#that last reblog triggered me to dive into this again for a bit
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Subnautica gifs 3/ ∞
#subnautica#subnauticaedit#gamingedit#vgedit#dailyvideogames#dailygaming#gamingnetwork#unknown worlds entertainment#games#video games#gaming#water#my stuff#that last reblog triggered me to dive into this again for a bit#and i was scared#but i love water
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you’re someone i just want around: VII
Sunflower, my eyes
Want you more than a melody
Let me inside
Wish I could get to know you
Sunflower Vol. 6, Harry Styles
A/N: okay so this part was so much fun to write!! it originally was going to have four more scenes but uh. as we all know. i am very wordy. so the other scenes I have planned will have to be split into what will probably become two more parts and you guys will just have to deal with getting another two chapters 😌 but this part is really exciting because we are getting a lil bit of angst mixed in with harry’s general dumbassery!! love to see it love to hear it!! and please if you like what you are reading here!! reblog it!! leave reactions in the tags (we read every single one)!! send a message to andrea and i!! feedback and interaction is what keeps content creators motivated to keep cranking out nearly 30k every one to two weeks!! and that’s a general rule for all content creators not just us!! we do this for free so a lil love note is always appreciated 💌 alrighty now that that’s out of the way!! let’s dive in!!
ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist : ysijwa playlist
word count: 26.6k
content/warnings: another good dose of denial, Fajita Friday with a side of blended margs, waking up on the wrong side of the coffin, brutal analysis of niall’s non-existent love life, ribeye!y/n x rotisseriechicken!harry, a horrible impersonation of Bob Barker, “are you there, God? it’s me, harry,” degradation, the violation of worksafe laws through the improper use of a ladder, mild pain kink, alexa, play ‘kiss it better’ by rihanna, and the rise of kinkrry (dir. j.j. abrams)
As Harry climbs up the stairs to Y/N’s apartment the next Friday night with a bag containing tequila, orange liqueur, and limes clutched within his jeweled hand, there are two thoughts flickering through his mind.
The first, which weighs more heavily on the vampire, is if Y/N prefers her margaritas blended or over ice, as Harry feels that tells a lot about a person, and it would be such a disappointment to realize now that Y/N isn’t a fan of the blended beverage. The second, which should weigh more heavily on his mind if he had his priorities sorted out, is how Y/N had managed to convince him to let her cook dinner for the two of them.
In reality, it hadn’t actually taken much convincing on the mortal girl’s part at all. When she messaged him on her lunch break earlier that day, asking what he was up to that night, Harry had sat up on his couch, drawing Niall and Xander’s attention to him in a confused manner. He’d stared at the message for only three seconds before opening his phone and pressing on her contact name. The action had come so easily to him that he didn’t even think about hiding his eagerness to speak to her, and instead pressed his phone tight to his ear as the other line rang three times before she picked it up.
“Harry?” Her confused voice rang through his phone speaker, the sound of the bustling cafe apparent in the background. “Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, love. I just, uh…just wanted to talk to you, s’all.” Harry had replied, shushing the questions he could see hanging off of Niall and Xander’s lips. “How’s work today? Busy?”
“As busy as it always is on a Friday afternoon.” Y/N answered with a sigh, and a small smile tugged at the corner of Harry’s lips as he heard a loud slurp through the phone, leading him to picture a stressed out Y/N sipping the last remnants of her iced latte. “But I’m over halfway through my shift, at least, so… it’s all downhill from here. In a good way.”
Harry had nodded slowly, as if the mortal girl could see him through the phone. “I’m glad to hear that.”
His friends, however, seemed to be less glad to hear it, and paused the golf tournament that was playing on TV to stare at him with incredulous expressions on their faces.
“Who are you talking to?” Niall had demanded, kicking his foot into Harry’s calf with more force than what was necessary. “We’re going to miss the first swing!”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Xander snickered to the Irishman next to him, a devious smirk lighting up his face. “It’s that human he’s been obsessed with for the last, like, two months. His little plaything.”
Harry had stood up then, flipping the pair off with a pointed glare before turning towards the kitchen, intent on finding some peace and quiet where he could carry on his conversation without having to worry about Y/N overhearing something she shouldn’t.
“I don’t want to take up too much of your break,” He murmured, resting his elbows over the cool marble countertop of his kitchen island that was nearly the same temperature of his skin. “But calling you seemed easier than texting. I’m free tonight—” He always kept his Friday nights free for her; had she not realized that by now? “So I was thinking I could be at your place around eight? Or nine? What works for you?”
And it was then that he had heard it, breaking through the cafe ambient noise that caught Harry’s inhuman ears, and the inquisitive whispering of Niall and Xander in the other room. As clear as if it were really right in his ear, Harry had heard the sharp intake of breath, the slow exhale that followed, and the melodic voice that he’d become so familiar with, shaking ever so slightly.
“I was, um, actually thinking you could come over a bit earlier.” Y/N had replied, the tapping of her fingertips against her back room’s linoleum table reverberating around Harry’s head. “I got groceries yesterday, and I was going to make fajitas tonight, and I realized I had enough food for two people, and so if you don’t have anything else planned—”
Harry hadn’t meant to cut Y/N off— listening to her nervous rambling is one of his favourite things, and he’d never purposefully forfeit the opportunity to hear it (and that fondness aside, cutting off her speech would be rude)— but shock overtook his body and triggered the response before he could stop it. “You want to cook me dinner?”
“I—” The speaker crackled again, and Harry could practically picture the hesitation wrinkling across Y/N’s face, the caution in her tone a clear indication of how hard she was working to stay upright on the tense tightrope known as their relationship. “Yeah, I do. I’m not a chef or anything, but my friends and I used to cook for each other all the time, and Fajita Fridays were one of my specialties, so—”
“I would absolutely love it if you cooked for me.” A slow grin had spread over Harry’s face, pulling the dimples from his cheeks in a way that he’d recently noticed only she could. “What time should I be over? Do you want me to pick you up from work?”
“No, that’s fine.” Y/N had assured him quickly, the breathlessness in her voice leading Harry to picture the light rush of heat that was probably working its way over her cheeks. “You can come over around six, if that works for you…?”
Harry had checked the Rolex hanging off his wrist, which displayed the time of 2:33PM back to him. “Six is perfect.” He’d replied with an airy yet firm voice, nodding to himself once again. “Can I bring anything? Is there anything you need me to pick up?”
“Oh, uh...no. No, you don’t need to bring anything. Just your appetite; I make a lot of fajitas.” The surprise that echoed in Y/N’s voice and the small laugh that followed had drawn an pleasurable ache from Harry’s dormant chest in a way he couldn’t explain. “Thank you for asking, though. So… I’ll see you at six, then.”
“Sounds good, love. I’m looking forward to it.” Harry had smiled again, despite no one being around to view it, and continued to smile even after he had hung up and made his way back to the living room, where his two friends had greeted him with an array of exaggerated vulgar motions and kissy faces.
He had waved them off, and though he’d glowered at them hotly and shrugged off their prodding questions, he couldn’t find it in himself to stifle the grin that the human girl’s offer had left behind on his cheeks. She wanted to make him dinner. Just the two of them. It’d been so long since anyone had gone so out of their way for him like that, he hadn’t been able to help his giddy reaction.
As he reaches the final stair leading to Y/N’s floor of her building, a tired sigh falls from Harry’s pink lips. He should’ve known better than to call her with his friend present, he thinks, as his footsteps echo around the empty hallway. The moment he’d plopped back down on his couch, Niall and Xander had ignored his dismissive attitude and proceeded to continue to bombard him with a million questions about her, and a million more digs at his ego when he had later excused himself from their tournament to get ready for the dinner. Although he’d normally be able to ignore their obsessive inquiries without so much as a second thought, he’d berated himself throughout his entire shower and get-ready routine, the harsh judgement ever-present in the back of his skull as he’d picked up his favourite ingredients for margaritas from the grocery store. He should’ve known better.
It’s bad enough that he’s toying around with Y/N’s feelings just for his own selfish needs, but every time the topic of Y/N came up around his friends, it ended with the exact same question, just as it had earlier that day.
“So when do we get to meet her? Like, officially meet her, and not just hear her moaning through your wall.” Niall had asked as he took a sip of his Guinness beer, layering a childish snicker on top of his curiosity.
“Yeah, I’d love to see the girl that domesticated you. Always thought she’d be fictional, actually.” Xander’s laugh had matched Niall’s as the two of them watched Harry slip a fresh t-shirt over his head.
A tightness had developed in Harry’s chest then, so tense that it had nearly stopped him from smoothing the shirt over his inked chest. “You don’t get to meet her.” He had replied curtly, shooting the two vampires a stern look. “She’s not something for you two to gawk at, she’s—”
Niall had interjected then, the mirth in his eyes refusing to bow despite Harry’s seething. “Your girlfriend?”
Harry had stared witheringly at the Irish immortal. “No. She’s not my girlfriend. She’s just a friend I have an arrangement with. An arrangement that will become much more complicated if she starts hanging out with other vampires and notices that there’s something… off about us.”
“Off?” Niall had questioned, grinning cheekily with a flash of his fangs, his blue irises dying blood red. “I have no idea what you’re referring to, mate.”
Pausing in front of Y/N’s front door, Harry takes a moment to swipe his hair back from his face, tousling his curls until they fall into just the right place. His chestnut locks are beginning to get a little long again (they curl around his ears and tickle the nape of his neck now), but he can’t quite bring himself to cut them just yet; Y/N has a habit of reaching for them whenever he goes down on her, and the sensation of her tugging on his hair is too satisfying to let go of so easily. As for the rest of his look, Harry has opted to keep it casual tonight, wearing a blue and pink flamingo patterned button down over his Chicago Cubs t-shirt, paired with a rust-coloured pair of corduroy pants and his white vans. If their usual routine is any indication, then Harry will be staying the night, and he’s learned over the years that it’s much comfier to leave the next morning in loose clothes than trying to yank on a pair of tight leather pants in a stranger’s bedroom. Not that Y/N is a stranger; in fact, he could probably get away with bringing an overnight bag now. But there’s something so presumptuous in showing up to a dinner date with a bag, and in a shocking— though fleeting— change of heart, the last thing Harry wants is to seem presumptuous.
Harry raises his jeweled knuckles and raps on Y/N’s door in a rhythmic pattern, straightening his back and leaning against the frame as he waits for the door to open.
Even through the wooden barrier, Harry can hear the old music floating through the bluetooth speaker that he knows sits on Y/N’s kitchen counter, the sizzling of peppers and onions in a pan, and Y/N singing to herself softly under her breath, the latter of which pauses as soon as Harry knocks. Instead, it’s replaced with the soft padding of bare feet against the laminate floor, the click of a lock, the removal of a door chain, and the turning of a knob as the door swings open.
And then Harry sees Y/N, and the sight of her catches the breath that he doesn’t really need. It lodges in his lungs and at the back of his burning throat, causing an odd sensation to churn the pit of his tummy as a sudden wave of heat pours into his cheeks.
If Harry’s pride wasn’t as steadfast as he likes to portray, he would openly admit that it truly is frightening how just one glance at her can make his entire nervous system flare.
It’s obvious that Y/N’s been at work all day; her mascara is slightly smudged beneath her eyes, and the ponytail bouncing at the top of her head is loose, with wisps of hair falling out and framing her face. Her clothing, however, has been changed from her usual work polo and jeans to a cotton bralette that clings to her chest and displays a strip of her stomach that makes Harry’s mouth water. Her black leggings have mesh cutouts on the side, and while that detail would normally draw Harry’s eyes by default, it’s the multicolour patchwork cardigan hanging loosely off her shoulders that really catches Harry off guard. Or, more specifically, it’s his multicolour patchwork cardigan that catches him off guard.
“Hi.” Y/N smiles up at him warmly with the edges of her eyes crinkling, her hands grasping the side of the door tightly. “Six P.M. on the dot, Holmes. I’m impressed.”
“Solving mysteries isn’t my only speciality.” Harry matches his grin to hers, his dimples making an appearance as his expression grows. “Although speaking of mysteries… I think I just solved the case of my missing cardigan.” With his free hand, Harry reaches forward and tweaks a button on the article of clothing, his fingers brushing against Y/N’s bare tummy when he pulls away.
A wispy giggle falls from Y/N’s cheeks as she opens the door wider to invite Harry in. “Right, that case. I was about to call you about it, actually. We got a big break-through last night.”
“Did we?” Harry raises an eyebrow as he steps into her apartment, shifting the fabric tote bag in his right hand to his left as he squeezes into the narrow corridor beside her. “And what was the big break, exactly?”
Y/N wraps her arms around Harry’s neck as he snakes his now free hand around her waist, clutching her close to his cool body. “Well, I was trying to go to sleep, and I was cold, so I went searching in my closet for an extra blanket, and found this tucked in the back from when you let me borrow it last weekend.” She explains lightly, twisting her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Case closed. Elementary, my dear Holmes.”
“I thought that was my line?” Harry quirks an eyebrow as fond amusement dances through his emerald eyes, his cold palm giving one of her love handles a playful squeeze. “First you steal my cardigan, and now my catch phrase. What’s next?”
“Oh, I don’t know…” Y/N says with a shrug, her smile growing wider with every passing moment as she nudges his chin teasingly with the tip of her warm nose. “I could steal a kiss, I suppose? That’s a very you thing to do.”
“Not quite. Usually you’re the one trying to steal one, and I make you ask for it. Beg, even, if I’m feeling a bit meaner than usual.” Tilting his head to the side and shaking it slowly, Harry lets out a long sigh. “You’re losing your touch, Watson.”
“Tragic.” Y/N matches his sigh as she begins to untangle her hands from his hair, but when she tries to extract herself from Harry’s grasp, he just holds on tighter.
“But for the sake of tradition…” Harry’s eyes fall to the mortal’s lips as he wets his own with his tongue. “How about a hello kiss?”
Despite the usual iciness of Harry’s touch, heat begins to blossom through Y/N’s chest as she tilts her head up to meet Harry’s mouth. The kiss, unlike many they’ve shared before, is tender, and only lasts for a brief moment before Y/N settles back down on the balls of her feet.
“Hi.” She whispers, her hands curling around the fabric clinging to Harry’s muscular shoulders.
“Hi.” The vampire replies easily as he finally releases his grip on her waist, taking a step back from both Y/N and the bashful instance they’d found themselves in.
He allows her to lead him down the entrance hallway and into her living room, drifting behind her towards the kitchen and glimpsing over all the ingredients she has scattered around her counters.
“You look beautiful in my cardigan, by the way.” Harry throws out casually, admiring the way the article hangs off her figure in the most adorable oversized fashion. “If I didn’t make that clear enough before. And,” the monster takes a sudden deep whiff for emphasis, “it smells delicious in here. Seems like Gordon Ramsey doesn’t have shit on you, huh?”
Although the initial compliment brings a flush of pleasure up Y/N’s spine, she chooses to focus on the latter half of Harry’s comment. “I’d like to think so, yeah. Dinner is almost ready, if you want to take a seat at the table. Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Actually…” Harry holds up the bag in his hand and bounces it jestingly, fully bringing it to Y/N’s attention for the first time. “I thought I’d make us margaritas to go with the fajitas. Really commit to the theme, y’know?”
All of the previous drinks that Harry has made for her float through Y/N’s mind, and her mouth salivates at the thought of drinking another of his incredible creations. He really does have such a wise talent with liquor that she finds herself subconsciously wondering how that had come to be. “Of course; we can’t do Fajita Fridays halfway, now can we?”
“No, we can’t.” Harry agrees with a firm nod, setting the bag down on her small kitchen tabletop and unpacking the ingredients he’d toted with him. “Do you prefer your margaritas over ice or blended?”
The correct answer immediately rolls off the mortal’s tongue. “Blended— I’m not insane.” She states with a scoff, picking up her spatula to stir the pepper and onion mixture on the stove as she bobs her head towards the cabinet at the far end of the room. “The blender is just up in that cupboard there.”
The corners of Harry’s pink lips tug up at her response, and he nods to the girl as he drifts over and reaches for the cabinet she’d motioned to. “Gotcha.” He says, pushing back a few decorative serving platters before extracting the blender sitting on the back of the shelf. “Oh, this’ll do nicely.”
His comment is met with a quiet snort from Y/N, who glances at him from the corner of her eye as she turns her attention to the sautéing chicken in her skillet. “Oh, it will, will it?” She asks sarcastically, her lithe fingers adding pinches of seasoning to the dish. “Are you a blender connoisseur, then?”
“Of course I am, angel. Y’have to be, to make a half decent margarita.” Setting the kitchen appliance in the counter, Harry studies it with a keen eye, running his fingers over the smooth glass and slightly worn buttons. “It has a little bit of wear and tear, but that’s to be expected; the rest of it seems to be in decent condition.” He unwraps the cord from the base of the blender, plugging it into the wall before pressing the pulse button a few times to make the machine roar to life. “Listen to that engine purr… A blender like this could bring a man to tears.”
“That’s good to know.” Y/N snorts again, shaking her head at Harry’s antics as he begins to prepare his ingredients. “If you need a knife for the limes, there’s one in the block there. And ice is in the freezer—”
“That’s good to know.” Harry mimics her prior reply with a shit-eating grin on his face, his hand wrapped around a bottle of Don Julio he’d snagged from his bar shelves. “I was about to check the cabinet again.”
With a shake of her head, Y/N steps past Harry to open a cupboard and fetch a serving dish. “Alright, smartass.” She bumps her hip against Harry’s as she passes him, the motion sending a jolt of electricity across the vampire’s pelvic bones. “Keep it up and you’ll lose dessert privileges.”
Although she tries to step away, Harry twists a cool arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her back against his chest as he smudges a kiss over her pulse point. “‘M sorry.” He murmurs, keeping his voice low in an attempt to hide the smile brewing on his face. “I’ll be nicer, then. I’d hate to lose dessert—it’s my favourite part.”
With his lips over her neck, Harry can feel the exact moment Y/N’s heart rate increases, his ears pricking with the now familiar and adored sound. Her warm hand cups his over her belly, fingers tracing over the knuckles of his icy touch.
“I know it is.” Y/N tilts her head to the left, trying to provide Harry with more access to her neck as his mouth continues to ghost over her skin. “So I’d hate to take it away.”
The human girl’s familiar and achingly sweet honey and lavender scent fills Harry’s nostrils as his nose brushes against her jaw. When he refers to her as dessert, Y/N doesn’t know how genuinely Harry means it. “Alright. I’ll behave.” He relents, but he squeezes her tummy tightly as his teeth graze her skin one last time before pulling away. “For now.”
When Y/N detangles from the cage that is Harry’s arm, she busies herself with cooking again, doing her best to hide the light sheen of sweat that is beading her forehead. It’s almost embarrassing, really; despite only being here for five minutes, Harry’s already pulling reactions out of her that she didn’t even know she had. If she doesn’t get a hold of herself soon, she’ll be on her knees for him before he’s had a bite of dinner.
With that thought in mind, the mortal forces herself to focus on the tasks at hand, continuing her banter with Harry while making sure to keep the subject matter PG as she plates the food and Harry blends drinks for them. Her tiny table, which she’s already set for two, is soon filled with dishes containing sautéed vegetables, chicken, and other various toppings, and Harry pours his margarita mix into two glasses before sitting across from her with a curious air.
“So this is what you and your friends used to do back home, is it?” He asks, crossing his arms and resting them on the table as he regards Y/N with a tilted head. “Fajita Fridays? Taco Tuesdays? Meatloaf Mondays?”
“Meatloaf Mondays sound depressing.” Y/N shoots back with a scoff, her hand wrapping around her margarita glass and lifting it to her mouth to take a sip. “We weren’t that pathetic.”
Harry exhales a sharp but quiet breath from his nose once—the beginnings of a laugh— before offering a dry reply. “No, it doesn’t have a very nice ring to it, does it?” He says, watching eagerly as her eyes widen at the first taste of the drink rolls across her tongue. “Do you like it?”
Y/N clears her throat as she lowers her glass from her mouth. “It’s...strong.” Y/N replies slowly, taking another gulp and smacking her lips in an exaggerated fashion. “But yummy. This is a repeat recipe, I think.”
The praise warms the pit of Harry’s stomach as he raises his own glass, motioning to the girl before him before bringing the edge of the cup to his lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He murmurs, setting his drink back down after taking a sip and letting his eyes roam over the food before them. “So how did you and your friends do this? Everyone would just reach in at once, or—?”
“Oh, well, we—we used to say grace first, actually.” Y/N admits after a moment, her eyes momentarily flickering to the gold cross dangling from Harry’s neck. Although his usual cross earring is absent tonight, his pearls out of sight as well, and he’s only wearing his opal and lionhead rings, that familiar cross necklace is present as ever. “And then we’d move everything around the table clockwise from the person who actually led saying grace.”
Despite Y/N previously mentioning that she’d been a regular church goer in her hometown, this new information sparks an interest in Harry’s mind. “Really?” He quirks an eyebrow as the human girl reaches for a warmed tortilla and begins to spoon her toppings inside. “But you don’t do that now?”
“Nope.” Her lips pop on the final consonant sound of the word. “Did you say grace growing up?” She asks curiously, nodding to the chain around Harry’s neck. “You always wear that cross, so I was just wondering…”
“Oh, uh—yeah. Yeah, we did.” A crease furrows the space between Harry’s brow as he selects his own tortilla, keeping his eyes glued to the food. “My father used to lead it every night.” Although he could leave the comment there and be done with the topic, more words of explanation spill from Harry’s mouth without him realizing how much he’s actually saying, his gaze remaining trained on the way he’s filling his tortilla, almost as if it’s a monumentally difficult task that requires his utmost attention. “I liked to listen to him say it. My father had a very calming voice; he could be loud and boisterous when he wanted to, but at home, he always kept cool and collected. It was comforting.”
Y/N notes the use of past tense when discussing Harry’s father, but doesn’t comment on it. With the knowledge that his mother had passed away in her mind, she assumes the same has happened to his father, and the realization twists her heart in a new and aching manner. “You speak like that, you know.” She tries to steer the conversation into a lighter direction, registering the sadness in his emerald eyes when he discusses his family. “When you’re telling stories about your life. Your voice is low and even, quieter than usual. It sounds a bit like a…lullaby, I guess. Or like— like an audiobook, like someone’s reading some old poetry, or—” Her cheeks flame beneath her skin as she drops her eyes to her plate. “Sorry. That, um, that sounds strange.”
The outpouring confessions from the girl across from him brings an awed expression to Harry’s face. He had always assumed his voice was more of a siren song than anything— capable of luring his victims into a false sense of security before he showed his true monstrous form. But if the stuttering of Y/N’s heart and the brightness in her eyes is any indication, maybe that isn’t quite the case. She described him as a lullaby, yes, but she didn’t sound betrayed at the thought of him spinning stories in order to keep her pliable under his grasp. If anything, her words give the impression that she enjoys it.
“I’ve heard stranger.” Harry murmurs after a moment, his unusually bare forefinger rubbing over his lips pensively as he waits for Y/N to raise her head again. “Thank you. That’s a compliment, really, saying that I sound like my dad used to.”
“Well, I mean, I’ve never heard your dad speak, so take it with a grain of salt—” Y/N forces out a laugh, despite her cheeks and neck still feeling uncomfortably flushed, “—but I imagine it’s similar. After all, he raised you, didn’t he?”
Harry nods slowly, his mind so wrapped in his own memories that he doesn’t even think about the incriminating answer about to fall from his lips. “He did, yeah, but it’s been a while since I’ve been able to speak to him.” He admits, pinching his chin between his thumb and index finger as he lifts his left shoulder in an empty shrug. “Memories fade over time. Things change. People change.”
Although she can feel that they’re beginning to breach a more serious topic, Y/N doesn’t pull back like she did in the restaurant. She rationalizes this action to herself as she sips her margarita and collects her thoughts, saying that it’s just because it’s easier to be honest in her apartment than a brunch restaurant. But the truth of the matter is that the longer she spends with Harry, the more Y/N wants to know him. Really know him, outside of their usual arrangement.
“That’s true,” She agrees with hesitancy etched into her voice, keeping a measured glance on Harry’s body to read his reaction. “But you can’t have changed that much since you last saw him. When…” Her words trail off when Harry locks his emerald eyes with hers, but she takes a deep breath and finishes her question in determination. “When did he pass away? How old were you?”
In the immortal’s mind, the answer forms without any delay. His father had been the first to go in his family; the combination of breathing in smoke from the forge and his age being four years his mother’s senior had stopped his heart before hers. The news of his death reached Harry a few days after it had happened, and he had just made it back to Holmes Chapel in time to watch the funeral service from afar.
Despite his appearance being frozen at twenty-six, as it always would be, Harry was nearly twenty-nine to the day of the funeral. Gemma had been thirty-three by then, standing with their mother and a tall man by her side, who whispered what her brother hoped were reassuring words in her ear. His sister's eyes had been nearly a perfect mirror of Harry’s, with the exception of a few crow’s feet beginning to show around them. And his mother had been dressed in widower’s black, a veil pulled over her weeping face to allow her the bit of discretion that was expected in Victorian times. Harry had been distressed when he saw the veil, despite expecting it to be there; he’d hoped he could get one more glimpse of her eyes before he had to leave that day. He had entertained the idea of walking over, expressing his condolences, and compelling her to forget she’d seen her lost son, but the thought had twisted an ache into his chest that had nearly brought him to tears, and—
“I was twenty-one when he passed away.” Harry spits the sentence out, and the familiar lie burns his throat in an entirely foreign way than the thirst he’s used to. “He had lung cancer.” At least, that had been Harry’s assumption after he read up on the disease years after his father’s undetermined passing. It made sense, given that all the grit and soot from the coal and metal grime had found its way into the air of the blacksmith’s shop, and after slaving away for years in order to keep food on the table, it had also eventually made its way into his father’s system… “It progressed quickly.”
As he watches sympathy glaze itself over Y/N’s eyes, all he can think about is how undeserving he is of it. Even though he’s compelled the mortal girl in front of him, gained her trust, been invited into her home, and is kindling a connection with her, all for the simple act of drinking her blood, Harry thinks that this might be the most monstrous thing he’s done yet— paint himself as a victim of circumstance, hiding all the wrong-doings he’s ever committed, and allowing Y/N and her softly-beating heart to feel sorry for him.
The conversation moves to an lighter tone after that, which Harry does on purpose; the less he needs to tell her about his fabricated sob story, the better. And, truth be told, he’d much rather hear about Y/N’s day-to-day life. It’s been so long since he had human concerns, and when he did, his concerns certainly didn’t have anything to do with being betrayed by customers because the cafe wifi was down. It’s almost amusing to him, listening to her rant about all these insignificant people, and he can’t help the way his dimples begin to peek out of his cheeks as she raises her voice at imaginary customers.
“So I told him, in my most polite voice, that we were aware the wifi was down, and that we’d called the provider to let them know, and that they were sending someone as fast as they could to fix it. And do you know what he said to me?” Y/N widens her eyes in incredulous disbelief as she takes a bite of her fajita, chewing and swallowing quickly to continue with her story with more emphasis. “Do you know what he said?”
“No, I don’t.” Harry shakes his head in endearment, hiding the laugh forming on his rosy lips behind his margarita glass. “What did he say?”
