#which is just under double of the next longest chapter

[reading-writing-dying]

Stuck at work but thinking about chapter four of Remember Again...

[kcrossvine-art]

Hi fellow adventurers!! Welcome to chapter 2! We're going to be attempting a nice lil fruit-focused quiche/frittata/pie thing. And yes, tomatoes are fruits.

Who says you cant eat totally normal things in a dungeon with definitely no monsters in them? 

You know what that means; Man-Eating Plant Tart!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to a Man-Eating Plant Tart?” YOU MIGHT ASKThe way its prepared in the show is akin to a frittata, but the crust is borrowed from quiche world.

Eggs

Whole milk

Bell peppers

Persimmons

Cherry tomatoes

Pitted green olives

Thinly sliced OR shredded sweet potatos

Salt

Pepper

In the show they use leftover hotpot stock, slime, and mashed up fruit as the batter ingredients. Fruit mush is easy to work with but I couldn't find any stand-in for slime that would cook correctly into what they made in the show, and the hotpot stock is just not thick enough to carry the base. It is too many watery ingredients at once. Needing a thickening agent, both gelatin and agar agar were tried. It was edible but the texture was… gelatinous. Regular egg and milk will serve for our purposes.

The next complication was the crust- so in the show its made with the skins of fruit, straightforward yeah? Well. You see it also has to be 1. Thick enough to bake without burning 2. Harden through cooking to be sliced and held and 3. Inedible. Lotus leaves? Plantain leaves? Really thin gourds? I couldnt find any historical basis for a savory food cooked in this method, or similar method, with an intentionally inedible crust. I could find a few dishes which used leaves as their crust, but none that hardened during cooking and even less that used fruit skin. I chose sweet potato skin for its visual match and texture. It is edible, and it is not a fruit.

I hope youll forgive me for these 2 major deviations as i wanted to keep it looking how it does in the show while also ensuring it tastes good.

AND, “what does a Man-Eating Plant Tart taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASKFluffy, airy, savory, salty.

The density of the eggs is offset by the crisp fruits

And the saltiness doesnt overpower the remnant fruit-sweetness

(If you eat the crust) the sweet potato brings this nice muted, smokey, flavor

Spongecake-esque in consistency

Would pair well with cranberry or strawberry juice

Would also pair well with a mellow hot sauce?

. You can use heavy cream instead of milk for a creamier batter . Roast the fruit longer to remove more liquid if too wet (and vice versa if too dry) . Smoked paprika, pepper flakes, cumin, garlic powder, and onion powder would taste good in the mixture

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

"A mixture of mashed up and cut up Man-Eating Plant fruit, slime and scorpion soup is poured into a pan lined with the flattened peel of the fruit and cooked before garnishing with some more fruit. Described as salty by the group."

From start to finish this recipe took 3-ish hours? Shredding the potatoes took the longest, so if you get them bagged itd be cut down. A very filling recipe and a good way to sneak veggies/fruits in if you have a hard time getting enough of those essential nutrients. The best advice i can give is to add salt/seasonings at every stage of the process, to build up layers. It makes a difference flavor-wise (even if its just salt). I advise against reheating if possible. The filling will make the crust soggy over time.

If you want to be closer to the cooking of the show, you could double the fruit amounts and mash them together while halving the amount of egg and milk. I hadnt tried due to budget reasons, but it should work with some finangling. I'll pass the final verdict off to you guys with how todays recipe turned out <333

What would you rate this recipe out of 10? (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) Did you love it, did you hate it? What're your thoughts on what I could do better, and what would you have done instead?

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

3 Eggs

13oz whole milk

2 bell peppers

2 small persimmons

140oz cherry tomatoes

12oz pitted green olives

34oz thinly sliced OR shredded sweet potatos

Salt

Pepper

Method:

Heat oven to 420f and grease a 9-inch pie pan.

Thinly slice (or shred) your sweet potatoes and squeeze out any excess moisture. Coat in olive oil, salt and pepper.

Press sweet potato mixture evenly into and up the sides of the pie pan.

Blind bake for roughly 25 minutes or until lightly golden-brown. No worries if the edges get crisp.

Remove pie pan from oven and set aside.

Core and chop up your bell peppers and persimmons. Coat with olive oil, salt, and pepper.

Line out on a baking sheet, evenly spaced, and roast for roughly 20 minutes or until softened. (you can do this at the same time on a separate rack from the pie crust if you have room)

Remove the stems from your cherry tomatoes, and drain/dry your green olives if canned.

Bring a frying pan to medium heat with olive oil. Add the green olives and sautee until their skin texture starts dimpling. Add the cherry tomatoes and continue sauteeing for about 5 minutes or until lightly browned.

Once the bell peppers, persimmons, cherry tomatoes, and green olives are all done, set aside to cool until just above room temp.

Lower the oven temperature to 350f.

In a mixing bowl combine your eggs and milk, add salt to taste. If you want other seasonings nows a good time!

Once uniform in color and texture, add your cooked fruit. Stir until evenly distributed.

Pour mixture into the potato pie crust.

Bake for roughly 40 minutes. The filling should be mostly firm, but wiggle *slightly* when you shake the pan.

Remove from oven and let rest for roughly 15 minutes before serving.

[anim-ttrpgs]

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy July 11th Update, Wolfmania, Our Biggest Update Yet!

This update was delayed by about one week, but I think everyone will find that this was well worth it, as this has been our most significant update ever to the rulebook and general content of Eureka. Where do I even begin?

Maybe I’ll start with the best part. For a limited time, this update is FREE! You can grab a PDF from the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club Discord server from now (July 11th 2024) until the next book club round starts! (Which will probably be about a month.)

Here’s just a few of the highlights for this update, you’ll find the full changelog below.

Major cleanup and copy-editing is underway again finally, and we managed to eliminate 42 pages of unnecessary blank space and extraneous text, as well as rewording and reorganizing many rules sections to make them clearer and easier to read. You now only have to read 20 pages before the first mention of how to roll dice, rather than 70.

Ten new character traits.

A PC’s Wealth stat now has a much greater effect on them in more areas of gameplay.

A ton of new art assets.

A bunch of massive improvements to combat that make it flow smoother with fewer interruptions, some of these improvements will be discussed in detail in their own post.

Repurposed Chapter 7 into being a chapter dedicated to GMing and homebrew.

Huge cleanups to the supernatural chapter.

Some changes to monsters overall to make them more modular and less restrictive in character creation.

Two new playable “supernatural” “creatures.”

Two new mage traits as well. (Which also double as two new spells for the witch)

The weaknesses of a vampire are now a bit more subjective and modular. For instance, in character creation you can trade off a greater sensitivity to garlic for a more potent sense of smell, or a lesser sensitivity to garlic for a weaker sense of smell. Vampires are now also explicitly thematically tied to religion, religious trauma, and religious horror.

Wolfmania! The wolfman monster now has different transformation options during character creation. You now choose your wolfman PC’s partial wolf transformation and full wolf transformation, with four options for each. There are some major narrative trade-offs for different combinations but I’ll let you figure that out for yourself.

Then, there is "The Eye of Neptune." "The Eye of Neptune" is a Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy adventure module that has languished in an unfinished state for like six months, but we finally got it like 99% complete. The only thing missing are the maps and the artwork, which it is fully playable without.

Man has built a city of steel and black blood atop the endless abyss. It is a beating heart bound together with labyrinthian pipe veins. Hundreds of miles away from civilization, it stands in the midst of the Gulf of Mexico with naught but empty horizons around it. Within is a vast structure of winding halls, grinding machinery, and thousands upon thousands of small parts working to achieve a grand design. It is the Offshore Oil Rig Neptune, and it was once run by 200 workers. Now, in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, it has fallen to more or less a dozen. These last vestiges of life in the rig spread themselves thin and work their hands to the bone to keep the massive beast running. In the midst of this overwhelming isolation, two members of the already shorthanded crew are unaccounted for, Seth Barlowe and Lukas Ward. The installation manager, Noah, has convened a meeting to try to find out what happened to him. With the crew already severely shorthanded and tensions running high, a mysterious disappearance is the last thing anyone needs. 

You can get a copy of The Eye of Neptune, as well as another adventure module, several stories, and continuous monthly rulebook updates from our Patreon for only $5/month!

Now here's the full changelog! I'm mercifully putting it under a Read More because it's our longest one yet!

CHANGE LOG 

Copy-editing Progress: Thoroughly copy-edited up to p. 47.

CHAPTER 1

Better clarified how Heat increases.

Minor edit to Role of the Narrator.

Changed the name of Chapter 1 to “Core Gameplay Rules”

Minor tweak/clarification to what happens with a 7-9 on a Heat roll.

Instead of +1 Heat when the villain is in league with the police, Heat now simply does not decrease for the duration of the adventure. 

Heat rolls are now made whenever an investigator’s Heat increases by 3 or more within a single scene, rather than being made on multiples of 3 Heat.

Added another entry to the list of how Heat can increase

How much Heat an investigator starts the adventure with is now based on their Wealth stat.

Minor sentence reworks

Added a more detailed story of A.N.I.M. and Eureka’s history to the foreword

Moved Verisimilitude section out of Foreword down below Inspirations 

Moved “Deadly Combat, Permanent Consequences” to Chapter 3 above Grievous Wounds

Moved the “Monsters” section of the foreword to Chapter 8

Better clarified starting Heat

Lots of copy-editing and minor twinning, additions, and tweaks

Fixed the Quick Term definition for Truth being inaccurate.

Moved a bunch of sections from Chapter 1 to Chapter 7, including Heat

CHAPTER 2

Fixed the Believer Snoop accidentally being put with the Woo-Woo trait

Tweaked the None of My Business Trait

Changed Traits section to “Mundane Trait List”

Changed the amount of Penetrative HP for Not Finished Yet trait to 13 instead of 10

Added holster to item list.

Found out bump stocks are no-longer illegal 

Added “It’s for a Book” trait 

Added “Moneybags” trait

Added “The Ascot” trait 

Added “Gang Way!” trait 

Added “Dangerprone Damsel” trait

Added “Master of Disguise” Trait.

Added “Ninja” Trait

Added “Quick Draw” trait

Edited the Food Budget item to be more clear

Changed it so that guns no-longer come with bullets, these must be bought separately

Changed having +2 Wealth to “middle class” and +3 Wealth to “upper middle class,” to better describe how the Wealth skill actually influences the game

The formula for calculating WP is now 3D6+6+[Wealthx2]

Increased the WP price for certain items to reflect the above change

Added “Frugal” trait 

Added “Kleptomaniac” trait

Added art of example investigator Nick Morgan

Moved a bunch of sections from Chapter 2 to Chapter 7

Moved some stuff about investigators losing items to Chapter 7

Moved some stuff about homebrewing traits into Chapter 7

Changed the name of Chapter 2 to “How to Make an Investigator” because now all the NPC stuff is moved to Chapter 7

Better clarified skills

Changed the heading “Additional Traits” to “Choosing More Than Three Traits”

CHAPTER 3

Added clarification that sometimes it does matter whether a weapon is a blunt weapon, a piercing weapon, or a cutting weapon, and we trust players to be able to intuit what types of weapons are what.

Made animal teeth and animal claws separate entries on the weapon list

Better clarified when Speed needs to be calculated and when it doesn't

Explained what a node map is

Removed the rules for doing turn order based on Reflexes rolls, and finally made it so that Epicenter Initiative works with firearms combat.

Added rules for equipping weapons during combat

You now add Acceleration bonus to Athletics rolls for characters moving long distances in theater of the mind combat. Need to go around and remove the special speeds for various supernatural characters. 

Added a section that explains why so many pages is dedicated to combat despite this game being an investigation game primarily

Added art of some small knives

Put “Deadly Combat, Permanent Consequences” to this chapter instead of the Foreword

CHAPTER 4

Added some art to the gun information list 

Made Fully Automatic Fire have a hard limit of 12 bullets per attack. 

Added Quick Cycling rule, allowing characters with a +2 or more in Firearms to fire Two-round Bursts with Single-Action and Repeating firearms.

CHAPTER 5

Added rule for ride-by attacks to basic melee attack

Better clarified Escape

Attempts to disarm a character now have bonuses or penalties based on the difference between the Athletics skill of the two characters involved, similar to how Escape attempts work. 

CHAPTER 6

Clarified that Acceleration is not affected by Composure

Tiny tweak to how chases are described

Better clarified when Speed needs to be calculated and when it doesn't

CHAPTER 7

Added “How We Play Eureka” section explaining which optional rules we personally do and don't prefer

Changed the name of Chapter 7 to “Advanced Narration and Homebrewing”

Added a ton of stuff from other chapters to Chapter 7 to make it a general chapter for Narrators as well as help with game/module design and homebrewing. It is currently a little bit of a mess but is at least serviceable until we get to the point where we can fully copy-edit it.

CHAPTER 8

Minor vampire tweaks

Made it so that that the vampire sensitivity to certain scents is more codified and now causes composure rolls, and now works more like their compulsion to count things in that the placement of the weakness on their tiers of fear determines how much of a bonus they have to Senses checks involving smell and taste. 

Adjusted Even Monsters are Afraid of Something section to reflect the above changes 

Added more mechanics for how NPC vampires interact mechanically with weaknesses. 

Better clarified the full moon roll for wolfmen. It is now just 1D12+1. 

Better codified superhuman strength as a rule.

Gave the math for handling consistent HP across alternate supernatural forms its own section.

Completely redid the wolfman wolf forms. Now during character creation players can choose one of four options for each of the wolfman’s wolf forms, each with their own advantages and disadvantages. Up to 16 possible combinations! Wolfmania!

Improved the werewolf trait to fit with the updates to wolfman

Adjusted wolf manifestation of vampire to fit with new wolfman rules. 

Better clarified vampire claws

Added Supernatural Bonuses and Investigation Rolls section

Tweaked wolfman involuntary transformation so that the form they rampage in is still random even if they are already in a wolf form when the rampage starts

Changed stats of vampire’s bat manifestation

Better clarified vampire sunlight and silver weakness mechanics

Totally revamped vampire’s monstrous beast manifestation 

Redid the Superhuman Speed mage trait, made it a lot better 

Improved the Stealth bonus of the Invisibility mage trait

Improved Stealth bonuses of thing from beyond.

Added a “Purpose” mechanic to living dolls, which is what the doll in question was built to do. When they act towards this purpose, they get +1 to rolls, and when they fail or otherwise ignore their purpose, they may lose Composure. 

Updated Even Monsters are Afraid of Something section to reflect the above

Made it so wolfmen lose 2 Composure from skipping a meal instead of 1.

Clarified that the thing from beyond does not need to stay in human shape the entire time they are digesting a human victim. 

Clarified the possibility of escaping from a monstrous supernatural beast’s stomach for both the giant wolfman forms and the monstrous vampire manifestation. 

Clarified Telekinesis trait

Added “Manifest Weaponry” Mage Trait

Added “Incredible Strength” Mage Trait

Added ability for an investigator to be a talking dog.

Changed “wannabe monster hunter” to just “monster hunter” and added a new sidebar

Rewriting large chunks of the first half of chapter 8, redefining each type of supernatural investigator, and adding a fourth category of investigator. Work in progress

Monster investigators now only require 18 investigation points instead of 21. 

Removed “Is this a monster or a mage” section. This is no-longer needed now that these categories are more clearly defined. 

Removed blood sacrifice from the witch’s true nature and just committed to making it be about cannibalism and about using magic–any of their magic–for petty and/or entirely selfish reasons. 

Gave witches a proper weakness

Changed the name of the witch to Fairytale Witch

Moved Alternative Witch into the misc. category

Removed large chunks of chapter 8 that were either no-longer needed or had become so outdated as to be contradictory to other rules

Vampires now gain 1 additional point of Composure for every 5 Morale or Composure damage they do to their victim during an attack, to better codify how they feed on human suffering as much as the literal blood they drink.

Added the “Monsters” section of the Foreword to this chapter instead

Changed the name of the Thing From Beyond’s “Shapeshifter” trait to “Imposter Syndrome”

Moved some stuff about homebrewing traits into Chapter 7

Elegantly designed and thoroughly playtested, Eureka represents the culmination of three years of near-daily work from our team, as well as a lot of our own money. If you’re just now reading this and learning about Eureka for the first time, you missed the crowdfunding window unfortunately, but our Kickstarter page is still the best place to learn more about what Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy actually is, as that is where we have all the fancy art assets, the animated trailer, links to video reviews by podcasts and youtubers, and where we post regular updates on the status of our progress finishing the game and getting it ready for final release.

Beta Copies through the Patreon

If you want more than just status updates, going forward you can download regularly updated playable beta versions of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy and it’s adventure modules by subscribing to our Patreon at the $5 tier or higher. Subscribing to our patreon also grants you access to our patreon discord server where you can talk to us directly and offer valuable feedback on our progress and projects.

The A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club

If you would like to meet the A.N.I.M. team and even have a chance to play Eureka with us, you can join the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club discord server. It’s also just a great place to talk and discuss TTRPGs, so there is no schedule obligation, but the main purpose of it is to nominate, vote on, then read, discuss, and play different indie TTRPGs. We put playgroups together based on scheduling compatibility, so it’s all extremely flexible. This is a free discord server, separate from our patreon exclusive one. https://discord.gg/7jdP8FBPes

Other Stuff

We also have a ko-fi and merchandise if you just wanna give us more money for any reason.

We hope to see you there, and that you will help our dreams come true and launch our careers as indie TTRPG developers with a bang by getting us to our base goal and blowing those stretch goals out of the water, and fight back against WotC's monopoly on the entire hobby. Wish us luck.

[lenoide]

Season of Love (7/?)

+18 | Toto x reader fem!teamprincipal, romance, comedy, and some good drama.

Summary: One night on a pier in Monaco, while admiring the sea under the night skies, you tell Toto: "I came to the conclusion that love is simply not meant for me." That's the answer to a question you have been asking yourself for the longest time. But what if he proved you wrong? Author's note: This is a multichapter Toto Wolff x team principal reader fic set along a season of F1. It's a very immersive story full of drivers, team dynamics, races, mystery, and smut. You just bought the Williams team, but nobody really knows who you truly are.

< Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter >

The Color of Truth is Blue Arc Chapter 7: Red flagsss

Italy

You stay off-the-grid that entire weekend to everyone's concerns. 

Your phone remains turned off and forgotten on the sofa at Seb's place, kilometers away from you now, as he takes you on a sudden road trip through the Italian Riviera in his 1995 classic blue Citroën DS19. 

Knowing the beautiful scenery and brief stops at the Mediterranean towns' gorgeous tourist sites would keep your mind from hurtful thoughts.

And, boy, he was right. 

Your mood gets less somber as you two enjoy your gelatos while peacefully walking the Giardini Botanici Hanbury, feeling the fresh breeze from the trees on your skin and hearing the birds chirping around you.

It turns out Seb is full of great love and life advice. He sounds so mature and open about it that it seems new and shocking to you.

How can someone love so freely and so fearlessly?

-

Seb watches you sigh as you finish packing the clothes you bought and wore during the weekend in your also new suitcase since touring Italy in his clothes seemed like something other than a fit for your aesthetics and ego. 

Still, you chose to wear his vintage Monty Python t-shirt with mom jeans for the flight back, as you loved the graphic, its colors, and the fact that it fits you a bit oversized and comfy. It made you feel safe.

—Everything will be fine —he expresses.

—I know —you look at Seb and give him a shy smile, only if he knew.

—Ready, then? —he holds open the door for you.

—More than ever —you answer, and you are.

-

Hungary

Much to your poor nerves, the Hungary Grand Prix week is finally here.

And you need to meet Pascal on the outskirts of town so he can deliver you the device.

That nervous sensation in your stomach grows as the chauffeur/gunman drives you closer to the meeting point, which is inside the third floor of a decadent and abandoned old building from the socialist era.

It's been more than a decade since last you saw him in person, as he was getting violently pinned down to the floor and dragged away by a SWAT team as you screamed.

His piercing blue eyes and his handsome face were covered in blood coming from a deep wound over his eyebrow from the contact of a fist punch as he whispered a soft and reassuring "I will be fine; you will be fine." 

That memory was forever tattooed in your brain, sometimes making you wake up with a cold sweat at night.

As you finish climbing the narrow swirl stairs that once may have been stunning, you open the enormous, washed-down, and scratched-wood double doors. They creak so loud, making the place echo, as the tall, muscular figure of a man looking out of an open, broken window turns your way, following the sound.

Your heart skips at the sight of him; you guess those feelings never truly disappeared. 

He watches you approach him with the same expression as your heels clack loudly on the dirty, now opaque, tiled floor. 

You rush your pace in the last couple of remaining steps. Reaching closer to Pascal's figure, a smile forms on his lips, expecting you to throw yourself into his arms. 

But as you are millimeters away from his body, you slap him so hard, making his head turn. His lip bleeds a little bit from the contact before sinking into his neck as he pulls you in a really tight hug above the ground; your hand caresses his hair and cheek as you lay your foreheads in one another.

—It's great to see you, kid. We don't have much time —Pascal tells you as he places you back to the ground and points to the ankle monitor on his calf with a blinking light. —Inside this is the tracker; follow the protocol precisely as we practiced it, and everything will be alright. You are so brave —he hands you a green Hermes bag. —Go.

You want to talk to him more, say more, and let him know all that happened in your life after him and thanks to him, but he rushes you to leave, not wanting to expose you more than necessary, and for you to return to safety.

You slide your hand down his arm and squeeze his hand as you walk away, letting it go only when he gets out of your reach.

-

The weather at the track gets damn awful, umbrellas everywhere, grey skies, and all lights on, even if it's really early.

The free practice is a complete mess, thanks to the various puddles and Logan's car pinballing around.

Sam looks extremely uneasy that day under the stern scrutiny from Toto.

—Stop it. You are making me uneasy, too. What's with you? —he asks as Sam nervously moves around.

—Nothing, I don't want Lewis to crash or George to get hurt. That thing with Logan was awful —she lies quickly, as paramedics had to help him out of the car while many "ouchs" from the crowd were exchanged as he wasn't walking alright. 

Toto looks at her with a deadly "Please, I'm not stupid" look.

But he lets it go before he overhears; Niki asks her directly as she reaches him. —Have you heard from her?

Sam knows exactly to whom (you) he is referring. —No.

And that's what makes her more nervous than anything. "Please, be ready," she thinks.

Toto raises an eyebrow at the interaction. Is something going on?!

-

You decide to show up until qualy. 

You walk around the paddock and pitline as if following a path, but this is only noticeable if someone is paying you lots of attention, which Charles is.

He catches your step in the middle, distracting you; you cut him as he opens his mouth to say something.

—Not now, later —you look so authoritarian he doesn't protest. —I need to focus. Do you get it? —now you mutter to him, low.

He nods. —Take care, please —is all he says, and he walks away. He is not able to talk to you about what happened at the Gala and about all Seb told him; he only told him the bits Seb knew weren't to be kept.

Toto is there, too, observing your every move. The more he looks and follows you, the weirder it gets.

Judging by the expression you and Charles shared, how nerve-wracking Sam is acting, and how quiet Niki is, there is no way something isn't happening.

Could it be the aftermath of what happened at the Gala? To which he is the one to blame for.

-

Toto waits for the perfect moment to confront Sam. After the practice ends and everyone moves to the hospitality and headquarters, he notices the blond walking down the corridor of his office in the direction of Niki's. He quickly gets on his feet and follows her around. Sam notices and rushes her pace.

Out of nowhere, he pushes Sam softly against the wall to make her stop. —What's going on? Don't dare to lie to me —he looks dead concerned about it, borderline paranoid.

—It's not my place to tell you —she sadly replies and pushes him away too, roughly, knowing the last time she said those words, she ended up hurting a friend. —Don't push it! It won't work! My lips are sealed —she warns him as she fixes her shirt and returns to work.

—I know I fucked it up —Toto lets out, looking at Samanta's back as she faces the door down the hall as he leans one of his hands on the wall.

Fuck, he sounds so sad, almost wounded. Sam closes her eyes, feeling awful, before taking a step and walking away in total silence.

-

It's the eve of the Hungarian Grand Prix, and the paddock is abuzz with excitement and anticipation.

It's regular business with teams preparing their cars and mechanics working tirelessly to ensure every engine is revving if it wasn't for the extreme security present this time.

There are not-so-discreet gunmen in different places, catching the attention of some guests and team members.

Fans gather at the circuit, voices rising in cheers. The energy is palpable as everyone eagerly awaits the engines' roar and the tires' screech on the track.

This time, The Hungarian Grand Prix is more than just a race; today, it welcomes a peculiar, to say the least, special guest to participate in the opening ceremony: one political candidate, desperate to be in the spotlight and under the cameras, seizing the opportunity with the upcoming election just weeks from today.

It has been almost a year since your intelligence team confirmed to you that the juicy donations from Hungarian and Serbian accounts addressed to the FIA/F1 were the single most crucial lead to the man you have been hunting for years and years: Jószef Lenkov.

Lenkov had planned to tour the paddock on foot before arriving at the pit lane to participate in the committee during the country's anthem ceremony.

It's your only opportunity in decades to approach him, and you can't miss it. Your entire team and life depend on it; it's personal.

-

You feel sick to your stomach as you watch Lenkov and his entire entourage arrive. After all these years, he is there, in person, just meters away from you, as in one of your nightmares; there he is, the reason behind all the suffering in your life and the ones you love.

Even if you now have a different name and aspect and are being protected and monitored, a lingering fear is still deep in you. 

You were just a child the last time you saw him.

God, how much you despise that man, how much you want to succeed in bringing him down, how much you want him gone for good.

-

You start casually walking closer and around them, near the distance but not enough to be noticed by all those guards protecting him. 

You follow the path that you rehearsed thousands of times. 

Everything goes according to plan until you make it to the pitlane on the final and most crucial move.

-

In a matter of seconds, your vision gets all blurry. 

Your ear makes an awful whistling sound, and you feel stabs of pure pain on your right forearm, the one you just got up by instinct to protect you from smashing directly into the glass, which shatters enough to hurt you as you get pushed to the side against the glass barrier where Rolex had an interactive advertising booth for those with a VIP access.

Everyone near you watches the scene in genuine shock as one of the brutal security assholes of Lenkov forces you away from him. 

As you approach the older man from behind, you are able to place your hands on his shoulder and just above his jacket pocket inside that entourage of suited security men as he waves the crowds of militants in the stands supporting him. 

Lewis watches, shocked at how little you react to such a violent punch. There is almost no expression in response from you, no wincing, which raises all his alarms. 

Samanta tries her best to look as surprised as the rest, and thank God Toto next to her is fuming with rage that doesn't pay her any attention. 

Since yesterday, he has been suspicious that something is going on and has followed her closely the entire day, too, so she has remained as far from you as possible.

A lot happens around you as you recover; Lenkov doesn't even bother to turn around or give his attention to the commotion as he gets rushed away from the scene by his team of gorillas guarding him.

Your blood starts spilling everywhere on the pitlane concrete floor; it seems and feels like a deep cut on the forearm. 

FIA security holds the violent bodyguard and escorts him out, and aid comes your way. 

You compose yourself reasonably quickly. 

Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice your entire team of mechanics and drivers moving towards the guy with killer instincts since everything is happening barely a meter away from your garage entry.

—Anyone who dares to move an inch gets out of this team —you warn them in such a dangerous, deep voice. Something no one has witnessed you do before. 

Millie looks at you as you have transformed into someone else, like something buried inside you has come out.

No one dares to move. 

You rush to grab one of the mechanics' jackets and tighten it around your arm, trying to stop the bleeding. Paramedics arrive as fast as possible and start working on your nasty wound. 

Once inside the ambulance, you instruct them to take you straight to your hotel room against their will; you let them know it's an order, not an option.

You catch a glimpse of Pascal among the crowds near the pit stop. Now, he knows you have accomplished the job because of the smile you give him through the open door of the ambulance, like a lioness before eating her sleep prey.

-

After getting some provisional stitches and a fresh bandage, you arrive at the Corinthia Hotel. 

The white gauze gets redder with every step you take. Still, you hide it well behind the space thermal blanket the paramedics give you, walking as fast as possible, trying to avoid grabbing the attention of the guests in the hotel on your way to your destination. 

Drops of blood are on your expensive pink glaze tweed Valentino dress. 

You knock on the room you got instructed to, using the signal number of knocks your team told you to. 

You quickly enter the large double room once they open the door for you. The curtains are closed, and the lights are on. A team of six guys on computers with tons of cables and some devices wrapped in foil, along with a couple of gunned men, greet you. 

An exceedingly handsome, fit man in an expensive Armani power suit sits on the couch, legs crossed, with a drink in his hand. 

He turns to talk to you. —We got signal! Now we can trace him —he informs you; he notices you are hurt and instantly gets concerned, and his fierce eyes softened.

Everyone claps as you collapse next to him on the couch. He grabs your once again bloody hand and comes close to kneel in front of you, sharing an intimate moment as tears run down your cheeks, not knowing if it was the emotion of the moment or the pain provoking them.

—You succeeded! I'm so proud of you —Matt rubs a finger on your bruised knuckles and softly kisses them —The tracker you placed on Lenkov will lead us to his current quarters. I will take it from here.

You nod, exhausted.

—You are done more than enough; now I have to play my part —he informs you.

—What?! —you let out as your heart skips.

—If I don't cause a scene, it will raise questions.

—Wait, Matt, it's unnecessary! I don't think they notice; the FIA aren't exceptionally bright...

—You just got slaughtered in our team garage, and you think it is not necessary? —he looks at you with an exasperated face.

—You don't need to show up! I can handle this! I don't require you to intervene! —you enter complete panic mode; you need more time and want more time.

—What you need is a surgeon; that cut seems deep, but they will take you to the hospital now. I will meet you there after visiting the pitlane —Matt ends the conversation right there, his beautiful clear blue eyes looking authoritarian at you.

—Matthew, no, wait! —you know it is impossible to make that man change his mind; once he makes a decision, it gets done. You all live in a world that is his. You know how erratic, spoiled, and unreliable he is. 

There it is, the control freak from which you ran away.

Your limbs get cold as you have this conversation, and moving causes you so much pain now, so you let your case rest, knowing there's nothing else you can do. 

More tears run down your face, but not caused by the wound; it is your heart bleeding.

-

Samanta watches Matthew walk past the Mercedes garage's front like she is seeing a walking ghost. 

He looks gorgeous, with perfect hair, on-point clothes, and swaggy steps, but this time, he has a lethal gaze. 

He tilts his head and looks straight at her for a second. Sensing her eyes on him, Matt subtely smirks at Sam and keeps going.

Sam stays still, watching, knowing everything is about to change.

—All good? —Lewis asks her, concerned, witnessing the interaction.

—Yes, I'm just shocked and worried about what happened! I hope she's doing okay!

—We all do —Niki joins the conversation, looking somber, hands in his pockets. Then, he softly whispers to Sam. —I hope she succeeded.

—Me too —Sam answers, knowing that he knows.

Toto is quiet and reflective in his chair, far from them. Sam does everything possible not to cross his sight and avoids him the rest of the night. 

He has many questions and needs your answers.

If you ever want to talk to him ever.

He prays God you do.

That you still want him.

-

Matthew arrives at the gruesome scene with a group of lawyers, who carry cameras and tablets and start taking pictures and collecting testimonials. 

Of course, it is all pretend; your team is about to control the narrative of the events: "It was a non-related security brokerage" is about to fill social media, bots, press, and TV. 

The FIA is about to be blamed for having weak security protocols for its people.

Matt is not pleased to see your blood spread all over the pitstop's concrete floors. He feels murderous inside, and he looks like it. 

He notices many curious eyes set on him, but he is used to it; a man with his appearance always draws attention anyway.

Schumi walks to him. —Hi, Mr. De Vos. Is Y/N okay, boss?!

—I just got informed she is at the hospital right now getting surgery. I will be by her side soon. I needed to see it first with my own eyes. I can't believe this! —fuck he sounds pissed looking at the "crime scene."

