream about violence— why would anyone partake in something so barbaric when dismantling an enemy psychologically is so much better?— but he finds himself fantasizing about tearing Niall and Xander’s hands off and using them as ping-pong paddles. 

Mitch shifts his body towards his best friend, arms crossed loosely with an expression of sheer amusement painted across his bearded face, seeming undisturbed by Harry’s rampage and deadly grimace. “It’s nice to see you, too, H.” 

The younger vampire takes a measured inhale, swallowing down the urge to rip the older man’s mustache clean off. He directs his next sentence at all of them, glaring intently as his voice comes out flat and harsh. “Get out.”

Niall raises his palms in peaceful surrender, proceeding to use an index finger to signal hastily between his impromptu porno co-star and himself. “Don’t look at us, this was Mitch's idea. We just came along.” 

“None of you should have come at all.” Harry spits, tightening his lean arms over his chest, biceps rippling under the thin silk of his elegant robe. “What do you want?” 

A soft giggle suddenly bursts from Xander and he momentarily slaps his hand over his mouth to muddle it, but his eyes continue to dance with mirth. “Sorry, I just can’t take you seriously in that.” He juts his chin towards Harry’s pajamas. “I think my grandmother had one just like it.” 

“Yeah, I stole this from her place right after I pissed on her grave.” The brunette snaps with an exaggerated smile, feeling a flare of evil satisfaction at the way Xander’s grin immediately plops. Niall snorts loudly and tries to cover it up, but it fails and he is left having to brace the brunt of the other boy’s contempt. 

Harry turns back to face Mitch while the other two immortals bicker, now aware that he is the mastermind behind this entire coup. “What are you even doing here? Shouldn’t you have left for Vegas already?”

“Yeah, we should have.” He answers pointedly with a soft, dejected sigh. Harry has to keep himself from casting his gaze away in guilt. 

The annual trip had been a tradition he and Mitch had started in the nineties, just them two. As their group had expanded, so had the attendant list, and now it was something special their whole clique did together to put some extra excitement— something stable to look forward to— into the endless years they had ahead. No one had missed out on the trip in the last thirty years, especially not willingly, and no one ever thought Harry— the co-founder of the event— would be the one to break that streak. He can tell Mitch is upset. 

“I’m sorry.” Harry mumbles, squeezing at the inside of his elbows and putting as much genuine emotion into his demeanor as possible. “It just slipped my mind and I made another commitment that I can’t bail on. But it won’t happen again, I promise. Betsy swear.” 

Mitch’s downturned lips jolt slightly at the mention of his old bayonet. He had kept the weapon after the American Revolution had ended, as a tribute to the old life he was leaving behind after he transitioned, naming it fondly after his mother. With all of that history taken into appeal, it’s no wonder the item means a lot to him. That is exactly why the two best friends had developed a dynamic around it. 

They would tie an oath to the object in order to ensure it would be kept, and if the promise was broken, the other would get to stab the traitor with it. The game had been something Mitch and Harry had conjured up decades ago while under the influence of some very strong psychedelics, but it had stuck, for some reason. It’s simply a playful inside joke, and though it’s a tad gruesome, it’s hardly an issue considering they both self-heal quickly. Any damage inflicted is equivalent to that of a rubber band snapping against their skin, so in the end, no harm, no foul. At its core, it’s just a vampire’s version of a pinky swear, hence the term, “Betsy swear.” Harry had thought about getting it patented, at one point. 

The jade-eyed boy feels a weight lift off his shoulders as Mitch indulges one of his signature quiet chuckles. “Alright, fine. Betsy swear, then. The reason we’re here is ‘cause I wanted to check up on you before we left, and ‘cause I wanted to make sure you switched the reservation. You never got back to me about it.” 

“Oh, my bad. I got it done, though. Everything should check out.” Harry reassures, waving away his visitor’s doubt. He’d tended to the job last night after Y/N fell asleep and he meant to send a confirmation text, but forgot when the mortal had begun to stir randomly. He’d had to put away his phone and pretend to be unconscious for a few minutes until her agitation melted away, resulting in the deed going undone, courtesy of the mild panic that had dulled his memory. “Why didn’t you just text me about it?” 

Mitch gives him a deadpan look, pursing his lips to fight off an entertained grin. “Oh, I did. Multiple times, actually. But I reckon you were too busy with the treadmill to notice.” 

The older creature’s reference works as intended, an irritating flush crawling up Harry’s neck and pouring into his ears, garnering a fit of cackles on his companion’s behalf.

“Fuck off.” Harry grumbles as he shoves Mitch’s shoulder, but the insult is hard to take seriously when he’s wrestling a smirk of his own. 

“Is it the girl from the club?” The lanky man inquires curiously, tilting his head to the side with an impressed air. “It’s been, what, four weeks now? That’s a record, I think. You’ve never kept one around that long.” 

“What can I say, the sex is good.” Harry shrugs easily, tucking a couple of rebellious curls away from his eyes, which gleam crimson red as a supporting factor to his next comment. “And the blood is even better.”

Mitch rolls his irises playfully. “Alright, Casanova, pipe down.” He glances over his friend’s rumpled appearance, taking in the slightly damp skin, wild hair, and the plethora of faded hickies peeking through the boy’s robe, littering his chest and collarbones. “She’s got you on a tight leash, I see.” 

“It’s only fair, considering she spends most of that time in my handcuffs. Quid pro quo and all that.” Harry quips back, bursting into laughter when Mitch gags dramatically. 

“You know you could’ve just brought her along, right?” Mitch suggests, tucking his hands into his pockets. “We each have our own rooms, remember? No one would get in the way of your little late night jogs. Though I can’t say the same for the other hotel guests. She’s not necessarily subtle.” 

Harry presses his tongue along the inside of his cheek coyly. “It’s not my fault I’m good in bed. It’s a curse, really. Could never get away with dressing room sex.”

He contemplates Mitch's offer for a second. He thinks it could be a fun time, but then he recalls that the trip to Vegas is a week-long party, which Y/N can’t indulge because she works a regular nine-to-five. Plus, a human in a car full of vampires sounds like the introduction to an ominous joke. Something is bound to slip, especially because no one in the crew is used to having humans around outside of meal hours. He doesn’t want the responsibility of constantly having to wipe her brain. 

Aside from that, most of the vampires that mill around Vegas aren’t as cultured as Harry’s friends. They lack restraint, a conscience, and fear of consequences, given that the city’s crazy reputation provides the perfect cover for all those dangerous behaviors. That makes them deadly predators to someone as trusting and unsuspecting as Y/N, and having to continuously protect her would be too much of a hassle. It’s supposed to be a vacation; the last thing he needs is for it to turn into an episode of Shark Week. It’s best to stay put.

Harry shakes his head after a minute, clearing his throat. “But I think I’m good. Bringing along a human isn’t worth all the trouble she might cause. Thank you, though.” 

Mitch bobs his head in understanding, well aware of the problems Harry is alluding to. “You have a point.” He pauses for a second in thought, shaking his head at the idea of having to deal with the insanity that surrounds their Vegas siblings. “I guess I’ll just see you next week, then, yeah? Better get going.”

The younger vampire mirrors his nod, opening his arms for a hug, which Mitch gladly takes. He’s not one for affection, that much is clear, but he makes certain exceptions here and there, and of course his friends file under that category. And every now and then, Y/N does too. 

“See you next week.” He pulls away from the embrace with a hard pat to Mitch’s shoulder, smiling softly. “Send tons of pictures, okay? And videos of Niall getting shitfaced. I need new blackmail content.” 

“Will do.” Mitch squeezes his best friend’s shoulders tightly, beaming at him in return. He then cranes towards his two fellow guests, whistling to gain their attention from the passionate conversation they seem to be having about Harry’s robe. “Time to head out, Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Who’s who?” Niall questions childishly, raising an eyebrow. “Because I think I should be Clyde. Xander has Bonnie vibes.” 

“No I don’t!” 

“Yes, you do.” The Irish boy reasons, cocking his head knowingly. “You seem like the type who would cheat on a murderer with another criminal from the same jail. You’ve got a knack for drama, like most women.” 

Xander crosses his arms stubbornly. “No, I don’t.”

“You do, actually.” Harry butts in, eyes twinkling slyly as the group starts to wander towards the exit. He decides to get revenge for the teasing from earlier. “You moan just like one, too.”

Xander blushes bright red, diving into the shadow of the corridor to avoid any more ridicule. “I’m leaving.” 

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out!” 

The other vampires laugh as they follow behind Harry’s ex-fling, waving their final goodbyes. As soon as the front door echoes shut, the immortal turns on his heel and heads back towards the glass stairs, beginning to undo the silk ribbon knotted around his hips. 

He’s got his own partner in crime to attend to. 

///

That night, Y/N and Harry end up bidding each other farewell in the corridor of his condo. 

That seems to be a common theme in their relationship, he’s come to find. It’s usually the entrance to her own apartment instead of his, but the motif is there, nonetheless: They always end up meeting in a hallway, every single time. 

“Thanks for having me over.” Y/N murmurs in her signature gentle dialect, smiling delicately as she skids the toe of her sneaker against the ground of the carpet outside his door, trying to keep the butterflies in her tummy tame. It was an incredible two days— maybe the best weekend she’s ever had, if she’s being honest. “I had a lot of fun.” 

Harry leans his bare shoulder against his threshold, clad in nothing but a pair of royal blue boxers and black ankle socks, freely showing off the collection of love bites and scratches Y/N had so kindly finished gifting him a few hours ago. She’d gone wild the second he’d unlocked the metal cuffs and he’s more than happy with the results.

The stains speckle his broad chest and the expanse of his taut neck, dark and obvious beneath the complex’s buttery lighting. Bruises trace down his stomach and across his ribs, a neat row of four hickies centered vertically between his two fern inkings. They disappear suggestively under the elastic band of his underwear and she can feel flashes of heat layer across her cheeks, her mind recalling all the filthy sounds he’d made when she had created them.

The human peels away from the artwork that is Harry’s marked torso, glancing around nervously at the fact that some stranger might see the fruit of their actions. The vampire’s lips twitch at her concern; it baffles him how she can be such a devil in between the sheets, but such a shy, reserved angel in every other aspect. It’s cute. 

Harry reaches forward and takes her warm fingers into his larger hand, thumbing over her knuckles appreciatively as his irises glitter smugly amidst his lashes, a smirk stringing his pillowy mouth. “We always have a lot of fun.” 

Y/N squeezes his palm playfully, gnawing into her cheek and humming in agreement. “That, we do.”

A moment of comfortable silence suspends the air between them, the only sound being the faint footsteps of people on the levels above and below, alongside the light skidding of the elevator as it delivers patrons to their destinations. Harry is the first to speak up again. 

“What was your favorite part?” 

Y/N blinks up at him blankly, slightly startled at the random question, but moreso at being put on the spot. 

“Oh, uh…” She laughs shakily, struggling to recall everything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours. There had been so much bare skin and desperate tongues involved, she can hardly pick through her memories without her ears prickling. “I think...I think the shower was my favorite. It was nice and relaxing. Helped me unwind.” 

Harry nods in recognition, turning through the pages in his mind and skimming through the instance she’s referring. “It was pretty nice, yeah. You look good in a soap beard.” 

Y/N scoffs at his joking compliment. “Thanks. I’ll grow it out more often. Just for you.” 

The young man reaches up and grips over his chest in fake passion, face contorted into a wistful expression. “That’s all I ask.” 

The pair break into childish giggles and the sensation of Harry rubbing across the top of her hand is starting to make her head fuzzy. “What about yours? What was your favorite?”

Harry mulls over his own topic for a few seconds, lips puckering in thought as his eyes narrow pensively. The comically adorable picture makes Y/N’s heart skip. 

“I think…” Harry lists his gaze downwards back onto his patiently-awaiting friend, lips spreading into his patented dazzling smile. “I think it was probably the Hamilton reenactment.” 

Y/N brows jump, mood slightly unconvinced. “Really?” 

The vampire nods confidently, his own eyebrows inching upwards, voice amused. “Why is that so hard to believe?”   

Y/N shrugs offhandedly, glimpsing down at where the ridges of his thumb are delivering soothing shots of bliss into her veins. “You’re just so...y’know...you… so I guess I just expected you’d have a preference for the more…” She chooses her next words carefully, not wanting to be so brazen with the risk of someone overhearing, “...intimate parts of the weekend.”

“Wow, okay. Just call me a whore to my face, then. That’s fine.” 

Y/N throws her free hand upwards in a fist, slugging Harry on the shoulder with appalled shock overtaking her features. His boyish chuckles echo off the walls of the building as she whips her head around to make sure no one had witnessed his dirty bluntness. “You know what I mean!” 

“Yeah.” He purposefully raises his voice, nearly shouting the following sentence just to get on her nerves. “You’re slut-shaming me!” 

Y/N surges forward, trying to clamp her hand over his mouth and save herself the embarrassment. “Harry, shut up!”

He easily fights her off, his supernatural strength beating hers tenfold. She ends up wrapped in his embrace, flushed against his hard chest as he sticks his tongue out at her mockingly. He drops his tone back down to normal, his two front teeth digging into his lower lip to keep more laughter from bubbling over. “That’s not nice. You should stop conforming to society’s outdated ‘sex is taboo’ narrative.”

“I wasn’t—” Y/N starts insistently, but then she realizes she’s become almost as loud as him so she forces her voice to taper into an alarmed hiss instead. “I wasn’t slut-shaming you! I was simply expressing—”

“You just see me as a toy, don’t you?” The creature cuts her off, lips dipping downwards into a glorified frown. He proceeds to bat his lashes and sniffle, packing as many theatrics as possible into his mopey act. “I have feelings, y’know? My big dick and cunnilingus skills aren’t my only redeeming qualities! You should be ashamed of yourself for objectifying me like that.”

Y/N presses her lips together to ward off an immature grin, rattling her head to get herself under control. She gives him a stern look, warning him to cut it out. “Stop being a child.” 

“Stop using me for sex and making derogatory assumptions about my promiscuity.”  

“Oh, hop of it! You use me right back. It’s mutual.”

“Which is why the slut-shaming is such a paradox.” 

“For fuck’s sake, I wasn’t fucking— You know what? You can’t even pin me on the objectification part because you do it to me all the time!” 

“Oh, is that so?” Harry prods with a humorous tilt of his head, squeezing at her love handles and swimming in the way she wriggles around. “Elaborate.” 

“When you slapped my ass in the shower. Or when you put your hand under my shirt to play with my chest while we watch TV.” Y/N debates, poking at the thorax of his butterfly tattoo. “Very objectifying, if you ask me.”

“Mm, not quite, darling.” The vampire shakes his head and draws her closer, ducking down to flirt the tip of his nose along the slope of hers. “There’s a difference.”

“Oh, yeah?” She digs her nails into his pectorals, discreetly savoring the strong muscles. “What is it?”

Harry glimpses down at where she’s carving indents into his flesh, enjoying the minute pain more than he should. He drifts his mouth closer towards her ear, inhaling the scent of his shampoo wafting from her silky strands of hair. “The difference is that you’re usually begging me to do all those things.”

Y/N’s teeth grind in begrudging defeat, her spine giving a surrendered shiver at his crude point. “Whatever.” 

Harry releases her body, haughty victory written all over his posture. “I rest my case.” 

Y/N’s pride blazes, a threat falling from her tongue sharply, but it holds no true intentions. “Maybe I should just stop asking you to, then.”

“You won’t.” The boy sighs airily, tapping his bare foot against the ground without a care in the world. “You like me too much.” 

“Even if I like you, I’d have enough dignity to stop seeing you if I wanted.” Y/N huffs, making a face at him to emphasize her stance. “It’s this little thing called ‘willpower.’”

“Yeah, well, we both know you and your willpower are gonna end up texting my number Friday night, asking me to come over for some more interior design advice.” Harry snarkily dismisses, presenting a scenario where he’s holding an invisible phone in his hands, pretending to tap out a message. His voice comes out high-pitched, mimicking her own. “Hey, one of the rungs on my headboard came loose. Can you come help me fix it?”

Y/N stares at him with eyes half-lidded in pettiness. “I don’t sound like that.”

“You’re right. You’re a tad more nasally.” 

“Asshole.” 

“I’m just calling it like I see it, love.”

Y/N socks him on the shoulder again as retribution, though it barely has an impact. 

After a couple heartbeats full of vengeful silence, Y/N chimes up with a jesting tone, though the manner in which she’s picking at her nails tells Harry she’s slightly anxious. “Hypothetically speaking, if I were to send out a text inviting you to come over Friday...would you?”

A lopsided simper pops the immortal’s dimples awake. He shifts on his feet, crossing his ankles nonchalantly. “Hypothetically speaking, I think I could very well make it.” 

Y/N chews on her lower lip as the apples of her cheeks jolt. “Ok, well...Let’s say— once again, hypothetically— that I should be home by eight that day. Would that work for you?” 

Harry cocks his head from side to side as if churning the offer around his mind. “I think that, hypothetically, that fits right into my schedule.”

The human’s belly flops in giddy excitement. “Great. It’s booked, then. Hypothetically speaking, of course.” 

“Of course.” Harry agrees, the reply accompanied by a teasing furrow of his sculpted brows and a curt nod. 

Y/N clasps her hands in front of her thighs with finality, giving him a bright smile. “Alright, then. I’ll see you next week.”

“Next week.” Harry confirms with a cheeky wink, running his tongue along his top teeth to keep from bursting into giggles. “Hypothetically.” 

“Hypothetically.” Y/N states with a slight bow of her head, tucking one hand into the back pocket of her dark jeans as she takes a step back from the front door with a small wave. She turns on her heel to face the elevator at the other end of the hall, her foot lifting to take the first step towards the exit. 

“Wait.” 

The mortal looks back towards her friend, eyebrows poised in question. 

Harry scratches at the nape of his neck, smiling softly. “I could really go for a goodbye kiss. Not-so-hypothetically.” 

Y/N blinks at him in wonder. He’s never asked for one before. 

The awkward aura that quickly fills the space between them becomes suffocating. He considers the option of telling her he was just joking to spare himself the humiliation, but he doesn’t get the chance. Y/N lurches forward, teetering onto the tips of her toes and buttoning her lips to his. The spontaneous action makes him swallow his words. 

He fumbles to cup her jaw, kissing her back with just as much fervor and feeling the coldness of his skin fizzle away under her inherent warmth. The gesture isn’t sexual or desperate, but simply sweet and fulfilling. He enjoys it, though it’s not surprising given that he enjoys her lips touching him in any and every way imaginable. He’s not exactly sure why he’d made this particular request— it’s very out of character for him, in every sense of the phrase— but he deduces it’s likely because he wants one more thing to cling onto until he gets to feel her mouth again. It’s not uncommon to want a little something extra to get through the tougher nights, so it’s truly not that big of an occurrence. It’s only reasonable.  

Y/N breaks their exchange, eyes glassy and so beautifully clear as she pecks his chin one last time in a polite farewell. “Text me if you need me...And especially if you need me.”

Harry gulps thickly at the suggestive statement, nodding numbly as her body heat slips away. “Will do. Thanks. And thanks for the kiss. Needed it to tide me over until Friday.” 

“My pleasure. See you later, Holmes.” 

Harry waits patiently until Y/N’s figure disappears behind the gilded doors of the fancy elevator, watching the closed slates of metal glint coldly under the blurry lighting of the condominium’s corridor. He walks back into his apartment, shutting the door gently and slouching into the plush cushions of his leather sofa with a detached sigh. He gazes up at his extravagant chandeliers, once again left in the empty solitude he’d grown so fond of in his extensive lifetime. There’s not a single sound or motion invading his seclusion, not a hair out of place or a wrinkle in his rug, and everything is so still and quiet, it’s almost deafening. But despite every aspect being as it should, he can’t shake the sensation that something is off. Something is wrong. Something’s missing.

And for the first time in years, he finds himself feeling more lonely than alone. 

///

It only takes Harry about an hour of uneventful isolation to realize he’s made a grave mistake. 

He should have gone on the trip. 

Despite the fact that the vampire lives alone, he very rarely spends any time without seeing his friends. Since they all reside in the same building, it’s fairly easy for him to find some entertainment whenever boredom strikes. He’ll either go up a floor to Mitch’s place to watch a movie or mess around with his collection of vintage guitars, or he’ll go a level below to visit Adam and talk about any new art exhibits opening up around the area. He could visit Niall three floors above to play some FIFA on his gaming console and share porn recommendations, or even take the elevator to the twelfth floor to bother Xander and talk some shit while they do each other’s nails. And if Harry’s feeling extra needy for attention, he could always just invite them all over to his place so the group could go out for some Thai food at the restaurant down the street, or go see a movie at the cinema, or take a ride to their favorite local bar. 

No matter the circumstances, his friends are always readily available for him when he needs them, so he very solemnly spends his days alone. That is, until now. 

The entire crew had left for the Vegas trip and— as a result of his own irresponsibility and immature hormones— had left him all by himself for the next seven days. He would never admit it aloud to spare himself the ridicule of being overly sappy, but he misses the group. He misses Mitch’s soft voice and quiet wittiness, and he misses Adam’s cheeky banter and random fun facts, and he misses Niall’s inappropriate jokes and boisterous laughter, and he even misses Xander’s annoying digs and childish pettiness. He didn’t know how much he took it all for granted until it was gone.

For the rest of the week, Harry is practically miserable. The guys don’t text him much, which can be expected since the whole point of the holiday is to enjoy every second of it; there would be no point in traveling four hours just to sit in their hotel and message him. He talks to Y/N a bit, but she is also occupied most of the time with work, given that she had to take on a few extra shifts on behalf of her co-workers. The earliest she goes in is six A.M., the latest she comes out is nine P.M., and by then, Harry reckons she’s probably falling asleep in the entrance corridor of her home. He understands her exhaustion and therefore doesn’t expect her to humor him; it wouldn’t be fair. 

With everyone in his life busy and with his flat feeling colder and emptier than ever, it’s a miracle he doesn’t go mad within its walls. He goes out a handful of times to do some grocery shopping, for a run around a nearby park, and to take a walk along his favorite mall, but that’s it, really. He doesn’t go out to eat simply because he thinks it would be embarrassing having to sit alone at a restaurant; it’s pitiful and sad and he’s not going to subject himself to that. The most stimulating social interaction he has that week is a tie between a bit of flirting with a Target cashier, some suggestive gazing exchanged with a Starbucks barista, and a couple of cheeky caresses from a Gucci store employee taken while measuring his waist for a custom order. None of it satisfies him the way it normally does, though, and he can’t place why. 

By the time Friday evening rolls around, Harry is a hair short from letting his regular case of stir-crazy slip into a full-on psychotic break. That’s why he ends up at Y/N’s complex earlier than the agreed-upon hour, stepping out of his Cadillac with twenty minutes left to spare and with a certain desperation eating away at the back of his skull.

The creature casually jogs up the worn steps to her floor, the only sound being the heels of his maroon velvet boots clicking against the cement ground. He whistles softly to the vague tune of a new pop song that had been playing on the radio— Wet Ass something?— as he tucks his phone into his pocket and brushes a few traces of lint off his freshly-ironed button-up. 

His outfit for tonight is nothing too spectacular, but it isn’t too lazy, either. It’s a long-sleeve black silk shirt with glass buttons and a pair of large swallows embroidered along either sides of his chest, the threads dyed royal and pastel blue, cherry red, and creamy yellow. The top is cuffed up his elbows and unbuttoned down to his butterfly tattoo, showing off his naturally tanned skin and matching swallow inkings, the cross on his delicate chain centered between his pecs and twinkling under the flickering lights. He’d coupled the loose blouse with some black skinny jeans, a dark leather belt, a small golden hoop earring, and his trusty collection of rings and necklaces. In his opinion, it’s a proper look for a planned-out booty call. Formal, but easy to rip off. Especially in a blind hurry. 

Harry figures that he’ll check to see if Y/N is home, just to cover the bases. If she isn’t, he’ll tred back down the stairs and wait for her in his car. If she is, then that’s all the better; there’s no damage in starting a bit earlier than scheduled. It makes for a better recoup period between rounds. 

The immortal turns the corner into the familiar hallway where Y/N’s flat is located, one of his hands already forming into a loose fist with the intention of knocking on her door. He makes it about five paces before he’s slapped with an image that causes him to stop cold in his tracks, his whistling coming to an abrupt halt. 

Harry blinks repeatedly and lowers the frame of his pink Gucci sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, wanting to make sure the scene before him isn’t a figment of his imagination. Much to his displeasure, it isn’t. 

About three meters ahead, situated right in front of her door with her back facing towards him, is Y/N. That isn’t the odd aspect of the picture, though. What’s odd is that her usual grimy work attire is missing, which he had expected to see given that he knows she always goes to the cafe on Fridays. Instead, she is clad in the pastel blue floral sundress she had worn for him all those weeks back, when they had slept together for the second time. And instead of wearing her scuffed up Vans, she is wearing a pair of pretty tan sandals. And instead of having her hair up in a frizzy ponytail, it’s down and fanned around her shoulders in a glossy sheen of tousled curls. And she’s wearing perfume— the same one she had worn the night they met. He can smell it from here and it makes his brows furrow in confusion. She never wears perfume to work; she says it’s forbidden since it can make customers nauseous. 

But aside from all of those unorthodox details, there is one specific factor above all that throws Harry for the biggest loop he’s encountered in the last five weeks of knowing her. 

Y/N isn’t alone. She’s accompanied by another man. 

Harry gives the stranger a calculating once-over, taking in every aspect of the boy’s appearance. He has to keep himself from sputtering into laughter. This has to be some type of fucking joke. 

The bloke is fit, he’ll give him that, at least. He’s handsome and somewhat muscular, but in a manner that is painfully cliche and utterly boring. He has sandy blonde hair that falls across his forehead in a shaggy sideways bang, eyes the color of a Malibu beach, and generally soft features with the exception of decent cheekbones. He’s wearing a dull orange polo, khaki pants, Levi sneakers, and an annoyingly giant watch on his wrist that gives the impression he’s trying to show off. Harry nearly vomits in his mouth. 

Who the fuck would wear a polo willingly? And how brain dead does he have to be to think khakis are still in style? His fashion sense is obviously stunted. It appears his brain is stuck in his middle school phase, when the Justin Bieber haircut and douchey brands were all the rave amongst snotty pre-teens. Also, his watch is an embarrassment. Harry doesn’t know what the guy is attempting— and failing— to show off, considering the accessory is chunky and ugly and not even Versace or Rolex. It’s a disgrace. 

As if the forced posh demeanor isn’t enough, the imbecile actually has the guts to have a fake tan. The vampire isn’t surprised, unfortunately, given that eighty percent of all Los Angeles residents think it’s acceptable to dip-dye themselves into a carrot. He faintly wonders if the man’s balls are colored, as well, or if his ass and sack are as pale as his personality probably is. That would be quite the comedic sight either way. Creamsicles for the win, he supposes. 

Harry may not be alarmed by the blonde boy’s get-up, but he is disgusted. Thoroughly disgusted. Horrifically disgusted. What is Y/N doing with this moron? 

According to what he’s gathered from her personality and the pillow talks they often share, she hates the California stereotype almost as much as he does, if not more. She hates the fake tans and bleached hair and lack of conscience. She hates the outdated teenage brands, cringey jewelry, and fraternity member aesthetic. She especially hates the fact that some of these people don’t understand the basic principles of boundaries. And the thing is, this dude-bro of a man definitely ticks all of those boxes— especially with how close he’s standing next to her, looming above her frame with one arm extended against the surface of her door, trying to look nonchalant and cool as he drawls on about whatever topic they’re discussing. 

He’s practically the poster child for everything the girl despises, from the straightened hair to the alter boy church pants to the stupid forest tattoo on his forearm. So what in the flying fuck is she doing entertaining him? What is she doing standing outside her apartment with this trashy, bacon strip-looking, youth leader knock-off, 2012 Bieber impersonator of a human? 

It has to be a joke. It just has to. There’s no other valid explanation, except maybe a plea of insanity. 

Harry doesn’t realize he’s scowling until the stranger makes eye contact with him. The boy’s face breaks into an expression of unsettled discomfort at the way the vampire is peering at him over his sunglasses, allowing his end of the conversation to falter to dust. Y/N’s brows cinch at the occurrence, her attention peeling away to follow where her date’s had wandered. 

The second her gaze locks with Harry’s intense own, she feels her heart drop to her stomach. Fuck.

Let it be known Y/N didn’t want this. She didn’t want to go on a date with Jacob. In fact, she didn’t know who Jacob was until halfway through this week and she honestly wishes it had stayed that way. She wishes she hadn’t picked up Melissa’s shift with Isabel, she wishes she hadn’t offered to wait that extra table in the back out of the kindness in her heart, and she wishes she hadn’t caught the attention of the customer inhabiting it. 

As it turns out, the young man was Isabel’s cousin. He had come to pick her up since the girl’s car had been stuck at the shop for the last few days, and he had arrived a bit earlier than intended, deciding to sit at the back table to wait out the final ten minutes of his relative’s shift. Y/N had simply assumed that he was a regular customer, so she had gone to give him the usual trained introduction in order to follow the golden rule of customer service: Don’t keep a guest waiting. 

Jacob had explained the situation to Y/N, to which she responded with a light laugh and an instinctive apology. She had told him she’d go fetch Isabel for him and bid the boy goodbye. In her rational opinion, she had thought that would be it— a simple crossing of two paths that would likely never cross again— but evidently, the visitor had a very different idea. 

The human’s shift had continued as planned and everything had been going great until Isabel ducked into the kitchen right before leaving, dancing her way across the room and poking her coworker playfully in the tummy.  Apparently, from what Isabel had giddily told her, Jacob had taken an interest in Y/N. It was a bit ridiculous, if you asked her, considering they’d only talked for a total of about thirty seconds before parting routes. But Y/N hadn’t voiced that opinion; she didn’t want to come off as rude. 

