#and when her body is taken out of the water she is perfectly healthy and the only complication is water in her lungs

[abimee]

in a different life althaea would only live to the age of 26 until an accident would see her dying at a deep pit river, with her two friends coming out soaked but unscathed otherwise and with no idea where she has went

[merakiui]

[vii.] ᵏⁱˢᵐᵉᵗ ᵏⁱˢˢ

serial killer!jade leech x female!reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, brief mentions of death/murder chapter vi│chapter vii (you are here)│chapter viii

Today’s Schedule: Breakfast at 8. Supply shopping from 9 until 10. Read the next two chapters in Criminal Law and Logistics from 11 until 12. Take notes. Lunch at half past 12. (At some point, organize materials for school within the next hour. Arrange a story regarding the internship before calling Mother. Free time between the hours of 1 to 5 (possible outing with (Name)?). Begin dinner at a quarter past 6. Bathe by 7 and prepare for bed by 9 (10 at the latest). 

Riddle peers at the white notebook in his lap with a disappointed frown. It’s a simple life planner with vermillion carnations stenciled on the front like floral bloodstains. Inside, the pristine, cream-colored pages are blotted with black ink. He’s crossed out and corrected a few lines, adding notes when necessary—keep empty parcels for Rosa’s maze or forward that new recipe to Trey—and for all of the unsuspecting fastballs life hurls at him he has never once strayed too far from his carefully crafted schedules. Never once…until today, that is. 

“Two hours,” he mumbles, his blank stare fixed on the police station sitting beyond the confines of his car.

With the sun positioned so high in the pastel sky, nearly at its peak with midday summer heat, he concludes that he has already wasted his morning away, foregoing shopping and studying in favor of talking to the authorities.

And for good reason, he reminds himself, a balm intended to soothe the irritating sting brought on by the disturbance. This is important. It’s worth the interruption.

He could fret over it, huff and puff like a dragon readying to spew wicked flames, but doing so will get him nowhere. It will not return the hours he’s lost, nor will it bring him any closer to a fraction of the truth regarding your sudden, untimely disappearance. He resolves, while chewing restlessly on his pen cap, that it’s best to remain composed in situations like the one he’s found himself in. 

Calm and objective, he thinks, scribbling over the time slots he had marked at the beginning of the week, so certain nothing would interfere with his schedule. There are far greater things at stake than missing a day’s worth of plans. 

He leans back in his seat, humming thoughtfully. The past two hours must have gone by in a blur, for he feels weightlessly detached, as if surfing upon a smooth wave, led along by some other force that is not his own internal compass. It’s been a while since he’s felt this way. Often, when his mother would lecture him about the many high expectations she had for him, he would retreat into the corners of his mind, safely content with tuning out her howls of hatred. This response came naturally with each passing year, a necessary safety net that caught him before he could fall. Using this method, everything else that came with her also became easier to stomach. Like the bland, too-healthy meals he’d learned to choke down as if they were not-so-fine wines matured with delusion. An acquired taste, some might say, but even with that optimistic outlook Riddle would never wish flavorless foods on his worst enemy. 

The officer who interviewed him was the same officer who met him at the beach the night he stumbled upon the body with you. In fact, he recognized Riddle as soon as he stepped into the room, a notebook in hand and a water bottle in the other. He’d set it on the desk, offered his hand to him (he’d taken it hastily, and for some reason he wondered if his nerves would make him look guilty), and then the officer pulled his chair towards Riddle, situated away from the desk that separated them like a cavernous pit. Riddle knew it was goodwill—to put his fears to rest and build rapport like it was a glass house, perfectly transparent so that it would display every crystalline truth. 

“Back again,” he said after introducing himself as Officer Rayne. Briefly, Riddle pondered how one might spell that surname—R-A-I-N or R-A-Y-N-E? Perhaps even R-E-I-G-N or R-E-I-N? “Any more visits and you might become one of us.” 

He didn’t understand the joke—was it intended to be humorous, or was it meant to lessen the tension that blanketed the atmosphere?—so he didn’t laugh. But he did produce an awkward smile, shrugging dumbly. Sitting before an officer in uniform, not restrained or reprimanded in any way, felt eerily forbidden. Every infraction Riddle had ever committed weighed heavy in his chest like a pile of stones, each one gradually sinking into the trenches of his stomach, and he was nearly on the verge of admitting every misdeed in a messy tangle of a rant. He swallowed thoughts of his most recent and longest crime to date and, still feeling like a timid boy who knew nothing of the real world, looked at Officer Rayne. 

He was going to say something—have you found any information regarding (Name)’s whereabouts?—but the question felt foolish. They wouldn’t know when they haven’t even begun looking. Instead, he clamped his mouth shut with a sigh, soothed with the knowledge that they would begin a proper investigation soon.

Luckily, Officer Rayne filled the awkward silence. “I hope it was okay for me to catch ya while you were making your report. Been meaning to ask a little more about the body, but I suspect that’s not why you came here today.” 

‘Catch ya’ and ‘suspect.’ Using those words while I’m completely innocent… Now that was a little funny, morbidly so, and he almost smiled at the irony. 

Riddle nodded and, his apprehensions at a low simmer, asked, “Did you…learn more about the body?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” 

He’s doing that thing, he thought, unimpressed. Being intentionally vague. Does he think I’m untrustworthy? 

“Well, you’re correct. I wasn’t here for the body and I’ve already told you everything I know, so I can’t answer any more questions regarding that matter.” He allowed the previous topic to roll off his back like water, feigning nonchalance—but asking that question made it seem otherwise—and felt himself slip over the edge of consciousness, words coming far too easy this time. “It’s been more than twenty-four hours since I’ve heard from my friend. Today marks the fourth day of no contact. I’m worried something’s happened.”

Officer Rayne clicked his pen, put it to paper, and said, “I take it you’re willing to fill me in on the details, then?”

“More than willing.” 

As if the thread of sentience had reached its fraying point, it snapped and with it Riddle fell into that empty void he’d cherished so much in his youth, his body entirely there, but his mind and soul elsewhere. Vacant and distant. Packaged in a neat box and ready to be unwrapped at the slightest shove into an environment that was far more comfortable and colorful than the dull, dismal interview room.

When he’d passed the lady at the desk—the one he’d given such a hard time before and the one who’d sat through the filing process—she nodded her farewell. Only then, when Riddle stepped into the blinding bright of the outdoors, did he return to his body.

He stares at the list he’s created in his agenda, surfacing from the momentary rumination, his bottom lip between his teeth. 

Important Information to Consider

(Name) and her temperament leading up to the disappearance.

(Name)’s history with disappearances. (Did she run away again? Spontaneous vacation?)

Our connection as friends.

Why I moved to the city. 

How long I’ve been in the city. 

What I was doing the day of (Name)’s disappearance.

What (Name) was doing the day of the disappearance.

The last time I talked to her. (phone call on Tuesday morning)

The body under the boardwalk.

The Devil’s Delight. 

Other connections (Cater, neighbor, glasses-wearing fellow/potential partner, other coworkers from previous and current jobs, friends from university?)

What the above were doing the day of the disappearance.

????

I should’ve paid closer attention, he thinks woefully. I shouldn’t have shut off like that. 

The tip of his pen waltzes circles around the question marks. “Focus,” he whispers, glaring at the page as if doing so will cause a helpful clue to materialize.

I remember telling him her phone is still on because every time I’ve called it rings and rings before going to voicemail. It’s possible they can trace it…or something tech-related like that.

Riddle sets the pen down to run a hand through crimson locks, heaving an exhausted groan. This is, by far, the worst puzzle he has ever had the displeasure of piecing together. It would be tolerable if the image he’s trying to assemble wasn’t so uncertain and frightening, shrouded in a gloom that may spiral to depths he hasn’t even considered. This puzzle doesn’t even come with a box, so he can’t possibly follow along with the portrait either. He’s working from scratch.

It’s not a complex landscape puzzle. Don’t treat it like one, he thinks, shaking his head, strands of hair falling between his fingers. Although if it was, I’d know exactly where everything goes and in what order it should be arranged. But this has all sorts of weird pieces. A mutilated corpse missing vital organs. A murder investigation. Whatever information Cater’s withholding. The incident reports. A missing person. What am I not seeing?

He skims his list once more until he reaches the sixth bullet point. At the time, he had only called to find solace in your voice, as you were the only one who could sympathize with the horrors that had swiftly descended the night prior. It did a world of good to talk as if nothing had ever dissolved your friendship—as if all that had transpired in the Rose Kingdom long ago never drove that troublesome wedge between the both of you.

But he’s matured a considerable amount since then, and so have you. Adults can be civil (most of the time). He can be civil (usually). And if it weren’t for that tell-tale edge in his voice he would have seemed flawlessly unruffled and he could have conversed naturally—or as naturally as one possibly could after being kept awake with spine-chilling dreams of a dead man. Saturday was supposed to be the day in which you would show him around the city, get him acquainted with your favorite haunts, and bake a strawberry tart in the comforts of your apartment together.

Together. As old friends. 

Today is that day, but you aren’t sitting beside him in the passenger seat, rattling off locations and directions while he agonizes over which way to go: “Is it left or right, (Name)? Stop laughing and be clear!” he’d gripe, his hands curled on the steering wheel, and everything would be normal. Instead, he sits alone in an empty vehicle, his planner in his lap, pen at his lips, and is left to sift through what were once mundane, unimportant recollections. Everything, even the slightest shift in mannerism, matters now that the circumstances have changed. 

I should’ve just agreed to come over that day. Then none of this would have ever happened. If I wasn’t so stubborn… If I wasn’t so scared… He shakes his head. No, that’s not it. Regardless of what I could’ve done then, it might not have had a significant impact. (Name) was already busy, so we would’ve had to part ways eventually. She had something to do when I called… A run. Right, she invited me to go on a run because she exercises.

He’s halfway through writing this fact when his hand halts, pen poised on the page.

“The run,” he whispers, as if it’s some terrible revelation. “Great Seven… The run!”

It occurs to him in a flash. You suggested he accompany you and he had declined as politely as he could, and then you offered he could walk as an alternative because, in your exact words, “Azul does that sometimes.”

Riddle hastily adds something else to the list in his agenda, perfect cursive unraveling with the frantic, jerky motions of his hand. 

I wasn’t the last one to talk to her and neither was Cater. He even said she had gone on a dinner date the night prior to her disappearance, and he was gratingly evasive when I pried for more details. Following that logic, if she didn’t voluntarily disappear, the one she met for dinner would be my top suspect. Either them, or her running friend. This Azul fellow…

There’s only one Azul he knows.

Riddle fumbles with his phone, hands trembling as theories swell like a rising tide.

He wouldn’t, he thinks, but then he hesitates. Would he?

It’s been ages since he’s communicated with most of his peers from Night Raven College. In fact, he’s really only kept in touch with Trey and Cater over the years. Deuce often sends him a message every month or so to check in or to discuss and exchange career advice, but other than that everyone else has gone their separate ways, linked only by the sticky, near-invisible strands of social media. Riddle doesn’t use his. Ever. It still has the posts he made to mend Cater’s abysmal studying regimen, and if it was capable of accumulating physical age it would certainly have its fair share of dust and cobwebs by now. As he scrolls through the accounts of those he’s following, grey eyes roving usernames and profile pictures, he considers the best and the worst of this situation. 

On one hand, he’s entirely wrong and the Azul you mentioned is not the Azul he knows. On the other hand, he’s entirely right and the Azul he knows is connected to you in some strange, unsettling way. He’s really hoping it’s a third possibility: He’s merely overthinking the matter and everything he’s considered up until this point is a jumble of false complications. 

His search yields nothing fruitful. Unfortunately, Azul’s account is not amongst the few he’s following. Riddle may not know Azul as well as he knows his closest friends, but he’s certain Azul wouldn’t abandon social media when it has so much potential for plentiful business connections. Either that, or he just never followed him when they were classmates. The latter seems more likely. Riddle has never been able to wrap his head around the intricacies of social media etiquette and he certainly has no need for it.

Cater had once instructed him in the art of many trending things—the art of the selfie, the art of the filter, the art of the block button—and so Riddle knows a few things about the online world. Very basic things, and most are rules and social protocol regarding a phenomenon he’ll never be able to grasp. Apparently, if you’re stalking someone’s page, you never like a post that’s dated by years. Apparently, you’re intended to file the facts you glean from invasive observation for later use. The mere concept sends a shiver of repulsion up his spine. He’s not a stalker or a cyber-stalker or a Magicam fanatic like Cater, but he is a novice sleuth (as of now) and that sits much better on the tongue than any of the previous titles. 

Riddle finds Cater’s profile, clicks on his list of followers, and types Azul Ashengrotto into the search bar. And, miraculously, Azul is there, but his account is private and Riddle finds himself at a digital roadblock. 

“Private,” he mutters; it comes out hateful, a nasty word. “Of course you are.”

Despite that, he still makes note of the username in his agenda. He writes, Possible personal account? Multiple accounts? in perfect, slanted cursive. And then, just to be thorough, he writes the number of posts made and the follower and following counts beside the theories. 

“How in the world would you know her?” he questions Azul’s profile picture—a generic photo of an ocean sunset. “And, more importantly, why?”

Perhaps he’s the one who took you on that dinner date, that cursed voice in the back of his skull pipes up. Riddle musses his hair and heaves another sigh, but as much as that supposition stabs him through with a horrible ache he has to take it into consideration. A date… If Azul truly does play some role in this and was potentially the last person to meet with (Name) before her disappearance, that would make him a prime suspect.

Potential Suspects

Azul (supposing it’s Azul Ashengrotto and not someone of the same first name)

Cater (on account of suspicious behavior)

(Name)? (supposing this is intentional? Voluntary?)

He’s in the process of writing the Leech twins’ names when his hand stills. They aren’t always glued to Azul, and they aren’t being forced to stick around like loyal sentinels. The last he heard of them, they resolved to return to the Coral Sea after graduation on account of familial obligations. Riddle had always heard the shudder-worthy rumors that they came from a ruthless crime family, but in spite of all of that the twins had always acted more like clever nuisances or intimidating bullies rather than callous criminals. Of course it was a different story if you found yourself at their feet when you broke contract terms, but even then they kept within socially acceptable boundaries. Most of the time. As loath as Riddle is to admit it, it’s admirable that they’re able to break things silently. After all, if your jaw is too shattered, you’re sworn to secrecy until it’s repaired. 

With great certainty, the pen strikes through the words.

Potential Suspects

Azul (supposing it’s Azul Ashengrotto and not someone of the same first name)

Cater (on account of suspicious behavior)

(Name)? (supposing this is intentional? Voluntary?)

Floyd Leech (on account of connection to Azul)

Jade Leech (on account of connection to Azul)

“Ah. Well, maybe it’s too early to rule anyone out…” His pen is at his mouth, tapping out a steady rhythm. “But, really, what business would those three have with (Name)?”

Unable to pluck a reasonable answer from thin air, he slouches in his seat and then, realizing his horrid posture, straightens at once. Riddle drags a hand over his face, exhales slowly, and lowers his hand after a minute of quiet reflection. The police station looms ahead and he glances between the familiar brick-walled building and the notes in his agenda. Logically, he should walk right back inside and share what he’s written to aid in the investigation.

“It’s important you keep a clear head during all of this,” Officer Rayne had told him as the interview had reached its conclusion. “We appreciate any and all info you’ve got, so don’t be shy to give us a ring.”

Riddle thinks he might have protested then. Something about how it felt wrong to sit around and do nothing. Something about feeling like he owed you. Something about wanting to disprove those reports. Something about building a better profile for you. Something about…something. 

“You’re doing plenty.” Officer Rayne smiled and indicated the notepad, which detailed all of the information from the hours-long conversation. “This situation’s out of your hands, and we wouldn’t recommend you do our work for us. Best let us handle the rest.”

Again, he opened his mouth. A grievance must have come tumbling out. 

“By filing a report and talking to me today, you’ve done a great deal of service. Don’t blame yourself for being unable to do more. What else could you have done? These things are unpredictable.”

Things, Riddle thought with a frown. What a casual way to refer to a disappearance.

He stood from his seat and Riddle followed his lead. At the doorway, he extended his hand and Riddle took it, shaking it firmly. “If your friend contacts you, let us know right away.”

Riddle nodded and stepped out of the room.

“And don’t let it get you down. We’ll find your friend.”

One way or another, he expected to hear, but he was already walking away. 

In the few minutes he spends ruminating, he manages to assemble a new list. Riddle peers at it, unsure of when he started writing and when he stopped thinking. 

Priorities

Get in touch with Azul.

Question Cater more thoroughly. 

Return to (Name)’s apartment and ask neighbors for any information. 

Continue transcribing any and all findings. 

Look for clues that might point in the direction of where (Name) went.

Create a timeline up until the disappearance and keep track of the number of days missing. 

Transfer the above and all new information into a notebook.

Again, his eyes fall upon the police station. He wonders if there’s a rule that forbids normal citizens from doing investigations of their own. It can’t hurt to want to gather some proof for himself, right? He won’t cross any laws so long as everything’s within legal bounds, and if more than one person is working on the case it might even speed up the process. After all, aren’t two brains better than one? 

And if there is a rule, he thinks as he reverses out of his parking spot, I certainly didn’t hear about it.

Turning onto the busy road, Riddle drives further from the station towards a far-off horizon spotted with wispy strands of cloud.

His first objective: Find Azul. 

Microphone in hand, Cater stands in the center of a soundproofed room and announces in an energetic tone, “My dearest, most loyal besties, a big TY for coming! As a newly formed band, our first order of business is to celebrate with cute snacks, cute drinks, and even cuter company!” He punctuates that last part with a playful whistle and a wink. 

In response, the two men sitting in the neon pink booth raise their glasses high. Both are filled with a sparkling substance, one so vermillion it’s nearly blood itself and the other a vivid orange. Lilia has ordered a Crimson Whisper—a delightful strawberry and raspberry margarita accompanied with a lime wedge and a skewer of sliced fruits. Kosher salt lines the rim, and under the dimmed lights it twinkles like pinpricks of diamond. Kalim’s beverage is known as the Tropical Tryst Twist, and it’s a fizzy tangerine and lemon cocktail decorated with a blue paper umbrella. A few ruby-red cherries are nestled amidst the ice. 

Cater makes it a mission to familiarize himself with his favorite karaoke bar’s menu, but despite every food and drink combination he’s come across (some photographed and strung up on his social media and others admired from afar) he cannot stomach the sweetness. So for tonight—like most nights—he chooses something that is, as his sisters would often say, “so not cute.” Beer is his go-to, even if his carefully curated Magicam feed is adorned with photos of pastries and sugary drinks galore. Peel back the pretty wallpaper and you'll find the dollhouse is not what it seems. But festering in rot is so not cute, and so for this reason he plasters the bitter with beauty.

Fortunately, tonight is not a bitter night, and unlike the boring drink in his hand he still raises it to toast with the others. Their glasses join with a resounding clink. 

Kalim pulls his drink away first, bringing it to his lips for a long sip. “This is exciting!” He sets it down on a coaster and beams, radiating raw joy. “I’ve never been in a real band before! Oh, we should publicize it, right? I can get my dad to help with that. He’ll be our first fan!”

Cater chuckles awkwardly. “Loving the enthusiasm, Kalim. Super-duper cute! But we need songs before we can start putting ourselves out there.”

Lilia hums his agreement. “I suppose what we’ve produced thus far wouldn’t exactly qualify as a true song.”

“At least it’s something… Oh! What if we took one of our short clips and extended it? Maybe add a few other instruments and beats so it feels like music you’d want to stop everything you’re doing and dance your troubles away to! Something summery and sweet!”

“Ooh, brilliant idea, Kalim. I wouldn’t mind giving it a shot. You never know until you try.” 

“Right? Right?! Everyone likes to dance, and you need fun music to create fun energy! We could definitely do it.”

Their eyes flit to him now. Cater twirls the microphone in his hand, humming as he considers it. It’s a lot of work to produce music, and they often fooled around during club hours when they were in school. But they’ve done it before. Granted, thirty-second previews of sound can’t quite make it to trending if they aren’t captivating enough. Things like that aren’t anything to write home about, or so he often thinks when he browses the list of unnamed tracks cluttering his laptop’s home screen. 

Cater’s grip on the microphone tightens. He smiles, slackens his shoulders, and flashes a cheerful thumbs-up. “Cay Cay’s got a plan!”

“Oh my.” Lilia’s eyes sharpen with curiosity. “If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say you’ve gathered us here for the sake of this very plan.”

“Discerning as ever, Lils! That’s right. I was actually hit with some crazy inspiration recently. And because of that…” He lowers his voice conspiratorially. “A drum roll, if you would be so kind.”

Kalim laughs and slaps his hands upon the table. Lilia follows suit until they’re both pounding on it, the force rattling the macaron pyramid they ordered earlier. Cater, invigorated by their support, swipes his phone from off the table, flicks it on, and scrolls through his song drafts. He turns his screen towards Lilia and Kalim with a dramatic flourish.

“Behold—my soon-to-be magnum opus!”

They peer at it, and then a duet of awestruck oohs fills the room. 

“This is shaping up to be very exciting.”

“Wow!” Kalim whistles, impressed. “I can’t believe I’m looking at lyrics for a potential song! Aha, you’re so cool, Cater!”

“Aren’t I?” he boasts, lowering into the booth across from them, a picture-perfect portrait of nonchalance. “I call it ‘Kismet Kiss,’ and it’s a song about fun feelings! It sounds kinda pop idol, but hear me out! We can find some way to work punk-rock into it, or we could hit everyone with an idol song and then ease into rock.”

“Like a sound buffet!” Kalim plucks a macaron from the tower and pops it in his mouth. “I think that’s a great idea. I’m down if you are, Lilia.”

“I wonder if we’d be able to handle so many genres at once.” He takes a slow, contemplative sip from his drink, a smile spreading on his lips. “I certainly look forward to experimenting. Is that not what youth is all about?”

“Well, don’t keep us in the dark! Let us hear your lyrics!”

“It’ll sound really yikes if I sing without any music, so give ‘em a read and lemme know what ya think! The Cater Inbox is open for criticisms! Constructive only, please and thank you.”

Cater passes his phone to Kalim, who takes it in his hands and sidles closer to Lilia so both can read simultaneously. While they peruse the lyrics, Cater taps out an anxious rhythm against his half-empty pint glass.

Kismet Kiss! - Cicada City Lyrics

I could never tell you 

Of the feelings locked in my heart

For they’re twisted and thorny, but a special work of art! 

It must be fate or destiny

Maybe even cosmic chemistry

Look only at me, me, me, me, me! 

And soon you’ll begin to see… 

Why is it that you gaze at me with such sincerity?

It’s kinda weird

Because suddenly everything’s so sparkly 

Brightness blinds me eternally 

You take my hand in yours and lead me astray

Hey~ 

Won’t you turn my way and promise you’ll stay?

Woohoo!

We share a bittersweet kismet kiss 

Under a silver moon, where all is heavenly bliss

A cutely curated kismet kiss 

Trapped in the confines of a moon-mired abyss! 

It's as if the tarot has foretold,

That I’ll follow you wherever you go 

No matter what, it’s a clingy kismet kiss

And now the skies have darkened with mist 

The fortune says it’ll rain

I wonder if it’s a reflection of all this pain

Since everything has become so very

Otherworldly and strange

What are the secrets you keep,

When you think I am asleep? 

Leaning in to lo-lo-lo-love you! 

Forevermore, it’s brand new! 

All these moods

You match my fake attitudes

Astral planes,

They rise and fall

You’re a jellyfish witch who knows how to enthrall

A sculpture of elegance in a crumbling hall

Oh dear, you’ve gone and collared me

And I can no longer say I feel free 

Hey… 

Whatever happened to the sugar strains in your veins?

Woohoo! 

We share a bittersweet kismet kiss 

Under a silver moon, where all is heavenly bliss

A cutely curated kismet kiss 

Trapped in the confines of a moon-mired abyss! 

Our very own kismet kiss

Painted in hazy constellations you’ll miss

If you can’t open up your eyes

And confront your star-spotted demise!

There’s an uncomfortable silence that thickens in the air, and Cater counts the seconds it takes before it’s disturbed by Kalim’s gasp. Eleven seconds.

“You wrote this?”

Cater curls his fingers into a tight, self-assuring fist, nails pricking his palms. “Sure did. Penned by yours truly and everything! It’s still not finished, though. I’m always going back to edit, but so far that’s the most coherent draft I have. So whatcha think? It’s totally cute, yeah?”

“It’s very telling,” Lilia praises with a cryptic grin. Cater doesn’t like the wisdom discreetly woven into his next words. “You can learn a lot from the speaker in the song. Some truths are best expressed in writing, after all. When we put pen to paper, left alone with but our wrist and brain, we’re usually very honest with the page.”

As always, you’re a mystery, Cater thinks with a thin smile. Maybe I shouldn’t have shared it so confidently.

“It’s a masterpiece! Seriously, this is poetry and art and everything else! I love it! Oh! Did you write it with anyone in mind? You said you had some inspiration, right? I’m always getting inspired when I see the sun or clouds shaped like animals or even when I’m eating sweets! But what about your inspiration?”

Cater uncurls his fist to take his phone from Lilia’s outstretched hand. “Riddle said a really cool line a few days ago and it kinda stuck with me.”

It’s not a total lie. 

“Ah, that’s right. You’ve mentioned before that he took up a position at your workplace,” Lilia muses, flicking his wrist to swipe three macarons from the tower with magic. They float over lazily and he opens his mouth to receive each one with a delighted hum. “How is he faring?”

“He became Mr. Manager in under two weeks.”

Kalim laughs. “It was also like that at NRC, wasn’t it? Sounds just like Riddle to go for the top spot!”

Cater waves his hand through the air dismissively, suddenly disinterested in the subject of this conversation. “DD’s become Heartslabyul: The Sequel ever since he joined.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not not a bad thing?” He slumps in the booth. “I mean, it’s cool to work with an old friend, but Riddle’s so…Riddle. He just never eases up, you know?”

“I think it’s fun! Maybe I should work there, too! Ooh, wouldn’t that be cool? We could all work with Cater. It’ll be like club meetings all over again!”

“That sounds super-duper sweet, but I don’t think we’d get any work done if that were the case.”

Kalim deflates with a nervous chuckle. “Ah, yeah… You make a fair point.”

“I surmise Riddle wouldn’t be very keen to work with all three of us. That boy has always been too diligent.”

Cater gazes at him from over the rim of his glass. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

Lilia quirks a sly smile, amused to have his own words pointed right back at his throat. “It’s unhealthy to have too much of anything. After all, excessive diligence leads to perfectionism taken to extremes.”

“Isn’t that just the cutest description for our ridiculous Riddle?”

“I dunno,” Kalim says, shrugging. “It’s kinda admirable, don’tcha think?”

“Perhaps.” Lilia commands another macaron with ease. He bites half of it this time, the other half suspended in the air. “Even the most debilitating obsessions stem from some unique form of admiration.”

“Oh? Is that experience talking, Lils?”

Cater’s eyes are sharper than a sword when they pierce through the faerie sitting across from him. A fanged smile is the only response he receives just as Lilia closes his mouth around the remaining macaron half. Crumbs flutter to the floor. And just before he can pry a little further—dig into him with a verbal knife and fork—his mobile phone chirps out a happy ringtone, thus disturbing the tension stretching taut between them. Cater holds Lilia’s gaze a moment longer before surrendering and peering at his phone. He doesn’t have the forethought to stifle his annoyed groan. 

“You totes jinxed it!” He flips his phone towards them to show Riddle’s icon on the caller ID.

Kalim lets out a hearty chortle. “We really did! Hey, why don’t we invite Riddle since he’s calling? We have enough macarons for him, and if we run out I’ll just order more. Does he drink, Cater? We can order something before he gets here!” 

“Oh, you’re way too nice! Although Riddle’s a pretty busy guy… I don’t think he’d wanna intrude. Maybe next time?” 

“But he’s always welcome! The more the merrier.”

“I could ask, but I’d hate to bother him if he’s already busy. That’s never cute.”

Drop it, Kalim. I don’t want Riddle here.

“Oh?” Lilia cocks his head to the side just as Cater’s phone rings a second time. He watches him hurry to switch it off. “If it’s important, don’t let us get in your way.”

“It’s fine.” It comes out harsher than he intended, so he laughs and plucks a macaron from the tray. The sweet remains in his palm. “I mean, come on! I see enough of Riddle already. He can just tell me what he wants the next time we’re on shift, or he can text me. Calling is so old school nowadays.”

“But if he’s calling you more than once…” Kalim’s lips curl into a concerned pout. “If it’s a secret, I’ll cover my ears.”

“No, no. Really, it’s A-okay! He’s just been a little cray ever since (Name) disappeared.”

The oxygen in the room seems to slither away and suddenly he can’t breathe. Or, more realistically, he’s forgotten to take a breath when Kalim and Lilia fix him with stern looks. 

“Oh my.”

“(Name) disappeared? That’s not good!”

“It’s not a big deal. She’s always getting lost and found, so she’ll come around eventually.”

“You don’t seem very worried,” Lilia notes, brows furrowed. 

“Should I be?” Realizing how frigid that sounds, he chuckles airily. “I mean, it’s normal for her to go ghost for a few days. She’s been like this for years now. It’s nothing new.”

“Still, isn’t that scary? Aren’t you afraid she might’ve gotten into trouble or worse?” Kalim insists, nodding in agreement with Lilia’s earlier observation. 

Cater blinks, allowing their words to seep into the very pores on his skin. “Um, well, I guess it’d be concerning to people who don’t know anything… But trust me on this. I know (Name). She’s probs living it up with her pseudo-boyfriend.”

“Well, if you say so.” Lilia shrugs, but those carmine hues remain centered on his phone as if awaiting another call. 

“Shouldn’t you file a missing report? What if she isn’t with her boyfriend? Or, uh, her not-boyfriend?”

“Guys, I promise she’s finer than wine!” To prove it, he pulls up your Magicam profile, scrolls through the feed, and clicks on an older post. The photograph in question is a view of the expansive ocean from a cruise ship’s deck, glossy wood railing displaying two half-empty drinks: a mojito and a daiquiri. “She cut all contact with me for, like, a few days, and I went to file a report because I thought something had happened. But then she posts this just as I’m leaving the station, and so I had to go back in there and let ‘em know it was a false alarm. It totally harshed my vibes! I looked like I was crying wolf and that is so not the mood!”

Kalim peers at the photo. “Looks fun, but why didn’t she tell you where she was going?”

“She never does.” Cater shrugs and pockets the device just as another call comes in. Thankfully, it goes right to his voicemail. “That’s just how she is.”

“Does that upset you?”

Cater raises a brow. “I’m not her babysitter, Lils. Besides, besties don’t have to tell each other everything. It’s not part of some bestie code or anything. We’re not sworn to each other in some blood pact either. She lives her life and I live mine. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.”

“Aw. But sharing secrets makes a friendship so much stronger,” Kalim says, slouching in the booth. “Jamil knows some of my secrets! Like that time I accidentally swapped the salt and sugar. He’s the only one I’ve ever told. Ah, wait! I’ve just told you and Lilia… Pretend you didn’t hear that, okay?”

Cater pantomimes locking his lips and tossing an invisible key. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Not that it’s anything criminal.

“It follows me to the grave! Swapping the salt and sugar is an offense punishable by death, after all.” Lilia chuckles, though Cater suspects his amusement stems from another place. He’s definitely guilty of that exact mishap. 

“If I’m being honest,” he starts, and that first part is already a lie, “I don’t think (Name) wants me to know about her life. Or, more specifically, her super-secret not-boyfriend.”

“Why? Are you curious?” Kalim cocks his head to the side.

“Obviously! Dude’s, like, megarich! Of course I’d be curious. Who wouldn’t?” Cater taps a painted fingernail against the macaron in his palm. “Every time we talk about him, she keeps it real vague. Sometimes I think this guy’s just fiction. TBH, if I had rich arm candy, I’d flaunt them all the time. No offense, Kalim.”

“Huh? Why?” He blinks in confusion. “Isn’t it good to feel proud of someone you like?”

“Well, this situation is slightly different, isn’t it?” Lilia asks, looking to Cater for confirmation.

“Based on the data I’ve acquired,” he says, raising a finger and putting on a professional voice that earns him laughter from Kalim and a grin from Lilia, “I can confidently theorize that there’s more to their little game of give and take. Because, really, how much loveless sex can you possibly have before the feels start seeping through?”

“But she never claimed to harbor feelings, or am I assuming incorrectly?”

“It was the opposite, actually. She told me she was breaking up with him because he couldn’t hit the right spots.” 

Lilia raises his hand to his mouth, shielding a razored smile. “Dear me. That’s no good.”

“Or maybe,” Kalim posits, “it has nothing to do with sex. Maybe he can’t hit the spots in her heart.”

Cater stares, realizes he’s staring approximately ten seconds later, and forces himself to laugh in disbelief. “(Name) in love? Please, Kalim! She’d never.”

“How do you know? If there’s a connection, but it isn’t reciprocated…” Kalim shrugs and stuffs a macaron in his mouth, continuing his next words with a muffle: “I’m just guessing. Actually, I just thought it felt right, you know? I don’t know your friend—but I’d like to one day—so I can’t say that’s why she did what she did, but not everyone has the same spots. Maybe she wanted more from him, but he couldn’t give it to her.”

“Kalim, you know I appreciate you and your pure heart, but good dick and love are two separate things. You can love good dick, but good dick can’t give you love if the relationship isn’t built on it to begin with.” Lilia cackles at the phrasing, but Cater adds in a clipped tone, “I know (Name). It had nothing to do with love. It’s just convenience.”

Kalim pouts. “Then, if she really didn’t love him, what if he loved her?”

“Oh? Is this a sudden twist in the suspicious soap opera? I’m on the edge of my seat.” Lilia interjects, eyes wide, hands spread like he’s a magician who’s just performed a magnificent trick worthy of applause. “The youths of today are so creative. Back in my day, you could pierce your lover with Cupid’s arrow if you sang a love song, wrote flowery poetry, or defeated a rival in a bloody battle for the heart!”

“Lils, that’s so medieval…”

“Far from it! Even today, love songs and poems are still quite popular. Sometimes the battle part applies. Or am I a century behind?”

“That’s funny! You’re so silly, Lilia!” 

I don’t think he’s joking, Kalim…

Lilia tilts his head, blinking owlishly, a smile spreading on his face. “I’m happy to entertain.”

“Listen, if he loved her, I wish him the best of luck. (Name) makes herself hard to love. I should know. I’m her bestie, after all. Maybe that’s why she’s ghosting us. Things got too lovey-dovey and she had to set sail. She’ll be back in a day or two once she’s returned from her boring little island of loneliness.”

“I suppose patterns are easier to predict once you’ve fallen into them…”

“Right? You get it, Lils. She’ll be fine. Everyone will be fine! (Name) just needs her space, Riddle needs a chill pill, and we need to get back on track. So! ‘Kismet Kiss,’ yeah? It’s a good debut song, right?”

“What if he didn’t give her a choice?” Kalim blurts, and both heads turn in his direction. He fidgets, his fingers curling into his jacket. “I guess… Well, it’s scary to admit, but what if she really did disappear and Riddle’s worries are totally valid?”

“You think she got kidnapped?”

“Um… I’m not saying that…”

“He’s saying it, but it’s at a frequency we just can’t understand. Like subliminal messaging.”

“Lilia!” Kalim squeezes his eyes shut with a groan. “You’re gonna jinx it!”

“That’s what Riddle thinks happened. I keep telling him it’s nothing like that, but you know how he gets. Once his mind is made up, it’s hard to change it.” 

“Riddle’s not wrong in thinking the worst.”

“Yeah! Riddle’s always been so sensible, so I trust his judgment. Your gut never lies, after all.”

“But he’s wrong this time, okay?”

“How can you know for sure?”

What is this, an interview? Give me a break.

“I just know.” Green eyes sparkle under neon lights, no longer pits of gloom set into his skull. “Her pattern’s easy to follow, Lils. And I used to burden myself with the worst of the worst, but that’s so not cute! I’d rather chalk it up to her usual behavior than think she’s lying in some dark ditch, hacked to pieces.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say, Cater…”

“I’ll admit it does paint a rather grisly image.”

“You think?” 

Kalim stares, his mouth foolishly agape. 

He shakes his head, tutting, and holds his finger up to his lips. With a wink, he says, “The worst becomes ten times cuter when it’s absurd! There’s no way she’s in a ditch. We’re in the city. Where is anyone gonna find the nearest ditch when everything’s all concrete and steel?”

Lilia hums, but Cater surmises he isn’t buying the cheery assurances. In fact, the more he tells himself these things, the less he believes them. “If you say so. I shan't push it further.” He lifts his glass with magic and brings it to his lips to finish what’s left. “The worst lies are often, as you usually phrase it, ‘addictively adorable,’ so perhaps you aren’t entirely wrong either.” Blood-red liquid tilts towards waiting lips. “Your friend may not be in a ditch, but she might be enshrouded in a gilded falsehood.”

Cater opens his mouth to reply and is promptly interrupted by the ringing of a timer.

Kalim gasps and scrambles to silence it. “Has it already been two hours? No way! We haven’t even had a chance to sing yet!”

“I suppose old habits die hard.”

“Aah, this really is like club meetings all over again…” He smiles fondly, his eyes glazing with reminiscence. “I guess it can’t be helped. We always have things to talk about when we meet up!”

Lilia grins and bumps shoulders with him. “You’ll never be short of conversation topics with me.”

“I believe it!”

They glance at Cater. He blinks back at them. 

“Then should we call it a night? Jamil’s probably wondering why I haven’t gotten back to him yet… Oh, right. I forgot to tell him we were hanging out tonight. Haha! Oops!”

How can you be so carefree? I’d like to know your secret. 

“As much of a night owl as I am, we’ve long overstayed our welcome. Perhaps we’ll meet again tomorrow? We can discuss your song and goals for the band then. Travel is not a challenge for me, though I assume you might be a little busy, Kalim?”

“It’s complicated, but I can definitely make time for you guys! You’re my friends and I wanna hang out! Next time, we definitely have to invite Riddle and I’ll bring Jamil, too!”

No, it’s not being carefree. You’re just careless.

Cater flashes them a smile that’s just as empty as his eyes, yet it seems to do the trick. Either that, or Lilia just doesn’t wish to verbalize his observations. “Totally! We’ll get to it when we get to it.”

“I look forward to it. I think Cicada City is shaping up to be quite the shining star with a promising future.”

“Ooh, shining stars! I love it! We gotta talk about outfits, too.” Kalim pops up from the booth. “Ah! But before that, you should talk to your friend, Cater. Make sure she’s okay. I hope she’s safe.”

“As do I. Better to be safe than sorry, as they often say.”

Cater nods. “Yep, yep! You can count on Detective Cay Cay! I’ll get to the bottom of this mystery in no time.”

The macaron in his hand is subjected to a brutal crushing.

This is so not sweet. I completely forgot to take pictures for Magicam.

[thedisablednaturalist]

Office disability culture is so fucked in environmental science and fieldwork. Like the mindset that to do the job you have to be in perfect physical health or you should just quit. Like I'm not talking about something that is 100% physical labor here, everything is mostly achievable with aids and you don't need to be able to do every single thing. But there's this weird like..pride..that my older coworkers have. They work out in the gym and brag about how many reps they did. They tease each other for having medical issues. They don't ask for accommodations because they fear that their legitimacy will be hurt. That it means that they can't do their job anymore. That they won't be TRUSTED to do their jobs anymore. That it will get taken away.

So they FURTHER hurt their bodies by not resting, not taking breaks, not using ergonomic equipment, not using safety equipment. Not drinking enough water. Not using mobility aids when they are so old that it's supposed to be acceptable. They don't use the scooters at the grocery store, they don't use their handicapped placard, they don't use knee pads or compression gloves.

And here I come in, 24 years old, looking perfectly healthy. And I use walking sticks, I sit down a lot, I have my care bag, I have a ton of gadgets for making fieldwork more comfortable, I have boundaries and limits, I wear braces and knee pads and compression gloves. I use my handicapped placard.

They react in one of two ways:

1. How DARE I. I'm so lucky to be young and no one sees THEM having to do all those things (literally nothing is stopping them but pride). Like old man if you need a break take a fucking break. I'm not going to hurt my health to make you feel better about hurting yours. I'm not risking a flare up to spare the 65 year olds feelings. Im gonna take my break and use my equipment cause my boss doesn't care as long as the work gets done. I'm tired of glares from 100 year olds making themselves struggle across the parking lot when they could also be using the fucking scooter. (I never take the last scooter, there's always another available. Also it's not my fault if walmart only provides 2 scooters for the whole store).

2. It shows them its okay. Its okay to need aids. When I first showed up at my job it was very...macho..everyone was afraid of seeming old (theres probably only 3 of us under 30 in the whole department, most people are at least 50, mainly 65 year olds). Then they saw me using my walking sticks, taking my medicine openly, bringing a chair with me when working away from my desk, using my TENS unit. I overheard one lady ask her granddaughter what fibromyalgia was (apparently she had spotted my pain tracking journal).

My older coworker with a bad knee got a walking stick like mine and beamed when she showed me. The grandmother uses a cane and a walker interchangeably and more often. I get asked where I get my little portable fan and pocket heaters and special clothing. Even abled coworkers are doing it. My coworker who's younger than me sets alarms to take breaks now just like I do. People seem more comfortable using things that help them now.

My boss has really struggled. He has a lot of internalized ableism and hates thinking of himself as crippled. He spent his whole life physically active and strong and all these health issues and overexertion are catching up with him. Like he did environmental testing in areas with fucking radon. He did work where they threw asbestos around like snow for fun. He's done a ton of really hard physical work. He grew up with the mentality that pain was just something everyone has to push through. But I think seeing a young person make the choice not to push through is helping him a bit. He wants to make his own walking stick, he goes to the doctor more. We bond over having constant medical issues and I even gave him the name of my surgeon. Yea he still says stuff like "shoot me if I have to use a wheelchair" (not as much anymore since he now knows I use one) but he's getting there.

Yeah so I've had this in my drafts for a bit and I wanted to update that my boss has been walking around with a fucking broken ankle for the past couple of weeks. He thought it was just arthritis pain and eventually couldn't take it anymore and went to the foot doctor. The doctor has no clue how the fuck he's been walking on it. Now he has to wear the boot and he's banned from fieldwork while he heals.

Older people and the elderly need to learn that it's okay to not push through the pain and ask for help. Everyone needs to learn this, and not be like my fucking boss. Go to the doctor, get that sore joint checked out. Get those tests done. Use that aid. Stop walking on a broken ankle just because you can.

[queen-of-writing-bad-things]

Henry Danger Reader Insert | Captain Man x Reader: SEASON 4

Episode 1: Sick and Wired

~Henry's House~

Some heroes don't wear capes and that was true for Miss Danger.

She didn't agree with them, thinking they were too much of a liability in the field since a bad guy could grab them and pull you around like a dog on a leash. But even when (y/n) wasn't in uniform, she still put aside her work for the day and ran halfway across town for a friend in need, namely Henry. The poor kid had called her a few days prior to say that he wouldn't be able to come into work 'cause he had some lousy cold and whilst that meant she and her grumpy boyfriend would have more fighting to do themselves, she was adamant that he stay home and rest. 

She remembered the days of being susceptible to colds, back before she had been fried in the densitiser and turned into a super-healing, ass-kicking machine, and knew all too well about how lousy sickness made you feel. Therefore, when she'd received a cry-for-help phone call from Henry, begging that she come over and see if he was taking his temperature correctly, she hadn't given it a moment's notice, not even when Ray started complaining. 

Ever since he'd secretly bought the ring, he'd been dying to find the right moment to propose, one where it was calm, romantic, sweet and not too rushed, but if she was at Henry's house the entire time, how was he meant to do that? She couldn't help it though, whilst the Man Cave was lovely and being apart from him sucked, her caregiver's heart was just screaming to be at Henry's bedside, nursing him through whatever bug was ailing him. And the best part was, she couldn't get sick, not even a little bit, so she really was the perfect nurse, checking up on him every day when his parents weren't there to see how he was doing. Jasper, on the other hand, wasn't.

(y/n) had insisted that she didn't need an assistant in helping Henry get better, saying that she'd taken care of her cousins when she was younger and knew everything about combatting colds, from making soup to tucking people in, she was good at it. But the curly-haired boy had asserted himself, countering her argument by telling her how in his hour of need, Henry should have his best bud whipping up a cure-all for him. He even offered a nasal thermometer, whatever the hell that was, and had shoved it up the kid's nose before he or the young woman could protest. She had much better ways of taking his temperature but whatever.

"Hey, Jasper..." Henry groaned, feeling like complete crap and the small nozzle of the thermometer tickling the sensitive membrane in his nose wasn't helping. He was glad that he cared and appreciated the gesture of him skipping work (with (y/n)'s permission, of course) just to look after him, but to be perfectly honest, he...didn't want his help. It sounded really mean and ungrateful and he never wanted to make Jasper feel bad, however, his help wasn't helpful. At least, not as helpful as (y/n)'s; she knew about first-aid and science and how the body heals, all that shit, so she was actually making him better or at least she was making the pain bearable.

"Yeah, whatcha need?" Jasper asked, looking up from whatever blending, squashing, juicing he was doing so he could look at his pasty friend. He certainly looked like crap, which was why he was mixing up something that would wash away all of his problems, maybe.

"Will you please come take this thermometer out of my nose-hole?" The kid asked in a rough, dull tone, so unlike his usually chirpy self. It was like his energy was being sucked away, probably to fight the goddamn cold that was crippling him. Man, he just wanted to be healthy again.

"Okay, let's check that temperature." The boy smiled and stopped what he was doing so he could walk over to his friend's bedside and finally remove the irritating device, just as (y/n) walked back into Henry's room with a glass of water in her hand.

"Here's your water—oh, thank god, you're taking that thing out." She commented as she circled the bed to put the glass down on the bedside table, close enough for Henry to reach it, but also out of harm's way since it would be horrible for him to have to clean up a puddle after she'd left.

"Thanks, (y/n/n). Well?" Henry looked from the kind woman to his friend, who was still squinting at the thermometer after yanking it from his nostril. If he waited any longer, the reading would be wrong.

"Hmmm. I think it needs to go in deeper." Jasper confessed, thinking that the numbers on his thermometer weren't matching up with Henry's blazingly hot forehead. Perhaps they'd not shoved it in right, yeah that was it.

"What?!" Henry exclaimed, not liking the sound of that. It had already been too deep for his liking, why did it have to go in again? Wasn't there a better way to do this?

"You probably took too long taking the reading. If you leave it out in the air for too long, the heat sensors begin to measure the room temperature, not the body's temperature." (y/n) explained, pulling Henry's quilts and extra blankets further up his body since they'd began to slip ever since he'd sat up to receive Jasper's wondrous miracle cure. She didn't want him to get a chill, even if she was appearing like a bit of a mother hen.

"Well, I've never used a nasal thermometer before." Jasper protested, even though the girl wasn't blaming him in any way. She saw how much he cared and even if his methods weren't...practical, she still thought he was a lovely kid for helping it. If only Ray saw it that way.

"Well, maybe you should learn how to use a nasal thermometer before you stick them in your friends' noses," Henry told him in an agitated voice. It wasn't like him to get moody, it was the illness speaking and the banging in his head making him snap, so the two trying to help him didn't take it to heart.

"All right, grumpy-pants. We'll just try it again, so, hold still." (y/n) said in her motherly voice and took the thermometer from Jasper's hands so she could insert it herself this time. She tried to be as gentle as possible, not even giving the sticky snot on the device a second thought since she'd dealt with a lot worse before. She could just wash her hands, it was fine.

"Ow! Go back home to Ray, stop torturing me!" Henry whined as the same nostril was assaulted again. Not even the world's gentlest touch could make the experience pleasant, but he didn't mean what he'd said. 

He wanted to be taken care of, he wanted to get better, even if he was taking up more of (y/n)'s time that she would usually give to Ray. He wasn't happy, he knew that. He was missing work and stealing away his would-be fiancée when he wanted to pop the all-important question. It had been a month since they'd been on Swellview's Got Talent and everyone but the girl knew about what was in the works, they were just waiting on him to get the guts and pick the right moment. It was agonising.

"Don't be such a baby. I'll go back to my boyfriend when I'm satisfied that you've been properly taken care of." (y/n) answered, wiggling the thermometer up past the upper lateral cartilage and just into the bone where it would be warmer. Her heart tingled at the thought of the man waiting for her back home and couldn't help but let a soft smile slip onto her face, letting the boys know exactly what she was thinking about. Yeah, she'd say yes, she'd marry him tomorrow wearing her jeans and t-shirt if he asked her to; she was as in love as he was.

"What are you making anyway?" Henry asked his best friend, who'd sloped back to his little table with a smirk on his face at the excitement at being in a big secret. 

Ray wasn't sure about letting Jasper the Blabbermouth know about his plans to ask the love of his life to marry him, fearing that he'd spoil the surprise and then he'd be left to stammer an excuse to his girl about why he hadn't just grown a pair and manned up. But he'd found out anyway (Schwoz was a terrible gossip when excited) and vowed to be silent on the matter, knowing his friends, not to mention himself, would never forgive him if the worst happened.

"Oh, a cure for your cold," Jasper answered, pressing the juice out of some squishy fruit and his words made (y/n) pause. He did science in school, right?

"Uh, Jasp, you can't cure a cold. Or, they haven't found one yet." She told him, sitting on the end of Henry's end as she waited for the thermometer to do its thing. If Schwoz couldn't work it out and trust me, he had been there, attempted that, then Jasper had no hope, no matter how much crap he turned into liquid.

"You can with the liquid cleanse I'm making," Jasper told them, smiling proudly at how big his genius was. Seriously, sometimes he baffled himself with how amazing some of his ideas were.

"What's in it?" Henry asked from a mix of curiosity, fear and disgust. From what they could tell from the bed, the cleanse was brown and Jasper had been crushing things up for over an hour, so who knows what was in there. Plus, the boy was worried about what he was going to do with it and there was no way (y/n) was gonna let him ingest it. She didn't want a case of poisoning on her hands. 