-

The next day, the stewards were going nuts trying to manage the entire situation, and the busy FIA scheduled a meeting to discuss the violent events with all the astonished team principals. 

To reassure them that they were handling the situation and that there was no need for anyone not to feel safe, and to say: "It won't happen again, we swear."

—I didn't know Ken existed in real life! —Otmar jokes under his breath with Mattia and Fred as they all watch Matthew having a call on the other side of the clear glass panel walls outside the meeting room.

All TPs are gathered in a vacant and enormous room, along with some team owners, waiting for Massi to arrive and discuss the gruesome circumstances of the night before.

Matthew enters the room, grabbing everyone's attention and provoking a "Who is this guy?" face on the men inside. 

His blonde lawyer waits for him outside just by the door; they both look busy. 

That blonde guy looks familiar to Toto. Oh, yeah! It's Sam's brother.

Matthew joins the circle of chairs. —Couldn't they get cheaper ones? —he jokes as the thing squeaks with his weight. He is very muscular but lean, like a model.

Everyone laughs, agreeing.

—We look like we are about to take fucking therapy —Gunther colorfully adds.

Horner chuckles at his comment. 

—My name is Zack, and I'm addicted to speed —he teases.

—Hi, Zack! —three of them answer in unison.

—I'm Christian. I'm addicted to winning —Horner jokes, too.

—Mr. Lauda —Matthew greets him, standing to receive a hug from the older man as he joins the group. 

—Oh, so handsome as ever! —Niki comments on Matt's good looks and pats his face. Matt doesn't seem bothered by it; he has quite an authoritarian presence and a stern face that could spam from the sweetest thing to a serial killer within seconds, but he smiles at Niki.

—How is she? —Niki asks, concerned for your well-being.

—She went through reconstructive surgery, which took five hours. The glass cut tendons and nerves, so she needs to take therapy to get her movement back. She can't feel pressure or heat on her fingers and has minimal movement on her entire arm.

—Yeah, all sense gets gone for a good couple of weeks —Niki states. He knows the procedures well; he went through some after his crash. —I'm calling her to advise her on how to deal with it; it gets frustrating.

—That would be fantastic. Y/N will very much appreciate your supporting words; she is still shaken by all that has happened.

—And what happened exactly? —Mattia inserts himself in their conversation. Matthew turns to him with a cold expression, a mixture of "you aren't part of this conversation" and "I don't have anything to explain to you." 

—According to the FIA, it was just a simple "accident," but my team differs —Matthew answers him with sarcasm and deadpan.

Toto already dislikes Matt. He acts arrogant and entitled. Niki sits beside him, and Massi rushes in, followed by a group of stewards and his assistants.

—Apologies, it's been crazy! Oh! Mr. De Vos, thank you for joining us!

"Mr. De Vos?!" Toto's expression changes from annoyed to surprised as he stares for the first time straight at him, to which Matthew holds his look.

Matt instantly switches personalities as Massi addresses him. His pose goes from relaxed on his chair to dangerous, with one leg resting on his knee. His eyes look harsh, like a wolf about to bite the lamb's neck.

—This can't happen again —he says in the most authoritarian voice, with no greeting. Massi's eyes widen. —This wasn't an accident; it was incompetence from your security, your organization, and yours —Matthew destroys him. 

He knows playing with your food is not polite, but he isn't the most successful man in his type of business by being kind or soft. —Bring your PR team. I need to have a word with them —Matt continues.

Massi looks at him, alarmed, but nods, agreeing.

—Now —Matt slowly and softly finishes saying.

Massi nods again and quickly goes out of the room.

—Can we hire you? —Stroll asks Matt in awe.

—You don't have that kind of money —he jokes back.

"Yes, he is insufferable," Toto thinks.

-

After an extensive meeting, Matthew gives the FIA two months to develop a new and better security protocol, or they will sue.

-

After receiving many concerned texts and "I hope you get better soon" mentions, you finally replied in the group chat: "I now have a bionic forearm, but it doesn't shoot lasers. Bummer!"

"I have something in my body that shoots too, but neither is my arm nor are lasers," Lando jokes.

Everyone laughs.

-

During the break that the Mercedes team takes to lunch, Sam visits you at the hospital, and she takes you tons of gifts. She is the only one who is allowed to visit you or knows your location.

Among the gifts is a letter from Toto that you don't dare to open.

-

After returning from the hospital, Sam joins the girl squad for a much-needed chat.

—He looks fake! It's like the Greeks marbled him —Millie says, checking out Matthew while he talks with a man obstructed by a poster with Sam, Angela, and Brigita beside her.

—He is so handsome! That's some cute, firm bubble booty —Angela lusts for him.

—And you haven't seen him without a shirt; he has abs for days —Sam informs them.

—One can only imagine —Brigita whispers.

Matthew is chatting with Alexi, Sam's brother, behind the sign, obstructing Millie's view until he moves. 

As soon as she notices Alexi, she hugs and greets him. —Uncle! —she lets out, throwing herself into his arms, excited as they embrace each other. 

Sam joins them against her will. —How lovely! A family reunion, yikes! —she says sarcastically, pretending to hate the thing.

They all candidly talk till Niki and Toto reach them.

—You don't remember Matthew?! Really? Are you sure?! —Alexi looks incredulous at Millie as he asks her. 

She denies fiercely with her head.

—But he has been invited to many family gatherings!

—Nope! —Millie then gestures at Matt's body with her hand. —If I had seen this, I would remember it, believe me! —then she turns to him, a bit red on the cheeks. —With all due respect —she adds, and Matthew shrugs, amused.

—Don't boost his ego, please. It's already enormous —Sam rolls her eyes at them.

—No worries! —Alexi addresses his niece. —He is so used to this; a girl once fainted before him. No joking; it happened during our college years. You were so popular with the girls —then turns to face Matthew. —Y/N was the most envied girl on campus —Alexi finishes saying and then looks at the two men now joining them.

—You must be Sam's brother —Toto extends a hand to him, to Niki's right. 

 —Yes, I am! I have heard so much of you —he says as they shake hands. Alexi looks very friendly and chatty, utterly different from Sam and Matt. It could be more like Millie's genes; maybe it's that part of his family.

—I hope nice things! —Toto jokes.

—Apparently, this gremlin is fond of you —he smirks at a now embarrassed Sam at the revelation.

Alexi is Matthew's lawyer. They have been friends since childhood, since the womb as their families have been close for centuries. Yes, centuries, big old-timey money with insulting fortunes, the kind of money that would make someone sick.

They both studied law at Cambridge at the same time.

Alexi then quickly adds. —You haven't been introduced to each other, right? Matthew, this is Toto Wol..

—I know —Matt cuts him. —We just saw each other at the meeting. 

None of them moves an inch to greet the other. An awkward tension is palpable.

—Oh, well, then. Anyway, this "knows it all" is Matthew De Vos, owner of the Williams team and Y/N's husband.

"Y/N'S HUSBAND! WHAT THE FUUUU-!" Toto struggles to play it cool.

To be continued... < Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter > - A new arc is here with lots to unpack and reveal! Finally, we are getting to more know about her! I hope you liked this chapter, but prepare for what comes next! Read you soon <3

[friendofcars]

Hello! Here is data on point of view distribution across characters in The Dreamer Trilogy (which I will abbreviate as TD3) as a follow up to my TRC data from last year (viewable here). A rather long-winded discussion of the data, methods notes, and some supplemental figures and tables are under the cut. As it was not possible to include all values and stats in this post (nor in the alt text for image IDs), my spreadsheet can be viewed by clicking here,

This project quantifies and visualizes the distribution of chapters and pages in the books of TD3 across characters from whose POVs the story is told. I didn’t have much of a hypothesis going into data collection/analysis, especially not like I did for the TRC data, but I did expect to see Ronan’s POV having the most chapters and pages for the entire series, given the fact that he is the most central of the protagonists. I don’t think page time is the be-all-end-all for a character’s importance, of course, but it is still interesting to consider how spending more time from certain perspectives affects the perceived narrative. I won’t get much into that aspect of analysis in this post, but if anybody would actually like to discuss that, I’d love to!

Results (and Interpretation):

TD3 consists of 173 chapters and 1184 pages (using the U.S. hardcover editions), making the average chapter 6.84 pages. The longest chapter is 16 pages, and the shortest is 1 page.

Figure 1A: The average chapter in Mister Impossible (MI) is considerably longer (9.26 pages) than the average chapter in Call Down the Hawk (CDTH) (6.00 pages) and in Greywaren (GW) (6.40 pages), which makes sense as MI has just 38 chapters while CDTH has 80 and GW has 55 (see Fig. 2). To me, the effect of the longer chapters (and therefore extended time with the current POV character) makes the various POVs feel more temporally distant from one another- not in a narratively incoherent way, but in a way that echoes the sense of isolation experienced by dreamers and weaponized by Bryde as he tries to convince Ronan and Hennessy to abandon their loved ones.

Figure 1B: Chapter length is fairly consistent amongst POVs across the series. Matthew has the longest average chapter length (8.40 page) over a small set of chapters (5 total)- his character development (as told from his own POV) is limited to a small number of instances, which may have stretched his chapters a bit longer. The 'Other' category has the shortest average chapter length (5.13 pages) (Fig. 1B); it includes the typically short chapters from witnesses of Visionary explosions/aftermath (Mags, Dabney) as well as Nathan's manifesto excerpts. (As a side note, I've described the chapters depicting memories from the Barns as 'Mór and Niall.' These chapters do not collectively portray an equal balance of their POVs, but this was the simplest way to categorize them.)

Figure 2A-B: These graphs are representations of chapter distribution across POVs in TD3 in terms of chapter count (2A) and proportion of total chapters (2B). Some observed trends include Declan's proportion of total chapters remaining quite constant throughout the series, Ronan's decreasing, Hennessy's proportion of chapters nearly doubling from CDTH to MI (and staying at a similar proportion to MI in GW), and Jordan's proportion following an opposite trend (consistent proportion in CDTH and MI, followed by a more than 50% drop in GW). Carmen's proportion of chapters also declines after CDTH.

Figure 2C: This graph compares total chapters per character POV over the entire series. We can see that the largest proportion of the series is told from Ronan's POV (53 chapters, or 0.306 of all chapters). To put that in perspective, Hennessy has the next highest number of chapters (26, or 0.150 of all chapters), which is just under half the number of Ronan's. If all characters had an equal number of chapters from their POV (including the miscellaneous POVs as one category labeled Other), they would each have 21.6 chapters, represented by the horizontal dashed line; Declan, Jordan, Carmen, and Hennessy all have chapter counts relatively close to this number.

Figure 2D-E: These are representations of page distribution across POVs in TD3 in terms of page count (2D) and proportion of total pages (2E). Trends are similar to those depicted in 2A-B, but 2E does make Declan's increased proportion of page time in GW salient.

Figure 2F: This graph compares total pages per character POV over the entire series. The dashed line shows that if each character (plus the Other category) had equal page time in the series, readers would spend 148 pages with each POV. Again, page data is similar to chapter data, but comparing graphs 2C and 2F gives a clear visual indicator that Jordan's chapters (on average, 8.11 pages) are longer than Carmen's (on average, 6.08 pages), since Carmen has visibly more chapters in 2C yet nearly the same number of pages as Jordan in 2F.

Figure 3: Figure 3 shows distribution of chapters (3A-B) and pages (3C-D) in CDTH, as well as average chapter length for each character POV (3E). An equal distribution of chapters would have been 13.3 per character, and an equal distribution of pages would have been 80.0 per character. The 'Other' category included chapters from the perspectives of Lock, Breck Myrtle, Shawna Wells, Jason Morgenthaler (and Lin Draper, briefly, in the same chapter), Mags Harmonhouse, and Dabney Pitts. Carmen's average chapter length in CDTH (4.67 pages) is the lowest single-book average for character POVs appearing throughout the entire series. (Nathan's average chapter length is just 1.00 [Supplemental Figure 2], yet his POV only appears in GW via his manifesto excerpts, and while I have attributed these chapters to his POV, I interpret the POV as actually ambiguous. As with Kavinsky's text in TDT, it's not absolutely certain if we are reading from the writer or the reader's perspective [although in TDT, due to the lack of Kavinsky POV elsewhere, it's probably the latter]).

Figure 4: Figure 4 shows distribution of chapters (4A-B) and pages (4C-D) in MI, as well as average chapter length for each character POV (4E). An equal distribution of chapters would have been 5.43 per character, and an equal distribution of pages would have been 50.3 per character. The 'Other' category included two chapters, both with what I deemed omniscient narration. Declan had the shortest chapters in MI (8.20 pages), and Jordan had the longest (11.4 pages, the longest average for a character for a single book in this series).

Figure 5: Figure 5 shows distribution of chapters (4A-B) and pages (4C-D) in GW, as well as average chapter length for each character POV (4E). An equal distribution of chapters would have been 6.88 per character, and an equal distribution of pages would have been 44.0 per character. The 'Other' category included Nathan's manifesto excerpts (3 chapters), 1 chapter from Liliana's POV, and 3 other chapters with omniscient narration. While Ronan never has the longest chapters, his chapters are shorter relative to other POVs in Greywaren, perhaps as a result of the way his chapters are written during his time asleep/in the sweetmetal sea. I have not yet investigated whether chapters tend to be longer while characters are awake vs asleep or dreaming, but that's something that could be measured from the existing data in the spreadsheet! There is also a dramatic drop in Jordan's POV time in GW compared to the previous two books, perhaps because of her increased divergence from Hennessy and desire to establish a life that follows her own narrative.

Other findings: A major difference I noted between TRC and TD3 was the lack of split chapters in TD3. In TRC, the data analysis was made slightly complicated by having to account for the fact that a non-negligible number of chapters would make a distinct and discrete switch between POVs partway through. While I did not observe this in TD3, I did encounter more ambiguous/nebulous POVs as I previously mentioned. The increased presence of omniscience in the trilogy, for me, contributed to the increased sense of scale and stakes compared to TRC. This increased continuity amongst POV (not amongst core/recurring POV characters, but amongst groups of characters/communities depicted in the omnisciently narrated chapters) also contributed to a sense of dissolution of barriers and identities, perhaps thematically in line with Ronan's character development and increasingly holistic perspective of both his humanity and otherworldliness (although Ronan is not necessarily featured in these 'boundary-breaking' chapters). I also briefly looked at occurrences of back-to-back chapters from the same POV; this happens most frequently for Ronan in all three books, mainly in CDTH, and sometimes featuring a dreaming chapter directly before an awake chapter (or vice versa) in immediate succession. Declan (MI), Carmen (CDTH), and Jordan (CDTH) all have a pair of back-to-back chapters at some point in the series; Hennessy has 2 (MI, GW).

Conclusions: In all honesty, despite this project being quite fun and fulfilling and of course, worth doing, I do not think I have any particularly insightful conclusions about the data beyond what I've already discussed. Ronan took up the largest share of the chapters and pages as expected, although I am not sure I expected this to be true by such a large margin. I also was surprised that Declan did not have more chapter/page time, but it is possible that his notable inclusion in chapters from other characters' POVs increases his prominence in the series (and I suppose this is probably true for all characters who frequently appear in chapters outside their perspective). As with TRC, the number of POVs expands as the series develops, often with the effect of increasing the scope of the story's implications, and perhaps, more importantly, showing the story from additional angles that contextualize and/or distort narrative established by other characters' perspectives. I hope you've enjoyed exploring the data as I have, and those interested in my methodology may continue reading below!

Methods:

Data collection was straightforward in the sense that I simply counted the pages in each chapter and then assigned each chapter to a character based on the POV represented. The POV character assignment was more difficult than it was for TRC, as TD3 has more omnisciently narrated chapters, which in itself is easy to categorize, but they often zoom in on or are 'biased' towards the experience of a particular character, so I had to make some decisions as to what, for me, constituted sufficient focus on a character’s internal narration and expression vs. omniscience. In the spreadsheet, I took notes on these more subjectively driven decisions. Again, you can view it here! It also contains data on whether the chapter is from an awake or dreaming POV, and has the first lines of each chapter, among which are some fun repeating patterns. 

For bar graphs with dots, each dot represents a single chapter. You may also notice that the graphs are missing p-values from statistical tests this time around! This is because, since completing the TRC data, I’ve realized that such measures of uncertainty re: significant differences are not appropriate for my dataset, which is not a sample representing a population, but rather a complete group of chapters (so parametric tests are not necessarily helpful or valid). However, I still like to run the tests for my own amusement and to see what the results would be if this were a dataset for which ANOVA and contingency tests were appropriate, so I have standard deviation bars on the graphs where calculable (but no standard deviations in the text of the results section for legibility) as well as the p-values in tables at the end of this post for anyone also curious. I did still calculate the numbers of chapters and pages that would represent an equal distribution across POV characters, which are represented by the dashed lines on the relevant figures. I think this is helpful to visually gauge 'over-representation' and 'under-representation' of character POVs.

Below are the supplemental figures showing all character POVs rather than lumping some together in an 'other' category. The MI data in figure 4 is not expanded below because the chapters designated as 'other' were omniscient and thus would have remained in the same category.

And finally, here are the omitted p-values, if you'd like to pretend along with me that all the chapters in TD3 are not a complete set but rather a representative sample of a greater population of chapters that's out there in the universe. :) When I give a p-value below the 0.05 threshold but still write 'no significant differences amongst any combination of characters, I mean that the p-values generated for the comparisons between each possible pair of characters were all above 0.05, which are distinct from the overall p-value generated from the ANOVA.

[ja0-s-blank-canvas-fic]

Part 4 - Chapter 2 - Space Case

Blank Canvas Part 4

AO3 - here

Fanfiction.net - here

Here you are with the double update! Some fluff to wash down the angst. ;)

Warnings for teasing in this chapter. Like a lot of teasing. Here we go. I'm just going to point out the really major ones because there are others that are just one line and super light. One is at "I'm sensing a theme..." continued to the next line. Another at "So I'm assuming...". The longest one starts at "Shouto smiled and stepped..." and continues for a while until after "So, who won the bet?". Then it picks back up at "Hey, Izuku, earlier you mentioned..." until just before "They made quick work...". Like I said, a lot but it just came out. :P

Linktree to all the things!

End notes for the chapter are under the line.

TodoIzu are officially boyfriends! Not declaring it is a common trope so I wanted to get that lack of understanding taken care of. Also I figure Shouto would be naive to that sort of thing. Either way I had fun playing around with his confusion and flustering Izuku.

If you skipped the teasing, essentially Shouto can't seemed to keep himself from kissing Izuku. And they had a clarifying conversation about whether he and Izuku were boy (space) friends or boyfriends with no space. Hence the chapter title because I'm a dork.

Alrighty, now everyone is moved into the dorms! You can see my post of the room placements here. With some of them already living there, it made sense to have them help out the others. Which gave me an opportunity to have Tsuyu have the chance to talk to someone instead of hiding away. Then she could join the contest! No Katsuki though. He gets his own chapter next. ;)

In regards to the bet, I had no idea what kinds of things for them to bet on, but I thought it would be funny for Toko to win out of everyone. I wasn't sure how exactly and this seemed the best? On the darker side though it is Tokoyami. Revelry in the dark and all that. The Dark Shadow moment just kind of popped in there though. No one hurts Sun Boy.

But yeah, they're official and so freaking cute about it! I love them so much. Coming next will be checking in with Katsuki and some more night time confessions. But you'll have to wait until next time! Again, updates are going to be more monthly as life permits me. This will allow me to have more writing time between chapters but also time to decompress between sessions. Until then, welcome back to BC and hope you have a good rest of your month! Bye bye!

[m0ther-of-p3arl]

i know you’re poison

(robert aeor high au p13)

masterpost

hey!! so i wouldn't normally ask this of you, but we're in teh endgame of the fic now, things are really starting to come into shape. so, if you're willing, would you mind reblogging?? it would mean the world to me, and since we're in the culminating chapters, there's really not too much to come from here. writing this fic has been a dream come true for me as an author (robert aeor high is actively my longest work ever, as well as the one i've had the most fun writing) and i am genuinely so happy to be able to share this with you all. just something to take into consideration as we reach the endgame of this fic!!

...although Father is a loudly destructive, angrily defiant blowhard, Scott’s known ever since a very young age that his sneaking, scheming mother is the one he really needs to be afraid of. And even now, as she leads him by his arm into the kitchen, making snide, passive-aggressive comments about the way he’s dressed, her inch-long nails cutting into his arm, Scott finds himself curling in on himself, his old submissive habits taking over automatically, by design.

or, alright bitches time to finally meet scott's mom!! fairly short chapter but the next one's gonna explain a lot of shit

TW: cults, implied murder by flamethrower, mind control, mind games, implied murder of a minor, manipulation

please lmk if i missed anything!!

(3543 words)

Scott’s mother hooks him gently by the elbow and leads him inside, just like in all the old movies, her smile the same as he remembers it, slippery and snake-like, charismatic and smooth, her personality exactly right and without a fault for what she is- a cult leader. She’s wearing a long, slitted black dress, her piercing cyan eyes the same shade as Scott’s and tipped with the darkest winged eyeliner he’s ever seen. Her siren scales shimmer in the artificial light, and Scott catches glimpses of purple, green, yellow, and blue, all at once, reflected in them.

The edges of Mother’s lips are curved up in a salacious smile, blanketed under her signature deep crimson lipstick, a shade so dark that at this point, it might as well be purple. Her hair, exactly the same bright teal color as her eyes, is slicked back into a tight ponytail, showing off her smooth and unwrinkled forehead and defined widow’s peak, the ends of her hair reaching almost to her waist.

“Ah, Scott, I’ve been looking for you,” she smarms, some facsimile of warmness edging into her voice, a tone that Scott’s come to know to be fake, smothering her voice in honey. “But then I came home, and your father had kicked you out. Despicable, absolutely despicable! So, naturally, I told him to get out and find his own home.”

Scott nods along amicably, because as he’s learnt from years of experience, the best way to stay out of his mother’s way is to keep under the radar and not spark her anger. As anyone could tell from even a few minutes in her presence, the best, no, only way to describe Mother would be that she is a power-hungry, scarily intelligent diva. 

Coming from one of the richest families around, Karissa Major lived a sheltered, spoiled childhood in which she was generally given anything she asked for. As a result, she became extremely smart- because instead of asking for toys like a normal child, the only things Karissa ever wanted were books. And not fiction books that you’d think a child would like- Karissa only read books on psychology, on the human psyche, eventually graduated from college with a masters’ degree in psychology at sixteen, afterwards scooping up some hapless gorgon twice her age from his own wife, seducing him with her singing until he left his one true love for her. That was Scott’s father.

When Karissa married Scott’s father, named Andre Piccolino before he took her name, her fortune had doubled, even tripled, in size- money rolling in from every corner, rich friends, patrons left and right. The ample flow of cash only seemed to grow when Karissa managed to form a special “friend group” who she calls “the Watchers”. As far as Scott knows, they live life in the mountains in a secluded, secret compound- one his mother’s been at for the past year, and one he wouldn’t set foot in if you paid him (providing he was suddenly allowed to, of course. Scott’s been banned from the Watchers for as long as he can remember.)

Yeah, the Watchers. Her cult. Karissa demands half the profits of all her members as soon as they move in, and if they dare attempt to leave, her wrath is… well, let’s just say no one’s attempted to leave the cult in about seven years, since a particularly harrowing incident involving a girl, seventeen at the time, a dark forest, and a blowtorch.

Her body was never found, most likely burnt to a crisp. 

Scott only knows about this… incident… due to overheard conversations his Mother had on the phone when he was young.

Because although Father is a loudly destructive, angrily defiant blowhard, Scott’s known ever since a very young age that his sneaking, scheming mother is the one he really needs to be afraid of. And even now, as she leads him by his arm into the kitchen, making snide, passive-aggressive comments about the way he’s dressed, her inch-long nails cutting into his arm, Scott finds himself curling in on himself, his old submissive habits taking over automatically, by design.

“So, um, what exactly are you doing here?” Scott asks flatly, earning a shocked look from Mother as he interrupts yet another mention of The Watchers and how “we would love to have you, really, darling.”

Huh. He supposes he’s not strictly unallowed anymore.

“Well, I’m coming back to check on my darling baby boy, of course. So, Scott, tell me how it’s been going. Tell me… everything.” Her irises briefly flash a dark, instant pitch, like a void pulling him in, trying to pull everything out of him piece by piece by piece. Because right. She’s a siren. Scott should have known Mother would do this at some point.

He tries to keep his mouth closed, he really does, but she’s too powerful and she knows it- her lips quirk up a centimeter further in genuine triumph as Scott’s own lips part and he begins to recount the story of the past few months, every last detail. His mother listens intently, her hands clasped underneath her chin, elbows resting on the stone table, as the sky gets darker and darker outside. Hours must have passed by the time Scott finishes, gasping for a breath.

The only part he manages to leave out of his lengthy tale are the memories he and Jimmy have shared.

“Well! Thank you so very much, Scott, what a positively lovely storytime.” Karissa claps her hands together decidedly, her smile growing wider by the minute, a cheshire cat grin that unnerves Scott to his very bone. “So, about this Jimmy- would either of you be interested in a little something my friend group has to offer? We’re thinking of putting on a little show, and we were wondering if you and some of your friends would consent to be the, ah, actors, let’s say.”

Scott’s first instinct, one he feels down to his inner core, is to say no- to yell it, scream it in Karissa’s face, and run from the house, as quickly as possible. He doesn’t want anything to do with his mother, or the Watchers, or anything they have to offer- Mother has ruined his life more times than he dares to count. But her smile is so inviting, so warm, and he’s certain that despite it all, she really does want what’s best for him…

This time, Scott catches the faint scent of siren magic on the air as her eyes start to go black, shaking his head violently and sending a glare in her direction. “Cut it out, Mother. No, I don’t want to be a part of another one of your twisted little experiments- you think I don’t know what happened to the kids from the first one?”

Karissa raises one eyebrow so high that it almost disappears into her overly defined hairline, an expression of strict disappointment plastered atop her features. “Impressive, Scott. I’m glad you’re finally beginning to take your siren side into account. This does, however, make things a lot more… difficult, I’ll say, for us.”

“Because you can’t control me on a whim? Yeah, I’d say that’s a good thing, actually. I don’t want anything to do with you, it was a mistake to come here in the first place. I need to leave, I need to go, Jimmy’s probably going crazy looking for me.” Scott stands, roughly pushing away his chair, and turns to leave, with every intent of getting out of this wretched place and back to the comfortable safety of Jimmy.

“I know about the rapport, Scott.” Mother’s voice drips from behind him like honey, and his shoulders clench, stopping him in his tracks.

“...The what?” Scott asks, dread welling up inside him for some unknown reason, sticky and pulling at his insides.

His mother sighs dramatically, throwing her hands up into the air like the diva she is. “The rapport! Really, you’ve not had quite the best education in the ways of sirens, have you?”

“My education is fine, Mother.” Scott clenches his teeth, still with half a mind to just forget about whatever she’s on about this time and leave. But she’s got him hooked, and she knows it, her snaking grin growing somehow even wider- Scott swears that her mouth shouldn’t be able to stretch that far, it’s almost unnatural how stretched and strained her face is.

“A rapport is an emotional and mental bond a siren, or, in your case, half-siren, can share with another sentient being. Rapports are only formed between two people who have great trust and respect for each other, and they can manifest in a variety of different ways. I could sense the magic of it on you as soon as I took your arm when you first walked in the door. So, tell me- how has your rapport shown itself, and who did you decide to share it with?”

Scott doesn’t want to admit that his mother has struck him speechless, but she has. For the first time in the last few months, everything is almost too clear, as if he’s been squinting through layers of clouded glass that have suddenly and miraculously been wiped clean. “Wait. That’s what it is? The thing me and Jimmy have?” The words are out before he can stop himself, curiosity creeping into his mind, pushing out any coherent thoughts.

“Oh, so it’s Jimmy, is it?” Karissa asks, her smile dropping for the first time so far, to be replaced by a slight and subtle sneer. If Scott hadn’t spent all of his formative years with the woman, he’s not sure he would’ve even noticed the negative expression. “Scott, I’m not like your father. I’m not against you having a boyfriend- in fact, I had a girlfriend when I was younger. I am many things, but a homophobe is not one of them. But, still, I do have my worries- didn’t you say he was homeless before that? Not to mention the fact that he’s an avian… I’m not sure if I want you to associate with their kind, they’re awfully… scruffy. Not fit to interact with people of our class.”

Her words take Scott by surprise, though honestly, at this point in their relationship, they probably shouldn’t. “That’s- that’s not an okay thing to say- what the fuck, Mother? Jimmy is one of the loveliest people I’ve ever met, and John and Laura are better parents than you and Father ever were.” Now that he knows his mother can’t control him through her magic, Scott suddenly feels a whole damn lot more confident. Of course, even without her siren powers, Mother is a master manipulator, but at least now he knows that if she tries her magic again, he has a way to cancel it out.

“Hm,” Scott’s mother mutters noncommittally, scrutinously looking over her nails with faked interest before meeting Scott’s eyes, where her wide grin has grown back on her face. “Anyways- are you interested in learning more about the rapport, how to manage and utilize it, et cetera?’

As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, (because if he didn’t know his mother was a terrible person, he sure does now) Scott is. He’s insanely interested, he’s never really had a chance to learn about this part of his heritage, of his backstory- and if it’s special, what he and Jimmy share, he wants to find some way to control it so they aren’t both just bowled over by memories whenever emotions get too high.

“Yes.” He voices the answer against his best judgment, he says the wordsAnd that’s it. Mother has him in checkmate, there’s no getting out of this, and from the look on her face, he can tell that she knows she’s won. Once again, she’s won.

“Fantastic!” Karissa claps her hands together again, kicking off her spiked heels under the table and grabbing Scott by his shoulder, steering him upstairs and into her study, a room Scott’s never been allowed inside until now.

“But, of course, no knowledge comes without a price,” Mother smiles with a fake, dripping sweetness, grabbing books down off the bookshelves of this unfamiliar room, her long, turquoise nails a striking color against the black binding as she pulls a particular volume off the shelf.

To be honest, Scott had known this was coming: he knew there was no way his manipulative, power-thirsty mother would simply teach him the ways of sirens, it really wasn’t even a possibility that there wasn't a catch. Sometimes Scott wonders what would have happened if he had grown up with different parents, and then he realizes it’s a miracle he isn’t as fucked up as others in his situation have been. For the most part, he’s a genuinely kind, empathetic person, and he’s surprised, when he thinks about it, that he hasn’t turned out differently.

“Okay, what’s the price then?” Scott asks skeptically, bringing his thoughts back to the matter at hand. He leans cautiously up against the closed, creme-colored door, shoulders tent and alert.

“I want you to participate in my experiment.” The words flow off Karissa’s tongue smoothly, like honeyed butter, so confident that Scott can’t even imagine something else his mother might have said.

“Of course you do,” he mutters, pursing his lips and trying to conceal the intense fear rushing through his veins.

“I promise, it’s completely ethical,” Mother smiles in such a way that makes Scott certain it’s not ethical at all, sitting down at the desk and picking up the books she’d grabbed from the shelves.

“Somehow, given your history, I highly doubt that.”

“Oh, quit your grumbling,” his mother simpers, poking Scott in the middle of his nose on the way out the door, books carried effortlessly under her arm. “Come on, it’ll be a fun bonding experience for you and your boyfriend! And you can bring along some other friends too! Of course, I’ve already advertised throughout your school and gotten several submissions from students who want to join, but it just wouldn’t be the same without my favorite son in the competition.”

“I’m your only son,” Scott points out, following his mother (like a lost puppy, little as he wants to admit it) as she sashays through the halls, back downstairs, and into the basement. “And also, what do you mean ‘competition’?”

Mother hums, infuriatingly, and Scott can tell she knows she’s got him on the hook. “Oh, you know, a little game. A few of my friends’ kids are going to be participating too, and of course, you will be paid handsomely. Would you like me to list off the people who have agreed to join?”

“...Sure.” 

