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#love the detail they have on every single spot of the ride its so beautifully ornate it feels like a dream. bye

adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

Text

you’re someone i just want around: III

“You can have me tonight or never

I thought you understood

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

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

—Wrong, Zayn and Kehlani

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

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

word count: 24.2k

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

///

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

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

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

Harry still hates clubs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Very satisfied, yeah. Your help was greatly appreciated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that so?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The name’s Styles. Harry Styles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not going.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lock the door on your way out!”

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is, until she met Harry seven days ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first thing he notices is the dress.

Fuck, the dress.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nice to see you again, Disco Ball.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Far from it, love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like your dress.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It felt really nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t mind it, either.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, y-yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

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

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

Harry watches her with bliss-drunken fondness twitching his mouth, head falling back to hang between his shoulders as a low, “Such a good girl.” rumbles from his throat. His ring-clad fingers tangle into her locks and scratch at her scalp lightly, strained exhales encouraging her to keep going as she delights herself with tainting love bites all over him. He yanks the girl back up by her roots, grabbing her hips and roughly scooting her forward towards him, clammy foreheads pressing together as he fixes to fill her up for the first time in what feels like eternity.

The monster’s voice is as dominant and thick as she likes it. “Eyes up here. Want to see you come undone while I fuck you.”

The way he spreads Y/N open makes her choke out a scream like nothing else she’s ever heard. Harry simply clamps one of his palms over her mouth, continuing to ram into her at a harsh stride, gasping against her ear with every thrust as she rakes her nails across his back. “Gotta keep that pretty mouth quiet. Thin walls.”

The human feels like her heart is going to break through her ribs and what she doesn’t know is that with every passing beat, Harry feels it tenfold. And it’s driving him fucking insane— she drives him fucking insane. Especially when she looks at him with that glossy, begging gaze, biting into the mound of his hand as he slams his hips inside her so hard, the glasses in her cupboard shake. “Like it when I give it to you rough? Yeah, I thought so. Just like that? Harder? Say please…Christ, you’re a fucking angel.”

Y/N is dirty. So fucking filthy, and Harry loves every second of it. Loves that anything he throws out, she returns with as much enthusiasm, if not more. Loves that she can take his cock as hard as he’s willing to give it, which says a lot, considering his stamina and strength usually surpasses most humans. He’d met very few mortals who can match his sexual prowess and she happens to be one of them. She not only takes it, but pleads for more. She doesn’t just seek her own pleasure, but insists on delivering his own. And though they’re polars opposites at their core— she’s timid, physically standard, and boringly normal, whereas he’s confident, attractive, and unusually superior in every sense of the phrase— they fit together better than he’d ever care to admit. They’re perfectly compatible, down to their personalities and their intimate needs.

As Harry stands there— fingertips leaving welts across her waist as he grunts brokenly against her throat, stretching her out like she was meant to take him this deep, her moans sounding like classical melodies to his ears— he thinks that maybe...maybe he’ll keep her around. A friends with benefits situation would be the most ideal. And to quote his own clever motto from before, it would be mutualism at its finest.

The alliance would be nothing emotional; simply for the sake of providing each other with requited relief, as well as providing Harry with a convenient feeding arrangement. Neither of them would have to submit themselves to going to those terrible clubs, they both already know what the other enjoys, and the banter they share is pretty fulfilling. Plus, her blood is one of the sweetest he’s ever had. Whatever magic lies in her veins tides over his cravings in a fashion he’s never quite experienced. They both get what they want and don’t have to deal with the disasters of real commitment; neither are in a place in their lives where they can shoulder such a big responsibility. Harry is emotionally unavailable, as he has been for the past two centuries and as he intends to be for the next dozen. Y/N has just started anew in a place where she has so little to give and so much to lose, dating is the last thing on her mind. A casual no-strings-attached arrangement would be a perfect gift, bow and all.

And with the way they make each other cum multiple times that night— once on the counter, and twice on that trusty old couch— there’s not a single doubt in Harry’s mind that this is most definitely mutualism at its peak.

///

During the span of the next few weeks, Harry learns a lot about Y/N. It’s surprising how informational someone’s sex habits can be.

The second week after they had met— and the first since their second very heated, very satisfying encounter— she shoots him a text on Wednesday, of all days.

Harry isn’t doing anything particularly interesting when he receives her message. He had gone to see Mitch play at the bar that had recently booked him as a semi-permanent gig, sitting in the booth furthest in the back from all of the ruckus, fingers tapping along the waxed table to his best friend’s skilled jazzy guitar chords. Mitch always teases Harry about how he doesn’t have a job, which the vampire always waves off. Working for money is stupid and unnecessary; any materialistic wants and needs that plague him, he can get with the help of compulsion. Therefore, what’s the use in condemning himself the horrors of customer service or a constricting office cubicle?

His best friend is halfway through his set when Harry’s device vibrates against the sticky surface before him, tittering fingers coming to an abrupt stop. He flips over his iPhone, eyes flickering over the screen, a coy grin spreading its way across his blushed lips. Y/N’s contact beams up at him in return. He’d set her profile as just her name alongside three disco ball emojis, for the sake of their little inside joke.

I’m getting off work a bit earlier than I thought today and was wondering if you wanted to help me with my ceiling fan.

Harry bites into his bottom lip to muffle a chuckle, shaking his head lightly as he stares down at the comical request.

That’s odd. Last time I was there, you didn’t HAVE a ceiling fan.

Y/N sits on her lunch break in the backroom of the cafe where she’s employed, a veggie wrap halfway suspended towards her mouth when Harry’s text bloops in, pointing out her embarrassing mistake. She blinks at his correction blankly, eyes closing in faint humiliation as her true intentions are now painfully clear.

After a second of recollection, she types back some damage control, though it hardly has an impact. Harry’s already chortling to himself just thinking about how contorted her face must look at the moment.

I’m aware, thank you. I meant I wanted help picking one out. I’ve got a few tabs saved as potentials.

He decides to be a little shit about this whole thing, continuing to mock her.

You could just send me the links right now and I can tell you which one I like. You know that, right?

Y/N knows that. She also knows, by the tone and texture of his response, he’d only mentioned that alternative to be annoying. He knows she’s not talking about ceiling fans, and he just wants her to chase after him. Unfortunately enough for Y/N’s pride, she’s more than willing to.

I just think your opinion would be much more valuable and effective in person, since you’d be able to help me search for other ones at the same time. We’d cover more ground. Two heads are better than one!

We do make quite the team, don’t we?

I personally think so. A dynamic duo for the books, honestly.

A soft round of applause cuts through the air around the vampire, signaling the end of Mitch’s performance. Harry glances up to see his best friend mounting his guitar back into its case, smiling bashfully at the crowd and nodding his head in thanks to all their praise. Harry coins his luck; things couldn’t have wrapped up at a better time.

Alright, Watson. What time will you be home?

Y/N stops mid-chew through a bite of her meal, cheeks puffed as the corners of her mouth twitch at his nerdy reference.

I’m off at 6:45. Should be home by 7.

I’ll see you there, then.

See you there. Also, why do YOU get to be Sherlock? Seems a bit sexist.

Harry rolls his eyes at her quip, smirking to himself as he types out his final response.

Well, first and foremost, I’m literally English. Secondly, last time I checked, I’m always the one in control. And frankly, you seem to like it that way. See you at seven, darling.

And at seven on the dot, Harry’s outside her apartment. His friends would be amazed at his punctuality. He only shows it when it’s worth the trouble.

The creature walks up the steps to the mortal’s complex with his Ray-Ban sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, keychain tucked into the back pocket of his black skinny jeans, and his tan Chelsea boots clicking against the cement ground. A light wind whips his Keith Harrington Safe Sex t-shirt against the broad muscles of his back, drawing a soothed sigh from his lungs. He loves the California weather.

He gives her door three swift knocks with his ring-clad knuckles, stepping back from the entrance and clasping his large hands behind his back as he waits.

When Y/N answers, Harry tilts his chin down a smidge, looking at her over the brim of his chic black glasses with his signature dazzling smile dimpling his cheeks. He lists his head slightly in a formal greeting. “Detective.”

The girl’s irises flit up to the ceiling as amusement twitches her lips. She plays along. “Nice to see you again. Detective.”

She moves off to the side, beckoning him to come in and he gladly takes the offer, striding into the flat and down the narrow corridor he’s grown quite familiar with. Y/N follows him back into her living room, gaze quickly drinking up his appearance. He’s casual today— less jewelry, more comfortable clothes— and he works the normal fit as effortlessly as he works his fancy brands. Especially with those tight dark jeans. They hug his thighs in a fashion that should be illegal.

Harry twists around on his heel to face her, reaching up to remove his sunglasses and tucking them along the collar of his tee. A handful of curls fall across his forehead, framing his face and sculpting his jaw, as usual. A sweep across Y/N’s physique tells him everything he needs to know.

She’s still in her work clothes, clad in a navy blue polo shirt and a pair of dark skinnies similar to his. Her hair is down, though the strands have a dent that suggests she’d been wearing a ponytail. Her mascara is smudged a tad under her seemingly tired eyes, but her attitude is as bright and lively as always. She appears messy, but he likes it. It’s a type of unconventional beauty that’s natural and genuine, which he can appreciate.

He contemplates her with a certain slyness that makes her shift in her socked feet.

“I got a message earlier. Sounded kinda frantic.” He drifts closer to the human, a sultry tension growing taut between them. He glances upward for an instant, as if recalling a thought. “Something about ceiling fans…?”

Y/N chews into her cheek to keep from giggling, allowing him to press his chest to hers. He slowly begins to back her up towards the shabby couch, which has seen this interaction happen one too many times. “Yeah, I’m thinking of getting one. Figured it’d help. It just gets really hot in here sometimes, y’know?”

“Mmm…” Harry thrums in agreement, deep in the back of his throat. His hands crawl onto her hips and grasps them somewhat roughly, index fingers hooking into the belt loops of her jeans as he leans down to brush his soft lips over her own. She’ll never grow tired of the electricity that passes through them every time their mouths touch. It kindles her needs unlike anything else. “It does get pretty hot in here sometimes. Especially if you’re working up a sweat.”

He pushes her further towards the sofa, movements gradual as she drifts backwards, careful not to trip her. She glimpses down at where their lips are flirting, breath hiccuping when he licks his lightly in anticipation, his tongue just barely grazing her Cupid’s bow. “Absolutely. A fan would definitely help relieve some of that stress.”

“Yeah.” Harry nudges the tip of her nose with his own, feeling her grab at his biceps for security as he continues inching her backwards blindly. “It can work wonders for when you’re all pent up, too. Especially when you’re really tight, which I know for a fact you are.”

The backs of the girl’s knees hit the edge of the couch and she topples into its cushions. She sits up onto her elbows, sheer need inking into her irises as he patiently begins to undo his belt. His long, nimble fingers work with ease and he seems to be in no particular rush, which pricks at her nerves because she feels completely the opposite. She’d been thinking about him since Friday night— or rather, Saturday morning, when he had actually stayed for breakfast that time around.

Y/N had sat on top of her small dining table while he took the seat before her shirtless, leaning forward with his arms crossed nonchalantly over her lap as she fed him bites of lemon blueberry pancakes. The pads of his calloused fingers had drawn random shapes across the warm skin of her thighs, attempting to cheekily slip beneath her pajamas shorts and he’d giggle boyishly around mouthfuls of food every time she would swat his hand away. He looked so fucking pretty that morning, with his curls tangled in tuffs and the vague imprint of her teeth scattered across his grinning mouth, angry red scratches decorating his bare shoulders. That wholesome yet dirty image had left her head spinning for days.

The sound of Harry’s zipper ripping open blinks Y/N back into the present and she nearly gawks as he grabs onto the hem of his graphic t-shirt and yanks it over his head, arms crossing as he does so. He tosses it onto her playfully, laughing as she smacks it away from her face and gives him a deadpan look. Harry leans forward, propping his palms on either sides of her head and bracketing her in, the unmissable scent of his delicious cologne invading her senses as his dark tattoos ripple over the lean tendons of his stomach and arms. His strangely cold forehead flushes against hers and he nips at her top lip, tugging it between his teeth and releasing. His voice comes out as deep and hypnotizing as ever.

“Get undressed for me. Want your thighs wrapped around my head.”

Harry comes to find that for such a reserved girl, Y/N has a pretty intriguing sexual mindset. She’s open to a lot of stuff he’d never expect from a rural-town escapee. Her kinks surprise him, but pleasantly so, considering they cross over with a lot of his own. She’s into choking, which he adores. There’s nothing hotter than feeling her pulse slam against the palm of his hand as his array of rings mark into the delicate skin of her throat. She likes being restrained, which translates into Harry pinning her wrists above her head while he slams between her drenched thighs. It’s difficult to achieve that on the sofa, so they end up rolling across the rug on the floor, her legs tangled around his hips like a vine as he pants into her mouth, damp hair flopping over his forehead and tickling her eyelashes. Ideally, he would have used his belt to tie her hands to a headboard. If they were at his place, he would’ve just reached for the metal cuffs he has hanging casually off the railing of his bed, which he keeps there for easy access. But they’re in her living room, so he makes do with what he can.

The vampire doesn’t stay over that night, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he promised Niall he’d help him out with a car issue. Apparently the motor is making a weird noise and Harry isn’t shocked one bit. Niall barely has the brain cells to be alive, much less to handle the upkeep that comes with owning a vintage vehicle. He thanks Y/N for a good time as he slips into his tight jeans and recovers his sunglasses from the floor, pulling his tee over the already fading hickies littering his collarbones, fitting his accessory into his sweaty curls.

Harry leans down to where she lays limply, splayed over the couch where he had placed her after picking her up off the ground (only after he’d made her cum twice). He plants a nonchalant farewell kiss to her parted lips, thumbing over her bruised nipples jestingly and grinning into her mouth when she whimpers. “I’ll see you later, Watson. Let me know which fan you decide to buy.”

Two days later, Harry’s phone chimes again, this time with the unique ringtone he’d assigned just for her.

He’s relaxing in his bathtub, submerged up to his chest in hot water mixed with Epsom salts and jasmine bubble bath, his locks sudsy with shampoo. He’s in the middle of shaving his face, dragging the straight razor (his time in the nineteen thirties made him picky towards any other tool, especially those simpleton plastic ones) down his jaw carefully, making sure not to nick the little moles under the corner of his mouth. When his device goes off, he halts all his motions, glancing over from the hand mirror he’s holding before his face. He’d changed her contact name to Watson as homage to their funny little dynamic, but he’d kept the disco balls in their place. He respects the roots of their acquaintanceship.

Fan came in. Wanna come check it out?

He had a nagging suspicion he’d hear from her today. It’s another Friday night, after all. He’s just happy she’d texted earlier than last time so he can flake on his friends without forcing them to wait for an hour.

Wow, you chose two day shipping? You must be itching to see me.

Don’t let it go to your head. The only thing I’m itching for is your professional opinion.

Right. Well, me and my professional opinion are washing up at the moment so give me thirty minutes and I’ll be there, yeah?

Sounds good to me, Sherlock.

Harry decides on an outfit that falls at the center of his dressing spectrum— something comfortable but not lazy. Something semi-formal. He doesn’t really have to impress her anymore (not that he had to try that hard in the first place) but he wants to look good, either way. There’s nothing wrong with showing off what he has, both physically and wardrobe-wise. He chooses a horizontal-striped fitted tee made of thick cotton, the lines alternating between brown, beige, and a light caramel. He tucks the shirt into a pair of mid-rise corduroy flared pants that are a dark mustard shade, shrugging on an olive green jacket with red and white stitch detailing along the edges, large images of cacti embroidered along its expanse. His pearls, cross necklace, and he opts out of his earring this time. Rings, vanilla chapstick, mint gum. Keys, wallet, starch white Vans.

Before he knows it, he’s being roughly pulled into her home from his spot just outside her threshold, his cherry-lacquer nails carding into the silky hair along the nape of Y/N’s neck as his teeth skim over the hollow of her throat. The human grapples to push his coat off his wide shoulders, backing further down the small hallway of her flat and kicking the door shut. She holds his head firmly to the sensitive spot in her neck that he’d toyed with a week prior, and he can’t resist the way his eyes blink crimson— a hunting impulse, stemming from the sound of her blood rushing through her carotid artery. He hadn’t fed last time— vampires only need to feed once a week to avoid desiccation— so he surely intends to tonight.

Harry’s hands fit perfectly around the dip of her spine, pulling her body tight to his as he paints sloppy kisses over her jugular. He gets his teasing words out in between desperate gasps and breathy chuckles. “And here I thought this was genuinely going to be about the fan.”

“Shut up.”

Y/N makes a sharp turn, tugging him into her room instead of the living room and it dawns on him that this is the first time they’re going to fuck in her actual bed. All those instances of sleeping together and not once had they done anything on the piece of furniture that was intended for that sole purpose. It’s ironically hilarious and he voices that opinion as they stumble onto her mattress.

“You know,” Harry murmurs into her mouth as she shoves him flat onto the rumpled sheets (she hadn’t made her bed this morning and that’s endearing, for some reason), straddling his lap as she hurriedly pulls his t-shirt out from along the waistband of his trousers. “Out of all the times we’ve done this— which is quite a few— we’ve never done anything on your bed other than sleep.”

