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#I should do more monochrome tigers

ombrathefurry · 1 month

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how do you generally design characters/choose color pallets?

whenever I try and create a good color pallet they always end up clashing and looking absolutely awful

i've tried using websites but they always end up being very bland, so i'm turning to the expert lol

the only character i've created that I actually. like. is the one that's just a black freaking tiger with rainbow glowing stripes, but that's because monochrome with color pops just always is flawless </3

Expert what expert

I'm by no means any expert, but I'm really happy you think my designs are appealing enough for you to ask me this!!

I ALWAYS try to come up with a character concept or idea for who they are before I start designing. Because of this, you see a lot of my designs turning out to be designed very strategically, with their features actually having proper functions and reasons to be there

This is why I have such a hard time with gifted designs. I don't know how to make them work without a background or concept I can really connect to properly.

For specific character designs, I usually think of and flesh out a basic idea in my head. Depending on how lucky I end up being, I can imagine every detail right off the bat. Other times, I have to put some work into it and experiment a little.

Here's an example of me working out a character design WIP right now

Development of Mr. V

Some characters just pop into my head exactly the way they are, like how Samuel did

Cogsworth too

Some of my characters come from dreams, too, and I just immediately sketch out my interpretation of the idea I'd had

Peter came from a dream about a white rabbit with a weird face killing a nuclear family's father leaving the mother and child alone with no idea what happened (it was disturbing, (there are more disturbing details,) which is why I made peter very unsettling)

Butch came from a dream that had something to do with fake peppino from pizza tower running around the It Steals maze area throwing cleavers at whoever he ran into

Dreams are a GREAT place to come up with character concepts

They give you a very solid ground before you start designing

One of my guidelines for creating characters is that they should be instantly recognizable as their own character. What are their special features? What defines them? What features would I keep if I were to draw them at the bare minimum detail? What parts of the design would make the character unrecognizable without them?

For example, Reena without her yellow.

Queen without her shadows.

You see this rule pop up a lot online, though mostly focusing on the idea of the silhouette of a character standing out from the others.

While I think it's a good option for when it comes to developing designs, I don't like worrying about it too much. I try to create the individual features of the character rather than immediately think about the silhouette.

All things considered, you're also totally allowed to break the rules to achieve something else. For example, Saleem and Minnow have identical silhouettes because I wanted them to give an uncannily similar vibe. Some characters who were derived off of others through dreams I might have had have very similar silhouettes as a nod to their origins, though have very differentiated individual features.

I look to various other artists and designers I like for feature ideas when I'm super stuck (usually when my ideas are more abstract)

for example, scrawl came from a very abstract dream and literally didn't have a face (they were just a bunch of hands and looked a little bit like a black void worm from Rainworld)

I took inspiration from Fooffle's Space AU Warren for his face, Sir Needle's sona's ears for his hair, and gave him this sweater from a random thing I found on Pinterest that I liked

Bennet (and the rest of the caravan gang) came from a dream about various different individuals riding on a wagon - Bennet specifically in the dream was Uncle Ben who runs The Urban Rescue Ranch. I ended up giving him the name Bennet in reference to this, as well as Uncle Ben's broad shoulders, muscular build and curly hair.

Queen's entire existence is inspired off of the protagonist from Bendy and the Dark Revival. As a nod to this, I gave her a partially monochrome color scheme with some accents. Queen's shadow face was inspired off of this specific fanart of Caesar from The Mandela catalogues.

(I can't find the source for the life of me sobs)

Mr. V was inspired off of Itward from Fran Bow, as well as Pastra's sona Clyde the veldigun. I gave him Itward's large hat and formal attire, and Clyde's long limbs and striped patterns. I also gave him deep halloween colors as a nod to both inspiration's aesthetics.

My biggest thing about features is there has to be a REASON why they have these features, but that's just personal preference (and there doesn't have to be a good reason, or even a reason at all every single time)

okay now for the main part of the ask (I've been stalling)

Sorry if this is disappointing, I don't have a process for picking colors that work together

It's a lot of trial and error, and some characters I've even stalled making profile pictures for because I don't know what to color them as.

to me, you can pick any color you want. It's actually very impressive to think about how many colors you could use.

I'll try to explain what I do know about the placement of colors, though. It doesn't matter what colors you use, but in my opinion, the placement of these colors is what really matters in designs.

Depending on how many colors I'm planning on giving the design, I like to split them up into parts. Primary coloration (1,) which takes up most of the design, secondary coloration (2,) which takes up less of the design but still a good amount, (Sometimes I have more, tertiary, quaternary, whatever, that take up about an equivalent ratio of the design as secondary,) and accent colors (3.)

Similar colors can also be grouped together in these sectors. For example, all the purple in this character would be primary, the greys secondary, and the oranges the accents.

For Chakra, his purples would be primary, all the bright colors of the wounds secondary, and his outstanding eyes accents.

Each sector should be different and differentiable from one another!

Divide your character up into sectors for coloration. Decide what colors go where. Sometimes it takes a bit of shuffling to find what works for you. Adding inbetween colors to branch the gaps between your selected colors can help tie things together, too.

To me, instead of WHAT colors you use, it all comes down to how you USE those colors.

Cordis is mainly dark colored, primary, with their secondary rainbow colors and their accented white features. Even with rather bright colors in their palette, they still come off as a dark gloomy character because of the placement/ratio of those colors.

Monarch has very clashing colors, though when separated and balanced out, they appear harmonious and work together.

Anyways that turned further into a rant about character design than anything else

I hope this helped :D

#answered #art #oc #tutorial #design tutorial #kind of #i guess #sorry this took so long #lol #sources to images are linked #for all the ones that arent mine #and that need sources #character #character design #long post warning

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madraleen · 3 months

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Bungo Stray Dogs - Kafka Asagiri/Sango Harukawa Volumes 5-6: Tainted Eyes, Cats and Dogs, and Me Simping for Dazai - A Commentary (*anime spoilers)

-i'm such a simp for dazai, i saw him on the cover and was so delighted. ridiculous

-kouyou and ranpo are the same age? KOUYOU AND RANPO ARE THE SAME AGE?

-in the excitement of the anime, i don't think i appreciated properly the strength of character and the sense of self of kyouka. her will to become something else, something less sinister.

-kenji-kun <3

-okay but why is lovecraft so relatable -.- not leaving home, not wanting attention...

-i love dazai, have i mentioned that lately

-dazai's neck bandages aren't missing as often now. and it feels like the character designs are more set

-NO, DAZAI, YOU'RE NOT IN THE "with yosano-sensei we can keep ourselves healthy, as long as we don't die" GROUP, DON'T SAY "WE," JUST BE CAREFUL, YOU FUCKING DUMBASS

-DAZAI-CHUUYA POSTSCRIPT, HELP ME. i'm imagining dazai has chuuya in a chokehold, judging from chuuya's reaction

-ahaha, according to harukawa-sensei, then dazai has mafia eyes with a tiny touch of a "chance to go back" from having a stained psyche. ahaha...hah... *sob*

-well, in this volume dazai's eyes get "tainted" ie all black when he's about to interrogate kouyou, so i'll assume he's the one whose eyes get a bit tainted once their true nature comes to the surface, but i will keep a close watch on eyes from now on. i've noticed from the start that dazai's eyes span the monochrome rainbow anyway

-akutagawa be tainted to the core eyes-wise

-so when akutagawa's eyes turn white, is he vulnerable and not his usual tainted self- ARGH, am i going to be over-analyzing eyes now?!

-akutagawa and nathaniel have turned into somewhat of literary poets in their encounter, they don't usually speak like this

-honestly, props to yosano for not lopping ranpo's head off when he says "war is so boring"

-CHUUUUUYA. tainted-eyed CHUUUUUYA

-i keep voting tanizaki for the mafia because he'd fit right in, but you know what, maybe we should send them kenji-kun. he'd make everyone insane in one week tops and the mafia would be disbanded

-kenji's wide-eyed sparkly-eyed "OOH!" at chuuya? that's me when i see chuuya

-"do you think the agency is some stray dog" fukuzawa says- okay, so if the agency isn't a dog, and the mafia are dogs, it makes sense for dazai and kyouka to dislike dogs, but it's interesting that akutagawa dislikes dogs, but also he doesn't like himself very much either, so- *DEEP BREATH* i must stop with the cats and dogs thing

-ranpo, my lil bb <3

-yes yes chuuya's bio, we know, you dislike dazai as he dislikes you. sure jan. also chuuya is older by almost two months and you can't convince me they've never used that in an argument

-"dazai-san told me" DAZAI-SAN HAUNTS EVERYONE'S THOUGHTS, EVEN NAOMI'S!

-my my, what big tainted eyes you have there, mr lovecraft

-margaret's skill "able to make things wither away by exposing them to wind"?? we've barely seen that, i hope she gets to do more in the future

-i mean, kunikida my man, mr grape of wrath literally sticks seeds in his neck and grows vines, what's "simply bizarre" about lovecraft's tentacles? what, the transformation? your jinko literally transforms into a tiger

-yes, for tanizaki, naomi comes FIRST, before the agency, before good or evil or morals. to the rest of the agency, arguably the agency comes first. my man tanizaki, let me show you the way to port mafia. please child, relieve my fears. HE EVEN GOT TAINTED BLACK PUPILS FOR A BIT THERE, FFS

-me reading bsd: "mmhmm. mmhm, i see. mmhm." me reading bsd when dazai: "mmhmm :). mmhm, i see :))). mmhm :)))))."

-ONE MINUTE OF SCREEN TIME! IT WOULD HAVE TAKEN ONE MINUTE TO INCLUDE DAZAI TEASING THE DOG IN THE ANIME

-yes so, if the port mafia are dogs, and this dog barks at dazai, then dazai is a cat, and if a tiger is a cat, and natsume cat started the agency, and atsushi belongs to the agency, and the agency are the "foes" of port mafia, the agency are cats, cats vs dogs, and if dazai is a cat, then dazai decidedly belongs to the agency, do you see where i'm going with this

-aaand dazai continues to eat dog treats as though they're popcorn. okay sure

-dazai be like "only three plans? three HUNDRED plans, who do you think we are"

-dazai's "war is a living creature" fits very well with how he overpowers fyodor in the "end," with fyodor "losing" because dazai constantly readjusted his plans and improvised as things unfolded

-dazai be like "my mafia senses are tingling" when he ditches atsushi

-i'm sorry, but my man dazai is so beautiful. such a pretty man. such a pretty princess. i cannot.

-my girl higuchi doesn't have tainted eyes

-look at that man. look at that whole man. (*dazai. obviously)

-dazai is so wtf about mori-san's proposal to his returning to the port mafia that his eyes became untainted for a sec there.

-HAHAHA that's where you left the chapter?!?! WITH MORI'S QUESTION?! FOR A MONTH?! nooo!

-the bits about the actual authors are so interesting. higuchi feels nothing like the real higuchi. she feels more like her sister tbh

-re: "the heartless cur": I LOVE IT OMG. THE DAZAI-AKUTAGAWA MEETING STORY IS SO INTERESTING AND I'VE BEEN ASKING FOR IT FROM THE ANIME FOR AGES

-THE FRINGES OF AKU-KUN’S OUTFIT WOULD APPEAR TO SPROUT FLOWERS?!?! F-FLOWERS?!

-re: dazai's reputation: "he would kill his own parents in a second, take down buddha himself at first glance, and laugh it all off with cold cruelty afterward." TELL ME MORE

-dazai has a habit of letting his kouhai try to kill him before he adopts them, huh? a ceremonial ritual if you wish

-AKUTAGAWA WAS GIVEN AN ACTUAL HONEST CHOICE BY DAZAI! he would literally have provided for him and gin and then disappeared! but aku-kun chose differently!

-AND GOING BACK TO MY CATS-DOGS THING, mafia akutagawa "the heartless cur," "the silent mad dog"?? hello??

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs manga #manga commentary

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

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you’re someone i just want around: IV

“I had a few, got drunk on you

And now I’m wasted

And when I sleep, I’m gonna dream of

How you tasted.”

— Medicine, Harry Styles

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

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

word count: 26.4k

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, thank you!

My pleasure.

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

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

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

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

I wouldn’t want it any other way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It happens Thursday on two occasions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re going to regret that.

Pinky promise?

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What...What are these?”

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

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

Then it all clicks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just...it’s like…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, it fucking worked.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am, I can’t hold—”

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

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

“Do I make myself clear?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re pretty stubborn, aren’t you?”

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

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

“Mm-mm. What?”

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

He feels her heartbeat trip.

“And you know what I do to brats?”

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

“I fuck them until they break.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me you want it.”

“I want it.”

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

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

“I...I want you to spank me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yours.”

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

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

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

“Now beg me to let you cum.”

///

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

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

“You drool in your sleep.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Truly. His dad was hotter.”

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

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

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

“Couldn’t be me, either.”

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

She gladly delivers. “Exquisite taste.”

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

“Emmett was pretty hot, as well.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s definitely something.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How chivalrous.”

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

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

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

“I’m just making a point!”

“Yeah, a shitty one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!”

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

“You’re a dick, you really are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What—?”

“And it’s not even ten A.M. yet.”

“What do you—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The immortal tilts his head down to appraise her, sniffling lightly and allowing a weak, watery smile across his raw lips. His tone is feathery and detached. “That was…Christ.”

Y/N giggles softly, nodding along to his unspoken opinion. “It was fun. Really fun. We should do it again sometime.”

Harry splutters into a drunken laugh, mind still floating around the room. “I don’t think I could survive that again.”

Y/N grins up at him cheekily. “Pussy.”

Her friend breaks into an expression of utter offense, cheeks still slightly rosy. He shoves her head roughly as vengeance. “Hey! Piss off. Don’t blame it on me, blame it on the male anatomy.”

The girl shakes her head up at him, eyebrows shrugging mockingly. “Excuses, excuses.”

“Whatever.”

A moment passes, and then Y/N speaks up again, her index finger poking playfully into the center of his bare chest, right over the butterfly tattoo. “Also, you’re washing my sheets. Your mess, you clean it up.”

Harry grins against her forehead, scratching lightly at the back of her scalp. “Fair enough…Wait, is that why you wanted to do this? ‘Cause you knew I’d soil your sheets and you could force me to do your laundry?”

That hadn’t been her motive at all, and Harry knows that, but she plays along anyways for the hell of the joke. “Perhaps.”

“Wow. I feel used.”

“Too bad. Go do it. Now. Before it stains.”

Harry stares at her like she’s sprouted a second head. “I literally can’t walk right now! I can’t feel anything below my waist.”

Y/N lifts the comforter off her body, symbolically showing off the bruises his fingertips and rings had left the night before. “Well, neither can I!”

Harry reaches down and touches the marks, chuckling to himself. “How unfortunate. Who’s gonna make breakfast, then, if neither of us can even stand?”

“We could UberEats some iHop.”

“Who’s gonna get the door?”

“Well, I can’t solve everything on my own, now can I?!” Y/N slaps his hand away from her body. “Contribute! You’re the lead detective, after all.”

“I am, aren’t I?” Harry cocks his head to the side in recollection, remembering his role in their imaginary dynamic duo scenario. “And because I’m the lead, I say…” He ropes his lean arms around the human and buries his face into her warm neck, pulling her close and intertwining their legs together, trapping her to the mattress along with him. “I say we just bum around for a bit longer. Just until one of us can actually muster up the strength to leave the bed.”

Y/N makes an exasperated noise in the back of her throat, but makes no apparent attempt to leave his embrace. “Fine.”

“Mystery solved, then! Elementary, my dear Watson.”

“You’re so dumb.”

The pair stay cuddled for a bit, with Y/N’s hands loosely gripping Harry’s forearms, tracing across his mermaid tattoo absently. She wanders in her thoughts for a period of time, lost in the sensation of Harry’s warm breath fanning down her neck, his hot lips pressing small kisses behind her ear every once in a while. She likes their morning after routine; it’s innocent and fun and sharing moments like this makes it easy to forget her troubles. She wants more of this, and she finds herself trying to come up with ways to convince Harry to spend the night more often. This is only the fourth time he’s stayed until morning and she wants that number to grow.

An idea dawns on her and she’s voicing it before her inhibitions can kill it off.

“Do you...Do you maybe wanna stay over the rest of the weekend?”

Harry draws his face from the alcove of her soft neck, eyebrows poised in curiosity. “The rest of the weekend?”

“Yeah!” Y/N shifts her gaze up to look at him, hope swirling around her pupils. “Like, spend the rest of today and tomorrow over, and then leave tomorrow night ‘cause I have work on Monday. Does that, like...Does that make sense?”

“Yeah.” Harry says slowly, mulling over her offer, thinking back to his schedule. He doesn’t think he has any commitments this weekend that would require him being home— none he can’t cancel easily, anyways. He’d told Mitch he’d go see him play again at the pub later today, but it’s the same set as last time, so he doesn’t think his best friend would mind if he missed it just this once. Niall was planning a barbecue at his place on Sunday, but the Irish bloke does one almost every other week so it’s nothing Harry can’t make up. Plus, what type of idiot would pass up two day’s worth of amazing sex? The more, the merrier.

Y/N watches the vampire’s expression carefully, trying to interpret whether her request was out of their boundaries. She doesn’t want to make him feel like she’s trying to tie him down or suffocate him, she just wants to spend a bit more time in his presence, rather than through a phone screen. Her tone comes out dismissive, with just the tiniest hint of panic. “It’s okay if you can’t, though. Like, if you have other plans and stuff, I totally get it. Or if you just don’t want to, that’s fine, too! I just thought it’d be a fun little thing we can do since we already talk so much on the phone and everything, so I guess I just kinda figured you wouldn’t mind—”

“I get it, Y/N.” Harry interrupts Y/N’s unhinged word vomit, voice amused and nonchalant. “I think I’d like that, yeah.”

Y/N blinks in giddy surprise. “Really?”

“Well, don’t sound so shocked.” Harry laughs lightly, fingers toying with the pearls laying across his clavicle. “The sex is pretty fucking good and I’m more than happy to have it at my disposal.”

“Right.” Y/N gives him a deadpan look, shaking her head at his bluntness, reaching forward to fiddle with the chain of his cross necklace for the sake of having something to distract her from smiling like a fool. “Great, then. I have some old boxers that I know will probably fit you and an unopened pack of toothbrushes under the sink, so I think you’re set.”

Harry’s lips purse at the mention of the men’s underwear, brows creasing a tad. “You just casually have men’s boxers laying around?”

“They were my ex’s and I kept them out of spite. But don’t tell anyone, I don’t wanna get locked up for robbery.”

The tightness in his chest— which he hadn’t even realized had formed— melts away. “My lips are sealed.”

“Good, or else I’d have to kill you.” The girl states darkly, a theatrical seriousness to her appearance.

“Oh no.” Harry wails sarcastically, knotting a fist into her oversized tee and pulling her closer, connecting their lips and grinning into the kiss. “I’m shaking in fear.”

Y/N gives in without much of a fight, hands still clinging to his forearms, a smile of her own creeping across her cheeks. “Asshole.”

“The only thing I’m relatively afraid of is my dick falling off. You have the sexual drive of a rabbit.”

“Oh, like you’re any better?”

“I’m innocent in all this! You’re usually the one instigating. I’m just a mere pawn— a poor, unsuspecting nun led astray.”

“God, I can’t believe I let you fuck me.”

///

The following weekend, Harry officially invites Y/N over to his house.

It had been talked about in passing a while back, and he figures it's only fair considering all the time they’ve ever spent together has been solely at her place. Plus, he could tell she was curious to see what his living situation is like, which is valid. You can tell a lot about people through their home, and when you’re sleeping with someone on the regular, you want to learn as much about them as possible. It’s important to know who you’re getting into bed with. Literally.

Harry’s proud of his condo. He keeps it clean, he keeps it organized, and he keeps it styled in a manner that combines his Victorian gothic roots with modern day aesthetics. The floorboards of the apartment are made of waxed light-wash wood, most of the expanse of his living room covered in a furry dark grey rug. The lightness of the ground is contrasted by the matte mahogany walls, of which the largest is covered in Harry’s collection of first edition artwork. He had picked out every single piece himself throughout the span of the last two centuries, ranging from modern digital technique canvases to nineteenth century oil paintings, all arranged in neat alternating rows from oldest to newest. He can’t help that he’s such a stickler; his mom had raised him so.

Though his art wall is his pride and joy, the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline comes in at a close second. Harry loves the city, despite the fact that he was born in a seemingly irrelevant town whose only redeeming quality was the bustling public market. Urban regions are just full of so much life, excitement, and potential, which are all concepts he never really got to explore before he transitioned. Cities represent everything he wanted as a young man, when he thought he had prosperous years ahead of him and an entire life left to build; they represent diversity, unique experiences, and endless possibilities. When that was stripped from him, he began to bounce around different countries and cities all over the world, seeking a place that would fill the hole his dreams had left behind. Los Angeles fit that space like a puzzle piece.

