#but generally coming across as missing their familiar “bad food”

[galahadenough]

Also, why did Luo Binghe cook something bad?

[seellove]

Could You Stay a Little Longer // drug dealer!sukuna x reader

Masterlist

Chapter 1 // (7.9k words) // Explicit - 18+

\|/ AO3 - Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 >>

You're pursuing a master degree across the country, but are currently back in your hometown housesitting for your parents. They've told you all about their undesirable new neighbor, but when you start to get to know said neighbor, you realize he isn't all that bad. Your controlling boyfriend won't let up on you and you grapple with enjoying the company of this drug dealing neighbor boy, Sukuna. Nothing about this is going the way you planned, but is it so bad to let yourself be treated well for a change?

The cultural setting for this is technically economically depressed, rural USA where good paying jobs are hard to come by and there's not many opportunities in small towns, but it could really be anywhere that meets this criteria!

Content Tags/Warnings Throughout Work: Reader and Sukuna are mid 20s, mentions of recreational drug use and drug dealing, mentions of abusive/controlling/manipulative relationship (not Sukuna), could possibly be considered cheating depending on your interpretation (not Sukuna), angst, smut, fluff, time skip, prison time, happy ending trust!

Flight attendants prepare for landing.

The pilot's voice over the intercom combined with the lights all coming on at once rouses you from your sorry attempt at a nap once and for all. In your groggy state you observe the flight attendants moving up and down the aisles collecting trash and doing whatever it is they do.

You always sucked at sleeping on planes and this time was no different, catching minutes of what could only be described as light dozing. Hopefully you could crash immediately once you got to your childhood bed at your parent’s house. Flying across the country was so tiring.

About twenty minutes later, you are on the ground and making your way down the aisle to the jet bridge, and out into your hometown airport.

Airport is a generous term as it’s one gate with two flights a day to the same city. At least the journey to the arrivals area was just up an escalator and about a football field length of walking down a hallway. 

In the year you’ve been gone, things haven’t changed at all. Tourism banners adorn the back pickup area, giving the impression that the area had something to offer to visitors. The large university in town did draw visiting families after all, so it did indeed have a target audience.

Not you though, you’ve been here your whole life so most of the advertised offerings were old news to you. Growing up in an area often makes one take such things for granted however, so you idly walk by without much of a glance.

While a small airport was nice for getting in and out, you always beat the bag to baggage claim, so you linger around waiting until the carousel starts moving and bags begin to trickle out. 

The humid air hits you in the face as you exit the airport, already feeling like your hair has frizzed up to twice its size. Definitely did not miss this at all. The mountains in the distance are a welcome sight however. You’ve always been the outdoorsy type, so the hiking, fishing, kayaking, and all other things of that nature your area had to offer were always appealing no matter how much time passed.

Your parents’ familiar car rounds the bend and pulls up to the curb with your mom waving from the passenger side. You wave in response, excited to see them both for the first time in a year. It would be brief though as the real reason you were here was to house sit while they went on a cruise for their 30th wedding anniversary. You were on break for your masters degree anyways, so you didn’t mind so they could treat themselves. 

They get out, giving you a big hug before helping toss your bags into the trunk and heading home. They still lived in the house you grew up in about 30 minutes away from the airport in a more rural area.

After stopping to get your favorite greasy gas station food, you all settle in to catch up.

“So anything new happening around here?” you ask from the back seat.

“Oh you know, still continuing to build apartments and townhomes like crazy. New shops and restaurants too,” your dad responds. With the university in town expanding rapidly, so in turn was the surrounding area. Not a bad thing in your eyes. The unfortunate thing was that it was an expensive private university, which meant most locals were priced out. 

“Oh you remember the young man across the street from us we told you about? His name is Sukuna,” your mom asks.

“Kind of,” you reply. They’d mentioned him a few times when you’d talk on the phone. Something about drugs and the police coming by all the time. The longtime neighbor who’d lived there as long as you could remember passed away and a young guy had moved in shortly afterwards.

Your parents' neighborhood demographic could only be described as…boring. A mix of retired people and families with stay at home parents made up the bulk of it, which left plenty of time for people to get into each other's business. Throw an unmarried young man into the mix and you stick out like a sore thumb. Cause even a slight disruption and you might as well stick a target on your back for nosey neighbors for eternity.

“The police came by last night because he was doing donuts in his yard at 2 AM,” your mom says. 

“Wow that is definitely not the place to be doing that,” you laugh, “does he ever give you any trouble?”

“Personally, no we never have a problem with him. He really is a nice boy whenever we’ve talked to him. We can certainly do without his loudness and him speeding through the neighborhood. It’s a family neighborhood and there are kids playing outside! It’s just dangerous and irresponsible!” your mom rambles on with one of her long winded monologues. 

“And he must be selling drugs, he has to be! People coming over and leaving at all hours of the day and night. Who knows what kind of riff raff is coming into the neighborhood,” she continues. 

“Do the police do anything?” you ask with curiosity.

“Besides pulling him over for speeding and reprimanding him for breaking the noise ordinance, no there’s really nothing they can get him on. Can’t arrest someone for being a nuisance on their own property and with no neighborhood HOA, no one can say anything if he wants to tear up his yard. They’ve gotten him for reckless driving and I’m pretty sure he has a suspended license though. Like I said though, he’s a nice kid, he just seems to keep making poor choices and digging himself into a deeper hole.” your mom continues, but you start to tune her out. The woman loves to hear herself talk. You’re only here for a week and a half so you doubt you’ll have to worry about any of this. 

When you get to their house your parents walk you through their cat’s and dog’s routines, should be simple enough. You say good night to them and goodbye as they are leaving for the airport well before dawn tomorrow. Exhausted beyond reason, you immediately pass out. 

***

The next morning you are woken up by their dog, Macy. She’s super cute and super smart, so you have no issues with taking care of her. You let Macy out into the front yard, clipping her to an outdoor leash to let her roam around. 

You notice the gardens up near the road are looking a little overgrown, so you make a note to go investigate and clean them up a little after breakfast. Macy joins you on a walk to the mailbox to grab the newspaper. You can’t even remember the last time you’ve touched a newspaper, but you figure you’ll tab through it while here to help pass the time.

You glance across the street and see the evidence of what your parents were referring to. While everyone else had a nice manicured lawn, across the street the grass was torn to shreds and nothing but a muddy mess roughly in the shape of a circle. Beer cans were scattered about near the front porch. 

They weren’t kidding. Certainly quite the sight for a neighborhood like this. This was the type of behavior you’d expect from teenagers out in the country, not in a stuck up area like this. 

You head inside to unpack your suitcase and whip yourself up a quick breakfast. You’ll need to run to the store either today or tomorrow to go get yourself some groceries, making another mental note. 

Morning chores of bringing the paper in, letting Macy out, and feeding the cats are complete. After watching some TV and scrolling on your phone, you prepare to go check out the garden before it gets too unbearably hot. 

As you start to scope it out, you do notice a few cars come and go from across the street, never staying more than a few minutes at a time. Alright, maybe your parents weren’t exaggerating about that. 

You begin to rake the leaves out from the shrubs, trying to keep the metal from getting caught on the roots. After a while you start to have a decent pile when a tap on your shoulder scares the absolute shit out of you considering you had headphones in. 

You turn around and are met with some tall ass guy with a mess of pink hair. Markings on his face that you quickly realize are tattoos scrunch up as he peers down at you with a curious look on his face. 

Is this him? The neighbor boy? 

“Can I help you?” you take one earbud out and wipe your hand across your sweat caked forehead. 

“Who’re you? You’re not the middle aged yapper that's usually out here,” he responds with a deep voice that makes your eyes flick up in surprise. You are met by a pair of sunglasses, a backwards hat, and it’s impossible to miss the obvious stomach and chest muscles straining at the white t-shirt he has on. 

Hmm neighbor boy is kinda attractive. 

“I’m watching the house while they are away,” you say vaguely, the less interaction the better. 

“Oh so you’re a housekeeper?” he clicks his tongue, leaning back a little with his hands in his pockets.

“No, I'm not a housekeeper!” you say a little too defensively which has him chuckling in response.

“Then once again, like I said earlier, who are you?” he pulls his sunglasses off revealing the deepest crimson eyes, eyes that suck you in, trapping your gaze in his. “If you just answered the first time you wouldn’t be making a fool of yourself right now.”

The nerve of this guy, does he think he’s the neighborhood watch or something? If anything you should be the one interrogating him for disrupting the whole street. 

You quickly introduce yourself before explaining. 

“I’m house sitting for my parents while they are on a cruise for their wedding anniversary. Watching their pets, keeping the place tidy, you know, typical shit like that,” you huff, trying to use him to shield yourself from the harsh sun. Might as well be useful for something.

“Oh, you’re the daughter?” he muses, nudging at your leaf pile with his foot. 

“I am, can you not do that? I worked hard clearing all that out,” you prod at his foot with your rake. 

“It’s fucking leaves, who cares where they go now, they’re out of the garden,” he counters, choosing to wind up and kick the pile instead. The leaves scatter around as he looks at you expectantly, clearly trying to get a reaction out of you. Which you want to give him so badly, but you’re not playing into his game.

“I hope you aren’t giving me landscaping advice judging by the pathetic state of your yard over there,” you scoff, gesturing at the torn up lawn.

“It’s my yard, I’ll do what I want with it,” he narrows his eyes at you before suddenly ripping the rake out of your hand and piling them back up. 

“There, better?” he leans down to stare you in the eyes, those long eyelashes fluttering in just the way to make you want to crack a smile. 

“Yeah, I guess, thanks for putting them back,” you mutter. You start to turn back around to continue your work, but you realize he’s not going away.

“Are these tomatoes?” he asks as he stands right where you are trying to work, pointing at what are obviously tomatoes on the vine. 

“No they’re bananas,” you retort sarcastically. Who the fuck doesn’t know what a tomato is, everyone and their mother grows them in this area. 

He turns around silently, brows furrowing with a frown, making you feel a little guilty for being like that. 

“You’re kinda mean you know that? Your parents are really nice to me, I hope they’ll be home soon. You didn’t even ask my name all this time.”

Okay mister sensitive all of a sudden. 

“Look, I’m sorry. I got in late last night and I might be a little tired and grumpy,” you give him a weak smile. He tries to keep a straight, serious face, but ultimately he fails, cracking into a boyish grin instead.

“I’m just giving you a hard time…kinda, you have to admit you were being a liiiiiitle harsh though. But anyways, I’m Ryomen Sukuna, I moved to this house a year ago, I’m 24 years old, and I grew up around here,” he declares with a smile. 

“Oh really? So did I,” you perk up a little. The name and looks don’t seem familiar.

“Yeah I’m from one county over. My parents actually bought me this place. I was getting into some trouble and they said a family oriented neighborhood should make me act better.”

“Oh? How’s that working out for you?” 

“Eh, there’s ups and downs,” he looks away as he speaks.

Interesting. Now the real question.

“What do you do for work? Feel like most people are gone at this time of day.”

“Oh I just do odd jobs here and there. No real career job, still figuring out what I wanna do, you know how it is,” he skirts the question as he pulls out a vape and inhales deeply. 

This guy definitely is into some suspicious shit. It’s a common situation for a certain subset of young guys around here. They start to mess around with drugs in high school, nothing too serious, just a way to get some extra money because a minimum wage job doesn’t pay shit. Plus it usually gets you in with the popular crowd..

Then you graduate, enroll in the local community college or if your parents are well off, you go to one of the big state universities.  More often than not, people end up back here either by dropping out or graduating and coming back. Considering his parents bought him a house, he seems to be one of the dropouts.

Eventually they realize nothing in this economically depressed area will pay even close to what moving drugs will, so they settle into a lifestyle with their fellow high school buddies whose parents aren’t cold enough to kick them off their credit cards.  

The final phase is usually getting locked up or getting a girl pregnant that makes them drop the habit once and for all. Or they just become a deadbeat dad because there’s plenty of those around here too. Something for everyone.

You’ll just play along while you’re here and soon it’ll all be out of your hands.

Macy comes trotting up the driveway and goes straight to Sukuna.

“Hi Macy,” he surprises you with a high pitched voice, reaching down to rub all over her as she wags her tail. 

“Oh you and Macy know each other?” 

“Yeah when your dad walks her and I’m outside he’ll let me pet her sometimes. She’s real cute.”

Your heart skips the slightest beat, just barely perceptible, but you notice and it surprises you. Something about guys being kind to animals…

“Well I better get back over there, let you get back to it,” Sukuna stretches, shirt hitching up revealing his toned stomach and what appears to be more ink. Your curiosity makes your mind race with thoughts of what other tattoos he’s got hiding under there…among other things.

Stop, you’ve got a partner back home. Well, maybe that’s giving him too much credit, but he does exist when he feels like it. You shake the thought away quickly, taking a few steps towards him walking away.

“Wait, do you want some of them? The tomatoes I mean? The ripe ones will go bad before my parents get back and I don’t really like them.” 

He turns around, eyes widening in surprise. 

“Sure, I’ll take them.”

You cut them off and place them in his large hand, noticing another set of tattooed rings of some sort on his wrist. Distracted by the ink, your hand brushes his by accident. It’s softer than you imagined, causing tingles to run through your wrist and up your forearm. 

“Whoops, sorry,” you utter, feeling yourself heat up from your clumsiness. 

“You’re good. Thank you, I’ll see you around. Lemme know if you need anything while you’re here,” he waves before turning around and going back across the street. 

What an…interesting guy. Maybe your parents were spot on about him after all. He seemed kind with a hint of boyish immaturity about him, nothing obviously malicious from that first interaction. If he wants to sell shit out of his house and mind his own business, you didn’t really have an issue with that. 

Plus dogs should be able to tell if someone is bad news right?

***

While walking Macy that evening, you run into a group of women you’ve known since you were younger. You stop to catch up and talk to them and realize they are talking about none other than Sukuna.

“He’s across the street from you dear, have you noticed anything off since you’ve been here?” Mrs Yates asked you as you approached.

“Um, not really, he briefly waved to me while I was in the garden, but that’s it,” you tell a white lie, not really wanting to get into it, giving him the benefit of the doubt. 

“Your poor parents having to live across from that scum, he’s only going to make their home value go down. I wish the police would hurry up already and lock him up again,” another woman you don’t recognize chimes in.

“Wait, again?” you press, surprised to hear that.

“Oh yeah hun, he’s got a rap sheet of charges. Nothing too bad, but go run a search online when you get home. If you see anything questionable, you’d best report it to the police, they should be doing patrols so the more we complain the more likely they’ll actually come by.” 

The more you listen to them, the more it sounds like it’s Sukuna versus the neighborhood. You don’t have allegiance one way or another, so you just shrug and continue your walk with Macy. You’d plan to look up his charges when you get home this evening. 

Day 2

“Goddammit!” you slam your hand on the dashboard of your dads car. You were trying to go to the grocery store but lo and behold, the battery was dead. Because of course it was. 

You pulled out your phone, trying to google how to start a car by yourself, which is stupid because you knew you needed cables and another car. You’re met with a text from your partner instead which surprises you. What doesn’t surprise you is how it’s berating and belittling, very typical for him. 

He’d had a fit when you said you were going to your parents, he didn’t like it very much at all whenever you did something without him, claiming you were likely hanging out with other guys. This was rich coming from him considering he was always gas lighting you about how you were being manipulative and controlling when you would call him out on his cheating and sexting random girls. 

You kept going back to him though, he’d give you those sweet, loving apologies, saying how it won’t happen again, you were the one he really loved, not to give up on him because he’s getting better. 

This time he was commenting on how you were being sketchy by turning your location sharing off, likely going out with ex boyfriends while you were in town. You just could never win with him, one step forward three steps back every time. 

As you pounded the dash, your anger morphed into shedding tears. Tears from being overwhelmed in the moment. It was devastating not having someone you could lean on. Instead of having someone tell you they loved you and missed you, instead you got accused of being a whore, slut, easy, all of the above. It was just so draining at this point.

And all you wanted was to go to the goddamn store, but no that can’t be easy either. Then you remember Sukuna’s words from yesterday, “lemme know if you need anything.”

Well, time to put your money where your mouth is neighbor boy. You make your way across his yard towards his front porch, kicking a beer can as hard as you could in the process, nailing the front step with a satisfying crash.

As you knock on the door, you realize there are a few cars in his driveway. If he has company he might blow you off. This might have been a mistake…

“Oi, ‘sup tomato girl?” you hear his deep voice call out from the second story window. 

“Can you come help me with my car?” you yell up to him, also what the fuck is that nickname?

“What’s wrong with it?” he’s leaning out the window, shirtless, with a cigarette hanging out his mouth, hair looking absolutely disheveled. What the fuck is he even doing?

You hear a muffled voice from inside but you can’t make out what it says, only Sukuna’s response. 

“No dipshit, it’s my neighbor’s daughter.” 

“Oh you fucked her yet?” 

Christ alive, you’re about to just turn around and get away from this freak show. As you start to do just that, Sukuna yells at you again.

“I asked what’s wrong with it? Where are you going? Hey!” 

You just ignore him and head back towards the street, you’ll ask someone else for help since he can’t be mature for more than five seconds. 

You make it halfway across his yard and that’s when you hear the screen door behind you slam and loud footsteps bounding across the yard. His strong grip lands on your wrist, whipping you around to face him. His shorts are baggy and laying low on his hips, exposing his boxers which are hanging on sharp V lines. And lord have mercy his body is absolutely shredded…and tatted. Your mouth is suddenly dry in the damp morning air. 

“What’s your deal? I’m trying to help you,” he cocks his head, staring down at you through his wide, red eyes. 

“I wasn’t going to stand there and be talked about like a piece of meat like that,” you raise your voice at him, but your facade cracks and the tears start to fall again.

“I didn’t say that though! My stupid ass friend did,” he argues back, squeezing your hand with his when he realizes what’s happening. 

“Oh god, look I’m sorry, I promise that’s not how I feel about you, I’ll whoop his ass when I get back over there.”

“It’s-sniff-fine, it’s not you, just already been a bad morning and this car issue isn’t helping,” you rasp out, the words of your boyfriend weighing heavy on you right now as you start hyperventilating.

“Are you okay?” Sukuna’s red eyes widen with a hint of softness, pulling you toward a tree in his yard to get you both into the shade. He presses you into his chest and you just dig your nails into his bare skin, body shaking as the panicked moment tears through you,

How much do you even want to divulge to a man you barely know? Not much, especially because you already feel embarrassed enough that you can’t seem to get out of this relationship. 

“I’m fine, just personal stuff from back home,” your breathing is starting to come under control, him restraining you seemed to help ground yourself. You both stay like this for a while, the birds chirping in the morning air and the breeze making the leaves whisper in the wind.

“Thanks, I feel a little better now,” you finally exhale, noticing his rock hard torso under your fingers that you’d been oblivious to moments ago and a hint of cigarette smell lingering on his skin.

“Sure?” 

“Mhmm”

“Okay good, now what’s wrong with your car? I’m good with cars, I work on mine all the time,” he says with gentle words.

“It won’t start, I think it just needs a jump, it shouldn’t take long at all.”

“Okay, was that so hard? Damn girl. Go over there and I’ll meet you in your driveway,” he smirks before turning around. 

You watch him walk away, noticing tattoos also snaking down broad shoulders to his prominent back dimples. 

He’s hot, there’s no other way to put it. You wouldn’t be upset if he came over half naked to help you out. Hell you’d be content to just set up a chair in the driveway and watch him fuck around with your car, let’s be real.

Unfortunately for you, he returns with a shirt on. It’s a cut off tank top, so his muscular, inked up arms are still visible. At least he’s nice to look at.

His car is also a sharp looking red sports car with what looks like numerous aftermarket upgrades. You don’t know shit about cars, but it looks way more expensive and flashy than anything else in this neighborhood and it's questionable whether or not it's street legal. 

He pops the hood, hooking the jumper cables up to your battery and his. He inspects under the hood before turning back around.

“Your oil needs changing and you’re out of wiper fluid,” he says matter of factly, “lemme get this started then I’ll fix that other stuff for you.”

“Oh you don’t need to do that, I can take it to a shop-“

“Nonsense, allow me. A thank you for the tomatoes, then we’re even. Why don’t you go inside where it’s cool and let me deal with this.” 

He slicks his pink hair back, holding out his hand for your keys. It is hot as fuck out and you feel bad leaving him out here, but he seems to not be taking no for an answer. 

“Okay, come get me when you’re done. I was trying to go to the store.” 

He nods in response and you take your leave. About an hour later he barges in the front door, startling you from reading on the couch. 