That’s a lie. He’s never actually slept in her bed. After staring at the ceiling blankly two weeks ago for about eight hours, he had been smart enough to grab his phone from his pants the second time around. He spent that stretch of time playing Mario Kart and watching Unsolved Mysteries on Netflix with the volume down just out of human earshot, so as to not disturb her slumber.

Y/N ducks in order to drag her wet, pillowy lips down the butterfly inking on his tummy and over the spines of the two ferns on his pelvis, licking across his happy trail. He jerks in response, a soft grunt gurgling in his lungs as she uses her index finger to trace the outline of his hardening cock through the velvet fabric of his slacks. Her voice is distant, giggle breathless. “Yeah, you’re right. How counterintuitive.”

Harry swiftly pops the button of his trousers, helping her coax them down his legs, releasing a stuttery moan when she immediately bends down and mouths at his prick over his briefs. The soiled stain forming around the tip of his cock would be embarrassing if he didn’t know she found it hot.

His tone is tight but humorous as she continues licking at him eagerly through his underwear, nails digging into his inner thighs. “Am I your first?”

Confusion flickers in her eyes for a moment before she realizes the joke. He’s referring to if he’s the first person she’s slept with on her new bed in her new home. “Yes, you are, actually.”

Harry’s juts his bottom lip out into an overly-sweet exaggerated pout, talking in a honeyed drawl. “Aw, I get to christen your bed with you? We’re practically married now. When’s the baby due?”

“God, you’re a moron.” Y/N bursts into a fit of laughter as she mounts back onto his lap, pinching at his torso in fake spite and feeling her insides flutter at the airy giggles that escape him. She gnaws on her bottom lip thoughtfully for a second, watching with hunger as he finishes removing his shirt and momentarily sits up to chuck it onto the ground over her shoulder.

Harry falls back onto the mattress, folding his taut arms behind his neck, biceps flexing with the movements as his strong chest and toned stomach look as appealing as ever. She runs her palms over his tanned skin, feeling the sturdy muscle shift beneath her touch. Shit.

The immortal slinks his head to the side, eyes going half-lidded in suggestive mischief as he sees the way she’s objectifying him. He doesn’t mind; he actually lives for it. “Are you just gonna keep staring or are you gonna fuck me?”

His lewd comment washes warmth across Y/N’s ears and spurs her into action. In less than a minute, she’s fully unclothed, bouncing on his cock with a type of need that boils the pit of Harry’s belly. His fingers are digging bruises into her waist, slamming her down onto his prick with enough force to make the old bed creak wildly. She may be on top, but he’s still the one pulling the strings.

Y/N collapses forward, anchoring herself onto her forearms on either sides of his head, burying her face in his auburn ringlets. She bites onto her tongue, trying to keep a tab on the atrociously loud sounds threatening to spill from her mouth. They come out as broken whines instead, which Harry drinks up like a glass of aged bourbon. She fists at his roots, jolting with every thrust he gives upwards, her knees digging into his love handles to keep balanced. At this point, she’s barely riding him at all. He’s just ramming himself into her from below as he guides her hips and she doesn’t have an issue with that at all. She likes when he leads.

His growl comes out low and raspy, riding on a moan, his warm, choppy exhales pebbling her bare nipples. “How’s that, darling? How’s that cock feel?”

Y/N nods her head frantically, not trusting her tongue to form an appropriate response.

“Tell me.” He grits out through bared teeth, back arching a bit as he feels the knot of white hot pleasure in his stomach twist and turn.

“I— I can’t. I’m—”

One of Harry’s hands coasts down the small of her back and onto her ass, giving it a harsh squeeze. She yelps at the new sensation, pain and bliss intermingling. “Yeah, you fucking can. You will. Use your words. Tell me how much you like it.”

A violent shutter runs through Y/N’s limbs and she instinctively pushes back against his palm. Harry’s eyebrows kink in question as he feels her draw her face back from his hair. One look at her eyes tells the entire narrative: She wants him to spank her.

Harry slowly lifts his hand from her skin, brows raising a bit higher for confirmation. Y/N smears his lips against his forehead and left cheekbone, bobbing her head desperately, whispering a tiny, “Yes, please.” that sends smoky tendrils of hot air cascading down his straining neck.

When the vampire’s hand comes down, it’s fast and hard, his cold rings biting into her flesh and leaving welts, the sound echoing off the glossy walls and tall bookshelf in her room. The cry that betrays her could probably be heard down on the main floor of her complex.

The shattered noise makes Harry sanity slip and he’s lucky she’s too lost in her own bliss to see the way his eyes glow dangerously red. “Fuck, you’re such a slut for it.”

Harry suddenly boosts himself forward, toppling Y/N backwards until she’s the one wedged against the bed. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, nestling her face into the crook of his sweaty collarbones, cracked cries pooling into the junction of his clavicle as he hikes her roughly up his thighs. He sinks further between her legs until he bottoms out with a loud garbled groan, pushing so deep she can feel him in the trench of her belly.

“Oh my God, Harry— I— fuck, just—just— oh!”

His pace rises in intensity, strokes messy and unforgivable as he fucks her into the bed, the cracking of the frame warning him that it might give away. “Oh, so you liked that, did you? Like it when I call you a slut and stretch you out like one?”

Harry feels Y/N’s teeth rip into his shoulder in order to evade a scream; a strong shiver pin-balls down his spine as a result. Her voice is absolutely wrecked as she talks over her muffled mouth. “Loved it. Loved it so much. Want—Want more. Please, please, please.”

Harry holds her down firmly to the sheets, pounding into her with a form of unrestrained force he’s never exhibited. She just drives him to the brink like no one else has in nearly twenty decades. “Can you feel me in your tummy, pet? Can you feel how I fill you up?”

“Yes, yes— it’s so good, Harry. You’re incredible.”

“Such a proper little whore.” He has to actively hold back from digging into her throat with his fangs, his eyes screwing shut in concentration as his orgasm begins to burn through his veins. “Begging me to fuck you like one, over and over. You’ve never had it this good, have you?”

“N-No. You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.”

“Hands off.”

“W-What?”

“Hands off.”

Y/N obeys, throwing her arms above her head and letting them hang off the edge of the bed as he’d instructed. It’s not like he wants her to stop scratching down his back, but he knows that if she continues, he’s going to black out. He’s already teetering, obvious in the black webs he can feel materializing over the whites of his eyes.

“Ask for permission.”

The mortal unclamps her teeth from his bruised shoulder and swallows heavily, her words sputtering out from how hard she’s jerking against the bed. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please—can I—can I cum?”

“‘May I cum.’” The boy corrects, half because he wants to be a cocky ass, and half because it’s automatic. He was raised during an era where intellectual accuracy was of utmost value in society. It’s hard to leave those lessons behind.

Y/N hiccups another mewl, hands curling into loose fists above her head as he continues to fuck her deliberately into the duvet. She repeats his phrase shakily. “May I cum? Please?”

Harry’s lashes flutter open and as soon as he sees her, all doe-eyed, covered in his love marks, with her bottom lip trembling...It’s like a switch flips. When he speaks, it’s soft and encouraging; a drastic contrast from his mood a few seconds ago. “Yeah...Yeah, baby, go ahead. Cum for me.”

That night, as Harry lays there awake staring at that awful popcorn roof with the taste of her blood fresh on his tongue and her steady heartbeat throbbing in his heightened ears, he catches himself smiling in the dark. It doesn't have to do with emotions or feelings or any of that complicated bullshit. It just has to do with the fact that he found some consistency in his life, as unattached and materialistic as it may be. They don’t have a complex bond or a deeper meaning. They simply just coexist. They provide some common stability to each others’ lives and it helps keep an important balance. Stability is so rare to find, especially for an immortal who is condemned to witness the world constantly evolve around them while they remain frozen in time. Society will change, people change, appearances change, alliances change, and though it can be exhilarating, at times, Harry never truly has a say in it. He’s always just strung along for the ride.

This is different. It’s static, and that’s all he really needs it to be. Sex can be so emotionally messy if lines aren’t drawn and boundaries aren’t set. But with Y/N, it’s like they have a silent understanding— an unspoken agreement signed by both parties. It’s a notion that could have spared Harry his life in the past, and it’s an ideal that— even in death— took him centuries to learn:

Some people are meant to be loved, while others are just meant to be naked.

///

The third week is when things escalate for the better.

Specifically, Tuesday night. That’s when the sexting starts.

It’s a pretty calm evening and Harry finds himself with nothing to do. Mitch is out with Sarah, who had come into town two days ago due to the band she’s touring with being on a three week break. She’d said she wasn’t staying for long— maybe a week, because she has plans to visit some other bloodsucker friends in Canada. Even though Mitch tries to hide it, Harry can tell he’s bummed about Sarah’s short visit. The older vampire is good at hiding his emotions, but Harry’s known him for so long that he could read Mitch’s mood even if he was blindfolded and gagged.

The jade-eyed boy had been honest with his best friend, asking him what the point was in continuing to see someone whose depth of interest in the relationship wasn’t as developed as his own. Mitch had simply shrugged one shoulder and told Harry that he wouldn’t understand. He mentioned something about how eventually, the freshblood high would wear off and Sarah would find herself wanting to settle down somewhere with someone she could trust for the rest of eternity. Mitch explained that he cared for her enough to wait until then.

His best mate had been wrong. Harry does understand. He understands the concept of chasing after someone who, in the end, didn’t want anything to do with him. He understands it a little too well, sadly. He figures that’s the same fate Mitch is bound to suffer, just on a less extreme level.

But then again, Harry’s perception of love is majorly skewed, so who is he to judge?

With Mitch tied up with Sarah (probably literally, though Harry doesn’t dwell on that; it’s none of his business), his options dwindle to the rest of the crew. Niall and Xander had invited him to a concert they were attending, but Harry politely declined the offer. The musicians were some wannabe indie band and Harry would rather swallow a nicotine addict’s blood than listen to a couple of morons sing in cursive. Adam had suggested he tag along with him, Ny-Oh, and Charlotte to a new art exhibit that had opened up in the next town over. It was a thirty minute drive, so it wasn’t that bad, but Harry declined that invitation, as well. He loves art, if the giant collection on his wall has anything to say about it, but he doesn’t get on well with Ny or Charlotte. They say he’s “too much of an arrogant dickhead” to be around for an extended period of time. They’re right, of course, but it still hurts. Plus, Ny has a mullet and Harry knows he wouldn’t be able to withhold from making a Billy Ray joke. It’s best he stay away, lest she end up with an achy-breaky heart.

So that leaves him here, all alone at eight P.M. on a Tuesday, plopped on his couch in nothing but a pair of maroon plaid boxers as Hamilton plays on the ninety inch flatscreen mounted on his glass wall. He had left the curtains open, not really caring that he’s practically naked. The sun’s already set and it’s almost pitch black outside; plus, he lives on the twenty-fourth floor of the condominium complex. The only living being risking an eyeful is a peepy pigeon. Even then, Harry’s more than happy to put on a show. He’s confident enough in himself that nudity is practically second nature. His friends can attest to that.

Harry lays across his leather sofa with a large checkered throw cushion snuggled into his side, one of his hands slung across the backrest of the couch as the other remains submerged wrist-deep in a bag of Veggie Straws. His socked feet are propped up on his round marble coffee table, ankles crossed and posture anything but eloquent. The apartment is silent, except for the musical streaming through the speakers of his television set and the gentle pattering of rain just outside his glorified window pane, accompanied by the faint flickering of the city lights below. The atmosphere of the room is relaxed and cozy and it lulls his soul in a manner he can’t put into words.

Harry has always liked the rain. Ever since he was a child, he would sit by the small round window of the attic room he shared with his older sister, watching it fall from the sky in sheets of glittering sapphires, soaking into the dry ground and turning it into a slush of dirt he would later sneak out to play in. When he got older, he would prop his shoulder against the doorframe at the back of his father’s blacksmith shop and gaze at it, mesmerized by how it would trickle down the streets of the public market, washing away all the grime that came with a bustling city’s reputation. Sometimes he would stand in it, feeling its cool touch run down his arms and soak into the back of his sot-covered work shirt. He enjoyed how it would cleanse the sticky sweat from his face and neck, its gentle nature leaving him feeling like he could float through air. Then his father would call him back into the store and playfully scold him for allowing himself to get drenched, warning that his mother would kill him if he caught a cold.

Harry’s changed a lot since then, he knows that, but it comforts him that his love for rain is the one aspect of his personality that two hundred years of Hell had failed to take from him.

The melodies swimming out of his TV reign him back in from memory lane.

Harry’s not really one to enjoy musicals, but back when Hamilton had first hit Broadway, he’d used his persuasive supernatural abilities to sneak into one of the first showings. He’d been curious as to what all the hype was about, and the play did not disappoint. The songs were catchy, the acting was good, and the characters were brought to life through raw emotion and comedy. He respected that. And the plot of the story itself resonated with him deeply, as well. A protagonist that rose from nothing, fell in love with the wrong woman, and made terrible life choices that seemed correct at the time, which would all eventually lead to his death. It hit a bit too close to home.

If he had a dollar for every time he’s seen it since it had come out on Disney+, he could probably pay rent himself instead of compelling others to do it for him.

The play is halfway through one of its most famous ballads when the monster’s phone dings with a familiar tune. A smirk is already etching itself across his face before he even unlocks his device.

I need interior design advice.

I’m still a little sore from our last help session. How’d you bounce back so quick?

Funny, but I need ACTUAL interior design advice this time.

Harry’s brows furrow in mild confusion and slight disappointment. He draws his hand from the junk food container, dusting off the crumbs. Oh.

Genuinely?

Yup!

He guesses he’ll give it a go. He does have pretty exquisite taste; the modern gothic aesthetic of his condo proves that. It’s not like he has anything better to do.

Alright, shoot.

Y/N releases the breath she’d been holding in. Thank God he’s agreed to help. As much as she’s ashamed to admit it, Harry’s really the only person in LA that she deems relatively close to a friend. She hasn’t managed to mesh well with her coworkers much, despite the fact that she’s been trying extremely hard. She just doesn’t wanna force herself into unfulfilling fake friendships for the sake of having people to flaunt. It’s not right and she knows she’d grow to resent it.

So instead, she’d reached out to the one California resident who doesn’t make her skin crawl.

Whew, okay, thanks in advance! So I went out yesterday and got a new bedspread and I wanted some help choosing a new accessory to go with it, which is going on my wall.

Harry’s ears perk up and his back straightens at her statement. Could she finally, by the grace of fucking God, be getting rid of that shitty tapestry?

Well, let me see it, then. Don’t keep a man waiting, I’m dying to play Property Brothers over here.

A picture comes through of the two new accessories Y/N is referring to and the way Harry’s face drops instantly is almost comical.

Which tapestry fits better? I’m thinking the Van Gogh style painting of a lighthouse. The blue goes well with the dark turquoise of the comforter. But then again, the forest canopy has those pretty exotic flowers that compliment the coral stitching. I can’t decide.

The vampire’s face pinches in disgusted horror as he blinks down numbly at the image on his screen. He’s going to be sick. Those Veggie Straws are about to make a hideous comeback.

…two new tapestries? Did the other one rip or…?

What? No!! I just saw these down at the thrift store and thought they were cute. Why? Are they really that bad??

They’re not just bad, they’re worse. He’s going to ask her to blindfold him next time he visits.

They’re…kinda immature, dove. I just thought you’d go for something cooler this time, like a vintage painting or a couple vinyls to mount on the wall.

Immature?

Oops. He should have picked his words more carefully. Now he’s gone and offended her and she’ll probably bite down the next time he puts his—

Another message interrupts his spiraling negative conclusions.

I know you didn’t just call ME immature when you compared me to a cream-filled donut, Harry.

The playful tone in the text delivers a wave of relief that is almost as pleasurable as what lies between Y/N’s legs.

Can I speak freely for a second? Full disclosure, no consequences?

That preface makes me think you’re about to chew me out.

I’ll be gentle, I promise. I know it’s not our usual dynamic, but I’ll give it a go.

Y/N ignores the bristling across her cheeks.

Alright, go head.

I just think tapestries are kinda stupid. They scream “confused teenager trying to find myself.” But that’s just my opinion. I’m only telling you so you know that I’m probably not the best bloke to go to with tapestry inquiries.

Harry watches as a read receipt stares up at him for a few seconds. Just when he thinks he might have truly upset her this time, her message bubble pops up.

So...the one I’ve had hanging in my room the last three times you’ve been over…

I had to actively restrain the urge to strangle myself with it.

Y/N breaks out into laughter. The image of waking up to Harry laying facedown on her bedroom floor, balls naked and mummified within a sunrise tapestry...It’s sending her.

Well, you know what? That’s not fair! You can’t judge my house when I haven’t even had the chance to judge yours.

Harry nods once to himself in surrender, reaching up to finger-comb a few rebellious curls out of his eyes. She makes a valid play.

Fair enough. You’ll have to come over and give me your opinion sometime.

I’d be honored to. Now, would you be so kind as to put your own personal bias aside this once and help me choose which one to put up. I promise I’ll spare you any more tapestry-related problems in the future. I’ll remove it from my customer contract.

Harry sighs defeatedly. He can’t believe he’s giving up his integrity for sex.

Fine. Send me a picture of both of them up on the wall. It’ll give some perspective.

Y/N giddily obliges, deciding to send a video instead. That way, she can get all of the angles in one go rather than having to send multiple pictures.