“He said—” Y/N twists her face to mimic the customer’s expression, dropping her voice down five octaves lower as she speaks with a ridiculous tone. “‘Oh, well, can’t you just fix it? You work here, don’t you? What else do you get paid for?’ Can you believe that?” She states the last phrase in her normal voice, scoffing at the memory as she crosses her patchwork covered arms across her chest. “Like, I’m a waitress! I don’t work at an internet company! I’m trained to bring you water and sandwiches— which are more cucumber than anything with actual substance— so it’s not my responsibility to figure out why you can’t load Candy Crush on your phone!”
A snicker finally breaks free from Harry’s throat as he watches Y/N angrily stuff a piece of chicken into her mouth. “Sounds like you had a rough day today.”
“That’s pretty average for me, honestly.” Y/N sighs again, rubbing her hand over her forehead as she polishes off the rest of her second margarita. “Ugh, it pissed me off. I wanted to shove his phone right up his ass and ask if his wifi connection got better.” A small smile breaks out across Y/N’s lips in spite of herself as Harry stifles another giggle at her witty comment. “But I’ve talked about it enough. How was your day? What did you do?”
“I did a bit of work in the morning, nothing too noteworthy.” Harry replies, deliberately keeping his answer vague as he twists his lionhead ring around his finger. “And I was about to watch a golf tournament with Xander and Niall when you called.”
Harry thinks nothing of mentioning their names, but is surprised when Y/N’s brow cinch in thought. “Which ones are Xander and Niall? Is one of them the long haired one?” She asks curiously, pulling her (his) cardigan off one shoulder as the tequila begins to course through her veins and heat her body.
“The— no. No, that’s Mitch.” Harry says slowly, cocking his head to the side in confusion. “How did you know that?”
Y/N feels a spike of embarrassment in her stomach, and shyly avoids Harry’s eyes as she answers. “There was a photo of you with a group of guys in your apartment, in the living room.” She mumbles, tapping her fingers against her newly cleaned plate. “One of them— I think he was next to you in the photo?— had long hair. Another had blue eyes, glasses… and brown hair, I think? I don’t really remember the rest…”
Harry hums in the back of his throat, quiet and low. “That was probably Niall.” He guesses, finishing his own margarita and setting the glass down gently. “If I’m thinking of the right picture, then Xander was the one standing next to him.”
Y/N pictures the faces in her mind’s eye, imagining the two brunette boys in the clothing from the photo, slumped next to Harry on the couch of his stunning condo, knocking back pints of beer and plates of nachos as they watch golf on TV. It seems strange to picture Harry doing something so… normal. She forgets, sometimes, that he’s a regular twenty-six year old man. In her head, when she thinks of Harry, regular is the last word that comes to her mind— even when he’s sitting across from her in a casual outfit, doing something as simple as eating dinner while he asks her about her day, Y/N struggles to remember that this man is just that: a man.
Maybe, she ponders, as Harry stands up with the explanation of making more margaritas falling off his lips, it’s because she’s only ever really been alone with him. With the exception of the club where they met, and his friends interrupting their weekend a few weeks prior (her cheeks flame at the recalling of the embarrassing memory), Y/N has only ever seen Harry in her own context.
As the blender whirs to life behind her, the human twists in her chair to catch a glimpse of the object of her thoughts. Even beneath his opaque shirt, she can see the muscles of Harry’s back flexing as he bends down to slice a lime, squeezing the juice into the top of the blender while holding his jeweled hand underneath to catch any seeds. When Harry is around her, he’s charming, cocky, self-assured, and— on the extremely rare occasion— vulnerable. What’s he like around his friends?
Just as cocky, Y/N is sure; she can’t picture Harry letting go of his signature smirk so easily. But does anything else about him shift when exposed to different company? Is there different vocabulary that slips from his mouth? What about his tone of voice? Does that change, too, like Y/N’s used to when she was around Bradley, or when she’s with customers? He mentioned earlier that he’d been watching golf, and that was the last sport she'd ever think he’d have an affinity for, let alone one he’d enjoy enough to make a day out of watching tournaments. What other personality traits and pastimes is he keeping from her? If she were to be a fly on the wall while he was with his friends, would she see someone completely unrecognizable in his Gucci boots and translucent shirts?
The sudden lack of noise from the blender snaps Y/N from her thoughts, and Harry detaches the pitcher and carries it to the table, filling her empty glass with a smile.
“There you are, miss.” He winks at her quickly before filling his own cup and standing back from the table with a grin, his free hand folded behind his back as he straightens his posture. “Now,” He begins, his accent slipping into a more posh tongue as he bows his head lightly. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
Despite her worries, a soft laugh rolls from Y/N at his impersonation of a server. “Yeah, actually.” She drops her voice lower again, plastering an angry expression onto her face as she reaches into her cardigan pocket and retrieves her phone. “Your wifi is down. What kind of restaurant doesn’t have wifi? Can’t you fix this?”
A loud snort echoes from Harry’s mouth as he sets the blender back down on the counter before sliding back into his seat across from her. “Sorry, love,” He laughs, his regular accent back in its place. “That’s a bit above my paygrade. I can, however, offer you some compensation.”
Wrapping her fingers around the icy margarita glass, Y/N leans forward, resting her chin on her free hand as she appraises Harry with a kinked brow. “Is that so?” She replies in her regular voice as well, her interest piqued. “What kind of compensation?”
“It’s part of our Friday Night Special,” Harry slides his hand across the table and pushes the baggy rainbow sleeve of Y/N’s cardigan down her arm in order to brush his cool fingers up and down her bare skin. “And it features bottomless margaritas paired with cunnilingus from our most handsome waiter.”
A fluttering warmth begins to knot itself around Y/N’s core, but she does her best to keep her composure as she straightens her spine and glances around the apartment. “Sounds intriguing. So where’s the handsome waiter?”
Harry’s pillowy lips plunk down into an exaggerated frown as he presses a hand to his chest, his other hand continuing to stroke over Y/N’s forearm. “Ouch, Watson. That hurt. Might need you to kiss it better.”
“Oh yeah?” Y/N challenges, lifting her drink to her lips and sipping it slowly. “Where exactly does it hurt?”
Instead of answering her query, Harry simply stands from his chair and rounds the table to stop in front of Y/N, extending his hand to her. She lays her fingers inside his cool grasp, allowing him to pull her from her seat. He’s closer than she realized, she thinks, as her chest brushes with his and the intoxicating scent of his cologne fills her senses, only getting stronger as Harry nudges her nose with his own, his lips just barely gliding over her own. The copper specks around his pupils glitz under the muted lighting, electric from the alcohol, from the sensation of her close proximity, and from the ever-present intention of getting between her legs.
When Harry finally speaks, his thick cadence washes over her just as much as his tequila-scented breath, his free-hand tugging suggestively at the waistband of her leggings. “If we go to your bedroom, then I can show you.”
“Mm, is that so?” The girl gives in to his gesture, stepping forward as the vampire begins treading backwards towards their new— though entirely familiar— destination. “You’re gonna show me, then?”
“I most certainly am.” The boy keeps their bodies close, making sure that his lips continue to just barely graze hers as he moves, teasing her nerves into a frenzy. “I plan on showing you over, and over, and over…”
Y/N can’t bring herself to resist the offer. She’s only human, after all.
///
The next morning, Harry wakes up tangled in Y/N’s sheets to two surprises: the sheets on Y/N’s side of the bed are cold and bare, and that Harry is actually waking up.
Although he remembers falling back onto the scattered sheets the night before (after coaxing three orgasms out of Y/N and her coaxing two from him in return), he doesn’t remember drifting off into the sleep he so rarely needs, and because of that, Harry feels disoriented and groggy in a way he hasn’t in a long time. He does his best to blink the haze from his usually sharp eyes, knuckling at them with his cool fingers as he attempts to get his bearings.
His sleep-fogged mind struggles to recall what had happened after Y/N had fallen asleep. She’d drifted off easily and quickly, her sweat-soaked body tucked into Harry’s with her head resting in the crook of his neck. That noted detail sticks out in his memory because it had made Harry pause before biting her. She’d been so comfortable next to him, and in such an inconvenient position that Harry didn’t want to shift her to drink. After debating with himself for a few moments, he’d eventually decided on an alternative and had lifted her fragile wrist to his lips.
Even half awake, Harry’s lips quirk up at the hazy memory. He recalls the feeling of her hummingbird pulse thrumming beneath her delicate skin, practically vibrating against his lips as he stamped a kiss over her vein before biting down. Her blood had a weaker flow there, but that was alright; he’d just sucked a little harder to coax the liquid from her body, feeling his mouth overflow with her welcomed taste as well as with the supernatural chemicals that inject into her system and dull any pain his feeding might cause. He’d been careful to gauge his consumption by the strength of her heartbeat, and when he’d finished, he’d sealed the wound with a bit of his own blood, as usual. He’d made sure Y/N was healed and settled back in his arms before relaxing into the pillows to listen to her breathing, the soft pillows and her radiating body heat feeling more soothing than usual. Somewhere between counting the movement of her lungs and the sun rising, Harry had fallen unconscious.
It’s strange, being up after Y/N. Harry has grown used to rising before her and making breakfast, or even just coffee, and there’s something disorienting about being in her bed alone, without her inherent warmth and soft skin, and only the ghost of her sugary scent left behind. He briefly wonders if this is how she feels when she wakes up to cold sheets and no one beside her (although Harry suspects the lack of his frozen body would make the bed a more comfortable temperature), and thinks that maybe he should begin to lay in bed with her a little longer; if he’s going to fake a relationship with her, it should be a relationship where her partner wants to be around her, and isn’t awake before the sun.
And that’s another thing. The golden orange light of the rising L.A. sun is just beginning to stream through the closed curtains, so what time is it? It can’t be any later than seven— on a Saturday, no less— and at such an early hour, Harry would expect Y/N to still be dreamily dozing in bed. What had drawn her away from her comfortable position in Harry’s arms?
As the sun continues to rise, the light begins to streak onto Y/N’s empty side of the bed and, instinctually, Harry begins to reach for the beam, craving the warmth she took with her when she abandoned the sheets. Instead of the expected touch of heat, however, Harry is jarred by a burning sensation ripping across his icy flesh.
The vampire yanks his hand back in a flash, his face screwing in silent pain as he bites back a yell of anguish, but the damage has already been done. The tips of his fingers are puckered with red blisters, which throb as he flexes his hand in the safety of the shadows. Harry digs his sharp teeth into his lip harder, forcing himself to inhale slowly through his nose and exhale shakily through his mouth.
It takes a few moments for him to collect himself, breathing deeply with his eyes closed as he does so, and as he counts his own breaths like he’d counted Y/N’s the night before, what should’ve been an obvious thought enters his mind: why had he burned? He’s wearing his lionhead ring, which has eyes made of those precious crystals that protect his inhuman skin from sunlight, and as long as he’s wearing it, the sun shouldn’t be able to…
Harry’s sight snaps completely open as he jerks forward in bed, his head throbbing from the sudden movement. When he’d first awoken, he’d attributed his grogginess and dry eyes to sleeping for the first time in weeks, but as Harry’s jade gaze settles upon his uninjured hand, he realizes the truth. That disorienting feeling isn’t from sleep, but from the sunlight that had begun to seep through the curtains and affect his body, bouncing off the glossy walls of Y/N’s room and reflecting off her picture frames and furniture. What would normally not be an issue suddenly becomes the bane of his existence, and what usually isn’t able to affect his body immediately does, obvious in the agonizing sweltering writhing through every single one of his dormant arteries. And all because his lionhead ring is missing from its rightful place.
Granted, Harry hadn’t worn most of his rings to Y/N’s apartment the night before, seeing as how they planned to spend the night in, but he’d kept his mother’s opal and the lionhead securely on his middle finger and pinky, just as he always did. The former brings him memories of his mother, and helps him keep a piece of her— and who he once was— with him in this strange modern time. The latter had been a rebirth gift from a family he’d rather forget, and if it didn’t keep him from flambéing himself every time he stepped into the sun, he wouldn’t wear it at all. In all honesty, he probably would’ve chucked into Hell, if he could.
But the reality of his afterlife is that Harry needs that ring. So why is it missing from his hand?
Cradling his blistered digits to his bare chest, the wounded vampire tosses back the covers, careful to avoid the streaks of sunshine beginning to light up the small room. His icy chest soothes the burn in his fingers, which are taking longer to heal than Harry would’ve thought, but if the grating itch of his dry eyes is any indication, the effects of the sun aren’t just limited to direct physical harm, but are also stopping his body from healing itself as quickly as usual.
Harry presses his good hand to his dizzy head and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, planting his feet onto the ground as firmly as he can to center himself, refusing to cripple under the extraneous circumstances. He fishes his grey boxers from their signature spot on Y/N’s floor, slipping them on slowly as even the smallest of movements seems to strain his muscles beyond reason. As the elastic band snaps around his hips, another frightening possibility seizes his body: his mother’s ring could also be gone. He yanks his hand away from his head, and it takes his eyes a moment to focus on the opal ring. At least he can breathe a sigh of relief about one thing— if his mother’s ring had disappeared, Harry’s not quite sure what he would’ve done.
And that thought brings his spinning mind back to the present. His lionhead ring is gone, and he can’t so much as step into sunlight without undergoing intense, insurmountable pain, so how is he going to find it?
Another groan falls from Harry’s mouth as he rests his forehead in his palm, propping his elbow against his knee so he can shield his eyes from the sunlight by hiding in between his legs. Daylight talismans are extremely rare; he can’t exactly waltz into the nearest Wal-Mart and pick one up. The crystals that give vampires such cherished immunity all date back to the medieval era, when vampires were considered mythical legends instead of just plain myths, and what few of the crystals are left are hidden deep within old ruins in the remote wilderness of Europe. If Harry hadn’t been given his shortly after he was turned, he’s not sure he would have been lucky enough to own one. He remembers Niall telling him how he had to search every night for months before he found a crystal hidden inside a ruin in Wales, and Xander had once recounted the story of stealing his from the vampire that turned him. Even Mitch had struggled with the crystals before; although his ring had originally been a gift from the vampire that transformed him, he had to crack the crystal in half and set it into a new ring for Sarah when she had met her untimely demise.
Vampires have been known to beg, lie, cheat, and steal in order to get their hands on a daylight crystal, so if someone managed to sneak in and take Harry’s lionhead ring while he and Y/N were sleeping, then Harry is going to have a fucking hell of a time trying to get it back.
As the thought enters Harry’s dazed mind, a chill runs down his back, crawling across his spine and down his tailbone in an unsettling shiver as he slowly turns back to Y/N’s empty side of the bed. If someone— if another creature just like him, who would be the only other person capable of recognizing such a treasure— got into the apartment and took his ring, and found an unconscious mortal girl with the sweetest honey and lavender liquid pulsing through her veins, then…
The sheets and curtains of the room blow in a breeze as Harry jets off the bed, forgetting to control his inhuman speed as he throws the sliding door open and stumbles into the hallway. More sunlight streams through the windows of the living room, and it’s taking all of Harry’s dulled concentration to avoid the beams as he staggers towards the kitchen.
It’s not until the immortal smells Y/N’s familiar fragrance and hears the beating of her heart, in tune with her quiet humming, that the fear Harry hadn’t realized had tightened his chest flows out of him in one fell swoop. He does his best to force even breaths in and out of his lungs, watching as Y/N raises her coffee mug to her lips and blows on the hot liquid before taking a small sip.
She’s dressed in his multicoloured patchwork cardigan again, buttoned up to provide her with warmth and modesty, but it slips down her bare shoulder in a way that allows Harry to see she’s wearing nothing underneath it. Although the cardigan pools around her silky thighs— which are marked with bruises from the night before— Harry can see the tiniest peak of her panties beneath the fabric, and if he were in a better frame of mind, he might’ve noticed how they’re not the pair she wore last night (that pair had been ripped right down the middle in his frantic attempt to get them off). However, Harry’s eyes quickly settle on Y/N’s hands, which, after she sets down her coffee cup, pick up Harry’s lionhead ring and begin turning it around in her fingers.
When he sees the ring in her delicate grasp, a wave of sheer rage begins to rumble through Harry’s chest, and it takes every fiber of his undead being to keep it at bay as he approaches the mortal girl. “Y/N,” Harry rasps lowly, voice heavy with the exhaustion that his newfound vulnerability has stacked onto his shoulders. He stands in the one spot of shadow near the kitchen counter, trying hard not to glower. “What are you doing?”
When Y/N turns her head to look at him, her sleepy face smiles softly, eyes nearly as bright as the infuriating sun. Maybe that’s why, Harry thinks, it feels like it burns.
“Morning,” She says quietly, her own voice just as sleepy as Harry’s as she picks up a grey cloth from the table and begins to run it over the ring with precision and care. “How did you sleep?”
It’s a simple, innocent question, and Harry knows that, but his mind can’t think in simple and innocent terms right now. As the light filling the room begins to pound his head even more, Harry’s thoughts revert back to his most instinctual behavior— rough carnal impulse. “What are you doing?” He asks again, his voice lower than before. He sounds dangerous, and he means to. How could she possibly think that taking something from him without his permission is fine?
“I’m polishing your ring.” Y/N keeps that good-natured smile on her face as she replies, but Harry can see the smallest waver in it as she begins to sense his distorted energy from across the room. “It was tarnished, and I have a polishing cloth, so I thought I’d—”
“Give it back.” Harry doesn’t mean to snarl the phrase, but he can’t stop himself from doing it as he thrusts out his hand expectantly; it’s taking all his concentration to keep himself from baring his teeth and letting his eyes bleed red.
Y/N doesn’t fight him on it, and drops the ring carefully into his awaiting hand without letting her warm skin meet his. She watches with confused eyes as Harry slips the newly shined lionhead ring onto his finger, a breath of relief sighing from his red lips the moment the metal meets his skin. He finishes twisting it into its designated spot, and he feels like he can actually breathe again.
The human girl waits a moment for an explanation from Harry, some spoken word or action to justify the hostility rolling off of him as he clutches the jeweled hand to his chest. As the moments pass, however, Harry offers no explanation, or anything at all as he takes deep and measured inhales through his nose, as if he’s trying to relax.
“I’m sorry.” Y/N offers the words quietly, turning in her chair to properly face him with sincere eyes. “I just noticed that it was more tarnished than your other jewelry, and I thought I could—”
“You can’t take my rings from me.” Harry answers in a harsh voice, his face reflecting about as much warmth as stone on a winter’s day. “I thought I’d lost it. You can’t do that.”
“I’m sorry.” Y/N repeats the phrase again, gentler this time as she wraps her hands around her steaming mug. She had guessed that the opal ring was his mother’s, but like Harry’s ruby ring and initial rings, she’d deduced this lionhead decal was more for decoration than anything. If it was something important, one would figure that he’d take better care of it. But it seems she’s not as adept at reading Harry as she’d like to think, because his explosive reaction had been totally unexpected. For the first time since she met him, Y/N feels uneasy in his presence. Had she really offended him that much?
The truth of the situation, unbeknownst to her, is that Harry’s reaction is no more purposefully malicious than Y/N’s intentions. Although the ring is back on his finger, and the crystals are beginning to protect him again, Harry’s thoughts are still muddied as he glances around the apartment, carefully surveying the circumstance like the top predator he pretends not to be. There’s still a throbbing in his skull, and his eyes remain painfully dry, despite the fact that his healing has kicked in and mended his blistered fingertips. In this moment, Harry feels weaker than he has in centuries; if someone were to attack right now, he wouldn’t be able to react quickly enough to protect himself. How could his aching head afford him any clear plan of attack? How could his burning eyes show him every approaching danger? How did he let himself become so relaxed— so stupidly lax— that he didn’t notice a mere human slipping off his most precious and needed object as he slept soundly in her bed?
“I really am sorry, Harry.” Rising from her chair with her quiet speech, Y/N steps towards him, hand outstretched to touch his inked forearm. “I didn’t know—”
Her hot fingertips against Harry’s frozen skin jar the vampire, triggering his fight or flight instincts as he tenses beneath her touch. “No—” He wrenches his arm away hurriedly, the searing graze reminding him of the sunlight that had harmed him just seconds ago, his wild eyes meeting Y/N’s in a feral frenzy.
Although her chest barely moves, Harry can hear the stuttering breath that the girl sucks in through her teeth, her eyes widening at the severity of his actions. “I’m sorry.” She whispers the phrase again, her fingers jerking back from Harry’s arm in shock. “I…”
The more time passes, the more Harry regains control of himself, and as Harry melds his shattered composure back together, he can see the fear beginning to stain its way onto Y/N’s face. The uneven beating of her heart pricks his ears, as does the scuff of the floor beneath her bare feet as she takes a step back from him. When that uncertain fear reaches her irises, Harry is suddenly flashed back to their first date, when he’d been worried that she might be scared of being alone with him, and how delighted he’d been when he realized that wasn’t the case. And now, as a sick feeling begins to settle in his stomach, he knows he’s blown it.
Inhaling deeply through his nose, Harry urges himself to relax.
“No, I’m sorry.” He softens his voice as much as he can muster in order to apologize, rubbing his charred eyes with one hand, hoping they’re still the canopy green Y/N is familiar with. “M’just half asleep still, and I was worried that— I’m sorry.” Harry extends his ringed hand in invitation, desperately craving the warmth of Y/N’s touch now that he’s leveled out, but not wanting to take it unwillingly. He wants her to feel safe enough to give it to him. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
There’s a moment of hesitation that flickers in her eyes, but it quickly passes as the mortal lays her hand within his. “You didn’t scare me.” She reassures him, but Harry can hear the falseness of her response immediately, and that guarded demeanor only intensifies the nausea rattling inside him.
Is she lying to save his feelings, he wonders, or to make herself look tougher? No matter which may be the truth, Harry hates that she has to feel the need to lie. He’d been upset, yes, but he should know better. And he should know that she doesn’t know better. She thought she’d been doing something nice for him; she has no idea about the torturous results his ring protects him from. And she doesn’t know because Harry refuses to tell her— because he refuses to subject her to that perverted knowledge. This is his own doing.
“I did. I did frighten you, and I was rude, and I’m truly sorry.” Harry sighs heavily, dragging his fingers through his sleep-tousled curls. “My ring is just— it’s very important to me, and I don’t really like to take it off, so maybe just—just ask next time, yeah?” He murmurs the words in a soothing tone, his thumb sweeping over her knuckles in a poor attempt to make up for the way he’d berated her. “I know you didn’t have any bad intentions, and I’m not angry with you for taking it, but it just scared me when I woke up and it was gone.”
“I’m sorry.” Y/N repeats yet again, and although Harry can feel her melting into his touch, there’s still a hint of uncertainty lingering beneath her words.
Harry forces a grin on his chapped lips, which he wets with his tongue before speaking again. “S’alright, dove. No harm, no foul. And no more apologies, yeah?” He brushes a finger over her cheek, trying his best to put on a lighthearted front for the girl. “It was rather tarnished, actually— needed a good cleaning.”
A shy smile finally creeps its way onto Y/N’s face, and Harry has to stop himself from breathing an audible sigh of content at both the gesture and the lack of prying about why that ring was dirtier than the rest (the answer to said question is just as simple as it is complicated: it reminds Harry of someone he’d rather forget, and if he didn’t need it, he’d drown it in the deepest ocean he could find— keeping it clean is the least of his concerns).
“How about breakfast, hm? It’s early, but we could make some pancakes, or—” Harry glances at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall, reading the time with surprise before his gaze travels back to Y/N with a confused look. “It’s not even seven yet. What time did you get up?”
“Around 6:15? 6:30?” She lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug, and Harry’s cardigan slips down her arm with the motion. “I don’t really remember.”
With his other hand still squeezing her own, Harry rugs the sleeve of the cardigan back up her shoulder, smoothing it over her morning-cooled skin. “It’s a Saturday, darling. What were you doing up so early?”
Despite her heartbeat having not quite returned to its usual tempo, Y/N nuzzles into Harry’s touch as he pulls her closer to him. “Couldn’t really sleep, I guess.” Tucking her face into his neck for a moment, Y/N indulges a penetrating inhale, enjoying the remnants of his mahogany and vanilla cologne before stepping back and past Harry to the cabinet.
Standing on her tiptoes, Y/N opens the door and retrieves a pink flowered mug before sliding down the counter to her coffee maker. “Want some coffee?” She asks, touching the glass of the carafe lightly to make sure it’s still warm. “There’s butter in the fridge, I think, if you want to make your disgusting drink.”
Ignoring the dig at his beverage of choice— which Harry has explained to her, multiple times, has many health benefits (not that he needs them) and just tastes better than coffee with cream— the vampire leans his hip against the counter, crossing his arms over his bare chest as his brow furrows over his darkening eyes.
“Why couldn’t you sleep?” He questions, his attention glued to Y/N’s actions as she seems to deliberately avoid his gaze. He analyzes the dark circles under her eyes, apparent even from just her side profile, and a spark of concern ignites his chest. Could this be his fault? Is drinking her blood beginning to take a physical toll on her body? His blood has been healing her bite marks, but what about her iron levels? Is her circulation being affected? Mitch has told him multiple times that drinking from humans is okay once or twice a week, as long as there’s a grace period in between feeding, but Mitch has also never had the same human for as long as Harry has had Y/N. Have the weeks they’ve spent together begun to unravel her?
When Y/N simply shrugs in response to his question, and offers no other words of explanation, a tired sigh falls from Harry’s lips as he steps towards her, taking the now-filled coffee mug from her hands and setting it down on the counter. He wraps his arms around Y/N’s shoulders, hugging the girl into his chest for a moment to get a gauge on her body’s response. Her heartbeat stutters, yes, but that’s a usual response to being wrapped inside Harry’s embrace, and it returns to normal after a few beats. Her body feels just as warm as it usually does, and her chest is rising and falling just as it should be. Nudging his face into her hair, he breathes in deeply, filling his lungs with her fragrance. No, nothing smells out of place, and her blood had tasted as delicious and as strong as ever last night. If she’s having trouble sleeping, the cause isn’t anything tangible.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Harry mumbles the words into her hair before lifting his head up, extracting the girl from his arms just enough so that he can see her face. “If something is bothering you and keeping you up, then you can wake me up, too.”
Y/N worries her pillowy bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes become entranced by Harry’s rosemary gaze. “I know I could, but I didn’t want to. You—” She swallows hard in an attempt to clear the thickness from her throat as her cheeks begin to burn. “You were sleeping, and I never see you sleep.” Y/N’s voice retreats into a sheepish tone at the admittance, her eyes falling from Harry’s stare to the floor between them. “You always fall asleep after me, and you’re always awake before me. You need rest, too, H.”
While Harry would normally laugh at that simple phrase— at the fact that Y/N doesn’t know how wrong she is— Harry’s dimples remain dormant as he focuses on the concern in her voice. “I—” His voice catches in his throat, and he has to clear it before he can say anything else. “I sleep just fine. Better, in fact, when I’m with you.” He confesses, his thumbs brushing over the exposed skin of Y/N’s neck.
And after Y/N has extracted herself from his grip to take a sip of her coffee, after she teasingly groans while watching Harry drop a pat of butter into his own steaming mug, after he begins to crack eggs into a pan as Y/N starts to lay bacon on a baking sheet, after all that, Harry finally realizes what lodged in his throat. It dawns on him just as Y/N slips a pink apron over his bare, faintly hickey-bruised chest to protect him from splatters of grease, giggling to herself as he poses with his hand on his hip and makes a vulgar joke about how this looks like the setup to a cheesy porno.
The vampire comes to the realization that Y/N takes notice of him.