“Knock much?” you laugh at him, only partially joking. He’s dripping sweat and you immediately jump up, moving to the kitchen to get him something to drink.

“Sorry, I probably should, young girl being home alone and all,” he grins sheepishly, “can I wash my hands?” he holds them out and you realize they are covered in oil and grime.

“Oh yeah, bathroom is the first door on the right upstairs.”

By the time he’s back downstairs, you’ve got a glass of cold lemonade waiting for him complete with a straw.

“Oh my god I’m going to destroy that,” he takes it and chugs it in about three sips. 

You burst out laughing as his eyes almost roll back with a loud sigh. 

“Best damn thing I’ve ever tasted,” he exhales, “oh AND a bendy straw! You’re spoiling me,” he exclaims with excitement to which you laugh in amusement.

“Hold on I’ll get you more, actually, why don’t you just take the pitcher home with you, you need it more than me.” 

“I'd rather drink it here,” he responds, collapsing into a chair at the kitchen table, “it’ll get hot transporting it back to my place. Also your tires needed air, so I used my compressor to top them off. Lame for your dad to leave you with a car in this state.”

“Oh geez, I didn’t even know, thank you for that. I don’t know shit about cars so I’d never have noticed.” 

“No worries tomato girl, can’t have you getting stuck on the side of the road now can we? The cell service around here is too shit for that.”

“Did you just leave your friends over there alone?” you ask as you top off his glass.

“They’re fine, they’re helping me with something, I don’t need to be there,” he says between sips. 

“Can I get a ride with you to the store?” he blurts out after downing another glass.

“Ummm sure? Why?” you ask cautiously. You really don’t know him at all.

“I can’t drive right now,” he responds, fidgeting with the glass in his hands, averting his gaze. 

“You just drove across the street.”

“Yeaaaaaah I shouldn’t have done that though. My license is suspended right now,” he says bluntly.

Oh my. That’s…something. 

“It’s suspended?” 

“Yeah, I got too many tickets, it’s suspended until my court date.” 

Your mind goes back to the list of offenses you’d looked up on the county police department website last night. There had been a slew of high speed tickets that were considered reckless driving charges, underage drinking, drunk in public, drug possession charges, driving with a suspended license, vandalism, trespassing, and breaking and entering. Nothing too terrible, but a long list nonetheless.

All that and here he was at the kitchen table looking cute as fuck sipping lemonade out of a pink cup with a bendy straw. 

“So what do ya say? Can I come with?” he presses. He’s a demanding thing, also a little impulsive, which might explain his record.

“Sure why not, let’s leave in a half hour.”

“Hell yeaaaaaah! It’ll be fun. I’ll go shower and meet you back over here,” he flashes that boyish grin at you again as he dashes out the door. 

While he’s gone, you finish tidying up. You are in the hallway as you hear the front door open again, but it quickly shuts. Instead you hear a knock at the door, making you chuckle under your breath, knowing damn well Sukuna tried to come in without asking. 

“It’s open,” you yell down to him.

“What’s the point of knocking if you don’t even come down to see who it is?”

“I already know who it is, I said we were leaving in 30 minutes.” 

“I could have been a criminal or a rapist!” he scoffs as he throws himself onto the living room couch, pulling out his phone to text. He’s got a gold hoop in his ear and a gold chain around his neck along with a backwards hat. It’s honestly giving drug dealer because there’s no jobs around here that pay enough to buy shit like that. A pair of shorts and a red shirt pull it all together.

“Aren’t you already a criminal though?” you say before thinking, unable to help yourself.

“Ha ha, very funny tomato girl,” he rolls his eyes as you approach him. 

“Sorry that was a low blow.”

“It’s fine, it’s all public record. I assume you already know my history.” 

“I do, I got curious. So what kind of drug possession was it?” you tease.

“Why? You buying?” he winks at you and flashes that cocky grin again. A grin that is starting to stir up butterflies in your stomach whenever you see it. 

“Depends.” 

He arches an eyebrow in surprise. 

“Nothing you should be using,” he shakes his head, sitting up and staring intently at you. Those crimson pools are threatening to suck you in again, each time you stare into them, the closer you get to drowning in them all together.

“Oh, the hard stuff huh?”

“Mhmm, I don’t use my own stuff. Just smoke weed but nothing more than that. Sometimes I have to test the product, but that’s for business purposes.” 

“Fascinating, let’s go now,” you hold out your hand to pull him up off the couch. 

He grabs your hand, thinking he’s going to pull himself up, but instead he yanks his arm back so you lose your balance, falling into him on the couch instead. Your face crashes into his rock hard chest and you end up straddling his thigh.

“Oh my, tomato girl, did seeing a man work on your car get you all hot and bothered?” he smirks, looking down at you with lidded eyes.

You smack his chest as you sit up. “What the fuck is your problem? You petulant child!”

“Um I was trying to get up and I slipped,” he teases, holding his arms back away from you, “besides, I’m not touching you, see?”

You scoff and quickly get up, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks in embarrassment. 

“No more lemonade for you, now go get in the car before I change my mind!” 

“Yes ma’am,” he jumps up and holds the front door for you. He then proceeds to open the driver side door for you, shutting it before circling around to the passenger side. 

He slides a pair of expensive looking sunglasses on and slouches down in the seat next to you. 

“Buckle your seatbelt,” you tap his shoulder.

“Yes mom,” he groans.

You’re both silent as you drive down the road, Sukuna engrossed in his phone next to you.

Your phone meanwhile starts blowing up with calls and texts. 

“Damn, miss popular,” Sukuna grabs your phone from the center console before you can.

“Cam sure is being a needy bitch,” Sukuna huffs. Dammit, he must be in one of those moods where he’s blaming you for everything under the sun.

“Yeah he does that,” you don’t elaborate. 

“Who is that?” Sukuna probes.

“He’s my boyfriend, kind of, not really, I don’t really know honestly.”

“Oh. You’ve got a man?” Sukuna hums. 

“Yeah,” you give a short response. The phone rings continuously for the next ten minutes, making you get super embarrassed.

“Listen tomato girl, I’m not an expert on relationships, but either this guy is experiencing a national emergency or he’s acting like a crazy stalker. And based on how quiet you are, I’m leaning towards the latter.” 

“Yeah you’re not wrong. He’s very…intense.”

“Is this normal behavior from sir Cam?” Sukuna throws his phone on the floor to give you his full attention.

Unfortunately.

“Sometimes, yes,” you say quietly, desperate to move onto something else.

“Does he hurt you?” Sukuna’s tone gets deeper, a hint of protectiveness in his words.

“Sukuna we’ve known each other for barely a day, I really don’t think we should be talking about this.”

“Hmm well that’s more telling than any other answer you could have given,” he says through gritted teeth, staring out the front windshield. 

“It’s none of your concern, drop it.”

“Alright, fair enough, still doesn’t mean I don’t care and can’t voice my displeasure, free speech and all,” he mutters.

You grab your phone and opt to just turn it off. 

“Do you have a girlfriend?” you change the subject. 

“Nah, I’m more of a fling kind of guy. I mean sometimes I’ll be into one girl for a while, but it’s never serious,” he answers. Seems pretty on brand for him. Drug dealer, in trouble with the law, doesn’t seem like long term relationship material.

“Nothing wrong with that,” you click your tongue in response. The rest of the drive is in silence until you pull into the parking lot.

“Put your number in my phone in case we get separated,” Sukuna says as you walk towards the store which is comical because the store is not even that big compared to ones in the city you live in. You do so anyway and then call yourself from his phone.

“Done.”

“Good.”

“What are you going to get?” you try to make conversation, you’re just so thrown off after talking about Cam in the car. Something about him reaching out triggers that freeze response in you, then Sukuna saying something about it just made you feel bad, like rubbing salt in the wound.

“Gonna get some stuff to make to use those tomatoes,” he hums. 

“Do you like cooking?” 

“Yeah I do, I’ve always been into it.”

“That’s cool. I’m not the best cook,” you laugh.

“Well you make a mean lemonade, if we combine we can make a great overall meal,” he pulls you into his side with one arm. He smells really good, a mix of his body wash and cologne filling your senses. It’s oddly comforting after everything that happened.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad back there,” he leans down to whisper in your ear, one arm still wrapped around you, “I’m sure it’s easier said than done to get out of a shitty situation like that. Just know, you’re too nice and way too damn pretty to be dealing with all that.” 

You feel tears rush to your eyes. That’s the nicest thing someone has said to you in a long time, especially from a man. You can’t be crying in a grocery store parking lot though with a guy you barely know, so you try to suck it up.

“Thanks Sukuna, that’s really nice of you to say.” 

“It’s the truth, I just hope you remember it if you ever hear otherwise, don’t forget it.” 

You end up just following each other through the store, dividing the shopping cart into his and yours. 

“We should get popsicles,” Sukuna exclaims, “it’s so hot outside.”

“That’s such a good idea,” you laugh. 

“Here, let’s get a box of 20, that should last us until you leave, plus a few extra,” Sukuna grins, reaching into the freezer. 

“Think fast,” he presses the box against your bare shoulder, making you shriek from the cold on your skin.

“Oh my god!! You are insane,” you slap his arm playfully, “I’m locking those up in my house and not sharing anymore.”

“Wow there you go being mean again,” he feigns a sad frown.

“And that wasn’t mean?” 

“No, I was just making sure they were cold enough, can’t test it on yourself if you’re expecting it,” he says confidently, that boyish grin making your heart flutter. 

“Yo Sukuna, what’re you doing here?” you hear the voice of a man behind you. You turn to see a man with brown hair and a similar mark as Sukuna on his nose. 

“Choso,” Sukuna’s voice becomes a low growl, his normally playful demeanor has vanished. His eyes are almost black now and he stands up a little straighter.

“Didn’t know you had a girl now boss?” the man says, a hint of shakiness in his voice.

“What the fucks it look like?” he snaps, his voice making your veins feel like ice. 

“I uh, wasn’t sure-“

“You’re still short this month, I better see money for everything you sold or you won’t like the consequences. You wouldn’t want to end up like Toji would you?” he says so low you can barely hear him, but Choso’s eyes and face look like he’s seen a ghost. 

“I, I will, don’t worry boss, it won’t happen again.”

“I know it won’t. There won’t be a second time,” Sukuna’s menacing voice makes you want to get the fuck away from here and whatever this is. 

As soon as it’s begun, it’s over though, Choso dipping out towards the front and Sukuna snapping back into his chipper demeanor again.

“Sorry about that sweets, when duty calls, I must answer,” he hits his vape in the middle of the frozen food section. 

“You’re scary,” you say lowly to him.

“Good, that’s what I was going for,” he smirks at you, “now let’s get this stuff home before it melts yeah?”

***

Sukuna helps you bring all your groceries into your parents house. While you go to the bathroom, he pulls everything out of the bags and groups them based on freezer food, vegetables and fruits, pantry items, and toiletries.

“I wasn’t sure where you wanted to put everything, but hopefully this helps,” he says as he places a box of cereal on the counter.

“Aww thank you, you didn’t have to do that,” you say with a smile. 

“I didn’t, but I wanted to,” he flashes a toothy grin your way. “Do you want to take custody of the popsicles or should I?”

“Probably me, lord knows what goes on in your house and I don’t want to accidentally come up on something trying to get a popsicle,” you laugh.

“Oh hush, it’s not that bad in there,” Sukuna retorts, handing you things to put away as you sort through the cabinets. “You’re probably right though, don’t want you coming across any unsavory characters,” he sighs.

***

Later that evening, you get Macy ready to go on a walk. The heat of the day has lessened significantly and you’re grateful for it. As you reach the street, you notice Sukuna picking up the trash in his yard. 

“Oh hey! Where are you off to?” he strides towards you, tossing some beer cans in the open trash can sitting out in the yard.

“Just taking Macy on her walk, wanna join?” you offer without thinking. What if people see you with him, won’t that cause the rumor mill to fly? 

His face lights up and you immediately dismiss those thoughts. At least he’s someone who seems to enjoy spending time around you, unlike your man back home who is always so quick to complain or put you down. Who cares if he has issues, most all of us do, some are just better at hiding them.

“Gimme like five minutes to finish cleaning up the yard. I’m having people over and don’t wanna give the cops more of a reason to be up my ass.”

“Oh, trying to impress someone special?” you joke. 

“Sure, you could say that,” he shrugs, facing away from you now. 

You chuckle and end up sitting in the grass to wait, rubbing Macy’s belly as she rolls over. Moments later you feel his presence next to you, holding out his hand for you.

“Um I was offering to help Macy up actually,” he teases before pulling you up. He gives Macy a few pets before taking her leash from your hand. 

“Wait, popsicles!” you exclaim.

“Holy shit you’re so right! I’ll hold Macy if you wanna go get them,” he says with serious conviction. 

“What flavor?” 

“Red.”

“Red isn’t a flavor,” you snort.

“You know what I meaaaaaaannn,” he whines.

Soon you are back with popsicles in tow and you begin your walk.

“So what’s a typical day like for you?” Sukuna asks as he falls into step next to you. 

“Hmmm, usually I go to class, teach my undergrad class, try to squeeze lunch in there, go to the lab to work on my research, then get home sometime in the evening to try and wind down.”

“Your boyfriend live with you?”

“Nope, I live alone. Relationship is too volatile for a long term lease,” you laugh. 

“So are you on or off right now?” he asks, words slightly muffled by the popsicle at his lips. 

“I guess on, I don’t know, it’s hard to tell sometimes. Speak of the devil,” you mutter as your phone starts ringing. You don’t answer, but after three more calls Sukuna yanks it out of your hand.

“Sukuna what are-“

“Hello? Who’s this? You’re looking for who? Oh you must mean tomato girl,” he snickers as he puts the phone on speaker.

“She’s busy right now, she has one of my popsicles in her mouth so she can’t talk, it’s pretty big and sticky, her hands can’t touch the phone in their state,” he puts the phone on mute as he busts out laughing and you can’t help but join in. 

“What the fuck, you fucking serious? You better get your hands off my girl,” Cam’s furious voice comes through the phone.

“I’m not touching her, she’s standing like five feet away.”

“What about this popsicle-“

“It’s grape flavored, she seems like she’s really enjoying it. Well I’m going to go now, nice meeting you Chris!” he says sarcastically as he hangs up.

“He is so pissed, bet he’s having a nuclear fallout of a meltdown right now. That felt good though,” you sigh, secretly thankful for that. It’s hard to get payback on him sometimes. 

“Yeah well he’s a piece of shit, better never visit with him or there might be a problem.” 

“Sukuna you’ve known me for two days,” you chuckle.

“So? You’ve been the nicest person to me in this stupid neighborhood, I haven’t and won't forget that.”

You both continue walking in silence, passing a few neighbors who give you a confused look. Suddenly you hear a car behind you, realizing it’s a police car with the lights on. What the fuck.

The officer gets out and approaches the both of you.

“Good evening, got a call about a young girl being followed by a suspicious man, looks like you two.”

What? Someone called the cops on Sukuna for walking with you?

“There must be a misunderstanding, I’m just walking my dog with my neighbor,” you reply.

“Can I see your identification sir?” he turns his attention to Sukuna.

“Look man I’m not doing anything wrong-“

“ID. Now, don’t argue with me boy.”

Sukuna fishes his wallet out, handing the cop his license. 

“Mam do you know he has a record and a suspended license? Is he giving you any trouble?”

You are starting to get irritated, Sukuna did nothing wrong, literally just existing.

“I do know, and no he’s not giving me trouble. I just wanted company walking my dog since it’s starting to get dark.” 

The cop looks between you both, brow furrowing in confusion. 

“With all due respect sir, aren’t there bigger issues in the community than a guy walking down the street?” you state.

“Watch your mouth,” the cop retorts in anger. “If he tries anything, just give us a call. Be careful and have a good night.” 

You both watch as the car hits an illegal U-turn and speeds back towards the main road.

“That was brilliant,” Sukuna smiles at you. 

“It was also stupid, shouldn’t be talking to shit to a cop,” you laugh. “It was just bothering me how they’re obsessing over you when there are bigger issues in the world. You literally can’t drive, but now walking is illegal? Just pisses me off,” you scoff with irritation. 

“Facts,” Sukuna agrees, “if people wanna buy drugs, that’s their choice. If they don’t get it from me, they’ll get it some other way.” 

While you don’t love the whole drug dealer thing, he does have a point. 

You continue your walk without any more incidents, laughing and joking the entire time. Sukuna is quite charming and charismatic, you're starting to realize. Not in a bad way though, he appears to have a genuine kindness about him and despite his questionable actions, seems like a decent person. 

“I’m having people over tonight, you’re welcome to come by if you’d want,” he says as he walks you to your door. It’s almost dark now, the front porch light bathing you both in a soft yellow hue.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll pass,” you answer. You really aren’t interested in getting involved with all that, also not nearly social enough to go up in a place where you barely know one person. Plus you probably have to do damage control with Cam.

“Sounds good, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Sukuna smirks at you, running his hand through his unruly pink locks. 

“Have a good night, be careful,” you joke and he just snickers in return, rolling his eyes. 

He turns to walk back up the driveway as you lock up for the night. 

Chapter 2 >>

Masterlist

[winepresswrath]

Its the jiao jiao anon again .

You keep giving me great pairings. Tell me everything how su she (Shang Qinghua) transmigrate and how will fuck jiang cheng. Is he still an author ? What was his intention with this kinda book?

I think he is still a writer but not the actual author of mdzs. He's a relatively casual fan who admires the vision and winces in sympathy every time drama gets kicked off. This is why you don't try, mdzs author! You give the people what they want and take their money. He's originally planning on keeping his head down and learning just enough cultivation from the Lan to make his life easier than it otherwise would be, then getting an urgent letter from his sick mother right before the Wen are scheduled to attack, but alas, his wandering not-cultivator dumpling sabbatical puts him directly in Jiang Cheng's path while he's frantically running for help after leaving Wei Wuxian in the Xuanwu cave. And the thing is he's still kind of reflexively haughty when he needs something? So pathetic and vulnerable. So cute. What could possibly be the harm in giving him a ride? The Wen aren't scheduled to attack Lotus Pier for ages. He can be on a ship to Dongyin by that time!

Anyway no good deed goes unpunished because Jiang Fengmian does as a general rule believe in giving credit and naming names. He should have fucking known. Now Wen Chao has a grudge against him and he's running around under a fake name wracking up credit for things he did (while trying to run away) and things he did not do (sometimes even when you have a massive army and the most powerful cultivator in the world on your side, things go wrong! He's not responsible for every problem with Wen supply lines. He's responsible for exactly one cart blowing up, and he was just trying for a distraction so he could sneak onto a ship. It didn't work and the harbour is kind of a no-go zone for him now). He comes up with a new plan: find Huaisang and use his shitty unwanted heroic reputation and talent for creative pornography to worm his way into the young master's guard, where he can get some writing done far from the front lines. Unfortunately, he once again stumbles across Jiang Cheng, who is tragically trying to rebuild his sect and searching for a missing shixiong. Shang Qinghua is still a logistics guy, because he was doing grunt work for the Lan and also I feel like that's the shape any transmigration setting is going to bend into around him. Jiang Cheng is so grateful to see a familiar face. He knows the value of a good spreadsheet. His eyes are so pretty when he's trying not to cry. The Jiang aren't in a great place during the war, but Shang Qinghua knows the sect makes it through and he doesn't remember any Jiang disciples being asked to heroically sacrifice themselves after Lotus Pier falls. Plus the food is better and there's plenty of room at the top! A veritable power vacuum. To say nothing of all the empty space in Jiang Cheng's personal life when almost everyone he loves dies and leaves him alone! Anyway this is the story of how Shang Qinghua accidentally paints a series of targets on his back, unnecessarily involves himself in the plot, and overcomplicates his life because being a sucker for a pretty face and a bad personality is even more integral to his character than underappreciated grunt work. Probably he manages to save Yanli, at least. He's not interested in being a stepfather! That's a lot of work. Wei Wuxian barely notices he exists until either he saves everyone or the second life roles around, depending on how ambitious and/or motivated Shang Qinghua is feeling. Then he hates him passionately, but it's too late. They probably eventually reach some kind of begrudging peace.

[pangolinheart]

FFXIVWrite 2023 DAY 9 - FAIR

In which Z'rhiki encounters an unlikely ally at a local street festival!

**Update: now edited for typos!**

Rating: General Genre: Fluff Characters: Urianger Augurelt, Z'rhiki Irhi (Warrior of Light) Word Count: 1,154 Content Warnings: None

Alright, this time for sure! The last one was so close! I can do this! Angle my wrist like this… keep my hand steady… AND-

“Doth mine eyes deceive? Z’rhiki?”