Jacob had asked his cousin to set them up on a date and that is why Isabel had gone into the back before leaving. Y/N’s immediate impulse had been to decline. She wasn’t interested in seeing anyone at the moment. Other than Harry, of course. He handled all her needs just fine and they got on so well, she’d be crazy to replace him with some random guy she barely knew. She had gone to express this to Isabel in a gentler manner with an apologetic tone, but the words had ended up lodging in her throat. The girl had stared at Y/N with so much excitement, she’d immediately felt a wave of guilt erupt into her chest. 

She found it difficult to refuse, given that turning down the offer might come off as bitchy and insensitive. Here Isabel was, trying to innocently play match-maker on behalf of someone she cared about, buzzing with glee and smiling at her so big, her cheeks probably hurt. The last thing Y/N wanted was to upset her by basically telling her that Jacob wasn’t up to par with her standards. Rejecting him could be something her acquaintance took personally and Y/N didn’t want to have to deal with drama in the workplace, especially not with someone whose shifts often mirror her own. 

Y/N had reluctantly agreed to the invitation, her only request being that she had to be home by seven thirty. That would give her enough time to prepare for Harry’s visit. 

Her compliance had landed her where she is now, standing in front of her apartment door with a boy she has no interest in. 

It had been a terrible date, though Jacob took no notice of that. He spent the entire dinner talking about himself, going on and on about his college years, and about how he works at a popular surf shop and could probably get her discounted lessons, and about how he doesn’t think he could survive without his Jeep. How he plays guitar and wants to be a famous actor, how he doesn’t understand why people dislike fake tanning, and how his dad owns a country club in South Carolina. How he loves sports, how he thinks museums are dumb, and how he likes girls who are willing to cook for him after they hookup. How he loves going clubbing and that he misses his ex. 

Y/N had nearly groaned out loud at the last two.

It was cruel and unusual torture, in all honestly, and Y/N is just glad it’s over. She’d fulfilled her role— she’d even been nice enough to dress up, to at least finge interest— and could now go free, never having to hear another word about surfboard wax or college football ever again. If only he’d fucking leave.

Jacob had insisted on walking her to the door, which would be sweet if she hadn’t developed a burning hatred for him in the last hour. It came off as annoying and pushy instead, but she allowed it on the grounds of maintaining a polite front. 

She shouldn’t have allowed it. As soon as they’d gotten to her door, he’d started talking all over again and Y/N had no choice but to stand there and listen. She couldn’t go anywhere, given that this is her place and she’s expecting someone. She figured she’d give him until seven fifty and then make up an excuse about having to go to the bathroom in order to get him to piss off. That plan had crumbled when Harry had shown up twenty minutes early. 

The look of inflamed shock that poses Harry’s handsome features makes her stomach curdle. 

She hadn’t meant for him to see this. She’d only gone on the date to spare herself some petty trouble with a coworker. Nothing was bound to come of it, other than a free meal and a guilt-free conscience. It didn’t mean anything and she had no intention of letting it get in between what she and Harry have going. But from an outside perspective, she knows it looks much different. 

The agreement they have isn’t exclusive by any means, but over the last five weeks, the pair have grown pretty comfortable with one another and had given connotations that they weren’t kindling other possible relationships. There’s a type of silent agreement between them that if they were to seek out other people, they would share that information with each other on the grounds of courtesy, friendship, and respect. But Y/N hadn’t said a word to spare him the baseless stress and now he’d run into her smack in the middle of what appears to be a very compromising situation; things aren’t looking good at all. It looks like she’s losing interest in Harry and couldn’t be bothered to tell him. It looks like she’s out for a replacement. It looks like she doesn’t care about their connection at all. 

This is bad. This is really bad.

Y/N’s voice comes out as a shrill shriek of surprise, her body turning abruptly to fully face his rigid own. “Harry! Uh— hi!” 

Harry blinks at her emptily for a moment and she can practically see the gears turning in his head. She can’t read his mind or his expression, but she reckons he’s probably trying to decide if he should follow through on their rendezvous or if he should just leave and never talk to her again. The idea of him choosing the latter makes her mouth go sour. 

The vampire’s emerald irises flit back and forth between his friend and the unknown man behind her, trying to interpret the tone and texture of the circumstance. She’s obviously on a date, if her appearance is any indication, and it’s obviously coming to a close right now, exactly when he’s scheduled to arrive. 

That’s the determining factor that helps him decide his next move. 

Y/N had invited Harry over last Sunday, meaning that she had made their commitment first. This date had to have come into play later in the week, and she had purposefully planned it around their agreed hour in order to give him her undivided attention when the time came. If she had gone out with this guy and then rushed back home to get to him, that must mean she doesn’t plan on indulging another meeting with the stranger. She hadn’t cancelled his visit, either, so that also suggests she isn’t truly interested in this bloke. That makes sense...right?

But that still begs the question: Why had she gone out with him in the first place?

He knows he isn’t owed an explanation, but he also knows that Y/N isn’t the type of person who would just blindside him like this. She isn’t soulless— she’s sweet and caring and generous, so she would never drop him without any warning or consideration for his feelings. She’d never abandon him without telling him why. She’d never do anything that might run a chance of hurting him. 

The immortal is more than aware he doesn’t have the right to be upset about it, either. Their arrangement is loose and open on both ends and he likes it that way. He likes that their relationship isn’t weighed down by commitment and monogamy; it gives him a sense of freedom and independence he’s known to thrive off of. It lets him be himself without playing her emotions, and without causing a ruckus in the plans she has for her new life. And he gets the same in return— he gets to have his needs attended without sacrificing his core beliefs. Their friends with benefits trope rides along the wings of an official bond, only giving them what they want and nothing they don’t, which is how it was meant to be. How it should be.

So why does seeing her with someone else make him feel sick to his stomach?

Harry shakes off the ball of contempt writhing in his chest, clearing the tightness from his throat and molding his expression into a facade of calm indifference. Jealousy is for idiots. 

The vampire fully wraps his perched fingers around the rim of his sunglasses, removing them from the arch of his nose and tucking the shades along the collar of his shirt. He forces his feet to do their job, his lanky legs lurching forward and falling into a casual stride as he walks towards the two humans awaiting a response. 

Harry comes to a stop beside the mortals, clasping his bejeweled hands behind his back and plastering a dazzling grin across his cheeks. He regards his friend with a slight bow of his head, voice airy and carefree as ever. “Hey, Y/N.”

She almost faints in relief. Thank God he’s not mad. 

Y/N returns his smile, shoulders visibly relaxing. “It’s nice to see you.”

“S’nice to see you, too. Always such a…” He pauses, licking at the corner of his lips suggestively, giving her a knowing once-over that only she can interpret, “pleasure.”

The girl ignores the heat that immediately floods her cheeks. Of course he’s doing this in front of Jacob. Of course he’s peacocking. “Likewise.” 

Harry trains his attention onto the young man before him, pursing his lips into a polite smile. As polite as he can muster, anyways. “And who’s this?” 

Y/N blinks herself back into the present, quickly glancing away from Harry’s sharp jaw, though it doesn’t go unnoticed. He feels his ego swell a smidge.  

“This is Jacob.” The human comments easily, signaling to him with an upturned palm. “He’s Isabel’s cousin. You remember Isabel, right? You met her at the club.” 

“I don’t think I do, actually.” Harry murmurs, glimpsing up towards the ceiling to suggest he’s wracking his thoughts. He has a very vague recollection of the two girls he’d momentarily encountered the day he’d first met Y/N, but it’s hazy and unimportant. 

He looks back down at her with sparkling irises, rosy lips twitching with amusement at his next words, knowing they’re going to have a favorable impact. “I guess I was just too distracted by you to pay much attention to anyone else.”  

He can hear more blood rush into her face and the ecstasy it brings him is immeasurable. He cranes his sight back onto Jacob, who has the slightest crease in his brows at Harry’s compliment. Good. That’s exactly what he wanted. 

The monster unclamps his hands and juts one out stiffly towards the mortal. “M’Harry. Good to meet you, mate.” 

Jacob returns the gesture, grasping Harry’s hand firmly in a way the vampire knows is to try and establish dominance. It tickles him when humans try to be tough, especially because Harry could tear his arm right out of its socket as easily as he could lift a sheet of paper. The creature tightens his grip to match the man’s, purposefully putting a tad more strength in to make a silent point. He has to withhold the urge to crunch the boy’s fingers to dust. 

They both release from the exchange and a wave of dark satisfaction trickles into Harry’s bones when he sees Jacob curl and stretch his digits in mild pain. 

Y/N watches the whole scene with a breath trapped in her lungs. This feels surreal.

The blonde clears his throat softly, mouth jilting into an empty smile and it’s obvious he’s only doing it just to keep things civil. “Good to meet you, too. I take it you’re British?” 

“Pure-bred.” Harry remarks proudly, shrugging his shoulders offhandedly as if it’s no big deal. His gaze slinks towards Y/N for a second, tongue pushing along the inside of his cheek smugly. “It works wonders with the ladies.”

A flicker of spite stains the blue in Jacob’s eyes and the vampire feels like his soul is ascending. This is fun. 

“I can only imagine.” His opponent responds, voice somewhat strained as he directs his next question to the two friends. “So how do you know each other?” 

Harry opens his mouth to make an arrogant comment along the lines of, “A club. A few drinks. Some amazing sex. Y’know, the usual.” but Y/N knows him well enough that she anticipates it, speaking over him loudly before he can even get a syllable out.

“We met at a club and hit it off really well. Been friends ever since.” 

The immortal has to keep himself from adding something snarky to the end of her summary. He only does it because he can see a sharp warning flash across Y/N’s eyes. It’s wordless, but stern nonetheless: Don’t.

Harry swallows down his dig and feels it burn a hole in his stomach. Why is she protecting his feelings?

In all honesty, Y/N is only doing it out of kindness and nothing else. As annoying as Jacob may be, he doesn’t deserve to be embarrassed simply because Harry wants to feed his pride. It may be funny, but it’s pretty immature.

“Right.” Harry sighs happily, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “Friends. Good friends. Close friends. Intimate friends.” 

Y/N presses her lips into a straight line to keep herself in check. He’s trying to work her over and, unfortunately, he’s succeeding.  

“That’s nice.” Jacob nods casually, the innuendo luckily going right over his head. 

“Yeah, it is.” Harry states, eyes glinting mischievously as he quickly studies the man once again. He can’t help himself, he truly can’t. Not when this terribly-styled buffoon makes it so fucking easy. “I like your tan, by the way.” 

The human looks down at his arms for significance, eyes brightening. “Thank you! I got it done at that new place in—”

“Yeah, it’s pretty neat. Looks almost real.” 

Jacob blinks blankly at the backhanded compliment. “Oh—?” 

“I mean, it’s got a few streaks here and there and your left arm looks a little more orange, but I think—”

“Anyways!” Y/N swiftly cuts in, interrupting her friend’s judgmental spiel and directing her attention towards her date. “Harry and I were actually planning on going to see a movie, which is why I had to be home by seven-thirty— we do it every Friday. And the movie starts at eight and traffic’s a bitch, so that’s why I was in such a hurry to get home.” 

Jacob nods slowly, giving her a sweet, understanding smile that makes Harry’s supernatural blood boil. “I see. Well, I—”

The vampire interrupts him once again, condescension flaring in his chest and dancing across the specks of amber surrounding his pupils. “Yeah, Y/N and I go to the theater every Friday. Recently, we’ve been going to the movies every single day of the weekend. And most times, we see several movies a night.” 

Y/N’s jaw clenches at Harry’s barely-veiled insinuation. She tries to talk over him, but he beats her to the punch. 

“Y’know what I’m talking about, right, Y/N?” He nudges her side playfully with his elbow, ignoring the way her eyes tell him to cut it out. “Remember that time we saw three movies in one night? Or the one that had the jacuzzi in it?”

The girl glimpses over at Jacob, who looks utterly confused and uncomfortable. “Harry—”

“Or what about that crime film, yeah? The one with the handcuffs.” He pinches at her love handle teasingly, reveling in how her entire torso tenses under his touch. “The one where they grabbed the criminal and slammed them up against the mirror? You have to remember that one. It’s hard to forget.” 

“Okay, I think that’s enough talk about—” 

“Oh, c’mon, dove.” Harry slings an arm around her shoulders nonchalantly, squeezing her into his body and feeling Jacob’s glare pierce the side of his face. He stares intently into Y/N’s irises, dimples winking awake at the needy desperation gradually inking its way into their reflection. His tone comes out soft but heavy with authoritative suggestion— the kind he always uses in bed. “Tell me you remember.” 

Y/N gulps quietly, mumbling her words begrudgingly. “Yeah, I...I remember.” 

A coy hum runs along the back of the vampire’s throat as he licks across his top teeth slyly. “I think that was your favorite one, wasn’t it? You seemed to have really enjoyed it. Like, properly enjoyed it. Loved every single second, if I recall correctly.” 

The human forces herself to cast her intent elsewhere, ears simmering and breathing stuttering ever so slightly. Her sight lands back onto a very frazzled Jacob, who is looking at the pair as if they’d sprouted horns, shifting unsurely across his feet. The expression of innocent befuddlement on his face makes guilt twist into her heart.   

The mortal roughly shrugs off Harry’s arm, stepping forward and placing a palm on Jacob’s wrist, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you so much for the date. It was...nice.” 

Harry’s fists clench at his sides, though the action goes unnoticed. 

The human boy nods giddily at Y/N, glancing down to where she’s touching him so tenderly. “‘Course! I had a great time, too.” 

“Make sure to tell Isabel that. Maybe it’ll get her to do some sweeping on my behalf.” The girl jokes, giggling softly right along with the stranger. 

Harry can feel his nails threatening to break into his skin. 

“We really have to get going, though, so I guess I’ll see you around?” Y/N prods, gifting her date one last beautiful smile to ease the awkwardness that had settled into the atmosphere, courtesy of Harry’s antics. 

“Sure!” Jacob bobs his head in agreement, pulling out his phone and swaying it symbolically. “You have my number, just text me whenever.” 

“Sounds good.”

Once the young man’s footsteps have faded down the complex’s staircase, Y/N swivels around on her heel to face Harry, arms falling across her chest in an irritated fashion. Her face pinches with annoyance as he leans casually against her door, his own arms folding over his strong chest with his fingers tapping along the inside of his elbows, attitude depicting not a single care in the world. 

He crosses his ankles easily, brows quirking at the way she’s blatantly glaring at him. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that people whose names start with a letter ‘J’ are bound to ruin your life?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Harry!” Y/N snaps, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling as her glossed lips dip into an aggravated grimace. “Are you serious right now?”

He tilts his head curiously, stifling a simper. “What’s wrong, love?”

“What’s wrong?” She retorts with a humorless laugh, astonished at his ability to act so purposefully dense. “You’re a fucking dick, that’s what’s wrong.”

The vampire sputters into a round of boyish cackling, his entire body shaking against the surface below him as his eyes crinkle shut in mirth. Y/N would be further infuriated if it wasn’t so damn cute. 

Harry’s laughter slowly dies down and once he has himself composed, his shoulders rise and fall once dismissively. “I was just fucking around. I didn’t think much of it.” 

“You didn’t think—?” Y/N chokes out in indignation, stomping over to him and poking him straight in the chest, right over his butterfly tattoo. Her perfume makes his mind swim in the best way imaginable. “You didn’t think for a second, in that big head of yours, that talking about our sex life in front of my date was overstepping?” 

Hearing Y/N officially refer to Jacob as her date makes Harry’s mood drop somberly. He tries to push it down and keep up a comical edge, but it’s harder than he’d care to admit. His accent comes out small and almost fragile, much to her surprise. “Well, I didn’t know you were on a date. Maybe if you had told me, I wouldn’t have come.” 

His words sting for some unknown reason. 

The mortal draws closer to him until he’s hovering above her, arms dropping down to her sides to fiddle with the hem of her dress as she tilts her chin upwards to get a better look at his stoney face. All anger melts right out of her voice, replaced by her usual delicate cadence. “Well, I...I didn’t think you’d care, really.” 

“I don’t.” He replies a little too quickly, a small pang of regret pricking his chest when her face immediately falls. “I mean...I mean it as in, like...I’m not keeping tabs on you or anything. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to limit you.” 

Y/N looks back up at him from under her lashes, tone unreadable. “I didn’t think you were. Limiting me, that is. You don’t...limit me.”

Harry nods his head sharply in relieved confirmation, coughing a bit. His throat feels drier than usual and he knows it’s not for a blood-driven reason. “Okay, good. I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

“I do.”

“Alright.” 

A charged silence befalls the ambiance between them and the vampire comes to the conclusion that getting his neck snapped was less painful than having this conversation. At least that was quick, whereas this is grueling and horribly uncomfortable, ridden with anxiety and too many elongated pauses. They are walking on extremely thin eggshells around one another, which is something they’ve never had to do before. They have always been on the same wavelength about their relationship and not once has such a nerve-inducing instance come to pass. Now a wrench has been thrown into their metaphorical mechanism and the nuts and bolts are dismantling by the handfuls, leaving them barren and closed-off more than ever. He can feel this situation straining their friendship and he hates it more than he hates those stupid tapestries she fancies.

“If you knew you were gonna be busy,” Harry starts carefully, gluing his attention to a random stain on the cement ground as he scuffs the heel of his boot against her dirty welcome mat, “why didn’t you just text me and cancel?” 

Y/N takes a shaky inhale, focusing on tracing the faded cursive letters on her rug. “I...I still wanted you to come.”

Harry’s foot halts its motions, gaze jumping to her for a thoughtful second, brows knotting with mild confusion at her confession. If she still wants him in her bed, why was she indulging someone else? “You wanted me to come?...Why?”

“Because Fridays are our days.” 

The corners of his mouth twitch. Our days. Their days. Theirs.

The brunette clears his throat to try and saw away at the tension, shifting against the door as the subject delves into heavier territory. He’s never been one to stutter— he’s much too confident in himself to ever have that issue— but it seems to have become a new development whenever Y/N is around. “If...If you want— uhm...If you want to see other people, you obviously don’t need my permission or anything. But I’d like a little heads-up, just so I know where we stand.” 

Y/N releases a curt sigh of exasperation and somehow, Harry can tell it’s not aimed towards him. It’s aimed towards herself. 

She fidgets with the tips of her fingers, talking to the floor but directing her message towards her friend. “It’s not what you think, H.” 

Harry pins his intent back onto her face, intrigue fully peaked. “What do you mean?” 

Y/N takes another trembling breath, releasing it through her nose as a tired exhale. She can feel him looming over her, waiting for an appropriate response with his lips set into a detached line, his ever-present aroma of vanilla and tobacco muddling her thoughts. “I...I mean the date. It wasn’t truly a real date, per se.”

The vampire’s eyes bore into her relentlessly as he clings onto every syllable she speaks. He’s clutching to a form of hope that he deems absolutely humiliating. “How so?”

Y/N picks at the chipping lavender polish on her nails and he finds it adorable how the color of the lacquer matches one of the main notes in her scent. 

She speaks up softly and honestly, and he thinks he detects a shred of guilt to her explanation. “Isabel was the one who set it up. Her cousin came into the cafe and when he saw me, he asked her to get me to go on a date with him. I have no actual interest in Jacob, but I said yes just to be nice. I didn’t wanna upset Isabel by making her think her cousin wasn’t good enough for me or something. That’s the only reason I went.” 

Harry slowly twists his lionhead daylight ring around his middle finger, simultaneously thumbing over the opal on his pinky. The stone is cold to the touch, but not nearly as cold as his skin. 

He reiterates her story slowly, wanting to make sure he interpreted correctly. “So...you only went on the date because you felt bad? You don't actually like him?”

Y/N’s hands plop down against her thighs as she tilts her head back up to look at him, her tone and eyes completely deadpan. “Well, when you say it like that, it makes me sound kind of mean.” 

Harry snorts softly, mouth buckling into his signature crooked smirk. “It’s pretty cruel, to be honest— giving that poor bloke hope like that. Very malicious of you.” 

Y/N kicks at his ankle jokingly, her lips toying with a grin. “Shut up.” 

“You should be careful. Something tells me his ego bruises easily.” 

“Oh, is that so? What makes you say that?” 

The vampire sucks at his teeth, tapping his chin in faux thought as he shrugs his brows tauntingly. “Oh, I don’t know. Probably the overly-tight shirt and fraternity ring. Seems to me like he’s trying to make up for something he lacks. Probably in the intimacy department.”

Y/N chews along her cheek to keep from bursting into giggles. “You are cruel.” 

“I prefer the term ‘brutally honest.’ Sounds classier.” 

“Right. Because you’re all about class.” 

“Heyyyy!” Harry whines in exaggerated insult, face contorting with dramatic offense. “I’m a classy guy! I have the English accent and fancy chandeliers to prove it!” 

“Right. Super classy.” 

“I’m a proper gentleman.” The monster huffs with begrudging finality, irises glitzing deviously. “That is, until you beg me to behave otherwise.” 

“Fuck off.” 

He looks down at her over the crests of his sharp cheekbones as she gazes up at him with a humorously flat expression, feeling all the pent-up stress from the previous events dissolve away into nothing. Harry reaches forward, taking a single curled strand of her hair and moving it behind her shoulder to get a better look at her face. The gesture makes Y/N’s heartbeat hiccup. Especially when that same forefinger ends up poised below her chin, his thumb distractedly caressing across her jaw. 

The creature’s next sentence comes out low and almost vulnerable. “So it meant nothing, then? Are you sure? Because I don’t want to get in the way of your dating life if you—”

“It meant nothing.” Y/N confirms, bobbing her head once insistently. She cradles her cheek into his icy palm, keeping their eyes locked as she gives it a gentle kiss, her insides fluttering when Harry’s breathing hitches. “I’m not gonna be seeing him again anytime soon. Or ever, probably. And that’s why I didn’t mention it to you— because I knew it wouldn’t change anything between us. You’re the only person I’m interested in right now.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

The young man swallows thickly, leaning down to smudge his nose across the girl’s and the action erupts a certain flood of warmth so powerful, it could very well kickstart the dead organ below his ribs. His voice is tumbling down his numb tongue before he can think to stop it. “I’ve been thinking about you all week.” 

Y/N’s fingers stretch upwards to wrap around his wrist securely, almost as if to tether him and eliminate the chance of his touch slipping away. Her whisper is trembly and raw. “You have?” 

Harry knows he’s allowing this to wade into dangerously grey waters, but he can’t find it in himself to care, at the moment. “Yeah. Couldn’t get you out of my head. Couldn’t stop thinking about how good you felt last time.” 

The mortal teeters onto the tips of her toes, flirting her mouth over her friend’s, a prickling sensation stemming from where their cupid’s bows brush. She glimpses at him amidst her lashes, glassy eyes reflecting his need right back at him. “Tell me more. Please?”

The breath of Harry’s words is hot against her mouth, his eyes lulling closed as he recalls all of the memories from the last few days. “I just couldn’t shake it. You were just so tight and warm and the way you were pushing back against my thrusts...the way you were shaking and whimpering...the way you flipped around and slammed your mouth to mine because you wanted me to moan onto your tongue….It was so fucking filthy, I just— I couldn’t—”

His control begins to shatter and the immortal can feel desperation leak through the cracks webbing across his composure. Y/N isn’t helping any, considering she’s started suckling lightly at his bottom lip, her free hand coming up to toy with the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“Keep going.” 

Harry gulps heavily before continuing. “I touched myself while fantasying about you. Lost count of how many times, honestly. But I came so hard every single one. It was pretty easy to lose myself like that, just sitting there thinking about everything we do. Thinking about how pretty you look with my cock in your mouth, taking it down your throat like such a good fucking girl. How nice your arse feels in my hands, especially when you ask me to spank it. How snug you are when you sink over me, stretching around it like it’s made just for you. How the little noises you make sound so fucking perfect— like a song, really. And...and how good you taste between your thighs. S’like honey. Just so fucking sweet.” 

There’s a pause as Harry’s words sink into the air, his dirty confessions pulling passion taut into existence between the two lovers. They’re all over each other in less than a heartbeat. 

Y/N begins to fumble with the small purse she has strung across her body, frantically fishing for her keys as Harry delights himself with sponging his lips across the slope of her jaw, grinning into her skin at the little curses escaping her throat. He absolutely adores how whipped she gets for him. 

The human manages to retrieve her key, jamming it into the lock blindly as her eyes blur with tears of sheer need, stemming from the tiny shots of bliss Harry is instilling through the sloppy pecks he’s trailing down her jugular. She hastily turns the knob, bumping her full weight into the door and nearly fainting in relief when it swings open. She turns sharply to face him, roping her arms around his strong shoulders and pulling him into her, shuddering at how incredible it feels to have his strong torso flushed to hers so intimately. Harry allows himself to be yanked forward into her apartment, giggling softly when she crashes their mouths together messily, harshly tugging him past the threshold. 

The vampire’s lean arms wrap around her waist as the young woman maneuvers their connected bodies into the narrow hallway of her flat, one of her hands waving around wildly until it succeeds in shoving the door shut. Y/N slams Harry up against the closest wall, feverishly fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt and nearly ripping them out of their designated holes. Her hands quiver as she races down the seams, her eyes tinging darker when Harry leans his head back against the panel and smirks down at her smugly. 

He gnaws on his bottom lip, his half-lidded gaze mocking her hysteria as his voice comes out deep and melodic as always, slathered with self-assured arrogance. “You’re so cute when you’re this eager to fuck me.” 

Y/N pants against his twitching lips, tearing his top down his broad figure and shamelessly groping at his swollen biceps. “Just shut up and kiss me.”  

Harry abides, lulling his tongue along her upper lip and thrumming deeply when her digits trickle down his abdomen. He coos into her mouth as she begins fiddling with his belt buckle. “What, no interior design emergency this time? You’re losing your touch, darling.” 

The girl pulls the leather strap off his pants in a frenzy, scoffing at his stupid quip and breaking their kiss to speckle her mouth down his bare chest, feeling it stutter below her influence. “I got some new chairs for my dining table. Wanna take a look?” 

The boy’s fingers card into her roots as she descends down his stomach with wet pecks, his eyes rolling closed with a strained grunt. She bites along his fern inkings and his hips buck forward in response, his grip on her hair tightening when she palms over the outline of his clothed cock. “You know I’m always a sucker for some good dining chairs.”

As it turns out, Y/N had actually gotten some new chairs, much to Harry’s surprise. 

They’re nice, in his opinion. They seem sturdy enough, with metal backrests and legs that are covered in tarnished gold paint that gives a pleasing rustic look. But in the end, Harry doesn’t really much care for the details of the furniture. All he cares about is if they’ll manage to withstand Y/N’s weight as he shoves her onto her knees atop the chair and bends her over the back. Or if they’ll stay put as he pounds into her from behind with a fist in her hair and his letter rings marking across her backside. That’s all that truly matters. 

Despite having done this countless of times before, this particular instance feels different. Both of them can tell, but Y/N feels it more prevalently. Specifically, in the bottom of her stomach and in the pain sweltering across her ass.

Harry’s just…rougher. He’s still himself, so he makes sure she’s okay with everything he does before doing it, but when he gets the green light, he doesn’t let it go to waste. His grip on her roots is harsh, with his nails digging into her scalp as he jerks her head back to bring her in for a kiss, her spine arching into a semi-circle. The position is difficult given the amount of flexibility required, but Y/N powers through. She quite likes it, actually— it gives him a deeper range of depth, somehow. She can feel him touching the trench of her tummy and she refuses to do anything that might make that stop.

The kiss is upside down, but the vampire doesn’t let that deter him. It’s still dirty and heedless, with lots of biting and overzealous tongues, broken whines and fractured pleas. Y/N freely moans into his mouth, gasping and mewling to his every thrust with a certain type of helplessness that flogs the flames blistering Harry’s dormant veins. He loves that he makes her feel helpless, especially because she makes him feel the exact same way. 

His stride is fast and deep and unapologetic— vengeful, almost, and they both know why. Even though Y/N had told the creature that the date had been nothing but a selfless chore, he can’t seem to let it go as easily as she had. He finds himself wanting to prove to her that he’s better than that insipid stranger. That he can give her everything she wants without a single issue. That he can deliver everything she needs with expert skill and relentless force, just as she prefers. That he can make her entire body tremble in overstimulation and make every fiber of her being tingle with sheer pleasure, just by gifting her a few adamant snaps of his hips and by muttering a couple filthy promises onto her unfeeling tongue. 

“Bet he wouldn’t be able to make you feel like this, huh, pet?” Harry growls against her swollen lips, plunging his thick length into her and nudging at that sweet spot that makes her toes curl. “Bet he wouldn’t know how to handle you— how to handle that tight cunt and that sharp tongue. Could never take care of you the way I do, isn’t that right, baby?” 

Y/N rattles her head in her friend’s grasp, releasing fragmented noises of bliss as he hikes her dress further up her ass and gives it another brutal spank. She can feel his rings imprinting across her sweaty skin and she strives off it more than she should. 

Her voice comes out garbled and weak. “N-No one can make me feel as good as you.” 

“Damn straight.” Harry grits out, breaking their prolonged kiss to rest his chin against her damp forehead, looking down at her from over his sharp, tinted cheekbones. “Nobody can fuck you into a begging mess like I can. Whose pretty cunt is this, angel? Who’s the only one who gets to call you their little slut?” 

The electricity crackling around his pupils is borderlining on unhinged, but she adores it. The fact that she can drive him to the brink like that feeds the affinity she has to win his praise. “It’s yours, Harry. Just yours— it’s always just you. You’re the only one. Nobody e-else— fuck, oh my God!”

“You got all dolled up for him, though. Why’s that’s, hm?” Harry’s hold releases from her hair and fumbles down to her throat, the pads of his fingers leaving bruises across her jugular as he grunts lowly with every hellbent ram. “If you didn’t care, why’d you get all pretty, then? Why’d you wear perfume? And why’d you wear that dress— my dress?”