“The first person who signed up, almost immediately as I put up the fliers, was this boy named Grian, an avian. He goes to your school, doesn’t he?” Karissa doesn’t wait for an affirmative answer from Scott, one that she quite obviously already knows, instead barreling on. “I saw a certain spark in Grian, so I’ve given him some… special privileges. Two boys, best friends named Impulse and Skizz, signed up as well; I believe they go to the public school downtown? A couple others too. Oh, and I can’t believe my silly mind, I almost forgot to tell you that your dear friend Joel has also signed on!” The woman claps her hands in a satisfied manner, and Scott wants to throw up.

It is very clear that she hasn’t forgotten, she never did, she’s just been holding onto that bit of information as a last resort. Scott doesn’t want Joel alone in anything his mother’s concocting, especially not if it has something to do with the Watchers. If he wasn’t checkmated before, he certainly is now- there is no way he’s letting Joel deal with whatever horrific experiment his mother has concocted this time. 

“Fine. Fine! If you’ve managed to somehow get Joel roped into this, I guess I’ll join! It’s not like I have any choice, anyway.” Scott spits out the words like poison gracing his tongue, and he can see the edges of his shades frosting over from his anger out of the corners of his eyes.

Mother’s cheshire cat grin grows even wider, her heavily mascaraed eyes opening wide in mock surprise. “Oh, Scott, thank you so much! I knew I could count on you,” she smiles, sighing dramatically as if everything would have been ruined if Scott hadn’t decided to play into her sick little mind games.

“Yeah, great, cool. I’m going home.” He’s done. He’s so done with his bitch of a mother, why did he ever think it could be different, she’s always been like this, always-

“This is your home, dear!” Karissa looks somehow offended, and the utter irony and sickness of the situation chills Scott to the bone, a disgusted sneer moving across his features as naturally as a skim of oil slimes across the surface of a cup of water.

“No. It’s not.” As Scott walks out, Mother makes no move to stop him- but he can feel her eyes searing into his back, almost hear the way her teeth click together when she smiles. She doesn’t call out until he’s already halfway down the garden path.

“Scott, darling! Come over, this time tomorrow, and I’ll teach you about the rapport, what it means, and how you can harness it. Don’t forget to try and get Jimmy and Owen and Shelby into the game, there’s a limited number of slots!”

Scott’s back tenses at the word game. 

Nothing good can come of this.

As he steps through the now-deserted streets, he pulls up his phone to check for notifications he might have missed, and inadvertently realizes it’s somehow well past midnight. Where did the time go? What has he been doing all day? Jimmy must be worried sick-

His phone rings, and speak of the devil, it’s the canary himself. Scott picks up immediately, pressing the phone to his ear, Jimmy’s voice panicked but still coherent on the other end.

“Scott, thank god you picked up! Are you okay? What happened, where have you been?! Owen and I have been so worried about you, and John and Laura were just about to call the police to file a missing persons report- but I insisted calling you one more time and thank god I did, please get home soon, we’re all so worried-” Jimmy takes a break to breathe, and something seems to snap in him, his anger pouring through the phone and almost making Scott flinch.

“Scott, where the fuck have you been?! I haven’t seen you since noon, you’ve been gone for more than 12 hours, I was so scared, explain yourself right this fucking instant! Or I swear to god-”

“Jimmy, I’m fine, I’m fine.” Scott tries to disregard the pang of affection he feels for his boyfriend, because he was worried about him, someone was actually worried about Scott- “My mother was in town, so I decided to pay her a visit. I lost track of time. I’m sorry.”

“Losing track of time is three or four hours gone, maybe five. YOU WERE GONE FOR TWELVE AND A HALF HOURS. I know you have a better explanation, a real explanation, and I want to hear it. Now. Also, wind back: your MOTHER was in town?! You mean the abusive, manipulative cult leader mother who I’ve heard oh so LITTLE about?” 

“Okay, okay, let me get home, and I’ll explain everything, I swear.”

There’s silence on the other end, and Scott feels a bit of anxiety set in. He’s really made Jimmy worry, probably Owen too, and he can’t even imagine the panic that must be going through John and Laura’s minds right now. Scott swallows deeply, quickening his pace and stepping down the well-tread route to his home. He doesn’t look behind him as his mother steps out onto the deck and watches him go, a manipulative, wide-toothed smile painted ferociously across her face.

“I’ve got you now,” she whispers, quietly, as Scott’s heart thumps green in her enhanced vision. He doesn’t know it yet, but he doesn’t have a choice in whether he participates in her game or not. It’s not an option anymore.

But Karissa, through years of reading psychology books in her free time, through years of leading her cult (yes, she does admit it’s a cult- not that she would to anyone’s face)- through all this, Karissa has found that the best way to make someone do something you want is to make them feel as if they’ve got a choice.

Even when they absolutely do not. Scott has been ensnared, and because of his rapport, so has Jimmy. Now, it’s only a matter of time before they realize it themselves. It’s only a plus that Scott has already agreed of his own free will to participate in her game.

A quiet laugh spreads across the post-midnight town, a cackle that sets deep into the bones of any who hear it, tossing and turning in their sleep. Oh yes, Karissa is ready. She has been ready for as long as she can remember.

[seaofolives]

don't have asks open, don't feel like spamming my neighbors here and over at bsky, so we're doing it all under the cut!!!

How many fics have you worked on since January?

according to ao3, 47 works! blessedly few 😌 compared to my previous years, I mean. I did not double check lmao give me proper sql access to ao3 and I can

What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year?

oh man, I'm not really sure. deliberate bad endings I think??? ao3 filter agrees with me

What piece of media inspired you the most? (This can be the fandom you wrote the most for, the one that spawned the most ideas, the one you thought about the most, etc.)

I've slowed down since, but the honor of this question is gonna have to go to gundam witch! most of them my beloved rare pairs ofc 😌 I'll still write g witch (I have a duty to my rare pair babies) but rn, the ideas have slowed down a bit

How many fandoms did you write for this year?

four! ffxv, g witch, hadesgame and gundam wing 😂

What ships captured your heart?

right so, honorary mention to gladnis who will always capture my everything everywhere. but if I had to do any special mentions, it's absolutely olgue for g witch who I absolutely did not ship until I wrote my first long-form for them And Then. and trkt for gundam wing who are like...gladnis-lite to me for Some Reason o_o

What characters captured your heart?

like just from previous answer, trowa and quatre you know! I still don't know if I have a favorite character in wing, tho Quatre is probably the closest candidate (but I still won't buy commissions and merch of him without Trowa iygwim). but more than him and more than his boyfriend! guel jeturk my gundam son 100% 😌

Did you write for any new fandoms or ships this year?

fandom would be gundam wing! ships would be trkt, 2x5, 1x2 and technically 1xr??? for g wing and for g witch, olgue has the sole honor of being mentioned 😂

What fic meant the most to you to write?

I don't really have smth that's like...REALLY personal to me rn but if we're talking like the thing that I put a bit more careful-crafting into, it's either love is stored in the jam or spiracle.

What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

my god why do I keep answering these things when I never know what to answer in these what-fic questions lmao. BUT UMMM technically all of them??? BUT I will give a shout out to kabilugan ng buwan bc filipino au! manananggals!! funny things you can't translate without losing some of its humor!!!

What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

by virtue of the fact that it went on much much much longer than what I expected, just the two of us (which is also what tipped me over to the olgue ship for good).

What fic was the most difficult to write?

HAHA the crying in public chapter of television romance/crying in public mostly bc despite being a gusu lover, the whole chapter is basc a whole load of suletta would absolutely not do that. but also like...the intrigue of putting suletta in a situation where she would Absolutely Do That was more compelling than whatever cheap excuse I can come up with you know??? happy to have done it tho but absolutely won't do this kind of thought experiment any time soon XDDD

What fic was the easiest to write?

in terms of like...the speed in which a fic was published from first word to permalink, what a fool believes was written in like under an hour and shared the next. I also didn't have to cut off any words to hit the 1k mark for the challenge. running up that hill was also p much like that but this one is far more quick and dirty? like I put more thought in what a fool believes than running up that hill. but in terms of like, the speed in which the words flowed out of my hands, I seem to remember developing relationship standing out.

What were your shortest and longest fics posted this year?

shortest fic would be any of the drabbles I have up (all of which are exactly 100 words). longest fic would be hands down just the two of us, my olgue porn with plot fic which stands at 41,494 words 😂 is it any wonder i ship them now—

What were your go-to writing songs?

I can't write with music!! not anymore at least~~~ so actually I really have nothing to answer for this BUT, while I was conceptualizing and writing pull me in closer, this song was my ear worm:

so I took the title from that and worked it in bc it was convenient!

What was the hardest fic to title?

ALL OF IT fuck titles man!!!!! but like, especially with g witch, I never write with any titles or summaries in mind so looking for an old song that fits it (bc I stupidly decided that that was my theme for my g witch fics, hence me dropping that bullshit for gundam wing) is one of the hardest parts. and then with the other fics I just...never come up with anything that's cool and clicks, you know? like "okay, boomer" was the fing working title until I ran out of time, the rest are just puns and memes

What's your favorite title of the year?

probably "developing relationship". it's an ao3 tag, trowa is a developer and this is his and quatre's meet-cute so it's very multilayer????

Share your favorite opening line

man that's like 47 fics in the course of 12 months so I don't have a really good memory when it comes to these things? especially as openers for me are just whatever gets things going you know? but off the top of my head, I thought I really liked this one from if ever you're in my arms again:

Staring at the elevator’s display, a wicked thought asks Suletta: what would she do if the numbers suddenly went right back to 1?

Share your favorite ending line

the first thing that really came to mind here is (i've had) the time of my life which is:

But at least, the light of dawn is warm.

bc i really remember having the ending lines set even while I was just outlining the fic

Share your favorite piece of dialogue

my god

UMMMM

“We’d been together since I joined the Crownsguard…do you realize we would have been together for ten years now if we hadn’t broken up?”

from you. no you. I just like that ignis is being silly even tho he's being serious 🤭

Share your funniest line

OH OK. this one's a bit easier! maybe.

ummmmm

Ares’ laughter is quiet, compared to the noisy whir of electric fans, the tricycles roaring here and there past the open gate, and the radio blasting from the cheap counter at the end of the cramped room, where the lines ‘it’s been raining in Manila’ repeat in eternal damnation.

from okay, boomer. and the song referenced is:

What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

off the top of my head, just the amount of words that can go into a manuscript 🤣 so no it didn't change the story bc the story is the reason why I had to write all those words you know XDDD

What writing programs did you use? Did you write by hand?

started the year on gdocs but happy to say that I think I've mostly fully migrated to ellipsus!! 🙌🏼 also I never write by hand anymore, that's why my handwriting skills are getting so shitty 😂

If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

these questions are so complicated, I never want to answer these questions next year again 😂

prooobably maybe when I finished all my writing challenges for the year? like torokatober2024, assw, spite fest and stuff! it was great getting back into challenges this year but nothing is greater than writing your own ideas you know?

Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

I finished a fic lately and I said I will do a writing break so I'm gonna try just that!!! tho the goal is to never write again for the rest of the holiday break but uhh...I'm pretty sure I'm going to start smth before this year comes to an end knowing me XDDD

How did you recharge between fics?

this year, I think I really got into the practice of resting more than I wrote and making sure I did other hobbies THO that briefly went wayward with a few gundam wing fics that I was really excited to write 😂

Did you create fanworks other than fic?

gif sets!!! it was so great getting back into them!!!

How many events did you take part in? (bangs, exchanges, ship weeks, zines, prompt memes, they all count!)

six events! fth, dark and cozy, ficwip5k, torokatober2024, assw and spite fest. I thought about attempting another exchange this holiday season but decided to nope out even before the sign-ups started 😂 I feel like there would be far less for me next year, like I've had my fill this year, you know?

If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

good job everyone for making it this far!!! 🙌🏼

What's left on your to-do list for 2024?

resting LMAO and a year in review for meee

What would you like to write next year?

man i dunno I'm done making plans lol they never come true anyway XDDD I have ideas I wanna write and I'd like to have the time to write them all, that's all XDDD

well happy new year, everyone!! 🙌🏼 thanks for joining me along the ride this year!! 💖💖💖

A slightly revised version of last year's questions! Two ways to play: Reblog and have your followers send you numbers, or answer the whole list!

How many fics have you worked on since January?

What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year?

What piece of media inspired you the most? (This can be the fandom you wrote the most for, the one that spawned the most ideas, the one you thought about the most, etc.)

How many fandoms did you write for this year?

What ships captured your heart?

What characters captured your heart?

Did you write for any new fandoms or ships this year?

What fic meant the most to you to write?

What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

What fic was the most difficult to write?

What fic was the easiest to write?

What were your shortest and longest fics posted this year?

What were your go-to writing songs?

What was the hardest fic to title?

What's your favorite title of the year?

Share your favorite opening line

Share your favorite ending line

Share your favorite piece of dialogue

Share your funniest line

What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

What writing programs did you use? Did you write by hand?

If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

How did you recharge between fics?

Did you create fanworks other than fic?

How many events did you take part in? (bangs, exchanges, ship weeks, zines, prompt memes, they all count!)

If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

What's left on your to-do list for 2024?

What would you like to write next year?

[definitelynotciara]

six: hair and makeup

masterlist • previous • next

“Honestly,” our director, Chiba Airi started to speak, “You guys are such a famous cast our pilot is just gonna be our first episode. I mean it’s so easy to draw in an audience because of you all.” She said, laughing. “Thanks for making my job easier.” as if she isn’t a famous director with some of the best movies made under her watchful eye.

“If you checked your schedule, you’ll see when you’ll be needed for filming. Please come on time. We only need a few of the leads right now, Athena, that’s you Kiyoko, and Akira, Oikawa. I believe just we’ll start off with the younger versions of the twins and then continue from there. But first, everyone go to hair and makeup, then costumes. Make it quick everyone there’s a lot to do today.”

So I walked over with Kiyoko and Yachi to get into our hair and makeup. The amount of sfx was insane. I was given a scar running down my eye, which now had a contact lens on it to make me seem half blind. My outfit was a baggy white button up with black slacks and a harness. They gave me a fake tattoo that looked like a moon on my back. (Free reign for what you want to do with your hair)

Yachi was given small double buns, they said it was to represent her character being seemingly innocent. Her character wore a red button up with a black vest and black pleated skirt. She has a sun tattoo on her neck to represent Soleil.

Kiyoko, being the leader of Lune had her hair half up and half down, in an elegant fashion (its a wig). She took the longest to get ready. (idrk how to explain her hair so heres a pic taken off of pinterest) Kiyoko’s outfit was a silver kimono and her makeup was geisha inspired. She had the same fake tattoo I did on her hand.

(i love kiyoko)

After we were done with hair and makeup, and we got into our costumes. I left the room and walked over to the boys, who looked relaxed on the couches. (They probably finished ages ago.)

Tooru had a very expensive black suit and turtleneck on (he said it came from his closet and he had a spare so he didn’t mind using it for the show. Atsumu was so pissed.)

Atsumu was wearing a dark red button up with black slacks, the first few buttons of his shirt left undone showing the sun tattoo on his chest.

Sakusa was wearing a dark red button up with a harness and black slacks. His tattoo was on his back, not currently visible. They gave him a fake eyebrow piercing.

Osamu had a tight black button up and slacks, two small silver earrings on each ear. His sleeves were rolled up and you could see his moon tattoo on his forearm.

Suna was wearing a black wife beater and ripped black baggy jeans. He was given tattoos on his neck and his moon tattoo was on his upper arm.

—

to make this easier for everyone (including myself)

soleil: Tooru/Akira, Yachi/Clementine, Atsumu/Liam, Sakusa/Touma

lune: Kiyoko/Athena, Venus/Ceres, Osamu/Leon, Suna/Kou

—

sry sry kind of a filler chapter ikik

ty for reading anyways <3

also i gave the director a name LMAO shes completely fake like thats an oc and shes kind of unimportant but okay enough yapping

NOW WHAT DO THOSE TATTOOS LOOK LIKE THO

[corbindavenport]

Tech Tales: Year Three

Today, my podcast Tech Tales is three years old. I've had a lot of fun making the show this past year, and it has continued to grow and improve.

There were eight Tech Tales episodes this past year, coming in at just under eight hours of runtime. There are now 55 episodes in total, just over 17,000 plays on audio platforms, and 230 subscribers on YouTube. That's more than double the YouTube subscribers than the show had a year ago, and almost double the amount of audio plays.

There was a pretty good mix of episodes this year, diving into the history of the Apple IIGS computer, Duke Nukem Forever, the CyanogenMod custom ROM, the Intellivision Amico console, Google AMP, and Apple's transition to Intel processors. There were also two Movie Club episodes to give me a break from history research: one for Tron and another for its sequel, Tron: Legacy. That last one now holds the record for longest Tech Tales episode at 1 hour and 21 minutes.

Tech Tales is still growing without any paid advertising, with only word of mouth, algorithmic recommendations through YouTube, and my own efforts on social media (primarily Mastodon). There were a few sudden boosts, like YouTube's algorithm pushing the Intellivision Amico episode to hundreds more people than usual, and a few episodes were shared on tech forums and sites by listeners.

The big behind-the-scenes shift this year was moving the production from Audacity to Apple Logic Pro, which has made it much easier for me to edit episodes and add chapter markers. The episodes sound better than ever, and the YouTube version now has a fun idle animation instead of a static image.

I also started my new newsletter and blog, The Spacebar, a few months after Tech Tales' second anniversary. I adapted some older Tech Tales episodes as new articles for The Spacebar, such as the story of the Eee PC and VisiCalc. I plan to do more of that in the future, and maybe more cross-promotion where it makes sense.

I don't have any grand plans for Tech Tales for the next year ahead, other than continuing to work on it when I have the time and interesting topics to discuss. The editing process is a lot less frustrating now, which helps!

In no particular order, I would like to thank Joe Fedewa, Katie Janzen, Lucas Bastos, Evan Hirsh, Cody Toombs, Zachary Wander, and Adam Conway for joining as guests this past year. I also want to thank everyone who has ever listened to the show, and especially the ones who have reached out to me.

You can listen to Tech Tales for free on YouTube or your favorite podcast app. Onward to year four!

[komorebirabbitwrites]

Decided to do this ao3 wrapped, writer's edition [here]

Questions answered below the cut

How many words have you written this year?

Started tracking in early April so it's not completely accurate, but somewhere around 98,339 words

How many works did you publish this year?

11 separate works but I posted/updated 16 times

What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

Probably Lotus Eater! Or my ShiObitober works

What work of yours has the most hits?

Talking To The Moon. It has double the closest work

What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

Honestly? Heretic got more love than I had expected. I really wasn't proud of that one but people seem to like it

Favorite title you used

Lotus Eater, hands down (thank you, Jo!). Black Sea Wine and Honey & Harvest are runners up.

If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most?

I don't really use lyrics to title works but I do include lyrics in almost everything. - Heretic is inspired by Florence + The Machine. - Death and All His Friends includes I Found by Amber Run, and Broken Crown by Mumford and Sons. - Talking to the Moon is the only one that's a lyric title. It's (obviously Talking To The Moon by Bruno Mars). It also has Blood Upon The Snow by Hozier, Who Are You, Really? by Mikky Ekko (VERY kkob in this fic), Which Witch by Florence + The Machine (again), and Love Is A... by PVRIS.

Pairing you wrote the most for this year?

ShiObi (3 times)

Favorite pairing you wrote for this year?

ShiObi or TobiKaga, probably!

What work was the quickest to write?

Ino Supremacy Flash Fics were quickest. Other than that, probably Black Sea Wine for ShiSaku week

What work took you the longest to write?

I started Death and All His Friends in 2019, so that one, obviously.

How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year?

Uhh, fuck, somewhere around 15?

What’s your longest work of the year?

Talking To The Moon is now my longest at just under 20k

What’s your shortest work of the year?

Better with 384 words

What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

Talking To The Moon, Honey & Harvest, Golden Veil of Autumn, and Heretic.

What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?

Ino Supremacy, I think. Otherwise its something to do with suicide.

Your favorite character to write this year?

Obito!!!! my son

The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

Definitely Tobirama. Love him, but he's tough.

What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

More ShiObi! Or maybe TobiIzuKaga

Which work of yours have you reread the most?

Technically Heretic 'cause that editing process was brutal. For leisure, definitely Lotus Eater.

How many kudos in total did you get this year?

557

Which work has the most comments?

Talking To The Moon, by far.

Did you do any collaborative works this year?

With another writer, no, but I did collab with TBH-Logic on my ShiObitober works! She created some gorgeous art.

Did you write any gifts this year?

Lotus Eater!

Did you receive any gifts this year?

YES 😭 Jo's A Quiet Thunder was gifted to me and I'm still obsessed

What’s your most common category?

M/M

What do you listen to while writing?

Usually anything, though I do have specific fic or character playlists

Favorite work you wrote this year?

Lotus Eater

Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

Oh, man, this one is hard. I'll list a few, I guess From Heretic: Konan reforms from a scattered wall of paper, pulled together like beads on a string. Kakashi screwing with Tenzo at the end of chapter 1 in Talking To The Moon still makes me laugh. In chapter 2, It was a vulnerable position with Nobara in his blind spot, and it was instinct to want to push back. But what did it matter in the end? Nobara would kill him or he would fuck him. Either way, Kakashi would be satisfied. In Death and All His Friends: “I don’t think it’s peace that bothers you, it’s change.” Izuna’s glare grew hotter, fury simmering just beyond dark eyes. Tobirama was not cowed by it. “You fear what your place would be in a world that no longer needs soldiers when being a soldier is all you know.” and A cocky smirk curled his lips at Tobirama’s muttering, an eidolon of days long past and nightmares that continued to haunt him. “You should know by now,” Izuna crooned. “You will never get rid of me.”

Biggest surprise while writing this year?

Editing sucks, but I knew that. I'm surprised at how much I posted, honestly.

[babyjakes]

steve & bucky's girl | 2. all filled up.

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

← last chapter | series masterlist | next chapter →

summary | steve and bucky have been wanting to fill you up in new ways for the longest time. when they day arrives that they finally feel you’re ready, they’re sure to make it an experience you’ll always remember.

characters | dark!daddies!stucky, innocent!little!reader

warnings | t-h-e most depraved thing i’ve ever written. filfthy^100. NON-con/restraints, crying, medfet, ddlg/abdl, steve & bucky being cruel but soft as hell which only makes it that much worse,,, forced orgasms, forced anal, eventual double pen :^) (unprotected sweet jesus), heavy on the clit stim (per usual), anal toys, vibrator, rougher towards the end,, like, degrading idek, suuuuper loong lol (i like detail writing for stuff like this!!)

requested by @donttouchmybum | MORE DDLG MEDFET!! I’m so glad that I found one with Bucky and Steve, it was amazing! Are you able to do one with their little’s first time anal and they have to do the prep and stuff?

an | hi oh my godddddd i feel SO MUCH FEAR posting this but :’-) the last one was more well-received than i expected so,, i hope you enjoy! thanks so much for the request, i’ve been wanting to write more of this stuff but needed inspo &lt;;3

A loud whimper erupts from the back of your throat, muffled by your pacifier as you struggle helplessly against the strong restraints holding you securely to the changing table. Today, Bucky and Steve have something new planned for you. That’s why you’re so heavily restrained, with straps across your lower belly and below your shoulders, securing as well to your arms and wrists, along with straps securing your upper and lower legs to the strong pair of stirrups positioned at the foot of the table, spread wide open to allow easy access. The thick, firm bonds give you not even a millimeter of wiggle room, exactly how your daddies want it.

“I know, sweetheart; I know,” Steve fusses comfortingly from his position behind your right leg. Reaching a gentle hand over, he rubs at your inner thigh, causing you to sniffle at his touch. Today, a second rolling chair has been brought in so that both of the men can sit comfortably through your session. Steve’s settled where one of them would usually stand to hold your legs open, but because of the restraints, he has two free hands to assist in the procedure. A metal instrument tray is rolled over by his side, holding the various tools he’ll need to perform his part. Bucky’s on the other stool set directly between your legs, his own set of equipment resting on the extra space of the table. “I know it’s scary, but we’re gonna make you feel so good, babydoll. Just gonna show you new ways to feel good,” Steve promises.

“That’s right, princess. Gonna make you feel all warm and tingly in places you never knew could feel so good,” Bucky agrees as he reaches up to adjust the surgical light hanging over you to better illuminate the area he’s focusing on. Rolling up the sleeves of his crisp-white button down shirt, he reaches out a bare hand, placing it on the base of your tummy over your diaper. You flinch, though your body has nowhere to go as it strains against the thick straps holding you in place. “Okay, pumpkin. Let’s get you out of your nappy,” he sings as he begins to undo the tabs, creating a faint crinkling sound as he opens it up.

You let out a whine in protest as tears build in your eyes, but Steve just shushes you, reaching a hand over and rubbing his pointer finger gently over one of your nipples through the thin fabric of your baby-pink shirt. At the light, tickling stimulation, the small bead hardens, causing the blonde man to smile sympathetically. “Shhh, sweetheart. It’s okay,” he murmurs, always the one to be more affected by your tears.

“Won’t be needing this,” Bucky says as he pulls the unused nappy out from under your bottom, leaving your soft bare cheeks to rest against the cool, crinkly exam paper. “But we should probably have something under you, given the mess you’re about to make.” You whimper in fear at his words as he takes a large surgical napkin lined with gauze, sliding it under you to provide a clean space for him to work on. “There we go,” the man croons, turning his attention now to your exposed sex.

Adjusting his stool slightly higher to get a better view over your leg, Steve suggests with a frown, “Hmm, I think she might need to be spread a little wider.” You shake your head as tears stream down your face, a pleading look in your eyes, but Bucky just nods in agreement with him, unscrewing the stirrups slightly to allow him to push your legs further apart. You can feel the lips of your pussy parting, the cool air from the room causing your flesh to suiver.

“There, much better,” Bucky muses as he re-tightens the screws, his eyes landing again on your innocent cunt. “Alright, baby. First we’re gonna have Stevie get you warmed up, okay?” he coos. Taking that as his cue, Steve nods, picking up a pair of blue exam gloves off his tray and snapping them onto his hands, one by one, rolling back the sleeves of his own white shirt. “We’re gonna be introducing your body to a lot of new things today, little one, a lot of new sensations, so Steve’s just gonna make sure to keep you feeling good through all of it,” Bucky explains as Steve picks up a noisy plastic package, breaking the seal and pulling out a long cotton swab.

Your eyes widen at the object, but Steve’s quick to try to ease your fears, “It’s okay, sweetheart. Just gonna give you some warming cream; that’s all.” At the sight of the man breaking open the small tab of paste, a whimper catches in your throat. More tears build in your eyes as he collects a decent amount of the white, minty substance on the tip of the swab, placing the used tab back on his tray. “Okay, peanut. Now, let’s have a look at that little clit of yours, hmm?” he hums as he leans over your leg slightly to gain better acces.

Steve’s always loved playing with your clit more than anything in the world. While both men enjoy and savor every inch of your body, there’s just something particularly satisfying to the blonde about your adorable little nub. He loves the way it peaks out from under its hood, how it quivers and pulses when exposed and stimulated. He knows, too, that you hate it when anyone comes near it, and that just swiping it with the pad of his thumb can bring you right to tears, which only makes it more enjoyable for him to humilate you by giving it extra attention and care.

“There it is,” Steve smiles as he takes his left arm and rests it across your belly, his hand pulling back slightly on the top of your mound to more easily reach the hooded nub. You whine and fuss into your pacifier, and Bucky just shushes you quietly while stroking your inner thigh soothingly. “Okay, sweetie. Gonna be a little cold at first, but don’t worry; we’ll get you in nice and warmed up in no time,” Steve promises as he takes the swab in his right hand, carefully bringing the rounded paste-covered tip and beginning to rub it gently across your clit.

The initial contact sends a whimper up through your nose, but Steve just continues to spread the paste, cooing, “That’s it, gotta get it alll over. Just making sure we get you nice and tingly, doll.” Once he’s satisfied with the application, he sets the used swab back down on its empty wrapper, the dreaded effects of the cream already taking hold as your most sensitive spot begins to throb.

“Oh, look at that,” Bucky marvels as the two men eye your reddening clit. “Swelling up already.” Steve nods with a smile as he keeps his hand pulling back on your mound, using the other that’s now free to gently begin rubbing across the top of the hooded bead with just the pad of his gloved finger.

You whimper through tears as warmth spreads out from your core, Steve’s skilled finger knowing just how to rub to make the sensation as intense as possible. “There, that feel good?” he hums, frowning in fake sympathy as you shake your head pleadingly.

“Poor baby,” Bucky shakes his head as he begins sorting through his own supplies. “Well, soon you’ll be glad to have the distraction, so don’t take it for granted,” he warns with a slightly darker tone as he pulls on his own set of gloves, tightening them up as the unpleasant sounds of the rubber against his skin fill the air. “Now sweetie,” he continues, his dangerously serious eyes meeting your blurry gaze. “Do you remember what it is we’re going to be doing today?” Defeatedly, all you can do is nod. “Good, you remember that today we’re gonna be stretching out your hiney-hole?” he asks, one of his thumbs brushing up against your puckered opening suddenly, making you jump in surprise at the unanticipated contact.

“Been wantin’ to fill up that little hole for quite some time,” Steve reminds you as he continues his gentle assault on your clit. The men’s words bring a new round of tears to your eyes, and they for once seem to have somewhat of an effect on Bucky.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, little one,” he croons, rubbing a bit more firmly at your virgin ass. “We’re gonna take things nice and slow and make sure you’re completely ready before we fill you up. Nothing’s gonna hurt,” he tells you, “just gonna feel good, doll.”

“We’d never hurt our baby,” Steve sings lovingly, the balloon of pressure from his finger on your clit slowly expanding in your lower belly as the men continue to talk over you. “You’re our precious little girl, sweetheart. We only wanna make you feel good, wanna make you feel so, so good.”

“So, we’re gonna start small,” Bucky says, picking up a syringe filled with a clear substance from his tray with his spare hand while continuing to prod gently at your tight opening with the other. “This is just some lubricant, sweetie. Gonna fill your little hiney-hole up with this so things can go in and out easier.” At the suggestion of your ass being filled with anything coming from a syringe, you let out a humiliated cry, causing Bucky to shake his head with a sad smile. “I know, I know. It doesn’t sound fun, but we gotta do it so nothing hurts.”

“Be a good girl and hold still for Bucky,” Steve instructs as the brown-haired man positions the tip of the syringe at the opening of your puckered hole. Not having the option of doing anything other than what Steve’s demanded, you simply squeeze more tears out of your eyes, holding your breath. The pressure and speed of the stimulation on your clit increases slightly, meant to ease some of the tension the next step is about to bring.

“Okay. Here we go, princess,” Bucky warns as he eases the long tip up your ass, the insertion making you cry out in discomfort and protest. “That’s it, theere you go,” he hums as he presses down on the plunger, the cool liquid filling you up inside as you whimper through your pacifier. “Good girl,” he praises, carefully removing the emptied syringe, a bit of the clear gel leaking out of your reddened hole.

Using his pointer finger to clean it up, Bucky begins rubbing at the opening of your bum again, this time the sensation much more warm and tingly thanks to the slippery wetness that’s been applied. “Okay, little one. We’re just gonna start with one finger, okay? We’ll go nice and slow, I promise,” he tells you, causing you to whine helplessly in fear.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Steve shushes, once again bumping up the speed of his finger as it rubs in tight circles across your now engorged clit. “Daddy’s gonna keep rubbing your nub, okay? Gonna make sure it feels good, sweetheart.”

“That’s right; should feel nice and good,” Bucky seconds. Then, without any further warning, he begins to press the tip of his gloved finger up into your bum, struggling to fit it in despite all the lube leaking out of you. You cry out against your pacifier as he continues the insertion, your virgin ass squeezing his finger almost painfully as a foreign sense of warmth swells in your tummy from the stimulation of your sensitive anal walls. “Good, that’s good,” Bucky strains as he pushes his large finger deeper, “fuck. So fuckin’ tight.” Steve rubs quicker at your clit, the little nub now practically on fire as Bucky finally fits the remainder of his finger in, letting out a breath and pausing to let you adjust.