The sound of her own name startled Rhiki, disrupting her carefully positioned throw. The wooden ring, painted to look like a dancer’s tathlum, clattered down between the empty wine bottles, nowhere near finding a home around any of their necks. “Urianger?” She spared a frown at the carnival game before turning to see the familiar elezen.

“Indeed. Pray accept mine apology for the intrusion.”

Of all the places she might have expected to run into Urianger, this had to be towards the bottom of the list. It was a far cry from the solitude of the Waking Sands’ library, or even the whimsical, flower-strewn fields of Il Mheg. The street around them bustled with people. The air was alive with talking and laughter, punctuated by the shouting of barkers hoping to entice passers-by with their games or wares, and it carried on it the pleasant scents of all manners of food. Dusk had faded into night, and the streets were lit with brightly colored lanterns and twinkling strings of light, adding to the festive atmosphere. Though most might dismiss him as just another, ordinary fairgoer, to Rhiki he seemed out of place in such a crowded, lively venue.

“Don’t worry about it!” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the music and chatter. “What are you doing here?”

Urianger’s lips curved into a small smile. “The same as thee. Partaking of the myriad delights of the fair.”

“Really? Why?” The incredulous words escaped her mouth before she could stop them, and she hoped they didn’t come across as rude. Urianger’s smile faded, though not in a way that indicated he had taken offense. Instead, his expression looked… almost melancholy. Perhaps it was just the dim lighting.

“Thou seest through me like the thinnest of gossamer,” He mused. “Indeed, it was not mine intent to join in the revelries. However, upon the fall of twilight I found myself idle and could not help but to hear the jocundity of the carnival. My mind was grasped by a most singular thought – that such an affair was the sort that… Moenbryda might have enjoyed. Thus, did I resolve to wile away the evening with merrymaking, as she might have.”

“Oh,” Z’rhiki said, casting her gaze downward. She felt badly for asking, but also somewhat heartened by his truthful and open response. “Well, um, did you come by yourself?”

He nodded. “Thou art correct in thine assessment. However, mayhap I might pose the same to thee? ‘Tis passing strange to see thee in solely thine own company,”

She suddenly felt a little embarrassed. Was it that strange for her to be at the fair by herself? “I’m not alone! Fripon came with me!”

Urianger looked down to see the small white unicolt at his feet. Rhiki’s constant companion.

“A worthy escort.” He noted. He made no further comment, but she felt the urge to elaborate regardless.

“Usually, I would have asked Alisaie and Alphinaud to come,” she explained, “but they’re visiting home in Sharlayan this week. I asked Tataru if she wanted to go, but she wasn’t feeling well. And I have no idea where Thancred’s gotten off to. It seemed like a shame to miss out on the fun, though, so I thought I would just… come by myself!”

Urianger nodded. “I see,” There was an awkward pause, during which both struggled to decide whether or not to let the interaction draw to a conclusion. Any bad blood from his previous deceptions had long since cooled, but the two had never had much in common, and for a long time Rhiki had struggled to even understand his formal, archaic manner of speech. There were still times she found his musings oblique or downright nonsensical.

To her surprise, it was Urianger who broke the stalemate. “Mayhap…” He ventured “Thou wouldst like company? I am led to believe that such merriment is improved by the presence of friends.”

“Oh,” she was simultaneously caught off guard and flattered, not just by the offer, but by the fact that Urianger referred to her as a friend. She shouldn’t have been shocked, she supposed – the Scions were all, at least by technical definition, her friends. But it was still strange to hear Urianger use the word in reference to her alone.

She had almost certainly taken too long to respond, and Urianger shifted uneasily, perhaps thinking he had overstepped. He looked like he was about to open his mouth, probably to offer her an easy avenue of declining his invitation, but before he could she made a split-second decision and blurted out:

“Yeah, that sounds nice! Let’s walk around together. We never hang out!”

Urianger looked as shocked as she had felt, his eyes widening slightly. He recovered quickly, however, and smiled warmly. The expression suited him, she thought to herself.

“As thou pleases,”

At their feet, Fripon had begun snuffling around the hem of Urianger’s robes, apparently sensing the discomfort dissipate. He had always been very perceptive, and often mirrored Rhiki’s feelings towards people – even those she tried to hide, or didn’t recognize herself. He had never known quite what to make of Urianger. Maybe because she’d never known quite what to make of Urianger. Tonight, though, he seemed emboldened.

The tall man either didn’t notice the unicolt or made no comment. Instead, he had turned his head to look at the ring-toss game Rhiki had been attempting when he had first called out to her. “Once again, mine apologies for disrupting thine efforts. Hast thou been yet successful?”

Rhiki laughed sheepishly. “Not yet. It’s more difficult than it looks! I was trying to win that Major General plushie, but so far no luck.”

“Indeed,” Urianger’s eyes wandered the game stall, and he tilted his head from side to side, thinking. He lifted one hand to stroke his chin as he contemplated. “The angle and height at which one must toss is quite precise, as is the amount of force one must apply. It is clear to me that such a design is intended to minimize the odds of success.”

“Uh-huh.” Rhiki couldn’t tell if he was discovering this fact for the first time himself, or if he had intended to enlighten her. “That is kind of how festival games work.”

“However,” He removed his hand from his face and held a single finger up in the air. “I do believe it is possible to achieve, if one is only able to calculate the trajectory with sufficient accuracy.”

“Wait, really?” She looked at him askance. “Do you think you can do that?” He had to be bluffing.

He smiled again, exuding a quiet confidence, and nodded. “Mayhap! Would thou allow me to take the next turn in thine stead?”

[deliciousfoodstories]

Honey Glazed Chicken: A Taste of Forgiveness

In the charming town of Willow Creek, where the streets were lined with blossoming cherry trees and laughter filled the air, a small family-owned restaurant called “Sweet Harmony” thrived. The place was known for its signature dish: honey glazed chicken, a recipe passed down through generations of the Morales family. Each bite was a symphony of flavors, combining the sweetness of honey with a hint of tangy mustard and soy sauce, all harmonized by fragrant herbs.

The restaurant was run by Elena Morales, a warm-hearted woman with a contagious smile. She had inherited the establishment from her late father, who had taught her the importance of cooking not just for sustenance but for connection. However, since his passing, Sweet Harmony had struggled to find its rhythm again. The once-bustling dining room now felt emptier, a reflection of Elena’s own heart, which ached with the loss of her father.

One crisp autumn day, as leaves swirled gently to the ground, Elena prepared for the dinner rush. The familiar sound of pots and pans filled the kitchen as she marinated the chicken in her secret honey glaze, her thoughts drifting to her estranged brother, Marco. They had grown apart after a bitter argument years ago, and though she missed him, pride held her back from reaching out.

Just as she was lost in thought, the bell above the restaurant door jingled. Startled, she turned to see a figure step inside—a tall man with dark hair and a hesitant smile. It was Marco.

“Elena,” he said, his voice a mix of nerves and nostalgia. “I’ve been meaning to come by.”

Elena’s heart raced. “Marco. It’s… been a while.”

“Too long,” he admitted, his eyes scanning the cozy interior filled with memories of their childhood. “I wanted to talk.”

Taking a deep breath, Elena gestured for him to sit at a corner table. “Let’s talk, then.” She could feel the tension in the air, thick and unresolved.

As she prepared his meal, memories flooded back—of their parents laughing in the kitchen, of Sunday dinners filled with love and warmth. She marinated the chicken, pouring her heart into the dish, hoping it might bridge the gap between them.

When she placed the honey glazed chicken in front of him, Marco’s eyes lit up. “This looks incredible. You always knew how to make it just right,” he said, his voice tinged with emotion.

Elena watched as he took the first bite, savoring the flavors. “It tastes just like home,” he murmured, and for a moment, they were both transported back to their happier days.

“Why did we let things get so bad between us?” Elena asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Marco sighed, his shoulders heavy with regret. “I was stubborn. I thought I knew better, and I didn’t want to listen. I’m sorry for how everything ended.”

Elena nodded, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I’ve missed you, Marco. This place isn’t the same without you.”

With a newfound vulnerability, Marco reached across the table, his hand resting on hers. “Can we start over? I want to help you make this place thrive again.”

Elena felt a rush of hope. “I’d like that. But it’ll take time.”

“I’m willing to put in the effort,” Marco promised. “Let’s make this restaurant a reflection of us—our family, our memories, and the love we’ve lost.”

As the evening progressed, they began to plan how they could revive Sweet Harmony together. They discussed new menu items, community events, and ways to bring the town together through food. With each idea shared, the bond between them began to heal, piece by piece.

Over the following weeks, Elena and Marco worked tirelessly side by side. They organized tasting nights to showcase the honey glazed chicken, inviting the townsfolk to share in the experience. The restaurant’s once-quiet atmosphere gradually filled with laughter and chatter, the sound of families gathering around tables, united by food and memories.

One evening, as they prepared for a special community event, Elena looked at Marco and said, “I can’t believe how far we’ve come. It feels like we’re not just rebuilding this restaurant, but also our family.”

Marco smiled, a genuine warmth radiating from him. “Food has a magical way of doing that, doesn’t it? It brings us back to our roots.”

As the sun set over Willow Creek, casting a golden glow through the windows, Elena served up plates of honey glazed chicken to delighted guests. The flavors danced on their palates, each bite a testament to the love and forgiveness that had been rekindled in the kitchen.

In that moment, Elena knew that Sweet Harmony was more than just a restaurant; it was a place where the past met the present, where forgiveness flourished, and where family ties were strengthened by the joy of sharing a meal.

As the last customers departed and the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, Elena and Marco stood together, looking out at the bustling restaurant. They knew they had not only revived a beloved establishment but also reconnected as siblings.

And so, with each serving of honey glazed chicken, they celebrated not just the flavors of their childhood but the power of love, forgiveness, and the promise of new beginnings.

[vampirezogar]

Those moments when your favourite story is ignored of the title of The Best Of Its Genre makes me sad

Like everybody don't talk about it anymore, I've been hearing about ppl saying it's getting bad even though we're on the good stuff right now? Why though? Is it because of the sex stuff?

Seriously the author just show us some implications of adult intimacy, it's not even outright graphic about it. Which is funny bcuz I know some stories which has the heavy 18+ adult scenes as it's main selling point and it ain't that even good don't get me started on the disgusting age gap, it's a fucking trend right now

The author is just fabulous she made both the writing and the illustrations,both are good in quality,hence why we get less updates but I'm willing to sacrifice, there were so many cases of creators like her getting tortured almost to death by the unreasonable workload the manager was a bitch apparently so I'm not hurrying anyone,if it took years, I'm willing to wait

She's similar to Miyazaki,they took a well-known generic genre and grind it and turned it into a new high quality masterpiece,it feels familiar but very new!

Like trying your favourite dish with different ingredients

Another author even made a story with a seemingly generic plotline of this genre at first then proceeded to turn it into a dark psychological horror:

The entire story is the character's dark emotional growth process. The narrative mentions several time of her emotional crisis and troubling mental state. It's nice they decided to put a realistic view on a popular fantasy setting

Not to mention the implied criticism on the tropes of this very story, it's like the author's way of saying "yes I decided to take a hammer and hit this thing till it's nothing like its original self" the funny thing is this story makes me wonder what kind of person would write it,shows how good they are at giving me brainrot and creative crisis

Tropes Subversion is my favourite genre as well

We love the molds breakers!!!!!

I kinda take issue with how you're using certain terms here like genre and generic or tropes and subversion; and maybe I'm just missing what your point is, but, ehh... I'm kind of a pedantic weirdo.

For starters, "subversion" is a trope. I get that people tend to use it to mean 'making a cliché not cliché anymore' (usually by force, i.e. with a hammer), but that's usually actually an author using the tropes of their genre effectively, sometimes including subversion.

Then we have the connotation of "genre" coming across as if it is meant to be taken for granted. Meanwhile, "generic" is just bad. These two words describe the same function. If a work of fiction is of a genre, it is necessarily generic. It is wild to me how "generic" held onto its nasty connotation from the days when "genre fiction" was a term that mean childish and repetitive.

We gotta remember that cliché is the norm for us. And not for no reason, cliché is comfort food. It's unchallenging. It gets put down for being nonintellectual, which is true, but cliché is familiar.

It may be the case that your peers do not share your appreciation for your favorite author because they do not find the comfort and familiarity of the genre's typical trappings. It may also be the case that your appreciation of your favorite author is, in part, due to a generic cliché.

Sorry if this came across kinda grouchy. Thank you for the message!🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

[slowlycasualtraveler]

7 Trends You May Have Missed About cars Pwllheli

https://media-cldnry.s-nbcnews.com/image/upload/t_fit-760w

Benefits Of Selecting A Private Vehicle Rental Company

Personal Automobile Rental Companies

There are several wonderful advantages related to hiring a rental car from an exclusive car rental business instead of making use of public transport approaches for moving around. Here are some of the reasons you should utilize this alternative over various other ways:

You can have overall control over the automobile

You could be aware of the idea that there are various kinds of autos. This isn't only real yet if we even more discover this principle after that it comes to be a lot more clear to us regarding the numerous distinctions in automobiles and also just how they work as well as what all they do. These might seem like really small details yet they help a whole lot when it involves driving. In the case where you could need to drive across town and even further away from house, having a map or instructions useful helps out a lot. If any type of motorist has an automobile then he would certainly at least know his surroundings well. Nonetheless, those that utilize public transportations know nothing concerning their surrounding which makes them vulnerable to crashes. When it comes to renting out a lorry via a private cars and truck rental company, you reach select the best option for yourself. For example, if you desire something extra unique or glamorous, you can go for it. Furthermore; you would not have to worry about just how secure the course is because the whole process would be dealt with by the company.

You avoid the long lines of buses as well as trains

When it pertains to traveling, the first thing that comes to mind is most likely going to be getting involved in a bus or train station to take a trip back home. Now, visualize going through miles of buses waiting your turn as well as listening to countless announcements informing every person just how much time they have actually left before boarding and also how much money you need to pay. Not to mention, when you ultimately make it inside, you probably won't locate a seat. This is just a normal scenario that everybody faces daily. Envision if you had a private automobile and you were not required to wait in line! What fun that would certainly be right?! We can ensure you that renting a lorry isn't as pricey as it seems to be.

You can save time

Time monitoring abilities aren't our strong suit. So when we consider time management, it generally consists of taking advantage of readily available spare time to make sure that we don't spend way too much time doing worthless things. Leasing an automobile is an excellent instance of being able to take full advantage of time By merely calling a company as well as picking a car, you can save hours of wasting time sitting in a bus or train. An additional benefit of leasing a car is that there are no rules or limitations. Regardless of the length of time the journey is, we can start driving as quickly as we prepare.

You prevent getting lost.

When you plan on traveling somewhere, there are specific things you should bear in mind. For example, you must figure out where you must park, how much time it will certainly require to reach your location, whether it's secure to traverse throughout areas, etc. This action alone is important since you never ever want to risk obtaining stuck somewhere where you don't belong. That said, many people have a tendency to obtain lost when they get out of their familiar surroundings. They typically try to rely upon maps only to Visit this link find that they've gotten themselves right into a bad circumstance. An auto enables its passengers to conveniently navigate with unfamiliar terrain. Rather than losing time seeking signs pointing towards where you require to go.

You save precious time.

On your daily trips, you could need to stop off for fuel, food, remainder, washroom breaks, appointments, and so on. Sometimes, you might need to leave your trip mid-way due to scheduling disputes, unexpected scenarios, or something else completely. If you choose to utilize public transportation, you'll greater than most likely face long lines. Moreover, the chances of experiencing a hold-up are significantly high because many people share the same course. Nonetheless, suppose you had a vehicle? Your trip would be smooth sailing.

Your personal privacy is maintained.

If you do not want anybody to recognize that you are seeing your good friend's residence or maybe going on a business trip, after that why would certainly you enable them to adhere to along with you and even see where you're going when you can hire a personal automobile? Privacy is essential, specifically when it involves individual matters. It makes a lot of feeling to preserve your personal privacy. You are completely capable of driving safely as well as safely to any place you require to go. All that requires to be done is to get a car that provides full privacy. Don't let people attack your area whenever they pick.

[song-of-the-rune]

OKAY! So for reference. This is the same character who suggested the skeleton eat the poison. (For anyone familiar -- we're in the first book of Blood Lords. For anyone not familiar, it's a pretty gory setting, so there's your warning.)

WOW this post got long. TL;DR have you ever tried to trade an indoor pool for someone's roomba and then gotten murdered for it but you're okay now

Background:

Party finds two poisons investigating a farm. The two poisons aren't that bad so they're trying to figure out why someone would bother -- and ask the very good question, what do they do when combined? (Fortunately for aforementioned skeleton, they attack the muscles and nervous system, not bones. So the skeleton is fine.) Llorian, who realizes that the skeleton is probably not a good test for poison, asks the dwarf to try it as well. He refuses. Good for him, that would've been awful.

Party finishes investigating, reports back to their present employer, who's a necromancer/local politician/member of the board of agriculture by the name of Berline. She thanks them for their help, hands out a few rewards, all that normal stuff. Llorian mentions the possibility that they have some combined effect. Berline -- whose servants will not even come within 5 feet of her out of pure fear, who loves to make cheery threats about turning people into mindless undead farmhands, and who has made these threats toward the party before -- offers to send them a "test subject." Llorian agrees.

Later that evening, (somehow) to Llorian's surprise, at the party's current residence arrives a terrified maid, Kel. You know. The test subject that Llorian agreed to. Llorian apologizes and decides to hire her with rather generous pay and says she won't be forced to be an experiment if she doesn't fully consent. Probably the nicest thing anyone's ever done for Kel tbh. I figure, okay, they missed a rather sugar-coated offer, this will have consequences but the party will smooth things over.

So y'know. We talk a little OOC and I figure that's as weird as it's going to get. (Spoiler: Whenever you think this, you are always wrong.)

Today's session:

So, party does some work, is still waiting to hear back from Berline, haven't figured out what to do about Kel yet. They got a new house and have cleaned it up, it's looking nice! It has lots of very nice Gebbian amenities like a torture room, some prison cells, and a thirty-foot long scrying pool embedded in the floor filled with writhing viscera. Berline shows up at their house with food as a housewarming feast and says she has some business. Food is great! Kel hides in a hidden passage somewhere in the basement so that Berline doesn't know she's still alive. Everything's going fairly smoothly, until the obvious question comes up -- "have you learned anything about the poisons yet?"

Llorian's brilliant response is not a lie. It is not a description, or a "no effects yet," or a "the subject got away and we're working on finder her again." It is not even "the test subject never arrived" or "what test subject" or "uhhh I'm not willing to do that." It's, "Oh, I've been so busy that I forgot." (About this living, breathing human that you've been housing for days? hope she got water) So, Berline gives Llor the benefit of the doubt, tells her that she can go do it now, and sends one of her zombies along to "assist."

Well, earlier in this session, the party found a skull fairy. Skull fairies aren't actually fairies, although they look a bit like pixies. They like to rip people's heads off in order to collect their skulls. The skull fairy lives in the area that Kel is hiding in, but has been instructed not to take the skulls from people -- in exchange, it gets the rest of the skulls the party comes across. Pretty sweet deal if you're a skull fairy, as far as it's concerned, it just traded three quarters for a thousand dollars.

When the zombie isn't looking, Llorian signals the skull fairy to rip its head off. It does! Zombie lets out a horrendous scream, redead style. Now we have the escorting zombie decapitated in the basement, the necromancer upstairs growing impatient, and an unfinished job. The zombie's body falls down because this was NOT a clean cut and it's been absolutely brutalized. So it's not getting back up.

So Llorian goes back upstairs and explains what happened. You see, the skull fairy downstairs destroyed your zombie. Berline is irritated at this point, and says she's going to take something of equal value, as rituals aren't cheap and that was one of her better zombies.

This is the point where things start getting derailed. Llorian offers for Berline to take revenge on the skull fairy. She says she's not interested in revenge, she just wants to replace the zombie. Llorian offers for her to take the skull fairy home. She effectively says "what do I want a skull fairy for? How does this help me keep our farms running?" and Llorian concedes that this doesn't make sense. I can't get a counteroffer in because the party is at this point floundering to try to appease this necromancer who will probably make ghoul food of all of them if they mis-step. One of the party members offers to cover the cost of the ritual, which she's about to accept, when Llorian offers:

The thirty-foot long visceral scrying pool downstairs. That's embedded in the floor. You may as well offer someone your fucking. indoor pool. is it nice? yeah! is it a weird replacement in terms of price comparison for a modest sum of gold? yes it is. is it absurdly impractical to move from one house to another? to carry up a narrow spiral staircase? yes. It is basically IMPOSSIBLE to actually give her this. At this point I am literally laughing so hard I can't breathe. and I can't explain why because I CAN'T BREATHE.