She notices when he doesn’t sleep. She notices his exposed skin that could potentially be burned while cooking. She notices the expressions on his face, reads the tone of his voice, knows when to press a matter and when to leave it be. And she’s concerned. She’s concerned about not seeing him sleep. She’s concerned about him accidentally getting hurt. She’s concerned about the swings in his moods, the shortness of his answers. And while Harry knows her real concerns should be about allowing herself to be in such close proximity to someone— something— like him, he can’t help but feel a warmth in his chest at the thought of her worrying about him.
As much as Harry likes to pretend otherwise, he knows he’s not easy to be around sometimes. He can be vain, self-centered, self-serving, and inconsiderate. He can be selfish, dishonest, and manipulative. His mood can teeter at the drop of a hat, and he changes his mind like the weather on the best of days. And on his worst of days, sometimes Harry wonders if anyone could care for him, or even stand to be around him, if it wasn’t a necessity.
Although he’d never admit it, when Harry reflects on his friendships, he can feel a degree of insecurity in the threads that tie him to his crew. He’s fairly certain that if he and Mitch met under different circumstances— circumstances when both of them were human— they would likely still be friends. Maybe not as close as they are today, but friends, at the very least. When it comes to Niall, Xander, and Adam, however… he’s not so sure. Yes, he cares for them more than he’ll ever care for anyone again, and his loyalty to them is unwavering, but on his worst days, Harry can’t help but wonder if they would be friends if their connection hadn’t been forged on the basis of what they are, and understanding something that no one else can. If being vampires hadn’t placed them in each other’s lives and sealed them in a bond of venom and blood, would they even have given the others a second thought? Would any of them have wanted Harry in their lives? Harry wants to think yes, but it’s not a question of what he wants; the truth is, Harry is uncertain.
But when Y/N sits across from him with a smear of ketchup on her bottom lip, smiling softly at Harry as he wipes it off with his thumb, and he can’t stop himself from smiling back, he realizes something that’s never occurred to him before. He’s able to be cared for by someone who is drawn to him for all the reasons humans are normally drawn to each other, and not because they have a mutual understanding of what it’s like to be an other.
Of course, he knows there’s a certain degree of falsity in that; part of his charm and addictive qualities come from what he is, and Y/N, like any other mortal, isn’t immune to that. But instead of allowing herself to be driven away by the usual uneasiness that pairs with being so close to a vampire for so long, Y/N is leaning closer to him, laughing as he cracks a bad joke, kissing him over their breakfast, and showing evidence that she— against all odds— wants to know him. And the thought sends a fluttering below Harry’s ribs.
He wishes, just for a moment, that he could be capable of feeling the same. He wishes he could have the decency to give this girl the proper relationship she wants, or even the decency to break her heart quickly before she gets too attached to someone incapable of seeing her as anything more than a takeout meal. He wishes he could get to know her— truly get to know her, without any ulterior motives.
But Harry is vain, self-centered, self-serving, and inconsiderate. He’s selfish, dishonest, and manipulative. And he has his fangs too deep in this mortal to let her go.
///
“Are you sure I can’t pick you up?” Harry slides his phone between his ear and his shoulder in order to snag his keychain from his pocket, fumbling for the right key before inserting it into his locked door. “I can just drop my groceries off and then swing by your cafe, love. It’s no trouble.”
“No, really, it’s fine, H.” Y/N insists from the other end of the line, her voice nearly drowned out from the roar of L.A. traffic around her. “I already left work, and I’m nearly home. I’ll be over at your place within, like, forty-five minutes, I think? I just have to change out of my uniform.”
With his front door now unlocked, Harry grabs his phone from its perch on his shoulder before pushing open the door with his hand full of groceries, stepping inside his apartment and nudging the door shut with his foot. “I know, but it’s a long walk to my place, isn’t it?”
“It’s, like, twenty minutes— practically nothing. And besides, I have to stop at the post office and mail a letter to my parents.”
The corner of Harry’s mouth quirks up as he rounds the corner to his kitchen, setting his grocery bags on the island before leaning his hip against the kitchen counter, his now free hand braced against the cool marble. “You still send your parents letters? Can’t you just call them?” He asks, tapping a ringed finger against the stone.
“If you knew my parents, you’d send letters, too.” Y/N sighs into the speaker, and Harry’s inhuman ears can hear the jangling of her keys in her hand. He can picture her searching for them like she did the night they met, digging into her purse until she’s elbow deep, her tongue tucked between her teeth in concentration.
Despite the distinctive sound of a lock turning, Harry can’t stop himself from asking about her well-being. He’s so used to doing it with his other friends, it slips out on impulse. “Are you home now? Made it alright?”
There’s a hint of exasperated amusement in Y/N’s voice when she responds. “Yes, I managed to walk home all by myself. Didn’t even get murdered.” There’s another thud, and Harry imagines her shutting her door, pushing her weight against it to lock it properly. “I’m pretty good at taking care of myself, you know. I have good instincts.”
If she’s allowed him to get this close to her, Harry thinks, then her instincts aren’t exactly the caliber she imagines them to be, but he bites his tongue to stop himself from correcting her. “I’m sure you do, darling.” He murmurs the reply as he opens his fridge to begin stocking it with the items he’d purchased earlier. “Oh, by the way, make sure you’re wearing comfortable shoes, yeah? We’re going to be doing a bit of walking later.”
“Right. And you’re not telling me where we’re going because…?”
“Because surprises are fun.”
When Y/N huffs in response, Harry pictures the girl with a scowl on her face, her arms crossed tightly over her tummy as she gives him an endearing glare. “Not when you’re the one who’s being surprised.”
Still, despite her protests, Harry hears the rustling of clothing as she pulls off her work polo, followed by the clanking of her belt, the snap of a button, and the familiar rustle of her jeans being peeled off her legs. “You just worry about undressing yourself, alright? It must be difficult, since you’ve grown so used to me doing it for you.”
“Uh huh. I’m hanging up now.” Y/N deadpans into the phone, but Harry can tell there’s a lingering smile underneath her flat words. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“Alright, doll. See you soon.” Harry sets a carton of eggs in the fridge before closing it, hanging up the call and slipping his phone back into his black slacks.
It takes Harry a few more minutes to put the rest of his groceries away in his pantry. He made sure to stock up on all the ingredients needed to make pancakes at the grocery store, as well as picking up a carton of the fancy pomegranate juice that Y/N had mentioned she was fond of. In fact, as he was wandering the aisles of his local Whole Foods, he’d found himself seeking out the snacks that he’d seen in her cupboards. He knows that humans need to eat much more often than vampires do, and seeing as how all the activities Y/N engages in at his condo are rather exhausting and energy-burning, he thought she’d need proper fuel.
After he folds the reusable cloth tote bags he’d brought to the grocery store and puts them back in the pantry, Harry climbs up his glass stairs to his bedroom. He takes a moment to evaluate his appearance in the full length mirror hanging on the back of his door, sweeping over every detail with a careful eye. His outfit is alright for what he has planned, he decides; his black slacks and scuffed white vans are comfortable, but more importantly, his white t-shirt embossed with a Hollywood Bowl print that clings to the muscles of his inked arms and broad chest, which Harry knows Y/N will enjoy. His curls, however, need a bit of tending to, and Harry slinks into his bathroom to add a bit more product to his chestnut locks, getting rid of the little frizz that had developed in the L.A. heat in order to fix his curl pattern.
As for his jewelry, he leaves on his usual rings: his gold initial pieces, his mother’s opal, his ruby, an engraved band, and his lionhead ring, which shines under the bathroom lights thanks to Y/N’s careful efforts the week before. Once those are secure, he fastens his pearl necklace around his neck, and fixes the clasp of his cross before slipping a plain gold hoop into his pierced ear. Once he’s satisfied with his accessories, Harry spritzes his favourite cologne across his body, giving his appearance one more look over as he leaves his bathroom and passes the full length mirror in his bedroom again.
The Rolex on his wrist tells him that Y/N is due over any moment, and he’s just making sure his Gucci wallet is securely tucked in his trouser pocket when Harry’s ears prick up at the sound of two pairs of feet stomping into his condo downstairs. It only takes him a moment more to identify the intruders based on their step patterns, and a frown tugs at the corner of his mouth as he checks the time again before sauntering down the stairs.
“And just what do you two,” Harry calls to his unexpected friends as he rounds the corner of the stairs, his eyebrow quirked in question as he steps down from the last platform, “think you’re doing here?”
“We wanted some change in scenery.” Niall quips sarcastically, emerging from the end of the entrance corridor with his hands in his pockets, shoulders shrugging casually. “And I told Xander you might be shirtless, which got him to tag along. But you’re not, much to his disappointment. Though I do think the way you’re about to burst out of that tee suffices. Isn’t that right, Xanny?”
“That’s not true!” Xander snaps hotly, his cheeks blazing and glare electric as Niall cackles boyishly, stepping around him and towards the kitchen, like he always does when he walks into Harry’s apartment. The tanned man glowers at the other vampire as he makes a beeline for Harry’s refrigerator, slowly pinning his gaze back onto the owner of the condo. He clears his throat awkwardly before offering a solid explanation for their sudden visit. “Adam cancelled on pub trivia night, so we thought you might be available instead.”
Harry shakes his head with a sigh as he makes his way into the kitchen, as well— mostly to make sure Niall doesn’t reach for any of the expensive liquors he has arranged on his bar shelves; they took too long to collect for him to just allow a single person to down one bottle like a shot— and leans both elbows against the marble island. “Sorry, mate. I’ve got a date with Y/N.”
“So bring her.” Niall pipes up from the fridge, a stolen bottle of Harry’s favourite beer already in his hand. Harry doesn’t complain— it’s a better substitute than his forty year aged scotch. “She went to uni, didn’t she? She must be smart.”
“I’ve got better things planned for us than pub trivia with two obnoxious knobheads.” Harry retorts, his lips tugging into a smirk at Niall’s responding eyeroll. “That’s not very romantic, is it? Taking her on a double date with you two?”
“And that’s not very nice, H. I’m offended you wouldn’t go on a double date with Xander and I.” The Irishman sniffles with fake sincerity, biting the bottle cap off his beer despite knowing that Harry keeps a bottle opener in the kitchen drawer to his right.
Xander watches the spectacle with distaste, his nose wrinkling as Niall spits the cap from his mouth into his hand. “And I’m offended you’d think I’d date someone who does that.”
“It’s not like you have standards.”
“Hey!”
“But then again, no one sets a bar the way I do.”
“The only bar you set for me was potential alcoholism.” Xander mutters spitefully.
“I’d make a great boyfriend.” Niall interrupts with airy confidence, ignoring his friends bickering and taking a deep swig of his beverage, smacking his lips appreciatively. “But humans are too fragile to keep around for long, and most vampires are fucking psychotic. Unfortunately.”
“What about Charlotte?” Harry suggests nonchalantly, hooking his index finger into the cabinet beneath him and fishing for a coaster. He shuts the drawer and skims the item across the top of the counter towards Niall, just in case the man wants to put his glass container down. This is real marble, after all. “She seems pretty tame.”
Niall glances at the coaster, but doesn’t make any conscious effort to set his drink down. Harry should’ve known; Niall isn’t one to put a pint down until it’s empty, but the possibility is there, nonetheless. It’s not his fault he likes taking care of his home.
Niall sighs through his nose dismissively, following it with a light rattle of his head. “Charlotte’s too...smart. She’s a bit out of my league, and I feel like she’d get bored of me easily. Also, how would you know if she’s tame or not? You rarely hang out whenever she’s around.”
“That’s because she hates me.” Harry states flatly, as if it should be obvious. And it should, considering the young woman had not held back on expressing her strong dislike towards the curly brunette. Harry has thick skin and words never hurt him, but Charlotte has a surprisingly vicious vocabulary; if he hadn’t been amused by her anger, she would have come pretty close to genuinely chipping his ego.
Niall chortles softly. “Well, I mean, you can’t really blame her, can you? You’re kind of a prick.”
“A proper asshole, actually.” Xander chimes in, drumming his digits against the table’s surface and giving Harry a bright, innocent smile.
The immortal momentarily casts his eyes towards the ceiling in mild annoyance. “Yeah, well, that’s just the way I am. If her and Miss Billy Ray Cyrus can’t handle some dark humor and dirty banter, that’s not my problem. Everyone else seems to like me just fine.”
“That’s debatable.” Xander corrects.
“You’re just mad I fucked you once and decided that was enough.”
“Anywho,” Niall interferes, waving around his beer in order to catch his friends’ attention and prevent a catastrophic World War V, he proceeeds to swivel the topic back onto himself, “like I said, I’d make a great partner. I’m funny, I’ve got a whole shelf full of PS4 games, I like to think my oral skills are pretty decent, and—”
“Have you ever made a girl wet her sheets?” Harry prods with entertained curiosity, cocking an eyebrow questioningly.
Niall pauses mid-sentence with his drink perched to his lips, eyes flitting around thoughtfully as he shovels through cluttered memories of drunken one night stands and fleeting relationships. He relents with a sheepish scoff, shoulders sagging. “...No.”
“Then you’re not as skilled as you think.” Harry remarks passively, titling his head to the side with finality. “And I’m willing to bet Mitch’s next stock of O negative that eighty percent of your hookups probably faked it.”
“Oi, bet, then.” Niall snorts, grinning around the spout of his beverage as he finishes his sip. He wiggles his brows playfully, squaring his shoulders proudly. “You can’t fake a leg-shake, darling.”
“A leg-shake?” Harry inquires carefully, pursing his lips to keep from sputtering into pompous laughter. “You mean like this?” He then proceeds to dramatically buckle his right leg, immediately debunking Niall’s ridiculous theory. “Just like that?”
The Irish bloke’s face drops into a scorned scowl as Xander and Harry break into a round of mocking giggles. He draws into himself with childish pettiness, narrowing his eyes pointedly. “Piss off.”
“Unless she couldn’t walk right afterwards, you didn’t really do what you think you did, Ni.”
“It seemed pretty real to me!” The blue-eyed boy rebuttals sharply, cheeks tinging bright pink in embarrassment.
“That’s the point.”
“This is precisely why I’d never entertain a relationship with you, even as a joke.” Xander pipes up towards Niall, smirking cruelly at his friend’s bruised ego. “I like my orgasms to be real, and I’m not willing to put up an act to spare your fragile masculinity.”
“Your dick’s probably small, anyways.”
“Bigger than yours.”
“Is that a challenge? I’ll pull it out right now, I don’t give a fuck.”
“Well,” Harry cuts in loudly, not necessarily keen on watching two grown men compare penis sizes in the middle of his home, “it seems you two have some issues to work out, so the double date is a moot point, anyways.” His jade eyes flicker to his watch again; Y/N should nearly be here, and he doesn’t want these two goons present when she arrives— especially not with their balls out. That wouldn’t be a decent introduction, despite being an unforgettable one. “So I’ll talk to you two later, then. Thanks for stopping by.”
“Hold up, I practically just cracked my beer.” Niall whines in return, holding up the chilled bottle in protest, leaning his backside against the marble countertop with a decisive motion. “Y’can’t kick us out yet.”
Harry laughs once, the noise sounding more strained than he would like. “Seeing as how I didn’t invite you over, I think I can.” He retorts, tapping a jeweled finger against the table.
“The blood bag isn’t even here yet,” Xander reasons as he pulls out a chair from the kitchen island, taking a seat and making himself at home as if Harry hadn’t just told him to get the fuck out. “So what's the rush?”
The hair on the back of Harry’s neck prickles at the crude nickname, and the older vampire shoots daggers at the younger as he pushes himself off the marble counter. “There isn’t one, except I think hearing herself be referred to as ‘the blood bag’ may make her a little suspicious, don’t you?”
“We’ve referred to her as worse.” Xander shrugs offhandedly, kicking his feet up onto the bar stool next to him.
Harry’s brows furrow as he pushes Xander’s shoes off his furniture, dusting the leather cushion off. “Referred to her as what? And when?”
Although Xander lifts one shoulder again as a vague answer, Niall smacks his lips loudly once again as he swallows the rest of the beer, and answers in a matter-of-fact tone. “In Vegas, after you ditched us to get your dick wet. I think Xander called her a fuckable slab of kobe beef, and—”
“I said ribeye, actually. Nice flavour, but a little chewy.” Xander corrects the Irishman, but has the decency to look halfway embarrassed when he catches Harry’s stony glare. “And it’s not like we’re wrong, right? That’s all humans are.”
Niall gives an affirmative nod as he sets his empty bottle down on the marble counter, completely ignoring the coaster Harry had slid to him. “Don’t take it personally, H. Xanny refers to his own dates as McDonald’s Happy Meal Twinks— at least a ribeye steak is expensive.”
“I’m not taking it personally.” Harry mutters the words in a low voice as his jaw twitches, tensing under the sunlight streaming through his floor-to-ceiling windows. “But comments like these are why you pricks need to get out of here before she shows up, or else I’ll be feeding from one of you tonight.”
A beat of silence falls between the three vampires as the palpable tension flowing off of Harry thickens the room. Xander and Niall glance between each other and Harry, hardly able to hold the latter’s eyes, before Niall offers a small comment.
“I don’t think Xander would mind that, really—”
“Out.” Harry points a jeweled finger at the entrance corridor with a firm motion. “Both of you. Go bother Mitch.”
He can see the disappointment and frustration that lingers on Niall and Xander’s faces, but neither of them fight him as they rise from their perches in the kitchen and walk dejectedly to the front door. Harry briefly entertains the idea of walking them out, but decides against it; there’s a strange buzzing sensation rising through his ribs, and he’s not quite sure what he’ll say as he bids his friends— he has to remind himself that, yes, they’re his friends— goodbye. It’s safer, he thinks, if he stays where he is and cleans up the mess that they managed to leave behind in their short visit.
He comes to regret that decision, however, approximately three milliseconds after he hears the front door creak open, and a familiar but unexpected voice echos down the entrance hallway.
“Oh— hi. Sorry, I may have the wrong apartment…?”
Harry freezes with Niall’s empty beer bottle clutched in his hand, his grip contracting so hard that he hears the thick glass begin to splinter.
“No, no, this is Harry’s apartment. We were just leaving.” The grin on Niall’s face is audible underneath his Irish accent. “You must be Y/N.”
“I am, yeah.” Harry can hear the tiny thread of surprise at him recognizing her in the human’s words, and the even tinier thread of pleasure that undercuts it. “And you must be...Niall, I think? And Xander?”
Niall’s smug reply grates against Harry’s frozen skin, even from down the corridor. “Harry’s told you about us, huh? Only good things, I hope.”
“Oh, I—”
Harry forces his legs to move with inhuman speed, the beer bottle not even having hit the marble counter by the time Harry appears at Niall and Xander’s shoulders. “Hi, darling.” He says through a strained smile, digging his stony fingers into the back of the two vampire’s arms, an unspoken warning of behave. “Y’made it alright, then?”
When Y/N shines a warm— albeit, slightly confused— smile in his direction, Harry wishes that he’d been faster in shooing his friends out the door, because the action nearly knocks the unrequired breath from his chest.
She’d dressed in comfortable and casual clothes, as per his suggestion, and is standing just outside the doorway in light washed denim overalls, with a black and white striped t-shirt layered underneath, and her familiar cotton candy pink vans on her feet. But the detail that digs its way to the forefront of his mind— more so than her satin lips, her heated cheeks that are appled with her smile, and the tousled locks that are pulled back from her face in a low ponytail— is the shining silver cross pendant that hangs on a chain around her smooth neck.
It’s a new addition that Harry has never seen before, and while he knows he shouldn’t be surprised— after all, she’d told him how she grew up in a religious town, how she’d attended church, how she used to say grace before dinner with her friends— the jewelry still piques his curiosity.
“I did, yeah. It’s really not that long of a walk, H.” Y/N replies, flicking her eyes between Harry and his two friends, who are still watching her every move as if she’s a specimen to be observed. “Sorry, am I interrupting…?”
The Irishman with glasses— Niall, Y/N reminds herself— opens his mouth to respond, but Harry quickly cuts him off as he pushes past his mates to take Y/N’s hand and step outside the apartment, fetching his keys and yellow sunglasses from the small side table by the door in one smooth motion.
“Not interrupting anything, doll. Niall and Xander were just on their way out.” Although Harry is smiling at her throughout the comment, the mortal can’t help but feel like the last phrase was aimed at the pair still lingering in the doorway.
“We were just stopping by to see if we could steal Harry for a last minute trivia game, but he said he was already booked.” Niall answers with an accepting shrug, glancing at Xander next to him, who’s still yet to say anything to Y/N, though he is carrying an unreadable empty expression as he gives the girl a calculating once-over. “Apparently, whatever he’s got planned for you two is more interesting than a few beers and watching Xander struggle to remember all the battles in World War I—”
“That’s not fair,” The brunette finally chimes in, breaking his attention away from her body to meet the blue-eyed boy’s gaze. Y/N is surprised to hear an American accent fall from his lips. “I’m the only one who wasn’t there, so how would I know—?”
“And you two are already arguing,” Harry cuts over his friends’ bickering, shooting them an annoyed glance as he wraps a cool arm around her waist, cautioning them to watch what they’re saying. “Which will only get worse once you get alcohol in your hands, and that is why I’m not going to subject Y/N to a headache-inducing night of torture.”
Y/N looks up at Harry with innocent interest swirling in her eyes. “I don’t know, H, it could be fun.” She worries her bottom lip between her teeth as a crease forms between Harry’s brows. “Don’t you think?”
Niall catches Harry’s eye, taking advantage of Y/N’s distraction to cheekily flash him his crimson irises for a split second, voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm that only he can detect. “Yeah, Harry. Don’t you think?”
Jaw tensing, Harry bends down to brush his lips over Y/N’s ear, dampening his irritation down into a smooth and silky tone. “Don’t try to spare their feelings, love. I’ve got something fun planned for us, I promise.” His teeth graze against Y/N’s skin, and he nearly drags his lips down towards her neck until he remembers her stuttering heartbeat can be heard by the other vampires in their presence.
The two creatures gawk at the image before them, utterly baffled at Harry’s unusual tenderness. It’s very out of character for him, that much is obvious. In all the decades Niall and Xander have been acquainted with the Victorian era immortal, neither have ever seen him be so gentle and touchy with another soul, let alone a human. It feels as if they’re looking at some type of warped parallel universe version of the normally stand-offish young man.
Xander is the first to clear his throat, throwing Harry an annoyed grimace before pulling Niall out from the condo’s entryway. “We’ll see you later then, Harry. C’mon, Ni.”
The Irishman offers a quick goodbye, gifting the strange girl a frail wave and a parting smile before being half-dragged down the hallway by Xander. Niall wrenches himself free and shoves Xander’s shoulder playfully as they round the corner to the elevator, their quiet voices— no doubt spinning juvenile gossip— fading out of earshot. The look in Xander’s eyes had been concerning, Harry thinks, but nothing he needs to worry about right now. If anything, he wants to forget that encounter as quickly as possible, and needs Y/N to forget it, too.
“So,” he pastes an easygoing grin onto his face as he locks his front door, turning to the mortal with a giddy twinkle in his forest green eyes. “Shall we be off, then?”
There’s a lingering look of confusion reflecting back at him, but Y/N doesn’t press the odd encounter as Harry intertwines his icy fingers with her own warm digits.
“Alright.” She agrees, raising a questioning eyebrow back at him. “And just where are we going?”
///
“The Los Angeles Antique Mall.” Harry announces proudly when he opens Y/N’s door, extending a ringed hand to help her out of his low-riding car. “Twenty thousand square feet of vintage collectables, artwork, furniture, and anything else you could possibly want.”
Y/N stares up at the massive building in front of them, observing the worn wood facade and the collection of what seems to be (half faded) stained rocking chairs adorning the wraparound porch. There’s also an impressive amount of wrought iron planters with various greenery scattered between the furniture, with groups of people milling between them as they enter and exit the giant mall.
“You brought me antiquing?” She asks, an bemused look in her eye as she turns to Harry for an explanation.
Wrapping his large grasp around her smaller one, Harry nods enthusiastically as he begins to lead her towards the door. “Yeah. It’s fun, actually. I’m always up for a bit of a treasure hunt, and I thought, since you’re still furnishing your apartment…”
“You know, now that you mention it… I could use some new curtains for my living room. Maybe a nice side table.” Y/N allows, stepping over the wooden stairs to the door as Harry tugs her along. “But I’m surprised you like antiquing. Doesn’t really seem like your thing, if I’m honest.”
A mischievous glint flits through Harry’s jade eyes as he treats her to a grin that’s all teeth. “I’m actually quite fond of antiques, truth be told. I’ve got a good eye for vintage collectables. And…” He lazily tugs on the handle of the door to open it, stepping to the side to allow Y/N to walk through first. “Maybe we’ll find a nice painting to replace that god awful tapestry in your bedroom.”
A scoff of indignation falls from Y/N’s mouth as she turns on her heel to punch Harry’s sturdy upper arm, nearly getting too distracted by the ropes of muscle beneath his tight sleeve to give a response. “I like that tapestry! And, seeing as how you’re either sleeping or fucking me when you’re in said room, I’m a little offended that my tapestry is the thing you focus the most on.”
Harry bites his bottom lip between his teeth. If only she knew how much time he actually spends staring at it.
“Well, there’s certainly other things I focus on…” He replies with a casual air, slipping his hand into the back pocket of Y/N’s overalls to cup her ass suggestively, guiding her along the aisles of antiques. “But nothing ruins a post-orgasm glow like poor interior design, sweetheart. S’a bit of a buzzkill, y’know?”
“So is being patronized.” Y/N deadpans, extracting Harry’s hand from her back pocket as a hot flash begins to creep up her spine. “You keep mocking my interior design choices, and your orgasms are going to get a lot less frequent.”
The vampire belly laughs as he throws an arm around her shoulders, the action as natural to him as breathing once was. “I don’t believe that for one fucking second.” He replies gleefully, smudging an open mouthed kiss to Y/N’s temple.
“You don’t, huh?” The human girl raises an eyebrow, cocking her head to scan the towering racks of oddities all around them. “I wonder if we can find you a vintage fleshlight here?”
“Already got one, doll,” Harry rolls his eyes as he brushes his cool fingers along Y/N’s exposed collarbone, his eyes catching the cross pendant again and brimming with curiosity. “And it’s just the tip of the iceberg that is my toy chest, y’know that—”
Y/N feels Harry’s arm suddenly tense around her, his muscles contracting as his touch jolts away from her collarbones, his hand flexing beneath the open skylights of the building. “Everything okay?” Y/N asks, all her teasing fading away, replaced with concern as she pauses her steps toward the shelves.
“I—” Harry flexes his fingers again, slowly removing his arm from her shoulder to examine his hand. The tips of his fingers are a bright red, crimson burns contrasting against his pink skin, and although it only takes a few moments for the marks to fade, the uneasy feeling bubbling in Harry’s stomach lasts. “Yeah. My, uh, my hand just cramped. But it’s fine now, I think.”
Who the fuck, he wonders as he cautiously slings his arm back around Y/N’s shoulders, wears a cross made of, not silver as Harry originally suspected, but polished iron?
Iron jewelry had fallen out of fashion a century ago, and Harry had never been more thankful than when it did, given how his flesh scorches at merely brushing the metal. When he took his family’s trinkets as a way to remember them before he had to leave, Harry had snuck into his father’s forge in the dead of the night to dip the jewelry in gold that he’d stolen from a local merchant who cheated poor peasants out of their valuables. It had been a tedious task, and rather dangerous due to the threat of being caught, but it had also been necessary; if he hadn’t taken the risk, he wouldn’t have his sister’s cross earring, or his father’s matching cross necklace. His dad’s pocket watch, luckily, had been made of silver, and didn’t need a golden bath, but everything else had to be encased to protect Harry’s skin.