Harry waits patiently, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth as he taps his foot against the coffee table to the tune of Wait for It, which is playing in the film that has now become the backdrop of his night. When Y/N’s next message comes through, he’s mildly surprised to find it’s a video. He clicks play, watching intently as she circles the two pinned tapestries slowly, making sure to get a proper view from all sides. By the time the thirty second clip is coming to an end, Harry’s leaning more towards the tropical canopy painting. It’s not as loud and she was right about the flowers matching the stitching on the duvet.

He’s about to tap back “the forest one” when something flashes across the screen that makes him choke on his snack, launching him into a coughing fit.

It’s within the last three seconds of the video and if he had cut it off in order to text back, he would have missed it. But he hadn’t, and now it’s burned into the back of his eyelids, causing a buzzing sensation to string right to the area between his thighs.

The last few frames of the video, Y/N had lowered her phone from the position she’d been suspending it, probably thinking she had already stopped filming. She hadn’t. And because of that, Harry gets a full frontal view of her body, covered in nothing except a pair of lace panties and a mid-thigh oversized Avengers t-shirt. The entire screen fills with bare, silky skin and raunchy lace and he can feel his fangs poke into his tongue.

Harry’s not a pre-teen; he’s not going to drool over seeing a pair of legs. What really gets to him is the fact that it appears Y/N still has a few hickies across the inner area of her thighs, which have failed to fade as quickly as the others. They should be gone, given that anytime Harry feeds (like he had the last time they’d slept together), he always gives her a bit of his blood to heal. Meaning, normal bruises like that should be gone. Maybe he just hadn’t given her a high enough dosage, or maybe he’d marked her more than he remembers, but either way, the stains are there.

The vampire ogles at the paused image with a dry throat and wide eyes. Just seeing her like that, dressed in comfy yet effortlessly sensual attire with no bottoms on whatsoever, freely flaunting his love bites around her apartment, probably looking at them in her mirror, thinking about how his teeth had felt grazing her skin…

It’s enough to pop a stiffy into his briefs.

Harry glimpses over the top of his phone, swallowing thickly at the large bulge beginning to tent his boxers. His socked toes curl as he feels a longing throb begin to swell at the pit of his clenching stomach. Great. This is just fucking perfect.

He attempts to tap back a reply, but his hands have started quivering slightly, clumsy thumbs ruining his message to the point where he has to retype it three times.

The forest one. I agree with what you said about the stitching.

Okay, thank you so much! Your input is highly appreciated, as always.

The immortal finds himself gnawing at the inside of his cheek, weighing on whether he should mention the little softcore porn moment she’d unknowingly shot, or if he should just let it slide and go take care of the issue that is literally weighing on him— he can feel it getting heavy against his thigh.

His fingers seem to take on a mind of their own, printing out a quick sentence and hitting the send button before he can rethink his motives.

Did you watch your video before you sent it?

Uh no...It looked pretty okay to me while I took it. Why, do you need a different one? Was the lighting too dark?

The fact that she sent it by accident only adds to the appeal. She’s such a good girl. So fucking innocent and sweet, she could practically give him a toothache.

Do me a quick favor and rewatch it all the way to the end. I think you’ll be surprised with what you find.

Y/N leans back against her bookshelf wall, chewing on her bottom lip as a sly grin ticks the corners. She doesn’t have to rewatch the video. She’s fully aware of what she had done, which had been completely on purpose. She’s only playing dumb to see his reaction, getting off on how flustered he seems to have become. Yes, her intentions for contacting him had originally been purely for his opinion on decor. But when she saw the chance, she decided to jump headfirst and take it. What are friends with benefits for if not for times like these, when you’re too lazy to come over but need a bit of relief?

The human allows a full thirty seconds to pass, simulating that she’s watching the video, and then thoughtfully taps out her response.

Oh, whoops. Sorry for the indecent exposure.

Harry shifts in exasperation against his sofa, the radiating in his abdomen crawling up to his chest and down to his knees. He needs to take care of himself now.

It’s fine, babe. You just might wanna be more careful, cause this time around you got lucky that it was me and it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Could go south if it were someone else.

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly at his scolding, but continues to play the clueless act, curious to see where it’ll take her.

You’re absolutely right, I’m so sorry.

Harry clears his throat, flinching as he feels a soft twitch run up the length of his cock. He exhales tightly, trying to steer the conversation into a lighter mood. He doesn’t want her to feel bad; it’s not like he’s angry about this. He’s hot and bothered and needy, but not mad.

I just think it’s funny you exposed the fact that you go around your house without pants.

Oh, fuck off! No one ever wears pants around their own house, especially if they’re alone. It’s one of the laws of physics. No human resistance, no pants.

Harry glances down at his body symbolically, where he’s clad in only his underwear, as well.

Touché.

Exactly.

A pause befalls the conversation as both parties fish for something new to say. The situation’s become less lively and more intense now and neither are sure how to navigate without crossing a line. In a surge of courage, Y/N decides to just directly communicate her intentions, praying that he doesn’t take it the wrong way.

I have an idea, just hear me out. For the sake of evening the playing field, I think that since you saw me pantsless, it’s only fair that I see you the same way. It balances out, right?

Harry’s jaw drops in an open-mouthed simper, impressed by her blatant suggestion, but also by how smoothly she had delivered it. He mumbles his next words to himself, voice amused and somewhat awed at how she had managed to spin this to her benefit. “You clever little minx. Bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

Y/N purses her lips, shrugging her brows cheekily.

Maybe.

The vampire scoffs, taken aback not only at the ploy she’d pulled off, but at how unapologetic she is about the whole thing. It’s hot.

Alright, l’ll bite. Tick for tack.

The photo that comes through makes Y/N choke on her spit. It’s not anything too revealing, but it packs a lot. Literally.

It’s a pretty casual picture, and she gets the feeling he took it as so just to be a tease. In the frame, all she sees is a snapshot of Harry’s lap, thighs straining against the flimsy material of a pair of crimson tartan boxers, the large tigerhead tattoo he totes somehow prominent in the low lightning. Of course it stands out, though. That’s to be expected; his thighs are thick in the most satisfying fashion and they’re one of his most defining features. She can also see the bottom half of his lean tummy, the cutoff being the crest of his belly button. His fern inkings are peeking out of from below the waistband of the Calvin Kleins, dark and matte on his lightly bronzed skin, and she spots the nonchalant position of his crossed ankles in the background.

As appetizing as every little detail is, the centerpiece of the portrait is the obvious bulge pressing into the fabric of his briefs. The outline is so prominent, the picture borderlines on graphic. His cock looks pretty as ever, even when it’s covered; the thin underwear leaves very little to the imagination.

Y/N has to bite down on her tongue to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

Wow, okay, well...Your picture was much more explicit than my video. That’s not fair at all. Throws off the equilibrium we were trying to establish.

Harry chuckles aloud, shaking his head in amazement at how well she can bend the game to her will. Three weeks ago, when he’d first laid eyes on that shy girl at the club, he would have never expected her to be so bold. Now, she has him wrapped around her pinky like a string.

You’re absolutely right. My apologies. Maybe you should send one similar so we can even out the stakes.

You read my mind.

Y/N’s next picture causes a hiss to stream through the cracks of Harry’s teeth, eyes glinting red.

It’s a picture taken on top of her bed, the angle set from above. She’s laying on her side, her torso twisted so that her backside is in the shot, her huge tee pulled tight against her waist so it creates an enticing cinching effect. Her thighs are clasped together, the collar of her shirt pulled away just enough that he can see where the valley of her chest begins to curve, and the cheeky lace panties are working utter wonders for her ass. He can’t stop staring. He physically can’t pull himself away, his eyes bouncing across every pixel, attempting to commit the picture to memory to keep it locked in the back of his brain forever.

Y/N awaits anxiously for his reaction, biting into the pad of her thumb as the seconds list by, wondering if he had enjoyed the nude or if he was just sitting there judging all her flaws. It’s been so long since she’s sent a risky photo like that, she can’t help but stress. Sharing your body with someone digitally is almost as intimate as real sex and it comes with similar worries and insecurities. Was the angle good? Are her stretch marks unattractive? Are the dimples along her backside gross? Is he second-guessing their arrangement? Is he wishing they hadn’t met?

She practically drops her phone when it vibrates.

God, you look stunning. Like a proper fucking dream.

All of her concerns immediately disintegrate, replaced by an odd sense of pride. She’s happy that he enjoyed it, and she’s thankful for the caliber of his response. Most men don’t care to comment that nicely, if they comment at all, and Harry’s enthusiasm only excites her further. She wants to keep going.

You look pretty fucking good yourself. Wish I could just kneel between your thighs, take you into my mouth, and make you feel good for hours.

Harry struggles to get saliva down his parched throat, her words bouncing around the inside of his skull, sending a current of bliss directly to where he needs it.

Hours? You want me down your throat for hours?

For hours, Harry. I’d literally just sit between your legs and let you fuck my face again. Let you use me to make yourself cum.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Harry’s broken whine echoes off the tall walls of his home, one of his big hands finding a path to his curls and tugging in desperation. He needs to keep composure.

Harry’s next snapshot comes through and Y/N has to screw her eyes shut for a second to brace the bolt of electricity that zips down to her core.

The boy’s thighs have parted wider, his feet now down from the table, knees hanging off the edge of the sofa. His free hand has delved below his briefs, pulling them up just enough to show a tad of the neatly trimmed area beneath. His fingers are cupped over his cock, hiding it from plain view, but the imprint of his knuckles on the fabric suggest he’s gripping it tightly. The longer she looks, the more she notices— specifically, a dark damp patch spreading at the middle of his boxers and she knows damn well what it is. The fact that she’d got him riled up enough that he’s leaking through like that...She can hardly breathe right.

Shit, you look so good. How do you always look that fucking good? I just want to feel you stretch me out while you moan into my mouth.

Harry slowly starts pumping his palm up and down his cock as he rereads her words, catching his lower lip between his teeth, his naked and flushed chest stuttering. He doesn’t want to be the douche that tells her to send another picture, but he really needs her to. He wants to see what she’s doing, how she’s fairing. Wants to know if he has her as fucked as she has him right now.

It’s almost like they share a telepathic link because not even five seconds later, another beautifully filthy photo is decorating his screen.

This time around, Y/N has decided to fully lay on her back, spreading her legs open and drawing her knees up slightly so that her thighs are not only flexing, but displaying all the love bites he’d left only a few days prior. They’re all different shades of purple and brown, scattered over the satin suppleness of her skin, painting a canvas of the heated night they’d shared. It’s art at its most prestigious, if he’s ever seen it. And she has her hand ducked below her panties, the outline of her fingers situated right over her clit.

Harry’s own hand instinctively tightens around his length, pulling a weak groan from his parted lips. He throws his head back against the backrest of the couch, bucking into his palm and teasing his forefinger over his bubbling tip. He spreads the precum all over the sensitive head, whimpering when the draft from the air conditioning caresses it and sends a quiver toppling over his shoulders.

Fuck, she’s driving him mental. There’s only one way to take care of this effectively, despite their distance.

I’m going to call you.

Y/N gulps heavily, licking over her chapped lips and feeling her pulse jump at the realization that she’ll be getting to hear his throaty voice coax her through an orgasm. Not only that, but she’ll get to hear him cum, too. She’ll get to hear every shattered gasp and needy mewl, almost as if he were pouring all those sounds of pleasure right into her ears in person.

The mortal’s heart hiccups when his contact pops up on the Caller ID, phone vibrating insistently. After a deep breath taken to ground herself, she slides her shaky thumb over the glass, slowly bringing the device up to her ear. Her voice is soft and timid as ever, a tremble running through its undertone. “H-Hello?”

Harry’s words come through the crackling speaker as dark and smoky as whiskey, pouring into her mind and intoxicating her as easily as the real liquor would.

“Flip onto your stomach and take off the lace. Now.”

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adrenaline-roulette · 4 years

Text

He’ll save every one of us Chapter 6

Brian May x Reader with side notes of Roger Taylor x Original female character

Preview: “She suggested I drop my degree, and run off to Antarctica with her, so we could live out our lives with penguins. I shot that idea down rather quickly, which then of course resulted in her designing a plan to steal a penguin from the zoo instead. I have a feeling that moving to Antarctica was for purely selfish penguin related reasons, and not because of my crisis over exams.”

Chapter six: Broken inside

The taxi zipped through the busy London traffic, very nearly causing a collision on multiple occasions, though you nor the other passengers in the cab had it in you to mention the erratic driving. It was typical taxi driver behaviour really, they wanted to get you to your destination as fast as possible, in hopes of earning a decent tip, you were hardly in the tipping mood however. To anyone else, today could be described as the perfect day. You had woken up to clear blue skies, the sun shining merrily away without a cloud to be seen. Birds chirped gayly from their nests, as children shrieked with glee bellow. Yes, to anyone who wasn’t about to spend two hours sitting in a church, today was perfect.

Brian sat in silence beside you, his hand clasped tightly around yours, his knuckles turning white from the prolonged cramped posture. His suit fitted him well, and the bright orange tie he wore around his neck was exactly what the funeral announcement had requested. ‘The family has requested that everyone in attendance wear something orange, to remember Bree.’ You could picture the newspaper clipping clearly in your mind, it wasn’t something you could easily forget though, the death announcement of your best friend. You had been sitting at the small circular table in Brian and Roger’s flat, eating cereal at 3pm, when you flipped the page of the newspaper, finding yourself face to face with the obituaries. Only three days had passed, and those days felt both like a lifetime and as if no time had passed whatsoever. You knew Bree’s obituary would be published, but the shock you felt upon looking at it for the first time, nothing could have ever prepared you for that. Reading the announcement, taking in the details of where and when the funeral was to be held, made the whole situation all the more real. You had almost convinced yourself it had all been a terrible nightmare, and you would have believed that too, if it hadn’t of been for Brian constantly checking up on you, and for Roger’s zombie like state. Brian had found you that afternoon curled up in the kitchen, back pressed against the over door, with you head buried in your knees. He had sat with you for nearly an hour, just holding you, and whispering quiet reassurances into your ear.

As was protocol, you had worn a black dress, pairing it was the most outrageous pair of orange high heels that had ever existed. They sported three shades of orange, snakeskin, and sequins. Bree had loved them, and had worn them without your knowledge on many an occasion. Roger sat beside Brian, a black pinstriped suite, and orange scarf draped across his thin figure, he looked as miserable as you felt, all life having seemed to drain out of his eyes. Freddie and John had opted to take their own tai, promising to meet you at the church before the service began, they had tried to convince Roger to ride with them, but you had insisted he go with you and Brian.

**********

“Darling, are you sure you don’t want Roger to join us?” Freddie asked softly, looking at you with pleading eyes.

You shook your head no, before sighing deeply. “Fred, I think Roger needs me with him right now. He’s hurting just as much as I am, I think having someone there who was as close to Bree as he was, is what is best. For both of us.” Freddie relented after that, he knew when to pick his fights, and could tell this would be a losing battle.

You had Brian to comfort you, had since the very first second you stepped foot in the hospital, Roger however had suddenly found himself without a shoulder to cry on. Bree had been his go to when he needed someone to vent to as of late, and now with her gone, he was back to square one. Try as they might, none of the boys were able to comfort Roger, simply because none of them had experienced loss this way. You however, had. You were dealing with the exact same thing as Roger was, and he seemed to take solace in that fact. If he needed someone to talk to, he sought you out, which wasn’t difficult, as you had been spending all your time at their flat. And the moment you had told him to ride in the taxi with you and Brian, you could see he was about ready to cry once again.

**********

Sitting in the church, a coffin decorated in photographs of Bree’s life standing in the centre of everyone’s attention, it all felt almost too surreal. You were sat up the front along with her family, and you could hear her mother sobbing from a few seats away. You turned to look, and spotted Mister Skewes offering Misses Skewes a tissue, before wrapping his arm around her shoulders. You longed to have Brian beside you to do the same, or to comfort you in some way, however he, along with Freddie and John were stood towards the back, leaving seats for those who were closest to the family and to Bree. Roger sat somewhere in the middle, you had lost sight of him once you took your seat.

It was your turn now, Bree’s parents had asked you to prepare a eulogy for the day, and despite how much you wished you had said no, at the time you agreed. Your hands tremble as you make your way to the front, the papers you clutched tightly in your fists becoming crumpled. As you stood before the guests, an all too familiar scent hit your nose, and you felt the urge to cry overwhelm you once again. Bree’s perfume, you would recognise it anywhere, she wore the same perfume every day you had known her, no matter the occasion. All rational thinking leaves your mind as you breath in the scent deeply, looking up and over the many people. You almost expect Bree to have just walked into the church. You catch sight of Brian, his mop of curls making him stand out in the crowd, and he offers you a soft smile. Looking around once again, you spot the bottle of perfume sat beside the coffin, how you hadn’t noticed it before you’re unsure, but now you see it clear as day. The bottle is nearly empty, due to Bree’s constant use, and you want to envelope yourself in the smell for the rest of your life.