I finally catch my breath enough to giggle out that she'll take just enough money to cover the ritual costs. She tells Llorian to go down and "do her job and finish the experiment," and of course Llorian gives a very bright response:

"Well, technically, I asked you for advice, this wasn't part of the job you hired us for." (The job was to investigate what happened at the farm... But even still, I don't think this would go over well if she were right, either.)

Llorian is now a mummy (I figured I'd teach her a lesson without straight up killing the character... merciful deity that I am). Kel is now a ghost (thanks Rikkal!). None of the party is all too happy about it, but what the hell else could I do? And there's definitely nothing they can do about this all at level two.

I look down at the adventure path book to get myself back on track, and I see:

Award the players 80 experience for celebrating with Berline.

But I can't get over the scrying pool offer. I'm still giggling about it hours later. What the fuck?

Just had the most absurd fucking session, waiting til I'm at my pc to write it up

Also playing Red Dragon Inn post-game, played the wench and got absolutely wasted but still came in second, then played nitrel, blew shit up, and got kicked out of the inn for being broke lmao. Fun game XD

[i-cant-sing]

Promise: Yandere Godfather Hawks x Todoroki reader

This is a side story takes place in the YRHR series, after part 1, when the reader returns home, blind.

Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

"Y/n... Come on, wake up. Its 9 already." You heard him say, feeling the bed dip as he sat on it, gently touching the back of your shoulder. "Aren't you hungry? Mom's making your favourite."

When you gave no response, Shotou pulled the covers away from your face, his brows furrowing at the bandages around your eyes that had loosened up. You had did that, clawing at the meticulously tight knot Natsuo had done; you didn't like how it settled on your eyes.

"You're awake, right?" The only answer he got was you turning your cheek further away from him when he tried to caress it. Shotou didn't like your silence and he missed it when you used to ramble about almost anything to him. He missed when you were happy.

The door bell rang.

Shotou looked at his watch confused. Wasn't Natsuo supposed to come around at 11? He could hear Enji walking to the main door, and after a few seconds of silence, he heard footsteps coming towards your room. But then he heard some scuffling, and people talking- he recognised Enji's and Dabi's voices, his brother's getting louder by the second.

"I'll check who's there. Stay."

Stay? You would've rolled your eyes if, you know, you still had them.

A few more minutes passed and you could hear Dabi arguing with someone, and you think that Shotou is trying to calm him down. Deciding to take advantage of the situation, you got up from the bed. For the past whole month, Shotou would come to wake you up everyday, carrying you in his arms to the bathroom, never letting you walk on your own, claiming "you'll get hurt".

Idiot.

Taking one small step at a time, you stretched your arms out trying to reach the wall. Once you felt the cold, smooth surface, you used it to guide you towards the door.

No matter what you did, or how many times you told them to back off, that you can do this on your own, they wouldn't let you. Hell, you were pretty sure that if they could, they would breathe for you too. As if trying to instil in your mind that you're helpless without them, incapable of making your own decisions.

I'll show them how fucking capable I am.

After stubbing your toe only once, you finally reached the door, your hand gripping the metal knob. You placed your ear on the door, trying to figure out who and where everyone is standing. The corridor seemed empty and you think everyone is downstairs.

Opening the door, you used another wall to guide you towards the stairs. You hoped Shotou doesn't see you; he'd throw a hissy fit at you attempting to walk down the stairs.

As you took one careful step at a time, you heard the commotion grow louder. You could hear Dabi yelling profanities at the other person, certainly not Enji because Rei or Fuyumi would've stepped in by now to stop him. You used to stop him too, but ever since what happened, you don't really care anymore.

"Why the fuck are you even here?! She doesn't fucking want to see you!"

"Dabi-!"

"And who is gonna stop me? You? I'd be happy to knock you down on your ass- its about goddamn time!"

"Hawks!"

Hawks?

Hawks.

Hawks!

You almost stumbled down the last few steps, but you needed to know- was he, was he really here?

"K-Keigo?"

You heard his wings flap before you felt him, the wind gushed at your body strongly, making you lose your balance. But muscular arms wrapped around you before you could fall, and the winged hero lifted you up and spun you around, making you burst into laughter.

Rei was the first one to cry.

You laughed.

Not a bitter, sarcastic one.

A genuinely happy laugh.

And she missed her baby's laugh so much.

Dabi's eyes widened slightly. His heart clenching up a bit as he realised how he missed that beaming look on your face. He realised how fucking naive you were, how you were his little sister that he needed to protect.

Shotou felt envy. Why- why didn't you laugh like that with him? Why didn't you laugh for him? Was he... not a good brother?

Fuyumi actually rushed out of the kitchen when she heard you, her hands coming up to her mouth to suppress the sob that was building up. Too long. It had been too long since you were happy.

Natsuo smiled. He smiled as he saw you chortle when the hero's feathers tickled your cheek. He wished you would smile more often.

Enji's breath hitched as he saw you chuckle into Hawk's shoulder. It was so natural, so lively, so radiant. He had been dying to hear that sweet sound again.

Your heart was beating fast and your stomach was doing somersaults as you felt the air rushing through your hair and cooling on to your neck, the soft feathers brushing across your skin.

He really was here.

But so were they.

And you could feel their eyes on you.

Keigo frowned when he saw you curl yourself into him, as if trying to bury yourself into his chest. When he looked around, he saw them glaring and that's when he puffed out his wings before curling them around you; shielding you.

"I'll be spending time with my goddaughter. Do not disturb us." And with that, Hawks flew you up to your room, locking the door before they could sat anything. He could hear Dabi arguing, but he trusted Enji to handle him.

He set you on your bed, chuckling as you didn't let go of his collar.

"Its okay, dove. I'm here, now- ow!" You cut him off by punching his arm.

"Where were you?!"

"In your heart- ow! Stop hitting me!" He caught your wrists.

"You said you were gonna visit me at home! Its been a whole month-"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry but believe me, I really was busy!" Sighing, he continued. "The hero commission sent me to Europe for a mission and things got a bit messy, so I got caught up."

Yanking your hands out of his grip, you scowled. "Would it have killed you to call?"

"I mean I wouldn't say kill, but I probably could've lost a limb or two-" He started laughing when when you began getting up to walk to the door.

Keigo wrapped his arms around you, smiling cheekily"Y/n- I'm sorry, I'm just kidding. Come back-"

"No, let go! I don't have time for your bullshit" He continued laughing, easily picking you up and dropping you back on your bed.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Come on, now. Stop being mad." You heard him shuffling. "Besides, I've got something for you!"

He dropped something in your lap. You picked an item, your hands feeling around it, trying to figure out what the rectangular shaped box was.

"Whats this?"

"Oh, here. Let me help you." He lifted the lid of the box and you were immediately hit by a familiar smell.

"Chocolate?"

He hummed in confirmation"Your favourite ones too! They were always sold out! Luckily, I was able to use my charm on the owner."

"Charm? Oh, you mean where you pull that ugly smirk and do that half lidded look with your eyes, and you think that you look hot but you actually just look creepy?"

"Yeah- hey!"

And then the next 3 hours were spent like that, Hawks telling you about Europe and the bad guys he caught, you telling him about the way your family had been treating you.

"They don't let me do anything, they don't give me any privacy! Its like- its like they want me to be a doll!" You gave an exasperated sigh. "They- they act like they are being so generous. Like it was somehow my fault that my eyes got fried!"

"Oh come on. They can't be that bad-"

"They are! So much worse than before. Look, I'm a grown up- I need my space too! You know what Shotou said when I asked him to get me a walking stick? He said I don't need one since he can carry me everywhere. Do you know how embarrassing it is to get carried to the toilet every single day? Do you?!"

"Well, no-"

"And then Fuyumi cuts up my food and spoon feeds me herself! I know I'm blind but its not like I'm gonna stuff the food up my nose or something!"

The hero snickered at that.

"And then Enji reads me these novels or the newspaper and he skips over the parts he thinks I'm too "young" or "immature" to understand! They even monitor what I listen to! Fuyumi or Shotou would be quick to change the channel if something above pg 10 comes on!" You ran a hand through your hair frustratedly. "I asked Enji to get me a Braille and the first few time he pretended like he didn't hear me, before finally saying that I don't need one!"

"Don't worry, I'll sneak in a Braille for dummies the next time I visit."

"Hey-! Wait... what do you mean "next time"?"

"Oh come on! I promise I'll come earlier next time. Maybe in like 2 weeks-"

"No."

"What-"

"No. I want to leave this place today. You promised."

"Y/n-"Keigo reached to place a hand on your shoulder but you pushed him off.

"You. Promised. You said you'll get me out of here when I leave the hospital" You inhaled deeply. "Well, guess what, Hawks? Its been a whole month."

"I know but you're not well enough-"

"I AM! If anything, staying here is harming me more!" Your tone was getting angrier. "You said- you said you would take me away from them."

"I can't do it right now. The hero commission needs me-"

"I need you! Or am I just not worth your time?"

"Please, dove- try to understand. How will I take care of you if I'm out at the agency?"He tried to pet your head but you smacked his hand away, snarling at him.

"You're a liar. A big fucking liar! Was this the plan all along? To give me hope that you'll save me, only to fucking crush it?!" The hero managed to dodge the box of chocolates you threw at him. "I don't need fucking chocolate or your stupid presents. I need to get out of this goddamn house!"

The hero began walking towards the door. "You're not thinking rationally- I'll- I'll leave." But before the hero could manage to take another step, you were leaping towards him, but since you couldn't see, you only managed to fall near his feet. When he grabbed your shoulders to help you up, you were quick to latch onto him, wrapping your arms around his torso tightly.

"No- no! Don't go. Please, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that. Please, don't be mad. I swear I'll behave, just don't leave me here!" Your hold onto him was becoming painfully tight.

Keigo felt like someone was breaking his heart piece by piece as he looked at you. The way your body shook from your pitiful sobs, the way you held onto his jacket as if your life depended on it- he was forced to remember how vulnerable you looked the night he brought you back to the this house. The same night when you begged and begged him to fly you away, that you'll do anything as long as he didn't dropped you back at the Todoroki estate.

"Y/n- darling, love, listen to me. I promised you that I'll keep you save, didn't I? I promise I'll come back soon-"

"YOU BROKE YOUR PROMISE! CAN'T YOU SEE WHAT SHE'S DONE TO ME! SHE BURNED MY FUCKING EYES HAWKS! I'M FUCKING BLIND! DO I NEED TO LOSE A LIMB FOR YOU TO GET ME OUT OF HERE?! DO I HAVE TO SUFFER FROM ANOTHER "ACCIDENT"?!"

Hawks knew that bitch Rei did this on purpose, he knew and it killed him that he couldn't save you from her. He wanted to tell you that he believed you, and he was preparing a place for you. But the hero knows your siblings were eavesdropping, right on the other side of the door.

He had to be careful and play the fool if he wanted to get you out of this hell hole.

"Y/n please-"

You shook your head repeatedly, pulling him closer to you as you shrieked at him. "No. NO! I wont let you go! I WON'T LET YOU LEAVE WITHOUT ME! Keigo, I'm begging you! Take me with you, please! I'll die! I'll die! I'LL FUCKING DIE, KEIGO! PLEASE!"

Your loud screams had your siblings bursting through the door, obviously using a spare key. "Y/n, whats wrong-" You jumped away when they touched your shoulder, giving Hawks chance to slip away.

You instantly reached out for him, flailing your arms around to get a hold of him again. But the hero was already out the door and your siblings quickly pulled you back into their arms, shushing you, trying to calm you down.

But you were inconsolable. Thrashing around in Shotou's arms, you kept begging for Hawks to come back. "HAWKS COME BACK! LET ME GO! HAWKS, PLEASE! I'LL DIE! I'LL DIE! I'LL DIE!" It pained them to see you like this, so hysterical; Shotou and Fuyumi whispered sweet nothings but you payed them no mind. Natsuo knew you were going to hyperventilate soon, but he was more worried about you bursting a vessel in your head.

Thinking fast, he quickly brought up a tranquilliser- and the moment the sharp smell of the alcohol swab hit your nose, you were wrestling harder to get out Shotou's and Fuyumi's arms.

"Y/n, please calm down-"

"FUCK YOU! LET ME GO! KEIGO! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY! COME BACK- STOP! STOP TOUCHING ME! STOP!" You screamed louder than before when you felt her cold hands gripping your arm, holding it still so that your brother could administer the dose.

As the drug began taking effect, your thrashing slowed down before you finally slumped into Shotou's arms. The tranquilliser numbed the headache that was forming, and you felt Fuyumi use a tissue to wipe the snot and the spit off your face.

"I'll die... I'll die... And you won't be there. And I'll die..."

Hawks was in a trance like state as he watched Shotou tuck you under the covers. He wanted to use his sharp feathers to slice off that cold bitch's hand that brushed the hair out of your face, before pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your daunting screams rang through his ears; his chest felt like some was shoving a knife through it slowly as he played back the image of you trying to wring yourself free from their arms, one hand still reaching out for him. It took everything in him not to grab it and pull you away from those monsters, but he had to remind himself of the bigger picture.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't even notice the pyromaniac standing next to him until he spoke.

"This is all your fault."

Hawks looked at Dabi. His fault?

"You shouldn't have come here."

"She's my goddaughter-"

"Shut the fuck up." Dabi narrowed his eyes at the hero. "She's like this because you gave her false hope. Hope, that one day she'll get away from us. You and I both know that's not gonna happen." He sighed before continuing. "You call yourself a hero, but in reality, you're no better than us."

As Hawks turned to leave, not willing to let the villian get on his nerves, Dabi spoke again.

"Dont bother coming back. She won't forgive you. She'll never forget this betrayal."

Hurtful as they were, he knew the words he said were true.

Hawks was almost out the gates when he saw Enji sitting in the garden, looking at the koi pond. He should've left, should've flown away but there was something in Enji's eyes that had the winged hero walking towards him. He recognised the emotion as soon as he got close.

Sorrow.

Or was it guilt?

Perhaps a mixture of both.

"Endeavour, are you... alright?"

The number 1 hero looked away from the fish and blinked at him.

"Hawks? What are you still doing here?"

The blonde chuckled nervously. "I was just on my way out." He gazed at him. "Are you okay? You seem to be in deep thought."

Enji only stared at him. Taking his silence as the answer, Hawks turned to leave.

"Why did you come here today, Keigo?"

Keigo.

He suppressed the urge to shudder the way his name rolled off his tongue.

"She's my goddaughter too. Why? Do you think it was a bad decision to come?"

"No." Enji sighed. "I just- she hadn't laughed like that in a long time."

Hawks stood beside him. "She's still traumatised from the kitchen accident. Its understable-"

"No. She hadn't laughed like that for a long time, even before this happened." Enji's eyes moved towards the night sky. The stars were twinkling extra bright tonight. How he wished you could see it. "Before she lost her sight, she used to look out the window, her eyes searching sky." He gulped. "She was looking for you, Keigo. You- you made her happy, you make her laugh. I don't."

Hawks placed his hand on Enji's shoulder. "That's not true, Enji. You do make her happy. She loves you. She feels safe with you. She sees you as her protector."

"She does?"

He nodded. "Of course. If you want things to return to normal, you need to treat her normally too. Just- just talk to her. Sort out the issues and wash away whatever fears she has." Hawks wanted Enji to listen to you, to really listen to you and protect you from Rei. He could only hope that Enji understood what he meant.

Hawks was right, Enji realised. Whatever delusions you have of Rei wanting to hurt you on purpose, of being the "bad person", they can all be cleared up if he just talked to you. Ever since the incident, the family avoided talking to you about Rei or the events that had occurred that day.

If he just talked to you, things will return to normal. You'll become happy again.

"Thank you, Keigo."

Hawks only smiled in return. "I'll be leaving now."

"Okay. When will you visit again?"

"I'll be gone for longer now. The hero commission is sending me on another mission again."

"Oh. Safe travels, then."

As Hawks flew away, he began thinking about the house.

The house where he was going to take you to soon. He just needs to add a few finishing touches before he sets his plan in motion. The plan to rescue you, and eventually Enji, from those sadist that call themselves your family.

He will not let his dove get hurt again.

He'll save you this time.

He promises.

Thoughts?

Idk how this turned out, angst wasn't the plan initially. Guess I'll write godfather Hawks fluff for another day.

Anyways, now that this is done, I'll start working on RE 8 fic now.

[diosmio76]

What I Deserve (2) | soft Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Bucky couldn’t believe his luck when he found you. So innocent, so alone, and so naive. He had been following you throughout the week, hell- he wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore and you never noticed him once.

Pairing: Dark!Bucky x Reader

WARNINGS: +18, dub-con, needle use, stalking, fingering, kidnapping, kind of non-con (more dub-con but just incase)

Word Count: 3,076

A/N: my timeline on which version of Barnes is fucked up and a mix of everything honestly // my first ever time writing smut, and honestly I'm open to constructive criticism b/c I have no experience in this area LOLZ

You squeezed your eyes as you stretched your body. Feeling your comforter rise and fall against your skin from your movements. You hung your feet off your bed and stretched them before standing up. You did your usual set of morning stretches, were they done correctly? Probably not, but it was the thought that counts and the only form of self-care you gave yourself. You let out a sigh as you got ready for another day similar to all the rest. You don’t even remember what it felt like to be excited about waking up, but who were you to complain. You used the toilet as you went back and forth in your mind about nothing in particular, your eyes staring at your bed that was quickly losing the warmth it collected from your body. Once done in the bathroom you dragged yourself to your vanity, hearing the faint noise of cars on the street, you began getting ready for work. After changing and grabbing your tattered work bag, you began your journey with all the other commuters.

The day dragged on like any other, talking to coworkers only when they needed something from you. Hearing the usual remarks of “Oh, I didn’t notice you” or “I didn’t even see you there”, you got used to it but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t bother you. Before you had time to dwell on it, it was time to go home. You packed your bag then began your walk home, following the same route you always take during the week. Taking a little solstice in the fact that you were just another face in the crowd, that fact made you feel as if everyone else was alone too. Once home you locked the door and dropped your bag, heading to the bedroom you changed into an oversized shirt and put on your slippers before heading towards the living room. You turned on the tv and lowered the volume for some background noise, making the short trip towards the kitchen to make dinner. You rarely got messages on your phone unless it was from your mom or your phone provider wanting you to update your old phone, so you scrolled mindlessly through various social media newsfeeds. You munched on a vegetable as you waited for your pan to heat up. You tried to not feel bad for yourself, you were the one to blame for the lack of social life but you were in too deep. Too set in your ways. You stared at the steaming pan as you imagined moving across the country.

“Yeah right” you said aloud to yourself as you finished cooking your dinner, eating the food but not really tasting it.

~~~

You repeated the same routine the next day, unbeknownst to you today was the day that Bucky decided you were ready. It didn’t take him long to find a house isolated by miles of forest. Despite its unassuming traditional exterior, the inside was modern as he enjoyed the impersonal nature that the style provided. He spent the majority of his time there making sure the house was locked and secure in case you tried anything. The thought made him laugh a little, knowing you didn’t have it in you but he didn’t want to take any chances. Things had been going his way lately, and finding you was like the universe was rewarding him even more. At first, he considered getting to know you, and doing the whole flowers and dates thing but decided he didn’t have the patience for all that waiting, he’s been waiting long enough and he deserved something good. He settled on a much easier method. Breaking in was easy, old apartments like this barely gave him any trouble. He even had someone hold the building door open for him, just his luck.

The lock felt weird when you opened your door but you didn’t think anything of it, dismissing it as another sign of the building’s old age. He watched from afar as you went about your usual routine. He was beginning to become skeptical at how oblivious you were. He was practically behind you and you hadn’t even looked over your shoulder once. He even made some accidental noises by stepping on squeaky floorboards and didn’t get a reaction from you, he took this as another lucky break. You were tired today and fell asleep relatively easily, considering how long it typically took you to fall asleep. Bucky walked around your apartment as he waited for you to enter a deeper sleep, familiar with everything since he had been in here a few times since first spotting you all those weeks ago. He looked at your book collection, a mix of genres, and looked closer at the few photos you had on display. A majority of the old photos seemed to be of your family from decades ago. He picked up one that seemed more recent, the only one you had up that included you. He recognized the other two people in it, your mom and sister, both busy with their own lives. He already sized up your family and it would be easy to handle them if he needed to.

He walked into your bathroom and went through your medicine cabinet, finding nothing out of the ordinary besides a few nail polish bottles and various allergy medicines. Finally, he noticed the soft snores coming out of your room. He shut the cabinet, staring at his reflection for a second. He knew this was the right thing to do and had no bad intention. He softly grunted at his pathetic moment of self-reflection and took out a needle filled with a small dose of anesthesia. He observed you for a moment as you slept, mouth slightly agape and eyebrows relaxed, he considered for a moment how easy it would be to take you, but reminded himself of the bigger picture. He easily found a vein and waited a few minutes before taking you to your new home.