"A combination of orange juice, nut milk, fish oil, frankincense, tomato purée, myrrh, bee pollen and liquid lard." The boy listed, making their smiles drop the further he went on. Where had he found that? It sounded horrific and Henry was certain that his queasy stomach would never recover from the smell of it, let alone the taste.

"Wow...I am not drinking that." He muttered, snuggling down into his blankets slightly as if he was trying to hide away from the concoction. Y'know, witches were burnt at the stake for mixing these kinds of shit potions and now he knew why - they probably poisoned the entire, fucking village.

"Drink it? Why would you drink it?" Jasper scoffed, making Henry and (y/n) share a confused look. He was blending it all into a smoothie consistency, what else would they do with it?

"You said it was a cleanse. People normally drink cleanses, not that I'm letting him drink that shit." (y/n) explained, thinking back to all the fad diets Ray had tried to stay in shape or just to stay trendy. He always had those spinach, proactive, enzyme, shake, cleanse things that all the socialites swear by, even though the majority of them deserved to be thrown down a toilet.

"Yeah, but you don't swallow it. I use this to bathe him." Jasper replied, making his friend even paler and sweatier than he already was. He was already sick, he didn't want to be even more miserable, not to mention that being given a sludge bath by his friend would be downright weird. "Nope."

"Come on, like (y/n) said. Don't be a baby. Don't you wanna feel better?" The curly-haired boy asked in a tender voice as he brought a sample of his miracle juice over, forcing Henry out of bed as he refused to be subjected to a cold, slimy, embarrassing bath. To hell if (y/n) would kill him for walking around and wasting what little energy he had, he just had to get away.

"No, I like being sick, bye!" He said quickly, tugging his blankets away from his body and swinging his aching legs onto the floor. He felt the cold immediately, wishing he could snuggle right back into his mattress, but just one look at the brown stuff in the jug was enough to make up his mind and move his feet.

"Hey! Get back into bed! I won't let him give you a bath, it's ok—" (y/n) tried to tell him, instantly following him over to the other side of the room in the hopes that she could tempt him back to where he could rest, but one look at Jasper holding a sponge had his feet frozen like they were in concrete. That, and his whiz watch started flashing. 

This had been a regular thing over the last few days; Ray had been missing his sidekick and was a stickler for perfect attendance from his employees, so when Henry informed him that he had to take a few days off for his health, he wasn't happy at all. And as such, the man-child had insisted that he holo-call the boy every day and see what he was up to that was so important, he just had to drag his sweet girl to his sickbed to care for him. The jealousy was a real thing.

"Ooh, sorry, but I gotta take this, soooo..." Henry told Jasper, who sighed and put down his sponge, seeing that Ray took precedent since he was the boss and everything. With the prospect of unwanted bathing treatment out of the way, Henry flicked open his watch and held his wrist far out in front of him so the tiny, little holo-Ray could see him and (y/n), who wasn't scared to get close to his plague-riddled body.

"Hey, Ray!" Henry greeted him, trying to not seem as ill and as icky as he felt since he didn't want to appear weak, but he still looked like shit either way, not that Ray was buying his "I'm having time off work, 'cause I'm sick" act.

"Hey, handsome." (y/n) grinned, her mood lifting as his figure appeared in the room. Despite it not being her real boyfriend, one whom she could feel or touch or love properly, it was still nice to see him after leaving their home so early that morning because, honestly, she'd missed him. It had been three days of caring for Henry and whilst she didn't regret doing that, she'd be branded a liar if she said she hadn't missed spending all her time cuddling, kissing or being silly with him.

"Hey, Henry. Hey, sweet girl." God, his voice. His fucking voice. It sounded pissed off, miffed, sulky because both of his sidekicks weren't by his side, but it was so nice to hear, even though the static garble of the whiz watch. It reminded her how Henry would be well again in a couple of days and she could go back to her normal routine, the one where she got to have him clinging to her twenty-four-seven.

"How you doin'?" The boy asked, rubbing his sniffly, itchy nose on the back of his sleeve as he tried to keep everything in; he didn't want his nose to run, he didn't want to puke, he didn't want to collapse from exhaustion. Not that Ray was bothered.

"Hungry! Handsome and hungry." Ray answered, making sure to send a smirk down the link since he knew that it would make his girl giggle and roll her eyes, which it did. He knew her too well and had missed seeing her reactions to his bigheaded comments or his bulging muscles, he just wanted her home. The Man Cave didn't feel like it without her.

"Hey, Henry! Hi, (y/n)!" Charlotte's head poked into the hologram and she waved at the boy and woman, who were always glad to see her. She had taken on the main voice of reason in the Man Cave since (y/n) wasn't there, so both of them had sympathy for her since she had to reign in Ray's childishness and stop his ridiculous plans without any help.

"Oh, Char, you're already at work," Henry mentioned, not unhappy to see his friend there, just surprised that she'd gotten in so early. Geez, way to make him look bad, even though he had a valid excuse and the boss's girlfriend to support his side. 

"Yes, she is and we want breakfast and I want my girlfriend back. So, on your way to work, you and (y/n) stop off at Casa de Waffles. Pick up nine waffles, a dozen fat biscuits, some, uhhhh..." Ray started listing everything he wanted for breakfast and chose his girlfriend's favourite waffle place since he couldn't wait to see her smile and feed her bits syrupy waffle like the lovestruck idiots they were.

"Fresh fruit," Charlotte added in, wanting something healthy and light instead of a massive waffle or a biscuit. She wasn't as much of a junk food addict as Ray was and he definitely didn't see why she'd wanted something so blergh for breakfast.

"Pffft, fresh fruit. I'm Charlotte and I want fresh fruit!" He mocked her in a silly voice, making the young girl look at him with an uncaring face. She was used to him being a child and just let his comments wash over her because she always had (y/n) on hand to scold him for being so mean.

"Raymond! Henry can't come to work today, he's still sick. So, I won't be home until later 'cause I'm still looking after him." The young woman explained in a sharp, authoritative tone, making him stop all the joking around. 

Later? He didn't want later, he wanted her in his arms now so they could eat breakfast together. It had been days of her waking up at the crack of dawn so she could walk to the kid's house, meaning he'd been waking up alone (no chance for some early-morning action) and eating alone (being with Schwoz or Charlotte didn't count). It sucked and ever since he'd decided to make her his forever, he'd been needier than ever, so this whole situation was torturous.

"Oh? It's been three days. You wanna maybe see a doctor? Ray asked Henry, thinking that once you've reached the three-day mark, you should seek some professional help, not the kind-hearted generosity of his girlfriend. He was beginning to suffer too.

"Ehhh, I mean, it's just a cold, but I still feel pretty bad and (y/n) says I've got a fever so I should—" Henry told him. If he fought criminals in this state, he just knew he'd been walking into a disaster, being more like a punching bag than a sidekick and as per the young woman's advice, it was better to rest up until he felt better than to try and be noble.

"Kid, I totally get it. Just stay home, rest, let my girlfriend take care of you." Ray answered in a seemingly nice manner, although if you looked into his words deeper, you would be able to pick up on how salty he was inside. He hadn't been sick with a cold since he was a child and barely knew what illness felt like, so he didn't totally get it. He just got a stabbing twang of jealousy and loneliness when he thought about his girlfriend being anywhere but with him. He missed her.

"Aw, doofus, you're so cute. You sure you don't mind me staying here to make sure Henry's okay?" How could he be mad though when she was so obliviously sweet about it? He wanted to let her go out and share her sweetness, he wanted her to put her phenomenal nursing skills to work, even if it was just for a little while, but she was so gorgeous. He couldn't help but want her all to himself, he didn't know what to do without her.

"Yeah, he's all yours, sweet girl." He told her, not letting her see how desperate he was, but that didn't mean he wasn't suspicious. He just wanted her to think that everything was okay so she didn't see how he wasn't believing Henry's sickness story. He saw through his lies.

"I'll be home later, 'kay? I love you." She smiled, sending her warmest love to him through her gaze as he studied Henry's little hologram self. He didn't look that sick, just under the weather. Sick, his butt.

"Love you too." His heart melted at that, unable to truly hold onto the grudge when it could hold onto her love instead. It still felt crazy that he got to hear that every day and made the idea of the ring even more clear. It was right, fucking terrifying, but right.

"Later, man." Henry grinned at their mushiness, knowing how Ray was probably reeling from the knowledge of the ring box he kept hidden somewhere in the Man Cave. He wouldn't tell them where it was but swore that (y/n) would never find it so they settled for that, trusting that he knew what he was doing and in such a sweet moment, neither the woman nor Henry suspected Ray's frustration.

"Yeah, okay." And with that, the guy was gone, left pining for his girl and seething at his sidekick for making up some stupid cold so he could stay off work. He saw through it and was convinced there was some conspiracy that went beyond the thick blankets and ingredients for soup (y/n) had taken with her.

"Right, back into bed, you. I'll bring you some soup later, okay?" (y/n) told Henry once the call was finished and he diligently did as she said. Bed sounded quite nice right now and he trusted that she wouldn't let Jasper sponge him down. Rest, that's what he needed, just a bit of sleep...

~Meanwhile, in the Man Cave~

"That rotten, little mutt!" Ray snapped as he turned away from the computer with a scowl. He could let his anger out now and picked up a water bottle so he could sling it across the room in frustration. The only problem was that Schwoz was working on some technical wizardry in the middle of the room and when the water bottle hit him, it damn near killed him.

"Ray!" Charlotte protested, standing up to look at Schwoz's quivering, little body in horror. She knew he was mad about (y/n) not being around, she knew he was frustrated by not having a chance to propose over the past few weeks, but seriously? Why the aggression?

"What?" He asked in an annoyed tone, not liking her scolding tone. It was like what his girl used when she wasn't happy with him, only it wasn't the same and just left a poignant reminder that she was at stupid Henry's house.

"You could've killed Schwoz!" The girl told him, gesturing to the genius on the floor and how he was there because of how reckless he had been. Okay, that made him feel a little bit bad, he never meant to take his emotions out on his friends, especially the ones that had done nothing wrong.

"Oh, sorry, Schwoz. I didn't mean to hit you with that bottle." Ray apologised, feeling like it was the right thing to do. (y/n) would've made him say sorry, she was so nice and sweet and kind like that. Shit, he missed her so much.

"Well, you did." Schwoz groaned, reaching to grab Ray's hand so he could pull himself up but the hero just kept on walking. He wasn't that sorry and Schwoz wasn't that injured. Probably.

"I just I'm so angry at Henry for lying to me and stealing my girlfriend," Ray grumbled, leaving Schwoz to fall flat on his face. Okay, he was making it out to be a lot worse than it seemed. Henry hadn't stolen (y/n), she was a person, not a priceless diamond, and it wasn't like he was trying to steal her affections for himself, that would be weird. Very weird. No, he was certain that he just wanted someone to wait on him, bring him drinks and food, tuck him in when he couldn't be bothered to do it himself and (y/n) was too kindhearted to see past his ploy. 

"Wait a second, you think Henry's lying to you about being sick? And that he wants to get (y/n) away from the Man Cave even though he knows you're gonna propose?" Charlotte gawped at him, not believing he was serious. Of all the stupid, weird, over-the-top, mad shit he'd thought of over the years, this was the strangest and most ridiculous. Henry would never do that to Ray, he was like a brother to him; he'd never lie and he'd never deliberately come between him and his girlfriend.

"I know he's lying! And I know that he wants (y/n) to take care of him whilst he's doing the lying!" Ray nodded, causing the girl to gasp at what he was insinuating. Maybe she should call (y/n) and tell her that there was another baby who needed her care, 'cause this was just...wrong.

"Ray Manchester! How could you say that about Henry?" Charlotte scolded him in her best (y/n) voice, hoping it carried more weight when she said it like that. Where had all the trust gone? 

"Oh, okay, so you think he's telling the truth and he's not making (y/n) bring him soup and blankets just because he likes it?" Ray questioned with the lilt of sarcasm in his voice, looking at the girl and her folded arms. He wasn't surprised that she didn't like his ideas, she never did, only this time he was sure that he was in the right. I mean, who has three days off with a cold?

"I do," Charlotte replied firmly. She knew that Henry really was sick and that the phone call he'd made to (y/n) begging for her magic, healing touch was genuine. He'd needed help, so she went to his side, was that really worth such a big fuss? She came back in the evenings, he was just really needy of a proposal opportunity.

"Well, I think he's lying. So, we're gonna find out." Ray hissed to her, using his status as the boss to get what he wanted and Charlotte didn't like the sound of that. How was he planning on doing the finding-outing? Would it involve methods she didn't approve of? "Wait a second..."

"Schwoz!" Ray looked at the terrified man, who had had more than enough of beatings for one day. He didn't want to get hurt, he just wanted to do his work in peace. "Please, don't hurt me anymore." 

"No, I have an assignment for you. I want you to get yourself a disguise." Ray told him, which evaporated Schwoz's fear and filled his eyes with wonder. He loved disguises, especially if it was for a covert mission, it made him feel like a spy. "Okay, I will get a disguise."

"Yeah and then I want you to sneak into Henry's house, install some hidden cameras and microphones so we can spy on him and see what he's making (y/n) do." The larger man elaborated, sending thrills of excitement into Schwoz's body as he thought about the mission. Okay, yeah, it was gonna be weird, but also strangely cool to stake out the house.

"We're gonna spy on Henry and (y/n)?" Schwoz grinned, causing Ray to hold up one finger. They weren't spying on (y/n) per se, he already knew that she'd never lie to him and was over there for what she thought was a good cause. It was Henry whom he was truly interested in.

"No, no, just Henry. We're just gonna make sure that he's not ordering (y/n) around too much." He corrected, knowing that if his girlfriend found out, she'd kill him, or worse, break up with him. He just wanted to see what his sneaky sidekick was up to, he wasn't particularly bothered about her, apart from the fact that he missed seeing her smile around the Man Cave.

"No! I will not let you "spchy" on him and you know that (y/n) wouldn't approve either." Charlotte jumped in, using the young woman's name again since at this point it was the only thing she could use against him, not that it worked.

"Oh, Charlotte's saying no again." Ray mocked her, thinking that all she ever did was criticise him. Yeah, his sweet girl would be dead set against it, but what she didn't know wouldn't upset her, right?

"It's an invasion of Henry's privacy and it's wrong. You should just focus on proposing to your girlfriend." She went on, this time making the man shut up for a minute as he thought of a comeback. He already had all that stuff figured out, well, most of it, he was just waiting.

"Hey, you better not run to the tubes so you can run and tell Henry that we're gonna spy on him," Ray suggested, knowing that if he mentioned it, then she'd do it and then she'd fall right into his trap. He didn't want any interference, he just wanted to prove himself right.

Ray pretended to stop her as she made a run for it, sprinting up to the tube pad so she could escape. The man made some half-assed shouts for her to come back, acting as though this wasn't his plan all along and watched as Charlotte lowered the tube and smirked at him. 

"Ha! Up the tube!" Charlotte shouted, expecting that she'd go flying off, but just before the computer could register her command, Ray changed the settings so that the tube was locked and she was trapped. "Tube transport, locked."

"Locked?!" The girl gasped, looking around as she wondered what had happened, but Ray wasn't done yet. He. had to make sure she couldn't go anywhere, even if it was a. bit mean.

"And switching to manual control..." He mumbled, pressing a few buttons on the control panel so only he could activate the tube suckage. It was a system designed to trap criminals and bad guys that had managed to sneak into the Man Cave, not for Charlottes, but in this case, it worked for him.

"Hey! Hey! Why didn't I go up the tube?" Charlotte asked the men, who were mildly amused at how angry she seemed. Oh, they were smart, well, they still thought Henry was lying and that wasn't smart at all, but for being so crafty, they were slightly smart. Just a smidge.

"'Cause I switched it off," Ray told her through the microphone and smiled at how pissed off she became. Now she realised why he'd suggested it and cursed herself for falling for something so dumb, especially when he started taunting her. "Off?"

"Yeah. You can jump but you won't go far." He joked, really testing her patience. How long did he expect her to be in this thing? It was cramped and they still hadn't had breakfast, surely, he wasn't that cruel.

"Okay, you better not keep me trapped in this tube!" She warned him. When she got out, she was gonna break his legs, not sure how she was gonna do that, but she was anyway. 

"Okay. Up the tube...and other tube down...and Charlotte." He smirked, deciding to get cocky since his first plan had worked so well. He fiddled about with the controls, sending the girl up, only to bring her straight back down in the opposite tube, which made her blink in surprise as she ended up right where she was before. "There! Now, you're in a different tube."

"Oh, Ray, you're so incorrigible." Schwoz grinned, making his friend laugh since it sounded like a good thing and judging by Schwoz's happy face, he too had no problems trapping Charlotte behind glass.

"I don't know what that means," Ray confessed once his laughter had ended and Charlotte rolled her eyes. He could figure it out himself, she was done trying to be the mature one and hoped to god that Henry got better and (y/n) returned home soon, because, otherwise, Ray's head would be on a platter.

~

"Right, you get some sleep, I'm off to make soup. I'll be back up in an hour or two to see if you feel any better, 'kay?" (y/n) smiled gently at Henry as he snuggled deeper into his blankets, feeling better for having her there. He'd have to get her a massive gift basket or something 'cause she really had gone above and beyond to make him feel better, even when his dad and Piper told her not to bother. Mrs Hart was concerned about her son, of course, but just left her to do the nursing as she had no clue what to do and even told her to help herself to anything in the house if it helped.

"Yeah, thanks, (y/n/n)," Henry mumbled, already feeling his exhaustion pulling him under and even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to open his eyes again. He looked so cute all wrapped up in bed, even if his forehead was sticky and his eyebags were shocking, he looked smaller, if that was possible, vulnerable perhaps. Sort of like the kid she had first met three years ago, who knew nothing about fighting or the true villainry in the world. 

"No problem, kid. Just shout if you need anything." She whispered and gently closed his bedroom door behind her as she walked down the hall. 

Whilst she had been attending to her patient, Schwoz had been on manoeuvres and had infiltrated the house, planting some device in the kitchen sink that made Piper and her dad freak out when sparks started flying all over their kitchen. 

A very clever ploy that got even cleverer when he appeared at the door dressed as a very familiar Italian plumber, saying that he miraculously knew about their problem and had come to fix it. The Harts were certainly in need of help and practically pulled him inside before their house was on fire, allowing Schwoz to place a sneaky camera near the kitchen that would allow Ray to monitor the living room and kitchen. 

With Piper and Mr Hart still blinded by their terror, Schwoz easily made up some bullshit excuse about needing to go to the attic to plug the sink problem, something Mr Hart couldn't understand but then again, he wasn't a plumber, so he just went along with it anyway. It was like some Mission Impossible shit, Schwoz was rolling and diving, sneaking about with his back to walls and it was a good thing too; he was about to round the corner onto the hall where the bedrooms were but pulled himself back at the last minute when he heard a certain someone hum a familiar tune. 

Oh, god, it was (y/n) and for a moment, Schwoz panicked at the thought of her seeing him because that would blow the whole plan open and Ray would kill him, but he needn't worry. There was an extremely handy pot plant in the hall that gave him enough cover to duck behind and luckily, the woman had her nose too deep in her phone to see the shocking red of his costume stand out against the green of the fanned-out leaves. 

She walked straight past, not even sensing his presence as she scrolled through some online recipes for brown soup, a renowned medicine for those with coughs and sniffles. Schwoz could jump for joy, but stayed silent, letting her walk down the stairs and into the chaos that would keep her busy whilst he was sorting out the camera in Henry's room. 

"Holy shit, what happened?!" (y/n) exclaimed as she appeared at the top of the stairs, ready to ask Mr Hart if she could use his kitchen, but what she was met with was alarming, to say the least. Sparks everywhere, Piper and her dad trying to fan them away with a red towel, screams and panicked shouts, what the fuck?

"I don't know, the plumber said he'd fix it!" Mr Hart exclaimed as she ran over and examined the situation. Okay, she had no idea what was going on, sinks don't catch fire unless they have some electrical components and from a few metres away, it was impossible to see the small device causing the problem.

"What plumber?!" The young woman screamed, trying to stop Piper from flapping at the sparks since they posed a serious risk. They could actually start a fire if they spread onto something else, but she didn't know what to do without getting closer. Was this a fire extinguisher problem? And who was this plumber? She hadn't seen anyone or heard them, she had wanted to do was make soup.

~In Henry's room~

Okay, Henry was dead to the world, whether it was from his supposed sickness or (y/n)'s awesome care, he didn't wake up as Schwoz crept into his room and dug around in his toolbox for some cameras, which he started to place strategically place around the room. He only needed a few and quickly made for the window, hoping he'd be able to sneak out without anyone noticing, but that was wishful thinking.

The genius stumbled as he crept past the couch, making an awful rattling noise in his toolbox that roused the boy from his sleep and Ray, who had been testing out his new toys, saw the whole bloody thing.

"Wha--Schwoz? Is that you?" Henry asked groggily, thinking he was hallucinating as he saw what he thought was his friend, wearing a Mario costume, standing in his bedroom, hugging a toolbox. What fever dream was this? This couldn't be real, his sickness must have been messing up his mind, 'cause this was just insane.

"No. I'm...just a dream. Yes...a dream about a nice Italian plumber, so you go back to sleep and you just wait for (y/n)'s souuu---arghhhh!" The small man said in a soothing voice, although he should've worried less about Henry and more about where he was walking. He hadn't realised that he was creeping towards the window and when his heel nudged the windowsill, he tripped and fell all the way to the ground. To make things even weirder, he just laughed off his pain, prompting Henry to flop his head back down so he could snap out of this crazy dream. It had to be a dream, no way had just happened.

~A few hours later~

So, some good was coming out of this whole hidden camera business, well, there was for Ray and Schwoz, who had discovered that there was never a dull moment in the Hart household. Ray had dreamily watched his girl making soup after she had dealt with the sink issue (something that was strange, but she just put it down to kids since she had no idea what her boyfriend was plotting), and wished that she was at home making it for him. Stupid Henry eating her soup, Anyway, things brightened up when he flicked on the cameras again in the living and saw that Mr Hart and Piper were arguing about her dad wearing her new, flashing pants. Yeah, they didn't get it either, but still, it was hilarious to see his dad dancing.

"They have no idea that we're watching and laughing!" Ray giggled with Schwoz as they watched the father cower before his daughter as he fumbled for an excuse. They wouldn't want to be in his position, Piper was hella scary when enraged.

"Sorry, privacy, you've been invaded!" Schwoz joked, making his boss laugh as they both nibbled on some snacks. Henry had been asleep all afternoon, so this was the best thing they had watched, or rather, this was the best thing Schwoz had watched. He didn't find watching (y/n) cooking particularly interesting, to be honest. And things were about to get interesting; the elevator dinged and out stepped Jasper, who was completely unaware of what was going on at work since he'd been with Henry too, not that Ray missed him as he did with his sweet girl.

"Hey, guys!" He greeted, wondering what they were laughing about and he had yet to see that Charlotte was still trapped in her tube. At least she had been fed a burrito enorme, even if it had landed on her head when Ray sent it up the other tube. What a jerk, she couldn't wait to snitch to her friend about how mental her boyfriend was when he went more than five hours without her.

"Hey, other kid." "Hey, Curly." Ray and Schwoz replied half-heartedly, one being slightly nice than the other as Schwoz used (y/n)'s nickname for the boy just out of instinct. He normally heard her say it, so it must've just rubbed off on him, which was rather nice.

"Jasper! Get me out of this tube!" Charlotte cried, thankful that, at last, someone other than those two dickheads had arrived at work and could actually free her from his glass, cylindrical prison. Seriously, her legs were starting to cramp up and the air was getting close, not to mention she was going to tell Henry and then beat Ray's ass. She had a lot to do, she just needed to get out.

"Why is she in the—?" The boy asked his boss rather than heeding her order straight away. He had firsthand experience of pissing Ray off and knew it was safer to ask rather than do. It would save him a lot of embarrassment later.

"Oh... uh, we're just playing a game." Ray lied, acting as though Charlotte was loving it and Schwoz agreed. He was enjoying this way too much to let the girl be a spoilsport, and he also didn't want to ace Ray's wrath. The man had been partially (y/n)-less for three days now, he was like a grouchy dragon.

"It's not a game!" Charlotte argued, praying to god that Jasper would believe her and not those two idiots, but they weren't about to let her wiggle out of it and after months of him working in Junk-N-Stuff, Ray and Schwoz had learned just how gullible Jasper could be.

"That's part of the game." The superhero clarified for the boy, who just went with it since he was the boss and he was the one who paid him. Don't bite the hand that feeds you, his little motto for when he was tiptoeing around Ray and his temper.

"Okay, well, it's past nine and I've just locked up Junk-N-Stuff, so I'm gonna head on home...whoa. Is that—-is that Henry's room?" Jasper told the man but trailed off when he saw the familiar decor of his best friend's bedroom and then (y/n) popping into the shot as she carefully brought in a tray of piping hot, brown soup, one of her finest batches if she did say so herself. Henry had been asleep all afternoon and she figured that he'd be hungry, so she'd figured that they'd test the waters and see if he could keep some nourishment down.

"Yep," Ray answered, his eyes softening as he saw her smile, but then he remembered why he was doing this and he toughened up again. She'd be home in a few hours, then he could cuddle with her all her wanted, just like they normally did, although she'd probably be tired after a full day of nursing stupid Henry. 

"But how are you seeing video—?" Jasper tried to ask, but Ray wasn't a big fan of his questions, not when he was trying to concentrate anyway. He shushed the boy and carefully angled the camera so he could see what was happening more clearly. Oh, yeah, like that was soup, that kid had just made (y/n) lie to his parents so they'd think he was sick too. That shit was obviously chilli or something, not what he pretended it was and he couldn't believe that he'd dragged his sweet girl into such a filthy lie or that she was going along with it.

"There it is. You see Henry there? He's not sick." Ray scoffed, really zooming in on the boy's face as he gratefully accepted the steaming bowl from (y/n) and carefully blew on his first spoonful to cool it down before he swallowed. The woman made herself useful by sanitising a few surfaces, picking up some blankets that had fallen on the floor and just generally chatting with the boy to see how he was doing. The sight was nauseating.

"How do you know?" Schwoz wondered. All he saw was a kid eating soup made by the woman taking care of him. That seemed like something sick people did, whatever Ray found so heinous, he couldn't see it.

"Look at him! Sitting there in bed, eating a big, steaming bowl of chilli." The man hissed. This was a case of the more you think it, the more you come to believe it and at this point, Ray was certain that his sidekick was chowing down on the worst thing you can eat on a queasy stomach, thus making him a liar, liar, pants on fire.

"Uhhh, that looks like (y/n)'s brown soup to me," Charlotte commented and even from the other side of the room with her eyes squinted, she knew her friend's cooking when she saw it. It was damn good soup and it was clear that Ray's anger was running away with his sanity, not that he saw it that way. She was wrong, he was right.

"You're too far away to tell. No, look at it, all dark and thick with chunks. I know chilli when I see it." He argued, thumping his chest as he swore that if anyone could identify (y/n)'s soup, it would be him. He wanted to marry the girl, for god's sake, he knew her better than anyone, or he did when he was thinking straight. 

"I think he is eating (y/n)'s brown soup," Jasper stated as he looked closer at the screen and honestly, there wasn't any arguing with that. He knew the woman too and had eaten too many bowls of chilli in his life to know when he was looking at one and that bowl wasn't no chilli. It was soup, plain and simple.

"No. No, it's not my (y/n)'s soup. Geez, Jasper, you can't tell the difference between brown soup and chilli? You're not allowed to look at my monitors." Ray replied petulantly, once again falling into his childish side that was normally controlled by his girlfriend, especially when he was picking on Curly, but without her, it was left to Charlotte to point it out, not that he cared.

"Oh, Ray...now you're just being a child and I'll tell you something else. Henry and (y/n) are your sidekicks and she's your girlfriend. They're both very responsible and (y/n) would never let him—" She started to lecture him, using her most authoritative tone, but there was another beautiful feature to the manual tube control that would let Ray sulk in peace.

"Mute the tube." He instructed Schwoz, who nodded since he wanted some quiet time too and twizzled a nob on the computer's control panel that cut out all noise coming from Charlotte. She was essentially scolding herself now and only realised when she heard her voice echoing off the glass. Well, her situation was getting better and better.

"Nice. Now, back to Kid Faker or Henry Hartless 'cause he steals girlfriends!" With the peace resumed, the agitated hero focused on the camera feed again, hoping to catch something incriminating, but all he could see was the two chatting, nothing he could use as evidence.

"Ray, listen. Henry and I have been close friends, like, forever." Jasper piped up, suddenly feeling the urge to defend his best friend. He didn't like all this finger-pointing and he'd sworn to always have Henry's back, even if it meant crossing his grumpy boss.

"Ughhhh, get to the point, boy." Ray groaned, not wanting to more boring, pointless speeches from teenagers. He was a grown man in his own home and if he wanted to spy on his sidekick and possibly his hopefully soon-to-be fiancée then he damn well would.

"I just think if he were faking it being sick, he would've told me. And (y/n) would've spotted it straight away and talked some sense into him." The curly-haired boy told him, trusting in their strong bond and how if they had a secret, then they'd tell each other. Plus, (y/n) wasn't one for liars, not when they were doing it for a selfish cause and she'd have hauled Henry's ass to the Man Cave herself if she had thought he was truly ill.

"Yeah...guys do tell their best buddies everything. Their thoughts, their secrets..." Ray pondered the idea, stroking his chin as he stood up and contemplated an idea. Back when (y/n) was his best friend minus the girlfriend thing, he'd spill the beans to her every day, never missing anything and the way she listened to every little detail, even the stuff about his ex-girlfriends that he now knew broke her heart, made him thank whoever sent her to be his angel. But now, he still told her everything, of course, he did, but he wasn't sure if someone else qualified to be his new best friend, 'cause he had her as his lover, which was like a BFF only so much better.

"That's true. Like that time you told me you went to Martha's Vineyard with (y/n) and you f—" Schwoz said absentmindedly, not realising that the gossip had been uttered to him in the expectation that it would be treated the utmost confidentiality. No one needed to know what the couple had gone up to on that trip and if the woman found out that Schwoz knew, she'd never be able to look him in the eye again.

"Don't talk about it, Schwoz! God, (y/n) will kill me!" Ray snapped, causing the genius to button his lip before he went too far. Oh well, he could keep the secret for a bit longer. "Jasper, I'm gonna need you to go shave your chest."

"My chest? Why?" The boy questioned. It had to be one of the weirdest requests he'd ever received, but it would all make sense in a moment because Ray had formed quite a cunning plan.

"You're gonna wear a wire." He told him, sending the teen into a fit of excitement. Okay, Spy Jasper was ready to go, he'd seen all the James Bond movies, he knew how this shit worked and boy was he up for it. Sure, it was morally dubious but fun. "A wire?!"

"Yeah, Schwoz is gonna tape a secret microphone to your chest and you're gonna meet Henry at the Parkway Diner, where I'll be hiding nearby—" Ray explained his idea, drawing more and more enthusiasm from the kid. Normally, he hated it when Jasper got excited, he had too much energy for him and not the kind he liked, but on this occasion, he was critical to the plan, so needs must. "Oooh, and then what?"

"You're gonna ask Henry about this sickness and I bet you that he admits he's faking and using (y/n) for her exception soup-making skills." He finished, his arm around the boy as Schwoz smirked. It was crafty and a bit excessive, but it would probably work. No one would suspect Jasper of being a sneak, he just had one of those faces that people spill their entire life stories to.

"So, I get to be like—like a spy?" Jasper squealed, ruining Ray's patience which had been surfing okay up until now. It's fine, he could handle this.

"Sure, we'll call you...Double O...zero." He told him in a flat tone, not really caring since it didn't matter either way. Jasper was not the next James Bond, nor was this gonna be. A regular thing. He was just the safest option since Charlotte was a rat and Schwoz was just too weird.

"Yes! It's all happening..." Jasper whispered as his dream became a reality and the three listening just rolled their eyes. At least he was compliant though, with Jasper on board, Operation Kid Faker was a go.

~Fifteen minutes later~

Having accepted that Ray wouldn't listen to her no matter what she said, Charlotte had decided to use her time in the tube wisely and whilst Jasper was getting all technical, she just stuck her nose in a book. Sure, it wasn't the most exciting read ever, but anything was better than listening to Schwoz prepare Jasper whilst Ray put on his disguise. It was one of his stupidest getups, something that would probably make his girlfriend laugh out loud if she saw him; he'd slicked back those chocolate brown locks, put on some squeaky, leather pants and shrugged on a matching jacket in an attempt to look like the kind of cool cat that frequented a diner. But, he just looked a bit silly, like he was a really shit Elvis impersonator of something, which wasn't the look he was going for.

"There. Now, this is your microphone, right here next to your noople." Schwoz told the boy has he taped one of those itty bitty mics onto his chest, next to his nipple, not that the guy could say that word.

"Right. Let's go bust a faker." Ray said cooly, complete it his ensemble but putting on a pair of purely black shades, adding to his ridiculous vibe. Yeah, he didn't look like himself, but that was because he looked like an idiot.

"Okay, now will you let me outta here?" Charlotte snapped at the boys, hoping that she could go to the bathroom and stretch her legs. The book was boring and she was dying to tell Henry or (y/n) or someone what had been going on, but Ray saw right through her innocent face.

"No, you could still warn Henry or (y/n), so you gotta stay in there until we prove he's faking." He replied, shuddering at the thought of his girl hearing about this. Firstly, he was sure Henry was lying, and that would break her heart. Secondly, she wouldn't approve of his wild ways to catch him out, leaving her to shout at him and him nursing a wounded heart.

"And what if I need to use the restroom?" The girl asked. She'd been behind glass all afternoon and when you gotta go, you gotta go, so what did he expect her to do? Just go without any shame?

"I already thought of that." Ray reminded her, gesturing to the glass jar that he had sent down for her earlier, something that was as disgusting as it was degrading. The space was so tight, what if it spilt? What if someone walked in? The glass was see-through!

"I am not using this jar!" She hissed, picking the pot up so she could wave it around angrily. Even the nerve of this guy, he was cruising for a bruising.

"Good news for the jar." Ray scoffed, making his fellow fakery discoverers snort with laughter. Honestly, they were all children, but Charlotte did have one trick left up her sleeve. Something a bit cruel, but hey, she'd been trapped all day. She was desperate to pee and to let Henry know what was about to happen. "Let's go... Oh, uh, Schwoz. Three things." 

"Yes?" Schwoz smiled at his boss as he turned around at the last minute, just before he was about to go into the elevator. He would be left to guard the Man Cave, be commander of the helm, not that it was ever that exciting.

"Don't let Charlotte out of the tube 'til after we get back," Ray instructed him as he walked backwards, Jasper opening the elevator so they could get off to the diner before Henry got there. They didn't want him suspecting anything.

"Aye and what are numbers two and three?" The genius craned his neck so he could watch Ray in all his leathery glory before the door slid shut. 

"If (y/n) comes back early, tell her I love her and...don't eat any worms." Ray sighed, making one helper groan and the other two grimace. Okay, first off, awwww, he was cute, soppy, but cute. Second, what the hell, Schwoz ate worms? He was more of a freak than they realised and had often been caught sucking the worms up like spaghetti by the couple when they were just going about their business. He had a problem.

"Aw, but..." The genius pouted, having been hoping that with Charlotte locked up and Ray gone, he'd be free to scoff his favourite snack. The problem was though, that they stunk the whole place up, sort of like a musty, earthy, salty smell that linger on any cloth it touched, so everyone always knew when he'd been snacking and it made (y/n) gag. Therefore, Ray was adamant to welcome her home into a calm, worm-free environment so Schwoz had to behave.

"No buts, no worms." The superhero repeated firmly, pressing the button to go up as the little man rolled his eyes. He'd eat worms if he wanted to. He lived in the Man Cave too, he had rights.

"Okay, Schwoz, let me outta this tube!" Charlotte exclaimed once her idiotic employer and friend were out of earshot and on their way to ruin Henry's trust in them. And to possibly ruin (y/n)'s love for Ray, who knows? She didn't know how well the woman would take it and feared that accusing Henry like they were planning on doing would be the thing that finally made her iron resilience bend, maybe even break. She tolerated Ray's dumb moments so much, but not trusting Henry kinda meant he wasn't trusting her judgement and if she left, well, let's just say Captain Man would never be the same again.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no. You heard what Ray said about you and (y/n) and worms." Schwoz shook his head. Whilst he didn't care about the worms thing, he did care about Charlotte staying put and he was still contemplating passing on Ray's message, he just hadn't thought of the consequences for this entire thing.

"You better listen to me, Schwoz! 'Cause if you don't let me out of this—outta this—oh my—-I think I—-I think I—-ughhhhh." Charlotte fell against the glass limply as she clutched her chest and pretended to go into cardiac arrest or something. This was the cruel bit, tricking Schwoz into thinking she was dying, but if it got her out then she was gonna do it. 

"Ayyyyyy! Charlotte, are you okay? Please, be okay! Charlotte!—" The genius fell for it, hook, line and sinker. he scrambled to lift the tube before sprinting over to the girl's side so he could support her "limp" body, but when he got to her, Charlotte's energy returned with a fury, kicking him in the groin so hard it made him collapse.

"That's for not letting me out of the tube!" She growled as she marched over to the supercomputer, not even caring if she'd crushed his hopes of having little Schwozs in the future. She just needed to call Henry.

"Could you please call me an ambulance?" He groaned, bending over to try and stop the pain, but his entire lower half was in agony and he feared for whatever was going on down there. 

"No, 'cause I'm gonna get my phone, call Henry and tell him and (y/n) what Ray and Jasper are up to." The girl replied harshly, digging through her bag to see if she could locate her cell, but it was one of those moments where the one thing you need is nowhere in sight, which gave Schwoz the perfect opportunity to crawl to a drawer and pull out a can of worms, his comfort food. He couldn't be that injured if he wanted the worms.

"Where's my dumb phone? Hey, have you seen my—-Schwoz!" Charlotte yelled when she saw the man three seconds away from shovelling a fork piled high with long, brownish-black worms into his mouth and the sight repulsed her. "Ray told you not to eat the worms"

"You already bashed my pants, now just let me enjoy my worms!" He snapped back, having had quite enough of her sharp tongue for one day and turned his back on the girl so he could eat without any judgement. It didn't matter, Charlotte had more things to worry about, like where the hell she had put her phone. If it wasn't in her bag, then there was only one thing for it and she just prayed that Henry had his whiz watch on.

~Henry's porch~

"Do you know what Jasper wants?" (y/n) asked Henry as she shut his front door behind them. She was feeling a lot of mixed emotions; firstly, she hadn't had any of Ray's sappy texts for at least an hour, telling her that he was either up to something or too distracted to remember that she wasn't home, which wasn't a great feeling. Secondly, Jasper had phoned Henry out of the blue and had insisted that he go and meet him in some crappy diner because "he wanted to discuss something", whatever the hell that meant. And thirdly, Henry had actually fucking agreed, despite not being anywhere near better. Sure, the soup was still settled in his tummy, but some grungy diner was no place to go, not when he could spew at any moment. 

"He just said he wants to talk." The boy shrugged, making her feel a tad suspicious, but she shook it off. Yeah, Jasper knew Henry wasn't well, but perhaps it was really important and who wouldn't trust a face like that?

"Right, but if you feel like you're gonna puke at any moment, you're going straight back home." The woman told him sternly, which made him laugh. He could count on (y/n) to keep him safe, no bug or bacteria would beat her.

"All right, all right, I—-" Henry's laughter was cut off and they curiously looked at his whiz watch as it began to beep and flash. Hmmm, if there was an emergency, why wouldn't Ray call his girlfriend? Why would he want a sick sidekick to come and help?

"Hey, Char, what's up?" Henry greeted his friend as he casually flicked the watch open. Not the person he was expecting, but still, it was nice to see her after being cooped up for three days, although he wasn't going to like this.

"Bad things. Bad things are up!" She replied ominously, making (y/n) and Henry look at each other in worry. They'd only been gone for a bit, why was everything suddenly so dramatic and foreboding?

"Why? What's wrong?" The young woman asked, suddenly getting a nervous feeling in her gut. It was her danger-tingle, or it's what she called it, that sense in her tummy when something was going down and normally, it wasn't wrong. If something had happened to Ray or Jasper or Schwoz or her or Colin or the Man Cave or anyone she loved then she didn't know what she'd do, but...

"Ray didn't believe you were really sick and he thought you were making (y/n) look after you for fun, so he sent Schwoz to your house, dressed as an Italian Plumber so he could install cameras and microphones in your house!" Charlotte exclaimed, making the woman's dread morph into rage as she heard more and more about how ridiculously dim-witted her boyfriend had been. Just once, she wanted him to keep a level head and think about things rationally before he charged into something, but clearly, he thought she couldn't spot a liar herself.

"In my house?!" Henry gasped, looking completely horrified, mortified and furious at the revelation. He had been in bed, eating soup, what else did they think he was gonna do? He was sick! And a teenager, which felt a bit awkward since they had probably seen his bedroom, at all times, oh god.

"I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna fucking kill him, the thick, stupid, idiot!" (y/n) growled with her hands on her head as she tried to keep it together. Ray didn't trust Henry to be responsible and therefore, he didn't trust her to take care of things herself, that felt horrific. 

Trust is a big thing in relationships and usually, for them, it was a lack of trust in other people, who often didn't know how to leave a good thing alone so it couldn't be spoiled, but now, they weren't trusting each other, weren't believing that the other could get the job done solo. She didn't need to be supervised and sometimes, going out alone was nice. She'd enjoyed being the one in charge for a bit, had liked the change of scenery and whilst she had missed him terribly, it wasn't up to him to decide what jobs she could go and do and what she couldn't.

"And he's been spying on you all day, watching everything, including you eating a bowl of (y/n)'s brown soup." Charlotte went on, adding fuel to their anger as they realised that every single, intimate yet friendly moment they'd had together that day as carer and patient had been contaminated by prying eyes and ears, making the whole experience feel weird now. 

"Wha—but that was my private brown soup time with (y/n)!" Henry spat, looking at the woman with a similar face of disgust. This was what irritated him about Ray sometimes; in his boss's eyes, he wasn't a boy on the verge of becoming an adult, responsible and honest, he was a child, notorious for not always doing the right thing and it sucked. 

"And now, Ray's making Jasper wear a microphone so he can meet you at the Parkway Diner to try to trick you into admitting that you're not really sick and you "stole" (y/n) to turn her into your private soup lady!" The girl finished, barely being able to make out that Henry was biting his lip to stop himself from cursing loudly and (y/n) was just...livid.

"But he is sick! I know what sick looks like, why doesn't he trust me to make the right judgement? And Jasper's wearing a wire?" She asked, wrinkling her nose as she thought about the poor kid being dragged into her boyfriend's schemes. He was innocent in this, she was sure, just eager to help out, so she knew who the real culprit was. She loved him so damn much, but right now, it was hard to feel that whilst the anger was fresh and still stinging.

"Yeah! And Ray's gonna be at that diner, listening to every word you say." Charlotte told them, prompting an idea in Henry's mind. If ray wanted some dirt then he'd give him some. Something so damn filthy it would tell him that he knew what his game was and how he hated it.

"Oh...okay. Well, if Ray wants to listen to what we have to say to Jasper, then we're gonna make sure we say something goooood." He smirked, nudging the young woman next to him and she knew exactly what he meant. A little sabotage, a dash of deviance and a whole lot of lies, just to beat Ray at his own game. She liked it, time to see if he liked it when the tables were turned.

~Parkway Diner~

It was a classic setup. Rock music blaring, dirty booths that had been in place since the seventies, dim lighting, a bar that served root beer, alcohol and comfort food, this was the perfect all-American diner and the stage was ready for Ray's big showdown. Henry and (y/n) were a little nervous as they walked in the door, praying to God that Schwoz hadn't tipped the man off or the smell of beer and stale cigarettes wouldn't turn Henry's stomach. But it was all worth it, especially when they saw Ray in his stupid costume at the bar and Jasper acting all innocent in one of the booths. 

He waved them over and the two walked straight past Ray, pretending like they hadn't noticed him, despite (y/n) being certain that she could pick him out of any crowd, and his disguise wasn't great. They smiled at Jasper, the woman helping Henry to sit down since she still felt like he shouldn't have been walking around but still. Keeping up appearances was a must.

"Hello, Jasper." (y/n) greeted the boy, sliding onto the same padded bench as Henry so they could keep their back to Ray and look straight into the boy's eyes. Everything had been rehearsed and calculated to sound shocking, heartbreaking and just a little bit over-the-top. The perfect lies that Ray was looking for.

"Hey, Henry, (y/n)," Jasper replied, acting as normal as he possibly could, but his palms were getting sweaty. He could bomb this and face Ray's wrath, but Henry definitely looked sickly and (y/n) looked...well, he didn't know how she looked. She had a twinkle in her eye that unnerved him, but he couldn't stop the mission now, not when Ray was watching and listening.

"What's up?" Henry asked, trying to look like he had no clue what was going on and he did his best to smother his anger and disappointment as he faced down his best friend.

"Ummmm...how are you feeling?" He stuttered, taking a prompt from Ray so he could keep the conversation flowing. It's not like he could come straight out with it, he couldn't just shout until Henry admitted it, it had to be divulged naturally. 

"Uh, well..." Henry started, thinking for something he could say, but he didn't need to worry. Jasper's nerves were getting the better of him.

"You can tell me. We've been friends for...for so long." He chuckled nervously, making his friends look at him weirdly since it was such an odd thing to say. Of course, they knew why he was getting so squirmy and sweaty, Ray was figuratively breathing down his neck, but they couldn't let him onto that. "So?"

"So, even if you have a secret, I'm the perfect person for you to tell." Well, there went the subtly. It was a mistake to include Jasper, Ray was seeing that now. Missions require stealth and a sly attitude, neither of which the kid had; he said the word "secret", for god's sake, how much dumber and not secret-agentish could he get?

"Oh god, he's the worst..." Ray groaned to himself, lifting his glasses and pinching his eyes tiredly as he heard every word in his ear. This was excruciating to watch and he could see this whole thing going wrong, but it was so nice to see his girl sitting there, even in the dingy light, she was so damn pretty. He just wanted to stride over there and take her into his arms and kiss her like he had wanted to do for days, for the whole time he'd known her, to kiss her was the greatest privilege.

"Well, uh...great, 'cause...you know how I've been calling in sick to work and making (y/n) take care of me?" Henry whispered lowly, leaning forward with (y/n) so that they could get close to Jasper, who, along with Ray, was suddenly intrigued. Holy shit, were they onto something? "Yeah?"

"Well, he was faking! Isn't that funny?" The young woman giggled, laughing the lie off like it hadn't been anything serious, but to the eavesdropper, it was huge. He slammed his hand against the bar, jumping for joy at how he'd been right, but also, disappointed that he'd been let down. He couldn't help but feel like he'd been lied to by not only, Henry, but (y/n) too. Had she known and duped him?

"Why'd you tell Ray you were sick?" Jasper questioned. He too was disappointed in his best friend and the young woman, he thought they were more trustworthy than that, but also, he didn't know that they were capable of such deceit. 

"You swear we can totally trust you?" Henry looked at Jasper with a deadly serious face, not even a hint of a smile as (y/n) too grew emotionless. This was where they got to have some fun and dragging it out just made it even better. 

"Sure, I'd never betray my friends." Jasper nodded at both of them, trying to convey how sincere he was since he had to squeeze every last drop of juicy gossip from them for Ray. This thing was a lot more complex than he had first thought, but he was invested, like some kind of soap opera on the TV.

"Well, come here," Henry told Jasper and the boy shuffled as close to their faces as possible, practically bodysurfing the table as they all huddled in close so Henry could drop the biggest lie they could've thought of. "We're done being Ray's sidekicks."

"B-b-but why? You guys don't wanna fight crime anymore?" Jasper's mouth was on the table, his heart pounding in his ears as Ray felt his heart stop. Okay, this didn't feel right, what did they mean they didn't want to work with him anymore? Was it something he'd said?

"No, we do, but I mean, come on, Curly, we don't need Captain Man." (y/n) scoffed, ignoring how wrong it felt to say the words. She needed Ray in so many ways, from the way she'd never be able to fight bad guys with him protecting her to the way she'd felt loneliness for ten years before they finally fell into each other's arms and it was something she never wanted to experience again. The anger was so strong now, definitely still there, but fading away, leaving her more hurt than mad and being mean wasn't her style when she had her sensible self back in control.

"Ray's indestructible, you can't just get rid of Captain Man. And he's your boyfriend, (y/n), I thought you loved being with him?" Jasper stammered, seeing the coffee pour from Ray's lips as he heard every, heart-wrenching word and felt his world crumble around him. 

No, no, not his sweet girl, this couldn't be happening. Thank god he was wearing dark sunglasses, 'cause otherwise, everyone would see his eyes clouding with tears, but he couldn't stop the hand that sat over his heart, trying to stop it from aching. He knew this would happen, he knew that she'd outgrow him and move on, but he hadn't counted on it hurting so much, not when he had been sure, certain, absolutely positive they were gonna live happily ever after. The ring would have to sit and gather dust, 'cause he'd never be able to marry someone else, not when he had known his true love in her.

"Well, see...we've been working secretly with Doctor Minyak," Henry revealed, making Ray bring his glasses down his nose so he could see the situation with his own eyes and he could see Henry looking smug, Jasper looking gobsmacked and her, still looking so fucking beautiful and perfect, still calm, not showing the vulnerability she was feeling, still the one he wanted to marry, even if she wanted to leave. He'd never stop wanting her, not ever; he loved her, always.

"We've been developing this weapon that can melt Captain Man like the big doofus he is." (y/n) smirked, leaning back and folding her arms as she kept the lie going, although now that she said that, something didn't seem quite right. She still said doofus with such love and Ray stopped for a moment; could she...? Had they...? Wait...

"And check this out. Once Ray's out of the picture...come here. Come here...yeah, all the way." Henry told Jasper, bringing him in close again as he hung onto every word and Ray grew more and more sceptical with each passing second. His voice didn't sound uncaring either and although he was still terrified and hurt on the inside, he was trying to keep a brave face as he put down his stupid glasses and got to his feet. This fuckery ended with him.