Iron jewelry had been a deterrent to him in the years to come after he was turned; it wasn’t uncommon for him to find a pretty young girl from a village and sneak her away for a night of fun, only to discover an iron chain dangling from her neck when he leaned in to take a bite. It wasn’t a permanent problem, of course, as there were plenty of other soft places he could sink his teeth into, but it had been an annoyance then, and it still annoys him now.
Harry does his best to push the irritation to the back of his mind, he really does. He shows Y/N around the twisting maze of antiques, and does his best to showcase one of his favourite hideaways in L.A. He points to anything and everything that could interest her, and doesn’t hesitate when she asks him to reach something heavy perched on a high shelf, even if she just wants to examine it out of curiosity. Harry pulls out typewriters, vintage cameras, tarnished cigarette lighters, and a pastel yellow bicycle with an attached wicker basket from 1941, presenting all of the objects with the enthusiasm of a showcase model on The Price is Right, spouting falsified information about each product in the best impression of Bob Barker he can pull off (“This ancient, rusted bicycle— once owned by the Queen of England herself— can be all yours for just one easy payment of $8.99! Taxes and shipping not included.”).
And although all of that incites multiple tinkling laughs from Y/N, and lights a glimmer in her eye, and compels her to walk closer and closer to Harry until she lets him sneak his palm back into the backside pocket of her overalls, the mystery of her necklace still eats at the far end of his brain. And it’s that insipid, insistent pest of a thought that causes Harry to readjust his grip on the framed Monet print he’d spotted in the racks (Y/N had tried to deny how much she liked it in order to thwart Harry’s triumphant smirk, but she still asked him to grab it for her with a grumble) and spare another glance to the innocent looking cross resting atop her clavicle.
“That’s a pretty little piece.” Harry slips into a nonchalant tone with ease, nodding towards the necklace as he navigates the two of them around a corner. “Why have I never seen you wear it before?”
Y/N brushes her fingertips over the iron cross with a gentle motion. Her fingers don’t scorch with a mere graze of the metal, Harry notes scathingly. Not that he expected it from someone like Y/N.
“Because I don’t wear it often.” She replies, lifting one shoulder without a second thought. “It was my grandmother’s— not, like, originally, but she’d owned it, and gave it to my mom, who gave it to me, so I guess it counts as a family heirloom, huh?”
“Guess so.” The vampire murmurs in agreement, prickles of wonder still coasting against his skin. “So what made you drag it out today?” Did you subconsciously realize that your neck needs protection when I’m near? Harry tacks on in his head, his brow furrowing at the troubling thought.
And at that question, Y/N’s eyes drop to the floor, as if her bubblegum pink vans need an audience for every step they take. “Uh, I was just a little homesick, that’s all.” She mumbles the reply, her shoulders sagging as a dark shadow passes through her usually dazzling eyes.
Homesickness. The one human feeling that Harry can still relate to. “I’m sorry to hear that, darling.” He removes his hand from her back pocket to wind it around her shoulders again, mindful of the jewelry in question. “Did anything in particular happen, or…?”
Y/N lifts her shoulders once again as she tucks her hands into her pockets, her posture closing off more and more with every passing moment. “Not really. I don’t know, I— normally I’m fine, but when I addressed my letter to my parents today, it took me a moment to remember my ZIP code. It’s the same ZIP code I’ve had all my life, but… I nearly forgot it.” She glances at Harry from the corner of her eye, and Harry realizes that dark shadow is guilt. She feels guilty. “I’ve been in L.A. for less than six months, and almost forgot my parent’s ZIP code. I didn’t think that could ever happen.”
Harry hums low in his throat, a noise of understanding and finality. It’s homesickness, that’s all. That’s explainable, and understandable, and should be enough information to silence the gnawing irritation in his chest.
And yet...
“Do you believe in God?” The question escapes from Harry’s mouth before he can even think to censor it, his own eyes widening on his behalf as his grip on the Monet print nearly releases from the surprise.
“What?” Y/N stops in her tracks, although she nearly stumbles forward when Harry’s sturdy arm catches behind her shoulders as her eyes boggle at him. “I don’t— what does God have to do with antiquing?”
If Harry didn’t have to worry about digging himself out of the whole he created, he’d laugh at the incredulous expression on his lover’s face. “I was just curious, s’all.” He struggles to keep his voice casual, steadying his feet against the wooden floor in an effort to ground himself mentally. “I know you were raised with religion, but you don’t really go to church here— not that church equals a belief, but—”
“Um, I don’t…” Y/N extends her arm to let her fingers graze over the shelf of old lunch boxes next to them, feeling each dip of every embossed cartoon character. “I don’t know. I don’t really believe in, like, a concept of God— at least, not the one I was raised with. But I believe in…” She trails off as she attempts to gather her thoughts, chewing on her bottom lip absentmindedly as she searches for the right words. “Something. I don’t really know if it’s a deity, or an energy, or just coincidence, but… I think there’s something out there that guides us.”
“So you believe in souls.” Harry’s mouth presses into a flat line, his jaw clenching for just a moment as he grits his teeth and then reiterates her previous point. “The thing that allows us to be guided, that is.”
Or allows her to be guided, Harry thinks bitterly, casting his eyes towards their path ahead of them to avoid Y/N’s prying gaze. That’s really the only reason he’d brought up this entire religion conversation— the only reason he ever brings it up: he wants to know if she believes in souls, because in order to be guided by whatever higher power supposedly exists, one needs a soul. And Harry’s fairly certain his was stolen from him in 1837.
“I suppose.” Y/N allows, tracing the embossed lettering of a vintage Wonder Woman lunch box. “A soul, an energy, an aura— they’re all kind of the same thing to me. The thing that keeps your heart beating. I don’t think it needs to be tied to a religion; there’s so many different religions, but everyone has a heartbeat, you know?”
Harry nearly laughs out loud at the irony, but manages to stifle the sound into a non-committal hum. “Does your something include heaven and hell, or is that too based in Christianity?” He asks, half out of curiosity and half out of necessity. “If someone were to lose their soul…” He knows he sounds insane asking the question, but it bubbles out of him before he can choke it back. “Would you think them damned?”
The mortal girl stares at him blankly for a moment, her mouth just barely open as she considers his words. He shouldn’t have asked, and he knows that— he knew it the moment the first question fell from his lips. But the more they discussed the topic, the more it nagged at him. Y/N, with all her good nature, her listening skills, and her soft heart, are most certainly bound for whatever good lies in store when a soul actually leaves a body. Harry, on the other hand… If the monster’s conscience were to ever leave this Earth, he knows it’s not for the metaphorical pearly white gates. And for some reason, that notion bothers him more right now than it has in the last twenty decades.
“Um…” A nervous laugh echoes from Y/N’s mouth, the smile curling the edges of her lips not quite reaching her eyes. “Okay, this topic is way too serious for me to discuss sober. Can I take a rain check on the damnation questions? I’m getting Sunday school flashbacks, and living through that once was bad enough.”
Harry wills a smile onto his own face, but the expression is more apologetic than anything as he grips Y/N’s hand in his to tow her down an aisle of antique kitchen equipment. “Yeah, of course. Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you with such heavy questions. I guess I just wanted to get to know my partner in justice a bit more.”
Y/N takes it in good stride, just as she usually does, her smile relaxing the moment she sees Harry’s dimples peek out from his cheeks. “Don’t worry about it, Sherlock. I’d expect nothing less from such an established detective.”
As the pair pass under another skylight, Y/N’s cross glints at Harry as if to mock him.
///
Y/N isn’t lost.
To the untrained eye, the mindless path she takes through the towering and twisting rows of the antique mall may seem like the wandering of someone who has no recollection of where they came from, nor where they’re going, but Y/N is adamant that she isn’t lost. She isn’t, because when she split from Harry to take a trip to the washroom, he’d warned her not to get lost in the internal maze of the mall. And Y/N, with a glare in her eyes and a scathing remark on her lips, had assured him that she, a grown woman, would be able to find her way back after she was done, and “Honestly, H, just wander a bit. I’ll be able to find you easily.”
So Y/N isn’t lost, because she refuses to prove Harry right. He’s already a cocky asshole with a huge ego, and she couldn’t bear seeing that ego enlarge as a triumphant smirk paints over his face the moment she calls him on his cellphone, admits defeat, and asks him to come find her. She’ll do a lot of things for that man, but that isn’t one of them.
With that in mind, she turns down a corridor of the labyrinth of collectables, trying to find any discernible items that she could use to pinpoint her location in the labyrinth. The yellow bicycle, maybe, or one of the vintage cameras Harry had pretended to photograph her with, or even the strange five foot carving of Bugs Bunny that she and Harry had agreed is probably possessed by a demon. A haunted Bugs Bunny could lead her to her destination— or kill her, truthfully, but either option seems preferable over the solidifying future of having to call Harry.
After another five minutes of aimless ambling, Y/N retrieves her phone from her pocket, a grimace crawling its way onto her face as she opens her contacts to click on Harry’s name. Her finger hovers just over the phone icon, mere millimetres from humiliation, when a few out of place piano notes float by her ears and catch her attention.
Y/N tucks her phone back into her overall pocket as her curiosity takes over, urging her ears to strain towards the distant melody, as well as for her legs to follow. It’s not long before Y/N is walking with purpose again, albeit a different purpose than before. As the music gets louder, Y/N begins to pick out more details— how the piano notes that prick her ears are slightly out of tune, how the player begins and stops and begins again, dragging out different phrases, speeding through others with no clear intention. The minor key of the piece makes Y/N feel like she’s walking into a memory as she wades through the shelves of long-forgotten belongings, old photographs of deceased people in Victorian fashions watching while the young woman falls back in time.
The music grows louder as Y/N reaches a dark corridor with wood paneling lining the walls, and a painted sign saying “Music Room” beckons her down the passageway. She follows with slow steps, and while she knows that maybe leaving the main mall area and losing her way down here isn’t a smart idea, the music that’s beginning to grow impossibly sweet pulls her forward. Y/N rounds the corner to find the oak doors to the music room swung open, and when she lays her eyes on the figure sitting at the mahogany ground piano, she recognizes the silhouette of Harry’s back and shoulders immediately.
Y/N’s gaze falls from his flexing shoulder blades to his inked hands, the jewels on his rings catching the low light of the room as his lithe fingers dance over the dusty ivory keys. He coaxes a melody from the instrument without any difficulty, as if the music had been simmering beneath his skin for ages. Maybe it has, Y/N thinks, as she watches from the doorway with quiet wonder, and although she plans on silently observing for as long as she can, Harry only completes a few more phrases before the music drifts to a halt.
“I was beginning to wonder if you’d find me.” He murmurs, clearing his throat of the rasp that had settled in his vocal chords as he played. “Thought I’d be getting a scared phone call any moment now.”
The human girl steps into the room slowly, gliding around to the cut out of the piano and leaning across the lacquered wood. “I wasn’t scared. And I would’ve found you sooner if you’d stayed put. I said wander a bit, not all the way across the building.” She retorts jokingly, trailing a finger along the smooth edge of the piano. All of the sarcasm in her voice melts right out, replaced by intrigue. “I didn’t know you played piano.”
“I, uh, I don’t. Not much anymore, anyways.” Harry runs his digits between the keys again, using only enough pressure to dust the top of the ivory covers. “I wasn’t sure I’d remember how, honestly, but this…” He lifts an index finger to brush the dust off the gold embossed brand name. “It looks like the one I learned on, so…”
Y/N takes a seat on the wooden bench next to Harry, her shoulder bumping against his as she leans in to smudge a kiss across his cheek. “It sounded beautiful.” She assures him, noting the hesitation in his explanation. “What’s that piece called?”
“It’s one of Chopin’s Nocturnes, in C-Sharp Minor.” Harry curves his fingers over the keys, as if he’s about to begin again, but then relaxes the digits as he exhales harshly. “I don’t play it as well as— as the person who taught me.”
There seems to be a hidden story beneath those words, but Y/N doesn’t press it; if Harry wants to tell her, then he’ll tell her. If not… Well, she’d rather not drag a sour memory from him in the middle of an antique mall. Instead, she drags her fingers over his thigh, rubbing just above his knee in a comforting manner.
“How long have you been playing?” She asks softly, tracing over a black lacquered key with her free hand. When she pulls away, her finger is coated in dust, and she wonders how long it’s been since the piano has been touched by someone else.
The corner of Harry’s lips twitch, as if her question is particularly humorous. “A while.” He answers simply, and he tilts his head to the side to press his face against the top of Y/N’s head, inhaling the scent of her favourite shampoo.
“A while?” Y/N repeats the vague answer to prompt further explanation, but when she gets none, she switches to another inquiry. “Can you play me something?”
The moment she utters the question, Harry shakes his head adamantly. “No, I— no. I’m not that good, love, and I don’t really play for people.”
Surprise colors Y/N’s voice when she replies, lifting her head from Harry’s shoulder to look him in the eye. “This isn’t the time for false modesty, H.” She says, tapping two fingers against his knee as punctuation. “Since when have you been humble?”
A bark of a laugh escapes Harry’s chest in spite of himself, and he curls his fingers over Y/N’s to move her hand further up his thigh. “I’m not modest! Don’t insult me like that, darling. S’not nice.”
“Prove it, then.” Y/N massages over Harry’s inner thigh as she issues the challenge, baiting the vampire’s ego with ease. “Play me something. Show off a little bit.”
Harry squeezes Y/N’s hand once as a quiet groan twists his lips into a pout. “You’re getting pretty good at manipulating me, y’know that?” He mutters, poising his lacquered fingertips back over the instrument. “Fine. Do you want something sad or happy?”
Y/N ponders the question as she leans her head back onto Harry’s shoulder, her lips finding the edge of his jaw and pecking his cool skin for just a moment. “Both.”
“Both.” Harry repeats with a snort, shaking his head in exasperation as his hands drift to a new position on the keys. “Indecisive little thing, aren’t you?”
The mortal girl lifts her shoulders in a noncommittal shrug, scratching her nails along the fabric of Harry’s pants. “Just play me something. Please?”
It’s the simplest request with the most complicated implication, but Harry can’t find a good reason to refuse it.
“This is, um, another Chopin piece.” He feels clumsy in his explanation, struggling to remember the details that he’d once memorized in an effort to seem impressive. “Another Nocturne, in E-flat this time.”
Harry’s fingers begin to dance over the keys, and Y/N listens in amazement as a melody that is both happy and sad begins to spiral out from the body of the piano, wrapping her inside the warmth of the music.
Not every phrase is even— the more Harry plays, it seems, the more the music phrases, bending and shaping itself around his elegant fingers, rolling with his every movement. As the music begins to get sadder, however, Y/N notices the change in Harry’s face, and how each phrase begins to get choppier as his fingers stumble their way over the keys.
Y/N smudges another kiss against Harry’s jaw when his fingers trip up again, squeezing his knee with reassurance. “Keep going.” She murmurs, rubbing his leg lightly as the music stutters again. “It’s nice.”
“I—” The music halts with a jerk of Harry’s hands, which he retracts from the keys as if the ivory burns him. “I don’t remember the rest.” He mumbles, laying his stubbled cheek against the top of Y/N’s head. “Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize. I really liked it.” Y/N trails her own fingers over the keys, pressing a few of the lacquered notes with idle interest. The melody she spins out isn’t nearly as nice as the one Harry played, and she laughs at her own expense. “I’m not nearly as good. I took a few lessons as a kid, but begged my mom to let me quit. I wish I’d stuck with it.”
“That wasn’t too bad.” Harry’s dimples wink at her as he smiles boyishly, nodding to the keys with false reassurance. “That little tune sounded a lot like Mozart.”
“Uh huh.” The mortal girl rolls her eyes at the lie, bracing her palms against the polished wooden bench before rising from her seat. “Despite that praise, I don’t think I’ll be adding this piano to my shopping cart.”
“Hm. Too bad.” Her lover trails his fingers after her, reaching for her hand and intertwining her grasp with his. “It could make a pretty addition to your apartment, I think.”
“It would take up my entire apartment, more like it.” Y/N scoffs as she raps the fingers of her free hand against the side of the piano. “I don’t even think I could fit this in my living room. Your apartment, however…” She raises an eyebrow as a grin works its way over her face. “You could fit it easily. You should buy it.”
Harry rolls his eyes as he lets her hand fall from his palm, touching the keys one last time before shutting the cover over the keyboard. “I’m not buying the piano.”
“Why not?” Eyes widening in surprise, Y/N leans onto the instrument, gesturing with her arms the same way Harry did earlier as she shifts her voice to mimic Bob Barker. “It’s made of genuine mahogany, was once played by Beethoven himself, and can be yours, for the low, low price of—” She reaches around the side of the instrument to grab the tag tied around the leg. “Eight hundred and—holy shit, are you kidding me?”
Harry hums in response as he rises from the bench, shrugging his shoulders before crossing his arms around his tummy. “That’s actually a fairly good price for a used piano, you know.”
Y/N blinks at him, her mouth opening and closing as she struggles to find words. “I— okay, yeah. Sure. So you should get it, then, if you consider that a ‘fairly good price’.”
“I could,” Harry agrees, his muscles flexing beneath his tight t-shirt as he reaches to pick up the painting leaning against the instrument. “But I won’t.”
Her brow wrinkling in confusion, Y/N watches as Harry begins to examine the other objects in the room, turning his attention to the book-lined shelves and antique lamps. “Why?”
The man sighs as he fingers the tassels hanging from a— in Y/N’s humble opinion— particularly ugly lamp. “Because I already have one—”
“You do?”
“—but it’s been in storage ever since I got to L.A. And while I usually love things in excess… alcohol, statement jewelry, orgasms—” He flashes a toothy grin at Y/N. “I don’t think overly-heavy instruments fall into any of those categories.”
“Why is it in storage?” Y/N asks, bemusement laced through her voice. Before Harry began to stumble through the piece, there was a look on his face that Y/N hasn’t seen very often; a serene air swirled through his eyes, hiding something beneath it that Y/N couldn’t quite make out. And she wants to.
“Because I don’t have any interest in playing anymore. Honestly, darling, I haven’t thought about it in years.” Harry laughs in a nonchalant manner, moving from the antique lamp to the creaking rocking chair in the corner. “Y’can have it, if you like. Probably do you more good than me.”
Y/N rolls her eyes at the deflection, turning her attention away from the topic at hand. “I’m good.” She responds dryly, drifting over to the floor to ceiling bookshelf bolted to the wall.
Her eyes trail over the exposed spines of the books, reading over the variety of titles with piqued interest. The amount of genres she sees is countless, ranging from trashy paperback romance novels to timeless classics embossed in gold. The farther up Y/N glances, the older the books appear, and she gets more and more curious as she glides her fingers over the rippled covers of the books within her reach.
While the novels climb up the height of the bookshelf to the ceiling, Y/N can only manage to reach halfway up the length she needs to, even while stretching on her tiptoes. She settles down on the balls of her feet with a pout playing on her lips, her attention turning to the wheeled ladder that runs along bars bolted to the bottom of the shelving unit. It looks rather old— like everything in the antique mall— and Y/N isn’t quite sure it’ll support her weight, despite her test of gripping a rung and pushing on it.
“Harry, c’mere,” She calls over her shoulder, hands gripping the sides of the dusty ladder as she balances a foot on the bottom rung.
Upon her beckoning, Harry saunters over, the painted print she’d selected still grasped in his ringed hand. “Yeah?” He asks, raising an eyebrow in question. “What is it?”
“Can you help me climb up the ladder?” Y/N nods her head towards the far-reaching shelves, biting her bottom lip with pleading eyes. “I want to see what’s on the top shelves.”
Harry’s gaze follows Y/N’s gesture towards the top of the library wall, a look of trepidation flickering through his eyes. “Is that really necessary?”
“Yes,” Y/N answers curtly, lifting her other foot onto the bottom rung before moving from her original step to the next. “And it’ll be a lot easier if you help me.”
Despite his protests, Harry sets down the framed print and complies with the request, grasping Y/N around her waist with firm hands as she scurries up the rickety ladder. She can feel his fingertips pressing into her love handles over the denim, and it would be a lie to say she doesn’t enjoy it, but she refocuses her attention onto reading over the embossed titles that she couldn’t see from below.
“Y’know, on second thought… take all the time you need, dove.” Harry calls from below her, the smirk evident in his voice as he squeezes her hips once with a laugh. “I’ve got quite the view from here.”
Rolling her eyes, Y/N releases one hand from the ladder to tug a novel off the shelf, examining the half exposed cover before sliding it back into its place. “I bet you do.” She retorts, wiggling her hips just enough to tease him without losing her precarious balance on the ladder.
Although the motion is meant to be a joke, Harry can’t stop the flash of genuine fear that ignites in his chest. Humans are fragile, he knows, and a fall from the height that Y/N has climbed to could sprain her wrist, or injure her back, or crack open her skull like an egg, or—
“Careful there, Watson.” Harry attempts to disguise the worry in his voice behind a lighthearted joke as his grip on the human girl strengthens. “Wouldn’t want an accident to happen, now, would we?”
“That’s why I’ve got you, Holmes.” A tinkling laugh falls from her lips as she risks a glance over her shoulder at him, her eyes alight with amusement, before turning her attention back to the old novels. “You wouldn’t let anything happen to me, would you?”
There’s a nervous truth hidden underneath her words, and Harry knows it, but that doesn’t stop it from making his skin itch as the casual phrase sinks into his body. In all his years, however, Harry’s gotten quite good at hiding his emotions, and this is no different.
Instead of giving a sincere answer, Harry hardens his reply of “F’course I wouldn’t, pet. Y’can never be too careful.” by letting one jeweled hand drift from Y/N’s hip to her backside, cupping it gently to support her, and taking delight in the way he can feel her body tense beneath his new touch.
It takes Y/N a moment to find her breath again, and when she does, all she can muster is a hum in the back of her throat. “Mhmm.” She sighs, trying her best to refocus on the books lining the shelves in front of her as she climbs higher. “Is that why your hand is grabbing my ass, you pervert?”
“Y’know, that seems to be your favourite nickname for me.” Harry’s smirk deepens as he contracts his hand, squeezing her fleshy backside after she takes another step higher. “I wonder why that is?”
“I wonder.” The flat response echoes from Y/N’s mouth as she pulls another book from the shelf to examine it before replacing it a moment later. “Maybe— and this is just a suggestion, so take it with a grain of salt, but— maybe if you didn’t act like a pervert, you’d get a nicer nickname.”
Although Y/N’s retorts are droll and to the point, Harry can hear the way her heartbeat begins to stutter each time he massages her, and it’s that fluttering rhythm that encourages him to grasp the sides of the ladder with both hands and pull himself up a couple rungs.
“A nicer nickname, huh?” He breathes in her ear, pressing his chest to her back both to be close to her and to give her more support on the ladder. “Like ‘slut’?” Harry stifles the groan that nearly rolls from his throat when he feels Y/N stiffen. “That’s one of your favourites, isn’t it?”
“I—” Swallowing down the sudden lump in her throat, Y/N grips the sides of the ladder tight between her hands, her skin stretching over her tense knuckles as Harry’s breath begins to hit her neck. “Maybe. I...I suppose.”
Harry laughs quietly as he takes another step up the ladder, keeping himself braced against Y/N as he begins to smear kisses along the side of her neck, mindful of the iron cross that still hangs there. “You suppose?” He repeats, his tone slightly mocking when he hears the mortal shudder. “What about your other favourites? Y’like when I call you my pretty little plaything, don’t you?”
The honey and lavender fragrance wafting over Harry intensifies as Y/N’s blood pumps faster and faster, the only sound emerging from the human girl being a quiet whimper from the back of her throat.
“There’s another one, though… another nickname…” Letting his teeth gently graze her earlobe, Harry whispers directly in Y/N’s ear, keeping his voice low and throaty as he does so. “It’s on the tip of my tongue, baby...” He suckles sloppily along her pulsing neck, delighting in the taste of her sweet skin in his mouth. “Remind me what it is?”
Already, Y/N’s breathing has grown ragged, and he waits a moment for the aroused girl to form a response, encouraging her with every nip of his teeth. Just when Harry is about to ask again, she manages to choke out a reply.
“Whore.” She whispers, the embarrassment in her voice overpowered by the lust running through her veins. “I like it when you call me your whore.”
“That’s my good girl.” A satisfied smile tugs at the edge of Harry’s lips as he stamps a gentle kiss to Y/N’s jaw. “That’s another one, too. My good girl. And because you’re my good girl…” Harry snakes his right hand from the rung of the ladder to the buttons of Y/N’s overalls, deftly undoing the side snaps and gradually slipping his hand into the space between the denim and her clammy skin. “You’re going to keep looking for your books while I have some fun.”
Y/N lets out a broken gasp as Harry’s fingertips graze over her cotton panties, and her grip on the railing slackens as a rush of heat falls between her legs.
“Careful, baby.” Harry cautions her, his left hand wrapping around hers and resetting her grasp on the ladder. “Can’t have any fun if you let go, hm?”
“We—” She twists her head to the side, straining to look over her shoulder and towards the entrance as Harry’s digits dance over the dampening spot on her panties. “Someone could walk in, Harry—”
Of course someone could, Harry thinks, but exhibitionism is so much easier to indulge when one has inhuman hearing that can detect the pounding of an approaching heart from fifty feet away. He doesn’t disclose this information to Y/N, however, for a number of reasons, and instead chooses to scrape his teeth along the shell of her ear once more, his ruby lips soothing the marks instantly.
“You let me worry about that, alright?” He murmurs lowly, sliding Y/N’s cotton panties to the side and dragging his index and middle finger through her dripping folds, enjoying how she shivers against his chest. “You just focus on finding the book you want and being a good little whore for me, princess. Let me take care of the rest.”
When Y/N reflects on this moment in bed tonight, her clammy palms twisting around the sheets as she inhabits the memory of Harry’s mint-scented breath swirling around her as he massages two fingers around her throbbing clit with a teasing touch, one specific detail will stick out to her. She won’t focus on how her heart is pounding so hard that she feels her chest might burst, or how her fingers shake as she reaches for another book on the shelf, per Harry’s quiet but intent instructions. The thing that Y/N will remember in wonder and— on some level, self consciously— is how quickly the anxiety that spikes through her veins at the possibility of someone walking in and finding the two of them in such a compromising position bleeds into a high like no other.
Y/N likes to entertain the idea that she’s fairly adventurous, and has been open to a lot of things, especially since meeting Harry, but this— allowing him to finger her in a music room at an antique mall, where any customer or employee could discover them— is something so outside of her character that Y/N can’t think straight. When Harry first slips his long middle finger inside her slick center, the girl nearly collapses, and Harry’s broad chest braced behind her is the only thing that keeps her upright on the ladder.
“Y’like that, doll?” Harry’s hot breath rolls over her neck as he purrs the words, adjusting his grip on the side of the ladder as his other hand skillfully toys with the human in slow and deep strokes. “Filthy little thing, you are, letting me play with you like this.”