~~~

You squeezed your eyes shut and smiled to yourself as you thought about how well you slept last night. You hummed as you kept your eyes closed briefly noticing the absence of warmth that the morning sun provided you in the mornings. You thought nothing of it, too distracted by the fact that this was probably the best night’s sleep you’d gotten in months. Despite that you still felt a little groggy, you began to move but quickly felt something rough holding you down. Your eyes shot open as your breathing began to quicken. You became conscious of the rough restraints around your arms and legs. You awkwardly lifted your head up as you tried to look around, it looked like a basement based on the unfinished walls surrounding you, a single lightbulb hanging above you on the unfinished ceiling. You attempted to calm yourself down by deeply inhaling but knew it was a lost cause once you heard the shaky exhale leave your mouth. You knew you couldn’t break free from the knotted rope holding you down. You had weak arms and tried to use your leg strength in an attempt to kick yourself free but felt it begin to sting as it irritated your ankles from the pressure. You sat in a deafening silence and felt completely petrified.

You let out a whimper as you heard footsteps approaching the door. The door opened as you saw a tall, broad man approach you. You were too scared to notice anything about him and began to feel yourself shake, causing you to miss the way he hungrily reacted to your frightened state. A shadow was cast on you as he stood over the bed. From the corner of your eye, you watched as his right hand lowered the comforter to your torso and expose your shirt as you twitched at the action. He smirked in response, your eyes following his hand as it hovered over the comforter as though he was going to do something. It exited your line of sight but your eyes were fixed in place. You heard movement as he straightened himself before speaking to you for the first time.

“Did you sleep well? You’ve been out for most of the day” His deep voice filled the room as you kept shaking, too scared to answer. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears and wondered if he could too, but he was too busy trailing his eyes over your torso. He noticed the way your nipples created peaks on your oversized shirt. He licked his lips before he moved his hand up to grab your chin, forcing you to look up at him. You did your best at avoiding his gaze keeping your gaze low, you swallowed the lump in your throat and tried to control your shaking but felt it intensify instead.

Still gripping your chin, a little tighter than necessary, and trying to control your shaking body got him hard. You looked so weak like this, it made him excited, a wicked smile painted his face as he looked down at your wide eyes and lips clamped together in terror.

“Look at me when I talk to you, doll”

You had a difficult time looking people in the eyes in general, so you lifted your eyes and stopped at his chin. You didn’t dare go any higher. He squeezed on your chin and heard him let out an amused chuckle. If you weren’t so terrified you would have noticed how out of place it sounded given the situation.

“That’ll have to do, for now, I can tell you’re terrified but you really have no reason to be. I only want to do what’s best for you- for us, I’m only doing what needs to be done.” He didn’t expect a response and stared at you as he let you sit with his words.

He took a moment and let his hand trail down from your chin. He felt the nervous swallow as his pointer finger trailed lower and lower. His finger deviated from its straight path as he placed his palm against your chest, pausing to feel your heartbeat racing. He almost felt sorry as he felt its frantic rhythm. He couldn’t help himself as he cupped your left breast. His thumb gently circling around the hard bud. You scrunched your eyebrows and scolded yourself for getting pleasure from his action. His gentle touch was a strong contrast to the situation he had put you in.

His finger continued its journey down and stopped just above your mound. You swallowed as you felt his eyes staring at you intently, not daring to see if you were right. He lifted his hand momentarily as he moves to sit next to you, hearing the springs groan under him, pushing the comforter towards the bottom of the bed. You get chills as warmth escapes, feeling the crisp air conditioning surround your body instead. Jerking at his touch, he returns his right hand to your body just below your navel this time. His fingers trace down until it feathered above your mound. You held your breath as if any noise from you would assure that he would continue his actions as if he would forget you were there. You felt his pause when his fingers hit the material of your cotton underwear. He slowly traces a short line along your clit, you ball your hands into fists wanting to make him stop. Why was your body enjoying this?

You hold your breath as he gently pulls them down till they were at your knees and returns his hand to its previous place. The empty room is quiet, amplifying the sound of both of your breaths. You feel his middle and ring finger move lower gently stroking your folds. You hear him let out a surprised huff as he continued stroking.

“I was gonna bring lube, but it looks like we won’t be needing it, huh sweetheart?”

You felt your cheeks heat up, he was right. You felt heat building ever since he grabbed your chin, but he didn’t need to know that. All you wanted to do was at the very least was cover your face, but felt the irritation of the rope on your wrists instead. He began back and forth on your heat for a few moments. The room now having the added noise of his fingers slowly speeding up as he stroked you. You shut your eyes as he circled around your entrance, you could already tell his fingers would be significantly bigger than yours. He slowly inserted a finger as you sucked in a quick breath. You could hear him let out a quiet groan as he watched his finger disappear into your hole.

After finding a rhythm he added another finger. You let out a whimper at the fullness of both of his thick fingers filling your hole. It stung at first, hurting slightly you wanted to try and stop his intrusion. Besides your finger, you had never had anything else inside of you. You felt slightly embarrassed by this when you were younger but as you got older you accepted the fact that your lack of social life was a major reason as to why you never had anything close to a romantic partner. Never being social enough to meet someone that you would want to be friends with, let alone sleep with. You felt as though you should tell this man, did you even know his name, that this was the farthest you’ve ever gone with anyone before. Before you think any more about it you open your mouth, nothing coming out at first but it was enough for his eyes to go to your face. He slowed down his pace and had his eyes trained on your face waiting for you to speak as if his fingers weren’t leisurely stroking your soft walls in the meantime.

“I- I think I need to tell you something” The words left you slowly and your voice was shakey as you tried to speak and ignore your oncoming orgasm at his rough fingers stroking you gently. Why did you feel like you owed him this? You briefly thought to yourself. But it was too late to stop now.

He smirked at you as he waited for you to continue on. So far, you’ve shown him nothing but submissiveness. Cementing the fact that he made the right choice when he chose you. He didn’t plan on being this gentle with you originally but he couldn’t help it, feeling as though any other treatment would scare you away. His fingers never stopping their gentle strokes, he watched your lips as your quiet voice trembled on.

“I’ve never really, I haven’t done any of this before. I’m a virgin” the words leave you slowly, you gulp and still refuse to meet his gaze, scared for a moment that you would lose the gentleness he has given you thus far. You knew that wouldn’t stop him, but a small part of you hoped it would be enough for him to stop just for now. For the first time you decided to look at his face, still too scared to meet his eyes you opted to watch his mouth as you waited for a response.

To say he was ecstatic was an understatement. You had chosen to tell him this on your own, he didn’t even get a chance to ask you. He didn’t want to assume but based on his observations of you he had an inkling that this was the case. He felt proud of you, his perfect girl. He smiled gently at you in response. You shivered as his fingers paused their gentle strokes in you as he moved to kiss the top of your head.

“Thank you for telling me, my good girl” it sounded patronizing but your body thought otherwise. Feeling heat shoot straight to your core at his response. He felt you squeeze around his fingers at his response.

Once he felt that you adjusted to his fingers he began to alternate inserting them. Thrusting one and then the other inside of you. Your eyes squeezed shut, you never felt this close to cumming so quickly. Your eyes swelled with tears as you quietly sobbed, reaching your climax. Both of you watched as he pulled his fingers out of your sensitive heat. Covered in slick from your climax. You watched as he moved his fingers close to his face, smirking at you.

“Just a little taste for now,” he said he brought his fingers to his mouth to suck on his two fingers that were just inside you seconds ago. The empty room amplified the sound, your face felt hot as you watched the lewd act feeling your core still throbbing.

He reveled in your obvious embarrassment, humming at your reaction. He wiped his damp fingers on his pants as he got up. You blinked slowly, taking in what had just happened. You had enjoyed what had just happened but felt angry at yourself for that. He shouldn’t have done that, and you had let yourself succumb to his fingers so easily. He watched you, deep in thought with your eyes spaced out. His cock throbbed as if reminding him he needed a release too but he didn’t want to scare you. He had a plan, but you had just showed him that he didn’t have to be as rough as he initially thought with you. And he wouldn’t ever admit it but he couldn’t have even if he wanted to, as soon as he interacted with you it was almost as if he needed to handle you with care. Something that he thought wasn’t in his nature, but for you, maybe he’d try.

He felt his confident demeanor waver for a second, an odd feeling. He needed to get away from her and have a moment alone, so with a quick glance, he turned towards the door and practically ran out of the room without speaking to her.

Too busy thinking, you didn’t notice the foreign feelings your captor had just experienced. Only noticing this broad figure leaving the room as if he was late for something. If you weren’t so busy scolding yourself you would have wondered if you had done something wrong to elicit that action from him.

[milkiane]

deja vu

» don’t act like we didn't do that shit, too

SOUR COLLECTION

pairings: sarah cameron x reader

summary: after coming across sarah’s new instagram post, you had to do a double take at their new date photos, because it looked oddly familiar with the post you’ve archived.

warnings: kinda social media!au, mentions of food

word count: 992

the ping of your phone caught your attention, making you momentarily look away from the movie. you stared at it a little bit longer, deciding whether or not you should tap on the notification.

the screen went blank after a few more seconds, making you stare at yourself at the dark reflection of your screen. you sighed, turning it back on and letting yourself succumb to misery.

you watched in anticipation as the photos loaded, unsure of yourself if you really want to see it.

your eyebrows furrowed, doing a double-take at the pictures. your finger was swiping harshly at each photo. you paused for a moment, racking your brain for an explanation as to why it looked so familiar.

it’s when it hits you that you’ve done that with her, too. car rides to chapel hill, strawberry ice cream, one spoon for two. it’s the same post that you’ve archived when the both of you had called it quits.

you squeezed your eyes shut, ignoring the pain in your chest. you can’t believe that she took him to one of the places you’ve treasured. sure, it’s a public place, anyone and everyone could go there anytime they want, but what’s bothering you the most is the fact that it was your favorite go-to date. the one which the both of you always did. the secret ice cream parlor you spent weeks on finding.

you wonder if she gets déjà vu.

without a second thought, you double-tapped her post and threw your phone at the side of your bed. an unspoken action to the answer you both know.

it was the crack of dawn and you were sitting on the dock, feet swinging as it dangled on the edge. the sunrise was nice, it always was. a picturesque view to keep you distracted from the world.

there were footsteps from behind, but you never took your eyes off the watercolor sky.

you felt a presence beside you, and you saw a glimpse of dirty blonde hair.

“you always loved the sunrise, didn’t you?” sarah remarked, leaving a respectable amount of space between the both of you as she sat down, “i remember you waking me up first thing in the morning and dragging me out to watch it.”

you huffed an amused smile, though the next words that you were about to say were bitter, “i wonder if you do the same to booker,”

she furrowed her eyebrows, “what?”

“isn’t that what you’re doing?” you asked, taking your gaze away from the sky to look at her, “letting him experience what we’ve done in our relationship?”

“-car rides to chapel hill, strawberry ice cream then one spoon for two, really? when are you gonna tell him that we did that, too? he probably thinks it’s special,” you looked back at the view you’ve been admiring, “but it’s so reused. i mean, you brought him to our place, the secret ice cream parlor that i found.”

sarah swallowed the lump in her throat, looking away from you to watch the sunrise with you, just like before everything went downhill. you let the silence surround you both for a while, having missed being in her presence.

“do you get déjà vu when he’s with you?” you finally asked, fluttering your eyes shut as the wind caressed your face.

but before you could answer, the engine of a boat and the soft music blasting from it hindered her from answering.

“she’s so unique,” john b grinned, running a hand through his hair, the pogues all boo’ed at him for being a simp at such an early hour.

you let out a humorless chuckle, making sarah look at you with a defeated look. you stood up and dusted off your shorts, “a different lover now, but there’s nothing’s new.”

“of course you’d think she’s unique,” jj huffed, throwing the bandana at his face, “she’s the only girl you’ve successfully macked on.”

“do you get déjà vu, huh?” you looked at her one last time and left. leaving her to mull over the question.

you stared at your popcorn ceiling, a playlist full of bruno major’s songs playing on your speakers to keep the sad girl hour going for the rest of the night.

you wonder if there were instances wherein she’d forget that it’s john b she’s with and almost say your name, catching herself before she ruins what they have.

you hate to think that it’d be just you and her forever, slow dancing to bruno major until the world caves in.

you wouldn’t be surprised— if she’s doing that with him right now, humming along with the lyrics, bodies swaying, and hands intertwined. you wouldn’t be surprised if she tells him how much she loves him in between each song that plays.

you’re at your wit’s end as you wondered if you wanted to call the promnesia out just for the sake of making sarah feel guilty or because you felt bad for john b. either way, you didn’t get the answer to your own question as you let the heaviness of your chest and the occupation of your mind slowly give in to fatigue, but not before grabbing your phone to look for her contact number.

sarah did get déjà vu, sarah is getting déjà vu. just now, there was soft music, bruno major, playing from her bluetooth speakers. john b was snoring softly from beside her as she laid awake, musing your question.

she didn’t know what came to her and did all the things she did with you with john b. which puzzled her beyond belief because she broke up with you to experience new things with the pogue, yet here she was, doing the same thing again— just not with you.

does she get déjà vu?

her phone pinged, indicating a new text message. she squinted her eyes at the harsh brightness coming from the screen. it was from you.

add yourself to my taglist!

general taglist: @tatesimper @bluvclouds @i-love-scott-mccall @miraclesoflove

sour collection taglist: @ifilwtmfc

obx taglist: @maybanksslut @angelixcpixies @oldschoolkiddo @iwritesiriusly @iamninaannaisreading @nyxie75 @stylesyourmine @gabiatthedisco @taylathornton @bury-my-love-inthe-moondust @queen-asteria04

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

Kickstart My Heart Pt.1 (Racer! Yeosang)

Next>>

Pairing: Racer! Kang Yeosang × Waitress/Fuckgirl! Reader (Female)

Genre: Fluff, Angst, 80s AU.

Summary: During an era known for its vibrant colors, eccentric fashion styles and rise of new yet unconventional genres of music, the young generation of that time was infamously known for their need to rebel and live their lives rather scandalously and Y/N is no exception. So when a new and attractive man moves into her town, she has her eyes set on making him her next boy toy.

Word Count: 4K+

Warnings: Dumb attempts at crackhead humor, reader is a cold hearted bitch, guy gets dumped in public, reader's friend is lowkey creepy.

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Throwing on the last article of clothing that had been discarded the night before, the young woman shook out her hair, still damp from the quick shower she just took. Picking up her bag, she looked over at the figure still sleeping soundly, the subtle hint of a smile on his face. With a pitied pout on her lips, she walked over to the edge where his face was. Taking out the lipstick tube from her bag, she applied it all over her lips, painting them in the dark burgundy color that she fancied so much and had practically become her signature hue. Bending over, she pressed her lips against the corners of his mouth, giving him the faintest whisper of a kiss before pulling away. A satisfied smirk was plastered on her pretty features as she stared at the lipstick mark on his face, the only memoir she'd leave him with as she had done with countless others.

Closing the front door behind her, she pulled her denim jacket tighter on her body, shivering slightly from the early dawn's breeze that blew across. It was always like that even though summer had just begun, the early morning hours still feeling obnoxiously cool and then transpiring into slightly uncomfortably warm afternoons that had more than one soul in that quaint town grumbling and fussing about the weather. But oh did the evenings feel absolutely refreshing, and that's when everything would start bustling to life.

Having finally made it out of that small residential area and finding one of the main roads that helped her locate where to go, she started heading south towards the all too familiar diner where she had been working in ever since her school days, first starting part time and eventually transpiring to full time when it came time for her to spread her wings and fly out on her own, a feat she had been most anxious to do to get away from the overly controlling nature of her parents. She knew they cared about her, but she herself cared very little about the morals and principles they had raised her with, a common trait all the young people in that town shared: their rebellious and headstrong nature to not conform and go against everything they had been taught thus far. Live their own lives as freely as they chose to do.

And she definitely lived as she wanted to, even if it ended up with a rather bad reputation and ugly labels that rather than infuriate her, she openly embraced, as others had come to as well.

The light twinkle of the bells above the glass door let the person at the register know someone came in and they immediately plastered on their business smile, which quickly faded when they saw who it was.

"You're late Y/N." The minuscule raven haired waitress informed her, eyes never leaving her coworker's figure that came behind the counter and started punching in her number.

"Only by like 7 minutes." She waved her slip at the nonchalant looking girl before placing it back in its respective slot.

"One day it wouldn't surprise me if you just didn't show up because you got too caught up in.... something else."

Chuckling softly, Y/N walked up behind her coworker, hands coming up to ruffle the cheekbone level bob cut hair framing her unusually small face.

"Awww come on Lynn, you know I'd never leave you hanging here to attend customers by yourself. You're my bestie." Y/N assured her, playfully poking her lips out as she tried to place a kiss on her friend, the poor girl craning her neck away as she tended to dislike physical affection.

"I will squirt ketchup on you." Lynn threatened as she picked up the cherry red bottle as a last resort to get her attacker to back away. A rather noisy struggle ensued between both girls, catching the attention of the owner and cook behind the two doors, prompting her to come out and see what was the cause of such ruckus.

"Well I'll be darned. I don't remember paying you youngsters to simply slack off and behave like the hooligans you are." The middle aged woman spoke up, her thick accent becoming more prominent. Although she had a stern look and hands placed at her hips, the girls knew she was not in reality angry at them.

Looking over at the recently arrived girl, the owner closed her eyes and sighed deeply when she took in the attire she was wearing: low cut white tank, ripped denim shorts that left little to the imagination if she bent down, fishnet tights with a few holes in them, and her beloved denim jacket that was almost always on Y/N's body.

"I swear to god, Y/N , everytime I see you wear them rags you call clothes, I feel like my body is about to collapse. Why must you insist on dressing like a common street worker?"

Y/N wasn't at all offended by her words, having grown used to and becoming fond of her boss's abrupt, direct and honest manner of speaking.

"Gotta start looking the part if I'm going to dedicate my life to the occupation." She giggled at her own joke, resulting in the older woman taking the rag off her apron and smacking her with it.

"This little runt, talking nonsense like that- get your ass back in there and change into your uniform. Can't have you prancing around here in those skimpy clothes and have all these men that come here say disrespectful things about you. Nuh uh, not to my girls." She shook her head.

"Yes Miss Audrey." Complying with the woman's wishes, she pushed open the swing doors leading to the back and quickly made her way to the corner where all the employee's cubicles were located. Grabbing the necessary items, she turned and went inside the bathroom to change into her uniform, consisting of a knee length crimson red dress, which she had actually altered so it would be shorter and display her thighs more, the cap sleeves slightly puffed up and the torso part had a trail of white buttons going all the way up to the modest v-neckline, usually most buttons were left undone so her cleavage would shamelessly peak out. Exchanging her black Doc Martens in favor of her white Nike sneakers, Y/N tied her apron around her waist, making sure it was as tight as possible so it would accentuate her curves and give her body a more flattering appearance. As she made her way out, she quickly piled her hair up before securing it with one of the many elastics she kept around her wrists, leaving out a few tendrils to fall on her temples.

Coming back out to start her daily work, she stood in front of Lynn, who merely spared her an unamused glance.

"How do I look?" Y/N asked.

"Like a total slut." Her friend answered in her usually rude way.

Rolling her eyes, Y/N grabbed a spray bottle and a rag. Making her way over to the table that had just finished being used, she quickly picked up the plates and glass, bringing them back over to where Lynn was, who took them so she could wash them in the sink. Spraying the top of the marble piece, she had began her task of wiping down the table when the ringing of the bell signaled new customers had arrived, and rowdy ones at that too.

"Damn! Is today's special fluffy sponge cake? Cause I would sure love a piece of that ass."

Y/N recognized that annoying voice even from miles away, belonging to none other than one of her old classmates, Jung Wooyoung, whom she considered a friend, if he didn't manage to irk her too much. Turning around, she of course wasn't surprised to see him surrounded by his crew of equally idiotic and adrenaline junkie friends, whom she had to admit were pleasant and fun to hang out with.