That glorified window just means more to him than anyone could possibly know. Sometimes at night, he’ll just stand by it with his arms relaxed across his chest, watching the city gleam and glitter as individuals from all different backgrounds go about their business, blissfully ignorant to the beautiful concept that they all contribute to something much bigger— a concept that only centuries of wisdom could reveal. When he’s not wracked with jealousy and spite, looking out that window and witnessing the world change and evolve is therapeutic, in a way. It allows Harry to live vicariously through others who get to have what he never did.

Aside from his art collection and the glass wall, the chandeliers that hang from his cavernous ceiling are third on his list of treasured possessions. They’re special and no one on this earth owns anything like them; Harry made sure of that. They were created by a Swedish interior designer Harry commissioned about ten years ago, so they are custom-made in every aspect of the term. They took months to construct and finalize, which is hardly difficult to believe, given their grandeur. Each chandelier is made of two extensive layers of delicate golden chains, all arranged around a wire center, connected by light bulbs at each peak. It gives his home a chic, avant-garde atmosphere that mirrors his personality down to the last chain link.

The rest of his flat is tailored to compliment these three major determining factors. The wood paneling all around his apartment is carved with intricate, loopy designs, his two rounded coffee tables are made of the same marble that resides across his kitchen counters, and his kitchen sits directly under the second story ledge with elongated fluorescent poles embedded into the room’s ceiling, eloquently highlighting the creme walls and polished detailings of all his appliances. His sectional couches are made of an off-brown leather, covered in large rectangular couch cushions with a checkered print embroidered across the pillow cases, and weighted fleece blankets litter some areas of the elegant sofas. A wide staircase leads up to the second floor, made of grey glass steps and metal railings.

The top story of his condo is less Victorian era, more modern composition. The ground is dark maroon carpeting, and the ledge leads to one singular corridor that splits into two seperate rooms at either ends. One is the master bedroom, and the other is an accompanying bedroom which he uses for storage. His room isn’t anything extravagant, per se. It’s big, but his decor is minimalistic, covered in all different muted shades of blacks and greys, from the comforter on his king-sized bed to the tall dresser. A fifty inch flat-screen is mounted on the wall, but he hardly uses it since the one in his living room is larger; it’s only really there as an ornament. Starburst lights hang from his ceiling— smaller, downplayed versions of his chandeliers— and his walk-in closet stands parallel to the entrance of his bathroom.

The humongous bathroom was meant for two people, pretty obvious in the double-sink set up, but he doesn’t dwell on it much. He isn’t one for dating, and he’s just happy to have that luxury because it comes in handy the morning after one night stands. He has a jacuzzi-like bathtub, lined with water jets and all, and a big walk-in shower with a large overhead panel instead of a regular showerhead. The whole room is made of dark marble and porcelain, and he couldn’t possibly adore it more. Some of his best experiences had happened in this room, explicit and otherwise.

In the end, Harry has every right to be arrogantly proud of his apartment. It had taken him months to decorate, years to fill with fond memories, and an immortal lifetime to find. He loves it with every trace of his soul, even when others disagree. Namely, Niall, who had mocked his sophisticated relics and old-timey architecture from the first time he’d set foot past the threshold; “You went the dark gothic route? Really? Way to feed into the stereotype, Dracula.”

But no matter what anyone says, this is who he is, and he couldn’t be happier. After decades of migrating and aimlessly searching the globe, he’d finally found a place he could call home, and absolutely no one could take that from him. Especially not some Irish moron who doesn’t even know the definition of “foyer.”

How Harry manages to afford his flat is a whole other intriguing tale.

It had come up in a pillow talk conversation with Y/N once, and he had told her the story he feeds to any human who asks. He’s a regional manager for an offshore company and it’s mainly a lot of online work. Handling duties through business emails, videochat meetings, job portals, and things of the such. It paints a valid image as to why he’s home all the time. He also claims to be the company’s lone contact stationed in California, so he handles all of the responsibilities that would normally be bestowed upon three or four people. This paints a valid explanation as to how his imaginary position would tether such a high pay grade, which justifies his luxurious living arrangement.

That story is part of the truth. Harry does indeed have ties with corporate businesses. That is, ties to their CEOs’ pockets. It’s surprisingly easy to get past secretaries and security dressed in a nice suit and thousand dollar leather shoes, especially with the help of compulsion and Harry’s golden charisma. Thanks to those tools, he has managed to convince some of the biggest leaders in corporate California to quietly deposit generous sums of money into his bank account once a month. And with his persuasive supernatural abilities, he convinces them to write it off as regularly scheduled charity donations in their minds. That’s how he makes a living for himself— by scamming the rich. Xander likes to take the piss and call him a sugar baby, but Harry sees himself as more of a modern day Robin Hood, instead.

Mitch says his charade is unlawful, but considering how corrupt the business world already is, the vampire feels next to no guilt. The one percent have always taken advantage of those poorer than them— that was obvious even back in Harry’s time— and he doesn’t see anything wrong with taking advantage of them right back, now that he has the means to. How’s that saying go? “Fuck the bourgeoisie” and all that.

Everything taken into consideration, Harry’s pretty excited to show Y/N his condo. Watching people’s faces break into awe the second he turns the lights on always gives him such a deep surge of satisfaction. It makes all the hassle worth it.

The immortal is currently sitting in his vintage car, flicking through his Spotify playlist to find something to entertain him while he waits for Y/N to finish her shift. He had offered to pick her up, knowing that it’s what any courteous host would do, and she had appreciatively accepted, telling him she’d be out by eight P.M. It’s seven fifty-three now and Harry had arrived around seven fifty, taking the slot right in front of the cafe’s entrance so she can spot him as soon as she walks out. These ten minutes are the longest he’s ever had to endure, which says a lot considering he’s endured tons of patience-testing moments in his two hundred years.

Harry swipes his thumb down the glass screen of his phone, sampling songs left and right to see what will stick. After listening to the first few chords of an array of forties dance music, seventies rock and roll, and twenty-first century bubblegum pop, he settles for Rodeo by Lil Nas X. Harry has a very intricate taste in music— it’s one of the traits he’s most proud of— and Mitch often tells him he’s too snotty when it comes to his preferences. He’ll admit it freely that, yes, he can be a piece of work musically, but just because he thinks the industry peaked in the seventies doesn’t mean he hates modern music. He likes most of it, including rap, and Lil Nas X happens to be one of his favorites, much to everyone’s surprise. Most of the artist’s songs are eccentric not only lyrically but also instrumentally, to the point where it’s almost comical— who names a song Panini, of all things?— but the music is catchy and Harry can let loose to it easily.

The vampire also happened to meet the musician, on one occasion. He ran into him at a club and after a few drinks and some banter, somehow ended up getting invited over to a party at the celebrity’s Malibu mansion. That night is a blur, definitely due to the copious amounts of alcohol and psychedelics, but Harry remembers they had fun and that the guy was worth a listen. In fact, he was the genius that came up with the theme for the rapper’s Rodeo music video.

A light knocking on the passenger’s seat window brings him out of his memories. Y/N stands outside, hugging her arms loosely over her tummy, decked in her usual work uniform of a navy polo and black skinny jeans. When the two lock eye contact, she gives him a soft wave and a tired smile. Harry lifts two fingers in greeting, returning her polite gesture and swiftly lowering the window. He leans forward across the center console, his grin taking on a playful hue, voice carrying the same effect.

“Uber for Y/N?”

The girl snorts and rolls her eyes, but plays along, reaching forward and jiggling the handle of his black Cadillac symbolically. “That’s me, yes. Open up.”

“Eh, eh, eh.” Harry tuts, wagging a finger in her direction and then making a motion that tells her to back away. “I’m gonna have to see some ID. It’s one of our new safe driver policies. Gotta make sure you are who you say you are, miss.”

Y/N’s expression drops flatly, eyes half-lidded as he smiles up at her brightly, batting his eyelashes innocently. “Open the door before you end up sucking your own dick tonight.”

Harry’s shit-eating face falls so fast, it causes her to burst into laughter. A soft click vibrates through the handle below her fingers. “I’ll waive the background check. Just this once.”

“Yeah, I figured as much.” Y/N taunts, yanking the door open and ducking into the shotgun seat, gently tugging it closed behind her.

Once the human is situated in her spot, she releases a lengthy sigh, sinking down against the cushions as she grabs her seat belt and clicks it into place.

Harry puts his cell phone down into the cubby hole below the stereo set, setting the car in reverse and slinging an arm behind her headrest to get a better view as he backs out of the parking space. His gaze momentarily flickers to her slumped form as the car retreats slowly, tone curious. “Long day?”

Y/N glimpses over, giving him a quick once-over and taking in his olive green Nike jumper, ripped denim boyfriend jeans, and pastel yellow Vans. He looks so boyishly cute, which is ironic given the premise of tonight’s rendezvous. The shoes (which he had worn the night they’d met all those weeks ago) and the position he’s in (perched above her with his sharp jaw and neck flexing as he cranes his torso to look for oncoming traffic) flashes her back to the first time she had been in his car. They had been way less acquainted, she had been much less relaxed, much more nervous, but the encounter very much carried the same exact intentions. That recollection makes her lips quirk a bit. The pair had grown so comfortable with each other since then, that Friday evening feels like it happened decades ago.

“Yeah.” Y/N murmurs softly, gladly indulging a deep inhale of the vanilla and tobacco scent she had become familiar with, allowing it to soothe her nerves and wash away the stress of a hard day. “I’m just happy it’s over and that the weekend’s finally started. Wanna forget all about it.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for, love!” Harry plops back into his seat, shifting his car into drive and gifting her his famous brilliant smile, dimples winking to life as he taps his ringed fingers across his steering wheel humorously. “I’ve made you forget your name plenty of times before; I’m pretty sure I can erase one shitty work shift just fine.”

Y/N scoffs at his pompous claim, reaching up and prying the hair tie out of her locks, looping it over her wrist and shushing her stiff roots. She tucks strands behind her ears, the corners of her mouth twitching in endearment at the giddiness of his aura. “Just drive, Sherlock.”

The mortal isn’t surprised to find that building in which the vampire lives is one of the tallest in the city, and that it’s basically smack in the center, as well. One look at Harry and anybody could immediately tell he thrives off being the center of attention, so of course his home is a direct reflection of that. Refined boy, refined personality, refined environment. It’s practically a law of science.

Once Harry’s car is parked and the ignition rumbles to a smooth stop, Y/N unbuckles her seat belt and goes to unlock the passenger’s side door. Right as her hand is wrapping around the handle bar, the door swings open of its own accord and she just barely manages to stifle a blood-curdling scream full of shocked fear. When her eyes focus, Harry is standing there holding the door open for her, features painted with cocky amusement.

“How did you—?” The girl whips around to look at the empty driver’s seat, eyebrows cinching in bewilderment as she turns back to face him. “How did you get around so fast?”

Harry shrugs his shoulders offhandedly, reaching one bejeweled hand down to aid her out of the vehicle. “I did track when I was younger. Made me a fast walker.”

Y/N hesitantly takes it, body language still slightly tense from the jump scare. With his help, she gradually climbs out, the door shutting behind her as she sweeps her sight around the parking garage in wonder. This is the first time Harry has ever invited her anywhere, let alone to where he spends most of his life. She doesn’t want to miss a thing. Even the simplest aspect can tell you a lot about a person.

Y/N jerks a tad when she feels her friend’s cold fingers slipping down her palm, sifting between her own. She glances down at their intertwined hands for a second, a warm glow bursting through her chest. She’s always admired how his are so much bigger.

Harry tugs her forward toward the elevator at the other end of the parking lot, bottom lip caught between his teeth in a sly smirk. “C’mon, Watson. Let me show you around.”

Y/N stumbles after him, allowing the boy to guide her to where she needs to go as he weeds through cars effortlessly. She suddenly chimes up from behind, asking a random question to fill the leftover silence their footsteps spare. “That car next to yours had such a weird license plate. What the fuck does ‘craic’ mean?”

Harry chuckles knowingly, perfectly aware of whose car she is referring to. “It’s this odd thing Irish people say. Utter rubbish, honestly.”

A comfortable quietness fills the air of the elegant elevator as it shoots up towards the twenty-fourth floor of the skyscraper, the only other sound being the gentle lullaby of a nameless tune wafting through the speakers above their heads. Harry finds himself studying Y/N as she looks out at the city through the glass walls, the lights of the exterior buildings casting a beautiful buttery gleam across her relaxed characteristics, along with a radiant glint over the surface of her glossy eyes. Despite the slightly smeared mascara staining her waterline and the inherent frizziness her hair carries after being pulled into a tight ponytail all day, Harry finds that she looks nice. Pretty, even.

The girl senses him staring, craning her head to return his gaze, the edges of her lips lilting upwards lightheartedly. He returns the gesture, peeling away to focus on something— anything— else. He deems the control panel a worthy replacement.

As the numbers on the dial drag by, Harry finds himself absentmindedly thumbing over Y/N’s knuckles. She doesn’t seem to notice or mind, so he continues doing it, massaging the crest of each bump and pressing down gently along the troughs. He enjoys the sensation of her silky warm skin heating his icy own, and he ponders whether she likes how cold his touch is, or if she hates it as much as he does. He expels that notion from his mind; he refuses to let such a stupid concept upset him. He just keeps caressing her hand, restraining his mind from ambling too far into its meaning. It’s just to pass the time.

He keeps the movements going until their ride skates to a joltless halt with a sharp ding! and then he steps out, having to give his full attention to leading her down the long corridor to his flat. Y/N is so caught up in drinking up her surroundings, she almost bumps into the creature when he comes to an abrupt stop in front of the entrance of what she can only deduce is his home. Harry drops her hand, much to her disappointment, fishing into his back pocket for his keys. He patiently filters through his keychain, picking out the right one and working it into the lock, a soft click emitting from the mechanism.

Harry pushes the door open with his palm, standing off to the side just outside the threshold and tilting his head towards it, posture bowing slightly. “Ladies first.”

Y/N thanks him quietly, taking a cautious step forward into his hallway. She can’t help the way her heart skips a beat at his gentlemanly tendencies; she rarely meets anyone as respectful as Harry seems to be and she finds his old-timey attributes to be refreshing. Helping her out the car, taking her hand to guide her through the parking lot, rubbing at her knuckles innocently, holding the door open for her— it’s all such an archaic form of chivalry she wishes she’d see more often these days. She doesn’t know if it’s a British thing, if he had just been raised like that, or if he simply does it to get laid, but she’s thankful for it either way.

With one last glance at her friend over her shoulder, she begins wandering down the dark narrow path unsurely. The sound of the door slinking shut behind her and Harry’s footsteps ease her.

She stops once she senses the corridor open up into a larger space, which she guesses is his living room. A soft gasp escapes her at the sight before her. The whole area is washed in darkness, the only source of light stemming from the large glass pane that stretches from the floor of the apartment to its tall ceiling. Dozens of buildings and cars glimmer below, the breath-taking image of the lively city looking almost like a snapshot from a professional movie. It’s absolutely gorgeous and she feels like she could stare at it for eons.

A chilly hand suddenly presses along the dip of her spine, ushering her forward an inch or two, Harry’s invisible voice and warm breath hitting the shell of her left ear. “S’cuse me, dove.”

The boy reaches behind her for the light switch and the condo bursts into radiance with one simple flick of his wrist.

“Oh...my God.”

Harry’s home is something straight out of a luxury catalogue. The light floorboards and the mahogany panels. The massive leather couches and hand-sewn cushions. The extravagant chandeliers and glass staircase. The marble kitchen and generously packed liquor shelves. The ginormous wall of priceless artwork, littered with pieces from all different eras of history. It feels like stepping into a decor wonderland.

“Not too bad, huh?” Harry pipes up playfully, anchoring her back into reality from the floaty stupor that had consumed her mind.

“Not too—? Are you kidding?” Y/N sputters incredulously, whizzing her head to the side sharply. “You were keeping an entire Four Seasons royal suite from me?!”

Harry belts out a bundle of childish giggles, the edges of his eyes crinkling and the tip of his button nose twitching. “I never thought of it much, to be honest. I’d grown to like your place.”

“Right. Because a creaky mattress and a kitchen the size of a broom closet is so much more satisfying than chandeliers and a fucking glass wall.”

The vampire glimpses around his flat indicatively. “Okay, I see your point.”

“Exactly.”

Y/N drifts forward, running the tips of her fingers across the backrest of the aged leather sofa and along the corners of the throw pillow, doing a slow circle at the middle of his home, taking everything in a second time around to make sure it isn’t a mirage. “Fuck, this is incredible. Is your boss looking for any more regional managers, by any chance?”

Harry follows after her, tucking his hands into the back pockets of his boyfriend jeans, chewing along the inside of his cheek to suppress a proud smile— a result of her explosive reaction. “I’m afraid my position is the one and only, sorry.”

Y/N droops her shoulders in exaggerated contempt, presenting a shitty English accent to tease him. “Bollocks.”

It garners the designated feedback, her tummy somersaulting at Harry’s exorbitant laughter.

The boy comes to stand before her, cocking his head to the side questioningly towards his kitchen. “Can I offer you a drink?”

Y/N glimpses over at his bar area, eyes dancing over his extensive array of fancy bottles. “Oh, please do.”

Despite only having known Y/N for a few weeks, Harry has gotten quite acquainted with her tastes, even outside of sexual matters. She doesn't like the taste of alcohol, but she likes its effects. And he likes them, too, if he’s being honest. Her blood always begins to smell more appetizing after just a few sips and the way her cheeks heat up so easily when she’s buzzed always makes his breathing trip.

He works his extensive skills, pulling from his liquor cabinet and mixing flavored liquids and syrups until he comes up with something that he thinks the girl will enjoy. It’s fruity, with hints of peach, lime, and strawberry, but also warm and fulfilling, with a rich whiskey and a few dashes of bitters. He plunks in a couple of ice cubes and mixes it together with a bar spoon, tapping it against the rim with finality and swiping it over his tongue in a quick taste test. He’s pretty happy with his concoction.

Harry glances up to where Y/N is leaning against the armrest of his couch, her legs crossed before her as she stares at one of the abstract paintings mounted on his wall. It’s an original, as are the rest of them, which he had purchased some odd seventy years ago from a barely known artist whose talent had gone to waste in the world. It’s a deconstructed sunflower, with the color palette inverted and the strokes of the brush uneven and jagged. Odd and complicated, but beautiful, nonetheless. Its complexity is what makes it significant.

The vampire slowly wanders over from his kitchen, holding her drink in one hand and a cloth napkin in the other. He takes the spot beside her along the armrest, speaking wistfully as if recalling a fond memory. “It’s a flower.”

Y/N nods slowly in recognition, peeling her gaze away with the corners of her lips jilting. “Mmhm, a sunflower.”

Harry’s brows jump in shock. Barely anyone ever guesses the identity correctly. He’s found that as time passes and humanity becomes more reliant on technology rather than cognizant knowledge, society in general has reduced to a more pea-brained state than ever. As a result, the amount of people who can interpret and understand the meaning behind complex artwork has greatly diminished, unfortunately, so he’s pleasantly surprised to find that one of the few who still possesses that talent happens to be the girl he’s shagging. “Wow, that’s a first. It’s so unusual, no one ever really gets it.”

“I guess I just have an affinity for the unusual.” His guest quips, giving him a jesting shrug of her eyebrows and a suggestive grin.

You have no idea.

“You underestimated me, Holmes.”

“That I did. My sincerest apologies.” Harry returns her joking simper, proceeding to then dip an index finger inside the stout glass in his grasp, bringing it up before her face. “Taste.”

Without breaking eye contact, Y/N parts her lips and allows him to coax the wet digit in, the tangy flavor of the mixture making her taste buds tingle. She encloses her mouth around his finger, lulling her tongue along it slowly with a mischievous glint shining across her irises.

Harry’s prominent jaw clenches as he watches the scene unfold, breath bated and a moan threatening to betray him. She truly wastes no time.

He gradually pulls his finger from her tongue, struggling to clear his throat, missing its texture already. “How is it? More syrup? More biters?”

Y/N gazes up at him drunkenly, though it’s definitely not from the liquor. Her lips quirk cheekily as a result of how visibly frazzled she’d gotten him. “It’s perfect. Better than anything I’ve had at a club, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah?” Harry taps his opal ring against the bottom of the lowball glass, trying to reign in his previous composure. “Think I could be a bartender?”

“You don’t hit me as the type of person who has the patience for it.” The girl remarks wittily, slinking her head to the side and biting back a giggle when Harry makes a face at her.

“You make a valid point, I suppose.” The vampire responds with an airy sigh, nodding in surrender. “The stupid blabbing from drunk morons and impending fear of being vomited on would be too much for me. I wouldn’t last a day.”

“You wouldn’t last a single night, let alone a whole day.”

“Alright, pipe down!” Harry deadpans, bumping her shoulder with his vengefully. “You’re bruising my ego.”

“It’s humongous,” Y/N snorts, shoving him in return, “it can take a few hits.”