"I'm gonna take over and make you and (y/n) my sidekicks." Henry hissed, making Jasper erupt into happiness. That was his dream and was what they knew would make him join their side in a heartbeat, screw his loyalty to Ray, he wanted to be a superhero, no matter what.

"Oh, Ray's our friend, (y/n), he wants to—I mean, you love—-we can't just—" Jasper stuttered, trying to communicate how this would break Ray. In his gullible view, this was a betrayal and having the engagement snatched out from his fingertips would break the man, something he wanted to tell her without ruining the surprise or shocking her to the core.

"You're either with us or against us, Jasper." (y/n) responded cooly, ignorant to what he was referring to, which was a relief to her boyfriend, who had decided that he needed to step in any time now before the idiot spy he'd employed blew the best and biggest plan he'd ever come up with, one that everyone agreed on; it wasn't dumb, it wasn't ridiculous, it was perfect. Well, it would be if Jasper held his tongue.

"Ummmmm...okay, I'm in!!" He broke, agreeing wholeheartedly and he was so happy to have been considered for a role alongside Miss Danger, he didn't even notice Ray coming over to put the whole charade to an end.

"Really? You're in?" Henry asked, surprised at how easy his friend had given in, but it didn't matter. It was amusing to watch and in about five seconds, or four, or three, or two...it would be over.

"Whatever you guys need me to do, I'll do," Jasper replied, just as Ray started a long, slow, loud clap, drawing the attention of the three sat in the booth and some other diners who looked at him weirdly before returning to their drinks. The game was up.

"All right, Henry. How'd you and (y/n) know Jasper was wearing a wire?" He asked the boy in a low, dejected voice, looking from him to the gorgeous woman sitting on his left, watching his every move with a slightly shocked yet still loving gaze. She hadn't expected him to come over and was wondering how he'd taken it and judging by his red, puffy eyes, not very well.

"'Cause we're not idiots." Henry spat, his anger coming to the surface again as he remembered how they'd ended up in this situation because Ray didn't think he could be trusted to have a few days off work sick without it being a lie.

"Ray...I didn't know you also come to this restaurant." Jasper said in a faux-surprised, fake voice and boy, his acting skills needed work. He was as stiff as a board and the way he pretended that Ray hadn't been sitting at the bar the entire time was hilarious.

"Give it up, son," Ray told him, shaking his head as Henry and (y/n) stood up, facing him so they could grill him for everything he'd done. The man looked sheepish and a tad nervous, instinctively going to bring his girl into his arms, but he shrunk back when she stood still, preferring to feel just her own arms around her body for the time being as she checked how she felt. Numb, buzzing from the aftermath of rage, stinging from the pain of not being trusted and aching from how she'd clearly upset him and gone too deep. It had been a stupid idea, her actions being born from her not thinking for a moment.

"I can't believe you spied on us." Henry frowned at his boss, the man who had grown to be like a brother to him, the man who would be (y/n)'s husband if everything went well, had all they'd gone through meant nothing to him?

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't have had to do all of this if you hadn't lied to me about being sick for three days," Ray argued, acting like a wounded animal snarling back at those trying to attack him. He just wanted things to be okay again like they had been last week, but he couldn't see anything working other than him sticking to his guns, so he did.

"Ray, he wasn't lying. He had, like, this really bad cold or flu and I just wanted to make sure he was taking care of himself, why can't you see that? Since when do we not trust each other?" (y/n) groaned, her hands raking through her hair as she silently begged him to stop being so damn stubborn so they could talk this out. The stress wasn't good for the kid, he was getting paler and paler...

"Oh yeah, 'cause everyone with the flu loves to sit around eating big old, hunkin' bowls of chilli from my girlfriend. Yeah, I saw it." Ray spat back, digging the hole deeper for himself, although if he just put down the shovel, things would start getting much better. He didn't know why he was just arguing and arguing and arguing for arguing's sake, he just felt like shouting back, despite the pain it was causing to those who loved him most.

"That was brown soup." Henry frowned, wondering how wrong one person could be. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to leave him for a few days and let that dumb brain sit and think. 

"Brown soup, okay." He scoffed, making the sidekicks sigh as he brushed off their explanation, but Jasper was still listening and was still coming to terms with the fact that he wasn't going to be a sidekick. "I knew it wasn't brown soup!"

"Look, just admit that you were never sick, you just wanted (y/n) to care for you for a few days. Apologise and we can forget this whole thing." Ray patronised them, (y/n) stepping in front of Henry as he started to feel a bit queasy again. Why couldn't he apologise for getting it wrong and hurting them? Why did they have to be the bad guys?

"For fuck's sake, he was sick, he still is sick! God, I leave you for, like, what? Three days and everything goes to pot? It was three days." The young woman growled, taking a step forward as she responded to his aggression. It was a bit distressing to argue in public like an old married couple, but it seemed the patrons in the diner were used to a bit of shouting and just kept shining their glasses, leaving Ray to stare down at his incredibly hot girlfriend as she glared at him.

"Oh god, he's such a faker and you're just going along with it!" He grinned, winding her up even more as Henry tried to stop the bubbling nausea in his tummy. The brown soup was getting ready to make a reappearance, but the couple were too busy trying to be right that they didn't see his small frowns.

"A faker? Why would he fake this? And what do you mean I'm going along with it? Do I look gullible to you? I don't just let people walk all over me, Raymond, not Henry, not you, I know when people are fucking lying to me." She hissed, getting close to his chest and tried not to let how fucking good he smelled or how good he looked in a leather jacket affect her. She wanted to kiss and strangle, embrace and punch him all at the same time, furious at how he knew how to push her buttons and leave her wanting for more.

"'Cause he didn't want to come to work, 'cause he's a little punk and he's got no sense of responsibility and now look at us. We're arguing in the middle of a shitty diner 'cause he faked being sick and you fell for it!" He argued back, fuelled by how cute her anger-flushed cheeks were and how she looked like she wanted to kill him but never did. Everyone was looking at this point and Henry was feeling real bad, but they just wanted to win the argument, or spend hours cooling down before falling back into perfect love.

"You can call his dad, he'll tell you everything you want to know. And we're standing here arguing 'cause you insisted on coming here, looking like fucking Grease Lightning, and you won't admit that you're wrong and you were jealous." (y/n)'s voice turned icily calm, making Ray laugh coldly as he heard her guess the truth. 

Yeah, he had been jealous, envious that his girlfriend was spending her time with someone else, not in a wrong way, just knowing that she wasn't around, something that felt selfish, but he couldn't help but curse himself for. He didn't want to limit her, but he also wanted to be the only one who saw her smiles, heard her jokes, knew her the best.

"Pshh, sweet girl, I was not jealous. I just don't like to see you doing stuff for people who are taking advantage of you." He tried to sound sincere, tell her that she was correct and he just wanted the best for her but his stupid emotions stopped him from being what she deserved, but it came out all wrong. More like something he'd think back on later that night and kick himself for as he laid alone on cold sheets.

"Are you serious? Henry has not taken advantage of me. I chose to take care of him, Henry is—-Henry, holy shit, are you okay?" The young woman started making her point, looking back and forth from her boyfriend and the kid several times before she realised that he was groaning and bending over clutching his stomach. Oh god, she knew that he shouldn't have left his room.

"Oh, I don't feel good, think it's the soup." He mumbled, leaning on her body for support as she tried to get him to sit down or to a trash can, but Ray was in the way and just wouldn't stop talking.

"Oh, yeah, he's sick. Let me get the full performance, 'cause he's definitely not faking..." Ray mocked the kid, getting clever and imitating how his sidekick was in pain, much to the annoyance of his girl. He wasn't being very helpful and she just needed his stupid ass to move before...

"Oh, I'm not joking—" And puke all over Ray fetching, black t-shirt. Henry couldn't help it, his stomach just switched to being the boss and he projectiled all over his boss, who wasn't laughing now that he smelt and felt the sick splash down his front. Poor kid.

"Yeah, that's brown soup." He confessed as (y/n) rubbed Henry's back and guided him back to the booth. God, he felt tired and Jasper quickly assumed the role of temporary carer, pulling out his phone to call Mr Hart so he could come and retrieve his son whilst the young woman went to sort out her messy boyfriend. He didn't smell good now.

"Do you trust me now?" She asked her boyfriend coldly, blankly grabbing his hand and guiding him to a washroom in the corner of the restaurant. The diners had gone back to their drinks, not caring now that the argument was over and Ray stumbled after her as they entered the gross bathroom. It smelled and he was sure that this was the men's room, but no one said anything and he just followed her to the tiny sink where they could try to sponge him clean.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled, taking fistfuls of paper towels from the dispenser so they could try and wipe most of it off, and seeing how tentative she was being made him ashamed and remorseful. She was still taking care of him, even though he'd been a dick.

"And I'm sorry for upsetting you. It was a dumb idea, I still want to be your sidekick." She replied quietly, ignoring how gross and foul-smelling the task was, she just wanted to stop feeling horrible over how she'd picked on a weak point and made him cry, even if it was just a bit.

"S'okay. I did worse." He smiled, knowing that he kinda deserved it. He had been so wrapped up in desperately wanting to see her again that he hadn't looked at the bigger picture and noticed how he was being reckless and destructive of everything good he had going on for himself; a great sidekick, a great helper and a beautiful girlfriend who he wanted to marry.

"We both did bad. And now we're making up in a diner bathroom with our fingers covered in barf." (y/n) smiled, trying to break up the sad tension with a joke and it worked. Ray cracked a grin, looking at the situation with crinkled eyes as they scrubbed at the stain, trying to get it as good as they could before they sped home and chucked the clothes in a washing machine.

"We make quite a pair, sweet girl...and I love you." He smiled, chucking an icky paper towel into a trash can in the corner of the room, watching as she did the same and turned to wash her hands with a blushy smile on her pretty face.

"I love you too, doofus. And your leather jacket." She smirked, watching as he got what she was saying and looked at the garment. He'd practically forgotten he owned it and only wore it since she wouldn't recognise it as something he'd go for, but perhaps it would become something more popular if she liked it so much.

"Come here, sweet girl." He murmured and dragged her into a kiss, finally getting what they both wanted as she ignored her still-damp hands and clutched the lapels of her new favourite jacket. He looked cool and hot, even if he did smell a bit. She loved him regardless and couldn't wait to go home.

[findingmypeace]

I think maybe I’m coming out of denial. I get migraines. I don’t think it’s related to the ed. But I just had an extremely pain full headache come on very quickly. My friend from work gets migraines too so I texted her. I explained the symptoms and she said it sounds like a stress or tension headache. It felt different than a migraine. It was headache and then listed some things I can do to help it. Those things were to put an ice pack on my forehead and lay down for a little while. That helped quite a bit. I think just relaxing for a little while helped. But then her other advice was to drink some warm tea and ingest a little bit of sugar to let her body know it’s “safe”.

I knew her advice was probably appropriate. There is no way I can have some sugar right now. I just had a small scone a little while ago. It wasn’t that many calories. I can’t have something else right now. Maybe in a few hrs. But that’s not what I freaked out about.

This is the most ridiculous thing and I hate myself for it. In the past few days I’ve become absolutely terrified of fluids. Wtf is wrong with me? How can I be so ridiculous? It’s just tea. It’s my favorite kind too. I already made it. But I haven’t taken a sip yet. I am going to make myself drink it but as it was heating up in the microwave I had a complete meltdown realizing just how bad things have become.

And of course the thing is I’m terrified of the water weight gain and that’s why it’s become this way. But the thing that has frustrated me beyond all else (and this is even more ridiculous) is no matter how little I keep down for the past several weeks my weight has been fluctuating within two pounds. On Wednesday I kept nothing down and when I took my “official” I was up by 1.5 pounds. This morning I was only down by .3 pounds. Why is this happening so close to treatment? I am only 10 pounds away from my highest weight and I am very shortly going to treatment. Treatment is going to push me past my highest. I don’t think I can handle that. That’s why I’ve become afraid of fluids. I don’t want the water weight gain. But being afraid of water or flavored water is absolutely ridiculous.

After I started to feel better, I went to put the water for the tea in the microwave and I felt very lightheaded and I still feel a little dizzy. I think it’s because of the headache. I still feel a little dizzy. While I was waiting for the water to heat up I almost passed out. I just felt so incredibly lightheaded. When I feel like that why do all the medical professionals think I perfectly healthy or that it’s just the machine malfunctioning.

I’m working from home today, for the most part. I was planning to go to the female house for a short while to finish two more client satisfaction surveys that are supposed to be done quarterly. I’m already very late on them and I’m being bugged to get them done asap. But, honestly, I don’t think I can drive even though it’s probably only a 7-10 minute drive to the house. (That’s the one that’s farther away.) I know my friend is there working a floor shift so I’m thinking I might just call over there and ask my friend to help me out. I absolutely hate that this is affecting my job. I just feel like I’m letting everyone down. And maybe this is the part that’s in denial but this whole headache thing feels like something completely unrelated to my eating disorder. It’s just stress.

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

The Scrappy Huntress

Pairings: No romantic pairing. Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, and The Scrappy Huntress. 😉

Summary: The Winchesters might end up with a new member of Team Free Will.

Warnings: None. Only fluff. Figurative and literal fluff. Very brief mentions of blood.

Word Count: 1.5k+

A/N: So, I've been struggling with my mental health a bit lately and I've been having a hard time finding inspiration to write my next chapters for my series.

So, chatting with my daughter, I told her I wanted to write something super fluffy for Dean and she suggested Dean and a kitten, and this idea grew almost immediately, so I wrote it.

Hoping that getting out smaller drabbles like this will kick start inspiration! I'm sorry to those waiting for chapter updates!! They're coming, I promise. ❤️

The beautiful dividers here and below were created by @talesmaniac89 . 💓

Masterlist || Tag Lists

"Just leave it, Sam! If you pay attention to it, it's never gonna go away." Dean scowled down at his giant baby brother, who'd compressed his massive 6'4 frame down into a crouch in order to pet the scrawny kitten that had taken up residence just outside their motel room door.

Sam shook his head and looked up at Dean. "It's been outside since we got here yesterday, Dean. I don't think it's being fed. It's obviously a stray, let me bring him in and give him a bit of food and water."

"No!" Dean said vehemently. "I know you, Sammy. You bring that damn thing in, and before you know it, we'll be putting up lost posters and spending the next week searching for owners."

Sam just let his eyes plead for him and Dean was quickly outdone by a skinny black cat and big puppy dog eyes.

"Ugh!" He growled angrily. "Fine, bring it in, give it some milk, then back out it goes."

Sam scooped up the kitten quickly before Dean could change his mind and walked into their motel room.

"Most cats are lactose intolerant, milk might upset his stomach," he argued.

"How do you know it's a he?" Dean asked as he followed Sam into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Huh." Sam said, contemplating. "I don't actually know."

He turned the kitten upside down to check and the fluffy feline let out several long mewls at the undignified treatment.

"I was wrong, it's a girl." Sam corrected himself. Turning the kitten right side up, he scratched her ears for a moment as compensation for his rude behavior.

"Who's a pretty little girl?" He questioned nonsensically as he nuzzled her soft fur.

Dean rolled his eyes and plopped down on the bed, leaning his shoulders against the headboard, still dressed in his big brown leather coat and boots.

"Feed her and put her back outside so we can get back to figuring out why two perfectly healthy men have dropped dead out of nowhere in this town in the last week. I'd like to finish up and get back to my very comfortable bed."

He slapped his hand down against the lumpy motel mattress aware that he'd gone soft ever since they'd found the bunker a few years ago.

"You know, I was thinking..." Sam began and Dean rolled his eyes.

"No." He answered curtly.

"You don't even know what I was gonna say!" Sam protested.

But Dean was already shaking his head. "I know exactly what you were going to say, and there's absolutely no way we're taking that flea infested thing home with us."

"She's not flea-infested." Sam defended her. "And she could make sure we don't see any more mice scurrying down our hallways."

"No, instead we'd just see a little runt kitten running around that we'd have to feed and take care of. We're not exactly home-bodies, Sam. Who'd look after the thing when we're on the road?" He shook his head again. "We're not taking it home."

Sam pouted slightly. "She's a 'she' not an it."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever. So if SHE can't drink milk, what are you going to feed her with?"

"I'm gonna run over to that little corner store down the street. They probably have cans of cat food." Sam answered as he brought the kitten over to Dean.

Sam tried to pass the kitten to him, but Dean held his hands up, palms out. "No way, I'm not holding that thing, it's gonna pee on me, or scratch the shit outta me."

"SHE is not going to pee on you, and dude, are you telling me you're seriously afraid of the world's tiniest claws? Man, you fight werewolves!" Sam said, incredulously.

Dean frowned and lowered his hands allowing Sam to set the tiny ball of fluff there.

"Yeah, well I shoot werewolves. You telling me I can silver-bullet her if she starts scratching?"

Sam shot him a look and Dean huffed out a sigh. "Kidding, kidding. Sheesh."

"I'll be fifteen minutes, tops. I bet you can keep her from attacking til I'm back." Sam said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"Yeah, yeah." Dean said waving his brother out the door.

As the door closed behind Sam, Dean looked over the tiny black cotton ball that he had gripped in his hand.

He adjusted the kitten slightly, not wanting to squeeze too hard. He could feel it's tiny little ribs beneath his fingers, and it's heartbeat slamming fast against them.

Dean's face softened slightly. "Its okay, I won't really shoot you, promise." He said quietly.

He readjusted again so the kitten could sit fully in his palm, and he could hold it in place with his other hand.

"Man, you really are a runty little thing, aren't you?"

The kitten blinked up at him with wide blue eyes. "I thought cats had green eyes." Dean said out loud, unable to stop the compulsion to rub his thumb over the cat's tiny head.

As he did, a sudden rumbling purr started up and when Dean petted her again, the kitten chased his thumb, rubbing up against it and then nibbling on the end.

Dean snorted with humor as she rolled onto her back in his hand, batting at his fingers with all four feet.

"Ooh, you're a scrapper." He moved his fingers forward to pet her black and white speckled belly and chuckled in spite of himself as she spread her four paws wide before closing them tight around his hand and "attacking".

He ferocious bites turned quickly into licks, her rough tongue scraping across his callused fingers. She let him pet her belly for real, and soon she was purring very loudly and falling asleep on her back, outstretched in his hand.

Dean continued to stroke her belly and found himself relaxing deeply as he listened to the, soothing rumble coming out of the tiny little creature.

He held her like that until Sam came back with the cat food and woke her up so she could eat and drink.

The brothers chuckled together as the kitten scarfed the wet food, emitting endless "threatening" growls while she ate.

When she was finished, Dean merely rolled his eyes as Sam pulled out the small tray and bag of litter he'd bought, "just in case" Dean agreed to let the kitten stay in the room over night.

"It looks like it's gonna rain, she'll drown out there." Sam reasoned. "Look, we'll keep her safe tonight and then bring her to an animal shelter tomorrow, okay?"

Dean was still frowning, although both of them knew he was going to let the kitten stay.

"Fine." He said with a sigh.

They spent a couple hours working on the case. They thought maybe they were hunting down a crossroads demon, collecting early on demon deals, but they needed more info. They just knew both victims had been newly wealthy and died very suddenly under strange circumstances.

As they looked things over, they were occasionally distracted by the little furball tearing around the room, attacking their shoelaces and puffing up to hiss at the "other cat" in the floor length mirror that hung on the outside of the bathroom door.

Despite his reluctance to encourage his brother, Dean couldn't help but laugh when the kitten's fur stood on end, and she arched her back, jumping sideways and then bouncing around on her back legs.

Finally deciding to call it a night, the boys took their turns in the bathroom getting ready for bed. Dean called dibs and bounded in there before Sam could complain that two grown men shouldn't be relying on dibs to decide things.

When it was Sam's turn he decided to jump in the shower, taking a bit longer, since there was no one waiting on him. Going second had its perks.

When he finally came out, clicking the bathroom light off, he chuckled softly to himself at the picture in front of him.

Dean was sprawled out on his stomach, lightly snoring. One knee was bent, and his arms were wrapped around the pillow he was laying his head on. Curled up in the crook of his elbow, the little kitten was fast asleep as well, no doubt enjoying the warmth of the soft breaths Dean was emitting.

Sam shook his head. He knew Dean would cave, they were definitely taking that little fluff ball home with them.

***

Hours later Dean woke up to the sound of loud scratching and he moaned and buried his face further into his pillow.

"Sam, make that stupid cat stop scratching!" He mumbled out sleepily to his brother. There was no response and the scratching continued.

Finally he sat up, angrily turning to Sam, planning on waking him from his comfortable sleep and forcing him to deal with the misbehaving kitten.

But as he looked over at his brother's bed, his blood ran cold. Sam lay, seemingly paralyzed, his eyes the only part of him that was moving, shooting around the room, panic-stricken while blood seeped from his nose and mouth.

"Sammy!" Dean cried out as he leapt from his bed. He grabbed his brother by the shoulders and shook him uselessly before jumping up, throwing on the lights and starting to search for a hex bag; this had to be witchcraft.

As he started looking through all the cupboards and under the bed, he began to feel himself stumble. It felt as though all his muscles were stiffening up and he crashed to the floor, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth.

He looked over to where the kitten was still scratching at the cheap wood paneling in the room. He tried to pull himself over, but he felt his arms become wooden and he couldn't move.

All he could do was watch as the kitten scratched a hole in the worn paneling, and batted at something inside. With a growing sense of disbelief, Dean blinked slowly as she snagged her claw in the top of a hex bag and then tossed it into the air as she shook it free of her claw.

She then pounced on it, batting it back and forth. Finally she attacked it fully, wrapping it up in her paws and kicking it hard with her back feet.

As she gave a particularly hard kick, the bag tore open and the contents spilled out.

Suddenly the sensation zoomed back into Dean's arms and legs and he coughed up and spit out the last of the blood that was in his mouth. He crawled quickly to the hole and pulled out a second hex bag, whipping out his lighter and burning it. He stood up and tossed the burning pouch into the bathroom sink as he heard Sam coughing and shifting around in his bed.

Dean leaned against the bathroom doorframe, sagging slightly, his muscles still a bit weak.

"You good, Sammy?"

Sam nodded and gave a thumbs up.

Dean wiped away the blood that had dribbled down his chin, watching as the kitten batted at some of the bones that had spilled out of the hex bag, seemingly disappointed that her fun toy had popped.

He shook his head and turned to Sam with a grin. "Told you taking that kitten in was a good idea."

***

Late the next night, they were getting ready to head out. They'd dispatched a mother-daughter witch team that had been grifting rich guys and taking all their money before slipping them a hex bag and a slow death. Apparently they'd figured out there were hunters in town and decided to do away with them the same way.

As they packed up the room, Sam scooped up the kitten. They'd been too busy all day to get her to a shelter, so she'd just stayed in the room and had seemed to make herself very at home.

Sam set her down on Dean's bed and she bounced over to his green duffle bag and climbed inside. As Dean turned back to shove in another pair of jeans, she circled around two or three times before snuggling into one of his plaid flannels, half tucking herself into the pocket.

Dean let out a sigh and carefully tucked the jeans in beside her.

"So..." Sam prompted. "Shelter?"

Dean shot him an unimpressed look. "You know I'm not sending the cat that saved our lives to a..." he lowered his voice to a whisper, "...an uncertain future."

He let out a put upon sigh. "Nah, this scrappy little huntress is just coming home with us I guess."

Sam beamed. "But what about when we're away?"

Dean shrugged into his leather jacket and carefully picked up the sleeping kitten before he answered.

"Well, who knows, maybe she'll like car rides. I'll make her cozy and see what she thinks." With that he tucked her into one of the upper, inside pockets of his thick jacket.

She let out a small mewl. "Whatcha think, Huntress?" Dean asked, petting her head and smiling as she yawned and then nibbled his finger.

"She says she's a badass panther, and she's good."

Sam chuckled. "Does she?"

Dean nodded as he shouldered his duffle bag, careful not to jostle the sleeping kitten in his pocket.

"Yep, and when we can't take her with us, Cas can cat-sit."

1. Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays.

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3. Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.)

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[theramseyloft]

Rescues in Quarantine

The most recent of these three arrivals is graphically injured.

Photos of the injuries are under the cut, but detailed descriptions are visible at the bottom of this post.

Glacier 2/7/22

Arrival Day

NPA 17 8 BA 2176

Ice Pigeon, Clean legged

Blue Barless cock

PMV and Paratyphoid boosters administered 3/6/22

Owner surrender.

A very husky 304g on arrival.

Moderately infested with lice, both Capilaria and Strongyloides, and a mild infestation of asymptomatic Trich.

He was, paradoxically, overweight, and dangerously thin.

He and the other bird that came in with him were fed on a fruit and nut wild bird seed blend for wood peckers and squirrels, most of which pigeons either can't swallow, or can't digest.

What they could both swallow and process in that blend is extremely high in sugar and fat.

Pigeons (Specifying Columba livia) can neither taste, nor process sugar. Especially not fructose!

It is not part of their ancestor's natural diet, nor was it introduced during the long process of domestication (Rock doves are almost exclusively seed eating, and grain was a food humans grew in abundance, do their diet didn't change as they were domesticated) so their organs have not adapted to process it, and they react to sugar in much the same way as a human with severe type 2 diabetes.

Fat is a vital dietary staple for pigeons, but not on it's own! Their diet should only be 4-5% fat.

Birds do not have space for much excess fat distribution, and they don't have a diaphragm.

Excess fat deposits usually form along a Pigeon's sides and around their liver and intestines, which puts pressure on their organs and eventually makes breathing hard.

He's been put on the weight restoring diet because he really needs his muscle tone built back up.

We've cleared out all but the last few bastions of the Strongyloides.

And he's down to 262.5g, which is faster weight loss than I wanted, but on the low end of ideal body condition for his breed.

He won't go anywhere until the worms are completely gone, and I'd like to see his breast muscle fill out a lot more.

Berg 2/7/22

Arrival Day

Ice Pigeon, Clean legged

Blue Barless

PMV and Paratyphoid boosters administered 3/6/22

Sex unknown

Same Owner surrendered.

Berg came in at what should have been a perfectly healthy 271 grams, but their keel felt like a butter knife.

It took them three days to even attempt to eat.

They were mildly infested with lice, but frighteningly heavily infested with Strongyloides and Trich!

Trich eats epithelial cells, and eventually cause painful lesions in the throat that make birds unwilling to swallow solids.

If they get into the trachea, the biofilm they form can block it off completely and kill the bird through suffocation.

I have a scorched earth policy in regards to Trich!

Between his garbage diet, the protozoan colony making eating painful, and the absolutely monstrous gut load of worms eating everything they could get down, Berg is a half step up from skeletal in that photo.

Feathers hide the body condition of a bird very well, which is why you absolutely must get hands on it to fully assess a pigeon in need of rescue.

Berg's lice and Trich have been cleared up,

But we've only knocked the worm infestation down from unbelievable to about what we expect to find in a new rescue.

Their throat is still very tender and while they do get more food down than they did, it isn't quite enough yet.

Their arrival weight is strongly suspected to be water retention, as they lost it very fast when their diet changed.

They are down to a worrying 237g. that seems to, at least, be entirely muscle.

Physical therapy will begin hopefully with in the week.

Storm 2/11/22

Arrival Day

Feral

Sooty Blue Check

This is the bird whose care has taken up the most significant amount of my time through out the month of February.

Her assessment photos will be under a cut because they are extremely graphic.

She came in weighing a skeletal 201.5g.

The inside left front toe was completely skeletonized by road rash, and a full third of the foot to which that toe attaches was ground off.

The left side of her beak has been extensively cracked into the sinus cavity.

And the left femur has been snapped nearly in half, with the two sections of bone parallel to each other, but making no contact.

This bird was very nearly euthanized on assessment.

That kind of break, positioned where it is, will not heal.

Best case scenario, it will require amputation at the hip.

And in her condition on arrival, she would not have survived an attempted surgery.

Her vet and I agreed to see if we could get her up to a safer body mass, but that we would be ready to euthanize immediately if she stopped eating or struggled to breathe comfortably with her beak closed.

She sent us home with instructions to keep her on metacam and apply SSD to the road-rashed foot to prevent infection in the mean time.

About a week later, we almost brought her back in to be euthanized because she was hunched and fluffed as if extremely ill, only changing our minds at the last minute because she perked back up when the AC vent in quarantine was covered.

She lacked the body mass to maintain a steady temperature in her own.

She was so severely emaciated that she could not even support worms.

But she did have trich, which has been treated and since cleared up.

We have not attempted to treat the lice, simply because her condition has been so delicate up to this point.

As of her most recent weigh in, she is up to 254g.

She has an assessment appointment this Friday to see where we go from here.

If she is assessed to be likely to survive it, we will begin preparations to get her bad leg amputated.

We will need to take her to UGA to get the procedure done, and it's $200 just to get a small animal in the door to be looked at.

I do not know what surgery will cost on top of that, so I will be selling hand made jewelry and boxes of craft feathers to raise funds.

Please bear in mind that there is a chance that she will still need to be put to sleep even if the surgery is successful.

If she ends up unable to adapt comfortably to movement on one leg without the weight of the other for balance, euthanasia will be the only kind course of action remaining.

Skeletal inside left front toe poking out of severe road rash.

Abrasion to the elbow of the left wing.

Impact break along the beak, crunching into the sinus cavity.

Break after scab and loose bone had been cleared so she could breathe.

Yes, that is her sinus cavity that you can see into.

Xrays showing her hideously broken femur

[oh-for-fic-sake]

Deliverance Chapter Three

Masterlist

Summary: That time has come to sort through the artefacts that have been sent to earth with you, and Clark finds he is less and less impressed with how krypton was governed.

Warnings: Suggestive themes, Fluff,Angst, A/B/O, Mating mentioned, Heats mentioned, Swearing

Wordcount: 14000+

A/N; so this chapter is mostly information and backstory. I rewrote kryptons history becuase... I wanted to? Yeah any way i hope you all enjoy even it it drags.

Taglist: in reblogs

The days that followed were strange, you had gotten used to earth and its strangeness. You were also spending as much time outside as you could, soaking up the sun rays and laying in the grass, sometimes walking through the fields. Martha even had you helping her with some flowerbeds 'weeding' humans were funny creatures. The white and pink flowers were acceptable but the little fluffy yellow ones and tiny blue ones were not? They were 'weeds' and had to be pulled from the ground. Martha had given you a strange look when you asked to keep them but got you a little trough all the same and helped you plant your weeds. They lived on your windowsill and you watered them every morning. Clark found it cute and even added some to it wanting to help.

You felt much better now and your breathing had settled. It was bliss residing with your alpha. You'd learned that he had a job as a reporter- a news writer. Those things weren't really mentioned at home which surprized you when you realised just how important they were and how much time it took up. And speaking of importance, you got your papers! Your official human documentation. A certificate of birth, because humans rewarded their young with paper on their birth you found it funny but your new family had been adamant you were given this reward for being birthed. You also got a number for social security recognition, a schooling achievement diploma? And a passport? So you could fly? Which didn't make much sense to you when you could do that anyway... Or would be able to once you were completely acclimatised to this planet. It had been Clark's friends- A bat who arranged it all, which was nice... If not odd you thought a bat was a winged mammal but perhaps there was a different bat hybrid you wasn't aware of. You were now unofficially, official in your human life.

When Clark was away you missed him, but didn't? Martha kept you busy, filling in the holes of your earthly education. You found her to be a sweet and funny woman, she was wholesome and kind. Never once shying away from you like you had expected. You lived with her for the moment a spare room in the farm house had been converted for you. For some reason she would not let you stay in the same room as your mate, she said it was a human thing. Not that, it stopped Clark from sneaking in at night and curling up in the bed with you soothing you and kissing you. He would always chuckle with you stating 'he wasn't human so its okay' whilst snuggling you sweetly scenting and murring at you until you fell asleep. You never felt safer then in the arms of your alpha, snuggling tight against him pressing kisses to his chest and rubbing your cheek on the curls that covered it, digging your nose into them and sniffing, breathing him in falling asleep.

Your bond was growing stronger and stronger as the days past, even if you only managed a few hours at night and in the morning with him. Clark had to explain some strange things, for some reason you were both to wear a ring? When humans found their mates they gave each other rings and wore them on the left ring fingers it meant they were mates? Married? Martha had been a little upset over it at first but Clark said it was best to do it this way, you could have your wedding later, for now he will wait. Martha had been persistent but in the end gave up, it was hard for her to face the reality that her son was not human and he was trying his best.

You were happier then you thought you'd be on a alien world, you'd acclimatised for the most part and found your own earthling way. Even if Martha and Clark found it strange you refused to eat anything brown or plain. Or meat.

The concept of eating animals was very disturbing for you. On krypton animals were not eaten, well not animals like on earth. Kryptonian's ate what earthlings would call insects, non sentient beings. But then again the insects here were... Tiny, surprizingly so. But Clark had taken it in his stride, if you didn't want to eat meat he wasn't going to force you... But he made you eat lots of what he called your 'leafy greens'... Which didn't make sense to you because many of the leafy greens should just be called greens because brocca-broccile- baby trees! Didn't have leaves neither did the little green balls! P's? You think he called them p's. Just when you began to loose hope for delicious sustenance he surprized you. Mangoes. You loved mangoes and grapes and apples! Fruit any fruit. Martha and your mate had taken you to a human grocery store and you'd been drawn to the fruit section.

You walked into the store clutching at Clark's arm terrified, it was the first time being out and mingling with other humans. Once inside you looked about seeing a few humans scattered about the isles and relaxed. A wave of smells hit your senses making you cough.

"Breath, breath through it love... That's it good girl, good omega. Now hold on to me or the cart and stay with ma and me" Clark said rubbing your back leading you behind Martha walking past some special buys. After a few short minuets you relaxed and released Clark looking watching as the other humans walked about some with children some teenagers and even a few alone. The children drew your attention. Boys. Real little boys. Flesh and blood male children in little hats and shorts- clothing with cartoon race cars on them. You froze looking in awe. Felt the stutter.

"love?" he asked feeling you halt and tense. He instantly looked up and was on alert every bone in his body itching to protect you. To destroy what had spooked his tiny mate. He looked around for the danger but there was none, just a mother and her sons further down the isle.

"Look... Boys, young boys" you uttered slowly looking to the children holding a brightly coloured packet up to what you presumed was his mother pleading for the packet. The woman smiled and nodded letting them throw the packet into the cart and they continued down the isle.

"Yes love. I forget you've never seen a young boy have you" he hummed wrapping his arms around you from behind kissing the top of your head. You melted into him and shook your head still watching as the humans rounded the corner at the end of the shop.

"what do you think?" Clark whispered sweetly, amused and struck by the way you'd reacted to such a simple sight. A mother and sons, he forgot you'd never seen a boy before. He had been the last one on krypton.

"They... He was beautiful." you uttered slowly blinking still registering the image of a real live breathing male child.

"Ours will be better~ perfectly formed kryptonians a whole swarm" he said making you feel light and carefree, the thought of a litter- a true litter of your own pups made you quiver in anticipation.

"You-you'll give me pups?" you said softly trembling from head to toe. Clark hadn't made any inclination to wanting pups or to take your bond any further then the sweet caresses and cuddles he'd been gifting you. You'd not once spoke of anything beyond getting you settled into human life. Clark grinned awkwardly and nodded, he wasn't used to children being called pups and such, he was still coming to terms with the? Miscommunication between worlds and terminology.

"I will try my hardest, sons and daughters" he chuckled squeezing you tightly and pressed a long kiss to your head nuzzling your hair watching as the family disappeared. His heart swelled. A family, a real family. Children of his own in your little belly, with out fear of them being too much for you to handle. He could relax knowing you could handle their tiny kicks and nudges. You could survive a pregnancy and birth him healthy full term children. He had so many niggling little fears over trying to create himself a family with a human. Humans were weak, fragile, but with you? With you he could be exactly what he was. A kryptonian. A god among men. It was refreshing having someone he could truly relax around.

"Promise?" Came the tiny voice, breathless and pleading, huge doe like eyes blinking at him hopefully glazed in tears. He could feel the tremors through your bond, like someone twanging an elastic band, the vibrations of relief and excitement reaching him, tugging and pulling. It was as if you had feared he wouldn't give you children. And finally he had confirmed it.

"I promise little omega, as soon as I'm able you will be round and heavy~" watching as your eye grew wide and you purred at him rubbing your cheek to his as he craned down to kiss you, then scented him under his jaw. With an adorable flush and melodious gasp you pulled back looking around worried someone would know you'd scented your alpha.

"shh remember humans don't understand, they don't know what you did sweet pea" he uttered trying to sooth you. You had explained that scenting was seen as very private. It was... Like mating- the prequel to meeting, scenting was strengthening your bond and extremely intimate. To be caught doing it out side? It was very frowned upon, on krypton you'd get less disapproval if he fucked you out in the open!

"do not call me a p.. They are wretched things!... Call me... Something yummy" you complained not yet being aware that a sweet pea was a flower... And he wasn't calling you and actual pea.

"I apologise... You can be my little cookie?" he chuckled slowly it wasn't that he was laughing at you but he found it endearing how straight forward you were. If you didn't like something you told him out right. It was a nice change, you didn't seem to understand the whole human political correctness and subtlety. Your reasoning with Clark was that you could both feel the others feelings through the bond, so what was the point in lying. That would just complicate things. And he couldn't argue with your logic.

"what is a cookie?" you asked tipping your head to the side curiously. He did burst out laughing at that and shook his head squeezing you tight. Tighter then any human could handle, but that was part of the beauty in your relationship. You wasn't human, wasn't breakable. He could fully relax and touch you without fear of harming you. You were impenetrable... Well in that sense anyway~

"Something very sweet and delicious I promise~" he said kissing your head once more and ushered you down the isle slowly trying to find his mother, but still let you look around. You were curious and wanted to explore your new home planet and he wont ruin your first venture.

"Clark? Clark come and help me- I cant reach the milk! Its at the back again!" Martha said quietly you smiled. It took a lot of coaxing but you had indeed tried what Clark had explained as 'cow juice' and had developed a taste for it. So Martha had promised you milk every day if you liked. Which you did like. A lot. Clark pressed another kiss to you and walked off towards the milk refrigerators expecting you to follow.

You made to follow but a sweet scent hit you and you stopped mid step. It was wonderful and ripe, sweet and succulent. You pivoted and followed without much thought. Your feet found there way twisting around the display of 'leafy greens' to a bright colourful isle. You salivated at the smells. There were so many intoxicating scents you didn't know what to look at first.

You pressed a hand on a small net package full of strange green fuzzy balls. Kiwi's? You read and scrunched your face up at the peculiar name. Then plucked the bag up and held it to your nose sniffing. They smelled divine, like a type of food from home. Okriin a small sour sweet treat given to children on their birthing date. You sniffed again and almost cried. It was so similar but so different sweeter and fuller in the scent. You cautiously sniffed again and closed your eyes before tentativly prodding it with your tongue wanting to see if it tasted the same.

"y/n? Y/n?!- oh god there you are? What are you doing? You almost gave me a heart attack" Clark said racing towards you his mother behind him with the cart. He slid to a stop and blinked at you. As you scrunched up your nose.

"The texture of these are... Not very nice?" you said naively moving for the fruit again sticking your tongue out once more trying to discern if it was edible like this. Clark moved quickly gasping holding your hands that had the.. Kiwi's in it.

"no, no.. No we- you don't eat them like that... You peel them and eat the inside, and we don't lick things in the shop okay?" he explained with a teasing to his voice. Martha chuckled into her chest she couldn't help it, you were extremely cute.

"But? Then how do you know if you like it if you don't taste?" You frowned as Martha stifled a laugh. But she quickly curbed herself when you looked serious and a little upset. You didn't find it funny food was serious and had always been rationed, you were allowed only the portion you needed to stay healthy back home. Nothing more unless you could grow it.

"You buy it and eat it at home, then we can come and get more" Clark said drawing your attention once more. Your frown deepened. More? You could come back? That didn't sound right... or fair, Martha normally made one trip a week on the same day... wasn't that her alotted time for food shopping? Or was it by choice?

"More? But isn't there rules on how many trips a household makes?" You asked genuinely confused looking from your mate to his mother then back again. They both looked a little shocked by the idea of not being allowed to get food when they needed to. Martha even looked sad, shaking her head looking down.

"No love, there isn't... is there on kry-back home?" Clark asked, he almost sounded offended by the thought of being told when you can and cant go shopping.

"Yes. We have fifteen minuets for every member of your house hold that your shopping for and an alotted time every two weeks to pick up your rations" you said without batting an eyelash. Clark drew a deep breath, he had to admit he didn't like what he was hearing about your shared home planet. He found himself more and more relieved you were here with him and not in that? Authoritarian place.

"Did you lick anything else?" He said trying to move away from the topic, he was trying to get you used to this planet and this was your first time out and about in town. He wanted to move on, to let you be free and explore... preferably with him beside you.

"...If I do can we take it home?" You said tipping your head to him with a cheek grin. He chuckled and rounded you placing an arm around your waist and pokeing under your ribs in a freshly discovered tickle spot making you giggle.

"Silly thing you don't have to lick things for us to buy them, I suppose you liked the smell huh?" He enquired nodding to the Kiwis still clutched protectively in your hands.

"Yes it.. Its like something from home- a treat we had on our birthing day..." you nodded looking down plucking at the bright orange netting that kept four of the fuzzy fruit together.

"Then we shall get two packets love" he said plucking another pack of kiwis and placing them in the cart, he then looked to you as you scanned the isle still indulging in the amazing mix of smells and colours.

"Pick out a few more things to try, the mangoes are nice and juicy I think you'd like them." He said motioning to the colourful sweet smelling displays.

"R-really I can pick some?" You asked nervously twiddling your fingers and pulling onto the sleeves of your top.

"Yes love we don't ration here you can pick a few things to try, just promise me you wont lick any of it... at least not until we get to the car"  he said grinning as you nodded enthusiastically looking around suddenly full of childish glee. God help him when you try some candy, he has the feeling you'll have a sweet tooth.

"I promise!" You said happily and ran off to some of the other fruit that smelt divine and quickly picked a few.

Once you got home you watched Clark and Martha make a small platter of fruit for you. And you'd fallen inlove! Mangoes and pears were your favourite,  you didn't like grapefruit and should have listened when they told you not to eat a lemon... lemons were for juicing and flavouring other food, not for eating.

You smiled as you mulled over the day, that was the first day you saw the civilisation of your new home. Humans were free and unorganised. Chaotic but at the same time had made their own way to navigate the chaos of their world and one another. They were very similar to your kind. But it was hard, frightening! Suddenly you could do what you wanted when you wanted. Krypton in its desperation had taken many choices away, even the basic ones. Like how much food you could have per household, how many times you could visit the shopping districts or medical bays. You had laws on how much water you used, who could go where and when. and suddenly all that structure- all those rules were gone. You were to do as you pleased?

It was a frightening concept.

You padded across the small space to the barn with tentative steps, quivering knees. Clark was behind you a few feet trying to give you space, yet at the same time he was pressing himself though the bond. Warm and comforting reassuring you. He had learned in the past week that he could send messages through the bond. Almost whispers it was weird you didn't hear anything but you could feel his words, feel his probing. His soul was apart of you and your soul apart of him now. And you could communicate in such a deep way it- you almost felt as if you were one being.

Today you had decided to go through the ships cargo hold and start removing some things up to your room. It had been something you put off but it was time to begin answering more questions, time to give our alpha his heirlooms and books. Your job now was to help him learn all about krypton and its past.

Clark darted forward opening the doors to the barn letting you and Martha in. You'd decided to let Martha help, she deserved it she was your surrogate mother now after all. Last week she'd started asking you to call her Ma too.

You moved towards the tarp covering the ship and pulled at it making the crinkling plastic fall the  inched forward pressing a hand to the door to the pod. You froze, flashes of the moment you'd been wrestled into the pod crossed your mind. The fear and agony of knowing you were going to be there end. Kill your parents. But it was to late, it had been too late then and it was too late now.

"Omega? Are you alright?" Clark said standing behind you curling one arm around your frame, the thick forearm resting over your tummy at your waist.

"Yes, its... The last time saw this was when" you trailed softly, you knew he could feel the fear and despair as you replayed those final moments with your family over and over. You hand been strong enough to hold on to your mother or father. You hadn't had enough grip to pull them into the ship with you, and your lack of strength cost them their lives.

Clark murred into your shoulder, his other hand stretching out smoothing his palm over yours pinning it you the surface of the door. He could taste the anxiety, the overwhelming frantic terror that had overcome you as your bond soured your memories haunted you. In the night you'd cry out for them and jolt awake sobbing your heart out. But you'd never spoke about what ha actually happened.

"D-do you want to talk about it?" He said quietly pressing his chest to your back needing to touch his sweet omega, the overwhelming drive to comfort you was almost painful.

"I don't think it would help... I shouldn't feel bad, its what i had been commissioned for. We all new our purpose" Clark paused. What? You had barely spoke about krypton, but from what you had mentioned he had a very... unimpressed view of it. The world sounded totalitarian and harsh everyone leading a hard life of duty. But he had never pushed you, he could tell you still mourned the planet despite its shortcomings.

"C-commissioned? Purpose? What do you mean?" Martha muttered moving closer to you both. She too was curious, her and Clark never thought they would have this chance, that they could learn everything about the planet of his birth or his race. But you were it. Their answers a living breathing kryptonian that had resided on krypton! You knew everything they wanted to know and probably more. They had been trying to hold back their questions it would seem that you may finally be up to answering them.

"Krypton is... Was like... North Korea? The one shut off from the world? But... stranger, its hard to explain without knowing our history we had our reasons and failures" you trailed off, you was unsure where to start, the troubled past of your race was woven into its present, well not present as today but... the final era of krypton. Everything leading up to the day you were shipped off from the planet. There were complications, twists and turns that you might not be able to explain properly.

"Please, I'd like to know" his voice was small and sweet, almost naïve in a sense. You got the feeling of a curious desperation from your bond. It made you grin, he was trying so hard to hold back for your sake, he truly was the perfect mate both considerate and loving, there was a gentleness about him that many alphas are said to have lacked. It must come from being raised on this planet, growing up around being so much weaker then he is that has moulded him to hold such a sweet sense of  nurturing. After all your mate was the golden son, a living breathing god on earth.

"I know... come I have books and artefacts in the cargo hold, I will give them to you and you can read" you said with a shy smile, you warm giddy feelings traveling along you bond making him murr once more managing to hit the all important melodious sound that was the unique soul song you'd both began naturally harmonizing. You stood and pulled from Clark and walking a small way down the ship. You pulled a hidden hatch open jerking a lever up and then pulled and twisted before releasing. You were quite impressed at how easily you'd done it. The suns rays had made you immensely strong already. Soon your be flying hopefully!

Clark hovered over you, making sure to stand in between the ship and his mother. A large gust of air and a whirring sound resounded and you stepped back. There were several clunk's and metallic creaks then the whole side of the craft pealed away like a set of curtains a thick corsetina of metal revealed a large cargo hold the three of you could just fit in.

There were shelves and cases piled high inside. All of krypton's most valuable artefacts, your whole history in the small stalagmite keys. Just like the one Clark had been sent to earth with. But these held information, schematics of incredible tech, medicines and encyclopaedia's. Not only about krypton but other planets and races that could cause a threat.

The there were the texts for your pups. The very same you had used to study as a child. You tip toed inside looking around feeling your heart break. This was all that was left of a whole civilization. A case of ceremonial robes, some crown jewels. Seeds for a few important plants- even a small rack with some mature plants that were being grown in a small self sustained pod. It was a true treasure trove.

"Wow this is? Incredible"

"Everything in here is... significant to our kind- here these are the books to start with they will tell you what krypton went through... a child's guide to our history" you said scooping up the books you'd studied and handed them to Clark. He moved slowly taking them from you running his fingers over the image on the book.

You walked off around a small shelf trying to find your chest- the things your parents had been allowed to pack for you. You had to find it and get over those emotional tugging in your chest. You had a lot to explain and had to have a clear head on your shoulders.

Martha stood close by the exit as she watched the two of you potter about the ship. It was both frightening and exhilarating for her. She was glad they had thought about all this, about giving both you and Clark things to remember krypton by. She moved to step behind Clark peeking at the book he was flicking through and was surprized to find she could read it. Everything was in perfect English.

"This is? Are they all in English?" She asked turning to you who was still wandering around becoming upset clearly looking for something in particular.

"Yes, they needed to make sure kal-clark would be able to read it" you said comeing around the other side of the shelves and stood beside them both. Clark turned around eyeing the book seeing what looked like propaganda filling the pages. It was disconcerting he was slowly becoming aware that krypton was not the magical place he had envisioned but a very draconian type of civilization. He didn't want to read pages of scripted drivel. He wanted the truth. He closed the book and eyed you then held to book out to you.

"I'd like to learn from you... if its not to much to ask love? These books will paint a rosey picture, I want to know the reality what people actually thought of our planet" he said still offering you the book. You held your breath debating for a moment, but finally breathed out a sigh and took the book from him. Agreeing.

You moved to the side of the ship and sat down letting your feet rest on the steps. Clark and Martha followed your lead taking seats beside you.

You kept quiet for a moment pondering over what was most important to start with. Your evolution. Then your genealogy, the great mistake and population crisis and the laziness that followed. The selfishness and finally his own story, the story of the golden sons escape and the new age. The final short 31 year age. And your delivery.

You opened the page showing some images of the first ever 'proper kryptonians' and held it open letting both Martha and Clark lean over to see. It was like a family story time.

"Okay... So kryptonians evolved just like humans did millions of years ago.  But unlike humans we kept more of our animal like instincts, we retained pack mentality" you said pointing out the different images of the evolution.

"Alpha and omega's?" Clark asked curiously as his eyes scanned the page. There was a list for each. Alpha were bigger and stronger, more dominant and protective, fierce and very potent. They were more economic and able to draw more power from little radiation. Omega petite, defensive, skittish and shy. Nurturing and extremely fertile. Submissive.

"Yes and betas they aren't an extreme like omega and alpha. They are more balanced but much less fertile. We have one mate, one soul bond once its made you cant deny it, but its also a problem." You flipped a few pages to the mate bond section where there were a few images of couples and some more little bullet points. Of which you covertly covered, they didn't need to know about sex or knots or heat yet... you would explain to Clark later... alone.