The sinful remark draws a mewling moan from Y/N’s mouth as her head dips back onto Harry’s sturdy shoulder, her hands dropping all pretense of searching for a book and clutching the ladder like she normally clutches her sheets, or the headboard of whoever’s bed Harry has tossed her onto. “H-Harry…” She whimpers, her eyelashes fluttering as he circles his thumb around her clit. “Fuck…”
“You pretend to be so sweet, but you and I know the truth, don’t we?” The vampire sponges another kiss along her throat as he delights in the wet sounds his fingers make, which easily become drowned out by the quiet noises of bliss leaving his lover’s mouth. “You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”
Y/N nods fervently as she allows her weight to fall back against Harry’s sturdy chest, trusting him to support her as he thrusts another finger inside her. “Anything, H, I—” The desperate proclamation is cut off as Harry curls his digits, bumping against the spot in the pit of her tummy that sets her entire nervous system on fire. “Shit, right there, baby, right there…”
Harry’s smug voice rings in her ear as he slows his stride, dragging his fingers in and out of her hot core at a pace that’s nearly criminal. “Y’don’t need to tell me, I know.” He pushes himself forward again, flushing Y/N between his chest and the ladder with just enough room to continue his activities. “I know what you like, how you like it, where you like it… Know my girl so well.”
As Y/N adjusts to the newly close proximity, the bulge in Harry’s slacks grows more apparent, rubbing against her backside over and over with each plunge of Harry’s fingers. She lets out a strangled whine at the feeling, carving her teeth into her bottom lip in an effort to keep herself quiet.
“You feel me, don’t you, minx?” Harry moans into her ear, catching his teeth along the shell before dragging them down her jaw to settle his lips just above her throbbing pulse point. “You feel what you’re doing to me? How just a single whimper from those pretty lips, and one touch of your soaked cunt makes my cock ache?”
Despite her best efforts, a ragged sob breaks through Y/N’s self-imposed gag order, and her chest heaves within Harry’s tight embrace as her head lolls to the side. “I-I want it.” She pleads, her half-lidded eyes struggling to find Harry’s emerald irises in her haze.
Those sea glass eyes, darker than she’s ever seen them, widen with fake surprise as his mouth curls into a smirk. When Harry replies, his normally soothing dulcet voice is filled with insincere mocking. “Oh, you want it, do you? You want me to fuck you in here?” Dropping his voice to its usual low resonance, Harry growls the next phrase in the human’s ear. “I know you want it, you fucking slut. But you can’t have it right now. So if I’m going to let you cum—” The conditional phrase pulls a sound of protest from her throat. “—then you’re going to have to do it around my fingers.”
The begging girl cries out against his neck as her walls clench around his touch, the stifled pants that she gasps into Harry’s ear urging him to speed up. Instead of giving her what she wants, Harry curls his fingers inside her, pressing deeper into that spongy spot to elicit another broken whine from her. When he receives it, however, it’s accompanied by an unexpected blinding burn.
The iron cross that hangs so delicately around Y/N’s fragile throat has slung to the side in her writhing pleasure, finding its way from her flushed collarbones to the base of Harry’s icy neck. The vampire grinds his teeth as he feels the brand begin to form, choking back the sound of agony that fights its way out of his mouth. His left hand clenches around the ladder, his knuckles stretching white as the waxed wood nearly splinters under his palm, while his right hand stutters its pace inside his lover, prodding harshly at her G-spot as a single grunt makes it past the cracks of his teeth.
Harry knows he needs to remove the cross from his skin, but he has no way of doing so without alerting Y/N to his discomfort. If he lets go of the rung, both of them will tumble off, and Y/N has made it obvious how much she trusts him to keep her safe; that option is hardly an option, Harry thinks, struggling to keep his mind present as he fights through the pain. The other option— the only one, really— is to retract his fingers from between the mortal’s thighs, feign some excuse as to why, and do his best to keep her from noticing the cross-shaped burn mark on his neck that will surely disappear within a few moments of the iron being removed. It’ll be jarring, he knows, to pull Y/N from the subspace he can tell she’s beginning to slip into, and Harry hates it, but there’s nothing to be done. His hand contracts inside her, desperately massaging her walls one last time before he retreats to—
The sharp action drags a mangled whine from Y/N’s throat, the sound more shattered than anything Harry has ever heard from her before, and it pulls Harry’s attention from the charring sensation of the cross branding his skin to the overwhelmed girl in his arms. As Y/N lets her entire body fall against Harry’s chest, her eyes completely shut as she gives into the pleasure bubbling in her tummy, a realization dawns on Harry, searing him nearly as much as the metal on his inhuman flesh: he can’t let go of her. He’s in too deep— literally, obvious in the way she tightens around his fingers— and if he were to stop now, Y/N would go into a sensitive daze that he can’t deal with in a public space. If he lets go of her now, he’ll lose the connection he’s spent the last two months making. She might get over it, given that it’s just an orgasm, but subconsciously, there’s a possibility she could resent him for it. Especially in the extremely delicate phase she’s in at the moment.
He knows it sounds stupid, but he can’t risk that. He just can’t. He’ll take burning agony over that any day.
When Harry reflects on this moment in bed tonight, his jeweled fingers carefully combing through Y/N’s knotted locks as she shifts in his arms, the bite mark on her neck freshly faded to a light bruise, her chest rising and falling gently with quiet breaths, one specific detail will stick out to him. He won’t focus on the blinding pleasure of Y/N grinding against his hardened bulge, her body moving of its own accord as she gives in completely to the sensations Harry pulls from her. He won’t focus on the explicit moans that show she’s given up on attempting to quiet, her voice reverberating in Harry’s mouth as he inhales every desperate breath she exhales. When Harry reflects on this moment, the thing he’ll remember the most is how the second he accepted his fate— that he’d have to bear the pain in order to keep Y/N happy, and he feels like there’s probably some deeper subliminal message hidden beneath that realization, though he refuses to indulge it— the mortal girl tilts her head to the side and begins to kiss Harry’s neck, soothing the scorched mark with her silky tongue.
The relief is so sweet that Harry nearly cries out a fractured mewl, letting his head fall forward into Y/N’s shoulder to hide his desperate expression. She continues to whimper into his skin, smudging kiss after kiss on his marked neck as if she knows how badly he needs it. Even as her orgasm begins to rise in her belly, consuming her every thought, she continues to suck bruises onto his jugular, dragging her tongue over his cool skin repeatedly after every action. Although the iron still stings, the sensation of Y/N’s textured tongue swiping over it turns the pain to pleasure, and it’s not long before Harry has himself centered once again, refocused on the task at hand.
He speeds up the movement of his fingers, focusing on curling them inside her as his thumb rubs quick circles over her throbbing clit. The sounds bouncing around the room are so lewd that Harry almost wishes someone would walk in, even if only to see how good Harry is capable of making his lover feel.
“Y’can cum for me, baby. Cum all over my hand.” He mutters in her ear, his teeth scraping against her fragile skin in desperation. “I know you have it in you. Show me how good you are.”
Y/N feverishly grinds against his hand, all of her senses overwhelmed by the immortal as she licks across his neck. “So—so close, Harry—I—”
“I know, I know you are.” The vampire soothes her in a tone more gentle than he thought possible, palming her soaking cunt with as much pressure as he thinks she can stand. “Let go for me. I’ve got you.”
The reassurance is the final thing Y/N needs to fall apart, and once she knows that she can, it happens with an intensity that shocks even her. When the coil inside her belly snaps, a guttural moan tears from her mouth, and she grasps the pole in front of her as tightly as she can while collapsing back into Harry’s chest.
“Fuck, there we go, yeah? Shhh, keep it down for me, angel. Don’t wanna have to stop until you beg me to.”
Her grip on the ladder does nothing to support her, but as Harry’s hushed words ring in her mind, she knows she doesn’t have to worry about that. Harry’s arms and chest are strong enough to do it for her, allowing her to sink into her pleasure as much as she needs to.
When Y/N slumps in his arms, her neck finally shifts enough that her cross falls back into its designated position between her collarbones, providing Harry with relief from the scorching pain he’d been beginning to adjust to. He can feel his skin begin to heal itself the moment the iron leaves it, and with that small fear tamped down, the creature can turn all his attention to the girl in his arms.
He slowly and carefully retracts his hand from her panties, shushing the weak squeak that rolls from her lips at the motion. “Good girl.” He mumbles into her ear, kissing her temple softly as her breathing begins to regulate itself. “Shh, you’re alright. Y’did so well for me, darling.”
The comforting praise comes easily to him, and as he continues to hold Y/N as she regains her previous headspace, Harry begins to wonder just how far he’d be able to push her before she reaches her limits. How far into subspace can she go before she hits the point of no return? Could Harry successfully guide her there and lead her back? Could she ever trust him enough to submit fully to his every request, taking solace in the knowledge that he can take care of her as well as— or better, even— she can take care of herself? Harry wants to think yes, but he can’t dwell on the idea any longer; Y/N’s beginning to shift against him again, and he’ll never be able to earn that wholehearted trust if he doesn’t tend to her now.
Lifting his hand to his own lips, Harry wraps his tongue around his drenched fingers, lapping at the sweet wetness that coats them down to his rings. He hums in appreciation, stippling another tender kiss to Y/N’s neck when he retracts his fingers from his mouth.
“Taste so sweet, y’know that?” He whispers, the question half a test to see how aware Y/N is as her head begins to clear. “C’mere, I want you to taste.”
Y/N lazily tilts her head to the side, a small smile playing on her lips as they meet Harry’s for a slow kiss. Trailing his fingers down her side, Harry skillfully buttons the side of her overalls again, adjusting the fabric to lie comfortable against her skin.
“How are you feeling, hm?” He murmurs, rubbing his large hand soothingly over her belly as her breathing begins to regulate again. “How was that?”
“I feel…” Y/N struggles to make sense of her swimming head, resting it against Harry’s shoulder as she tries to form a coherent response. “Good.”
Harry sighs with relief, smearing a quick kiss to her cheek as he grins. “Good. That’s good.”
With his right hand still wrapped around her middle, he carefully lowers himself and Y/N from the ladder, keeping a tight grip on the girl until he knows her feet are planted firmly on the ground.
As the afterglow of her climax begins to fade, a heated flush begins to crawl up Y/N’s spine to settle on the apples of her cheeks. “I, um—” The corners of her lips tug upwards with a bashful tone, and she twists around in Harry’s arms to shyly meet his canopy green eyes. “I can’t believe I did that.”
“You didn’t do anything. It takes two to tango, pet. And, honestly…” Harry flashes a boyish simper at her as he yanks her closer to him by her hips. “I think I did most of the work.”
“That’s true.” A breathless laugh stutters from Y/N’s chest as she curls her hands around Harry’s bulging biceps, steadying herself from the after effects of her orgasm, which are turning her legs to jelly. “I could, um…” She flicks her eyes from the door to the prominent bulge in Harry’s black slacks before capturing his gaze in hers again. “Return the favour?”
Harry snorts as he gives a quick shake of his head, his teeth catching on his bottom lip while he runs his hands down the back of her rumpled shirt. “Not here, baby. How about we wait until we’re back at my place for you to show me how my sweet girl sucks cock, hm?”
“So it’s alright for you to distract me from my book search to finger me in a public area,” Y/N fakes indignation to distract herself from the ache that’s starting to pulse in her core again at Harry’s proposal. “But the moment I want to suck you off, you say ‘not here’? What kind of double standard is that?”
Lips twitching in amusement, Harry stifles a laugh as he turns the girl in his arms, pressing her back to his chest once again before wrapping his arms back around her waist. “You’re right. I distracted you from your book search. How rude of me.” He coos, nodding up to the shelf as he grazes his teeth against her pulse. “Think I see a pretty copy of Sense and Sensibility up there. Y’think you can reach it, or do you need me to do it, sweetheart?”
The shuddering of Y/N’s heartbeat contrasts with her heated reply. “I can reach it just fine if you behave yourself.” She shoots back, smacking the hand that’s beginning to wander towards her center again. “Or is that too difficult for you?”
“It’s extremely difficult when I’m near you.” The reply, while truthful, sends a quiver down Harry’s spine, and he presses a chaste kiss to the human girl’s shoulder before releasing her from his grasp. “I’ll get the book.”
Y/N tugs the hair tie from her locks, shaking them out before pulling them back again in a neat manner. “You know, I never thought I was one for antiquing, but today was fun.”
“Well, it doesn’t usually involve getting finger-fucked on a ladder,” Harry states bluntly, glancing over his shoulder with a dimpled smile on his face. “So I’m not really sure if today can be the marker for an average antiquing session.”
Y/N’s face boils at the brazen comment, and she tucks a strand of loose hair that she’d missed behind her ear as she swallows hard. “No.” She replies with a soft and timid laugh, shaking her head gently. “I suppose that’s true.”
Harry hums in reply as he snags the old copy of the Jane Austen novel from the top shelf, climbing down the ladder effortlessly and landing back on the ground with a soft thud. “But I’m glad you had fun.” Harry steps towards Y/N with a satisfied air, gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger as a teasing smile plays on his ruby lips. “And I’m even more glad we found a replacement for that terrible tapestry of yours.”
Y/N rolls her eyes as she smacks Harry’s hand from her chin before snatching the novel from his hands. “Stop being mean to Amanda! You’ll hurt her feelings.”
A snort boasts from Harry’s throat as he recalls the day she had told him what she’d named the piece hanging from her wall, and he bends down to scoop up the Monet print while shaking his head impassively, clutching it in one hand as he snakes the other around Y/N’s waist once again. “Well, I hope Amanda doesn’t have feelings, because I’m going to burn her.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Oh yes, I am.”
“No, you’re not, because I’m going to hang her over your bed, just so you can stare at her while you fall asleep each night.”
Harry groans loudly as he guides his lover from the music room and back to the open space of the antique mall. “Please. If anything is going over my bed, it’s a mirror, not a college freshman’s poor excuse of an attempt at interior design.”
Y/N wrinkles her nose at the comment, shaking her head at the crude suggestion. “A mirror? That better be a joke.”
“It was, but now that I’m thinking about it…”
“You’re disgustingly conceited.”
“Oh please, you lo—” Harry catches himself just before the word love rolls off his lips. Though he’s said it before when referring to certain aspects of their sex life (like how he loves the way her mouth feels, or how she loves the way he stretches her out), it just seems oddly repulsive to say at this very moment. Too intimate, almost.
Therefore, the creature bites back the offensive phrase and tugs her closer by the waist, covering up his sudden hesitation with his signature smirk. “You like that idea, don’t you, dove?”
Y/N keeps her face neutral as they pass by an older couple examining a grandfather clock. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you don’t.” Harry laughs sharply, nuzzling his face into the top of Y/N’s hair and pressing a casual kiss to the crown of her head. “Need I remind you that your request for my interior design skills is what started this whole thing?”
“And if you had suggested I mount a mirror over my bed, this whole thing would’ve been over before it even had a chance to start.”
“You say that now, but if you were to see the way my cock looks while it slams into your—”
“Harry!” Y/N hisses, blood rushing to her cheeks as he guides her around a corner stacked with porcelain dolls.
“Fine. No mirror.” Harry relents, a disappointed sigh falling from his lips as he palms Y/N’s waist closer to himself. “But the tapestry needs to be burned.”
“No.”
“Thrown away.”
“No.”
“Folded up and tucked under the bed?”
“Possibly. And that’s as good an ending as you’ll get.”
That night, after Harry has satisfied his craving for both Y/N and the sweet liquid that pumps through her veins, and has settled in for his usual nightly routine of rhythmically caressing her back to lull her into a deep slumber, and as he counts the breaths the mortal sighs between nightfall and sunrise while her soft snoring sings a lullaby to his ears, he can’t help but think that…
That yes, this really is as good an ending as he’ll ever get.
#harry styles x reader#harry styles x you#harry styles x y/n#harry styles imagine#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fic#vampire!harry#vampire!harry styles#harry styles blurb#harry styles smut#harry styles fluff#harry styles angst#one direction fanfiction#one direction fic#harry styles au#one direction imagine#one direction blurb#ysijwa#vampire au
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Confession (Levi x Reader)
Pairing: Levi x Reader, Levi x You, Levi x OC
Genre: Fluff, sooooo much fluff
Trigger warning: strong language cuz it's Levi what did you expect lol
Summary: After rushing you all the way from Utgard Castle to a hospital in Trost, Levi finds himself driven in the verge of despair. The thought of losing you -you, the person he grew up with in the Underground. You, the woman who had stood by him for as long as he can remember- it’s just too much to deal with. He has to let you know how he feels, because he may never get the chance again.
You’re both living in a cruel world, after all.
A/N: This is the second part from my latest shortfic. If you wanna read the previous part, it’s right here Part 1. But you won’t have to if you’re feeling lazy 🤣 It’s written in 3rd Person’s POV.
Light slowly penetrated her eyelids as she began to stir. (Y/n) realised her head wasn’t resting back against a soft pillow. She could tell she was covered in blankets, but hands were around her too. Warm fingers were tangled between her own and the weight of a man’s cheek pressed on the top of her forehead. A rhythmic heartbeat thrummed beneath her ear, and she knew her cheek was pressed against his chest.
It was Levi, wasn’t it? She could tell she was in a hospital from the whiteness of the room’s walls. Had he really taken her there? Wasn’t it dangerous to go out in titan territory all on his own and rush his way there with her unconscious body? But she had to remind herself. Nothing was dangerous for Levi.
Levi had saved her life. He risked going out on his own only to take her back to safety, and fast. She was supposed to be dead. There was a time that she might’ve wanted that, but there was something that had brought tears in her eyes the moment she realised she was going to die last night. It was the thought of never seeing him again. It was the thought of never getting to tell him how much she loved him.
But everything was alright now. He had brought her to safety. He had saved her life. She was on a bed, but he was holding her. Her body was resting back against his own, and his hands were keeping both her own warm beneath the blankets. But then the pain returned. It returned and it stung harshly in her stomach, but thankfully, she could say she had stopped losing blood. Still, she let out a wince that she didn’t have enough time to muffle back.
That wince was loud enough to snap his eyes open and look down at her worriedly. “Are you okay? Are you in pain? Wait here. I’ll go get the doc-” Levi’s hands let go of her own, and he tried to stand up and walk away, but she grasped his hands and kept him in place.
“No. Stay,” Having her asking him to stay. It startled him. But he welcomed that request. He laced their fingers together once more, and he watched her as she buried her face in his neck like a kitten, starved of affection. She breathed shakily and she shut her eyes as it all came back to her.
Mike being squeezed to death. Nanaba and Gelgar being torn apart, whilst shouting her name for help. Lynne and Henning being crushed beneath debris, and Ymir being cannibalised alive. (Y/n) was too weak to protect any of them. Too wounded and too weak to do anything. She had given it all after her ODM got useless. She had no choice but to dive into her own death. Accept defeat, and give in. Jump from the tower right into a titan’s mouth. She couldn’t stand back and watch the terrified looks in the faces of those children of the 104th.
“It was… terrifying,” Her voice cracked and tears overflowed her eyes and slipped down her cheeks unexpectedly. She hadn’t realised how much scared she was until she remembered how being safe feels. Her hands let go off his and reached for his shirt, grasping it and bringing him closer. Clutching onto the only man that could bring her relief and reassurance. “I thought I was going to die…” Another tear slipped down her cheek “…I thought I was never going to see you again-”
“It’s alright, now, (y/n),” Levi cut her. A hand found her back, clutching on her shirt, the other, her hair, pressing her face against his chest. He pressed a kiss on her forehead. “I’ve got you. I always have,”
“Thank you, Levi,”
Was she really thanking him? “Oi, what the fuck are you even thanking me about?” Levi pulled back to look down at her. He pressed his forehead against her own. A rough thumb found her cheeks and wiped away her tears. “I’d do anything for you,”
Those words drew her mind away from the terrors of last night, and she stared into those silver eyes finally realising how much scared he too must have been last night. She knew she meant a lot to him, and he meant a lot to her, but what were they to each other anymore? They’ve been friends. Best friends. Comrades. What now? Levi didn’t know whether it’d be the wrong choice that would ruin everything. And he didn’t know whether it’d be the right choice that would fix everything.
But fuck it. He was tired of waiting. He had to grasp the chance for as long as they had left. He had her now, but he could lose her tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow. Or some other time. He had to grasp the chance whilst she was still there. In his arms.
And just like that, he stole her first kiss. His lips engulfed her own and it left her wide-eyed for a moment. She couldn’t believe this was actually happening. But she melted right away. His tongue penetrated her lips and met her own. He hummed upon her taste and his hands clutched around her bringing her closer. She wasn’t pushing him away. She was kissing him back. Her hand found his face. Her soft thumb stroked his cheek and he realised he couldn’t stop tasting her. It was her first kiss, and it was addicting.
He only pulled back to allow her to breathe. She looked hazed and mesmerised. Her taste was still on his lips and his hands found her face, making sure he had her attention. “Do you understand now why I need you to be safe?” Levi asked. “I love you, (y/n),”
Those words were the words that she never thought she’d hear coming from him. Not like this. She never thought anybody would want her like this. For all she knew, she and Hange were the nerdy, crazy scientists that everybody was scared of. But Levi knew her better than that. No. He knew her better than anyone.
“I love you too, Levi,”
The words flew right out of her mouth before she even had the chance to think. But she couldn’t hold it back. Not now that she knew he felt the same. Not now that she new she didn’t have to debate on why he was holding her when she knew exactly why. He loved her. She couldn’t believe it. She could no longer feel the pain on her wound, and all those terrors from last night seemed to be far behind her.
Levi was still surprised that she felt the same. But he didn’t waste a moment further. He kissed her again and her fingers clutched around his shirt urging him to lean closer. His tongue gently danced with her own, and he couldn’t even begin to realise how much he wanted this. He wanted to keep tasting her. She was his. She had always been and it was now apparent to both of them. His arms tightened around her. He bit gently down on her lip and she let out soft whimper. Mine. Utterly.
“Oh boy, poor girl just woke up and you’re already on top of her!”
No. No, fuckin’, way. It was Hange. Levi’s eyebrow twitched from anger that he was suppressing. He gritted his teeth as he stopped kissing Nathalie and turned shooting a glare towards the entrance where Hange stood. They didn’t look good, but that didn’t stop him from shouting at them.
“Hange!” Levi growled. “Haven’t you learned how to knock?!”
“Section Commander! You’re supposed to be in bed!” Moblit cried out as he followed behind them. And he was right. Hange’s entire face and hands were red to the point that (y/n) could say that something had burned them. They were standing with the help of a crutch. Moblit didn’t look any better.
“Moblit’s right, you look like shit,” Levi agreed.
“I’m fine!” Hange cried out before they turned their attention back at the two. “I need to consult my fellow second in command scientist, provided loverboy here has any intention of getting off of her,”
(Y/n)’s hand reached for her cheek. A failed attempt to cover the blush that had started spreading down her neck. “R- Right-”
“Hange-” Levi growled again, but (y/n) sealed his lips with the palm of her hand and he turned and looked at her.
(Y/n) pulled her hand away and she gave him a smile. “It’s alright. You know how Hange gets,”
“Reiner and Berthold! THEY GOT EREN!” Hange cried out and the couple’s eyes widened.
Oh shit.
A/N: There you go!!! Feel free to reblog! Lemme know what you guys think! If you wanna read the continuation, it’s my huge ass Levi x OC fic on ao3. Thank you for reading!! 🥰🥰
#attack on titan#shingeki no kyojin#levi ackerman#leviackerman#snk#aot#fluff#levi x oc#levi x reader#levi x y/n#levi x you
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Winter's Doll-Chapter Eleven
Word Count: 2988
About: Bucky find out about Nadia and Thor leading to bickering during a mission
Characters: Nadia, Bucky, Steve, Natasha, Wanda, Sam, Tony (mentioned), and Thor (Mentioned)
Pairing: None
Warnings/Trigger Warnings: Training, Mentions of one night stand, Bickering, Injury, Blood,
A/N: Getting closer to the end of Series One of this fic!!!! Yes there were be a sequel but I still need to plan it out before I can write it down.
This piece of work contains work made for the 18 and up crowd. Please read at your own discretion. Please do not copy and paste my work anywhere, you can reblog and share the links of my post. This work is cross posted onto WattPad and AO3 under the same title. Links to all my other social media can be found in the pinned post on my profile. Feedback is welcomed!
Forever Tags: @hobby27 @donnaintx @myinconnelly1 @elansaidaris @magssteenkamp @440mxs-wife
Marvel Tags: @soccer-100000
Winter's Doll Tags: @supernatural-love14 @loudlylovingalpaca @kingkhibas
Bucky/Sebastian Tags: These tags are open
Masterlist
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Chapter Ten
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By the time Nadia is healed from Bucky’s night terror attack, the team was preparing for a mission. A mission that didn't involve Nikola Alekiev, which for Nadia was a breath of fresh air. For the last few weeks, Nadia had been consumed with every little detail of her brother's last few years of life. She rewatched his vlogs, directing what she could. Seeing if there was something she had missed. Seeing if there could have been some sort of secret message hidden that only she could find.
But there had been nothing.
Nadia sat in the training room, her hands were wrapped and prepped for the punching bag before her. Bucky stood beside the bag watching Nadia. This was to see if she was fit to go on this mission. Both physically and mentally. Per Steve's orders and Bucky was there to help Nadia out.
"You're lost in thought," Bucky took a step towards her. "Wanna know how i can tell?" Bucky knelt down and fixed one of Nadia's wrapped up hands.
"Oh," Nadia simply said. She had even realized she drifted off and messed up her wrapping. She had been doing that a lot. Probably why Steve wanted to see if she was fit. "I'm sorry."
Bucky chuckled. "Don't be," he looked up at her and smiled. "You have a lot on your mind. There," Bucky stood up and looked behind him. "You sure you're up for this mission?"
Nadia huffed and glared at Bucky. "You too? Really? I thought you were on my side and helping me."
"Nadie," Bucky slowly said. "I am, but from an outsiders point of view, it looks like you aren't capable of handling a simple mission."
Nadia took a deep breath and stood up. Bucky was right, she really wasn't in the right mindset for any of this. But she also needed something to distract her from anything Nikola related. Nadia also knew she needed to put it aside for the time being.
"You're right," Nadia moved in front of the punching bag. "But, I need a distraction. Clear my mind of anything related to Niks last moments. Even my parents." Nadia took a firm swing at the bag.
Over the last couple weeks, Nadia's parents were non stop calling. They'd call any chance they'd get, at any given time of day. It was getting pretty annoying and Nadia had told her parents that when they call, they disrupt work but did they listen? Nope. They took advantage of the situation they were in. Which was a crappy situation.
“Mama,” Nadia told her mother that very morning. “You and Papa need to stop calling. I’m being serious. You’re disrupting work and training.”
Nadia’s mother huffed over the receiver. “Well, Nadia, there isn’t anything to do here. When will we get to leave and go back home? I miss my bed. I miss the little shrine area I made for your brother.”
“Mama! Stop,” Nadia was close to losing her shit. “If you don’t stop calling I will disconnect every wire in this compound to give my team some peace. Now will you please put Clint on the phone, I have to talk to him.”
Once Clint was on the phone, “I don’t know where she’s getting the idea that there isn’t anything to do here,” he joked. “She loves to be around the kids.”
“My mother is dramatic, Clint,” Nadia sighed and put her head on the counter. “If her or my dad give you any more issues or whatever, tranquilize them.”
Nadia hit and kicked the bag, while Bucky held it in place. He really didn’t need to, Naida really wasn’t beating the shit out of the bag, just enough to let out some steam and frustration. It was what she needed, and she didn’t know why she didn’t think of it before.
“Okay,” Bucky pulled away from the bag. “This isn’t going to help prove you're ready for the mission.”
“What?” Nadia was breathing hard.