The pair sit there in silence for a suspended moment, just taking in the expanse of the art before them. Harry then turns his torso towards her once more, bringing the drink in his grip up to her mouth. “Here, have a proper sip. Put my all into it.”

Y/N obliges, looking up at him with her signature doe-like air of trusting innocence, allowing him to tip the hem of the cup against her mouth. The cool beverage filters through her taste buds and down her throat, the sweet and sour mixture leaving an enjoyable tingle in its wake. A few streams of the liquid bead out of the corners of her lips and Harry impulsively gathers them with the side of his index finger, the napkin in his other hand completely forgotten.

As he goes to pull back in order to clean up, Y/N leans forward and traps his digit between her lips like before. This time, there’s a more insistent sultry hint sparkling around her pupils.

“Christ...” Harry pants, watching Y/N work her way down his forefinger with a silent groan hinging on his teeth.

He doesn’t deny himself from indulging the dirty action this time around. Her mouth is as soft and warm as ever, sending chills racing down his spine despite the sweater hugging his body. His mind slips for a second, reminiscing in all the other ways he’s felt the inside of her mouth before, a faint red tinge splattering across his cheekbones.

Y/N draws his finger out, kissing messily across its length and over the pad, looking up at him through tension-heavied lashes. She doesn't speak a word, but her intentions are clear in the electricity between them.

He can’t hold back any longer, his next comment coming out as a pained growl. “God, you’re such a filthy little thing.”

She hums softly in the back of her throat at his explicit compliment, suckling at the center of her bottom lip needily. “I like being your filthy little thing.”

Harry swallows thickly in order to keep himself somewhat tame, fangs suddenly pricking his tongue in warning.

The mortal scoots closer to him, sifting her fingers between his around the drink and bringing it upwards, downing the last couple of inches in one go. She draws the cup from his grasp, reaching over to set it down carefully on the coffee table before turning back and snuggling deeper into his heaving chest.

Harry scoffs in amusement, but he can feel a certain charring scratching at the back of his throat. “Drinks like that are meant to be savored, darling. You’re not supposed to just pound them.”

Y/N stretches her neck upwards, taking his earlobe between her teeth, lips wet and cold from the alcohol. His lashes flutter when her warm breath hits his skin, contradicting the sensations from before.

“Why don’t you let me worry about how I drink, and you can worry about a different kind of pounding.”

And that’s all it takes, really. That’s all it takes for Harry to completely drop any self-control he has left.

The creature jars his face towards her, large hand shooting upwards to grip her jaw firmly, holding her in place as he crashes their mouths together. It’s all tongue and clacking teeth, desperate whines and stuttered gasps. Y/N’s hands fumble for something to tether to while Harry takes it upon himself to grasp at her opposite hip with his free hand, yanking her onto his lap. She buries her fists in the cotton fabric of his jumper, balancing her knees on either sides of his parted thighs. The boy’s fingers coast from her jaw down to her throat, tightening ever so slightly. The action is minimal, but it reveals that flare of dominance Y/N has become addicted to.

“Do you want it here?” Harry rasps against her eager tongue, smirking into the kiss when he feels her start to rock along the bulge that is beginning to tent his denim pants. “Do you want me to bend you over the couch and fuck you, baby? With the chandelier making your skin glow? Where we can put on a show for the whole city to see?”

It’s a tempting offer and his words obviously have some form of impact, seen in the way Y/N’s grinding takes on a hungrier, deeper pace against his clothed cock.

“I want…” Y/N finds it difficult to voice her desires, the responsible party being the manner in which Harry glues cracked mewls onto the roof of her mouth. “I want it in your bed.”

She doesn’t know why, but she just wants him to take her some place where the moment they share is intimate, unseen by the prying eyes of others. She wants to christen his bed exactly how he had done hers; she craves that strange connection, for some reason. Y/N isn’t naive, she knows she’s not the only person Harry has had in his home and in his sheets. But she wants that experience, nonetheless, even if it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. She knows she’s not his only, but at least she’s one.

Harry slowly breaks their kiss, brushing the tip of his nose across her own in a small comforting gesture. He blinks at her groggily, the copper specks in his eyes glitzing under the golden hue of the lighting. When he speaks, its soft and low, almost as if he doesn’t want to risk another soul overhearing. “Okay. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

Y/N almost doesn’t get anything she wants, given that she nearly kills herself on the trek up the stairs, courtesy of her weakened knees and wobbly ankles. Harry just barely manages to save her, but he finds the occurrence too hilarious to spare her the embarrassment.

“Stop laughing, it’s not funny!” She exclaims indignantly as he helps her up the last few glass steps, clinging to him like a scared puppy, her hands still shaking with adrenaline. “I could have died!”

Her shrieking only makes him laugh harder and he nearly keels over, palm clutching his stomach as if to keep it from popping. “I’m sorry, I really am, but it’s just— your face when you— and how you tripped sideways— I—”

Y/N shoves him hard towards the corridor where his bedroom lies, but it’s hard to maintain an angry demeanor when the young man’s giggles sound like bells and when he looks so cute with his curls flopping across his forehead. “Dickhead.”

They’re almost at his bedroom door when Harry grabs onto her wrist, tugging her roughly so that she lurches forward into his chest. He plants a wet kiss onto the bridge of her nose, expression entertained. “Stop being such a bad sport. It was pretty funny.”

“Yeah, okay.” She huffs begrudgingly, glancing down impatiently at his plump lips as he walks backwards down the hallway with her in tow. “You can invalidate my rage once you have a near death experience yourself.”

The irony of it all.

Harry kicks the door open, ghosting his mouth over Y/N’s and watching her sight do a quick sweep around the area. “Welcome to my lair.”

The human likes his aesthetic. The room has different hues of the same color, so it all ties together nicely, and the hanging lights look like miniature versions of the two large ones downstairs. The bed is huge, which is a relief because for once, they won’t have to actively worry about accidentally rolling off the edge mid-fuck. “It’s nice. Very chic.”

“Thanks.” Harry reaches up and cups either side of her neck with his palms, dragging his damp lips over her chin and down the center of her jugular, smiling against her skin when he feels her shiver. “It doesn't have a bookshelf wall like yours, but I make due.”

“Yeah.” Y/N wisps out weakly, leaning her head back as he speckles his mouth across that sensitive point on her throat he discovered ages ago. “I bet.”

She feels Harry’s touch travel down her torso, cold fingers suddenly smearing across her love handles beneath her work shirt. His grip tightens at the hem with the intention of pulling the polo off, breath hot as it washes over her collarbones. “Wanna find out just how good I make it work?”

Y/N’s arms instinctively raise on command, her reply shaky and fragile. “Yes, please.”

Harry makes it work. He makes it work so fucking well. He doesn’t need crazy positions or any vibrating toys to make her feel good; he just knows her so thoroughly by now that he’s able to tend to every single one of her needs like it’s his sole purpose. The sex is missionary, with her splayed out across her back upon his mound of feathered pillows, her thighs clamped over his hips as he slams into her at a harsh, curt pace. Her calves are tied around the backs of his thighs, her nails are carving memories into the broad expanse of his shoulders, they’re both panting curse words and encouragement into each other’s mouths, and he’s cradling her to his chest as if he wants to absorb her heartbeat right through her ribs. If only obtaining one were that easy.

Y/N allows her head to fall back against the cushions, drawing away from the prolonged kiss only because she needs air to continue. Harry’s lips busy themselves elsewhere, running down the valley of her chest and toying with one of her pebbled nipples. Y/N’s back gives a sharp arch the second he brushes across the sensitive nub and the taunting coo he releases goes straight to her core.

“Liked that, darling? Like it when I kiss you there?”

The girl’s lashes have fallen shut, her eyes lulling around in their sockets as he maintains a steady rhythm between her thighs, ramming into her with so much force, the headboard is knocking into the wall. It’s loud and intense enough that Harry has to fit one of his palms between the railings, bracing the weight of the bed in order to prevent a hole from forming.

Y/N’s voice fills the dense atmosphere, so shattered and raw, she can hardly understand herself. “It feels so— so good, H.”

“I love it when you call me that. Sounds so pretty coming from your lips.” The vampire’s tongue flicks over her nipple a handful of times, dark veins momentarily webbing over the whites of his eyes at the cracked whimper she lets loose. “And of course it feels good. I always make you feel good, don’t I? Always make my girl cum so—fucking—hard.”

Y/N’s trembling fingers card into the curls along the nape of Harry’s neck as he thrusts to his words, twisting them around her knuckles and swimming in the throaty groan he pours over the clammy skin of her breasts. Her whisper sounds distant and dreamy. “Please...Please don’t stop.”

Harry gazes up at her through heavy lashes, lapping at her chest more fervently, accent thick and deep. “I won’t, baby. Not until I have you dripping all over my sheets.”

After a few more minutes of fractured moans bouncing around the panels of the room and the noise of wet skin slapping together, something catches Y/N’s bleary eyes. She wills past the blissful fog in her mind, focusing on the intriguing object hanging from one of the railings of Harry’s bedpost, swaying back and forth wildly due to his strong tempo.

“Are those...Are those handcuffs?”

Harry’s attention jumps to where hers is pinned, his powerful stride coming to a gradual stop. He’s heaving and shuddering above her, ringlets matted to his jaw and across his temples, cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of cherry red. His Adam’s Apple bobs once and he gives a short nod. “Y-Yeah. I’ve had them for a while...”

The hope dripping from his voice is practically palpable and Y/N interprets it easily. She glances down at him as he takes quivering inhales against her chest, his eyes bleeding lust. Her mumble is so quiet and soft, he wonders how it’s possible for her to make some of the preposterously loud sounds he’s used to hearing whenever he’s buried this deep. “Use them on me. Please?”

Harry bends to her request without hesitation. He locks her wrists into the restraints, sponging a kiss onto each before giving them one hard tug to check for security. He then regains his rough slams, but with more fervor than before.

The monster sits back onto his heels, groping her waist roughly and working her against his thighs, watching welts form on her flesh along the pads of his fingers. Y/N unconsciously begins circling her hips to match his speed and the fractured groan that rips out of him makes her walls tighten. He looks incredible looming in front of her, head toppled back between his shoulder blades, bouncing to his every ram. His throat flexes with the weight, jaw taut and inked pectorals glistening with sweat under the dim lights dangling from his ceiling. “That’s it, pet, just like that. Love the way you ride it. You’re so fucking tight and warm and...and just— Christ, just fuck me.”

She wishes she could frame this moment in time and drag it out forever.

Harry swings his head forward again, blinking the blurriness from his vision to take in the image before him. Y/N just looks so fucking gorgeous like that, tied down at his beck and call, her chest bouncing pertly as her fingers bunch around the chain link, thighs clinging to his waist as she chews her bottom lip raw in an attempt to control her noises.

The vampire ducks down, connecting their mouths in a sloppy kiss that cajoles her into spilling all the moans she had been withholding. He feels them trickle down his lungs and diffuse into his bones, flames lapping across his insides as their foreheads bump and noses smudge, ragged breaths intermingling. “Let it out for me, hm? Wanna know how I’m making you feel, don’t care who hears.”

As if that isn’t enough, there’s an instance where Harry’s animalistic senses suddenly enhance and he comes to the realization that the metal cuffs have made a tiny laceration along her skin.

A thin trail of blood travels down her suspended arm, but she doesn’t seem to notice, too lost in the pleasure Harry is pounding into the pit of her stomach. So he simply leans upwards and licks the sweet droplet clean, feeling heat spark across every fiber of his being. He laps up the entire stream and then presses a tender kiss to her palm for good measure, grunting out a gentle, “There’s a good girl.” when she whines at the affectionate gesture.

The release Harry is getting from between Y/N’s legs mixes with the ecstasy her blood brings, and it shoves him over the edge in a manner he hasn’t experienced since that first time they slept together all those weeks ago. Since the first time he tasted what lies in her veins, while also simultaneously getting to taste the indescribable relief her body so readily brings him.

After all is said and done that night, something peculiar happens. After they both milk their orgasms for everything it’s worth, and after Y/N gives into exhaustion in his arms with her wrists bruised and a content watery smile on her face, and after he gets a heftier drink from her neck and heals the two little puncture wounds with his own blood...The most bizarre, unexpected event occurs.

Harry falls asleep soundly for the first time in months, and all he dreams about is how Y/N tasted.

///

Y/N wakes up the next morning to her body covered in Harry’s Nike jumper, to an empty spot beside her in the messy duvet, to a familiar tune tinging her ears from a distance, and to a satisfying ache between her thighs.

As soon as she cracks the bedroom door open, the smell of pancakes wafts in through the chilled morning air. Specifically, lemon and blueberry pancakes. Her grandmother’s lemon and blueberry pancakes.

A shiver runs down Y/N’s spine the second she sets a toe along the cold glass panels of Harry’s staircase. She takes a deep breath, pulling the extra length of the sweater’s sleeves over her fists and tugging the hem of the article downwards as if she could convince it to cover more than just half her thighs. She carefully works her way down the steps, flinching at the iciness that travels up her legs with every motion. When she finally thunks down emptily onto the light-wash floorboards, her body has grown accustomed to the temperature. As she pads across the furry rug in Harry’s living room, she finds herself wondering why everything connected to him is always so unusually cold— colder than any normal person could withstand. His touch, his lips, the tip of his nose, his forehead, his chest, even his thighs; everything is always freezing, and she doesn’t understand how he can bear it. It’s such an odd affinity to have.

The human gradually wanders into the vampire’s kitchen, peeking inside the room from behind one of the archway’s walls. What she sees throws her for a loop.

Harry is cooking breakfast, as she expected from the sweet scent she’d awoken to, but he’s doing it in a manner she never really expected from him.

Music stems from a portable speaker he has situated at the center of the marble kitchen island, blaring loud enough to fill the entire giant home with high notes, guitar chords, and acapella riffs. The young man is dancing across his kitchen as he cooks, clad in nothing but a set of black Calvin Klein briefs and a pair of fuzzy magenta socks. Y/N rakes down his body, admiring the crimson and purple love bites she had left on his chest and the raspberry red scratches zig-zagging across his back, the marks flexing with the movements of his muscles. They’re strangely faint, for some reason. Practically barely there.

She chalks it up to the fact that maybe she hadn’t bruised him as much as she’d thought.

Y/N forces herself to keep her mind from straying onto anymore explicit topics; it’s probably not even ten A.M. yet. She needs to get herself under control.

Grooving while in the kitchen isn’t necessarily weird (she’s guilty of it herself), but Harry’s dancing techniques very much are. The only accurate depiction of it is that for a boy in his twenties, he dances like an old geezer in his eighties. His moves are choppy and old-schooled, almost like what you’d expect to see in a nineteen fifties disco hall, and watching him ebb and flow across the tiled ground to choreography similar to that of Dirty Dancing and Footloose... It would send anybody into a fit of laughter. Especially since Harry is so tall and lanky, so how he manages to move in such a way is beyond her understanding.

Aside from that, his choice of music is baffling, as well. Not only because she recognizes the soundtrack, but because she would have never expected someone like him— with his cocky behavior and overly-confident caliber— to be into these types of songs at all. She always pegged him for the seventies rock and roll type.

“You like Hamilton?”

Harry’s actions creak to a halt and he whips around towards where the disturbance had stemmed, spatula clutched in one hand and a marble plate stacked with pancakes in the other. His face breaks into a bright smile, voice slathered with dramatic friendliness. “Well, look who finally got up! I was starting to think you were dead, Sleeping Beauty.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at him mockingly, walking over to the kitchen counter and propping herself onto her elbows, chin in hand as she watches him set down the platter of food before her. She tips forward onto her toes, taking a deep inhale of the homey, sugary smell, letting it wash over her in flashes of childhood memories. “Are these like the ones I make?”

“Lemon and blueberry, yeah.” Harry bobs his head casually, turning around to place his metal spatula down into the sink, as well as to retrieve a glass bottle of maple syrup from one of his cupboards. “They’re pretty close, I think. I’ve never seen you use a recipe or measuring cups or anything when you make them, so I kinda eyeballed it to the best of my ability. Hope I did your nan justice.”

He pours a decently-sized glop of syrup over the mountain of treats and Y/N watches excitedly as it trickles down all the layers. He then pushes back from the table, pulling open a drawer and rummaging through, continuing to whistle along to the tune of Satisfied as he bops the cabinet closed with his hip and sets down an extra pair of forks and knives beside the plate.

Harry cuts a neat triangle out of the pancake at the top, pointing at her with his fork as he shrugs his brows nonchalantly. “And to answer your question from before: yes, I do like Hamilton.”

“Hm. Interesting.” Y/N murmurs, going cross-eyed as Harry offers her the forkful of food in his possession, poking at her mouth playfully and getting maple syrup all over her lips. She opens obediently, allowing him to feed her the piece. “You don’t really seem like the type of guy— oh, wow, these are actually really good!”

Harry bites into his lower lip with his two front teeth, a proud smile dimpling his cheeks as the light draft from the air vent ruffles a couple of his sex-mussed ringlets across his forehead. “Yeah? You mean it?”

The mortal nods her head vigorously as she finishes chewing and swallowing, wiping away some of the leftover syrup from her top lip with her middle finger and sucking it clean. “Yeah! You hit it spot on.”

“Aces. I should be on The Great British Bake Off.” Harry makes a small, celebratory fist bump next to his hip and the childish gesture makes Y/N snort softly.

“Like I was saying, you don’t really strike me as the type of guy who would be into musicals.” The girl comments, watching her friend cut another triangle out of the first pancake and pop it into his own mouth.

The vampire chews thoughtfully for a second, lifting one shoulder offhandedly and swallowing fully before talking. “I’m really not, to be honest. But this specific musical is pretty good. The songs are catchy.”

He nudges the other pair of utensils across the counter for emphasis, silently inviting her to dig into the dish along with him. She accepts, slicing down the other side of the stack as he leans forward onto his elbows, mimicking her stance. He gives her a curious glance. “What about you? Do you like musicals?”

Y/N shrugs, poking a few chunks of food onto her fork. “Not really, but I had a major Hamilton phase back in college. That’s why I recognized it.”

Harry hums in understanding, picking a blueberry off and chewing it slowly, a sly smirk beginning to tweak the corners of his mouth. “So were you, like, a nerd back then?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say a nerd, but I had decent grades and was pretty quiet.”

He swallows down audibly, blinking impassively. “That’s literally the definition of a nerd.”

Y/N returns his flat expression. “Fuck off.”

Harry throws his palms up in peaceful surrender, but he still has that shit-eating grin present. “Alright, fine, fine...It’s okay if you were, though. You were probably one of those cute ones, y’know? With the clunky glasses and innocent goody-goody face.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh, and with one of those short little plaid skirts?” He releases a pained groan, clutching his chest and closing his eyes for a second. She has no doubt he’s sketching some type of graphic image of her in his mind. “God, I bet you looked so good. Do you still have it? Can you wear it for me?”

“I said shut up!” Y/N reaches forward and stabs at his tummy lightly with her fork, ignoring the warmth crawling up her neck and across her cheeks. “Fucking perv.”

Harry smacks her utensil away with his own, giggling lightly as she tries to prick him again, continuing to fight her off. “I’m just asking a question! For science!”

Y/N twists her fork around his, trying to outmaneuver him into dropping it. “How could my fashion sense in college possibly contribute to science in any way?”

The vampire easily catches onto her play, slipping himself out of her grasp and trying to trap her makeshift sword down against the tabletop. He purses his lips into a simper, glimpsing up at her through his lashes and quirking his brows cheekily. “Biologically, of course. It contributes to my solo reproductive activities.”

“You are vile.”

“Really? ‘Cause you seemed pretty happy to help with said activities last night.”

Y/N drops her fork onto the brim of the platter, reaching up to massage at her temples and keep herself from swatting Harry’s eyeballs out of their sockets. “I’m finished.”

“Yeah,” the jade of his irises glimmers coyly as he sets down his utensil beside hers in a ceasefire, “you definitely finished.”

Harry chuckles boyishly as Y/N drags her palms down her face, trying to hide away how flustered he’s getting her. She decides to change the subject, not caring to steer the conversation smoothly at all, but rather jumping to another topic right away. “So does this mean you have all the lyrics memorized? Since you like them so much?”

“I do, yeah.” Harry taps his fingers against the marble counter to the beat of the song currently playing. “Do you?”

“I was obsessed, so of course I do.” Y/N reasons, her own digits following in tune with the immortal’s. “I think Non-Stop was probably my favorite to sing. It made for a good shower concert.”

“Well, it’s settled then.” Harry quips happily, reaching for his phone and tapping across the screen. “We’re duetting this. Right now. C’mon, Burr.”

Y/N’s motions stop, shyness creeping in from the back of her brain. “Oh, I don’t know, Harry. I never really—”

Her refusal is interrupted by the beginning of the arrangement mentioned, the notes blasting through the speaker as Harry purposefully turns up the volume to drown her out. He taps at his ear symbolically, mouthing, “Sorry, I can't hear you!” and he doesn’t even attempt to ward off the evil grin creeping across his face.