Y/N’s lashes flutter as he refers to her outfit, which is the same one she’d had on the day they had officially established their loose arrangement. Hearing him call it his— hearing him claim it as his own with so much dominant confidence— makes the pit of her belly froth. It is his. Sure, she’d worn it for the sake of looking presentable, but it was only to satisfy the basic rules of what a date entails. In truth, under the excuse of inherent kindness, she’d worn it because she knew Harry would see it afterwards. Because she knew he liked it. Because she wanted to please him. 

The girl communicates that to him now in the form of a feathery mumble, staring up at his angered eyes with a moony, innocent aura. “I wore it f-for you.”  

The intense jealousy present in Harry’s clenched jaw and furrowed brows dissipates, replaced by soft awe at her wispy affirmation. He pants as he absorbs the real meaning behind her entire appearance, feeling sparks ignite in his heaving chest. “You...You did it for me?” 

Y/N struggles to swallow in his rough grip, nodding a bit as her fingers tighten around the edge of the chair. “I know you like it and, well…I like making you happy.” 

Harry’s lips part in astonished wonder, though he’s not so sure why her admission had caught him off guard. She’s told him plenty of times that she likes giving him what he wants, but this just feels slightly more personal than anything else she’s ever uttered during an orgasmic stupor. It’s tipping along one of the lines they had sworn not to cross. 

The vampire hadn’t even realized his strokes had tapered to a halt, and apparently neither had she. They’re both too busy looking into each other’s eyes with expressions that neither can decipher. The tense pause only lasts maybe three seconds at most, but it feels like they manage to fit an eternity of uncertain silence within that short time frame. 

Harry cuts through the moment by clearing his throat, intent on changing the subject into something much lighter that will allow them to return to their previous activity. However, the words that rasp out of his raw lips are ones he hadn’t consciously consented to. They come from a sincere nature he’d suppressed for so long, he didn’t think it was possible for it to ever resurface again. “I like making you happy, too.”

Y/N blinks up at him with her usual doe-like air, the corners of her lips twitching fondly at his requited compliment. “I guess we just like making each other happy, then, don’t we?” 

The monster has never been more thankful for her witty personality. It gives him the opportunity to stuff his emotions back into the box they belong, allowing him to regain his typical composure and return her banter without a hitch. He bursts into a round of wheezy giggles, tapping at the hollow of her throat playfully. “I guess so. We’ll add that to the list of things we do to each other, right under ‘excite.’”

The rest of the session goes as usual, thankfully. Some more degrading names are exchanged, positions are switched, hickies are stained on fleshy thighs and damp shoulders, and Harry’s array of rings paint an art piece across Y/N’s backside that he thinks is worthy of the Louvre. His initials are signed on it and everything. 

The pair end up splayed across her trusty old couch, catching their breaths from the heavy exertion they’d just put each other through. Y/N is still in her dress, though it’s rumpled, damp, and the thin straps are hanging off her shoulders limply. Harry is bare, as he always is after sex, per his raunchy preference. However, Y/N had made him cover himself with a blanket in order to keep at least a shred of decency between them. Plus, she’d said she didn’t want his “limp dick brushing against my dress while we cuddle.” 

And that’s what they’re doing now— snuggling on her couch with the human pressed up against the vampire’s side, his arm slung around her shoulders casually as she doodles random shapes across the colored skin of his tummy. She has one leg hooked across his covered hips, which he’s more than happy to allow because he thoroughly enjoys rubbing his palm up and down the back of her thigh; it’s soothing and warm. Y/N entertains herself with nuzzling her head against the crook of his neck, sighing contentedly as he props his chin atop her temple and pets at her frizzy hair with gentle strokes. It’s a nice moment, full of slowly steadying breaths and the hum of the air vent at the other end of the room. 

Harry is the first to break the tranquil atmosphere. 

“I give the chairs a ten out of ten. IKEA really outsold.” 

Y/N slaps her hand down against his naked chest, sputtering into a wave of loud laughter that is unbelievably contagious. “I’m happy you like them ‘cause, uh...they were on clearance. Can’t return them.” 

“You lucked out then, didn’t you? Kudos to your ability to pick out decent furniture.” Harry twirls a strand of her tangled locks around his index finger, giving it a playful tug as a grin dimples his flushed cheeks. “Except for when it comes to wall decor.”

“It’s not my fault you're a stuck-up asshole.” 

“And it’s not my fault you have a knack for cringey drapery depicting ClipArt images.” 

“I’m going to strangle you with one of my tapestries, I really am.”

“Be my guest. At least I won’t have to look at them ever again.” The immortal squeezes her thigh jestingly, his smile widening when she squirms and giggles. “I can’t tell you how many times we’ve been fucking and I accidentally glanced at it and almost went soft.” 

“But you didn’t.” She reasons, flicking at one of his nipples in revenge and feeling proud when he hisses softly. 

“But I could have.”

“But you didn’t.” 

“But I could have.” Harry insists stubbornly, reaching up to push a few wet curls out of his tired eyes. “Have you ever had someone go soft inside you? It’s pretty gross. Highly discourage it.”

“Just close your eyes, then.” Y/N states with finality, pinching at his belly button and cackling in satisfaction when he writhes. “You’re real shitty at solving problems, y’know that? You could never be Sherlock.” 

Harry goes quiet for a second and his friend almost looks up to check if he’s alright; he’s too petty to ever back out of anything. But sure enough, his voice comes out a second later, flat and unyielding. “Take down the glorified curtains or I’m never eating you out again.”

“I’ll take down my glorified curtains the day you take down that Stevie Nicks poster on your wall.” 

“I refuse to take down Stevie!”

“And I refuse to take down Amanda!”

“You named it?!”

The lovers chat and bicker childishly for a while longer, talking about anything and everything that will keep them entertained. Harry explains to Y/N how his friends had gone on a trip this week (though he makes sure to omit the fact that he had willingly bailed in order to spend time with her) and he’d been alone most of the time. She responds to his story with an incredulous yelp, telling him that he should’ve come over if he wanted some company. She says she would have been more than happy to hang out with him, but he knows she’d been so busy the entire week with work, she probably would have fallen asleep within ten minutes of him arriving. It’s the thought that counts, though, so he thanks her for the belated support, either way. 

Y/N talks about a weird customer that had come in and ordered a sandwich with nothing but cucumbers and cheddar cheese on French bread, which she had later recreated to taste-test herself out of curiosity. She can confirm it was abhorrent and the way her nose crinkles with disgust makes Harry snort in endearment. She also tells him about how horribly the date with Jacob had gone, simply because she can tell he’s itching to ask. She recounts everything the young man boasted about, from the annoying college stories to his stupid opinion about clubs. She informs him that she’d never had a more terrible experience in her life and that she wishes she could get that hour of her life back. 

Harry can’t help the way his face lights up at how utterly repulsed she sounds. He knew it. He fucking knew she would never insert herself into a romantic situation with such a comedic punchline of a human being. Hearing her confirm his suspicions is almost as pleasurable as what she can do with her mouth. Almost. 

The vampire finds himself lost in his thoughts, thinking about how much better the whole event would have gone if it had been him instead. How he would have picked her up from her flat by actually getting out of the car and knocking on her door, rather than just sending her a text to come down. How he would have helped her into his car like a proper gentleman, and how he would’ve aided her back out when the time came. How he would enter the restaurant with his palm resting at the dip of her back, guiding the girl towards their seats and pulling out a chair for her. How they’d make conversation as easily as they always do, and how he’d have her laughing between mouthfuls of food, and how he’d expertly flirt her into a fidgety puddle. How he’d reach over the table to get a bit of sauce off the corner of her mouth with a cloth napkin, and how she’d thank him with that shy smile he’d grown to admire. How he’d wave off her suggestion to split the bill, paying it all himself and smirking as she scolds him for it because she likes being hard-headed and independent. How much fun she would actually have, and how she would probably be willing to go out on a second date.  

Harry’s comment topples out of his mouth before he can rethink it. 

“I bet I could take you out on a better date.” 

Y/N’s head snaps upwards to meet his gaze, eyebrows jumping in utter shock. She hadn’t been expecting that from him at all. Ever. 

She talks between airy spurts of glee. “That was random.” 

Harry doesn’t return the gesture. In fact, his lips don’t even jolt in the slightest. He simply just stares down at her with seriousness decorating his features, long lashes blinking blankly. He doesn’t know what overcame him to make such a bizarre, uncalled for claim, but he can’t take it back now. And he’s not so sure he wants to, honestly. He knows there’s truth to his belief— he could definitely do a better job of wooing her than that Jesse McCartney wannabe. It’s not like it’s hard.

Aside from that, seeing Y/N out with another man had reminded Harry that their little alliance isn’t anything solid— it’s not bulletproof, and he really shouldn’t be taking it for granted. He’d been so cocky and self-assured about himself and what he has to offer, he’d forgotten that there is always the possibility that Y/N might grow tired of him. It may be a microscopic possibility, but it exists, nonetheless. If he wants to keep her interested, he has to up his game a bit, or she might decide that he isn’t worth keeping around. If he wishes to maintain this favorable arrangement where he gets his intimate tendencies tailored and his supernatural necessities sufficed, he needs to give her a more fulfilling reason to stay. 

Good sex is a very convincing factor, sure, but there might come a time in her life when she wants more than just a no-strings-attached affair. There may come a time when she’ll mature out of this stage and seek something sturdier and safe and anchored. There may come a time when she wants a real relationship, and if he doesn’t keep her occupied, that could be sooner rather than later. And it could be with someone else. He doesn’t want this convenience taken away from him— doesn’t want to lose the thing they have going, which keeps him out of annoying clubs, out of random people’s beds, and gives him the best blood he’s tasted in the last twenty decades. It’s too comfortable and satisfying to let go. He has to keep her hooked somehow, and if taking her on a date can assure that this flawless dream remains intact, then he’ll gladly do it. 

Harry licks his lips slowly, measuring out his next words with immense precision. “I’m being serious. I can definitely do better.” 

A million emotions funnel into Y/N’s eyes at once and he can only pick out a select few: confusion, astonishment, fear, denial, and slight unease. There is the chance that the monster may be interpreting all of the human’s feelings incorrectly because, truth be told, he isn’t the best at gauging or handling sentiments. However, there is one he knows he’s not misjudging— it’s the most evident one of all: Excitement. 

“Think about it for a second, yeah?” Harry starts, shifting in his seat to get a better look at her, raising his eyebrows decisively. “I’ve already gotten in your pants. That means I have no ulterior motive, right?”

Y/N’s own brows kink a smidge. “I...I guess.”

Her friend continues his speech. “Because of that, it means I won’t rush the date, I won’t expect anything from you, and we already get on pretty well, as it is. It’d be a proper good time— a genuine good time.”

The girl’s eyes flicker around different points of his face, trying to make sure he’s not pulling some type of cruel prank. Her tone comes out hesitant and slow. “That makes sense, I suppose.”

Harry squeezes the back of her thigh reassuringly. “It’s all in mathematics, love; everything adds up. It’s truly an ideal situation, if you ask me. Practically utopian.” 

Y/N takes a deep breath, letting it out shakily. This is all so sudden and unexpected, she feels like Harry might burst into laughter any minute and reveal it’s all just a big joke. It’s just not them. It’s out of bound— it scribbles outside the box drawn around their whole dynamic. They were never meant to date, they were just meant to sleep together; they were meant to provide each other with the satisfaction that comes from a real relationship, without all the trials and tribulations. Harry asking her on a date blurs those sacred boundaries in a way she’s not sure she’s ready to face. It could mess everything up. It could not only ruin the fun little arrangement they have going, but it could potentially destroy their entire friendship. Harry is the only person she’s truly connected with since she moved to Los Angeles and risking that bond on an impulsive decision...That’s something she doesn’t think she can afford to do. She can’t survive her new life on her own. This is just too dangerous. Way too dangerous. 

But then again...it’s not like she hasn’t thought about it before. She will admit, there have been instances where she’s pictured her and Harry becoming more than just warm bodies to each other. The two days she spent over at his house the weekend prior had solidified those fantasies and made them more frequent. They just click so well, she knows for a fact they’d make a great team. It’d be like dating a best friend, in a way. They fit one another in a manner she didn’t think was possible, and despite the fact they’ve only been acquainted for just over a month and a half, it feels like they’ve been friends for years. She feels like these types of connections are rare to create and she finds herself wishing it could develop into more. 

But could it really be worth the potential grievance?

Y/N tunes back into reality, gazing up at Harry with reluctant eyes. She’s surprised to find his are full of confident clarity, as if he’s already sold on the idea and had begun planning their outing. He’s simply awaiting her response at this point, thumbing over her knee gently while tucking her hair behind her ear, lips poised into that lopsided simper that makes her heart skip and her nerves glitch. How could she possibly find it in herself to say no to him? 

The mortal clears her throat lightly, gnawing into her cheek as she speaks her next words with airy humor. “So is that your official way of asking me out? ‘Cause if so, that’s not enough. You’re gonna have to do better, love.”

Harry hesitates for a split second, but it’s so fast, his friend doesn’t even take notice. He prays he doesn’t grow to regret this decision. 

The boy nods, pursing his mouth into a small smile. 

“I’m sorry, I don't think I heard you? Must be the AC.” 

Harry rolls his eyes grandly at the stolen joke, which is identical to one he had made two weeks ago when he’d come over for their usual adult pastime and had brought a special toy in tow. 

His mood comes out theatrical, accent heavily exaggerated. “Dear fair maiden, would you be so kind as to do me the impeccable honor of allowing me to bask in your presence by attending a luncheon with me, preferably sometime in the near future? Thank you so much for your consideration. Sincerely signed...” The creature takes a pause, proceeding to sing his next words to the tune of a song they are both familiar with, given their interest in the Hamilton play. “Your Obedient Servant, H dot Styles.” 

Y/N explodes into a series of giggles, shaking her head as she reaches up to peck at his grinning lips. 

“It would be my pleasure.” 

[perfeggso]

every fortress falls (AKIRA x NCT)

Please enjoy this anime-kpop crossover for the Lights, Camera, Fanfiction event hosted by @supermwritersnet​! I chose to write for Shotaro and one of my favorite fictional universes ever, Akira’s Neo-Tokyo. If you know Akira, my story will run parallel to the canon plot. If not, I hope you give this a try and enjoy anyway and I highly recommend the source material! <3

If you’re interested, here is my AKIRA playlist. 

Setting of Akira: It has been thirty years since the end of WWIII, begun due to the detonation of an unidentified superweapon known only as “Akira” over Tokyo. The incident and subsequent war decimated the city which was rebuilt into Neo-Tokyo, a corrupt and crime-ridden megalopolis centered on an artificial island in Tokyo Bay.

Characters: Shotaro, Sungchan, Yuta, Akira main characters, other NCT members upcoming. 

Genres: cyberpunk, sci-fi, action/adventure 

Warnings: drug use/abuse, gangs, some swearing, eventual graphic violence

Rating: mature but not explicit 

Chapter length: 1.3k

Chapter 1:

The capsule cradled in Shotaro’s palm is red and white and shiny, like the earrings that Noriko would wear and which, when Shotaro asked, he found out were supposed to look like “blood and come,” respectively. The drone of Tanaka-Sensei’s voice from the front of the classroom barely penetrates the cloak of sullen disruption shielding Shotaro’s wooden amphitheater seat in classroom 12 of the Eighth District Vocational Training School. Even though realistically no one is paying attention, Shotaro tries to hold the pill so that his hand is obscured by his row’s shared desk. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous; Tanaka-Sensei is barely commanding control of the room as he attempts to explain how a carburetor works, the closest kid to Shotaro is reading a girly magazine, and everyone at the school is well aware that you can buy as many of these pills as any broke student could afford from the nurse’s office.

It’s just, Shotaro reasons as the patent-leather-like curves of the capsule glint in the jaundiced combination of natural and fluorescent light, he’s always been a good kid. He doesn’t do things like this – at least that’s what Yuta constantly tells him. He doesn’t buy drugs – no matter how cheap they are – from Kaneda’s girlfriend of all people, and he certainly doesn’t take them. Kaneda, Shotaro has always felt, is inextricably linked to him. For one, Shotaro Kaneda’s family name is the same as Shotaro’s given name (though they use slightly different kanji if anyone ever cared to notice). For another thing, the two boys have known of each other since early childhood, having come up in the same orphanage and school system for boys deemed by the state to be “lacking in future prospects.” (Shotaro doesn’t think this label really applies to him; it’s not his fault he doesn’t really like academics and the one activity he really enjoys – dancing – is far too expensive for him to pursue). For a final, crucial thing, Kaneda is the leader of the Capsules, the rival gang to Yuta’s Clowns. The fact that Kaneda could very literally kill Shotaro’s adoptive brother of sorts any day now understandably precludes him from feeling much of an affinity towards his classmate.

Shotaro has been taunted more times than he can remember for being the “boring” Shotaro. But if skating by under the radar to receive his vocational high school diploma, getting out, and not being sent to Jaws for discipline twice a week is boring to his classmates, Shotaro doesn’t really care.

Well, he didn’t care, until he had gotten to thinking one day last week. It started when he’d found Yuta’s stash of drugs. Yuta tries very hard to keep any evidence of his dependency from his little brother, but he’s not always great at it. Over the years, Shotaro couldn’t help but notice the blissful calm which comes over Yuta when Shotaro has caught him thinking he was taking the stuff in private. Nor could Shotaro help but register the ensuing boost in energy and motivation. It had always made him wonder even if Yuta categorically forbid it and he was good at smothering his curiosity. When Shotaro came to school the next day and mentioned finding Yuta’s pills offhand to Sungchan, the younger boy proved less adept at quashing his hunger for new experiences, and Shotaro had begun to truly let his imagination get the best of him.

“Hey!” The harsh whisper startles Shotaro out of his preoccupation with the look and feel of his capsule, to the extent that he almost blunders and drops it down the five graduated rows of seats below him. But fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, he holds on.

The voice is as familiar as the backseat of Yuta’s motorcycle and coming from the level of seats behind Shotaro, so he turns around. Class has devolved to the point that having a full conversation stage-whisper style is about the least disruptive thing occurring.

Sungchan’s oversized frame and comforting smile loom over Shotaro from above, like a benevolent version of the mechanical surveillance vultures Sungchan had once gushed in horror that the American government was trying to build.

“Did I scare you?” Sungchan asks.

Shotaro fakes a glare at his best friend, but only ends up chuckling.

“How could I be scared by a 185cm walking teddy-bear?”

Sungchan tries to look hurt but giggles right back.

“Did you get the stuff?”

Shotaro nods, angling his hand so Sungchan can see the pill.

“Why were you so late to class?” Shotaro asks, feeling irrational panic nipping at the edges of his mind for the first time all day to suggest that maybe Sungchan was held up because someone caught him with drugs. Shotaro wonders why this thought hadn’t occurred to him earlier, hoping that’s an indication of its ridiculousness.

“I got caught up talking to Sawako in the nurse’s office,” Sungchan explains, and Shotaro relaxes a little. “She was very chatty for some reason and I felt bad. I think she’s lonely. Did you know Kaneda got her pregnant?”

“No, what?” Shotaro makes a face as disapproving as he feels. “That asshole. Of course he wouldn’t use protection. Ugh, anyway. Did you get what you wanted? Everything go smoothly?”

Sungchan pulls a button-size plastic bag from his pocket and displays, not quite covertly enough for Shotaro’s liking but he’ll live, the identical red and white capsule within.

“Perfect.”

“I was thinking,” Sungchan continues, “Sawako said she thinks there’ll be a battle between the Capsules and the Clowns tonight. Should we try to catch some of it?”

Shotaro leans his elbows onto the desk in front of his friend and smiles, indulgent.

“While we’re high for the first time? Sounds like a shitty idea.” Sungchan pouts like Shotaro knew he would, so he adds a “we can feel it out in the moment, though,” because he is a weak man when it comes to Sungchan’s wants and needs. They are both that way towards each other, even when it gets them into trouble. But as Yuta always says, “memorable trouble is worth it”; i.e., if it makes a good story in the future, might as well go for it.

“Yuta would kill me if he found out though,” Shotaro wagers, “and I mean that literally.”

The last class of the day ends as he’s speaking and he and Sungchan make plans for meeting in the evening as they filter out of the musty, chipping paint, brutalist structure which is supposed to pass for a place of learning.

Shotaro finds Yuta where he always does after school: unsheathing his motorcycle in the back parking lot.

Yuta’s bike is a souped-up Honda painted to look like a 1940s bomber. Yuta wears a black leather biking suit he probably slipped on in the men’s room before heading out and pulls a helmet decorated with clown makeup over his black mullet as he greets his little brother, following the exchange by offering a similar helmet to Shotaro.

They hop on and head out onto the streets of Neo-Tokyo. Skyscrapers tower grey in the daytime light what feels like miles above the litter-strewn street and block out the sun. They’re so massive they could probably each hold an entire city’s worth of people, Shotaro reckons, and they move sluggishly in opposition to the trajectory of the bike, like cargo ships trudging against water.

“Good day?” Yuta asks when they stop at an intersection next to Flower Alley Mall.

“Yeah,” Shotaro assures. “Sungchan heard something about a battle tonight? What’s up with that?”

“I don’t want to get into it, but he’s right,” Yuta admits. “But don’t try to tag along or I’ll murder you.”

With that, the light turns and Shotaro grabs hold of Yuta, mumbling “I know” fondly into his shoulder. They zip away like that the rest of the way to their apartment, the capsule burning nuclear in Shotaro’s pocket as he’s left to ponder his next move.

[msmarvelouswinchester]

Love In Sin

Chapter 9

Summary - Special Agent Winchester is forced to go undercover with his frenemy Special Agent L/N when they try to track down a notorious drug dealer. How will Y/N and Dean complete their task? Will their relationship worsen or will new feelings emerge between them?

Pairing - AU!Detective Dean Winchester x Reader

Warning - None, Fluff-ish

Word Count - 1.5k

Square Filled - Clothes Sharing ( @spndeanbingo )

A/N 1 - Surprise, this series lives! So, it has been a loooong time. I wasn't originally planning to post this part today but my college is killing me and I am hardly getting any writing (and reading) done. This was already done and edited so I finally decided to post this today.

A/N 2 - This may seem like a filler chapter but it's not, trust me. It's a very important chapter which plays a crucial part in the next chapters. ENJOY!

Beta'd by the absolute sweetheart @deanwanddamons <3<3

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist

Groaning loudly, Dean dropped his head as you paced around the room, complaining for the hundredth time that night.

“Will you stop?” He grumbled. You came to a halt when you heard his words and turned to look towards him. Throwing a glare his way you continued your pacing .

“Y/N/N, stop it. This isn't going to solve our problem - it'll only annoy the tenants downstairs,” he said and got up from his chair.

“What are we supposed to do? My pacing around is definitely not helping neither is your what, fourth glass of whiskey,” you retorted.

“Third,” Dean said, “this is my third glass and I'm tryin’ to get drunk.”

“We ended up in this situation because we were slacking and this is exactly what we are doing again,” you raised your voice, regretting your decision to stay at Dean’s house with him, “if you won't even try to get out of this situation, I'll be going back to my house tomorrow.”

“You won't stay alone in that house until we catch that son of a bitch,” he said, setting his glass and walking over to you, “it's dangerous.”

You knew it was dangerous considering how the house you had rented in Kansas was destroyed when you had gone back to get your belongings - furniture was thrashed, utensils were broken and clothes were torn, but nothing was stolen. It was clear that Crowley's men were trying to send you a sign to leave their boss alone.

It was Bobby who suggested that staying alone and travelling a few kilometres everyday to discuss the proceedings of the case would be a bad idea since Crowley and Co. were waiting for the perfect opportunity to cause disruption in the case. And knowing how ruthless Crowley could be, murder and kidnapping didn't seem like a far-fetched option for him.

Dean had piped up saying it would be better to stay at his house since he had noticed your house had a weak security system. His other reason was that he had a car, unlike you.

Needless to say, you had reluctantly agreed to stay with the green eyed detective, but deep down inside, you knew that staying with Dean gave you a sense of security and you didn't want to let that go.

“We will figure a way out,” he said, standing a little too close to you.

“How?” You asked the obvious question.

“I have contacted my brother. He will be working as our lawyer to get them to drop the charges. Sammy will be here early morning tomorrow,” he said, removing a stray piece of hair from your face, “but you gotta cool down, sweetheart. Give that pretty little head of yours a little rest.”

“I-I can't. I am freaking out Dean,” you said.

“I know. You have almost bore a hole in the ground by your pacing,” you hit his arm lightly, making him chuckle, “I'm thinkin’ about the case too.”

“Is Sam-will he be able to….this is a critical one,” you mumbled, looking down at the floor.

“I have faith in my brother and he can go to hell and back to save me just like I can. Sammy will do anything to help us. Trust me,” he said, putting a finger under your chin, prompting you to look up at him. He leaned in and placed a kiss on your forehead. This simple act worked like a sedative and you calmed down a bit.

“Join me for a drink,” Dean said and strolled his way back to the couch. You followed him and took a seat beside him. Pouring a drink, he handed you the glass.

“One drink. Only.” You said.

“Alright.”

“Who do you think might be the mole?” you asked, taking a sip of your drink

“It can be anyone. Charlie, Kevin, Bobby, Rufus-”

“Ruby, you,” he nodded, “me.”

“Like I said, it could be anyone,” Dean said.

“Motive?”

“Depends.”

“Do you think we can prove our innocence?” You asked, “the cops kinda caught us red handed and-”

“It's….tough.” Dean said and jumped out of his seat, knocking over the tumbler of ice.

You tilted your head in confusion, furrowing your eyebrows.

“What?” You insisted.

“A few years back, when we were only fledglings in the bureau, Rufus Turner was working Crowley’s case. This information was in the case file that Bobby gave to us. He had arrested two men in his gang but by the time they had got to know about that dick, they had already lost him. He had escaped the feds again,” he explained, flailing his arms all around in excitement.

“Maybe we can find out who those two men were and interrogate them about Crowley,” you said, smiling a little for the first time that night, knowing you had a lead.

“Now all we need is access to those two men's files. FBI is not gonna help us so we have to take matters in our own hands. I’ll call Ash and ask him to find those,” Dean said and ran back to his room to get his phone.

“Ash? What about Charlie?” You asked, when he came back to the room, “And shouldn't you tell Sam first? He is our lawyer and he should be informed about this.”

“It's not like we are gonna interrogate a witness and Ash is a good friend of mine. He is not a fed whereas Charlie works at the bureau and right now we can't trust anyone who works there because we don't know who might be working as a two-faced devil and ratting us out to the God of the Underworld,” Dean said, dialing Ash’s number.

“Ash,” he said when the said man picked up the phone after a few rings.

“Listen, we are kind of in a tricky situation here-oh you heard….not really, we got one week….no it won't….I know you're a busy man, Ash,” Dean said, rolling his eyes, “but we need your help….yeah….the thing is we need access to the old case files related to the drug mafia Crowley….yeah I know that genius….can't you-fine….I owe you one.”

“So?” You asked, hoping for good news.

“Ash will let us know by morning,” he said.

“Can we trust him?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” you reached for the bottle of whiskey.

“What do you think you're doing?” Dean asked, raising his brow.

“Relaxin’,” you shrugged, “you should try to relax sometimes.”

“You think you're such a smartass, huh?” He said and plopped down on the couch beside you, making you giggle.

“Thanks for tonight, Winchester,” you turned towards your friend.

“For what? For helping you calm down when you were running around like a headless chicken?” He smirked.

“Shut up,” you grumbled, “you know what I mean.”

“I'm here for you. We're in this shit together and I promise to get us out of this mess,” he said as you moved closer to him.

“And I have faith in you.” He pulled you closer and kept your head on his shoulder. He hummed in response. You closed your eyes, sighing loudly, but the sweet moment of coziness was interrupted quickly.

Your eyes flew open, “You son of a bitch, Winchester! Way to ruin a moment! How dare you put ice in my sweatshirt?” Dean laughed out loud.

“First of all, that's my sweatshirt you are wearing and you were looking too peaceful with your head on my shoulder,” he laughed.

“Fuck you!” You growled, and hit his arm hard.

“Ow!” He rubbed his arms. Dean effectively dodged your second attack, “woah, easy there tiger.” By now you were laughing too. As your laughter died down, you looked at Dean and saw him smiling softly at you. You blushed furiously under his strong gaze.

“You hungry?” Dean asked, clearing his throat.

“Uh-huh. Kinda forgot about food today until now.” You said, diverting your eyes.

“I'm thinking about ordering pizza. You okay with that?” He asked.

“Sure.” You said.

Half an hour later, as you were enjoying the delicious pizza and watching some crappy tv trying to put a break on the racing thoughts, you heard Dean speak.

“About earlier,” he sighed.

“Oh yeah. You better be sorry Winchester,” you gave him an annoyed look.

“No, I'm not sorry for that. It was fun,” he laughed.

“No it wasn't,” you said, but failed to hide the smile threatening to take over your face.

“It made you smile,” he pointed out.

“Fine, you're forgiven,” you said as Dean gave you a cheeky grin.

“In all seriousness, what I said earlier, I meant it. I promise to get us out of this mess,” he said, leaning down to give you a chaste kiss on your cheek, your skin tingling with an unknown sensation.

“I know,” you said, “I think I should go to bed now. We have a long day ahead of us.” Dean nodded as you got up and made your way over to his guest room.

Let me know if you want to be tagged in the series!

Feedback is highly appreciated!

[flying-nightwing]

Act IV: The Finale

Hi people! Finally the last part of this short serie! Honestly I had no expactation for it but I think it might slither into my all time favourite things I’ve written. I won’t lie, I think I’m in love with this last chapter. I feel like it’s the part we really understand both characters and their motivations in relation to each other. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! 

Edit: I realize I have kept this gender neutral! so I change it on the infos on the first part and this one

Parts 1-3 in Masterlist!