"Sit your asses down already, I'll be over in a minute to take your order." She told them before resuming her previous task, earning a scoff from the most dramatic of the group.

"Fine customer service! Don't think you'll be getting a tip from me." His words made her nearly burst into a fit of giggles.

"Wooyoung please, you never ever tip whenever you come. None of you, except Yunho." It kinda saddened her that said male unfortunately wasn't there with them at the moment.

"He doesn't tip you, he tips short stack over there." His friend with cat like eyes pointed towards Lynn, who upon overhearing him held up a rather explicit finger in his direction.

"I'll poison your food San." She threatened with a sing song tone.

"Like I wouldn't know that you already spit on it." San spat back, sticking his tongue out in his immature and infantile fashion.

"Can you guys hurry up and order already? I'm starving and we gotta head to the tracks as early as possible." The fiery red haired male known as Song Mingi blurted out, fingers tapping impatiently against the top of the table.

"If little miss g-string would care to hop her luscious ass over here, maybe we could."

Strutting over to where they sat, Y/N harshly threw the dirty rag on Wooyoung's face, causing a faint grunt to come out of his mouth.

"No matter how many times you mention my ass, I'm still not letting you tap it." She firmly stated, making Wooyoung slightly purse his lips outwards in a disappointed grimace.

"So anygays-" Mingi began.

"Umm I think you mean anyways." San corrected him.

Leaning in towards him, Mingi locked eyes on the shorter male and stared him down with an intimidating glare.

"Did I stutter Choi?"

San immediately shook his head rapidly. With a victory smile, Mingi reclined back in his seat.

"I'm just going to get the breakfast platter with some orange juice."

Y/N couldn't stifle her snort when he said his choice of drink, the other two men looking away in embarrassment.

"You've been drinking orange juice since you were in grade school Mingles, don't you think you outta start taking something more grown up? Like coffee?" San suggested and Mingi did not appreciate it.

"Coming from the one who still brings a plushie to sleep with him, your suggestion holds no value or power." He retorted.

"OK SHIBER IS NOT A PLUSHIE, HE'S FAMILY YOU JACKASS!" San sprinted up from his seat, nearly leaning across to grab Mingi by the color, but he was held back by Wooyoung.

Lynn, who had thus far stayed quiet, promptly came up with a spray bottle and consequently doused the untamed boy on his face.

"Bad kitty, bad kitty." She reprimanded him, unable to resist the opportunity to attack her long time frenemy.

"Lynn!" Y/N looked at her with surprise.

"You're welcome." Lynn replied rather monotone before going back to her place behind the counter like she didn't just spray San with disinfecting water.

"There's too many germs going around anyways..." She muttered under her breath.

Without any further interruptions, aside from the rumbling coming out of the boys' stomachs, they finished ordering what they wanted and Y/N sent it over so they could be prepared. Not wanting to be near their loud asses, Y/N went back over to where Lynn was, peeking over to see what she was currently reading in the magazine she held.

"What you reading?" She casually inquired.

"Horoscope section." Y/N wasn't surprised, her friend tended to be into more mystical, eccentric and rather.....extreme with her taste in fashion and music. If Y/N was the one who turned heads for her scandalous attire, Lynn was the one people turned away from in fear when they saw how she dressed. It was a sight that truly made both of them laugh at people's foolishness, well at least made Y/N laugh. Her friend rarely had any other expression plastered on that wasn't utter disdain for society and life.

Unexpectedly, another customer came in. Both girls looked at each other in confusion when neither of them recognized him. Their town was rather small with few people living there, so they deduced that he must be a traveler who probably got lost on his route. He himself looked around nervously, eyes barely lifting up. Y/N couldn't help herself as she took in his perfect face. Big, round eyes with crystal clear orbs, small face with a V-line jaw, perfectly sculpted nose with no sign of defects, skin smooth and blemish free, he looked like a prince out of a fairytale. He was incredibly pretty, yet stood there so awkwardly that it was almost comical.

"Hey Yeosang! You made it! Sit down! I ordered for you in advanced!" Wooyoung surprised both girls when it seemed he knew the stranger and even waved him over to where they sat. The other two boys also seem familiarized with him and welcomed him to sit with them, chatting up a storm already with him.

"Who's that?" Lynn was the one to finally ask out loud.

"Beats me.....but he sure is adorable."

Noticing the way her lips curled upwards, Lynn could already see the wheels inside Y/N's head turning.

"And I bet you're going to go over there and find out- aaand there you go." She ended up answering her own deduction as she watched Y/N happily walked over with a more bright expression on her face, that soon soured when her boss came out of the kitchen and beat her over to the table, laying down several plates of food.

"I knew as soon as I saw the orders that it had to be the lot of you." She scoffed softly as she looked at the boys' grinning faces.

"You know us Miss Audrey, we wouldn't ever think of eating anywhere else but here. You're the best cook in all of town." Wooyoung praised her with a sparkling charm that could have fooled anyone else but not the robust woman in front of him.

"Boy stop trying to tickle my ears, I've known you since you were in your soiled diapers being carried around by your mama, running around and creating chaos anywhere you went. Flattery may work on them poor girls you play with but me? I can see right through ruffians like you."

Turning her head to finally notice the new addition to the group, she looked him up and down.

"Boy who might you be?" She questioned him, earning the ears of the girls nearby to listen in for any valuable information.

"I'm..... Yeosang Kang, nice to meet you." He introduced himself, tilting his head slightly down when he said that.

"He just moved into town this week! He's the new guy who is going to work with us down at the car shop and help on the race track!" San enthusiastically shouted, making the older woman cringe.

"I may be old, but I still haven't gone deaf for you to yell in such a way boy. So...." She crossed her arms and looked at Yeosang again.

"You a racer too?"

Now the girls, particularly Y/N, were more interested in what his response would be.

"I- yes. So it seems." The poor boy looked so flustered, obviously being more of a soft spoken individual, contrasting starkly to the other 3 boys.

Miss Audrey let out a seemingly displeased hum at his answer.

"As if we needed anymore hooligans running wild. We already got enough with the 3 Stooges over here."

The girls couldn't help but snicker at their boss's words, always having a blast whenever she put the boys back in their place. They however looked displeased, glaring at them intensely.

"Shouldn't you both be off somewhere cleaning dishes or making sandwiches?"

Snatching one of the knifes, Lynn held it up and was about to jump over, but Y/N came up in front of her.

"Lynn, no. Just calm down ok? You know they're just being idiots." Y/N reminded her.

Grumbling something in a foreign language no one knew for sure if it was real or not, Lynn put the knife back, squinting her eyes at them before turning around to not look at them again. Y/N giggled softly, finding it absolutely cute whenever her friend lost her cool and collected form cause it reminded her of a chihuahua, barking and yelping at anything larger than itself trying to establish dominance.

Noticing that in her display of aggression, Lynn had inadvertently knocked over a few of the brochures that were on display for people to take, Y/N stooped down and proceeded to pick them up in a casual manner. Standing up, she neatly arranged them properly, making sure they all faced the same direction and the sides weren't poking out anywhere. Feeling as though someone had been watching her all along, she looked at the table of boys, half expecting Wooyoung's smug grin to greet her, but she was completely wrong as it was none other than the new guy who seemed unable to keep his eyes off her figure, staring intently at the length of her skirt. When he realized she noticed, his eyes went wide, cheeks burning up with utter embarrassment. Y/N however seemed unbothered by this. Wanting to test something, she pretended to accidentally drop one of the pamphlets. Bending over, she made sure he could get a perfect glimpse of her cleavage, if he payed enough attention, he'd be able to see that she was in fact, not wearing any bra. Coming back up, Y/N looked over to see the results, smirking when the agape mouth of Yeosang confirmed to her that he had indeed noticed everything.

"Oh sweetheart, you're gonna be too easy..." She had already made up in her mind that Yeosang would be her next target, and she had to put her plan in action. Placing the brochures down, she was about to go over and start flirting with him, until a familiar voice called for her.

"Y/N! There you are!"

She internally groaned when she heard him, wondering why on earth did he not get the hint of ditching him like that, especially when he very well knew about the reputation she had. She tried ignoring him, but of course, he had had to be the persistent type, no doubt thinking he was going to have a different ending than the rest before him.

"I thought you'd be here. You could have told me you were going to be gone early. I would have made you breakfast."

Knowing she had to say something, Y/N grabbed her pad and gave him the fakest smile she was capable of donning.

"Hi, what can we get started for you today? Waffles? Eggs and bacon? Coffee to start off with?"

The trio of friends, having no choice but to witness the interaction due to it happening right in front of them, snickered amongst themselves.

"Oh shit. He's in for it." San whispered lowly.

The boy obviously looked extremely confused, his smile lightly falling off, but then returning to its hopeful state.

"Why are you acting like this candy bear? Pretending like you don't know me?" When he tried to reach a hand to pull her close, the girl simply pushed him away with one of her fingers.

"Look, clearly you're too stupid to understand so let me spell it out in a language you can understand." Letting out a tired sigh, she crossed her arms in front of her chest, a sour look displaying on her pretty face.

"We had a nice time together, and last night was... average to put it nicely."

"Oh man. That was a total burn." Mingi couldn't help but snort, some of the orange juice being spit back into his glass.

"But that was all it was and all it's ever going to be. So why don't you do yourself a favor and just go back home to your Star Trek figurines and watch the latest episode of Thunder Cats?"

The not so discreet snickering coming from the table behind them only made the humiliation for the man multiply significantly. Turning red with utter despair and rage, he quickly brushed past Y/N rather brusquely.

"Fucking bitch." She heard him mutter under his breath, a phrase she had grown accustomed to hearing among many others.

"Oh god. Homegirl struck again." Wooyoung laughed, swirling his milkshake in his hand.

"Ayo why you gotta do Thunder Cats like that? It's actually pretty entertaining." San commented.

Looking over at the time, the guys quickly stood up, dropping their share of bills onto the table.

"You guys get paid today too right? Come meet up with us at the track." Wooyoung suggested.

"Why on earth would we want to go see your greasy, oil smelling ass after dealing for nearly an hour with you already?" Lynn questioned him, eyes never peering up from her magazine.

"Because Yunho would be there?"

Still she didn't respond, the only movement made was her finger turning the page.

"Bro we been knew she don't give two shits about him." Mingi reminded them.

"Because we're going to the drive in theater after work, they're playing a horror movie."

Lifting her gaze, Lynn closed the magazine, although still stone faced, her eyes seemed to brighten up.

"My interest has been greatly piqued." Her lips showed the faintest whisper of a smile that gave a rather eerie and chilling feel down the people's spines.

"Maybe we should rethink inviting Satan's offspring." San leaned in towards Mingi, shivering significantly.

"Great! So we'll catch you gals later."

The boys quickly dispersed themselves, save Yeosang who still sat quietly, keeping mostly to himself. His fingers fidgeted with the half drunk cup he was holding, gaze fixed on the table in front of him. Looking up, he was attempting to work up the courage to talk to Y/N, but before he could even get the chance to gather strength, the owner came out from the back, whispering a few orders to her and gesturing for her to go tend to a situation in the kitchen. With a defeated sigh, he got up to go join the rest of the gang outside who were waiting for him. Slumping his hands in the pockets of his pants, he moved out of the booth with a solemn gaze.

"Hey."

His steps came to a screeching halt when he heard Y/N call out to him. Looking over, she smiled sweetly in his direction.

"Hope I see you later." With a flirtatious wink, she bid him goodbye as she disappeared into the back.

Yeosang stood there stunned momentarily, replaying her words over and over again in his mind, pondering endlessly at their meaning.

"Little pussy cat sure got you brain dead, didn't she?"

Startled by the unexpected voice next to him, he jumped when the face of the kind yet stern old lady studied him carefully. With a disapproving shake of her head, she decided it'd be best to warn him before he started getting ideas in his head.

"Listen, you seem like a sweet and sensible young man, so it's best for you to listen to me and stay away from that darn girl. Don't let them sugar coated lips of hers sweet talk themselves into your heart. You'll just end up heart broken like all the lovers she's had."

Picking up some of the plates, she gave him one last look, pointing an accusatory finger at him to get her point across.

"She's dangerous." Finally saying what she needed to say, Miss Audrey headed back with plates in her arms, slapping away Lynn's hands when they attempted to pry them off her, barking instructions at her to watch the counter and leave her be.

"Dangerous....." Yeosang thought to himself, the warning the good intended woman gave him sinking deep in his mind. Although he took her words to heart, something about the way she glanced at him pulled at the strings in his chest, taking his breath away when he remembered the risque position she was in that purposely allowed him to view more than he should have. That memory tinted his cheeks pink, lips unable to suppress a small smile. He knew that he should heed the old woman's advice.

But he had to admit that he loved danger and the thrill it came with.........

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Taglist: @little-precious-baby @yunhofingers @brie02 @galaxteez @multidreams-and-desires @deja-vux @hanatiny @couchpotatoaniki @daniblogs164 @a-soft-hornytiny @yunsangoveryonder @minhyukmyluv @nanamarkie @ateezbabysitters @mingismoon @rainteez02

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: VII

Sunflower, my eyes

Want you more than a melody

Let me inside

Wish I could get to know you

Sunflower Vol. 6, Harry Styles

A/N: okay so this part was so much fun to write!! it originally was going to have four more scenes but uh. as we all know. i am very wordy. so the other scenes I have planned will have to be split into what will probably become two more parts and you guys will just have to deal with getting another two chapters 😌 but this part is really exciting because we are getting a lil bit of angst mixed in with harry’s general dumbassery!! love to see it love to hear it!! and please if you like what you are reading here!! reblog it!! leave reactions in the tags (we read every single one)!! send a message to andrea and i!! feedback and interaction is what keeps content creators motivated to keep cranking out nearly 30k every one to two weeks!! and that’s a general rule for all content creators not just us!! we do this for free so a lil love note is always appreciated 💌 alrighty now that that’s out of the way!! let’s dive in!!

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

word count: 26.6k

content/warnings: another good dose of denial, Fajita Friday with a side of blended margs, waking up on the wrong side of the coffin, brutal analysis of niall’s non-existent love life, ribeye!y/n x rotisseriechicken!harry, a horrible impersonation of Bob Barker, “are you there, God?  it’s me, harry,” degradation, the violation of worksafe laws through the improper use of a ladder, mild pain kink, alexa, play ‘kiss it better’ by rihanna, and the rise of kinkrry (dir. j.j. abrams)

As Harry climbs up the stairs to Y/N’s apartment the next Friday night with a bag containing tequila, orange liqueur, and limes clutched within his jeweled hand, there are two thoughts flickering through his mind.  

The first, which weighs more heavily on the vampire, is if Y/N prefers her margaritas blended or over ice, as Harry feels that tells a lot about a person, and it would be such a disappointment to realize now that Y/N isn’t a fan of the blended beverage.  The second, which should weigh more heavily on his mind if he had his priorities sorted out, is how Y/N had managed to convince him to let her cook dinner for the two of them.

In reality, it hadn’t actually taken much convincing on the mortal girl’s part at all.  When she messaged him on her lunch break earlier that day, asking what he was up to that night, Harry had sat up on his couch, drawing Niall and Xander’s attention to him in a confused manner. He’d stared at the message for only three seconds before opening his phone and pressing on her contact name.  The action had come so easily to him that he didn’t even think about hiding his eagerness to speak to her, and instead pressed his phone tight to his ear as the other line rang three times before she picked it up.

“Harry?” Her confused voice rang through his phone speaker, the sound of the bustling cafe apparent in the background. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, love. I just, uh…just wanted to talk to you, s’all.” Harry had replied, shushing the questions he could see hanging off of Niall and Xander’s lips. “How’s work today?  Busy?”

“As busy as it always is on a Friday afternoon.” Y/N answered with a sigh, and a small smile tugged at the corner of Harry’s lips as he heard a loud slurp through the phone, leading him to picture a stressed out Y/N sipping the last remnants of her iced latte. “But I’m over halfway through my shift, at least, so… it’s all downhill from here.  In a good way.”

Harry had nodded slowly, as if the mortal girl could see him through the phone. “I’m glad to hear that.”

His friends, however, seemed to be less glad to hear it, and paused the golf tournament that was playing on TV to stare at him with incredulous expressions on their faces. 

“Who are you talking to?” Niall had demanded, kicking his foot into Harry’s calf with more force than what was necessary. “We’re going to miss the first swing!”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Xander snickered to the Irishman next to him, a devious smirk lighting up his face. “It’s that human he’s been obsessed with for the last, like, two months.  His little plaything.”

Harry had stood up then, flipping the pair off with a pointed glare before turning towards the kitchen, intent on finding some peace and quiet where he could carry on his conversation without having to worry about Y/N overhearing something she shouldn’t.

“I don’t want to take up too much of your break,” He murmured, resting his elbows over the cool marble countertop of his kitchen island that was nearly the same temperature of his skin. “But calling you seemed easier than texting.  I’m free tonight—” He always kept his Friday nights free for her; had she not realized that by now? “So I was thinking I could be at your place around eight?  Or nine?  What works for you?”

And it was then that he had heard it, breaking through the cafe ambient noise that caught Harry’s inhuman ears, and the inquisitive whispering of Niall and Xander in the other room.  As clear as if it were really right in his ear, Harry had heard the sharp intake of breath, the slow exhale that followed, and the melodic voice that he’d become so familiar with, shaking ever so slightly.

“I was, um, actually thinking you could come over a bit earlier.” Y/N had replied, the tapping of her fingertips against her back room’s linoleum table reverberating around Harry’s head. “I got groceries yesterday, and I was going to make fajitas tonight, and I realized I had enough food for two people, and so if you don’t have anything else planned—”

Harry hadn’t meant to cut Y/N off— listening to her nervous rambling is one of his favourite things, and he’d never purposefully forfeit the opportunity to hear it (and that fondness aside, cutting off her speech would be rude)— but shock overtook his body and triggered the response before he could stop it. “You want to cook me dinner?”

“I—” The speaker crackled again, and Harry could practically picture the hesitation wrinkling across Y/N’s face, the caution in her tone a clear indication of how hard she was working to stay upright on the tense tightrope known as their relationship. “Yeah, I do.  I’m not a chef or anything, but my friends and I used to cook for each other all the time, and Fajita Fridays were one of my specialties, so—”

“I would absolutely love it if you cooked for me.” A slow grin had spread over Harry’s face, pulling the dimples from his cheeks in a way that he’d recently noticed only she could. “What time should I be over?  Do you want me to pick you up from work?”

“No, that’s fine.” Y/N had assured him quickly, the breathlessness in her voice leading Harry to picture the light rush of heat that was probably working its way over her cheeks. “You can come over around six, if that works for you…?”

Harry had checked the Rolex hanging off his wrist, which displayed the time of 2:33PM back to him. “Six is perfect.” He’d replied with an airy yet firm voice, nodding to himself once again. “Can I bring anything?  Is there anything you need me to pick up?”

“Oh, uh...no.  No, you don’t need to bring anything.  Just your appetite; I make a lot of fajitas.” The surprise that echoed in Y/N’s voice and the small laugh that followed had drawn an pleasurable ache from Harry’s dormant chest in a way he couldn’t explain. “Thank you for asking, though.  So… I’ll see you at six, then.”

“Sounds good, love.  I’m looking forward to it.” Harry had smiled again, despite no one being around to view it, and continued to smile even after he had hung up and made his way back to the living room, where his two friends had greeted him with an array of exaggerated vulgar motions and kissy faces.

He had waved them off, and though he’d glowered at them hotly and shrugged off their prodding questions, he couldn’t find it in himself to stifle the grin that the human girl’s offer had left behind on his cheeks.  She wanted to make him dinner. Just the two of them. It’d been so long since anyone had gone so out of their way for him like that, he hadn’t been able to help his giddy reaction.

As he reaches the final stair leading to Y/N’s floor of her building, a tired sigh falls from Harry’s pink lips.  He should’ve known better than to call her with his friend present, he thinks, as his footsteps echo around the empty hallway.  The moment he’d plopped back down on his couch, Niall and Xander had ignored his dismissive attitude and proceeded to continue to bombard him with a million questions about her, and a million more digs at his ego when he had later excused himself from their tournament to get ready for the dinner.  Although he’d normally be able to ignore their obsessive inquiries without so much as a second thought, he’d berated himself throughout his entire shower and get-ready routine, the harsh judgement ever-present in the back of his skull as he’d picked up his favourite ingredients for margaritas from the grocery store.  He should’ve known better.

It’s bad enough that he’s toying around with Y/N’s feelings just for his own selfish needs, but every time the topic of Y/N came up around his friends, it ended with the exact same question, just as it had earlier that day.