“Harry, I’m serious—”

But it’s already too late. Harry juts his hand out in front of him, pointing at his companion with a theatrical edge as he begins to serenade, picking up the slack of her part.

“After the war I went back to New York. A-After the war I went back to New York. I finished up my studies and I practiced law. I practiced law, Burr worked next door!”

He looks at her expectantly, urging her to jump into the next half as her assigned role. Y/N muscles down her hesitation and recites the lines timidly with her brows creased in hesitation, but at least she’s participating. “Even though we started at the very same time, Alexander Hamilton began to climb. How to account for his rise to the top?”

Harry joins her in the next stanza, grabbing her hand midair in encouragement, trying to shake her out of her rut. “Man, the man is non-stop!”

Y/N is surprised at how well they sound harmonizing together, and she can feel her discomfort slowly begin to melt. She watches as Harry freely boasts his solo with absolutely no remorse, making grand gestures as he slides down the side of the counter, his movements dragging her along.

“Gentlemen of the jury, I'm curious, bear with me. Are you aware that we're making history?” The boy taps at his chin to symbolize that he’s thinking, acting out the story the lyrics construct. “This is the first murder trial of our brand-new nation, the liberty behind deliberation.”

He points at Y/N once again and she does the supporting vocals, gradually beginning to gain more confidence. “Non-stop!”

“I intend to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt, with my assistant counsel—”

Harry doesn’t even have to cue Y/N this time around; she picks up her half immediately, falling into line with him flawlessly as if they’ve done this a million times before. “Co-counsel. Hamilton, sit down. Our client Levi Weeks is innocent, call your first witness.”

Harry quickly rounds the corner of the kitchen island, giving her body a grand spin as he draws closer, coming to stand right before her. She gives him a fake exasperated look to match the attitude her character depicts, shaking her head in disapproval. “That's all you had to say.”

“Okay…” The creature yanks Y/N forward into his bare chest, leaning down and flirting his lips right over hers tauntingly, eyes half-lidded in amusement. “One more thing—”

“Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room?” The girl rolls her eyes dramatically, shoving past Harry’s shoulder and she finds it humorous how these lines fit so well, almost as if they were actually directed at him, calling him out on the arrogance he always seems to dote. “Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Soon that attitude may be your doom.”

Harry swivels on his heel, following her as she scurries outside the kitchen entrance, running into the living room.

“Why do you write like you're running out of time?” Y/N grabs onto one of the couch cushions, pretending to scribble over it with a fake pen. “Write day and night, like you're running out of time? Everyday you fight, like you're running out of time.”

Harry swipes at her from across the couch, trying to grasp onto the jumper she’s wearing. “Keep on fighting in the meantime.”

Y/N ducks out of the path of his grabbing hand, chucking the pillow forward and it bonks him square in the face. She sticks her tongue out at him as Harry scowls dully, climbing onto his sofa and scuttling towards her on his hand and knees.

She jumps just out of reach, diving across the other end of the furniture. The vampire throws his weight to try and tackle her to the sofa, but she just barely escapes. He ends up toppling over the backrest due to his over-abundant momentum.

“Non-stop!” Y/N waves her middle up at him triumphantly as he pushes himself up off the ground, giving her a challenging look as he takes off after her once again.

The pair continue to sing back and forth, with Harry chasing Y/N around the living room and kitchen as he belts out his part of the song, Y/N always somehow managing to slip from his grasp as soon as her turn hits. They’re a mess of giggles, silly faces, and boisterous actions as they reenact the play and neither can recall a time they had ever had more fun. There’s never been an instance when they felt so comfortable with another soul that they are willing to run around half-naked, screaming lyrics at each other in their underwear, not caring who sees or overhears. It just feels so second-nature.

A section of the song comes up where a woman is singing and Harry immediately takes up the part, placing his hand on his bare hip and standing in the most feminine fashion he can possibly muster, fanning at his face. “I am sailing off to London, I am accompanied by someone who always pays.”

The exaggeration makes Y/N bend over laughing and her distraction allows Harry to nab her. He pulls her into his embrace by her forearms, cackling through the following stanza as she wriggles and squirms to try and get free. “I have found a wealthy husband who will keep me in comfort for all my days.”

Y/N finally gives up on trying to thrash herself free, going limp against his chest and glimpsing up at him with begrudged annoyance, but a fond smile is unmistakably buckling her cheeks. Harry leans down, singing right in her face just to flaunt his victory, their noses brushing. “He is not a lot of fun, but…”

And then, there’s a shift in the ambiance between them.

Harry gazes down at her as she giggles up at him from his arms, full of so much genuine warmth and excitement, she could power the entire city if she wanted. Her shoulders are heaving slightly as a result of all the running, there’s still faint traces of black mascara smeared under her waterline and down her cheeks from the previous evening’s exertions, she has some acne scarring littering her cheekbones that look fairly recent, and her hair looks like it could nest a family of at least ten birds. But despite these imperfections, Harry finds himself feeling oddly endeared by it all. These flaws are all things he’s gotten used to and has grown to treasure in Y/N. They make her who she is. They make her witty, and they make her clever. They make her fun, as well as trusting. They make her likeable, and energetic, and kind. They make her a good friend and a generous lover. They make her... her. Harry gets the feeling that if she didn’t have all of these traits— if even one was missing— this little arrangement they have going wouldn’t have flourished the way it did.

Yeah, maybe he would have slept with her once or twice more just to scratch an itch, but he most likely would have let it fizzle to an end after the fact. Her personality paired with these small details— albeit, not all entirely attractive— that make up her existence play a key role in the dynamic they share. And he wouldn’t trade them for anything else— wouldn't trade Y/N for anyone else. Not anytime soon.

A warm surge travels through his chest, filling his veins like kerosine, heating him from the heels of his socked feet to the tips of his ice cold fingers. An unorthodox swelling sensation twists inside his ribs, right where his heart used to beat, and he finds himself reciting the next line in a soft voice packed with more emotion than he’s shown or felt in the last two centuries.

“There’s no one who can match you, for turn of phrase…”

Y/N seems oblivious to all of the unsettling experiences he’s undergoing, her amused expression not changing in the slightest. Harry allows the rest of the song lyrics to pass by, the lump in his throat too heavy to fight. Instead, he just keeps staring down at Y/N with brows frowning in confusion, his breathing coming out bated and shaky, and that knot in his chest continuing to tighten until it becomes painful. He gets the sudden urge to kiss her— to feel her lips press to his and feel her give into him the way she always does. The way she has for the last four weeks. He doesn’t want it to be sloppy or desperate or sexual; he wants it to be intimate, soft, and caring. He wants it to be special. Something they share. Something only they share.

Then, that moment passes. That flicker of weakness that had leaked through vanishes and Harry feels like he can breathe properly again.

He breaks their locked eyes, releasing Y/N from his hold and taking a swift step back, coughing awkwardly to try and rid the tickling sensation in the back of his throat. He scratches at the nape of his neck nervously, fiddling with his baby curls and attempting to piece himself back together after that unexpected and unwelcome intrusion of his innermost feelings. Though, he doesn’t know if that spectacle even files under the category of emotions; from what he remembers, they aren’t supposed to tangibly attack you in such a manner. It felt more like a violation— like someone had gone in and started poking and prodding at his subconscious with a metal skewer.

“Harry…?” Y/N inches closer to him, concern prevalent in her voice and across her features as she stretches her hand out caringly. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to be sick.”

“I-I’m—” His voice comes out higher than usual and quivering, so he coughs once again to get it under control, taking another step back. He's scared that if she touches him, that horrible burning sensation will come back. “I’m fine. Just...Just forgot the lyrics.”

“Oh, okay…” The girl doesn’t sound convinced with the answer, but she lets the subject falter anyways, her hand dropping back down beside her thigh. “Just checking.”

“Yeah, I got that. Uh, thanks. But I’m all good now.” He holds up a clenched first and juts out his pinky, wiggling it for significance. “Promise”

Y/N scoffs gently at his playful deed. “Alright, then.”

Harry eyes her attentively as she returns to her previous spot in front of the plate of pancakes, retrieving her fork and starting to pick at them like before, as if nothing had happened. As if Harry hadn’t just almost had a cardiac arrest, despite the fact that the organ responsible had crumbled to dust ages ago.

“Are you gonna eat anymore?” Y/N signals down at the stack of pastries before her questioningly. “Because if you don’t get some now, I’ll eat them all myself. Don’t think I won’t. They’re better than the ones I make and—”

The vampire suddenly feels like bile is rising up his throat and his words spew out before he can think to stop them, though he’s not so sure he would.

“Do you want to stay over the rest of the weekend?”

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philliamwrites · 3 years

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Ocean Eyes, Golden Mind

Fandom: All For The Game (Nora Sakavic)

Pairing: Neil/Andrew

Tags: #math nerd neil, #neil with glasses, #no exy

Summary: In which Neil hates his new prescribed glasses until they attract the interest of a certain Andrew Minyard.

Commissioner: Ziegenkind

Notes: Title taken from Billie Eilish’s ‘Ocean Eyes.’

Ocean Eyes, Golden Mind

Dude, it’s just a frat party. Who doesn’t go to frat parties?

The message flashes Neil’s screen white, its sender none other than his roommate Nicky who is supposed to study for an upcoming test in Public Policy in exactly nineteen hours. That’s what Neil writes him. Nicky’s reply comes instantly.

Those who study tend not to party. You know. Like you.

Neil leaves him on read. If he wants to party, he’ll lock himself inside his room, two bottles of Jack Daniel’s by his side while watching every existing compilation of cats attacking people on the small screen of his phone. He knows how to have a good time, alright. Not everyone has to set their scale like Nicky: More than once Neil has been the spectator of him coming back to the dormitory completely wasted, but still eager enough to get frozen waffles from the fridge. Being too drunk to put them in the toaster, he usually just climbs up to his top bunk and puts them between his thighs to eat them partially defrosted. It’s this fragile line between genius and stupidity that has Neil doubting if he should fill in a request for changing roommates or just live with the fact that Nicky Hemmick is one special kind of man.

So instead of spending his night curled into himself, wall against his back and eyes on every stranger distributing awful shots, Neil sits at the Math Tutoring Centre on the west side of the campus and gives group tutoring sessions.

Math comes to Neil like breathing. Like Bertrand Russel said, not only does Mathematics possess truth, but supreme beauty—a beauty cold and austere, like that of a sculpture. It is sublimely pure, and capable of a stern perfection such as only the greatest art can show. It is poetry—elegant and deep—of logical ideas to create harmony in a written line. Once he tried to explain that to Nicky over microwaved Mac n Cheese with Girls running in the background, clearly overestimating him, because Nicky only stared into space for a few seconds, and replied, “You really need to get laid, man.”

Reluctant at the beginning, Neil only agreed to join the Tutor Program because his math professor promised to throw in some extra cash. Something about raising the graduate numbers in order to get the board of education off his back. That’s where Neil’s jurisdiction of interest ends, but he has enjoyed it more than expected—the empty hallways, the harsh light of the ceiling lamps, the smell of chalk, the faint echoes of students still lingering in classrooms. There’s this magic about the Palmetto State University at night—a vulnerability that can only live once the sun sets behind the horizon. When else would he find a kid sleeping under a table in the library, or seniors breaking down in tears for exact 10 minutes before continuing their studies as if nothing has happened.

There’s another reason he’d rather spend his evening on campus, one Nicky doesn’t need to know because then Neil won’t hear the end of it. That reason being 5’0’’ tall chemistry prodigy Andrew Minyard, sitting in the last row of Neil’s math sessions each Friday. He only knows about him thanks to Nicky’s never-ending complaints, but that never really stopped him from throwing a few or more glances in Andrew’s direction. Just curiosity, of course.

So when he stands in front of the blackboard now, putting away his lesson papers which are full of numbers and equations—the kind that has enough letters to look like sentences—he feels dozens eyes burn holes in the back of his neck, and one pair belongs to Andrew. No one asks why he’s here, but everyone knows he doesn’t need to be.

In his one year of giving tutoring sessions, Neil has learnt that exactly three types of students exist: Students who are really good, certainly not in need of the extra lessons, but going anyway for some extra ego-buff and unnecessary brain-flexing. The second type is students who are okay, doing their tasks, following the lesson, not really attracting any attention safe for some crude jokes. The last type has Neil questioning his belief in the educational system of the whole state because he doesn’t understand how they are allowed inside the sacred halls of PSU.

Andrew is a special type on his own—the enigma that keeps Neil awake at two in the morning because he’s desperate to solve it, but without knowing where to start, he’s just running in circles. His fingers itch to solve an equation with multiple variables, to find the solution to a problem and get it off his mind.

He doubts it will be this easy with Andrew.

“Before we continue to look at scalar products in R- and C-vector spaces, we’ll consider bilinear and semi-bilinear forms in general, and link them to matrices for their representation to chosen bases.” Neil’s hand flies across the board, leaving letters and parenthesizes that look like bizarre drawings—art in its most complex form. Once he’s finished, he takes a step away, wipes the chalk on his fingers off on his jeans, and turns to his audience. “What happens to this equation with the semi-bilinear form σ?”

Two hands shoot up immediately. He ignores them; no need to feed their ego, and instead picks a freshman who’s been staring at his phone for the last ten minutes. Making way, Neil moves back to the student’s seats and leans against a desk.

Is it the farthest place away from the board? It is.

Is it the closest that will get him to Andrew? Might be so.

It certainly gives him a good look at what Andrew’s been doing since Neil started—and that is not solving a single task on the paper Neil has handed out at the beginning of the session. Andrew, apparently bored before it even started, has taken out a slip of paper with a sudoku puzzle on it and is solving it against his leg, completely linked out of the instruction.

Neil tries not to stare too much at Andrew’s bare arms, and instead looks back at the board.

“Does that look right?” the freshman—Rhys or Rheeze or something like that—asks, turning around.

Neil narrows his eyes and squints at the board. He can’t make out a single thing, and that’s bad, yes, but his feet betray him, staying rooted where they are instead of reducing the distance until he can distinguish σ from a.

“Where does the l come from,” he asks. Multiple heads snap in his direction.

“That’s a j, Josten,” someone says from the other side of the room.

Neil squints harder. “And the u?”

“A μ.”

“No, it’s a v,” a girl next to Neil says, and that’s when the everyone starts shouting about what’s on the board and what isn’t.

Neil bears it for a solid minute before he surrenders. He pulls a small case from his pocket, opens it. Puts his glasses on.

The whole room goes silent.

Neil checks the equation, nods. “Correct. Who’s next?”

Multiple people stir, one manages to get up, and walks straight into a table leg. Neil questions that ‘straight’, because only then the freshman guy stops staring at Neil and steers his attention to the equation on the blackboard.

It was a bad idea, and Neil still hates Allison for forcing him to go. She’d dragged him to the doctor last week to get his eyes tested, annoyed by his never-ending questions of ‘What’s written there?’ or ‘Is that a six or an eight?’.

“They’re my eyes,” Neil had said, arms crossed as he sat in the office and waited for his turn.

“And it’s me who has to see your ugly squinting face,” Allison had replied.

Two hours later Neil had finally his prescriptions but that didn’t mean he was free from Allison’s clutches. He would have been fine with some glasses from the dollar store, but she insisted that if he’s going to wear them more than once a day, he should get designer glasses—thin frames and a color that matches his copper hair. She suggested gold. Neil picked black. The look of disappointment on Allison’s face was something that deserved its own painting to commemorate it. But once they’d finally chosen the right pair, she’d given him the very same look most of the students are giving him now—a mix between slight awe and disbelief as if he’s grown a second head. Or owes them all a month’s worth of lunch money.

“Well,” had Allison said at least, turning away to pack up and go home. “Tigers have their stripes. I have my eyeliner.” She threw him another scrutinizing look over her shoulder. “You have your glasses.” If it was supposed to make him feel better, it didn’t work, and right now he regrets nothing more than allowing Allison to drag him around.

Neil’s eyes land on Andrew’s sudoku puzzle, now half-hidden under his papers, and he sees now that he isn’t even solving the thing, but simply coloring in the empty squares.

He takes a second too long and meets Andrew’s eyes staring back at him.

“Problem, Josten?” Andrew asks with a blank expression, tapping the end of his pen against his monochrome picture of black and white squares.

Neil wants to see how far he can push until he walks against a brick wall and breaks something. He returns his gaze to the board but feels Andrew’s eyes like a solid touch on the back of his neck.

After the session, the students hurry outside, still throwing curious glances over their shoulders at Neil and if he could merge with the back of his chair and disappear forever, that would be totally okay. It isn’t until a shadow looms above him that he looks up from his own homework and draws in a careful breath when Andrew towers above him.

Neil raises an eyebrow. “Problem, Minyard?”

Andrew’s face gives nothing away, and when he stretches out a hand, Neil doesn’t flinch. His glasses slip off easily, held between Andrew’s thumb and index finger.

“Nicky told me he’s trying to convince you to join him tomorrow,” Andrew says. Neil needs a second, because that is the most words he’s heard out of Andrew’s mouth.

“I have no reason to go,” Neil says, his eyes jumping up and down, from the equation that makes his sight blur to Andrew leaning his slender waist against the table.

“You have one now.” It’s barely neutral enough to not sound like a threat, but Neil stares at Andrew nonetheless, and when he puts Neil’s glasses on, Neil’s heart does a weird stutter. He’s still starring at Andrew when he leaves the room, and no, his eyes don’t stray, they stay on Andrew’s broad back, and if they dip lower it’s because of the light.

Once he’s alone, Neil takes a deep breath, exhales slowly. Puts his head in his arms and counts to ten in French first, then again in German. His heart still does this weird thing, trying to bruise his ribs from the inside.

He gets his phone, texts Nicky he’ll go to the frat party tomorrow and puts it away, not interested in his roommate’s reply. There’s still the equation he needs to solve, but for the first time Neil’s heart isn’t really into math, and he is quite alright with it.

#philliamwrites #ao3 #fanfiction #aftg #andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #all for the game #andrew x neil #neil x andrew #andrew/neil #neil/andrew

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tarithenurse · 5 years

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Agent of Hope - 20

Your world falls into ruin together with the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcements Logistics Division when you find out that your boyfriend isn’t one of the good guys. Pairing: Brock Rumlow x fem!reader, Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader Contents: Bureaucracy and bending thereof, dealing with trauma, feels, balancing trust, loads more. A/N: Thanks to all of you who like and especially reblog <3 The house-situation is taking a looooot of energy, especially when combined with my tendency to overthink the wrong things, but hey: Ontkruid vergaat niet. THE GIF IS TOTALLY UNRELATED BUT I LOVE IT!

20 - Not so Black ‘n White

The inlaid granite had felt hard under against the soles of your shoes, cold and grey and absolutely not helping with your nerves. When the stone had given way for carpet, that too had been dark in contrast to the naked walls coloured with some indeterminable off-white shade…at least there was a single palm tree in a much too small pot in the room you’d been led to, otherwise Natasha’s hair would have been the only bright colour in the room.

Your throat is dry, but you’re determined not to stop – if you do then you’ll never be able to start again. “It felt like-like an eternity even b’fore the threats and b-beatings and-d-and I messed up.” Tasha’s hand twitches. Want to hold my hand or kill Brock? “I tried to win time…peace…anything, by making up a story ‘cept i- he…” Your hand shakes so hard you spill some of the water from the crickly plastic cup which is empty before the dry knot in your throat has been washed away. “The point is…I can ermm identify and y’know…tes-…-tify…?”

The eyes boring into you are impossible to categorize in terms of colour, but you recognize the glimmer of pity before you have to look away. There’s been no show of emotions while you told of the life you and Brock had shared before things were brought out in the open, barely any frown as you explained how Hydra came and took you, but now…just a broken sentence hinting at your living nightmare.

I don’t want the pity. Everyone at the Compound walk as on eggshells around you, avoiding certain subjects as the let you decide the pace but there’s no pity just room to heal and grow stronger…what agent Ross radiates make you feel ruined all over again. No, worse than that. Guilt surges in the pit of your belly, pushing the shoulders up to your ears as if that could shield you from anything, when in reality nothing of what happened is your fault but the choice of a deranged man working on behalf of a genocidal organisation. Both of whom knows how to get where they want.

“Can I trust you, agent Ross?”

The simple question startles both him and Natasha, the latter sending you a warning look.

“I like to think that you can, yeah.” There’s a simple sort of honesty in his voice, matching the down-to-earth vibe you’ve been getting from him and which you know is one of the reasons your hero has agreed to co-operate to begin with. “We can do this off the books if you want?”

At least Tasha relaxes a little bit when you nod.

…

Whether or not she’s being protective or supportive, Natasha has moved closer to you. It doesn’t prevent Ross from leaning as far across the table as he can without getting his ass out the chair, and you’re secretly thankful for his short stature.

“That’s…either insane or improbable,” he breathes, fingers carting through the now messy hair, “but with all the shit happening the last years…oh fuck me!”