Pairing: Tim Drake x gender neutral reader

Word count: 3456

Warnings: language, mention of violence (non-graphic)

“... And this is why I have taken the decision to repeal the vigilante act. All measures taken by the city and GCPD to collaborate with vigilantes on the matters listed are to be repelled at this instant. We will no longer tolerate criminals telling us how to protect our city and all arrest mandates out for vigilantes are to be reactivated--”

Tim passed a hand in his face after Bruce turned off the TV. There was some serious tensions going on in the batcave, especially after this gruesome live tape of the mayor, visibly held hostage in some kind of basement, delivered the new order to cancel all the work they had achieved to at least stop the cops from trying to hunt them down instead of focusing on actual crime. 

The first thing he had done once he came back to the cave was to research you in any database he could hack into. He started in the state registry, knowing you had told him you had been an orphan. He had no idea what was a lie and what wasn’t in what you had told him, but that was apparently true. The picture attached was a younger version of you, that was clear, but any update on your whereabouts stopped at age 11. Then, he tried to look for a driver’s license, passeport, any ID documents you could have. He also hit a dead end with that too, so he looked into less savory types of repertories. 

He finally found you in the mercenary databases, with a clear, recent picture and your… Impressive record. As he scrolled down your list of confirmed hits, he felt his stomach sink further and further. Marco Rizzo, the philanthropist, the kidnapped mayor, and it went on and on. What truly put him on the floor, however, was to see your credentials. You were Falcone’s main gun and you had trained under various mentors including Slade Wilson, out of all people.

You were the real deal and he had let himself fall for you, hard.

He felt stupid now. Did you even know who he was at night? Had you gone to him to throw him off your scent? Even after discovering all of this about you, a part of him still hoped you had no clue. It would hurt less to know it was a coincidence you bumped into each other rather than a calculated move from you. 

“So… Your date uh?”

Tim cringed when Bruce spoke up. It was even worse to hear it out loud. 

“I don’t wanna hear it” He mumbled, keeping his eyes dead set on the wall. He knew he had acted irresponsibly, he knew he should have seen the signs sooner, he knew he should have remained alert and not let himself be charmed by you, or let himself be sidetracked from his mission. It was a rookie mistake. 

“Talk about sleeping with the enemy” Damian snorted from behind them. Tim turned around, glaring at him. He was sitting in a computer chair, casually eating noodles with chopsticks and watching the exchange like it was a movie. Of course, the demon had spied on the conversation.

“Damian!”

“What?” He looked at Bruce, shrugging nonchalantly.

Bruce sighed, shaking his head. He returned his attention to Tim again. “What do you want to do now?”

Tim didn’t reply straight away. He was conflicted, angry, sad, disappointed; he had rarely felt such a cocktail of emotions like that. On one hand, he wanted to wallow in self pity. It seemed like the one thing left to do, as life finally sent someone he could see himself get with but made them the exact opposite of what he stood for. But he couldn’t, he had to put a stop to this madness. He had to confront you. 

“We’ll need to set a trap” He finally spoke, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “A contract that can’t be refused, draw them out. I’ll take care of it, it’ll be better that way”

“Are you sure you’ll be up to it?”

“Yes” Tim snapped, and Bruce took a careful step back. “I won’t be fooled twice. I can do it”

“Alright, just making sure” Bruce wasn’t convinced, but he still trusted his son. He knew he'd do the right thing if push came to shove. “What did you have in mind?”

Tim took a deep breath. “50 millions for a bullet in Bruce Wayne’s head”

---

It was too good to be true, and your suspicions of foul play were confirmed when your eyes spotted the red and black sticking out of the grim portrait of Gotham’s roof tops.

You knew something was up when you were offered a 50 millions solo contract. You usually went out for 15 millions for high profile targets, but curiosity got the best of you. The only thought of potentially pocketing that much money was enough of a motivation for you to at least find out what was up. But now, it was clear it was a set up as Red Robin himself was waiting for you. It was too bad for the money, but the prospect of facing a real Gotham vigilante for the first time was exciting. 

“I’ve beaten you twice already” You smirked. “You called me for a third?”

A scowl set on his masked face. “Trust me, there won’t be a third” He spoke up in a gravelling voice. “Either you come with me here and now, or we do this the hard way”

“Oh, now you’ve got me interested” You teased as you circled him. “Do tell me more about this hard way of yours”

He deployed his staff. Your eyebrows raised at his challenge. “You’re arrogant” He stated. He wasn’t wrong. “It’s gonna be your downfall”

“... Or not” You shrugged, not stopping your assessment of him. “Still waiting on the monologue detailing your plan to stop me, by the way”

“There isn’t one”

He lunged. He did it so quickly and smoothly you almost didn’t see him move. Your reflexes allowed you to roll out of the way just in time, and the way the staff collided with the cement told you it wouldn’t have been a long fight if that had hit its intended target: you. You looked at him and you regained your footing, reevaluating the situation. You were skilled, but you doubted it would be enough to go toes to toes with Red Robin, now that you had had a glimpse of what he could actually do.

You raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Catch me if you can”

Before he could process your world, you turned around and jumped off the building, landing on the roof a dozens of feet lower. You didn’t waste time taking off, knowing he would be right behind you. You ran across the rooftop and leaped off the ledge and above the alley to grab onto the fire exit on the next building over. You hurried to climb it, ending up on yet another rooftop. You ran alongside the pool and jumped over the tables, kicking them back to try and slow down Red Robin, who was little by little gaining on you. Fuck, he’s fast, you thought. You weren’t even tempting to look back, but you knew with the sound of his footsteps alone. 

You hadn’t planned on him being able to follow you that easily, not even cursing behind you as you took another jump over a considerable gap between buildings. You were fast, faster than most. Making exits had always been your strong suit, whether it was on foot, by car or otherwise. However, the only times you had faced him were when you had a rocket launcher as a deterrent or when you were driving an actual race car. Now that the field was levelled, you didn’t have the advantage anymore. You knew you wouldn’t be able to outrun him if you kept going on that way, so you had to change your strategy.

You took a sharp turn to the left and grabbed a clothesline, pulling out a knife from your belt and severing in behind your grip. You took a good running start and let yourself fall on the building on the other side of the street, pausing to glance at Red Robin standing where you had just been seconds ago. He was trying to find another way to cross, but there was none and even he couldn’t make that jump. You gave him a wave and a wink before taking off again. However, on the corner of your eyes, you still could see him tracking you relentlessly, not letting you get away so easily. 

You jumped over an alley, and instead of landing on the next roof, you aimed for the first balcony from the top. With your shoulder first and your head tucked in, you went straight through the sliding door window and rolled on the landing to smooth your fall. You glanced beside you at the terrified man in his underwear who was cowering on the couch and looked behind you, shrugging.

“Sorry for the mess” You didn’t wait until he replied to walk out the apartment. You jogged down the stairs, knowing Red Robin would have lost your trace now. Or so you thought.

You halted your steps when you noticed him waiting at the bottom of the staircase and leaning on the rail with a nonchalant expression, like it had been easy to predict you would come out that way. He returned the little sarcastic wave you had given him minutes earlier, making your face fall. You turned around and climbed back the steps back to the first floor, barging in and running across the hallway until you reached the window at the end. You took the time to open this one, seeing as he had not yet reached the floor. You slipped through it and climbed down the wall to land into the back alley. You were about to head for the streets when an already too familiar red and black figure blocked your way.

You took off in the opposite direction, well, until you came face to face with a brick wall. There was nothing to climb onto, no fire exit to use, no way to get away. You closed your eyes and cursed under your breath as footsteps reached you. He wasn’t in a hurry, his pace was tauntingly slow and confident he had you trapped. You recomposed yourself before turning around to face him.

“You forced me to make a mistake” You stated with a sigh. “Impressive”

“Told you” He said, taking a step toward you. “Arrogance did end up being your downfall”

“I don’t suppose we could have a rematch, uh?” You tried, smiling coyly. “That staff didn’t seem such a bad idea in hindsight”

“If you thought you could win then, you wouldn’t have dragged me into this pointless chase” He scoffed, and your eyebrows raised. He was right, but damn. “Unless you want a beating at that too”

“Ouch” You chuckled. “That really hurts my pride”

“Good” He smirked. “Now that you know you won’t get away from this one, just do the logical thing and surrender. There’s nowhere to go”

You held eye contact for a moment before slowly raising your hands. “Alright” You complied with a nod. “You earned that one”

He took careful steps toward you, alert to whatever quick move you would do. But you could recognize when you were beaten, so you didn’t plan any surprise move. Getting caught by a vigilante was an eventuality, even you knew you wouldn’t escape them forever. You just didn’t think it would have been this soon. He grabbed your wrists, and once he was sure he had you solidly enough, he twisted your arm behind you and pushed you rather roughly into the brick wall.

“Woah there champion” You coughed out in surprise. “I feel that spark between us, I really do, and I admit I am partially to blame for it, but I’m kinda seeing someone? And I’m really into him so if you could just. Stop manhandling me that way, that’d be great”

You felt him take a considerable step backward, and his grip on your arm dropped. You frowned, carefully turning around to face him. You didn’t understand why he had let you go, and his blush combined with his bewildered expression only made you more confused.

“Okay, what is going on, now?” You asked, not taking your eyes off him. It was like he was a completely different person now, and you couldn’t point out exactly why it was suddenly so familiar. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, jeez”

“I’m not” He defended too quickly, his voice wavering. Your eyes squinted even more as you took one step forward. He didn’t move, it was like he was frozen in place. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over for you”

“Uh” You took another step, and he squared up, trying to cover the fact he had totally lost his edge over you. You could have made a run for it, you knew it would have been ridiculously easy at that moment to evade him, but something held you back. You scrutinized him, your head tilting to the side. He gulped, and suddenly it all pieced together. That reaction to your flirting, you knew it all too well. Your eyes widened, before you gave him a sympathetic smile. “You know, while this mask does suit you, I prefer to see your eyes, handsome”

His muscles tensed for a second or two, but his shoulder sagged soon after. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “How long have you known?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean, how long?” You asked. “Thirty five seconds ago”

“You didn’t know before?”

“Uh, no” You replied. “What does it matter?”

“You… You didn’t go on a date with me to distract me from your trail?”

“No, I went on a date with you because I like you?” You raised an eyebrow. “I would have been way more careful with my lies if I had known, fuck I was so obvious, no wonder you figured it out. Besides, I just told you I’m really into you--”

You were surprised by the sudden movement of his arm that sneaked behind your neck and brought you flush against his lips. Okay then. You returned the kiss without hesitation holding on to his shoulders under the sheer force he was applying against you. It was a lot different from the shy boy you had met at the racetrack, but then again, he was Red Robin right now, more so than Tim Drake. You could have never connected the two if it hadn’t been from your flirting from up close. Before you knew, he tore himself from you and jumped back like you were actual fire, cursing under his breath. You blinked slowly at his sudden absence from your immediate vicinity, then rolled your eyes. Dramatic much?

“What is it now?”

“You’re still a criminal” Now he refused to meet your eyes. 

“Are you-- Is this because of what happened in the alley the other day?” You sighed, throwing your hands up before letting them fall back and slap on the side of your thighs. “I’m sorry, okay? I wouldn’t have ran you into the garbage pile if I had known it was you. And I wouldn’t have threatened you with a rocket launcher either-- Shit okay I see your point, I’m really sorry about that too”

“No!” He yelled. “I mean, yeah, kind of. But you kill people for a living, I can’t--”

“What does it change?” You asked. “You liked me before you found out. You were about to hand me to the police, I still like you! In fact, if you could ram me into the wall once again like you just did, I wouldn’t--”

“Please stop talking”

You grinned. “Does it turn you on?”

“Y-No” He replied, correcting himself last second. You raised a subjective eyebrow. “Stop that”

“Stop what?” You asked innocently. “I’m just saying it’s on the table. If I had known it was you when you did it, I would have enjoyed it so you’re welcome to do it again”

“Do you ever stop flirting?” He deadpanned. He crossed his arms against his chest, but it definitely didn’t have the intended effect. Instead, you just checked him out even more, since his muscles were very well defined in that suit. You liked it.

“With you? Not a chance, handsome”

And here came the blush again. He looked away and gulped, ignoring your self satisfied smile. You could do that all day and never get bored of it. Still, you regained a somewhat serious expression for the conversation that was inevitably coming.

“So now what?” You spoke up. “You give me to the cops? We pretend nothing happened between us? Because I’ll be honest with you, I don’t want that. I meant it when I said I liked you”

“My job is to stop crime, and the people who commit it” He began with a sigh. “I just can’t ignore the fact that you are one of the bad guy”

“That’s valid” You nodded slowly. “But this is just a job. I don’t do it for the power trip of taking people out, I do it because I’m good at it, and because I like the money that comes with it. Although, I’ll admit I do enjoy making dramatic exits from time to time--all the time”

Tim snorted. Of course you liked your exit, that had been obvious from the start. But even if he did not agree with your job, or with the lack of morals that came with it, he had to recognize the difference between you and the typical Gotham criminal. From what he had found out so far about you, you never caused casualties in any of your contracts. You always kept the mess to a minimum. You were a far cry from the Joker or Poison Ivy, for that matter.

Even if you couldn’t see his eyes clearly, you could just see the gears turning in his head. Would it be so bad if he let you go? What if he kept seeing you? He could agree with you on one thing: behind his reluctance because of your job, he really didn’t want to pretend nothing happened. He liked you a lot, and it absolutely frustrated him that the one god sent person he instantly clicked with was on the other side of his moral spectrum. 

“Tell me” You said softly, bringing back his attention to you. “If you had never found out about my job, would you have asked me on a second date?”

“Yes” He didn’t hesitate in his answer. It was like you could read his mind, reminding him of how well you fit together. He wanted both to scream and to kiss you again. 

You took a deep breath, letting him think some more. You could very much suspect the news of your activities was harder on him than his were on you, so you understood the need to let him a little space while he figured it all out. You had half expected him to go ahead with his initial plan though, so you prepared yourself mentally for him eventually binding your wrists and dragging you to the nearest precinct. 

That’s probably why you were surprised when he took a step aside, no longer blocking you from leaving. You didn’t move, only stared at him.

“I won’t give you a free pass if I catch you doing shady stuff” He sighed, gesturing to the exit of the alley. “ But for this time, I guess I’ll see you next time you do something stupid”

“Not before?” You raised an eyebrow. The corner of his lips slightly lifted.

“Maybe before”

“Is that a yes on the second date?” You asked, hopeful. “7:30 next Friday at that lobster place you mentioned?”

“Will you be working that night?”

“I won’t!” You hurried to confirm. “I swear I won’t”

He let out a long sigh like he was reconsidering his entire life. “What the hell, sure”

“Great!” You grinned wide, stealing a quick kiss on his lips. 

“Go, now” He ordered, gaining back his more authoritative vigilante voice. Oof, that was hot, you thought, but you kept it to yourself for once. “Before I change my mind”

“See you on Friday, handsome!”

He watched you run out of the alley, finding himself suddenly excited at the prospect of seeing you again, whether it would be as Red Robin or as himself on a date with you.

[genshin-djinn]

genshin impact: how I feel so far

I’ve just finished the prologue! Here are all of my thoughts on Genshin Impact thus far presented in a very confusing and non- linear manner.

My first and most resounding opinion on this game is that it’s amazing. The graphics are insane— the lighting, the weather, clouds passing by. All of the characters have designs so ridiculous it’s hard for me to draw them and it makes me feel like the game is just flaunting the flawless animation of all these characters’ extremely convoluted designs.

places

I love the locations sO mUCH. My favorite places so far are the two major cities— Mondstadt is just so cheery and fits the vibe of the early game (by early game I mean the dvalin quest line). It’s presented as large but in a very linear manner that you learn quite quickly. It has plenty of places to buy stuff from and just genuinely feels like a cheerful, bustling, fantasy city. fantastic and I’m in love. Liyue Harbor is presented in a completely different architectural style and it’s excellent. Mondstadt makes me feel safe, Liyue Harbor makes me feel like I’m in a wild metropolitan center.

And importantly, both of these cities feel genuinely alive. All the romantic hullabaloo in Mondstadt, Yi Zhu trying to cheer up his little sister Yi Xian after their mother’s death, the mysterious locked door in Mondstadt, Anna making wishes to recover from her illness at the well and her brother going there at night to collect all the coins so he can pay for her medication.

Besides the main cities my other favorite location has been Qingce village. The walk over to it is very nice and the town has an incredible vibe with the scale- like terraced fields. And even beyond that, the town is filled with old citizens and children— showing how all of the young adults in the town have left and decided to try to find a new and more exciting life in Liyue Harbor.

I’m having a hard time thinking of something I don’t like about the locations and honestly I’m drawing a blank. I really love all the set design/ map design. I know I will never finish that “collect every geoculus and anemoculus” quest because that’s just not the kind of dedication I have to this game (unless I get really stuck at an adventure level, though.... then things are a wild card.)

adventure ranks

this is my biggest problem with Genshin Impact.

You can’t progress the main quest (which honestly I enjoy more than a lot of the side quest because of my sheer attachment to these characters and their stories, which I’ll talk more about later) until you hit a certain adventure rank. And it’s a real pain getting them. I’m the type of person who gets freaked out when fighting a level 1 ruin guard with a set of level 39 characters and an inventory full of honey chickens. I do sometimes go into this state of bloodlust when fighting hillichurls and I feel like actually seeking out their camps to return them to dust myself but then I find one of them dudes with a shield and remember that my one pyro unit is amber and uhh.... that feeling goes away real fast.

I hope that the game does what they did with adventure ranks 18-20 more often— my next quest in Liyue is locked until rank 23 (I am not looking forward to increasing my world level can I please just play on easy difficulty until forever) but I get this cool new Darknight Hero quest that I’ve been looking forward to to tide me over until I hit level 21 and can go on another bookworm date with Lisa. Yes, spacing out the main quest line is okay, but I really like having a lot of side quests in between as well so I can gain adventure ranks organically rather than specifically hunting for geo/ anemoculi.

characters

I love the characters in this game maybe as much as I love the locations in this game. Maybe more.

My favorite character is Kaeya because I am a sap for antiheroes with attitude problems. More on him later.

I’ve also become very attached to Amber. She’s just such a positive soul and she so genuinely wants to do what’s right and she’s so useful for lighting things on fire which is something I do not have any other character to do (holding out for Xiangling at level 20....). But she’s just not a great character fighting wise. She takes a while to load arrows and they aren’t super useful compared to any of the other seven characters I own. But she can light stuff on fire and I don’t have anyone else to do that so she must remain on my team for the time being.

next up is Lisa. I like Lisa. I know she’s there for the perverts who want to see anime women’s chests but I genuinely do like her. Her personality is, well, very different from all the other characters’ and I kind of like her constant over the top- ness. Her ability is useful but I switched her out for Chongyun in my team and I can’t bring myself to get rid of Aether or Kaeya yet.

I rolled Xingqiu, Beidou, and Noelle but haven’t used them much. All I know about them is “water bookworm young master whos closet good at fighting”, “pirate who stopped me from getting that fecking file folder I was trying to get”, and “maid whose voice I like in the english and Japanese version”. (Side note, I mainly use the Japanese voiceovers because I prefer them. Downside is I sometimes can’t understand a word the characters are saying but it’s worth it for the voice actors)

I also got Chongyun who seems like a nice boy. I rolled him after I started playing with Japanese voiceovers, though, so I don’t understand most of his idle dialogue. All I really know about him is that he’s super positive and he loves ice cream and that’s good enough for me

Next up is my somewhat problematic fave Kaeya. It’s morally bad that you can’t tell whether he’s lying or telling the truth but all it does is make me like him better as a character. I can 100% see why he’s paired up with Jean and Amber as the most visible characters in power in the Knights of Favonius— they all sort of fulfill different roles. I really want to see more of him in the main plot, not when he’s lying about his grandpa hiding pirate treasure. Also we know nothing about his real motivations and actual past besides “diluc’s step brother, maybe like saw diluc kill his dad or like saw diluc upset after his dad was killed wE dOnT kNow”. and I want to know.

Can’t talk about Kaeya without talkin about his bro Diluc. I can’t wait to see him in this next quest line. I really want Diluc on my team. Same with Jean. That is all.

Penultimately I’m gonna talk about my personal favorite god of freedom whose powers just got stolen, maybe god, definite good bard Venti. I really like Venti. He’s got a lot of charm and he just fits perfectly as the easygoing free god of Mondstadt. I started yelling when that signora gal nabbed him. don’t worry venti we will kill her for you

Annnnd finally here’s my opinions on Aether (I chose him to be my protagonist) and Lumine (the Princess, I think). I do kinda enjoy them. They’re a bit of the typical blank protagonist type (can be sassy, can be cruel, can be honest, can be kind) but Lumine’s dark turn is just fascinating and I want to learn more about their relationship and how it’s changed since they were separated. Where even is Lumine? What will Aether do when he learns that his entire purpose in life has been in charge of the ones who’ve been hurting his new friends? It sounds like a fascinating situation.

(also Venti refers to Lumine as Aether’s “imouto”/ little sister— does he call Aether Lumine’s “otouto”/ little brother if you chose Lumine as your protag? which twin is older? is it determined by your choice of protagonist? hmmm)

least favorite things

Besides my problems with adventure rank, I have two other main issues with Genshin Impact.

Firstly, basically all of the female characters are dressed in outfits that seem designed to show as much skin as possible.

annnd secondly it’s extremely difficult to roll five star characters (Jean, Venti, Diluc) without paying money. this is a good way for the company to make cash but it’s also kind of annoying.

wrap- up

Ok! Those are all my main thoughts for now, at the end of the prologue and before chapter 1! I’m off to play the darknight hero quest (probably gonna post some of my mishaps here too). also I want more primogems we should be able to pet dogs npcs excitement bye

[girlsbtrs]

My Senior Soundtrack - Playlist

Written by Jen Moglia. Graphic by Allison Thompson. 

At the end of this month, I’ll finally be graduating high school. Typing that sentence definitely felt surreal. 

Years and years of hard work and stress, with some not-so-bad times mixed in, will culminate in the moment I’ve been waiting for for as long as I can remember. I had been told countless times that senior year would be easy and that high school would consist of the best years of my life, and while I did enjoy a lot of it, there were also some incredibly difficult times, especially this year. 

What follows is a list of songs that got me through some of those darker moments. I hope that they can be there for you too. 

“Roses” - Watsky

Favorite Lyric: “Leaving is supposed to be hard / Man, I thought it so was selfish of people I love to keep falling out of my life / But now I know / No, I don't take it personal”

This was a song that I connected with a lot when making decisions for college - did I want to move away and start a new adventure on my own, or did I want to stay home with all the people and places that I knew and loved? Listening to these lyrics helped me feel better about my decision to move away for school, learning that I wasn’t selfish for wanting to start fresh.

“Never Grow Up” - Taylor Swift

Favorite Lyric: “And you can't wait to move out someday and call your own shots / But don't make her drop you off around the block / Remember that she's gettin' older too / And don't lose the way that you dance / Around in your PJs getting ready for school”

Taylor Swift is one of my favorite artists of all time, and this song has been hitting particularly hard for me lately. For as much as I can’t wait to start this next chapter of my life, there’s so much about home and my family that I’ll miss more than they will ever know.

“Boston” - Augustana

Favorite Lyric: “She said ‘I think I'll go to Boston / I think I'll start a new life / I think I'll start it over / Where no one knows my name’”

Augustana’s most popular song, I listened to this track a ton when I was first starting high school, dreaming of running away someday. The fact that that day is almost here is crazy to me.

“Swim” - Jack’s Mannequin

Favorite Lyric: “You gotta swim, swim in the dark / There's no shame in drifting / Feel the tide shifting and wait for the spark / Yeah, you gotta swim, don't let yourself sink / Just find the horizon / I promise you, it's not as far as you think”

Another song that I loved in my late middle school/early high school years, this band and all of Andrew McMahon’s projects in general have been staples in my Spotify library for years. This track in particular served as motivation for me to keep going during hard times.

“North Hansen” - Bearings

Favorite Lyric: “I've got dreams, I've got needs / I've got things I believe / That I just can not let go / I still, think about you every single day / I still miss that old North Hansen Home / Sometimes I wanna go home / All I'm saying is the ending scares me every time / Your words replaying / Over and over I save them in my mind / Now I'm grabbing a hold / Of what's about to unfold”

On the flip side, Bearings has been a huge part of the last few years of my high school experience; their 2019 tour with Grayscale, Belmont, and Rich People was the first tour I ever did multiple dates of, and those days and nights I spent traveling and singing my heart out truly changed my life. I leaned on this band’s entire discography during my junior and senior year, but this song specifically reminded me that it’s okay to be scared of leaving home as the future approaches.

“Ribs” - Lorde

Favorite Lyric: “This dream isn't feeling sweet / We're reeling through the midnight streets / And I've never felt more alone / It feels so scary getting old / I want 'em back / The minds we had / How all the thoughts / Moved 'round our heads”

How could I make a “coming of age” playlist without this song on it? Lorde has been a big part of my life for a while now - her hit song “Royals” was the ringtone on my first Smartphone in fifth grade, and I saw her live for the first time on the night before my 15th birthday on her Melodrama World Tour in Brooklyn, New York. Much like the last song, this track perfectly captures the fear of the future and getting older.

“Atlantic” - Grayscale

Favorite Lyric: “This place feels more and more like nowhere to me / I'm sick of waiting for a fire to ignite / I could just leave here without a goodbye / I'll burn down this bridge / And set my life up in smoke...I want to go / Run from this panic / I need the unknown”

As I mentioned earlier, attending four dates of Grayscale’s Nella Vita Part One Tour and six dates of the album cycle in total (bringing me to a grand total of ten times seeing this band) was a formative experience for me. Getting to end every night screaming the lyrics to this song, once again, dreaming of starting a new life as soon as I could, was cathartic.

“City Lights” - Emblem 3

Favorite Lyric: “Caught up in those pretty city lights / Wishing on a star for your direction / Thinking of a new and different life / Babe, I know this one ain't what you've been dreaming”

I choreographed my “senior solo” in my dance class to this song, one of my favorites for many years. Although I have a feeling it’s about someone moving thousands of miles away to chase dreams of stardom rather than moving two hours away to attend college, it certainly served as a source of comfort for me.

“Play” - Rich People

Favorite Lyric: “Because I know I'm beautiful enough / For someone to love / I don't know many things / But I feel everything / And I'm just too young to give up”

Rich People is my favorite band of all time, which you probably already know if you follow me on social media, and getting to watch them perform and connect with them was a major part of why following the Nella Vita Part One Tour was so pivotal for me. This song is my favorite off of their most recent album “Harmony”, and my graduation cap will have these lyrics in frontman Rob Rich’s handwriting on it later this month. This band and this song mean everything to me.

“Dream Envy” - Rich People

Favorite Lyric: “It's no way to live / Sitting on the fence asking myself ‘what if?’”

Another Rich People song, no surprise here, this is one of my favorites from their first release, “Jacob’s Ladder.” It reminded me that “sitting on the fence asking myself ‘what if?’”, is, indeed, no way to live, and it pushed me to make definitive decisions, leaving no stone unturned.

“Something Bigger Than This” - Trophy Eyes

Favorite Lyric: “I'm still flying through my twenties / Waiting for someone to say I made it / Golden boy, tiny paycheck / Big ideas and broken heartstrings / Waking up in the same old skin / It ain't easy to believe / We were born for something bigger than this / It don't make much sense right now / But it will all come together when the lights go out”

I saw Trophy Eyes live for the first time at the start of my sophomore year at the Stereo Garden in Patchogue, New York, leaving my last-period algebra class early to attend their show with Neck Deep, WSTR, and Stand Atlantic (sorry, Ms. Sloane). Their music has resonated deeply with me since then, and this song has especially been a huge source of motivation for me when I was feeling down about myself.

“Forevermore” - The Maine

Favorite Lyric: “Never really ever felt this type of vulnerable / Don't have to hide, don't have to fear / All you have to be is here...And I said, ‘I wanna feel like this forever’ / Even if forever's just for now / We're on fire, let us burn / As the outside world, it turns / We are here and alive / In our corner of time / Forevermore”

The Maine is another band that I feel has been here for me for as long as I can remember, remaining in my daily rotation since the summer before high school started. This song, off their most recent album “You Are OK”, has reminded me that wherever I am is exactly where I need to be at that point in time and to embrace every single moment.

“Flowers on the Grave” - The Maine

Favorite Lyric: “Feel the moment all around you / And the quiet that surrounds you / The time you have is sacred / Don't wait around and waste it / They can't take that away from you / Everything is temporary / Even the sorrow that you carry...'Cause you don't plan life, you live it / You don't take love, you give it / You can't change what is written / So when fate cries, you listen / And flowers on the grave / Of the child that I used to be”

The first time that I saw The Maine was at the New York City date of their “The Mirror” tour at Webster Hall. When they closed with this song, I was near inconsolable; my friends were practically passing me around to hug me and make sure I was alright. Similar to the last song, this track reminds me to live life to the fullest and not take anything for granted, not wasting any time mourning the past and only looking towards the future.

“Old Book” - Real Friends

Favorite Lyric: “It really weirds me out / Because I never thought I'd be where I am today...This isn’t where I want to be / Getting older scares the shit out of me”

On the topic of bands that were constants for me in my formative years, Real Friends was one of the first pop-punk bands that I truly loved. I wore a shirt with their “The Home Inside My Head” album cover on it on my first day of high school, and their 2018 show with Eat Your Heart Out, Grayscale, and Boston Manor at Irving Plaza in New York City was one of my first real general admission concerts; I don’t think I’d be where I am today if I didn’t go to that show. This song  always served as a reminder that I wasn’t alone in my worries about the future, and that it would all be okay, even if I didn’t know what I was doing or where I was going.

“Satellite” - Rise Against

Favorite Lyric: “We'll come clean and start over / The rest of our lives / When we're gone, we'll stay gone / Out of sight, out of mind / It's not too late, we have the rest of our lives...This is a life that you can’t deny us now”

Four years ago this week, I saw Rise Against for the first time, opening for Deftones at Jones Beach in Wantagh, New York with my dad; at the end of July, I’ll get to see them kick off their latest tour at Pier 17 in New York City with one of my best friends. If that isn’t a full-circle moment, I don’t know what is. Rise Against is one of my favorite bands of all time, and their music has always made me feel strengthened and empowered. This song specifically inspired me to reclaim my own life, not letting anyone else determine the outcome and my mindset but myself - it’s also the perfect angsty soundtrack to a fresh start.