You flushed unable to stop your mind wandering. Images of you finally bonding with Clark, the undulating hips and breathy moans resounding in your ears. All leading to a great finale of his bite, his canines would prick your skin clamping down not only marking you but to hold you still as his cock swelled and pressed your walls tight trapping you to his huge frame. It was said to be painful and euphoric the feeling of absolute unity. Apparantly omegas can panic when their alpha knots them for the first time, the bite would make you freeze and still for him enough to fully penetrate you. He'd knot you for a long while tying you to him both mind body and soul as he saturated your insides claiming your body for himself.  You swallowed, nervously. You couldn't wait to finally be claimed, but you were also nervous. He was large even for an alpha and there was no doubt in your minds he was well proportioned.  

Clark noticed you begin to blush and squirm, your scent changing becoming both sweeter and musky he leant over you trying to peek at what you were hiding. He snuck a hand around behind you and tried pulling on your elbow to see what your were trying to hide.

"Oh no come on love what are you hiding there?" He teased and pulled tugging you closer making you whine and pull back.

"No that's nothing just its err our sex education and we don't need to go into that yet!" At the mention of sex Clark stiffened and released your elbow but remained wrapped around you.

"Oh right well then.. we know all about that so there no need to... explore that topic" Clark said flushing brightly but you paused... should you tell him?

"Well err you... you will have to there are.. some difference to having sex with... others then your mate, things are... different when your body knows it can impregnate its partner. So you need to err... I've got books for you to read in private" you flustered flicking your eyes quickly from Martha to your mate trying hard not to imagine him but ass naked stroking his cock readying himself to mount you. Clark didn't seem to realise you were becoming nervous and quickly spoke up slightly confused by the way you'd worded your statement. But then again he found a lot of the things you said strange. You wored things differently, and sometimes used the wrong words altogether! As much as krypton prepared you it sort of hadn't? Your English was good but... Not completely accurate.

"Different when you can impregnate? What's that supposed to mean, I've had sex... It was normal human sex" you whined and lowered your head feeling a little upset. Your mate almost sounded offended, like you'd undermined him or doubted his ability... You felt a little shamed over it, you hadn't intended to insult him. You turned to him your panic of displeasing him washed away your nerves of having the sex talk. You rested a hand on his thigh squeezing it before beginning  to explain that you wasn't belittling him it was just genetics.

"You cannot conceive with anyone other then your soul mate... It just doesn't happen. Is impossible, we were taught that its because your genes are only compatible with that of your mate, your other half. Pairings aren't always omega and alpha either, they can be anyone with anyone, but most alphas have an omega" you said trying not to go into detail but Clark merly blinked at you nodding wanting you to continue as he soaked up every word.

"And there are... Things that... Happen during sex with your soul mate, your err... Anatomy changes... And err expands? I suppose? Our bodies do what they must to... To try and... Conceive.." you finally stuttered through the images your mind conjured. Mind drifting to all the uncomfortable classes full of giggling girls and unamused teachers explaining knotting and ejaculation with a huge image of a penis on the board... You flushed word on the school playground used to be the size of a balled fist was the size of your mates knot. You swallowed eyeing Clarks hands, though not balled up he had then curled up loosely. You clenched, for some reason the thought of him being such a large male made you very ,very excited and anxious. The larger a male the more chance there was at having a successful mating because he would be deeper and nothing would escape. Fuck.

You shook your head swallowing dryly. Now was not the time, thoughts like that were dangerous and could trigger a heat, something you didn't want to happen until he was aware of what was to come. You wanted him to be fully aware of heats, ruts knotting the full process before in sighting anything. He was still immensely stringer than you, if he were to have you now and panic whislt knotting he could pull free and tear you. And you didn't want that.

"soo i get a... Super erection or something?" he said with a huge smile both teasing and boasting, sitting up straighter unknowingly posturing, preening like a little peacock as humans would say. You made to reply flushing a deeper red, beginning to feel a tad dizzy with all this blood rushing to your head. But luckily Martha interrupted and waved her hands making a slicing motion trying to literally cut the conversation short.

"Right okay! Enough of all that" she said managing to move your arms that were still covering the very crude generic drawings of an alphas cock, you moved letting the human turn the page which lead to the next stage of your peoples history.

"But Ma?!" Clark complained eyes loosing their amused shimmer only for him to pout at the human clearly upset that he wont be having a full sex talk with you. And you couldn't be more thankfull because you only had books and a school sex education to go by, you'd never actually seen a real one before, so didn't really have any grounds to be teaching anyone anything about them. Least of all your much older, more experiance alpha mate.

"But nothing Clark, she said she has a book so you can read the damn book! There will be no hanky panky anytime soon do you understand me?" she scolded in a final motherly tone making you giggle into your hand. Your alpha was very cute when he pouted, blue eyes wide and a perfect downturned frown on his lips, the pink bottom lip pressed forward in a sweet gesture. How the perfectly masculine sharp angular male could be both stunning and adorable was beyond you. But he was just perfect.

"Yes Ma" he sighed looking more and more disheartened but then nudged your side and sent you a wink before raising his brows suggestively. You squeaked and looked to the book in your lap once more feeling your ears go red under his provocative gaze. He huffed a quiet chuckle and purred low in his chest. You felt it the warm yet prickly sensation of your mate. Is was playfull, like when someone lightly ghosts a finger over your inner arm? A slight tickling sensation that made your skin goose bump and tingle. You knew this feeling well, you had been pleased to know your alpha wasn't all work and no play. He was actually a very fun loving man, he liked teasing you playfully and always managed to make you laugh or blush. He enjoyed you being both happy and flushed they seemed to be his favoured reactions and he would go out of his way to cause them.

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

Martha had said he just seemed happier, younger like a little teenager again. But this time without all the angst. Like you had somehow drawn away the worries he had. Apparantly as he took the mantle of superman he had lost himself along the way. He wasn't cruel or mean but he was stressed. Martha had said he was beginning to question himself, ask if it was worth it, if anything was worth it anymore. He took on more and more responsibility and was working himself into the ground. But now he wasn't?

He had you to come home too, he had something more to fight for. She said Clark saw you as his reward in a sense. You were his future, the life he had always wanted but could never hope for. Martha said you'd saved him. You wasn't sure if you really believed her, how could you save him when all you have done is sleep and refuse to eat anything other then fruit.

"Clark you might be more convincing if you wiped that smirk off your face... I'm serious, let y/n settle before risking any children okay?" the woman deadpanned making him shrug and chuckle at her.

"Aw that's no fun I already promised. Didn't I sweetheart?" he teased still eyeing you managing to ignore his mothers scathing look as he tried to get you to look at him again. And like an idiot you did spare him a quick glance, well you thought it was quick but somehow he managed to wink at you again blowing you an over exaggerated kiss.

"Clark Joseph Kent!" Martha snipped quickly a much firmer warning in place making him sigh and roll his eyes at his mothers use of his full name. He could see her point but he had to admit he was a little put out with her.. His mother had an issue with your age, even though your twenty two in earth terms you still did look the part of a teen all be it a nineteen year old, but teen none the less. She was uncomfortable with the idea of him bedding you and wanted you both to wait. But Clark didn't have an issue with it, you were his omega. He was your alpha and neither you or he were humans. So why live your lives by human rules? Besides the paperwork was all set up. Legally your not a minor here you just look young, many women did.

"Yes, yes fine, no sex yet jeez" he acquiesced giving in for the moment not needing another lecture. As much as he loved his mother; and he truly did. But his sex life was none of her business and he will fuck you when you were ready and willing and there was nothing that will get in the way of that. Not even the woman who raised him.

"Glad to hear it son. Oh don't give me that look you know it makes sense... Now dear why don't you continue, both Clark and i would love to here about your history" Martha scolded then rolled her eyes at her supposed 'adult' son who was pouting. You smiled uneasy but nodded. You learned quickly that Martha ruled the roost, but it was still strange for you to watch. You'd been raised to see Kal as a god- a saviour and your races true hope. Watching the man you'd all but worshipped be scolded by a human was... confusing. But you just let it be, you were realising humans were much more complicated then you were lead to belive.

"yes of course..." you paused clearing your throat quickly looking at the open page then flipped it seeing the next images. The ships, and graph of births declining... the population crisis, the beginning of the mighty kryptonians demise.

"When our people began scouting the galaxy less and less found their soulmates because we were soo scattered and so pairings dropped and so did births which began effecting economy and age gap parings suffered because their mates werent being born. Suddenly things took a nose dive mates weren't being born families were suddenly being cut short and many bloodlines died off... Over sixty percent of noble houses were wiped out in three decades, suicides were on the rise there was no point to life if you couldn't be happy or have a family" you explained flipping another page letting the both of them get their fill. Both pages were full of house crests and a little information on what each one represented, what their houses did for krypton notable mentions and such.

You flipped again this time showing images of the amniotic chambers. Huge glass towers that grew 'artificial' kryptonians. It was a leap forward in science. They had learned to play god, create life without any comprises. Your own eyes scanned the image a small foetus in a sack and a few around it larger and more developed. It was how your own life began.

"We turned our attention to a amniotic chambers, scientists and doctors could suddenly make anyone children! Mates or not. There was a huge baby boom but, it did nothing for the planet or its people" you explained slowly even saying it sounded strange now that you were older, but then again you'd been taught that this had been wrong. This it was the mistake that had started krypton's downfall. You'd been raised in the old ways, with old values.

"Over time it was seen as primitive to actually seek out your mate and birth a child naturally even having sex became pointless. Why go through that pain when you could have one made and delivered to you when its born?"

"So they were farming babies?" Martha asked incredulously unable to fathom such a thing. It was far fetched, the idea to make fake children? To be able to have a child without carrying them or birthing them but they were your own flesh and blood?

"Yes Ma, but more then that... when we turned our back on natural birth and mates we lost a lot of ourselves and had to use a codex to give the new generations traits and keep some semblance of our race instincts... but even that became political all birthed children had to become more beneficial to society. Loyal, strong, intelligent, beautiful, compassionate, nurturing. And at the same time you could choose the look of your child, their sex, their presentation." You explained voice getting smaller as you spoke it was uncomfortable to talk about parents could determine everything about you. Your sex, pigmentation personality, hell your parents could choose specific moles and birthmarks of they wanted a late 'morphing' session a few weeks before you were born.

"Presentation?" Martha frowned not fully understanding. You nodded to her sparing a glance before quickly looking away. It was strange explaining anything that remotely eluded to pairings and mating with her. She was a human and didn't understand. You found it unnerving, everyone just knew these things back home.

She didn't understand it and sometimes it frustrated her making her snip at you and Clark. She didn't mean to but it was just hard for her to fathom a race evolving and still retain some animal primitive instincts. Humans didn't keep much of theirs, the only ones you were aware of was their self preservation- their undeniable need to stay alive for as long as possible apart from that? They had escaped everything else. The bottom line was humans didn't have soul mates and Kryptonians did, and no matter how much the woman wished Clark was a human, he wasn't and he never would be. Martha had been able to ignore it on a day to day basis. To all intents and purposes when Clark wasn't in his suit she could pretend he was normal. Until you came along.

Not that you think she didn't like you, because she loved you, you were sure of it. It was just, sometimes Martha had to look away as you and Clark bonded. She didn't see mates, she saw her adult son fawning over a love struck teen.

"Will they be alpha, beta, omega or a new non-type" you hummed quietly trying not to dwell on the subject not wanting to upset her. Martha drew in a deep breath and nodded to you soaking up the information. You could see she was trying, she wanted to understand it was difficult for her.

"So if I wanted a blue eyed blonde boy I just had to say?" She said veering off topic slightly wanting to move on swiftly but didn't want to out right say 'lets talk about something else'

"Sort off, eyes can only be dark. Blue, green, pink, grey and amber eyes were traits only found in true borns, these traits died out. Everyone had a dark brown or black eyes occasionally you could have a very dark blue or green but bearly noticeable"  you brushed over the topic as quickly as you could whislt still giving a few extra details. Clark grinned at you and made a passing comment of 'that's why my eyes fascinated you soo much?' Both he and Martha chuckled as the comment made you flush and nod slightly. It was true, you'd been enamoured with his eyes never having seen blue before... and they were soo blue it was like looking into the purest cleanest pools of water your ever seen! Gorgeous and vibrant. it had been a little ongoing tease of Clarks commenting that you were 'staring again' when ever he caught you gazeing at his azure crystal clear eyes.

"Krypton was quickly overpopulated and began draining our planets resources quicker, then they looked to the core... the beating heart of the planet" you said turning the page adamant you were not going to be caught up eyeing him again for the hundredth time today.

"And they drained it?" Clark said leaning mover your shoulder looking at the diagram of krypton that briefly explained how the core was depleted and what a calamity it was.

"Yes. It took a millennia but we bled our planet dry... It became a dry desolate place but had huge glistening cities! Technology you could only dream of! Krypton was the envy of many other planets, our military might alone ended wars in days..." Clark frowned. Military? So not only did krypton become a harsh dictatorship they had been going to war? Enough that they were a feared adversary?

You winced as Clarks face darkened at the mention of war. He didn't like fighting and killing but krypton? In its hay day was the front runner. Its military protected the planet but also dominated. It you wanted to win a war it was the kryptonians you wanted on your team, your soldiers were bred for war, just like the omegas were bred for breeding. Clark growled, eyes skimming the page that praised and boasted about the great many wars that they had won, the enemies they had crushed. You swallowed and flipped a few pages quickly skipping the small chapter on the military past.

You skimmed the next page quickly, there were no images on the next few pages. You paused remembering when you'd first worked studied this chapter. You'd been around eight years old, sitting in Mrs Nirn's class chewing your pen as you read ahead zoning out.

You had wanted to understand why things were so different from what your parents upbringing had been. You wanted to know why there were no little boys in your class, why were the lights off? Why couldn't you have a little sister like your father? Everytime you asked an adult they always vaguely mentioned 'things aren't how they were before' but no one had ever answered your follow up questions 'before what? What happened?'  And this was the chapter that explained everything, that shed light on your peoples recent history.

"Love? Mate are you okay?" Clark asked worriedly watching as you seemed to drift off into your own little world. You jumped and faced him as his warm palm met with your back, slow soothing circles rubbing your tense form slowly. You smiled uneasily and nodded to him before taking a deep breath. He had to know, it was your duty to teach him what happened. It was your place to enlighten him on his own importance, he had a right to know how he got to earth.

"W-We began racing towards calamity there was huge protests, people realised we were not going to last and there would be no escape. But the government decided to call a meeting over it- Jor El decided to plead the council to stop the mining but he was ignored the meeting was just for show a ruse to try and quell the masses... Then Lara began pleading with them to think of the consequences" you said quickly finding your voice again recounting the events that began his own story, the role his parents had played in the prolonged survival of the planet and that ultimately lead you to him.

"My parents?" He said slowly recognising their names once more. You nodded glancing to Martha, you didn't really want to keep bringing up your alphas birth parents in front of the woman you didn't want her to get upset or think she was any less significant. Lara may have birthed your mate. But Martha had raised him, shaped him into the glorious gentle and caring male that he was. Martha seemed to know you were worrying over upsetting her and smiled encouragingly before  placing a reassuring hand on your back below Clarks patting you sweetly.

"I'd like to know too dear, I want to know about the people who gave me my son" she cooed slowly making you bite your lip and take a deep breath muttering a meek 'okay if your sure' under your breath.

"They were strong and kind, serious though and realistic. They both avidly protested about the continued abuse of the planet and warned about the imminent destruction of krypton... it wasn't until to coup that anyone new why."

"Why? What was the reason?" Clark said eagerly paying you his full attention. He was both excited and anxious about learning of his actual parents, everything he thought about krypton seemed to be wrong. On a whole he'd convinced himself that his home planet was almost a mythical place that was good and pure perfect! But it was the complete opposite, he didn't want his fantasy of perfect parents to be shattered too. And there was always the fear he'd been abandoned simply because he was an unwanted child or defective in some way.

"She was pregnant with the first natural son of krypton. They didn't want you to be born just to die after a few weeks of life. You were born in your family home. No doctors or machinery, nothing but your mother and father." Clark let out a breath soaking in the information. Zod was right. Jor was telling the truth? He truly was the first natural born kryptonian? It was there in black and white! Not hear say! He didn't have much time to relish in the relief as you continued quickly.

"A few days after your birth Zod made his move to attack the council, his move was partly spurred on by the civil unrest and protests all over the planet." Another few pages were turned as you bypassed all the nitty gritty details of the coup and violence, the protests  and downfall of many proud houses dragged out of their homes, the riots and looting as the military began fighting internally and the police force all but abandoned their duty.

"My birthday?" Clark said lightly dragging his fingers over an image of himself. A still taken from the footage of his birth, he was in a small oval crib with a blanket over his waist and lower half. Beside him was Lara and Jor watching over him. And at the top of the page a date. Both in kryptonian and earths calendar.

"May? I was born in May? Ma look!" He said sniffing quietly looking at the page in awe. That was him, his parents! They were there! He gazed at the image excitedly, he never new his real birthdate, his parents had guessed but here it was. The exact date! His actual real birthday. He wasn't an Aries. He was a Taurus. He never believed in star signs but, somehow he felt better knowing.

"I see that son, you were perfect and so tiny~" she said slightly tearful herself. This was bittersweet, she had to listen and watch as her son, the boy she raised found out the truth of how he came to her. She didn't doubt he loved her but she was always frightened of him leaving her behind in a way, the terror of him forgetting her and choosing someone else replacing her was almost too much. But at the same time Martha owed a lot to the couple that had entrusted her with their son, she would be lying if she wasn't curious about them and the reason Clark was here.

"Your father in an effort to protect you entered the amniotic chamber and stole the codex. He was hunted for it but by the time anyone could intervene or arrest him it was to late. He had sealed the codex inside of his son. He was the final kryptonian so should be able to carry all traits." You explained turning the next page seeing the image of the chamber Jor ha infiltrated. The codex sitting proudly in place.

"He.. he risked his life? To save me?" Clark breathed out barely whispering the words as he leant forward clasping his hands together tightly. You faltered and looked to him shocked, he hadn't known? You all new that Kal was sent to earth with a stalagmite key with his fathers conscious, had Clark not managed to activate it? Here were ships all over this planet, kryptonians had tried to settle here but... For some reason they just couldn't seem to survive for long. No one knows why, connection was lost.

"He... Gave his life to save you. Zod was the one who caught onto your fathers plan and... He confronted him and your mother. Tried to kill you, your existence; the proof of a natural born was... it would have destroyed his cause... it would have proved him wrong" you uttered slowly unsure how you could tell him the truth without upsetting him, it was a delicate matter. Clark ushered you closer managing to tuck you under his arm holding you as close as he could to his side, then began murring out at you as he felt the nerves, the tangled feelings of fear , grief regret and sorrow. Each one coiling around the other making for an uncertain overbearing pull.

You didn't mean to but you were tugging the bond, looking for approval. Nervously searching for some inclination that he was alright. Prodding at him tentatively trying to peak at his feelings. But you were still uncertain of how to do it without being pushy? On krypton it was said to be unseemly to pry at your mate, normally things flowed freely to forcefully take a look deeper into your mate was... rude and could be construed as not trusting your mate.

Clark didn't know that though. Was it bad? Cruel of you to omit that little social detail so he wouldn't be annoyed at you for it? Was it manipulating? Clark hummed leaning his head ontop of yours, resting his cheek on your crown and placed a sweet kiss to your hair.

"I know... I- he told me on the ship when I found out about krypton... when he told me of mates" he said calmly. You released a low whine nodding to him purring up at him as your shoulders relaxed, slumping once more in relief. You'd been wound up over that. It wasn't like his father would be alive now anyway, but telling him of his families demise wasn't really something you took pleasure in.

"O-oh.. okay well then...err your father was a warrior and fought him, he gave your mother enough time for her to launch your ship. Zod finally over came your father but it was too late, you were almost out of the atmosphere." You swallowed steeling yourself as you continued your tale, recounting the incredible events that had taken place, changing history and the fate of your race.

"Zod instructed all his units to shoot you down, but your mother had used a incredibly illegal amount of resources to make sure your ship's boosters and armed defences were at peak and you made it out"

"So That's really how I left? During all that? I thought Jor had dramatized it... but he hadn't and.." Clark trailed off in thought. He was telling the truth he had been a little sceptical, he couldn't help it he had over thought it afterwards. Managing to think himself into doubting Jor's story picking at it, almost convincing himself the story was a little too convenient.

"It got worse, zod and his men were sent to the phantom zone and your mother was tried for treason. But everything stopped when the footage came through." Martha who had remained quiet listening to you patiently taking in the new information.

"Of what?"

"Clarks birth, it was the first time in centuries anyone had managed to naturally birth a son, a true born son. It was big news and that when the council began to listen, really listen" you shrugged unsure how to explain the magnitude of what Clarks birth actually meant. Unless you were a krypton native you just didn't get it. You  finally closed the book and held it in your lap eyeing both Clark and Martha.

"Then the laws changed krypton accepted its fate, it would die. But not without hope for its race to continue. And that's how we ended up as we were... the draconian backwards planet." You didn't go into detail, over the past few weeks you'd let things slip. Martha and Clark both shared a look. You were almost ashamed of your home. The differences between the totalitarian measures your people resorted to were frowned upon in this country. You felt stupid in a sense. You knew it was only natural to be slightly out of touch on this new home but? You just hadn't realised how much. The freedom and basic human right's you'd been denied! You were taught to belive in Kal. He was effectively used as propaganda, as a reward. If your good and obedient he will accept you. If not? Then you will fail both him and your race.  

"The council watched you used as much energy as it could spare to watch you grow. Then you presented! Alpha, just as we'd hoped. Overnight everything changed again, we had hope and direction. Children were commissioned once more females only, and only women that have a recessive omega gene were allowed to have a child..." you reiterated the fact that females were the only gender allowed to be created. It was the most important rule of your people in the end. Only a female omega could replenish a race.

"But couldn't you make them omega? You said you could choose things like that?" Martha asked frowning not following. You cursed and shook your head you knew you'd confuse them somehow by leaving something out. It was difficult trying to remember all the details about the last chaotic years of krypton.

"No, with the codex gone we couldn't control the genes as much, we could force the child to be female but that was about it. They tried but it was hard creating a definite omega no one could really tell until we presented many were betas or the non type there were very few of us. It was just pot luck." And it was pot luck, out of one hundred girls only fifteen to seventeen would be omega. If the percentage were over that in a generation then it was seen as a 'bumper crop'

"We were made and raised to be your omega. Every one of us was taught about earthling ways. Taught about how to birth and raise pups."

"You were raised to be my mate?" Clark said frowning. He found it strange. You bit your lip chewing on it. You debated on how much he really needed to know, because  honestly now you were here? And experienced earth first hand, now you'd met and spent time with your alpha. You understood how... creepy it would be? But then again if you lied he could realise you had when he reads more of the books here. You drew another breath releasing your lip from between your teeth and hissed quietly deciding it would be best to tell him.

"Yes. Our whole education was based on you and was meant to prepare us for life on earth. You have to understand, you were worshipped like a god. You had the abilities of our earliest ancestors." You began trying to dull down the in depth education you'd received about his upbringing and family. Yet still make him understand just how ingrained he was in your upbringing.

"You are? The epitome of the perfect kryptonian,  proof of how great we once were! Your the perfect male. Being your omega was-is the greatest honour any kryptonian could have. And the only way to survive, only Kal's omega would have the last of the cores power used on her to move her off planet. Her saftey was the most important thing" you explained finally petting him see just how incredibly precious he was. His eyes grew wide as he truly began to understand. This wasn't all talk, and you hadn't been joking when you called him the golden son god among men. That's what you all believed. He was worshipped. It was a sobering thought.

Clark tightened his hold of you hand trembling, palm a little sweaty against your hip. He made to speak but didn't seem to be able to find any words. He couldn't make a sound. It was too surreal for him. Some called him a god here, but he was able to just brush it off, ignore it as an exaggeration. But on krypton? They had meant it. Literally.

"So every girl was raised to... Become Clark's wife? To have children? That's it? No ambitions of your own just... grow up and have babies?" Martha uttered quietly but there was an underlying sadness, she seemed to be offended for you. Which you found peculiar, here the lines of gender were blurred. Krypton raised females to breed, then once they present they were taught other skills to be useful and pay their way.

"Yes. It was... Just how things were, we were taught how to raise children and what to expect with Kal... taught to cook and earthling ways to an extent mainly laws and language but mostly our education was about history and child rearing." You said of handedly trying not to incite anger from the woman. You knew it was hard for her to imagine your homeland. It was harsh and soo different from here. There were regimes like krypton on this planet but they were seen as hostiles and stood against everything this country stood for.

"How did they know? I mean with you? How did they know your were mine"  Clark said quickly managing to intercept what he believed to be a long rant from his mother. She had already made up her mind about krypton, she hadn't said it but she didn't need to her face said it all.

"Your mark apparently we share a mark which is unique to our bond and yours had activated. The council called all the omegas that had presented and searched for your mark. I was the one to have it. I was your mate" you said vaguely to be honest you didn't even understand it properly yet, it was one of the things you were hoping to find out looking through these books.

"And then after finding it they sent you here?" Clark uttered quietly. He was soo wrapped up in loving you, understanding these instincts and just basking in your presence. That he hadn't really stopped to think about the actual journey, surely it had been your choice? Especially when the cost was soo great. But there was a foreboding in your demeanour it left a heavy cold feeling in his gut.

"Yes. My parents- they had five minuets to say good bye and load me into the ship. The council didn't want to cause a panic and wait, I was wrestled into the ship by my father" you spoke weakly. You hadn't thought much about it, you had nightmares. But that was it, you tried avoiding it, blanking it out... not unlike the adults as you were growing up. In your head there was here and now on earth with your alpha and then before. Before became the codename for life on krypton. Before meant your parents, the rules, pain and fear! Before meant anxiety and death.

And now? Now was the time to let them know. Sure they understood the logistics. You were sent here to your mate. But they didn't know the actual story- the chain of events that lead to your arrival. And for the first time since getting here you needed to get it off your chest. Let it out and be done with this chapter finally let go of the fear and guilt you'd bottled up.

"I was terrified, and I fought but? Not hard enough I couldn't hold on to them either of them! The told me that they loved me and everything would be okay but it wasn't- I was about to kill them... I just" your bottom lip wobbled and your voice came out  strained, you fought to get the next words out. Clark murred and tried to comfort you, feeling the fear and anxiety. The guilt and devastation in your bond was... it sickened him feeling such sorrow. But it did no good, he tugged you up and sat you on his lap curling around you, holding you to his chest desperately wanting to sooth you. Ever ounce of him was trembling the need to cheer you up and tend to you was astounding.

But even through all that need and instinct, he knew he couldn't. You were mourning, not only you parents but your race, way of life, your home, your planet! It would be a heavy blow to anyone least of all his delicate young omega. He didn't speak, he didn't want to interrupt, you needed to get this out. He needed to know what happened so he could help you.

"Then my dad... He was the one to strap me i-in... he was the strongest there... the others couldn't have held me down long enough. The ship closed... locked and that was it I was off to earth." Silence reigned as your new family took in what you'd said. They hadn't realised how you'd come here... Clark thought you came willingly, happily boarded the ship to get here. He hadn't even considered your fear and the weight on your shoulders.

"I felt it. The planet die. All the teachers said that you'd be asleep before it happened but I wasn't. It was the loudest and most frightening thing I'd ever heard. It rocked the ship, then the debris... it was like a monsoon, a deafening rain storm of rocks the earth and foundation of krypton itself." Your took a deep breath leaning against Clark pressing your back into him twisting your head slightly resting on his shoulder trying to tuck your face into his neck. Seeking him as your only comfort. .

Clark was finding it heard to hear. He was ecstatic you were here, he didn't care the cost. Now he felt like a bastard. He couldn't imagine hearing and entire planet die. And entire race. You must have felt so scared and alone. He wasn't sure he could handle that type of trauma. Its one thing to be alone hoping you had a homeland. Knowing for certain? That was another thing entirely. Martha hummed watching as Clark got upset and scooted closer placing her hand on your knee while throwing her arm around Clarks back rubbing slowly.

"I p-panicked and tried to change direction, tried rerouting the ships pre-set destination... But it couldn't find krypton. The planet just? Wasn't there anymore, it was so surreal. Instead it continued on to earth, and the onboard computer said I was too panicked to travel at hyper speed so it put me to sleep... the next thing I remember is waking up here... it felt like minuets but had been six months." You ended. It didn't seem right, such a long historic tale ending with you walking up on an alien planet.

All those failures and mistakes rolling one after the other after the other. All the power hungry fools and scientific breakthroughs for nothing. In the end your race had come full circle. An alpha and his omega. Two intertwined souls. The very last paired kryptonians. It was almost ironic, for all the advances and medical wonders in the end nature triumphed.

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry that you had to face that alone... if I'd known I would have come and got you, I would have never let krypton die-" Clark started apologising holding you tighter dipping his head to yours resting his nose on your hair breathing you in swaying you sweetly.

"No. Krypton had to. We couldn't risk another Zod on your new planet. Your abilities in an evil power hungry kryptonian? It would have been chaos. We knew that we had to start fresh but cohabit a planet. Not rule it. That's why we needed kryptonians to be birthed here." You cut him off quickly. He didn't have to feel responsible,  krypton made their bed and they could lie in it. They strayed too far and had failed, destroyed themselves.

"Zod came. He tried to take over but I... I killed him, id found a ship and my father explained a few things to me, told me about my mate that would be sent to me I looked for you in zods men. But he laughed saying id never find you- the final straw that made me kill him was when he laughed saying you were dead." Clark hissed voice becoming dark as he remembered Zod. The cruelty the man had, the utter madness was something that ha7nted him. He feared that was the true nature of kryptonians, that one day he would become another Zod.

"You did the right thing. Zod was corrupt. The codex can sometimes corrupt a child and feed them too much. His loyalty and strength were... maddening. He was meant to be a soldier he wanted to be a dictator, even on krypton. That's what the coup was about. He was trying to overthrow a high ruling government" you said before slowly untangling yourself from your mate. He released you, hands still hovering as you stood and brushed yourself off. You sniffled and wiped your eyes before excusing yourself scaling the small steps of the ship. Clark made to follow you as you disappeared into the ship needing a few moments alone. Martha held him shaking her head understanding you needed a little breathing room.

You couldn't help it, the feelings came back, the terror and anxiety panic and self loathing. It was nauseating, you'd not really managed to come to terms with the deaths of your family, deaths that you caused. You'd managed to ignore it? Being in a completely new environment you'd almost convinced yourself you were on a trip, a holiday and that your parents were at home safe and sound. It probably wasn't healthy but its what had managed to get you through all this. But saying it outloud? Recounting it had brought everything to life.

You huffed rubbing your eyes as they teared up, seeing all this in here was hitting home. The priceless artefacts and wealth of knowledge surrounding you only solidifying the fact krypton was gone. That it was your duty to keep all this heritage alive. Your job to birth a race and find a way to integrate into this alien world. It was a terrifying prospect, soo much responsibility for a single young female. And you had to bare it alone along side the guilt of being your planets demise.

You quickly wiped at your face sniffling as you felt Clarks approach. Ducking down you looked into the satchel that you recognised as your fathers old pack. You jumped as Clark crouched behind you pressing two heavy hands on your shoulders massaging them before dragging you back to him. You sighed hanging your head as he plastered you to his front,  strong arms slowly winding around your waist.

"Its not your fault, you couldn't have saved them." He said softly pressing a chaste kiss to your neck breathing you in, scenting you. It was something else that was strange at first but Clark had mastered quickly. He noticed that if he gave in to some of these... instincts he could calm you down. Scenting you, coupled with touching you coddling and holding you close seemed to be the most effective way to sooth you when things began to get too much. When you got overwhelmed, but he held back in front of his mother. She was still uneasy about the age difference.

"I could have fought harder-" you whined feeling yourself tremble, the severity of what happened the reality of it crushing you. You began huffing, taking deeper breaths holding them trying to fight the fear and sobs. You couldn't afford this self pity you had a job. A duty to your people and you cant fail! You wont because then it was for nothing-

"Omega." Clarks voice grunted, snapping you out of your thoughts. It was strange, he sounded firm and stern. A real alpha reprimanding, commanding you. You shivered. It was both frightening and sexy. Perfect. You peered back at him, a few tears escaping followed by a single mewl as you tried to stop yourself from crying.

"Nothing you said would have stopped them. Nothing. From everything you've told me, the one thing that stands out is krypton did as it pleased. A tiny thing like you never would have stood a chance" he cooed down at you somehow maintaining his authority but in a gentler way. The light growl almost soothed you, it sounded like his murr but deeper and had more conviction.

"I... I know but it... It wasn't meant to be me. Wasn't meant to happen, they always said it was the end but?" You tried to get out the feelings but for some reason you couldn't put words to them. It came in waves, as ecstatic as you were to be here with your mate, relish in the presence of your incredible alpha. You also wanted your parents, your home and all the things you'd been brought up with. You were selfish, you'd wanted it all.

"No one ever really believes a world can end love" he breathed out slowly. Still pressing close to you sniffing and kissing at you, tucking his hands below your tshirt rubbing the warm palms on your flat tummy making you relax.

"So what's this then?" Clark said motioning to the satchel you were fiddling with. You cast a glance to him and smiled sadly.

"My dads... they were allowed to pack things before we got tested... just incase and...They didn't have long to gather things- god I hope there's a photo! And my-" you were cut off as he chuckled and moved closer hooking a finger around the opening tugging it lightly.

"Jurashnir stuffie?" He said making you flush and gape. You were surprised he even remembered. But it warmed your heart that he did remember such a small detail, a passing comment really. It showed he really did listen and take in what you said, even if it was silly anxious prattle.

"Yes that" you hummed face glowing in a sweet blush. And began pulling the bag open fully digging you hand inside.

"I hope she packed it too" Clark chuckled holding the bag open wider so you could see more of the things inside. You already recognized some things, your mothers perfume she used on the rarest of occasions. Your fathers military id pin some clothing and jewellery that they treasured the hair ornaments your mother wore on their ceremonial binding. Then there was the all important photo, you closed your eyes glimpsing the image. No, it was too soon for that, you couldn't look at their smiling faces yet, not after killing them.

Then you felt it. Your stuffie the one that had been with you since you were brought home as a new babe. You yanked it out eyes watering as you pulled out the toy. Clark eyed it with a smile, it was like a chinchilla small round and cute, huge eyes and adorable. You held it close overwhelmed by it, which was stupid, it was a bloody toy, but brought so much comfort. You nuzzled it, rubbing the tiny ear between your fingers like you had thousands of times before.

"I- sorry it..." you breathed out quickly pulling the toy to your lap twiddling the fur on it humming. Your cheeks glowed feeling embarrassed from being so childish, getting so caught up in having your treasured toy with you.

"No. Don't apologise" your alpha was quick to argue with a wide grin eyeing the toy himself with a relieved expression.

"I'm glad you have something from home to comfort you" and he did. He wanted to help make you more at home here, and if a little stuffie did that he wont complain. It will have pride of place on the bed both here and when you finally return to Metropolis with him.

You smiled slowly bringing to toy to your chest clutching it close with one hand almost afraid of releasing it now you'd been reunited. You handt realised just how much it meant to you until you face not having him. Your other hand felt around inside the bag and come across a small book. You frowned and pulled it out then flushed seeing what it was. Who had popped that in your bag?! Surely not your parents, there must be a mistake.

You flipped it open and froze seeing your fathers broken English scribbled on the inner cover. A note to Kal.

'This help read. Kal be happy with mate, love her make family' you drew a deep breath and smiled nodding understanding what he meant. Be happy with each other, become a family.

"Ah and Clark... here this is our erm... my dad left this to you mating book... it has everything you need to know about... that" you uttered handing him the book. He froze not expecting to have anything from your parents. He looked over the words and smiled. It was your fathers blessing something he thought he'd go without. Before you could stop him he was flicking through the book scanning the pages and flushing slightly before laughing boisterously drawing his mother into the ship finally giving into her curiosity.

"Well I'll be damned you actually gave me a guide book for sex! Does it have pictures?~" he smirked closing the book and levelling you with a playful stare. You shrunk back squeezing the stuffie in your arms feeling embarrassed pursing  your lips cutely.

"Oh god I don't err? Look just read it okay! Alone!" You growled at him as he still laughed finding it amusing just how flustered you got. He winked at you before quirking a brow at you then peered at the book once more.

"Oh so it does have pictures! Hmm? Must be my lucky day being given free porn"  he exclaimed teasing you happy that you'd seemed to cheer up, even if you were now a little sheepish.

"I-its not porn! Its realistic sex education!" You said flapping at him well aware of the critical look Martha was casting you both.

"Well sweet heart trust me when I say I don't need much tutoring... actually I do... I need lots! But I'm better at practical~ perhaps you could squeeze in a little one on one session?" He purred leaning closer pushing his chest against you humming biting his lip nuzzling you. You shuddered and stuttered tripping over your words. It was at that moment Martha jumped into action.

"OKAY! Right that's enough lessons for one day Casanova, we can leave that conversation there" she huffed standing behind him placing her hands on her hips taking a stern stance.

"What? But ma i was just about-"

"Oh i know very well what you were just about to do son! Behave. And be glad she gave you a raunchy book." The human countered none to impressed with the way Clark seemed to be turning into a cheeky horndog.

"Its just sex education... not raunchy" you muttered quietly hanging your head with a sigh still glowing brightly at the fact everyone seemed to think you'd given him porn.

"I believe you sweety... Come on Clark lets get a move on, we will sort one shelf today then we can relax in the garden" she assured you before ordering Clark nudging him with a foot making him pout.

"But ma?" He whined suddenly transforming from eager alpha to leading child that made you giggle. He really was cute, cuter then you'd thought he'd be.

"No buts. You want to take this stuff to your little club house today don't you?" She snipped prodding him harder with her foot with a smirk.

"Fortress Ma. Its a fortress" Clark huffed rolling his eyes sending you a wink only to yip as Martha toe punched him a little harder in warning.

"Mm hmm call it what you want, when a son builds himself a hidden little mancave and only lets certain friends in, its a clubhouse. No matter how big or high-tech it is" she drolled making you chuckled at the two. It was nice having the motherly woman around even if she was struggling with the new situation you and her son were in.

"Its not a... whatever, come on you lets sort through this shelf first" Clark finally caved and stood helping you up deciding to pick his battles... he had to keep his mother sweet if he was going to convince her that you could move in with him, be it his room here or his appartment in Metropolis.

[katina-marnela]

So I did this at the occasion of @prof-peach proposing us to create OCs for her world. I love creating new characters and coming up with stories for them and since I'm also a big fan of her world and her island I grabbed firmly this occasion ^^ Click on "Show more" if you want to hear all of their lore~

Marie is a retired Pokemon Trainer originating from Kanto. She developped a deep fascination about Mega-Evolution during her journey and is known to have accumulated a lot of experience in the practice and subtilities of Mega-Evolution throughout her battles. When she decided that she won't spend her life as a Trainer, she left the battlefield to study the different powers of stones. She spent a few years travelling a lot, driven by her thirst of adventure that made her become a Trainer in the first place. She studied all kinds of stones found on the different regions and the phenomenons they create. Let it be Z-Crystals, Evolution stones, Mega-Stones, Wishing Stars, she's seen and learned about all of them. Once her studies were done, she obtained a liscence authorizing her to open a Stone shop. That's when she decided to finally settle down somewhere, and she chose to open her shop at Johto. She now sells Evolution Stones of all kind and even sometimes Mega-Stones and Key Stones. It can happen that miners who digs up Mega-Stones or Key Stones send them to her, she is paid to refine them and gives them their round most functional form before either sending them to labs or entrusting them to trainers. Though she is very picky and will make sure the said trainers have the experience and the bond necessary with their Pokemon partner for a safe and healthy Mega-Evolution. But she continues her studies in her free time, deeply fascinated by their power. She doesn't work at the Dotaku Island but actually visits there a lot. The place always sparks her thirst for Adventure back and she loves the company. She is often caught talking with Prof.Grey about recent discoveries, showing strange stones that were sent to her or discussing the new types of Mega-Evolutions discovered. She participates to the Annual Battle Contest sometimes to show off a little (you can't blame a former Trainer) and overall enjoys the company and atmosphere of the island. Her Team is composed mostly of her former Training partners.

Markus the Scizor:

Markus is an old battlescarred grandpa Pokemon. He was the second Pokemon Marie ever owned. A grouch at time, he simply hides his tender heart under his thick Silver type armor. He has a very soft spot for baby Pokemons and is the one with the most battle experience. As the only Pokemon of Marie's team who Mega-Evolves, he's trained in that domain a lot. He can hold his Mega form for very extended periods of time and even ended up picking up some of the traits of his Mega form permanently. He is a relentless fighter, often at the cost of a few scars, and is the eldest of the team. Last pick when it comes to the Annual Battle Contest, because he tends to get a little too serious for young trainers who participates, and first pick when it comes to venture dangerous areas with potentially agressive Pokemons.

Phylly the Servine:

Phylly has been Marie's first ever Pokemon. He's accompanied her her entire journey and has been with her since her youngest age. Phylly was originally a silly child nickname Marie used to give him, but it grew on both of them and ended up being his forever name. He's the strongest of the team and knows it. Smug little man, he's always refused to reach the final stage of his evolution and even refused to train at all until Marie found him and Everstone. Better not try and touch it because he's very attached to it and could flip you like a table for even thinking about it. Marie can't quite figure out if it's because he misses his Snivy form or because he's very attached to this one. His leaves ended up growing bigger than average size, allowing him to charge sun-based attacks faster making him a real powerhouse. He's also a real bedbug and loves being taken care of.

Sandra the Garchomp:

Sandra is the lady of the team. She is calm and values her personal space, as well as her appearance, get her scales dirty, and she will throw a real Dragon tantrum at you. Due to digestive problems, she follows a strict diet and can only eats certain types of food. She is Marie's off-road transport, let it be air or water, and loves taking long flights in the desert. She's tried to Mega-Evolve before, but it brought her a lot of discomfort so they never did it again. She isn't quick to trust and tends to remember to overconfident people trying to pet her that she is a big mean dragon (no she's not). Marie kept one of her teeth as a pendant.

Alsha the Tyrantrum:

Alsha is the oddball and the last addition to Marie's team. He was given to her as an egg by a man who used to own a breeding program for fossil Pokemons. He was a real enigma when he hatched, a peculiar color, a smooth skin instead of the normal edged one, almost no fur, extra fingers and weird growths all over his body. After getting examined by a Pokemon Center and then a Professor, it turns out this baby was perfectly healthy and simply had Rampardos genes. Marie was athorized to keep him and he grew into a healthy, slightly smaller than average, Tyrantrum. He's a happy boy with a lot of space to let his personality shine (by shine I mean destroying stuff). He doesn't actually use the growth of his head as his body is not suited to spint head first like Rampardos does, but his jaws will show you that he doesn't need it. He's the tank of the team and usually the first pick for friendly battles like the Annual Battle Contest. He loves everyone and often everyone loves him. Aaaaaand do not fear I'm finished! I hope you enjoyed reading about them, because I sure enjoyed writing about them!

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: VI

“I think I’m catching feelings

And I don’t know if this is empathy I feel

Just hold on

Remember when you said this was the last time?”

Sex, Eden

A/N: okay this chapter has probably been my favourite to write so far because we are finally. finally!!!!!! getting to a lil smidgen of softness!!!!! and the softness will only continue like originally I had a different lyric in mind for this chapter (a hozier lyric to stay on brand) and decided that it was too soft so I stocked it away to use in the future when things get even sweeter and harry gets even dumber 😌 we really hope you guys enjoy this chapter!!! and please remember that feedback is truly, madly, deeply™ appreciated!!!! not just by us but by all content creators!!!!! and if you enjoy it, please reblog it!!!! spreading content keeps creators motivated!!!!! and so do messages about what you liked!!!! it lets us know what sort of vibe to add in later!!!! okay now that that’s out of the way!!!! let’s dive in 😼  

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

word count: 29.1k

content/warnings: a good healthy dose of denial and justification to deny feelings, the defamation of gherkin pickles, pet names (literally), a strong independent woman who don’t need no man, a (not quite) man who definitely needs a strong independent woman, brunch served with a side of emotional trauma, breaking promises, nsfw social distancing, and Harry once again ignoring the phrase “bros before hoes”

///

Harry knows he’s good at a lot of things.

He’s good at picking up on fashion trends and turning them into timeless styles, molding each piece to fit his own persona with ease.  He’s good at identifying the locational origins of wines within five seconds of the sweet liquid crossing over his tongue.  He’s good at mixing his own drinks as well, always managing to craft the perfect concoction that suits each drinker’s needs.  He’s good at creating gallery walls in his apartment, at charming anyone into giving him what he wants with a slip of his mouth, and at pissing off his friends until they’re threatening to stake him just to get a little peace and quiet.  Harry is good at chess, at reciting poetry from memory, and at painting his non-dominant hand’s fingernails without smudging any nail polish onto his icy skin.  Harry is fucking excellent at coaxing orgasms out from his lovers.  He knows that he’s good at a lot of things.

The issue, he realizes the day after he asks Y/N out on a real date, is that planning a real date is not one of those things.

This, Harry rationalizes to himself, is not his fault.  After all, the last time he’d been on a real date was during the Victorian era, and Harry is fairly certain that taking a chaperoned stroll around his beloved’s estate garden isn’t in fashion anymore.  And when the way all of those dates ended is taken into account, Harry doesn’t think his past experiences should be the marker for a good date, anyways.  

It’s this frustrating lack of knowledge that leads Harry to do what he always does when he doesn’t know the answer to something: he Googles it.

With the top of the line Macbook Harry had purchased a few months back with the money from a CEO of some candle company perched on his lap, Harry relaxes back onto his leather couch, kicking his brown boots up onto the matching footrest as he does so.  Once the search engine is open and the cursor is blinking in front of his face, however, the vampire pauses, his manicured fingernails perched over the keys.  What question could he possibly Google for his situation?

Harry twists his lion head ring around his cool finger as he thinks, his tongue tucked between his lips in concentration while potential queries run through his head.  Ideas for a first date with a girl you’ve been fucking for a month.  Things to do in L.A. with a mortal when you’re a two hundred year old vampire.  Places to take someone after drinking their blood.  A snort echoes from Harry’s throat as the last idea pops into his head.  Somehow, Harry isn’t confident in what results those questions will show him.

Tapping his black lacquered nails against the keys, Harry purses his lips as he loses himself in thought.  How had he even gotten himself into this position?  The reason he hasn’t planned a date in centuries is because he doesn’t date, and for good reason.  What use does a soulless vampire have for dating?  Mortals use romantic outings to open their hearts to one another, and Harry, in contrast, can’t open what he doesn’t have. 

Despite his wondering, however, he knows exactly how he got himself into this situation: he let himself get jealous of a fake-tanned, shaggy-haired idiot named Jacob, a name that Harry despises on principle alone.  It had been a perfectly fine name until that awful Meyer woman decided to make it one of the banes of Harry’s existence.  And while Harry doesn’t have a particularly forgiving nature, he had just finally begun to get over the association, but thanks to that hallway confrontation at the end of Y/N’s date with the obtusely orange fool, Harry is now reminded that he will forever hate the name with a burning passion.  And shaggy hair.  And fake tans. And while the irony of him, a vampire—with a middle name of Edward, for Christ’s sake—hating an insignificant mortal named Jacob, simply because he dared to make a pass at the object of Harry’s fascination, is not lost on him, all of that was pushed aside the moment Harry smelled the perfume his fascination wore for the mortal boy. 

Y/N never wears perfume for him. And though she had assured him that her dressing up had been for him, he can’t shake the fact that Jacob had gotten to experience it first. 

It’s not that Y/N needs to wear perfume for him.  In fact, if Harry’s being honest with himself, he likes that she doesn’t spritz artificial scents all over her body before letting him into her home and between her legs.  She has one of the sweetest natural scents Harry’s ever had the pleasure of inhaling, all lavender and honey and utterly intoxicating.  Of course, as all mortals are, Y/N is unaware of the mouth watering fragrance that drips from her skin, while Harry is all too aware of it at all times, but her obliviousness to her natural scent doesn’t change the fact that Harry would bathe in it if he could.  If it were possible, Harry would pump an entire room full of her personal cloud of lavender and honey, lay back on the floor, turn down the lights, spark a joint, and let himself get lost in the very thought of her.  That would be Harry’s personal definition of Nirvana.

But Y/N isn’t aware of her natural, skin sweetening aroma like Harry is, which means two things.  Firstly, that Y/N doesn’t feel the need to smear anything unnatural on her body to attract Harry; she knows she doesn’t need to go through all that trouble.  And that was fine with Harry, until he realized the second thing, which is that there potentially could be someone that Y/N would go to all that trouble for if he doesn’t keep her entertained and occupied.  She had told him her date with Jacob hadn’t been on her terms, and that she’d done it just to be courteous towards a co-worker, but that doesn’t sedate the truth: There will always be a maddening possibility that occasions could come into play in which Y/N will spray a choking cloud of gardenia and freesia over herself, all in the hopes of appealing a suitor.  The issue is that in those hypothetical cases, the suitor Y/N would be trying to impress wouldn’t be Harry.

Actually, that’s only the first issue. The second issue is that it could be another fraternity moron with an equally stupid name. 

After the vampire had come upon Y/N ending her date in front of her door, just minutes before their own rendezvous was scheduled, Harry had felt an initial burst of blind rage, and everything after is a blur.  He vaguely remembers trying to make Jacob uncomfortable and delighting in how he succeeded, until he saw the anger on Y/N’s sweet face.  He remembers a brief discussion about limits and honesty, and about how she was only interested in him, and that he shouldn’t waste his time stressing about her supposedly dormant dating life.  And, most importantly, he remembers asking Y/N to accompany him on a real date, one that would blow her date with the VeggieTales carrot out of the water.

Now, of course, he’s beginning to regret his impulsive decision, purely for the fact that he now has to figure out how to woo a mortal girl just enough to keep her away from creeps with horribly coiffed hair.