“Look at that, all filled up with Bucky’s finger,” Steve coos, loving the sight of your ass looking so stuffed by just a single digit. Slowly, Bucky moves his finger around, the action causing even more unwanted feelings of fullness and warmth to build up in your belly.

“That feel good, princess?” Bucky asks with a sly smile, humiliating you with his knowledge of how the unwanted penetration is somehow bringing you closer to an orgasm. “Daddy’s just gonna feel around a little bit,” he tells you, gradually beginning to pump his finger in and out of you. As terrible as the movements feel, you can’t help the all-too familiar feeling building up inside of you as your ass is filled with the single gloved finger, accomponied by Steve’s maticulous stimulation of your clit.

“Aww, look at this, Buck. I think she’s already on the verge of cumming,” Steve chuckles as he dips down into the wetness leaking from your cunt, dragging it back up and pinching your nub between his thumb and finger as he begins rolling it like a bead of clay. You sob in defeat and arousal as Bucky smiles in agreement, comfortable enough now to begin thrusting faster and more forcefully into your slippery hole.

“Yeah? You gonna cum, dollface? You gonna cum from just one finger up your little hiney-hole?” he degrades as you sputter and heave on your pacifier, simply unable to hold back the feelings any longer as your orgasm pierces through you, causing you to cry out in pain and pleasure. “Yeah, that’s it,” Bucky almost grunts, the feeling of you clamping down on his finger with your tight little asshole sending blood straight to his bulging cock.

“Goood girl,” Steve sings in praise as you come down from your high, choking on your tears and spit, his own hard-on swelling between his legs as he slows his fingering down to a gentler pace. “Came so hard from Bucky’s finger, such a good girl.”

“I think she’s ready for another,” Bucky huffs excitedly, pulling out his drenched pointer and adding his middle to it to swirl around the lube oozing from your bum before beginning to shove them both back into your throbbing opening. You sob at the new feeling of fullness, the addition of the second finger only increasing the disgustingly delicious sensation deep within your gut.

Once both digits are full pressed into your swollen hole, Bucky repeats the same process from last time, starting out slow as he pumps in and out of you just as he would with your pussy. Steve takes to rolling your clit again between his fingers, the overstimulated nub throbbing at the unbearably hot touch. “If we keep at it, shouldn’t be too long before-”

“Oh, there it is,” Bucky cuts Steve off as your second orgasm rips through you out of nowhere, causing tears to spring into the air out of your eyes as your back tries to arch up against the restraints, your toes curling from the powerful wave. “Good, very good,” he hums as you float back down, your breaths staggering as you just cry to yourself in defeat.

“Shhhh,” Steve coos, bringing his clean hand up from your mound and stroking your tears away. “You’re doing so good, sweet girl. Doing so, so good for your daddies.”

“I think we should try the pump-up, and if all goes well, she’ll probably be ready after that,” Bucky talks to Steve softly as if you’re not even there in the room with the two of them.

“Okay. That sounds good to me,” Steve agrees as he removes his fingers from around your clit, retrieving something from his tray. The minute you hear a button being pressed and a familiar whirring sound coming from his hands, you let out a whole new round of sobs, fighting pathetically against your restrains as he brings the vibrator over and holds it above your aching sex. “Hey sweetie, what’re all the tears for, huh? It’s your very favorite one. See?” he asks, waving the light pink bullet in front of you mockingly. Steve is well aware that it’s actually your least favorite toy, the powerful vibrations it emits stronger than any other device in their collection. “Now, let me make sure I put it in your very favorite spot, too,” he continues to play along, returning his left hand to pull back on the skin surrounding the nub and bringing the pulsating head of the toy right up against the udner side of your clit, causing you to howl against your pacifier. “There. Is it okay like that, sweetheart?” he degrades as he pushes down onto your clit with his gloved fingers, increasing the vibrations begins sent through the nub. “I know you like it best right up on the head, riiight there, where it’s the most sensitive.”

As Steve distracts you with the new torture of your aching clit, Bucky prepares the inflatable dildo by squeezing the pump a few times, starting it out at a modest size. With no warning, he begins rubbing the blunt black tip of it on your hiney-hole, chuckling when you’re almost in too much distress from Steve’s work to even notice. As soon as he begins forcing it in, though, you cry out in shock, the smooth feeling of the object against your anal walls bringing you to a whole new level of arousal.

Sobbing and choking through your pacifier, your eyes widen as they meet Steve’s baby blues, and he can immediately tell what’s about to happen. “Oh, here she goes again,” he says with a grin. “That’s it, baby. Cum, cum for your daddies. Goood,” he coos as another orgasm is forced out of your trembling body. Bucky takes the opportunity to shove the rest of the length inside of you while you’re riding out your high, only adding to the unbelievable waves of pleasure rushing through you.

“Such a good girl,” Bucky praises lovingly as you fall limp against their ministrations, twitches of overstimulation spurting through your tummy and legs as Steve keeps the vibrator pressed on your painful bundle of nerves. “Now, Daddy’s just gonna pump it up, okay? Gonna fill you up as tight as you can take it, princess,” he grins eagerly, beginning to squeeze the pump of the dildo as it inflates inside of you. You wail inconsolably as the rubber objects stretches you out to the max, your gut burning in sinful arousal and humiliation.

Once the toy appears to be a similar size to one of their cocks, Bucky drops the pump, beginning to pound the length of it into you without care. As the panting man fucks the life out of you with the rubber blow-up, Steve presses the bullet up as far as he can against the most sensitive spot of your clit, and you can’t help it; you absolutely scream as your fourth and most powerful orgasm yet tears through you mercilessly, causing you to squirt forcefully onto Bucky’s hands. “Yeah, just like that,” he growls harshly.

“Fuck, cumming so hard,” Steve groans at the sight of you coming completely undone due to their efforts. And you just scream and scream some more, tears flooding your face as you begin to cough and choke on your spit, your whole abdomen cramping as you finally come down from your animalistic high.

The vibrator is removed from your clit, and the dildo is pulled from your ass, but you’re too out of it to notice, unable to do anything other than lie in a mess of your own tears and cum, whimpering and blubbering pitifully through a haze. Everything is sore; everthing hurts, and you fear that if either of them were to even lay a finger on you at this point, you’d simply completely shatter at their touch.

Blinking feverishly to clear your vision, you’re startled to see that both of the men are up off of their stools, ripping their clothing off of their bodies as fast as they can possibly manage. Steve finishes first, coming back to the changing table and all but tearing the restraints off of you, picking you up firmly by your little waist and sliding underneath you, lying back against the cushioned surface as the napkin drops to the floor. He lays your back against his chest, holding you still as you fight weakly, almost too tired to even move a muscle. Bucky comes up between the empty stirrups and faces you, pumping his hard cock in his hands.

“Now it’s time for you to take Daddy’s cock up your sweet little hiney-hole. You think you can do that, sweetheart?” Steve whispers in your ear, his own erection bulging under you as he pushes you up to a sitting position, your back still to him as he lifts you effortlessly by your waist, startling you by easing you back down and sliding his cock up your ass. Gasping at the full feeling, Bucky steps forward and slams his member up into your pussy, and you cry out in shock, completely winded by the double penetration.

“Fuck, so fuckin’ tight,” Steve grunts as he holds you by your waist, ramming you up and down on their massive lengths. Completely exhausted, all you can do is lie there and take it, letting the two men fuck you limply like a ragdoll. “Takin’ us so fuckin’ well, sweetheart. Fuck.”

“Look at ‘er,” Bucky chuckles as you blubber wordlessly against your pacifier, so deep in littlespace and overstimulated that not much of anything is processing in your brain anymore. “Just sittin’ there and takin’ it, lettin’ her daddies fuck her like a little fuckin’ toy. Such a stupid little baby,” he grins sickly, loving the way degrading you feels. “Dumb little baby, filled up with cock.” Bucky’s hands find their way over Steves and he takes over, pumping you across their members with reckless abandon. One hand rests on your lower belly, feeling himself inside you as he tears your guts apart.

Steve reaches a hand around between you and Bucky and finds your swollen bundle of nerves, and that’s all it takes; heaving, you come completely undone on top of their rock-hard cocks, squeezing them both as they rub up against each other with only a thin lining of your flesh keeping them apart. “Fuck, just like that,” Steve groans, your abused little asshole the most heavenly thing he’s ever had the privilege of fucking. Every muscle in your body seems to snap as your orgasm soars, pathetic cries coming out from behind your pacifier as you do all you can to keep from passing out.

“Dumb- baby-, cumming- all- over- our- cocks,” Bucky grunts, the two men’s erections swelling as they both let out deep moans, shooting abundant cum straight up into your belly. The world swirls as the three of you linger, the harsh sounds of their breathing and pathetic whimpers coming from your lips filling the heated air.

After several more moments of complete stillness, Bucky lifts you up as gently as he can from his and Steve’s spasming cocks. Letting out a heartbreaking cry, Steve shifts up slightly onto an elbow, both of the men seeming to sober up as they take in the complete mess they’ve made you into.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs as he collects you from Bucky. You wither in his arms, curling up defensively in fear of anything more they could be planning. “Shhh, shhh. It’s okay. It’s done, baby. We’re done; you did such a good job. Shh-shh shhh,” he soothes, rising to his feet and cradling you like a baby, rocking you back and forth as his partner begins to clean up.

“I think someone needs a nice, gentle bath,” Bucky says softly, causing Steve to chuckle lightly and nod.

“Okay, baby. Let’s go find the tub and get you aaall cleaned up,” he sings, doting over you lovingly as you babble softly, completely lost in your littlespace and not really hearing anything that’s being said. “Silly baby,” Steve coos, planting a kiss on your head. “Such a precious little girl.”

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[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: III

“You can have me tonight or never

I thought you understood

Baby, some people are meant to be loved and others just naked

So take what I’m willing to give, love it or hate it.”

—Wrong, Zayn and Kehlani

A/N: alright SO!!!! the original part 3 ended up being at the cusp of 50k words (because i have no self control) and that is a LOT to read in one go so it’s getting split into parts 3 and 4! which means!! double update laidese and germs!!!! part 4 will be posted this SUNDAY, AUGUST 16th at 5PM PST/8PM EST :D we hope you enjoy this chapter, feedback is greatly appreciated, and please please PLEASE!!! if you like it, reblog it!!! and if you want, go nuts in the tags!! every single one is read!!! it keeps content creators motivated 💌leyla @sunflowervolvimp3​ took the liberty of making an incredible playlist to go along with our story, so feel free to check it out and see if you can find any clues as to what’s in store for the characters 👀without further delay, here she is...buckle up 👁👁this is gonna be quite the ride

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

word count: 24.2k

content/warnings: cheeky banter over texts, The Crew dragging Niall to shit, more banter over a glass of cheap wine, vampire!harry showing up to “interior design” sessions looking like a runway model, some fwb smut, degradation kink, very mild mentions of blood, and some ugly tapestries that somehow lead to sexting

///

Y/N definitely puts Harry’s number to good use. Very good use.

In fact, during the span of the next month or so, Harry reckons that she pulls up his contact on her phone so often that she probably has him listed on speed dial. The assumption is dramatic and probably incorrect, on behalf of his arrogance, but with how much time they start spending together, it’s hardly a stretch.  

It all begins exactly a week after their first time meeting. 

Harry still hates clubs. 

He hates them more than he did last week. He hates them more than he did yesterday, more than he did this morning, and even more than he did a minute ago. He fucking despises them. 

And yet, as Harry stands here before the mirror in his enormous double-sink bathroom, fiddling with his damp hair as his flouncy dress shirt hangs unbuttoned from his broad shoulders, he’s absolutely positive he has never hated clubs more than right now. 

Niall got to pick the venue this time. He’d texted his choice in the groupchat (which is respectfully named Dinner Plans) about four hours ago, making sure to get the word out decently early so that everyone could start making their preparations, all in order for the crew to be on the move by nine P.M. 

It’s now nine thirty-seven, and everyone is fully set to leave at the agreed upon hour. Everyone except Harry. 

This, however, is not uncommon. He’s always the one that takes the longest to get ready, no matter how soon he starts. No one can remember an instance where Harry has ever been ready on time— which says a lot, considering most of the gang has years of memories from which they can pull. Mitch especially. With almost a century of friendship behind them, not once has the older vampire ever seen Harry stick to a deadline. His flare for being fashionably late is less a flare, and moreso an irritating burn. It always throws off their game a bit, but at this point, everyone has gotten used to the seemingly young vampire’s theatrics. 

So on this Friday night, there isn’t much more to do other than mold to his habits; Harry answers to no one except himself and it’s been that way for decades now, for a reason he’d rather not reminisce. He doesn’t owe anything to anyone, especially since he’s the one that always takes charge of getting them where they need to go, as well as getting them inside said destination. Complaining about their leader wouldn’t do the gang any good for a number of reasons, especially because Harry rarely ever listens. It is what it is— he’s just the way he is, and they’ve all learned to live with and respect that.

The funny thing? Harry does it on purpose, though his friends aren’t aware of it. He drags out the process of getting prepared simply so he can put off having to step inside one of those circus acts people refer to as clubs. He goes as slow as possible and does as much as possible, spreading seconds into minutes, and maybe— if he’s insistent enough and feeling particularly pesky— an hour. His record is an hour and twenty-eight minutes, which he wears with pride, much to his group’s unamusement. 

Harry knows no one will ever say anything about his annoying tendencies, unless they’re willing to volunteer themselves to take the reins for the night. Vampires are alert and productive, but only when they want to be— which is usually only when it benefits them— and only if they can muster up the patience for it. And frankly, none of the creatures he associates with have the patience required to deal with security, driving, and other obstacles the way Harry does. He’s indispensable, and therefore, everyone puts up with his shit. Quid pro quo has never been more effective. 

So here Harry stands, now thirty-eight minutes past the original time sorted for departure, carefully combing volumizing mousse into his slightly wet curls and spinning each ringlet around his index finger to give them the definition and bounce he’s so well-known for. Here he is, finishing up his post-shower routine as all of his friends mill around downstairs in his living room, waiting for him to come down so they can pack into his car and head out for the weekly hunt at whatever establishment has been deemed fit for the night. And here he is, taking his sweet time so he can be the signature pain in the ass that everyone hates to love. 

Once Harry has thoroughly coated all of his hair with the fluffy white cream, he pulls out his hair-dryer from the cabinet below his sink, snapping its accompanying diffuser into place and flipping his head upside down. He carefully scrunches his curls to his roots with the attachment, moving in thoughtful circles as he hums to the rhythm of a song he can’t be bothered to remember the name of. Staring down at his polished jet black heeled boots, he absentmindedly taps against the porcelain ground to the beat of the music, sighing wistfully as warm air circulates its way across his scalp. 

Harry turns his shoes to the side, admiring the detailing along the back of the heel. Across the curved surface is the word SUCKER, bedazzled onto the article with multicolored jewels, glitzing beautifully under the fluorescent lighting of his bathroom. The shoes had been a gift from a friend with connections in high places; more specifically, connections to the man who sits on the throne of the Gucci brand. Harry hadn’t questioned the present when he’d received it— only an idiot would bat a cautious eye at such a luxury. He’d fallen in love with them the second they landed in his palms, decked out in a gorgeous satin box and wrapped with sparkly black tissue paper. The only words that had dared leave his lips were, “Fuck, I think I just got hard.”

The shoes had fit like a charm, and he had wanted to save them for a special occasion. But given that he has hundreds of years worth of special occasions lined up for his future, he’d shrugged off his pickiness and yanked them out the back of his closet for tonight. What better way to show them off than at an overhyped disco hall? 

Harry flips his head right-side up once again, ruffling his fingers through his soft, shiny curls to check for any wet patches or stringiness. He rolls up the wire to his styling tool and puts it back in its designated spot, grabbing his favorite paddle brush and attentively filtering it through his hair until he gets the tousled waves that he’s grown so fond of sporting. He musses them until he’s satisfied with his appearance, nodding at himself casually in the mirror as he proceeds to wrap up the last few necessities he has left. 

Harry buttons his blouse, admiring it in the fogged mirror. It’s a flowy sheer black piece with holographic threads sewn through its expanse, the fabric continuously shimmering with every shift of his muscles from underneath. He leaves the last three holes empty to better show off the dark butterfly inking on his lean chest and the swallows suspended in flight along his collarbones. He doesn’t really have to leave the shirt open, given that the material is see-through to the point where it leaves very little to the imagination, obvious in how all the tattoos along his arms are clearly visible. But he does it either way— he likes it when people stare. He’s got the assets, he might as well flaunt them.

Harry loosely tucks the hem of the shirt along the brim of his high-waisted beige slacks, which he’d ironed with precision to an ideal fold. He opts out of a belt tonight, wanting to display the array of elegant buttons that line the front of his pleated trousers. The pants hang slightly flared around his ankles, and if someone’s interests were intent enough, they might catch a glimpse of his favorite socks underneath the cusps, the words FUCK IT printed across the dark cotton fabric. He always makes sure to have an aspect in his outfit that could make for neat conversation.  

The vampire pulls out one of his drawers, ghosting his fingers over his collection of jewelry before picking out a pearl necklace and his father’s gold-plated cross necklace, as well as a colorful array of rings. He makes sure to retrieve the most significant two, as always— his lionhead amethyst daylight ring and his mother’s opal. He never goes anywhere without them. 

After he’s slipped on those accessories, bending and stretching his fingers for good measure and feeling everything settle into place, he picks out the gold cross earring that matches his necklace. It used to be part of a pair that belonged to his sister. As he watches the gold twinkle in the artificial light, he briefly wonders what happened to its twin, but pushes the thought away before it leads him down a path of pessimistic speculations. 

Harry loops the dangly piece through his earlobe, sighing through his nose as his gaze jets around his entire look, searching for any possible faults he could tend to that would prolong the inevitable— another night of drunken morons and thick synthetic smoke. 

Harry decides to fold the cuffs of his shirt up to his elbows, knowing that it makes his veiny forearms look appealing. He rummages through his selection of colognes before deciding to go with his trusty Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille, spritzing a bit along specific pressure points on his neck where a pulse would otherwise be present, following along with the insides of his wrists. The scent of cloves, sugar-frosted vanilla, and cedar wood envelope him in a warm ambiance. After that task is complete, he fusses with his necklaces for a minute or so, settling the cross between his pectorals and resting the rosey pearls across his clavicle, fingering at their smooth surface in thought. Much to his defeat, everything seems to be in order, down to his freshly lacquered black nails. It’s not his fault he’s nearly flawless. His long— and unfortunate— extension on life had given him a plethora of years to work himself into a state of physical perfection. There’s only so much one can do to their appearance before it becomes superiorly stagnant. 

Harry tunes his heightened hearing for a second, listening in to the conversation his friends are entertaining on the first level of his condo. Niall’s voice is the first one that comes through, unsurprisingly. He’s always the loudest and has zero filter, present in how he’s freely ranting about Harry’s exaggerated mannerisms as he paces back and forth across the floor, footsteps heavy. No one seems to be paying him any mind— As usual, Harry thinks to himself, snorting softly— because everyone appears to be caught up in their own personal lives, too lost in gossip and exchanging opinions to give the Irish vampire any thought. 

None of his gang seem bothered by his lack of rush, but Harry knows he can’t keep them waiting forever. Fridays are the day they’d all collectively agreed to hunt together and it had been as so for almost twenty years. Being the leader, Harry can’t let his childish distaste for nightlife get in the way of what’s best for the group. He needs to hunker down on his selfish inclinations and be a responsible friend, or else a human might not be the only person Niall sinks his fangs into tonight.

With one final lingering stare at his reflection, Harry goes to retrieve his phone from its face-down position on the dark marble counter, simultaneously reaching for the light switch to begin powering down his apartment for the next couple of hours until he returns. Hopefully with a pretty girl hanging off his arm and less of a burn in the back of his throat. Although Harry may be cynical, he’s also practical; if he’s going to have to spend eternity on this planet, he may as well try to conserve enough energy to make it bearable. After decades of adjusting to electricity, the last thing Harry wants is to return to candlelit rooms and going to bed in time with the sun. 

The sudden chime that shrieks from his device causes him to jump a tad, brows furrowing in mild confusion for a few reasons. First, because it’s such an odd coincidence that right as he went to grasp it, his smartphone had gone off; it’s almost spooky. Second, because anyone who would normally dare message him at this hour is currently sequestered downstairs on the cushions of his sectional sofa, waiting for him to emerge from his room. Who else could possibly need to contact him this late, especially at the beginning of the weekend? 

Harry flips his red iPhone curiously (yes, he’d bought it in red for the purpose of irony), peering down at the unknown number shining back up at him from the screen. 

The text is simple enough: Hey, accompanied by three disco ball emojis. 

After a few seconds of blank blinking and adamantly searching through his mind for a clue as to who this could be, the answer smacks him square between the eyes. The memories come to him in quick flashes. 

A bald bouncer with a stupid name. A two-story room with seven foot tall speakers and a bar nuzzled in the corner. A group of loud, tipsy girls in stilettos and glittery dresses. One girl, sitting amidst the ruckus looking alone and indifferent while everyone around her gave into inebriated chaos. Mitch urging him to go talk to her. The overwhelming smell of honey and lavender. Gentle caresses placed across the tattoos painting his arms. Pretty lips the color of fresh blood, drained glasses of liquor, and witty banter exchanged between suggestive glances and cheeky grins. Shouldering through a crowded dance floor with the young woman in tow. Settling her into the passenger’s seat of his Cadillac and feeling heat explode across his cold cheeks when she’d yanked him down by his collar, kissing him like his lips were her only source of air. 

A quaint apartment complex, flickering lights in a corridor, and a worn couch. A warm mouth, smudged lipstick, teary eyes, and the gentle, shaky echo of, “I want to make you feel good.” High-waisted silk pants discarded on the floor, a cream lace blouse, and pastel pink lingerie. Thighs squeezing his head as her sweet taste spilled across his tongue. The mortal’s bare back pressed to his chest as he worked his hips roughly into her, mumbling dirty promises against her ear. Sugary whimpers and needy pleads. The warm, tangy flavor of her blood filling his mouth and sedating the burning in his throat. Childish giggles shared in a tiny flat, her warm fingers sewing between his icy own and tugging him into her room. A sleepless night full of steady breaths and only one heartbeat. A stupid tapestry and an ugly popcorn ceiling. A late morning strewn with sarcastic jokes mumbled over the rim of a coffee mug. Pulling his favorite t-shirt over his head and inhaling the sweet smell that had been glued to every thread. 

Making a drastic decision and typing his information into her phone. 

Harry doesn’t mean to speak aloud, but the name slips down his tongue as easily as he’d drawn moans from hers. “Y/N.”

It’s not like he didn’t remember her, because he did. And it’s not like he hadn’t thought of her since, because he had. But it’d been in passing and barely relevant— faint recollections in the form of fleeting seconds. 

He’d thought of her a couple days ago, when he’d been wandering around the mall with his friends. They’d passed by a candle shop where, among all the mixed scents, there had been the unmistakable aroma of lavender and honey somewhere inside, smelling vaguely like her. She’d unwillingly made her way to the forefront of his mind when he’d gone to do laundry, picking out his baby blue Marc Jacobs t-shirt from his hamper and feeling his eyes dilate and fangs protrude— a result of animalistic instinct. As it turns out, she had left a bloodstain along the inside of the yellow collar of his tee. It was dried and crusted over by the time he found it, but the effect it had on him remained the same as the night he’d drawn it fresh from one of her arteries. He’d chucked the garment into the wash carelessly with hardly any hesitation. 

The girl had even elbowed into his brain during an important self-care session. He’d been sitting in his glorified bathtub— which, in shallow honesty, is just a jacuzzi— with his cock twitching in his palm while his head hung over the edge, an orgasm teetering along the trench of his stomach as he’d repeatedly thumbed over his tip. When he’d finally coaxed himself into a climax, moans running freely across the empty halls of his home, the image he saw in those short moments of pure bliss was of her. It was Y/N, sitting in front of him with her hands clasped between her bare thighs obediently, his prick running along the length of her warm tongue as her eyes pleaded for him to cum. 

But, as he’d stated before, the picture had only lasted a handful of seconds. As soon as his high had died down, it had disintegrated to ash, and he’d been left with a slightly startled mental imprint in its wake, which had faded away within minutes. He hadn’t thought of her since. 

That is, until now. Until the surface of his jade eyes are reflecting the message his phone had just received at nearly ten P.M., her identity obvious in her choice of emojis. 

A disco ball. The exact same character he’d assigned himself beside his name in her contact list. It was an inside joke; a result of the hatred they both shared for clubs, juxtaposed by the fact that they had met in one. It was a cute determining factor in their minimal acquaintanceship, and he’s always a sucker for a good paradox. 

Harry continues to stare down at the text message, trying to conjure up some type of answer. She couldn’t have caught him at a better time, quite literally. She could be his saving grace tonight, if he plays his cards right. Maybe if he swoons her enough, she’ll invite him over again, and he can avoid another night full of shit-faced idiots and blinding strobe lights. 

After careful consideration, he swipes open into their new text conversation and taps back a reply he deems appropriate, satisfied with how it shows his personality— the same one the mortal girl had been so taken with upon their first encounter. 

Well, this is awkward. I don’t remember giving my number to a disco ball.

The vampire waits idly for a response, watching as the message delivers and is immediately marked by a read receipt. He doesn’t know why, but he likes that she has them on. 

A swift pause follows— in which he has no doubt she’s probably attempting to come up with some type of witty remark to his— and then the three grey bouncing bubbles pop up, signifying that she’s typing back. His device bloops with her response, vibrating in his large palms.

Funny as ever, I see. It’s Y/N, from the club last Friday. 

Harry’s slightly disappointed by her humor-lacking answer, but he’ll keep the interaction going for curiosity’s sake. Some people are fun in person and just not that bright virtually. Can’t always have it all.

Oh, hey, Y/N! So are you translating on behalf of the disco ball that wanted to talk to me or…?

He can practically see her eye rolling up at the grungy ceiling of her room and that notion makes his lips twitch. 

Ha. Ha. Hilarious! But no, I’M the one who wants to talk to you, actually.

Harry can feel her sarcastic tone through this specific message and that gives him hope. Maybe she does have social networking skills. 

Oh. Well, give the disco ball my best regards then, will you? Don’t want it to think I’m being rude and casting it aside.

The creature can’t see it, but now Y/N’s lips are the ones jolting as she sits on her bed in nothing but a towel, damp hair beading water down her naked shoulders and back.

How caring of you! I’ll pass on the message.

A full grin begins to edge across Harry’s cheeks as she returns his banter just as easily as she would face to face, dimples threatening to indent into place. That’s more like it. 

His fingers poise over the keyboard, mind flicking through the different scenarios he could steer this conversation towards. He has to be perceptive and respectful, but also keep her entertained. He figures asking about her intentions is the best route to take, but he’ll do it subtly. Being too direct could come off pushy. 

So...what gives me the honor of basking in your presence tonight, hm?

He adds a thinking face emoji to the end of the text as an afterthought. He rarely uses emoticons, but now is as good a time as any to start, especially because he has to seem like someone who belongs to her generation, rather than a Victorian era immortal.

Well, you said if I wanted more interior design advice to shoot you a text so...here I am, seeking your expertise.

Harry allows himself to break into a wide simper at the shrouded compliment. It goes right to his ego, just as he likes it. She’s smart. 

My expertise, huh? I take it that my taste in wallpaper left you pretty satisfied last time, then?

A similar grin buckles Y/N’s face at his playful smugness and she bites into the side of her index finger to try and suppress it. After a moment of thought, she releases her digit from between her teeth and taps back. 

Very satisfied, yeah. Your help was greatly appreciated.

Harry scoffs coyly, leaning his shoulder against the lightly fogged black marble wall of his bathroom, his friends and plans for the night all but forgotten. He’s having too much fun flirting to pay anything else much mind. 

My pleasure, love. I’d be more than happy to give it again, anytime you need it. Just make sure to fill out the customer service survey my boss emailed you. I’m shooting for a raise and could really use the brownie points. 

“Cute.” Y/N murmurs to herself in amusement, her chest fluttering as a result of the pet name, alongside how well they’re getting on. It’s almost like no time has passed at all. Almost as if they’re friends. 

She’d been nervous to reach out, fearing that he’d see it and ignore her— or worse, leave her on read. Needless to say, this is going way better than she could’ve hoped

Already filled that out. Gave you five stars and everything. Would’ve given you six if it was allowed. 

Harry shifts his weight against the surface he’s using for support, chuckling softly as he gnaws along the inside of his cheek. He feels like a teenager with all of this borderline childish back-and-forth. He’s not mad about it, though. It’s pretty enjoyable. 

Thank you so much for your input! It’s taken into deep consideration. VERY deep consideration, if I recall correctly.  

Warmth pours into Y/N’s cheeks at his innuendo, and she somewhat hates that he can get her all flustered without actually being present. He’s really good at this. A true lucky strike, to put it in his own words.

I’m glad my standards are held so highly, especially since I’m trying to book another advising appointment with you. 

Is that so?

Very much so. How about tonight, if you’re free? I’ve got a dire situation with some wood paneling that I just can’t handle alone.

The vampire’s irises flare crimson red in triumph. It looks like he won't have to put himself through another mortifying ordeal tonight, after all. 

I’m on a tight schedule, Y/N. These expertise are highly sought after, yanno?

Y/N snorts at his pompous joke. “Moron.”

Another text comes in from Harry before she can even think of a response.

However, I think I might be able to squeeze you in for a help session today. Say in about 10 to 15 minutes? 

With newly brightened eyes, Y/N gives the message five repasses to make sure she’d interpreted it correctly. She can’t believe he’d agreed, especially at an hour when most people already have weekend plans cemented for the night. And by the length of time he’d given her to prepare, she’s extremely thankful she’d decided to shower prior to attempting a booty-call. 

Sounds perfect. Do you need me to send you my address or do you remember, by some miracle?

Don’t worry about it, pet. I have a pretty good memory of that night. You made it hard to forget. 

Another layer of heat crawls up her neck and into her ears. She knows this is a casual thing, at best, but for some reason, the idea that he had deemed her unforgettable makes her entire body feel like it’s glowing. She tries to brush it off, chalking up his compliment to how they’d seen each other barely a week ago so of course he remembered. It was fairly fresh in both their minds. 

But Y/N is from an area where she was just another face in the crowd— another timid girl in an ocean of a hundred small-town carbon copies— and she’d certainly never referred to herself as anything particularly special. To have Harry, who is such a refined and attractive person, who most likely has dozens of hook-ups under his belt, call her that? Of all people? It just hits differently. 

She shakes herself out of her head, remembering that a very interesting boy is waiting for a response on the other end of her phone.

Alright, then. See you in 10 to 15 minutes, Mr…? 

Y/N comes to the realization that she doesn’t even know his last name. She doesn’t know the last name of the guy she’d let into her house and between her legs. God, if her parents could see her now...They’d blow California into a crater. 

The name’s Styles. Harry Styles. 

She immediately recognizes the reference, chewing at her bottom lip to keep a tab on a girly giggle. It’s probably not healthy how easily he reduces her into such a dopey puddle. 

Alright, then, Mr. Harry Styles. See you soon?

Very soon. Can’t wait to show you the wood samples I just found.

With a sly smirk dimpling his cheeks, Harry pushes off the elegant stone wall of his luxury bathroom, locking his device and absentmindedly tapping it along his palm as he does a quick mind-sweep of the interaction he’d just had. He’s going to get his needs taken care of—both intimate and carnal— by a girl with whom he meshes with so well, no less. This night has taken an unexpected turn for the better, and he’s never been more thankful for making such a rash decision the morning after a one night stand. 