“Something Special” - A Will Away

Favorite Lyric: “‘Pull out your clothes / You're made for something special’ / If that's what it takes to get you out of bed / You think you're meant for California / But that's just in your head / I saw you howling at the street lights / Pressed against the skin you want to shed / You tore down all the walls for answers / And found this shit instead...Don't let the poison that surrounds you / Stifle out the life you want to live / Please know it truly doesn't matter / And truly never did”

Though I’ve been listening to them since my sophomore year of high school, A Will Away is a band that I really got into this year as a senior. “Something Special” is my favorite song off of their album “Here Again”, and while I know it wasn’t written about finding friends that feel like family, rejecting negativity, and starting a new chapter, that’s certainly what it’s about for me.

“Lead Balloon” - Vanna

Favorite Lyric: “This isn't how we die / You're not reading the ending right / You are meant for greatness / Open up your eyes and face it / Now to your feet and follow me / The road is hard but you're harder / Can't you feel your heartbeat starting?...You're weak but you can feel now / Your soul slowly getting out / You are so strong / And you'll have to carry on now / Cause I know that you know how”

Vanna’s “All Hell” was an album I discovered around this time last year, and I listened to it non-stop for all of summer 2020. It became one of my favorite records ever (and not just because of the pink aesthetic, though I do appreciate the use of my favorite color). When I was struggling a lot during the first few months of the COVID-19 pandemic in more ways than I could count, this song really helped me through, these lyrics in particular. It gave me hope that I’d make it to the end of my senior year celebrating, which, thankfully, I did.

“Give Yourself A Try” - The 1975

Favorite Lyric: “Won’t you give yourself a try?”

While the lyrics of this song are a bit odd, frankly pessimistic, and hard for a teenager to relate to, its catchy, more optimistic chorus served as a mantra for me throughout my last few years of high school. If I couldn’t take a chance on myself, why would anyone else want to? This song’s refrain sparked a ton of self-love in me, and I spent many nights dancing around to it in my bedroom. Also, I couldn’t leave this band off of this list - I’ve been listening to them since their self-titled LPs came out when I was 10 years old, and the album that this song is off of, “A Brief Inquiry Into Online Relationships”, is one of my favorite records of all time.

“Garden Song” - Phoebe Bridgers

Favorite Lyric: “I don't know how, but I'm taller / It must be something in the water / Everything's growing in our garden...She told me my resentment's getting smaller / No, I'm not afraid of hard work / I get everything I want”

Much like A Will Away, Phoebe Bridgers is an artist that I had known of and had recommended to me for years, but I only really started listening to her as a senior in high school. “Kyoto” and “Would You Rather” are probably my favorites by her, but this song, along with “It’ll All Work Out”, helped me through feeling scared for the future and wondering how I grew up so quickly.

“Growing Up” - The Maine

Favorite Lyric: “We'll never lose what we had...Growing up won't bring us down / Graduate, what's a kid to do now? / Get away, yeah / We've got so much to prove / 'Cause it's time to move on / And I start to let go...We're in this together / Yeah, we'll make it somehow / Nothing's gonna stop us now”

Finally, to close it out, one more song by one of my favorite bands ever, and one of the bands that carried me throughout my senior year, as well as all of my high school years. I had to include this one - my graduation pictures were captioned “graduate, what’s a kid to do now?” At its core, this is a song about holding on to childlike energy and teenage memories despite growing up and moving on. Every time I listen to it (which has been a lot, lately), I’m reminded that I have the best friends in the world who have given me some of the happiest years of my life, and that doesn’t have to end just because we’re getting older. “Growing up won’t bring us down.”

For more songs like this, you can follow my Spotify playlist titled “senioritis” here. 

Congratulations to everyone who is celebrating this month, whatever you might be graduating from!

[bluebellravenbooks]

The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern

I have finally finished The Starless Sea and have quite a lot of thoughts about this one... It took me a while to get through it, mostly because of everything else going on in the world and in life, but I don't mind that - in fact, I like the familiar of a long book that you enjoy and dive into day after day.

Although I talk about books a lot, I'm new to writing reviews, so I'm still polishing off the structure (yes I even decided to be extra and make a header). Feedback appreciated!

My rating (?/5): ⭐⭐⭐⭐ (for me the book oscillated wildly between 3 and 5+, so I guess this is the average 😄)

What's going on: Zachary Ezra Rawlins is a son of a fortune-teller, a grad student and a book lover. One day he stumbles upon an unusual book in the library which pulls him out of imaginary adventures and into a real one. Fairy tales, myths and legends intertwine into plotlines that all lead into a phantasmagorical underground library populated with people, cats, owls, the Moon and Time and Fate themselves. And Zachary is there for a reason...

What I liked:

The imagery is so fantastical and so richly described that I could feel my brain rerouting extra power to graphics processing. Reading an Erin Morgenstern novel is an excercise in visual imagination

Complex mythology and many repetitive symbols and motifs - it feels like there is too much of it, but it works

A great cast of characters, main and secondary alike

A pretty hardcover edition - normally I prefer paperbacks, but this one really went all out

What I didn't like:

Chapters alternate between the main narrative and tales that sort of explain the history and background of the whole story; these tales are written in a high dream-like style, and it just didn't work for me. The Night Circus pulled it off no problem, but this type of writing has to be absorbing. Diving into it every other chapter is just a stylistic contrast shower that I didn't enjoy (thus the comment about the rating). That said, the tales are not purely decorative, they play a role in the overall plot, and all of it takes up a quicker pace in the second half of the book

The sort-of antagonist seemed very two-dimentional and cliché at first meeting. Later this person is provided with lots of backstory and motivation, but the sour taste of the first impression remained

Overall thoughts: I enjoyed this one, and I enjoyed taking my time reading it. The fans of The Night Circus will not be disappointed, although my opinion of the book oscillated wildly between chapters, especially in the beginning

Spoilery thoughts - for those who have read the book!

-------------Here there be SPOILERS----------

Sorry, I tried putting in a "read more" break, but apparently I can only do it on my PC, which messes up picture layout... argh

Kat Hawkins deserved better

Seriously, Zachary didn't even think about her, while Kat * gestures emotionally at the last part of the book *

The ending was well tied-up, but I had trouble being emotionally invested in it. I cried my heart out at the end of The Night Circus, and here I just didn't buy the oh-almost-bad-ending

So much well-done symbolism that my hands are itching to try and draw it all. Also I need that bunny pirate painting.

[fragmentedink-archived]

Hell to Pay: Chapter Thirty-Three

I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, IX, IX, XX, XXI, XXII, XXIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XVIIII, XXX, XXXI, XXXII

cowritten by @lux-scriptum

A/N: This chapter is very heavy. Trigger warning for implied incest, implied rape, forced prostitution, character death. There is no graphic images of rape or incest. All is implied. This chapter is very past!Cameron-centric, bls be careful when reading

Cameron was seventeen years old the first time he laid eyes on the golden eyed omega that was supposed to train him. He had been introduced to him by the name Darius and even if he had been here for several years, and Cameron was the bastard son of Asmadai, he offered Cameron the warmest smile.

Cameron gave him a tight grin. “I’m guessing you’re the one that’s going to be teaching me the ropes?”

Darius nodded. “That’s me. I’m Darius.”

“Oh, I’ve heard. However, I do not think I need to be ‘trained’.”

Darius’ face didn’t shift from his smile. If anything else, it just seemed a little amused, if a little sad. Cameron said, “Don’t give me that look. I don’t need the pity. I’ve known my job since I was young. I was always going to end up here. It’s fine. Either way, look at me. Who wouldn’t want to fuck me.”

“I do suppose that is one way of looking at it,” Darius remarked, looking Cameron over. “You are very attractive.”

“I know.”

Darius snorted and began leading Cameron through a set of double doors to a large room bathed in white and gold. Cameron looked appreciatively around, running his fingers along the silken furniture while he roamed around the room. “Not bad,” he said. “I didn’t think whores got paid this well.”

“This one does,” Darius replied. “I’m a favorite for a reason.”

Cameron looked at him. “I’m guessing that reason is because you’re hot?”

“Among other things, I imagine.”

Cameron wasn’t blind. Darius’ bright golden eyes and long waves were sure to be a favorite to many people. He just held little stock in appearances, himself. Darius was beautiful to him the way music sounded to his ears. Cameron went to settle on the couch, watching Darius move towards a small kitchen area where he started fixing himself something to drink. “Would you like some tea?”

“Do you have anything stronger?”

“Not with me, no. I’d rather not be inebriated in case my services are requested.”

Cameron thought on that. It did make sense, he supposed, but he also figured Darius would be getting fucked one way or another. “Wouldn’t you rather not remember it?”

Darius gave him a steady look. “No. I want to remember everything.”

-----

Cameron had kept himself busy for the last three months and it was still unnerving to be in the same room as Darius without any kind of ulterior motive on Darius’ part. Darius left him to his own devices at night and didn’t bother him. It was easier to get a night of sleep for the next day when he didn’t have Destris coming into his room to bother him every night.

But that didn’t stop Destris from bothering him any other time of the day. It just made it more difficult. Especially when Cameron seemed to be becoming a favorite amongst court ladies. Cameron offered lazy smiles to everyone he passed in the hallways. Lingering looks told him enough about who was going to end up filling his mother’s pockets by the end of the night.

Cameron’s muscles, as worn as they were on a daily basis, were defined, unlike the slender build Darius seemed to have. He had seen Darius in passing a few times that day, but they both had been too busy to speak much.

Cameron was leaving a lady’s chambers, buttoning up his shirt when he nearly ran into his brother. “Can I help you?” Cameron asked, annoyed.

Destris gave him a lazy smile. “Maybe later. What I want to know is why you are sleeping in that whore’s rooms when you have perfectly fine rooms of your own. My mother gave you the finest, and yet you settled for subpar trash?”

“Well,” Cameron said, “I’m sure our mother would much rather have a room where she doesn’t have to house her bastard. It’s best for the economy, don’t you think? Maybe she can turn it into a war room.”

That smile sharpened. “I think you’re trying to avoid me.”

“Why would I ever try to do that?” Cameron said. “You get my services for free.”

Destris’ hazel green eyes flicked around them before coming back to settle on Cameron’s face. “I do,” he said. “And I do not like having to come find you when you should be in your own bed.”

“I do apologize,” Cameron said. “I just think it would be best to be near my trainer. Since he is more experienced than I. What if I have questions? Whomever would I go to when I need to learn how to properly suck a cock?”

Cameron didn’t blink when Destris shoved him back against the wall, fingers curling tightly around Cameron’s throat. “I don’t know who you think you are.” he hissed. “You belong to me, no matter who you’re on your knees for. Understand? I am the only thing between life and your death. I own you.”

Cameron couldn’t form words even if he wanted to. The air in his lungs protested at the lack of oxygen to his brain. His eyes trained to the floor, even if he wasn’t an omega. He tried nodding against his brother’s claws. When Destris finally pulled back, it took all of Cameron’s strength to not start coughing. Destris looked pleased at what were surely new bruises around his neck. “You will be making up for your back talking when I see you again, tonight. Better get going. I’m sure there are plenty waiting for you to warm their bed.”

-----

Darius wasn’t quite sure how Cameron had managed to con his way into Darius’ chambers when he had his own in another part of the castle. But Cameron was now camped out on his couch with one of the silken throw blankets almost every night.

He hadn’t bothered to try and keep Cameron out of his rooms. Part of him wondered if Cameron would just find his own way into the room, or just force his way in and Darius didn’t want to bother replacing door knobs or locks every time Cameron would get in here. And oddly enough, Darius didn’t mind when Cameron slept on his couch.

Darius had finished his shower and was getting dressed when Cameron came through the doors as if he owned the place, but Darius didn’t say anything while Cameron unbuttoned his black shirt and slacks to settle on the couch; not when there were prominent bruises in choice places on Cameron’s pale body.

Darius quietly sat a cup of tea and a plate of food on the coffee table in front of Cameron but didn’t try to offer any words, not when there was the aura of lethality around him. Instead he settled in a chair across from him while Cameron turned into the couch. The finger-like bruises wrapping around his throat were hidden when Cameron pulled the blanket over his head.

Darius almost offered to see if he wanted a healer, but instinct enough told him that Cameron wouldn’t want one. Even with no power of his own, Cameron seemed to relish any kind of control he could get his hands on, even if control over his own body was scant at best.

“If you would like,” Darius said, hesitantly, “I can have your clothes brought here? That way you don’t have to go across the manor to get them every day.”

Cameron remained quiet, and didn’t move an inch. Just when Darius thought that Cameron was going to ignore him, Cameron hoarsely said, “Do what you want. I don’t care.”

Darius took a long drink from his tea, thinking about how sharp those words sounded. “It would be practical.” Darius said, “I have some tea here for you- it might help your throat.”

Cameron stiffened slightly but snapped the blanket off himself and sat up to stare at Darius. The black bruising against his skin clashing darkly against the gold and silver blanket hanging off his shoulder. “Oh will it? I’m sure you’ve had enough things rammed down your throat to know.”

Darius didn’t blink. “Yes I have. You have too, yes?” Cameron rolled his eyes and picked up the cup from the table and scented it. “There’s no poison, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

Cameron flicked him an annoyed look. “What a shame,” he said, dryly. “What about honey? I guess I can settle for that.”

Darius smiled. “I have honey you can use.”

“Good,” Cameron said, curtly, getting up smoothly from the couch to move to the kitchen area where he poured a healthy dose of honey into the earl grey tea. “It’s like you have no taste buds,” Cameron complained.

“Well,” Darius said. “I cannot cook. So, I do tend to hold little stock of what kinds of things I cook outside of what I need.”

He bit back his snort when Cameron looked at him with disgust. “Are you saying I need to feed you?”

“That is not what I’m saying,” Darius said.

Cameron arched a brow while taking a drink from his cup. “I think you are,” he said. “Why else would you tell me you can’t cook? I’ll do it.”

“You really don’t have to-” Darius started.

“Too late, it’s done,” Cameron said, turning back to the kitchenette. “I’ll make a list of things you need, but I can do that later. It’s too late to do shit right now.”

“Indeed,” Darius said, getting up to put his tea cup and the untouched plate of food away. “We both should probably get some sleep.”

Cameron nodded, taking another drink from his tea cup before hesitating slightly and looking at him. “Can… you can say no- nevermind. It’s fine.”

“What?” Darius asked, looking at him. “Would you like me to get a healer? Or some more blankets?”

Cameron still looked uncomfortable, but shook his head. “It’s fine.”

“Cameron.”

“Darius.”

“How can I help you?” When Cameron just chewed on his lip, eyes trained onto the ground, Darius took a tentative step towards him and cradled Cameron’s cheek. Cameron’s entire body locked into place. “Please?”

Cameron’s nostrils flared, but he still wouldn’t meet Darius’ gaze. “Can I sleep with you?”

Darius blinked. That was. Not what he was expecting. “I-”

“Not sex,” Cameron said, instantly, looking up finally. “I just. I don’t want to be alone. I understand if you don’t want to, though.”

“You want to share my bed?”

“I- yeah.”

Darius forced his eyes to not linger on the bruising still so prominent on Cameron’s pale skin. “Of course you can,” he finally said. “I’m sure it’s more comfortable then the couch you’ve been sleeping on anyways.”

Cameron looked visibly relieved. “Thank you.”

----

Even if it was cloudy out, Darius had found himself with a free afternoon with Asmadai and her cabal gone. Cameron had chosen this free time to sit at the piano studiously for the last hour playing, and Darius had listened contentedly until he started getting restless. And if he didn’t stop Cameron, then Cameron was going to sit at that damned piano for another three hours playing.

Darius sidled up next to him and drew the piano case down. Cameron’s long fingers snapped back before they got stuck under the weight, shooting Darius a dirty look. “Can I help you?”

“I’m sure you can,” Darius said. “We have the day free to do as we wish.”

“Yes? And? I’m using that time to play.”

“You play every day,” Darius pointed out. “Come out with me. We can go have a picnic by ourselves and get some fresh air.”

Cameron looked blankly at him. “A picnic?” he echoed.

“Yes.”

“That sounds absolutely horrific. It’s not even sunny out.”

“Just humor me,” Darius said.

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to have a picnic all on my lonesome.” The flat look Cameron gave him had a smile tilting up on Darius’ face. “I’ll let you pick out the snacks.”

Cameron looked so pained. “Fine.”

----

Cameron was still annoyed by the time they had left the manor half an hour later, even if Darius seemed pleased with himself. Luckily it was still early enough in the summer that Cameron didn’t have to worry about it getting too cold yet. The winters in the Court could be brutal and even he didn’t enjoy it.

They ended up finding some hill to sit on that was on the outskirts of the city, away from prying eyes. Cameron let Darius sprawl the blanket out on the grass and spread the food out before Cameron sat down and squinted around him. “Are we supposed to just… sit here and eat? We could do this back in our room,” he said. “There is no point of doing this out here.”

“It’s for the aesthetic, Cameron,” Darius said, looking into the basket of food Cameron had packed. “The ambiance.”

“It’s cloudy,” Cameron said, reaching for his own food. “The ambiance is tainted by shitty weather, Darius.”

Darius hummed and bit into his sandwich. “Mm. I think you’ve just been cooped inside for too long. Your already pale complexion is even more pale. However will you get the vitamin D that you need for a healthy body.”

“By dick in my ass, I imagine,” Cameron muttered under his breath.

“Wrong vitamin,” Darius said. “Interestingly enough, that’s vitamin C. Amongst other things.”

Cameron rolled his eyes. “I’ll remember that next time my face is in a mattress.”

“What is it you want, Cameron?” Darius asked, looking up at the idiotically grey sky. “If you could have anything, be anyone, right now, what would it be.”

“Does it matter?” Cameron said, laying on his back, closing his eyes. “Wanting things has never been in my vocabulary. It’s irrelevant and a waste of time. I’m not even a person. Tools of war have but one purpose. To cause damage.”

He could feel Darius’ brilliant gold eyes on him, and Cameron didn’t like it. “Well,” Darius said, softly. “I think you have done the least amount of damage to me out of everyone I have ever come in contact with.”

Cameron opened his eyes and looked at him tiredly. “For now,” he said, softly enough, Cameron almost hated both himself and Darius.

Darius just laid down next to him and folded his hands over his stomach. “I think I want a place of my own,” he said. “I’d like a family, children. Sure, it could be because I’m an omega. But I think… I just want a family. Never had one.”

Family’s overrated, Cameron almost felt compelled to say. Instead he offered Darius the mercy of hopeless causes. “Sounds nice,” he said, mildly. “I guess… I’d just want to be left alone to cook and make music. That’s all I want. Not going to get it, so I don’t waste my breath. But… it’d be nice.”

Darius nudged him. “I think you’re getting the hang of it.”

Cameron closed his eyes again. “”Don’t touch me.”

-----

A month later and Darius was still letting Cameron sleep in his bed. Every night since that first night Cameron asked, and every night, Darius said yes. But there were some where Cameron never came back to the room at all. Darius didn’t have the bravery to ask Cameron about it, especially when Cameron seemed to be more distant those next mornings. But Darius always provided Cameron tea and honey when he came back.

They had both been reading for hours by the time Cameron’s services were requested. Darius read in the same spot for several more hours before Cameron came back. Cameron returned to sit next to him on the couch, watching Darius tiredly. Darius offered him no words, not wanting to break Cameron’s silence.

Eventually Darius felt the weight of Cameron’s head against his shoulder. He dared to look over, careful to not move too much. As he thought, Cameron had fallen asleep, his white hair falling over his closed eyes, smoothing out the perpetual annoyed look on his face.

Darius resisted the urge to move the hair away from Cameron’s elegant face, but remained in control of his impulses. Instead he turned back to his book and felt himself smile when Cameron settled more against him. Darius awkwardly reached for the throw blanket and threw it around Cameron’s bare shoulders before turning back to his book.

----

“Okay, but you learn absolutely nothing from those books,” Cameron said, looking distastefully at the paperback romance novel in Darius’ hands. “It’s pure fantasy. Life’s too bloody and miserable for anything like that to come true.”

“Okay,” Darius said. “But consider this. That’s the point. It’s a fantasy, it’s something to hope for some day. Sure, a whirlwind romance like the one in this book could be hard to imagine, but that doesn’t mean romance in the world is dead. Nothing can kill true love, no matter how hard some try.”

Cameron gave him a long, skeptical look, but elected to not tell him that love didn’t exist. “I still think the right books are the ones where you actually learn something. Otherwise it’s just a waste of time and paper.”

“Not everyone can read just nonfiction like you can, Cameron.”

“That’s because not everyone has good taste,” Cameron said, propping his legs up on Darius’ lap, eyes turning back to his own book. “Not only is it useful, I am not wasting my time chasing fantasies.”

Darius sighed softly and just patted Cameron’s leg. “It must be quite exhausting in your head, my Cameron.”

Cameron glowered at him over his book. “No more exhausting than in yours, I imagine, my nuisance. It’s a special kind of hell chasing fantasies when you should be focusing on survival.”

“Oh Cameron,” Darius said, softly. “There is so much more to life than surviving.”

-------

It was a rare night when both Cameron and Darius had the same time off. Cameron had made the habit of fixing them both dinner in the evenings, even when they both weren’t in the room at the same time. It was the only way Cameron could convince himself to eat.

He could feel Darius staring at him while they ate. Cameron pretended to not notice how Darius’ sneaking looks kept lingering on his face. Finally Cameron looked up from his meal and met his gaze steadily. “Is there a particular reason you are staring at me?”

Darius didn’t even blink. “Because you’re beautiful.”

Cameron rose a brow. “Yes, I am. But that doesn’t explain why you are staring at me when you’ve seen my face every night for the last four months.”

“Okay,” Darius said, annoyed enough Cameron’s mouth lifted. “I’m staring at you because I want to kiss you. Haven’t done that in the last four months.”

Cameron blinked. “You- why? I mean I know why, as I have seen my reflection, but-”

“Believe it or not, I do appreciate your company.”

He was annoyed. “Well as long as you appreciate it-”

Darius leaned over and covered Cameron’s mouth with his golden hand. “Cameron. Let me- just. Please stop talking.” Cameron glared at him, but didn’t snap his wrist at the unneeded censorship. Darius gave him a firm look before removing his hand. “Whether you want to believe it or not… I know you feel the same way too. You don’t… you don’t have to act on it, or you can even leave if you want. But just. Don’t lie, not about this. About me. Because I’m your truth.”

For the first time, Cameron had to force himself to hold those golden eyes. He… He didn’t know what he felt. Was- Did he feel safe? Was that how Darius made him feel? He made him feel warm, not like a walking corpse, not used. But… That didn’t mean anything, did it? It just meant he was decent enough to not pay Cameron to take him to bed. “I… don’t know what that means. I don’t know what you mean to me. You’re just. I don’t know what you are. You’re just not my enemy. I’m safe with you.”

“You are safe with me,” Darius said.

“But are you safe with me,” Cameron countered.

Darius seemed to think about that. Cameron stared him down for what felt like an eternity before Darius said, “You live a very bloody life, Cameron. I think I’d be a fool to think I was ever completely safe, even with you. But that doesn’t stop me from caring about you, from wanting you in whatever way you’ll have me.”

“There are so, so many more people that you could want, Darius,” Cameron said. “Or is it because I am Asmadai’s bastard that you’re interested.”

Darius looked genuinely hurt and taken aback. “No, of course not. I have no desire to have her ear. I just want you.”

Cameron stared at him. He opened his mouth and closed it several times, at a loss of words. How the fuck was he supposed to answer this. He felt like there should be some kind of catch. There had to be, but he couldn’t figure out what if it wasn’t because Darius wanted at his mother. “I have been nothing but a pain in the ass to you,” he finally said.

“A cross I am willing to bear,” he said, solemnly.

“I…” Cameron sighed sharply. “I don’t know.. How to be what you want.”

“You make it sound like I actually know how a relationship is supposed to go,” Darius pointed out.

“Don’t your fancy romance novels tell you,” Cameron said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

“I thought you said those were a fantasy?”

“They are,” Cameron said, flatly.

“Then I don’t see why we can’t work together to figure it- us- out,” Darius said. “Since romance novels seem to not be construction manuals.”

Cameron gnawed on his lip. “But why. I don’t understand why.”

“Why I like you? Care for you?”

“Yes,” Cameron said, exasperated.

“That is a good question,” Darius mused. “One I do not know the answer to. I just like you. You amuse me, keep me company. You make sure I don’t starve. Surely that has to count for something.”

“Are you saying you want me because I can cook.”

“Oh absolutely.”

“Well at least that makes sense,” Cameron muttered under his breath.

“I know what you’re doing,” Darius said. “And it’s not going to keep working.”

“I think it’s working quite well,” Cameron replied.

“I’m sure you do, however, we are all allowed to be wrong sometimes.”

“I am not wrong,” Cameron snapped.

Darius smiled. “Then prove it.”

Cameron’s nostrils flared. “You’re mocking me and I do not like it.”

“Am I?”

“Yes you are,” Cameron said, knowing damn well Darius was baiting him. “I think you like making a fool out of me.”

Darius’ eyes glittered in amusement and Cameron frowned. Darius leaned forward and cradled Cameron’s face, sending a jolt of electricity through his core. Cameron looked down, trying to ignore the tingling in his face. “Look at me?”

Cameron forced his eyes up. The words died in his throat.

Cameron somehow felt warm and ice cold at the same time. He was sitting too still and he was too restless. He wanted… he didn’t know what he wanted. To run or to stay. He wasn’t sure if he felt safe or not, but he didn’t see any threats, his mind was betraying him, looking for an out, but there was only Darius. “What?” he rasped.

The way Darius looked at him had Cameron wanting to shatter something. “What are you feeling, right now?”

“I already told you. I think you like making a fool out of me.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t do that to me. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

Cameron could almost taste the metallic flavor of his venom. “Threatened,” Cameron finally said. “I’m feeling threatened and I don’t know why.”

Darius stilled just slightly enough Cameron straightened. “Do you want me to move my hand?” he asked.

“I don’t.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“I don’t.”

“What do you want?”

Cameron gazed at him in silence. That was the question, wasn’t it. He couldn’t very well just say him, that would make Darius his, and that would mean he would be Destris’ and Cameron couldn’t do anything against his brother. It had been well trained into him since he was seven years old.

“I want…” Cameron’s voice faltered. He closed his mouth. “I can’t want anything.”

“Cameron.”

The last of his nerves frayed. “Don’t you get it,” he snapped. “I can’t want anything. I can’t want you, I can’t want my own kitchen or a damn piano or anything. I am not a person. You are not a person. We are not people. We are tools for the elite to warm beds, or in my case to slit throats when my father wishes. If I so much as try to want something Destris will find out and he will take it away from me. He will have me on my knees one way or another, Darius, and that makes you a liability.”

Darius tried for a small smile. “Are you saying I’m important to you?”

“I’m saying you make it extremely inconvenient to be me,” Cameron said, crossly. “You’re not… supposed to. Make me feel like- you’re not supposed to make me feel. It’s a distraction. You are a distraction.”

“A distraction from what?”

“Survival.” The faint way Darius’ thumb brushed against Cameron’s cheek made Cameron shiver. “You are a threat to me and I can’t protect you.”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” Darius said, pressing his forehead against Cameron’s. “I need you to take what you want. To do what you want. To do more than survive. You deserve to live, Cameron. You deserve more than what you have been given.”

The cinnamon and thyme scent filled his nose and Cameron closed his eyes. “No I don’t,” he said, weakly. “I don’t deserve anything just because I’m alive. I am a bastard. In the eyes of every single demon of the realm, I am not a person.”

“You are to me,” Darius said, softly.

Cameron looked at him for what felt like an eternity. “Then you’re a fool,” he said. Cameron leaned over, hesitated only slightly before kissing him on the mouth. The softness of Darius’ slightly parted lips undone him in a way that had Cameron abruptly pulling back and staring at him.

His breath was shallow and he could barely breathe. Darius somehow looked alarmed and perfectly calm at the same time, but Cameron didn’t give him the chance to say anything before getting to his feet and stalking out of the room.

Cameron nearly bulldozed into several court people on his way outside. He reached for a pack of cigarettes he had in his pockets and had one half lit before the familiar hazel green eyes appeared in front of him. “I do hope you have a plan on fixing your teeth if you’re going to smoke those. Mother will not be happy if your value drops because of yellow teeth.”

Cameron didn’t have the energy to quip at him. Instead he just took a singular drag from his cigarette and tiredly said, “Of course. Mustn’t damage the merchandise. Many do enjoy being bitten in bed.”

“Mm. Do you?”

“Does it matter if I do or not?”

“Not really, but I thought I’d humor you.” When Cameron didn’t say anything, Destris took his chin and forced Cameron to meet his eyes. “Are you ill?” he mused. “Perhaps you lost the ability to use your tongue. Should I see?”

“If you choose so,” Cameron said, mildly. “I can assure you my skills are up to par. Just in a sour mood, that’s all.”

“I might take you up on that later,” Destris said. “It is your day off after all. You need your rest.”

“Much appreciated,” Cameron said. “Do you need anything else?”

“No, I do not think so. Just wanted to make sure my idiot toy isn’t doing something stupid like permenantly marring his body.”

---

Darius waited up for hours upon hours, nearly reaching into daylight for Cameron to come back, not even knowing if Cameron was going to come back. But when he finally did, Cameron was back to his normal untouchable self. He seemed to have regained that faux composure he had spent the last seventeen years perfecting. Even if he did stumble a little when he locked eyes with Darius. “You’re still awake,” was all Cameron said. “I’ve been gone for nearly eight hours.”

“I wanted to be awake in case you came back.”

“Why wouldn’t I come back,” Cameron said, mildly.