Finally, blinking back tears, you look down at your papers, and smooth them over, your voice shaking as you begin. “Bree was the kind of person you dream about meeting, she was larger than life in every aspect, but yet still one of the most down to earth people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Despite only knowing each other for a few years, we both always agreed that we must’ve been soulmates in another lifetime.” You pause and look up, tears beginning to cloud your vision. You spot Jake in the crowd, his head bowed, taking in your words, just as everyone else did the same. “I always knew I could talk to Bree about anything, she would be my first point of call after a heartbreak, or after an especially good date. No matter what, she was always there to listen, and offer advice. Her advice wasn’t always the best, and on several occasions, she suggested I drop my degree, and run off to Antarctica with her, so we could live out our lives with penguins. I shot that idea down rather quickly, which then of course resulted in her designing a plan to steal a penguin from the zoo instead. I have a feeling that moving to Antarctica was for purely selfish penguin related reasons, and not because of my crisis over exams.”

You take a deep breath, choking back the sob that so desperately claws its way up your throat. Tears were prickling at your eyes now, but you refused to allow yourself to cry in front of all these people. “I wish Bree was here with us all still today, I’ll miss our band rehearsals and concerts, I know for a fact that Tim’s place will never be the same without Bree singing along to every song that plays over the jukebox.” You smile softly, thinking back to all the times you had found yourself sat in that very bar, screaming your lungs out to each song that played. Bree, I love you, we all love you. You’ll be in my heart forever and will be missed eternally.” You ball the paper up in your fist, and step away and back to your seat. There was so much more you wanted to say, but your final words had come out strangled, and you found yourself struggling to breathe. Looking over your shoulder, you lock eyes with Roger, his pale blue orbs swimming with unshed tears. All you can do is offer him a half-hearted smile, knowing damned well that it wouldn’t do anything to help comfort him, you barely knew how to comfort yourself in this moment, let alone him and it was all you had to offer.

**********

The bright sun almost seemed to be smocking you as you left the church, it was such a stark contrast to the dark and bleak mood you currently found yourself in. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you made your way into the garden behind the church. Most of the guests remained to once again express their condolences to Bree’s family, before either making their way home, to the wake or just back to their lives in general. As they say, life goes on, with or without your best friend. You had done well, no tears had officially been shed on your behalf during the entire service, they had pooled at the corner of your eyes, but you had never allowed a single one to go any further, you flat out refused to cry any more, and hadn’t done so since telling Roger the news last week.

There’s a small wooden bench perched amongst some flowering bushes towards the back of the garden, and you take a seat there, swinging your legs back and forth below you as you look across the garden. Everything was beautifully green and in bloom, and in any other situation this would be an ideal spot to sit and think over how wonderful life was. The quiet is disturbed by footsteps rounding the corner, before the newcomer sits down beside you. “I’m so sorry my love.” Brian murmurs, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, as you rest your cheek against his shoulder.

Brain had sent Freddie and Deaky off to go and find Roger, who had disappeared after the service, he was sure that the drummer just needed some time alone though he would prefer to know he was safe. “I kept telling myself this wasn’t real. I had myself convinced that Bree was just gone for a few weeks on holiday, and that she would be back, you know? But this, today, it’s finally dawning on me that she’s not on holiday.” You sighs, pulling away from Brian’s shoulder and blinking up at him. You had wiped off your foundation on his jacket by accident, leaving him with sa rather large mark on his new suit

“I know, I can’t quite believe it either. And I wish I knew what to say.” He whispers.

With a deep sigh, you clasp your hand around his, stroking you thumb over his knuckles. “It isn’t raining.” The statement seemingly comes out of nowhere, and leaves Brian with a look of sheer confusion. “The movies… It’s always raining at a funeral.”

Brain leans forwards, brushing a soft kiss to your lips. “What do we do now?”

“We move on. According to all the ‘dealing with grief’ pamphlets I’ve read, we’re supposed to go on with our lives, just like that.” You want laugh, the idea of continuing on as you would normally sounding like the most absurd thing in the world to you.

“And is that what you want to do?”

“What I want to do, is have a drink.”

**********

Today was not a good day, nearly a full week had passed since the funeral and you still refused to allow yourself to cry. Something which was becoming increasingly hard as the day wore on. This was your first time back in your apartment, you had spent the last near two weeks with Brain at his and Roger’s place, desperately needing the company, afraid of what would happen if you were alone. But here you were, once again alone, standing in what was once Bree’s bedroom. Brian had offered to come with you, so had Roger, but you had refused. This was something you had to do, you had to go through Bree’s things, and sort out what was to be kept, donated or thrown away. You had discussed how to do this with Mister and Misses Skewes, who were both too distraught to do the task themselves. They had told you to keep anything you wanted, and to pack up everything for them in boxes, they promised to be around within a few weeks to collect the boxes.

Going through her room was pure agony, you had started the day off with music blasting from the record player in the living room, but soon enough the memories of Bree dancing to the songs that played became too much, and you returned to silence. The silence was worse, it allowed you to hear your own thoughts, and right now, that was the last thing you need. ‘Why wasn’t it me?’ The voice in your head repeated, and you dragged your hands down your face, You had been asking yourself that exact question for days now, and at no point could you ever come up with a reason as to why you were still stood here, and Bree was not. Picking up Bree’s bass guitar, Penny, you scream, very nearly dropping the electric blue guitar. Bree had saved for months in order to purchase Penny, and the guitar truly was beautiful, and sounded magnificent!

**********

“What would you like me to do with Bree’s bass?” You asked timidly, sitting on the small sofa in the hotel Mister and Misses Skewes were staying at in London.

Mister Skewes, or Andrew as you had been instructed to call him, turned to his wife Emelia, a pained expression crossing both of their faces. None of you knew quite how to approach this subject, you knew the clean out process had to begin, but the how’s and when’s were difficult to negotiate.

“Did you ever play dear?” Emelia asks with a gentle smile, sipping her tea as she looks at you expectantly.

You shake your head no, placing your own up of tea back on the coffee table. “Bree taught me a little bit, but I was never able to pick it up as well as her.”

“No one else in our family plays, Bree was the only one of us who was musically gifted. Please, you keep her guitar, do with it as you will, but please make sure it goes to someone who will appreciate it.”

**********

You can’t quite recall the last time you had driven Bree’s station wagon, if you ever had for that matter? You had your own car, and Bree was always happy to drive you to and from your gigs with your drum kit in the back, but for today, you needed the larger car, and yours just wouldn’t cut it. You drive through London, making the short trip to Brian’s flat, knowing he and Roger would be out at rehearsal for the afternoon. Thankfully, Brian had given you your own key once you had started spending all of you time there, which made this whole process that little bit easier.

You carry your equipment up the flights of stairs, making multiple trips just to bring everything up, but you don’t mind, the exercise keeps your mind busy, and helps to keep your tears at bay for the time being. You set everything up, and feel your anger bubbling in your chest. You knew this was the right thing to do, but the situation surrounding it was all wrong. The sounds of footsteps near the front door pulls you away from your thinking, and as the door swings open, four sets of eyes lock onto you. Freddie and Deaky are here, you haven’t seen them since the funeral, and you’re thankful that they’re here now, especially Deaky. “Y/N love, is everything alright?” Brian asks, his eyes moving from yours and focusing on your drum kit which was now set up in his living room.

With a sniffle, you grab the drumsticks out of your back pocket, just as Freddie swings the front door closed. “I can’t do this anymore.” You whisper, and if it weren’t for the shocked look on Brian’s face, you would venture that no one had even heard you speak.

“Do what Y/N?”

“This! Music, the band! I can’t do it! Not without Bree!” You practically shriek, as you step closer to the four men, all who wore faces of sympathy and shock. During your time knowing these four men, at no stage had they ever seen you quite so worked up and emotional, and they had no idea how to react. “Roger, my drum kit is yours.”

You thrust the drumsticks into his hands, not waiting for a reply, before storming back to the sofa you had been stood at just before. With care, you pick up the guitar case, with Penny enclosed, making your way over to John. “Deaky.” You mutter, shoving the case towards the young man with a little too much force.

“Y/N, we can’t take these….” John begins, though you cut him off before he can say another word.

“I don’t want to fucking hear it Deacon!”

Freddie steps forwards slowly, as if he were afraid to approach you. “Darling, Deaky is right. We really can’t accept these. Music is a part of you, one day you will want to play again, just not today.”

You scowl at Freddie, your eyes dark with pure anger. “You just don’t fucking get it do you?” You cry, your voice cracking. “None of you fucking get it!”

This time, Brian steps forwards, holding his hand out towards you, long fingers extended your way. “What don’t we get Y/N?”

Taking a shaky breath in, you close your eyes and try to fight back the tears that had once again returned. ‘I will not cry. Not here, not in front of them.’ You think to yourself. “That was our thing, music, we did it together. You can’t understand what it’s like, you still have each other, you have your band still. I don’t! What have I got? A drummer, and a guitarist who never fucking shows up! Please, I just can’t have these things around me anymore. I never want to drum again.” You end in a whisper, and just as you do, the heavens open up, lightning filling the dark sky with white light, as thunder shakes the window panes of the apartment. Ironic really, it doesn’t rain for Bree’s funeral, but the day you end her dream of starting a rock band, a fucking monsoon hits.

Someone is trying to talk to you, but their words aren’t making it through, you’re lost in your own thoughts now. You’ve failed Bree, you know you have, all she ever wanted was to play music, whether you got famous or not she didn’t care, and she always thought you were an incredible percussionist. But here you are, hanging up that dream like it was your coat at the end of the day. If you didn’t have Bree to encourage you any more, why should you ever drum again? The joy of drumming came from Bree, you would bounce ideas off each other all the time. She would start playing a groovy little riff, and you would join in, throwing suggestions in at different points until you had something amazing. But that could never happen again, a least not with Bree.

Strong arms wrap around you, and you collapse into them, sobbing loudly as you openly cry in front of Queen. There’s no stopping the tears now that the flood gates have opened, you could no longer hold back the tears you had fought against, and you fell into Brian’s chest as the grief filled tears flow freely from you now. In one swift motion, Brian sweeps his arm up under your knees and lifts you up, carrying you through his apartment and towards his bedroom. Someone walks ahead of him, pushing the door open, then swinging it closed behind you both. Gently, he places you down on the bed, before laying down beside you, keeping you enclosed in his tight embrace, as you sob against his chest.

**********

As much as he hated to admit it, Brian knew this moment would come, you were strong, that he knew for sure. But you could only be strong for so long, before something finally snapped, and he had just been waiting for the moment to come, though he secretly hoped it never would. The others seemed to be waiting just as he was, they knew you could only cover your pain with a smile for a short amount of time, and after seeing Roger break down numerous times, they knew you wouldn’t be too far behind. Brian held you tightly, stroking his hands along your back, attempting to sooth you as best he could, but without ever saying anything. What good are words in this situation?

He had been expecting this all week, but had never expected it to come about this way, the last thing he ever thought he would walk in to, was you giving away your drums and Bree’s bass. He knew it must’ve been a near impossible decision for you to make, and if it was what you truly wanted, then he would help you find a good home for your kit and Penny. But he worried that it was a heat of the moment thing. He wished you hadn’t turned him away when he offered to help you pack Bree’s things, perhaps if he had been there, he could’ve stopped things from turning out this way? Maybe he would’ve been able to convince you that drumming was the best thing for you to do?

Outside his room, he can hear Roger, Freddie and Deaky talking quietly, though it’s too faint for him to catch what they are discussing. Likely they are trying to figure out what to do with the drum kit which now took up the better part of the living room. He turns his attention back to you, feeling your sobbing become more calm, with greater gaps between each cry. “I love you.” He whispers into your hair, pressing a kiss to your scalp, as he feels you slowly fall asleep against his chest. Leaning away carefully, he pulls the cover up over both of you, as he too drifts off to sleep, never letting you go.

**********

Waking up in Brian’s arms was not something you were unfamiliar with, however waking up with you both fully clothed, and tear stains on his shirt, that was something you were not used sto. Brian snores quietly, and you peel yourself away from his arms, pulling the blanket back over him as you stretch out your aching muscles You had cracked, it had finally happened, and honestly, you felt better for it. The rain continues to patter against the window, the sky now totally black, the street lights illusminating the wet road bellow. Moving silently around Brian’s room, you strip off your clothes from the day, tracking down a shirt, and sleep shorts in his dresser drawers, slipping them on, leaving your clothes in a heap on the floor at the foot of the bed. Brian mumbles in his sleep, before rolling over to lay on his stomach, his hair splayed across the pillows to conceal his face. You smile softly before making your way out of his room, and towards the kitchen. All the lights are off, leading you to the conclusion that Freddie and Deaky had left, with Roger either in his own room asleep, or perhaps having left with the others. Scanning the contents of the fridge, you find a cartoon of juice, pulling it out as you search for a clean glass. With a cup of juice in hand, you look out the window in the kitchen, your gaze turning to the yard that was considered to be part of the apartment complex. At first glance, it appears to be empty, until the faint glow of a lighter alerts you to someone being out there. Roger’s out there, alone, in the rain. You’re not sure how you know that it’s Roger who’s out there, but something in the back of your mind is convinced that it is.

Making sure to grab your key, you make your way downstairs and into the yard, finding the blonde stood beneath a tree, which barely shielded him from the rain, a lit cigarette between his lips. “Hey, I didn’t think you would be awake for a while yet.”

You shrug, as you make way over to him, standing beneath the tree beside him. “I guess I’m not physically tired as much as mentally.”

Roger seems to contemplate your words for a few moments before nodding in understanding. “Same here, I think. My brain feels like it’s working on overdrive these days.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, the feeling all too familiar. “Trust me Rog, I know exactly what you mean.” Wordlessly, Roger holds out his pack of smokes to you, and you happily take one, before lighting up the end with his offered lighter. “I’m sorry about this afternoon, I know this is hard on you too.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. You did exactly what felt right to you. And look, at the end of the day, I lost my girlfriend, you lost your best friend. You’re hurting a lot more than I am, I’m sure of it.”

You take a deep breath in, inhaling the smoke of your cigarette as you think of Roger’s words. “Do you think it ever gets easier?”

At that, Roger laughs, a grin spreading over his thin lips. “I think we just learn how to cope a little bit better.”

“I suppose I don’t have a very good coping mechanism at the moment.”

“It can’t be any worse than mine.”

“Well let’s look at it this way Rog, up until today I refused to allow myself to cry, and kept everything bottled up and to myself.”

Roger takes one final drag of his smoke, before butting it out on the ground. “True, but mine is no better. Brian put a lock on the booze cabinet because I refuse to do anything other than drink when I think about Bree.”

You run a hand through your damp hair, sending droplets of rain onto the ground. “Well shit, sounds like we’re both as fucked up as each other.” You step further into the yard until your standing in the very centre, no longer protected from the rain. There’s no thought to your next move, as you fall backwards, laying like a starfish in the wet grass.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Roger calls, crossing his arm over his chest.

“I’m letting go Roger. I’m letting go of everything!”

Slowly, he makes his way over to you, settling down cross legged on the grass by your side. Both of you staring up at the sky. The clouds were beginning to clear now, leaving room for the stars to peak through. Even the rain was starting to subside. “What are you letting go of?”

“I’m letting go of the misery that has been plaguing me for the past two weeks. Letting go of feeling like I could’ve done something to change what happened. Letting go of wishing it was me instead of Bree. I- I’m letting go of Bree.”

From the kitchen window, Brian looks down at his best friend and girlfriend, smiling to himself as he watches the two of you in the rain. The temptation to go down and join you both nagged at the back of his brain, however he thought better of it. Roger needed you just as you needed him for the time being. So instead, he went about setting up a pot of tea for when you both decided to come back upstairs.

Read Chapter seven

Reread chapters: One Two Three Four Five

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#brian may x reader #brian may x you #brian may fanfiction #queen fanfiction #queen band #funeral #eulogy #angst #hurt #comfort #anger #emotinal #breakdown #emotional breakdown #coping mechanism #swearing #roger and reader are friends

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drink-n-watch · 5 years

Text

Genre : Action, comedy, supernatural, urban fantasy, science fiction.

Episodes: 12

Studio: Bones

Ahhh New York. If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere! Except you can’t make it there anymore because 3 years ago a cataclysm opened a huge pandimensional rift in the city and its been sealed off since then. Now the people trapped inside have to coexist with a wide variety of aliens and other creatures, some of which can get pretty dangerous. And that’s if some random explosion or building collapse doesn’t take you down. But these are new yorkers. They’re used to stuff like that. Besides, they have the *brave* super men and women over at Libra to keep them safe. And starting today Leo Watch is one of them. But what can a normal boy with extraordinary eyes really contribute in this very bloody battle. Turns out, the one thing we all need the most.

Blood Blockade Battlefront is a silly title, isn’t it? Well, I think it is. I almost skipped over this show because of it. Then again I decided to watch it as part of my yearly Halloween round up because of it too so I guess it worked out in the end. I should say, Triple B is not, in fact, a horror anime, I would call it action comedy but it does feature a lot of Halloween-like elements and the first season even ends on Halloween complete with celebrations and jack-o’-lanterns, so I think it’s earned its place in my Halloween lead up.

we’re off to a great start

Since I knew nothing of this show besides the name (and we’ve established I was unfairly judgy about that) I had pretty much no expectations going in. Aside from perhaps a certain shortage of quality. I was a bit of a jerk to this show. As such, when it became obviously apparent from the first episode that there was both money and talent behind this production, I was downright thrilled.