And yet, despite this regret…there’s something new curling inside his belly as he types the phrase date ideas for L.A. into the search bar, the blinking cursor reflecting in his eyes before he presses the enter key and millions of results pop up.  Ah, the joys of the internet, he thinks as he scours the results with inhuman speed.  It’ll take Harry a few different clicks to find the perfect activity for himself and Y/N, and his hyperfocus on the topic will stop him from over analyzing that new feeling twisting inside him.

It’s a win-win situation, if he can say so himself.

Harry’s halfway through the first disappointing article (somehow, he doesn’t think taking Y/N on a hike is very romantic) when the door to his condo opens and reveals Mitch in the frame, dressed in his usual casual attire, this time of blue jeans and a plaid shirt.  Harry has spent the last century trying to refine the older vampire’s taste in clothing, even going so far as to once donate the entirety of Mitch’s closet to a homeless shelter, but all his efforts have been in vain, as his friend still insists on wearing the standard (and boring) style for every decade they’ve lived through together.

“Hey,” Mitch greets from the end of the corridor with a nonchalant nod, shutting the door behind himself before sauntering further into the living room. “Thought we were meeting at the bar at eight?”

It takes Harry a moment to remember the agreement Mitch refers to, his brow creasing as his eyes flicker to the corner of his computer screen.  By the time he registers the numbers 8:41 shining back at him, the memory of agreeing to get drinks with Mitch after his evening gig has resurfaced. “Fuck, I’m sorry.  I lost track of time.”

“I thought so.” Mitch moves the decorative pillow next to Harry on the couch, taking a seat in his usual spot. His voice is slightly sarcastic as he gives Harry a knowing look. “That’s been happening a lot lately.  Lapses in your memory and such.”

“It's old age, I suppose.” Harry’s lips quirk up in amusement, although he knows that Mitch’s comment is pointed towards a subject they’re both acquainted with, courtesy of Harry’s absence on their annual Vegas trip about a week prior. “It’s finally getting to me.”

The long-haired immortal makes a vague sound of humorous acknowledgement, but offers no other response as he turns his gaze to the younger vampire. 

Harry watches as his friend’s expert eyes appraise his appearance, examining how the older vampire takes note of the messy state of Harry’s hair that indicates he’s been tugging on it in frustration, the redness of his lips, the way he’s curled over his open laptop.  Although he makes no further comment on Harry’s newfound tendencies, his brows furrow in confusion. “What are you doing?”

“I, uh—” The amusement is replaced by an unfamiliar feeling of nervousness that sweeps through Harry’s entire body. “I’m doing research.”

When he’s given no other explanation, Mitch prompts his younger friend. “On?”

“I...asked that girl from the club out on a date— Y/N. Like, I invited her on a proper one.” Harry elaborates, twisting his lionhead ring around his finger as he speaks. “But I don’t really know, like, what to do with her.  I’m a little out of touch with what a typical twenty-something woman wants to do on a real date.”

And this is another thing Harry is usually good at— being confident and sure of himself.  Normally, he speaks with ease and a nonchalant cadence to his words, lacking any worry about how he’ll be perceived.  Harry knows what he wants, and knows how to articulate it.  Right now, however, he feels the complete opposite.  There’s a tension aching its way through his muscles and settling into the pit of his stomach, curling around those organs that haven’t been truly needed in years, and the utterly bemused expression weaving its way onto Mitch’s face doesn’t help.

The quiet vampire cocks his head to the side upon receiving this news, propping one foot up onto Harry’s coffee table and addressing him with a mocking air. “Why are you taking her on an actual date? From what you’ve told me— which isn’t much, and that strains our best friend reputation, if I’m being honest— I thought you two had an...understanding?”

“We did.  We do.” Harry stumbles over his words as he half shuts the laptop, setting it down on the coffee table and giving Mitch’s foot a quick playful shove off the lacquered surface as he repositions himself. “But she went on a date with someone else, so I have to—”

“Are you jealous?” His friend cuts over him with an incredulous tone, and the disbelief sends a flare of something akin to shame through Harry’s body. “Because she had a date?”

“I’m not jealous.” With a firm voice, Harry manages to scoff at the very notion. “I may be a monster, but my eyes are red, not green. It’s just—”

“Well, technically, they are.”

The immortal ignores the shit-eating correction. “—occurred to me that our arrangement will end if Y/N starts seeing some mortal bloke. So, if she wants a relationship, then I can fabricate one for her.”

Although the excuse slips off his tongue easily enough, Harry refuses to meet Mitch’s eyes as he picks up his laptop and opens it again, clicking his way onto another article in the search results.  The older vampire’s stare feels as if it’s scorching his icy skin, and Harry can’t exactly say he enjoys the sensation, but it’s better than the alternative of admitting to Mitch—and to himself—that he may harbour the smallest trace of feelings for the human girl.

However, Mitch seems to buy the rushed explanation. “Fabricate a relationship?” He repeats, scratching the base of his chin slowly. “Doesn’t that seem a little...cruel?”

“It’s not.  It’s only for a bit, and once I’m done with her, I’ll probably just…” The words lodge in his throat for some unknown reason, but he forces them out. “I’ll probably just wipe myself from her mind, and she…” Harry’s sharp teeth tug on his plump bottom lip. “She won’t remember me.  It’ll be fine.”

Yes, Harry repeats to himself as he scrolls through all the results Google has to offer.  It’ll be fine.  It has to be fine, really, because what’s the alternative?  Harry’s kind aren’t exactly built for a long term commitment to anyone that’s less than immortal.  The kindest thing for him to do would be to let Y/N go now, without having to use compulsion at all.  It would be so simple, he thinks.  One small text, a few words along the lines of “it’s not working out, and we probably shouldn’t see each other again, I’m sorry. H.” would probably suffice.  And surely she’d be a little upset, but she’s mortal, and a mortal’s feelings never stay the same for long.  It would take her a few weeks, or maybe a month at most to get over the creature she’d begun a casual sexual relationship with.  Within a year, Harry and their short-lived friendship would be nothing but a small blip in her memory, and she’d be moved on to someone else.

Harry can see her future so clearly that he almost believes it’s shining through his laptop screen like an old film.  Y/N, going back out for the first time after Harry breaks things off.  Y/N, bumping into a handsome stranger with a bright smile and dull eyes.  Y/N, slumped over her kitchen table and fighting a hangover as the stranger hands her a cup of coffee.  Y/N and the stranger going for dinner.  Walking hand in hand.  Kissing goodnight at the door.  

Harry’s mind spins through scenarios faster and faster, racing through every possible future for Y/N before he can even take another breath.  Although some scenarios have different paths, different breakups, different faces, they always end at the very same place: Y/N in a white dress, walking down a flower strewn aisle, and taking the warm hand of someone who is not Harry.

If Harry needed to breathe, the wind would’ve been knocked out of him the moment he pictured those warm hands with blood pulsing beneath the skin lifting Y/N’s veil, cupping her flushed cheek, and sealing their lips to hers.  It’s a perfectly normal image.  A human pledging themselves to another human.  It’s natural, by human standards, as they seem to value monogamy over everything else.  The path Harry is seeing is the path Y/N was always meant to take.  So why does it make his icy blood curdle?

Mitch, who seems to be completely unaware of the wild road map his friend’s mind has just drawn, speaks out his concerns in a quiet but careful voice. “Are you sure you’re not getting too attached?” He asks, gauging Harry’s reaction to his question as if it’s a catastrophic statement. “You’ve been spending more and more time with her, you blew off the Vegas trip for the first time…” The older vampire gives a soft shrug of his shoulders. “If it were just for sex and blood, that would be one thing, but it’s almost like you’re getting…addicted to her.” 

Although the statement first brings a laugh to Harry's strawberry lips, the initial chuckle quickly fades away as the gravity of Mitch’s statement hits its recipient.  Certainly, he feels an indescribable draw to Y/N, but he knows, deep down, that any addiction he has to her is more so to her blood than anything else.  After all, what else could he possibly indulge?  The last time Harry let himself be addicted to a person, he ended up with a broken neck and newfound bloodlust.  He’s learned since then.  He’s not so naïve, or so foolish, as to let his emotions wander like that again. He knows better.

“There’s no addiction—I just like her blood more than others, that’s all.” Harry assures his friend, tapping his thumb against the band of his mother’s opal ring. “I know I’ve been a bit of a flake lately, but it’s just while I have her around.  I’ll get tired of her eventually; I always do.” He deliberately flashes his crimson eyes at his friend with a knowing smirk. “And then all it’ll take is a few choice words to take care of whatever lingering marks—metaphorical or otherwise— I’ve left on her, and it’ll all be done, and in the past. You know me, mate. Sometimes I like playing with my food.”

That last sentence makes his mouth go sour, almost as if his body is punishing him for uttering something so indifferently ruthless. Especially because deep down, there’s the smallest seed of doubt in his speech— the tiniest hint of uncertainty, telling him that the detachment he is playing up is not true. 

Harry forces it to be true. It has to be. Both for his sake, and Y/N’s. 

Mitch spends a long few minutes gazing into the blood red irises marching his stare, determined to find a crack in their façade. However, Harry’s good at hiding his feelings, given that he’s had decades of practice on how to keep a thick curtain draped over his innermost thoughts. He won’t let anyone see his weaknesses anymore, no matter how microscopic they might be. 

When the older monster’s search turns up empty, he repents with a long sigh, waving his hands free of the whole affair. “Whatever, Harry.  You seem to know what you’re doing.  Just be careful, alright?”

“I do know what I’m doing, thank you.” Harry elects to ignore the last statement Mitch tacked on, and instead flips his laptop around to show his friend his findings with a triumphant—albeit, forced—grin. “I’m doing brunch.  Google says girls Y/N’s age like brunch, and that the Persimmon Pantry in downtown L.A. has authentic crepes that are to die for.”

“Too bad you’re already dead.” The older vampire deadpans, pushing the laptop closed and raising himself from the couch into a standing position, tucking his hands into his jean pockets. “If you’re going to be dating a mortal, do we get to meet her?  Because I think Niall may need a bit of a heads up after the accidental run in that happened last time—”

“Do you usually meet my meals?” Harry counters easily as he sets his laptop aside, standing to escort Mitch to the door. “Don’t be sentimental, Mitch.  I’m certainly not.”

When Mitch’s eyes meet his own once again, there’s a degree of clarity running through them that nearly stops Harry in his tracks. “Aren’t you?” Mitch asks, voice neutral by careful control. 

Harry sucks in a quick breath out of habit, pasting a bright expression over his face in lieu of actually revealing his swirling insides. “Not since I learned my lesson.” He says easily, tapping two fingers over his dormant carotid artery with a sly smile. 

The casual act does the trick, and Mitch’s eyes roll in a familiar jesting fashion as he steps towards the door. “Right.  You’ve got it under control, then.”

“All under control.” The words slip off Harry’s dry tongue like honey, his sweet cadence filling the space between them. “Not to worry.”

///

Y/N thinks this may be the most out of control she’s ever felt her entire life.

A few weeks ago, she would’ve said that taking Harry home from the club was the most out of control she’s ever been.  And three months ago, dropping her whole life and moving to L.A. might have been the answer to that question.  And another three months from now, Y/N might get herself into the middle of a new entirely stupid act— which is completely probable, given her track record— and that’ll become the new marker for the most out of control thing she’s done.  But right now, at this moment, the most out of control thing she’s done is say yes to Harry asking her out to brunch.

When compared to everything else she’s done with Harry—and let Harry do to her—brunch may seem entirely harmless, but it’s the connotation behind it that scares her.  Harry is taking her on a date.  A real date.  A date to a brunch restaurant, at 11 A.M. on a Sunday, when it’ll be completely bright outside, and people will see them together.  A date with both of them in presentable situations, rather than being coated in sweat and completely dressed.  A date where Harry refrains from whispering the filthiest fucking shit Y/N has ever heard into her ear, although she wouldn’t put it past him trying to do that over a plate of avocado toast.

Harry is taking her on a date.  And last time Y/N checked, she wasn’t exactly good at those.

Her ex hadn’t really been the romantic type, to say the least.  Their dates typically revolved around their high school’s dance and athletic schedules.  Bradley took her to homecoming and to prom, and football games on Friday nights, where all her friends would meet them at a diner after their school— more often than not— lost.  He would take her on long drives where they got nowhere fast, with the two of them sitting in silence, and his music playing through the speakers.  She went over to his house once a week for dinner.  He’d take her to a movie every second Saturday.  And while it was all fine, none of it was very romantic. ‘Robotic’ is a more appropriate term.

And even with the fear of actual romance aside, Y/N has no idea what to discuss on a first date with someone.  She had already known a lot about her ex when they began going out, so there wasn’t a period of “getting to know you” that needed to happen.  The few first dates she’d had after him hadn’t been stellar, or even noteworthy.  If anything, they had been guides for what not to do on a first date.  And the funniest thing is that, while she’s fairly sure her last first date had been the catalyst for Harry asking her out, the actual date itself had been awful.  But if she’s right, and that was the factor that set Harry off, then maybe she should be grateful for all those awful dates from her past, because Harry, in contrast to all those horrible dates, is different in every conceivable way.

Harry is just different.  When she speaks, he listens.  When he looks at her, he really looks at her, and he sees her in a way she’s not sure she’s ever been seen before.  And, honestly, he has seen her in ways she’s never been seen before, and that’s exactly what Y/N is worried about.  How do you sip a mimosa with someone at the Persimmon Pantry after they’ve throat fucked you on your couch, or bent you over the kitchen counter, or handcuffed you to their bed?  How do you ask someone about their favourite movie when they’ve coaxed multiple orgasms from you over the phone as Sinister played from the TV screen?  How do you listen as someone tells you about their childhood dog when the last dog you were concerned about was the position they bent you into as they spread your—

Y/N clears her throat and shakes her head of the thought, reevaluating her heated complexion in the mirror that hangs on the back of her bedroom door. “Stop it.” She mutters to herself, attempting to give her reflection a stern look. “You’re not going to be able to make it through this if you’ve thrown the towel in before Harry’s even picked you up.”

And that’s another thing, Y/N thinks, as she opens her bedroom closet and begins searching through it for something acceptable to wear.  Harry insisted on picking her up, even though the restaurant he chose was a fifteen minute walk from her apartment.  She’d brought this up to him when he asked her to brunch over the phone (which is a whole other thing in and of itself— he only called her when he had his hand wrapped around his cock and needed her voice to finish himself off; wouldn’t a text have been sufficient?), but Harry had blown off her concern without a second thought.

“Part of taking you on a date is picking you up, Y/N.”

“Yeah, but the Persimmon Pantry is between our apartments.  Wouldn’t it make more sense to meet there?  Then you wouldn’t waste your time driving past it to get me.”

“I don’t consider anything involving you to be a waste of time.” Harry had answered immediately, his voice stern, but still allowing a vein of tenderness to run underneath it. “Is that your only concern, then?  Me picking you up?”

No, Y/N had thought.  It’s not my only concern, but how the fuck do I explain everything else?

“Yeah.” Y/N had answered tightly, her voice weak. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, it’s not a concern of mine, so don’t worry.  I’ll pick you up at 10:45 Sunday morning.” And then there had been a pause, full of baited breath and nerves, before Harry’s thick accent rang through her phone again. “I can’t wait to see you.”

Those parting words had sat in her stomach since, warm and cozy and inviting, keeping a soft, constant glow filtering in her veins until the end of the week came. 

Y/N glances at the blinking clock beside her bed.  It’s 10:17 now, a couple days after that conversation, which means she has less than half an hour to pick something to wear, style her hair that’s currently dripping wet from her shower, and throw on enough makeup to cover up the bags under her eyes that have been developing over the last few nights.  After becoming so used to sleeping with Harry next to her every weekend, Y/N is now finding that not having him in her bed, smoothing her hair and rubbing her cheek as she cuddles into his cool chest is prohibiting her from getting a good night’s sleep.

Another concern, certainly, but not one she can deal with at this moment.  The best she can do is smear on some concealer and hope for the best, and with that in mind, Y/N turns her full attention to her evaluation of her closet.

“Brunch,” She murmurs to herself, slowly pushing her clothing apart to examine each article. “We’re going to brunch.  What do you wear to brunch?”

Brunch, she decides after a moment of consideration, is casual, but not sloppy casual, so jeans and a t-shirt are off the table.  It’s Sunday casual, like the outfits her mother would pick out for her to wear to Sunday afternoon teas with the other church women once she turned 15 and had to “start acting like a lady.”  Sunday casual, Y/N thinks, but maybe not those outfits.  The raised necklines and starched collars had made her neck itch the entire time, and she had picked at the hemlines of her dresses under tables until the seams began to unravel.  Sunday casual, but more of her actual style.  Sunday casual, but sluttier, maybe?  Could one describe Sunday casual as slutty?

Y/N groans as she takes a step back from her closet, clutching her towel to her chest with a tense hand.  Maybe she’s going about this the wrong way.  Maybe she should try to match Harry…? 

A sharp snort falls from Y/N’s mouth.  Yeah, like she could ever match Harry.  Harry, who is so obsessed with labels that even his handcuffs are embossed with the Gucci logo.  Harry, who is so attractive that it’s almost otherworldly.  Harry, who can make her tiny apartment look like a New York Fashion Week runway by simply walking down the corridor of her entrance.  Matching Harry is almost impossible.  She could show up in a full length gown, and Harry would still outshine her in a graphic t-shirt and flared jeans.

“Hey.” Y/N chastises herself lightly, catching her judgemental eye in her mirror once again. “Stop it.  Don’t be mean to yourself, just...just pick something to wear.  It shouldn’t be this hard.”

After returning to her closet search and trying on a few different combinations, Y/N finally settles on an outfit consisting of a pale yellow sundress with a sweetheart neckline and tea length skirt, but dresses it down with a denim jacket and a pair of cotton candy coloured vans.  It’s bright and fun, but still casual enough that it looks like she just threw it on.  

“Oh, this old thing?”  Y/N raises her eyebrows in mock surprise as she moves to her bathroom to begin to tackle her hair.  She keeps practicing the imaginary conversation in the mirror with herself, and while she knows she sounds insane, it oddly keeps her nerves in check. “Oh, I just pulled it out of my closet a few minutes before you got here.  Haven’t worn it in years.  Do you like it?” The mortal pauses as she reaches for her makeup, deciding to keep herself to a more natural look for the day. “Thank you, Harry, that’s so sweet.  You look nice, as well.”

She lightly fills her brows before sweeping some neutral eyeshadow over her lids, pausing her muttering to herself to concentrate on drawing her eyeliner as neatly as she likes.  Once she’s satisfied with that, she moves to mascara, adding a thin coat to her lashes and blotting off the makeup she smudges underneath her eye by mistake.  When that’s finished, the young woman takes a step back from the mirror, appraising her appearance.

It’s not awful, honestly.  She could do worse.  In fact, if it weren’t for the ball of anxiety currently twisting its way through Y/N’s stomach, she might even praise herself for the cute and casual look she’s managed to pull off.

“You look good.” She murmurs to her reflection as she reaches for her small silver hoops, slipping them through her lobes with a quick and practiced motion. “Good job.” With her eyes locked on her reflection, Y/N worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “Today is going to be fine.  Better than fine, actually.  And it would probably go better if you stopped talking to yourself, so maybe let’s get that in check before Harry gets here—?”

As if on cue, a now familiar knock on her front door causes the mortal’s mouth to snap shut, clamping off the rest of her third person monologue.  When she makes a quick pause to straighten her jacket and fetch her over-the-shoulder woven bag, Y/N impulsively decides to grab her favourite perfume bottle, giving her body a quick spritz before making her way to the door and opening it with breathless anticipation.

Harry, of course, looks fucking incredible.  Although his casual outfit consists of a black short sleeved button up shirt tucked into white slacks, Harry manages to work the whole number like a model.  His usual cross necklace, unique rings, and stately single cross earring adorn his body, drawing Y/N’s eyes to the glint of the metals as a pair of black sunglasses sit atop the man’s defined nose.  He meets Y/N’s eyes behind them, a grin beginning to paint itself over his cherry lips as his jeweled hand pushes the sunglasses from his face and into his chestnut locks, revealing his bright jade gaze full of genuine kindness. 

“Well, look at you. Proper model now, aren’t you, Miss Urban Outfitters?” Harry’s voice takes on a casual tone, but the flirty phrase sends a shiver of pleasure down Y/N’s spine. “You look so fucking good in yellow, love.  Why have I never seen you in yellow before?”

The shiver of pleasure reverberates throughout Y/N’s entire body. “Maybe because I’m usually naked when I’m around you?” She retorts quickly, reaching to the little hook next to her door to grab her keys. 

“Hm.  That’s true.” The pleased cadence in Harry’s voice catches Y/N’s ear over the click of the door lock. “Guess you go for the Victoria’s Secret look more often, hm? Though I’m not complaining. You look just as good in lace.” 

“Thanks. But not today, I guess.” Y/N says quietly as she pushes down the heat boiling her face, unable to bite her tongue before the words slip out. “We’re on a real date today.”

“Right you are, Watson.” Harry grins cheekily as he motions for the girl to walk past him, following closely with a guiding hand on the small of her back. “We’re on a real date.  It’s probably a little overdue, but you know what they say...better late than never, right?”

The moment she takes a step past him, it hits Harry.  Although her delectable signature scent of lavender and honey is still there, it’s faintly hidden behind the nearly overpowering scent of gardenia and freesia he smelled last time he was in her hallway, when that oafish buffoon had the audacity to try and seduce her.  And despite the fact that Harry prefers Y/N’s natural fragrance to any other scent on the planet, knowing that she took the time to spritz herself with perfume before greeting him brings a dimpled smile to his face.  Harry considers making a comment about it, but bites it back at the last moment.  The last thing he needs is to have to explain why he pays such particular attention to Y/N’s scent.

When the pair exit the apartment building, Harry takes the lead in front of Y/N, unlocking his flashy car with a click of the remote and opening the passenger door with ease.  He extends a hand, grasping the mortal girl’s hand in his own with care as he helps her into the car.  The click of the car door shutting comes a moment later than expected as Harry pauses to fix the hem of Y/N’s dress, making sure it’s free of the doorway before closing the door without clamping the light fabric.

Harry doesn’t even think twice before readjusting Y/N’s skirt, with the move coming as naturally to him as breathing once did, and merely notes the stuttering of Y/N’s heartbeat with a half hidden smug smile.  It’s not until he’s in the driver’s seat and stopped at a red light that he realizes what that stuttering rhythm is indicating.

Y/N is tense.  Even without his supernatural abilities that allow him to hear her heart, register her strained breathing, and feel the energy radiating from her body, Harry would be able to tell that some part of her feels...uncomfortable.  Nervous, even.  But for what?  What about Harry—aside from the obvious that the human is unaware of—could make her nervous?  After the countless hours in bed together, the lazy Saturday afternoons, the kitchen singalongs, Harry would think that Y/N would be as comfortable with him as he is with her.  After all she’d shown him when they have sex—

Huh.  Maybe that’s it, Harry thinks, giving the mortal a quick look from the corner of his eye.  The light ahead of them turns green, and Harry continues to ponder his realization as he presses on the gas.  If sex has become the norm for them, then maybe a date is outside of her comfort zone.  Or maybe, now that her brain isn’t fogged by the endorphins that roll through her veins whenever Harry coaxes an orgasm from her trembling body, Y/N is realizing how unnatural it feels to be around Harry.  

As much as Harry likes to pretend otherwise, humans aren’t dumb.  If they get too close to someone of Harry’s kind, some sharp-sighted mortals begin to sense that there’s something different about them.  Aside from the easy targets and quick decisions, part of the reason that picking up meals in clubs works so well for Harry and his friends is that a mortal’s senses are dulled in the flashing lights and inebriated atmosphere of a club.  If Y/N is beginning to sense that there’s something different about Harry, or if she’s beginning to feel uneasy about being around him, then she must be wondering why.  In Harry’s experience, mortals will relate their uncomfortable feelings about the supernatural into something they have more experience with to make sense of it all, and if that’s what Y/N is doing, then she’s probably attributing her newfound discomfort towards Harry trying to take advantage of her.  If he could read her mind, he might see a horrific scene playing out like an old movie: Harry buying her a meal, soaking her rational thinking in mimosas and other drinks spiked with God knows what, and then helping her back to his car, where he drives her back to his apartment, practically carrying her inebriated body through the door towards his bedroom…

The car takes a sharp right turn into the restaurant parking lot, and Harry guides it to a spot with his hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel.  The idea of Y/N thinking him capable of that, capable of hurting her like that...it takes Harry a moment to extract his clenched hands from the wheel.  If that was really what Y/N was thinking, then he could fix it.  All it would take to set her at ease would be a quick request, a repeated statement, and the girl’s breathing would even out, and everything could continue like he had planned.

“Y/N?” He begins, keeping his voice as smooth as silk as he sets the car into park and turns it off. “Look at me, please.”

And then she does.  And Harry forgets his plan within a moment.

There’s nervousness apparent in her eyes, yes, but no fear.  Although her lips are chewed red, they don’t tremble when she answers him with a quiet “yes?” Despite their close proximity, she keeps leaning closer to him, and whether she’s aware of the action or not, the constant inch of her hand closer to Harry’s softens the immortal more than he thought possible.  He can’t compel her to let down her guard when she already trusts him.

“I know that this is different for us.  Doing something like this.” Harry begins, keeping his eyes as sincere as possible without compelling the young woman in front of him, who is keeping her eyes on his emerald irises with steadfast attention. “But I want this to be a proper date, like...like what I should’ve probably taken you on a month ago.”

Warmth rises to Y/N’s cheeks at the confession. “So do I.  I like being around you, Harry.  A lot.  I’m just a little...nervous, I guess.”

Harry bites back a smile at how she sounds like she’s confessing something, as if her body language hasn’t been telling him that from the moment she got into his car. “I know.  So I think it would be best, just to prove that this is a real date, if we don’t have sex after we finish brunch.”

A choked sound falls from Y/N’s mouth, and Harry delights in watching her scramble for words before she manages to form a half indignant reply. “I didn’t say I was going to sleep with you!”

“You don’t have to say it, pet, because we both know you can’t keep your hands off me.  Exhibit A,” Harry nods at her hand, which is mere millimeters away from his thigh. “Being how you kept trying to grab onto me through the entire drive.”

Another gasp of indignation fills the car, and the emphasized outrage sets Harry at ease.  He’d rather Y/N be equal parts annoyed and—if the soft look hidden behind her eyes is any clue—endeared than have her equal parts nervous and anxious.  He’d take any anger directed at his expense if it meant she was at ease. 

“I wasn’t trying to grab you.” The mortal mutters under her breath, her eyes falling from his as the increase of her heart pricks Harry’s ears. “That’s just where my hand fell naturally.”

“Right.” Harry answers in a disbelieving voice, his smirk growing as Y/N rolls her eyes in response. “Well, either way…” He extends a jeweled hand and grips her chin between his thumb and forefinger, enjoying how her breath stutters as he turns her head to look at him. “What do you say?  No sex after our date?  Think we can behave ourselves?”

“I can.” Y/N answers, irritation laced through her voice to hide the desire settling between her words. “You, on the other hand...I doubt you’ll be able to keep it in your pants.”

A wry smile works it’s way over Harry’s lips, and the vampire wets them with his tongue as he uses his gentle grip on Y/N’s jaw to tilt her head forward. “I have wonderful self-control, darling.” He breathes the words, letting the scent of mint roll over Y/N’s face, and delights in the way it intoxicates her with every syllable.  Harry ghosts his lips over the curve of her jaw, smudging his kisses down her neck until he can feel her pulse thumping unevenly beneath his lips.  His mouth opens just slightly as he leaves a lingering kiss on the area, his tongue gliding carefully over her sweet-scented skin. 

Despite every instinct in his body telling him to sink his teeth into the beating pulse he feels and quench the thirst that burns in the back of his throat like a roaring fire, Harry manages to pull away. “See?” He murmurs softly, his cool breath still clouding Y/N’s every inhale. “Self control.”

While Harry is a master at withholding his desires, the effect his actions have on Y/N is apparent in her reply. “Good.” The mortal swallows thickly, her pulse fluttering again as Harry releases her chin and drags his fingers down her neck. “That’s good to know.  So no sex, then.”

“Right.” Harry grins triumphantly as Y/N attempts to collect herself.  The smug expression on Harry’s face lets her know that he’s completely aware of the impact he has on her, and it drives her insane to no end.  Although her conscience is urging her to play his game, and do her best to fluster him as he flusters her, the more rational part of her stops that thought in its tracks.  This is what she wanted, wasn’t it?  To open herself up again, to open herself up to Harry in a way she hasn’t before?  To prove that she can let someone know her without burrowing themselves between her thighs?

The latch of her car door brings her from her thoughts, and her head jerks to the right to see Harry with one hand on the door handle as he extends the other to her to help her from the car.  Y/N, still fumbling with her seatbelt, takes a moment to grasp his hand in return, too swept up in the fact that Harry remembers to open her door to ponder how he always reaches her side of the car so quickly. 

However, there are some new developments that don’t slip from her attention, like how Harry keeps her hand grasped firmly in his icy grip even after she’s out of the car, pausing only to click the lock on his keyring before walking with her towards the door.  Or how, despite his long legs, he never falls out of step with Y/N, making sure to keep his strides measured and even so as not to yank on her hand.  Or how, even though her hand is already half extended out of habit, Harry reaches the door of the restaurant first, opening it smoothly and stepping back, gently laying his hand on the small of Y/N’s back to guide her inside the restaurant.

“Uh, thanks.” The young woman murmurs to him, a tone of perplexity running beneath her words.  She’s not quite sure why all of this surprises her; hadn’t Harry already proved that, despite his harsh and suggestive exterior, there’s an undercurrent of manners instilled into him?  

Maybe, she thinks as she watches Harry step forward to the restaurant host, the surprise and confusion is due to the lack of manners she received from her ex.  Despite the “small town charm,” as her mother had called it, Bradley had lacked the ability to successfully perform any gallantry, and any attempts he made to do so had only annoyed Y/N.  Whenever he tried to do something that may fall into that category, like insisting on driving everywhere they went, or choosing where they’d go for dinner, Y/N never felt that the actions came from a place of protection or chivalry; on the contrary, Y/N felt like each action was taken on the basis that she herself was incapable of doing the same things Bradley did.  On the one occasion she’d brought it up to him, he had scoffed, and argued that he was just trying to be a nice guy, and why would she have a problem with him trying to help her, and if she was going to complain, then he wouldn’t—

An icy touch to the dip of her back jerks Y/N from her thoughts, both metaphorically and literally as her body spasms away from the touch.  Upon hearing the alarmed gasp that falls from her lips, Harry turns his head to the side, a look of concern painted over his face.

“Everything alright, darling?” He asks in a quiet voice, his hand retracting from her back with uncertainty. 

“Yeah, sorry, just—caught up in thought, I guess.” Y/N covers quickly, giving him an apologetic smile. “You just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

If the way the mortal shivers is any suggestion, Harry can guess what exactly about his touch took her by surprise. “I’m sorry.” He says sincerely, his fingers hovering a few millimeters above the fabric of her dress. “The, uh, the table I reserved is just on the patio around the corner.” Although he lays his hand on Y/N once again to guide her, Harry is careful to place his palm further up her spine, where the sensitive skin of her back is covered by her jean jacket in addition to the thin yellow sundress.  As much as he usually adores making her shiver, there’s something different about the action when he knows it’s because of his inhumanly cold touch, instead of his inhuman ability to pleasure her. 

The pair move in a line, following the hostess in a beeline through the busy restaurant and out onto the sunlit patio, where there are fewer occupied tables.  Stopping in front of a table partly shaded under an umbrella that’s away from the other diners, the hostess turns to the two of them, her eyes flickering over Harry once again.

“Is this table to your liking, Mr. Styles?” She asks, her voice sweet as sugar.  The stickiness of it grates against Y/N’s skin, but Harry gives no indication of finding it irritating.  In fact, he seems to give hardly any notice to the hostess at all, only half glancing at her before nodding his head. 

“Yes, it is, thank you.” He steps out to the side, grasping the back of the chair facing away from the sun and pulling it out.  It takes Y/N a moment and a half step already taken towards the opposite chair for her to realize that he’s pulling it out for her.

“Oh—” Face flushing with realization, Y/N steps back around Harry, settling down into the offered seat as he carefully pushes it in. “Uh, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Harry replies, pausing to be sure she’s comfortable before taking his own seat across from her.  The hostess, who had been watching his actions with a keen eye, gives another smile to the vampire.

“Alright, Paige will be your server today, but before I leave,” The hostess spares a short glimpse at Y/N before turning her full attention back to Harry. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

The creature is aware of the effect he has on mortals, and has been since he was first turned.  While he normally plays that to his advantage (and while that was, to be frank, part of the reason he was able to take Y/N home from the club the night he met her), the attention is beginning to grind against his nerves.  It’s easy enough for him to ignore a human, especially one he has no interest in whatsoever, but he can see the way Y/N notices the hostess’ preference for addressing Harry.  More specifically, Harry can see the way it bothers her, and it would be amusing if his jealousy over Y/N going on a date with someone else hadn’t been the catalyst to their date today.

“No, that’s alright.” Harry finally responds to the waitress, glancing at her just enough so as not to be rude. “Thank you.”

The hostess smiles at him again before nodding to Y/N and turning on her heel, marching back towards the kitchen, and it takes just a soft snort falling from Y/N’s lips to pull Harry’s attention completely back to her.

“What?” He quirks an eyebrow up at the noise, reaching for the menu in front of him and flipping it open slowly. “Something funny?”

Y/N gives a small shake of her head as she mimics Harry’s action, casting her eyes downwards towards the now revealed menu. “No, not at all.”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” The vampire reaches across the table to touch his date’s hand, flipping her arm carefully so he can lay two ringed fingers against the thin skin of her wrist, the fragile hummingbird flutter of her heart thumping beneath it. “And I’m too excellent at reading people to let it go.”

“Too stubborn, you mean?” Y/N corrects him as she raises her own brow, but much to Harry’s delight, she doesn’t pull back from his icy touch as she did earlier. 

Harry shrugs lightly, an unconcerned air tinting his attitude. “If that’s what you’d like to call it.  Either way, I’d like to know why you’re laughing at me.”

The mortal chews on the inside of her cheek, the action of her weighing her next words clearly written all over her face. “You seriously can’t tell me you don’t notice it.”

Cocking his head to the side, Harry gently yet consistently continues to stroke two fingers over Y/N’s velvety skin, the heat of her veins burning beneath his touch. “Notice what?”

Although she opens her mouth, Y/N’s reply is cut off by the clicking of high heels approaching their secluded corner, and it’s only a moment before a waitress (whom she assumes is Paige) is standing in front of their table.  Like her coworker before her, Paige gives a brief hello to Y/N before turning all of her attention to Harry, smiling brightly at him as she gives her opening spiel.

“Hi!  My name is Paige, and I’ll be your server today.  Can I get some drinks started for you?” She asks, her hands clasped tightly in front of her (Y/N always hates when servers don’t write down orders; she knows it looks impressive, but the attention it takes to remember exact specifications gives her secondhand anxiety) as she addresses Harry.  

The order is right at the tip of Harry’s tongue. “We’ll have two mimosas, please.  And two ice waters, as well.” He replies, smiling briefly at her as his fingers continue to glide over Y/N’s wrist.  The girl catches the way Paige’s eyes flicker to the movement, her (just barely) professional smile shifting for a fraction of a second before fixing itself, and while Y/N knows that it’s irrational, a small part of her can’t help but be pleased.

“Sounds good.  I’ll be right back with those.” She chimes giddily, her heels clicking against the ground once more as she walks away.

The moment she’s left, Harry has his full attention turned back to Y/N. “You didn’t answer my question.” He murmurs, his emerald eyes alight with curiosity. “Notice what?”

An exasperated sigh sounds from Y/N as she makes a face. “The way they stare at you.” She answers, jerking her head over her shoulder towards the restaurant door. “The hostess, the server—they were both practically undressing you with their eyes.  Are you telling me you didn’t notice that?”

Harry’s curious expression drops as he begins to shift in his seat, the stroking of his fingers over her wrist pausing for just one moment.  Ah, Y/N thinks.  Here it is.  A confession that, yes, Harry did notice it, and Harry (and his ego) loved the attention, and he—

“I noticed it, yeah.” He begins, a reluctant look painting itself onto his statuesque features as a finger on his free hand rubs over his lion head ring.

A glum feeling of satisfaction settles into Y/N’s stomach, and she pulls her hand back a few inches, completely removing it from Harry’s grasp. “I thought so—”

“But I didn’t see the point in mentioning it.” Harry continues, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’m here with you.  Why would a spare look from a hostess or a server be anything but inconsequential to me?”

Huh.

“I…” For once, Y/N is stunned into silence. “Well, I just thought—”

“Y/N.” Her name sounds like a melody when it falls from Harry’s mouth, and the sincerity layered in his voice makes her snap her eyes to his. “Do you truly think I would flirt with a waitress on a date I asked you on?  Does that sound like me?”

“Well, honestly…” Harry’s stare bores into hers, prickling Y/N’s skin with the new and nearly uncomfortable sensation of being seen. “I don’t want to think so, but considering how we met…”

“Ah.” Harry’s lips turn down into a small grimace, but quickly right themselves as he once again grasps her hand in his two large palms. “I won’t pretend that I’m not a bit of a—”

“Whore?”

Harry’s lip twitches in amusement again at the blatant tone of the girl’s voice. “Didn’t we just have a conversation about you slut-shaming me?”

The flush that overtakes Y/N’s face indicates that she remembers. “Yes, we did.  But I seem to recall you agreeing.  After you teased me for it, of course.”

“Of course.  We both know how much you love teasing.” Harry digs his nails ever so slightly into her wrist, not enough to hurt, but enough to pull a small gasp from her mouth as his grip begins to mimic the handcuffs that she had begged him to use on her. “But all that aside...I couldn’t give less of a fuck about what they think of me.  I’m here with you.  Despite most of my flaws, my mother raised me right.  I wouldn’t do that to you.”

The thunderous thumping of Y/N’s heart rings through Harry’s ears, a constant reminder of why he’s here.  Beneath her soft skin, beneath every telltale mark and scar, beneath her glittering eyes and silky lips, there’s the thing that keeps Harry alive.  Rushing through this girl’s arteries is the sustenance that Harry needs to survive, the sweetest liquid he’s ever consumed, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep it at his beck and call.  If being the gentleman of Y/N’s dreams is what will keep her available for him, then that’s what he’ll do.  The pounding of her heart is the beat that keeps him in time with the tune of his life.  It’s nothing more and nothing less. 

Still, Harry chooses his next words attentively, to bring back a joking manner to the conversation. “Someone must have done a number on you, huh?  Was everything not so charming in Smalltown, USA?  Did your parents split when you were a kid?”

And although Harry asks the questions with a smirk on his face, laughter in his voice, and mirth in his eyes, he doesn’t miss the way Y/N’s breath hitches in her chest, how her hand tenses beneath his, and how her eyes drop for a fraction of a second.  He’s touched a nerve, one that is obviously frayed and hurting, and the regret that instantly washes over him is tinged with the confusion of how he’s capable of feeling such an emotion so intensely. 

“Um—” While Y/N knew that she had to tell Harry about her disastrous dating history sooner or later, she had really hoped it would be later rather than sooner.  Is a discussion about one’s scumbag ex appropriate first date talk?  Can she bring it up now, or should she wait until they’ve finished their appetizers? 

“Alright, so I have two mimosas and two waters for you…” Paige’s return distracts Y/N from her dilemma for just a moment as the server sets down the four glasses in front of the respective recipients.  With her attention turned back to Harry, she takes a step back from the table. “Are you ready to order?”

Y/N’s eyes snap to the open menu in front of her, which had become the least of her concerns over the last few minutes. “Oh, I haven’t—”

“We’ll get two orders of the chorizo and goat cheese crepes, please.” Harry closes his menu before reaching for Y/N’s and repeating the motion, handing them back to Paige with a charming yet neutral smile. “And a side of hashbrowns, please, to share.”

Brow furrowing as the server scurries away without giving her a second glance, Y/N gapes at Harry, her voice wrought with confusion. “Why did you order for me?”

Harry raises his mimosa to his lips and takes a long sip, setting the condensation-covered glass back down on the table before replying. “You didn’t know what you wanted, and the crepes are delicious.  Did you want something else?” With a lick of his red lips, he glances over his shoulder. “I can call her back if—”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Y/N wraps her hand around the alcoholic drink, swirling her finger over the cold glass. “I can order for myself.  I’m a grown woman.  Do you think I’m not capable or something?”

Harry cocks his head to the side, appraising how the mortal’s expression is closing off with every passing moment.  This bothers her, he realizes.  The idea of him not thinking she’s capable of something bothers her, enough that she’s clenching her glass, and her normally clear eyes are swirling with anger more and more with every passing moment.

“I know you’re capable, Y/N.  I just thought that…” Shifting in his seat, Harry clears his throat as he gathers his words in his mind.  Wasn’t he supposed to be the one asking the questions? “It’s supposed to be polite.”

“In what century?” She replies, her mouth falling agape in surprise as her eyes widen. “Men used to order for women because women weren’t allowed to, right?  Because men made the decisions?  Holding open a door is one thing, but choosing for me—”

“Okay, maybe choosing for you was impolite.  I thought you were unsure on what to order, but I should’ve asked first.  I’m sorry.” Harry half mumbles the apology as an uncomfortable feeling of shame begins to buzz in his stomach. “But the ordering thing, that— men did that as a sign of respect, so women wouldn’t have to talk to someone they didn’t know.  I really didn’t mean anything by it, I swear.  My mum just taught me that it was polite, so I...it’s a habit.  I’m sorry.  I won’t do it again.”

He watches as Y/N chews her bottom lip, seemingly contemplating the authenticness of his apology.  Everything he had said was true, of course.  His mother did teach him that it was polite to order something for a date so she wouldn’t have to speak to someone she doesn’t know.  Of course, it was also true that the practice had died out a century ago, and most women now preferred to speak for themselves.  Harry can’t begrudge Y/N if she dislikes what he did; she’s proved time and time again that she can be rather independent.  However, Harry’s surprised at the disappointment he feels about her reaction.  If this is going to be a proper date, he’d like to hold it up to his standards of proper.

“Alright.” The mortal says after a moment, releasing her lip from her teeth and finally raising her mimosa to her mouth. “You’re forgiven.  But I think I’ve earned the right to compensation for your assumptions.”

“Compensation could be arranged, I suppose.” Harry leans forward with a sly grin, his fingers finding the delicate skin of Y/N’s wrist once more. “I feel like I’ve been fairly firm on the no sex thing, but I could pencil you in for some compensation tomorrow evening, if that works for you.”

Y/N swirls the liquid in her glass as she bites back a smirk. “I was thinking of something a little different than an orgasm, actually.”

“What could possibly be better than an orgasm given by me?” Harry questions, his free hand fingering the cross around his neck. “Didn’t you once compare them to a gift from God?”

“I don’t recall ever saying that, actually.” The mortal girl replies in a dry voice, setting her glass down with a decisive thunk. “I don’t want an orgasm—”

“Oh, that’s a bloody lie—”

“I want information.” Tapping her fingers against the table, Y/N stares Harry down with firm eyes. “Like where did you grow up that your mother taught you it was appropriate to speak for a woman?  Or why have you avoided any personal questions I’ve tried to ask over the last month?”

Harry retracts his hand from Y/N’s wrist as she voices her inquisition, settling his fingers on the rim of his mimosa to begin tracing the smooth glass. “To be fair, pet, you haven’t asked many personal questions.  You’ve been too busy bouncing on my cock, haven’t you?”

“Maybe, but I won’t be today, as per our agreement.” Y/N steeps her fingers together as she leans towards him, the comical sight of her posture forcing Harry to repress a snort. “And you brought up personal questions first, Holmes.  So you kind of screwed yourself, didn’t you?”

“I suppose I did.  I’ve gotten so used to you doing the screwing, Watson.  Guess I’m getting sloppy— although you seem to like that.” Harry can’t help but get in one last dig before conceding, taking a long gulp of his beverage before smacking his lips. “I’ll tell you what.” He says, pointing a jeweled finger at his date with his glass still wrapped tightly in his hand. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Pursing her lips, Y/N quirks up an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“Let’s play a little question game.” Harry sets down his glass as he elaborates, his signature smirk growing over his cherry lips. “We alternate questions back and forth, asking whatever we’ve wanted to know.  And the other person has to answer it honestly.”

Or as honestly as possible, Harry amends in his head.  For obvious reasons, he’ll have to fabricate the majority of his answers, but that’s nothing new to him.  Over the years, he’s had to create multiple spiels about his childhood, taking tiny pieces of truths and weaving them together with updated lies.  Spitting out a few standard stories about where he grew up and why he left London is small change compared to his burning desire to know more about Y/N’s past.  

The mortal chews on the inside of her cheek again, weighing her options in her head as she holds Harry’s questioning stare.  As much as she hates to discuss her life story, and as much as she’d been hoping to hide it from Harry, she knows that she has to be honest with him if she wants him to be honest with her.  As awkward as it may be, she’ll have to tell the stories sometime.

“Alright.” She relents after a moment, blowing out a harsh breath and lifting her mimosa to her lips. “But I get to ask the first question.  Ladies first, and all that.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Harry flashes a cheeky grin at her, his left eye dropping into a quick wink. “Start your inquisition, Watson.”

Harry’s been in this position millions of times, so he knows the types of questions that are about to tumble from Y/N’s pretty lips.  She’ll start off by asking where he grew up, and where he went to school, and how many siblings he has, before moving to things like why he moved to L.A., and how he made friends, and—

“What else did your mother teach you, besides manners?” Y/N asks suddenly, her tongue poking from the corner of her mouth to catch a stray drop of liquid on her bottom lip as she lowers her glass. “And what was the most important thing?” 

The nature of the question catches Harry so off guard that he doesn’t remember to quell the throb in his chest where his heart used to beat at the mention of his mother, and the old half healed wound flares with pain.  What had his mother taught him?  Harry ponders the question as Y/N’s curious eyes ponder him.  What hadn’t she taught him? 

“My mother taught me…many things.  Many good things.  She was a wonderful woman.” Harry begins honestly, albeit carefully, speaking in a measured voice as his eyes fall to her opal ring that sits upon his pinky. “She taught me how to read as a child, before I began school.  She taught me...she taught me how to cook a bit.  I’m not nearly as good as she was, but I’m passable.  And yes, she did teach me how to behave around women, how to be respectful.  But the most important thing…”

Y/N watches as Harry’s eyes bore into the ring on his finger, as if he’s staring into a crystal ball of the past to search for an answer.  Perhaps, in a way, he is. 

“The most important thing,” Harry repeats again, his eyes finally snapping away from the entrapment of the ring. “Was how to let someone know you appreciate them.  It’s easy, I think, to go about your day without telling someone you care for them.” Stroking his thumb over the band of the ring, Harry thinks back to the countless ways his mother had wordlessly shown Harry and his sister how much she adored them. “Little touches, or little favours, things like that— those go a long way.  They help someone feel less alone.  They can be the difference between a good day and a bad day.  She used to, um,” A lump suddenly develops in his throat, and Harry struggles to swallow it down as he voices a memory he hasn’t spoken aloud in over a century. “She used to comb her fingers through my hair when I was a little boy, whenever I was upset.  I’d come home from—“ Harry cuts himself off before he mentions his father’s blacksmith forge, where he was an apprentice. “—from school, and she would take one look at me and be able to see I was frustrated.  She always sat in this big chair in front of the fireplace, and she’d pat her lap, and I’d sit in front of her knees and lay my head on her leg, and she’d card her fingers through my hair as I told her every bad thing that happened that day.” Unconsciously, Harry raises his own hand to his chestnut curls, raking his fingers through them.  The motion doesn’t bring nearly as much comfort as it once did. “She always listened.  She never made me feel like my problems were silly.  She just listened.  It made me feel better.  Made me feel…” The vampire’s hand drifts from his hair to his lips, rubbing over them pensively. “Loved.”

The mortal girl’s eyes soften as she listens to the memories of the man in front of her, who begins to look younger and younger with every word that falls from his lips.  Although she’s surprised by the candor of his answer, it pleases her; she thought pulling truths from Harry would be like pulling teeth.  One note of his story, however, catches her attention with an ache. 

“You said...you said she was a wonderful woman.” Y/N murmurs, carefully gauging Harry’s reaction to the question. “Is she...not anymore?”

“I’m sure she would be, but she passed away a…a while ago.” Harry’s eyes shift to the ring again, the dainty band with its opal stone standing out from the rest of his chunky jewelry.  Y/N wonders if that’s because it once belonged to someone else. “She got sick, and couldn’t get better.”

With a careful but tender motion, Y/N slides her hand across the table and settles it on top of Harry’s, cupping his larger hand in her smaller grasp. “I’m so sorry.” The sincerity in her voice snags Harry’s attention, and the vampire looks up to find the mortal staring at him with understanding eyes. “I can’t imagine how awful that must have been for you.  You must miss her very much.”

It takes Harry a moment to clear the lump from his throat enough that he can choke out a response. “I-I do, yeah.  Every day.” He’s not sure if it’s his icy skin or the burn of Y/N’s touch, but he slowly pulls his hand from beneath her grasp, reaching for his glass of ice water instead.  He gulps down half the liquid, setting the cup down with a decisive thunk before pasting a strained smile onto his face. “But that’s enough of my sob story, don’t you think?  It’s my turn to ask a question.”

A small frown works its way over Y/N’s face as Harry pulls away, and she clasps her now empty hands together around the stem of her mimosa glass. “Fine.  What do you want to know?”

“The answer to my previous inquiry.” Harry’s emerald irises sweep over her figure, his tongue poking between his teeth as his simper becomes more genuine. “Someone must’ve really done a number on you if opening a door for you is a shock.  What’s the story there?”

Although she knew that this would be Harry’s first question, Y/N still bides her time by knocking back the rest of her mimosa in one swift gulp, wrinkling her nose at the lingering taste that catches in the back of her throat. “His name was Bradley.” She begins, tapping a fingernail against the delicate glass. “And he—”

“So sorry to cut you off, darling, but,” Harry raises a finger to pause her speech, his rings glinting in the L.A. sun. “Bradley?  You fucked someone named Bradley?”