The shrill boom of an Irish accent breaks Harry out of his flirty stupor, the sound bounding up the stairs of his flat and echoing off the tiles in his bathroom. “Harry, did you fucking desicate up there, you prick?!”

The vampire’s head snaps to the side towards where the sudden intrusion is originating, clearing his throat softly before answering, mostly to anchor himself back into the present. He’d been too busy floating in a daydream bubble to give his friends any proper attention. “I’m on my way down!”

Harry flicks off the light switch to his master bathroom, heading into his dimly lit bedroom and scooping up his wallet from its usual spot on top of the dresser. He tucks it into the wide front pocket of his slacks along with his cell phone, rounding the king-sized mattress at the center of his space, footsteps muffled by the thick maroon carpeting across the ground. He stops under the doorframe, giving his room one last calculating glance to make sure he isn’t leaving anything important behind. Once the creature is sure he’s set, he reaches over and slides the switch meter all the way down until the hanging lamps on the ceiling fade to black. 

Harry clambers down the glass and metal staircase, passing the collection of original paintings organized across the expanse of the largest wall in his home. His friends spot him from the huge couch once he’s halfway down the steps, and of course Niall is the first to make his presence audible.

“Fucking finally.” The blue-eyed vampire groans in exasperation, shooting up from his seat beside Xander, arms falling across his lean chest. “I thought you’d died. Really died.”

Harry dismounts the last stair carefully, heeled boots making a soft clicking sound against the polished light-wash wood of his floorboards. He pushes a few rogue curls out of his eyes, the corners of his mouth jilting upwards teasingly as he regards the fellow immortal. “If I have to keep staring at that shitty paisley button-up you’re wearing, I just might.”  

Niall’s irritated expression shatters into one of sheer hurt, hands fumbling with the silk fabric of his shirt, lips melting into a pained pout as he contemplates it sadly. His tone comes out whiney and defensive. “Hey! I really like this one!”

Harry side-steps the boy, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Your fashion sense makes me question my friendship with you.”

Niall’s face pinches with anger, thick brows furrowing as he roughly swats the brunette’s wrist away. “And your dickhead attitude makes me question mine.” 

Harry’s jade eyes dance with evil glee as he returns his palm to where it had been resting before to give a curt squeeze, his rings playfully digging into the muscle beneath Niall’s top. “And yet here you are, sitting on my couch, waiting to get into my car. Funny how that works, innit? We benefit from one another. Mutualism at its finest.”

The Irish man shrugs himself free of his friend’s hold once again, glaring at him with darkening eyes, but there’s no true malice behind it. “More like parasitism.” 

“So are you two gonna kiss now or what?” Mitch’s soft, mocking voice butts in as he drifts up beside Niall, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark denim straight jeans and his long hair tied back into a low ponytail. He’s wearing a light-wash Rolling Stones t-shirt he’d gotten at a concert he and Harry had attended back in the eighties, along with a pair of scuffed up sneakers. Pretty casual for a club— too casual, in Harry’s opinion. “The sexual tension is killing the audience.” 

The green-eyed boy cranes his sight back onto Niall, raising his eyebrows in question and puckering his lips. “What d’you say, Ni? Wanna kiss this little disagreement better? I’m down.”

The pale young man makes a gagging noise, stepping away. “Don’t know where your mouth’s been. But if your bed fellows have anything to say about it, it’s nowhere good. I’m going to respectfully decline.” 

“There was absolutely nothing respectful in that response.” Adam chimes in, chuckling as he bumps Niall’s shoulder with his own, hands clasped casually behind his back. “You need to work on your people skills.”

“My people skills are fine.” Niall quips back sarcastically. “Harry just isn’t a person, he’s a demon.” 

“Technically, we all are.” The curly-haired vampire points out, walking over to his matte leather couch and retrieving a pin-striped, grey-black fitted blazer from its backrest. He tosses the jacket over his shoulders, shrugging it on and fixing the material over his torso, the curves of the piece accentuating the strong muscles of his back and the dip of his slender waist. “I just don’t care to hide it, really. Especially not when it comes to Niall’s taste in clothes. Which is rubbish, by the way. If that wasn’t clear before.”

“It was.” Niall deadpans, gaze half-lidded and petty.

Harry fixes the sleeves of his coat around his forearms, smoothing out any wrinkles and buttoning the cuffs. He momentarily ducks into the kitchen, his enhanced eyesight spotting the small digital time-stamp of the oven even from across the room. He has less than thirteen minutes before he has to be at Y/N’s flat. He should’ve suggested a longer time span.

Harry turns back around to fully face his crew, situating his collar into place by folding it along the back of his neck, appraising their expectant appearances. They’re all waiting for him. He’s the one driving, after all. 

The immortal clears his throat, hands dropping to pat at his blazer pocket, making sure that his keys are in his possession. He sighs lightly through his nose, a knowing grin trying to force its way onto his lips but he keeps it at bay, wanting to maintain a straight expression to garner less backlash for the news he’s about to break. 

“I’m not going.”

The pause that fills the atmosphere and the blank faces his friends dote are almost comical. Harry bats his eyelashes at them without a single twitch or jerk of his features. He wants them to understand he’s being serious.

After at least ten heartbeats— a guess, considering no one in the room has one to provide an accurate measurement— a raging exclamation explodes from behind the other three vampires in front of him. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

Harry watches in mild amusement as Xander stomps up from behind the group, shouldering between Mitch and Adam and sticking him with a glower dark enough to instill fear in any living being. But Harry is hardly living, and he’s definitely not scared of a vampire who’s practically a newborn. Xander’s the youngest of them in terms of the immortality scale— he’d transitioned back in nineteen ninety-six when he was thirty, which gives the illusion that he’s older when in reality, he isn’t— so Harry’s strength easily outmatches his. Xander is basically the puppy of the circle, and he’s certainly yappy and annoying enough to support that title. His lack of age and wisdom is also probably why he’s the most explosive. 

Harry kinks an eyebrow up at the taller, tanned man, looping only one button through its designated hole in the middle of his jacket. That will allow him to show off what lies beneath it while also making sure the article won’t be a pest in the windy California night. “I’m not kidding. Something else came up that...peaked my interest.”

Xander’s fists momentarily clench by his sides and he then folds his arms across his lightly heaving chest, trying to hide his anger away along the insides of his elbows. He spits his words through gritted teeth, attempting to keep his cadence level. “What could have possibly come up so late that you only let use know after we waited for you for over an hour?”

Harry can’t stop himself from smirking this time around, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards with condescension. The statement that he produces is all too familiar to Xander, given that it mirrors the reply he had used on Harry exactly a week ago, when the leader of the group had asked him what his intentions were once they’d gotten inside their club for the night. “I have a date.”  

Xander’s entire face flushes a faint shade of cherry red. His forearms tighten across his body, tone more strained than before as he actively wills himself to remain calm. “A date?”

The shorter vampire smiles at him with fake innocence, working his every nerve like it’s his job. Harry doesn’t know why, but pissing Xander off is always such a delectable pastime. “Yup. With a girl I met last week, actually.”

“You don’t go on dates.” Niall pipes up, looking around at the other men in the room in confusion, almost as if his comment should be obvious. “You rarely even spend the night. Said so yourself.” 

Harry shrugs one shoulder indifferently, checking his reflection in the closest section of the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline, the lights of the cars and buildings below twinkling otherworldly. “I guess it’s less a date and more a booty-call, to be honest. I only agreed ‘cause it’s easier than having to drag my ass to that horrid club you chose to spend hours trying to find someone. This meal’s already prim, proper, and served. And I know for a fact I’ll enjoy it, so there’s no real harm.” 

He turns back to Xander, the man’s peeved reaction tickling him more than he thought it would. “What was that you said last time, Xanny?”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Oh, yeah! I'm just grabbing a to-go box for my already prepped meal.”

Harry’s friend’s cheeks dye a deeper shade of crimson, dark veins webbing across the iridescent whites of his eyes for a flickering second. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

Harry counters the angry expression with a bright smile, his dialect dripping with arrogance. “Girls dig it. And you seemed to dig it, too, if I recall correctly. Remember? You might not. Post-orgasm amnesia and all that.” 

Xander takes a measured inhale, releasing it slowly and allowing his anger to ebb away gradually, ignoring Harry’s blast from the past. His next question is physically directed towards their ex-chauffeur, but is truly aimed at the gang as a whole. “Who’s going to take us, then?”

The curly-haired vampire shrugs his shoulders once again, uninterested in the topic that is quickly growing old. “You could take Niall’s car. Problem solved.”

The whole clique lives in the same condo complex, mostly due to convenience. It’s already tricky for vampires to find others of their kind, so it’s a miracle that they’d all managed to end up together in the first place. And it’s an even bigger miracle that they got along well enough to form a tight-knit coven, which is the closest thing any of them now have to family. Living in close proximity is the ideal way of maintaining that rare bond, plus it allows them to help each other in staying safe and keeping their urges in line. 

Since they all live in the same building, Niall’s car is in the garage right beside Harry’s, so transportation shouldn’t be an issue. They just always take his vehicle because he’s the only one that actually enjoys driving. 

“Are you mental? Like actually, genuinely insane?” Xander sputters in appalled shock. “Niall drives like a lunatic!” 

“Oi, piss off! Maybe you should learn to drive then, huh? Instead of having all those guys you shag take you everywhere.”

Xander ignores Niall’s insult, putting his palms up in disgust, backing away. “I refuse to get in a car with him behind the wheel. Dying once was good enough for me.”

“Did I miss the memo?” Niall snaps, glimpsing around at all the monsters standing around him, attitude tight with annoyance. “Y’know, the one where you all just decided to shit on me tonight?”

Harry bursts into an airy cackle, listing his head to the side as he gives Niall a humorous once-over, his dangly cross earring dabbing across the crisp cut of his coat’s shoulder blade. “You don’t necessarily make it hard, love.” 

Niall’s jaw clenches as he narrows his icy blue eyes. “Xander’s right— you are an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, he’s also right about you driving like you’re on tranquilizers.” Adam sighs, running a palm up his face, using his index finger and thumb to massage either of his temples, despite the fact that they lack a pulse. “I guess I could drive? I hate it, but Mitch hates it more, so I’m our best bet. Better than Road Runner over here.” 

“Yeah, just keep talking about me like I’m not present. That’s fine. I’m spitting venom in all your drinks tonight.” 

“Well,” Harry boasts abruptly, interrupting the game of verbal ping-pong happening in front of him, taking a quick peek at his phone for the time. As much as he loves causing some good-natured chaos between his friends, he has less than ten minutes to make it to Y/N’s apartment on time and traffic’s a bitch at this hour. “I have nothing to do with this anymore, so I’m just gonna take my leave. You lot have fun figuring this out.” 

He swivels around on his heel, striding away with his usual haughty air straightening his back, heading towards the corridor that leads to the front entrance of the apartment. The softly lit hallway swallows his silhouette and for the first time since he’d left the secluded confines of his bathroom, he allows a giddy smile of excitement to tweak his lips. Just for a second and not a moment longer. If his friends had seen it, they would’ve taken the piss.

Niall’s accent cuts through the air, prickling at his ears as the glossy, cold doorknob comes into contact with his even colder fingers. “I can’t believe you’d abandon us just to get laid!”

“Lock the door on your way out!” 

///

When a sharp knock echoes across Y/N’s flat, she nearly screams. 

Her nerves have been on edge since the last text she’d received; only after reading that final cheeky message had the reality of the situation hit. 

This isn’t her. This isn’t her at all.

Inviting a total stranger into her home and into her bed was something she’d never experienced before last week. One night stands were very few and very far for her— she could count all the ones she’d had on a single hand, and even then they had been with people she had known to some extent— and it was due to the fact that this type of situation is slathered in mystery and unsureness. Giving herself up in such an intimate manner to someone she wasn’t acquainted to in some shape or form…It comes with a certain amount of risk, both physically and emotionally, which is why she hardly ever engaged in such activities before Harry.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with having that type of exhilarating fun in your life— she praises the women who can go around so confidently and express their sexuality however they please— but she herself had been raised under a roof that was moderate and conservative, and that environment had molded her into the person she had grown up to be. Those traditional concepts ran through the core of her being, and no matter how hard she tried to shake them, they refused to break loose. They weighed on her shoulders, constantly making her second-guess her motives and desires, most of which go against the status quo that had been implemented into her brain from a young age. This— whatever this is— is a huge step for her; it’s the first attempt she’s made to take over her own life and go against the grain she’d been accustomed to her whole existence. 

From the second Y/N had arrived here in Los Angeles and set a foot off the plane, she had been alone. Everyone who cared for her was miles and miles away and she was starting a new chapter on a completely blank page, with no one to guide her hand as she wrote. For the two months she’d spent settling in and trying to meld into her new environment, she had gone at it with a sense of emptiness hollowing the pit of her stomach. No one was there to comfort her during the rough patches, and no one cared enough yet to assure her that things would turn out alright. No one had bothered to tell her she was safe and that nothing would hurt her. No one made themselves available the way people did back home. 

That is, until she met Harry seven days ago. 

Their encounter had been purely for sexual gratification, but during that short time they shared, she vividly remembered him telling her that she could trust him. It was a preposterous statement to make— asking someone to trust you when you didn’t even know their last name— but the gaze in his emerald eyes had seemed so genuine and encouraging, and his voice had been so gentle and soothing, and his touch had been so delicate and consoling...That strange young man— with the pretty curls, intriguing tattoos, and dazzling smile— had somehow managed to untie the knot of unease that had been sitting in her belly for the last couple of weeks. She’s stumped on how he’d managed to wriggle it free; the only thing she can effectively say took a part in it was his eyes. There was just such a glass-like quality to them that reminded her of a mirror. It was like they were reflecting all her emotions back at her, using their familiarity to compel her into a state of mental peace. She’d appreciated it more than she’d let on. 

Something tells Y/N that this is the reason she had contacted him. She wanted to feel that safety net he had provided her with once again. She didn’t need an emotional connection from Harry, she just needed a bit of mental relief. She wanted something to take her mind off all her troubles. Something to distract her, even if it was only for a few hours. And with the way Harry had handled her last time, she knows he’s more than capable of helping her reach those goals. 

Y/N doesn’t think anyone has ever made her feel how Harry had that semi-drunken Friday night. She’d been with a few other people before, and had even been in a long-term relationship with someone she had once thought would end up being her husband, but none of those men came close to this peculiar stranger. 

In the town she was from, it was typical for people to marry their high school sweethearts. It was a small region where everyone either knew one another or knew of one another, so it wasn’t difficult to find someone that could fit into the role that needed to be filled. The person she had found was a boy by the name of Bradley, who she had begun to date their freshman year of high school. 

They’d met through mutual friends and he’d invited her to their first ever homecoming dance, where she had felt like everything was falling into place almost like in a movie. He was cute, with hazel eyes, sun-bleached hair, and freckles that jolted every time he laughed. He was polite, funny, and treated her with enough respect and dignity to keep her hooked for a while. Things had gone pretty well the four years they were together in high school; their relationship wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t exciting either. It was just...secure. He was there, and he was willing to give her his attention, and that’s all that really mattered to her at the time. She thought that was all she needed. 

Then graduation came and went, and so did Bradley. He left for college, set on the intention that they would make long distance work somehow. To keep a long story short, it hadn’t worked out how they expected. As the months passed, she noticed he started to separate himself from her more and more. The video chats are what disappeared first; what used to be a daily FaceTime call turned into a weekly one and then, if she was lucky, a monthly one. Phone calls followed the same fate. Texting became a chore rather than something to look forward to and she could feel him slipping, which left her feeling helpless because he was in another state, far away and too out of reach to appropriately solve anything. Energized conversations slowly faltered into five-word messages, which eventually teetered into barely any communication at all. 

When Y/N heard the news that he’d cheated on her, it didn’t even come from him. It came from his roommate. Things ended swiftly after that, which was the saddest thing of all. Almost five years of her life, completely gone to waste. Handling the pain was a whole other misery she’d had to shoulder, alongside the embarrassment and humiliation, which stemmed from the fact that she was aware her peers had heard about the whole ordeal. With the help of her family and friends, she’d eventually gotten over the heartbreak. The weird thing is, she doesn’t think she loved him. She loved the idea of him— loved that he represented everything she had been raised to seek in a relationship. They’d grown up together, their families knew one another, they shared the same friends, they had common hobbies. It was like a match made in heaven, though after it broke off, she quickly came to the realization that it hadn’t been made in heaven at all. Made in a test tube was a more fitting analogy. 

Y/N’s love life after that painfully slow cliche disaster consisted of random boys around town she recognized from school and work. The hook-ups were fleeting and hardly satisfying, but at least they were something. She soon found out that she could do better on her own, but whenever she craved someone else’s touch, she was grateful to have anyone she could get. She’d mainly stuck to the same guys for the sake of consistency; it was easier having people she already knew how to please and vice versa, though she’ll admit it was mostly a one way street. Men can be so clueless sometimes that it’d be funny if it wasn’t so irritating. 

Then Y/N had skipped town and closed off sexually for a while. She had stayed shut down until Harry had walked into her life with that stupid sly smirk and his unorthodox— yet surprisingly attractive—fashion sense, sipping straight tequila like a fucking psycho from the cup in his jeweled fingers. He’d waltzed right onto the stool beside her at the bar, right out of the club with her hand in his, and then right past the doorframe of her apartment, kindly gifting her the best sex of her entire life. He’d worked her every desire with a certain skill and awareness she had never experienced (not from any of her past lovers, and definitely not from Bradley’s vanilla tendencies), dismantling her body as if he’d known her for decades, leaving her sore and aching in a way she didn’t know was humanly possible.

And now here Y/N is, pacing back and forth from her small living room to her even smaller kitchen, chewing along the knuckle of her forefinger as she tries to tie down the jitters running amuck in her belly. 

She repeatedly smooths down the dress she’s wearing, claiming that it’s to get rid of the wrinkles, but in truth, it’s to wipe the dampness from her palms. The outfit had been a birthday present from her cousin the year before and she’s rarely worn it since the move, which is a direct result of her lack of socializing. She only ever really leaves her home for groceries and to attend work, neither of which call for a pretty sundress and strappy tan sandals. Despite having gone out to the club a few times, the dress doesn’t fit that scene either. LA gets a bit chilly at night and she has yet to grow accustomed to the city’s weather. Wearing this after-hours would surely end with her acquiring a mild case of hypothermia. 

The garment is a light blue baby doll design, littered with tiny daffodil prints of varying shapes and colors. It stops about three-fourths down her thigh, fluttering outwards in layered flares, its bandeau-style top held in place by thin straps of the same fabric. She figured she’d deck herself out nicely; from the one interaction she’d had with Harry, she can tell he’s a person of refined taste. It was evident in his expensive clothing and his wide variety of precious rings. She doesn’t know why, but there’s a toiling in the pit of her tummy urging to impress him. 

Y/N’s hair has been freshly washed and blow-dried, her legs thoroughly shaved into silk, and she’d applied a light layer of makeup, done in anticipation that anything heavier would likely end up smeared across her face— a result of sweat and Harry’s dominant persona. Simply reflecting on his commanding sensual presence makes her self-pedicured toes curl in her sandals. 

Y/N hadn’t been sure on how to prepare for his arrival. She wasn’t versed in advanced hook-up culture— her raunchiest experience was in the backseat of someone's 2004 Toyota Corolla. She doesn’t want to get this wrong. Going overboard would make him feel smothered and awkward, but underselling would give him the impression that she doesn’t have any respect for him, save for what lies between his legs. Those are the last two things she wants him to gather from this. 

She’d settled for pulling out a bottle of red wine that had been a house-warming present from the landlord. Not too shabby, but not too loud. And who doesn’t enjoy a cup of half-decent wine on a Friday evening, right?

Y/N had just finished arranging two glasses— which she’d found at the thrift shop down the street for a steal— onto the counter of her kitchen when that swift rapping sound had broken through the tense air of her home, echoing from the front door and causing a yelp to lodge in her throat. 

Ice shoots through her veins. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She takes a handful of penetrating breaths, concentrating on how the cool air feels expanding her lungs. The technique aids in calming some of her nerves, grounding her just enough that she can will herself to move without her knees giving out. Y/N tentatively makes her way down the corridor that leads to her front door, heart hammering against her ribs. She shouldn’t be this riled up— he’s literally already been inside her. There’s pretty much nothing she can hide from him at this point. 

On the other side of the door, Harry is blissfully ignorant to the panic attack threatening to overcome Y/N. 

The vampire leans his shoulder against the frame of the somewhat raggedy door, arms crossed over his thick chest as his gaze bounces judgmentally around all the patches of peeling paint. He chews at a piece of gum— which he’d popped into his mouth on the drive over to make sure he tastes as delectable as always— in slow, lazy motions, jaw flexing as he unconsciously pops an array of tiny bubbles with his teeth, waiting for Y/N to emerge. 

Harry glances up at the flickering light bulb in the hallway of the complex, nose scrunching in distaste at the annoying flashing. She really needs to get a better place, he thinks, reaching up and dragging the pad of his middle finger along the curve of his bottom lip, absentmindedly wiping off a bit of extra chapstick that had colored outside the lines when he’d applied it. He always tries to keep his mouth soft, especially when he knows he’s going to be using it. Plus, the vanilla bean flavor pairs well with mint. 

The sound of a seal cracking open yanks his attention, the door before him slowly swinging inwards. Cool air pours from inside, bathing him in a scent that his frenzied instincts had been subconsciously craving the last couple of days. Harry cranes his neck over his shoulder, spitting his gum out and not bothering to watch where it lands. He turns back just as Y/N’s familiar figure comes into view.

The first thing he notices is the dress. 

Fuck, the dress. 

It’s nothing too fancy, just a casual sundress, but it fits her like it was made specifically for the purpose of testing his restraint. He rakes his gaze up and down her body shamelessly, much like he had on the night they met. 

The light blue background and rainbow miniature floral print compliments her skin tone nicely, making it stand out below the dingy light hanging above their heads. The piece lands about halfway down her thigh, fanning around her legs slightly in frilly folds, tempting him with that bit of innocent exposure. An image of him ripping the dress up her thighs races across the forefront of his mind and he can feel his fangs momentarily break through his gums.  

As Harry draws his sight upwards, the minimal throbbing between his legs only amplifies. The dress cinches just below her bust, accentuating her chest, and he comes to the painful realization that she’s not wearing a bra underneath; she doesn’t need it due to the bralette-like top. One simple tug of his index finger would leave her completely bare and that conclusion causes a sweltering itch to erupt along the back of his throat.

Harry’s irises finally come to rest on her face, finding that the rest of the human girl’s look appears just as it had last week. Minimal makeup, no accessories, and the smell of chamomile shampoo strung through her hair, though it’s easily smothered by her natural scent of flowers and sugar. He also finds that while he had been blatantly undressing her with his eyes, she had delighted herself in doing the same. Watching her gawk at him hungrily caresses his ego immensely, evident in how the edges of his mouth kink. 

Y/N doesn’t mean to ogle, she really doesn’t. But from the instant he’d come into view, standing there propped against her threshold with his ankles crossed and his lean arms folded over his strong chest, she couldn’t control it. He just looks so fucking good— better than last time, which she didn’t think was plausible— and she gets the feeling that he knows he looks borderline godly. 

Harry’s clad in what appears to be a sheer mesh flouncy button-up with holographic threads speckled through the material, shimmering under the dim atmosphere of the hallway. The last three holes of the shirt are left open, exposing his tanned pectorals and thoroughly inked chest. Last time they had been together, she’d been too distracted by the aching between her thighs to properly notice the swallow tattoos along his collarbones and the giant butterfly at the crest of his stomach. But now, she stares at them freely as they expand and contract with his easy breaths, her mouth beginning to water. 

The blouse is covered by a dark pinstriped blazer, the crisp shoulder blades of the jacket complimenting his broad frame as the curves dip along his waist alluringly. The loose top is tucked in along the brim of yet another pair of high-waisted trousers, though they are creme-colored instead of copper. The ironed pants give way to a pair of glossy black heeled boots, which are bedazzled along the back of the two-inch elevation, the jewels twinkling in the shape of a word that she can’t make out at this angle. 

Harry’s collection of luxurious rings and necklaces adorn their usual spots and she gets the impression that he never leaves home without them. His gold cross earring sways back and forth lightly, her warped reflection cast across its surface and staring back at her numbly. 

Harry breaks through the haze his physique had cast on her brain.

“Nice to see you again, Disco Ball.” 

A shiver slithers down her spine at the deep baritone of his voice, English accent slathered across every syllable and dripping with suggestive teasing. She’d forgotten how sultry he sounds, even when he’s not actively striving for it. 

Y/N’s attention jets up from where it had been pasted to his body, the expression across his handsome features one of snarky self-assurance, which tells her she’d been caught. Indents cave into his cheeks, twitching with glee as he bats his lashes slowly, eyes going half-lidded in amusement. He looks so sinful with those shiny ringlets curling around his small ears, framing his sharp jaw and kissing the nape of his neck, alongside those raspberry red lips and the emerald hue sparkling around his pupils. She can’t tear herself away.

After an elongated second of silence on her part, Harry raises one of his sculpted brows expectantly, letting her know he’s waiting for a response. Heat overflows Y/N’s cheeks and buzzes across the shells of her ears.

“H-Hi. Uh— Nice to see you. Too. Nice to see you, too.”

An odd sense of déjà vu flags in the back of her skull and she’s reminded that this is exactly how they’d met the first time around— with her making an utter fool of herself, much to his entertainment.

The crescent above his top lip curves upwards as a result of his grin widening. He taps the tip of his elegant shoe patiently against the cement ground, arms shifting against his chest and she can see the way his biceps strain the fabric of his coat. He’s just so fit.  

Harry’s tone comes out playful and lighthearted. He doesn’t need to be invited in again since she’s already explicitly allowed him in before, but he asks anyways, out of courtesy. “Can I come in? Or are you planning on taking me dancing or summat?”

The laugh that escapes Y/N is dense with a nervous edge, but it’s better than a stuttering jumble of incoherent words. She moves out of the way, flushing her back to the wall of the tiny entrance corridor and leaving just enough room for him to squeeze by. “Yes, come on in! Sorry.” 

“You’re alright, darling.” The tall vampire steps forward into the mortal’s home, turning sideways as he does so, chest pressing against her own. He glances down at her lips for a flash of a moment, then back to her eyes. “Thank you.”

Y/N’s grip on her doorknob tightens. She looks up at him through her lashes, bottom lip barely trembling. “No problem. Thanks for coming over on such short notice.” 

Harry runs his tongue across his teeth, pressing it to the inside of cheek as he absorbs the mildly erotic image of Y/N decked out in a frilly dress, glancing up at him shyly as her chest heaves slightly against his own. “Well, I couldn’t leave you to handle that pesky wood paneling all on your own, now could I?”

A smile ghosts over her delicate lips as she shuts the door and locks it, not breaking eye contact. “How generous of you. My hero.” 

Far from it, love.

Y/N slips out from where Harry had wedged her to the wall, beckoning him after her with a gentle turn of her head. The creature tucks his hands into his front pockets, following her down the narrow stretch. They drift past her room (he makes sure not to look in and spare himself the horror of seeing that dumb tapestry) and past her bathroom, into the expanse of her living area. It’s just as small and cozy as he remembers it and he can’t stop himself from scoffing lightly as his sight drifts over the couch. Good memories. 

“Would you like some wine?” Y/N’s question carries softly from inside her kitchen. She’s already gripping the glass bottle in her hand, attempting to pull out the cork, and she hadn’t thought of needing a wine-opener until now. Fuck. 

Harry makes his way to join her, passing underneath the archway and taking the spot across from the girl. He leans his lower back on the counter, hands remaining perched casually in his slacks. “I’d love some.”

“Great.” She huffs, twisting stubbornly at the spongy cap with all the might she can muster, the rough surface scratching her palm. “Let me just— just get this open.”

Harry’s head lists sideways as he wards off a chuckle. “Want some help?” 

Y/N releases an irritated grunt, shoulders slumping a tad as she fails to get the top loose. She holds out the bottle towards her visitor, titling it from side to side in surrender. “Be my guest.” 

The immortal pulls his hands out from his pockets, taking the container from her grasp and the human notices how they dwarf the bottle. It shouldn’t be hot, but it is. 

Harry wraps his ring-clad digits around the cork, giving it one easy twist and Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off as she hears a pop tinge the air. Harry offers her the wine and cap in return, licking his lips to avoid laughing in her face. Supernatural strength always delivers. 

“How…?” Y/N’s owlish eyes flicker back and forth between Harry’s cocky expression and the object in his hands. “How did you even...?”

The brunette gives her a nonchalant shrug. “Guess you loosened it up for me, Thor.” 

She gingerly takes the beverage and its accompaniment from his outstretched palms, blinking at him in mild shock. Her slight unease is swiftly phased out, however; a result of his cute banter. It was probably just a lucky coincidence. “I guess so.”

Y/N pours out two glasses of the dark red liquid, handing one to Harry, feeling her heart skip a beat when he wraps his hold around the stout flute and their fingers brush. He stays like that for a heartbeat, with his icy digits sifted between hers, the amber specks in his irises glittering like diamonds. Then, the moment is over and he pulls away slowly, guiding his drink up to his plush lips. She hates how he can leave her so breathless without a single hitch. 

The girl watches as Harry takes a leisurely sip of the alcohol, his gaze dancing around her kitchen curiously as she finishes recapping the bottle and scooting it into the corner of the counter. 

A thought dawns on her as soon as she focuses back onto the boy before her. Harry looks weird. He looks so weird standing in her small, dingy kitchen with its worn wooden cabinets and fake marble tabletop. He looks so out of place, dressed head to toe in designer brands and fancy fabrics, hands and neck decorated with posh jewelry, and the unmistakable smell of an expensive cologne wafting from his masculine throat. And he most certainly is out of place when it comes to who he’s associating with. He’s out of Y/N’s league, not only physically, but in his behaviors, as well. It’s so obvious it almost hurts. 

Yet here Harry is, looking polished and stylish, while she’s sporting a mere sundress that was probably bought off the clearance rack at Kohl’s. It just doesn’t mix, and she finds herself wondering why he’d chosen her in the first place. When she had voiced similar concerns the day they’d slept together, he had told her it was because she was timid and he wanted to see if he could break through that. But Y/N isn’t stupid. There has to be some other reason. Why else would a rich bachelor pay attention to a small-town runaway in a measly floral—

“I like your dress.”

Y/N glances up at Harry from where her mind had fallen, startled by the sudden interference in her dark thoughts. She’d been tracing across the slope of his structured jaw, mesmerized by how it would grow taut every time he swallowed down a gulp of his beverage. 

She had ambled so deep in her head, she barely manages to mutter a passable answer. “Oh, thank you! I’ve had it for a bit, but I barely wear it.”

The edges of the vampire’s mouth quirk around the rim of his glass, creases wrinkling along the corners of his bright eyes. “It suits you nicely. A beautiful dress on a beautiful girl.” 

Y/N’s belly somersaults, a sheepish giggle running along the undercurrent of her next mumble, so low it’s hardly audible. “Thank you. Again. Thought I’d bring it out for a special occasion.” 

Harry’s eyebrows jump upwards at her comment. He draws his wine glass from between his lips, resting it against his hard stomach and gifting the human a cheeky once-over. “So I’m a special occasion, now, am I?”

Y/N looks down at the straps of her sandals, fighting off a grin. She shrugs one shoulder offhandedly, bringing her cup to her mouth and taking a long drag of the sweet liquor, feeling it wash across her tongue and leave a warm glow in her tummy. “Maybe.” 

Harry hums teasingly in his throat, tapping his pinky pensively along the bottom of his glass, opal ring clinking against the crystalline surface. The color of his drink makes the black polish on his nails stand out almost artistically. “I’ll take any compliment I can get, especially from those pretty lips.”

Another wave of heat flushes across the apples of Y/N’s cheeks. “You really know how to flatter a girl, don’t you?”