Blood Blockade Battlefront looks good! Real good. The characters designs are decent and very well executed but it’s in the environments that everything becomes impressive. The cityscapes are gorgeous and intricately detailed. Every scene is bursting with extras going about their day. The city is undeniably alive!

This goes a long way to making events just a touch more…ok so realistic is not the right word here. You just sort of feel the impact of what’s happening because you’ve been seeing all those people on screen, living their lives and going about their day. I guess, it makes the world complete in a way I’ve rarely seen.

scale! it creates a great scene of scale!

And let’s talk about the animation. Because Blood Blockade Battlefront is one action-packed series. It’s almost in constant movement which could have been very annoying or at least confusing if the animation wasn’t so crisp and well-executed. You know what, while I’m just fangirling over the production here, let me throw in the voice acting. Actually great across the board. For my taste, not a single weak actor in the bunch.

I’m straining to say something negative about the technical merits. I guess the closest I can come up with is that it’s not that novel in either design or direction but you know what, that’s kind of a good thing. This is a weird story with way too much happening half the time. Overly creative production values would have overburdened it. It’s great as it is. Good job Bones. I’m being captain obvious here. Bones knows how to make an anime. I could have skipped all these paragraphs and just said: It was made by Bones…

oh good

Fine, let’s tackle the story. Or rather, let’s not. I’m just going to tell you what’s narratively wrong with Blood Blockade Battlefront. There’s too much action. As in, there’s not enough exposition. I actually had to look up the core background of the story just to properly understand the basis of the events happening. That’s not a good sign. I’ve watched the entire season and I’m still a little fuzzy on the details and rules of the universe.

Half the time I was just ambling along with the story, trying to catch up or giving up and going along for the ride. Never quite certain who exactly the bad guys were and why they were doing whatever they were doing. What the consequences of events would be. This is the type of thing that tends to really bother me in an anime. I really can’t get invested in a story unless I understand the basic foundations at least.

Usually…

I’m just getting to that

I had a ton of fun with Blood Blockade Battlefront season 1. I fully intend on watching season 2 soon. To be fair, I had managed to pick up enough by episode 7 or so to get emotionally involved in the finale and those last few episodes had a wonderful visceral impact on me. Still, I can’t deny that the narrative is just messy. With dropped threads here and there, forgotten explanations and setups that seemingly led nowhere. Yet I didn’t mind and after some thought, I realized why.

I loved these characters. And I mean all of them! Only a few got thoroughly established this season but even those we barely got to know (which was most of Libra, to be honest) still gave the impression of complete characters that simply didn’t have that big a role in this particular story, rather than underdeveloped ones.

Even the antagonists were compelling, layered and complex, even though this type of story could have easily gotten away with a simple bad guy who’s bad.

good point!

It should be noted that I have a soft spot for action comedies. For a while, Blood Blockade Battlefront really reminded me of Men in Black which is a good thing. But it goes beyond that. The slowly revealed characters of Black and White were so beautifully relatable and endearing that my pure interest in their fates alone would have kept me watching. The final episode is double the time (meaning somewhere around 45 minutes) and I didn’t notice. For reals. The only way I found out was the fact that I ended up with an abnormally huge amount of screencaps, otherwise, I would have never known. That’s how into it I had gotten. And even though it did get a bit cheesy by moments, I couldn’t care less. As far as I was concerned, the series had earned it by then.

This may not be a traditional horror anime to watch for Halloween but there is more than enough blood and beasties to fit the theme and it’s just a fun ride! I think the show is unfortunately underrated (although I’m not entirely sure what I’m basing this on). Unless the quality nosedives in the second season, I hope they keep making these.

hot right?

Favorite character: K.K. cause hot and White cause… I just love White so much. She may be the best damsel in distress I’ve ever come across.The trope at it’s very best.

What this anime taught me: I wish I had siblings (again!)

I don’t pretend to be anything I’m not….except sober. I’ve had to pretend that a few times.

Suggested drink: Bloody Mary (it really couldn’t be anything else)

Every time we see a newscast – take a sip

Every time Leo uses his eyes – take a sip

Every time eo and Zapp bicker – take a sip

Every time there’s collateral damage – take a breath

Every time anyone ends up in the hospital – raise your glass

Every time anyone takes a picture – take a sip

Every time Chain is perched on a high spot – take a sip

Every time text appears across the screen (not subtitles!) – take a sip

Every time Zapp gets peat up – stretch

if it’s by an ally – cheer

Every time anyone says “huma” – take a sip

Every time we see the King of Despair – gulp!

It’s a quite pretty show. Looking over my screencaps, I’m struck by it again. Of course Pinterest, Imgur, yada yada…

Blood Blockade Battlefront s1 – Beyond Black and White (Countdown to Halloween) Genre : Action, comedy, supernatural, urban fantasy, science fiction. Episodes: 12 Studio: Bones Ahhh New York. If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere!

#action #anime #Blood Blockade Battlefront #comedy #Halloween #sci fi #supernatural #urban fantasy

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sideshowaarti · 6 years

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I love how right after we all binged season 7, everyone in the voltron fandom was practically murdered .

We all ranted and continued on screaming and crying about the supposed queer baiting and lack of writing.

I love how every single Klance shipper,

The moment after watching.

You know who you are.

Hopped on tumblr while holding your big box of tissues and coffee because you were almost short circuiting your screen with tears, while writing how furious you were about the writing and lack of slow burn, as the writers themselves had called it.

I loved how we were all devastated and depressed and never wanted to hop on the voltron train again.

But here we are at the station.

Choo choo.

Going back and looking with our microscopic eye through every individual episode.

Looking for every Klance scene.

Every lighting detail.

Every facial feature.

And look at us now.

We see Keith telling Lance to lead and take the team in his hands. As we find Keith trusting Lance with the biggest responsibility.

Afterward, we see Lance heart broken either at the thought of Keith going after Axca, and leaving Lance again. Or the thought of Keith just leaving. Lance. One last time. And Lance was clearly devastated and concerned.

We spotted a gay Keith whom obviously had no feelings or emotion with Axca after their previous interactions and teasing. We spot the lack of any human emotion in this Keith with a woman. And low and behold found our precious gay Keith.

Then we found in the game show episode.

Lance and Keith picked each other.

And even when we first watched it, we jumped up and started screaming when Keith and Lance’s picture showed up in each others screens. We saw them pick each other to escape and live as Lance thought Keith was the future.

We see Lance heartbroken once again. We see him bringing up past events and occurrences that clearly devastated, Lance. He was visually upset and hurt at Keith leaving.

Not Us,

Not Voltron,

but Lance.

We found Lance keeping a hawks eye on Keith. Making sure he makes it, in and out of the base, safe and sound. We see him never take his eye off him. We see Keith constantly at the center of lances screen the entire time. We see A worried Lance and a trusting Keith. Both, nothing but for each other.

Honestly sure.

Season 7 was a rough ride.

At first we were scared as quiznak, but look at us now. How we’ve recovered.

We’re ready to take on this ride over and over again. Unfortunately this great slowly loved ride is taking a harsh heartbreaking turn to its last season. And we can’t do anything, no.

But look at it all and what great times weve had.

Choo choo.

Once again I love how we all hated Voltron season 7 the moment after we saw it. We wished we never got into the fandom, because we never thought it would heart break us so, but look at us now.

We’ve made countless theories and evident clues of context from the series in all.

Giving us hope and hype.

What’s better is the comic books too.

I mean totally Klance coded but it’s no season.

... season 8 is coming. End games, Finales.

It’s over soon. Very soon.

But we are all still here right. Season 7 was a fun minor bump in the road, and soon 8 will be our last stop.

We loved the Voltron fandom.

We’ve dedicated accounts, Money, jobs to it.

From Art to Best Selling Books.

From Plane Rides to Tattoos.

Just for one fandom.

And I think that’s beautiful and lovely.

We all bonded.

Not sure if you remembered or if it even happened.

But either way I love Voltron. I’m sure you do too.

It’s coming to an end and we’ve made it this far.

I am a hard core Klance Stan / Shipper and cried when I found out it was ending but hey.

It wouldn’t be so great if it lasted forever.

Then we’d never get Klance as an endgame!

Alright.

Hopefully we make it through my children. We have a few months to prepare ourself with a life time supply of twizzlers and tissues and man.

I’ve never been so scared.

Let’s all pray Klance will happen ...

Even tho it already will.

Lets hope it ends as beautifully and as perfect as it started.

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reviewsbyryan · 6 years

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The Top 10 Films of 2018 (so far)

A mid-year list of top films is nearly pointless in today’s industry, because all of the really good stuff (or, at least, what gets Oscar nominations) comes out much later in the year. I’m not saying that films who get those nominations are the best ones, but pretty much all of my favorite films last year hit theaters between November and January, inclusive. I have still enjoyed a great many movies in 2018, and I produce this list so that you may be aware of them (you likely already are) and aware of their likability (judging by some of their box office numbers, you likely are not).

#10: American Animals dir. Bart Layton

Equipped with a distorted view of the American dream and what it takes to attain it, four friends embark on a fool-hardy mission to steal millions of dollars worth of books from their university library. A spiced-up telling of a true story, director Bart Layton shows that it’s more about the journey than the destination. We know the heist is unsuccessful from the very beginning, but to watch the young men’s unpreparedness and naive overconfidence unfold before us is a thrilling adventure.

#9: First Reformed dir. Paul Schrader

The aging Rev. Ernst Toller of the historic First Reformed Church receives a wake-up call from the world when he is asked to counsel the husband of one of his congregation, a man with a history of arrests and potential for violence stemming from his radical environmentalism. Writer/Director Paul Schrader pens an entrancing and unexpected screenplay around his troubled main character, portrayed masterfully by Ethan Hawke. Shades of Schrader’s masterwork Taxi Driver (1976) are abundant, as Toller transitions quickly from isolated pastor to staunch idealist, antagonized by growing religious commercialism and an unavoidably deteriorating world.

#8: The Party dir. Sally Potter

A 70-minute-long single-set comedy shot entirely in black and white, the strength of Sally Potter’s screenplay comes from the amusement one gets watching privileged folk become more and more perturbed as they learn that their fellow elites are really only in it for themselves, and that what they wield in political power they lack in real, valuable relationships. Ending abruptly on perhaps the best plot twist I have seen this year, The Party is a petty, star-studded affair that justifies its existence with the entertaining evolution of the tumultuous associations of its characters.

#7: Beast dir. Michael Pearce

A young woman over-protected by her mother and eclipsed by her younger sister finds love in a mysterious rural-dweller, only to learn he’s been suspected of being the perpetrator of a series of brutal murders, primarily of other young women. Both she and the audience are left in the dark regarding the real truth, and his refusal to be open about his life only serves to arouse suspicions. Beautifully shot and skillfully executed, writer/director Michael Pearce takes us on quite a ride, and lead actress Jessie Buckley gives a marvelous performance as her character is unceasingly torn apart by conflicting feelings of love and fear.

#6: Thoroughbreds dir. Cory Finley

It is fun and amusing to say that Thoroughbreds’ most important lesson is that you should never trust a horse girl, but there’s admittedly more to it than that. The impressive directorial debut of Cory Finley is an exquisite dark comedy complete with sadistic performances from Olivia Cooke and Anya Taylor-Joy (who is also amazing in The Witch, which you should watch if you haven’t yet). The two formerly-estranged friends rebuild their relationship as they plan the murder of Lily’s (Taylor-Joy) stepfather, a highly wealthy man who gives Lily everything she could want save for love and respect. Erik Friedlander’s string and percussion-heavy score is a lovely, quirky complement to the film as well.

#5: Upgrade dir. Leigh Whannell

Perhaps the most out-of-place film on this list, Upgrade is more of a Netflix-original-type B-movie as opposed to the typical arthouse fare that comprises the majority of the top spots. Most films of this form lack severely in interesting storytelling or technical execution, but I’m pleased to say this film has both. While the acting performances aren’t there, writer/director Leigh Whannell’s carefully-crafted sci-fi tale about a paraplegic widower who experiences newfound strength and intelligence with the help of a robotic spinal implant is surprising and so much fun. The action sequences are exciting and gory and over-the-top, and the camerawork is ingeniously complimentary to the rigid nature of the protagonist’s movements while under control of the mysteriously potent AI inside him.

#4: Hereditary dir. Ari Aster

A24 studios continue to have a good eye for modern horror films. After they picked up the critically-acclaimed Killing of a Sacred Deer last year, they found new success with another family-centered psychological scare in Ari Aster’s Hereditary. Toni Collette gives a terrifying performance as the mother in a family long-plagued by mental problems and supernatural possession. Aster makes clever use of framing in order to deliver the biggest fright to the audience, and does so without utilizing a single jumpscare, an approach of which I am a huge fan. The film’s accessibility is also a huge asset; it’s wide release provided many a welcome break from the unimaginative drivel that gets rolled out every time a Friday, the 13th rolls around.

#3: Annihilation dir. Alex Garland

Wow, it’s really cool that no one went to see this...

It wasn’t long ago that the Ghostbusters 2016 people were talking about how we never have female scientists in movies, only to make some crappy movie where the actresses just improvise a lot and make poop jokes. Here’s a fantastic sci-fi/horror film from the director of Ex-Machina (2014) with an all-female lead cast where all the characters are smart and possess a variety of knowledge and skills. The sound design is excellent, the premise is intriguing, and the final act is legitimately terrifying. Natalie Portman is great, too. But instead this got sent straight to Netflix in most places and failed to turn a decent profit. Stupid.

#2: You Were Never Really Here dir. Lynne Ramsay

Lynne Ramsay’s stylistic, radical deconstruction of the action genre turns You Were Never Really Here into a fascinating and unnerving character study. It’s also another film on this list that’s a lot like Taxi Driver (1976). Joaquin Phoenix portrays a psychologically wounded war veteran who works as a private enforcer, hunting down and mercilessly killing criminals who traffic and exploit children. Meanwhile, his character is constantly at war within his own head, making him unpredictable and worthy of our sympathy. Beautiful cinematography and Johnny Greenwood’s dissonant score enrich the experience two-fold.

#1: Isle of Dogs dir. Wes Anderson

Complete with one of the greatest voice casts the world has ever seen, Wes Anderson’s heartwarming adventure about a Japanese boy who travels to a remote island to find his dog is one of the finest animated features you’ll find anywhere. The set and character design is magnificent, with so much attention to detail; the look of the dogs is especially laudable. Isle of Dogs is also rich with beautiful homages to Japanese culture. The banter between the dogs is funny, the destitute conditions of the titular island are heartbreaking, and Atari’s love and determination in the search for his own “man’s best friend” melted my heart into a puddle. Nothing pleases me more than to be able to, once again, grovel at Wes Anderson’s feet.

#Movie Review #Movies #Film #Top 10 #American Animals #First Reformed #The Party #Beast #Thoroughbreds #Upgrade #Hereditary #Annihilation #You Were Never Really Here #Isle of Dogs #Wes Anderson

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obtusemedia · 4 years

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The 100 best songs of the 2010s: #50-26

#50: “I Love It” by Icona Pop feat. Charli XCX (2012)

“I Love It” is about as close as the early ‘10s bubblegum pop scene got to punk rock.

Swedish one-hit-wonders Icona Pop, with the songwriting help of pop wizard Charli XCX, crafted a single that feels like a punch in the face. It’s short, it’s repetitive and it flies middle fingers in the face of authority, older generations and anyone else who pissed them off. The bridge’s iconic line, “You’re from the ‘70s, but I’m a ‘90s bitch,” sums up the theme of “I Love It” more than I ever could.

#49: “Shut Up Kiss Me” by Angel Olsen (2016)

I feel bad putting Angel Olsen — unequivocally one of the ‘10′s greatest talents — this relatively low on the list. But she’s more of an album artist than a singles one, so just listen to MY WOMAN if you want a more full picture of her.

But she does have at least one instant showstopper in her catalogue. “Shut Up Kiss Me” is a a perfect mix of too-cool indie and painfully Midwestern heartland rock. Olsen’s voice is defiantly old-school, like a Greatest Generation-era country singer or Lana Del Rey-via-Missouri, but she makes it work somehow over the song’s clanging garage-rock guitars.

“Shut Up Kiss Me” is a spark of energetic, flirty fun, proving the ‘90s and ‘50s should be combined more often.

#48: “Uptown Funk” by Mark Ronson and Bruno Mars (2014)

After starting the 2010′s with some insanely bland pop, Bruno Mars wisely course-corrected into slick retro-pop and delivered some of the best hits of the decade. “24K Magic,” “Locked Out Of Heaven,” “Finesse,” “Treasure” — all wonderful in my book.

But of course, none of Mars’ hits compare to the towering masterpiece that is “Uptown Funk.” That’s partly because he teamed up with another retro-pop titan, Mark Ronson, to deliver the goods. The combination of Mars’ borderline-kitsch, cartoony swagger and Ronson’s Minneapolis-style funk is a wonder to behold. It’s easy to dance to, easy to sing (or I guess, chant) along with, so it’s no wonder that it conquered the world in early 2015.

Does “Uptown Funk” shamelessly ripoff Morris Day and The Gap Band? Sure. But sometimes, pastiches can turn into something greater.

#47: “212″ by Azealia Banks (2011)

I’d rather not talk about how Azealia Banks self-destructed her own career by starting (and losing) feuds left and right. Even Kanye West would be embarrassed at her lack of filter.