The exclamation isn’t a request or order but still makes you cringe inwardly. It’s Nat’s hands being squeezed so hard the blood flow is hampered and you’re grateful she’s here even if the assassin side of her is plotting ways to teach Ross to back down.

“Let me make this very, very clear,” she states subtly, “if any of this leaves the room without [Y/N]’s consent…”

A smirk dances at the corner of her lips only for you to see when the poor man blanches, his head probably full of all sorts of horrible options for his untimely demise.

“Understood!” A finger slips inside the tie in a futile attempt at loosening it slightly. “Hrm…perhaps we should continue this at another time?”

… Romanoff …

Not many people manage to surprise the former spy/assassin the way [Y/N] has today and she almost feels prouder than worried even now as she guides the car through the traffic. Next to her, the astounding woman is sitting with a foot on the seat, an elbow resting on the knee to further support her head. By now there must be dents under the chin from the knuckles because [Y/N] hasn’t moved since they got off the highway but merely been staring out the side window. Squinting at the faint reflection, Natasha can’t see the frown usually visible in times of serious pondering. What’s going on, babe? Talk to me. She’s about to ask for just that when [Y/N] breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry I told him what I can do anyways…” A few dust motes hover in the temporary silence. “Thing is that…that he does the same as you and the others? Which means that he doesn’t…he doesn’t…ask…” Breathing shakily, the girl looks back out the window. “None of you have been forcing me to tell anything. Not about what happened. Not about what I…see.”

Oh. “Ross didn’t either.”

“Nuh-uh.” There’s a small smile obscured by the shaking head. “Bro-Rumlow and…those…they kept pushing, forcing me to tell and it was never enough!”

Natasha knows the reason behind it. Hydra doesn’t have room for values such as personal freedom, individualism, moral, anything else but furthering their cause.

With someone that could potentially tell the future in their hands, they’d been sitting on a golden mine and of course they’d had to dig quick and deep to get as much of the valuables as possible before the treasure trove was whisked away. It didn’t matter to them that said treasure was a person and the mine was her mind.

Сукин сын! Through the sleepless nights and the countless days spent comforting the survivor, even nursing her back to a semblance of thriving, most of the horrors have been revealed although never in too great detail. What has never been said, Natasha has been able to fill in the blanks from simply because she’s seen that kind of world and she knows the messed up rules Hydra plays by. The only comfort in this mess is that Rumlow had never shared the spoils with anyone.

“Sweetheart, it’s your life and I don’t have the right to make the decisions for you,” Nat explains softly, “I promised I’d be by your side and that stands whether or not you want to share your intel with me…us…or not.”

A warm hand slips over on the Avenger’s thigh to give a little squeeze. “I know.” There’s that smile again. “And I appreciate all the room and trust you and the others show me…I really do.” The hands stays, thumb tracing light circles on the denim. “Besides…you’ll come to respect agent Ross in Berlin.”

Huh? No explanation follows, though, and Natasha decides to let the spy in her go unsatisfied and instead hope that [Y/N] will tell more in due time.

The rest of the way to the Tower, where Happy, Stark, and Pepper are waiting, the women chat about the hunt on the remaining Hydra cells.

… Reader …

Ever since getting to the safety of Stark and the Avengers the very first time, you’ve been keeping notes about the vision. At first it was short key words on your phone, but the last week it’s been full on recounts in a notebook covered with flappable sequins (navy blue one way and a sparkly rainbow-coloured mix the other), most of the contents naturally being older visions that you try to recall.

Rubbing your left temple in small circles the fingers on the other hand mindlessly trace patterns to break the monochrome surface. Nothing makes sense. You almost whish you were back to the old days where the pain-inducing dreams seemed like nothing more than just freak coincidences and a lively imagination…but then you’d still be with Brock and that’s one nightmare you’d give anything to be without. I thought I loved him…a sour taste echoes in the back of your mouth, the barely visible scars itch. He thinks he still does.

The disconcerting thoughts are broken by the sound of approaching footsteps which can only belong to Happy. He rarely makes it up to the domestic floors of the Tower so when he does, he makes sure to pop by wherever you’re hanging out, brightening your day with one of his full-face smiles.

“Heya!” He allows a box to drop onto the couch so he can stretch a bit. “How’s it going, tiger?”

Meh. “Okay…trying to make sense of my life and shit, y’know?” It’s nice not to have to explain for Happy to get it. The man is empathy incarnate and the nod encompasses that. “Watcha got there?”

As if partially surprised at the box still resting on the soft seat and somewhat chuffed that he knows something you don’t, Happy pats the cardboard lovingly. “Oh…just a little somethin’ somethin’ mister Stark has asked me t’get him…” Shifty eyes, then he leans closer to whisper: “You’ll see eventually.”

“So secretive, my dear sir!”

“Ay, never betray the trust o’ som’one ye care ‘bout, little girl,” he hums in a horrible pirate voice, “’specially not if they’re a super’ero or assassin or whatnot, if ye get mah drift.”

A slight cough behind Happy makes the poor man blanche. “Wise words coming from a man who’s decided not to go straight to their boss who just happens to be such a hero.”

Even with a sickly green smoothie in hand and an old band t-shirt, Tony Stark’s presence takes over the room. Not in an uncomfortable way, there’s just no denying the imposing alpha-male-thing he’s got going. It makes your toes curl and thighs itch with the need to get away and find Natasha.

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skzrequests · 5 years

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Orange Juice - Seo Changbin

anonymous said : “My pace 24 w changbin? uwu im a sucker for the idea of tattoist bin lmao”

24 ➝ “Is that a tattoo ?”

➵ Pairings : changbin x reader

➵ Warnings : explicit language ; mentions of blood

➵ Genre : tattoo artist!au ; fluff

➵ Word count : 4.3k

➵ Note : me too, anon, me too :’) thank you for requesting this, I’m a sucker for tattooist bin too and for real, I think you just cured my writer’s block, so I can’t thank you enough ! I hope the fic is okay, don’t hesitate to tell me what you think :)

You turned on your heels, looking around for the soy sauce brand you usually bought. Finally finding it, the familiar red and green colours of the label catching your eye, you extended your arm to grab it before you carefully placed it in your cart. Pushing it out of the alley and into the next, you thought about what you had written down on your list of groceries that—of course—you had forgotten on top of the kitchen counter before going out.

What was missing ? You had eggs, milk, cookies, your favourite yogurt, your weekly stock of noodles, pretty much everything you needed.

Orange juice ! Of course, how could you forget ? No orange juice in the morning, no functional you.

Hitting your forehead with your palm at your own forgetfulness, you proceeded to turn around in the middle of the alley to go back to the juice section.

Stopping in front of the numerous orange juice bottles and packs that the store offered, your eyes once more scanned the section for the one you always took.

“Here” someone spoke next to you, but what you saw first was a hand extended to you, holding the bottle you had been looking for, with its childlike doodles of an orange in every colour of the rainbow.

Your eyes widened slightly, brows arching in surprise and thankfulness at the action of—judging by the voice—the man who had somehow found what you’d been looking for.

You looked up, surprised and wondering who it could be, although you did not expect it to be someone you knew.

You were wrong.

You almost didn’t recognise him. Not that his features had changed, he still had that same sharp jaw but soft curves on his face, but he gave off a totally different aura, to the point you weren’t even sure it was him anyway, no matter how much his face and soft smile left no place for doubt.

He was wearing a black leather jacket over a white t-shirt that he’d paired with black distressed jeans and monochrome black Converse. Something you’d never imagined seeing him wearing. But some things never change, and the black ringed cap pushed so far down that it almost completely covered his eyes—it made you wonder how he could see anything—convinced you of the man’s identity.

“Changbin ?!” you almost screamed in disbelief in the middle of the juice section, earning a few glares from the moms around, trying to shop peacefully, and some curious stares from their kids. You didn’t even notice though.

He broke into a smile, cocking his head in the direction of his still extended arm holding the bottle of juice.

“Your favourite, right ?” he asked and smirked when your mouth fell slightly open.

Anticipating your question, he didn’t give you the time to open your mouth again as he explained : “You drank it all the time, back in high school” he said and you felt heat slowly rise to your cheeks, “Can’t remember a day when you didn’t have a bottle in your backpack” he laughed lightly.

You didn’t know what to focus on : how he remembered your favourite brand of orange juice from high school, how much he had changed, how insanely good he looked ? It was way too much at once for your brain to process.

“I- uh” you stuttered, not knowing what to say or where to begin. If your internal alarms could stop blaring in your head, it would be nice. “What are you doing here ?” you finally managed to get out but immediately mentally facepalmed yourself. He’s chasing a tiger, obviously. Come on, this is the grocery store, what could he possibly be doing here, y/n ? you scolded yourself.

He chuckled again, the sound ringing in your ears and bringing you back to reality.

“Well, I guess I, too, need to eat sometimes” he joked and you forced a small laugh out of your throat. Nice job, y/n.

You then just stood there and stared at him, mind completely blank, as if your internal program had stopped working and the computer needed a reboot.

“So ?” Changbin inquired, making you widen your eyes at him again, brows arching, not understanding. “Are you gonna take it or not ?” He finished his sentence as he extended his arm even further.

“Oh, yeah, sorry” was all you could manage to get out as you finally took the orange juice from him, your fingers brushing over his hand in the process.

“It’s okay,” he laughed again, “I didn’t think you’d be that shocked to see me, though” he smirked once more.

You rolled your eyes as you put the bottle down in your cart, next to the soy sauce.

“It’s been years, Changbin, did you expect me to just go and have our super special handshake like that ?” you asked sarcastically.

“We had a handshake ?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

You looked at him with an annoyed expression. “No, we didn’t, idiot” you said and he just let out a small “phew”, resting his now free hand on his chest as if he had been worried about it. You and him were barely friends in high school, it was more like you had common friends so you were aware of each other’s existence. You’d only talked to him for school projects, seeing he was a rather quiet kid, unlike you.

“Oh thank god, I thought I'd forgotten it” he said. Oh, so he really was worried about it then.

You shook your head in disbelief.

“Anyway,” he said as he clasped his hands together, signalling a subject change, “how’s life going ?” he asked and you scoffed.

“I should be asking you that,” you said, “it was you who had no idea what you wanted to do”.

He shrugged. “I guess I found it now” he smiled. “But what about you ?” he asked again.

“Me ? I’m good, I guess,” you started, your face felt hotter than before and you were starting to wonder if it were going to explode at some point if it kept going, so you took off your scarf and turned around to put it in your cart with your groceries while you spoke : “I mean nothing really exciting but I have a job at least” you said, back facing him.

“Hold on,” Changbin stopped you and you whipped around, worried by the tone of his voice, “is that a tattoo ?” he asked as he took a step closer, pointing his finger to the back of your neck where the black curves of music notes peeked out of your shirt.

“Oh that ?” you asked back as he came closer and you turned again to let him see it, tugging your shirt down a little, “yeah it’s a tattoo, why ?” You asked again.

He looked at it for a few seconds without speaking before he stepped back, allowing you to face him again.

“I’m a tattoo artist now” he explained and your eyes grew bigger than they ever had in your life.

“No fucking way ?” You shouted, “That’s freaking awesome !” you exclaimed again and he smiled, fake dusting off his jacket as you laughed and pushed him lightly.

He laughed and spoke up again : “No, but for real, are you that surprised ?”.

You stopped and looked him in the eye.

“Not really. You were always really good at drawing, but I didn’t think you’d have the guts to do it, with the whole marking other people’s skin permanently, you know ?” you told him, “thought the responsibility might have been too much, but I guess I was wrong” you smiled.

You came to realisation that his whole body was covered by his clothes, but surely there was more to see under it all.

“Show me !” You exclaimed as your hands flew to his jacket and you tried to take it off him, “Show me the art !”

He brought his arms closer to his torso, trying to protect himself from your hands that were actually tickling him.

“Y/n !” he called between giggles, “If you want to see me without my clothes that much, you could wait until we’re somewhere a bit more private” he said with yet another smirk.

You instantly retracted your hands, only extending the right one again to hit his shoulder, earning a wince from him.

“Seriously,” he said, “let’s go pay for all that and get out of here” he told you, walking behind you to push your cart towards the check out.

“Oh wow, didn’t it hurt like a bitch ?” you asked as he showed you the intricate designs inked on his elbows, and you grimaced at the thought of the pain.

He grimaced too, as if remembering it perfectly, “Yup, thought I'd never use my arms again and that my bones had gotten pierced by the needle, but here I am” he answered as he sat back down, facing you again.

You nodded while still grimacing, imagining if you did it yourself. Elbows were one of the spots you never wanted to get tattooed for that very reason.

“Wow, I can’t believe you changed that much in just a few years” you confessed honestly, not looking him in the eye as you shook your head down.

“Hey, you changed a lot too,” he shot back, “and I never thought you’d ever get a tattoo but here you are” he said, gesturing his hand over at you.

“I have more than one, you know ?” you said, smiling lightly.

His eyes widened. “What ? More tha- and you didn’t tell me ?” he exclaimed and you laughed out loud, shushing him in the middle of the café—although you were just as noisy as him.

“Yeah, I have one on my thigh and one on my ribs” you said, smiling proudly.

“And you were saying elbows must have hurt when you got a tattoo on your ribs” he shook his head.

“Right” you said, “I must have been crazy to do it”.

“I’d love to see it” he smirked and you chuckled.

“Maybe I'll show you one day, who knows ?” you grinned.

“Oh, I’m sure I'll see it soon” he said and grinned back at you cockily as you blushed furiously and tried not to let it show, biting your inner cheek.

“A-Anyway,” you said, trying to seem unfazed, “I’d love to get a new one. What do you say ?” you asked, a little expectant. You had seen some of the things he had tattooed on himself, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love his style. It was just... so much like him. It was beautiful, mesmerising even, how he turned every simple thing into a piece of art.

Changbin’s eyes lit up and he cracked another smile at you.

“You’d want a tattoo from me ?” he asked, sounding genuinely surprised, but mostly flattered, coming from you.

You rolled your eyes. “Obviously, duh ? It’s amazing, and besides, you’re an old friend, so that’d mean something else too, right ?” you told him.

“What you got in mind ?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Surprise me”.

After that unexpected encounter with him in the supermarket, and after you’d gone to a café and talked for hours, you were now headed to the tattoo parlour Changbin worked at, a week and a half later, ready to get that new tattoo you wanted so much.

At this point, you were pretty much convinced of two things : one, this tattoo would definitely be your favourite out of all the ones you’d be getting ; and two, you were undeniably crushing on Changbin.

You felt annoyed about it, because you felt like a living cliché walking around, falling for a guy you’d never talked to that much in high school after miraculously meeting him years later, after puberty had finally done its job (right). But you brushed it off, maybe it wasn’t the right time for you to get into a relationship yet, and nothing told you he was interested in you anyway. You’d probably been staying awake at night for the past days for nothing.

Still, you wanted that tattoo, and you liked Changbin’s company, so at least, you wanted to become friends with him. Who knew ? Maybe one day, he’d even offer you a free tattoo.

Picking up your pace a little to escape the cold, you walked up to the front door of the shop and pushed it open, making your way inside. You sighed in relief when you felt the warmth on your cheeks, your whole body unfreezing little by little.

You turned to the counter and greeted the girl behind it warmly and she returned a smile.

“You’re here for Changbin, right ?” she asked and you blinked a few times, taken aback by the bluntness. “You’re y/n, right ?” she pushed further. You couldn’t do anything but nod. She smiled at you again, although it looked like a bit of a smirk, as she told you to follow her and walked to the back of the shop.

She stopped in front of a closed curtain and pushed it to the side, peeking her head inside.

“Y/n is here,” she said, “you ready ?” she asked him. There was no audible answer, but he must have said he was because she stepped back and pointed behind her with her thumb, indicating you to go in.

You thanked her and pushed the curtain again, curiously eyeing the inside of the room before stepping in.

Changbin was sitting in his work chair, smiling softly when he saw you enter. You smiled back, feeling your heartbeat pick up a little.

“Hey” you greeted him, somehow your voice managed to crack, no matter how short that was, and you hated yourself for it.

Changbin’s smile widened, “Hey” he said back. “Stressed ?” he asked and you shook your head in response.

“No, it’s not like it’s my first time anyway” you joked and he bit his lip, looking down and away from your eyes.

“Right” he commented, followed by a discreet chuckle.

You pursed your lips. Way to go, y/n. When would you stop making things uncomfortable ? Probably the day you died, because that was the only moment you’d finally shut up.

Brushing it off, you cleared your throat, making Changbin look up at you again from his sitting position.

“So, uh, what you got ?” you asked, feeling the heat from both the embarrassment and the fact Changbin looked like a god right in front of you in that very moment. It was hard to keep your gaze on him, and yet at the same time you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of his figure.

“Uh ? Oh, yeah right” he came back to his senses and spun his chair around to his desk, pushing a pile of papers as he looked for his design.

You waited as patiently as you could, feeling your guts twist a little in anticipation while he kept making a mess before you.

“Ha !” he exclaimed as he picked a piece of paper and held it up, turning around with a proud smile on his face as he showed it to you.

Taking the paper, your eyes widened at the pleasant surprise you found drawn on it.

Pursing your lips again to try and contain your laugh, it was to no help as you burst out laughing, bending in half as you held your sides.

Changbin watched you, smirking proudly. He chuckled when he saw you wipe the corners of your eyes from how hard you’d been laughing.

“Changbin, oh my gosh...” you trailed as you tried to steady your breathing, holding the paper in front of you so you could take a good look at it once more.

“What ? You didn’t specify anything about the size.” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Changbin, that’s not it,” you said, not taking your eyes off of the drawing before your eyes.

“You don’t like it ?” he asked you, panic suddenly taking over him evident in his voice as he sat straight up.

That’s when you finally ripped your eyes off the sheet, eyes wide as you thought it was obvious that was not it.

“Are you kidding me ?” you said, not easing Changbin’s worries with the tone of your voice as he tensed up a bit more. “Changbin, I love it.” you stated and watched him slump back in his seat with a long sigh of relief.

“My heart is beating normally again” he said, resting his right hand on his chest over his heart.

“This is genius,” you continued, looking back at his drawing again. The carton of orange juice seemed to be looking back at you on the paper, although it had no eyes. There was even a small orange doodle on it, just like on the one you always bought. You chuckled lightly and Changbin smiled as he watched you. “I just... I never expected this but it’s perfect.” you spoke your mind and looked at him. He was a genius. That was the best thing he could have suggested. It was so much like him, so much like you, and it would mean so much more than anything else would have.

You handed him the sheet back and he set in on his desk, smile never fading as he spun around to put it down.

“Where do you want it ?” he asked as he spun around again to face you.

That, you had not thought of, since you didn’t know what to expect. You shrugged. “Where do you want to tattoo it ?” you asked back with a sly smile.

He pursed his lips, still looking you in the eye, as he thought.

“It’ll be your arm, then” he said and you smiled, nodding. “Get yourself ready” he motioned for you to take off your coat, “I’ll go get the stencil printed.” he instructed and left the room, leaving you alone as you removed your winter coat and scarf before hanging them. You sat down, looking around at the drawings adorning the walls of the room. You could see which ones were Changbin’s and which ones weren’t. He just had that thing, and it made everything he drew unique and easily recognisable.

You rolled up your sleeve over your right arm, looking one last time at your skin before it got inked.

Changbin stepped back in, startling you a little as you hadn’t heard him come back. He smiled at you again and showed you two stencils, two different sizes. Same drawing, though.

“Which one ?” he asked as he held up both stencils next to each other.

You thought for a second. “Maybe the smaller one ? It has to fit on my arm, after all” you said and he licked his lips, letting his hands fall down at his sides.

“Let’s go then” he said.

He told you to stand up and you obliged. Changbin took his sweet time to put on some gloves and pour some liquid on a compress.

He rolled his chair over to you and rubbed your shoulder and down your arm with it. The cold contact made you shiver a bit, although you knew it was mixed with anticipation. You’d never wanted a tattoo so bad.

“Ok, time for the stencil. You stay relaxed and remember to breathe or it’ll look weird” he instructed and you smiled.

“Yes sir, I know how tattoos work” you told him as your eyes shifted to your right to meet his annoyed ones.

“Let me do my job, will you ?” he said as he prepared the design. You smiled to yourself.

He applied the sticky drawing right under your shoulder, rubbing it lightly at the borders. He rolled back a little to look at it and gave you a thumbs up, satisfied.

You looked at the blue drawing on your arm. This was gonna look so good.

Changbin instructed you to sit down in his work chair as he turned to prepare the ink and needle. He rubbed your arm with another compress before taking his work tool in his hand and rolling back to your side, the noise the machine made making you bite your lip.

“Ready ?” he looked at you with raised eyebrows as he rolled your sleeve back up.

“I’ve been waiting for this my whole life” you cracked a big smile.

Changbin cocked his head a little as he scoffed. “Let’s do this” he said.

He brought the needle down.