“So when do we get to meet her?  Like, officially meet her, and not just hear her moaning through your wall.” Niall had asked as he took a sip of his Guinness beer, layering a childish snicker on top of his curiosity.

“Yeah, I’d love to see the girl that domesticated you.  Always thought she’d be fictional, actually.” Xander’s laugh had matched Niall’s as the two of them watched Harry slip a fresh t-shirt over his head. 

A tightness had developed in Harry’s chest then, so tense that it had nearly stopped him from smoothing the shirt over his inked chest. “You don’t get to meet her.” He had replied curtly, shooting the two vampires a stern look. “She’s not something for you two to gawk at, she’s—”

Niall had interjected then, the mirth in his eyes refusing to bow despite Harry’s seething. “Your girlfriend?” 

Harry had stared witheringly at the Irish immortal. “No.  She’s not my girlfriend.  She’s just a friend I have an arrangement with.  An arrangement that will become much more complicated if she starts hanging out with other vampires and notices that there’s something… off about us.”

“Off?” Niall had questioned, grinning cheekily with a flash of his fangs, his blue irises dying blood red. “I have no idea what you’re referring to, mate.”

Pausing in front of Y/N’s front door, Harry takes a moment to swipe his hair back from his face, tousling his curls until they fall into just the right place.  His chestnut locks are beginning to get a little long again (they curl around his ears and tickle the nape of his neck now), but he can’t quite bring himself to cut them just yet; Y/N has a habit of reaching for them whenever he goes down on her, and the sensation of her tugging on his hair is too satisfying to let go of so easily.  As for the rest of his look, Harry has opted to keep it casual tonight, wearing a blue and pink flamingo patterned button down over his Chicago Cubs t-shirt, paired with a rust-coloured pair of corduroy pants and his white vans.  If their usual routine is any indication, then Harry will be staying the night, and he’s learned over the years that it’s much comfier to leave the next morning in loose clothes than trying to yank on a pair of tight leather pants in a stranger’s bedroom.  Not that Y/N is a stranger; in fact, he could probably get away with bringing an overnight bag now.  But there’s something so presumptuous in showing up to a dinner date with a bag, and in a shocking— though fleeting— change of heart, the last thing Harry wants is to seem presumptuous. 

Harry raises his jeweled knuckles and raps on Y/N’s door in a rhythmic pattern, straightening his back and leaning against the frame as he waits for the door to open. 

Even through the wooden barrier, Harry can hear the old music floating through the bluetooth speaker that he knows sits on Y/N’s kitchen counter, the sizzling of peppers and onions in a pan, and Y/N singing to herself softly under her breath, the latter of which pauses as soon as Harry knocks.  Instead, it’s replaced with the soft padding of bare feet against the laminate floor, the click of a lock, the removal of a door chain, and the turning of a knob as the door swings open. 

And then Harry sees Y/N, and the sight of her catches the breath that he doesn’t really need. It lodges in his lungs and at the back of his burning throat, causing an odd sensation to churn the pit of his tummy as a sudden wave of heat pours into his cheeks. 

If Harry’s pride wasn’t as steadfast as he likes to portray, he would openly admit that it truly is frightening how just one glance at her can make his entire nervous system flare. 

It’s obvious that Y/N’s been at work all day; her mascara is slightly smudged beneath her eyes, and the ponytail bouncing at the top of her head is loose, with wisps of hair falling out and framing her face.  Her clothing, however, has been changed from her usual work polo and jeans to a cotton bralette that clings to her chest and displays a strip of her stomach that makes Harry’s mouth water.  Her black leggings have mesh cutouts on the side, and while that detail would normally draw Harry’s eyes by default, it’s the multicolour patchwork cardigan hanging loosely off her shoulders that really catches Harry off guard.  Or, more specifically, it’s his multicolour patchwork cardigan that catches him off guard. 

“Hi.” Y/N smiles up at him warmly with the edges of her eyes crinkling, her hands grasping the side of the door tightly. “Six P.M. on the dot, Holmes.  I’m impressed.”

“Solving mysteries isn’t my only speciality.” Harry matches his grin to hers, his dimples making an appearance as his expression grows. “Although speaking of mysteries… I think I just solved the case of my missing cardigan.” With his free hand, Harry reaches forward and tweaks a button on the article of clothing, his fingers brushing against Y/N’s bare tummy when he pulls away. 

A wispy giggle falls from Y/N’s cheeks as she opens the door wider to invite Harry in. “Right, that case.  I was about to call you about it, actually.  We got a big break-through last night.”

“Did we?” Harry raises an eyebrow as he steps into her apartment, shifting the fabric tote bag in his right hand to his left as he squeezes into the narrow corridor beside her. “And what was the big break, exactly?” 

Y/N wraps her arms around Harry’s neck as he snakes his now free hand around her waist, clutching her close to his cool body. “Well, I was trying to go to sleep, and I was cold, so I went searching in my closet for an extra blanket, and found this tucked in the back from when you let me borrow it last weekend.” She explains lightly, twisting her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Case closed.  Elementary, my dear Holmes.”

“I thought that was my line?” Harry quirks an eyebrow as fond amusement dances through his emerald eyes, his cold palm giving one of her love handles a playful squeeze. “First you steal my cardigan, and now my catch phrase.  What’s next?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Y/N says with a shrug, her smile growing wider with every passing moment as she nudges his chin teasingly with the tip of her warm nose. “I could steal a kiss, I suppose?  That’s a very you thing to do.”

“Not quite.  Usually you’re the one trying to steal one, and I make you ask for it. Beg, even, if I’m feeling a bit meaner than usual.” Tilting his head to the side and shaking it slowly, Harry lets out a long sigh. “You’re losing your touch, Watson.”

“Tragic.” Y/N matches his sigh as she begins to untangle her hands from his hair, but when she tries to extract herself from Harry’s grasp, he just holds on tighter. 

“But for the sake of tradition…” Harry’s eyes fall to the mortal’s lips as he wets his own with his tongue. “How about a hello kiss?”

Despite the usual iciness of Harry’s touch, heat begins to blossom through Y/N’s chest as she tilts her head up to meet Harry’s mouth.  The kiss, unlike many they’ve shared before, is tender, and only lasts for a brief moment before Y/N settles back down on the balls of her feet. 

“Hi.” She whispers, her hands curling around the fabric clinging to Harry’s muscular shoulders. 

“Hi.” The vampire replies easily as he finally releases his grip on her waist, taking a step back from both Y/N and the bashful instance they’d found themselves in.

He allows her to lead him down the entrance hallway and into her living room, drifting behind her towards the kitchen and glimpsing over all the ingredients she has scattered around her counters.

“You look beautiful in my cardigan, by the way.” Harry throws out casually, admiring the way the article hangs off her figure in the most adorable oversized fashion. “If I didn’t make that clear enough before.  And,” the monster takes a sudden deep whiff for emphasis, “it smells delicious in here. Seems like Gordon Ramsey doesn’t have shit on you, huh?”

Although the initial compliment brings a flush of pleasure up Y/N’s spine, she chooses to focus on the latter half of Harry’s comment. “I’d like to think so, yeah.  Dinner is almost ready, if you want to take a seat at the table.  Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Actually…” Harry holds up the bag in his hand and bounces it jestingly, fully bringing it to Y/N’s attention for the first time. “I thought I’d make us margaritas to go with the fajitas.  Really commit to the theme, y’know?”

All of the previous drinks that Harry has made for her float through Y/N’s mind, and her mouth salivates at the thought of drinking another of his incredible creations. He really does have such a wise talent with liquor that she finds herself subconsciously wondering how that had come to be. “Of course; we can’t do Fajita Fridays halfway, now can we?”

“No, we can’t.” Harry agrees with a firm nod, setting the bag down on her small kitchen tabletop and unpacking the ingredients he’d toted with him. “Do you prefer your margaritas over ice or blended?”

The correct answer immediately rolls off the mortal’s tongue. “Blended— I’m not insane.” She states with a scoff, picking up her spatula to stir the pepper and onion mixture on the stove as she bobs her head towards the cabinet at the far end of the room. “The blender is just up in that cupboard there.”

The corners of Harry’s pink lips tug up at her response, and he nods to the girl as he drifts over and reaches for the cabinet she’d motioned to. “Gotcha.” He says, pushing back a few decorative serving platters before extracting the blender sitting on the back of the shelf. “Oh, this’ll do nicely.”

His comment is met with a quiet snort from Y/N, who glances at him from the corner of her eye as she turns her attention to the sautéing chicken in her skillet. “Oh, it will, will it?” She asks sarcastically, her lithe fingers adding pinches of seasoning to the dish. “Are you a blender connoisseur, then?”

“Of course I am, angel.  Y’have to be, to make a half decent margarita.” Setting the kitchen appliance in the counter, Harry studies it with a keen eye, running his fingers over the smooth glass and slightly worn buttons. “It has a little bit of wear and tear, but that’s to be expected; the rest of it seems to be in decent condition.” He unwraps the cord from the base of the blender, plugging it into the wall before pressing the pulse button a few times to make the machine roar to life. “Listen to that engine purr… A blender like this could bring a man to tears.”

“That’s good to know.” Y/N snorts again, shaking her head at Harry’s antics as he begins to prepare his ingredients. “If you need a knife for the limes, there’s one in the block there.  And ice is in the freezer—”

“That’s good to know.” Harry mimics her prior reply with a shit-eating grin on his face, his hand wrapped around a bottle of Don Julio he’d snagged from his bar shelves. “I was about to check the cabinet again.”

With a shake of her head, Y/N steps past Harry to open a cupboard and fetch a serving dish. “Alright, smartass.” She bumps her hip against Harry’s as she passes him, the motion sending a jolt of electricity across the vampire’s pelvic bones. “Keep it up and you’ll lose dessert privileges.”

Although she tries to step away, Harry twists a cool arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her back against his chest as he smudges a kiss over her pulse point. “‘M sorry.” He murmurs, keeping his voice low in an attempt to hide the smile brewing on his face. “I’ll be nicer, then.  I’d hate to lose dessert—it’s my favourite part.”

With his lips over her neck, Harry can feel the exact moment Y/N’s heart rate increases, his ears pricking with the now familiar and adored sound.  Her warm hand cups his over her belly, fingers tracing over the knuckles of his icy touch. 

“I know it is.” Y/N tilts her head to the left, trying to provide Harry with more access to her neck as his mouth continues to ghost over her skin. “So I’d hate to take it away.”

The human girl’s familiar and achingly sweet honey and lavender scent fills Harry’s nostrils as his nose brushes against her jaw.  When he refers to her as dessert, Y/N doesn’t know how genuinely Harry means it. “Alright.  I’ll behave.” He relents, but he squeezes her tummy tightly as his teeth graze her skin one last time before pulling away. “For now.”

When Y/N detangles from the cage that is Harry’s arm, she busies herself with cooking again, doing her best to hide the light sheen of sweat that is beading her forehead.  It’s almost embarrassing, really; despite only being here for five minutes, Harry’s already pulling reactions out of her that she didn’t even know she had.  If she doesn’t get a hold of herself soon, she’ll be on her knees for him before he’s had a bite of dinner. 

With that thought in mind, the mortal forces herself to focus on the tasks at hand, continuing her banter with Harry while making sure to keep the subject matter PG as she plates the food and Harry blends drinks for them.  Her tiny table, which she’s already set for two, is soon filled with dishes containing sautéed vegetables, chicken, and other various toppings, and Harry pours his margarita mix into two glasses before sitting across from her with a curious air. 

“So this is what you and your friends used to do back home, is it?” He asks, crossing his arms and resting them on the table as he regards Y/N with a tilted head. “Fajita Fridays?  Taco Tuesdays?  Meatloaf Mondays?”

“Meatloaf Mondays sound depressing.” Y/N shoots back with a scoff, her hand wrapping around her margarita glass and lifting it to her mouth to take a sip. “We weren’t that pathetic.”

Harry exhales a sharp but quiet breath from his nose once—the beginnings of a laugh— before offering a dry reply. “No, it doesn’t have a very nice ring to it, does it?” He says, watching eagerly as her eyes widen at the first taste of the drink rolls across her tongue. “Do you like it?”

Y/N clears her throat as she lowers her glass from her mouth. “It’s...strong.” Y/N replies slowly, taking another gulp and smacking her lips in an exaggerated fashion. “But yummy.  This is a repeat recipe, I think.” 

The praise warms the pit of Harry’s stomach as he raises his own glass, motioning to the girl before him before bringing the edge of the cup to his lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He murmurs, setting his drink back down after taking a sip and letting his eyes roam over the food before them. “So how did you and your friends do this?  Everyone would just reach in at once, or—?”

“Oh, well, we—we used to say grace first, actually.” Y/N admits after a moment, her eyes momentarily flickering to the gold cross dangling from Harry’s neck.  Although his usual cross earring is absent tonight, his pearls out of sight as well, and he’s only wearing his opal and lionhead rings, that familiar cross necklace is present as ever. “And then we’d move everything around the table clockwise from the person who actually led saying grace.” 

Despite Y/N previously mentioning that she’d been a regular church goer in her hometown, this new information sparks an interest in Harry’s mind. “Really?” He quirks an eyebrow as the human girl reaches for a warmed tortilla and begins to spoon her toppings inside. “But you don’t do that now?”

“Nope.” Her lips pop on the final consonant sound of the word. “Did you say grace growing up?” She asks curiously, nodding to the chain around Harry’s neck. “You always wear that cross, so I was just wondering…”

“Oh, uh—yeah. Yeah, we did.” A crease furrows the space between Harry’s brow as he selects his own tortilla, keeping his eyes glued to the food. “My father used to lead it every night.” Although he could leave the comment there and be done with the topic, more words of explanation spill from Harry’s mouth without him realizing how much he’s actually saying, his gaze remaining trained on the way he’s filling his tortilla, almost as if it’s a monumentally difficult task that requires his utmost attention. “I liked to listen to him say it.  My father had a very calming voice; he could be loud and boisterous when he wanted to, but at home, he always kept cool and collected.  It was comforting.”

Y/N notes the use of past tense when discussing Harry’s father, but doesn’t comment on it.  With the knowledge that his mother had passed away in her mind, she assumes the same has happened to his father, and the realization twists her heart in a new and aching manner. “You speak like that, you know.” She tries to steer the conversation into a lighter direction, registering the sadness in his emerald eyes when he discusses his family. “When you’re telling stories about your life.  Your voice is low and even, quieter than usual.  It sounds a bit like a…lullaby, I guess.  Or like— like an audiobook, like someone’s reading some old poetry, or—” Her cheeks flame beneath her skin as she drops her eyes to her plate. “Sorry.  That, um, that sounds strange.”

The outpouring confessions from the girl across from him brings an awed expression to Harry’s face.  He had always assumed his voice was more of a siren song than anything— capable of luring his victims into a false sense of security before he showed his true monstrous form.  But if the stuttering of Y/N’s heart and the brightness in her eyes is any indication, maybe that isn’t quite the case.  She described him as a lullaby, yes, but she didn’t sound betrayed at the thought of him spinning stories in order to keep her pliable under his grasp.  If anything, her words give the impression that she enjoys it.

“I’ve heard stranger.” Harry murmurs after a moment, his unusually bare forefinger rubbing over his lips pensively as he waits for Y/N to raise her head again. “Thank you.  That’s a compliment, really, saying that I sound like my dad used to.”

“Well, I mean, I’ve never heard your dad speak, so take it with a grain of salt—” Y/N forces out a laugh, despite her cheeks and neck still feeling uncomfortably flushed, “—but I imagine it’s similar.  After all, he raised you, didn’t he?”

Harry nods slowly, his mind so wrapped in his own memories that he doesn’t even think about the incriminating answer about to fall from his lips. “He did, yeah, but it’s been a while since I’ve been able to speak to him.” He admits, pinching his chin between his thumb and index finger as he lifts his left shoulder in an empty shrug. “Memories fade over time.  Things change.  People change.”

Although she can feel that they’re beginning to breach a more serious topic, Y/N doesn’t pull back like she did in the restaurant.  She rationalizes this action to herself as she sips her margarita and collects her thoughts, saying that it’s just because it’s easier to be honest in her apartment than a brunch restaurant. But the truth of the matter is that the longer she spends with Harry, the more Y/N wants to know him. Really know him, outside of their usual arrangement. 

“That’s true,” She agrees with hesitancy etched into her voice, keeping a measured glance on Harry’s body to read his reaction. “But you can’t have changed that much since you last saw him.  When…” Her words trail off when Harry locks his emerald eyes with hers, but she takes a deep breath and finishes her question in determination. “When did he pass away?  How old were you?”

In the immortal’s mind, the answer forms without any delay.  His father had been the first to go in his family; the combination of breathing in smoke from the forge and his age being four years his mother’s senior had stopped his heart before hers.  The news of his death reached Harry a few days after it had happened, and he had just made it back to Holmes Chapel in time to watch the funeral service from afar.  

Despite his appearance being frozen at twenty-six, as it always would be, Harry was nearly twenty-nine to the day of the funeral.  Gemma had been thirty-three by then, standing with their mother and a tall man by her side, who whispered what her brother hoped were reassuring words in her ear.  His sister's eyes had been nearly a perfect mirror of Harry’s, with the exception of a few crow’s feet beginning to show around them.  And his mother had been dressed in widower’s black, a veil pulled over her weeping face to allow her the bit of discretion that was expected in Victorian times.  Harry had been distressed when he saw the veil, despite expecting it to be there; he’d hoped he could get one more glimpse of her eyes before he had to leave that day.  He had entertained the idea of walking over, expressing his condolences, and compelling her to forget she’d seen her lost son, but the thought had twisted an ache into his chest that had nearly brought him to tears, and—

“I was twenty-one when he passed away.” Harry spits the sentence out, and the familiar lie burns his throat in an entirely foreign way than the thirst he’s used to. “He had lung cancer.” At least, that had been Harry’s assumption after he read up on the disease years after his father’s undetermined passing.  It made sense, given that all the grit and soot from the coal and metal grime had found its way into the air of the blacksmith’s shop, and after slaving away for years in order to keep food on the table, it had also eventually made its way into his father’s system… “It progressed quickly.” 

As he watches sympathy glaze itself over Y/N’s eyes, all he can think about is how undeserving he is of it.  Even though he’s compelled the mortal girl in front of him, gained her trust, been invited into her home, and is kindling a connection with her, all for the simple act of drinking her blood, Harry thinks that this might be the most monstrous thing he’s done yet— paint himself as a victim of circumstance, hiding all the wrong-doings he’s ever committed, and allowing Y/N and her softly-beating heart to feel sorry for him. 

The conversation moves to an lighter tone after that, which Harry does on purpose; the less he needs to tell her about his fabricated sob story, the better.  And, truth be told, he’d much rather hear about Y/N’s day-to-day life.  It’s been so long since he had human concerns, and when he did, his concerns certainly didn’t have anything to do with being betrayed by customers because the cafe wifi was down.  It’s almost amusing to him, listening to her rant about all these insignificant people, and he can’t help the way his dimples begin to peek out of his cheeks as she raises her voice at imaginary customers. 

“So I told him, in my most polite voice, that we were aware the wifi was down, and that we’d called the provider to let them know, and that they were sending someone as fast as they could to fix it. And do you know what he said to me?” Y/N widens her eyes in incredulous disbelief as she takes a bite of her fajita, chewing and swallowing quickly to continue with her story with more emphasis. “Do you know what he said?”

“No, I don’t.” Harry shakes his head in endearment, hiding the laugh forming on his rosy lips behind his margarita glass. “What did he say?”

“He said—” Y/N twists her face to mimic the customer’s expression, dropping her voice down five octaves lower as she speaks with a ridiculous tone. “‘Oh, well, can’t you just fix it?  You work here, don’t you?  What else do you get paid for?’ Can you believe that?” She states the last phrase in her normal voice, scoffing at the memory as she crosses her patchwork covered arms across her chest. “Like, I’m a waitress!  I don’t work at an internet company!  I’m trained to bring you water and sandwiches— which are more cucumber than anything with actual substance—  so it’s not my responsibility to figure out why you can’t load Candy Crush on your phone!”

A snicker finally breaks free from Harry’s throat as he watches Y/N angrily stuff a piece of chicken into her mouth. “Sounds like you had a rough day today.”

“That’s pretty average for me, honestly.” Y/N sighs again, rubbing her hand over her forehead as she polishes off the rest of her second margarita. “Ugh, it pissed me off.  I wanted to shove his phone right up his ass and ask if his wifi connection got better.” A small smile breaks out across Y/N’s lips in spite of herself as Harry stifles another giggle at her witty comment. “But I’ve talked about it enough.  How was your day?  What did you do?”