“It was a small town!  It’s not like I had many options!” Y/N argues hotly, her eyes rolling harder than they ever have before. “Now are you going to be quiet and listen politely, or are you going to keep interrupting me before I can even begin?”

Harry laughs once, shaking his head with an amused air. “Sorry.  Continue.” Despite the teasing smirk still tugging at his lips, Harry raises a hand to the corner of his mouth, pretending to lock it shut with an imaginary key.  He even takes care to slide the invisible key into his shirt pocket, patting it with satisfaction once the deed is done. 

Y/N takes one more moment to glare at him, but Harry’s newfound silence continues, and so she does, as well. “His name was Bradley.  I met him through a mutual friend in our freshman year of high school.  I’d seen him around before, but we’d never talked, really.  And after he asked me to Homecoming, he just kind of…stuck.” The girl shrugs in a way of explanation. “Like, he started coming around more to my house, taking me out to movies.  And it was nice.  The attention, I mean.  There was no one else I was really interested in at school, and Bradley was cute, and he was friendly, and our families really liked each other.  It made sense.”

As she speaks, a crease works its way between Harry’s perfectly sculpted brows.  Most mortal romances, he’s come to find, are rather dull, but this one seems more boring than others, and he can’t stop himself from raising his jeweled hand in the air as if he were in one of the classes Y/N mentioned, waiting for the teacher to call on him for an answer. 

When Y/N notices the hand, an exasperated sigh falls from her mouth, but she leans across the table and retrieves the imaginary key from Harry’s shirt pocket, her warm fingers leaving pinpricks of fire across his chest.  A small smile tugs at the corner of Harry’s lips as those warm fingers touch the lifted spot, mimicking an unlocking motion before she sits back in her seat. “Yes?”

Harry rests a bent elbow on the table, propping his chin up on his fist as he leans forward. “I have a question.” He begins innocently, watching as Y/N narrows her eyes at his sudden polite intrigue.

“Yes?” She repeats again, wariness written into her tone as she evaluated the suspicious air of Harry’s behaviour. 

“I was just wondering how big Bradley’s dick is.” Harry’s grin grows to wicked proportions as Y/N’s mouth falls open in shock. “Because, honestly, he doesn’t seem to have that much going for him, and I’ve been wracking my brain to figure out why you dated him, and the only answer I can come up with is—“

“That his dick must be huge?”

“That he’s well endowed, yes.” Harry finishes smugly, tapping a finger against his chin. “I’m curious.  Are we talking about a carrot?  A cucumber?  A zucchini?” Lip twitching again, Harry stifles a laugh as Y/N’s face hardens with exasperation. “A stalk of celery?  I suppose the length could be a selling point, but if there’s not enough girth to fill you—”

“His dick wasn’t the reason I dated him.” Y/N replies flatly, a deadpan stare meeting Harry’s mirth filled eyes. “Although, since you’re curious…it was the size of a cucumber, but not an English cucumber.  More of a garden variety.  Not incredibly girthy, but good for a beginner.”

“A beginner?” Intrigue sparks at the pit of Harry’s belly (along with what he thinks is jealousy, but he’ll wait to dissect that at a later date) as the vampire leans forward more. “This bloke was your first?”

“We were together for years, so—” Y/N cuts herself off with a shake of her head, twisting a lock of her hair around her finger nervously. “No, wait, that’s another question!  You don’t get another question if I didn’t!”

“But you haven’t finished answering my first question—”

“I would if you’d stop interrupting!” Silencing Harry with a stern look, Y/N holds up her left hand, pinching two of her fingers together. “Do I need to pretend to lock your mouth again like I would a seven year old, or can you sit and listen like an adult for five minutes?  What happened to that old fashioned chivalry from earlier?”

Harry lets out a defeated sigh, sitting back in his chair with proper posture.  He takes a moment to adjust himself, straightening his back, fixing the fall of his shirt, adjusting his cross, planting his feet on the ground of the patio, and finishing off the show by rolling out his shoulders before squaring them. “Alright, I’m sorry.  I’m ready to listen.  Please continue.”

The young woman inhales deeply, testing Harry’s rapt attention as she takes her time sipping her ice water.  When she sets the glass down and finds that Harry has stayed perfectly still, his irises glued to her, she continues. 

“So Bradley and I got together our freshman year, and stayed together for the rest of high school.  It was comfortable.  His mom liked me, and my parents liked him.  He came to church with us—” Y/N notes that Harry’s eyebrow lifts a quarter of an inch, but only for a moment before dropping back down into its neutral state. “—and he and I went out once or twice a week.  He was…nice.  But he didn’t do the stuff that you do, the…etiquette stuff.” She taps an index finger against the table, thinking back to all the movie and diner dates that have blurred together in her mind. “Well, he’d try, I suppose, but not in the way you do.  Whenever he did something that was supposed to be chivalrous or gallant, it felt like he was doing it because he thought I was incapable.  And when I brought it up, he got mad.” Y/N lifts one shoulder in a shy shrug as she smiles apologetically at Harry. “That’s why I didn’t understand you ordering for me.  I know you didn’t mean it in the way he did, I can tell that, but it just kind of…reminded me of him.  It left a bad taste in my mouth; he left a bad taste in my mouth, I guess.”

A beat of silence falls between them, and the intense way that Harry is looking at her is prickling the hair on the back of Y/N’s neck. 

“I get that.” The brunette speaks after a moment, voice low and accent thick. “Being haunted by someone.  Even after they’re gone, even after time passes…something can remind you of them, and it can be enough to bring you to your knees.”

Although Harry’s eyes are locked on hers, Y/N has the distinct feeling that he’s seeing someone else in her place.  Before she can ask what he means, however, he’s blinked himself out of the self-imposed trance. 

“So what was the final straw?” Harry clears his throat quietly as his mind comes back to the present. “Between you and Cucumber Dick?”

A tiny giggle escapes Y/N’s mouth despite her far from humorous answer. “Well—”

The telltale clicking of heels interrupts the unspoken thought, and within a moment, Paige is standing next to their table once again, a tray balanced on her hand with precision as she offers another one of her smiles to Harry. “Here you go—two orders of the chorizo and goat cheese crepes, and a side of hash browns.” The server sets the first plate down in front of Harry, but he quickly lifts it again and sets it down carefully in front of Y/N before accepting the second dish.  He repeats the motions with the hash browns, sliding them to the middle of the table and within Y/N’s reach. 

“Thank you.” Harry speaks with a kind tone, but offers no other comment to the girl, who’s allowed her eyes to slide to the dark ink that decorates Harry’s arms. 

“Of course.” Paige stutters, giving no pretense of paying attention to Y/N. “Could I get you anything else?”

Harry glances at Y/N’s empty mimosa glass, raising an eyebrow in question. “Would you like another drink?” He asks her slowly, his voice unsure.  Normally, he’d just order a second one for her without a thought, but now that he knows how she feels about him ordering for her, he’ll have to work on beating back that particular bit of Victorian etiquette. 

“I would, yes.” Y/N replies with a smile as she touches the stem of her empty glass. “Thank you.”

A strained smile flickers over Paige’s lips. “No problem.  I’ll be right back.”

Harry nods in satisfaction as he watches the server retreat. “There.  We have a few more minutes.  Keep talking.”

“Ah ah ah.” Y/N picks up her fork and sticks it into the hash browns, pulling away a crispy bite for herself. “I think I get to ask a question now, especially since you’ve crammed a few different inquiries into your last turn.”

“And here I was, thinking you loved when I crammed things into—”

“Harry.”

A teasing smile breaks across the vampire’s face, more genuine than Harry thought possible. “Fine.” He relents, cutting the corner off his crepes and popping the savory bite into his mouth. “What else would you like to know?”

Where to begin?  Y/N considers his question pensively as she takes a bite of her own crepe, her expression raising in surprise when she finds that she enjoys Harry’s entrée choice.  The smokiness and spice of the chorizo is undercut by the tangy saltiness of the cheese, all wrapped together with a few garnishes in the perfectly cooked crepe.  Savoring the bite as she chews, Y/N begins to run through the list of questions in her head. 

She could ask more about his family, but if the aching sadness that had radiated off of him at the mention of his mother was any hint, any answers Harry could give on that topic may be off tone for a first date.  And while inquiring about what he said before, about being haunted by someone seems promising, it may also be a bit too much.  As much as she dislikes talking about her personal life, she gets the feeling that Harry absolutely abhors it, and while she was surprised about him asking her on a date, she’s been even more surprised to find herself enjoying it.  The last thing she needs is to fuck that all up by interrogating him about an ex. 

With those two possibilities pushed aside, only one burning question is left on the tip of Y/N’s tongue, and she hurriedly swallows her mouthful of crepe before letting it fall. “Alright, I’ve got it.” Cocking her head to the side, Y/N points her fork at the man in an accusatory manner. “Did you ask me out on this date just because you were jealous I was out with Jacob?  Was that the only reason?  Because you saw me with him, and you didn’t like it?”

Harry wraps his ringed hand around his water glass, the metal of his jewelry clinking against the surface as he pulls a face.  Even if he wanted to be honest with Y/N about this, Harry isn’t quite sure what the honest answer would be.

“I’ll admit, I was a little…bothered by it.” Reluctance is threaded through every word that Harry manages to spit out. “Moreso by your taste in men than anything else— Jacob wasn’t exactly up to par.”

“It wasn’t like I chose him myself.” Y/N retorts, pulling a grape from the bunch of side fruit on her plate and popping it into her mouth. “Was that really all that bothered you?  That he wasn’t up to par?”

Tapping his fingers against the wooden table, Harry takes a moment to ponder the question. “No.” He says finally, deciding to continue his honesty streak. “No, that wasn’t all that bothered me.  You’re right, I didn’t like seeing you with him, but it wasn’t because of him.  Not entirely, anyways.  I can’t imagine I would’ve liked seeing you with anyone.”

A light flush works its way over the mortal’s cheeks, and Harry can hear the stuttered thumping of her heart. “Why?” She asks in a half whisper, her teeth worrying her bottom lip unconsciously. “Why is that?”

Harry muses the various answers he could give as Paige brings them refills on their mimosas.  It’s not like he can tell her that he wants to keep her available for snacking whenever he gets a little thirsty.  Well, he could, but then he’d have to wipe her mind, and he’s not particularly inclined to do that at the moment.  And, if he’s being honest with himself…he’s not entirely sure that’s the truth anymore.  Is sheer convenience the reason behind his terrible reaction to Y/N seeing someone else?  Or is that reaction linked to the way he felt when she opened her door to him that morning, and the sight of her all dolled up for him hit him like a truck?

Either way, none of those answers are suitable to confess in the moment, so Harry merely gives a dimpled grin. “That’s another question, darling.  We’re not very good at limiting ourselves, are we?”

“I suppose not, no.” Y/N smiles sheepishly as she takes a sip of her fresh mimosa, her eyes watching Harry over the rim of the glass. “Your turn, then.  What else do you want to know?”

What else would he like to know?  Harry thinks, taking another bite of chorizo as he mulls over the question.  Now that the floodgates have opened, now that he has the opportunity, now that he has the ability to ask, Harry wants to know everything.  He wants to know what makes Y/N tick, what her pet peeves are, and if she prefers mornings or nights.  He wants to know what her favourite school subject was, if she was ever in her school’s plays, or on any of the sports teams.  He wants to know her favourite flavour of ice cream, what TV shows she binge watches when she wants to distract herself, and if she’s really read all those books that line the floor to ceiling shelf in her room.  He wants to know her, he realizes.  She’s more fascinating than he ever thought possible, and her blood is more addicting than he knew.  He wants to know every aspect that molded her into the person sitting before him.  And one of those aspects is—

“Why did things end between you and Bradley?” He finally asks, his voice low and cautious. “Was it mutual, or...?”

Despite the time Harry took to think of his question, Y/N knew exactly what it was going to be, and she has her answer ready to go the moment the words roll from Harry’s pillowy lips. “He was cheating on me.” She admits with a sigh, her eyes glued to her mimosa glass as she swirls the orange liquid within it. “He went away for university, and I stayed home.  I guess he met someone at school.” Allowing her eyes to flick up to Harry for a moment, Y/N finds the man staring at her blankly with a harsh crease between his brows. “I kind of thought it was going to end, honestly.  He began to get more and more distant...we’d talk less over Skype or the phone...but I didn’t think he’d…” She trails off for a moment, thinking back to the day she found out. “Well.  He did.  I found out from his roommate, and the next day, he and I were through.  And almost five years of memories, time together, shared moments...all of that was just gone.”

Although it’s been years since things ended, and Y/N has moved on in tenfold, she can’t help the way her voice aches at the end of her explanation, which acts as proof of how the raw wound had healed in a way that wasn’t quite right.  No matter how much time passes, no matter how many people she’s been with, no matter how little she cares for Bradley now...nothing will change the fact that he hurt her.  Nothing will mend the jagged scar he created.  Sure, it may fade with time, but it’ll never disappear completely.  And as much as Y/N hates that Bradley still has an effect on her after all this time, she can’t change it.  She’s tried.

“That…” Harry’s cool hand wrapping around her own drags her back to the present, and she lifts her eyes to find the man staring at her with the most tender expression she’s ever seen his sculpted face wear. “That’s awful, Y/N.  I’m so sorry you went through that.”

“It’s—it’s fine.  Really.” Y/N half mumbles the words, distracted by the small circles Harry’s thumb is rubbing against the bone of her wrist.

Chestnut curls swaying, Harry adamantly shakes his head, the crease between his brows deepening with each passing moment. “Don’t.  It’s not fine.  You don’t have to make excuses for someone who hurt you.”

“I’m not making an excuse, I just—”

“Did he hurt you?” Harry’s jade irises fixate on her own with determination. “Yes or no?”

Once Y/N locks her eyes with Harry, she can’t look away.  His gaze nears hypnotic the more she looks. “Yes.  He hurt me.”

“Then he doesn’t deserve you making excuses for him.” The vampire squeezes her hand to emphasize his answer.  Although he’s not compelling her to understand him, Harry looks at her with an unfamiliar sincerity that he hopes makes the depth of his words resonate within her. “You may be fine now, or you may not be, but the situation itself wasn’t fine.  Don’t use your healing as an excuse for his behaviour.  You shouldn’t have had to heal yourself in the first place.”

The gravity of his words rings in Y/N’s ears, and the girl gapes at him for a moment, her mouth half open in shock, before the realization of what he’s saying hits her.  The way he’s staring at her…it’s nearly uncomfortable, the way he sees her.  She almost can’t bear it.  How does he know to say exactly what she needs to hear, even if she doesn’t know she needs to hear it?  Since the first night they slept together, when he reassured her that she could relax and let loose, Harry has been honest and reassuring.  And although Y/N has greatly appreciated that trait in the bedroom, when she’s been at her most vulnerable in a physical aspect…her eyes lock with Harry’s once more, finding them still as steadfast as ever.  This may be the most vulnerable she’s been emotionally in a long time.  And the idea of that, for once, doesn’t completely terrify her. 

The questions get more and more personal from there.  Although there’s a few lighthearted inquiries sprinkled in to ease the tension (“What was the name of your first pet?” “It was a cat named Mr. Snuffleupagus.  I named him after the Sesame Street character.  What’s your earliest childhood memory?” “My sister nearly drowning me in a lake.  She thought I would float.”), the majority of questions asked are things that neither person ever thought they would admit to someone else.  

Those questions range from vaguely prying (“How old were you when you lost your virginity?” “Seventeen.  It was with—” “Bradley and his beginner penis, right.” “Alright, smart ass, who did you lose yours to?” “My first girlfriend.”) to diving deep into memories, stories, and opinions that neither have so much as breathed to themselves in the dark of the night, let alone someone else.

Despite the plan having been to leave after brunch, the pair find themselves engrossed in their conversation, drinking mimosa after mimosa as the late morning bleeds into early afternoon, and they continue to discover each other. 

As Y/N takes a sip of her fourth beverage, Harry regards her with curious eyes, which are focused on picking apart every moment of her body to dissect and devour in his head when he’s alone that night. “So you said pretty much everyone from your hometown marries their high school sweetheart.” He asks slowly, rubbing a jeweled finger over his ice-swollen lips. “But you didn’t, obviously.”

“No, I did not.” Y/N says in agreement, a tipsy snort sounding from the back of her throat as she raises her fluted glass in a toast. “Thank fuck, honestly.  Could you imagine me as a wife right now?  And a mother?  With children?”

Finger tapping against his lip, a cheeky grin tugs at the very corner of his mouth. “No, I couldn’t, frankly.” Harry’s dimples wink at her as he answers. “But what I’d like to know is…do you believe in it?  Marriage, I mean?  Because you said your parents had rough patches, and you thought they mostly stayed together just to stay together, and you and Gherkin Pickle didn’t last—”

“I’m sorry, Gherkin Pickle—?”

“So what I want to know is…” With his thumb and knuckle still grazing his chin, Harry points his finger at the girl across the table. “Marriage.  Do you think there’s value in it?  Do you think someone can be monogamous for their entire life?  Do you want to get married someday?”

The alcohol is beginning to soak into Y/N’s brain, making her bolder with every thump of her heart in her chest.  She leans across the table to ghost her fingers over Harry’s knuckles, continuing to glide them over his cool skin until she reaches his statement rings. “Why?” She asks, a smirk twinkling its way onto her face. “Are you asking?”

“Not quite yet, no.” Harry can feel the alcohol beginning to buzz through his stagnant veins, and he’ll later blame his flirtatious response on the pleasant feeling. “Although you in that dress has me half considering it.”

“Only half considering it?” Y/N clicks her tongue in feigned disappointment, swirling the tip of her index finger over the opal ring that sits upon Harry’s pinkie. “That’s a bit disheartening.  I’ll have to up my game, huh?”

The sight of Y/N’s lithe finger tracing his mother’s ring sends a shock through Harry’s buzzing body.  He can’t quite tell if it’s the witty banter that she matches perfectly and with ease, the lighthearted smile that lifts her soft lips, the gentle pulse he can feel reverberating through her fingertip, or the cleavage that’s just barely slipping out of her dress as she leans over, but Harry can’t tear his eyes away from the mortal girl, not for one second.  He doesn’t want to miss a single moment of her like this.  How it’s all for him. 

“You know, I’m starting to regret my earlier proposal.” He murmurs quietly, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue as he watches the mortal take a long sip of her mimosa. “How much begging would it take to convince you to follow me to the bathroom right now for a little fun?”

Despite the warmth pooling between her thighs at the offer, Y/N shakes her head. “Too much begging.” She replies, setting her glass back down on the table with a soft clink.  She can already tell there’s a good chance that she’ll go back on the agreement they made, but she wants to make him sweat first.  As much as it tortures her, she knows it tortures him more.  And he’s certainly done his fair share of torturing.  Now it’s her turn. “But speaking of proposals…”

To his credit, Harry doesn’t push the subject of bathroom quickies again. “Right.” He pauses with his glass half raised to his lips. “Marriage.  Thoughts?”

Harry’s attention is rapt as his eyes drift to the mortal’s lips, which pucker slightly as her lightly inebriated mind thinks through the question.  Not for the first time, he wishes he had the ability to take a look inside her head and see how her thoughts form before she voices them. 

“I think…” She fixes her fork against her plate with a clink, her voice light but thoughtful as she forms her response. “I do think there’s value in marriage, but not inherently.  It’s not valuable just because it exists; I think it becomes valuable based on the work you put into it.  My parents, for example…” Her finger begins to circle Harry’s icy knuckle absentmindedly. “My parents didn’t put much work in, so I don’t think their marriage has that much value in comparison to what it could have if they tried.  But if two people put effort in, and strive to be the best partner they can be…I think there’s tremendous value in that.”

Harry responds with a low hum in the back of his throat. “That stands to reason.” He wishes he could take her hand in his own, but the sensation of her warm fingers tracing his skin is too wonderful to pull away. “What about monogamy?  Do you think it’s realistic?”

“I suppose my answer is the same.” Y/N shrugs lightly as her soft skin catches on the corner of Harry’s H ring. “It’s different for everyone, but I do think it can be realistic.  What’s not realistic is the idea that it’s easy.  People change over time, right?  Sometimes someone can change into someone completely different.  You have to expect that, and be flexible with it.”

For the first time since the beginning of their date, an uncomfortably negative feeling buzzes in the pit of Harry’s belly.  Of course Y/N thinks people change—she’s mortal.  But Harry, on the other hand… Harry is forever frozen at twenty-six.  Harry is static.  Harry is stagnant.  However Y/N will change, Harry cannot match it.  Ever. 

That realization helps him identify the uncomfortable feeling as his eyes fall on the girl’s finger tracing his rings.  It’s longing, he discovers, unable to look away from the way her fingernail scratches his immortal skin without so much as leaving a pinkening mark.  Harry will never change again, while Y/N has a whole life of it ahead of her.  Millions of possibilities that lead to millions of more possibilities, always shifting, never staying the same from one moment to the next. 

“As for your last question…” Y/N’s familiar cadence pulls Harry from his thoughts. “I’m not sure.  I wouldn’t completely rule out marriage, but it’s not an active goal of mine.  It all depends on finding someone I think I could grow with and still love at the end of every day.  And despite how simple that sounds,” The short laugh that leaves her mouth is wistful, but hides a tinge of bitterness. “It’s surprisingly hard to find.”

“It is, yeah.” Harry agrees, finishing the remnants of his mimosa with one fell swoop. “Incredibly hard.” His gaze sweeps to Y/N’s glass, which has about one more gulp of liquid left in it.  With the hand not within her grasp, he reaches across the table, picking up the glass and lifting it to her lips. “May I, pet?”

He can hear the way her heartbeat stutters in her chest, and feel the heat radiating off her cheeks as she nods slowly.  Harry places the glass between her lips, carefully tilting it back until the drink runs out of the crystal and into her awaiting mouth.  A small droplet streaks from the corner of Y/N’s mouth, and Harry is sure to catch it on his finger after setting the glass down. 

Y/N knows that Harry is doing his best to fluster her, and while it’s working, she knows that she can play the game just as well as he can.  Keeping her eyes on his like a challenge, she grasps the hand touching the corner of her mouth, guiding his finger beyond her lips with a firm grip.  The sweetness of the orange juice and champagne concoction swells across her tongue, but that’s nothing compared to the sweetness of watching Harry’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly. 

Pulling his finger from her mouth with a quiet pop, Y/N sets his hand back down on the table, squeezing it once before releasing both of his hands and resting her elbows on the table.  She steeples her fingers together, setting her chin on the makeshift rest as she regards Harry’s darkening eyes. 

“Thanks.” She murmurs, tilting her head to the side lazily as Harry shifts in his chair. “Didn’t realize I missed a drop.  That was a sharp catch, Holmes.”

Harry can’t help but flex his finger as his gaze drops to the digit, catching how a light sheen of saliva covers his skin.  Heat floods between his thighs, making him regret his choice of fashionable linen pants over standard jeans.  “Thank you, Watson.” He matches her banter, albeit with a slightly strained voice. “Shall we order another drink, now that we’ve both finished?”

The question hangs in the air between them like an invitation, open ended and carefully calculated.  Y/N leans forward again, unlocking one of her hands to run a finger over the dark ink staining Harry’s exposed forearm. “I think we should grab the check, actually.” She wets her lips with a swipe of her tongue as she feels Harry’s muscle tense under her touch. “I think I’ve had enough to drink.  Have you?”

All the moisture in Harry’s mouth disappears, his throat burning as the mortal girl’s scent envelops him with every move.  His eyes flicker to her neck, where the thumping of her heart is practically visible underneath her fragile skin.  With his inhuman eyes, he can just make out the ghost of a bruise he sucked into her neck a few nights before.  

Has he had enough to drink?  No.  He’ll never get enough.  But that’s not what Y/N means by the innocuous question. 

“I’ve had my fill, yeah.” Jerking his head in agreement, Harry motions towards the window, where he knows Paige has been analyzing every move between them.  Her displeasure at the close interactions between Harry and Y/N is nearly palpable as she makes her way back to their table, and Harry wonders if Y/N can also sense it, as she seems to be more perceptive than the average human.  When he turns his attention back to her, however, his brow creases in confusion. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, watching as Y/N shifts through her woven bag and extracts her wallet. 

“Grabbing my wallet?” Her expression is just as confused as his own when she replies. “To pay?”

“To—?  No.  Put that away.” Harry says sternly, using the same dominant tone he adopts in the bedroom (only half on purpose). “This is a date.  I’m paying.”

“This isn’t the 18th century, H.  We can split the bill.” Y/N begins to roll her eyes as she opens her wallet, reaching for the debit card stamped neatly with her name.

“I’m well aware it’s not the 18th century, love.” Lip twitching from the wry irony, Harry gently places his hand on her own and closes her wallet. “But it’s a date— our first one, at that— and I’d like to pay for you.  It’s just manners.” 

Although he can feel the grip on her wallet loosening, there’s still a degree of hesitancy apparent in Y/N’s eyes. “Harry—”

“And I don’t mean that in a chauvinistic way, and I don’t mean to imply that you’re incapable of paying.” He swipes his thumb over her knuckle once, letting his physical touch reinforce his words. “I asked you out, yeah?  So I think it’s only fair that I pay.”

Harry’s eyes flicker to Y/N’s pillowy lips as she worries them between her teeth, her resolve getting weaker and weaker with every passing moment.  It only takes three more beats of her heart for her to give a small nod, and Harry, satisfied that she’s agreed, reaches for his wallet to pay the bill.

Despite the temptation to short change Paige on the tip for her disregard for his date, Harry still leaves a sizable tip, saying goodbye to the server with a polite— and only polite— smile.  Once she has her back turned, however, Harry flashes his most genuine grin at Y/N as he scoots his chair away from the table to stand.

Y/N’s hands grip the sides of her chair to match Harry’s motion, but she freezes once she sees the man step towards her.  Within a moment, his jeweled hands are wrapped around the back of her chair, carefully pulling it out before offering her a hand to help her stand.

“Is this going to be a thing now?” Y/N asks, nodding to their clasped hands as she pulls her bag over her shoulder. “Pulling out chairs, opening doors—”

Placing his hand on the small of her back once again, Harry scoffs. “It’s always been a thing,” He argues, guiding her to the patio door and through the restaurant. “You’ve just been dating pricks, apparently.”

Despite his answer, however, even Harry can’t deny that the urge to resurrect his Victorian etiquette is as strange as it is sudden.  And, truth be told, there is something deeply pleasing in the light flush of blood he can hear work its way over Y/N’s cheeks when he opens the door of the restaurant for her, opens the car door, takes her hand to help her in, and shuts the door carefully before making his way to the driver’s side.  

It’s easy to spend the short drive back to her building with his hand entwined with hers, their fingers woven together as Harry’s thumb moves over her knuckles.  Y/N’s skin, like usual, is so warm, almost as if she’s made from sunshine herself.  At this point, Harry wouldn’t be surprised to learn that; her blood could certainly pass for being made from stardust. 

It’s all too soon that Harry is pulling into a parking spot in front of Y/N’s building and turning the key in the ignition, his favourite car smoothly powering down in one fell swoop.  Once the sound of the engine dies down, his eyes refocus on the girl next to him. 

Y/N, in comparison, is just as focused on Harry as Harry is on her.  She knows that it’s time to let go of his hand, time to climb out of the car, time to return to her apartment alone.  Time to fall out of the fantasy that has been this afternoon.  Despite knowing all of this, however, she stays glued to the seat, her eyes locked with Harry’s emerald irises in a soft battle. 

Harry is well aware of the predicament he’s found himself in.  While he was the one to establish the no sex rule in an attempt to keep Y/N comfortable, it’s becoming harder and harder to stick to it with every passing moment.  If he was smart, he’d bid the girl goodbye here, allow her to walk herself into her building, thereby erasing any possibility of him charming her into allowing him inside her apartment.  Then, once he was safely back home, he could draw himself a hot bath, scent it with lavender epsom salts, close his eyes to picture the way Y/N looks with laughter in her eyes, the sun spilling across her cheeks, her dress’ neckline falling dangerously low, and tug himself to a tension-relieving climax. 

However, Harry has never been known for his intelligence. Not as much as he’s been known for his recklessness.

Before he can second guess his most likely terrible decisions, Harry is out of the car and opening Y/N’s door.  He’s helping her out.  He’s guiding her into her building, and climbing up the stairs of her fifth floor walk up with her hand locked in his.  And now he’s standing in front of her apartment door, with Y/N shyly looking at him as she bites her fucking lip, completely unaware of the rampage raging inside the vampire before her. 

And the most infuriating, frustrating thing about the entire situation is the way Y/N is looking at him, like she can barely hold his gaze, but can’t force herself to look away.  Harry can feel the waves of need and uncertainty radiating from her, hear the thumping of her heart in her chest.  The last time she looked at him like this, like she’s unsure of where they stand, was the first night they met.  Harry remembers how she fumbled with her keys, nervously invited him in, and then let him use her in a way that literally drove him to his most primal state.  He remembers the euphoria of sinking his teeth into her neck, tasting her ridiculously sweet blood for the first time as his orgasm rolled over him, wave after wave of intense pleasure blurring together as his eyes burned crimson, the lewd sounds of their bodies moving together, the desperate whines that echoed from her throat...

“Thank you for lunch.” Y/N’s sweet voice interrupts his walk down memory lane, and with good timing— five more seconds, and Harry would have been pushing her against her front door to rut her dress up and slip inside her. “And the drinks.  I had a really nice time.”

Clearing his throat, Harry pushes the indecent thoughts from his head as best he can.  He can take care of this later, he tells himself.  He just has to be a gentleman for a few more minutes, and then he can go home, and be as depraved as he needs to be. “I did, as well.” The vampire squeezes her hand in preparation of letting go of it. “A really lovely time, actually.  I’d like to do it again.”

The way Y/N’s eyes widen ever so slightly as her breath just barely hitches, both of which would be imperceivable to human senses, makes Harry bite back a laugh. “I would too.” A more reassured smile rolls over her face as she leads his hand to her waist, setting it just over her hip and squeezing his fingers around her love handles. 

Even after everything Harry has done to her, all the ways he’s seen her, felt her, made her feel— even after all that— his hand on her hip over her dress still sends a shiver down her spine. “I don’t want you to go…” She confesses in a quiet voice, rubbing her thumb over his icy knuckles. “It feels strange, not having you come inside…”

“I know.” A sigh escapes Harry’s lips as he leans down, brushing his forehead over hers as he murmurs his response, his voice dangerously low. “But if I come inside, I know what I’ll do.  And I promised that I would behave myself today.”

“I don’t mind breaking promises.” Y/N wisps, closing her eyes as Harry’s breath, tinged with orange from the mimosa and mint from the candy the restaurant gave them with the bill, rolls over her in a delicious wave. 

Nudging his nose against her own, Harry shakes his head with the smallest of motions, his fingertips digging further into Y/N’s love handles. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” His lips ghost over hers, barely even brushing before he pulls away again. “One of us needs to have some self control.”

Y/N wedges her free hand between their bodies, resting it over Harry’s chest with her fingers curled along the unbuttoned edge of his shirt. “If you insist.” Her fingernails dig just the slightest bit into Harry’s sturdy chest, savouring the way she feels his body tense beneath her. “If you want to be boring, then that’s fine.”

Harry laughs quietly at the small attempt to tease his ego, and although his instinct tells him to prove her wrong, he just nods his head. “Am I too boring to receive a goodbye kiss?” He brushes a loose hair back from her forehead before cradling her warm cheek, guiding his thumb over her cheekbone in a repeated action. “Haven’t kissed you in hours.  Feels wrong.”

Butterflies burst into flight in Y/N’s stomach at the innocent request coupled with the sweet explanation.  They’ve done everything in the wrong order, she thinks, as she allows Harry to smudge small pecks along her chin and cheeks.  The very first night they met, she allowed him to use her in any way he wanted, and he allowed her the same luxury.  They’ve spent the last month exploring each other’s bodies, getting to know every nook and cranny, every preference.  They’ve grown accustomed to how the other moves in their sleep, how they wake up in the morning, if they shower at sunrise or sunset.  And now, after all that, they’ve finally had what has probably been the best first date in the history of first dates, and this man, who has already coaxed countless orgasms from her shivering body, who has learned all of her likes and dislikes, is asking for a goodbye kiss like a nervous teenager walking his crush home from biology class.

How could she refuse him?

The answer is simple: she can’t.  In fact, she’s not sure she could refuse Harry anything he asked of her.  And maybe that would be worrisome— it probably should be worrisome— if the idea of giving Harry whatever he wanted didn’t bring a wave of warmth to Y/N’s belly that travels from her center to the very tips of her fingers.

“No,” She wraps the loose fabric of his shirt around her fingers, clutching him as close as she possibly can. “You’re not too boring, H.  You’re never boring.” Y/N sucks in a breath as she feels Harry’s teeth graze over her jaw, marking her ever so slightly as her lover makes his way back to her lips fervently. 

He smudges a kiss at the corner of her lips, pulling a strained whimper from her as she waits for him to kiss her properly. 

“Ask me.” He whispers, grazing his fingers over her cheekbone again and again. “Ask me to kiss you.  I want to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

The request is so innocent compared to everything else Harry has ever asked her to do, and his voice lacks the dominant command it usually carries over her, but Y/N feels just as weak as she would if he ordered her to get on her knees. “Harry…” Her voice floats through the miniscule space between them, so quiet that it’s barely audible over their laboured breathing, but Harry still thinks it sounds like a song. “Please kiss me.  Kiss me goodbye.”

A groan reverberates in the back of Harry’s throat, and the tiny molecule of composure that he has left in him slips away as he glides his lips over her own silky pair, his fingers threading into her hair on instinct.  Although he does his best to restrain himself, it becomes more difficult with every passing moment, and becomes damn near impossible when he hears the way Y/N whines at the sensation of their lips brushing together with more and more force.

Despite his best efforts, Harry soon finds his hands moving of their own accord as his palm travels from Y/N’s hip towards her ass, ruffling her dress as he grips her and thrusts a leg between her own.  He backs the mortal up into her door, her back hitting the wood with a delicate thud, and the groan she releases worries him for a split second before he feels her grind against his thigh situated between her legs.

Harry knows that the pretense of this just being a goodbye kiss went out the window the moment he touched her, and although she’s responding in kind, he has to live up to his word.  He has to.  He swore that he wouldn’t fuck her today, and as much as he wants to, as much as it seems that she wants to— and if the red hot heat burning his thigh is any hint, she very much wants to— he has to regain some self control.  Despite all his shortcomings, or how his thirst for her blood outweighs any other desire he has for her, he has to remain a gentleman.  Even if it means peeling himself away from the beautiful girl who is scratching at his chest, moaning into his mouth, grinding against his thigh, and speaking between ragged gasps—

“Fuck the promise.” She groans into his ear, her teeth grazing over his lobe with more pressure than Harry thought her capable. “Please, H.  I know what we said, but I need you.” 

Harry curses under his breath at the sensation, his eyes rolling back into his head for a split second, and he knows that if he doesn’t distance himself, he’ll succumb to her begging. “I can’t, darling.  I can’t.” He chokes out the words between pants, bumping his forehead against Y/N’s as he struggles to catch a breath that he’s forgotten he doesn’t need.  It’s funny, he manages to think, how he teased Y/N for not keeping her hands off him earlier, when he’s the one who can’t bear to be away from her touch now. “I want to— Christ, I want to— but I’m trying to behave.”

“Behaving is stupid.” Y/N mutters, smudging her lips across Harry’s stubbled jaw and down his neck, leaving small marks in her wake. “What happened to giving into desires?”

Good fucking question.

Harry squeezes his eyes shut tightly, a choked laugh escaping his heaving chest. “That was when we were just fucking.  Now we’re…”

Y/N regards the man with hooded eyes, a flutter of hope shining through the desire that’s settled in her chest.  What exactly are they?  They’re not dating, she knows that for certain.  But they’re not exactly just fuck buddies anymore. “We’re what?” She prompts after Harry trails off. 

“We’re…” Harry struggles to form a coherent thought, too entranced by the feeling of Y/N in his arms to think straight.  Sucking in a deep breath, the fragrant scent of the girl’s arousal burning his throat, Harry forces himself to take the smallest step back from her, although his hands stay locked around her hip and her cheek. “We’re saying goodbye.”

A defeated sigh falls from Y/N’s swollen lips, but she nods gently at the man before her, brushing her thumb over his exposed collar bones with great care. “Alright.” She mumbles, disappointment laced through her voice. “Goodbye.”

The glum tone brings a small smile to Harry’s cherry lips. “It’s just for a little while, love.  Not forever.” Harry teases her as he swipes his thumb over her flushed cheek. “Couldn’t stay away from you that long.” 

The breathless flush turns into a pleased warmth as Y/N struggles to hide the smile threatening to break across her expression.  Taking the change in mood as a hint, Harry ducks his head, pressing his lips against hers with an earnest softness for just a moment before stepping back and releasing the mortal girl from his grasp.

“Goodbye.” He murmurs again, his belly aching at the thought of leaving Y/N alone for the rest of the day.  It really does feel unnatural, he’s surprised to find.  Has he really gotten that used to being around her?

It’s a strange process, leaving Harry at the door.  After she finally says goodbye again, shuts the door, locks it tightly, and slips on the chain, Y/N finds herself touching the wood, her palm pressed flat against the surface as if she can feel Harry on the other side.  It takes her a moment to walk away from it, the buzz of the mimosas and their first date streaming through her veins.

Checking her phone for the first time, Y/N is surprised to find that it’s nearly 4pm— had they really been in the restaurant for almost five hours?  No wonder the server had been giving her a dirty look; they’d spent so long just talking and sipping drinks, ordering no other food, and not giving up their table.  She’d probably be glaring too.

Admittedly, there is a slight rumble in Y/N’s stomach, as they ate over four hours ago, but she ignores it as she takes a seat on the couch to untie her pink vans, tossing them into the corner before slipping off her jean jacket.  She tosses that over the couch too, running her hands through her mussed hair.  She’s not quite sure what she’ll do with the rest of her day now that she’s alone.  She could indulge some reading, or answer some messages from relatives, or maybe even—

A pounding on the door disrupts her thoughts, jerking her eyes from the book on her coffee table to her front door.  With her brow furrowed in confusion, Y/N rises from the couch and walks to the door, gliding the chain free and turning the lock before swinging the door open.

Braced in the doorway with shining eyes, ruddy cheeks, and a heaving chest as if he’s run all the way back up to her apartment, is Harry.  He takes a moment to compose himself, swiping his tongue over his lips as she takes in her more relaxed appearance.

“I couldn’t go.” He confesses, answering the question on the tip of Y/N’s tongue before she even has the chance to speak it. “I made it down to my car, and then—”

Y/N grabs him by the front of his shirt and yanks him into her apartment, slamming the door behind them before reaching for Harry again.  His hands are already outstretched to receive her, having grown used to their intimacy routine, and she’s pleased when he automatically rests his palms on her lower back and her neck as she wedges her lips between his once again.

“I don’t want you to go.” Y/N gasps the words against his mouth, barely peeling herself back from him to utter the sentence. “I need you so fucking bad, H, please—”

With great difficulty, Harry attempts to think straight, but it gets harder when Y/N bucks her hips and— well, it gets harder. “I meant what I said, Y/N.  I did, I—I made a promise, and I have to—”

“What do I have to do?” Y/N demands, tangling her fingers in Harry’s chestnut curls and forcing him to look her in the eye. “I fucking need something, Harry, and you’re the only one who can fix it.”

Christ.  Harry’s had his suspicions, but now he’s convinced that this girl has some direct line to all his weaknesses, because she knows exactly how to stroke his ego like no one else has before.  She presses every one of his buttons every time.  She’s allowed him to handcuff her, take her in every position, manhandle her, slap her around, and she still begs him for more.  Is there anything that she hasn’t done better than anyone else?

And that’s when it hits him.  The perfect loophole.

Harry is so excited at the possibility of relief that he nearly whimpers, just barely managing to bite back the sound at the last second as he smooths his fingers over his lover’s wild hair. “What about when I’m not here, pet?” He goads her softly, a glint shining in the corner of his darkening eyes. “What do you do then?”

“I…” Although confusion is present in Y/N’s voice, she answers him promptly— she’s gotten used to obeying his sexual requests over the course of the month. “I call you.  And you...you tell me what to do, usually.”

“Tell you what?” Harry hungrily prompts her again, tugging on her hair with the lightest of touches.  Like before, he wants to hear her say it. “What do I tell you to do?”

“You tell me how to—how to touch myself.” The mortal girl stammers, shyness creeping into her tone despite having begged for Harry mere moments earlier. “And then I do.”

“You do.  You behave so well for me.” Keeping his voice as smooth and sensual as possible— which isn’t hard for him, if he’s honest— Harry twirls a lock of Y/N’s hair around his finger, wrapping it around the length as his fingertip brushes over her lip. “I tell you what to do, and you do it.  And you moan for me, and send me the prettiest pictures.” He presses harder against her lip, dragging her mouth open as a whimper escapes. “And I always think: what would it be like to see that in person?”

Although the effect of the mimosas has faded by now, Y/N’s head is swimming in a cloud of Harry’s cologne and her own lust, and she struggles to understand the double meaning in his words. “What—what do you mean?  You’ve seen me in bed—”

The innocent confusion in her voice tantalizes Harry in the best way. “When I’m touching you.  But that’s not what I want.” He murmurs, grinding his hips back into her own. “I know how to get around my promise.”

He watches as the realization dawns on Y/N’s face, her heart stuttering as warmth floods through her body. “Y-you mean—?  You want to see me…?”

“I want to see you touch yourself.” Harry finishes her thought as his eyes darken, and he licks his lips at the image of Y/N laid out on her bed, legs spread wide, showing off just for him.  Only for him. “Will you let me?”

And there it is.  That wave of warmth and desire spreads through Y/N’s tummy, begging her to say yes to any request that falls from Harry’s mouth.  The urge is so strong that she nearly begins to strip, her fingers edging to the hem of her dress, before she manages to form a clear thought of pause. “Are you sure you want to see me…?” She dances around the word for a second time. “Like, I—I don’t know if it’s very sexy, or—”

“Is that a fucking joke?” Harry laughs incredulously, his thumb swiping over the edge of Y/N’s jaw.  He could leave so many pretty marks… “Of course it’ll be sexy.  Christ, love, it’s fucking you.”

The statement that Harry makes is so sure, so confident, that it nearly sends Y/N reeling.  The human’s eyelids flutter as he begins to pepper kisses along her cheekbones and down her jaw, his tongue swiping over her sensitive skin every few moments. 

“Anything you do is sexy.” He whispers the words against her skin, his voice low and accent thick enough that it seems to fill the entire hallway. “Literally anything… How you lick your lips after taking a drink, how you get in and out of my car so delicately… It’s all so fucking erotic.” Y/N shivers when a breath of cool air hits the damp skin of her neck as Harry laughs lightly. “I’ve got a bloody hard-on nearly every moment of the day.”

Hearing the confession that tumbled from Harry’s cool lips, Y/N thinks, is the verbal equivalent of doing three shots of tequila and chasing with a vodka soda.  The words wash over her as easily as Harry’s cologne does whenever she gets close to him, and her fingers tug on his brunette locks with need. “Really?  Even today?”

“Are you kidding?  Especially today.  Look at what you’re wearing…” His icy fingers skim down her neck before tracing over the cleavage that the neckline of her yellow dress leaves exposed. “Every time you leaned over to take a bite of food, I nearly came in my trousers.”

Despite the desire curling itself around Y/N’s core, she can’t help but giggle at the mental image. “That would’ve been a sight.” She scratches her nails lightly against Harry’s scalp, the motion surprisingly tender for their topic of conversation. “Would’ve had to ask Paige for another napkin.”

“It would’ve been properly humiliating, yeah.” Harry agrees easily, unconcerned with the thought as his lips follow the path led by his fingers. “But it would’ve been worth it.”

While the pair’s position is rather incriminating— Y/N’s hands in Harry’s hair, Harry clutching her as close as possible, his lips travelling over any exposed skin he can find— there’s an air of careful consideration floating around them.  As much as Harry wants to see the girl in his arms pleasure herself, he wants it to be her decision.  Anything less wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying. 

“Y’don’t have to do it just for me, Y/N.” The vampire takes the slightest step back to give her some room to breathe without his close proximity to cloud her judgement. “But if it’s my reaction you’re worried about…” Harry untangles one of her hands from his hair, ghosting it down his body before cautiously laying it over his white linen trousers, where his bulge is growing more prominent by the second. “You have nothing to be worried about.”

A desperate whine nearly escapes Y/N’s mouth, but she manages to bite it back at the last moment.  She wants him.  As nervous as she is to have him watch her touch herself, she’s more turned on than anything.  When she sends Harry explicit texts and photos that are most certainly not safe for work, part of the thrill is the reaction she gets from him.  A dirty photo is only as sexy as the other person’s reception of it.  To see Harry’s reactions in person… it would be a lie to say she’s not into the idea. 

But it would also be a lie to say that she doesn’t want something in return. 

“Alright.  You can watch me.” Y/N relents with a sigh, and she takes a moment to enjoy the triumphant look in Harry’s eyes before tacking on her addendum. “On one condition.”

“Anything.” 

Y/N squeezes her hand over his bulge, making the slightest stroking motion upwards towards his belly as a low groan rolls from Harry’s mouth. “I get to watch you touch yourself, too.”

There’s not even a moment of hesitation. “Done.” Harry seals his lips over hers firmly the moment the word exits his mouth, grinding against her hand as he backs her into the wall.  Her back hits the panel with a quiet thud, but Y/N is too busy twisting her fingers around the button of Harry’s pants to notice. 

“Ah ah ah.” Harry tuts as his jeweled hand grabs her wrist, pulling it away from his hardening cock while making sure not to use too much strength on her fragile joint. “You don’t get to do that, pet.  You’ll only be undressing yourself tonight.  It’s only fair.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve to talk about fair.” Y/N huffs her reply, but doesn’t pull her wrist from her lover’s grip. “You’re the one who made the stupid rule in the first place!”

Clicking his tongue, Harry takes another step back from the young woman while keeping his other hand floating over her hip. “And you agreed.” He reminds her as the corner of his lip tugs up. “So I think it’s best you behave, don’t you?”

Although the statement turns her legs to jelly, Y/N doesn’t let it show, and instead steels her resolve as best she can. “I’m behaving.” She mutters, crossing her free hand underneath the arm in Harry’s grip. 

“That’s a matter of opinion, isn’t it?” Harry swipes his thumb over the delicate bones of her wrist, feeling her pulse stutter beneath his touch.  The vampire swallows the venom that spills into his mouth at the thumping rhythm.  He’ll have time for that later. 

Chest heaving, Y/N wets her dry lips as best she can despite the lack of moisture in her mouth. “So where are we…?” She trails off as she glances down the hallway of her apartment. “The living room is probably best, position wise…one of us can be on the couch, and the other on a chair.”

“That’s true…” Harry nods his head, but a frown settles over his pillowy lips. “But it’s not very comfortable for you.  You usually lie down when you get off, don’t you?” Like every other technically intimate question Harry has ever asked her, it’s spoken with a tone of efficiency and casual observance, simply to find the best approach for any situation. 

And, like every other technically intimate question Harry has ever asked her, it sends a shock of warmth into her panties. 

“I-I do, yeah.” Y/N stutters her response, clearing her throat before adding onto the short statement. “I’m usually in bed.”

Harry nods expectantly, like her reply is just a confirmation for him. “We’ll go to your bedroom, then.” He says decisively, his grip on her wrist loosening. “You can lie down, get comfortable.  I’ll stand.”

Leading the mortal to her bedroom, Harry slides open the door, guiding her inside before shutting it with a firm click.  When he turns back around to look at her, she’s looking at him expectantly, her fingers twisting around each other as she stares at him with wide eyes.  She trusts him, he realizes, not for the first time.  She really does trust him. 

Although the anticipation is written clearly across her pretty features, Harry knows she needs a small prompt to begin. “How are you usually dressed when you do this alone?” He asks quietly, his own fingers working over the buttons on his shirt smoothly. “Completely bare?  Fully clothed?  Underwear only?” One of his dimples makes an appearance as he smiles with half his mouth. “Wearing only that sweater of mine that you’ve pretty much stolen?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, that sweater’s too warm.” Y/N replies with an eye roll, tugging off the jean jacket covering her smooth shoulders. “I, um…it depends.  If it’s just quick, then usually I’m clothed, but if I’m taking my time, then I’ll just, um, I’ll be in my underwear.  Sometimes just my bra.”

Harry’s fingers finish with his last button, and he leaves his open shirt draped over his tall frame. “We’ll be taking our time, angel.  So just get as comfortable as you usually would.”

Y/N nods her head in a jerking manner, sucking in a deep breath through her parted lips in an attempt to calm the heave that threatens her chest.  The erotic tension in the air could be cut with a knife as she tosses her jacket to the side and works her fingers over the zipper of her dress, which catches for a moment and puts up a struggle as she fights to undo it.  Once she wins the battle, she tugs the yellow dress down her shoulders, letting it pool around her ankles before stepping out of it and tossing it to the side.  Her bra and panties aren’t matching, with the former being a delicate baby pink lace, while the latter are lavender cotton, but she doesn’t let herself focus on that detail.  Instead, her fingers hover for a moment at the waist of her panties, hooking in the elastic before she changes her mind at the last minute and decides to keep them on.  For now, at least. 

Harry watches the entire ritual with starved eyes.  He wants Y/N to start before he does, so she can get into a natural rhythm herself, but he can’t resist palming himself over his trousers like she did a moment ago, despite his icy touch not being nearly as satisfying as hers. 

Y/N, however, has different plans, regarding him with heavy lashes as she takes a step back towards her bed. “Your turn.” She murmurs, sitting on the edge of the bed and curling her fingers around her ruffled comforter. 

“All in due time.” Harry assures her with a wry smile, ghosting his fingers along his inked abdomen. “Get comfortable, baby.  Pretend I’m not here.”