“Why would you bolt like a rabbit after kissing me?”

Cameron worked his jaw. “Apparently becuase I thrive on making stupid decisions.”

Darius couldn’t help the way his mouth lifted at the corner. “I don’t think you made a stupid decision.”

“Of course you don’t,” Cameron said. “You wanted me to kiss you. And now I broke the rules. For another whore. One who quite possibly has the power to destroy me.”

Darius gave him a long, steady look. He didn’t think anything could possibly destroy Cameron. He was still standing now despite life and he would still be standing a thousand years from now despite a thousand lives. “You kissed me because you wanted to.”

Cameron didn’t even blink; his face didn’t even move, either. Cameron just met Darius’ look for look and there was pure alpha in those pale blue eyes. It was an effort to not give into his own instincts and bare his throat, especially when Cameron appeared much closer in front of him. He wasn’t sure who moved first or if they had always been this close. Cameron gripped Darius’ chin and glared down at him. “Don’t put a knife in my back,” he said, softly.

I won’t if you won’t, Darius thought, as if he actually had the power or the training to be able to do so. Darius put a hesitant hand on Cameron’s tapered waist. His skin was somehow warm and ice cold at the same time, just as heated and frigid as his stare. “Okay,” he said, in equal softness.

“Okay,” Cameron said, firmly. He let go of Darius’ chin and hesitated only slightly before letting the ice thaw on his face. “This… whatever this is,” Cameron said, “Is between us. Outside of these rooms, we are nothing. We are no one. You are nothing to me. Understand? I cannot and will not protect you if it comes down to it. Your survival is up to you and you alone.”

“I completely understand,” Darius said, other hand moving to Cameron’s other side. He waited for Cameron to move, to say something, but he kept watching Darius with those eyes before slowly letting out a soft breath and pressing his forehead against Darius’ shoulder.

----

Cameron had spent the last several hours wandering through the different shops in the Court, finding… something. He would know when he found it, Cameron had thought. He ended up in a jewelry shop eyeing the watches and bracelets. The branding tattoo on his wrist almost felt like it was on fire, but he wasn’t here for him.

Cameron finally settled in front of a display of slender black and silver watches. He was aware that neither color matched Darius’ rooms, but perhaps Darius would appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.

The jeweler came over and eyed Cameron over the counter. “How can I help you?”

“How much for this one?” he asked.

He looked at Cameron for far longer than Cameron cared for before looking down at the watch. “This is not for sale.”

Cameron heard the ‘not for your kind’ loud as day. Cameron narrowed his eyes. “How much would you want for it? I have the money.”

“Tainted money,” the demon said.

“Oh don’t worry,” Cameron said, “I washed the coins after I was done spreading my legs.” Cameron gave a sharp smile at the faint look of disgust on his face. “If you’d like, I can clean it again. Though, I do not think where you get money is that important. Profit is profit.”

“I don’t sell to whores,” the demon said, flatly. “Bad for business.”

“Would you if I was on my knees?”

The demon’s mouth opened but promptly closed when a voice mildly said, “Perhaps you would sell it to me, then.” Destris came up beside him and snaked an arm around Cameron’s neck, giving the jeweler a lazy smile. “Surely Asmadai’s heir is someone you’ll sell to. Now denying me would be bad for both your business and your life.”

“Of course, of course,” the demon rushed out. “Special price, just for you, prince.”

Cameron bit back his scoff. Destris was about as close to a prince as he was. Just because his mother was in charge of the hellbeasts of the Obsidian Court did not make her a queen. But he wisely said nothing and kept his face smoothed out while Destris bought the watch for him.

Outside the shop, Destris put the bag in Cameron’s arms. “I didn’t take you one for jewelry, Cam.”

Cameron chose his words carefully. “I thought it wise to own a timepiece. Never know when I’ll be able to need the time. All these clients; need to make sure to be punctual.”

Destris’ long, considering look had Cameron’s bones freezing in place. “Well,” he said, “I’m sure now you’ll be on time for our appointments, then.”

Cameron dipped his head. “Of course.”

---

Darius had barely had an hour to himself before he was finally able to retreat back to his rooms. The doors were shut when he started peeling out of his clothes on the way to the washroom, where Cameron was already waiting. Darius blinked. “Are you joining me?”

Cameron’s slightly raised brow only had Darius more confused. That didn’t stop him from finishing undressing, and that certainly didn’t stop Cameron from coming over behind him and unpinning Darius’ hair, letting it fall back down around his shoulders. “No,” he finally said, “however I thought I would offer my services in getting you clean.”

“Hmm.” Darius couldn’t stop the small smile. “Okay. But,” he said, “I want to wash you, too. And your wings. Please?”

Cameron gave him a long, long considering, almost bewildering look. “I- my wings?”

“If that’s alright?”

If Darius didn’t know any better, he’d say that Cameron almost looked flustered, but Cameron just began unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off his pale shoulders. Darius felt the breath leave his body when Cameron unfurled his wings. Black and leathery with the faintest purples and silvers. Cameron gave him an odd look. “What? They’re just wings.”

“But they’re your wings,” Darius said.

Cameron gave him an unimpressed look, but he didn’t miss the way Cameron’s mouth tilted upwards. “I suppose anything on me would be exceptional,” he said as he finished shedding his clothes.

Darius hummed to himself and watched Cameron run the water for the large tub and expertly choose fragrances to put in the water. The room filled with the faintest scent of citrus and cinnamon while Cameron went for soft towels and rags. Darius went to slide into the tub, watching Cameron’s back move against his wings. He could count only once or twice in the last several months he even saw a glimpse of them.

By the time Cameron came back, Darius had already submerged part of his hair under the water and had moved back so Cameron could get in with him. Cameron eyed him the way a painter would a blank canvas before finally saying, “Turn around.”

Darius did as instructed and listened as Cameron wetted a rag and began washing across his shoulders and down his back. Cameron so carefully parted Darius’ hair so he could get to his neck and Darius could not stop the small purr at the feeling.

Cameron only stilled for a split second before continuing once again. Not even a moment after Cameron put Darius’ hair back did Darius feel Cameron move to tilt his head back so he could pour water over his hair.

He did his best to not melt into Cameron when Cameron started lathering shampoo in his hair. Cameron’s long, nimble fingers were skilled. Though Darius already knew that from the amount of time he had watched Cameron play piano. While he managed to keep himself from melting, he was not able to stop his purr from getting louder, but Cameron seemed to not mind and kept washing Darius’ hair.

Cameron’s voice startled Darius into opening his eyes. “Turn around.”

Once again Darius did as instructed and turned back to face Cameron. The steam of the tub had Cameron’s hair dripping in his slightly flushed face. Without thinking, Darius reached over to tug the white strands out of his eyes. “There,” he said, softly.

Cameron’s flickering gaze had Darius leaning forward and pressing a light kiss to Cameron’s jaw before letting him get back to work. His eyes wandered back to Cameron’s wings, to the sharp talons, while Cameron continued running the soft rag down Darius’ arms.

“Could I convince you to show your wings in the room more?” Darius asked, curiously.

Cameron’s face turned thoughtful, considering the question while he continued his work. “Oh, I’m sure you could think of something,” he finally said. “You do have a way with words.”

Darius couldn’t help the smile blooming on his face. “I think that was a compliment.”

“Do you?” Cameron asked, eyes flicking to his for a split second. “I’m sure you would.”

“Mm. I’m right.”

“If you say so,” Cameron said, mildly, pouring fresh water over Darius’ freshly cleaned skin.

“I’d offer to make you food, but I think you’d rather I didn’t.”

“Mmm. No,” Cameron said, rolling his shoulders. “Food poisoning is not high on my priority list.”

“Tea?”

Cameron thought on it, pale blue eyes fixed on him steadily. “What else you got?”

Darius thought on it. He didn’t think he’d genuinely get this far. But he was going to run with it if it meant he could see more of Cameron’s wings. “You can have more room for your books,” he said. “Even if they are so dull.”

Cameron’s mouth twitched. “I do not think you are good at maintaining your position, Darius.”

Darius couldn’t help how he bit his lip. “Well what would you like, then.”

Cameron’s smile widened a bit more. “I do not know,” he said. “Why don’t you keep offering me things and I’ll see how far I can get.”

Darius whined softly. “Cameronn.”

“Dariuss.”

Darius frowned. “You’re mocking me now.”

Cameron lifted a single, perfect brow. “Is that what I’m doing?”

“Yes it is,” Darius mumbled under his breath, but he went for the rag and began to wash Cameron’s silky skin. Cameron’s amused look had Darius wrinkling his nose. “I will give you whatever you’d like, within reason, of course.”

“Mmm. Dangerous offer, Darius.”

Darius held Cameron’s gaze steadily. “I trust you.”

Cameron didn’t blink at Darius’ quiet truth. “I think all I want is a ‘please’.”

“A- what?”

Cameron smiled at him. “That’s all I want.”

“Please?”

“Please what?” Cameron asked, leaning forward to let Darius at his neck to wash.

Darius ran the rag over his skin, inhaling Cameron’s faint citrusy scent. “Please let me see your wings in our room. They’re too beautiful to be kept hidden away.”

“One would say every part of me is too beautiful,” Cameron said, mildly.

“Well, yes,” Darius said, “But your wings are exceptionally beautiful. And I so rarely get to see more than a glimpse of them.”

Cameron took Darius’ chin into his fingers and considered him for what felt like eons. He could feel something tighten and solidify in his core when Cameron leaned over and gave him a chaste kiss. “Very well,” he said. “Since you said ‘please’.”

Darius smiled at that look, and motioned for Cameron to let Darius at his hair. He ran water through the silky strands and washed delicately. He took care and treated them as if they were made of eggshells. He washed out the shampoo, conditioner and moved to his long, pale limbs and washed them just as delicately. Even if Cameron’s skin was flawless, Darius knew just what kind of damage the alpha could do at a mere seventeen years old.

More than anything, Darius wished he could protect him from his fate, but he knew Cameron would not appreciate the sentiment, so he kept doing what he was and washed the invisible marks from Cameron’s body and motioned for him to turn around.

Darius sucked in a breath when he took a long look at Cameron’s wings. “Can… May I touch?”

Cameron inclined his head, wings spreading slightly. “Yes. Just. Be careful.”

Darius hummed and lightly ran the rag over the long, thin bones, eyes trailing over the light silver veins tracing through the black and purple leathery skin. Cameron went almost… limp at the feeling of his wings being washed. He knew what level of trust Cameron was putting in him, and he had no intention of breaking it.

-----

A few hours later and Cameron was watching Darius read one of his useless books. He had been debating how to do this the last several hours and decided to just do it now before he lost any nerve he had. Owing Destris for this would be for nothing if he didn’t give the watch to Darius.

“Darius.”

“Mm?” he said, not looking up from his book.

Cameron went over and replaced the cup of tea in Darius’ hand with the small box. “Open.”

Darius looked down at the small box before looking up at him. He looked almost bewildered, but looked back down at the box and slowly began to open it. The watch was shining in the silver wrapping paper. “Oh,” he said, softly. “I- thank you, Cameron. It’s lovely.”

Cameron wasn’t sure how to answer that, so he just opted for a terse nod. “I saw it in the window and thought you’d have use for it.”

Darius gave him a far too knowing look, but just smiled. “I love it nonetheless,” he said, solemnly. “Help me put it on?”

Cameron moved down to his knees and took the box from him. “I know it’s not your typical aesthetic, but I figured you’d appreciate it anyway.”

“I do,” Darius said, extending an elegant hand.

Cameron carefully removed the watch from the box and clasped it, carefully covering up the branding on Darius’ wrist. “You probably couldn’t… wear it outside of the room often,” Cameron said, looking up at him. “But...”

Darius seemed to hesitate only slightly before leaning over and pressing a light kiss to Cameron’s forehead. Cameron did his best to not screw up his face at the sentiment and allowed it briefly before pulling back. The way Darius’ eyes shone was enough to endure the payment that he was sure Destris would take out of him for it. “I’m glad you like it,” he said, getting to his feet.

“I love it.”

----

Cameron spent that night with Destris, and then he spent the next several days between Destris and other clients. He barely saw Darius the whole time and the only time he did was when he came back to sleep. He barely ate unless Darius bullied him into it, and even then it took much persuasion on Darius’ part to get him to eat.

Cameron finally came back to the rooms after seeing a copy of himself leaving the room. But those same pale blue eyes shifted to the hauntingly familiar hazel green and it had Cameron stopping in his tracks, schooling his face into neutrality. “Have I forgotten an appointment?”

“No,” Destris said, sliding his hands into his pockets. “But I must say, I did not think the watch I paid for would be given to a common whore. Though, he did pay well for it as well. So I think I can let it slide. This time.”

Cameron blinked, and he opened his mouth before promptly closing it. He didn’t know what to say, and the ice slicing through his veins made him very aware he needed to say absolutely nothing. “Thank you,” he finally said, voice carefully neutral.

Destris gave him a spidery smile before walking around Cameron, his form shifting back to his own slowly. Cameron closed his eyes, sighing softly and bracing himself before going into the bedroom. Darius was sleeping on the bed, clearly naked beneath the throw blanket covering his lower half. Cameron’s throat closed when Darius awoke to look at him, confused. “You’re back already?”

“Yes,” Cameron said, numbly. “I decided to just come to bed, instead.”

Darius gave him a small, pleased smile and laid back down in the bed. Cameron changed into his pajamas, not feeling himself do it before climbing in the bed next to him. The smell of sex clung to Darius, and even if that was his job, this didn’t- this wasn’t the same. And Cameron couldn’t voice this, especially when Darius moved over to curl into Cameron’s side, falling back asleep almost instantly.

--------

Tuathal had never liked the Obsidian Court. It stunk of power and desperation to keep it, and it made his skin crawl with memories he didn’t want to touch. But Asmadai had asked for a meeting, and for now he needed to keep the peace.

Just in case, though, he’d brought his brother along. Cináed made a wonderful distraction, especially when he couldn’t be bothered to put on a shirt. He looked the part of a halfbreed, radiating his own power, and not power he had to steal. In comparison, Tu with his neatly pulled back hair and calm demeanor seemed the civilized brother.

While Tuathal sat, listening to Asmadai try to sell him on lending her his support. Not that he had any intention of giving her what she wanted, but it was good to seem like he was considering it. He knew damn well his magic was a coveted asset, but his plans revolved around ending this war, not prolonging it with more infighting.

Behind her, her son lurked, pale as snow, and an obvious attempt to be an enticing addition to the offer. Asmadai had no way of knowing Tuathal could never be swayed by a pretty face; he’d never been interested in sex, and that was not going to change for this young demon. Besides, he looked barely in his twenties, if that. Tuathal had centuries on him.

While Tu listened to Asmodai, nodding along as he braced his chin on his fingers, Cin wandered the room, poking his nose where it didn’t belong, passing close enough to the demon and her son that he could sniff at the both. They seemed unimpressed by the way Cin bared his fangs in a grin at them.

“Cináed,” Tuathal warned mildly. “No nibbling.”

Behind Asmadai, her son lifted his brow ever so slightly, the faintest of amusement showing up in his face, even as Cin growled at Tu.

“Cin,” Tu said, voice soft, and laced with a threat of his own.

This time Cin settled with a grumble, returning to Tu’s side as Tuathal stood.

After tugging on one of Cin’s golden curls, Tuathal fixed Asmadai with a level look. “I’ll have to think about your offer,” he said smoothly. It wasn’t a lie. There was plenty to be gained from picking apart just why and how she thought to go through with her plans. “I’ll let you know if I’m interested.” He wasn’t, but she didn’t need to know that until he had his brother safely away from her claws. Demons had done enough to Tuathal; they didn’t need the opportunity to do the same to Cináed.

Asmadai reached up to drag her fingers down her son’s jaw, not taking her eyes off of Tuathal. “I’ll be waiting for your answer.”

Tu didn’t even give her the respect of a bow. He turned away, knowing Cin was following on his heels. They didn’t say a word until they were free of the Obsidian Court. As soon as they were, Cin’s teeth found Tu’s shoulder, the pressure questioning.

“What did you think?” Cin asked, some of the playfulness fading from his sharp golden eyes.

“I think she’s a bitch, and can go fuck herself,” Tu replied, pulling his hair down with a frown. He ran his fingers through it once or twice to loosen it up, and then added, “Though she seems a bitch who might rise high. I’ll keep an eye out for her in the futures.”

“Probably a wise decision,” Asmadai’s son said from behind. It took a few moments for Tu to place a name; he hadn’t bothered to care in the room with her, but it seemed rude to not know now.

Cin shifted subtly in front of Tu, eyeing Cameron with the same feral look to him that Cin always wore in front of others. Cameron was unphased, but Tu already expected that. “Can I help you?” Tu asked instead of responding to Cameron’s comment.

“I’m here to offer myself to both of you,” was all Cameron said.

Tu bit back a snort. “Your services aren’t needed,” he replied. This was not a demon who had harmed him. He had no reason to be cruel. “You can let your mother know I’m not interested.”

Cameron’s icy gaze shifted to Cin. “And you?”

Cin met his stare, washed out gold clashing with pale blue. “I prefer my partners willing. I don’t pay to sleep with anyone.”

“I don’t intend to take your money.”

“And I don’t take bribes,” Cin replied dismissively. He headbutted Tu’s shoulder. “I want to go home.”

Tu stared at Cameron for a long time, chasing down flickers of the future. He knew Cameron’s answer before he opened his mouth. “I could buy you from her,” he offered quietly. “I don’t lack the funds.”

He could see the gears turning in the young demon’s head, and despite so many futures telling him Cameron would say no, he had to hope he might say yes. But when Cameron answered, all he said was, “You couldn’t afford me.” Here the demon hesitated. “But there’s another whore you could afford. He goes by the name Darius.”

This time Tu closed his eyes. Second ticked by, and then he opened them again. “I could afford it, yes,” he finally said. “But I don’t think there I have the... the time for a different man. This offer would only work for you.” Unease coiled through him. He rarely offered advice based on what he saw when he looked forward. “Don’t hesitate. It’s better that way. Merciful.”

Cin flicked him a look, a frown pulling at his lips. Tu shook his head once, unable to speak around the sour taste in his mouth. The blank look on Cameron’s face only made it all the worse. The young demon just inclined his head slightly. “Noted.”

Before he could get far, Tuathal called him back, on impulse. “Life has a strange way of bringing you things you thought lost,” he said. “This is not your only path, and not your only life. Your future forks more than you’re willing to believe, and you will be surprised by the outcome.”

Cameron paused long enough to give him a small, sharp smile, disbelief clear in the expression. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, and then he kept walking.

“You tried to tell him,” Cin offered, bumping shoulders with Tu.

“I feel like those cryptic old prophets,” Tu complained, turning towards home. “I hate those prophets. They’re all dicks.”

“Well. You are a dick, so.” Cin ducked away from the swat Tu aimed at him, laughing.

---

Cameron found two men to service that held similar enough scents to the two halfbreeds before heading back to the mansion. He was ordered to sleep with them, and he could not show back up without the scent of sex on his skin, unless he wanted to answer questions that would get him in hot water.

Cameron went to kneel in front of his mother. His brother was leaned against the throne next to her, that lazy, spidery smile curling his face as he rested his eyes on Cameron. The same smile was mirrored on Asmadai’s face and Cameron trained his eyes to the marble white floor. “The halfbreed wishes you to know he is not interested.”

His mother hummed, but it was Destris who said, “And did you serve them?”

“I did,” Cameron lied, smoothly.

“Clearly you didn’t do it well,” Destris replied. “Not enough training, I suppose. Even with your own personal whore. Here I thought Darius was useful.”

Cameron’s blood was somehow ice cold and burning at the same time. He allowed himself to feel neither and said, “I apologize. I’ll accept whatever punishment you deem necessary, Lady.”

His mother’s clicking nails was the only sound in the room, and Cameron could feel his heart pound in rhythm to them. “Bedding the half breeds was punishment enough, I think. You probably wish to wash their reek off your skin.”

“I would appreciate it, Lady,” Cameron said, still looking down at the floor.

“You’re quite welcome,” she said. “You may take your leave, Cameron.”

“Thank you,” he said, rising to his feet smoothly, eyes down as he walked out of the room. Cameron carefully eyed the hallways he took back to the rooms and he wasn’t sure if he were relieved or not when Darius was not in the rooms. He had no choice but to sit there and wait with the blade in his hand.

He had it resting on his lap by the time Darius came back, smelling of sex and perfumes. Darius looked from Cameron’s wings, to his eyes to the knife back up to his eyes. “So, I suppose the knife is going in my back?” he asked.

Or throat, Cameron thought, numbly.

“Yes,” was all he had to say, while standing.

Darius seemed to think about that, gold eyes never wavering as he held Cameron’s gaze. He tried for a half smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I wouldn't by chance be able to convince you to not?”

“No,” was all Cameron said.

Darius nodded, more in acceptance than anything else. Cameron watched Darius carefully unclasp the watch from his slender wrist and hold it out. “Wear it for me? I’m sure you’ll have more use for it than I.”

Cameron unwillingly looked down at the black and silver watch in Darius’ fingers and found himself reaching out for it. The metal was warm from Darius’ touch. Cameron forced it onto his own wrist and lifted to curl his fingers around the back of Darius’ neck. The black strands brushing his fingers sent goosebumps up his arm and down his spine. Darius had to lift Cameron’s chin to make him look him in the eyes. “It’s okay,” he said. “I knew what I was getting into by getting involved with you. I know this isn’t what you want. I just hope you can eventually get what you need.”

“I’m sorry,” Cameron’s voice cracked.

Cameron didn’t give himself a second before he expertly plunged the blade into the back of Darius’ neck. He twisted sharply, feeling the nerves sever and the life leave Darius’ body without so much as a whisper. Cameron wasn’t sure if the feeling in his chest completely severing as well was imagined or not.

Blood seeped down his fingers, drenching Darius’ hair as Cameron gently brought the warm, limp body to the floor. Cameron’s eyes were bleary, tears streaking down his face and he couldn’t breathe. He had no right to feel this; he had no right to tears or pain of any kind. But that didn’t stop Cameron from dropping his forehead against Darius’ blood splattered one.

Closing Darius’ eyes, Cameron felt a sob tear through his chest. It felt like he was dying, like this was what death was. He supposed, in a way, it was. He never planned on living that long, anyway. He was going to end up dead one way or another, either at his mother’s hand or his brother’s.

A walking corpse.

----

Five hundred years later and Cameron was still serving in his mother’s court. He had carefully crafted an image for himself, making people want him; making people fear him. Of course, that did not include Destris in the mix, but he had his roles to play and he played them well.

Cameron, however, had not been expecting a half beaten angel to drop at his mother’s feet. The golden brown, tattooed skin was covered in bruises and blood, dark brown eyes somehow daring even with one of them bloodshot.

It was interesting enough to get Cameron’s attention, seeing as how his mother didn’t kill him right away. Angels were a thorn in his side, but this one- he was also an omega and that also piqued Cameron’s interest. An angelic omega in his court, still alive and daring to grin at his mother like this.

“Well,” the angel rasped. “This is surely one way to gain an audience.”

Cameron wasn’t sure how he had gotten from his mother’s side to his back oozing blood, and half dead in angelic territory in a matter of weeks. He had used the last of his strength to make sure he ended up on the right doorstep, hand slamming hard against the heavy oak door before completely crumbling.

Black edged at his vision, and all he could taste was the mingling metallics of blood and venom. He heard, more than saw the door open, black biker boots appearing in front of his eyes. “What the hell? Cameron?”

The next thing Cameron saw was the inside of what appeared to be a large bedroom. He could hear Nik and someone arguing. Pain laced through his body as he looked over to see the idiot angel and a taller, red haired angel bickering about him. He felt the eyes of the ginger turn towards him, bright green and disgusted and hateful. “Oh, you’re awake,” he deadpanned. “I guess you did survive.”

“Ash,” Nik hissed. “Don’t be a prick. I know it’s hard, but I think you could manage for a split second.”

Cameron closed his eyes for a heartbeat, and tried sitting up. Pain laced down his back, his arms threatening to buckle. He would have landed back on his face anyways had Nik not moved to put him back on his stomach. “You stupid bastard,” he breathed. “You just had your wings chopped off. Don’t move.”

“Let him,” Ash said. “If he’s stupid enough to move after a hack amputation like that, so be it.”

If Cameron had the energy he might have rolled his eyes. “I need to go,” he rasped. “I can’t be here.”

“Well, too bad,” Nik said.

“Angels,” he mumbled, forehead against the bedding.

“Yeah? And?” Ash asked. “If I haven’t killed you, I doubt anyone else is going to. Not when Nik would probably throw a damned fit first. Plus Az’ril isn’t here, so you don’t need to worry about him.”

He could hear how Nik’s breath hitched just a bit before, “Well lucky us. It’ll be fine. I’ll deal with Papi when the time comes. Blood debts and all that.”

Cameron had spared Nik and for his troubles he had gotten his wings carved off. Cameron sighed into the bedding and tried getting up again. The temperature in the room spiked enough Cameron knew Ash’s power and filed that information away for later. “Ah. So this is why Nik likes you. You are as stupid as he is.”

“Shut the fuck up, Ashwyn.”

Ash muttered under his breath but came over and had Cameron jolting when Ash touched his back. Cameron reached out and grabbed Ash’s arm in a vice grip and turned to glare up at him. “Don’t. Touch. Me.”

Ash rose a brow. “I see, too good for angelic healing?”

Cameron removed his hand and put his face back in the blanket. “Something like that.”

Ash scoffed, but Cameron could almost feel Nik inching towards them. He could feel the calloused fingers hesitantly touching his hair; knew Nik was stupid enough to touch him like this, in front of another angel. “Ash, get out.”

“You made me come over here and save your stupid demon,” Ash snapped. “And now you want me to leave you alone with him?”

“Do you really think he is in any position to hurt me,” Nik said, sharply. “He already spared me once, I doubt he’d try to kill me now.”

He could feel the heat of the glare Ash sent both their ways. It was hot enough Cameron could feel his hair sticking to his forehead. “Fine,” he finally said. “Your funeral.”

“Aw thanks,” Nik said. “Now get out.”

----

“Sir?”

Cameron looked up from his paperwork, annoyed to see one of his bouncers at his door. “Can’t knock?” he asked, coolly.

“I- There’s another angel here. Besides the mutt and... Nik.”

Cameron lifted a brow and leaned back. He thought on it; there weren't many angels that bothered showing in his club, unless it was Nik or Amara. But they both were gluttons for punishment and both got sex out of it. And unfortunately he could never really get rid of Nik anyways.

“Noted,” he said. “Now get out and go do your job.”

When the bouncer bowed out, Cameron rose from his desk and went to the tinted glass windows that overlooked his club. The club was packed, and Cameron kept looking to see where this angel was. He had no patience tonight to deal with angels trying to dismantle his establishment. But his attention was caught when sudden shadows appeared, wrapping around one of the patrons.

“Mmm.” Cameron said, leaning closer, to get a better look. He might have walked away when a demon started talking to the angel had the angel not tried flinching back. He cocked his head, watching more when Nik appeared in that awful body glitter and slung his arm around the angel’s neck.

Cameron watched enough for Nik to drag the angel to the bar where he knew Amara would be, drinking all his booze like usual. As annoying as she was, at least she provided steady profit for his club.

Cameron came down to the bar, more out of vague curiosity and suspicion than anything else. He made his way through the noisy club, training his hearing on Nik, the angel (apparently named Levant) and Amara. By the time he reached them Levant had a glass of water in his hand and was following Nik’s line of vision. The dark haired angel nearly dropped his glass.

Cameron nearly stopped in place when the wide gold eyes turned to his, but the arm slipping around his waist had him loosening once more, pulling him into focus. He let Nik at his throat, to scent him, but he still forced himself to offhandedly say, “Don’t get glitter on me.” He ignored Nik’s happy hum and kept his eyes on Lev. “Who are you?”

Lev was gaping like a fish out of water when Nik grinned. “This is Lev. Mar is trying to get us in his pants.”

Hmm. Cameron forced himself to turn his attention to Amara. “I’m not giving you free booze.”

The long drink and loud sigh didn’t impress him. “Why does everyone insinuate that I want free booze? I'm just trying to get my darling cousin loosened up a little. Maybe by a cock or two, you know?”

Cameron could have told her it was because he knew very well that she pick pocketed his patrons and used their money for her alcohol. So she was, in fact, not paying for her own alcohol. However, he was still making profit, so he did not care.

Lev’s mortified squeak had Cameron looking back at Lev and gripping his chin. He looked him over indolently. “And does he want to be loosened up by a cock or two?” he asked, lips brushing against Lev’s ear.

The sharp spike in Lev’s scent- in the cinnamon and vanilla scent- nearly had Cameron freezing himself.

“Oh, don’t break him yet, Cam. The poor angel’s going to be too much of a mess to be fun to either of us.” Cameron could smell Lev’s very clear, very obvious interest in Cameron. “Though, something does tell me he enjoys being a mess.”

Cameron couldn’t stop himself from brushing his nose along Lev’s neck, getting more of his scent into his lungs. Nik had grabbed the glass from Lev’s hands and Cameron used that moment to grab Lev by the hoodie and press him back against the bar, still scenting him.

“I’m going to take that as a yes?” Amara was saying.

Cameron eventually pulled back, his eyes trained on Lev. Cameron lifted his gaze from those bright gold eyes to the black wavy hair. Despite this skin being paler, despite the moles dotting that pale skin, and despite this angel being so thin-

It was like looking at a ghost.

Tagging:  @idreamonpaper @incandescent-creativity @solangelo3088 @halstudies @alittleyellowdinosaur @mis-lil-red

[thedarkstrangeson]

Falling, Failing, Rising (2/7)

A/N: This is chapter 2 of my pride fic! So it is highly recommended that you check out chapter 1 first.

ao3

Ch1 | Ch2(here) | next

Warnings: Lots of (accidental) misgendering, dysphoria, occasional cursing, panic attacks, anxiety, slurs, violence, (graphic/descriptive) threats of violence, transphobia, injuries and descriptions of them, blood.