You winced a little, reminding yourself to keep breathing and stay relaxed as Changbin ran the needle on (more like in) your arm repeatedly.

It was almost over, and you knew it, but that was exactly why it hurt even more now. Your skin was on fire after getting pierced through for so long, and you’d been bleeding quite a lot. More than you and Changbin had expected. It was a surprise, because it was only the arm and it was just a small tattoo. Y/n, you weak bitch.

There were only a few minutes left to endure. It hadn’t taken long, since it was small, and you were glad because somehow, it hurt a lot more than you had expected. Not as bad as the ribs, but worse than you’d thought.

Changbin straightened up next to you, turning around to grab some paper towels and this unidentified refreshing liquid he poured on your arm before he rubbed it. You felt the pain ease, soothing you instantly.

He looked at you, eyes shining and smiling brightly : “All done !” he announced, beaming with pride.

You sighed in relief as you got up while he cleaned his tools next to you.

“There’s a mirror right there” he pointed at the back of the room, opposite his desk.

Seeing a small bit of tattoo flashing on your arm in your reflection as you moved closer to it, you couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face, only growing bigger when you turned to see it completely.

It looked amazing. It was so simple, and yet so elaborate. You had no words for it. No words would do it justice, and no words could express how you felt at that very moment.

You turned back when Changbin called you to wrap your arm up. As he placed the transparent food wrap around your arm, he asked : “So, anything to say ?”

You looked up at him, blushing at the proximity. Gosh, he really was insanely handsome.

“I don’t know what to say, to be honest. I can’t find anything to say.” you told him truthfully. “Thank you, Changbin”.

He gave you a lopsided smile as he patted your arm after finishing.

“It’s my pleasure” he said.

You stayed there for a second, looking at him with a soft smile.

“How much do I owe you ?” you asked, walking to your coat to take your wallet out.

Changbin grabbed your forearm, careful not to touch you on your new tattoo. You turned around, quaking an eyebrow at him questioningly.

“You don’t owe me anything, let’s say it’s a high school reunion present” he said and flashed you an eye smile that melted your heart.

“No way, I can’t let you do that ! It’s too much” you shook your head, turning fully as he let go of your arm.

“It’s fine, really” he said as he got up to grab your coat and scarf before handing them to you and pushing you out, hand on the small of your back.

You made your way back to the front desk, carefully sliding your right arm into your coat’s sleeve as you put your clothes back on before stepping out, Changbin right behind you.

Flipping your scarf over your shoulder, you sighed.

“Okay, then I'll get going” you said. “Thank you again, and uh, I'll see you soon I guess ?” you told Changbin, the last part coming out as more of a question as you felt unsure about it.

He simply nodded and let out a small “Sure” and you awkwardly nodded back before you turned on your heels and stepped out, letting the cold wind hit your face with its blow.

You could always come back to get another tattoo from him anyway. Maybe you’d meet again at the grocery store. There was a chance you’d run into each other on the streets. Or maybe your high school would finally organise an alumni reunion and you’d get to see him again. Was it going to end just like this ? You couldn’t stand the thought of it.

You’d been walking a few metres only when you got interrupted in your train of thoughts by a voice calling your name. You turned back, curious.

Changbin jogged up to your level, wearing only a t-shirt, stopping right in front of you.

“Wait I-I uh,” he stuttered, scratching the back of his neck nervously, “I just realised uh, I don- I don’t have your number, so if you have any problems or-”

“Changbin,” you cut him off as he started fiddling with his fingers, “just kiss me already” you said bluntly.

He gaped at you and stuttered something you couldn’t quite make out, but he stepped closer to you and took your face in his hands nonetheless, crashing his lips on yours.

In the end, you were the one to be surprised.

He pulled away and looked in your eyes. He seemed shocked at what he’d just done, but showed no regret in doing it. Where had his confident flirty self gone, though ?

His eyes were as wide as yours, not believing what had just happened himself. Still, he asked you : “Wanna do that again ?”

You nodded quickly, “S-Sure, but let’s get back inside before you freeze to death” you told him and he cracked a smile before laughing lightly.

“I’ll go get my coat” he said as he turned around, “wanna go grab some orange juice at the grocery store ?” he shot at you.

You smiled. There it was.

———

~admin zia (@jinniesmeow)

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auroreswritings · 5 years

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Finally it’s here! Day 6 with Monochrome! Lots of troubles to get this story out, but I managed!! I didn’t want to do something angsty and yet it still ended up being kinda emotional ^^’

Hope you’ll enjoy it, it’s quite short but still long enough to have a little going on!

Find it on AO3!

The Canvas of Your Skin

Chuuya walked out of the bathroom only wearing dark blue briefs; a towel was loosely hanging around his damp hair. The light coming in from the windows was pouring over his body, remaining drops of water glistening in the yellow rays. Atsushi couldn’t take his eyes off the Mafioso’s figure. He knew from working with him that the man was strong yet seeing the red-head almost naked in front of him was shining a new light on the power the man possessed in him. Of course, his ability was destructive and Atsushi knew he wouldn’t have a chance against it, but now he was starting to think he probably wouldn’t fare too well either if Chuuya only were to use his natural strength.

They were on their fourth mission together. Nobody knew how it had happened, but somehow the Armed Detective Agency and the Port Mafia had ended up working together more and more, Mafiosi and detectives sharing missions after missions, putting a common effort into pursuing their own interests. So, for the fourth time now, Chuuya and Atsushi were partnered up for a case. Despite the small amount of time they had shared, they had become a great team, working together with better synchronization each time. Tonight, they were staying in a hotel a little outside of Yokohama, trailing after yet another rogue ability user.

Chuuya walked to the window, looking over the city with an absent gaze while drying his hair with his towel. Atsushi, as if under a spell, stood up and stepped closer to him, eyes fixed on his bare back. The skin was covered in thin, translucent lines, almost invisible in the dim light. As he got closer, he understood what they were; white, faded scars were running all over his body, a monochromatic painting over the pale canvas of his skin. They were embracing his entire body, lacing around his legs and arms, slithering up his sides and back; Atsushi could only guess his torso was also full of these intricate lines. He was now standing right behind Chuuya, and couldn’t help the hand rising to the other’s back, fingertips lightly caressing the marks overprinted on his shoulder blades.

The feather-like contact made Chuuya jump and he turned around quickly, coming face to face with the tiger. The younger man still had his eyes glued to the red-head’s skin, this time intently gazing at his pectorals. Without noticing, his fingers approached Chuuya’s body again, following a pearly trail along his collarbone. The Mafioso smirked; he’d always had this effect on people, his toned body fascinating women and men alike, his scars always drawing a morbid fascination out of anyone seeing him without the armor of his clothes. He was about to make a sly remark but before he could say a thing he noticed Atsushi’s lower lips trembling a little, his chin twitching ever so slightly. Blue eyes traveled up to meet the tiger’s jeweled gaze and what he saw there took him aback a little: glistening in the street lamps’ light, a few teardrops were threatening to fall over delicate eyelashes, anger and sadness intertwining and lightly hardening the young man’s features. Confusion rushed through the Mafioso and he turned back to the window, traces of a frown curving his eyebrows.

Atsushi took his hand down, still in a dazed, unable to tear his eyes away from the scared skin. He cleared his throat, trying to shove down the ball that had appeared there without him realizing. His voice followed right after, whisper breaking the tensed silence that was surrounding the two men:

“-What have they done to you?” His tone was laced with the same bitter feelings Chuuya had seen on his face just a couple seconds before. Silence fell between them again. The Mafioso didn’t know what to say; should he tell him the truth, or brush it off with a witty joke? The young man seemed quite shaken, he surely wouldn’t judge him, whatever Chuuya would say. Maybe he could confide in him, even just a little. Maybe it would be of some help, and Atsushi wasn’t part of the mafia anyway, he wouldn’t have to see him all the time if things didn’t go well. With these thoughts twirling in his mind, Chuuya started talking, his voice low, his gaze still on the city outside.

“-I wasn’t born an ability user, it was a result of several years of experimentation. These scars… well, you know, these scars…” His voice died down, he felt a lump in his throat. Even if he wanted to keep up with his story, he couldn’t, emotion almost strangling him. He was never talking about his past, always avoiding the subject, mostly because he didn’t know much about what had happened, but also because he hated how emotional he’d get every time he mentioned it. He felt Atsushi’s hand landing on his shoulder and squeezing lightly.

“-It’s okay, you don’t have to say more if you don’t want to.” Chuuya’s shoulders relaxed at the soothing tone of the tiger’s voice. They stayed like this for a while, both looking out to the city, comfortable silence surrounding them. After some time, Atsushi spoke again, still whispering as to not break the silence entirely.

“-I was experimented on as well, when I was younger. I know what it feels like… what it’s like to be reminded of what happened to you, just by glancing at your own skin…” Their eyes met in their reflections on the window. Atsushi’s features had softened; sadness was still showing, but this time mixing with understanding and kindness instead of anger. Chuuya’s lips curved in a hint of a smile, his eyes closing a little. He raised his hand to cover Atsushi’s on his shoulder, holding onto it for a while, before letting out a sigh.

“-It is getting pretty late, we should go to bed. We have a long day ahead of us.” Atsushi only nodded, not moving a single muscle. They stayed like this a little longer, gazing at the city, their eyes sometimes meeting in their reflections, taking in the calming atmosphere around them.

After that night, their team work and synchronicity in combat grew even stronger, one understanding the other without saying a word, exchanged glances telling all they needed to say.

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lenin-it-to-win-it · 5 years

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rabbit tour!

i just made a “shelf” so all my stuffed animals weren’t crowded on the windowsill and i used this as an opportunity to take pictures of all the ones i have with me so here we go!

this is artemis, a majestic and powerful silver rabbit with a very dramatic backstory

basically i was 5 hours away from home on a work trip and i saw her in the window of a shop BUT it hadn’t opened yet so i had to walk away not knowing if I would have time to get back to the shop before it closed, if someone else would buy the rabbit, or if i even had enough money to buy the rabbit in the first place

the most I was willing to spend was $20, not because I don’t think this rabbit is a priceless artifact of beauty, but bc im a peasant and my job was technically volunteer work and paid less than minimum wage but ANYWAY i go on and on about this fucking rabbit to anyone who will listen, my coworkers are plotting ways to murder me that will look like an accident, but we get back to the store and the rabbits still there AND ITS ExACTLY $20 SO I IMMEDIATELY BUY IT WITH NO REGRETS BEST PURCHASE OF MY LIFE

here are some little baby babies i have clipped to my backpack (can you tell i like rabbits???), the yellow one on top is bun might for obvious reasons

the one in the middle is technically unnamed but i call him sergeant pez bc hes a pez dispenser and he was in one of my dads old military trunks for like a million years until he was cleaning them out and gave him to me

the light green one is the newest addition, her name is mochi and shes so fucking soft you guys its like petting a delicate cloud

these arent rabbits but theyre still valid so shut up, the black cat is named agugu (short for akutagawa) bc i was into bung/ou s/tray d/ogs at the time

the panda in the middle was a gift from my roommate and her name is monochrome because i have another panda back home thats purple and her name is. purple. so i wanted to stick with the theme here

the white tiger is named at2shi after atsushi (from b/ungou st/ray d/ogs again) who can turn into a white tiger but also i already had ANOTHER non-white tiger that was named atsushi so this one is at2shi

more wild thangs that arent rabbits!

the elephant is слон or “sloane”, слон means elephant in russian and it’s kind of pronounced like the name sloane so it’s a very deep complex and intellectual name, clearly. слон is a puppet that shrieks like the souls of the damned when you squeeze him and he was a gift from my high school russian teacher because i would be Blessed with the duty of making слон scream at students who were speaking english in class, he’s a good comrade

the tiger is atsushi, im sure you can figure out his deal based on at2shi, i got him at the zoo and hes lovely

the red panda with the minnie ears might have had another name at some point but during my regrettable b/s/d phase i started calling him chuuya and it stuck, also now i put my minnie ears on him bc his head’s the perfect size so im more or less using him as a hat rack which is very on brand for chuuya actually

the purple sloth staring into the camera (and your soul) is gasloth leroux and i won him at dave and busters after re-reading phantom of the opera

(last batch of non-rabbits)

the bear in the snazzy tunic is radar, he was originally my mom’s as a baby and she gave him to me as a baby and since i dont intend on spawning im hoarding him forever #life hack

yall better know who fucking kermit is

aannnd we already went over слон in the last picture so! back to the rabbits!

welcome to the purple corner, friends!

the little all purple one in the back is sukie, and she is just baby, only little creacher, nothing can change that, she was a gift for easter i think two years ago now

the purple and white rabbit with the pink nose laying next to the cardboard shapes is named violet and her fur is very soft and lovely but she has some kind of hard panel inside (she moves, maybe? idk) so not exactly optimized for cuddling, still shes a good girl

the hulking googly eyed purple yarn monstrosity is roundy blumbo and he was handmade by my terrible but talented sister @rattypants

most of these are new arrivals because walgreens has easter rabbits out and some of them were literally only three dollars so yeah but anyway

the grey one with the pink bow is named toshi after all might (i got him about the same time as bun might so b/nha heavily owned my ass at the time) and hes absolutely perfect for cuddling, very soft and long

the blue one is named bluebell the second or “twobell”, when I was younger I had a really tiny blue stuffed rabbit named bluebell that i would take everywhere but one day i dropped it somewhere in or around a ymca and lost it forever and i literally did not stop crying for two whole days because of it, bluebell the second is a spiritual successor who hopefully wont get lost

the one that looks just like bluebell the second but not blue is marshmallow, bluebell the seconds identical twin brother who was also 3 dollars because literally, THREE DOLLARS

the one with light brown fur and orange ears is named gingersnap carrot cake because I liked both names and couldnt decide and since i bought him around the same time as bluebell the second and marshmallow, he’s their mischievous older brother and together i guess that makes them the rabbit mcelroys

now the round rabbit next to toshi with the floppy ears and a smaller rabbit with a green dress on its back is rose and bunnia, the larger one is rose, the mother, and bunnia is her daughter, they have a very close relationship as you can see

the small white and brown rabbit next to rose and bunnia is spenser, named after edmund spenser, creator of the spenserian sonnet, bc i bought her at a renn faire and thought she should have an old timey name, shes a literary icon

now we’re getting into the old guard! all the rabbits in this picture (aside from carrot cake gingersnap whomst is a SLUT FOR ATTENTION) are all ones i got between the ages of 6-10, so theyre my day ones uwu

the brown rabbit with floppy ears is mocha, she was a christmas present when i was 9 years old and shes probably the most rabbit-shaped rabbit i have

the rabbit with the bright pink scarf is beatrice (i dont have favorites except actually i do and its beatrice), I got her when i was 7 years old from goodwill and one of her arms was kind of loosely connected and started falling off which Horrified me and i tried to “take care of her” by using a bit of ribbon as a sling, eventually my grandma sewed her arm back on so then i used the ribbon as a scarf and ever since then beatrice has had a scarf of some kind

the rabbit next to beatrice with the black button eye is wrinkly pinkly, who lost her eye in the warTM (it fell off years later but she claims to have lost it in the war anyway and shes old so everyone just goes along with it), shes very loose and as the name implies, VERY wrinkly which makes her fun to wiggle around

the bright pink rabbit with the wide head is anna, beatrice’s mom and wrinkly pinkly’s sister, her husband griffy is back home so i dont have a picture of him but their story is very enemies-to-lovers (they were on opposite sides of The War) and shes a very ambitious and powerful figure in rabbitopia despite having hundreds of kids to raise #feminist icon

the light pink rabbit with the yarn dress is madison, ironically named long before i even remotely knew that madison, wisconsin was a place that exists, and shes beatrice’s younger sister and shes very active and athletic but she also likes being pretty which is why i made her the yarn dress

cottontail (he doesnt actually have a tail) is the town drunk and a constant nuisance, his wife left him so now he’s always hoeing around and causing trouble for everyone (which is also what he did Before his wife left him), one of his legs is more filled than the other so he walks with a limp. his wife took most of the children except

darnell (the long pink rabbit lying down), who inherited her dad’s troublemaking tendencies and loves playing pranks and talking shit

(last one, for all the zero people who are still reading at this point)

next to cottontail we have aminta in the green dress, i bought her at the airport and shes a very beautiful and distinguished young rabbit who madison is ABSOLUTELY gay for, she’s very proper and is being brought up by

hera nova (the white rabbit with the pink nose and floppy ears in the back) who is the oldest rabbit i have (Ive had her since i was at least 5, though she didn’t get a name until i was in my greek mythology phase a few years later), shes sort of a grandma to all the other rabbits and could absolutely destroy them all if she wanted to

karoline (yes with a k, i didnt know the kardashians were a Thing back then) is the yellow rabbit with the basket, she works at rabbitopia’s most popular restaurant, the spinning carrot, and she is one of the three main chefs along with her sister

bonnie, the pink rabbit with only one ear, she got torn up pretty badly over the years but shes still alive and still spinning those carrots!! (there was a third rabbit that worked with them named fritz who was white and holding an easter egg but i don’t remember what happened to her)

so there we go! rabbits! lots of them!

#rabbit tour!#there are More but i dont have access to them rn

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zerefserigala · 5 years

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LyoRay Week - Reflection

I think looking back on this kind of thing is very useful, for developing yourself in the future.

Overall, I completed 12 of the 14 prompts offered by @lyoray-week.

Favourite Prompt: Unison Raid

Honourable Mentions: Polar

Least Favourite Prompt: Separation

Dishonourable Mentions: Hands

1. Seven Years Later

General Thoughts: It’s always nice to be able to pay homage to someone you look up to or other works that inspire you, even though this one took a bit more effort and was more tedious than some others.

What I Like: I like how there is a good balance between lighter and cooler colours and the darker and warmer colours, and I find the splitting of the manga caps that I used very satisfying.

What I Would Change: If I could go back, I would switch out the picture in the bottom left for something lighter.

2. Alternate Universe

General Thoughts: I like that it’s somewhat ambiguous, so whilst I know the story I’m trying to convey here, that’s not necessarily what someone else might see.

What I Like: I like the dark turquoise colour and the fire accents, I think they look really nice.

What I Would Change: Firstly, I would change the photo in the centre, since the blue just looks out of place, probably to something with that same dark turquoise colour. Secondly, I would change the photo that’s a stand in for Gray. The white background is a little out of left field and something with a darker background may have worked better.

3. Separation

General Thoughts: This was the most tedious thing to make, I think this took me a couple of days to complete, because I knew the theme that I wanted but the colours just weren’t working and I changed so much.

What I Like: I like how the colours came together, and I like the balance between the gold and the monochrome.

What I Would Change: If I HAD to revisit this, I would lighten up the central photo so the white matches with the quotes. I would also try to find something better for the top right picture, since at that point I was getting annoyed and just wanted to be done with it so there wasn’t that much thought or symbolism put into it, the colours just worked.

4. Unison Raid

General Thoughts: This is my favourite aesthetic that I made for this event, and a big part of that is because I love the idea behind it - that Gray and Lyon performing a unison raid would result in Ur’s ice.

What I Like: I love the colours, I think the purples are absolutely gorgeous, especially the rich purples.

What I Would Change: I think the only part that I’m not entirely keen on is the quote in the middle, I don’t think it really suits the general theme, but I still think it works because ‘chaos’ still feels true to Gray and Lyon, if not Ur.

5. Aftermath

General Thoughts: I like this one too, though it was a little difficult to come up with the concept, initially - this one was created very late into the event.

What I Like: I like how there’s a coherent story, and that story has a couple interpretations and I was also able to include some headcanons here, namely that Isvan is the equivalent of Korea - the tiger and hibiscus flower are national symbols of South Korea.

What I Would Change: I would change or darken the image of the tiger, I think it’s a little too light and throws the balance off a little bit.

6. Reunion

General Thoughts: I wasn’t sure if I would do this prompt, and even after I decided to do it, the concept wasn’t quite there. I originally wanted to make this about Gray longing to be reunited with Lyon in the afterlife, in a ‘what if’ scenario of what if Lyon had actually died during the Oracion Seis arc.

What I Like: Again, I like the colours, and yes those colours are a carry over from ‘Unison Raid’. I also like the colours of the quotes, I think that they really work and the one in the top right corner still gets to me.

What I Would Change: In terms of pictures, I would change the central picture to be lighter since I was trying to create a transition in that column from late afternoon to sunset to twilight. In terms of concept, I would try and follow a stricter one, since this doesn’t really scream ‘reunion’, does it?

7. Hands

General Thoughts: This is a call back to an old AU I created a while ago about Gray being mute in a modern setting, but that idea got a little skewed and became more to do with non-verbal forms of communication.

What I Like: Overall, I have pretty lukewarm feeling towards this one, but I kind of like the colours here - how there is vibrancy in the art and music, whilst the monochrome photos suggest a sadder story, it shows the nuance of this kind of situation.

What I Would Change: I would change the photos in the top right and bottom left corner to be brighter.

8. Demons

General Thoughts: This aesthetic was easy to make but difficult to think of the concept for, but I’m very happy with how it came out.