No, let’s focus on that brief window where Banks appeared to be the future of hip-hop, thanks to her firebomb of a single, “212.” This song still goes hard in the paint eight years later. The playful, bouncy beat is a perfect match for Banks’ dexterous flow and filthy lines. It somehow still retains its shocking power nine years later.

Banks had that power to grab your attention. It’s a shame that talent went to waste, but at least we’ll always have “212.”

#46: “Every Teardrop Is a Waterfall” by Coldplay (2011)

Just wanted to remind all of you: Coldplay was actually really good. Even on their obnoxiously optimistic, day-glo 2011 album Mylo Xyloto. And especially on that album’s lead single, the EDM-lite, slow-burning, anthemic “Every Teardrop Is a Waterfall.”

Is it corny? Of course, it’s Coldplay. Does it light up every pleasure center in my brain anyways? Again: Of course, it’s Coldplay. Just give into the U2-esque guitars, thumping synths and Chris Martin wailing away about waterfalls or whatever. I don’t know why it works, but it sure as hell does.

#45: “Capacity” by Charly Bliss (2019)

After writing an entire album of bubbly grunge-pop jams filled with non sequiturs, New Yorkers Charly Bliss got a little more serious with their follow up, “Capacity.” The new wave anthem perfectly encapsulates the suffering of emotional labor, and when you try to be everything for everyone. Lead singer Eva Hendricks’ normally vibrant voice is self-constrained for most of the song, until the climax, when it feels like a weight has been lifted off.

“Capacity” is the perfect compromise for Charly Bliss: It retains their irresistible hooks, while using that pop songwriting to convey something more important.

#44: “Rollercoaster” by Bleachers (2014)

Jack Antonoff is probably the pop producer of the decade. His ‘80s-fetishizing fingerprints are all over the ‘10s pop scene, from his bombastic early days with fun., to his minimalist work with Lorde’s career-defining Melodrama. And don’t forget Taylor Swift’s career-derailing reputation — his production was one of that album’s bright spots.

But naturally, the songs Antonoff saved for himself and his side project Bleachers were perfect pop nuggets too. “Rollercoaster” is probably Bleachers’ best. This slice of pure, unfiltered new wave bubblegum is so catchy that you’d swear it’s a cover of a classic pop song from 30 years earlier. You’d have to try pretty damn hard (or just dislike pop) to dislike it.

#43: “Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)” by Arcade Fire (2010)

Remember when Arcade Fire were still the darlings of the music industry? One listen to The Suburbs and you’ll be reminded why they were at one point considered the indie U2.

“Sprawl II” is just one of many highlights on The Suburbs, but as the climax of that album, it’s bulletproof. Regine Chassagne takes the vocal reigns here, delivering her best-ever yelpy, high-pitched performance. In an album all about the suffocating nature of suburban sprawl, “Sprawl II” perfectly encapsulates the difficulty of escaping the endless housing developments and crumbling strip malls. In a way, it’s the millennials’ “Born To Run” — all about getting away to a brighter future. Just swap crumbling factories for drive-thrus.

#42: “Don’t Start Now” by Dua Lipa (2019)

Dua Lipa was always a solid popstar. Jams like “Electricity” and “New Rules” were fun, energetic dance-pop singles. But she was never truly transcendent until “Don’t Start Now” arrived in the decade’s waning months. Lipa went full disco queen on the track, effortlessly riding a fat slap-bass line all the way to pop euphoria. Her robotic, staccato delivery on the chorus sells the song’s icy post-breakup-brushoff feel. If “Don’t Start Now” is any indication, expect Lipa to be one of the 2020s’ best stars.

#41: “Scorpio Rising” by Soccer Mommy (2018)

Nashville singer-songwriter Sophie Allison, AKA Soccer Mommy (maybe the decade’s best/worst band name), doesn’t dance around with her lyrics. They cut straight to the heartbreak in the most brutal way. And there’s no song that exemplifies this better than her power-ballad, “Scorpio Rising.”

The slow-burner is about a slowly-dissolving long-distance relationship. Allison knows her boyfriend has eyes on someone else that actually lives near him, and she has to let him go. It’s tragic in a routine way, and the twanging guitars and Allison’s longing vocals really sell both the realism and the angst of the scenario.

#40: “I Blame Myself” by Sky Ferreira (2013)

Pending on how great her long-awaited sophomore album Masochism is — if it ever comes out — Sky Ferreira will be one of the 10′s biggest what-ifs. After a solid EP in 2012, her 2013 debut, Night Time, My Time was a beautifully grimy blend of ‘80s new wave and ‘90s grunge. Even with HAIM, Chvrches and Lorde releasing debuts that year, Ferreira seemed to be the top of the pop class of 2013. But the second album still hasn’t arrived.

Luckily, Night Time, My Time is an untouchable masterpiece, and its synthpop centerpiece, “I Blame Myself,” shows exactly what Ferreira’s capable of. Surrounded by songs with crashing guitars, the bright synths and drum machine rumble makes it one of the album’s more minimalist tracks. And the song itself is a great exploration of the guilt, anger and self-doubt that comes after a breakup. It’s a more-than-worthy sequel to her breakout single, “Everything Is Embarrassing.”

#39: “Dreams and Nightmares (Intro)” by Meek Mill (2012)

Me, listening to the first 96 seconds of “Dreams and Nightmares”: Yeah, okay, this is pretty nice. It’s a good come-up track, dreamy instrumentation.

Me, starting at the 97-second mark of “Dreams and Nightmares” and for the rest of the song: OH MY GOD MY HEART RATE JUST TRIPLED WHAT’S HAPPENING IS THIS THE GREATEST SONG EVER

#38: “Closer” by The Chainsmokers and Halsey (2016)

The Chainsmokers made a lot of bad music in the 2010s. Halsey made a lot of mediocre music in the same time frame. But when they joined forces? An accidental masterpiece was created.

I’m not going to argue that “Closer” is high art by any means. It’s trashy to the highest degree, and it’s not even critic-approved, hipstery bubblegum like Carly Rae Jepsen or Charli XCX. Nope, “Closer” is the definition of lowest-common-denominator pop. There’s not much special to it.

Then why do I love it so much? Three years later, I still remember every word will sing along with glee. I love the random, pointless details like that mattress stolen in Boulder, or that Blink-182 song overplayed in Tuscon (the song’s couple apparently spent lots of time in Pac-12 college towns...surprised they didn’t throw in a shout-out to Corvallis while they were at it). I love the cheap-sounding bleepy-bloopy drop. And I legitimately think, despite being a bland singer, Andrew Taggart has vocal chemistry with Halsey.

“Closer” will likely never be a critical darling. But I think it’ll stick around in the public consciousness as a guilty pleasure — I know it’s my favorite guilty pleasure of the 10s. I guess that makes it the “Don’t Stop Believin’“ of this decade. There are certainly worse things to be.

#37: “House of Balloons / Glass Table Girls” by The Weeknd (2011)

In 2011 — before he became Daft Punk’s new muse, before he developed an uncanny knack for writing songs that sound like lost Michael Jackson classics, before he became a hook artist for Beyoncé and Kanye, even before he fought Adam Sandler in a Safdie Brothers movie — The Weeknd was just a mysterious, shadowy figure. Nobody knew what he looked like, or what his real name was. And that didn’t matter, because he gave us gloriously depraved futurist R&B classics like “House of Balloons / Glass Table Girls.”

As much as I love The Weeknd’s pop sellout era — I struggled not putting “Starboy,” “I Feel It Coming” or “The Hills” on this list — “House of Balloons/Glass Table Girls” is something truly special. The two-part song starts as an invitation into The Weeknd’s creepy world. With a heavy Siouxie and the Banshees sample (not the only time he borrowed from ‘80s art-rock), he lets the listener into his “happy house,” which sounds anything but.

By the time you reach the song’s second half, things take a sharp veer into overt sleaze, all cocaine and sex. The song is so nocturnal here that if you listen to it during the day, Spotify will refuse to play it. “Glass Table Girls,” like The Weekend, is a creature of the night. And even though he’d have better hooks later in this career, that first hedonistic rush is still the best.

#36: “Gone” by Charli XCX feat. Christine and the Queens (2019)

Charli XCX, after years of getting ~this close~ to penning a generational anthem, finally hit the nail on the head in the last summer of the decade.

“Gone” is an anxious, dystopian banger worthy of two of the ‘10′s best alt-pop heroes. It perfectly captures the intense self-loathing and fear when surrounded by people you don’t know/don’t like. And wrapping it all up in a glitched-out breakdown? *chef’s kiss*

#35: “BOOGIE” by BROCKHAMPTON (2017)

“BOOGIE” is the sound of absolute chaos. The beat is composed of a lurching bassline, air-raid sirens and a squawking sax riff, all turned up to 11. Throw in radically varying verses from six (!!) different BROCKHAMPTON members, a music video where the sprawling Texas collective paints themselves blue and wreaks havoc in a convenience store and weirdo bars including arguably the most non sequitur/best flex of the decade (“Best boy band since One Direction/Making n*ggas itch like a skin infection”), and you’ve got a perfect BROCKHAMPTON song.

In the past couple years, BROCKHAMPTON has refined their sound a solid, reliable formula: quirky bars, creaky beats, general vibe of angst. The collective is more reliably good now, but there was something special about their unpredictable crash-landing in 2017. “BOOGIE,” while being an absolute banger, still features Joba delivering an entire voice in a yelping scream, and Merlyn Wood (my favorite of the group) rhymes “willy” with itself 40 times or so. It’s a deeply odd song. But it’s the best kind of odd.

#34: “The Woman That Loves You” by Japanese Breakfast (2015)

A gorgeous introduction to what would become one of the late-’10′s premier indie acts, “The Woman That Loves You” is synthy dream-pop perfected.

Michelle Zauner, AKA Japanese Breakfast, has one of those voices that works as its own instrument, bending and shifting timbres when the song needs it. In “Woman,” her softer, cooing style is mostly used to fit the dusky atmosphere created by the song’s hypnotic guitar riff and slowly rumbling drums. And when the song’s climax hits in the song’s middle, her vocals burst into exasperated joy while twinkling synths explode in the background.

“The Woman That Loves You” is a songs that demands to be listened to at twilight; it’s a potential end-credits classic. The fact that Zauner was able to live up to its promise with two incredible albums just makes her debut single’s legacy even stronger.

#33: “Shabba” by A$AP Ferg feat. A$AP Rocky (2013)

The A$AP Crew’s peak turned out to be surprisingly short. Ater A$AP Rocky and A$AP Ferg dominated 2013, their careers wound up in gradual decline afterwards. Rocky honorably tried to switch up his style, but nothing ever stuck and Travis Scott took over his lane. And Ferg just kind of became bland.

But the duo will always have one glorious moment: the ignant-rap masterpiece “Shabba.” Over a trunk-rattling beat that sounds like a Hitchcock soundtrack filtered through a trap lens, Ferg and Rocky have the time of their lives bragging about money and women. On the surface, it’s a generic trap song. But it’s the platonic ideal for a generic trap song — both insanely fun, but with a bit of legitimate edge. It’s something MCs would try to top for the rest of the decade. And they would never come close.

#32: “Adored” by Hatchie (2018)

It’s been only about two years since Hatchie released her debut single, “Sure,” and yet the Brisbane artist already feels like an essential figure in ‘10s dream pop. Her ghostly vocals and spaced-out guitars hit the ground running immediately, and she hasn’t disappointed since.

Hatchie’s best single, “Adored,” is probably about the closest she came to a true dancefloor filler. The single — released by Adult Swim, weirdly enough — is a yearning and insanely catchy. It sounds like if The Cranberries added some synthesizers and a pounding, euphoric dance beat to one of their classic songs. Hatchie makes the listener wait over two minutes for the chorus, but its melody is so pristine that it’s worth the wait. And if she’s willing to toss off a dream pop anthem as spectacular as “Adored” as a loosie single, I think Hatchie has a very bright future ahead.

#31: “Loud Places” by Jamie xx feat. Romy (2015)

The hook for Jamie xx’s solo debut album, In Color, is that it didn’t try to sound like London rave music. Instead, it captured the feelings and emotions that ravers feel while in London’s nightclubs. It was a dance album that made you think of dancing, rather than make you actually want to dance.

That sounds pretentious as hell, I realize, but Jamie xx — a member of indie-pop stalwarts The xx — nailed the execution, particularly on the haunting lead single with The xx’s lead singer, Romy, “Loud Places.”

The song is about finding euphoria on the dance floor, but instead of being a banger, it’s mostly subdued and minimalist. Its verses are just Romy’s whispers, plus a few quiet synths. Then, a ghostly sample of a 1977 soul song explodes into the mix with pounding drums, and you’re hypnotized. A twinkling percussion loop and a repeated, twanging guitar riff rush in to compliment.

With “Loud Places,” Jamie xx proved that he was ready to move beyond The xx’s hyper-minimalist style, and create his own type of anthem.

#30: “Harvard” by Diet Cig (2015)

Diet Cig’s best songs work because of their raw emotional power. Lead singer/guitarist Alex Luciano has a voice that, while not as technically impressive as an Ariana Grande or Whitney Houston, can perfectly deliver anguish and outrage. And she was never more powerful than on Diet Cig’s breakout single, “Harvard.”

The feeling conveyed in “Harvard” is jealousy and betrayal: A guy starts dating a bougie Ivy League woman after breaking up with the narrator. The short song dives get into detail for much of its running time, with Luciano sneering that her new girlfriend’s “not as loud” and making fun of his new, white-collar life.

But the song’s thesis, and arguably the best chorus of the decade, is saved for the final 30 seconds of the song. Over crashing drums and lo-fi guitar, Luciano screams off-key, “FUCK YOUR IVY LEAGUE SWEATER!” It’s both visceral and relatable for anyone who feels left behind.

#29: “Shallow” by Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga (2018)

“Shallow” is the best soundtrack song of the decade and one of the best of all time. Despite its odd structure, the chemistry between Bradley Cooper (and his solid Eddie Vedder impersonation) and Lady Gaga — sorry, I mean Jackson Maine and Ally — is undeniable. And that magical “AHHHAAAAAAAAA” where Gaga reminds everyone that she’s arguably the greatest vocal powerhouse of her generation? Ugh. It’s perfect.

Also, if I can get on a tangent — A Star Is Born should’ve swept the 2018 Oscars. In what universe is Green Book a better movie? Or Rami Malek’s lip-synching job a better performance than Bradley Cooper’s tragic, grizzled turn? (Olivia Colman was very good in The Favourite, so I can live with Gaga losing).

#28: “I Can Never Be Myself When You’re Around” by Chromatics (2015)

Chromatics were the decade’s most frustrating, yet brilliant act. The Portland group only put out one full-length album in the 2010′s — 2012′s stellar Kill For Love — before waiting three years to put out follow-up singles in 2015 with the promise of a new album, Dear Tommy, by Valentine’s Day. But Dear Tommy has yet to arrive nearly five years later, and almost all of its incredible singles were taken down from streaming services.

One of those disappearing singles (that just returned this fall!!) was “I Can Never Be Myself When You’re Around,” a roller-disco masterpiece. It managed to hold onto Chromatics’ signature ghostly ‘80s-noir sound while adding a thumping bass line and snapping snare drums. The band had made danceable tunes before, like “Looking For Love,” but they were usually more minimalist affairs. “When You’re Around” is the Chromatics formula on steroids, and shockingly it works.

#27: “Wednesday Night Melody” by Bleached (2016)

From its raucous skater-punk guitars to the undeniably catchy Go-Go’s vocal harmonies, “Wednesday Night Melody” is the platonic ideal for a Los Angeles rock jam.

Bleached, one of the decade’s most underrated acts, has written plenty of songs written for driving full-speed with the windows down on Pacific Coast Highway, but “Wednesday Night Melody” is their sound perfected. Receiving the torch from fellow Californians Weezer, Bleached found just the right balance between massive hooks and crunchy guitars. It’s the pinnacle of the mid-’10s brief bubblegum-punk movement.

#26: “LMK” by Kelela (2017)

“LMK,” the highlight of arguably the decade’s finest R&B album, Take Me Apart, is a masterclass in retrofuturism.

Kelela and producers Jam City create a blacklight alternate reality with “LMK,” in which 1986, 1999 and 2050 all seamlessly meld. The new-wave synths, stuttering Timbaland-esque rhythms and icy vibe make for an incredible experience. Kelela’s cool is impenetrable — appropriate given as the song is basically telling a potential lover in the club to chill out and just talk to her.

In a weak era for R&B, it’s truly a shame that Kelela hasn’t yet become the megastar she deserves to be. But in that alternate reality, weirdo bangers like “LMK” are playing 24/7.

#top 100 songs of 2010s

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ellensreadingsess · 4 years

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What I’ve been reading lately...