The monster tips back another swig of wine, savoring the notes of wild cherry and pomegranate in its palate. Not bad, especially for what he can tell is a ten dollar bottle. 

He cocks his head to the side, irises glitzing knowingly amidst his long lashes. “I think we’re both aware that I most certainly know how to flatter a girl.” 

Y/N’s stare snaps up to lock with his, the faintest whimper stringing her vocal chords. If it wasn’t for Harry’s heightened hearing, he would have never known it’d happened. But he does, and he can feel the throb between his thighs spike as a result. The sounds she makes are just as wonderful as he remembers.

The sexual tension suspending in the room is practically palpable. After a bundle of her heartbeats— which is gradually rising in intensity— echo in his ears, he decides to speak up again. 

“I’ve been thinking about you.” 

The statement can be taken into so many different contexts and that’s why Harry chose it. She could interpret it as innocent admiration on behalf of a smitten lover, or as another layer of sensual praise. It’s versatile, successful either way. 

Y/N blinks at him exactly three times in surprise. “You have?”

She’d been thinking about him, too. Non-stop. And now that she knows it’s mutual, she doesn’t feel so nervous anymore. It reassures her that they’re on the same page of this messy novel written about their undefined association. Or that they are at least within the same chapter.  

Harry bobs his head in confirmation, indulging another sip of wine, letting it filter through his taste buds slowly. His glass is almost empty. “Mmhm. Walked past this candle store at the mall the other day and they had one burning that smelled just like you.”

His confession is sweet and it makes the tips of her fingers tingle. Y/N copies his action, taking another gulp of her beverage, attitude airy and inquisitive. “Is that so? And what do I smell like?”

Harry’s response is immediate and confident, almost as if he’s spent time thinking on the subject prior to today. “Honey and lavender.” 

Y/N nods her head in wonder, laughing gently. “That’s oddly specific.” 

Harry feels like he’s been smacked between the eyes with an iron rod. That was an idiot move. Absolutely moronic. 

He just now comes to terms with how intimate the comment he’d made had been. It suggests that he’s pondered on this topic, which gives the impression that he could be more interested in her than he actually is. He doesn’t need this loose connection turning into some type of cliche romantic comedy; he doesn’t have the space, patience, or emotional stability for it. And certainly not with someone he’s only fucked once. 

The vampire clears his throat, figuring that he can clean up this metaphorical spill by throwing a bit of crudeness at it. “Then yesterday I had a donut, yeah? One of those cream-filled ones. And when I took a bite of it, all the cream just came oozing out and I was like, ‘hm, this reminds me of someone…’”

The slightly endeared expression on Y/N’s face crumbles to dust, voice shrill and indignant at his lewd analogy. “You fucking perv!” 

Harry sputters into a round of boyish cackling, nearly wheezing when her foot reaches over and strikes him on the shin. He clasps over his stomach with his free hand, head falling back in glee as her features pinch in embarrassed disgust. He manages to speak between bursts of giggles, water gathering along his tear ducts due to how hard he’s laughing. “I’m just being honest!”  

“No, you’re being a gross little fourteen year old asshole!” Y/N exclaims incredulously, but she can’t keep herself from joining in on his boasts of amusement. 

His laughter is contagious. It’s loud and unapologetic in a manner she rarely sees in anyone and he just looks really fucking cute with his dimples jolting and smile lines creasing. It’s hard to stay mad at him, though it’s not like she’d truly been upset in the first place. 

Harry reigns himself in, inhaling deep breaths and wiping at his tears with the back of his large hand as a joyful groan rumbles in his chest. A few more giggles sneak out when he sees Y/N’s flat expression, but he manages to stifle the rest. His tone is jesting, poking fun. “If it makes you feel any better, I was respectful enough to wipe the donut down with a napkin, as well.” 

“Fuck off.”

Harry grins down snidely at the last inch or so of alcohol left in his glass, bringing it to his mouth and downing it all in one go. He places the cup down carefully on the counter behind him, his arms finding their way across his stomach, fingertips momentarily tapping at his elbows. He appraises a playfully grouchy Y/N, pursing his lips to hide a smirk. 

He watches as she takes another small taste from her drink, her pulse lulled by its contents. She’s not drunk by any means— not even buzzed— but it had helped calm the tittering in her throat that Harry had been able to detect earlier. She’s relaxed now, all anxiousness washed away by the small serving of liquor and his inappropriate (and extremely funny, if he does say so himself) jokes. 

The creature thinks it’s proper time he gets what he came for. 

“I really am glad you reached out, though.” Harry starts, an easygoing smile nudging across his alcohol-swollen mouth. “Truly.” 

Y/N snorts sarcastically, attempting to hide how his comment had made her pulse sharpen. He’d heard it anyways. “Oh, are you? Truly?”

Harry pushes himself off the edge of the counter, slowly sauntering over to Y/N, who instinctively draws back further against the tabletop behind her. She ogles at him from below heavy lashes, glass still perched between her tinted lips, excited anticipation written all over her body language. He can practically feel the heat radiating off her, rising a few notches the closer he gets. 

“Yeah.” Harry’s arms unfold, one stretching over her shoulder to prop his palm against the cupboard behind her head, the other fiddling with the seam of his blazer. He slides his forefinger and thumb along the single buttoned hole, giving it a rough tug and allowing his jacket to spring open. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun interior designing with anyone. Not for a while.” 

Y/N glimpses down at where his coat had parted, drinking up the sight of his lean torso behind the see-through material of his shirt. Now that he’s nearly pressed against her, his scent is stronger than before, burying her under smoky notes of vanilla and seasoned firewood. A familiar heat pools between her clasped thighs. 

When she pipes up, it’s shaky and whispered, covered in a dreamy undercurrent. “Yeah, me either. It felt...nice.”

Harry’s irises flash crimson for a millisecond, but she’s too occupied gawking at his tight stomach to notice. His dialect takes on a low, seductive twang, the breath of his words fanning across her face. All she can smell is wine, mint, and...vanilla chapstick? 

“It felt really nice.” 

Y/N’s view drags up to land on his lips. They look as soft and appetizing as last time, tempting her to just drop her flute onto the floor and replace it with his mouth. “Extremely nice.” 

An outside force suddenly tips her glass upwards and she realizes it’s Harry’s fingers. He nudges her cup until the liquid inside funnels towards her mouth, his intentions set on helping her finish it off. She drains the wine obediently, staring up at him dazed and moony, feeling a few drops escape along the sides of her mouth and tickle down her chin. The jade-eyed boy then gently pries the glass from her fingertips, reaching over and placing it inside her sink to be handled later. 

Y/N’s hands fall flat against his thick chest, feeling it rise and fall steadily below her grasp as he takes a step forward, their bodies completely flushing together. His palm trails up the exposed sliver of her thigh, diving a couple of inches below her dress and giving the outer area a hard squeeze. He doesn’t go any further; he won’t until she explicitly asks for it. He’s a prick about a lot of things, but never consent.

Harry leans down, running the tip of his cold nose along her clenched jaw, his warm tongue peeking out to collect the streams of wine that had dripped out. The contrast in sensations makes her knees buckle and what he murmurs hotly against her skin doesn’t help in calming those motions at all.

“Wouldn’t mind making you feel that nice again.” 

Y/N’s mind stalls, overwhelmed by his touch and smell. She can feel him sponging tender kisses at the corner of her mouth, and she can feel the palm of his hand massaging at her thigh needily. She can feel his breaths quickening in pace the longer he’s around her, and she can feel the foundation of a moan building in his lungs in the form of small vibrations, which run across her palms and twitch her fingers. She can feel everything; she’s never been more hyper-aware of her surroundings than now. And all because of this one mysterious young man. 

When Y/N finally speaks, Harry feels relief flood his system, though it is swiftly replaced by intense desire. 

“I wouldn’t mind it, either.” 

That’s full permission if he’s ever heard it. 

Harry’s other hand drops from its spot against the cupboard behind her, joining its partner on her opposite thigh. He coasts his palms fully below her flowy dress onto her hips, a lascivious simper crawling across his cheeks at the lack of extra fabric beneath her clothes. “No panties tonight?”

The human swallows heavily, shaking her head as she leans it back against the wooden cabinets, giving him access to her throat. At the sight, the vampire’s fangs protrude, cutting into the inside of his lower lip as venom fills his mouth. He wills himself to maintain control. It’s difficult, considering his sharp eyes can make out the chiseling of her arteries pumping blood just beneath her delicate skin, but he forces composure into his behavior nonetheless. With all of the lights on and Y/N completely sober, he knows he won’t get away with another mid-fuck stunt like the one he pulled last time they were in this position. 

Instead, he distracts himself with what he can draw from her at this very moment— another unbelievable orgasm. 

“Such a filthy little fucking thing.” Harry growls, smearing his lips down the center of her jugular, nipping love bites into her flesh but making sure not to split it open. “S’that how bad you wanted it when you texted me? So bad that you didn’t even bother to wear anything underneath?”

Y/N whines softly when he passes over a particularly tender spot along her neck, shuttering against his chest. “Y-Yes.” 

A low chuckle rolls from Harry’s wandering tongue as he hones in on the area that had coaxed such a delicious reaction. “Fuck, that was such a pretty noise. Are you sensitive here, baby?”

Y/N nods with fervor, running her touch up his pectorals and over his strong shoulders, diving under his coat and fisting at the mesh that strains across his muscular back. Her eyes roll closed, her next confession coming out in the form of a feathery sigh, legs parting wider for him to comfortably fit in between. “I just...I just need you.”

Harry eagerly accepts the invitation, sifting between her thighs and hiking them up onto his hips. The fact that he can suspend her so effortlessly, almost as if she weighs nothing, makes the pit of her tummy boil. “You need me now, d’you? How much, doll? Want you to tell me how much you missed my cock.” 

The young woman winces ever so slightly at the crude word and it amuses him to no end. “So fucking much, Harry.” 

He can confidently say his name has never sounded sweeter than when it trickles from Y/N’s tongue. 

When he speaks, it’s packed with all the pent up turmoil radiating deep in his abdomen. “Did you think about me the way I thought about you?”

Y/N’s reply falls breathily from her mouth without any hesitation. “Y-Yeah. Couldn’t get you out of my head.”

A cocky hum tinges the air on his behalf. “And why’s that?”

“Because…” The girl struggles to swallow, finding it difficult to match how easily brazen he can be. She pushes through. “Because you fucked me better than anyone else ever has.” 

The compliment is one Harry gets often, but for some inexplicable reason, it hits so much deeper coming from Y/N. “Mm. Poor baby just needed to get properly rawed, didn’t you?”

“Had no idea how badly I wanted it until you came along.” 

A dark chuckle rolls from the creature’s lips at her bluntness. He repeatedly passes his textured tongue over the pressure point on her throat, flames igniting in his chest when she releases another watery, desperate mewl. “God, look at you. Practically already dripping. Like it when I play with you like that?”

“Fuck, y-yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

And so Harry keeps going, and he doesn’t stop. Not at her neck, and not anywhere else. Not until she begs him to hours later, when he’s whittled three orgasms out of her trembling body, each one more intense than the last. 

The first one takes place right there on top of the kitchen counter. He boosts her up onto the table, bunching her pretty sundress around her quivering thighs— as he’d fantasized prior— while she fumbles with his trousers. He tends to her every breathy whimper as she eases him out of his briefs, marking his teeth all over her throat with the assurance that his blood will fade the bruises by morning. He tears his jacket down his broad shoulders, panting into her mouth as she undoes all the buttons that line his elegant iridescent shirt, moaning softly when she breaks their kiss to paint her hot lips down the expanse of his heaving chest and tight stomach. Y/N ducks down as far as her angle will allow, wanting to taste as much of his skin as she can. She wants to memorize its salty smoothness for as long as she lives. 

Harry watches her with bliss-drunken fondness twitching his mouth, head falling back to hang between his shoulders as a low, “Such a good girl.” rumbles from his throat. His ring-clad fingers tangle into her locks and scratch at her scalp lightly, strained exhales encouraging her to keep going as she delights herself with tainting love bites all over him. He yanks the girl back up by her roots, grabbing her hips and roughly scooting her forward towards him, clammy foreheads pressing together as he fixes to fill her up for the first time in what feels like eternity. 

The monster’s voice is as dominant and thick as she likes it. “Eyes up here. Want to see you come undone while I fuck you.” 

The way he spreads Y/N open makes her choke out a scream like nothing else she’s ever heard. Harry simply clamps one of his palms over her mouth, continuing to ram into her at a harsh stride, gasping against her ear with every thrust as she rakes her nails across his back. “Gotta keep that pretty mouth quiet. Thin walls.” 

The human feels like her heart is going to break through her ribs and what she doesn’t know is that with every passing beat, Harry feels it tenfold. And it’s driving him fucking insane— she drives him fucking insane. Especially when she looks at him with that glossy, begging gaze, biting into the mound of his hand as he slams his hips inside her so hard, the glasses in her cupboard shake. “Like it when I give it to you rough? Yeah, I thought so. Just like that? Harder? Say please…Christ, you’re a fucking angel.”

Y/N is dirty. So fucking filthy, and Harry loves every second of it. Loves that anything he throws out, she returns with as much enthusiasm, if not more. Loves that she can take his cock as hard as he’s willing to give it, which says a lot, considering his stamina and strength usually surpasses most humans. He’d met very few mortals who can match his sexual prowess and she happens to be one of them. She not only takes it, but pleads for more. She doesn’t just seek her own pleasure, but insists on delivering his own. And though they’re polars opposites at their core— she’s timid, physically standard, and boringly normal, whereas he’s confident, attractive, and unusually superior in every sense of the phrase— they fit together better than he’d ever care to admit. They’re perfectly compatible, down to their personalities and their intimate needs. 

As Harry stands there— fingertips leaving welts across her waist as he grunts brokenly against her throat, stretching her out like she was meant to take him this deep, her moans sounding like classical melodies to his ears— he thinks that maybe...maybe he’ll keep her around. A friends with benefits situation would be the most ideal. And to quote his own clever motto from before, it would be mutualism at its finest. 

The alliance would be nothing emotional; simply for the sake of providing each other with requited relief, as well as providing Harry with a convenient feeding arrangement. Neither of them would have to submit themselves to going to those terrible clubs, they both already know what the other enjoys, and the banter they share is pretty fulfilling. Plus, her blood is one of the sweetest he’s ever had. Whatever magic lies in her veins tides over his cravings in a fashion he’s never quite experienced. They both get what they want and don’t have to deal with the disasters of real commitment; neither are in a place in their lives where they can shoulder such a big responsibility. Harry is emotionally unavailable, as he has been for the past two centuries and as he intends to be for the next dozen. Y/N has just started anew in a place where she has so little to give and so much to lose, dating is the last thing on her mind. A casual no-strings-attached arrangement would be a perfect gift, bow and all.

And with the way they make each other cum multiple times that night— once on the counter, and twice on that trusty old couch— there’s not a single doubt in Harry’s mind that this is most definitely mutualism at its peak. 

///

During the span of the next few weeks, Harry learns a lot about Y/N. It’s surprising how informational someone’s sex habits can be. 

The second week after they had met— and the first since their second very heated, very satisfying encounter— she shoots him a text on Wednesday, of all days. 

Harry isn’t doing anything particularly interesting when he receives her message. He had gone to see Mitch play at the bar that had recently booked him as a semi-permanent gig, sitting in the booth furthest in the back from all of the ruckus, fingers tapping along the waxed table to his best friend’s skilled jazzy guitar chords. Mitch always teases Harry about how he doesn’t have a job, which the vampire always waves off. Working for money is stupid and unnecessary; any materialistic wants and needs that plague him, he can get with the help of compulsion. Therefore, what’s the use in condemning himself the horrors of customer service or a constricting office cubicle? 

His best friend is halfway through his set when Harry’s device vibrates against the sticky surface before him, tittering fingers coming to an abrupt stop. He flips over his iPhone, eyes flickering over the screen, a coy grin spreading its way across his blushed lips. Y/N’s contact beams up at him in return. He’d set her profile as just her name alongside three disco ball emojis, for the sake of their little inside joke. 

I’m getting off work a bit earlier than I thought today and was wondering if you wanted to help me with my ceiling fan.

Harry bites into his bottom lip to muffle a chuckle, shaking his head lightly as he stares down at the comical request. 

That’s odd. Last time I was there, you didn’t HAVE a ceiling fan.

Y/N sits on her lunch break in the backroom of the cafe where she’s employed, a veggie wrap halfway suspended towards her mouth when Harry’s text bloops in, pointing out her embarrassing mistake. She blinks at his correction blankly, eyes closing in faint humiliation as her true intentions are now painfully clear. 

After a second of recollection, she types back some damage control, though it hardly has an impact. Harry’s already chortling to himself just thinking about how contorted her face must look at the moment.

I’m aware, thank you. I meant I wanted help picking one out. I’ve got a few tabs saved as potentials. 

He decides to be a little shit about this whole thing, continuing to mock her.

You could just send me the links right now and I can tell you which one I like. You know that, right?

Y/N knows that. She also knows, by the tone and texture of his response, he’d only mentioned that alternative to be annoying. He knows she’s not talking about ceiling fans, and he just wants her to chase after him. Unfortunately enough for Y/N’s pride, she’s more than willing to.  

I just think your opinion would be much more valuable and effective in person, since you’d be able to help me search for other ones at the same time. We’d cover more ground. Two heads are better than one!

We do make quite the team, don’t we?

I personally think so. A dynamic duo for the books, honestly.

A soft round of applause cuts through the air around the vampire, signaling the end of Mitch’s performance. Harry glances up to see his best friend mounting his guitar back into its case, smiling bashfully at the crowd and nodding his head in thanks to all their praise. Harry coins his luck; things couldn’t have wrapped up at a better time. 

Alright, Watson. What time will you be home?

Y/N stops mid-chew through a bite of her meal, cheeks puffed as the corners of her mouth twitch at his nerdy reference.

I’m off at 6:45. Should be home by 7. 

I’ll see you there, then. 

See you there. Also, why do YOU get to be Sherlock? Seems a bit sexist. 

Harry rolls his eyes at her quip, smirking to himself as he types out his final response.

Well, first and foremost, I’m literally English. Secondly, last time I checked, I’m always the one in control. And frankly, you seem to like it that way. See you at seven, darling.

And at seven on the dot, Harry’s outside her apartment. His friends would be amazed at his punctuality. He only shows it when it’s worth the trouble.

The creature walks up the steps to the mortal’s complex with his Ray-Ban sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, keychain tucked into the back pocket of his black skinny jeans, and his tan Chelsea boots clicking against the cement ground. A light wind whips his Keith Harrington Safe Sex t-shirt against the broad muscles of his back, drawing a soothed sigh from his lungs. He loves the California weather. 

He gives her door three swift knocks with his ring-clad knuckles, stepping back from the entrance and clasping his large hands behind his back as he waits. 

When Y/N answers, Harry tilts his chin down a smidge, looking at her over the brim of his chic black glasses with his signature dazzling smile dimpling his cheeks. He lists his head slightly in a formal greeting. “Detective.” 

The girl’s irises flit up to the ceiling as amusement twitches her lips. She plays along. “Nice to see you again. Detective.”

She moves off to the side, beckoning him to come in and he gladly takes the offer, striding into the flat and down the narrow corridor he’s grown quite familiar with. Y/N follows him back into her living room, gaze quickly drinking up his appearance. He’s casual today— less jewelry, more comfortable clothes— and he works the normal fit as effortlessly as he works his fancy brands. Especially with those tight dark jeans. They hug his thighs in a fashion that should be illegal. 

Harry twists around on his heel to face her, reaching up to remove his sunglasses and tucking them along the collar of his tee. A handful of curls fall across his forehead, framing his face and sculpting his jaw, as usual. A sweep across Y/N’s physique tells him everything he needs to know. 

She’s still in her work clothes, clad in a navy blue polo shirt and a pair of dark skinnies similar to his. Her hair is down, though the strands have a dent that suggests she’d been wearing a ponytail. Her mascara is smudged a tad under her seemingly tired eyes, but her attitude is as bright and lively as always. She appears messy, but he likes it. It’s a type of unconventional beauty that’s natural and genuine, which he can appreciate.

He contemplates her with a certain slyness that makes her shift in her socked feet. 

“I got a message earlier. Sounded kinda frantic.” He drifts closer to the human, a sultry tension growing taut between them. He glances upward for an instant, as if recalling a thought. “Something about ceiling fans…?”  

Y/N chews into her cheek to keep from giggling, allowing him to press his chest to hers. He slowly begins to back her up towards the shabby couch, which has seen this interaction happen one too many times. “Yeah, I’m thinking of getting one. Figured it’d help. It just gets really hot in here sometimes, y’know?”

“Mmm…” Harry thrums in agreement, deep in the back of his throat. His hands crawl onto her hips and grasps them somewhat roughly, index fingers hooking into the belt loops of her jeans as he leans down to brush his soft lips over her own. She’ll never grow tired of the electricity that passes through them every time their mouths touch. It kindles her needs unlike anything else. “It does get pretty hot in here sometimes. Especially if you’re working up a sweat.” 

He pushes her further towards the sofa, movements gradual as she drifts backwards, careful not to trip her. She glimpses down at where their lips are flirting, breath hiccuping when he licks his lightly in anticipation, his tongue just barely grazing her Cupid’s bow. “Absolutely. A fan would definitely help relieve some of that stress.” 

“Yeah.” Harry nudges the tip of her nose with his own, feeling her grab at his biceps for security as he continues inching her backwards blindly. “It can work wonders for when you’re all pent up, too. Especially when you’re really tight, which I know for a fact you are.”

The backs of the girl’s knees hit the edge of the couch and she topples into its cushions. She sits up onto her elbows, sheer need inking into her irises as he patiently begins to undo his belt. His long, nimble fingers work with ease and he seems to be in no particular rush, which pricks at her nerves because she feels completely the opposite. She’d been thinking about him since Friday night— or rather, Saturday morning, when he had actually stayed for breakfast that time around. 

Y/N had sat on top of her small dining table while he took the seat before her shirtless, leaning forward with his arms crossed nonchalantly over her lap as she fed him bites of lemon blueberry pancakes. The pads of his calloused fingers had drawn random shapes across the warm skin of her thighs, attempting to cheekily slip beneath her pajamas shorts and he’d giggle boyishly around mouthfuls of food every time she would swat his hand away. He looked so fucking pretty that morning, with his curls tangled in tuffs and the vague imprint of her teeth scattered across his grinning mouth, angry red scratches decorating his bare shoulders. That wholesome yet dirty image had left her head spinning for days. 

The sound of Harry’s zipper ripping open blinks Y/N back into the present and she nearly gawks as he grabs onto the hem of his graphic t-shirt and yanks it over his head, arms crossing as he does so. He tosses it onto her playfully, laughing as she smacks it away from her face and gives him a deadpan look. Harry leans forward, propping his palms on either sides of her head and bracketing her in, the unmissable scent of his delicious cologne invading her senses as his dark tattoos ripple over the lean tendons of his stomach and arms. His strangely cold forehead flushes against hers and he nips at her top lip, tugging it between his teeth and releasing. His voice comes out as deep and hypnotizing as ever. 

“Get undressed for me. Want your thighs wrapped around my head.” 

Harry comes to find that for such a reserved girl, Y/N has a pretty intriguing sexual mindset. She’s open to a lot of stuff he’d never expect from a rural-town escapee. Her kinks surprise him, but pleasantly so, considering they cross over with a lot of his own. She’s into choking, which he adores. There’s nothing hotter than feeling her pulse slam against the palm of his hand as his array of rings mark into the delicate skin of her throat. She likes being restrained, which translates into Harry pinning her wrists above her head while he slams between her drenched thighs. It’s difficult to achieve that on the sofa, so they end up rolling across the rug on the floor, her legs tangled around his hips like a vine as he pants into her mouth, damp hair flopping over his forehead and tickling her eyelashes. Ideally, he would have used his belt to tie her hands to a headboard. If they were at his place, he would’ve just reached for the metal cuffs he has hanging casually off the railing of his bed, which he keeps there for easy access. But they’re in her living room, so he makes do with what he can. 

The vampire doesn’t stay over that night, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he promised Niall he’d help him out with a car issue. Apparently the motor is making a weird noise and Harry isn’t shocked one bit. Niall barely has the brain cells to be alive, much less to handle the upkeep that comes with owning a vintage vehicle. He thanks Y/N for a good time as he slips into his tight jeans and recovers his sunglasses from the floor, pulling his tee over the already fading hickies littering his collarbones, fitting his accessory into his sweaty curls. 

Harry leans down to where she lays limply, splayed over the couch where he had placed her after picking her up off the ground (only after he’d made her cum twice). He plants a nonchalant farewell kiss to her parted lips, thumbing over her bruised nipples jestingly and grinning into her mouth when she whimpers. “I’ll see you later, Watson. Let me know which fan you decide to buy.” 

Two days later, Harry’s phone chimes again, this time with the unique ringtone he’d assigned just for her. 

He’s relaxing in his bathtub, submerged up to his chest in hot water mixed with Epsom salts and jasmine bubble bath, his locks sudsy with shampoo. He’s in the middle of shaving his face, dragging the straight razor (his time in the nineteen thirties made him picky towards any other tool, especially those simpleton plastic ones) down his jaw carefully, making sure not to nick the little moles under the corner of his mouth. When his device goes off, he halts all his motions, glancing over from the hand mirror he’s holding before his face. He’d changed her contact name to Watson as homage to their funny little dynamic, but he’d kept the disco balls in their place. He respects the roots of their acquaintanceship.

Fan came in. Wanna come check it out?

He had a nagging suspicion he’d hear from her today. It’s another Friday night, after all. He’s just happy she’d texted earlier than last time so he can flake on his friends without forcing them to wait for an hour. 

Wow, you chose two day shipping? You must be itching to see me.

Don’t let it go to your head. The only thing I’m itching for is your professional opinion. 

Right. Well, me and my professional opinion are washing up at the moment so give me thirty minutes and I’ll be there, yeah?

Sounds good to me, Sherlock. 

Harry decides on an outfit that falls at the center of his dressing spectrum— something comfortable but not lazy. Something semi-formal. He doesn’t really have to impress her anymore (not that he had to try that hard in the first place) but he wants to look good, either way. There’s nothing wrong with showing off what he has, both physically and wardrobe-wise. He chooses a horizontal-striped fitted tee made of thick cotton, the lines alternating between brown, beige, and a light caramel. He tucks the shirt into a pair of mid-rise corduroy flared pants that are a dark mustard shade, shrugging on an olive green jacket with red and white stitch detailing along the edges, large images of cacti embroidered along its expanse. His pearls, cross necklace, and he opts out of his earring this time. Rings, vanilla chapstick, mint gum. Keys, wallet, starch white Vans. 

Before he knows it, he’s being roughly pulled into her home from his spot just outside her threshold, his cherry-lacquer nails carding into the silky hair along the nape of Y/N’s neck as his teeth skim over the hollow of her throat. The human grapples to push his coat off his wide shoulders, backing further down the small hallway of her flat and kicking the door shut. She holds his head firmly to the sensitive spot in her neck that he’d toyed with a week prior, and he can’t resist the way his eyes blink crimson— a hunting impulse, stemming from the sound of her blood rushing through her carotid artery. He hadn’t fed last time— vampires only need to feed once a week to avoid desiccation— so he surely intends to tonight. 

Harry’s hands fit perfectly around the dip of her spine, pulling her body tight to his as he paints sloppy kisses over her jugular. He gets his teasing words out in between desperate gasps and breathy chuckles. “And here I thought this was genuinely going to be about the fan.”

“Shut up.” 

Y/N makes a sharp turn, tugging him into her room instead of the living room and it dawns on him that this is the first time they’re going to fuck in her actual bed. All those instances of sleeping together and not once had they done anything on the piece of furniture that was intended for that sole purpose. It’s ironically hilarious and he voices that opinion as they stumble onto her mattress. 

“You know,” Harry murmurs into her mouth as she shoves him flat onto the rumpled sheets (she hadn’t made her bed this morning and that’s endearing, for some reason), straddling his lap as she hurriedly pulls his t-shirt out from along the waistband of his trousers. “Out of all the times we’ve done this— which is quite a few— we’ve never done anything on your bed other than sleep.” 

That’s a lie. He’s never actually slept in her bed. After staring at the ceiling blankly two weeks ago for about eight hours, he had been smart enough to grab his phone from his pants the second time around. He spent that stretch of time playing Mario Kart and watching Unsolved Mysteries on Netflix with the volume down just out of human earshot, so as to not disturb her slumber. 

Y/N ducks in order to drag her wet, pillowy lips down the butterfly inking on his tummy and over the spines of the two ferns on his pelvis, licking across his happy trail. He jerks in response, a soft grunt gurgling in his lungs as she uses her index finger to trace the outline of his hardening cock through the velvet fabric of his slacks. Her voice is distant, giggle breathless. “Yeah, you’re right. How counterintuitive.”

Harry swiftly pops the button of his trousers, helping her coax them down his legs, releasing a stuttery moan when she immediately bends down and mouths at his prick over his briefs. The soiled stain forming around the tip of his cock would be embarrassing if he didn’t know she found it hot. 

His tone is tight but humorous as she continues licking at him eagerly through his underwear, nails digging into his inner thighs. “Am I your first?”

Confusion flickers in her eyes for a moment before she realizes the joke. He’s referring to if he’s the first person she’s slept with on her new bed in her new home. “Yes, you are, actually.” 

Harry’s juts his bottom lip out into an overly-sweet exaggerated pout, talking in a honeyed drawl. “Aw, I get to christen your bed with you? We’re practically married now. When’s the baby due?” 

“God, you’re a moron.” Y/N bursts into a fit of laughter as she mounts back onto his lap, pinching at his torso in fake spite and feeling her insides flutter at the airy giggles that escape him. She gnaws on her bottom lip thoughtfully for a second, watching with hunger as he finishes removing his shirt and momentarily sits up to chuck it onto the ground over her shoulder. 

Harry falls back onto the mattress, folding his taut arms behind his neck, biceps flexing with the movements as his strong chest and toned stomach look as appealing as ever. She runs her palms over his tanned skin, feeling the sturdy muscle shift beneath her touch. Shit.

The immortal slinks his head to the side, eyes going half-lidded in suggestive mischief as he sees the way she’s objectifying him. He doesn’t mind; he actually lives for it. “Are you just gonna keep staring or are you gonna fuck me?”

His lewd comment washes warmth across Y/N’s ears and spurs her into action. In less than a minute, she’s fully unclothed, bouncing on his cock with a type of need that boils the pit of Harry’s belly. His fingers are digging bruises into her waist, slamming her down onto his prick with enough force to make the old bed creak wildly. She may be on top, but he’s still the one pulling the strings. 

Y/N collapses forward, anchoring herself onto her forearms on either sides of his head, burying her face in his auburn ringlets. She bites onto her tongue, trying to keep a tab on the atrociously loud sounds threatening to spill from her mouth. They come out as broken whines instead, which Harry drinks up like a glass of aged bourbon. She fists at his roots, jolting with every thrust he gives upwards, her knees digging into his love handles to keep balanced. At this point, she’s barely riding him at all. He’s just ramming himself into her from below as he guides her hips and she doesn’t have an issue with that at all. She likes when he leads.  

His growl comes out low and raspy, riding on a moan, his warm, choppy exhales pebbling her bare nipples. “How’s that, darling? How’s that cock feel?”

Y/N nods her head frantically, not trusting her tongue to form an appropriate response. 

“Tell me.” He grits out through bared teeth, back arching a bit as he feels the knot of white hot pleasure in his stomach twist and turn. 

“I— I can’t. I’m—”

One of Harry’s hands coasts down the small of her back and onto her ass, giving it a harsh squeeze. She yelps at the new sensation, pain and bliss intermingling. “Yeah, you fucking can. You will. Use your words. Tell me how much you like it.”

A violent shutter runs through Y/N’s limbs and she instinctively pushes back against his palm. Harry’s eyebrows kink in question as he feels her draw her face back from his hair. One look at her eyes tells the entire narrative: She wants him to spank her. 