What I Like: I like how the colours are very balanced, and I like sneaking in songs to my aesthetics, since music is a big inspiration for me.

What I Would Change: Probably the central image, whilst I think it works, I didn’t have many options due to the sheer lack of manga caps for Lyon, but I think it looks out of place a little.

9. Firsts

General Thoughts: Similarly to ‘Demons’, this one took a long time to come up with an idea and I thought that I would end up being a prompt that I skipped, but clearly that didn’t happen.

What I Like: I really like how there is a separation and reflection, I don’t know if anyone caught onto it but the bottom left corner three images are meant to oppose the top right corner, in a life vs. death thing.

What I Would Change: I would change the photo at the bottom, in the centre if I could since I had to alter that personally, in photoshop because I really wanted to use that photo but it wasn’t dark enough, but clearly I’m not very good yet... I would also change the Lyon cap if I could, but again, I didn’t have many options.

10. Warmth

General Thoughts: This is one of my personal favourites, but not because I like how it looks, but because of what it taught me. See, I couldn’t figure out what to have after the caps and the warm coloured photos and my gut told me that it should be baby blue. I didn’t listen at first, but when I tried, it worked and it taught me to trust myself.

What I Like: I like the use of colours.

What I Would Change: A lot of it - I’d change the Lyon cap since the fact that it’s not white bugs me to no end, and I think it strays a little too far from the prompt of ‘warmth’ and the concept itself was a little vague.

11. Polar

General Thoughts: I think the concept is really cute and I think I made it ever sweeter - it was meant to be Lyon as a polar bear cub and Gray as a baby penguin, but it just ended up being an innocent thing.

What I Like: This came together so smoothly, and it was really fun to work on, since despite my love of angst, fluff just makes my heart soar and that’s all that this is - fluff. I don’t think any of the other aesthetics are pure fluff, so this stands out by contrast!

What I Would Change: I would change the photo in the bottom left corner, since I think something a little more nature like would work better.

12. Vendetta

General Thoughts: This wasn’t even meant to be part of LyoRay week, since I’ve had the idea of connecting these two with the song ‘First Burn’ for a while, but I just haven’t had much look when it comes to aesthetics - I think this is pretty uninspired, as well.

What I Like: I like the ideas that I had behind it, and I like how this one came out.

What I Would Change: If I had to change something it would be making this idea as an aesthetic, I think maybe an AMV or Fanfiction would suit it better but that might still come later, so look out!

#lyorayweek2019 #fairy tail #personal #reflection

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jiggins03 · 6 years

Text

CONTEMPORARY ART ESSAY PART 1

Jack Higgins

Essay 2 Part 1

This essay will go in depth into a specific piece of contemporary art, followed by looking into a key modernist movement that clearly influenced the manufacture of that piece. Looking into the movements origins, beliefs and goals to find ties to the work I've selected. In summary, looking for characteristics within the piece that tie it to the movement.

The piece of contemporary art being evaluated is Damien Hirst's 'I Am Become Death, Shatterer of Worlds'. Made in 2006 it is a 2134 x 5334 mm/84 x 210 in canvas that is entirely covered in household gloss and the wings of real butterflies. Part of his extensive selection of Kaleidoscope paintings, that all share the use of gloss and butterfly wings. The first Kaleidoscope painting, ‘It’s a Wonderful World’, was created in 2001. Originally inspired by a Victorian tea tray found by Hirst, the works are made by placing thousands of different coloured butterfly wings in geometric patterns into household paint. The ‘Kaleidoscope’ paintings reference the spiritual symbolism of the butterfly, used by the Greeks to depict Psyche, the soul, and in Christian imagery to signify the resurrection. The works are very reminiscent of, and even sometimes directly copy stained glass windows. Their titles similarly often reference Christian iconography.

"I’ve got an obsession with death … But I think it’s like a celebration of life rather than something morbid" Damien Hirst was born in Bristol in the United Kingdom in 1965. He received his BA in Fine Art from Goldsmiths college in 1989. In the 1990's he was part of the Young British Artists group, or YBA's for short. He has gained much praise as well as infamy for his unique art projects which often include dead animals in some way. He has created works spanning from dead sharks: 'The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living' a large vitrine containing an Australian tiger shark suspended in formaldehyde. Sheep: 'Away from the Flock' shows a sheep that appears to have been frozen in mid run suspended in formaldehyde. Cows: Mother and Child (Divided) Four glass boxes each with one half of either the cow or the calf also suspended in formaldehyde, and more recently butterflies.

The butterfly being one of Damien Hirst's most enduring triggers in this Kaleidoscope series he's differed from his use of it in his previous works. Previously he included live butterflies in his instillation 'In and Out of Love' in 1991, or whole dead ones in his butterfly monochrome paintings. These works and many others were influenced by a quote someone ounce said to him: “Butterflies are beautiful, but it’s a shame they have disgusting hairy bodies in the middle.” So, he chose to only use the wings of the butterflies in the Kaleidoscope paintings. Removing the ugly and leaving the only desirable part of the butterfly would show the everyday person glancing apon it should appreciate all animals no matter how ugly or disgusting they might appear.

Works from the ‘Kaleidoscope’ series were first exhibited as part of ‘Romance in the Age of Uncertainty’ at London, in 2003. In 2007, Hirst presented a major series of the paintings in the solo show, ‘Superstition’, at Gagosian Gallery, London Davies Street and Beverley Hills.

'I am Become Death, Shatterer of Worlds' is one of the largest ‘Kaleidoscope’ paintings in existence it includes over 2,700 butterflies. Its title recalls the words of the American theoretical physicist J. Robert Oppenheimer who, on detonating the first atomic bomb in 1945 recalled the words of the Bhagavad Gita, part of the Mahabharata, “I am become death, the shatterer of worlds.” It sold for 2,169,250 Pounds, being a monumental sum of money for what many consider to be animal cruelty. These works have, not surprisingly drawn outrage from People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, who called him a sadist for one of his earlier pieces, and with this one being one of the largest he had drawn their attention again. The group also described his butterfly wing covered bicycle that he had made for Lance Armstrong as "Barbaric and Horrific." But Damien Hirst was never to be detoured as in an interview with the daily mail regarding the bicycle piece he said that he uses real wings because "I wanted it to shimmer when the light catches it like only real butterflies do." Much to the discredit of Damien Hirst he has never really provided an answer as to how he obtains the butterfly wings. Specifically, whether the butterflies were killed for the sake of art or had been collected after they were already dead.

Damian Hirst has long been scrutinised by many people to be psychotic and inhumane in his works, his fascination of life and death shines through all his work. Though many can appreciate seeing butterfly wings used out of context for creative purposes there are also many others who condemn his work as inhumane. He pushes the boundaries to what he can display in a gallery, in his instillation 'In and Out of Love' he has thousands of butterflies packed into a space where the floor Is littered of thousands of dead ones. PETA made the point of if the animal used in this instillation were dogs people that would've sparked a massive outrage, but because they are insects it is looked past. They are right depending on certain people opinion on the matter of animal rights but it's clear to see why Hirst receives all the negative attention, some would say he deserves it. But despite all the negative criticism and personal hatred towards him personally, he keeps going, creating more and more pieces that go against what many consider to be art.

References:

Tate. [ONLINE] Available at: http://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/hirst-mother-and-child-divided-t12751. [Accessed 16 March 2018].

The Guardian. [ONLINE] Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2012/apr/18/damien-hirst-butterflies-weirdly-uplifting.

Damian Hirst. [ONLINE] Available at: http://www.damienhirst.com/. [Accessed 16 March 2018].

treehugger. [ONLINE] Available at: https://www.treehugger.com/culture/damien-hirst-artwork-made-of-thousands-of-butterfly-wings-sells-for-2-million-pounds.html. [Accessed 16 March 2018].

theartstory. [ONLINE] Available at: http://www.theartstory.org/artist-hirst-damien.htm. [Accessed 16 March 2018].

#artandideas

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edgy4u · 6 years

Text

Tag Game!

Rules: answer the questions you’re given, write 11 new questions, and tag 11 people!

Tagged by: @monochrome-mirror

Thanks for the tag, this was fun!

Your questions

1. If you could visit any country, which one would you visit?

depending on my mood when I book either...

The Maldives for beauty,

Italy (Venice specifically) for art

The United States of America to see my boyfriend

2. If you had to eat only one snack for the rest of your life, which would it be?

Toaster Strudel (I hope I spelt that right, we don’t have it in Australia

3. How old were you when you had your first kiss?

Nine years old with a girl that dared me to

4. Do you prefer the city or the country?

Country but also have the city a small drive away

(sorry I’m so bad at this haha)

5. Do you have any siblings? How many brothers and sisters?

No. At one point I had a step-brother and four step-sisters but none as of right now.

6. What’s your favorite animal?

Tigers are pretty cool. Also Meerkats are dope af

7. Do you think marijuana should be legalized? Why or why not?

Yes. It does more good than it could ever do bad

8. Do you want kids someday?

I’ll give it a thought later. The man I am with now is the first that has ever made me think about it/want it and it confuses the hell out of me (in a good way)

9. Out of these 3 choices, which is the most important priority for any government? Environment, Healthcare, Education?

Healthcare for sure

10. Do you prefer warm or cool weather?

Warm

11. Which sexual orientation and gender do you identify with?

A pansexual female

I tag: @dying-thin @candyclawedkitten @axelhellraiser @devotion @silverizing @notkiewt @dontgoandleaveme @dxlusion @beautiful-sad-things @paytanileilani @queenjsxo

Your questions

1. Favourite brand?

2. Short description of the best sex you have had?

3. Favourite happy place to visit when you’re feeling down?

4. Countries you have visited?

5. Any past or present mental illness. If so, how are you dealing with it?

6. If you had a spirit animal, what would it be?

7. Drugs you have taken?

8. How many children do you have / want? What are/would their names be?

9. Pros and cons of the country you live in?

10. Last friend you saw? What did you do?

11. Last thing you ate?

#taggame #tagame #tag #game

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mypoorfaves · 7 years

Note

Could ya write the Yurio afraid of thunderstorms?? Cause. Having hot head Yurio scared of that lip storm. Would make my day. If not well..Hakuna Matata.

Hakuna Matata indeed, my friend! I had a lot of fun with this prompt! (You can find said prompt here on my good friend @sneezehq‘s blog!)

This is all platonic Yuri and Mila. Although if you squint and stand on your head when the planets align just right, I suppose you could see it as a romantic ship.

This takes place the very next day after Victor leaves for Japan. Only Yakov knows he’s left, since Victor hasn’t uploaded the photo from Hasetsu Castle yet.

Yuri isn’t living with Yakov and Lilia yet, so I’m assuming he lives alone in some really cheap apartment or something, maybe a dorm? Anyways he’d be alone, so that’s why he wants to go to Mila’s rather than back home.

Anyways, please enjoy!

The Storm Before the Calm

~2300 words

～～～

At the first sound of booming thunderclaps, Yuri heads for Victor’s house.

There’s a thunderstorm brewing today. There hasn’t been one for quite a while, and Yuri has been thankful. It saves him from the humiliation of camping out with Victor at his place until the storm passes. Don’t get him wrong, Victor certainly doesn’t judge Yuri for his fear, that much he is sure of, but that doesn’t make it any less humiliating. A phobia of thunderstorms at the age of 15. How childish, he chides himself. He’s the Ice Tiger of Russia. He shouldn’t be afraid of a little light and sound.

Despite the pep talk, Yuri can’t help but pick up his pace as lighting again flashes across the sky and thunder rumbles in the looming grey clouds.

～

“Oi! Victor!” Yuri shouts, pounding on his door. He’s been standing outside for the past five minutes at least. Why isn’t he answering? He should be home. Victor wasn’t even at practice today; if Yakov knew why, he was keeping quiet about it. Yuri just assumed the man was sick. Therefore, it would make sense for him to be home right now and answer his goddamn door!

Yuri frustratedly calls out and pounds on the door once again. Droplets of rain have already begun to fall in the time he’s been waiting. The drum-like pounding across the sky has become more frequent, and is mimicked by Yuri’s jumping heart as the world is lit up in a monochrome of black and white and grey for an instant before it fades back into darkness.

Where else could Victor possibly be? It’s not too late in the evening, despite how dark the clouds are making the sky appear. The sidewalk has become darker too, tainted with drops that are falling thick and fast and in greater numbers now. Given the time (and the fact he skipped practice), if Victor wasn’t home that meant he was out having a good time with some of his friends and wouldn’t be back for a while. Even though Victor knew it was going to rain tonight.

“That bastard…” Yuri growls under his breath, forcing himself to feel irritation over hurt that Victor has abandoned looking after him and his childish fears. With a huff, Yuri turns away from the door and walks into the downpour, heading to the only other person he could think to confide in.

～

By the time he finally approaches his destination, he’s thoroughly drenched and chilled to the bone. His shoes are so filled with water that they make a squelching noise when he walks. His wet socks chafe his already-blistered feet. The sweater he’s wearing is doing nothing to help keep him warm as it’s soaked from the onslaught of rain that continues to pelt him, causing him to shiver. (At least, he likes to tell himself he’s shivering from the cold rather than from fear.)

Dragging one heavy foot in front of the other, he reaches Mila’s front door, swallows his pride and rings the doorbell. It takes a moment, but he hears movement within the house. “Thank god,” Yuri thinks. He didn’t have anywhere else to go other than his own lonely home if Mila, too, happened to be out.

Another clap of thunder explodes and Yuri flinches with a small whimper. His next exhale comes out shaky and with a shiver as water drips from his soaked hair down his face and onto his wet clothes. Although Mila is evidently inside the house, she seems to be taking her sweet time in coming to the door. Yuri is cold and upset, and (damn, he hates to admit it, but) frightened. As more lightning flickers across the gloomy sky, he raises a frozen finger to the doorbell again and rings it multiple times, then impatiently pounds on the door and shouts, “Let me in, баба!”

That seems to get her attention as she hurries towards the door. Through the closed door, he can faintly hear her muttering to herself wondering why Yuri is here and so snappy.

He must look absolutely miserable because Mila stops her complaints the moment she opens the door and sees him standing there looking like a drowned rat. “What are you doing here?” she questions. Yuri automatically opens his mouth to snap back at her, but Mila speaks first. “Never mind why, just get inside! You must be freezing!”

Not possessing the will nor energy to argue, he crosses the threshold and Mila closes the door as another crack of thunder booms. It takes all of Yuri’s willpower not to whimper at the sound, but he manages by biting sharply on his lower lip. Luckily Mila doesn’t seem to have noticed. She’s already bustling off towards the hall closet, mentioning something about drying off with some towels.

Yuri just stands in the doorway, arms crossed across his body, teeth chattering as he tries unsuccessfully to control his trembling. Mila comes back with a towel and Yuri wordlessly takes it and drapes it over his shoulders. He steps out of his shoes and peels off his socks and steps onto the smooth hardwood floor. It feels surprisingly warm. Or maybe he’s just that cold. He pulls the towel tighter around his frame.

“So what brings you to my place?” Mila’s inquisitive voice breaks into his thoughts. He keeps his gaze on his battered feet, not looking up or voicing an answer. “It’s not everyday you willingly want to spend time with me, so something must be up.”

Yuri just fiddles with a frayed string from the towel. “I don’t feel like talking about it. It’s stupid anyways…” he trails off, hoping she’ll just drop it. He keeps his gaze aimed at the ground, his wet bangs curtaining his green eyes. When he sneaks a quick glance up, Mila’s expression has softened from prodding to sympathetic.

Miraculously, she does drop the subject. “Dry off as best you can. I have a spare shirt I can lend you; it’s from an ex-boyfriend who spent the night one time. You can borrow a pair of my leggings, too.”

She retrieves the items quickly and is delivering them to Yuri when a deep, crackling wave of thunder rumbles throughout the house. It crashes like shattering plates and Yuri actually feels the building shake, the vibrations reverberating in his chest and fear tingling down to his toes. The lights flicker off and on for a moment and Yuri gasps, squeezing his eyes shut tightly with a whimper.

Even once the rumbling has faded, Yuri keeps his eyes shut as embarrassment immediately rushes to his cheeks. There’s no doubt Mila saw that, and now she knows and she’s going to make fun of him for having such a childish fear.

“Oh, Yuri,” he hears her say. “Is that why you came here? You’re scared of storms?” Yuri just nods, not trusting his voice. He’s on the verge of tearsーfrom fear or humiliation he’s not sure; likely both.

He expects Mila to laugh at him, insult his ridiculous phobia. What he doesn’t expect is a towel draped over his head. “You need to dry off your hair too,” she says, voice full of care as she gently ruffles his hair through the towel. “You might catch a cold if you don’t.”

“I already got drenched in the rain. What difference will it make?” Yuri mutters. Although he’s relieved Mila is not making fun of him, her pity isn’t doing much to boost his pride. He pulls the towel off of his head, simply holding it in his hand.

“If you won’t do it yourself, then I’ll do it for you,” Mila offers, taking it back from him. “Quickly get changed. You can take a hot shower too, if you want. I’ll be waiting on the couch when you get out. We’ll have some drinks and pirozhki, and I’ll put a movie on. I hope you like rom-coms, because that’s all I have,” she says with an apologetic smile.

Mumbling a thanks, Yuri heads to the bathroom to get changed.

～

Mila already has everything set up when he emerges in dry clothes. As promised, there’s a plate of pirozhki on the coffee table, as well as two steaming mugs of what Yuri soon discovers is hot cocoa. He settles on the couch, wrapping himself in one of the blankets Mila has brought out. Without much speaking from either of them, she starts the movie.

It’s only about two minutes in when Mila once again brings up the issue of Yuri’s hair, the strands still wet and dripping onto his new shirt. Feeling warm and comfortable from both the change of clothes as well as the atmosphere of the home, Yuri doesn’t protest when Mila pats and rubs at his hair with a towel to dry it off. She takes an excessive amount of time in doing the job and Yuri relishes every second. He loves having his hair played with; it just feels so heavenly in a way he can’t even begin to describe. Victor had eventually found out how much it calms him and had taken to playing with his hair and even braiding it on nights with a particularly bad storm.

Soon his hair is sufficiently dried and the towel is dropped in a pile on the floor. Yuri focuses his attention back on the movie (though he was barely paying attention before, so comfortable and honestly trying not to fall asleep). He fights a sudden shiverーthis time from pleasureーas Mila runs her fingers through his damp hair. Yuri melts into the touch with a sigh, and he hears Mila give a soft hum resembling a chuckle at the reaction.

“If you were a kitten, I have a feeling you’d be purring right now,” Mila comments fondly. Yuri can’t find it in himself to come up with a response, so utterly content and tired and finally feeling at peace. Mila continues her ministrations, the two of them sitting in silence other than the sounds coming from the tv that thankfully drown out the storm. It’s only once Mila starts to style his hair in a simple braid that Yuri finds the courage to speak.

“Whenever there’s a storm, I would always stay at Victor’s place,” he starts. There’s the slightest pause from Mila, but she carries on with her actions as Yuri continues to speak. “Once he found out I was scared of storms, he insisted I come over to his place so I wouldn’t be suffering alone.” He smiles fondly at the memory of a concerned Victor inconspicuously pulling him aside one practice and offering he comes to his place after; Yuri had been so scared of the thunder resonating through the rink that he was even flubbing his jumps. Yuri had initially been embarrassed at being found out, but begrudgingly accepted Victor’s offer and it quickly became a routine occurrence. “He would put on a movie to drown out the soundsーjust like we’re doing nowーand he’d even style my hair sometimes too; said it reminded him of his junior days.”

Mila isn’t talking, just letting Yuri say what he wants without her input, but her nimble fingers gently wrapping around the blond strands and diligently winding them around each other say more than enough. “I went over to Victor’s today, since the weather was bad,” Yuri tells her. “When I got there, I stood outside for a while but he wasn’t answering the door. Eventually, I just figured he has better things to do than look after me, so I came here.” He feels Mila’s fingers stop, the braid finished. It’s not very long, and there’s no elastic to keep it from fully unraveling.

“You were the only other person I could think to turn to,” Yuri explains, eyes focused on his hands folded in his lap. “As much as I hate to admit it, you’re like an older sister to me. Even if you do piss me off a lot of the time,” he adds with irritation he doesn’t truly feel. “So now you know,” he finishes with a sigh, “if Victor didn’t already tell you before, that is. I wouldn’t put it past him to babble something stupid like that to you,” he mutters, still angry at the older skater for blowing him off.

“Oh, Yuri,” she consoles him. “It’s not stupid. Everyone has fears. I’m touched that you trust me enough to tell me yours. I didn’t know you were so scared of thunderstorms.”

“So Victor didn’t tell you?” Yuri asks, surprised. He turns to face Mila.

She shakes her head at his question. “No, he never told me anything. He must really care about you to keep it a secret.” Yuri can’t help but feel touched by her words. “Just like how I care about my sweet little Yura!” Mila gushes and pulls him in for a tight hug.