29-JUL-2020 Wow so it looks like I'm finishing books faster than I can write reviews and self summaries for them. Here are some quick summaries and reviews of the books I've been reading recently:

Hunger by Roxane Gay

Memoir

This was an interesting memoir and tells of the memories and experiences of an overweight woman and her body. A woman who was raped when barely a teenager and how that traumatic point lead to the future gain of weight in order to protect her body and how her weight affected and shaped areas of her life and personal experiences. This book was very raw and vulnerable. Just to talk about your body in the spotlight is already difficult for many woman, but also to open up about the rape and assault that she had suppressed for much of her life is such a powerful thing. Taking a quick moment to acknowledge that Gay shows much resilience in her experiences and has personally been through much more than most people can ever relate to. I definitely commend her for writing this book. As for the actual read for me, something about this book was not quite as fulfilling as I thought it would be. If anything it made me a little more aware of the struggles and challenges that overweight person faces on a regular basis. It shows how our society is sculpted to not accept every body shape, but have the history and ongoing engrained mindset of designing a world for fit and non overweigh people. It does make the reader realize that larger people face their own day to day struggle in doing tasks or facing opinions that the non overweight person wouldn't think twice about. But to say it was eye opening about overweight people isn't quite the takeaway. If anything this books shows how one deep dark experience can shape a person's reality and the further they get wrapped into a form of thinking can be detrimental to other areas of your life both subconsciously and consciously. Something about the book was also slightly repetitive in how it described the challenges larger people faced and how she was aware that losing weight would ultimately make for a healthier life, but also showed the refusal and back steps that often happened among making progress. I'm not sure if this would make it on my top must read memoirs, but it was a quick and easy to follow read. Overall rating: 5/10

Born A Crime by Trevor Noah Memoir, Comedy

Trevor Noah has quickly become one of my favorite comedians and television personalities. Especially after the speech and insight he gave after the Amy Cooper and George Floyd incidents earlier this year, I've really enjoyed how he can go from talking about something very serious and address the hard to talk about topics and also know the correct timing of a well humored sarcastic joke. That's exactly how this memoir of his was written as well. I literally inhaled this book, it was fun to read which I don't say often about books. This book was more than just a memoir, it was almost a book dedication to his mother and told the story of his mother raising him in South Africa during apartheid (which I had no idea what that was before this book but it was the racial policies that segregated white and black in South Africa.) Can I just say how ignorant it was of me before this book to not be aware of apartheid and that South Africa also experienced its own forms of racial injustice… in my mind I assumed Africa would be the one place racism wouldn't be a factor in policies and government but I was definitely wrong and ignorant to assume that… Okay so back to the book review, the book beautifully told of Trevor's mom and her strong personality and how her risks ad sacrifices created Trevor, who was literally "Born a Crime" as whites and black were not allowed to have sexual relations during apartheid. It shows her courage, strength, and ability to overcome so many huge obstacles. The book also outlines Trevor's childhood experiences in comedic ways, his struggle in where he belonged being a colored kid and not sure to identify himself with black or white. But how you have to pick a side and the consequences of that in different scenarios. This story also tells of the hustle and troubles that Trevor got into as a kid and teenager. His last chapter details of the abusive relationship his stepfather had on the family how this even lead to his mother being shot in the back of head (ultimately surviving thankfully). I love Trevor's humor so I felt this was written and told perfectly, similar to how I love watching his news reports on current events. I wish there was a Part 2 or more stories detailing of his immigration to America and starting his life here, but this story is lovingly written about his mother so you can't go wrong with reading this. If Trevor Noah ever does decide to write a second book, I will definitely be picking that up! Overall rating: 8/10

Dear Girls by Ali Wong Memoir, Comedy

So I'll admit first that I don't watch a lot of Ali Wong's comedy and stand up, so I was not aware of her very raunchy and disgusting humor. It's a humor that talks of doodoo, queefing, wet spots, all the things if you're not slightly prepared, you might be easily appalled. Anyways, I got this book from the Libby app and used the audiobook form, which I think was absolutely necessary for this book. Hot tip: if you pick up a book with a comedian as the author, alwaysss try to get the audiobook version! It's so much more worth it to hear their jokes and screams and accents. So would recommend listening to this with an audiobook, and there are just some random ass stories parts so this isn’t really the kind of book where you need to listen and hear every single detail, trust me for this one, you won't need to remember how many guys can't keep their erection up to get through the message of this book. So this book is actually told in the form of a letter to her two young girls. They are apparently very young right now (4 or 5 something like that) and this book is meant for them after they turn 21, which thank goodness because I couldn't imagine as a kid wanting to read some of these graphic stories, but by the time those girls turn 21, I'm sure they'll be more than prepared with Ali Wong as a mother to hear what's in this book. I keep getting off track in this review, but maybe that’s almost reflective of how this book is told too. The first 5 chapters were a little more raunchy than I was expecting so I didn't love and connect with the story very much. During the 6th chapter Wong talks about her experiences studying abroad and being in Hawaii and Vietnam. Then goes in the future chapters a little more about being Asian American and her upbringing and connection to her culture, family and roots while still being open minded to other experiences around her. These were the chapters that made me appreciate Ali Wong a little more and coming from an Asian background, there were certain stories and anecdotes I was able to relate to well. This is definitely an audiobook type story, I'm glad I didn't spend time trying to "absorb" anything through the print really because I found it kind of futile after just listening to her. This is a fun book to listen to on car rides or walks, or wherever you listen to audiobooks. I'm not sure if I would have enjoyed this as much if I were physically reading this, but I did enjoy this and have a little more appreciation for her raunchy unfiltered humor. Overall rating: 6.5/10

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blschaos3000-blog · 4 years

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Its 1:56 am cold/dark/leftovers

Welcome to “8 Questions with…….”

Yeooooow has my November lethargy been a wicked pisser this year. I am so far behind on everything but I’m going to catch up,I promise!!

I met our next guest,the fantastic Wyatt Terwilliger in a rather different manner. He and I met on Facebook in a horror movie group. As many of you know,while I am a huge horror fan,I’m not a torture porn fan and that topic came up in the group. Many “fans” love it is what I discovered in this group and when I politely pointed out that I didn’t,well,many were butt hurt and then I was out of that group….but I wasn’t alone in my stance as Wyatt joined in on my side before I left and after I was “kicked out”,I got a friend request and I accepted Wyatt’s invite. Since then I discovered that Wyatt is an extremely talented photographer and his pictures and composition is among the best I’ve ever seen. What really caught my attention was despite many of his photos featured beautiful models,they were almost an distraction because of the locations he uses for his shoots and the colors in his backgrounds. Just breathtaking and beautiful. The more I saw the stronger the urge was to ask my friend Wyatt if he wouldn’t mind doing this interview and and am quite stoked he said “Yes”. I do owe Wyatt an apology for this being posted so late and for being so patient. I really hope you really enjoy meeting Wyatt as he answers his 8 Questions…..

Please introduce yourself and tell us a little bit about yourself.

I’m Wyatt! I’m a Long Island NY photographer interested in creating images that are a little off center of the usual.

How old were you when you discovered photography? What was the first camera you ever owned?

If we’re talking the FIRST first time I discovered photography; I was 9 or 10, I discovered black and white film existed and became obsessed with shooting black and white and coloring parts in with photo markers.I didn’t really start doing the photo thing legitimately until about 4 years ago. I had kind of tired of all other creative outlets and had enough creative friends who had modeled in the past, that it made sense to collaborate.

How did you work to improve your technique? Do you perfer shooting with film or digital more and why?

I’m always trying to push beyond what I’ve done and try things I haven’t yet. I try not to let myself get comfortable, which I think forces me to get better. I study my own stuff a lot and find what I’ve done that I like, and try to fine tune those things. I would LOVE to shoot film but I’m living the starving artist life in a big way. Film is expensive! I shoot digital out of necessity. Maybe that’ll change in the future.

What kind of gear do you currently use? How do you get beautifully colored backgrounds?

I shoot on a Nikon D3200, it’s not a terribly fancy or advanced camera, but it’s getting the job done so far! I have a basic ring light I got off eBay that I use for indoor setups when possible. The color is all done in editing. I use photoshop and play with color, I find color to be infinitely fascinating. It brings so much to the photos. Enhances mood and feel, it changes so much about every image, I’m glad to see that people respond to it.

Which do you perfer shooting- indoor shots or outdoors? What are some of the pros and cons of each setting?

That’s tough. I love both for different reasons but I do really love being outside and exploring new places, there’s not a TON of variation in scenery on Long Island (where I shoot) but this has helped me find a lot of cool new spots I never would have discovered otherwise! Shooting outside is great because I also love to use natural light. Although I also like manipulating light with indoor shoots. I don’t know that I really enjoy one over the other!

Which is your favorite lense and why?

Currently I’m in love with the Sigma 50mm I’ve been using. It’s responsible for a lot of my best work.

You often will use nude models for your shoots. What do you do or say to your models to ensure a safe and comfortable session? Is there anything a model can do to protect herself from a scammer?

Everything is discussed beforehand. We discuss the shoot in as much detail as possible before getting on set, most importantly comfort levels and boundaries. This way I know where the model is at and what the shoot is going to entail. Comfort, trust and respect are absolutely key. A model should know what a shoot is going to involve long before she steps in front of the camera, and a photographer should know and respect their boundaries. As far as avoiding negative experiences with photographers, always, ALWAYS get references. If you do not know a photographer personally (and sometimes even then) speak to models they have shot with previously, ask about their behavior on and off set. Take a look at their social medias as well, see how they talk about models the shoot with. These can be good indicators.

Among your photos,which three are your favorites and why?

This is so hard to answer!

An image from a shoot I did with Betsy ( @betsoh ), who is a fantastic model, indoor shoot, very simple setup, just her and a bed with a white sheet. There’s an overhead shot, her on her stomach with her back to us. It’s one of my absolute favorites. The way the shadows fell on her, the contrast of her against the color of the sheet. The angle I lucked into. I think it’s got a really cool vibe. I have a shot with Vivian (@vivian_haze95 ) with her draped in a bright red, sheer fabric. She’s tucked into a vibrant green backdrop of flowers and foliage, it’s such a striking image. The bright red against the green, and her body language is so great. I’m really proud of that one. Another I’m really proud of is from a shibari shoot with Niki (@orisha.realness) The shoot itself was one of the best and coolest I’ve gotten to be a part of. There was the model, and the man tying the ropes. I expected to get cool shots of the various ties and knots and harnesses he would be tying, but quickly realized the shoot lied in the process, which was delicate and intricate. It was also a really cool display and exercise in consent. The relationship between the two, while binding and being bound, is all about consent and communication. There is a shot from this shoot, it’s a fairly simple profile portrait, the rigger (person who ties ropes) has his hand on the models chest, there is an orange light that fades into pale blue/grey on the wall behind them, the contrast of their skin tones, Niki also has super cool hair, which adds a little pop of purple to the top left corner of the image. I think it’s a really powerful shot. That might be all time favorite image I’ve ever been a part of creating.

Which photographers have influenced you the most in the way you take your pictures?

Right now my biggest influences are Moss Von Faustenberg, who was the first photographer I saw use color in the way that I’m so in love with (and employ myself). His images are as close to perfect as possible, Every. Single. Time. Harris Nukem is just absurdly talented and can make absolutely anything infinite’s interesting to look at. The way he photographs humans is just brilliant. Christopher McKenney creates images that are simultaneously absolutely gorgeous and haunting all at once. Wildly talented photographer. Film is also a MAJOR influence on me and my art. A few films (and their respective directors and cinematographers) that have had the most influence include

Mandy (2018)

The Strange Color of Your Body’s Tears (2013)

Suspiria (1977)

Enter the Void (2009)

Blade Runner 2049 (2017)

Dredd (2012)

The use of light and color in these films have been highly influential in my photography for sure, and are also pretty great films in general.

What is your greatest motivation in taking your pictures,what do you want to do with your talent?

To create photos that I would like to see in the world. It’s hard to find artists that are exactly in line with what you’d like to see and what your tastes and interests are. So ultimately I’d like to create that art. I’m not quite there yet, but that’s the goal!

What have been the three best horror films you have seen this year?

Oooh, I’m glad you asked!

‘Midsommar’ is right at the top of the list. That movie is WILD man, it’s absolutely stunning to look at, it’s beautiful, severely dark and foreboding, crushingly heavy. It’s such a trip. Ari Aster is one of the most brilliant filmmakers working today.

‘Dry Blood.’ – It’s not from this year but I saw it this year and WOW, what a movie. Easily one of if not the best micro budget indie horror film I’ve ever seen. It’s not without its flaws but it keeps you guessing and trying to figure it out the whole time, and still manages to surprise you in the end…and end which is shocking, heartbreaking, unsettling…it’s great.

And ‘Haunt’ Which just came out. It’s a horror movie drenched in Halloween atmosphere and is just pure fun. I also have a fear of pretty much exactly what the movie is about so it hit nicely. I’m super excited about Doctor Sleep, I’m sure that’ll take a top spot for the year as well!

The new Nitehawk movie theater opened last night December 18, to a large crowd of media and interested parties in Park Slope.

The cheetah and I flying to watch your latest exhibit but we are a day early and you are now our tour guide,what are we doing?

Ah, pressure!

Well I love a short train ride from NYC, which certainly doesn’t need me to do it any favors… But, I’m a food guy, it’s pretty much what I do, and between NYC and Brooklyn, there’s pretty much going to be your new favorite place for any kind of food you can imagine. Right now I’m swooning over Federoffs Roast Pork in Brooklyn. Best sandwiches I’ve ever had, hands down. The NiteHawk theater in Brooklyn is a super cool movie going experience, they show tons of indie films, older films and have lots of cool horror film screenings. The theater also has a full bar, and has full snack bar/food/drink service AT YOUR SEAT. Its pretty much guaranteed to ruin all other movie theaters for you.

Movies and food…those are my areas of expertise!

I like to thank Wyatt for taking the time off his schedule to chat with us. If you’re in Long Island,NY and need some world class photos taken,well…..look no further then Wyatt.

Wyatt has a InstaGram page that showcases his skills which you can find here.

He also has a Facebook page as well in case you don’t use IG.

I like to thank you all for both reading my words but for also supporting the folks I am so fortunate to chat with. You can read my other interviews by going here. Feel free to drop a comment or two…..

8 Questions with……..professional photographer Wyatt Terwilliger Its 1:56 am cold/dark/leftovers Welcome to "8 Questions with......." Yeooooow has my November lethargy been a wicked pisser this year.

#8 Questions With #art #Chris McKenney #Harris Nukem #Life #lifestyle #Long Island #Moss Von Faustenberg #New York City #photography #professional

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beainitaly · 7 years

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Napoli and Goodbye

Well, here we are! It is my last day here in Cosenza, and the goal has been reached, this is the final post and the blog will be up to date. At the beginning of last week I was lucky enough to go visit the city of Naples, called Napoli in Italian. I travelled there by train on Monday morning, and met a good friend at the train station. She is also an Intercultura student, originally from Romania, and has been living in a neighborhood of Napoli this year. This is the view from next to her apartment building!

We did the exchange week in Veneto together and hung out at both of the Castellamare camps, so we knew each other pretty well. She was super welcoming and invited me to come stay at her house for a few days, offering to show me around the city! Napoli is rich in history, good food, and beautiful architecture.

I arrived in the early afternoon on Monday, and we decided to take the subway to get to her neighborhood to drop of my bag and eat some lunch. That subway car was PACKED though. Like almost unbearably. And the heat. I can’t even explain how hot it was all three days— everyone was sweat soaked, even with a breeze nothing cooled down. It was a humid heat as well, muggy and thick. Sleeping at night was nigh impossible! Anyways back to the real story here- it wasn’t the heat or the fullness of the subway that made it hard. They contributed, but the real kicker was old italian ladies. Yep. I swear, no matter where you stand or try to get out the way, an old lady is going to shove her way through you complaining “Devo Usciiiiiiireeeeee” with the strength of a small cow. I think I got a few bruises!

Anyhow, Monday afternoon we took a bus into the city. We got off at Piazza Dante (shown below) where there is a doorway to the historic part of the city in a section of the old walls.

We did a small tour of some churches in the historic center, first visiting the Basilica di Santa Chiara, which had these breathtaking super-tall stained glass windows.

Then we went on to Gesù Nuovo, which doesn’t even look like a church on the outside but is ridiculously, beautifully, and elaborately decorated on the inside. I loved the detail of the marble, covering every surface.

Last, we went to San Domenico Maggiore, which looks like fortress from the outside. Inside the ceiling is fantastic, and the stained glass windows caught the light in the perfect way to create colored patterns all over the inside of the church. I think we got lucky with timing in terms of the light, but it was magnificent.

From there we walked down to the waterfront, pausing in the Piazza del Plebiscito (the city’s main square) to see the replica of the pantheon San Francesco da Paola, built in the neoclassical style drawing pretty obviously from the Pantheon in Rome.

Here is the view from the waterfront, seen as we walked the Lungomare. That mountain is vesuvius and the city beside it is Pompeii.

Continuing along the lungomare, we went to the Castel dell’Ovo. This is the oldest fortification in Napoli, being built during the 12th century by Normans, and later used as a prison. We went inside and I got these cool views:

After seeing the castle, we returned to the city center and got the honest-to-god best gelato I’ve ever eaten. I’m so serious right now, if you go to Napoli and don’t eat this gelato it should be a crime. The place is called Il Gelato Menella, and they make their own cones on site and the gelato is at the perfect temperature (kinda drippy) and for an extra 50 euro cents you can get a great big dollop of whipped cream on top. The taste was decadent, I wanted to eat every single flavor there. Just wow. A+++

That night we returned back to my friend’s apartment for dinner and sleep, and seeing as it was truly to hot to sleep and I was at the time reading Harry Potter #3 in italian, I stayed up most of the night to finish the book (first and only book I’ve read front to back in italian!). Also as anyone who’s ready HP3 knows, once you get to the part where the golden trio visit Hagrid’s hut before the execution it’s literally inconceivable to put it down until you reach the end.