“Like that’s possible.” The mortal girl mutters under her breath, unaware that Harry’s supernatural hearing can pick it up as if she were shouting in his ear.  Nevertheless, she does as he says, scooting back on the bed until her shoulders reach her pillows.  She lays back on the soft cushions, shifting around until the padding feels comfortable beneath her back.  She lays there for a moment, her arms folded neatly over her bare stomach as she licks her lips expectantly. “Now?”

“Now…” Harry flicks open the button of his trousers. “Do whatever you like to do.  Whatever feels good.”

It takes Y/N another moment to work up the courage to actually do something.  The trick, she realizes, is closing her eyes.  If she so much as catches a glimpse of Harry watching her, her entire body tenses, and she can’t even manage to move a finger over her stomach.  With her eyes closed, however, she can imagine that Harry isn’t there, and she’s just in her room, with his only influence being in her mind as she touches herself.  It may not make much sense, when she could just use the real image of him to fuel her thoughts, but Harry’s presence is so dominating that pretending he’s not there seems to be the only solution.

And so, when her eyes are shut tightly enough that she can’t see the man, but loose enough that she’s comfortable, Y/N begins to touch herself lightly, her fingers tracing over the dips of her stomach with the smallest amount of contact she can manage.

Her touch moves over her skin like a flutter, its only purpose to warm herself up and ease herself into being watched, and while the small brushes against her own skin would normally have no effect on her, in this moment, with Harry standing by her bed, the action feels more erotic than she ever would’ve thought possible.  She slowly glides her hands up to the pink lace of her bra, tracing her finger along the edge of the cup before sliding over the lace to the hardening peaks of her nipples.  She’s more sensitive than she thought, and Y/N’s breath hitches for a moment as she brushes against one nub, tweaking it once more with her finger before repeating the motion on her other breast.  When a quiet but harsh exhale sounds from Harry’s direction, the human girl amuses the idea of removing her bra to give more visual stimulus, but quickly decides against it.  Harry said he wanted to see what she does to herself, she thinks, keeping her eyes closed as she massages her breasts once more.  He didn’t ask her to perform a strip tease for him.

And, in truth, a strip tease is the farthest thing that Harry wants in this moment.  Any girl can take off her clothes and touch herself to put on a show for a voyeur.  If Harry really wanted to watch that, he could easily find countless porn videos depicting the real thing.  But the sight of Y/N gliding her fingers over the soft lace of her bra, tracing unseen roadmaps over the mountains and valleys of her chest and abdomen, parting her lips just slightly as she twists her nipple once more… that’s what Harry wants.  Despite the countless erotic activities Harry has engaged with Y/N, this may be the most intimate, even without touching her.  Maybe that’s why, he muses, only half in the thought as he slowly tugs down the zipper on his trousers, doing his best to make no noise so as not to startle the girl in front of him.  She’s letting him see what she does to herself when no one is around, when she just wants to make herself feel good.  It’s a selfish act, in the best way.  And it’s making Harry’s cock throb like never before.

Y/N’s hands have reached the edge of her panties now, and with her legs spread wide open, Harry can see the dampened spot staining the lavender cotton a shade darker.  Her scent wafts over him as she moves, slipping her hand beneath the fabric, and Harry’s own eyelids flutter as she fills every one of his senses.  There’s a small part of his more instinctual mind cursing him for thinking of this— for establishing an activity where he can see her, smell her, but not touch her.  However, there’s a larger part of his mind thanking him for this.  For the opportunity to bask in Y/N’s own sensuality and pleasure.

The dampness that greets Y/N’s fingers as she slides into her panties isn’t a surprise, but still provides relief.  For a brief moment, the girl had been worried that she’d be too nervous about the situation to let herself enjoy it, but as she teasingly circles her index finger around her clit, she knows that enjoying it won’t be a problem.  Although she misses Harry’s cool touch, the feeling of his rings sliding over her clammy skin, and although it may seem untrue when Harry is in bed with her, no one knows Y/N’s body like she does.  No one can instantly know what feels good and what doesn’t, what needs to be touched with more force, what needs to be gently caressed with a feather light pressure.  Y/N alone is the keeper of those secrets, and although she’s begun to whisper those unspoken tokens to Harry in the dead of the night as he lays between her thighs, she alone knows the real truths.

She continues to circle her clit for a few moments, gradually applying more and more pressure as her free hand clutches her bare thigh, her fingertips digging into her squishy flesh.  It doesn’t take long, however, for Y/N to need more, and she allows her fingers to run over her entrance a few times before dipping her index finger into her hot core. 

While the sound that leaves her mouth is quiet and could potentially go unnoticed, it’s the loud groan from Harry that snaps the human’s eyes open, and the sight in front of her that stops her movements in their tracks.  With her index finger still half inside her, and her grip on her thigh tightening, Y/N gapes at him unabashedly, because Harry looks like a fucking god. 

Her eyes sweep over him methodically, committing every inch of his appearance to memory so as not to ever forget what he looks like when pleasuring himself.  His chestnut curls are tinged with sweat, just beginning to plaster to his damp forehead and neck.  His jade eyes are darkening by the second, while his strawberry lips are parted and dry, despite him swiping his tongue over them every minute or so.  His toned chest is bare, displaying his dark ink for Y/N’s viewing, heaving with every movement of his tattooed arm.  And lower… Y/N moans again as she clutches her leg tighter, nearly enough to bruise.  Harry hasn’t completely removed his pants, but he’s pushed them down low enough that he’s freed his cock, which stands tall and proud and angrily red at the tip that pokes through the tight fist he has wrapped around the length.  Despite the tension in his body, however, Harry flicks his wrist lazily, teasing himself as much as Y/N did earlier, and she wonders if he does it for the same reason she did.  To give their lover something to look at. 

With her eyes locked with Harry’s, Y/N pushed her middle finger inside herself, whimpering at how the extra digit stretches her out.  She curves her fingers as they move in and out of her at a leisurely pace, focused more on reaching deeper than reaching a quick speed.  While her hand busies itself inside her panties, she slides the other from her thigh back up to her breast, gripping and massaging it as her lashes flicker. 

“Look at you.” Harry utters with a groan, breaking the silence between them as he thumbs over the leaking head of his cock. “Christ, you look so fucking filthy.” His eyes shift from hers for just a moment, glueing themselves to the shadows of motion he can see beneath her underwear. “Does that feel good, angel?”

A high pitched whine falls from Y/N’s mouth as she presses the pads of her fingers against the spongy spot inside her, setting off a wave of bliss inside her belly. “Yeah.  Feels—feels really good, Harry.” His name leaves her lips in a breathy mewl as she tweaks her nipple over her bra, throwing her head back against her pillow. 

The newly exposed skin of her neck beckons Harry.  It’s completely covered with a thin veil of sweat, with the heat radiating from her throbbing pulse seemingly reaching towards him at the end of the bed.  He takes a half step forward without realizing it, only catching his action when his knees bump the edge of the mattress. “Fuck—” He closes his reddening eyes to collect himself as his hand quickens its pace around his prick, only opening them again when he’s sure he’s under control. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“I think I have a bit of an idea.” She mutters in reply, stroking small circles over her clit with her thumb. “It’s not like you can hide it.”

“But you’re hiding.” The vampire replies in a strained voice, tightening his fist around his cock as he nods to the girl’s covered core. “Take those off for me, pet.  Please.”

Y/N withdraws her fingers from her dripping center, her skin shining in the light of her bedroom as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of the panties. “Wait—” she says suddenly, pausing her obedient motion. “Wait, I—”

The moment his foggy mind registers the word, Harry’s palm stills over his length, and although he doesn’t let go completely, he forces his body to calm down as he appraises the human. “What?” He questions, concern laced into his thick accent. “What’s wrong?”

Sitting up on her elbows, Y/N raises her head from her pillow as she scoots closer to her bedroom wall, stopping once her heated skin grazes the tapestry. “I want you next to me.” Her eyes are pleading as the words fall from her mouth, quiet and desperate. “I promise I’ll stick to the rule— I won’t touch you. I just want you to be comfortable, too, and… and I like it when you’re close.  Please?”

The idea of refusing her doesn’t even enter Harry’s mind.  Within seconds, faster than a mortal ever would, Harry has stripped off his trousers, leaving himself in just his dark blue boxers that are still half rugged down.  He crawls onto the bed quickly, only letting his knee brush against Y/N’s leg before situating himself six inches away from her.  Even with the distance between them, he can still feel an electric energy radiating off of her as her fragrance becomes thicker and all encompassing, making his head swim in the intoxicating honey and lavender perfume. 

“M’here.” Harry murmurs the assurance softly, his fingers aching to reach out and touch her.  Surely that’s not against the rules?  After all, caressing someone’s cheek, and only for a moment, isn’t necessarily sexual.  With that rationalization in his mind, his jeweled fingers brush against the young woman’s flushed cheek, grazing upwards to push a loose strand of hair from her eyes. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Y/N whispers back to him, her hands now resting on her tummy as she stares longingly at the figure next to her in bed.  She wonders if the comforting touch is allowed, but decides not to question it.  Questioning it may make it stop, and that’s the last thing she wants.  Instead, Y/N simply places her hand over Harry’s, interlocking their fingers together and bringing his hand to her mouth to smudge a soft kiss over the back of his icy knuckles. 

Harry can feel the pulsing of her heart through her lips, and it takes all of his inhuman strength to pull his hand from hers as carefully as he can. “I think you made me a deal, didn’t you?” He asks, disguising the want in his voice behind a teasing tone. “You said that if I got up here next to you, you’d…” Harry clicks his tongue as he nods at her cotton panties. “Hm?”

Despite the small laugh that escapes her, Y/N rolls her eyes. “You’ve got a one track mind, I swear.” She hooks her fingers into the edge of her panties, lifting her bum off the bed to tug them down her legs and toss to the side. “Happy?”

Harry licks his lips as he watches the girl’s hands drift back to her bare thighs, gliding over the silky skin with small strokes. “Very much so, yeah.” He replies, pushing his own hair back from his face before trailing his fingers back down his stomach.  He wraps his right hand back around his leaking cock, stroking it once as he glances at Y/N again. “Keep going, dove.  Don’t stop on my account.”

It’s like they’re back at the beginning,Y/N thinks, as she dips her index and middle fingers back into her wetness before she circles them around her clit.  With Harry next to her, his presence so very there, Y/N has to close her eyes again to compel herself to relax.  It takes a few moments of massaging her clit and focusing on keeping her breathing steady before she can open her eyes again and allow her gaze to slide back onto Harry. 

The vampire, as expected, looks like an erotic renaissance painting.  His hand is moving faster over his cock now, which is bubbling precum with every few strokes.  His hips buck into his hand every so often, searching for more and more friction as he chases his high.  Like herself, Harry has his eyes closed for much of his movements, but when he does open them, they’re pinned to her form and how she touches herself, like she’s his own personal show.  And, in a way, she is.  And she likes that.

It’s not long before Y/N needs more stimulation, and she thrusts her two fingers back inside herself as her other hand begins to rub over her clit.  The dual sensation sends a hoarse moan falling from her lips, her tummy contracting with the wave of ecstasy that she knows is getting closer, but it’s the feeling of Harry’s lips on her temple that has her breath stuttering. 

His slightly chapped lips move over her skin in slow and sensual movements, opening and closing as he speaks against her. “That’s it, darling.  You’re so close, I can tell.” He sucks in a long breath while bucking his hips into his fist, a whining moan echoing from his throat and into her ear. “Fuck, you’ve got me wrecked…”

Curling her fingers inside, Y/N prods against her G-spot with fervent desire, leaning her head closer and closer to Harry’s mouth as she does so. “I’m gonna cum, Harry, I—” Her words cut off with a broken whine as her spongy walls clench around her fingers. 

“Wish I could touch you.” Harry mutters the dirty confession in her ear, his lips still meeting every inch of skin they can find. “Wish I could make my pretty girl cum…” His brow furrows at the whimper that escapes Y/N at those words. “But at least I know you can—Christ—” He swipes his thumb over his tip again as his other hand moves to his balls, massaging over them with a gentle touch. “—can take care of yourself when I’m not here.”

When Harry’s lips find her neck, suckling at the sensitive spot where it meets her jaw, Y/N moans again, louder than before as she bucks her hips into her hand. “Fuck, Harry—” The way she sobs his name is music to his ears. “Can—can I cum?  Please?” The question rolls off her tongue without prompt, sounding as natural as breathing to the girl. Harry’s not even sure she registers that she’s asked, but the question for permission goes straight to his throbbing cock. 

“Yeah, baby. Cum for me.” He drags his teeth over her fragile skin, aching to bite down but restraining himself from giving in.  Instead, he redirects his reaction to his hand, speeding up his strokes until he feels his balls tighten. “Cum for Daddy.” The way he feels her heart stutter at his words feeds his ego like nothing else, and he brings one hand up from his abdomen to rest on her throat, stretching his fingers to grip her chin and direct her face towards his. “Show Daddy how good you’re making yourself feel.” He demands, his lips ghosting over her own as they both work themselves towards the edge.  His voice sounds less himself and more like a growl with every passing moment. “Cum.”

It’s the final harsh demand that pushes Y/N to thrust her fingers into herself faster, matching her motions over her clit to the new speed.  It only takes a few more moments for the tight ball of pleasure inside her belly to burst, the waves of her orgasm washing over her repeatedly as her walls pulse around her fingers. “Daddy—” The name falls from her mouth and into Harry’s freely.  Her only thoughts are of him as her climax consumes her; only his emerald eyes and cherry lips, only his brunette curls and inked skin, only his calloused hands and thick cock.  He’s all she can think about.  Has there ever been anyone else? “Please, Daddy…”

Harry watches with hungry eyes as the human’s body spasms through her release, the movements of her hands shuddering as the pleasure becomes too great to move. “That’s it, sweetheart.  Good girl.” He grunts the praise through clenched teeth as his own orgasm nears, his hand twisting around his cock more and more. “Prettiest little slut in the world, y’know that?”

Y/N releases a whine of acknowledgement, her chest heaving as she comes down from her high and withdraws her fingers from her core.  Resting her hands on her clenching belly, she turns her heavy lidded gaze towards Harry, watching him eagerly as he works himself. “Your turn.” She murmurs, her lips finding the edge of his sharp jaw and giving it a teasing bit. “You’re gonna cum, aren’t you?  All over your stomach?”

“If—fuck—if that’s where you want it, baby.” Harry groans loudly as his stomach clenches, the butterfly flexing beneath his strained movements. “You want to watch me cum?  Hm?”

“Mhmm.” Y/N hums the agreement against his skin, clasping her hands together to stop herself from reaching for Harry’s cock. “You’re usually inside me when you cum, so I’ve never seen it.  I want to see it.”

“God, I—” Harry reaches over with his free hand and grasps Y/N’s warm palm, dragging it up to his hair and tangling her fingers in his dark locks.  It’s a poor substitute for the craving he has to feel her touch over his cock, but the sensation of her tugging on his hair and scratching her nails against his scalp manages to provide the contact relief he desires. “Fuck, right there—” Harry’s abdomen contracts once more as he works himself over the edge and begins to shoot thick ropes of cum all over his tattooed tummy. 

Y/N continues to work her lips over his jaw, whispering anything and everything into his ear to continue to stimulate him through his orgasm. “Looks so pretty, H.” She utters once his cock has finally stopped spurting and he releases it from his grip. “You’re so pretty…”

A breathless laugh leaves Harry’s mouth as he shifts in the bed, wiping his damp hand against his indigo boxers before pulling them back over his shaking hips and exposed cock. “You’re one to talk.” He murmurs, twisting his head to the side to press a kiss to Y/N’s sweaty forehead. “You don’t happen to have a wash cloth handy, do you?”

“I have tissues in my bedside table.” Y/N points to the object in question, and Harry reaches over and tugs open the drawer to retrieve the box of Kleenex.  Pulling a few squares from the box, he makes quick work of the cleanup, doing just enough to save him from the trouble of a sticky stomach. 

“I could’ve done that, you know.  Cleaned you up.” Y/N watches as the vampire stands to dispose of the used tissues, and reaches for her discarded panties to tug them back over her still shaky legs. “You know I like it.”

“I know, but if you did, then I would’ve broken the no sex rule right then and there.” Harry chuckles lightly as he climbs back onto the bed, wanting to reclaim his close proximity to Y/N as soon as possible. “And we’d already come so far.” 

When he opens his arms, Y/N doesn’t hesitate to nuzzle into his cool chest, resting her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder with a sigh. “I suppose that’s true.”

Harry lets his jeweled fingers trace down her back, drawing random shapes on the damp skin as her breathing begins to even out. “Did you like it?” He asks curiously, a seed of worry planted within the words. “Having someone watch you?”

“I liked having you watch me.” Y/N clarifies her answer as if it were the most natural and easily explainable thing in the world. “Did you like watching?”

Harry giggles again, almost incredulous as he nods his head at the damp spot on his boxers, a symptom of the copious amounts of precum that had leaked from him. “I think the answer to that is pretty obvious, Watson.  I’m surprised someone as distinguished as yourself has to ask.” 

“Asking questions is never a bad thing, Holmes.  I’m surprised someone as distinguished as yourself doesn’t know that.” The girl counters, delighting in the small laugh that shakes Harry’s shoulders.  A laugh falls from her lips as well, followed quickly by a yawn that she unsuccessfully tries to stifle. 

“Tired?” Harry murmurs, his fingers still keeping a steady pace against her back. “It’s only the late afternoon— not exactly late enough for bedtime, is it?”

Y/N sighs into his musky skin, relaxing completely against Harry’s body. “Not exactly, no.  But I think a little post-orgasm nap may be in order.” She raises her head from the crook of Harry’s neck, looking at him with soft eyes. “Will you stay?”

If Harry’s heart could beat, the tender question would make his rhythm irregular, and the knowledge of that fact dries out the venom that had been flowing freely through Harry’s mouth. “Wow.” He tries to disguise the reaction with a laugh. “Our first date, and you’re already asking me to sleep over?  What kind of man do you think I am?”

“Shut up.” The mortal nudges her forehead against his shoulder in a playful manner. “I’m serious.  Will you?  I sleep a lot better when you’re here.” 

The confession falls from her lips as easily as a sigh, but her words lock Harry’s chest in a tight chain, restricting his every breath.  And yet… the pressure is comforting, like a hug from someone you haven’t seen in years and you’ve sorely missed. 

“Alright, yeah.” He whispers gently, caressing Y/N’s mussed hair without tugging on any tangles. “I’ll stay.  We can order some dinner later, if you want.”

Y/N’s voice is already far away when she replies. “That sounds nice.” She whispers, her eyes fluttering closed as her full weight falls against Harry.  Within a few minutes, her breathing has leveled completely in time with her steady heart beat, which thunders against Harry’s own silent chest. 

The vampire sighs as he shifts on the bed, keeping Y/N locked in place against his body as he does so.  How did he end up here, in her bed, staring at that fucking tapestry again?  How did he end up agreeing to stay over, to grab dinner with her after she sleeps?  How does he know that, if she asks again, he’ll stay over tonight as well, even if it means lying still in bed and counting her heart beats until the sun rises through her curtains? 

And why does that sound so appealing?

Carefully, so as not to wake her, Harry shifts Y/N onto her own pillow, removing her from his chest with gentle movements.  Once he’s arranged her in a comfortable position and made sure that she’s still asleep, he cages himself over her, brushing her hair back from her face and inhaling deeply.  This is why, he thinks.  This is why he’s agreed to all of these dates, to holding her as she sleeps, to spending night after night in this tiny human apartment.  Her blood. 

Harry nudges his nose along the length of her throat, breathing in her fragrance as if it were the bouquet of a fine wine.  Her signature honey and lavender scent is as prominent as ever, only amplified by the orgasm-triggered endorphins that are still swimming through her veins.  Letting his lips drag over her fragile skin, Harry smudges kisses along the base of her throat with a light touch, searching for the most tender part that he’s come to adore.  When he reaches the mark just above her carotid artery, he presses a firmer kiss to the skin, admiring how the mortal’s breath floats from her lips in her sleep.  Still, he pauses for a moment to make sure that the sound is just that, a symptom of sleep, and once his suspicions are confirmed, Harry sinks his teeth into Y/N’s satin skin. 

As usual, the relief is instantaneous.  The warm blood that flows into his mouth quells the dry, burning ache in the back of his throat like nothing else, and Harry clutches the girl closer to him as he drinks more and more.  She’s just as sweet as she smells, and there’s that familiar depth of flavour to her that Harry can never quite place a finger on.  Perhaps he could if he spent more time analyzing it, but it’s never too long before he loses himself in her taste, and all rational thought goes out the window completely.  In the reflection of her mirror, Harry can see that his eyes are blood red and black-veined, and that he looks every bit the monster that he actually is.  If Y/N were to wake up right now and see him like this—pale skin, black veins, mouth stained red with her blood—she’d probably scream in horror, and do her best to shove the supernatural creature away.  She would be thoroughly repulsed, Harry is sure.  And, honestly, he couldn’t blame her.  He remembers the first time he saw the red of a vampire’s eyes, and the terror that had seized his entire body like an icy dip in the English Channel.  It would only be a natural response. 

Harry had come to terms with what he is a very long time ago, and though it took a lot of trial and error, a lot of sleepless nights doused with self-loathing and denial, and a plethora of blurry memories full of strangers’ veins bulging under soft skin and glassy eyes dulled by compulsion, he is in a place in his eternal life where his identity doesn’t phase his peace of mind anymore. He hadn’t become a monster willingly, and he certainly doesn’t enjoy having to do the unspeakable acts required for his survival— not consciously, anyways. 

From an instinct-driven perspective, he does enjoy the taste of blood, but it’s only because his supernatural carnal impulses demand it. Ethically, he isn’t proud of his affinity, but it’s not like he has any say in the matter. This isn’t his fault— he was forced to become what he is— and that moral claim is what has kept him tethered to his last few shreds of humanity for the past twenty decades. He’s not doing this to Y/N out of malicious intent, he’s doing it because he has no other choice. Therefore, he assures himself that the traces of guilt tightening his chest at the moment are completely misled and invalid. He hasn’t felt guilt much before— not for years— and he refuses to let it plague him once again. This is just the way things are. This is just the way things have to be. 

So why does he feel so fucking shitty right now?

Pushing the discomforting dwellings to the back of his mind, Harry continues to drink from Y/N, using his final remaining strains of functioning thought to monitor the human’s heart beat and breaths.  When his thirst is satiated enough, and before either one of those human traits begins to falter, Harry releases his bite on Y/N’s neck, licking over the wound with relish to temporarily seal it.  He turns to check his reflection in the mirror again, and finds that, yes, his suspicions are confirmed.  Although he’s managed to keep himself halfway presentable, there’s still a trickle of blood flowing from the corner of his mouth, and his lips are stained a dark merlot colour from the sweet substance.  Harry swipes his tongue along his mouth, cleaning up any evidence of his late afternoon snack, before bringing his index finger to his mouth and pricking the tip on one of his fangs.  Then, while carefully holding the girl’s jaw open with his other hand, Harry slips his finger into her mouth. It’s practically a ritual by now. 

It takes only a few seconds for the bite mark on her neck to heal completely, leaving behind only a faint purple bruise in its place.  If Y/N were to see it tomorrow, she’d assume it was a half-healed hickey, and wouldn’t bat an eye at it.  She’d have no idea that the real cause of it was—

“Harry…” His name falls from her lips with a quiet stutter, her brow furrowing as if troubled by something the vampire can’t see. “Harry…”

“Y/N?” He whispers in reply, his limbs sealing over with ice as he freezes in place as if he were a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Everything alright, love?”

“Harry…” The human utters his name once more as a frown begins to tug at her pillowy lips, and it takes another moment of her shifting in the bed for Harry to realize that she’s still asleep, and the murmuring of his name is merely a symptom of her dreaming of him. 

Oh.  She’s dreaming of him. 

There’s a spark of something in his chest—happiness?  Excitement?— but it’s quickly extinguished by the realization that, if Y/N is dreaming of him, her body language is making it clear that the dream isn’t a pleasant one. 

Harry releases a frustrated sigh as he sinks back down into the sheets.  That’s to be expected, really.  After all, he did just feed from her; if she’s having a bad dream about him, it would only be logical. 

Still, the sight of her shifting in bed with a distressed look on her face pulls an equally distressed look from the immortal, and he only hesitates for a moment before carefully maneuvering the girl back onto his chest, positioning her so that he can easily rub her warm back with his cool hands.  

“You’re alright.” He murmurs softly into her ear, his voice low and melodic despite no one being around to hear it. “You’re fine, sweetheart. I’m here, hm? Go back to sleep.”

It takes a few more minutes of back rubbing, whispering, and a handful of strategically placed forehead kisses, but Y/N’s face finally relaxes as she falls back into a deep, untroubled slumber against Harry’s chest.  As her breathing evens out again, Harry breathes a gentle exhale of relief.  That was a close call.  The next time he feeds, he’ll have to make sure she’s truly unconscious, and has been so for a while.  Her bad dream, whatever it was, had probably been caused by him digging into her prematurely.  Next time, he’ll wait until the dead of night, when she’s deep in REM sleep.  She’ll be more comfortable then. 

Which reminds him— he has plans he has to cancel tonight, and the sleeping girl on his chest mixed with his phone being in his trouser pocket on the floor make a difficult combo to surpass. 

Despite the testing task, Harry manages to retrieve his phone from his discarded linen pants after a few minutes of awkward stretching, some light grunting, and a few curse words, but he manages to do it without waking Y/N up (she moves a couple of times, but a few soft words and tender hushing Harry’s behalf sends her right back into her dreams).  With one hand still wrapped around her back, Harry manages to type out a quick message to Niall. 

Won’t be able to make it tonight— something came up with Y/N.  Have fun at the bar. 

Harry references her by name, knowing that Mitch had probably already blabbed to their entire friend group about the date he’d had, and about how a human girl had recently become the target of his fascination. Juicy gossip is indisputably one of the aspects that keeps eternity from growing stale, and the vampire’s crew believe that to be so more than anyone. There’s not a single doubt in his mind they’d eaten every word up, and that he’d probably get drilled on it later.

He keeps his phone clutched in his hand, waiting for a (sure to be ridiculing) reply from Niall that comes a few minutes later. 

The girl from last time? Jesus, again?  Weren’t you meeting her for brunch?

A small smirk tugs at the corner of Harry’s lip. I did meet her for brunch.  And then I met her back at her apartment, and I’ll probably be meeting her again later after we get some dinner.  Don’t wait up.

After that text, Harry drops his phone on the bedside table, expecting Niall to just leave him on read in a fit of annoyance.  He’s surprised, however, to hear the quiet vibration of his phone a moment later, and picks it up to skim the message with pressing curiosity. 

You’re a fucking incubus, you know that?

The smirk on Harry’s swollen lips suddenly drops.  

While it’s not the first time he’s been called an incubus, it is the first time the label has ever bothered him. Why is that?  It’s not like it’s untrue; he frequently seduces various people, many of them being women, in order to sleep with them and drink their blood. That’s what an incubus does.  The label shouldn’t pester him.  In fact, it should boost his ego. 

But the title being applied to his relationship with Y/N… that gives him pause. It reminds him of a certain person— a certain disgrace, if he’s being pettily honest— who he had sworn never to think about again, out of respect for his sanity and emotional stability. It reminds him of how when he himself was mortal, he was under similar circumstances to what Y/N is under right now— he was a human blood bag to a vampire who took pleasure in his body. 

This is different, Harry tells himself.  I’m not going to ruin her life. She’s not going to end up like me. And we have an understanding, which I never got to have. This isn’t the same. I’m...I’m not the same.

In his steadfast opinion, the immortal isn’t an incubus when it comes to Y/N and it’s that simple, point blank. Saying he is… that sets the implication that he could be doing this with anyone, and that’s just not true.  Even though he’s keeping Y/N around as a convenient fuck with delicious blood, he wouldn’t go to this much trouble for anyone else; no one else is worth it.  No one else has her honey and lavender scent, or contagious laugh, or can match him so easily in banter without flinching or blinking an eye.  And though he’s too attached to his own pride— to the inherent coldness and indifference he’d worked so hard to build over the last two centuries— to let her know, he’ll admit that there’s no one else like her. There’s no one who’s company he enjoys quite the same. 

Harry doesn’t indulge Niall with a response, simply closing his phone and setting it back on the bedside table.  His friend can think what he wants, Harry decides, returning his attention to tracing figures on Y/N’s back.  Harry knows what this really is.  He knows, and it’s not some evil plan to permanently damage her. It’s just a simple loose relationship between two people who float an inch above the friendzone. That’s all. 

Friends, just slightly more. 

[mctwcsty]

What Do I Do?

@sxtanshepherd​​ paged Meredith Grey

Hello?

Hi, is he in the lab?

What?

I know this is Derek Shepherd’s phone, who is this? Who is this? Who is this.

Hello.

     SIX MONTHS. Six months had passed already since Derek had left for D.C. to run the brain mapping project for the President. Six months of running their life and home alone in Seattle. Of taking the kids to school every other morning, picking them up every other night, the rest of them thankfully handled by Lynn, the nanny Meredith had found to help her out with them. Because her husband was off to Washington to take his career to the next level while she had stayed put in Seattle with their kids, which was her choice and she had taken responsibility for it. She still ran her department, alongside Bailey, and she was still working on her research. She was doing it all. She was exhausted, running on little sleep and a lot of caffeine, but she was doing it.

     She was doing it all until a small detail added in, a change of scenery she had not seen coming. A unplanned turn of events that made doing it all by herself a little less possible: she was pregnant. And the best part was, she had just found out. Right in the middle of a surgery, a feeling that had taken her breath away, a pressure in her lower back and a movement. Thing was, she recognized it because she had felt it before. What she did not understand was how was it possible. And then she had the resident close and rushed out, straight to OB, all the while calculating when her last period was, the days and the weeks adding up leaving her running her way up to OB and throwing herself in the nearest room with a monitor, self-examining herself until the OB came in and shut the door, offering to help. 24 weeks. She had not been showing, she still was not. Her stomach was flat, the way the baby was located left her bumpless, even though she had been pregnant before. Those cases happened, it was not out of the ordinary, and the baby was healthy. She was 24 weeks pregnant and practically a single-mother of two, soon three children, her husband was across the states and they barely managed to talk here and there because of their irregular schedules and they were going to have another baby.

     She had sat by the phone that night, after putting the kids down to bed, staring at her phone screen, unable to pick it up. She could feel it now, she could feel the baby moving inside of her. It was moving, it had a heartbeat, it had arms and legs and fingers and toes, ears, eyes, a mouth and a nose, hell it even had hair at that point and she was freaking out. And Derek was not there. She was all alone. She knew she had to pick up that phone and call him, but she could not bring herself to do it. She did not want to tell him they were going to have another baby over the phone? And yet she had to. She forced herself and picked up that phone, tapped on his contact and rang his cell. She leaned back in the couch and waited, hearing the ringtone incessantly ringing, her stomach in knots, just hoping he would pick up. They rarely caught each other, he often called while she was in surgery and she often called when he was in the lab and away from his phone. But the ringing stopped, he picked up. Or at least someone did.

“Hello?”   “Hi, is he in the lab?”   “What?”   “I know this is Derek Shepherd’s phone, who is this?” “Who is this? Who is this.” “Hello.”

Well if you keep answering his phone, at least you could have the decency  to tell me who the hell you are. Where the hell is my husband?

     EIGHT MONTHS. 34 weeks, to be more precise. At least from her calculations since their last sexual encounter, which was about their last actual general encounter - the day before he had left for D.C. - he had never returned to Seattle since, and the measurements of the foetus from her last ultrasound, she measured at about 34 weeks. Exactly ten weeks since that phone call. Not a day went by that she did not think or analyze that phone call, especially because the rare times Derek and her managed to reach other on the phone, he never said anything about it, about any woman answering his phone. She had not told anyone about it, not even Alex. Because saying it out loud made it real, and the truth was, she could not bare for it to be. The idea that she had become the woman who wonders if that woman on the phone was the woman who had been screwing her husband, she could not be that woman. She could not have gone from the woman screwing the married guy, to the woman whose husband is screwing another woman. Not after everything, not after spending literally the past eight months handling everything alone and keeping the boat afloat, and growing that husband’s child in her belly.

     She was sitting in the attending’s lounge, the empty lounge with the big couch where she had come to rest her feet as they were killing her. It had been about four weeks now since she had started showing, and she had been telling everyone that Derek knew, but the truth was, he had no idea. He did not know she was pregnant yet. Over two months and she had not told him. Because the rare times where they had managed to actually get a hold of each other on the phone, she had let the kids speak to him because they missed him terribly, and then he was either rushing back to the lab or was off to some meeting with the President. He did not even know she was pregnant, because he was halfway across their world, busy making his career count while she was back home, keeping it all together, alone. And he was not even seeing it. 

     But Zola had almost spilled it once over a call, thankfully she had caught it in time and spared an awkward way for Derek to find out, and selfishly she did not want him to know until she felt it was the right moment to have the conversation... the whole conversation. She knew she had to tell him. And so she had decided to do it. After all, she was only a few weeks away from her due date. It sure had flew by way quicker than any pregnancy usually would, especially with everything she had going on, but also because she had only just found out and half the pregnancy was done, it would certainly be a shock for him, but she knew he loved their kids and she was convinced he would be excited, deep down. It would be a shock, but he would be excited. At least she convinced herself of that as she picked up the phone and called him on his cell, then brought the phone to her ear, repeating herself those words again and again and again as the tone rang a while. She was sure she would fall on his voicemail and was about to hang up, but the line picked up. 

“Hello?”

     That voice again. It literally sent chills up her spine because she knew. That was not some secretary, or some random woman finding a lost phone and picking it up. This was not a coincidence or an accident. It had been two months, and she still answered his phone. And all Meredith could think about was the fact that she never answered her husband’s phone, at least not until they were actually married and it had happened on rare occasions. She felt the blood in her veins turning to ice and like something was wrapping tightly around her body, suffocating her. She managed to swallow through her tightened throat and speak up. “Well if you keep answering his phone, at least you could have the decency to tell me who the hell you are.” She snapped, pausing a moment before adding, “Where the hell is my husband?”

     The woman hung up. Again. Meredith’s hand fell on the couch and she stared straight ahead, her heart dropping in her chest. It felt like her whole world had just collapsed around her. Shattering, into billions of pieces. Ten weeks of tossing so many questions around her mind, but every time shutting them out because no, Derek would not do that. The he loves me and he loves our family and we’ve been through too much for this to happen - she had told herself it all. But the woman answered his phone again, and hung up, again. 

     The next day, she had called Alex and within ten minutes he ended up at her front door. She told him Derek did not know about the pregnancy, told him about that previous phone call, and then the one from the previous night. Convinced him not to hunt Derek down for her in a trip to D.C. or to give him hell in any type of way. She tried to ring Derek’s phone again throughout the day, every time winding up on his voicemail, until she stopped calling. Maggie and Callie both tried to convince her that he could not be cheating, while at the same time understanding the way she felt. Callie offered to go find him in D.C. but Meredith turned the offer down. She did not want any of them to contact him. She had made the decision to stop contacting him, that he would have to contact her, and she made all of them swear to not try to call him, to respect her request and to above all not tell him about the pregnancy. 

     And within the next 24 hours, what Meredith thought were simply Braxton Hicks turned out to be pre-term labor. Thankfully she had been in the hospital when it started and Alex had forced her to get checked out, and her water had broke on the OB table. Everything else from that point forward went extremely fast, she was dilated at three and within two hours was fully dilated and ready to push, so grateful that she would not need C-section because that had been hell the first time, and the last thing she needed on top of everything was a post-partum C-section recovery. The baby was born within the next ten minutes, a little girl, and Meredith ordered Alex to go with her to the NICU and to not leave her side, as well as ordered everybody not to call Derek, or she would kill them. Literally. 

     The baby stayed a week in the NICU, but was thankfully perfectly healthy and Alex had kept her in a few extra days just to be sure, also hoping that Meredith might change her mind in the mean time and give Derek a call. But she was strong-headed and when she made a decision, she made it firmly. The worst part was, Derek had not even called once since that day. Not once. Meredith was done. She was done trying to keep their family together, done doing everything to make him still be the good guy when he did not have the decency to at least show her enough respect to call her back. She was done. She was exhausted, heartbroken, she felt like dying literally, but she was done. She would not be her mother, this would not destroy her.

     And so when she made it home, Alex having insisted on taking her home himself, Amelia and Maggie waiting for her with Zola and Bailey and a Welcome Home! banner that the kids had made, just stepping into the house had paralyzed her. It was a house, but it was no longer home. She did not feel home anymore in that house. She was suffocating. Being around the house that Derek had built them for their family, it was suffocating. 

     Ever since coming home, actually ever since that first phone call, there was only one person she could not get out of her mind. And for those ten weeks she had desperately tried to toss away, as all the questions and interrogations spinning around in her mind. But that night, after that phone call, she could not get her out of her head. And standing in that house, it was all she could think about. And so while Amelia was off to the bathroom, Maggie putting Zola and Bailey down for the night, Alex had ran out to get them dinner, Meredith stole Amelia’s phone that she had left on the low table in the living room and entered her password that she secretly knew, and she searched for a specific contact, and a specific address. 

     Came night time, Meredith had ordered everyone to leave her be for the night, said she needed her space and to figure things out alone. Alex had promised to be at her door at 7 sharp for breakfast and to take the kids to school and daycare, Maggie promising to come by to help out with the baby and Amelia offering to help if Meredith needed it. The minute they were all gone and she found herself alone at the house, she went to her room while the baby napped in the bassinet, pulled out a bag and filled it with some of her clothes, then she quietly went into Zola’s room and grabbed some of her clothes, then some of Bailey’s, grabbed diapers and bottles from the kitchen counter. Thankfully the diaper bag was freshly packed so she had everything she needed for the baby in there. She packed all their stuff within twenty minutes, and as she found herself standing in the middle of the living room, seeing all the packed up bags, she felt like she could breathe a little better. She nodded to herself and pulled what was left of energy in her, called a cab and then went to wake the kids. She left them in their PJs and just threw a coat over them, put their shoes on, got the baby in the carseat and got them all outside. She stopped at the door and turned around to take one last look at the house, feeling completely numb as she shut all the lights, then turned back around and headed out of the house, closing the door behind her and locking it. She then slid the key out of her keyset and left it under the mat on the front porch, and turned around just in time for the cab to pull in the drive way.

     Meredith got to the airport and bought three tickets for herself and the two oldest kids, and within the next hour they were off on a plane to Los Angeles. Sitting in that plane alone with her two oldest kids and a newborn in her arms was not quite what Meredith had expected her life to turn into, but it was. “Are you traveling alone with all of them?” Some old woman had asked on the plane, to which Meredith had forced a smile and nodded in response. Planes. She hated planes. She would panic the whole flight through. But with a newborn and two kids, there was no way she would sit them in a car for a 18+ hour drive, or a 35+ hour train ride even less so. And she just had to go, she had to do it. She summoned whatever force might be up there to make sure they all got to destination safely and finally breathed again when they landed in LA. She was lucky she had good kids, they had done amazing the whole flight through, had slept it right through, even the baby who had only fed once shortly before landing, which meant she would be good for a while and it was perfect timing. They all got off the plane and Meredith got the help of a man that worked at the airport, helping her getting her things together and even escorted her to a cab. She gave him a good tip and insisted when he refused, thanking him before hopping in the cab and giving them the address. 

     As they pulled in front of the address she had taken from Amelia’s phone, Meredith felt her heart beating so fast in her chest. She paid the cab driver and got all the kids out of the cab, then picked up their stuff. The man was kind enough to help bring the bags up the stairs to the door for her, and she offered him an extra tip that he refused, then watched as he drove away before turning to face the door. Bailey half-asleep in her arms, Zola tiredly leaning against her, her arms wrapped around her legs, the carseat at her feet, next to their bags. Swallowing thickly, Meredith leaned forward and knocked on the door. It was the middle of the night, half past 1AM, surely she would wake her up, but she had nowhere else to go. And so she stood there and waited until the door opened, feeling her heart dropping in her chest with relief when it did and her eyes locked with Addison.

     “He did it again,” she breathed out exhaustedly, her shoulders sinking, the last bit of strength she had going into holding Bailey in her arms and keeping him from falling - or was it him that kept her from falling. “I’m you,” she shrugged. “He’s found another me.” She gulped thickly. “We weren’t supposed to run or walk out on each other, we were supposed to love each other even when we hated each other and to take care of each other when we were old and senile, it was supposed to be forever. It was the post-it. We were supposed to be it but we’re not, I’m not.” She shrugged helplessly. “We were supposed to do this together and he left me to do it all alone, and I don’t know what to do. But you know what to do, so I need you to tell me.” She paused, staring at Addison as she breathed out so desperately, “What do I do?”

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Prompt # 19: Addiction  

@sicktember Alternate prompt #4: Stay

Title: Unexpected Developments Part 2

Fandom: Pride and Prejudice

Find Part 1 under prompt # 8. Mr. Darcy is sick in bed and miserable. Elizabeth is trying to look after him, but his bad mood gets the better of him and tempers flare. Will sweetness or stubbornness win out in the end?

Elizabeth Bennett was the only guest at Netherfield who wasn't in bed with a cold. The virus Jane had caught riding to attend luncheon with Caroline had spread around the whole house, but it seemed Eliza was immune. Mr. Darcy had been the last to fall ill, and Lizzie had discovered him sneezing in a corner over a day ago while she remained perfectly healthy. It was fortunate she had discovered him though, for the servants were rushing hither and yon at the beck and call of their ill master and his sister, and poor Mr. Darcy would have been overlooked completely if Lizzie hadn't taken him under her care. 

Lizzie, for her part, was glad Jane's cold was much improved from the days prior. Since Jane needed little tending now, she had given Lizzie her blessing to give most of her attention to Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy, for his part, was very accustomed to having a houseful of servants to do his bidding, and was little accustomed to being ill, strong and virile as he was. Because of these things, he was not the easiest patient, though he truly tried to make an effort to curb his frustration and not take his misery out on Elizabeth. Her lack of symptoms clearly perturbed him, however.

"How is it you are still in perfect health while I and everyone else are laid up with this beastly chest cold?" he griped that afternoon while Lizzie fussed around, tidying up dishes and rags from his bedside. If Lizzie wasn't accustomed to his voice by now, she would have had trouble understanding him, for his nose was stopped tight with congestion, and his voice raw and weak from coughing, rendering him nigh unintelligible. 

She giggled to herself. "Well you see, I believe I've already had this cold, for in the week prior to Jane's arrival here, my father, some of my other sisters and myself caught cold. We were envious of Jane's good luck in not falling ill at the time, but it seems it caught up with her in the end."

"Indeed," Mr. Darcy muttered sourly with a slushy sniffle.

"Oh don't be cross. It isn't so terrible lounging in bed all day, being waited on hand and foot is it?" 

"Yet when I find myself miserable in body, I find my mood tends to follow," he groused.

"Hmm." Elizabeth moved to his side, caressing his flushed face gently with the pad of her thumb. "It's just as I thought. You're only irritable like this when your fever is up, and indeed you are overwarm again. Jane's fever wasn't nearly so persistent."

"How fortunate for me," he mumbled to himself. Elizabeth tried to ignore his bad temper as she fetched her basin and rag. She wasn't fond of sarcasm, and his attitude was irking her more than she cared to let on. Tenderly as ever though, she began bathing his face and neck to try to bring down his miserable fever.

The cold water on his face made him gasp slightly, which became a cough, and the coughing only seemed to agitate him more. He usually enjoyed his face being bathed, but today he drew away from the rag. 

“Perhaps we should try another method for treating fever, since this does not seem to be effective,” said the sick man. His speech was curt and tense with foul temper.

Elizabeth gave him a long look, trying to keep her own temper under control. “What would you suggest, sir? We have tried willow bark, which made you feel more ill, and you will not have any other poultices,” she said in a measured, warning way.

“There must be something we haven't done yet. I would do anything to rid myself of this beastly cold, that came from *your* sister, I might add! You just said you already had  this cold. Think of something else to try!”

Elizabeth flew to her feet, tossing down the rag. “Perhaps you should go plunge yourself into an ice bath! That will surely help the fever, and I’m sure it will do wonders for your coughing and sneezing as well! But you can draw it yourself, and you can see to your own meals and entertainment too. You clearly feel my efforts are inadequate, so you can tend to yourself from now on. I am through with smoothing your insufferable pride and being a target for your bad mood. Good day, sir!”

With a whirl of skirts, she was out the door without a glance behind her. Elizabeth went straight to her room and lay down in the cool and quiet, for she was exhausted and careworn from nursing for a week straight. She fell asleep immediately and didn’t wake for several hours. 

She felt much refreshed when she did finally emerge. She first went to look in on Jane, who was overall back to normal, but was getting bored sitting around and eager to go home. On questioning the staff, they learned that Caroline had mostly recovered as well. Mr. Bingley was recovering slower, but getting better all the time. The sisters wished him a speedy recovery by way of the servants, for as soon as he was recovered, they would be able to return home.

After visiting with Jane for some time, Elizabeth desired to find a quiet corner and read. To her chagrin, she realized she had left her book in Mr. Darcy’s room. She did not relish seeing him again so soon after they parted so badly, but she had no choice if she wanted her book back. With a sigh, she made her way to his room with hesitant steps. She knocked softly before entering, which felt odd since she had been coming and going freely for two days prior. His hoarse, weak voice bid her come in.

He was in quite a different state than he had been a few hours before. Where he had previously been fitful and agitated, now he seemed weak and lethargic. Even in the dim light she could see how sweat-matted his hair was, and the dark ring on his pillow. He lifted his head up to see who had entered, and his sleepy eyes flickered with confusion upon seeing her. 

“I only came to get my book. I apologize for disturbing you,” she said stiffly, hardly looking at him. She snatched up the volume from the table where it lay and turned to go back out, intending to say nothing else.

“Wait.” 

She paused, and turned slightly, her good breeding winning over. “Yes?”

He sat up a bit straighter, coughing weakly as he did so. “I am deeply sorry for how I behaved earlier. My treatment of you was inexcusable after all you’ve done for me these past days--” Here he had to pause to press his handkerchief to his dripping nose before he could continue. Elizabeth waited silently. “I was a beast and feel very much like a fool. Please forgive me,” he managed, mumbling through the damp fabric. His eyes shone earnestly above the hand holding the linen in place.

Her face softened. “I accept your apology, and thank you for it. No one acts quite themself when they’re ill, so I gladly forgive you. I’m sorry too for my part in all of it.”

They shared a tiny smile as he tended to his nose with a thick, gurgling blow, and she knew she was forgiven also. Immediately the tension between them was cleared.

Now that they had made up though, she was reluctant to leave him alone again, for he looked so weak and forlorn and in need of care. However, she was a woman of her word. She spoke as she moved to the door, putting her hand on the knob. “You must rest, Mr. Darcy, so I'll leave you be. I truly apologize for waking you.”

“Miss Elizabeth?” 

Once more she turned to meet his eyes.

He held out a shaking hand. “Please… stay.”

She slowly returned to his side. “For what purpose, sir?”

“I… I desire your company… and your aid. You are… a far better caregiver than I, and I was a fool to imply otherwise. It… it won't happen again,” he croaked thickly. 

Seeing the effort he was making to be overly polite softened Eliza's heart further. She let him take her hand in his warm grasp, a smile playing around her lips. “If you insist. I will stay.”

He smiled also as he drew her hand toward himself. "Here, let me show you something," he snuffled. He placed her wrist against his neck, just as she had done many times over the past few days. He sighed softly as their skin made contact.

“Your fever has broken,” she murmured happily. “You are cool at last.”

“Yes.”

“How did you do it?” she asked, withdrawing her hand. “Did you plunge yourself into an ice bath after all?”

He stifled a cough before he could speak. “I… tried willow bark again, as you recommended. I felt worse… at first, but I fell asleep to ease the symptoms. When I woke, the fever had left me, and I felt… much clearer in mind. The fever was causing my foul mood, as you insightfully noted.” Yet another long speech, and now his voice was barely audible as he sniffled furiously and trembled with fatigue. 

“Yet you seem somewhat worse for wear, for you’re completely exhausted, poor man.”

“This illness has left me weary to my bones, it is true. Yet I could not have slept soundly tonight knowing I had offended you. It would be an understatement to say I was very glad when you returned, though I did not expect or deserve a second chance.” His eyes were getting heavier by the moment, and he yawned almost before he finished speaking, reclining back against his pillows once more.

Elizabeth brushed the sweaty curls from his forehead as his eyes drifted closed, then let her hand rest on his cheek for a moment, reassuring herself that his fever was truly gone. He lazily covered her hand with his, a content smile flickering across his face. 

She couldn’t help but smile in response, though he couldn’t see it. “Take some rest, Mr. Darcy. All is forgiven, and I will be here when you wake.” She gently tried to pull her hand away from his face. He quickly interlaced his fingers with hers to prevent this.

“You’ll truly stay?” he murmured sleepily, sniffling.

Leaving her hand on his cheek, she perched on the edge of his bed, so close their hips were almost touching. She saw him smile again as she did so. 

“Of course I will,” she murmured back, her eyes never leaving his face as he peacefully drifted to sleep.

[ladywinterwitch]

Run Away (Ten - Strangers)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Avenger! Reader

Summary: You and Steve complete each other. Your love is that strong and devoted kind of love that pushes people to things like marriage, making a family. You couldn't imagine that a baby would be something you really wished, until the possibility wasn't your choice anymore.

Warnings: pregnancy talk, fluff, A N G S T, I think that's it??

Words Count: 3739

A/n: Next chapter is longer and INTENSE

Series masterlist , main masterlist

(GIF not mine)

Y/n and Steve ended up falling asleep, which was a bit embarassing especially on his part. In the end tho they woke up around two in the afternoon and were starving. You also thought about the fact that Helen must've already set in by now. After cleaning up a bit and getting redressed the two actually went to separate directions, Steve to the gym because he had a bunch of new recruits to train by three sharp, while Y/n was heading to the kitchen.

-FRIDAY, would you call up ms Simon for me?- she found Tony, Vision and Thor in the common room so she quickly greeted them.