General Summary: Being trans is hard. It’s panic attacks and dysphoria and nights of not knowing. It’s figuring things out and letting it knock you over, it’s understanding and trying so damn hard to say something but failing, always failing. But sometimes, when you make it through all the dark parts and you see yourself for who you are, sometimes when those words finally come out, sometimes… Sometimes it’s happiness. Sometimes it's love. Sometimes it's rising on unsteady legs and standing anyway. Sometimes, it’s pride.

This is a Virgil-centric fic for pride month, featuring all of the sides portrayed sympathetically. It’s also got fem!Logan (Her name is Eibhlin, for pronunciation it is usually anglicized as Evelyn) and fem!Janus (she does not get a name change because Jan is just lovely like that). Virgil is afab and named Adeline.

Chapter 2: Fight the Transphobe

   It was a Friday. School was hitting the half-way point of the year, and, finally, things would be closer to the end than to the beginning. Addie was convinced that things would be an improvement once school ended, but it would leave only the summer between her and her friends all parting ways for college. But until then, she was stuck in this hell-hole. And this hell-hole had a particular tradition of club rush. Once every term, all the school’s clubs would set up booths in the quad and attempt to recruit new members. 

As she was the treasurer for Theatre Tech, it made sense that she had to be there. That didn’t mean, however, that she was happy about it. So that’s how she ended up sulking behind the club’s booth, just waiting for lunch to be over so they could all pack up and get off to class. 

The booth was sandwiched right between Speech and Debate(popular), and the Gender and Sexuality Alliance(vaguely present). Each were running their own spiels, GSA handing out flags, Remus performing a particularly gory Humorous Interp from his last tournament, and Theatre passing out flyers for their upcoming performances. Addie was content to pretend like she was busy keeping the booth’s poster from falling over, until a commotion at the GSA booth caught her eye.

There was a bit of a standoff going on, between one of the GSA’s face painters and another student. He seemed to be taunting the kid, but Addie couldn’t really make out the words—

“...do you think you’re doing, faggot?”

“P-please treat all students on campus with respect, it’s in the student handbook.”

“Well, ma’am , you can shove your damn student handbook.”

This was… not okay. Addie really really needed to say something, to shut the guy up, didn’t he know that misgendering someone was just so hurtful . Where did he get all that venom? None of these kids were doing anybody any harm. 

I will say something. Her shoulders tensed, and her breathing went unsteady. Oh gods how could I possibly say something? But she had to, this was wrong . It was hurting so badly and she just couldn’t move. Something stung at her eyes, and she blinked but it didn’t go away. 

“And you know what? You can shove your whole fucking booth, too. We don’t stand for trannies in this school,” the guy said, reaching to grab at the club’s poster.

Please, can you just shut the fuck up? 

And then there was another person on the scene, Remus striding over from the speech booth with a bloodthirsty glint in his eye.

“What did you say, girlie?”

The guy took a step back, almost involuntarily. “Stay out of this, or you’re just as bad as they are.”

“Oh, I don’t think I will, worm’s meat,” said Remus. He seemed to be bubbling with anger, dark and deep. But why did he care? Why would Remus, of all people, defend the gay club on campus? Regardless of his motivations, Addie could only watch, rooted to the spot, as Remus went on. “Back off, or you’ll find your kneecaps unpleasantly reversed.”

“I’m not scared of you,” said the bully, although he sounded far less certain now.

“Shut your mouth,” Remus measured his words carefully, “Or I’ll tear off your nipples and shove them up your nose.” He grinned, wild and frenzied for a fight. And the bully gave it to him.

“You wouldn’t dare,” the guy said, taking two steps forward to shove him. Remus was too quick, and sidestepped to grab his arm as he went past.

“Is that a challenge?” 

With that, they were on top of each other, Remus yelling out obscenities and clawing, biting, fighting dirty like there was no tomorrow. The other kid, although bigger, really had gotten in over his head. He spun wildly, trying to get Remus off of him, to no avail. Someone was screaming. Then, something red wading into the fray.

As quickly as it had started, it was over. 

Roman had his brother by the back of his shirt and was dragging him off. 

“I will peel your skin off layer by layer like an onion until you are nothing more than a bony husk, you bastard, you scum of the earth, go die in a hole and fester until even the vultures won’t touch you—”

He kept going, the words flowing, unendingly, all the way until the door to the office shut behind them and Remus’ voice was cut off from the quad.

Addie was shocked into silence, along with most of the students present. Remus getting into a fight wasn’t exactly uncommon, but that was the angriest she had seen him in a long time. Thank goodness Roman was around, or it was possible nothing would have been able to get him to stop. As it was, the kid lay bleeding out of deep scratches across his face and arms. It was like he had been mauled. In a way, she supposed he had.

Not to say what Remus did was right, but Addie was just about ready to punch the kid herself. The things he was saying, the purposeful misgendering, it just cut. Deep. And she didn’t know why. At least I’m not trans. I couldn’t bear to have those words thrown my way.

Wait.

Fuck, what if I’m trans?

It would explain so much, it would hurt so much, it would be a blessing and a curse and everything rolled into one, and oh no I’m spiraling how did this happen . 

Deep breaths, take deep breaths, get out of this damn crowd get out get out.

She made it behind the booths, there was a little bit of an open area here and the pressure on her lungs let up, just a little bit. But then there was someone there with her.

“Addie?” said Patton, quietly. He reached out but she stepped away, pressing her hands over her ears because why did her name hurt this much? The pressure clamped back down and she was struggling to breathe and Patton did the right thing this time, he stepped back but he kept talking to her.

“Hey, can you look at me? It’s going to be okay. Let’s count, alright? Just breathe with me and count. In for one, two, three, four, hold it with me for one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, you’re doing great. Let’s breathe out now…”

Patton kept up the steady rhythm and Addie slowly came back to herself, out of that dark hole that was far too easy to fall into. 

“Sorry, Pat,” she studied her shoes, trying to keep up the focus on her breathing.

“Aww it’s okay, I always want to be here for you, you know that right? I’m Patt-on call!”

“I—” she resolved to just let that one slide, “Thanks.”

“No problem, kiddo! But I think we might want to head off to class now, lunch is over.”

Sure enough, all the booths had been packed up while Addie wasn’t watching. It was disorienting, to say the least. All that was left was empty tables and a few drops of blood on the pavement.

Addie tried to put it out of her mind as quickly as possible.

They headed off to 3rd period.

She tried to breathe.

She couldn’t tell whether she was succeeding.

Ch1 | Ch2(here) | next

[toxicsquad]

There is no better way to get to know someone than through a good question tag. In this case we have decided to make an Indie game dev question tag with the responses of our four developers. We hope that it will reveal many unknowns, but if you are left with any questions, do not hesitate to use our ask.

What part of game development are you responsible for?

Athe: I write and write, I melt in my seat, I correct, I cry and then I program. It’s an endless cycle. Occasionally I laugh like crazy while I eat Pringles.

Sam: I draw and color without leaving the lines (almost always) the sprites, the illustrations and the ravings that usually occur to us past 3 in the morning.

Illy: English translations.

Sher: I draw BGs

What tools do you use (hardware / software)?

Athe: Recently my desktop PC has passed away, so I’ve had to rescue my old PC from the garage. I also have a laptop that saves my life more times than I would like to admit. As for the software, I need, above all, drive documents, video editing programs, image etc (I have an Adobe package) and of course Renpy and Atom.

Sam: My main friend and companion is my tablet, a wacom intuos S (pistachio color, so cute). As programs I mainly use the Paint Tool Sai, because there is nothing in this life like its stabilizer. And less frequently than I would like (for details, texture brushes, effects ...) I also use Clip Studio Paint, which I only know how to use at about 2% of its capacity ... If someday I have time I would love to stop and learn seriously what can be done with it.

Illy: During the school year I live in a residence, so I use an old laptop, and when I return home I use a desktop computer that never has memory space. I translate the chapters in the same Atom where the complete script is and I keep them in google drive files where I share them with our beta reader. I also use editing programs like photoshop when I have to translate comics or procreate for when my artistic skills are required.

Sher: ipad+procreate+some final tweak in photoshop, I don't need much more

What is your favorite part of the job?

Athe: Would it be wrong if I say that is when we released the episode? During the whole production time everything is very stressful, there are times when it’s really uphill, but when we release a new chapter it feels soooo good. It's like saying to yourself, yeah, dammit, I can do it. Look at everything you've climbed by yourself. You're doing it right.

Sam: In general, my favorite parts are when the first scenes start to be programmed, and I can see the sprites with the backgrounds, the texts, and how the illustrations look. Everything always looks so much better when viewed in-game… I also really like being able to check out the script as it is written. And from the artistic part that concerns me, when I see that my hands capture the idea that I had in my head ... Especially in character designs.

Illy: Having to find a way to translate very spanish expressions into English, research vocabulary that I have never had to use and commenting on some translations with our beta reader (which we adore) to make it understandable without losing the original meaning.

Sher: I like to do the lineart when the sketch is complete, if I no longer have to think about anything else and it's just going through it, I find it very fun and relaxing

What is the most difficult part for you?

Athe: Offf, yes, I admit it, sometimes writing is the WORST. Other times I love it, especially when I can expand on the descriptions or stop at a part that is intimate or that I find interesting (for example, Hasiel's conversation from 6.3, small spoiler: P). But, I HATE having to paste scenes, often the protagonist moves between scenes and you always have to add lines to those transitions that really do not interest anyone, but that otherwise the text would be confusing. Anyway... It is a very wide world, with a lot of history, I have to deal with what I need readers to know to understand the facts, although sometimes it gets a bit boring.

Sam: What part does not... Rather who e.e Zihel and Ariel are a thorn in my side. Especially Zihel. I know it has to do with the fact that it has never been my strength to draw boys, and much less if they are more masculine in appearance... That's why I also suffer a lot from drawing muscles. Another thing that brings me a headache is the perspective of the illustrations. Every time I try to get out of the typical shot or poses a little... It doesn't work out.

Illy: Doughy’s  stuttering ¬.¬

Sher: chairs, sofas, tables... anything with four legs is my enemy

Anything to help or encourage you while you are working?

Athe: I need music, no, seriously, I NEED IT. I’m unable to focus without it. If, on top of that, I can get what I hear to act as a sounding board for what I write, the text is a thousand times better... But the muse is a pretty bad person.

Sam: Having a show/movie in the background that entertains me. The longer the better, so I don't have to stop to think what I want to put on next.

Illy: Eating sunflower seeds to trick my brain and not be tempted to do something else that distracts me.

Sher: I try to see other artists to motivate and inspire me before I start drawing, what I find most difficult is that initial push and that is where I need the motivation, then I usually have something in the background but it is not necessary

Something that’s a pet peeve or discouraging?

Athe: Some narrative climax moments. Generally, they are not important plot moments (that is almost entirely decided), they are often small decisions to go from scene A to scene B, but I can spend a LOT of time deciding which is the fastest and best way to tie those two ends. I'm the worst.

Sam: Many times when starting, I can't get the poses to fit the way I want, for example.

Illy: Finding many parts in a row that I find especially difficult to solve and that make me believe that I have forgotten how to English properly. And looking at how many lines I still have left.

Sher: When I don't know how to fill in some area, if I see something very empty but I don't know how to solve it, I can spend days looking at the screen without being able to advance, even if I have other areas that I could do in the meantime

What is required on your table or work surface?

Athe: Notebooks, sticky notes, pens… I’m a person who writes everything down, especially the tasks, but I also order the story by color schemes. The stack of sticky notes have 9 different colors, each one represents a character and I play a lot with them for a lot of nonsense. Besides, even though I have been writing on the computer for many more years than I wrote by hand, I still have a preference for the analogical.

Sam: Coffee, sweets, chocolate, cereals... And cats.

Illy: My phone, the sunflower seeds, a Capital America: Civil War 1L water cup, sticky notes that remind me of tasks.

Sher: I have nothing really lol all my things are for decoration

Your most productive hours?

Athe: Owl. Totally nocturnal. Although I have several crises a month to force myself to work at other times that always end... Wrong.

Sam: Also at night for the most part, although I can no longer stay awake as long as I endured before having a job (the good old days...) However, in the middle of the afternoon, when the zoo that I have at home is still taking a nap, I also manage to go a long way.

Illy: From when I finish eating until 7 or 8 in the afternoon, when I don't have to cook, clean, run errands...

Sher: I take over for Illy apparently, from 7 or 8 is when I start to get into the mood until bedtime

Do working hours make you forget to eat or make you eat twice as much?

Athe: It depends, in the past I ate a lot, now if I have stress I don't eat anything. If I'm in a normal productive phase and I'm not on my nerves, I'm probably eating by inertia.

Sam: They make me eat more, but especially junk food e.e And they make me forget healthy meals, especially dinner at night.

Illy: It depends on my mood, but I usually eat twice as much.

Sher: I'm generally a VERY distracted person so I don't usually get to focus on a task to get to either of those two modes but I guess when I am sooooooo much on the task, I forget. But that happens like a couple of times a year and "forgetting" is "I delay an hour."

What part of your set up would you improve / change (in aesthetics or functionality) if you had no money limit?

Athe: I'm trying to match some of my peripherals with the rest. They are all a damn different color, apparently I'm cursed... Now seriously, I wish I had a better graphic card that would allow me to make video captures, some speakers and a quality printer.

Sam: Actually, I don't think I need anything more complex than what I already have… But if I had to improve something, I'm curious about the most professional tablets, the big ones with the included screen and all that stuff.

Illy: A new laptop that lets me open 4 chrome tabs, Atom and photoshop at the same time without dying.

Sher: A pc screen that will not change the colors I use on the iPad would be nice, really

Which character are you most like? And why?

Athe: Phew I think the easy answer would be to say Akane ... But, Akane is a better person. : P

Sam: This is very difficult... They are all very different, but still I do not think I look much like any of them. If I have to say something, I could identify with Maske's tendency to avoid problems, and his more homey and calm side. And well… Since Akane has been an OC of mine for many years, surely I have something of her too.

Illy: I think I partly have Maske's instinct to stay out of trouble, and on the other hand Joe's shallowness, although tbh I wish I really did look like any of our awesome babies.

Sher: surprised because (unpopular opinion around here) is one of those who I "least care" about really but I would say that Pin because he is a little dumb, happy and probably has a Satanic room and proud of it

Favorite CG/art.

Athe: AT THE MOMENT. Maske chapter 1. It couldn't be more predictable. I know.

Sam: I quite agree with Maske in chapter 1. But I would also put Pin in chapter 5 and Akane in chapter 6.2 on the top.

Illy: Kyeran in Coco's tank ?? Is he even real? Being basic is my brand.

Sher: surprised again and disappointed but I would say that of angel Hasiel because I like pretty dresses, pretty hairs and pretty wings

Favorite BG/scene.

Athe: The Red Light District amazes me. I already liked the life of that place, its history, but the way of expressing it... Uggg Sher took it to another level. The dirt on the street, the night, the constricted buildings...

Sam: I think I’ll say Raziel’s square, I like it a lot from the first day.

Illy: I don't know if I can choose just one T__T but I would say that the Red Light District and Valefar's pub are at the top.

Sher: for not repeating the red light district that I also like very much, I really like the areas of Coco's laboratory, including the “main” area although the perspective is horrible and makes the characters look tiny, but I like how it looks :(

Your favorite chapter to date?

Athe: Ufff... The first and second one I assure you no, hahaha. I will say that the third one, but also for things that are not necessarily from the chapter, but of the production. It was a good moment. I felt that everything was flowing with ease. We all assumed a clear role, they were times that made us feel comfortable and capable of assuming what came next, I think it was a qualitative leap also, both in texts and in art.

Sam: Oh. Well let's see... Chapter 5 is amazing for me, for everything that happens but also because there are many personalized interactions and choices. I can't say I have a definitive favorite, but it could come close… Also from the last ones I really like the 6.2.

Illy: Chapter 5 has so many details, so many things happen, it's hard not to be my favorite. But the last ones with the specific routes are so great that if I stay with the 5 it’s with the  pain of my heart to have to choose one.

Sher: I would say 5 also because in the end when a lot of things happen is when you remember the most

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No hay mejor forma de conocer a alguien que a través de un buen tag de preguntas. En este caso hemos decidido hacer un Indie game dev question tag con las respuestas de las cuatro desarrolladoras. Esperamos que os aclare muchas incógnitas, pero si os quedáis con alguna no dudéis en usar nuestro ask.

¿Qué parte del desarrollo del juego llevas a cabo?

Athe: Escribo, escribo, me derrito sobre mi asiento, corrijo, lloro y después programo. Es un ciclo sin fin. Ocasionalmente me río como una demente mientras como Pringles.

Sam: Dibujo y coloreo sin salirme de las líneas (casi siempre) los sprites, las ilustraciones y los desvaríos que suelen surgir a partir de las 3 de la mañana. 

Illy: Las traducciones a inglés.

Sher: Hago fonditos

¿Qué herramientas utilizas (hardware/software)?

Athe: Recientemente mi PC de sobremesa ha fallecido, así que he tenido que rescatar mi viejo PC del trastero, también tengo un portatil que me salva la vida más veces de las que me gustaría admitir. En cuanto al software, necesito, sobre todo, documentos de drive, programas de edición de video, imagen etc (tengo un paquete de Adobe) y por supuesto Renpy y Atom.

Sam: Mi principal amiga y compañera es mi tableta, una wacom intuos S (color pistacho, muy cuqui.) Como programas uso sobretodo el Paint Tool Sai, porque no hay nada en esta vida como su estabilizador. Y con menos frecuencia de lo que querría (para detalles, pinceles de texturas, efectos…) también utilizo el Clip Studio Paint, el cual sólo se usar como a un 2% de su capacidad… Si algún día tengo tiempo me encantaría pararme a aprender seriamente todo lo que se puede hacer con él. 

Illy: Durante el curso vivo en una residencia, así que uso un portatil del año que reinó carolo, y cuando vuelvo a mi casa un ordenador de sobremesa que nunca tiene espacio en la memoria. Los capítulos los traduzco en el mismo Atom en el que está el guión completo y los guardo en drive donde los comparto con nuestra beta reader. También uso programas de edición como photoshop cuando tengo que traducir viñetas o procreate para cuando mis habilidades artísticas son requeridas.

Sher: ipad+procreate+algún retoquito final en photoshop no necesito mucho más

¿Cuál es tu parte de favorita del trabajo?

Athe: ¿Estaría mal si digo que es cuando sacamos el episodio? Durante toda la producción todo es muy estresante, hay veces, que se hace realmente cuesta arriba, pero cuando liberamos un nuevo capítulo sienta taaaan bien. Es como decirte a ti misma, sí, joder, puedo hacerlo. Mira todo lo que has escalado tú solita. Lo estás haciendo bien.

Sam: En general, mis partes favoritas son cuando se empiezan a programar las primeras escenas, y puedo ver los sprites con los fondos, los textos, y cómo se ven las ilustraciones. Todo queda siempre mucho mejor cuando se ve dentro del juego… También me gusta mucho poder cotillear el guión conforme se va escribiendo. Y de la parte artística que me toca, cuando veo que mis manos plasman la idea que tenía en mi cabeza… Sobretodo en diseños de personajes. 

Illy: Tener que buscar la forma de traducir a inglés expresiones muy nuestras, investigar vocabulario que no he tenido que usar jamás y comentar algunas traducciones con nuestra beta reader (a la que adoramos) para conseguir que se entienda sin perder el significado original.

Sher: me gusta hacer el lineart cuando el sketch está completo, si ya no tengo que pensar nada más y es solo ir repasando me parece muy divertido y relajante

¿Cuál es la parte que más te cuesta?

Athe: Ufff, sí, lo admito, escribir a veces es lo PEOR. Otras me encanta, sobre todo, cuando puedo explayarme con las descripciones o detenerme en una parte íntima o que a mí me parece interesante (por ejemplo, la conversación de Hasiel del 6.3, pequeño spoiler :P). Pero, ODIO tener que empastar escenas, a menudo el protagonista se mueve de escenarios y hay que agregar siempre líneas a esas transiciones que realmente no interesan a nadie, pero que de lo contrario el texto quedaría mal montado. En fin… Es un mundo muy amplio, con mucha historia, tengo que lidiar con lo que necesito que los lectores sepan para entender los hechos, aunque a veces se haga un pelín peñazo.

Sam: Qué parte no… Quiénes, más bien e.e Zihel y Ariel son mi espinita. Especialmente Zihel. Sé que tiene que ver con el hecho de que nunca ha sido mi punto fuerte dibujar chicos, y menos si son de aspecto más masculino… Por eso también sufro mucho dibujando músculos. Otra cosa que me trae de cabeza es la perspectiva de las ilustraciones. Cada vez que intento salirme un poco del típico plano o poses… No sale bien. 

Illy: El tartamudeo de Doughy ¬.¬ 

Sher: sillas, sofás, mesas… cualquier cosa con cuatro patas son mis enemigos

¿Algo que te ayude o anime mientras estás trabajando?

Athe: Necesito música, no, en serio, LA NECESITO. Soy incapaz de concentrarme sin ella. Si ya consigo que lo que escucho haga de caja de resonancia de lo que escribo, el texto es mil veces mejor… Pero la musa es bastante mala gente.

Sam: Tener alguna serie/peli de fondo que me entretenga. Cuanto más larga mejor, así no me toca pararme a ver qué es lo que quiero poner después. 

Illy: Comer pipas para engañar a mi cerebro y no tener la tentación de ponerme a hacer otra cosa que me distraiga.

Sher: intento ver otros artistas para motivarme e inspirarme antes de empezar a dibujar, lo que más me cuesta es ese empujón inicial y es donde necesito la motivación, luego ya suelo tener algo de fondo pero no es necesario

¿Algo que te corte el rollo o te desmotive?

Athe: Los nudos narrativos. Generalmente, no son nudos gordos de la trama (eso está decidido casi en su totalidad), a menudo son decisiones pequeñas para pasar de la escena A a la escena B, pero puedo tirarme MUCHO tiempo decidiendo cuál es la forma más rápida y mejor planteada para atar esos dos cabos. Soy lo peor.

Sam: Muchas veces a la hora de empezar, no conseguir encajar las poses como quiero, por ejemplo. 

Illy: Encontrar muchas partes seguidas que me cueste especialmente resolver y que me hacen creer que no tengo ni idea de hablar inglés. Y mirar cuantas líneas me quedan todavía.

Sher: cuando no se como rellenar alguna zona, si veo algo muy vacío pero no se como solucionarlo puedo tirarme días mirando la pantalla sin ser capaz de avanzar, incluso aunque tenga otras zonas que pudiera ir haciendo mientras

¿Qué no puede faltar en tu mesa o superficie de trabajo?

Athe: Libretas, post-its, bolígrafos… Soy una persona que lo anota todo, sobre todo, las tareas, pero también ordeno la historia por esquemas de colores. La pila de post-its tienen 9 colores diferentes, cada uno representa un personaje y juego mucho con ellos para miles de idioteces. A parte, a pesar de que llevo muchos más años escribiendo a ordenador de los que escribí a mano, sigo teniendo querencia a lo físico.

Sam: Café, chucherías, chocolate, cereales… Y gatos. 

Illy: El móvil, las pipas, un vaso de 1L de agua de Capital America: Civil War, post-its que me recuerdan las tareas.

Sher: no tengo nada realmente lol todas mis cosas son de adorno 

¿Tus horas más productivas?

Athe: Búho. Nocturna totalmente. A pesar de que tengo varias crisis al mes para forzarme a trabajar a otras horas que acaban siempre… Mal.

Sam: También por la noche en su mayoría, aunque ya no aguanto trasnochando tanto como antes de trabajar (qué tiempos aquellos…) Aunque a media tarde cuando el zoo que tengo en casa aún está echando la siesta también consigo dar un buen empujón. 

Illy: Desde que acabo de comer hasta las 7 o las 8 de la tarde, cuando no tengo que cocinar, limpiar, hacer recados...

Sher: le tomo el testigo a Illy aparentemente, a partir de las 7 u 8 es cuando empiezo a entrar en el mood hasta que llega la hora de dormir

¿Las horas de trabajo hacen que te olvides de comer o te hacen comer el doble?

Athe: Depende, antes comía mucho, ahora, si tengo estrés no como nada. Si me encuentro en un rango productivo normal y no estoy de los nervios, probablemente, esté comiendo por inercia.

Sam: Me hacen comer más, pero sobretodo porquerías e.e Y hacen que me olvide de las comidas sanas, sobretodo de cenar por la noche. 

Illy: Depende de mi estado de ánimo, pero normalmente comer el doble.

Sher: en general soy una persona MUY distraída así que no suelo conseguir centrarme en una tarea para llegar a ninguno de esos dos modos pero supongo que cuando estoy muuuuuuy dentro de la tarea, me olvido. Pero eso pasa como un par de veces al año y “olvido” es “lo retraso una hora”.

¿Qué parte de tu set up mejorarías/cambiarías (en estética o funcionalidad) si no tuvieses límite de dinero?

Athe: Estoy tratando de que alguno de mis periféricos peguen con el resto. Todos son de un maldito color diferente, al parecer estoy maldita… Ahora en serio, desearía tener una mejor gráfica que me permitiese hacer videocapturas, unos altavoces y una impresora de calidad.

Sam: En realidad, no creo que necesitara nada más complejo de lo que ya tengo… Pero por mejorar, me llaman la atención las tabletas más profesionales, las grandes con la pantalla incluida y eso. 

Illy: Un portátil nuevo que me deje abrir 4 pestañas de chrome, el Atom y photoshop al mismo tiempo sin quedarse tieso.

Sher: Una pantalla de pc que no me cambiara los colores que uso en el ipad seria bonito la verdad 

¿A qué personaje te pareces más? ¿Y por qué?

Athe: Ufff Creo que la respuesta fácil sería decir Akane… Pero, Akane es mejor persona. :P

Sam: Esto es muy complicado… Son todos muy distintos, pero aún así no creo que me parezca mucho a ninguno. Por decir algo, me podría identificar con la tendencia a evitar problemas de Maske, y su lado más casero y tranquilo. Y bueno… Dado que Akane es OC mío de hace muchos años, seguramente tenga algo de ella también. 

Illy: Creo que en parte tengo el instinto de alejarme de las movidas de Maske, y por otro la superficialidad de Joe, aunque tbh ojalá parecerme realmente a nuestros bebés geniales.

Sher: sorprendida porque (unpopular opinión por aquí) es de los que “menos me importan” realmente pero diría que Pin porque es tontito, feliz y probablemente tenga una habitación satánica y orgulloso de ello

Tu CG/arte favorito.

Athe: DE MOMENTO. Maske capítulo 1. No podría ser más predecible. Lo sé.

Sam: Coincido bastante en la de Maske del capítulo 1. Pero también metería en el top la de Pin del capítulo 5 y la de Akane del capítulo 6.2. 

Illy: ¿¿Kyeran en el tanque de Coco?? ¿Es siquiera real? Ser básica es mi marca.

Sher: sorprendida de nuevo y decepcionada pero diría que la de Hasiel de ángel porque me gustan los vestidos bonitos, los pelos bonitos y las alas bonitas

Tu BG/escenario favorito.

Athe: Me flipa el Barrio Rojo. Me gusta la vida de ese sitio, su historia, pero la forma de plasmarlo… Uggg Sher lo llevó a otro nivel. La suciedad de la calle, la nocturnidad, los edificios constreñidos...

Sam: Creo que me quedo con el de la plaza de Raziel, me gusta mucho desde el primer día. 

Illy: No sé si puedo elegir solo uno T__T pero diría que el Barrio Rojo y el bar de Valefar están en el top.

Sher: por no repetir el barrio rojo que también me gusta mucho, me gustan mucho las zonas del laboratorio de Coco, incluida la zona “principal” aunque la perspectiva sea horrible y haga a los pj parecer diminutos, pero me gusto como quedo :( 

¿Tu capítulo favorito hasta las fecha?

Athe: Ufff… El uno y el dos os aseguro que no, jajaja. Diré que el tres, pero también por cosas que no son necesariamente del capítulo, sino de la producción. Fue un buen momento. Sentí que todo estaba fluyendo con facilidad. Todas asumimos un rol claro, unos tiempos que nos hacían sentir cómodas y capaces de asumir lo que venía después, creo que fue un salto cualitativo también, tanto en los textos, como en el arte.

Sam: Ay. Pues a ver… El capítulo 5 es una pasada para mi, por todo lo que pasa pero también porque hay muchas interacciones personalizadas y elecciones. No puedo decir que tenga un favorito definitivo, pero podría acercarse… También me gusta mucho de los últimos el 6.2. 

Illy: El capítulo 5 tiene tantos detalles, pasan tantas cosas, que es difícil que no sea mi favorito, pero los ultimos de rutas específicas son tan geniales que si me quedo con el 5 es con un poco de dolor de tener que elegir uno.

Sher: Diría el 5 también porque al final cuando pasan muchas cosas es cuando mas se te queda grabado

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[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

My thoughts on Final Fantasy VII Remake

I should preface this with saying that I’m not a game reviewer and this is going to be my subjective opinion on the game and I’m writing this because I’m feeling the urge to just ramble about my experience.

So to start with: I love this game so freaking much.

It gave me what I expected: great characters, it took me on an emotional roller coaster, it made me smile, it made me cry, it made me bounce in my seat in excitement.

The graphics are phenomenal. As is the environmeltal storytelling. I walked through Midgar and thought “This is a real place” and that happens so rarely for me in games. For all that I love FFXV, that one didn’t manage to convince me it’s world could be real. This game however, did, and that’s a big part of why I love it so much.

Characterisations have been spot on. Barrett’s willingness to go in guns blazing, his bluster, but also the care he has for Marlene and the members of his Avalanche cell.

Jesse, Biggs and Wedge are finally real characters and we learn at last of Jesse’s motivation to have joined a band of eco-terrorists. The inclusion of her backstory was spot on imo. I find it sad that Biggs got the least screan time of the three.