Bucky didn’t answer. Instead, he gripped Nadia’s arm tight and spun her around until she was flushed against his chest. Slowly, he brushed the hair from her face, not showing an ounce of emotion. Before Nadia could comprehend what had just happened, Bucky spun her back around until he had her in a choke hold, with both his arms. The hold wasn’t tight, but tight enough to keep Nadia in place.
“What the fuck, Bucky?” Nadia started trying to get out of his grip.
“Easy, Nadia,” Bucky’s voice was neutral and firm. “Do what you need to, to get out of this.”
Nadia stopped and thought about what she was going to do next. She knew she couldn’t throw her head back and hit Bucky’s face, his arm was protecting it while holding her in place. If only she was able to reach the bobby pin in her pocket. Why did she have a stray bobby pin? She didn’t know why, just that there was one in her pocket.
“Do I need to walk you through this?” Bucky asked after a moment.
“No,” Nadia grunted. “I got this.”
Nadia dived into her surroundings. She couldn’t use her upper body due to being held tightly. She really couldn’t use her hands cause they were pinned to her sides by Bucky’s arms. Which was smart honestly. Nadia was only left with her legs. She pictured the way Bucky was standing and found that his stance wasn’t the best.
With a small chuckle Nadia said, “Brace yourself.”
Before Bucky could say anything, Nadia kicked a leg towards his unstable one and pushed out from under him. The two of them fall backwards, causing Nadia’s head to smack right into Bucky’s face. Bucky groaned and let go of Nadia, giving Nadia enough time to roll off Bucky, only to turn around and straddle him and grip his neck.
Bucky stared at Nadia in surprise. “Wow, um, that was unexpected.” Bucky somewhat was expecting to be knocked down, but not Nadia sitting on top of him. Oh the times he’s imagined what it would look like and now, there she was with a grip on his neck and a firm look in her eyes.
“Next time give me a warning,” Nadia let go and got off Bucky. As much as she loved having her legs on either side of the man under her, she couldn’t stay much longer. The moment she felt the slightest bit of arousal, she had to get up. “So,” Nadia gave a smile and crossed her legs together, hoping to ward off the ache that was slowly creeping in. “Did I pass?”
Bucky sat up, trying to let go of the imagine that was now embedded in his mind. “Um,” Bucky started to say. “Yeah,” he shook his head and stood up. “That was good. Really good.”
Nadia noticed that Bucky was acting a bit weird. “Are you okay?”
Bucky turned towards Nadia. He knew he couldn’t tell her the truth, it’d probably freak or weird her out. “You have a hard head, kind of gave me whiplash or something.” Bucky smiled and winked at her. “I’m going to go let Steve know that you’re up for this.”
***
“Wait, wait,” Wanda sat down on the couch next to Nadia. “Back up.” She waved her hands around with her eyes closed. “You what?”
Nadia had quickly found Wanda to tell her what had happened. Wanda, knowing just about everything about her little crush on Bucky. When she told Wanda about what had happened in the training room she just about coughed on her drink.
“I sat on him,” Nadia felt her face burn up as she said the words. “Oh, God.” Nadia covered her face. “Of all the things I could have done! I straddle one of my good friends?! Why, why, why?”
Wanda scooted closer and took hold of Nadia’s hands. “Nadie,” Wanda’s calm voice had Nadia looking up. “One, it was a training exercise. Two, I can already see the things you wanted to do to him.”
Nadia groaned. “Wanda, no, please?”
When Bucky left Nadia in the training room, Nadia couldn’t help but think about the things that she could have done to him. Obviously, if he felt the same towards her. She wanted to slowly slide back until she felt his clothed cock pressing on her clothed and aching core. Nadia wanted to rock and grind her hips until she felt Bucky get hard enough to flip her around and pin to her training mats.
Evening thinking about again was making Nadia feral. She needed to get that feeling taken care of before she went on the mission. If Steve would let her, that is.
“So, are you going to admit it now?” Wanda reached over to pick up her glass of water. “Or do I need to drag it out of you by reminding you more.”
Nadia didn’t like the game Wanda was playing. “Fine,” Nadia stood up and put her hand on her hips. “You win.”
“Really?” Wanda cocked an eyebrow and leaned back in her seat. “What did I win at?”
“I think I’ve fallen for my best guy friend and I don’t know if he feels the same,” Nadia waved a hand at Wanda.
“You think?” Wanda scrunched up her nose.
“Fine, then,” Nadia licked her lips and looked down at the floor. “I’m in love with Bucky.”
“Now, that’s what I wanted to hear.” Wanda smiled. “But.”
“But what?” Nadia asked, flopping back onto the couch. “There isn’t any buts except, does he like me? Only you would know.”
Wanda set her glass down. “I was talking about Thor. And I’m not sure, Bucky is pretty private in his mind. He knows how to keep things locked up.”
Nadia felt her breath get caught in her throat. She hadn’t thought about that night in almost a month. So much had happened after sleeping with Thor that she thought she forgot it. Nope, the memories of that night had started flooding her brian.
The Bar.
The table sex.
The sex on her desk. That still had nail marks on it.
The shower sex that was supposed to be a clean up session.
Then Thor held Nadia until she fell asleep.
“What about it?” Nadia asked slowly.
“Are you going to tell him about it?” Wanda was the only person who knew about Nadia and Thor.
“Should I tell him I slept with Thor?” Nadia asked softly.
“Thor’s practically a team member,” Wanda answered. “Wouldn’t want it to be awkward if..."
“You slept with Thor?”
The voice caused the color in Nadia's face to drain. It wasn’t who said it because Nadia knew who it was without turning around. It was how it was said. The sound of disbelief and hurt? Was that hurt Nadia heard in his voice? Everything in her body told Nadia not to turn around but she did anyway.
Bucky stood in the entryway of the living room. The look on his face was emotionless but Nadia saw the look in his eyes, those bright blue eyes, looked pained for a moment. When Bucky looked down, he shook his head and looked back up at Nadia. The slightest bit of emotion that Nadia saw, it was long gone now. Bucky’s eyes were just as emotionless as his face.
“”Bucky,” Nadia softly.
“Steve wants to see you,” Bucky turned on his heel and left the room.
Nadia turned back to Wanda whose lips were in a straight line. “You knew he was there, didn’t you?” Her voice was firm.
“I didn’t,” Wanda shook her head.
But it didn’t make the situation any better. Why did Bucky’s reaction bother her so much?
“What’s up with Bucky?” Sam came into the living room. “I said hi to him and he told me to fuck off.”
“He overheard me saying I slept with Thor,” Nadia started to make her way out.
“Ah,” Sam nodded his head. “I see now.”
“See what?’ Nadia asked.
“It’s still so funny that the two of you don’t see it.” Sam walked away, leaving Nadia even more confused than she was before.
***
“Nadia, Bucky,” Steve had just finished briefing everyone for the mission. “The two of you will walk the inside perimeter. Make sure none of Rumlows men gets through. Fire only if you’re being fired at. And for the sake of this mission, be cordial.”
Since Bucky found out that Nadia slept with Thor, the two of them have avoided each other like the plague. When other members of the team found out, it all made sense. But this mission they wouldn’t be able to avoid each other and Steve knew that. That’s why Steve paired them together. He had hoped that maybe they’d talk it through and put it behind them.
“At least Thor had the sense to shoot his shot,” Tony had said. “Barnes is too slow for this time.”
“At least Bucky’s a gentleman,” Steve had snapped at him. “Thor hasn’t been able to keep it in his pants since Jane dumped him.”
Now, while Nadia gears up next to Bucky, the two of them are dead silent. Nadia could feel the glare he was giving her the whole time. The tension between the two was going to get one of them hurt or killed.
Don’t speak unless it’s about the mission, Nadia thought as she strapped a thigh holster to herself. Her suit wasn’t her stealth suit, it was just a plain old suit similar to the one she trained in. According to Tony, he wanted to add something to it and it’s been in the shop since.
“Ready?” Bucky’s tone was neutral. “Or are you waiting for Thor to come so you can have more of him.”
Nadia never wanted to bitch slap someone in her whole life. “You know what Barnes,” she took a few steps towards Bucky. Bucky could see the anger steaming off her entire body. “You can go fuck yourself.” The venom in her words cut Bucky but part of him didn’t care.
“Bucky,” Steve’s cool tone was next. “Just focus on the mission.”
Nadia spun on her heels and made her way out of the quinjet. She didn’t have time for this and it was too late to drop this mission. She worked too hard to prove that she was capable of this. All she had to do was get through this mission and once they were back at the compound, she was going to pack a weekend bag and go see her parents.
The mission was going smoothly. Bucky and Nadia were quietly walking the inside perimeter, not talking to each other. The only time they spoke was if Steve checked in to see how they were doing. It was perfect until Bucky opened his mouth.
“Why him?” Bucky asked Nadia.
“What?” Nadia looked back at Bucky. He had been walking slow.
“You know what I’m talking about, don’t play dumb,” Bucky taunted.
“You know what,” Nadia spun around and stood chest to chest with Bucky. The look of surprise with a hint of ‘oh shit i messed up’ in his eyes, gave her some pleasure. “It doesn’t matter to you who I fuck. Okay?!”
“Nadia,” Natasha’s voice warned in the coms.
“You guys need to do this another time,” Steve also warned.
Nadia ignored. “So what, I slept with Thor. It was a one time thing. I was drunk. He’s the one who came and checked on me, not you. If it were you, well, it would be another story wouldn’t it. Now shut up, put your whatever this is aside, and let’s focus on this mission.”
Nadia turned around and the next thing she felt was something ripping through her suit at both her shoulder and stomach. The suit she wore wasn’t Tony’s fancy bullet proof fabric. This was just plain old spandex like fabric. The pain that followed made Nadia wish she passed out. But she didn’t, she felt the pain radiate through her whole body as she fell to her knees.
“Nadia,” Bucky yelled. He was right there pulling her out of the line of fire and into an empty room. Bucky knocked everything off the only table in the room and laid Nadia down. Soon he was pressing his metal hand firmly on the wounded stomach. Nadia could feel the blood slowly seeping out of her.
The pressure from Bucky’s hand was enough to make Nadia scream, but she couldn’t. The intense pain in her shoulder was keeping her from doing that. Only a few whimpers came out here and there and Bucky was there to give her calm and reassuring words.
“Nadia’s been hit,” there was panic in Bucky’s words. “Good news, bullet went clean through her shoulder, didn’t hit anything important. Bad news, the bullet that hit her stomach is still in there. I gotta get it out.”
“Do you know where it is?” Steve asked.
“Barnes, don’t do anything, I’m on my way,” Natasha said. “Sam, can you get a visual on where they’re at.”
“South part of the building,” Sam’s voice seemed to echo in Nadia’s ears. But the only thing that she could really focus on was the look on Bucky’s face. There was fear and worry written all over it.
“She’s right,” Nadia breathed out. “Better to get me back to the quinjet and out of here.” But Bucky just stared at her. He didn’t know how to tell her how sorry he was for being an asshole. He felt the same kind of guilt he felt when he discovered he hurt her during a nightmare.
Natasha showed up a few moments later. She was going to cover Bucky and Nadia while Bucky carried her back to the quinjet. “It’s okay,” Bucky whispered when Nadia groaned. “It’ll be okay.”
And that was the last thing Nadia heard before passing out.
#Winter's Doll#Wayward Mikaelson#Marvel Imagine#MCU Imagine#Bucky Barnes x OC#Bucky Barnes imAGINE#Bucky Barnes Fanfic#The Winter Soldier#White Wolf#Marvel Fanfic#Mcu Fanfic#Sebastian Stan
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could you write some Harry fluff about Harry comforting the reader after she struggles with body insecurity?
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A/N - I hope i did this justice, i tried not to dive too deep into body image as ik it can be triggering for some ppl, and i also didn't want to get it completely wrong bc i know one person's experience / feelings aren't universal, so this is more along the lines of the press body shaming the reader and h comforting her, hope this is still okay tho!! tysm for the request!
And a side note, thank you so much for kind words, likes and reblogs on my first piece of writing, it means a lot !!<3
side , side note this is not proofread so i apologise for the extra long sentences or if some things are a bit roughly worded lol.
You were aware of Harry's exes, you couldn't really not be they were some of the world's biggest supermodels, it's just you wish you could, you were just going to read the one article that your best friend had sent to you about you and harry when you went out to dinner. the original purpose of her sending it was to say how hot you looked, it was when harry had taken you out for your 6 month anniversary dinner, but a couple of sly facebook comments and the suggested stories tab had made for good tools to help your spiral.
It wasn't explicitly written neither in the articles or comments, but the message was clear.
‘Out of everyone he could get why would he choose ,,, her’
Or ‘do you think this was a pity date, no way she's actually his girlfriend’, and a multitude of a lot more upfront comments about how you're not harrys ‘usual type’ so there's not a chance you're actually together.
You knew that you were by no means a supermodel, but you’d never felt this unattractive, or at least not for a while. Of course it's an insecurity, Harry could get any person he wanted but he chose you, and you don't like to dwell on the why for too long, but now it was eating you up.
Looking them up, you were different in every way to Harry's previous relationships, it made sense that the media would compare you, but did he?
Your thought was interrupted by the thump of Harry's shoes and bag hitting the hallway floor.
‘Babe, you here? Got takeaway on the way home, save us cooking, the chinese you wanted to try.’ he called out to you making his way to the kitchen.
You sighed and got up to follow him, meeting him at the island where he's now plating the food and giving him a peck on the cheek.
Harry turns to you looking for a moment before you meet his eyes, ‘y’alright?, normally nearly jump me when i'm home early and bring food’
Moving to sit on the counter, opposed to leaning against it with Harry looking down at you. You debate not telling him, just saying unis stressful and you've got an assignment due on monday, and dealing with it by yourself, having a cry when you get back to your flat and it'd be done with, he'd never have to know it bothers you. Only he knows there's no assignment and he also knows you pretty well to see through the white lies.
Harry moves rubbing up and down your thigh as you begin to tell him,
‘‘Just saw some stuff online, got sent some of the pictures of us out to dinner last week and they came with some lovely comments about me, and you and us, and why you'd choose me’ you can feel yourself rambling at this point but you can't help it the jar was open now, ‘how, you could really have anyone in the world you wanted, which you could y’know, you're harry styles and apparently, according to most of the internet im not worthy, and i know i'm not a supermodel so you don't have to feel bad and tell me i am i just need to get it out of my system so im not stressing all week about everything’
Harry, who looks clearly shocked by your sudden explosion and also like he's about to cry at the same time, suddenly crushes you into a tight hug.
‘Y’know i dont give a shit what them gossip rags say about us don't you? That even if what you said is true and I could have anyone, I'd still want you.’ He’s moved back slightly, now looking at you so intensely with utter determination to expel these thoughts from your head. You nod weakly as he carries on ‘there's a reason that they’re exes, you're who i want, and don't know about you but this is the best relationship i've had, so who gives a fuck what people on facebook or whatever say.’
He helps you down for another bone crushing hug, until he hears you breathing start to even out and pulls back to smile at you, which you return, his fingers moving to your cheeks to make you smile comically big.
‘There she is! That's what i like to see!, now Chinese?’
You just nod and let him lead you into the living room with your plates ready to spend all weekend with each other and to never read another tabloid again.
#harry blurb#harry fic#harry concept#harry styles x reader#harry styles imagine#harry styles blurb#harry styles concept#my writing#submission
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furtively tries to express my appreciation for BTS’s insane showmanship without gaining the reputation of Being a Kpop Blog
Actually leTS TALK ABOUT THE REPUTATION OF THE KPOP BLOG 👩🏫
So to a certain extent I understand why “friend’s blog became a Kpop blog” is a meme. From the outside, a lot of the Kpop fan activity seems quite vapid. The impression I got in previous years was that it’s mostly about gushing over handsome boys and a/b/o rpf. And that’s not........entirely wrong, but we’ll get into that more in a sec.
Another factor is that Kpop fandom is hard to follow. The barrier to entry is higher than with other fandoms. In posts, individual Kpop stars are referred to by name, stage name, or nickname, and the band they belong to isn’t always obvious, so it’s quite easy to lump it all into “Kpop”; it takes work for a new fan to differentiate the groups if you don’t know them ahead of time. Kpop fandom has its own lingo that differs from other fan language (other media fans don’t use “bias” or “delulu” — and there’s a linguistics dissertation for you). And let’s not discount the other language barrier — Korean isn’t exactly a common first language, so it does take a bit of extra work to find subtitles and translations.
This might be why the Suddenly A Kpop Blog Event supposedly triggers a different reaction in followers. I’m still following most of my friends from crit role season 1, even though a good chunk of them blog about other stuff now (what is this Chinese show? Boy with magic flute? Gay? Help). Fittingly, I’ve seen memes about how people are ride or die for their mutuals even when they move to different fandoms, but the jokes about Kpop blogs are always a bit different — about how turning into a Kpop blog is a bit cursed of u. It’s to the point where this is only “secretly a Kpop blog” because I don’t want the “Kpop blog” reputation.
And from my fandom lurking I can say that part of that reputation is not unearned. A lot of Kpop fans on tumblr engage in it in ways I’m either disinterested in or actively opposed to (the shipping wars are as terrifying as their reputation suggests. Some were arguing one ship was an rl canon true secret relationship because someone in BTS wrote the letter K on his drawing. Even though the letter K is in his name.) The reason I’ve been “secretly a Kpop blog” is that a lot of Kpop posts don’t inspire me into reblog frenzies the way crit role memes used to, and that’s not because Kpop Stans Suck — it’s more just a matter of taste. Then again, I do like gifs, but if I start reblogging BTS gifs, then I’m a Kpop Blog......and you don’t want to be a Kpop blog.
But isn’t there a whiff of “I’m not like other girls” about all that? Like, yeah, of course Kpop fans hoard gifs of the same people and overanalyze them. That’s what fans do! Pretending I didn’t overanalyze the shit out of Taliesin and Laura’s micro-expressions before Perc’ahlia was a thing would just be disingenuous. We’re all looking too closely — one of the best things about being a fan is diving into the excess of art and making things out of it. We all make mountains out of molehills because mountains are more scenic. And, on a baser level, we are all thirsty bastards. I have SEEN you all reblogging the gifs of Chris Evans ripping the log in half, okay, and you were not doing it bc of the camera angle, just own the thirst. Even the problems the Kpop fandoms have aren’t problems unique to Kpop — aggressive shippers and “””””problematic””” fans are everywhere.
I also wonder if the reason why we don’t see as much Kpop analysis on tumblr is because we’ve created kind of a hostile environment for it. Whether you are a Kpop fan or not, we’ve all decided to treat Kpop as kind of silly — the fans give it their all in the departments of cutesy photo sets and ridiculous fic prompts, and we laugh at memes of Gimli saying “never thought I’d die side by side with a Kpop fan” anyway Stan Jungkook. Just like thirst and over analyzing, that’s not necessarily a bad thing — I love that meme, and you should Stan Jungkook — but it does mean that if you want to start taking it a bit more seriously, or even a bit more casually, the assumption is that all your old tumblr friends will ditch you because “you’ve gone to the dark side”
And that’s a shame because uhhhhhh there is some baller stuff to analyze in BTS’s discography. The album before last was based on Jungian psychology (???). Their leader and primary writer is a huge fan of multilingual puns so in the latest album he makes a three-way pun on the phrase “I’m ill” — he’s sick, he’s cool, and he’s overworked (because “il” in Korean means “work”). So is he sick or is he simply made sick by like, society’s expectations of labour under capital???? Like, you know me. Societal critique by way of pun. That’s my shit. There’s also an essay or two in me about the way BTS are marketed for fan consumption and the way we handle multilingual lyrics and the way they’re handling the temporary departure of one of their members (he is an absolute cat of a man and I hope he gets well soon).
Also fuck can J-Hope ever dance.
EDIT: I should probably acknowledge that I can only make this justification for BTS, which is the only Kpop group I really like; I got no idea about the rest of them. I do know that Shinee can Also dance.
I might get the essays out but this probably won’t become “a Kpop blog” if you’re not into that. I think I’ve internalized too much of the stigma (omg V has a song called stigma it’s so good check it out find a good translation), but also, like I said, I don’t vibe with much of the other content and I kind of only follow one extremely successful group. The gifs, though. The gifs might be coming. They are pretty, those boys.
Anyway! People don’t like Kpop for nothing so like Maybe you would also like Kpop? Who knows. At the very least, think before u meme.
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Madness draws: Behind the Scenes of the Bela/Farin: “Widumihei” comic.
A few months ago I posted here this comic:
CLICK HERE for the original post about that comic where you can see it in better and bigger size, and also reblog it ;)
And this post is just a deep dive into how I plan, do and draw my comics.
Let’s start with sketchbook things...
So every comic needs a story, right? My comics usually are born from either some dialogue I imagine in my head or by an impulsive inspiration that happens when I see something or talk with people and a random idea is triggered. I’m very good at coming up with new ideas solely based on just one word or so which is why I often ask people if they have anything they would want to see/read because I suck at coming up ideas on my own. Or I do get ideas, but not as often as I’d want to.
This particular idea was very old and I have tried but I cannot find the piece that was my inspiration but it was in some of my old German books because I remember laughing at it with either my brother or even with the German teacher in 2011 or 2012. I was only able to find my first “sketch” of the story:
This is in the notebook I used for writing down some comic ideas and even had one comic in it, plus it’s also my fanfiction writing notebook. It has no date but I know for sure it was either 2011 or 2012 because that’s when I did my last Bela/Farin comic and pretty much started my (unintentional) 6 year pause from drawing altogether.
I have always been trilingual when I do these plans for my comics, often writing the “narration” in Finnish and the dialog either in English or German because I just cannot imagine them to speaking Finnish. The translation of that text goes as:
COMIC (sarjis = sarjakuva = comic book in Finnish)
1. The phone is ringing.
2. F: “Widumihei?!” B: ?
3. B: “Farin wtf?”
4. Farin walks from another room.
5. B: “Widumihei?”
6. F: “It means, “will you marry me?”“
7. B: *wtf*
REPLAY:
1. Bela is sitting/laying somewhere.
2. The phone is ringing. Reached with his hand?
3. Looks at the phone, “wtf?”, a thought: “von Jan: Widumihei?!”
4. Bela: “Farin?” / “Jan?”
5. F comes from another room, looks in from behind the door frame or something. B: “Widumihei?”
6. F: “Widumihei: “WIllst DU MIch HEiraten”“
7. B: “WTF”
So when I then started to draw these comics again in 2018, I kept thinking about this one too and still wanted to draw it one day. If you have read the finished comic, you may notice something different in the old plot versus new: I switched Bela’s and Farin’s roles. Back then I didn’t know too much yet but over the years I have learnt much much more about them and I just figured that asking to marry him even as a joke would be too much for Farin and that it would fit Bela’s persona much much better.
***
I had a bit of problems with getting started with this one, mainly because the last times I drew a dä comic was in June 2020, in April 2020 and before those in October 2019. Because of so long time between the comics, I just always forgot about my methods and in which order I do things and what works for me the best. So every time I started to work on a comic, I had to start completely over because all I had was blank paper and I somehow needed to get my thoughts in order and out of my head, into a physical form aka as text and images on the paper, and it’s easier said than done.
So pardon me but from this on the text is going to get a little bit confusing for a little while from now on - but it’s also a very good look over how the life with my suspected ADHD be like sometimes...
I started working on the plot once again to my sketchbook... I think it was somewhere in the beginning of 2020. Because the next idea there is from the summer. This is what the plot looked like at that point - here I had already switched their roles:
Shortly, the texts go: 1. Farin is reading a book. 2. A phone makes a noise. 3. (Farin) looks at it/read the message. / 6. B appears into the doorway. / 11. F spits out the tea.
And underneath it you can see one of the stick figure storyboards I often do in order to kinda see the text in pictures better, and I will write down or draw important aspects like expressions (Farin’s eyebrows) or things like *facepalm’* or *eyeroll* so that I remember to add them.
Next I was struggling with the era. It needed to be an era with the old mobile phones with SMS options but still not too early because I feel that Farin would have not been the first in line to buy a brand new technology object, especially not when it’s a phone. I was even googling when did Germany get their first mobile phone - I remember I got my first phone aka Nokia 5510 in 2000 or 2001 after my mom got a new one and gave her old one to me, so the story shouldn’t happen too many years before the Millenium.
Originally I planned 1997 for that - I needed to think about that based on their styles because shorter hair is harder to draw. Here’s me trying out some hairs and how they’re to draw and which era would suit my needs the best. I actually find the text hilarious altho it’s mine but this is what it’s in English:
Time period -> 1996-1997?
1998 I’ve never drawn
1999 is not that much fun to draw
2000 is already a bit too late? Bela not that much fun to draw.
-2001 moustaches are not fun to draw?
I think I was struggling with my thoughts because the next thing in that sketchbook is yet another storyboard:
Or actually I think this was just to see how many sheets I’d need and how many panels I could fit on one sheet.
Anyhow, I then did other things for some time before I got back to this project this year. Including finishing with the sketchbook I had been using since 2010 (and the half of it since 2018!) and I had to get myself a new one. So when I started to think about this comic again, one night I was just thinking about some Bela/Farin scenarios as usual and suddenly I just felt that I NEED to do the comic in the 1998 style!!! So suddenly we jump from the original 1997 idea to the new era, only because of the colors.
So asap I grabbed my sketchbook and started to look for the proper colors for the hairs:
This one I posted here before too as I was struggling a lot and just felt that I didn’t know how to draw, again. Sometimes when I feel like that, I start drawing with my non-dominant aka left hand because it doesn’t have all that in muscle memory so drawing and writing with it feels more free and it feels almost like pressing a refresh button in my brain. Suddenly the right one know again how to draw because left isn’t too well in control. The below part of the image is done completely with the left hand, including the coloring.
And because I had now a new sketchbook, I somehow couldn’t... deal with the plot and plans being in a different sketchbook than everything else so I had write the plot/dialog AGAIN, into this new sketchbook, along with the storyboards and everything:
Translations: kirja = book, puhelin = phone, oviaukossa = in the doorway, teet suusta = tea(s) out of a/the mouth. “Puhelin zoom” just means “close up to the phone screen” in Madness.
You can also see that I found out that I don’t need to do the stick figure storyboards to imitate a sheet when I can just draw this rectangle and smaller rectangles inside of it and write there numbers to match the things in the dialog to make it much easier for me to plan the pages. And here’s also a small easter egg: there’s 13 panels overall in this comic :D I almost did 12 but then felt that no, I really need to do 13 because, you know, the hairs, the era, the album title. And also because I like the number so much lmao.
So from there we get to the second storyboard which is not just stick figures anymore but just me planning how I want the panels to look like. To get the imagery of the rooms and facial expressions etc. out onto the paper so that I can see them in real life instead of my shady imagination that sometimes isn’t as vivid as what I could be.
Also have you ever tried to draw a beach chair? It’s more difficult than you’d think:
I tried to draw the same thing from the same reference photos so many times and still I always felt like I was trying to draw that impossible triangle or some other illusion image. And it just went on and on here:
Originally I also had planned the second panel to be a close up of the phone so that Farin’s face would be left at the background from the frog perspective. That’s what I was trying to with that weird-ass face on the left but turned out that I have never drawn these characters from such angle and I just... couldn’t see it in my head clearly enough to be able to draw it. So I dismissed that idea and that’s why the angle changed from a phone close-up to a side view to the room and at Farin.