-Hey guys, taking a break?- she smiled when Thor got up to greet her properly. He was such a physical and affectionate person. He reminded her of a golden retriever; huge, with long hair and a heart of gold. Your smile widened when he bent down to press his ear to her belly.

-Well yes darling, do you forget that aside from kicking some ass every now and then we're basically jobless?- Tony joked. Both he and Vision were looking at you two.

-How is your pregnancy going, Y/n?- Vision asked in his posh and polite manner. She tilted her head to the side. Thor still touching the smooth and round surface. She didn't mind at all.

-It's going smoothly, thank you. Tho if I have to be honest I can't wait to at least give birth. I love my belly but it's so complicated to live with. I also miss actually moving around and exiting the tower. I don't think I've ever been so still and babyed in my life.-

-If it was an easy job, God wouldn't have gave it to women.- they all turn around when you hear an unfamiliar voice, which they soon found out to be Helen's. Thor stands straight in all his tallness and gets in front of her protectively.

-Who are you?- he asks suspiciously. She put a hand on his arm to calm him down.

-It's okay, Thor. This is Helen Simon, she's my new midwife. The one me and Steve hired this morning.- her head turns quickly to Tony then back to Helen. Tony stands up, fixing the invisible fold in his tracksuit pants and smugly walks to the older woman.

-Stark. Tony Stark. I actually hired you, but I'll let the happy couple have the glory.- he joked and you shook your head amused. They shook hands and then Vision introduced himself as well. Thor just acknowleged her with a nod. It's not like the God of Thunder had to introduce himself.

-Okay guys, see you later. I'm starving so.- you decided to cut it, but obviously Tony had to sneak in a joke. Had to.

-I'm sure cap worn you out.- Thor, which didn't know what timing was, bless his heart, decided to burst out laughing. You rolled your eyes not looking back.

-Jealousy doesn't match with your shoes Anthony.- you clapped back, still hearing Thor laugh and Tony calling him out.

A few feet down the corridor there was the kitchen, and when Y/n finally tought that her and Helen could have a minute alone, they found Wanda intently reading a book while she mover her finger around to spin the teaspoon in a mug. She looked up when they entered the room. Her finger stopped working and so did the spoon, the faint magenta colored aura disappearing.

-Hello?- she said, tentatively. Y/n ignored her cold stare and walked to the fridge taking out the leftover chicken and some salad to mix.

-She's Helen, the midwife me and Steve talked about.- there was a subtle warning in Y/n's voice. She thought 'Be nice' in her mind, and when Wanda sighed she knew she read her mind.

-Nice to meet you. If you'll excuse m- - Wanda was about to get up from the stool but the old woman's voice stopped her.

-You aren't eating that chicken cold are you? How old is it?- she walked closer, grabbing the plastic box from her hands. Both her and Wanda were a little taken aback by her bluntness, and shared a look.

-Uh..Yeah? I was actually going to put it in the salad. And it's..I'm not sure, a couple of days old? Still perfectly fresh and untouched.- she answered trying to reassure her, but she wasn't having it at all.

-This isn't eating healthy. If you want a healthy baby you need to eat properly. I'll take care of your meals from now on. - she stated, putting the box aside. - The non pregnant teammates can risk getting sick with that chicken. - Wanda's gaze darkened and her eyes took a light shade of red.

-What's that supposed to mean, old lady? - Y/n saw her fingers starting to move around with the corner of her eye and put her own hand on hers.

-Helen didn't mean anything, Wanda. She just meant that I have to be extra careful in comparison to the rest of you, ok? Don't you have to be somewhere right now?- she asked in the most calm way. The last hting she needed was Wanda yeeting Helen out of the tower on the first day. Wanda closed and picked up her book and mug, walking towards the exit of the kitchen.

-I mean, I'd like to go to the terrace to chill, but I can't.- Y/n frowned while sitting on a stool. Meanwhile Helen had already started to inspect their whole frige.

-I can feel Bucky and his girl going at it so yeah, I did not plan to watch a live performance.- she choked on water and the old lady turned around with a rather disgusted face. Wanda just shrugged and left them. The girl turned towards the older woman with an awkward smile.

-Welcome I guess.- the short fake laugh was over as soon as Helen sat in front of her, her hands conjoined in front of her.

-This isn't good.- the girl shifted uncomfortably, then uncosciously starting to rub her belly as a sign of comfort.

-What isn't?- the lady sighed. -First off, there are way too many people here. This place is chaotic, the people aren't giving you the peace that you need. This isn't a baby-space. At all. I just looked into your frigde and there isn't a single thing ready or 100% healthy probably except vegetables. Y/n if you want to be a good mother and be healthy for your baby you need to change a few things.- her words at first irritated her, setting off her protectiveness towards the people she called family, but then as she went on, she made her feel little. Like a little girl who wasn't good enough. She sighed silently.

-What would you have me do then?- she asked. Helen shrugged, still mantaining her perfect posture.

-I'm not gonna suggest you to buy a new place, because where you'll live after the baby is born is your business, but..- she paused, -I can offer you to come live at my place for these last two months or so. I have a nice, peaceful place a little outside New York. I already had eight of my patients do this, it's not so absurd.- she explained like it was the most normal thing in the world. Y/n was listening, but she wasn't convinced. She decided that she had to think about it first. She had to know for sure that she was professional and competent.

-I don't know, Helen. I'll admit that it isn't the most tranquil place to live, but...these people are my family. They have always been by my side, pregnant or not. And what about Steve? The father of my firstborn?- she marked the last phrase, tilting her head to the side. A little habit she probably took from Wanda.

-Because they care about you. But in truth, tell me, aren't you feeling like a burden? Like you get into their business?- she mirrored the young woman's expression. Y/n didn't answer at first.

-You're really not going soft on this are you?- Helen released a dry laugh. Shook her head and paused before talking.

-Yes. I began working as a nurse unofficially when I was 13 years old, during the Prague Spring reforms in '68. The hospital was in short of nurses so.- she explained, -That time wasn't easy. Not that the one before it and after it wasn't, that is. You either grow a thick skin or you don't survive.- Y/n felt for her, as she had a very similar destiny. First she doesn't know how she ended up in an orphanage, and then when she was fifteen and nobody took her, they kicked her out. She was homeless for a year until SHIELD recruited her, and the rest is history.

The older woman got up and took some vegetables, washed them and then placed them down to slice them. Y/n got up as well and started helping. She eyed the fresh eggs, so she guessed that Helen wanted to make a quick frittata.

-How did you end up in America? As midwife, nonetheless.- she asked.

-Why most foreign people come to America? Certainly not the food.- The woman responded with a slight hint of irony. The girl chuckled.

-Touché.-

-In any case, I've been here more than half of my live, moved many states mainly for my own choice. Being a private midwife pays decently.- she paused to dump the sliced vegetables into a pan with a little oil and salt.

-I became one because I was fascinated by the whole process that the woman's body goes through both before, during and after birth. I assisted two of my older sisters, and in the end ended up doing it as a job.- Y/n nodded, listening.

-That's actually amazing. But if I can ask, you do not have kids yourself?-

-No. Didn't have the possibility at first. Then decided that just it was my profession but not my future. No regrets.- she answered even tho the girl could sense that something was off. She decided not to intrude.

Silence fell between them while they were cooking, and the younger woman took the popularity to think about what she said. The woman was practical, a bit harsh maybe. But she also had a lot of experience. She didn't like the thought of leaving her family, but she had to admit that she often felt like a burden lately. More than once someone stayed behind to look after her, and even tho they didn't seem to mind at all, she did. She wasn't used to being so pampered and looked after, and sometimes she almost felt suffocated. Guess that spending many years of your life having to take care of yourself takes a toll on you.

She didn't want to decide anything without talking it out with Steve first. And it wouldn't be permanent, just for the last couple months or so, until she had the baby. If she really thought about it maybe she needed some time to reconnect with herself, to learn how to take care of her baby in the best way possible. Even the stupidest thing like cold chicken could potentially make her sick, and it was such a small thing. But that doesn't change the fact that she didn't knew. She wasn't one of those moms who surrounded herself with books teaching her every do's and don'ts, but at this point insecurity was kicking in. The last thing she would ever want was to be a bad mother even before actually becoming one.

-

Between a baby shop and another, and a whole new diet including an embarrassing amount of tea, Y/n finished her eight month of pregnancy. She was feeling as tired and as big as ever. Helen actually helped a lot both with the cooking, the health tips and with the shopping. She actually sobbed when they bought the crib. Both because she was emotional, a bit because hormones and also because Steve was again away on a mission. The whole team was actually. They had new leads in the Hungarian case and another completely different mission in South Korea, a tough one. So it required the whole team split up. That was the fist time Y/n was left alone since she knew she were pregnant. It all went smoothly, the tower actually felt quiet for once.

Y/n and Helen had found a nice dynamic, and most of the time spent time in a comfortable silence, each doing their thing. A downside that she wasn't realizing was the distance that was slowly creeping from her to the team. They didn't really like the midwife that much, Wanda, Thor and Bucky especially didn't like her at all. But Y/n felt for her, she felt like she knew her better than them so she often took her side, which hurt them back.

Steve on the other hand wasn't realizing it almost at all. All he cared about was his wife being healthy and that she got along with the midwife. They didn't sleep together often anymore, due to the fact that he was often away and she was constantly tired. Bruce did warn her at the beggining that this 'enhanced' baby would've probably tired her out, and it did at first but then she was feeling very well. She and Helen both blamed it on the tiredness of the pregnancy as a whole.

The last straw was when some of the guys, specifically Sam, Thor and Peter, whom didn't live at the tower and was rarely involved in missions because of Tony, went to see them and in some way, nobody actually know how, they made a whole ass hole in the floor above the library. Fate wanted that Y/n and Helen were reading just a few feet away. If they were just a bit closer to the door, they would've been hit by the pavement pieces.

Helen gasped and jumped out of her seat, book still in her hand by the corner. The younger woman on the other hand was more mad than anything.

She rose from the armchair, struggling a bit and marched towards the now destroyed door. The damage wasn't so bad, but it was still damage and it could've been way worse. She was fuming.

-Y/n! Shit are you okay? - Sam yelled from above. The three guys looking down from the hole they created.

-I'm so sorry it wasn't me! It was Thor! - Peter joined in and caused the God to respond, and from that a whole lot of mess arose.

The people who weren't on a mission, which were Wanda, Bucky and Tony, came running.

Y/n didn't know where to look and all of a sudden started felling a bit suffocated. She brought a hand to her forehead, distubed by the chaos arouns her.

-Stop! Fucking stop it! - she yelled, groaning from frustration. Everyone stopped talking while the girl started to feel her eyes prickle with tears of frustration.

-Why is never, ever a single day if peace in here? There's always someone around, making a mess, making noise, complaining- - she almost stumbled on a piece of ceiling that had fallen, but Bucky and Tony were right behind her and helped her stabilize herself, but she shoved them off.

-Leave me be!- she exclaimed frustrated. She huffed, trying to take a deep breath. -I'm moving out.- a chorus of 'What' arose. Bucky stepped forward and grabbed her wrist gently.

-What are you talking about?- his eyes showed confusion and panic.

-And when would have you decided this stupid thing?- Tony crossed his arms and went straight up 'Tony Stark' on her. Y/n rolled her eyes, ignoring both questions and walked out of the now damaged library. Helen followed suit.

-At least wait for Steve to return!- Wanda said. Thor jumped down, through the new hole in the ceiling and followed her like the others.

-Y/n, we're sorry! Look, I'm gonna fix the ceiling myself okay? Please don't go- Y/n's ached to see them upset, but she was tired. Too tired. She was afraid that if she had stayed more than she could withstand, their relationships could've been ruined. That was the last thing she wanted. She didn't knew exactly what was that overwhelmed her so much. She felt constantly tired and in pain, all the noise, number of people..it had become just too much. She needed to finish this pregnancy alone, or at least in a more quiet place.

She stopped in her tracks and exhaled silently. Her eyes passed through everyone in the room. Even in that moment, they were decimated because of the mission, yet there were still eight people in the room. When normally it would've been around 15. That's too many people.

-It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault, specifically. I just.. I feel overwhelmed. There's too much going on here at the tower. And for me it's like seeing life go on without being able to do anything. I need some space, okay? It won't be forever. Hell, if everything goes well it's gonna be a month, at best. But I really, really need a break. I am going to pack and leave by afternoon, when Steve returns, just send him to the address that I'll leave for him. Okay? I love you guys, you're my family and I wouldn't be where I am today without you. Its just temporary.- she smiled softly, trying not to get emotional. Wanda was visibly upset, on the verge of crying. The others just looked sad, maybe disappointed. But nobody said anything, so she turned her heels and went straight to her room.

-

By five pm she and Helen were already gone. The older woman called them a cab, the driver took care of their stuff and then they were gone. Y/n was silent during most of the trip, both because of the extreme tiredness and sadness. She never changed home since she moved to the tower. She also thought about what she would tell Steve. She knew she couldn't contact him, so she didn't. They had left two days prior, so it was a bit early to know when he'll be coming home. But she knew a hundred percent that he would've gotten to her even before going home.

The two women were headed to the older one's house, which was in Avalon, New Jersey. Helen had told her about her beach house, quite far from the city. Y/n did actually fall asleep after the first hour or so, they had around three in total so she didn't worry about not waking up. By her surprise though, she did sleep throughout the whole trip, and yet, she was still tired. In those days her head gave her particular discomfort, so any noise at all really disturbed her.

Helen woke her up gently when they arrived, the she helped her get out of the car. Meanwhile the driver, which was a quite young man, probably around her age, which was 27, with curly black hair, stubble and dark green eyes, took their luggage off of the trunk.

-That's all. Have a nice stay.- he smiled slightly. Y/n frowned, what about the money?

-How much do we owe you?- she asked sweetly. He waved his hand dismissively, going back in the driver's seat.

-The lady already paid me, I'm ok. Bye.- he waved goodbye and drove off. Y/n and Helen dragged the luggage insider her villa, by which the girl definitely was taken aback.

-You didn't tell me that you live in a Villa?-

-Maybe, but I did tell you that being a private midwife pays well. I also need space if I want to take people living with me.- she explained. The first thing that you could see was the huge open space which showed a not exaggeratedly large living room with a window door on the right, on the left there was the kitchen and in the middle a staircase.

It wasn't very decorated, but the light palette of the whole place defines had a calming effect. Y/n was so used to the high rise and high technology of the Avengers tower that she had almost forgot how nice and intimate a normal house could be.

Helen showed y/n around a little, then ended up in the spare room, which had a large bed, a balcony and some essential forniture pieces such as a wardrobe, a vanity, a full length mirror, an armchair.

-This is really nice, Helen.- she smiled tiredly, caressing her big belly while she walked around. But as she was walking towards the balcony, she had a slight attack of vertigo, and her knees buckle for a second. The woman was at her side in a few seconds, helping her onto the bed. Y/n huffed, the back of her hand on her eyes.

-Why am I so shitty? I was pretty good until a few months ago.- she whined, and Helen shook her head while she stroked her arm.

-Every pregnancy is different, Y/n. You're just tired, from the car and that chaotic place.- the disdain in her voice didn't really pleased Y/n, but she didn't say anything. She didn't have the strength and besides, it's not like she was particularly liked at the tower anyway.

-I'll get you a tea, be right back.- Y/n chuckled.

-I drank more of your Hungarian tea than water in the last months.- Helen pulled a tight smile.

-Well, it is a traditional recipe for pregnant women. Not that you seem to mind it either.- the girl relaxed her eyes and discarded her sneakers to the ground.

-No, it has a peculiar taste but not bad.-

-Good.- and with that she left the girl alone. Helen went down the stairs, and turned on the stove to warm some water. She then opened a drawer, forcing the wood layer to come up by using her fingernails, pulling out an old fashioned phone.

She went to the contacts and dialed the only one there was. She waited a few minutes, when someone picked up.

-Igen?-

-Közeledünk. Készülj fel.- she said, hanging up.

************

Translation from Hungarian: ‘Yes?’ ‘We’re close. Get ready.’

Hiii, this is quite a short chapter but I wanted to end it with ✨ suspense ✨ the next one tho is gonna be way longer. Lastly, friendly reminder that my taglist and my ask inbox are open!

***********

Taglist : @polarcrystall @a--1--1--3  @jessyballet​

[futurewriter2000]

Taking a Risk

A/N: I think I just fell in love with Ron with this one. God, I love that man. Also ginger men should have more loving. I’m so glad I got this request because I enjoyed writing this every bit.

REQUEST by @tmrwriter​: I was wondering if you could write a imagine about the reader and Ron Weasley being really obvious that they have a crush on each other, but Harry and Hermione try to push them to get together? IDK but i <3 the work u do! Keep up the great work!!

XX

It takes a lot of strength and time for a person to admit their true emotions and if emotions weren’t complicated, maybe everything would be much easier. 

You tried to ignore the butterflies and the uncomfortable heat on your cheeks as you were in the same room as him. Harry was digging deep into his potion’s essay, as well as Hermione, who was reading so fast. Both you and Ron have been trying to write the assignment for Flitwick’s class. He was sitting next to you, pretending to read the instructions for the assignment. Harry and Hermione already finished theirs, thanks to the brilliant Hermione Granger, who likes to finishe everything ahead. They had partnered up immediately after Flitwick said that the assignment must be done in pairs. Ron and you have decided to partner up as well.

That was harder than it sounded. Every time he was close to you, your body would tense up, your hands would become clammy and your cheeks were in this nice rosey colour. Every time you would glance at him, he was already watching you. His piercing blue eyes were soft on you, always were. The way he admired every little feature on you. The lines at the corners of your mouth whenever you smiled, the blush on your cheeks and the tension between your eyebrows. Every single bone in his body was telling him that everything pointed to him- that the blush on your cheeks were caused by him. 

When you caught him staring it was his turn to blush. His freckles that matched his eyes so perfectly hid under the blush of his cheeks. Sometimes you could see it reach his ears that almost glowed in a red colour. Just like him, you thought that all the signs pointed at you- that maybe, just maybe, in a glimmer of hope, you were the cause of his frustration. 

You’d bump into him- just gently enough to shake him out of his thoughts. He’d look at you with a grin and stared into your eyes until you felt your stomach twist and turn inside of you. It made you uncomfortable but excited in a pleasing way. You smiled and turned your eyes away, back into the book that you had to focus on but to God’s will, you couldn’t do it with his knee touching yours and spreading all sorts of feelings through your body. 

Oh, he did it on purpase. He wasn’t the shy, awkward kid you had met in your First year. No, something happened during the summer that made him so much more confident in himself. He’d bump his knee continuously,  teasing you even. 

You’d smile through your blush. “What are you doing?” you asked and he’d turn away with a grin. 

“Looking.” he dragged the word out as he flipped through the pages. 

He looked up at Hermione, still grinning and it didn’t last any second longer to let Hermione know what that meant. She moved her elbow a bit too fast until it hit the mug of tea and spilled it all over Harry’s essay and his robes. 

“Hermione!” Harry glared at her, feeling the boiling water scorch his skin. “That’s my assig-”

“Oh, I’m so sorry Harry!” she quickly got up, catching all of your attention. “Here- let’s go to my dorm. I think I have a book that can fix all of this.” she pulled his sleeve but Harry pulled back.

“I have all of my stuff here. Can’t you bring your book here.” he started to calm down a bit yet a little bit of anger was still present in his tone. 

Hermione couldn’t believe his brain. “No, Harry. No, I cannot.”

“Why not?” Harry kept looking as she continued to spread her eyes widely at him, glancing over at the pair.

“Because-” she tried to come up with an excuse. “-it would be faster if you take the essay before it’s too late.” 

“What?” Harry furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Oh, for God’s sake Harry.” she grabbed his sleeve and started pulling him with him, grabbing the essay in as well. You could see and hear them whispering something to each other, Hermione gently hitting Harry over the head with the essay.

“What was that for?” he rubbed the back of his head.

“How dim-witted could you be, Harry?” you could hear as both of them turned around the corner and disappeared.

Both you and Ron laughed at their disappearance. 

“Tossers.” Ron chuckled under his breath, catching your attention and making your realize that you and him were completely alone in the common room. Not a soul left.

It caused the blush to creep back to your cheeks, even your ears but you tried to focus back on the book... the book that was on his side of the table. 

“Okay, so how about we finally finish this assignment today and-”

“Isn’t it due till the end of the week?” he furrowed his eyebrows at you.

“It is but don’t you want to finish it sooner?” you asked, completely oblivious to his intention.

His smile fell into a fading frown as he turned around to the book and kept looking at you. He was a bit frustrated if he was honest with himself. This assignment gave the two of you time to spend together and you just wanted to finish this. So did that mean that you didn’t have feelings for him... not even a little bit. 

You could see him hesitating in his answer, making you a bit more aware of the true meaning of your question. 

“I guess so.” he said, forcing a smile on his face as he looked at you. 

It took you his answer to realise that you wanted to hear the opposite of what he said. It took you his answer and his hesitation to realise that this assignment gave both of you time alone and that you had done nothing but love that time alone with him. 

“Afraid of losing your reputation?” you bumped into him, trying to lighten up the mood that you had apereantly ruined. 

“What reputation?” he furrowed his eyebrows, feeling your knee pressed against him and causing him to get a bit more flustered. 

Seeing his face glow red, you felt the adrenalin pump your heart and risk the chance of getting it broken. You were done waiting for answers. You wanted to know now and the adrenalin gave you an enormous amount of courage to do so. You leaned forward, face to face as he swallowed thickly. 

Everything told you to just go for it. Every single bone in your body but you chickened out, so you reached for the book on his side and backed away slowly. 

Your heart was thumping, not only in your chest but you could feel every vein in your body press against your skin. “The one where you do everything last minute. Imagine shocking Flitwick with giving him the assignment  a day early.” you let out a nervous laugh, flipping through the pages but not really knowing what you were looking for.

He was silent for a while, trying to gather his thoughts and his body funtion because suddenly, he couldn’t move a thing- not even his mouth. 

“Uhm-” he cleared his throat, smiling a bit awkwardly. “Yeah.” he let out a gentle laugh, staring at you.

What did you just do? You leaned forward, close enough to kiss him and he caught you staring at his lips but it took you a milisecond to change your mind and back away. 

Merlin, all he wanted was to kiss you- to touch you, to hold you so close but all he did was watch you from the end of his couch. 

He stared into the piece of parchment. There was nothing written on there. The two of you have been sitting here for an hour and there was literally not even a draft- not on his side and not on yours. What did the two of you do for the entire hour if not do the assignment? 

He furrowed his eyebrows and looked on your side of the desk, finding another piece of parchment completely empty. He found you flipping through the pages of a book but your eyes were directed somewhere at the floor and your thoughts somewhere at the clouds. 

He felt himself lick his lips. You were about to kiss him, weren’t you?

He felt his confidence come back from the shadows it hid. He put the book on the desk, seeing as you have noticed it with the flick of your eyes but decided to ignore him. You didn’t say a word, only pretended to read as fast as Hermione and flip a page. The funny problem was that nobody else could read as fast as Hermione.

He felt himself smile as he approached you, slowly sitting closer and closer to you. His large hand placed itself on the top of the book and you could see nice veins pop define the lines of his hands. His nails weren’t bitten like Harry’s were but they were nicely taken care of and healthy. He pulled the book away and closed it, then putting it gently on the desk. 

You didn’t dare to look into his eyes. You knew that the moment you do, you’d melt away into a puddle of emotions. 

Your heart was pumping so hard in your chest you thought it would burst. When his nicely large hands removed themselves from the book, they followed up to your thighs and up to your own hands. They were so small compared to his and you found your fingers wonder on every freckle they had.

He smiled at the wonderfully nice and gentle reaction he got from you. It only boosted his confidence. He came too far, he was not about to back down now. 

“(y/n).” he spoke softly and quietly. “Look at me.” he continued. “I have to tell you something.”

With all your might, you looked up into his blue eyes, feeling your soul catch on fire as you did. He was smiling at you with courage but you could see flashes of anxiety come and go. 

You wanted him to tell you, tell you now. Right now!

So, you took his hands into a firmer grip and pulled them a bit closer- watching him with eyes that almost pleaded him to tell you what you wanted to hear. 

He took a deep breath in and out. This felt so much harder that he ever imagined it to be. You were his best friend and now, you were looking him with eyes that expected something and all he could hope for was that he would exceed in your expectations. 

“I like you.” he seemed to spill out, softer than he intended to. Your grip tightened and he could feel his hands squeeze as if you were expecting more. “More than friends.” he continued, raising gaze from your hands up to your eyes, only to find them glimmering in joy. Your smile was sincere and gorgeous- just like the rest of you. “And I would really, desperately want to kiss you.” he started leaning forward, seeing as you nodded gently and moved in as well. 

He was so afraid yet eager to finally get the chance to kiss you- no, not the chance. To actually, finally kiss you. 

It was just a small touch of your lips and as soon as he felt them against his own, he slipped in his tongue and deepened the kiss. His hand removed itself from yours and went up to your jaw, pulling you closer. Both of your hands went up from his abdoment to his chest, gripping and twisting the shirt in your hands. He smiled as he had felt your urge to kiss him, to feel proud of himself risking his heart to tell you what he had felt because he had felt it for so long, he almost felt himself burst. 

He removed his hands your cheeks and slid them down to your waist, gripping you firmly and pulling you onto his lap. The two of you parted only for a moment, a second, to take a breath, to look each other into the eyes filled with joy and lust. He wanted to lean in but you pressed your thumb on his lips, dragging it down and brushing it all over his lower lip. He smiled at your touch yet he still wanted more. 

“I like you too.” you said and it took him by surprise to hear you say that. He didn’t know he needed to. He thought that the kiss was just enough to prove him that you shared the same feelings as he did but saying those words to him felt even better, like a conformation. 

“Good. Because this would have been awkward if you didn’t.” he smiled and you laughed, pulling him into another kiss. 

[its-a-humanriot]

Common Language, pt. I

(This is the beginning to a bunch of Fallout 3 works I have knocking around my brain. I’ll post bits and pieces here and then post the full work to ao3 once it’s done)

(pt. I) / (pt. II)

---

Charon realises very quickly that he does not understand his new employer very well.

In the first instance, this is very literal.

Not many words were exchanged during her introduction as his new employer and him subsequently blowing Ahzrukhal’s brains all over the walls of the Ninth Circle. It’s not until after they make a very rapid exit and they are out in the quiet of the museum atrium catching their breath that he really pays any attention to her. Not much about his employer’s appearance immediately seems wildly unusual – she looks pretty healthy for a wastelander, if somewhat pale, and probably one of the youngest people to come through Underworld in several years. Her face is grubby with the expected dust and dirt of travel under her mop of short curly brown hair, slightly pink from sunburn across her nose and a clean strip of pallid skin around her eyes from the goggles that now hang around her neck (the look of it reminds him briefly of some small animal from before the war, though he can no longer recall its name). Although they look relatively well maintained, her armour and rifle have clearly been scavenged at least third-hand, and a faded red bandanna is tucked around the collar.

Charon takes all this in with a practiced eye, trying to evaluate what kind of person he is now bound to – as satisfying as it is to know that Ahzrukhal’s head is now spread all over the Ninth Circle, it has come at the cost of knowing his opponent. The girl in front of him does not look wealthy to be spending the number of caps he knows Ahzrukhal would have asked for his contract, nor hardened enough to have carried out whatever unscrupulous task he would have accepted as alternative payment. He can’t quite pinpoint it, but something doesn’t seem right. When she opens her mouth, his instincts are proved right.

“Well, fuck. I came to Underworld to cop a flop and a sling and hang loose for a while, maybe zee out for the night, and buddy up with you. I was not expecting to have to beat feet with a dead body behind us.”

Her accent is like no wastelander he has ever heard, and he doesn’t understand half the things that come out of her mouth. Charon can’t claim to be up to date with young people (as so few of them come through Underworld and most of Ahzrukhal’s associates were people who should absolutely not be allowed anywhere near children) but even among the various communities in the Capitol Wasteland there is usually a fair amount of common ground. This – whatever this is – is something else entirely.

His well-practiced poker face seems to keep his confusion hidden at least up until she turns to him with an uncomfortable smile on her face – she certainly has cleaner teeth than a lot of wastelanders, and not even any missing that he can see – and sticks her hand out in his direction.

“This isn’t how I was expecting to have this go but, uh, I’m Billie. Nice to actually meet you properly, Charon.”

He stares at it. A lot of people would avoid unnecessary physical contact with ghouls, even if they weren’t outright ghoul haters, and certainly none of his previous employers have ever tried to engage in something as cordial as a handshake. When he doesn’t react, she leans in a little sheepishly. “…I think you’re supposed to shake hands when you meet someone new, right?”

His stare moves up to her face. She looks about as confused as he feels. What rock has this kid crawled out from?

“What?” It’s hardly the first thing that he means to say to his new employer now they have time to talk, but this whole interaction is leaving him feeling entirely unfooted. She tilts her head at him and looks even more awkward, her outstretched hand dipping slightly before she withdraws it entirely and starts to comb it through her hair instead.

“Uh…I’m not used to meeting new folks? A couple of people have told me what passes for manners above ground but honestly, I’ve not had so many chances to try it on people who weren’t trying to vent me first.” Her face twists in an embarrassed grimace. “Is it the accent? I’ve been told it’s a little hard to understand. I can try, uh something else,” She drops her hand, brushes some stray curls out of her eyes and clears her throat. She offers her hand again and manages to take him by surprise yet again: saying clearly in an almost perfectly pronounced pre-war Transatlantic accent “Hello Charon, my name is Billie Morgan. Pleased to meet you.”

The sound hits Charon like ice cold lead in his stomach, a noise he hasn’t heard in decades beyond the occasional old holotape. It rings in his ears as fresh as it was then with all of the other memories he’d tried to bury - the cloying surgical smell of the lab in his nose, the claustrophobia of the sim pod – Scanning vitals… Welcome subject: 2875, identifier Charon. Beginning training simulation in 3, 2…

A hand touches his arm and the tension in his body spikes – Charon finds himself staggering backwards into a defensive stance. His hand, still moving on instinct, gets as far as the handle of his combat knife before his conditioning kicks in with a short shock of pain – the subject cannot harm the employer – and the opposing reactions form a strained stalemate and force him to a standstill, buzzing with adrenaline, as his presence of mind returns. His employer is now a few feet away, her brown eyes wide as she raises her hands.

“Woah, okay. Won’t do that one again. Sorry.” The artificial enunciation is gone and her original accent has returned, but she is speaking more slowly and clearly than before. He can’t tell if she’s just doing it to try and pacify him or if she is consciously trying to make herself easier to understand. Now that he has the frame of reference for it her natural inflection definitely has something pre-war about it, but it’s hard to pinpoint. “Easy there, big guy. I’ve got no scrap with you and I’m not gonna hurt you. Okay?”

Charon has at least a full foot of height on this kid, and while she looks healthy she does not look strong – the idea that she would be able to hurt him in a close quarters fight is almost laughable. Slowly, he forces himself to let go of the knife handle. The tension in his shoulders stays where it is.

“I am unable to harm my employer. Physical violence on your part invalidates our contract.” The default line gives him something to fall back on for a moment while he straightens back up to his resting position.

“That’s…something.” She doesn’t look reassured, but she drops her hands. “So we’re shiny? Cause you looked real ready to stab me for a second there.”

“I am unable to harm my employer.”

“…Right.” She appears to wait a moment for clarification that does not come before continuing. “So about your contract – it’s kinda hard to read and I didn’t really get the full shakedown before you greased Ahzrukhal so I don’t know what your rates are. I’m a little low on caps at the moment but I can pay you some upfront and then I can earn a bunch back from whatever scavving we do in the next few days to get you the rest of your cut, then we can work out an arrangement. Sound okay to you?”

“I do not require payment.”

“So what, I keep you watered and fed and breathing and we’re square? Seems like a pretty cheap deal to me.”

“I do not require protection and you are not required to provide for me, though several previous employers have chosen to do so.”

“Wait.” Her brow creases. “What does the contract say?”

“The holder of my contract is my employer.” The words come readily to his tongue after many decades of repeating them. “My employer has my services in combat and in any other duties as they see fit and I am honour bound to do as they command for as long as they hold the contract. The contract prevents me from harming my employer while I am in their service. Physical violence by the employer against me invalidates the contract.”

She stares at him hard for a long moment before she speaks again with horror in her voice.

“You’re a slave?”

“I belong to no one.” The response is automatic, the only protest he is able to make. The words taste sour in his mouth.

“You’ve just told me that you don’t require payment of any kind and that you have to do what I say. If that’s not being a slave, I don’t know what is.” She turns away and pulls on her curls for a moment while she paces before turning back to him, her face stormy. “If I’d know that skeezer was a slave owner on top of everything, I might’ve taken a pop at him myself before you ventilated his face. Fuck.” Her eyes widen again. “I bought you from him.”

“If you find the terms of my contract objectionable, you may pass it on to another.”

“I object to you being bound to the contract. Passing it over to someone else doesn’t fix that.” Pulling a face, she pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs, then pulls his contract out of her pocket. She looks over the worn paper for a moment, then a takes a single step closer to him and thrusts it in his direction. “Here.”

The ebbing tide of the adrenaline rush in his veins suddenly leaves all at once, and he is left staring at his employer’s hand again. There must a misunderstanding here. Again.

“You wish me to…hold the contract for you?”

She rolls her lips together before making deliberate eye contact with him.

“I want you to have it. Permanently, free of charge. The contract belongs to you - no more employers to boss you around.” Turning her eyes skyward for a moment, she takes a deep breath. “I’m hoping that greasing former employers of yours isn’t like a tradition or something, cause I kinda like being alive out here in the fresh air despite everything. And I have someone I really, really need to find.”

He stares at her for a long moment, stupefied. She stares back, with an expression that is perhaps supposed to be comforting despite the fact that her hand is shaking slightly. After the events at the Ninth Circle, she doesn’t have much reason to suspect that anything else will happen apart from her apart from the inside of her skull being spread all over the atrium.

“I cannot accept.”

At the sound of his voice she seems a little calmer, and gives him a warmer smile.

“Sure you can. No charge, no nothing, just like I s-”

“You misunderstand. I am physically not able to accept.”

“What?” The look of confusion is back.

“I am not able to hold my own contract. It is stated clearly in the contract terms.”

“You didn’t say that thirty seconds ago!”

“The contract terms are long. I paraphrased.”

“You paraphrased.” With a furrowed brow she pinches the bridge of her nose again with the hand holding the contract dropping to her hip, though her mouth pulls up at the corner – whether it’s from amusement or concealed frustration, he’s not sure. She takes in a breath, then drops her hand. “Right. Okay. And if I destroy the contract?”

“I am compelled to stop you from doing so, through any means necessary.”

“Even if you harm me? I thought you said you couldn’t do that.”

“Preservation of the contract takes priority over the life of my employer, though I must also take all possible actions to preserve your life.” Comforting people is not a talent Charon considers to be in his skill set. From the look on his employer’s face, he evaluates that this is still true.

“There must be a section in the contract for how it ends though, right? Surely no contract is gonna be able to hold you forever.” The naivety of the comment grates on his nerves more than he expects. Maybe it’s the aftermath of the adrenaline rush and the bewilderingly abrupt turn that this already baffling interaction has taken, but Charon’s response come out with more of a bite than he means it to.

“It’s not that simple, smoothskin.”

“But you don’t want to be bound by it, right?” Seemingly undeterred by the epithet or the warning in his tone, she continues earnestly. “If we just-”

“I said -” His voice is sharper than he would ever dared let it be speaking back to Ahzrukhal, louder than he has spoken in so very long, and he wrests control of himself back too late – his voice echoes back to him from the polished granite walls so that it rebukes him as much as it does the kid in front of him. Her eyes are wide, shoulders bunched up to her chin level, and he realises that he has unconsciously drawn up to his full height. The echo hangs in the air for a moment, and when it dies his words are back to their normal volume, even if the tone is strained: “ – it is not that simple.”

The moment continues to stretch out thin and the young woman doesn’t move or answer – just keeps staring at him. The silence leaves him feeling as unbalanced as the conversation did - worse now that he feels exposed in the wake of his outburst. Charon takes a rattly breath and fills his ravaged lungs to their full extent as he winds himself back under control – shoulders down, arms by his sides, he reverts to his typical guarding stance. When he speaks again, it in the direction of the young woman’s clenched hand rather than to her face

“For good or ill,” Charon says towards the faded scrap of parchment “I am in your service.”

[pandajaye]

Todoroki Family Ties (Part 9)

Characters: Enji Todoroki, Stepmom!OC!Ivy (Ivy is black btw), Child!Shoto Todoroki, Teen!Touya Todoroki, Preteen!Fuyumi, Child!Natsuo

Fandom: My Hero Academia/Boku No Hero Academia

Warnings: pregnancy, hospital, hysteria, child abuse, Aquaphobia, upset child, abusive family, neglect

“Enji, it’s okay. Please try to calm down. Everything is going to be fine.” Ivy comforted her husband, putting a hand on his leg in an attempt to keep it from bouncing so much. “I know, I know. Just a little nervous, that’s all.” He sighed, looking down at his hands while he rubbed his palms. They were the only ones in the room right now. It was cold and white everywhere apart from the delightful little flower clusters. The atmosphere was mostly quiet except for the tapping of keyboards and damp sounds of phones ringing in some of the offices.

“I mean…. what if it’s true? How could I be so careless? I should’ve been thinking clearly. I should’ve thought more about you. Things were just finally going so right and I was so distracted by excitement. So many good things were falling in to place. It’s…. It’s all my fault that we’re here today.” He brought her hand up from his thigh and kissed her knuckles. “Please, forgive me.” All she could do was smile at how nervous he was. “Forgive you for what, baby? Nothing bad has happened. Being here is a big part of the journey. It’s where our path is decided for us. I’m excited. You should be, too.”

Enji wrapped his arms around her with a tight squeeze. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” She always did know how to make the best of a situation that seemed frightening. Maybe it was the way of words. Maybe it was the sweet and calm voice that did it for him. Whatever it was, he was happy to be able to access it. Having her next to him was going to make this move a lot smoother, and he couldn’t ask for anything better right now.

Their moment of peace was interrupted by a nurse dressed in lovely pink scrubs. “Todoroki?” Her voice was gentle and nice as well as her smile while she patiently waited for the two to stand and follow her. On the way to their room, Ivy glanced into the rooms they passed. In one, a couple was finding out some good news. They looked excited. In another, a woman seemed to be having a good check up. And the last one was different than the other two. A woman leaned against her sad husband as she cried. The doctor also had a sad and sympathetic look on her face. Those sure were some interesting situations to witness. Which one would represent her and Enji’s?

“This room right here. Doctor Akari will be right with you.” The two parties bowed to each other before she left and they entered the room. Enji looked around the room and sighed. It was so weird to be here again. The rooms had changed a bit since the last time he was on this same floor seven years ago. ‘Wow. Seven. I’m getting old.’ He was quickly brought back to reality by Ivy. “I’m really glad we’re here today. This is good.” Her smile brought so much ease to him. How lucky is he to have someone like her.

A quiet knock on the door gathered their attention. In walked an older woman. Her hair was still a dark brown so she couldn’t have been that much older but you could see some of the age in her kind face. There was a bit of height difference between them, her being taller than Ivy, shorter than Enji of course. She carefully closed the door behind her before setting her chart on the table and introducing herself. “I’m Dr. Akari, nice to meet you today, Mr. and Mrs. Todoroki.” She shook their hands and continued. “Amazing, I never thought I’d be meeting, let alone working for the number two hero. I guess dreams do come true.” Enji blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Heh. Always nice to meet a fan.”

“So. We’re here for a verification today, correct? How are you feeling? Mrs. Todoroki, is this your first?” Ivy nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I-I’ve really never been in any type of situation like this before. I’m excited and kinda nervous. Sorry.” Dr. Akari held Ivy’s hands in her own. “Sweetheart. You don’t need to apologize. Being nervous is apart of this. A big part. That’s not to say that it’ll be a bad experience. It is what you make it. And I have so much faith that this is going to be an amazing and beautiful new part of your life. You’re going to be great at this.” Her smile was warm and reassuring. Maybe everything really will be okay. “Should we get this thing started?” Ivy looked at Enji and back at Dr. Akari with a grin. “Let’s do it.”

The test and results took no time at all to come back to them. “Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Todoroki. You’re having a baby.” Excitement quickly grew on Ivy’s face, brown eyes big and full of tears when she looked at Enji who hugged her tight, kissing the top of her head. “Wonderful news! Wonderful! Wonderful!” He was so energetic and happy like a child himself. The fifth child and he’s still taken aback as if it’s his first. Ivy stayed a little calmer herself. “I’m so happy. This is everything I’ve ever wanted…. A dream come true.” The doctor hugged Ivy when Enji finally pulled away. “I’m so happy for you two. You have my full adoration. I know you’re going to be an amazing mother. Before you know it, you’ll have a quirky and spontaneous bundle of joy in your arms.” Ivy froze.

‘….Quirky?’

Enji thanked the doctor a few more times before leaving and while they walked to the car, he noticed something was off about Ivy. She kept her gaze towards the ground and hadn’t said a word since leaving the doctor’s office. After a short walk they arrived at the car, Ivy got in the passenger seat and patiently waited for Enji to get in and close his door. As soon as the car door shut, Ivy broke down hysterically… “FUCK! FUCK! FUCKING! FUCK!” Honestly, it scared him a bit. She was fine a few minutes ago and now she’s upset? “IVY? WHAT’S WRONG?” She started hyperventilating, forcing him to pull Ivy into his lap and hold her. “Breathe! Breathe. Slow down. In….. Out….” It took a minute before she could match his breathing. Eventually, they were in sync and she began to calm down and got back into the passenger seat.

“Alright. What in the hell was that?” He didn’t mean to sound irritated, he was just genuinely confused about what just manifested. “I-I’m sorry but…. I-I can’t do this. I-I-I can’t be a mom.” Tears were still falling but she tried to wipe them away as fast as they came. “Wha…. What do you mean?” His brows were furrowed and his face contorted. “Enji…. I-I was so excited at first. And, I still am in some ways…. But…. what happens when…. w-when we have this child…. and they don’t have a quirk because of me? I wasn’t even thinking about it until Dr. Akari said the word quirky and all of a sudden it hit me. My child is going to be weak because of me…. They’re going to hate me. I know you want a strong child with a strong quirk but I-…. I-I can’t give you that.”

To be honest, he hadn’t thought of it either. But that was the old him anyways. He’s grown since then. Quirks aren’t everything to him anymore. Just her. Just his family. No matter what skills they had or didn’t have. He loves them in every aspect. “Ivy…. I don’t need you to give me that. I want you to be happy and healthy. I want to have this child with you no matter what happens. As long as you’re both okay, that’s what’s important. I know how I used to be. And I’m still sorry and trying to atone for it. I’m learning and growing every day because of you. I appreciate and love you so much.” His large hand held her cheek as he searched her eyes for a sign that she understood him.

A wave of safety washed over her as she leaned into his hand. So much calm after one random storm. “You’re right. You are learning. You have grown. And I am beyond proud of you. I’m sorry for my outburst. It wasn’t all about you. Being quirkless has always been a problem for me. Way before me and you. You’ve improved in ways that…. he never did.” Her gaze shifted to her feet when thoughts and feelings she had long ago returned. “Who?” When her gaze came back her eyes were brimming with tears of numb pain.“My dad….”

From a very young age, Ivy was victim to some of the most impactful abuse that young girls have suffered for centuries. Familial. Being the outcast, the one child that didn’t make the cut. Worked hard and reprimanded for occurrences out of her power. Her power. The center of everything and the reason for her suffering. More commonly known as a quirk, her ability should have been water manipulation. It ran in her family. They’ve always been connected to it all. Oceans, lakes, rain, dew, snow. A gene for telekinesis brought in from one of her great great grandparents but no one remembers which one.

“LET’S GO, LET’S GO, LET’S GO!” Nami James Emaraki, Ivy’s father, blew hard into his whistle. It’s not that common for a ten-year old to have to do burpees and laps on a Saturday morning. Especially since she’s not training for anything. “YOU SLACK AND I SWEAR ITS ANOTHER TEN LAPS!! YOU ALREADY MISSED BREAKFAST SINCE YOU WANNA SLEEP IN, I’M PERFECTLY FINE WITH YOU MISSING LUNCH CAUSE I’LL STILL EAT BUT YOU WON’T!!!!” He wasn’t kidding either. That threat wasn’t the least bit empty.

“I-” Her foot slipped and caused her to face plant. She lifted her head and a stream of blood ran from her nose. “OW! UGH! H-Help, please!” Rolling his eyes, he stomped over to her, grabbing a fist full of her hair. “Sure, I’ll help you. Usually salt water helps with things like that. Let’s get you a lot of salt water.” He looked at the pool and smiled. “How about 10 ft?” Panic flooded her entire body so quickly it almost made her dizzy. Or maybe that was from the quick face plant and loss of blood.

“N-No! Please!” Ignoring her, he began dragging her to the deep end of their pool. “I’m so sorry, I can keep going! I can keep going! Daddy I can keep going!” She couldn’t help but cry and scream for forgiveness because he always had such a terrible punishment for her. The closer they got the more she struggled. “DADDY PLEASE! PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE NO! NO-” He tossed her in with a grunt and picked up his stopwatch. “Hurry up. You don’t wanna drown, use your quirk to get out!”

But that was the issue. Ivy was quirkless. It never showed up when it was supposed to. They hoped she was a late bloomer but it wasn’t looking very hopeful. Her father and uncle did everything they can to bring it out of her. They were so close they moved into two joint houses for each of their families, between the two homes, a facility with a large indoor pool that they used to coach swimming and have opened for water sports and activities. Every child in their family has used this pool to get better at their quirks. But Ivy was the only one forced into fearing it, unlike her siblings and cousins.

The eldest children were Ivy’s older twin brother and sister who were six years older than her, as well as a male cousin four years older than her. They were taught everything with care and detail. How to swim, how to make waves, etc. Next, her cousin that was but a few months older than her. He also experienced the life of being the middle child like her. Ivy was born next. Treated like all the other kids until she reached the age where quirks usually had already appeared in their family.

Four. When the family pediatrician attempted to explain that her quirk would never come in due to an extra joint in her foot, that of which the absence of would determine if the power would ever come in. Her father was so upset when they got home, he grabbed her by the ankles and dunked her in the water a few times before dropping her in the 5 feet. Her mother stood and watched as paramedics revived Ivy, pretending very well to be concerned.

Yet, here he is now. Watching her sink as she loses oxygen. Destined to be a corpse at the bottom of the pool. But just before tragedy could wrap her up in its claws, her father washed her back onto the side of the pool with a wave. There she laid in a puddle, lungs full of water. “So damn dramatic.” Unrightfully annoyed, he preformed mouth to mouth and saved her, smacking her when she accidentally spit up water in his face. “You’re a disgusting excuse for a daughter. But just you wait, you’ll be a hero soon enough. And you’re gonna be supporting your family after we’ve been so supportive of you. Get your ass up and come inside when you’re through acting like something wrong with you.”

Nami didn’t even look back after he started walking way. He didn’t care if she ever got up. To him, she has two options in life. Become a top pro-hero. Or die. And some days, she wished he wouldn’t save her. Some days she wanted to stay at the bottom of that pool knowing she wouldn’t be able to breathe. Ivy couldn’t help but wonder, what’s the point of living if your entire family is already disappointed in you?

During lunch, her mother Eimi asked her about today’s training. “How did it go today, Ivy?” She smiled, looking between her and her father. Ivy didn’t want to answer so she kept her mouth shut. “Ivy, your mama is talking to you. Answer her.” His fist slammed down on the table. The back of her throat burned from swallowing her need to cry. “Ivy? Answer her, girl, can you not hear?!” She flinched at him raising his voice. With a quiet sigh, Ivy spoke, carefully trying not to let her voice crack. “It w-was fine, mommy. But….” She couldn’t take it anymore. She had to speak up.

“B-BUT DADDY TRIED TO KILL MEEEEE!!” Cries broke out of her throat. “CONTROL YOUR DAMN VOLUME RIGHT NOW!” He tried to grab her arm but she ducked out of the way. “MAMA I FELL AND HURT MY FACE AND MY NOSE WAS BLEEDING AND HE THREW ME IN THE POOL AND ALMOST LET ME DROOOOOOWN!!!!” Tears dripped from her chin as she trembled and sobbed. Eimi just looked at Nami and shrugged. “Well, Ivy. Maybe if you stopped pretending your quirk isn’t there, you could have saved yourself. So I don’t want to hear it.” Ivy was horrified and offended by every word out of her mother’s mouth. “WHAT? BUT MOMMY-” “THAT’S ENOUGH! YOU’RE GOING TO YOUR ROOM!” Before she could run, he grabbed her and carried her to her room as she struggled. “I HATE IT HERE! I HATE IT, HATE IT, HATE IT!!” Once the door slammed close, she hugged one of her stuffed animals tight and cried. And cried. And cried. Until she cried herself to sleep.

Ivy had ever only known Hell on Earth. Her siblings before her were treated with respect. Even her baby brother and even younger baby sister got to see the best from their parents. Ivy was the one that they wanted to depend on. Their goals for her were to make her one of the most famous Pro-Heroes ever. Then use her paycheck to further their lives. She would put them on the map and be their little bank. But the older she got, the more she fought back. Until finally they realized she’d never be able to help them anyways.

Ivy was shunned and kicked out of her home. Forced to learn the way of the world. She made her way through three nice jobs and even college. Out of all the smoke and fire, she emerged through her trials and tribulations and began working at Endeavor’s agency. Her hardships didn’t end there but shortly after, everything started to work out for her.

Her past was filled with evil but it never influenced her to become a bad person even after never getting her quirk. She realized that quirks never really mattered. It was the love that she never received. Love that she’ll be giving to this baby. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if her child ever had to go through what she went through.

The world outside was so beautiful as they drove home. She looked at Enji and smiled. He sparkled in the sunlight. Those beautiful blue eyes focusing on the road while he held her hand up and kissed it. “You’re gonna be okay, Ivy. I love you so much. You’re going to be a great mom. And, I hope i can be a great father. On the fifth try.” The reassurance made her grin. “Thank you, Enji. Thank you.”