Aerith was perfect in this game. She was quirky, she was flirty, she had personality that went beyond this holier-than-though thing she had going on in most of the compilation. And by Yevon does she have cheek. I love her.

Now Tifa, I have one gripe with, and it’s really more a pacing and tonal issue during the train graveyard. Tifa was really close to a panic attack thinking about what Corneo said and then there comes this hour long ghost dungeon where she’s a scared damsel. I feel there‘s a disconnect here and that’s literally the only ‘negative’ thing I have to say on her character. I like her confidence, her moral dilemma on how Avalanche is doing things, how her motivations are very close to Barrett’s, but she manages to (mostly) keep a level head.

Now for Cloud I was kind of sceptical in the beginning, but I feel they did him so well. He’s got this cool and collected facade of being a SOLDIER 1st Class, but it’s just that: a facade. Beneath it he has a deep willingness to help other people, and also an insecurity that I can appreciate.

Non of this would have really worked, if the voice acting hadn’t been as good as it is. I can only really speak for the German voice acting, but it’s phenomenal. Cloud, Aerith, Reeve and, funnily enough, Roche are my favourites. All others are really good as well, Barrett just threw me off for a bit because the same voice actor does Gladio in FFXV and for the first hour every time Barrett opened his mouth I was seeing Gladio. The only voice I don’t really agree with is Rufus’. I don’t know, the voice actor does a good job, it’s just not what he sounds like in my head.

On the game play side, overall I really liked it. It’s fluent, the materia is spot on and the technical RPG elements are there. The only gripes I really have concern the spell casting, the AI of the characters you don’t control at the moment, and the ATB.

I have nothing against that my spell casting can be interrupted. What I didn’t like that the ATB bar used was gone and also the MP, even if the spell hadn’t been cast. This made it really difficult to judge when ti use level 3 spells because you could potentially loose a large amount of MP with no spell cast. The AI is kinda dumb in a lot of places, which I think is partly to force you to switch characters often, but I don’t like how they’re doing it. I would have really liked something like the Gambit system in FFXII (if less complex) or something like what Kingdom Hearts does. Just... some amount of control would have been nice. Also I would have liked if the ATB bar filled just a bit faster.

Sometimes it was hard to judge which enemy attacks could be blocked and which couldn’t so I hope in the next game they can do something with that. And improve on the dodge roll. Because right now it has no iframes whatsoever.

I’ll tackle the story (and the ending) in another post because this is already getting long enough, but safe to say I loved it.

So. Dungeons. They’re not bad. And they really sat down and thought them through. In many of them are little game play quirks to make things more interesting like the hand crane-thing and the pump in the sewers. But I feel like the train graveyard and the dungeon in chapter 17 (the secret lab, got no idea what its name is in English) slightly overstay their welcome. Especially, like I said earlier, the train graveyard threw the pacing off which is sad because the original game had such great pacing.

Which is why I’m so ambivalent on how they used Sephiroth in this game. New players who never played the original or any FF ever, won’t ever experience the same tense build-up on who that character is and the truly iconic horror scene in the tower after you escape the prison-cells. I’m sad for new players missing out on that. (But I can see that the bloodbath would have pushed the rating, so I can see why they didn’t keep it in. Still sad about it though.)

The music in this game is great, and when you really listen it can spoil the hell out of the story (for people familiar with the compilation). Most tracks are so well redone and the production value and quality is insane. Not sure what more I can add since I’m practically tone deaf on my best days, so I’ll leave that here.

Lastly, I don’t mind the linearity. I think the closest I can compare it to are FFX and FFXII. Yes, those games are also full of ‘corridors’, they just trick you into thinking they aren’t. And while the Remake cannot fully trick me, since it is taking place in a city, the places we can go to are so large, I did not feel it even being remotely close to approaching claustrophobic. (That sentence sounds wrong for some reason, but I cannot see why. English wrangling is exhausting.)

So that’s it for now. Feel free to message me or reblog or whatever. I would love to hear other people’s opinions on this game and discuss it.

[bryonysimcox]

Cutting, calling, sticking, sitting, subtitling: Week 15, Spain

With future certainty and concrete plans nowhere in sight, this week’s blog post is in praise of the mundane. Seven days of everyday life.

When prepping for this blog entry, I started panicking. What’s the overarching message? The big-picture mood of the week or the lesson I’ve learnt? Well this week, there isn’t one. It’s been seven days of everyday life and I reckon that’s worth celebrating too.

We’ve been pitching for some exciting work this week.

I can’t talk about the specifics, but it’s heartening to be actually planning and quoting for real-life projects that could bring in real-life money and real-life experience. We pretty much work on Broaden as a full-time venture anyway (regardless of if it makes us money), so when prospective clients reach out to Broaden to ask us to do more of what we love, then that’s a bonus.

I guess that’s the beauty of filmmaking, it’s so broad and its potential is so great that it can be valuable for a whole lot of people. I also think in the coming ‘new normal’ as countries, cities and communities come to adapt life around Covid-19, that the role of video and online streaming will shift, and perhaps become a more central element in our lives.

I’ve also been working away at editing the video we started filming last week about Economics for a more just and equitable world. It’s starting to take shape, though there is a lot of refinement needed (I’ve cut 150 minutes down to 30 minutes but still have a fair way to go!). Working on this video is also bringing about a newfound challenge of how we make videos like this visually stimulating, when they predominantly feature digital interviews and we can’t film footage out and about due to lockdown. It’s forcing us to get more creative with motion graphics, which is no bad thing.

In what is the culmination of a longstanding project, we also interviewed Rich Evans about The Foundations in New South Wales this week.

‘The Foundations’ is a truly extraordinary project/place in Portland, a tiny town about two-hours inland from Sydney. I first discovered the project when I worked in Australia, and the company I worked for, RobertsDay, was involved in a masterplanning process. Portland was established around a cementworks which went on to not only be the driving economic force behind the town, but also the backbone of the community. It was a source of civic pride (cement from Portland famously went to Sydney amid the building boom, coining it the phrase ‘The Town That Built Sydney’), and also helped establish social infrastructure like the swimming pool that is still a celebrated destination in the little town today. Sadly, as the cementworks decreased in scale and eventually closed in the nineties, it had a huge impact on the town.

(images) Scenes from January 2019 when we started filming at The Foundations, Portland NSW.

Back at RobertsDay, I had the pleasure of working on the masterplan and placemaking work for the next chapter of the cementworks, and I immediately fell in love with the place. Not only was it this incredible place of industrial heritage, but the owners actually wanted to transform the site into something really special - a tourist destination, an asset to the community, and a revitalised part of the town. From its current state - fenced-off, closed, and perhaps even an eyesore, the owners wanted to introduce artwork, markets, community gardens, museum collections, fishing and camping, weddings, concerts and a whole host of other things.

It was obvious that there was a story about The Foundations that deserved to be told, and so in January 2019 George and I spent a weekend there, filming local residents, business owners, and the wonderful Rich Evans, ‘Chief Reactivation Officer’ from The Foundations. This was before we’d even launched Broaden, but we were passionate to use filmmaking to document the transformation that was taking place there. However, over the course of 2019, other things took centre stage in our lives and we never got around to editing the final film.

And so, in lockdown here in Spain, we decided it was finally time to close off this story. Just this week,we called Rich over Zoom and asked him all about how things have progressed since we last visited Portland. Rich is a larger-than-life character who had so much good stuff to report (an artist in residence, growing market attendee numbers, new custom-designed public furniture, and the renovation of a central historic building which involved the removal of 1000s of bees!).

In a strange way, I’d originally thought of this hiatus as a weakness for our film, but it now has added another facet to the story: giving Rich a chance to reflect on progress at The Foundations and show viewers how much is possible in the space of a year.

Making collages serves as respite for the mind.

I return to my collage practice as a meditative practice, and a restorative one too. It’s something I do when I want to clear my mind, and use a different part of my brain from the video-editing-zoom-calling-analytical-planning side of my brain.

That said, the last few paper collages I’ve made have felt like a bit of struggle, and I’ve felt rather uninspired. The collages are never meant to be a forced thing, but instead something visceral and playful, but in recent times they’d stopped being that.

Until this week! This week, inspired to make a collage for my mum’s birthday, I started getting my boxes of magazines and compiled sheets out, stuck my ‘Making Collage’ playlist on, and somehow just found my groove. Shapes and forms shouted out to me, and I was more preoccupied with the mood of the pieces than perfection and precision. I was drawn to more ambiguous textures and the way that they could be layered, and what started as one collage ended up being a series of three (the other two of which I’ll later publish this week).

(image) The collage I made for my mum’s birthday, ‘Flirtatious Textures’.

Whilst I’ve feel as though I’ve found my swing with collage-making again (and have been also considering embarking on some critical writing about my creative process using academic texts for reference), this week I had a piece rejected. I’d made it to enter into a competition, and when the rejection email landed in my inbox this week, the usual heart-racing pangs of inadequacy entered my mind. Not only had I lost money on the entry fee, but my work was ‘unwanted’. I’ve spent some time facing those demons these last couple of days and reminding myself that I make my work for ME.

So if that’s the cutting and sticking, and the zoom interviews were the calling, what’s the sitting and subtitling this week’s post refers to?

We’ve been doing a lot of sitting. Sitting and staring, sitting and watching the sun set, sitting and reading books, sitting and checking Instagram, sitting and feeling guilt for sitting, sitting and swatting mosquitoes away (it’s rather hot all of a sudden), sitting and eating crisps, sitting and calling friends, sitting and laughing, smiling, frowning, thinking.

(images, left to right) Everyday scenes from the cottage, cutting and sticking, and a lot of sitting (as demonstrated by George!)

It feels totally bonkers that as we face a global health pandemic, all I’m drawn to do (or able to do) is sit. And George and I have certainly discussed the guilt, lack of motivation, boredom and soul-searching that’s grown (and comes along with sitting!) in recent weeks. I’m not sure if there’s some grand benefit to all this sitting, but it has called for the enjoyment of many a good book, and also a good phonecall.

One of the most joyful moments (spent sitting!) this week was surely the video call I had for my Granny’s 80th birthday, between my mum, my brother, my aunt and my Granny herself. There were laughs and cheers, ridiculous filters used and lots of talk of birthday booze and plentiful cake. But after the call, there were also moments of reflection and of gratitude; that we are able to celebrate together (albeit digitally) for the momentous milestone that is my wonderful Granny’s eightieth birthday, as she sits alone in her house in Scotland, is a blessing. Of course, I would have loved to have seen her in person, but I am so bloody grateful that we can connect to her even if just through the airwaves.

Birthdays in May seem to be a common occurrence in my family, and this week saw my Mum’s birthday too. Again, there was a sense of loss that unsurprisingly, I couldn’t be with her due to coronavirus (a fact made worse by the fact I don’t think I’ve been with my Mum on her birthday for about five years), but we were also able to chat and videocall. And I was also able to go back through my photos, reflecting on wonderful times shared across the years.

(images, left to right) Looking back at memories with mum - as a child in a sling, on our trip to Sri Lanka in 2018, and at the exhibition opening of ‘Talking Sense’ where one of her sculptures was displayed at the Portico Library last year.

Access to computers and the internet, free time to sit and chill, and family who are safe and sound is not a privilege everyone shares. And I am so aware of that.

I continue to think of the inequalities this pandemic is highlighting, and the gaps it is widening. Access to the fundamental elements for a just and equitable life are basic human rights, and yet as BBC newsnight’s Emily Maitlis reminded us, 'The disease is not a great leveller'. If while I’m sitting this week, I can at least read, watch, learn and share ideas about how we can tackle these gaping inequalities, my sitting was perhaps not in vain.

As our fifteenth week on the road drew to a close, and looked ever less like life actually ‘on the road’, I decided to take on the task of subtitling The Hundred Miler.

Initially, the only motivation to create comprehensive subtitles for Broaden’s thirty minute documentary was so that we could enter foreign film fests. And even then, we’d have had it professionally subtitled if we weren’t looking for ways to save money!

And so I naively embarked on what was to become a two-day odyssey involving Artificial Intelligence transcript detection, manually correcting the script, learning about timecodes, downloading .srt files and working to integrate them with YouTube.

The long and short of it is that The Hundred Miler (which also hit a whopping 100,000 views this week) now has complete ‘closed caption’ subtitles which you can use and enjoy on YouTube! But more than that, through conversations with others I realised the importance of subtitles from an accessibility perspective, as a critical tool to help deaf and hard-of-hearing people, as well as those for whom English isn’t their mother tongue. It was a refreshing reminder that we exclude people without meaning to, but that we can also actively include them if we take certain measures.

So that’s it, Week 15 in all its mundane glory. To those of you who are still here, reading my reflections on these strange and tumultuous times, thank you. Maybe this week you’ve been cutting, calling, sticking, sitting and subtitling too, and for that, I salute you. 

[tonystarkbingo]

TSB Week 8 Roundup!

Badge earners for the past week:

Shera Thudworm

Congratulations on earning your participation bages!

And now, onto the bingo fills!

Title: Black Lightning Collaborator: cami-chats Link: AO3 Square Filled: S3 - Therapy Ship: N/A Rating: Teen  Major Tags: Implied/Referenced Character Death Summary: Tony has a favorite superhero, and it's not Captain America. Word Count: 2118

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Title: Maze of Horrors Collaborator: ABrighterDarkness Link: AO3 Square Filled: S1 - Labyrinth Ship: Stony Rating: Explicit Major Tags: Psychological Torture, References to Past Torture, Child Abuse, Mildly-Graphic Blood/Injury Summary: Whoever this was, if their goal was to break them, they were doing a pretty damned good job at it.They still hadn’t found the exit and Tony felt like their time was beginning to run out. Time for what, exactly, he had no idea but his skin was crawling with the realization. Word Count: 6550

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Title: Go the Fuck to Medical Collaborator: LBibliophile Link: AO3 Square Filled: R2 - Day-in-the-Life Ship: Phil Coulson & Avengers Team Rating: Teen Major Tags: N/A Summary: Phil Coulson likes the Avengers, likes working with them. But when it comes to convincing them to seek necessary medical attention... the next person to complain is getting dragged there by their ear! Word Count: 198

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Title: Stars Aligned Collaborator: Nix Link: AO3 Square Filled: A4 - Date in the Park Ship: ScienceIronBros Rating: Teen Major Tags: romance, nerds Summary: Moodboard

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Title: Retirement Collaborator: thoughtfulbreadpolice Link: AO3 Square Filled: S4 - Retirement Ship: Stuckony [Hinted] Rating: Not Rated Major Tags: Hinted Polyamory Summary: Fifty year old singers could ride a stripper pole upside down, but Tony sleeps wrong and he can’t turn his head to the right for six days. Word Count: 500

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Title: Like No One’s Watching Collaborator: monobuu Link: AO3 Square Filled: T5 - Friday Ship: WinterIronWidow Rating: Gen Major Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fluff Summary: It’s her first performance ever, but with one parent missing and the other two shrouded in the darkness of the audience, young Kobik is a little overwhelmed. Word Count: 1821

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Title: Aliyah Collaborator: RoseRose Link: AO3 Square Filled: A5 - Writing Format: Use of symbolisms Ship: None Rating: Gen Major Tags: Grief/Mourning Summary: Tony Stark is Jewish and has a bar mitzvah. A character study of a Jewish Tony Stark.Chose not to warn due to discussion of Maria and Howard Stark's death, though not explicit Word Count: 355

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Title: In Her Sights Collaborator: periwinklepromise Link: AO3 Square Filled: R5 - Third Date Ship: Tony Stark/Susan Storm Rating: Mature Major Tags: Female Tony Stark, Science Girlfriends Summary: "Um, Sue? Do you know you're invisible right now?" Word Count: 1039

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Title: my body is not their bed - ii Collaborator: Simi Link: AO3 Square Filled: K3 - Genderswap Ship: WinterIronWidow Rating: Explicit Major Tags: soulmates, Fem!Tony, implied/referenced child abuse, explicit sexual content, PTSD, genderswap, gender issues, torture, polyamory Summary: In 1995, the Engineer and the Winter Soldier escape HYDRA and end up, bleeding, on Peggy Carter's doorstep.This is their journey after. This is the story of their victory march. Word Count: 13077

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Title: Another Captain Collaborator: camichats Link: AO3 Square Filled: R1 - AU: Sci-Fi/Futuristic Ship: Wanda/Tony Rating: Gen Major Tags: Star Trek Fusion Summary: Tony (Chief Engineer) and Wanda (First Officer) get the news that their Captain is retiring, and soon they'll have to get used to a new Captain of Avenger. Word Count: 1802

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Title: On the Run Collaborator: ashes0909 Link: AO3 Square Filled: S3 - On the Run Ship: WinterIron Rating: Teen Major Tags: First Meetings, Tony is Tony, James is AU, Fluff, Banter, Pets Make the Best Wingmen Summary: The man was walking towards Tony, and as he approached, he could see his half-quirked smirk. Of course Tony’s Frenchie looked calm and content in muscle-man’s arms, not barking and running around like the menace he was.  “Lose something?” the man asked as he approached, the loose leash zipping back into the handle as they got closer. Word Count: 1082

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Title: Insulation Inspiration Collaborator: ashes0909 Link: AO3 Square Filled: S4 - Blanket Forts Ship: Stony Rating: Teen Major Tags: Fluff, Winter, Established Relationship, POV Tony Stark Summary: “It’s rare to get a blizzard this bad but I remember…” Steve chuckled again, shifting so he could brush a kiss on the top Tony’s head, but he didn’t continue.  So, Tony prodded. “Yes…? Vague memory alert. You know I’m all about instant gratification. Don’t leave me hanging. What do you remember?” Word Count: 1418

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Title: Trash, trash, tabloids are trash. Collaborator: HogwartsToAlexandria Link: AO3 Square Filled: A5 - mirror image Ship: Tony/Happy Rating: Gen Major Tags: Discussion of Fat Shaming Summary: Tony doesn't need the other look he gives Happy's laptop to understand what's up - he does need it as a way to cool down even slightly though. Right there, on the little desk Happy insists on keeping in the corner of their bedroom even though he's got a fully-furnished office down the hall, People magazine's tacky colors flash across the screen. Tony looks at the pictures and had he not seen the title above them, he would be grinning. Now he knows why his husband was acting all weird the day before at least. Word Count: 1849

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Title: Stars Collaborator: hereandnowwearealive  Link: Tumblr Square Filled: R4 - art format: complementary colors Ship: none Rating: Gen Major Tags: art fill Summary: Image of Tony looking up at the stars

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Title: Brutal Motivation Collaborator: SierraNovembr Link: AO3 Square Filled: K5 - shared trauma Ship: IronWidow Rating: Teen Major Tags: non-graphic torture, implied/referenced child abuse, ballerina Nat, angst and fluff Summary: Natasha and Tony both carry many scars. It shouldn't be surprising that some of them match. Word Count: 716

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Title: King Me Collaborator: phoenixmetaphor3000 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: K1 - Royalty Ship: Loki/Stephen/Tony Rating: Teen Major Tags: none Summary: its a moodboard lads  Word Count: N/A [moodboard]

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Title: Yeah, let’s do it again but this time let’s go full psycho Collaborator: Juls Link: AO3 Square Filled: R2 - Canon: Avengers Academy Ship: WinterIron Rating: Teen Major Tags: Platonic Relationship  Summary:  When professor Fury gives his class a scientific project, Bucky decides to pair up with Tony, hoping that the genius will help him. He regrets it when he realizes that Tony loves too much make things explode.  Word Count: 1313

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Title: Stay Still Collaborator: lbibliophile-mcu Link: AO3 Square Filled: S1 - Stay Still Ship: Tony Stark and Bucky Barnes Rating: Gen Major Tags: Drabble  Summary: This was not how Tony expected to finally catch up with Barnes. Word Count: 100

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Title: Nothing for the Nerves Collaborator: 27dragons Link: AO3 Square Filled: S2 - Secret Relationship Ship: WinterIron Rating: Teen Major Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers Summary: Tony and Bucky have been dating for three months, and it is high time that Bucky met Tony’s friends. There’s nothing to be nervous about, of course....Right? Word Count: 1449

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Title: Baking Rivalry Collaborator: eirlyssa Link: Tumblr Square Filled: R1 - Tension Ship: WinterIron Rating: Gen Major Tags: None Summary:  It’s a moodboard with a bit of scribbing about a baking rivalry tbh :P Word Count: 233

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Title: white petals stained red Collaborator: scriptatur Link: AO3 Square Filled: K2 - Hanahaki Disease Ship: Stucky, pre-Stuckony Rating: Teen Major Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending Summary: When the first petal falls, he’s not even surprised. He’s not quite sure who it is, but that’s not really a surprise either. Only he could be so lucky to fall in love with two people at the same time. Unrequited love, that is, hence the petals falling from his lips. Tony stares at the two white petals in his hand, feels the back of his throat itch and thinks “Oh. This is it, then.” Word Count: 2338

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Title: All I Know Is You’re Someone I’ve Always Known Collaborator: ceealaina Link: AO3 Square Filled: K1 - Wake Up! Ship: Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark Rating: Teen Major Tags: Endgame Fix-It Summary: Tony wakes up to Nat waiting for him in the soul stone… and that’s when things start to get weird. Word Count: 6196

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Title: YSMIR - Chapter 2 Collaborator: endrega23 Link: AO3 Square Filled: K4 - Anticipation Ship: WinterIron Rating: Gen Major Tags:  None Summary:  First, take twenty to thirty tablespoons of challenge. Sprinkle it with a pinch of bet, and add some brotherly competition according to your taste and a slice of one-upmanship. Let it sit and stew, then, at the critical moment, add it to a nightmare-fueled, sleep-deprived inventing binge. Be sure to separate it from any moderating influence, or it won't produce the desired effect. Finally, pour it into a genius, and wait Word Count: 4907

[oh-theatre]

Sycamore High: A Mission (Chapter 13)

A/N: I was very tempted to tag J but not all the characters are suffering yet so... maybe one-day 

summary: Paul decides Jail doesn't sound so bad

words: 1,614

warnings: Crying, negative thoughts, cursing, abuse mention, blood (not too graphic but its there)

Ao3 Link

Paul was done, no you know what? He was further than done, he was over it. He was exhausted, he had way too much shit going on and this? This put the entire world on thin fucking ice.

“Hear that universe? You’re on thin fucking ice” He declares angrily as he stormed the halls the next morning. “Where are you fucker” Paul mumbled scanning the tired halls full of zombie students. He finally spotted him, the little sleaze. No, not even sleaze, that was reserved for Ted. He made his way towards the locker but abruptly stopped being interjected.

“Omg, it’s stage 5 Paul” Ted teases stepping into Paul’s murder path. He glared at his friend, nothing but his mission occupied his mind.

“Not now Ted” he warned pushing his friend into the locker, horror-struck him as he heard his friend groan in pain. “Shit, shit I’m so sorry Ted, I wasn’t thinking” he ranted, Ted, with the help of Bill regained his former posture. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to hurt you”

“Eh, I’m used to it” Ted stayed simply shrugging his shoulders. Another wave of guilt hit Paul, well that doesn’t make me feel better. “So What brings stage 5 Paul to school today?” Ted asked, rubbing his side carefully. Paul bit back his lip.

“He-“ Paul shot a glare towards his target “Did it again, he hurt her again and I’m just-“ he sucked in a sharp breath “I am very much done, so I have decided to spend the rest of my life in jail” Paul seethed

“Oh so you get to murder him, but I don’t get to murder Billy” Bill complained, the other two looked at him with hints of shock and respect. They were taken aback by the sudden sass and serious tone their usually calm and nice friend displayed. Ted wished he had taken this change more seriously, but alas.

~~~

“I just want my friend back!” A pained voice shouted through the rain

“Well, he’s gone!” Was the simple angry response that left the two shatter

~~~

“Just saying, I’m Sherlock so switch my motives and I’d be an amazing Moriarty” Bill explained calmly. Ted burst into a fit of laughter, nudging Bill softly who’s face softened at his friends laugh. He shied away finally retreating back to his locker and Paul turned back to his unlucky victim. He suddenly had a thought and turned back to Ted.

“Wait why are you here? You should be… not here” Paul cringed at his own phrasing but they go the point.

“Wow…” Ted said “Paul Matthews everybody” he mimicked a fake round of applause, Bill snickered. “It’s chill, I’m just grabbing my stuff and then leaving” Paul was still not satisfied, leaving to where? Obviously, Ted caught on to his friend's concerns and continued “Bills dad is taking me home, he dropped us off and is just waiting for me now” Paul nodded slowly, Ted, deciding his friend was satisfied with the answer turned back to his locker grabbing the rest of his things. “I should get going, Professor Hidgens and...Professor Hidgens-“ He paused clearly holding back something “Are coming over later to discuss some stuff, so… please don’t commit murder and if you do don’t get caught. And say hi to the girls for me!” He declared finalizing his rant, he turned to Bill who immediately jumped into a quick but cautious embrace. Ted accepted happily before waving a quick goodbye to Paul and disappearing into the crowd of practically dead students. 

“I’m worried about him” Bill said softly after a moment, the murdering mantra had now ceased as Paul faced his friend. He sighed heavily and exhausted giving his friend a reassuring look.

“Me too but… he has an army of people who just want the best… he will be ok” Who Paul was trying to convince, he wasn’t sure. Bill nodded with the same uncertainty before deciding he had finished at his locker and walking to his first-class but not before telling Paul goodbye. 

“Alright, now it’s just you and me” He stayed glaring at the arrogant figure who was still leaning against his locker, wearing his stupid red cap and stupid smoke club shirt. “Oh it’s on, Stage 5 Paul is fucking pissed” 

~~~

“...and then we can work on finding you a new home” that’s it, Ted had heard enough. He had sat for the past hour listening to 2 adults who, bless their hearts were trying, but who clearly knew absolutely nothing.

“New home?” He seethed, his tone became dark “No, no, there is no ‘new home’ ok?” he glared at the pair, really hoping it had the effect intended. “You don’t get it, this will blow over, I will go home, keep my fucking mouth shut and live my life.” Now he was going, he did feel bad the Professors clearly just wanted to help but Ted was done with everyone trying. If they couldn’t do something right now, then he didn’t care for their bullshit ‘tries’. Ted grunted loudly, he wanted to throw something but he didn’t dare. Not only had Bills father been an amazing person and truly cared for Ted, but he was also scared. Would that all turn if he made a mistake now? “There is no new home” he said calmly, but everyone could feel the darkness that poured out. “I will go home, and I will listen to my parent's fight as always. I will fear my mornings, as always. And I will get hit and shoved for being-“ he froze in horror, he had done it. He actually said it, oh god…

No

No

I want my mom

No

He clasped a hand over his mouth, creating a prison for his words. The professors who had been shocked into silence up until now stood. Approaching Ted carefully, please don’t hurt me, I’m sorry. He cowered preparing himself for a blow, instead felt himself wrapped into a steady embrace. Ted could feel a heartbeat, it was even, unlike Ted who shook violently against the mans hold. He opened his eyes to find two beautiful blue ones staring at him, Professor Hidgens kneeled next to him,  he gestured towards his chest. Ted glanced for a moment feeling a confused flustered feeling rise upon his face.

“Mimic my breathing Ted” The Professor said, finally something I knew how to do. 

“5 things you can see Ted” 

“Bill? 5 things you can see, right now” Ted repeated

So with a shaky breath, he began. “I can see you, and.. and the couch… I can see Professor Hidgens” he shook his head pulling away from Chad's embrace, who simply smiled pridefully at him. “I can see my backpack… and… my hands” the two men nodded patiently. 

“Good, now 4 things you can…” his voice drifted off. Ted sighed feeling himself steady as he recalled the faces of his dear friends. 

“I can see you, Ted” He said, reassuring himself that was the name of his friend. Ted nodded smiling. They continued, 4 things you can touch, 3 things you can hear, 2 things you can smell, and one thing you can taste. 

And so Ted did what he had told Bill to do weeks ago. Finally calming down, Bill's father suggested he go upstairs and get some rest while the men discussed the matters at hand. Ted wasn’t one to oppose free sleep, So he obliged.

I’m here, I’m right here Bill

~~~

“Can we adopt him?” Chad asked innocently 

“Simple answer, definitely” Henry responder almost immediately “Actual answer, love you know that’s not how this works” he said disappointed, stirring the tea that Corey, Bills father, had provided the couple. 

“But… isn’t it? The boy is being… “ he paused, Henry gave him a look. No need to say it, we both know now. “I mean he can’t possibly go home” Chad whined, he was frustrated. Henry understood, and he recognized this behavior. Chad had an inexplicable but beautiful need to protect people, Henry loved- nay, adored that about him. But he hated seeing Chad look so… defeated. 

“So he stays here, for now, we figure out what measures need to be taken to remove him from the house-“ Henry paused, how could he have been so stupid. “Ted's mother…” Henry whispered almost impressed by his revelation. “How could we forget Ted's mother!” He exclaimed Chad tilted his head confusion riddling his soft, sick face. “Think about it..”

And so they did, and finally, after long hours into the day, the pair finally came to a conclusion.

Adopt-

Not yet! Patience little one, patience

~~~

“Are you absolutely insane!?” Alice exclaimed rushing over to her brother. He gave her a stupid grin feeling himself slip away. He stood in the doorway to their home, blood dripping down his nose and a very dark eye. He didn't care however, he stood in their doorway pridefully having also a trace of someone else's blood gracing his knuckles. Alice assessed the situation, rushing to the kitchen grabbing an ice pack and the first aid kit. She leads her brother over to the couch and began tending to his probably broken nose. “You are so lucky mom isn't home-”

“Paul!” The pair turns to a sudden bang on the door, they share the same look of alertness. “Paul I know you're in there, open up!” The previously absent feeling of panic now set into Paul as he recognized the angry yet concerned voice from the other side of the door. 

“Emma” He whispers, very scared for what might happen as he stands up and opens the door to the one tiny angry girl on the other side.