As I was in the middle of planning the second page, I suddenly wasn’t happy with my original plot anymore. I wasn’t sure if it would work and needed to think about it one more time. So I wrote two other dialogs here, along with a storyboards for them both. I ended up choosing B from those two options eventually.
I don’t remember anymore if I had already done the first sketch of the comics or not but at some point I just felt that I no longer knew how to draw in my style. Sometimes you just draw and learn wrong things and wrong methods that you get used to and then you have to take a break and actually do a little bit of studying over your own style to find again the way how you want to draw, and get rid of the bad habits and find the good ones again. In my case it was to draw the eyes way way too big when they originally never were THAT big, so I had to learn how to draw them small and normal again. That’s why I did these, as I really needed to pay attention to the faces and remember how to draw them again:
The front-side views were another big readong for this “study” because I have drawn that perspective only once or twice before and I needed to figure out how I want to draw that. Also, I don’t know if it’s just me but for some reason the front-side Farin reminds me of one of the parent characters from this cartoon called The Rugrats which I watched as a kid. It was totally unintentional, but you can google The Rugrats if you don’t know how the charatcers looked like in the cartoon.
The things below are just me testing something. The red Farins were just to test how the colored pencils work on each other and how the fineliners work with the colored pencils, and which way is the better way to do the shading. And the red colored pencil was the only one available at the time so that had to do.
A little bit about the heads btw: You might notice some difference between the left and right faces. It’s because I have always, always struggled with drawing anything that is looking at right. Most of the animal portraits and all I have drawn so that they look at left because I just find it so much easier to draw. I think with comics it’s because I always start with the eye (and the eyebrows if I don’t forget it) and then do the forehead, nose, mouth and chin, and after that I either continue from the hair (from the front) or do the ear first. But when I am drawing them to look at right, I have to basically draw the mirror image and starting from the hair is not the key because it can easily mess up with the perspectives. I still usually draw everything in the same order but it really is difficult because I’m doing a mirror image and my own hand is on the way, too. Basically I’m drawing from right to left instead of left to right! (I think I should try drawing those with my left hand, then...)
And from here we get to the first sketch of the comic. From here on the images are from my phone’s camera so they are sometimes illegally bad but no can do, I again didn’t think I’d post these to anywhere:
Here you can see I was mainly just focusing on the shapes and the space inside those panels. Just trying to see the perspective and how everything is. The only thing that I drew more precisely was the third panel, with the hand and phone. I had quite a nice memory of old phones in my head but I still googled for some reference photos of Nokia 5110 phones as that was my first phone (as I mentioned earlier), and I also happened to have some of my other old phones on the table nearby so I took my own hand reference photos too:
They always say there’s a little bit of the artist in their art and this one literally has that - “Farin’s” hand is actually my hand! :D And I think the size is kinda on point too because this phone was like 2-3 times smaller than Nokia 5110 and I have small hands, and I believe Farin must have much bigger hands, so the 5110 probably would have looked about the same size in his hand.
After the first sketch, the next step was then - the second sketch:
I also wanted to add more action to the panels so that it’s interesting to look at and not just basically the same panel over and over again with just different speech bubbles, so I came up with the idea of Farin spitting out his tea not being as cartoony as it could be and that he would have to actually clean it up instead of just leaving it there just because in cartoons/comics everything is possible. That way I got more depth into the panels and it was also interesting for me to draw because I drew lots of new postures I have never drawn before, and I’m surprised how well it went despite me not even looking for any kind of reference photos! The only things I used reference photos for were the beach chair, and the phone in a hand. (I have actually always been quite good at drawing 3D objects and spaces, especially if they are rectangular.)
So yeah, this is the phase where everything is then finished with pencil and what follows next is drawing the lines with fineliners - I use Sakura Pigma Micron fineliners for everything else, and black Promarker for doing the lines for the panels (and also if I need bigger pitch black areas done).
Here are the panel lines done but I only had a photo of this first sheet.
And here are both sheets with the finelining done and all pencil marks etc. erased. I really like this part because it looks so clean when all those sketch marks are gone. It’s also crazy to think I literally spend hours drawing something in pencil only to erase it all away later :D
And here’s one photo of the coloring process, the first one has only the base colors done but none of the shadows yet (apart from the shirts), and the second one has some of the shadows done but not everything yet.
Usually after coloring, I will then go through everything with the fineliners one more time to make sure all the lines are dark enough as it just gives everything the finished yet a bit “sketchy” look that what I really like with my comics. The actual last detail is always adding my signature along with the date or year.
And here’s the finished comic one more time for comparison:
Don’t forget to check and reblog the actual post about this comic if you read this post all the way here. I’d appreaciate that a lot since art and artist on Tumblr are not really that much appreciated.
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makeup sex with slash? all angst and smutty 🥺🥺💞
Sorry it took me a bit longer than usual requests (I think it did?? I’m not sure tho)
Hope you enjoy it 💛
Y/N’s heart thumped against her ribcage as she drove back to Slash’s house.
They broke up a week ago for a reason she could no longer remember nor care about. All she knew is that it wasn’t enough to break up with him. Nothing would ever be enough.
She parked the car and immediately ran to the front door, knocking on it.
She had talked to Duff before coming here, to make sure she wouldn’t have any unpleasant surprises. He had assured her Slash had been moping around and that he hadn’t even looked at girls during parties, so there was no way he would already have a chick. Plus, that gigantic poodle was head over heels with her, even if Y/N doubted it sometimes, because she believed no one really loved her that much.
Slash opened the door after a few minutes, wearing his old sport shorts and completely messed up hair.
“Y/N?” He asked, dumbfounded as he looked at her up and down. He was sure he had pushed her away after the hurtful words he now tried to push to the back of his mind.
“I’m…” She started, but the air seemed to be running out of her. Slash meant the world to her and she couldn’t stand losing him. “I’m sorry…” She started to cry, holding herself from jumping into his arms.
Slash couldn’t recall a time where he had seen her cry. She had always been so strong and positive that tears were something that her body didn’t seem capable of producing. The sight in front of him was breaking his already shattered heart, so he pulled her against his chest, cooing soft words.
“I’m sorry too.” He whispered quietly, closing his front door. “I was an ass last week-”
He was immediately cut by her lips touching his. “I don’t wanna talk about last week.” She said hugging him tightly. “I just want you.”
Slash picked her up easily and let her wrap her hands around his neck. She once again kissed his lips, running her hands through his curls, carefully untangling knots she found on the way.
He started to walk to his room and gently laid her down on the mattress, pressing his body as close as possible to hers.
“Slash please…” She whispered, breaking the kiss, looking into his eyes.
“I’m here baby. I’m not going anywhere.” He smiled gently, diving to kiss her neck while his hands began to work on her clothes.
He soon had her naked on his bed while she whined with the continuous attack to her neck and pulled his shorts down. He wanted to stay pressed up against her forever, breathing in her scent, feeling her skin against his…
His right hand wandered down to the middle of her legs, rubbing slow circles on her clit.
“I’m really sorry for what I did. I love you and you didn’t deserve anything I did to you.” He said sincerely, looking into her lust-clouded eyes.
“I shouldn’t have said some things either. You’re dealing with shit and I should help you out, n-not make it harder…” She apologized, voice breaking with light moans.
Slash knew the moment was serious, but he couldn’t help the sixth grade joke that came out. “Well, there’s something I don’t mind you making harder…” He smirked, speeding up his fingers.
Y/N chuckled, hiding her face in his neck. “Can we ever be serious?” She asked, pulling his hand from her clit while guiding his cock to her entrance.
“We can. But it’s better this way…” He smiled, pushing into her.
It had been the longest week in his life, not being able to feel her like this. Close to him in one of the most intimate ways… He had missed the way her body fitted together with his like a jigsaw puzzle, the way she felt…
He began to thrust slowly at first, enjoying the smoothness and the wetness. She could feel every little vein, bump and the slight upward curve as he moved, the feeling overpowering everything else she felt.
“I’m not letting you go again.” Slash stated, hugging her to his chest while gradually speeding up. “Never.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?” She smiled, letting her head fall back on the pillow and looking into his eyes.
“A bit of both…” He breathed out, hips faltering a bit at a particular thrust that had her clenching harder around him. “We gotta balance…”
The talk died out as the pleasure took control of their minds and bodies. Y/N began to move her hips along with his, her hands tugging at his hair. Slash’s thrusts got harder and deeper, eventually finding her g-spot and moving against it.
Their bodies searched for pleasure together like one. It was practically impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Their sweat mixed and made them sticky and disgusting, but it seemed to fuel their fire as Slash kneeled and hooked her legs around his waist, holding her by the ass and holding her own hips up and thrusting fast.
“Oh fuck!” Y/N moaned, letting Slash handle her body as he pleased.
Slash gazed down at her, mesmerized. He would never get enough of looking at her when she was in such a state of bliss, hair a messy halo and face twisted with pleasure.
He leaned forward and put his hands on the headboard, an animalistic need consuming him as his thrusts got to the point of actually hurting. He knew Y/N loved the pain though, so he didn’t worry much.
He couldn’t believe he had been so close to losing her.
“Say you’re mine baby…” He groaned, gazing down lustfully at her.
Her eyes opened a bit, her hands holding to his waist. “I’m yours… I’m all yours Slash…”
Slash shook his head. “Not that name…”
“I’m yours Saul.” She smiled pushing herself up so her lips could meet his. “I’m yours and no one else’s”
Her words worked as his trigger, making the coil in his stomach unravel. The orgasm hit him like a strong wave, knocking the air out of him as he drowned in pleasure.
Y/N’s orgasm was triggered as his cum began to fill her up. It was one of the times where he came a lot, and the feeling was overwhelming as she continued to moan and clench around him.
“Fuck…” Slash groaned as the last few ropes of cum left him and he collapsed on top of her as she trembled from the aftershocks.
“You’re heavy.” She giggled, tickling his sides.
Slash groaned playfully and rolled the on the bed, pulling a sheet over their bodies and running his hands through his hair.
“I’m sorry for everything. Again.” She said, looking up at him.
“Let’s not talk about that anymore okay? We both fucked up and realized it. Now let’s make things better.” He kissed her forehead.
They were both at peace again, relaxing in each other’s arms, the way it was supposed to be.
——
Thank you so much for reading. Likes, reblogs, comments and any kind of way you show me you liked this are endlessly appreciated💛
Requests are open.
Let me know if you want to be tagged so you know when I post things.
Thanks @sodalitefully and @onlyaxlrose for beta-reading this💛
#slash#slash fanfic#slash smut#slash angst#slash one shot#slash imagine#saul hudson#saul hudson fanfic#saul hudson smut#saul hudson angst#saul hudson one shot#saul hudson imagine#guns n roses#guns n roses fanfic#guns n roses smut#guns n roses angst#guns n roses one shot#guns n roses imagine#guns n’ roses#guns n’ roses fanfic#guns n’ roses smut#guns n’ roses one shot#guns n’ roses angst#guns n’ roses imagine#guns n’ roses x reader#guns n’ roses x you#guns n roses x reader#guns n roses x you#slash x reader#slash x you
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Fighting For You
Request: Scorpius and Y/n have a date to hogsmeade, but their plans quickly go south when a fellow slytherin insults y/n in front of Scorpius.
Warnings: Blood, fighting, swearing (I will always try and tag as many warnings as I can think of for each writing, if you read through and find something that I haven’t listed which may be a trigger for someone please send me an ask or message me so that I can add it to this list, thanks!)
Pairing/s: Scorpius Malfoy x female!weasley!reader
OC’s: Sydney Deverill (y/n’s best friend and roommate)
Words: 3,450
A/N: Just a little background your the daughter of Charlie Weasley, a single dad, who took you in when your mother (unknown) left you on his doorstep, you and Scor have been going out for two months and the only people who know are Sydeny and Albus, he wasn’t supportive but has been keeping it a secret. Enjoy, reblogs and replies are appreciated!
@hpnextgensource public event: scorpius malfoy
REQUEST A ONESHOT
“Y/n! Y/n, wake up!” Sydney, your roommate and best friend, screamed. She’d been shouting at you for at least 2 minutes but you just didn’t want to get out of bed. Groaning, you rolled over, pulling the duvet up over your head in an attempt to block out the light flooding in from the window.
“Just 5 more minutes.”
"You can’t sleep any more Y/n, we’re going to Hogsmeade today,” Sydney said excitedly.
“I don’t want to go,” you whined, snuggling closer to the duvet, of course you did really want to go, I mean today was your date with Scorp and there was no way you were missing that.
Sydney decided she’d had enough and grabbed the end of your duvet, beginning to try and pull it off of you.
“Deeee, stoopp” you cried.
“Get your lazy arse out of bed!” Sydney bellowed, giving one massive pull before she toppled over onto the floor, duvet in hand, as you laughed hysterically on top of her.
Sydney got up, dusted herself off and sent a glare in your direction before giving in and laughing herself.
“At least, I got you out of bed,” Sydney chuckled, offering you a hand and pulling you up from the floor, chucking your duvet back on the bed.
Moving quickly the two of you grabbed your clothes, got dressed and began walking down the corridors towards the entrance of Hogwarts.
“We’ve missed breakfast so I’m going to go get us some food from the kitchens,” Sydney said, you simply nodded in her direction.
“I’ll go meet Scor in the entrance hall, he said he’d meet us there,” You replied, giving Sydney a quick hug before going your separate ways.
…
Scorpius heard some footsteps echoing through the halls. He could see Ben coming his way, from the bouncy stride he knew there was a grin plastered on his face. So typical for him to be happy in the morning. He’d be upbeat, joking, looking for banter. Scorpius dived into his bag for a book to hide behind. He could stare at the text, act like he had something better to do than talk.
“Hey, Scor. I just saw Y/n, I might ask her out on a date!” Ben told him loudly. Scorpius let the book sink back into his bag.
“Oh, right,” Scorpius muttered, “You like her? ” Scorpius was worried, Ben had never seemed interested in Y/n before, in fact, he usually insulted her.
“She seems boring as hell but I’ve heard she’s a good kisser. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for a good snog.” Ben winked, grinning wider.
Scorpius’ mouth set itself into a thin line, he was trying to control his anger but he was on the verge of insanity.
“Father would kill me if he found out I went on a date with her, let alone kissed her. I mean her mother could be a muggle, or worse a mudblood, and her father’s a Weasley.” Ben said, sneering as he spoke.
“Don’t talk about her like that.” Scorpius hissed, his teeth clenched and knuckles turning whiter by the minute.
“What’s wrong? You’ve never stopped me before. You scared the mudblood spawn is going to hear?” Ben mocked.
Scorpius couldn’t stop the bubble of anger burning inside him and before he could control himself his fist collided with Ben’s face.
“Don’t you dare insult Y/n like that! Ever!” Scorpius screamed at the top of his lungs, his fist slamming into Bens’ face.
Blood pooled in Bens’ mouth.
Scorpius dodged his measly attempt at a punch and came up with his own; for a brief instant, Bens chocolate brown eyes widened before he managed to tilt his head back and slam it into Scorpius’ nose. Stars burst into his vision but he shook it off, blindly throwing a sloppy kick. Ben stepped back, easily evading the kick.
“Is that all you got?” he crowed, smirking infuriatingly at Scorpius.
A crowd had begun to gather in a circle around Scorpius and Ben, Scorpius growled and threw himself at Ben, changing direction at the last minute but Ben picked up on this and threw his body weight behind the fist that edged closer to Scorpius’ face, it hit his jaw with such force that blood pooled into his mouth and
the pain that erupted from the point of impact was almost unbearable.
With his own two hands Scorpius grasped Bens’ head in his hands and brought his knee cap up to Bens’ nose, there was a blunt crack and Scorpius released his dark haired head. Crimson leaked from both his nostrils and his nose was twisted right.
He drew his fist back again and it ploughed into Scorpius’ stomach, it was like hitting a train head on. Scorpius’ guts smashed together, blood vessels bursting.
He repaid this by punching his jaw, his fist collided with his face.
Scorpius continued this battering until Ben fell to the floor. His chest gently rose and sank with each shallow breath he drew in. Scorpius sunk to the floor in defeat, he was knackered and his whole body was aching. Nobody was going to insult Y/n like that and get away with it, at least not when Scorpius was around.
…
When Scorpius first came into view you didn’t recognise him, he was too far away but you could tell something wasn’t right. He was sat up against a wall and a circle of students were crowded around him, while what looked to be Ben sprawled across the floor seemingly unconscious.
As you neared your heart fell right through your chest, he was purple. His left eye swollen, he couldn’t have been able to see a thing out of that. His face was streaming with bright red blood and his clothes were an utter mess.
You were at his side in an instant. His mouth moving, trying to say your name, his cracked lips failing at the first syllable.
“Merlin! Scor? What happened? Are you okay?” You asked, fussing over him and trying not to cry.
“Y/n, just go and get madam Pomfrey,” Scorpius said, his voice barely a whisper as he spoke.
“No! I’m not leaving you.” You told him, looked around desperately. You needed someone you could trust.
“Lucy! Go and get madam Pomfrey. Now!” You screamed, terror bubbling up and taking a hold of your body.
You didn’t care about the crowd watching or the fact that Bens unconscious body was at your feet, you just needed Scorpius to be okay.
“Y/n? What’s going on?” Albus asked.
“Nothing, just leave me alone Al,” Y/n answered, you couldn’t deal with Scorpius being in this state and Al being difficult all at the same time.
“What the hell are you playing at y/n?” Albus hollered after seeing your hand entwined in Scorpius’.
“Al, I said go away.” You choked, on the brink of tears as the words slid from your mouth, “This doesn’t concern you, go away!”
“Of course, it does! My cousin is holding the hand of Scorpius-Fucking-Malfoy who’s collapsed against a wall drenched in his own blood.” Albus cried.
“I know who this fucking is! Also, since when did you start caring?” You growled, memories flooding your brain from the past couple of weeks. Al not talking to you and setting half the Gryffindors against you all because you dared to talk to Scorpius and his mates.
“Of course, I care Y/n, you’re my cousin and one of my best friends.” Albus said sincerely, You had to try and stop yourself from laughing at this comment.
“Best friend? You haven’t been my best friend in a while Potter, sure you’re my cousin but that I have to live with! Plus I seem to remember that the last time you even talked to me was 2 weeks ago, and what was you said to me again? Oh yeah, I remember, it was an insult.” You spat at him.
“That doesn’t explain why you’re holding his hand and fussing over him like he is actually worth something.” Albus said, bristled a bit at the use of his second name coming out of your mouth.
“He is worth something! Scorpius Malfoy is one of the most amazing people I have ever met, he’s been there for me when nobody else was. He’s made me happier than any of you can even imagine.” You snarled.
“I can’t believe you, Y/n! I kept your secret over Christmas break but I’m not going to anymore, Uncle Charlie will have a fit when he finds out about this.” Albus said, smiling smugly, thinking that he’d won and that you were going to give in.
“Go on then Albus, go tell him.” You hissed at him, knowing your dad wouldn’t car and that it was his brothers you’d have a harder time convincing.
“Really? You care more about him than about how disappointed the family will be?” Albus asked shocked.
“I’ve been afraid of disappointing people my whole life Albus. I’ve been scared of not being good enough and the one time I want to do something that will make me happy you turn on me. Yes, he may not be family but in some ways, he’s more than that. He chose to talk to me, to listen to me whereas you guys have to put up with me, you don’t get a choice but he does and he chose me.” You told him, not even looking in his direction as you stared down at Scorpius, a hand caressing his face softly.
“This is ridiculous!” Albus screamed, throwing his hands up in the air. turning on his heels back down the corridor.
The halls were eerily quiet after Albus’ retreat and everyone was staring at you in shock. You felt someone squeeze your hand and looked down to see Scorpius staring up at you, unshed tears in his eyes.
“Y/n, I … I’m so sorry. He insulted you in front of me and an I … I just couldn’t let him w-walk away,” Scorpius’ voice was barely a whisper, his throat sore and you could tell he was struggling to stay conscious.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” You cooed softly.
“Thank you,” Scorpius whispered before slipping into unconsciousness.
…
Lucy placed her hands on her knees as she stood outside the hospital wing doors, she’d ran there as fast as she can and it was safe to say that she needed to start doing more exercise, she was knackered.
When she entered, Madam Pomfrey was rushing around the ward muttering something about careless students under her breath. Lucy noticed a boy sat on the furthest bed from the door.
“Oh hello dear, what can I do for you?” Madam Pomfrey asked.
“There’s been a fight by the entrance hall, one boy seems to be unconscious on the floor and the other can hardly stand,” Lucy explained.
Madam Pomfreys eyes shot out of her head, she rushed over to the boy on the bed and told him to stay here while she went and sorted something out. About a second later she was rushing out of the door with Lucy trailing behind her.
When they reached the entrance hall the crowd seemed to have grown as more and more students tried to see what had happened. Scorpius and Ben were still in the same place, Y/n was sat over Scorpius holding his hand, tears running down her face. Dom had moved forward and was trying to comfort her while the rest of the family were still stood in the crowd, mouth agape and staring at the scene that was unfolding in front of them.
“Y/n? Are you okay?” Lucy whispered, you turned around at the sound of Lucy’s voice and flung yourself into her open arms, sobbing uncontrollably into her shoulder before lifting your head and looking at Madam Pomfrey as she began levitating Scorpius back to the Hospital Wing.
“Is he going to be okay?” You mumbled, eyes puffy and red from crying so hard and voice raw as you spoke.
“Everything will be fine Y/n, go with him."
"Thank you,” You whispered, “Thank you so much!” You turned around to follow Madam Pomfrey back to the hospital wing and Lucy followed.
You’d face the wrath of you cousins later, at the moment, you needed to make sure everything was alright.
…
“Scorpius?” Astoria whispered into her son’s ear.
She’d been floo’d a couple of hours ago with the news that her son had been in a fist fight with a fellow student and that he was in the hospital wing. She was surprised to find a girl curled up outside the hospital wing with tears running rapidly down her face. She had y/h/c hair and a light sprinkle of freckles across her nose and a cute button nose. Astoria thought her to be quite pretty and wondered why she was in the state she was.
“Mother?” Scorpius asked, covering his eyes with his hand as the burning light began streaming through his eyelids. “What are you doing here?”
“We got a call from the headmistress telling us you’d gotten in a fight and that you were in pretty bad shape.”
“We?”
“Your father and I, he’s not here, though. He had to be at work, he had an important meeting.” She was trying her best to sound comforting, but Scorpius just turned a blind eye not wanting to acknowledge his fathers absence.
“Please, Scorpius tell me what happened.” Astoria pleaded.
“I can’t.” Scorpius mumbled, he ducked his head in shame and tried his hardest to avoid eye contact with his Mother.
“Why not?” She questioned.
“Father would be disappointed in me if he found out, he wouldn’t care. He’d tell me it’s not something to lose a friend over.” He admitted.
Astoria thought back to when she’d seen that girl out in the corridor earlier, maybe she had something to do with this.
“It’s a girl isn’t it.” She said, it wasn’t a question, but a statement. She knew it was about that girl now, she could see it in his eyes.
“Why do you say that?” Scorpius asked wearily.
“There’s been a girl sat outside the doors for several hours, they won’t let her in. Every time someone comes in or out she tries her best to get in but Madam Pomfrey keeps telling her that there are to be no visitors yet.” Astoria watched as her sons eyes lit up.
“Y/n is out there?” He asked, trying his hardest not to smile but failing miserably.
“So that her name is it? Y/n.” Astoria thought it was a pretty name, it sounded familiar.
“Yes mother, Y/n.Y/n Weasley.“ Scorpius knew he had to get it out of the way, his parents hated the Weasleys and it was better if his mother knew straight away instead of trying to hide it from her.
"Weasley? But she’s .. you can’t not a - a Weasley. They’re blood traitors. You can’t.” Astoria gasped at his confession, but she seemed like a perfectly normal girl, how could she be a Weasley?
“This is why I didn’t want you to know. You don’t even know her and you’re already judging her just because of her name. Does it look like I care mother?” Scorpius barked, he was getting frustrated and before his mother could answer him Madam Pomfrey opened the curtains and move towards his bed.
“Scorpius, How are you feeling?” She asked, a kind smile on her face.
“I’ve got a bit of a headache but that’s all Madam Pomfrey! Thank you.” It wasn’t a lie, Scorpius’ head felt like it was on fire, it was throbbing painfully, it was as if a hundred hammers were hitting his head at the same time.
“That’s okay my boy, I just need you to take this potion to ease any pain and you’ll be able to leave the hospital wing by tomorrow.” Scorpius took the potion and guzzled it down, he instantly felt better.
“Madam Pomfrey?” Scorpius stopped her before she could make it out of hearing distance.
“Yes my dear”
“Can Y/n come in now?” Scorpius asked. Astorias eyes popped out of her head and Scorpius just gave her a stern look, reminding her not to say anything to offend her.
“Of course, I’ll just go and get her,” Madam Pomfrey replied, chuckling at the looks Scorpius and his mother were sharing with each other.
Mother and Son didn’t exchange any more words and stood there in silence as they waited for Scorpius’ guest. The sound of rushing footsteps reached Scorpius’ ears and before he knew it a bundle of y/h/c hair was in his face and you’d jumped on his bed enveloping him in a death grip.
“Oh, my gosh Scorpius I was so worried! Are you alright?” You fussed over him as he struggled to catch his breath.
“I’m fine,” he insisted as he moved your hair out of your eyes.
“Don’t you ever do that to me again! Do you have any idea how scared I was, I’ve been out there for hours waiting for you! What were you thinking?” You’d sat up from where you were perched on Scorpius’ lap and began lecturing him about his behaviour.
Scorpius had to grab your face to get her to pay attention, you had tears running down your face and he brushed them off carefully with his thumb. He felt you shiver at his touch and chuckled to himself.
“Y/n, calm down. I’m sorry okay, I’m sorry.”
“Good,” You answered, giving him a peck on the lips as you snuggled closer.
“hmph hmph” Someone coughed from to the right side of you, making you jump off of Scorpius when you finally realised who it was. Your face burning red as you shuffled over to introduce yourself.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Y/n Weasley.”
“Astoria Malfoy, lovely to meet you.” Scorpius watched as his mother talked to you, she seemed genuine but he couldn’t be 100% sure. You turned to face Scorpius as Astoria finished talking.
“Scor, you didn’t tell me your mother was here.” you hissed under your breath.
“I didn’t have the time to tell you after you came barging in here.” He put his hands up in surrender as he spoke, but you merely sighed, you couldn’t be mad at him when he looked so darn cute.
“I can come back later if you like, I don’t want to disrupt anything,” You said.
“Y/n you don’t have to go.” Scorpius began, he didn’t want you to leave just because his mother was here.
“But you and -” Scorpius cut you off as you began to try and leave.
“Y/n, I want you to stay.” He insisted, causing you to flush red.
“Oh, okay then. I’ll just go and sit over here."
Astoria watched on in amusement as you went to sit in the chair on Scorpius’ left.
"So how long have you and my son been together Miss Weasley?” Astoria asked.
“Oh, um, I - about 2 months now,” You answered. Astoria looked over at her son, the pride and love evident as he looked at you.
“Well, I best give you two some privacy. I’ll be back in a moment Scorpius." Before anyone could protest Astoria had turned on her heels and slipped out of the curtains.
"Scor I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise she was in here! I wouldn’t have come rushing in like that if I’d known.” You began spluttering but Scorpius simply smiled at you.
“Y/n, Look at me. Don’t worry about it. Okay?"