On Tuesday morning we went over to the Capodimonte palace (top of the hill), which is also known as the Bourbon Palace. Started in 1738 by Charles the II, King of the Two Sicilies, it was completed by his grandson Ferdinand II in 1840. It was the summer residence and home of the family’s art collection, in fact part of the palace was specifically constructed to house their works. It passed to the House of Savoy with the Italian unification, and later to the Dukes of Aosta. Each group that owned the building added to the collection and the complex history of the space. Today it is free for all people under 18 to visit, which was perfect because we were trying to do the budget tour of Napoli. They had some original Michelangelo drawings, Titians, Bruegels, lots of Flemish works, and many local Neapolitan painters. It was a joy to visit!

Outside there is a large public park filled with paths good for running, biking, walking, or even horseback riding I think. From there we got this lovely view down to Napoli Centrale with the sea and just the faintest outline of Capri on the horizon!

In the afternoon we went back to the city center to see the Royal Palace (Palazzo Reale di Napoli), which was another residence of the Bourbon kings of the Two Sicilies and later occupied by Murat. It was worked on pretty much sporadically throughout its whole history, starting at its construction during the 17th century.

They had a suite of rooms still decorated in the original style open to visit (again free for minors!!!) which was awesome. Everything was opulent, even the materials used were gorgeous, and every room had a custom wallpaper.

One room had this cool contraption, apparently contracted as a pre-web browser system of tabs. You could put a different book on every shelf, and leave them open to a particular spot, just spinning the wheel for fast referencing.

Once we left the palace we stopped at the Galleria Umberto I (kind like a mall but super beautiful with this glass ceiling) where we went to La Sfogliatella Mary. This bakery, which is more like a hole in the wall, is a very traditional place to get the typical Napoli sweet.

This is my sfogialtella, partially eaten, so good.

After that we went to Il Duomo di Napoli, which is quite impressive from the outside and painted extensively within.

Finally, we went to San Lorenzo Maggiore with these lovely windows in the back.

Back here in Cosenza, I’ve passed a busy week. It seems like every day I have planned a visit to say goodbye to a different friend! I also baked some ultimate browned butter chocolate chip cookies, using up some of the stranger ingredients I had brought to my host family’s house.

On Wednesday I FINALLY went to see the Cosenza castle, Castello Svevo-Normano. I went with my Intercultura friend from Paraguay, and we actually ended up walking all the way there which was quite an accomplishment because it is on the top of the biggest hill that Cosenza vecchia is built upon, creating a 40 minute uphill/stairs walk.

The castle was pretty cool, but perhaps even more delightful was the view from up there. You could see all of Cosenza, in a way I never had before. A fitting way to “salutare” the city.

Today I’ve been doing a lot of packing, getting preemptively sad about leaving Italy, and dreading the next two days of exhausting travel. However, I am super excited to see you all in the states again! It’s a strange mix of feelings, but I’m sure they will all work themselves out. It has been a lovely year, and I would like to thank all of you for reading this blog. I hope you’ve enjoyed at least some of it!

Love from Italy, Ci vediamo subito! -Bea

P.S. I’m just going to note here that, alas, despite my promise in the first post, I did not get better at limiting comma usage. :)

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talesfromafork · 7 years

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This post is part of a five part City Guide series as I explore Europe as a brand ambassador for Bonwi. It has affiliate links to things I genuinely like.

After I moved to Amsterdam, I traveled to many European cities and thought, “There’s no better city to call home than Amsterdam.” That is, until I went to Berlin. I fell in love with this city immediately! I loved that it felt as big as Paris, was as chill as Amsterdam, and had a raw and gritty charm like New York. Best of all, it had great tasting inexpensive food in every neighborhood– something I sorely miss out on living in Amsterdam. Read on to find out everything I loved about Berlin and that you should check out in this complete city guide.

Click on a section to jump down the page.

How to Get to Berlin

How to Get to Your Hotel From the Airport

Where to Stay

How to Get Around

What to Do

Where to Eat

What to Pack

How to Get to Berlin

There are lots of ways to get to Berlin since it’s a popular international city. I personally like to fly there from Amsterdam because it only takes an hour and a half to get there, and since it’s just a short flight, I’ll get the cheapest flight available even if it’s a budget airline.

If you’re doing a big Euro trip and will be visiting lots of countries, then I’d recommend looking into getting a Eurail pass, which allows you unlimited train travel within a specified number of countries.

Blablacar is a carpooling site that lets you hop into someone’s car if there’s space! From experience, the prices are better than flying or riding the train, but keep in mind, you may encounter traffic and other unexpected delays from driving.

How to Get to Your Hotel From the Berlin Airports

I’ve flown into both Berlin airports and have found using transportation to be fairly easy.

To get from Schönefeld Airport to city centre, it takes about 30 minutes on the regional trains, RE7 or RB14. You can also take S-bahn (S9) and transfer at Ostkreuz to where you need to go.

To get from Tegel airport to city centre, there are various ways you can go, but the shortest way to reach an U-bahn station is to take the 109 or 128 bus to Kurt-Schumacher-Platz (U6) or Jakob-Kaiser-Platz (U7) stations. You can also try the JetExpressBus TXL or Expressbus X9 for quicker rides into the city.

The best way to figure out which mode of public transportation you should take, use Google Maps. If you won’t have data upon arrival, look it up on Google Maps beforehand, and take a screenshot of the directions. Also make sure to download an offline map of Berlin on Google Maps, and save the location of your hotel in it so that once you get off your S-bahn, U-bahn, or bus stop, you’ll have a map to show you where to walk to.

Berlin’s transportation fare varies by zone. Since the airports are in Zone C, you will need a ticket that covers Zones A, B, and C, which you can buy at a yellow ticket machine. A single ticket costs €3,40 as of 03/30/16 but you can check the VBB site for updated fares.

Tip: After you get a ticket, make sure to validate it by popping it into a validation/time-stamp machine. Also, some doors on public transportation do not open automatically. You will have to press a button or pull a lever to open the door.

Where to Stay in Berlin

Taken with a Sony A6000

Neighborhoods

If it’s your first time in Berlin, you may want to stay in the heart of Berlin, Mitte. This neighborhood has many of the city’s popular tourist sights and has great access to public transportation. If you want to be near the sights but still want to experience a less touristy but still trendy neighborhood, stay in Prenzlauer Berg right next to it. I stayed in this neighborhood the first time I went to Berlin and loved it because of its endless number of restaurants, bars, cafés, and people watching opportunities! Another neighborhood close to Mitte is Kreuzberg, which I explored the last time I went to Berlin. It’s a gentrifying neighborhood with immigrant roots, a lot of character, and a good mix of underground clubs.

I Booked a Hotel With Bonwi and Got Back $275 in Rewards

Whichever neighborhood you choose to stay in, I recommend booking through Bonwi because they give you the most amount of rewards back than any other online hotel booking site. For example, last time I went to Berlin, I stayed at the Sofitel Berlin Kurfürstendamm for 3 nights, and I got back $275 in rewards. The room cost $1,310, which means I got back 21% of it in rewards that I can use on hotels, flights, Visa or Amazon cards, and more.

If $1,310 for 3 nights sounds like a bit much to you, then check out the site anyways because they have great rewards for all budgets from hostels to 5-star hotels. For example, when I went to Bruges, I got 3 nights for $690 and got back $250 in rewards, which is 40% of the hotel costs right back into my pocket! For both Bruges and Berlin, I checked rates on other sites like Expedia and Hotels.com and booked with Bonwi because I got the most rewards back. Add the 20-40% to how much your credit card gives you for travel (about 1-2%), and you’ll be ready to take another trip in no time!

Tip: Get $15 of rewards on Bonwi asap just for signing up.

How to Get Around Berlin

Public Transportation

Taking public transportation such as the U-bahn, bus, or tram is really easy and effective. Pull up directions on Google Maps for transit directions. Of course, pull them up beforehand if you don’t have data on your phone.

A single ticket on public transportation is €2,80 within Zones A&B and an unlimited day ticket is €7,00 as of 03/30/17.Whatever ticket you get, you can use it on all the public transportation within the specified zone. Check out the VBB Site for current fares and other options for tickets.

Walk

Once you’re in the neighborhood you want to be in, walk around! It’s one of the best ways to take in Berlin with its mix of old and new buildings and diverse population. I’m sure you’ll discover lots of hidden gems by poking your nose in and around streets that public transportation doesn’t take you on.

Bike

Berlin is a great city to bike in and quite easy to. There are clear bike lanes, and a lot of locals bike so cars and people are aware of bikers.

I rented both an electric bike and regular bike from Fat Tire Tours, which is located next to the TV Tower in Berlin making it a super convenient location to grab a bike from. If you want to know what biking around in Berlin was like for me, check out this post, or if you don’t want to bike around on your own and want to learn more about the city, book a bike tour.

myTaxi or Taxi

If you’re an Uber fan, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but there’s no Uber in Germany. Instead, there’s this app myTaxi (iPhone, Android). I like this app because you can pre-book a taxi, something you can’t do on Uber.

If you don’t have data, then keep an eye out on taxi stands around the city, or head into a hotel to ask them to get you a taxi.

What to Do in Berlin

Both times I went to Berlin, there was an endless number of things to do. Here are my favorite sights to see.

The Reichstag Building

My #1 recommendation is to visit the Reichstag Building. The building itself is an amazing piece of architecture, but the real cherry on top of this site is that you will have great views of the city when you reach the time.

People argue when the best time to go is. I went at nighttime and saw a beautifully lit-up cityscape of Berlin, but others say to go during the daytime so you can take full advantage of the free audio tour that points out surrounding historical buildings. Either way, you can’t go wrong.

Tip: Tickets to the Reichstag are free, but you must register prior to going. You can register here.

Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe

This free Holocaust Memorial does a fantastic job in detailing out exactly what happened from 1933 to 1945. If you’re sensitive like me, plan to go here when you’ll have time shake off the heavy material after. One of the most intimate and touching parts of the museum was the exhibit showing photos of the family who were killed in the Holocaust and what their lives were like before it.

Note: You might be tempted to jump around the memorial columns outside, especially when seeing others. I personally find it disrespectful that people are jumping around on this commemorative memorial like a playground, but a Jewish blogger said that it’s more than ok because those who suffered through the Holocaust would want people to be joyous now. However you view the memorial, note that you’re technically not allowed to as noted by a sign.

Nature-Park Schöneberger Südgelände

I went to a few parks in Berlin including the popular Tiergarten, and Nature-Park Schöneberger Südgelände was my favorite! It’s an old rail yard that was converted into a park and space for art events. I loved seeing this old train inside, and foliage growing wild over old railroad tracks and alongside the brick buildings.

Tip: Entry fee is €1. It’s an honor system where you drop a coin into a box so remember to bring a coin.

Berlin Wall Walking Trail

Berlin’s recent history is quite fascinating, and the city does a great job of sharing intimate information about the wall along its walking trail. I stumbled upon the start of the trail in Mitte and was sucked into the personal stories the information booths shared as it transported me back into time with a telling of what exactly happened on the spot I was standing at. Whether it’s walking the full 3.5 miles (5.7km) of the wall or just a section of it, I highly recommend visiting the wall, which starts out in Mitte and ends up at the East Side Gallery. Check out this map provided by Visit Berlin’s site.

Note: The beginning of the walk is right near Vietnam Village. I suggest eating lunch there before this walk!

East Side Gallery

Taken with a Ricoh Theta 360S

The East Side Gallery is an iconic memorial for freedom painted by 118 artists from 21 countries after the fall of the Berlin Wall. Artists painted the wall with various commentary on political events following the fall. In 2009, 40 of the murals were restored, but vibrantly shining or fading away, this wall has a rich history that shouldn’t be missed!

Graffiti

There’s ton of graffiti all over Berlin that you’ll stumble upon time and time again, but if you do a bit of planning, you can spot the best graffiti murals or head to the general areas where a bunch are.

Underground Clubs

Berlin may be the most well-known city in the world for its nightlife and club so it’s worth checking out the underground club scene as it’s basically the lifeline of this city. One of the most famous underground clubs in the world there is Berghain, although it’s notoriously hard to get into. You can find events for Tresor, Kater Blau, and other clubs on Resident Advisor, my go-to site for electronic events.

Tip: Don’t wear heels or flashy clothes to these clubs. They are underground clubs so wear sneakers and preferably black.

Where to Eat in Berlin

Perhaps the reason why I fell in love with Berlin is because of the inexpensive but extremely tasty variety of cuisines everywhere. I especially love that any given neighborhood will have a handful of Vietnamese pho places! #dreamcometrue Anyways, here are my favorite places in Berlin to eat.

Vietnam Village

I’ve been to four pho places in Berlin over my two trips there, and my ultimate favorite spot is Vietnam Village. The pho broth is flavorful and satisfying, and they use the right noodle thickness (yes, noodle thickness in pho can make or break the dish for me). Also, everything else they make is so good because they have great ingredients. The veggies are so fresh and tasty and cooked al denté.

Tip: If you can eat as much as me, get the appetizer size pho*, mango salad with chicken or shrimp, and the crispy duck entrée.

*I think I fell in love with Berlin because this restaurant has an appetizer size pho. It totally solves my dilemma of wanting both a pho and an entrée but not being able to eat both in one sitting!

Vietnam Village Oderberger Str. 7

Meyan Berlin

For great Mediterranean food with a near perfect 4.9 stars on Google, Meyan Berlin is the place to go. You can’t go wrong with anything you order, but if you don’t know what to get, ask! They recommended the stuffed peppers to me, which were delicious. It also has a really cute ambiance so it’s a good place to chill out in, read a book, or even work from your laptop.

Meyan Berlin Goltzstraße 36 www.meyan-berlin.de

Zeit für Brot

Forget Cinnabon and everything you’ve ever known about cinnamon rolls. Zeit für Brot is the bakery to go to for fluffy but dense cinnamon rolls with various toppings like nuts and a cream cheese frosting. They’re freshly baked in house! They also have great sandwiches with high quality ingredients that you can grab for take-away to eat while exploring the city.

Zeit für Brot Alte Schönhauser Str. 4 http://www.zeitfuerbrot.com/

Ottenthal

I haven’t been here, but a colleague of mine who’s been going to Berlin yearly for 19 years says that this place has the best Austrian schnitzel in town. Someone on Yelp says that this schnitzel is even better that schnitzel he’s tried at Michelin star restaurants! I didn’t get a chance to go on my last trip, but it’s on my list of places to eat so it was worth mentioning– right? Overall, it’s an elegant restaurant that puts a lot of love into their ingredients and even tells you on their menu which allergens are in each dish.

Ottenthal Kantstraße 153 www.ottenthal.com

What to Pack for Berlin

Before you even think about what to pack for Berlin, make sure to download the offline version of Google Maps so that even without data, you’ll always have a map handy. For most of the year, here are the staples that I bring with me to Berlin. Since Berlin is a big city, you’ll:

be walking a lot so wear [amazon_textlink asin=’B00XWPXR5K’ text=’sneakers’ template=’ProductLink’ store=’tafrafo-20′ marketplace=’US’ link_id=’058b07ba-16f7-11e7-9fd4-21ac0badb158′],

be out for most of the day so bring[amazon_textlink asin=’B01CU1EC6Y’ text=’ a portable charger’ template=’ProductLink’ store=’tafrafo-20′ marketplace=’US’ link_id=’68be89c3-16f7-11e7-b5ad-dbe3b3bf85da’] the size of a lipstick case and fits easily in a pocket or purse and a wire for your phone,

needing directions so bring [amazon_textlink asin=’B00YD548Q0′ text=’your phone’ template=’ProductLink’ store=’tafrafo-20′ marketplace=’US’ link_id=’82b9d7a0-16f7-11e7-b0c4-b5056013861d’] with an offline Google Maps on it,

needing to charge your phone, camera, and other electronics so an [amazon_textlink asin=’B00HVKR92Y’ text=’EU charging station with four USB ports’ template=’ProductLink’ store=’tafrafo-20′ marketplace=’US’ link_id=’dcac9368-16f7-11e7-87a4-497a778f639e’] is really handy,

be taking lots of photos so bring one that takes great photos and is light to carry like the Sony A6000 I have,

possibly want to look your best so check out this post to find out if you need a converter or adapter for your hair straightener or curling, or if you need to buy a new one,

and depending on the weather, you’ll want to bring a poncho, umbrella, or a winter coat with winter accessories. Both times I went in the Fall and Winter were gray, rainy, and cold!

Here are photos of the products I named above and other ones you might find helpful for your trip.

[amazon_link asins=’B01CU1EC6Y,B00HVKR92Y,B00I8BICB2,B005H92I6S,B01N6EGXUB,B00WQNMGII’ template=’ProductCarousel’ store=’tafrafo-20′ marketplace=’US’ link_id=’1d8ddd43-1723-11e7-a657-2f2e19d94191′]

Ready to go to Berlin? Book a hotel with Bonwi, and build up rewards quickly like you’ve never done before.

Thanks for stopping by! xo.

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City Guide: Everything You Need to Know About Berlin, Germany #travel #berlin This post is part of a five part City Guide series as I explore Europe as a brand ambassador for…

#Berlin #City Guide #Germany

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