“Let me go, баба!” he shouts, but he doesn’t really mean it. He doesn’t fight to get out of her embrace and soon settles down.

It must be getting late, since Yuri is already beginning to feel tired. He hides a yawn, hoping Mila doesn’t notice and send him to bed. He’s comfortable the way he is now. Mila is kind and caring, like a big sister should be (even if she does still get on his nerves sometimes). The blankets around them are soft, and his stomach is pleasantly full with the snacks Mila provided. Yuri is no longer paying attention to the movie, but the pleasant sounds drown out the terror of the storm. Feeling a warm sense of peace, he lets himself rest his head against Mila’s shoulder as he closes his eyes.

～～～

(End)

Notes: баба is Russian for woman or hag (or “peasant woman” according to google translate 😅)

Fun fact: astraphobia, also known as astrapophobia, brontophobia, keraunophobia, or tonitrophobia is the term for a fear of thunder and lightning.

#w!oi #other #yurio #fear #phobia #thunderstorms #fanfic #mpf writing #ask mpf #request #requests are always welcome!#although it may take me some time to get to since im preparing my stories for sickdays 3.0 #also I'm sorry guys the read more bar wasn't working on mobile so i had to get rid of it >.<

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animentality · 7 years

Photo

here’s the beautiful thing about art.

these are all radically different styles.

and yet.

i can see the same character in each of them, despite them being wildly different.

i just SEE a different interpretation in each one too?

maybe it’s because ten is my son and i would recognize him in any costume, but…

I noticed that oreokuki seemed to like ten’s violence and his dark side. his brutality and fits of sadism. he drew him like a villain.

s0laureat’s version looks more dignified, but still deadly. the blood and the purple and the quiet serenity in his eyes were simple and straight forward, but not to be trusted.

KAIRIS, well, she knows the full story. She knows who Ten is. She captured his vulnerability more than anyone. She saw he was just a hurting child coping the best he can in an unstable, hate-filled environment. She wanted to draw him with the softness he had lost as a child, which comes ou tin the book itself over time. Hers is the closest interpretation, but it’s also not fair because I told her all the spoilers. She KNEW more than the other two. She guessed Ten was more than he first appeared and she was right. She drew him as he was and hoped to be.

And then there’s duobunn’s.

Duobunn, who’s drawing entirely from MY interpretation and doing her best to encapture his spirit without seeing it herself.

Duobunn’s I love because of the technical skill (all demonstrate technical skill though, of course I mean look at them), but also because of the colors.

I mean. I TOLD her how they should look.

I told her how the colors should be monochrome because of the atmosphere, the dichotomy of white and black, the greys in between, the sharp, vividness of blood and eye colors like Roman Sheer’s.

She captures Ten as quiet, solemn, dignified…in the face of overwhelming pain. And the chaos of that feeling.

I told her that his eyes were intense, but his body was still, he’s like a tiger, a coiled predator waiting for someone or something to make a move.

So she caught Ten as primal and otherworldly.

She depicted Ten as I request, which was focused on his INITIAL appearance as someone to be feared. Someone who could take and dish pain without flinching. He is at his most inhuman at that moment in time.

And she caught that perfectly.

So there you have it.

Artists from left to right: @oreokuki, @s0lareuat, kairis-matic, who deleted her tumblr and is now on wordpress as karismanic, i think, and @duobunn, my new collab partner.

Art, guys.

Art.

It’s awesome.

#fanart #memoirs of the mausoleum #motm #damn #i adore this #horror #KL writes

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clan-fuildarach · 7 years

Text

the logistical nightmare

robin speaks to a couple of potential new allies in her fight against rezann. also foreshadowing ofc.

Silence hung around the war table. Two scribes wrote frantically, making record of everything the young guardian – Delta – had said. Robin pored over the map in the centre of the table, adding new notes and wooden tokens as if preparing for a game of chess.

“So,” she said, placing a tiny, crude wooden ship on the map, between the painted borders of Arcane and Wind territories. “You're telling me that Queen Xandra's prize battlemage is still alive, a member of your clan, and on his way to the Sea of a Thousand Currents?” She pushed the wooden ship south, towards the canal that linked the Sea to the ocean outside the Ashfall Waste.

“Well, um,” Delta said, “maybe?” He tapped his fingers nervously on the table. Robin puzzled over him for a few moments, wondering what could have happened to him to make him so anxious. He was head and shoulders taller than her own guards, but he seemed to hold himself with painstaking care, his shoulders hunched to make his frame smaller. Robin had met a lot of dragons during her life, many of whom had displayed the same tell-tale signs as Delta. Every so often, Delta would cast an odd look across at the pearlcatcher standing silently in the corner of the room.

“Is he or isn't he?” Robin said, making her voice soft for his benefit.

“He is,” Delta said, “but I was separated from my clan before they found that ship. I don't know their status...”

Aklys cleared her throat. She stood a few paces back from the table, incongruous among the uniformed soldiers in her shaggy furs and discoloured leather. “My scouts report that the ship was damaged extensively in the conflict.” She spoke with a strange accent and paused often, as if to search for words. “It would have sunk, but a guardian pulled it towards the Sea. We lost track of it at the border of the Sirenian Empire.”

“Right,” Robin said. “Here's the plan. Delta, you need to write to your clanmates. Let them know you're alive and that you need their help. We're not going to last much longer under siege conditions like this, but I'd rather hold out until we're sure we have this John person on our side.” She stared down at the war table, her eyebrows knitted together.

She'd been planning this for months, carefully setting down her railways and scouts around the Isles and surrounding territories to building up an information network with no parallel. She knew more than Rezann did about the battlefield – or, at least, she hoped she did. There were still some pieces that needed to fall into place, but the plan was about ninety per cent complete.

“Okay,” Delta said. “I'll do that. I can't guarantee anything, y'know, since, um, John's supposed to be in hiding and all. He might not want to go into battle.”

“Fine,” Robin said, “that's his choice. But you let him know that he may be the difference between success and failure – we can fight an army, but taking out those cannons is a different matter entirely. At the very least, see if you can get the schematics for his magic from him.”

With a nod, Delta uncertainly rose to his feet. When no one told him to sit, he headed for the door and let himself out. He and his two travelling companions had been given beds in the barracks, as well as food and supplies, as long as they promised to fight in the coming battle.

Once he was gone, Robin sighed gently and sat back again. She dragged a hand down her face. A nervous, electric atmosphere filled the air, exacerbated by the silence. Sitting still was impossible, so she rose to her feet and circled the table, studying the map pinned to the thick oak surface.

The area surrounding the citadel was crowded with wooden moth tokens. Her own forces were in hiding to the north and south, waiting to fall upon the Commander's assembled troops. A jumble of element tokens showed the positions of Rezann's generals. The Shadow, Wind, and Light tokens were off the map; Robin had personally dispatched the Shadow general. She didn't know where the other two were. The Wind general had been missing for years, so she wasn't particularly worried about them, but Fain, the Light general, could be an issue...

She stopped by the single window. This war chamber had been built on the side of one of the stationary central crystals, affording sweeping views across the countryside to the east beyond the city walls. Rezann's army blackened the green fields, a hive of activity. Three enormous cannons faced the city head-on. The other six were still unaccounted-for. If Robin wanted to win the battle, she would have to find some way to take out all nine before the actual fighting started.

“Ma'am,” a timid voice at her side said. Eladrin had come to stand by the window with her, his pale eyes fixed on the army outside. “I'm sure I can destroy the cannons, you don't have to rely on outside help.”

This was probably true. Eladrin, the shade-touched skydancer, caused magic to backfire violently in his presence.

“You can't be in nine places at once,” Robin said. “It's too dangerous.” She rested a hand on his shoulder briefly. “You're too important to throw away this early, Eladrin... no one else can do your job.”

Eladrin nodded, his crest lowering.

“President,” a voice said from behind. “The king wishes to speak with you.”

More good news. With a broad smile Robin turned and beckoned to the page who had come into the room. The page set down a scrying mirror on the war table and turned it to face her. Eladrin had to leave for this, for fear that his presence would disrupt the signal. The hooded pearlcatcher moved forward to stand behind Robin, her hands clasped behind her back.

She sat in front of the mirror. Its reflective surface shimmered for a moment, then solidified into a view of an elaborate black and gold tapestry. A moment later, a young guardian leant into the frame, as if to check that the mirror was working.

“Hello?” he said.

Robin inclined her head. “Your Majesty. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“President Robin,” he said, settling in front of the mirror. In comparison to the monochrome tapestry behind him, he was brilliantly coloured, green and cyan and deep red. Court Dorchadas' newest king was a dead ringer for his father, and Robin dearly hoped that the resemblance was only skin-deep.

“So I suppose you got my letter?” he said.

“Yes,” she said. No time to waste on pleasantries. “You want an alliance. Forgive me, but I thought that Court Dorchadas was allied with the Rezann?”

Emiliano nodded. “We used to be. Rather, we were allied with the Winterborn company, which primarily serves the Commander. But recent events have changed that for good. I would go to war with the Company in a second, but it's impossible to do so without also declaring war on Rezann. The Company's owner, Zaer, is Rezann's strongest ally. You can see where I'm getting at here, right?”

“I can,” Robin said. “So how about this: help us defeat Rezann now, and later I'll give any aid I can to help take down the Company. That includes my navy, my armed forces, my steam trains – should the need arise – and my magicians.”

“That sounds great,” Emiliano said earnestly. “We're ready to march at your word.”

“Well,” Robin said, “you can start marching now. The sooner you arrive, the better. I'll send someone out to discuss my terms and plans with you – we can't say too much over the mirrors, the Commander uses them too and he most definitely knows how to crack their encryption.”

“Of course. I'll get my militia ready. Thank you for this, President.”

Later, when Robin returned to her workshop to study in peace, she felt the faintest burst of guilt. With a sigh she sat at her desk and got to work, pressing a tiny mold blank into a dense pile of sand, ready to pour in molten iron. The result was a gear as fine as a wedding ring. She worked on it until the torchlight overtook sunlight as the primary source of illumination, slowly constructing each tiny necessary part for her creation.

There was a gentle knock on the door. The pearlcatcher let herself in, and as Robin glanced up she lowered her hood.

“This is a mistake, Robin,” she said softly, coming to lean against the side of the desk. “You're catching a tiger by the tail with this Dorchadas business.”

“I know, Lee,” Robin murmured, fitting another minuscule gear into the shell of her new pocket-watch. “But we don't have any other choice. We need their help.”

Lee lowered her dark gaze. She was entirely colourless – her skin and hair and eyes as grey as dilute ink. There was something unworldly about her. She was a necromancer, and it almost seemed like she herself was dead.

“If King Emiliano finds out...” she said.

“Don't worry,” Robin said. She wound up the watch and let it start, keeping an expert eye on the movement of the gears inside. “He won't.”

#quill darach #robin cfd #delta cfd #dubhcobhlaigh cfd #eladrin ca #emiliano cd #aklys cfd #how's that for a cast list

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modernart2012 · 7 years

Text

Day Two -Social Media

skatecatangel

Definite Proof Yuri Plisetsky and Otabek Altin are Dating (pt3/5)

As I said previously, there’s been rampant speculation about Yura (Yuri Plisetsky, aka, One of the Greatest Skaters to Ever Live™) and his relationship(s) or lack thereof. But what a HUGE portion of the skating community has overlooked is that he definitely is in a relationship and has been for a while. Part One covered basic background/ timeline, Part Two and body language, here and here.

But, SCA, you say, that’s all coincidental. It could be that they’re close friends. (HA, WAIT UNTIL PART FOUR!) Which, sure, they could be “close friends” but for further consideration: they wear each other’s clothes. And not just that. They choose clothes and outfits that complement each other.

What does that have to do with them being in a “relationship”? Well, dear anon, who is haunting my ask box as I write this, let me explain: have you ever noticed that over time, articles of clothing from your S.O.’s wardrobe ends up in yours? And that you wear it, and end up thinking, ‘hey, I like this let’s get more of something similar.’ Or even, ‘ah, this color is like that one, let me get it.’

Case in point, here is Yura in the present, wearing what looks like a classic black leather jacket and leopard print tee shirt and his classic leopard print sneakers.

Here is younger Yura, around the time of the 2016 Grand Prix Final. In a black hoodie with his Team Russia jacket, and leopard print sneakers. A natural progression, you’d think, as a person ages their taste changes. WRONG. Because look closer at that leather jacket, friend, and you’ll find that it looks the same as the one Otabek was wearing in these photos captured by Otababes recently.

“A JACKET MEANS NOTHING,” I can practically hear the antis scream. Ah, if only it were just a jacket.

See, ‘cause if you look closely, you can set up a timeline for how you go from hoodies and eyesores like this tiger sweatshirt (sorry Yura, you have to admit that purchase was questionable!) to fashion forward, yet still classic outfits. And not just Yuri, precious kitten tiger that he is. Otabek too. And it’s practically relationship GOALS.

Let us commence the perusal.

We’ve already seen pictures of Yuri’s past style (Death to the neon pink and orange combinations! Nothing more needs to be said on the subject of his younger, daring, garish fashion combinations. It’s rather obvious), so now we bring Otabek for comparison.

Here is baby!bek, in his pre-2016 Grand Prix Final state. (For those of you who failed to read the timeline, this is when they met. There was fleeing from Xtreme Angels, on a motorbike. We’ll get to that in a minute.) Leather jacket, neutral scarves, neutral toned athletic wear, jackets. Very monochrome palette. Now look at this photograph of baby!Yuri and baby!bek on a motorcycle. Yuri is in fine fashion form (probably trying to stay incognito from the Xtremers), and Otabek is in fine monochrome form. Even his sweater, possibly a pale pastel blue or grey (the lighting is bad), does not clash with his black leather jacket (and doesn’t that look familiar), dark grey scarf, and dark blue-grey pants. Even his fingerless gloves match! Boy goes the extra mile for his aesthetic, can’t you tell?

Don’t they look cute fleeing to safety who knows where? 💕💕💕

Fast forward through the next year, year and half, because things are largely the same as far as clothing choices. What is interesting to note is that Otabek, largely inactive and apathetic to Instagram, starts to use it more frequently than just (seemingly PR enforced) posts about travel or competitions. We start to see the two of them in each other’s Insta, as well as in Snapchat (the classic video of Yuri badgering the poor man as he finishes setting up his account posted to his story made the rounds on twitter so quickly, the sound barrier was probably broken.) Somehow, Yuri Plisetsky dragged Otabek into the age of social media both by personal use and Otabek’s own independent usage, and from then on we have (though infrequent on Otabek’s part, if not pictured with Yuri) a more accurate record to pull from as to sartorial choices.

The first thing to transfer - whether by diffusion or simply being left after a visit, is a dark grey scarf. One that looks particularly like a certain scarf a Kazakh skater was wearing in a certain photo. People who are vague friends or casual acquaintances don’t wear each other’s clothes, even if they are outerwear like scarves. (As an aside, who doesn’t find the sight of their crush or S.O. borrowing clothes from their wardrobe exciting?) Given the timeline, we can make the hypothesis that this could be pining stage, or at least mutual attraction stage - giving a bit more to build with in the conclusion.

Noticeably, Otabek starts wearing skinny jeans. (Humans with eyes to see the world over rejoiced. Instagram and Twitter crashed.) He may or may not have also rediscovered the color emerald, and it clearly loves him. (If that also happens to be the eye color of a particular Tiger ....)

Shortly after, he starts wearing skater shoes. And if one looks closely enough at pictures, they seem to be of the same brand as Yuri’s.

But SCA, the antis scream, those could all be coincidental! These are all either stuff that could have been left behind sometime or liked the look of some item and copied! This is not clothing sharing! Or complementary outfits! Well, my screaming mob, let me learn you a Thing. Beyond the fact I have several advanced degrees in Statistics, you idjits, and calculated that the probability of these events together (at the time point!) happened due to chance is less than <.0001 (and thus NOT DUE TO CHANCE), we do have to remember a few things. First off, this is evolution, this is not the final product. It’s not going to be complementary quite yet. Second, that it’s around this time Yuri goes through the Dreaded GROWTH SPURT. The sheer height increase (and difference) makes it entirely likely Yuri was running through clothing like green grass through a goose. (EDIT: The phrase “green grass through a goose” is a colloquialism meant to indicate something that happens fast and suddenly. Apologies for the simile.) There is no way Otabek would have fit into any clothes before, and definitely not when Yuri is outgrowing things quickly.

Luckily, this growth spurt is good for something other than Yuri’s meme-ing ability (and sheer impossibility of certain poses, no one should be able to do standing splits with legs that long, isn’t flexibility supposed to go with age? This is entirely unfair). Namely, we get Yuri Plisetsky in a grunge stage - hoodies with cut off sleeves and raw edges (adorably tiger striped), jeans ripped across the thigh and knee, t-shirts that are more hole than fabric, and so much more. And, oh the henleys. Except wait. Where have we seen that last one again? Hmmmmm......

And while Yuri goes through his mandatory teen grunge phase (a bit later than most, to be fair) and brings punk/pop punk/ emo back en vogue, we shall investigate Otabek’s wardrobe. Sometime between the earrings and growing out only the top of his hair into a full blown curtain (to which millions of humans swooned, because ffs wolf tails), Otabek discovered the rest of the rainbow. Brilliant blues (that are NOT his Team Kazakhstan jacket)? Heck yeah. Yellow? Oh, my, YES. Bright red? PEOPLE DIED BECAUSE OF THIS SWEATER, AND IT’S NOT BECAUSE THEY WERE VIRGINS.Not to mention patterns. Plaid is drool-worthy. Stripes? Oh my sweet Buddha. What about this subtly leopard printed scarf??

Oh, I could practically hear the mental record scratches and screeching, and it was glorious. That’s right. Otabek Altin. The Hero of Kazakhstan. In a leopard print scarf. One that we have no evidence for Yuri, Wearer of All Things Big Cat (however questionable), ever owning or even knowing about before seeing it on Otabek via Instagram. Meaning, to be explicitly clear: Otabek picked and wore that piece himself, without anyone else’s input. (We do see Yuri in the same scarf via Instagram during a visit to Almaty, but only the once. This is also date stamped as after the photos of Otabek wearing the scarf by several months.)

But wait, Yuri doesn’t have anything reciprocating the exchange! Beyond the fact that that barely, barely Englished, random imaginary anon, that’s only because I have yet to point out how Otabek has influenced Yuri’s wardrobe at this juncture. Because if you compare the past Yuri and the contemporary Yuri, you’ll see the very subtle progression of his color choices. Namely, that the absolute eye-searing atrocities that are his previous outfits slowly gain neutral bases to prevent retinal burn induced blindness. (And who do we know who loved his neutrals?)

That’s not all, because after this? Things accelerate (because apparently no one does slow burn relationships these days???) Yuri ends up in a black on black hoodie, with an embroidered tiger on the sleeve in a style reminiscent of Japanese Yakuza. The grey jeans and deep plum fingerless gloves give the entire looks a certain style, wouldn’t you say? (So does the fringe on the gloves, but that’s not relevant to the point.) Within a week, an intrepid Babe photographs Otabek in bright green athletic pants, and tiger striped socks, and a neon pink v neck (not at the same time though; it was the same Babe who took those three pictures.) What about this pair of yoga pants in a deep grey with subtle spotting? And Yuri’s rather amazing athletic jacket with the matte stripes, or the dark wash jean jacket?

Put any one of those photos of one of them next to a random photo of the other and try to tell me they don’t complement each other. Because they do. They’ve managed to sync outfits across countries and timezones, and still look like a frickin’ Power Couple. And the pics of them together? We’ve already analyzed some of these for body language, but just take in their outfits for a moment. Taken a good hard look? Good. See how it’s a cohesive image, with certain elements of one being reflected in the other? Now look at these celebrity Power Couples. They too have elements of each other’s styles and outfits that go together. Coincidence? I think not.

I can hear the haters screaming fruitlessly, so for a final nail in the coffin. This picture was posted on Yuri’s Insta account last week during Worlds (with Otabek tagged of, course). In it, you can see his latest pair of skates, proudly debuting a set with hydro-dipped blades with a leopard print design. Next to them you can see a pair of grey-white skate guards with a leopard print design. You’d think they’d be part of the same set, right? Lol, WRONG. If you translate the caption, and some of the comments, what you get is that only one of the pairs of items shown in the photo is Yuri’s. More than that, if you watched the competition, you’ll see Otabek putting the skate guards on his skates.

Of course, this is merely window dressing to the way they interact (Part Four), as seen in video and social media posts. Stay tuned for that last bit before the conclusion.

(Cross posted here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9852197)

#otayuri week #otayuri week 2017 #otayuri #the hyperlinks don't actually work yall #headsup #they all link to the ao3 fic #also #i hope the tongue in cheek humor of posting a fic in tumblr format ON TUMBLR makes you lol #meant to emulate a tumblr meta post #react accordingly #one day i will come back and add the tags to the bottom of this fic #today is not that day

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