Your eyes locked and Scorpius’ breath faltered as he got lost in your beautiful blue eyes.
"Okay,” you gulped, leaning to give him a proper kiss.
“Were you really out there for several hours?” He asked, holding you close after your kiss, you nodded wondering if he’d think you weird.
“Are you tired?” He asked he seemed generally concerned.
“Just a little but it’s nothing to worry about,” You confirmed. In actual fact, you were knackered but you didn’t want Scorpius to worry about you. He was the one in a hospital bed, not you.
They lay there for a while, both were drifting off to sleep in each others arms.
“I’m glad you’re okay Scor,” You whispered. Before Scorpius could answer you closed your eyes and were fast asleep, Scorpius following your lead closely after.
Astoria walked in about an hour later to find you and Scorpius curled up in the single bed fast asleep. Maybe this Y/n girl wasn’t as bad as she thought.
#inakua#nextgensource#scorpius malfoy#malfoy#reader insert#y/n#oc: sydney deverill#oneshot#hp onehot#hp fanfic#hp reader insert#ngs jan '20#weasley#hp next gen#next gen#hp next generation#next generation#harry potter next gen#harry potter next generation#albus severus potter#potter#lucy weasley
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Nothing Interesting
Trigger warnings: Robert tells a Spook™ about a human-eating cryptid, lots of cussing, cigarettes, hangover mention, sex mentions
Word count: 1501
Ship: Smallmarch [RobertxDamien]
A/N: This is my very first time writing these characters so if they’re out of character… rip
Also sorry for the shitty title lmao
Reblogs > Likes
Robert groaned as the sun struck his eyes.
He rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. He was still in his jeans and t shirt, not even taking the time to kick off his shoes when he’d gotten home last night. His head throbbed with a hangover.
He needed a cigarette.
He rolled out of bed and picked his leather jacket off the ground to fish around for his pack and lighter, stumbling to the front door. He’d stopped smoking inside a year ago, when it started getting in the way of sex. Most people didn’t care for the smell.
He threw the door open, and stopped. He blinked.
What the fuck?
Laid on his porch was a bouquet of flowers. The outside two rings were made of yellow flowers, a bunch of violet flowers held tightly in the centre. A ribbon held it all together, a bow tied on the right. There was a card next to it.
Robert stepped over it and pulled out a cigarette. It was too early. He smoked two before shoving the pack back in his jacket pocket, then knelt down and picked up the card. In Damien’s ridiculous calligraphy, it read:
Yellow acacia symbolizes secret love
Agrimony symbolizes thankfulness and gratitude
Betony symbolizes surprise
A ribbon tied to the right symbolizes the bouquet is about the giver
He stared down at it, his face burning. Fucking dork…
He picked up the bouquet and stumbled back inside. He didn’t know what else to do, so he filled a tall glass with tap water and plopped the flowers inside.
He should probably message him now. See if he wanted to hang out.
…
Nah, fuck that.
He went back inside and killed time until the sun set. He was set on spending a few hours bar hopping, but when he passed Damien’s house, he stopped and sighed.
Lucien answered the door. Of course. He scowled up at Robert, acting like Robert couldn’t snap him in half if he wanted to. “What do you want?”
“Your dad around?”
“Maybe.”
This was a mistake.
“Listen-”
“Lucien? Who was-?” Damien appeared behind him, and startled. “Oh- Hi, Robert.” He caught onto the way Robert and Lucien were looking at each other- Lucien smug and amused, Robert one hundred percent done -and sighed. “Lucien, would you mind giving us some privacy? And please refrain from scaring away guests any longer.”
He rolled his eyes, but left, his door shutting a moment later.
“Robert.” Damien’s cheek turned pink. “Lovely to see you again.”
His brain moved slow. “Mhm. You busy right now?”
Damien smiled. “No.”
“Cool. You’re coming to the bar with me.”
He didn’t wait for a response, as usual, but as he started back down the drive, Damien grabbed his hand. “Oh. But I, uh, I don’t drink.”
“Oh.” He wrinkled his nose. “Really?” Shitty choice, Robert.
Damien pulled his hand back, looking uncomfortable. “Yes. I apologize.”
Robert shook his head. “It’s fine, I guess.” He paused. “Wanna do something else tonight?”
Damien looked surprised, but nodded. “I would love to! Let me just get ready. Here, come in.”
“Oh, I don’t know…” He inched back.
“Please.” Damien held out his hand. “It’d be rude of me to leave you waiting in the cold.”
Oh, fuck it.
Robert let Damien pull him into the house. It was warm; not just the air, but the walls as well. He was damn near forced to feel comfortable.
Damien left him waiting in the parlour. He sat on the plush maroon couch, feeling like his mere presence was dirtying it.
Damien came back down in his full Victorian attire, looking beautiful. Looking at him, Robert realized he probably had a vampire kink. “I’ve thought of a couple things we could do tonight, if any of them interest you. We could take a walk in the cemetery-”
“Yes.” Robert stood, grinning. “Let’s do that.”
Damien stared at him in surprise, and giggled. “Brilliant.”
As they walked side by side towards the cemetery, Robert thought back on his previous… Partners. This was unchartered territory. He didn’t know what he had expected, dating a fucking vampire, but he’d never done it this way before. He’d never taken it so slow. They hadn’t even slept together.
Damien seemed unusually relaxed when they entered the graveyard. Hm… Suspicious…
They stayed silent for a while, roaming around the pebble pathways. While Robert read every name and date on the headstones, Damien admired the statues and flowers.
“So, Damien,” Robert stopped, making a show out of taking in their surroundings, “you ever heard of the Pale Crawler?”
He arched an eyebrow. “No.”
“It’s a cryptid.” Robert fought a grin. “A cave dweller. They hang around cemeteries.”
He seemed uneasy, his eyes shifting not too subtly. “There’s multiple?”
“Maybe. You wanna know why they hang around cemeteries?”
“I suppose…”
“For food.”
Damien sat on a concrete bench, his legs crossed and his back straight. Robert moved to stand behind him, talking in his ear.
“It waits for a burial, and then digs up the fresh body, drags it to its cave, and devours it.”
Damien was completely stiff. “So they don’t attack living people, I presume.”
“No, not usually. But, well, if you’re hungry… You’ll eat what you can get. Maple Bay doesn’t get much excitement. I bet the ones around here are starving.”
Damien looked at him, his face passive but his eyes wide. “You think there are Pale Crawlers in Maple Bay?”
“Oh, I know there are.” He finally let his grin break through. “Almost died to one a few years back.”
“What happened?” Damien whispered.
Robert unfocused his eyes, so it looked like he was remembering something while letting him concentrate on fabricating the story. “I was taking a walk, trying to get my mind off a few things.” He pointed ahead, at a path some graves separated them from. “I was right over there, and I heard leaves rustling, so I looked up and saw one. A Pale Crawler.
“It was on all fours, its spine arched in a way no human’s could. It looked like a bony, hairless man, with gray skin. And it was looking right at me.”
“What did you do then?”
“Nothing. I’d never seen anything like it, I was terrified. It must have been starving, because it charged right at me. Knocked me down so hard I broke a headstone, and my shoulder, too. The crawler started dragging me to its cave. I was grabbing at anything I could, destroying the whole cemetery.”
Damien was totally enthralled now. His eyes bore into Robert’s, leaning into him. “How’d you escape?”
“I took one of those statues- The small angel ones, and I hit it over the head as hard as I could.”
“How could you come back here?”
Robert gripped onto Damien’s shoulders. “To uphold a deal.”
“What deal?”
“Well, they’re more intelligent than people think. The statue barely phased it, and when I started begging for my life, it told me I could live if I always brought it food.
Damien’s eyes blew wide. He jumped up, wrapping his arms around himself. “You’re messing with me!”
Robert burst into laughter. “It’s Maple Bay, Damien, things never get that interesting!” He glanced up, and his laughter died out.
Damien was trembling, tears welled up in his eyes. He kept looking at the trees behind him.
Goddamnit.
“I was, uh, I was just joking.” He was extremely uncomfortable, but he rounded the bench to get closer. “I didn’t realize it’d actually… Scare you.”
“I’m not scared,” Damien said, his voice thick.
He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Of course not! It was just a story.”
He nodded slowly. “It was. I made the whole thing up. Well, the Pale Crawler is a cryptid, but I’ve never seen it.”
A few tears slipped down Damien’s face. Robert didn’t know what else to do, and he hated how guilty he felt, so he opened up his arms. Damien stared at him in surprise for an uncomfortable moment, before diving into his arms. Robert wrapped his arms around him, holding him closer. Dear God, he was so small.
“The last bit was pretty dumb,” Damien mumbled after a while.
Robert chuckled. “Yeah, that was a bit of a stretch, huh? Come on, I think it’s time I get you home.”
Damien pulled away reluctantly, and relaxed as Robert draped his arm over his shoulders while they walked.
He really was a prick. A guy he actually liked, and he scared him to tears just because he can’t function like a normal human being.
Robert walked him up to the front door. “You gonna be okay alone?”
Damien smiled. “Of course.”
“I won’t do that next time,” he said awkwardly. Probably. Well, maybe. He could try.
“Next time?”
He fought back a blush. “Sure. Hypothetically.”
Damien leaned forward and kissed his cheek, squeezing his hand softly. “See you next time.” He disappeared inside.
Robert was so fucked.
Tagging some ppl who seemed interested: @caktusjuice @herbalmagickal @immortalimmoral @eddies-spaghetti
#i am SCARED#pls be gentle omg i am Terrified(tm)#ddadds#smallmarch#damien bloodmarch#robert small#max writes
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Just As Bad I
A/N: Alright! This is the actual part 1 (kinda). I hope y’all enjoy this. Like and reblog, tell me how y’all are feeling about it. Y’all feeling it or y’all wanna roast me? The reader’s black b-t-dubs.
Warnings: Violence, Smut, smut, slight choking, probably hella long.
Intro
“I’ll kill him, I swear!” the man said in a thick accent. You stared at the man as he held Erik in front of him. You had no idea how he disarmed Erik or how he got himself in this position but, you were in a standoff. “I’ll blow his fucking brains out. Don’t think I won’t” The man was obviously scared and trying to bargain with you but, there was no point in doing that. This was a job and you never failed on a job. You were about the paper and you didn’t care who got in the way.
You rolled your eyes. “Are you trying to scare me? You think I give a fuck about him?” you scoffed. “I’ll do it myself if it keeps you from shitting your pants.”
“Yo, Y/N! Really?” Erik said. You kept your eyes trained on the man behind him and how he kept fidgeting, trying to keep Erik pressed against him. Trying to keep his feet steady, switching aim between Erik’s temple and you. Constantly, peeking his head out from behind Erik, his unsteady arm around Erik’s neck.
“I will fucking do it.” The man growled trying to seem serious.
“I’ll wait.” You sighed. You watched him and his erratic behavior. His eyes switched, darting back and forth. His arm flexed pointed the gun back at Erik moving his head just a few inches to the side. His right leg, completely exposed to you, got em. You shot the man’s foot, causing him to scream. As he bent down to collect his foot, you pulled the trigger again, silencing him.
Erik looked down at the man and over at you. “Cat got your tongue?” you asked as you collected the backpack off the floor. You smirked at Erik not really knowing whether to cuss you out or thank you. He still had to remind himself that you were on the same level with him.
“Were you actually going to shoot me?” he asked you as you both walked out to the getaway car.
“Would you have shot me?” You asked putting the backpack in the trunk. He paused for a second, looking at you. The look in his eyes confirmed the answer. You looked back at him, slamming the trunk. “Yeah. I thought that. I’ll drive.” You got in the driver’s seat with Erik sitting in the passenger seat.
To be safe, you went to the condo you and Erik both paid that served as a hideaway. It stored some of your gear, weapons and had a safe with some emergency money just in case. You crossed the threshold of the condo and went right into the room with the safe. “Heat is going to be on for a bit,” Erik said from the bedroom. “We should keep the package here until it is safe to move it again.”
“That’s fine.” You said removing the contents from the bag and putting it in the safe, using your thumb print to lock it. You walked into the bedroom to see Erik had already begun to strip out his tactical gear. You bit your lip, admiring his toned back with his scars decorating his shoulder blades. He turned to you undoing his belt, meeting your eyes with the same amount of lust.
“I’m about to hop in the shower. You want to join me,” He asked, tilting his head upward in a cocky manner.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Stevens.” You said walking into the closet and pulling comfortable lounge wear from your side. You turned to leave only for Erik to be right on top of you. This man really had the audacity to stand in front of you, naked. You were tempted to look down and see what exactly he was packing but, you kept your eyes up, looking through him.
“Are you that full of yourself?” you asked.
“I’d rather you be full of me.” He said.
“Boy, move!” you said pushing past him after that corny line. “Maybe, that works on those raggedy bitches you fuck, but you’re wrong to pull that shit on me.”
You walked into the guest bedroom and took your own shower, trying to wash the dirty thoughts of indulging Erik from your own mind.
You and Erik would team up quite often. You’d tease him saying that it was him who loved having you around since he was always the one to call first. He’d brush it off, but you knew what was real. He’d make dirty jokes about you and him all the time and though you’d never say it out loud you loved it. You’d tease him too sometimes. He’d call you over to discuss plans for a mission only for you to come over in a lacy black bralette with a leather jacket and heels. You’d both stroke each other’s egos, but never following through with anything.
You dried yourself off and took out your cornrows, letting your hair breath. After getting dressed you, you walked into the living room to find Erik sitting on the couch with grey sweatpants and from the bulge, you could tell he wasn’t wearing any underwear. You hissed to yourself wanting to keep your composure, but damn this man was fine.
“We ordering wings again or what?” you asked walking into the kitchen.
“Yeah. Call it in. It’s your turn to pick it up.” He said.
“Erik, bullshit.” You said whipped around. “I did it last time. You gotta go.”
“Fuck, no. I ain’t going.” Erik said looking over at you. “You got it, you’re a big girl.”
“Yeah, and you a little ass boy.” You said grabbing a take-out menu from the drawer.
“You know ain’t nothing about me little, Y/N.” he chuckled.
“Can’t tell.” You scoffed tapping on your phone to call the restaurant number. You heard his heavy footsteps come into the kitchen. You turned to see him, glaring down at you. He backed you into the counter, you could smell his body wash coming off him. You glared up at him, eyes full of fiery lust that was ready to engulf you.
“I didn’t hear you. You wanna say that again?” he huffed.
Was he trying to turn you on or intimidate you? Because you were definitely feeling the first one. You placed your hands on the counter, pushing yourself against him, matching him up. You looked up and down, meeting his eyes with a raised eyebrow. “I said, I couldn’t tell…” Your words were stopped by Erik forcing you into a kiss. You kissed right back, despite being shocked by his actions. He grabbed you by your hips, pulling you into him, feeling his length on your pelvis. He pulled away from you, smirking.
“Uh-uh.” You said, grabbing him by his neck and pulling him back into you. He laughed in your mouth as the passionate kiss continued. You don’t remember how, but you found yourselves in the master bedroom but, here you were. Erik was attacking your neck, while peeling your tank top off.
You broke the kiss as Erik pulled your shorts off, exposing the black lace panties to match your bra. You reached for Erik’s waistband only for him to grab both your hands and force you down on the bed. You chuckled opening your legs more for Erik. “You won’t be laughing soon.” He growled. He grabbed your panties with his teeth, dragging them down your legs. You watched him, biting your lip, as he removed them from his mouth and lowered himself, coming face to face with your entrance. “You’re already this wet for me?”
You rolled your eyes. He rested your legs and his shoulders. Erik’s tongue glided across your clit, earning a moan from you. He savored your taste, holding your juices in his mouth before diving back in. You moaned as his tongue dragged from your entrance to your clit. He slid two fingers inside you, feeling your walls tighten around him. He hummed against you as he slid them in and out of you as he sucked on your nub. You bucked your hips into his fingers, wanting to rush into an orgasm. Erik’s tongue felt like heaven. You grabbed his hair, pulling him further into you. He licked from your folds then cradled your nub in his tongue, his soft lips holding it in place. Your toes curled into his back as you felt your release, swelling in the pit of your stomach.
“Stevens, fuck.” You whined. Your walls contracting around his fingers as he slid them out of you. He grabbed you by your hips, engulfing his face completely inside you. You looked down at him, his eyes beaming into you. They were telling you to do it, so you did. Your release rushed through your body and into Erik’s mouth. You clenched the sheets as he kept enjoying you, licking up every last bit not wanting to waste a drop. You couldn’t take it any longer, grabbing onto his hair yanking him away from you.
He stood up slowly, towering over you. Erik yanked you up your bra strap, pulling you into another kiss. You pulled at his waistband, breaking the kiss to push them down. His member sprung free, patting up against his torso. You grabbed it, stroking it slowly. “So, whose a little boy?” you heard Erik grunt.
“Don’t let your ego ruin this, Stevens.” You said. Erik grabbed onto your curly hair as you licked his tip. You kissed down his shaft then glided your wet tongue up to his shaft back to his tip, earning a hiss from him. You teased him, keeping his dick steady in your hand and flicking at his tip. You looked up at him as you took his length into your mouth. You got comfortable before going all the way to his base, earning a groan from him. You bobbed your head up and down, keeping one hand on his hip to balance yourself.
“Y/N, shit. I knew that smart mouth was good for other shit.” He said with ecstasy in his voice. Erik tenderly collected your stray hair, keeping them from getting in your way. You went all the way back to his base, letting it into your throat. Erik grunted, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His head lifted to the ceiling, his fingers gripping your curls. “Fuck, keep it there.” He demanded.
You held it, taking in a few short breaths before gagging ever so slightly and pulling it out of your mouth. Erik looked down at you, smiling as you gagging just stroked his ego even more. You went back to stroking him as readied yourself to suck him up again. You focused on his tip, wrapping your tongue around and coming off it as you felt him twitch. You stroked him some more, looking up at him. You could see in his face that he wanted to come. You were debating whether or not you should or just tease him so more.
“Don’t play with me, Y/N.” he huffed.
You smirked as that would suffice for him begging at the moment. You took him back into your mouth, bobbing up and down. The feel of your wet tongue bringing him to the edge. Erik hissed as he began to thrust his hips, impatiently needing to come. You hallowed out your mouth, giving him some control. Your tongue folded at the bottom of his member. Erik started to grunt louder, cursing. You felt him tense up. You forced him out of your mouth, stroking him. He moved your hand, easing his member back into your mouth. You felt him twitch and soon your mouth was filling with his release. He let out a loud groan as he emptied himself inside your mouth. He pulled out, looking down at you as you wiped the corners of your mouth. In a swift move, Erik pulled you up and tossed you back on the bed. You reached behind you, unclasping your bra and tossing it.
Erik forced you down on the bed as he kissed your neck. He forced the both you further up into the bed, knocking away pillows. You moaned as you latched onto his back. You felt his tip graze your wet folds. You gasped, wanting to feel him. “You want me inside you?” he whispered in your ear. You nodded against him.
“Don’t make me wait, Stevens.” You groaned. Erik chuckled as he wrapped your legs around him. You felt his member ease inside you, moaning as you began to fit him.
“Fuck,” Erik groaned. He supported himself on his hands as he began to roll his hips into you. “Damn, Y/N. Why do you feel this good?” You moaned as he kept meeting your G-spot. You looked down watching him, disappear and reappear from inside you. His member glistening with your juices.
“Oh, fuck.” You moaned as Erik’s pace quickened giving you fast, unrelenting strokes. You legs tightened around him, pushing him further into you, amazing you seeing as he hadn’t even given you his full length. “Harder.” You whispered.
Erik obliged you with a grunt, beginning to plow into you. You pulled him down, wrapping your arms around his neck. He held onto the headboard to balance against the force as he kept his pace. Your walls squeezed around him, dragging him to the edge with you. Your nails began to dig into his back, making him hiss. Your legs tightened around him as if you wanted to push him further inside you. “Fuck, you gon make me nut inside you.” He said. The sound of skin meeting skin aroused you even more. Erik lowered himself down to you. His lips on your ear, breath on your neck, raising the hairs on your neck. “You ready to come, Y/N. You gon come for me?”
“Yes, fuck. Don’t stop, almost!” you cried. Your walls contracting and squeezing. Your orgasm that had been building up was ready to rip its way through your body. You braced yourself, getting a death grip on Erik. He felt him shuddering and his voice almost cracking as he groaned and gave you praises. He let loose inside you with one last powerful thrust, lifting himself up with a loud growl. Feeling him fill you up with his seed made you release right after. Your legs shock as your core writhe in your orgasm washed over your body. Erik laid on top of you, still inside you. Both of you trying to catch your breath and come down from your highs. You melted into the mattress, letting go of Erik, allowing yourself to go limb for a second.
“I’m not done,” Erik said.
You laughed. “Good.” You said. “I was hoping you got more in you than that.” You sat up, straddling Erik. He placed his hands on your hips, biting his lip.
“You had your turn, now I want mine.” You said. You supported yourself on his shoulders as you slowly began to grind into him. Erik pressed his head into the mattress letting out a light groan. You quickly picked up the pace, rolling your hips over him. He reached up, massaging your breasts as you rode him. You let go of his shoulders as you had your rhythm, grinding and rolling into him. By his grunts and pleas for you to go faster, you could tell you were driving him to ecstasy. “Keep doing that shit.” He groaned, smacking you on your ass. You quickened your pace, moaning as your body was already on the verge of an orgasm. You looked down at him, his eyes meeting yours.
Erik, in a swift movement, reached up grasping your neck and flipping you over. He began choking and thrusting into you. You moaned then gasped as his hand closed around your throat. As much as you were enjoying this, it was still your turn. You used your weight, flipping him back over, taking his hand off your neck and digging your hips into him. Erik’s eyes widen as your hand grasped his neck, he let out what almost sounded like a whimper. He was turned on even more that you could match his aggression. Your movements became rough, your walls clenching around him. Erik began to squirm under you, groaning for you. “Y/N, I’m close.”
You smiled as you kept his hand around his neck, grinding into him as fast you could. He started to buck his hips into you, groaning and arching his back. You leaned forward holding his wrists above his head, using whatever strength you had to hold him as you released on him, letting out a cry of passion.
“Fuck!” Erik groaned as his hips pushed you up, coming into you. You eased off of him, sitting next to him. He looked over at you, smirking. “So, am I little?”
You rolled your eyes. “Whatever, Stevens. You still tryna eat?”
“Yeah. I’ll get it.” Erik said rolling out of the bed and walking to the end to get his sweatpants. “But, next time, it really is on you.”
#erik killmonger imagine#erik killmonger x reader#erik killmonger#black panther#wakanda#erik killmonger x black reader
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115, 121 and 123!!!
“I let you win.”
“Ready or not, here I come.”
“Oh, did I scare you, big boy?”
WARNING: swearing and possible triggers from descriptions of pain
I somersault and kick off the wall, propelling myself back out into the pool. I come up to the surface and throw my right arm out ahead of me and pull it down, slicing through the water as my left arm circles through the air and comes back to water as my right arm leaves.
I come up for air only once before I hit the opposite wall of the lap pool. My left hand clamps down on the concrete ledge and I stop and bob out of the water. I wipe my eyes and catch my breath.
A second later, Peter’s hand hits the wall in the lane beside me. He pops his head up and glances over at me.
“Damnit!” He smacks the water and it splashes back at his face.
I laugh and stick my tongue out. “I win,” I smile.
“Shut up,” he laughs lightly. “I let you win.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Parker.”
“Four out of seven?” he asks me hopefully.
I shake my head and laugh. “You’re losing by a larger margin each time… But, I mean, if you want to, it’s your funeral…”
Peter sighs, rests his head on the ledge, and closes his eyes. I duck under the water, swim into his lane, and pop out on the other side of him.
“Wanna go do tricks off the diving boards?” I say quietly. Peter lifts his head slightly and tilts his head. I smile, “Your flips are always better than mine.”
“Your flips suck,” he mutters and I laugh.
“You’re not wrong.”
He raises his head, looks at me, and smiles. “Let’s do it.”
We climb out of the pool and walk over the boards. Peter stops at the ladder and gestures for me to go ahead of him. I blush and climb up to the highest level.
“You wanna go first?” I ask once he hits the landing.
“What? Not brave enough?” he snickers and I make a silly face, mocking him.
“No,” I say simply. “I want to watch what you do so I can copy you.”
He nods and steps past me. “Okay then. Watch and learn, princess.”
I’m tempted to stick my foot out and trip him, but considering the 25 foot fall he’d take to the ground, I decide against it.
Peter rubs his hands together and walks to the edge of the board. He stops so only his toes are sticking out over the ledge and he curls them against the board. “Are you watching?” he calls back to me.
I nod. “Yep.”
“Here I go.” He takes a deep breath and launches himself off the board. I hurry forward a few steps and watch as his body curls into one front flip then another then he straightens out and dives into the water.
“Show off,” I mutter.
He bobs back to the surface and looks up at me. “How was that?”
I nod my head side to side. “Not bad…but I bet I can do better.”
“Yeah, sure,” he laughs then shouts. “Please be careful!”
I roll my eyes and walk up to the edge of the board. I look straight down into the water and take a deep breath. “Ready or not,” I shout then my voice drops to a whisper. “Here I come.”
I push myself off the board and start curling into a front flip, but my left foot slips at the last second and I tumble forward.
I hear Peter shout, but I can’t make out what he says. I try to curl into a front flip and manage to complete one full circle, but I don’t have enough time to straighten out and I smack the water, chest first, hard.
I black out for only a second. My whole body burns and I start coughing while I’m still under the water. I feel a hand wrap around my left wrist and yank me up. I break the surface and try to breathe, but I end up gasping and wheezing. Peter wraps his left arm under my shoulders and drags me back to the ledge. He lifts me up and helps me out of the water, but I still can’t manage to get a solid breath. Every time I try to inhale, sharp pain shoots through my ribs and my lungs and throat burn.
Peter pushes himself out of the water and crawls over. He wraps his right arm around me and rubs my back.
“You’re okay,” he says quietly. “Try to calm down and breathe.” He starts taking slow deep breaths and gestures for me to follow him.
Eventually, I manage to take in one long, full deep breath and then another and another and the pain in my chest gradually subsides.
“Is she okay?” Someone asks from above.
“She’s fine,” Peter says calmly and I feel him wave his arm at them, telling them to back away. I listen to them walk away and Peter whispers in my ear. “It’s okay, they’re gone. Are you okay?”
“Oh,”
I try to laugh, but I wince slightly.
“Did I scare you, big boy?”
Peter chuckles. “Yeah. You did.” He grabs my head with his right hand, pulls it toward him, and kisses my forehead, hard. “Don’t do it again.”
“I make no promises,” I grumble and look up at him. He smiles and closes his eyes as he leans forward and presses his forehead against mine. I close my eyes too and we sit there for a little, just holding each other. Safe in each other’s arms.
Good god this sure was fluffy! :P
Don’t judge me. I wanted at least one drabble with O/C getting ish saved by Peter.
I’ve got one more request in my inbox, then I’m gonna reblog another drabble challenge cause I’m a bit tired of this last one.
#magikspidey#answered#drabble challenge#spiderman#peter parker#tom holland#spiderman fic#spiderman fluff#spiderman oneshot#peter parker fluff#peter parker fic#peter parker oneshot#tom holland fic#tom holland fluff#tom holland oneshot#oneshot#spidey one shot#one shot#spider man one shot#spiderman one shot#peter parker one shot#peter parker drabble#spiderman drabble#tom holland drabble
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