Harry slowly lifts his hand from her skin, brows raising a bit higher for confirmation. Y/N smears his lips against his forehead and left cheekbone, bobbing her head desperately, whispering a tiny, “Yes, please.” that sends smoky tendrils of hot air cascading down his straining neck. 

When the vampire’s hand comes down, it’s fast and hard, his cold rings biting into her flesh and leaving welts, the sound echoing off the glossy walls and tall bookshelf in her room. The cry that betrays her could probably be heard down on the main floor of her complex. 

The shattered noise makes Harry sanity slip and he’s lucky she’s too lost in her own bliss to see the way his eyes glow dangerously red. “Fuck, you’re such a slut for it.” 

Harry suddenly boosts himself forward, toppling Y/N backwards until she’s the one wedged against the bed. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, nestling her face into the crook of his sweaty collarbones, cracked cries pooling into the junction of his clavicle as he hikes her roughly up his thighs. He sinks further between her legs until he bottoms out with a loud garbled groan, pushing so deep she can feel him in the trench of her belly. 

“Oh my God, Harry— I— fuck, just—just— oh!”

His pace rises in intensity, strokes messy and unforgivable as he fucks her into the bed, the cracking of the frame warning him that it might give away. “Oh, so you liked that, did you? Like it when I call you a slut and stretch you out like one?”

Harry feels Y/N’s teeth rip into his shoulder in order to evade a scream; a strong shiver pin-balls down his spine as a result. Her voice is absolutely wrecked as she talks over her muffled mouth. “Loved it. Loved it so much. Want—Want more. Please, please, please.”

Harry holds her down firmly to the sheets, pounding into her with a form of unrestrained force he’s never exhibited. She just drives him to the brink like no one else has in nearly twenty decades. “Can you feel me in your tummy, pet? Can you feel how I fill you up?” 

“Yes, yes— it’s so good, Harry. You’re incredible.”

“Such a proper little whore.” He has to actively hold back from digging into her throat with his fangs, his eyes screwing shut in concentration as his orgasm begins to burn through his veins. “Begging me to fuck you like one, over and over. You’ve never had it this good, have you?” 

“N-No. You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.”  

“Hands off.” 

“W-What?”

“Hands off.”

Y/N obeys, throwing her arms above her head and letting them hang off the edge of the bed as he’d instructed. It’s not like he wants her to stop scratching down his back, but he knows that if she continues, he’s going to black out. He’s already teetering, obvious in the black webs he can feel materializing over the whites of his eyes.

“Ask for permission.” 

The mortal unclamps her teeth from his bruised shoulder and swallows heavily, her words sputtering out from how hard she’s jerking against the bed. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please—can I—can I cum?”

“‘May I cum.’” The boy corrects, half because he wants to be a cocky ass, and half because it’s automatic. He was raised during an era where intellectual accuracy was of utmost value in society. It’s hard to leave those lessons behind. 

Y/N hiccups another mewl, hands curling into loose fists above her head as he continues to fuck her deliberately into the duvet. She repeats his phrase shakily. “May I cum? Please?”

Harry’s lashes flutter open and as soon as he sees her, all doe-eyed, covered in his love marks, with her bottom lip trembling...It’s like a switch flips. When he speaks, it’s soft and encouraging; a drastic contrast from his mood a few seconds ago. “Yeah...Yeah, baby, go ahead. Cum for me.” 

That night, as Harry lays there awake staring at that awful popcorn roof with the taste of her blood fresh on his tongue and her steady heartbeat throbbing in his heightened ears, he catches himself smiling in the dark. It doesn't have to do with emotions or feelings or any of that complicated bullshit. It just has to do with the fact that he found some consistency in his life, as unattached and materialistic as it may be. They don’t have a complex bond or a deeper meaning. They simply just coexist. They provide some common stability to each others’ lives and it helps keep an important balance. Stability is so rare to find, especially for an immortal who is condemned to witness the world constantly evolve around them while they remain frozen in time. Society will change, people change, appearances change, alliances change, and though it can be exhilarating, at times, Harry never truly has a say in it. He’s always just strung along for the ride.

This is different. It’s static, and that’s all he really needs it to be. Sex can be so emotionally messy if lines aren’t drawn and boundaries aren’t set. But with Y/N, it’s like they have a silent understanding— an unspoken agreement signed by both parties. It’s a notion that could have spared Harry his life in the past, and it’s an ideal that— even in death— took him centuries to learn:

Some people are meant to be loved, while others are just meant to be naked. 

///

The third week is when things escalate for the better. 

Specifically, Tuesday night. That’s when the sexting starts. 

It’s a pretty calm evening and Harry finds himself with nothing to do. Mitch is out with Sarah, who had come into town two days ago due to the band she’s touring with being on a three week break. She’d said she wasn’t staying for long— maybe a week, because she has plans to visit some other bloodsucker friends in Canada. Even though Mitch tries to hide it, Harry can tell he’s bummed about Sarah’s short visit. The older vampire is good at hiding his emotions, but Harry’s known him for so long that he could read Mitch’s mood even if he was blindfolded and gagged. 

The jade-eyed boy had been honest with his best friend, asking him what the point was in continuing to see someone whose depth of interest in the relationship wasn’t as developed as his own. Mitch had simply shrugged one shoulder and told Harry that he wouldn’t understand. He mentioned something about how eventually, the freshblood high would wear off and Sarah would find herself wanting to settle down somewhere with someone she could trust for the rest of eternity. Mitch explained that he cared for her enough to wait until then. 

His best mate had been wrong. Harry does understand. He understands the concept of chasing after someone who, in the end, didn’t want anything to do with him. He understands it a little too well, sadly. He figures that’s the same fate Mitch is bound to suffer, just on a less extreme level. 

But then again, Harry’s perception of love is majorly skewed, so who is he to judge?

With Mitch tied up with Sarah (probably literally, though Harry doesn’t dwell on that; it’s none of his business), his options dwindle to the rest of the crew. Niall and Xander had invited him to a concert they were attending, but Harry politely declined the offer. The musicians were some wannabe indie band and Harry would rather swallow a nicotine addict’s blood than listen to a couple of morons sing in cursive. Adam had suggested he tag along with him, Ny-Oh, and Charlotte to a new art exhibit that had opened up in the next town over. It was a thirty minute drive, so it wasn’t that bad, but Harry declined that invitation, as well. He loves art, if the giant collection on his wall has anything to say about it, but he doesn’t get on well with Ny or Charlotte. They say he’s “too much of an arrogant dickhead” to be around for an extended period of time. They’re right, of course, but it still hurts. Plus, Ny has a mullet and Harry knows he wouldn’t be able to withhold from making a Billy Ray joke. It’s best he stay away, lest she end up with an achy-breaky heart.

So that leaves him here, all alone at eight P.M. on a Tuesday, plopped on his couch in nothing but a pair of maroon plaid boxers as Hamilton plays on the ninety inch flatscreen mounted on his glass wall. He had left the curtains open, not really caring that he’s practically naked. The sun’s already set and it’s almost pitch black outside; plus, he lives on the twenty-fourth floor of the condominium complex. The only living being risking an eyeful is a peepy pigeon. Even then, Harry’s more than happy to put on a show. He’s confident enough in himself that nudity is practically second nature. His friends can attest to that. 

Harry lays across his leather sofa with a large checkered throw cushion snuggled into his side, one of his hands slung across the backrest of the couch as the other remains submerged wrist-deep in a bag of Veggie Straws. His socked feet are propped up on his round marble coffee table, ankles crossed and posture anything but eloquent. The apartment is silent, except for the musical streaming through the speakers of his television set and the gentle pattering of rain just outside his glorified window pane, accompanied by the faint flickering of the city lights below. The atmosphere of the room is relaxed and cozy and it lulls his soul in a manner he can’t put into words.

Harry has always liked the rain. Ever since he was a child, he would sit by the small round window of the attic room he shared with his older sister, watching it fall from the sky in sheets of glittering sapphires, soaking into the dry ground and turning it into a slush of dirt he would later sneak out to play in. When he got older, he would prop his shoulder against the doorframe at the back of his father’s blacksmith shop and gaze at it, mesmerized by how it would trickle down the streets of the public market, washing away all the grime that came with a bustling city’s reputation. Sometimes he would stand in it, feeling its cool touch run down his arms and soak into the back of his sot-covered work shirt. He enjoyed how it would cleanse the sticky sweat from his face and neck, its gentle nature leaving him feeling like he could float through air. Then his father would call him back into the store and playfully scold him for allowing himself to get drenched, warning that his mother would kill him if he caught a cold. 

Harry’s changed a lot since then, he knows that, but it comforts him that his love for rain is the one aspect of his personality that two hundred years of Hell had failed to take from him. 

The melodies swimming out of his TV reign him back in from memory lane. 

Harry’s not really one to enjoy musicals, but back when Hamilton had first hit Broadway, he’d used his persuasive supernatural abilities to sneak into one of the first showings. He’d been curious as to what all the hype was about, and the play did not disappoint. The songs were catchy, the acting was good, and the characters were brought to life through raw emotion and comedy. He respected that. And the plot of the story itself resonated with him deeply, as well. A protagonist that rose from nothing, fell in love with the wrong woman, and made terrible life choices that seemed correct at the time, which would all eventually lead to his death. It hit a bit too close to home. 

If he had a dollar for every time he’s seen it since it had come out on Disney+, he could probably pay rent himself instead of compelling others to do it for him. 

The play is halfway through one of its most famous ballads when the monster’s phone dings with a familiar tune. A smirk is already etching itself across his face before he even unlocks his device. 

I need interior design advice. 

I’m still a little sore from our last help session. How’d you bounce back so quick?

Funny, but I need ACTUAL interior design advice this time. 

Harry’s brows furrow in mild confusion and slight disappointment. He draws his hand from the junk food container, dusting off the crumbs. Oh. 

Genuinely? 

Yup!

He guesses he’ll give it a go. He does have pretty exquisite taste; the modern gothic aesthetic of his condo proves that. It’s not like he has anything better to do.

Alright, shoot. 

Y/N releases the breath she’d been holding in. Thank God he’s agreed to help. As much as she’s ashamed to admit it, Harry’s really the only person in LA that she deems relatively close to a friend. She hasn’t managed to mesh well with her coworkers much, despite the fact that she’s been trying extremely hard. She just doesn’t wanna force herself into unfulfilling fake friendships for the sake of having people to flaunt. It’s not right and she knows she’d grow to resent it. 

So instead, she’d reached out to the one California resident who doesn’t make her skin crawl. 

Whew, okay, thanks in advance! So I went out yesterday and got a new bedspread and I wanted some help choosing a new accessory to go with it, which is going on my wall. 

Harry’s ears perk up and his back straightens at her statement. Could she finally, by the grace of fucking God, be getting rid of that shitty tapestry? 

Well, let me see it, then. Don’t keep a man waiting, I’m dying to play Property Brothers over here.

A picture comes through of the two new accessories Y/N is referring to and the way Harry’s face drops instantly is almost comical.

Which tapestry fits better? I’m thinking the Van Gogh style painting of a lighthouse. The blue goes well with the dark turquoise of the comforter. But then again, the forest canopy has those pretty exotic flowers that compliment the coral stitching. I can’t decide. 

The vampire’s face pinches in disgusted horror as he blinks down numbly at the image on his screen. He’s going to be sick. Those Veggie Straws are about to make a hideous comeback. 

…two new tapestries? Did the other one rip or…?

What? No!! I just saw these down at the thrift store and thought they were cute. Why? Are they really that bad??

They’re not just bad, they’re worse. He’s going to ask her to blindfold him next time he visits. 

They’re…kinda immature, dove. I just thought you’d go for something cooler this time, like a vintage painting or a couple vinyls to mount on the wall. 

Immature? 

Oops. He should have picked his words more carefully. Now he’s gone and offended her and she’ll probably bite down the next time he puts his—

Another message interrupts his spiraling negative conclusions.

I know you didn’t just call ME immature when you compared me to a cream-filled donut, Harry. 

The playful tone in the text delivers a wave of relief that is almost as pleasurable as what lies between Y/N’s legs. 

Can I speak freely for a second? Full disclosure, no consequences?

That preface makes me think you’re about to chew me out.

I’ll be gentle, I promise. I know it’s not our usual dynamic, but I’ll give it a go.

Y/N ignores the bristling across her cheeks. 

Alright, go head.

I just think tapestries are kinda stupid. They scream “confused teenager trying to find myself.” But that’s just my opinion. I’m only telling you so you know that I’m probably not the best bloke to go to with tapestry inquiries. 

Harry watches as a read receipt stares up at him for a few seconds. Just when he thinks he might have truly upset her this time, her message bubble pops up. 

So...the one I’ve had hanging in my room the last three times you’ve been over…

I had to actively restrain the urge to strangle myself with it.

Y/N breaks out into laughter. The image of waking up to Harry laying facedown on her bedroom floor, balls naked and mummified within a sunrise tapestry...It’s sending her. 

Well, you know what? That’s not fair! You can’t judge my house when I haven’t even had the chance to judge yours. 

Harry nods once to himself in surrender, reaching up to finger-comb a few rebellious curls out of his eyes. She makes a valid play. 

Fair enough. You’ll have to come over and give me your opinion sometime.

I’d be honored to. Now, would you be so kind as to put your own personal bias aside this once and help me choose which one to put up. I promise I’ll spare you any more tapestry-related problems in the future. I’ll remove it from my customer contract.

Harry sighs defeatedly. He can’t believe he’s giving up his integrity for sex. 

Fine. Send me a picture of both of them up on the wall. It’ll give some perspective. 

Y/N giddily obliges, deciding to send a video instead. That way, she can get all of the angles in one go rather than having to send multiple pictures. 

Harry waits patiently, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth as he taps his foot against the coffee table to the tune of Wait for It, which is playing in the film that has now become the backdrop of his night. When Y/N’s next message comes through, he’s mildly surprised to find it’s a video. He clicks play, watching intently as she circles the two pinned tapestries slowly, making sure to get a proper view from all sides. By the time the thirty second clip is coming to an end, Harry’s leaning more towards the tropical canopy painting. It’s not as loud and she was right about the flowers matching the stitching on the duvet. 

He’s about to tap back “the forest one” when something flashes across the screen that makes him choke on his snack, launching him into a coughing fit.  

It’s within the last three seconds of the video and if he had cut it off in order to text back, he would have missed it. But he hadn’t, and now it’s burned into the back of his eyelids, causing a buzzing sensation to string right to the area between his thighs.  

The last few frames of the video, Y/N had lowered her phone from the position she’d been suspending it, probably thinking she had already stopped filming. She hadn’t. And because of that, Harry gets a full frontal view of her body, covered in nothing except a pair of lace panties and a mid-thigh oversized Avengers t-shirt. The entire screen fills with bare, silky skin and raunchy lace and he can feel his fangs poke into his tongue. 

Harry’s not a pre-teen; he’s not going to drool over seeing a pair of legs. What really gets to him is the fact that it appears Y/N still has a few hickies across the inner area of her thighs, which have failed to fade as quickly as the others. They should be gone, given that anytime Harry feeds (like he had the last time they’d slept together), he always gives her a bit of his blood to heal. Meaning, normal bruises like that should be gone. Maybe he just hadn’t given her a high enough dosage, or maybe he’d marked her more than he remembers, but either way, the stains are there.

The vampire ogles at the paused image with a dry throat and wide eyes. Just seeing her like that, dressed in comfy yet effortlessly sensual attire with no bottoms on whatsoever, freely flaunting his love bites around her apartment, probably looking at them in her mirror, thinking about how his teeth had felt grazing her skin…

It’s enough to pop a stiffy into his briefs. 

Harry glimpses over the top of his phone, swallowing thickly at the large bulge beginning to tent his boxers. His socked toes curl as he feels a longing throb begin to swell at the pit of his clenching stomach. Great. This is just fucking perfect. 

He attempts to tap back a reply, but his hands have started quivering slightly, clumsy thumbs ruining his message to the point where he has to retype it three times.

The forest one. I agree with what you said about the stitching. 

Okay, thank you so much! Your input is highly appreciated, as always.

The immortal finds himself gnawing at the inside of his cheek, weighing on whether he should mention the little softcore porn moment she’d unknowingly shot, or if he should just let it slide and go take care of the issue that is literally weighing on him— he can feel it getting heavy against his thigh. 

His fingers seem to take on a mind of their own, printing out a quick sentence and hitting the send button before he can rethink his motives. 

Did you watch your video before you sent it?

Uh no...It looked pretty okay to me while I took it. Why, do you need a different one? Was the lighting too dark? 

The fact that she sent it by accident only adds to the appeal. She’s such a good girl. So fucking innocent and sweet, she could practically give him a toothache. 

Do me a quick favor and rewatch it all the way to the end. I think you’ll be surprised with what you find.

Y/N leans back against her bookshelf wall, chewing on her bottom lip as a sly grin ticks the corners. She doesn’t have to rewatch the video. She’s fully aware of what she had done, which had been completely on purpose. She’s only playing dumb to see his reaction, getting off on how flustered he seems to have become. Yes, her intentions for contacting him had originally been purely for his opinion on decor. But when she saw the chance, she decided to jump headfirst and take it. What are friends with benefits for if not for times like these, when you’re too lazy to come over but need a bit of relief? 

The human allows a full thirty seconds to pass, simulating that she’s watching the video, and then thoughtfully taps out her response.

Oh, whoops. Sorry for the indecent exposure.

Harry shifts in exasperation against his sofa, the radiating in his abdomen crawling up to his chest and down to his knees. He needs to take care of himself now.

It’s fine, babe. You just might wanna be more careful, cause this time around you got lucky that it was me and it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Could go south if it were someone else. 

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly at his scolding, but continues to play the clueless act, curious to see where it’ll take her. 

You’re absolutely right, I’m so sorry. 

Harry clears his throat, flinching as he feels a soft twitch run up the length of his cock. He exhales tightly, trying to steer the conversation into a lighter mood. He doesn’t want her to feel bad; it’s not like he’s angry about this. He’s hot and bothered and needy, but not mad.

I just think it’s funny you exposed the fact that you go around your house without pants. 

Oh, fuck off! No one ever wears pants around their own house, especially if they’re alone. It’s one of the laws of physics. No human resistance, no pants. 

Harry glances down at his body symbolically, where he’s clad in only his underwear, as well.

Touché.

Exactly. 

A pause befalls the conversation as both parties fish for something new to say. The situation’s become less lively and more intense now and neither are sure how to navigate without crossing a line. In a surge of courage, Y/N decides to just directly communicate her intentions, praying that he doesn’t take it the wrong way. 

I have an idea, just hear me out. For the sake of evening the playing field, I think that since you saw me pantsless, it’s only fair that I see you the same way. It balances out, right?

Harry’s jaw drops in an open-mouthed simper, impressed by her blatant suggestion, but also by how smoothly she had delivered it. He mumbles his next words to himself, voice amused and somewhat awed at how she had managed to spin this to her benefit. “You clever little minx. Bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

Y/N purses her lips, shrugging her brows cheekily.

Maybe.

The vampire scoffs, taken aback not only at the ploy she’d pulled off, but at how unapologetic she is about the whole thing. It’s hot. 

Alright, l’ll bite. Tick for tack. 

The photo that comes through makes Y/N choke on her spit. It’s not anything too revealing, but it packs a lot. Literally. 

It’s a pretty casual picture, and she gets the feeling he took it as so just to be a tease. In the frame, all she sees is a snapshot of Harry’s lap, thighs straining against the flimsy material of a pair of crimson tartan boxers, the large tigerhead tattoo he totes somehow prominent in the low lightning. Of course it stands out, though. That’s to be expected; his thighs are thick in the most satisfying fashion and they’re one of his most defining features. She can also see the bottom half of his lean tummy, the cutoff being the crest of his belly button. His fern inkings are peeking out of from below the waistband of the Calvin Kleins, dark and matte on his lightly bronzed skin, and she spots the nonchalant position of his crossed ankles in the background. 

As appetizing as every little detail is, the centerpiece of the portrait is the obvious bulge pressing into the fabric of his briefs. The outline is so prominent, the picture borderlines on graphic. His cock looks pretty as ever, even when it’s covered; the thin underwear leaves very little to the imagination. 

Y/N has to bite down on her tongue to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

Wow, okay, well...Your picture was much more explicit than my video. That’s not fair at all. Throws off the equilibrium we were trying to establish. 

Harry chuckles aloud, shaking his head in amazement at how well she can bend the game to her will. Three weeks ago, when he’d first laid eyes on that shy girl at the club, he would have never expected her to be so bold. Now, she has him wrapped around her pinky like a string.

You’re absolutely right. My apologies. Maybe you should send one similar so we can even out the stakes. 

You read my mind.

Y/N’s next picture causes a hiss to stream through the cracks of Harry’s teeth, eyes glinting red.

It’s a picture taken on top of her bed, the angle set from above. She’s laying on her side, her torso twisted so that her backside is in the shot, her huge tee pulled tight against her waist so it creates an enticing cinching effect. Her thighs are clasped together, the collar of her shirt pulled away just enough that he can see where the valley of her chest begins to curve, and the cheeky lace panties are working utter wonders for her ass. He can’t stop staring. He physically can’t pull himself away, his eyes bouncing across every pixel, attempting to commit the picture to memory to keep it locked in the back of his brain forever. 

Y/N awaits anxiously for his reaction, biting into the pad of her thumb as the seconds list by, wondering if he had enjoyed the nude or if he was just sitting there judging all her flaws. It’s been so long since she’s sent a risky photo like that, she can’t help but stress. Sharing your body with someone digitally is almost as intimate as real sex and it comes with similar worries and insecurities. Was the angle good? Are her stretch marks unattractive? Are the dimples along her backside gross? Is he second-guessing their arrangement? Is he wishing they hadn’t met?

She practically drops her phone when it vibrates.

God, you look stunning. Like a proper fucking dream.

All of her concerns immediately disintegrate, replaced by an odd sense of pride. She’s happy that he enjoyed it, and she’s thankful for the caliber of his response. Most men don’t care to comment that nicely, if they comment at all, and Harry’s enthusiasm only excites her further. She wants to keep going. 

You look pretty fucking good yourself. Wish I could just kneel between your thighs, take you into my mouth, and make you feel good for hours. 

Harry struggles to get saliva down his parched throat, her words bouncing around the inside of his skull, sending a current of bliss directly to where he needs it. 

Hours? You want me down your throat for hours?

For hours, Harry. I’d literally just sit between your legs and let you fuck my face again. Let you use me to make yourself cum.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Harry’s broken whine echoes off the tall walls of his home, one of his big hands finding a path to his curls and tugging in desperation. He needs to keep composure. 

Harry’s next snapshot comes through and Y/N has to screw her eyes shut for a second to brace the bolt of electricity that zips down to her core. 

The boy’s thighs have parted wider, his feet now down from the table, knees hanging off the edge of the sofa. His free hand has delved below his briefs, pulling them up just enough to show a tad of the neatly trimmed area beneath. His fingers are cupped over his cock, hiding it from plain view, but the imprint of his knuckles on the fabric suggest he’s gripping it tightly. The longer she looks, the more she notices— specifically, a dark damp patch spreading at the middle of his boxers and she knows damn well what it is. The fact that she’d got him riled up enough that he’s leaking through like that...She can hardly breathe right. 

Shit, you look so good. How do you always look that fucking good? I just want to feel you stretch me out while you moan into my mouth. 

Harry slowly starts pumping his palm up and down his cock as he rereads her words, catching his lower lip between his teeth, his naked and flushed chest stuttering. He doesn’t want to be the douche that tells her to send another picture, but he really needs her to. He wants to see what she’s doing, how she’s fairing. Wants to know if he has her as fucked as she has him right now. 

It’s almost like they share a telepathic link because not even five seconds later, another beautifully filthy photo is decorating his screen. 

This time around, Y/N has decided to fully lay on her back, spreading her legs open and drawing her knees up slightly so that her thighs are not only flexing, but displaying all the love bites he’d left only a few days prior. They’re all different shades of purple and brown, scattered over the satin suppleness of her skin, painting a canvas of the heated night they’d shared. It’s art at its most prestigious, if he’s ever seen it. And she has her hand ducked below her panties, the outline of her fingers situated right over her clit. 

Harry’s own hand instinctively tightens around his length, pulling a weak groan from his parted lips. He throws his head back against the backrest of the couch, bucking into his palm and teasing his forefinger over his bubbling tip. He spreads the precum all over the sensitive head, whimpering when the draft from the air conditioning caresses it and sends a quiver toppling over his shoulders. 

Fuck, she’s driving him mental. There’s only one way to take care of this effectively, despite their distance. 

I’m going to call you.

Y/N gulps heavily, licking over her chapped lips and feeling her pulse jump at the realization that she’ll be getting to hear his throaty voice coax her through an orgasm. Not only that, but she’ll get to hear him cum, too. She’ll get to hear every shattered gasp and needy mewl, almost as if he were pouring all those sounds of pleasure right into her ears in person. 

The mortal’s heart hiccups when his contact pops up on the Caller ID, phone vibrating insistently. After a deep breath taken to ground herself, she slides her shaky thumb over the glass, slowly bringing the device up to her ear. Her voice is soft and timid as ever, a tremble running through its undertone. “H-Hello?”

Harry’s words come through the crackling speaker as dark and smoky as whiskey, pouring into her mind and intoxicating her as easily as the real liquor would.

“Flip onto your stomach and take off the lace. Now.”

[chromatic-lamina]

Gonna just do this for myself (so don't worry about likes, sending asks and all). If you want to download the image and upload, I think it should be fine. It's all over the interwebs. Also fine to do it like a normal ask/answer meme!

All of my answers under the cut.

Yearly Word Count: (off anon, and not including unpublished zine fics): 31,223

Fav fic: Doctor Death Doula (Trafalgar Law) https://archiveofourown.org/works/37266862 But it had some stiff competition.

3. Fav fic read: ties between:

Living in a ghost town (lawzo) ( double joint @stephanericherthanyou ) Sabaody Shambles by @/CoffeeTimeWorks (Strawhats and Heart Pirates)

Oh! and the last chapter of the fabulous astra inclinant ( @petrachord ).

and at the point of a sword (freckledshoulderblades) (zoro, general) and most recently something's always going on at pathology (v. funny) by thegrimshapeofyoursmile (general)

Also family by @/KallistosWrites (kidlaw) and special shout out to 123_crowbar_solo who always writes quality (especially doff and croc!)

4. Fav ship you wrote for. I only wrote KidLaw this year re ships, but love ZoLaw, MarLaw, LawBin, etc. as well.

5. Fav character POV: Bepo writing as Law (or role swap. Bepo was the captain in his fanfiction!)

6. Favourite latest line I wrote:

Kid's head pushed back on the plushie and it squeaked.

7. WIP you finally finished. Ah, I don't really have any, but I probably wouldn't have written Overworked and Underpaid (Chopper and Bepo) if I hadn't had to scrap another WIP. And the idea for Doctor Death Doula had been sitting in the drafts for some time.

8. WIP you're yet to start finish. The one I'll be writing for the One Piece Kids zine. I'm still working on the one for the corazine too, although I think it's mostly done.

9. Most read fic this year: I guess they mean the ones written this year, right?

It'd be Bepo's Beptober with 868 hits, but that was begun in 2020, it seems, so a better reflection is perhaps Overworked and Underpaid (Chopper and Bepo) which has 841 hits and was published in June.

10. Longest fic of the year (off anon, right? heh). No multichaps for me this year, and some word count restraints for zine fics, but also due to time (and that's just the point where the fic should've ended), so!: Overworked and Underpaid at 6,289 words.

11. Shortest fic of the year: A drabble called kelp for the Justice zine ficlet challenges. 114 words.

12. Fav fic title: Maybe 'snow business like show business (kidlaw for the op secret santa exchange)

13. Biggest surprise while writing this year. Just how hard it is to write Kanjuro! (oh, and also that a free verse fic i did got reasonable interaction)

14. Fav comment you got this year: All of them! Special shout out for all the lovely comments on Doctor Death Doula, and also to @stephanericherthanyou for their always fabulous feedback, and the same goes for @afterdeck-ace

15. Fav fic author to read this year: see number 2!

16: Total fics/chapters uploaded this year: Okay, I'm gonna include the chapters in the ficlet collections, even though most are not very long:

Stand alone one shots: 6

Ficlets/chapters in anthologies (on my page): 10

17: What are you most looking forward to next year?: Some of the work for zines being published and being seen by a wider audience.

[rosyfingereddawnn]

heart of gold (chapter four)

pairing: robert plant x florence bennett (oc)

warnings: allen being a weirdo as usual, fluff, angst and friendship :’)

words: 4.3k

summary: trapped in a loveless marriage to a powerful man, florence bennett lives every day in despair. after a chance encounter with a golden-haired actor, florence finds that her life will never be the same again.

author’s note: folks!! this took a lot longer to write for a number of different reasons but hey!! it’s here now :) not much to say in this one cause i don’t wanna spoil, but if anyone has any theories, feedback or suggestions please let me know! hope you enjoy <333

chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

masterlist

playlist

------

“Dear angel, I hope you are faring well. This note, unlike the rest, is rather short. I felt I should be quick, and frank, too. If you happen to find yourself at the Bennett manor for the upcoming ball, I will be present as well. Perhaps, if fate allows it, we may meet, finally. I will be wearing a silver gown, with chiffon detailing. Look for me, and I will do the same. Forever yours, stranger.”

Stunned silence fills the elegant dressing room as Robert reads the short letter over once more, his fingers tracing the letters as though the action would reveal a devastating brand of trickery. For all intents and purposes, however, the letter seemed to be perfectly earnest; a fact that Bonzo, sitting next to him with a cigarette dangling from his lips, enjoyed reminding him of.

“Robert, she wants to meet with you. You want to meet with her. We must go to the ball. I’ll even help you pick out a suit,” he drawls, lazily throwing his head back against the plush cushioned chair as he gazes over at Robert. “I am convinced this is the longest you’ve gone without talking, to be quite honest.”

The blond sat unmoving, eyes never straying from the slip of paper clenched in his hands. He hasn’t spoken a word since reading it, and his eyes roam over each line as though he was unable to fully take in the words that flow across the page. Slowly, the man's eyes raise from the letter, meeting Bonzo’s as shock swims in the cerulean pools.

“Bonzo.”

“Ah, he speaks!”

“She wants to…”

“Meet you? Yes, she does,” Bonzo finishes the man’s sentence with a hearty chuckle, and his arm raises to pat Robert on the arm. The chestnut-haired man continues, shaking his head at the blond’s nervous antics. “We need to find you a suit; an expensive one, at that. The Bennett’s are just short of nobility after all. We might have to cut your hair, too.”

“What? Why would we do that?” The blond’s hands fly towards the tips of his golden ringlets almost unconsciously, and he cards long fingers through them. Uncertainty is painted upon his handsome face, and Bonzo smirks, a chuckle leaving his mouth.

“Just because you’re an actor, Robert, does not mean you need to look like one. Long hair signifies that you’re loose. Easy, if you will. Even if it does have a kernel of truth to it…”

“And you’re definitely sought after, are you not, Bonzo? Quite suave, if memory serves.”

Bonzo huffs out a laugh, and gazes over at Robert, as he blows a gauzy cloud of smoke into the air. A smirk graces his features as his lips twitch in an attempt to hide it, and he shoves Robert’s arm amicably. “All in due time, my friend. All in due time.”

“I’m sure.”

“Regardless of how I am faring in that particular department, we were talking about you, were we not?” Bonzo replies, locking eyes with Robert, earnest now, as he searches the man’s face. Seemingly not finding what he was looking for, his dark brows furrow. “Why are you so nervous in the first place? Women almost flock to you, yet you’re quivering at the possibility of meeting this one.”

Robert sighs, shifting uncomfortably under Bonzo’s penetrating gaze. He was as nervous as he is, because this woman… it’s as if she had known him all his life. She was charming, and intelligent, talking of wonderful novels and intricate poems. To Robert, whenever he read a letter she had written, he could almost hear her twinkling laughter, and see her smile that sparkled in his mind. Her soul was utterly beautiful, and it seemed to have entwined with his. Robert can only hope, however, that she feels the same.

“I… I do not know what she looks like, or how she is in person. That’s all,” Unable to let those thoughts linger in the tense air of the dressing room, Robert comes up with the best excuse he could muster under the circumstances. “I do think it is a cause for concern, is it not?”

“Well, Plant,” Stilling the shaking of one hand with the other, Robert returns Bonzo’s stare, until the moustachioed man smirks once more. He had obviously seen through the ruse, and it was only a matter of time before Robert became the laughing stock of the entire theatre. The two are locked still in a staring match, without a single movement from either. Oddly enough, though, Bonzo looks away first. The smirk still dangling from his lips proves that the conversation will be continued eventually. “I wish you luck, then. Truly, I do hope it goes well tonight.”

“Thank you, Bonzo. I appreciate your support. Truly I do.”

“I’m sure. Now,” Bonzo stands with a huff, stretching an arm out towards Robert. The blond takes it and raises from the comfortable chaise, and the two friends saunter out of the room, laughter following them. “How about we get ready for the ball? You must look put-together, and oftentimes, you’re not exactly the picture of elegance…”  Bonzo’s voice trickles out past the crack left in the door, and Robert’s squawk of offense rings across the empty room.

-----

Florence steps in front of the floor-length mirror that decorates her room, and she feels beautiful, for what may very well be the first time in years. In the beginning, Allen had showered her with compliments, and made her feel truly loved. His words soured, eventually, and she bore the brunt of his treatment ever since. Finally, though, she was doing something for herself. To make herself happy. If you ask anyone that truly knows her, they would point out that Florence was altruistic, almost to the point of self-effacement. She had lived much of her adult life playing an impossible role. Tonight, she meets her beloved actor.

Appearing suddenly behind her in the mirror, almost like a mirage, Emma takes in the way her friend is fiddling with the dress they had picked out together. It was a beautiful silver that gleamed in the dusky moonlight, with accents of soft chiffon that could only add to the ethereal quality. Dressed in her own gown, a canary yellow that made her eyes gleam like gemstones, Emma dares a smile of her own.

“Florence, you look lovely. Are you excited?”

“Oh!” Florence turns, dress swaying with the motion, as she finally notices Emma standing behind her. A fair blush rises on her freckled cheeks, and a carefree giggle leaves her cherry-red lips. “You look wonderful, Emma! James will not be able to tear his eyes away, I reckon. As for your question, I’m… incredibly nervous. I will be honest with you.”

“Nervous? Florence, this could be an incredible night. It will work out.” says Emma, purposefully not touching on the first half of Florence’s sentence. She didn’t want to think about James at the moment, or she would get distracted.

“I can’t help my nerves, because… what if this is all for nothing? What if he isn’t nearly as kind as he seems, and I am trapped once more? Emma, I do not know if I could bear it.”

“Ever the pessimist,” Emma sighs, a smile growing on her tanned cheeks. She grasps the other woman’s arm, thumb rubbing circles into covered skin, bringing Florence much-needed comfort. As soon as she lets the arm fall, Florence begins to pace around the room. Emma sighs and moves closer in an attempt to still the woman’s frayed nerves.  “Luckily for us, I am quite the optimist. Florence, he cares for you, and that is plain to see. You proposed that he wouldn't be quite what you imagined, but what if he’s more? In addition, if he is treating you unkindly at any point, you have the right to leave.”

“I… suppose you are right, Emma.”

“As always,” Emma scoffs jokingly, as she saunters closer. Her hand brushes a tendril of hair, which had fallen in Florence’s face in the midst of her panic, back into the sleek bun of golden brown. “Now, as much as I hate to subject you to this, Allen is waiting in the main hall. He needs you for the grand entrance, after all.”

“Oh, goody.”

“Ah, some sarcasm to start off the night.”

The women chuckle softly as they make last-minute adjustments in the clear surface of the mirror. Satisfied, they lock eyes, and arm in arm, they walk out the door and down the winding staircase to the main floor. Allen is leaning against a carved column, and, detecting the disruption, he scoffs and pushes to stand straight.

“Finally. I thought you would never be finished. Come, Florence,” Allen, seemingly for the first time, notices his wife’s companion, and the sneer that was almost permanently etched onto his face appears yet again. “Always a pleasure, Ms. Weston.”

“Likewise, Mr, Bennett.”

A tense silence permeates the room, until Allen clears his throat rather impolitely, and whisks Florence away with a final smrk drowning derision, and they’re gone. In the stillness of the room, Emma whispers, “Good luck, Florence.”

The woman reckons that she’ll need it.

-------

As Florence steps into the ballroom, her mouth falls open, a gasp tumbling past her lips. Flowers of every shape and tint decorate the gold-gilded walls, and lanterns pour faint yellow light across the room. The magnificent chandelier, crystals twinkling like stars, casts faint shadows across the faces of the guests, who promenade across the dance floor, mingling and laughing. Sets of double doors lead out onto a beautiful, moonlit balcony, the glow of bright starlight filtering in through the windows.

Stopping at the entrance, arm in arm with Allen and Emma at her side, she marvels as she takes in the sights. The ballroom, of course, was always as elegant and luxurious without the celebrations taking place, yet it seemed that Allen had wanted to go the extra mile. For what he lacked in kindness, Florence thinks, he makes up for in his apparent prowess regarding interior design. A quiet laugh flutters involuntarily past her lips, and Allen looks down at her, confusion drawing his dark eyebrows together.

“Florence, dear, what is it now?”

Caught, she shakes her head, a pliant smile gracing her features. Apparently satisfied, Allen looks back to the crowd that had gathered to celebrate him, propelling her forward with a hand that sits dangerously low on her lower back. Disgust souring her expression for a split second, she recovers, and plasters on that ever-present smile that feels like a lie.

“Welcome all. I am truly grateful that we could all gather, to celebrate…” Allen’s words seem to simply evaporate before they could reach Florence’s ear, as the woman’s gaze roams around the ballroom, searching for a head of perfect golden curls. Unable to spot the man she’s been writing to for the better part of a month, she sighs quietly, holding onto the sliver of hope that he had really come. Wrenched out of her thoughts by the hand at her back slipping perilously lower, she registers how Allen coaxes her to move, and she steps forward, staring at the scowl full of irritation on his lips. Locking eyes with Emma, who had moved further into the crowd, she is greeted by a comforting smile, and Florence nods her head in gratitude.

Allen, his hold firm, almost bruising on her arm, leads her around the room. She greets guests, many immersed in the same secret lifestyle as Allen, and Florence knows that she will forget their names completely come morning. Their smiles always seem to be too wide, and their eyes hold an intense look that Florence has spent years trying to decipher. She’s used to her role by now, pasting on a beaming grin that almost hurts the longer she holds it, and curtsying at every man they greet. Oftentimes they are ‘dear’ friends of Allen’s, no doubt just as sycophantic as her husband.

An hour or so passes, though it feels like an eternity to Florence, as Allen pulls her off to an unoccupied corner of the room. His hand slithers to land at her shoulder in what was possibly meant to be a loving gesture, though it sends chills down her back. Tilting her head up with a thick finger, Allen leans closer to her, his hot breath fanning across her face.

“I must go speak to a very important friend of mine. Roam around the ball, if you wish, but Florence, dear?”

“Y-yes, dear?”

“One wrong move, and this night could be ruined. Do try and be careful. I do hope you haven’t forgotten our previous conversation.”

With the thinly veiled threat hanging heavy in the air, he is gone, navy waistcoat fluttering behind him. Florence, shoulders falling from their tensed position around her ears, gazes out at the sea of faces, amusement and glee etched onto their features as they twirl around the room. The atmosphere is suffocating, and the woman glances back at the festivities, shaking her head solemnly as she slips out of the ornate French doors. Safe under the soft, starry cover of moonlight, Florence allows herself a deep, almost world-weary sigh, as her eyes sweep across the immaculately-tended gardens that decorate the back of the manor.

She’d lost Emma around the time Allen had paraded her around like a prize, and, come to think of it, she hadn’t seen James for quite some time, as well. He and John had busied themselves with serving beverages and appetizers on shining silver trays, but it seemed as though James had slipped away. She hopes Emma and James are together, finally working out the feelings they so clearly have for each other.

The clipped sound of footsteps against the cobbled floor of the balcony brings Florence out of her thoughts, and with another heavy sigh, she addresses the intruder, face still turned upwards to gaze at the glowing crescent moon.

“I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid that I am simply not in the mood to—” The sentence trails off, words dying in her throat as she finally turns around. Familiar golden curls sway in the light evening breeze, and cerulean eyes send ice water pooling in her veins. The slight smirk that sits elegantly on thin lips seems to waver slightly, as though the man was nervous, though he seems to recover quickly. He takes a step closer, and Florence can smell the soft, irresistible scent of sandalwood.

“I’m… It’s… It’s you.”

“Astute observation, love. You did tell me to look for a certain silver gown, did you not?” The smirk that her actor is sporting only serves to set every nerve on fire, and Florence sputters, all semblance of confidence leaving her, already lacking as it was. Her indignant expression only serves to make the man chuckle and shake his head fondly, silken ringlets swaying with the movement. His hair is much, much longer than what was thought to be socially appropriate, yet the man does not seem to care. He looks comfortable, rather easy-going, and his relaxed smile sends her stomach aflutter.

“It seems you take instruction well. That is certainly good to know.” Florence recovers enough to reply, her smile growing as she takes in the amused look on the tanned, handsome face of the man in front of her. Somehow, he was even more attractive, almost magnetic, to her the closer she looked.

“One of my many talents, I assure you,” Robert chuckles, eyes gleaming like jewels in the dim evening light. The stars were reflected in those deep blue depths, and if Florence stepped any closer, she swore that she would drown. “That is a lovely gown you’re wearing. The colour, especially, is remarkable. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from you, inside.”

“You… noticed me?”

“You act as if that is difficult to do. If I’m honest, I was waiting for the right moment to steal you away. When you stepped out, I knew it was my only chance.”

“I-I must say,” Florence starts, chancing a look up at him through her eyelashes. She, hesitance clear on her face, steps closer to him, finally, and the beaming grin that lights up his face is the reward. “I’m glad you took that chance, then.”

The music that filtered, muffled as it was, through the doors seemed to swell and grow louder. Robert’s hand raises, ghosting his knuckles across her cheek as though he were afraid of breaking her, and he smiles, charming as ever.

“May I have this dance, love?”

Florence can only nod, as her hands slip into his, the friction caused by the warm, calloused feel of his palm somehow exhilarating to the young woman. He pulls her closer, placing his free hand on her hip. He was tall, much taller than Florence, and he gazes down at her as they sway together. Being here, in the arms of this stranger that she swears she had known her entire life, she feels content.

Hopeful.

Robert, subtle control in the way he leads Florence through the dance, is graceful in his movements, and perfectly respectful. His hand never strays from its place on her hip, and with a light squeeze to the hand in his, he spins her around, perfect synchronicity in their movements.

Florence’s eyes lock on something behind the man, then, and her lips turn up in a subtle smile. From her place on the balcony, Florence could see the staircase in the grand hall, just out of view of the ballroom. Through the window, hidden behind a carefully-carved pillar, she spots Emma and James, locked in a dance of their own. Emma’s hand, resting on James’ shoulder, rises to trail across the man’s cheek. Traces of the bruising that had marred the man’s face still remain, and Emma’s face contorts in a look of sadness at the sight. James shakes his head, lips moving with no sound to follow, and Emma gazes earnestly back at him. Slowly lowering her head onto James’ shoulder, they continue to rock back and forth. A beautiful private moment, for sure.

“What is it, love?”

“It was nothing. You’re quite good at this, aren’t you?”

“This is but a perk of being an actor, I’m afraid,” says Robert, twirling her around once more. Moonbeams dance around them as the light fall wind whistles in harmony with the music. “You know, I must say that I was quite surprised, that a single performance of mine endeared you enough to send me a note. Was it truly that enjoyable?”

“You are a wonderful actor, but that smart mouth of yours might get you into trouble.” Florence replies, a giggle marking the end of her sentence. Her eyes light up in bliss as blue meets muddy hazel, and they are alone, everyone inside fading into the background; simply an array of colours in a painting.

“My smart mouth? You are not exactly innocent in that respect. Speaking of… your letters. They were incredibly poetic. I enjoyed each one, I will admit.”

“A childhood dream of mine, if you can believe it, was to be a poet, or perhaps an author.”

“I would read every volume.”

The blush that blooms on Florence’s freckled cheeks makes Robert smile, and the laugh that tumbles from his lips makes Florence wish she could simply stop time, and live in that moment forever.

“You know what they say, love.” The confusion clear on the woman’s face brings a satisfied smile to Robert’s face, which Florence frowns at. She had never enjoyed not knowing, and the man had taken full advantage of that.

“And what, pray tell, do they say?”

“The shortest poem is a name. May I have yours?”

“I-I don’t simply give my name out to strangers. Perhaps if I knew your name, however…” The smirk that plays across Florence’s rosy lips makes Robert laugh, and unconsciously, he pulls the woman even closer. The music continues, ebbing and flowing, and the couple continue their dance, both physically and verbally.

“Hm, you are very cunning.”

“One of my many talents, I assure you.”

“And witty, too. It’s quite refreshing,” Robert squeezes the woman’s hip lightly, playfully, and she smiles up at him innocently. As beautiful as she was, which, in Robert’s opinion, could not be overstated, the actor detected a hint of sadness that hung around the woman like a shroud. He could see the way her smile never lasted for as long as he’d like, and how her eyes seemed to dim, a faraway look replacing the gleeful expression he had put there. Despite this, she seemed to have an inner strength that often remained under lock and key. She had shown a glimpse tonight, and he longed for another. Shaking his head to rid himself of the thoughts clouding his mind, Robert continues, smiling easily. “My name, love, is Robert. Robert Plant.”

“Robert…” Florence repeats, almost testing the name out on her tongue. “It suits you.”

“Now that we are no longer strangers, may I put a name to that beautiful face?”

“O-okay, I suppose it’s only fair. My name is Florence… Bennett.” The moment of hesitation was long enough that confusion paints Robert’s features, until recognition, and not long after, shock, wipes it away.

“Bennett, as in…”

“Yes.”

The couple had stilled, now, though Robert’s hand still warmed the skin of her hip through the gown. Florence, gaze firmly on the ground, refuses to look at Robert, whose mouth opens and closes, stunned.

“Robert, I-I’m sure this has changed everything, and… maybe it is better if we leave this here. I—”

“Florence, it’s—”

“I should go.” As soon as the words leave Florence’s mouth, she disentangles herself from Robert, and moves to re-enter the ballroom. Almost to the door, she feels a warm hand settle on her wrist. It’s soft; the hold. She could easily slip out of it, if she had wanted to. But she hadn’t.

“What—Where are you going?” Florence is still facing away from him, but she didn’t pull away, and Robert counts this as a good sign. He takes a step closer, the hold on Florence’s hand never wavering, and she winces when she hears the tap of his pointed shoes drawing closer.

“This is not fair to you… I hurt everything I touch, it seems, and… I don’t want you to be caught in the crossfire, Robert. Please understand.”

“I don’t care.”

“Robert, I’m serious.”

“And you believe I’m not?”

“I will break your heart. Don’t do this to yourself… I’m not worth it. Please.”

Robert scoffs, then, and Florence doesn't have to look at him to see the determined line of his lips. She doesn't have to look at him to see how he is shaking his head almost bitterly. His thumb traces over the fine bones of her wrist like a feather, and as much as she wished with all her heart that it hadn’t, it brought her comfort.

“Break my heart, then. It would be worth the pain, being close to you. You, Florence, are worth everything. Anyone that says otherwise is delusional.”

At this, Florence turns around abruptly, and the storm swirling in her dark eyes is clear to see. A droplet of salty water trickles down her red cheeks, flushed with conviction, and she struts closer to Robert.

“You don’t know what Allen Bennett is like, and you do not deserve to. I will beg, if I must. Please, don’t do this.”

“Love, you will not sway me on this. I feel a genuine, special connection to you, and this month of writing to you has been… truly perfect. I am not giving up on you… on us, because I could get hurt.”

Florence knows that if he insists once more, she could not stop him. She wants Robert, and everything that comes with him; of course she does. She would be irrational not to. But she knows how Allen is. How possessive he is, even as he revels in the arms of another. Robert is an amalgamation of everything that is good in the world, it seems to her then, with a heart of gold to drive the point further. She could not forgive herself if anything changed that.

“Robert…”

The man in question slips into her space, a long finger lifting her chin to face him. A traitorous tear trickles down her cheeks, and Robert wipes it away with a thumb, looking into Florence’s eyes all the while. Enraptured with each other, they press closer, and Florence can feel Robert’s breath fan over her face. His hand caresses her cheek lightly, and her eyes flit down to his lips. Their noses touch, and then, as if divine intervention, the door opens. John steps onto the balcony, smirking into his hand as he watches the couple spring apart.

“Terribly sorry to interrupt. Florence, your… husband is looking for you.”

“T-thank you, John. I will be right in.”

John nods, and disappears back into the ballroom, with a private smile directed at the woman. Looking back at Robert, Florence takes in the hint of a flush on his own face, and knows that she must look the same. Tentatively taking his hand in hers, she interlocks their fingers in a loose hold, in case they are forced apart once again. That is as close as she’s willing to get in such a public area, now that she knows Allen is on the prowl, but Robert smiles at her all the same.

“When can I see you again, Florence?”

“Allen is… I believe he is out often, this coming week. I will write to you.”

Robert nods, and squeezes the hand resting in his, a smile playing about his lips. He pulls away, then, and moves to the door, when a hand curls around his once more.

“Robert?”

“Yes, love?”

“Be careful.”

With that, she slips around him, opening the door and stepping through. The scent of her perfume, something light and floral, dances around him as she passes.

------

taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 @earthfire-75 @thatiloveyouso @jonesyjonesyjonesy @jimmypages @kyunisixx @sophiazeppelinchick @reincarnated70sbaby @grxtsch @rebel-without-a-zeppelin @thebeatlesuniverse @dreamersdrowse (let me know if you want to be added!)

[suituuup]

pieces - chapter fifteen

Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca didn’t expect to see her again dancing in a strip club, out of all places.

rating: E (drug use and emotional abuse in early chapters)

ao3 link

*

Beca had never felt blood-running cold panic as she did when she saw the blood on Chloe’s hand. She tried to remain level-headed for the sake of taking Chloe safely to the hospital, white-knuckling the steering wheel as she drove, all the while talking with Dr. Harris through her car Bluetooth system to let her know what was going on. 

A nurse was waiting by the ER entrance with a wheelchair, and they rode up to the obstetric floor, the silence in the elevator deafening. They were led to an exam room and Chloe was asked to change into a gown, being given a pad and disposable underwear, which Beca helped her put on. 

The bleeding wasn’t as bad, but that didn’t mean it lessened her worry. If Chloe lost the baby… Beca wasn’t sure she would come back from it. 

“Hello Chloe,” Dr. Harris greeted as she came in a couple of minutes later, casting them a soft smile and a nod. She rolled the ultrasound machine closer. “Let’s take a look. Anymore cramping since we were on the phone?”

“No, just those two times,” Chloe answered, reaching for Beca’s hand as she lifted up her gown for the doctor to apply the gel. 

Beca watched Dr. Harris like a hawk as she focused on the screen, looking out for any hint in her features that could indicate something was wrong. After what felt like the longest minute of Beca’s life, the doctor finally spoke. 

“The ultrasound looks normal Chloe, no evidence of placental abruption, but I’d like to run some bloodwork to be sure,” she explained, glancing at Chloe as she lifted the wand and set it aside. “We’ll monitor you and the baby closely until we get the results, alright?” 

Placental abruption. Beca had read about that in the baby book, but she couldn’t remember how serious of a condition it was. She nonetheless puffed out a breath as the doctor didn’t look too alarmed, and squeezed Chloe’s hand. 

Chloe nodded. “Okay, thank you.” 

A nurse came by shortly after to strap a band around Chloe’s belly, which tracked the fetal heart rate. The steady beeping sound coming from the machine further allowed Beca to relax, and she remained by Chloe’s side as the nurse collected a few samples of her blood to be sent out to the lab. 

As the nurse departed, Beca let go of Chloe’s hand to tuck a strand of red hair behind her ear. “Do you want anything to drink or eat?” 

Chloe shook her head. “No. I’m okay.” Her lips curved into a small smile. “Thanks, though. You should sit down, I think we’re going to be here for a little while.” 

Nodding, Beca glanced behind her and grabbed a stool tucked in the corner, reaching for Chloe’s hand as she sat down. “Should I call your parents?” 

“No, not yet. There’s no point in worrying them before we know more.” 

“You’re right,” Beca murmured, nodding once more. 

Silence descended upon them, save for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. Beca rubbed Chloe’s knuckles back and forth, hoping the movement was somewhat soothing. 

Dr. Harris came by ten minutes later and checked the numbers. “I’m still waiting on the lab results, but the heart rate’s good. I’ll come back to check on you in half-an-hour.” 

“Thanks, doc,” Beca said before she walked out, casting her a grateful nod. She turned back to Chloe. “I’m going to get myself something to drink, okay? Sure you don’t want anything?” 

“Maybe some sparkling water?” 

Beca smiled. “You got it.” 

The vending machine was just down the hall, and Beca got herself a coke and Chloe’s water, heading back to the room a mere minute after she’d left. 

“One sparkling water,” she said, setting it on the bedside table. 

“Thank y--” The rest of Chloe’s sentence was cut off by a sharp cry as she doubled over, and Beca’s heart lurched to her throat when the beeping on the monitor increased. 

She rushed to the open door, nearly colliding with a nurse coming in. “We need some help, the heartbeat, it--”

“I’m paging Dr. Harris,” the nurse interrupted as she read the monitor, then checked under the blanket, revealing a large pool of blood. 

Beca paled, her eyes zeroing on the amount seeping into the sheet while Chloe curled up in pain. 

“What’s going on?” Dr. Harris asked as she strode in. 

“Gush of blood, heart rate’s dropping,” the nurse told her urgently as she kept her eyes on the monitor. “Now in the 60’s.” 

“We’re going to the OR,” Dr. Harris announced as she clicked the bed railing into place. “Chloe, it looks like your placenta has abrupted and your baby isn’t getting enough oxygen. I need to perform an emergency c-section.” 

More nurses rushed in, and Beca didn’t know where to stand as they bustled around her. She jumped out of the way when they pushed the gurney towards the door. 

“Bec,” Chloe cried, fear flashing in her gaze as she was rolled away. Beca snapped out of her daze and grabbed her hand, walking alongside the gurney. 

As much as she wanted to, Beca couldn’t tell her everything was going to be okay, instead of saying the only thing she was sure of. “I’m here, Chlo.” 

They reached the flapping doors which read OR in big letters, and one of the nurses stopped Beca from going further. “You need to get suited up first, honey. Follow me.” 

Beca swallowed and nodded, her shaky legs somehow managing to carry her to a room on the right. “Shit, I forgot-- she can’t have any morphine.” 

Chloe had told her that a few weeks ago when they talked about possible complications during labor. 

“The doctor probably knows, but I’ll go tell her right away.” 

Before the nurse left, she gave Beca a pair of scrubs, a hair cap, mask, and booties to put over her shoes. Beca slipped everything on, and then, she waited. 

She paced up and down the room, her hands wringing together as she tried to focus on her breathing and not the many terrifying scenarios popping up inside her brain. The nurse finally came to get her after what felt like an hour when it was probably just ten minutes and led her to the OR through a side door. 

Chloe laid on a different bed in the center of the room, a sheet blocking her view from the chest down. An oxygen mask had been placed over her mouth and nose, and she turned her head when Beca approached, tears swimming in her eyes. 

Various medical staff buzzed around the crowded room, cleaning, shaving, sterilizing, but Beca chose to focus on Chloe because that was her only job here. Being there for her, during what was probably the scariest experience of her life so far. She sat on the stool provided and took her hand, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of it. 

“I’m shaking all over,” Chloe’s voice wavered as she spoke. 

“That’s normal, sweetie,” a nurse let her know as she stopped by her. She patted Chloe’s shoulder, the crinkling at the corners of her kind eyes indicating she was smiling beneath her mask. “It’s just the anesthesia working.” 

It was another five minutes or so before the procedure started. Beca remained wholly focused on Chloe, one hand clasped around hers while the other rhythmically stroked her hair, and she spent the next ten minutes murmuring sweet nothings to her while the doctor and nurses worked to get Bean out. 

“Here we go.” Dr. Harris’ voice caught Beca’s attention, and she pushed to her feet to see her take the baby out and hand her to another doctor standing nearby. “Baby’s out, Chloe.” 

“Is she okay?? Why isn’t she crying?” Chloe stammered, twisting her head to look at Beca. “Bec, tell me what’s going on,” she pleaded, tears seeping out of her eyes and running down her temples. 

Truth was, Beca wasn’t sure what was going on. A team of three people was working around the incubator, and the man was talking about a tube. She watched as he inserted a tube down Bean’s throat, attaching a bag to it. It was a mere ten seconds before they rolled the incubator away and out of the room.

That same nurse popped in on Chloe’s other side. “Your baby isn’t breathing on her own, so they had to intubate, Chloe. She’s being taken to the NICU.” 

A sob wrenched itself from Chloe’s throat, and Beca’s heart fell through her stomach as she once again felt absolutely powerless and unable to find the right words. 

Chloe’s head rolled back towards her. “Go with her, please,” she croaked out. 

Beca hesitated, as she didn’t want Chloe to be on her own either. 

“I don’t want her to be alone,” Chloe added, squeezing her hand. “Please.” 

“Okay,” Beca agreed with a nod. She bent down and pressed a kiss to Chloe’s forehead despite the mask on her face. “I’ll be back soon.” 

She followed the nurse out of the room, her legs feeling even weaker than before. “31 weeks is good, right?” She blurted out as they walked down the hall, needing some sort of reassurance before she lost it altogether. “The odds of surviving… they’re high at this stage, right?” 

“95%, yes. They’re running tests as we speak to assess her health and decide what treatment she might need if she does.” 

Beca nodded, sucking in a deep breath. They reached the NICU waiting area shortly after. “It might be a while before a nurse comes to get you, you can dispose of your scrubs in the bin over there and have a seat.” 

“Okay. Thank you.” 

Beca took off her scrubs, cap, and mask, then took a seat, her knee bouncing up and down as she waited. It was probably another hour before someone came to get her, just as Beca was getting stir-crazy. 

“Are you baby Beale’s other mom?” The middle-aged woman clad in dark purple scrubs asked. 

“Um, no, the guardian,” she stated awkwardly as she stood, clearing her throat. “The mom’s next of kin.”

The doctor nodded. “I’m Dr. Miller, the attending physician. The baby is stable as we speak. Her brain scan came back clear and her heart is strong and steady, showing no defect. She however can’t breathe on her own because her lungs haven’t developed enough, and her birth weight is very low. This is our main concern as of now. She’s being fed with a tube, and how well she fares over the next week will depend on her ability to gain weight.”  

Beca’s throat constricted and she swallowed thickly as she nodded her head, processing the information. Bean wasn’t out of the woods, and the next week would be crucial.

“Am I allowed to see her?” 

“Of course.” The doctor turned and hit a button to open the doors, and they stepped inside an airlock with a large sink. “You have bacterial soap here, wash your hands and forearms for thirty seconds, then rinse and dry with those clean towels over there. A nurse will come to get you in a minute.”

“Thanks.” 

Once the doctor had left, Beca did as instructed, meticulously washing her hands, under her nails and up to her elbows, then rinsed the soap off and dried her skin with the towels provided. 

She then followed the nurse inside the room to the right incubator, her heart squeezing at the sight of the tiny baby hooked to a handful of wires and a ventilator. Sensors were taped to her chest, and she had a tiny tube lodged in one nostril. A small hat sat over her head, and she only wore a diaper. 

“Am I allowed to hold her hand?” Beca asked as she sat down on the chair next to the incubator. 

“Of course. You can talk to her, too,” the nurse said with a soft smile. “As Mommy won’t be able to get out of bed for the next 24 hours, I’m sure she’d appreciate a few photos and videos if you want to take some. I’m around if you have any questions.” 

“Thank you,” Beca murmured, watching the other woman walk away before focusing on Bean. She watched her chest steadily rise up and down for a minute, before slowly reaching up to slide her hand through the hole on the side of the incubator. She gently held Bean’s tiny hand, stroking the back of it with the pad of her thumb. 

“Hi, Bean. I’m your auntie Beca,” her voice shook as emotions gripped her throat. “I need you to be alright, okay? Will you do that for me? If you’re strong like your Mama, I know you’ve got what it takes.” 

She didn’t know how long she would get to stay, so Beca took a bunch of photos and videos with her phone to show Chloe. She hung out with Bean for another hour, telling her all about her Mama as she held her hand.

“I need to go check on your Mama, but I’ll be back soon Bean, okay? Hang in there,” Beca said softly, retracting her hand and gazing at the newborn for another few beats before pushing to her feet. 

A nurse led her to Chloe’s recovery room when she asked for her at the desk, and Beca rounded the corner to find Chloe sitting in bed. 

Beca walked over and gently sat down on the edge of the bed. “Did the doctor come to talk to you?” 

“Yeah, she said the bloodwork came back normal, and the main concern was feeding.” She sniffled. “Were you allowed to see her?” 

Beca fished her phone out of the front pocket of her hoodie, selecting the video she had of Bean. “Here.” 

She couldn’t imagine how difficult it must feel for Chloe not to be able to meet her daughter just yet, and she held Chloe’s free hand as she saw Bean for the first time, through a phone screen. 

“She’s so small,” Chloe whispered, tears pooling in her eyes as she ran her finger over her daughter’s face. “I wish I could see her.” 

“Tomorrow. I’ll keep her company until then,” Beca murmured, squeezing her hand. “Are you in pain?” 

Chloe wiped a tear falling down her cheek away and shrugged. “A bit sore.” 

Beca tilted her head to the side, having the feeling Chloe was downsizing her pain for her sake. “Did they give you anything for it?” 

“They offered, but I said no,” Chloe said. “I don’t want to touch any of that stuff again.” She cleared her throat, continuing before Beca could argue. “The um, the doctor said giving Bean some of my breast milk would help. Will you get my breast pump from your place?” 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll go right now. I’ll also grab you a couple of change of clothes and your toiletries. Anything else you might need?” 

“My phone charger and my robe, please.” 

Beca smiled. “You got it. I’ll be back soon.” She stood and brushed a kiss above Chloe’s eyebrow, closing her eyes as Chloe leaned into the touch. “Get some rest, Chlo.” 

It was pushing six am by the time Beca made it home. Ignoring the need for sleep after an all-nighter, she took a quick shower, then packed a bag with Chloe’s things. The hospital wasn’t far, so she figured she could always come back to get more stuff in case she forgot anything. Right now, all she wanted was to be back by Chloe and Bean’s side. 

Even if she knew Chloe might not eat much, she stopped by her favorite bagel place on her way back to the hospital, along with a cup of coffee after googling whether it was safe to have some while breastfeeding. She got herself one as well, with a double shot of espresso that would hopefully get her through the morning. 

Chloe was asleep when Beca reached her room, and Beca didn’t want to disturb her. She set the bagel and coffee on the bedside tray, along with a note. 

Went to check on Bean. Be back in a bit with news and more photos. 

Beca xx

Once at the NICU, she followed the same protocol of hand-washing and sat down next to Bean’s incubator, where she was bound to spend the next few weeks. 

“Hey Bean,” she whispered, smiling as the newborn legs moved. She slipped her hand through the hole, stroking Bean’s tiny fingers. “Where was I? I think I was just about to tell you the time where your crazy mom burst into my shower…”