“I did a bit of work in the morning, nothing too noteworthy.” Harry replies, deliberately keeping his answer vague as he twists his lionhead ring around his finger. “And I was about to watch a golf tournament with Xander and Niall when you called.”

Harry thinks nothing of mentioning their names, but is surprised when Y/N’s brow cinch in thought. “Which ones are Xander and Niall?  Is one of them the long haired one?” She asks curiously, pulling her (his) cardigan off one shoulder as the tequila begins to course through her veins and heat her body. 

“The— no.  No, that’s Mitch.” Harry says slowly, cocking his head to the side in confusion. “How did you know that?”

Y/N feels a spike of embarrassment in her stomach, and shyly avoids Harry’s eyes as she answers. “There was a photo of you with a group of guys in your apartment, in the living room.” She mumbles, tapping her fingers against her newly cleaned plate. “One of them— I think he was next to you in the photo?— had long hair.  Another had blue eyes, glasses… and brown hair, I think?  I don’t really remember the rest…”

Harry hums in the back of his throat, quiet and low. “That was probably Niall.” He guesses, finishing his own margarita and setting the glass down gently. “If I’m thinking of the right picture, then Xander was the one standing next to him.”

Y/N pictures the faces in her mind’s eye, imagining the two brunette boys in the clothing from the photo, slumped next to Harry on the couch of his stunning condo, knocking back pints of beer and plates of nachos as they watch golf on TV.  It seems strange to picture Harry doing something so… normal.  She forgets, sometimes, that he’s a regular twenty-six year old man.  In her head, when she thinks of Harry, regular is the last word that comes to her mind— even when he’s sitting across from her in a casual outfit, doing something as simple as eating dinner while he asks her about her day, Y/N struggles to remember that this man is just that: a man.  

Maybe, she ponders, as Harry stands up with the explanation of making more margaritas falling off his lips, it’s because she’s only ever really been alone with him.  With the exception of the club where they met, and his friends interrupting their weekend a few weeks prior (her cheeks flame at the recalling of the embarrassing memory), Y/N has only ever seen Harry in her own context.  

As the blender whirs to life behind her, the human twists in her chair to catch a glimpse of the object of her thoughts.  Even beneath his opaque shirt, she can see the muscles of Harry’s back flexing as he bends down to slice a lime, squeezing the juice into the top of the blender while holding his jeweled hand underneath to catch any seeds.  When Harry is around her, he’s charming, cocky, self-assured, and— on the extremely rare occasion— vulnerable.  What’s he like around his friends?  

Just as cocky, Y/N is sure; she can’t picture Harry letting go of his signature smirk so easily.  But does anything else about him shift when exposed to different company?  Is there different vocabulary that slips from his mouth?  What about his tone of voice?  Does that change, too, like Y/N’s used to when she was around Bradley, or when she’s with customers?  He mentioned earlier that he’d been watching golf, and that was the last sport she'd ever think he’d have an affinity for, let alone one he’d enjoy enough to make a day out of watching tournaments.  What other personality traits and pastimes is he keeping from her?  If she were to be a fly on the wall while he was with his friends, would she see someone completely unrecognizable in his Gucci boots and translucent shirts?

The sudden lack of noise from the blender snaps Y/N from her thoughts, and Harry detaches the pitcher and carries it to the table, filling her empty glass with a smile. 

“There you are, miss.” He winks at her quickly before filling his own cup and standing back from the table with a grin, his free hand folded behind his back as he straightens his posture. “Now,” He begins, his accent slipping into a more posh tongue as he bows his head lightly. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

Despite her worries, a soft laugh rolls from Y/N at his impersonation of a server. “Yeah, actually.” She drops her voice lower again, plastering an angry expression onto her face as she reaches into her cardigan pocket and retrieves her phone. “Your wifi is down.  What kind of restaurant doesn’t have wifi?  Can’t you fix this?”

A loud snort echoes from Harry’s mouth as he sets the blender back down on the counter before sliding back into his seat across from her. “Sorry, love,” He laughs, his regular accent back in its place. “That’s a bit above my paygrade.  I can, however, offer you some compensation.”

Wrapping her fingers around the icy margarita glass, Y/N leans forward, resting her chin on her free hand as she appraises Harry with a kinked brow. “Is that so?” She replies in her regular voice as well, her interest piqued. “What kind of compensation?”

“It’s part of our Friday Night Special,” Harry slides his hand across the table and pushes the baggy rainbow sleeve of Y/N’s cardigan down her arm in order to brush his cool fingers up and down her bare skin. “And it features bottomless margaritas paired with cunnilingus from our most handsome waiter.”

A fluttering warmth begins to knot itself around Y/N’s core, but she does her best to keep her composure as she straightens her spine and glances around the apartment. “Sounds intriguing.  So where’s the handsome waiter?”

Harry’s pillowy lips plunk down into an exaggerated frown as he presses a hand to his chest, his other hand continuing to stroke over Y/N’s forearm. “Ouch, Watson.  That hurt.  Might need you to kiss it better.”

“Oh yeah?” Y/N challenges, lifting her drink to her lips and sipping it slowly. “Where exactly does it hurt?”

Instead of answering her query, Harry simply stands from his chair and rounds the table to stop in front of Y/N, extending his hand to her.  She lays her fingers inside his cool grasp, allowing him to pull her from her seat.  He’s closer than she realized, she thinks, as her chest brushes with his and the intoxicating scent of his cologne fills her senses, only getting stronger as Harry nudges her nose with his own, his lips just barely gliding over her own. The copper specks around his pupils glitz under the muted lighting, electric from the alcohol, from the sensation of her close proximity, and from the ever-present intention of getting between her legs.

When Harry finally speaks, his thick cadence washes over her just as much as his tequila-scented breath, his free-hand tugging suggestively at the waistband of her leggings. “If we go to your bedroom, then I can show you.”

“Mm, is that so?” The girl gives in to his gesture, stepping forward as the vampire begins treading backwards towards their new— though entirely familiar— destination. “You’re gonna show me, then?”

“I most certainly am.” The boy keeps their bodies close, making sure that his lips continue to just barely graze hers as he moves, teasing her nerves into a frenzy. “I plan on showing you over, and over, and over…”

Y/N can’t bring herself to resist the offer.  She’s only human, after all.

///

The next morning, Harry wakes up tangled in Y/N’s sheets to two surprises: the sheets on Y/N’s side of the bed are cold and bare, and that Harry is actually waking up.  

Although he remembers falling back onto the scattered sheets the night before (after coaxing three orgasms out of Y/N and her coaxing two from him in return), he doesn’t remember drifting off into the sleep he so rarely needs, and because of that, Harry feels disoriented and groggy in a way he hasn’t in a long time.  He does his best to blink the haze from his usually sharp eyes, knuckling at them with his cool fingers as he attempts to get his bearings.

His sleep-fogged mind struggles to recall what had happened after Y/N had fallen asleep.  She’d drifted off easily and quickly, her sweat-soaked body tucked into Harry’s with her head resting in the crook of his neck.  That noted detail sticks out in his memory because it had made Harry pause before biting her.  She’d been so comfortable next to him, and in such an inconvenient position that Harry didn’t want to shift her to drink. After debating with himself for a few moments, he’d eventually decided on an alternative and had lifted her fragile wrist to his lips.

Even half awake, Harry’s lips quirk up at the hazy memory.  He recalls the feeling of her hummingbird pulse thrumming beneath her delicate skin, practically vibrating against his lips as he stamped a kiss over her vein before biting down.  Her blood had a weaker flow there, but that was alright; he’d just sucked a little harder to coax the liquid from her body, feeling his mouth overflow with her welcomed taste as well as with the supernatural chemicals that inject into her system and dull any pain his feeding might cause. He’d been careful to gauge his consumption by the strength of her heartbeat, and when he’d finished, he’d sealed the wound with a bit of his own blood, as usual. He’d made sure Y/N was healed and settled back in his arms before relaxing into the pillows to listen to her breathing, the soft pillows and her radiating body heat feeling more soothing than usual. Somewhere between counting the movement of her lungs and the sun rising, Harry had fallen unconscious.

It’s strange, being up after Y/N.  Harry has grown used to rising before her and making breakfast, or even just coffee, and there’s something disorienting about being in her bed alone, without her inherent warmth and soft skin, and only the ghost of her sugary scent left behind.  He briefly wonders if this is how she feels when she wakes up to cold sheets and no one beside her (although Harry suspects the lack of his frozen body would make the bed a more comfortable temperature), and thinks that maybe he should begin to lay in bed with her a little longer; if he’s going to fake a relationship with her, it should be a relationship where her partner wants to be around her, and isn’t awake before the sun.

And that’s another thing.  The golden orange light of the rising L.A. sun is just beginning to stream through the closed curtains, so what time is it?  It can’t be any later than seven— on a Saturday, no less— and at such an early hour, Harry would expect Y/N to still be dreamily dozing in bed.  What had drawn her away from her comfortable position in Harry’s arms?

As the sun continues to rise, the light begins to streak onto Y/N’s empty side of the bed and, instinctually, Harry begins to reach for the beam, craving the warmth she took with her when she abandoned the sheets.  Instead of the expected touch of heat, however, Harry is jarred by a burning sensation ripping across his icy flesh.

The vampire yanks his hand back in a flash, his face screwing in silent pain as he bites back a yell of anguish, but the damage has already been done.  The tips of his fingers are puckered with red blisters, which throb as he flexes his hand in the safety of the shadows. Harry digs his sharp teeth into his lip harder, forcing himself to inhale slowly through his nose and exhale shakily through his mouth.

It takes a few moments for him to collect himself, breathing deeply with his eyes closed as he does so, and as he counts his own breaths like he’d counted Y/N’s the night before, what should’ve been an obvious thought enters his mind: why had he burned?  He’s wearing his lionhead ring, which has eyes made of those precious crystals that protect his inhuman skin from sunlight, and as long as he’s wearing it, the sun shouldn’t be able to…

Harry’s sight snaps completely open as he jerks forward in bed, his head throbbing from the sudden movement.  When he’d first awoken, he’d attributed his grogginess and dry eyes to sleeping for the first time in weeks, but as Harry’s jade gaze settles upon his uninjured hand, he realizes the truth.  That disorienting feeling isn’t from sleep, but from the sunlight that had begun to seep through the curtains and affect his body, bouncing off the glossy walls of Y/N’s room and reflecting off her picture frames and furniture.  What would normally not be an issue suddenly becomes the bane of his existence, and what usually isn’t able to affect his body immediately does, obvious in the agonizing sweltering writhing through every single one of his dormant arteries. And all because his lionhead ring is missing from its rightful place.

Granted, Harry hadn’t worn most of his rings to Y/N’s apartment the night before, seeing as how they planned to spend the night in, but he’d kept his mother’s opal and the lionhead securely on his middle finger and pinky, just as he always did.  The former brings him memories of his mother, and helps him keep a piece of her— and who he once was— with him in this strange modern time.  The latter had been a rebirth gift from a family he’d rather forget, and if it didn’t keep him from flambéing himself every time he stepped into the sun, he wouldn’t wear it at all. In all honesty, he probably would’ve chucked into Hell, if he could. 

But the reality of his afterlife is that Harry needs that ring.  So why is it missing from his hand?

Cradling his blistered digits to his bare chest, the wounded vampire tosses back the covers, careful to avoid the streaks of sunshine beginning to light up the small room.  His icy chest soothes the burn in his fingers, which are taking longer to heal than Harry would’ve thought, but if the grating itch of his dry eyes is any indication, the effects of the sun aren’t just limited to direct physical harm, but are also stopping his body from healing itself as quickly as usual.

Harry presses his good hand to his dizzy head and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, planting his feet onto the ground as firmly as he can to center himself, refusing to cripple under the extraneous circumstances. He fishes his grey boxers from their signature spot on Y/N’s floor, slipping them on slowly as even the smallest of movements seems to strain his muscles beyond reason. As the elastic band snaps around his hips, another frightening possibility seizes his body: his mother’s ring could also be gone. He yanks his hand away from his head, and it takes his eyes a moment to focus on the opal ring.  At least he can breathe a sigh of relief about one thing— if his mother’s ring had disappeared, Harry’s not quite sure what he would’ve done.  

And that thought brings his spinning mind back to the present.  His lionhead ring is gone, and he can’t so much as step into sunlight without undergoing intense, insurmountable pain, so how is he going to find it?

Another groan falls from Harry’s mouth as he rests his forehead in his palm, propping his elbow against his knee so he can shield his eyes from the sunlight by hiding in between his legs.  Daylight talismans are extremely rare; he can’t exactly waltz into the nearest Wal-Mart and pick one up.  The crystals that give vampires such cherished immunity all date back to the medieval era, when vampires were considered mythical legends instead of just plain myths, and what few of the crystals are left are hidden deep within old ruins in the remote wilderness of Europe.  If Harry hadn’t been given his shortly after he was turned, he’s not sure he would have been lucky enough to own one.  He remembers Niall telling him how he had to search every night for months before he found a crystal hidden inside a ruin in Wales, and Xander had once recounted the story of stealing his from the vampire that turned him.  Even Mitch had struggled with the crystals before; although his ring had originally been a gift from the vampire that transformed him, he had to crack the crystal in half and set it into a new ring for Sarah when she had met her untimely demise. 

Vampires have been known to beg, lie, cheat, and steal in order to get their hands on a daylight crystal, so if someone managed to sneak in and take Harry’s lionhead ring while he and Y/N were sleeping, then Harry is going to have a fucking hell of a time trying to get it back. 

As the thought enters Harry’s dazed mind, a chill runs down his back, crawling across his spine and down his tailbone in an unsettling shiver as he slowly turns back to Y/N’s empty side of the bed.  If someone— if another creature just like him, who would be the only other person capable of recognizing such a treasure— got into the apartment and took his ring, and found an unconscious mortal girl with the sweetest honey and lavender liquid pulsing through her veins, then…

The sheets and curtains of the room blow in a breeze as Harry jets off the bed, forgetting to control his inhuman speed as he throws the sliding door open and stumbles into the hallway.  More sunlight streams through the windows of the living room, and it’s taking all of Harry’s dulled concentration to avoid the beams as he staggers towards the kitchen.

It’s not until the immortal smells Y/N’s familiar fragrance and hears the beating of her heart, in tune with her quiet humming, that the fear Harry hadn’t realized had tightened his chest flows out of him in one fell swoop.  He does his best to force even breaths in and out of his lungs, watching as Y/N raises her coffee mug to her lips and blows on the hot liquid before taking a small sip.

She’s dressed in his multicoloured patchwork cardigan again, buttoned up to provide her with warmth and modesty, but it slips down her bare shoulder in a way that allows Harry to see she’s wearing nothing underneath it.  Although the cardigan pools around her silky thighs— which are marked with bruises from the night before— Harry can see the tiniest peak of her panties beneath the fabric, and if he were in a better frame of mind, he might’ve noticed how they’re not the pair she wore last night (that pair had been ripped right down the middle in his frantic attempt to get them off).  However, Harry’s eyes quickly settle on Y/N’s hands, which, after she sets down her coffee cup, pick up Harry’s lionhead ring and begin turning it around in her fingers.

When he sees the ring in her delicate grasp, a wave of sheer rage begins to rumble through Harry’s chest, and it takes every fiber of his undead being to keep it at bay as he approaches the mortal girl. “Y/N,” Harry rasps lowly, voice heavy with the exhaustion that his newfound vulnerability has stacked onto his shoulders. He stands in the one spot of shadow near the kitchen counter, trying hard not to glower. “What are you doing?”

When Y/N turns her head to look at him, her sleepy face smiles softly, eyes nearly as bright as the infuriating sun. Maybe that’s why, Harry thinks, it feels like it burns.

“Morning,” She says quietly, her own voice just as sleepy as Harry’s as she picks up a grey cloth from the table and begins to run it over the ring with precision and care. “How did you sleep?”

It’s a simple, innocent question, and Harry knows that, but his mind can’t think in simple and innocent terms right now.  As the light filling the room begins to pound his head even more, Harry’s thoughts revert back to his most instinctual behavior— rough carnal impulse. “What are you doing?” He asks again, his voice lower than before.  He sounds dangerous, and he means to.  How could she possibly think that taking something from him without his permission is fine?

“I’m polishing your ring.” Y/N keeps that good-natured smile on her face as she replies, but Harry can see the smallest waver in it as she begins to sense his distorted energy from across the room. “It was tarnished, and I have a polishing cloth, so I thought I’d—”

“Give it back.” Harry doesn’t mean to snarl the phrase, but he can’t stop himself from doing it as he thrusts out his hand expectantly; it’s taking all his concentration to keep himself from baring his teeth and letting his eyes bleed red. 

Y/N doesn’t fight him on it, and drops the ring carefully into his awaiting hand without letting her warm skin meet his.  She watches with confused eyes as Harry slips the newly shined lionhead ring onto his finger, a breath of relief sighing from his red lips the moment the metal meets his skin. He finishes twisting it into its designated spot, and he feels like he can actually breathe again.

The human girl waits a moment for an explanation from Harry, some spoken word or action to justify the hostility rolling off of him as he clutches the jeweled hand to his chest.  As the moments pass, however, Harry offers no explanation, or anything at all as he takes deep and measured inhales through his nose, as if he’s trying to relax. 

“I’m sorry.” Y/N offers the words quietly, turning in her chair to properly face him with sincere eyes. “I just noticed that it was more tarnished than your other jewelry, and I thought I could—”

“You can’t take my rings from me.” Harry answers in a harsh voice, his face reflecting about as much warmth as stone on a winter’s day. “I thought I’d lost it.  You can’t do that.”

“I’m sorry.” Y/N repeats the phrase again, gentler this time as she wraps her hands around her steaming mug.  She had guessed that the opal ring was his mother’s, but like Harry’s ruby ring and initial rings, she’d deduced this lionhead decal was more for decoration than anything.  If it was something important, one would figure that he’d take better care of it.  But it seems she’s not as adept at reading Harry as she’d like to think, because his explosive reaction had been totally unexpected.  For the first time since she met him, Y/N feels uneasy in his presence.  Had she really offended him that much?

The truth of the situation, unbeknownst to her, is that Harry’s reaction is no more purposefully malicious than Y/N’s intentions. Although the ring is back on his finger, and the crystals are beginning to protect him again, Harry’s thoughts are still muddied as he glances around the apartment, carefully surveying the circumstance like the top predator he pretends not to be.  There’s still a throbbing in his skull, and his eyes remain painfully dry, despite the fact that his healing has kicked in and mended his blistered fingertips.  In this moment, Harry feels weaker than he has in centuries; if someone were to attack right now, he wouldn’t be able to react quickly enough to protect himself. How could his aching head afford him any clear plan of attack?  How could his burning eyes show him every approaching danger?  How did he let himself become so relaxed— so stupidly lax— that he didn’t notice a mere human slipping off his most precious and needed object as he slept soundly in her bed?

“I really am sorry, Harry.” Rising from her chair with her quiet speech, Y/N steps towards him, hand outstretched to touch his inked forearm. “I didn’t know—”

Her hot fingertips against Harry’s frozen skin jar the vampire, triggering his fight or flight instincts as he tenses beneath her touch. “No—” He wrenches his arm away hurriedly, the searing graze reminding him of the sunlight that had harmed him just seconds ago, his wild eyes meeting Y/N’s in a feral frenzy. 

Although her chest barely moves, Harry can hear the stuttering breath that the girl sucks in through her teeth, her eyes widening at the severity of his actions. “I’m sorry.” She whispers the phrase again, her fingers jerking back from Harry’s arm in shock. “I…”

The more time passes, the more Harry regains control of himself, and as Harry melds his shattered composure back together, he can see the fear beginning to stain its way onto Y/N’s face.  The uneven beating of her heart pricks his ears, as does the scuff of the floor beneath her bare feet as she takes a step back from him.  When that uncertain fear reaches her irises, Harry is suddenly flashed back to their first date, when he’d been worried that she might be scared of being alone with him, and how delighted he’d been when he realized that wasn’t the case.  And now, as a sick feeling begins to settle in his stomach, he knows he’s blown it. 

Inhaling deeply through his nose, Harry urges himself to relax. 

“No, I’m sorry.” He softens his voice as much as he can muster in order to apologize, rubbing his charred eyes with one hand, hoping they’re still the canopy green Y/N is familiar with. “M’just half asleep still, and I was worried that— I’m sorry.” Harry extends his ringed hand in invitation, desperately craving the warmth of Y/N’s touch now that he’s leveled out, but not wanting to take it unwillingly. He wants her to feel safe enough to give it to him. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

There’s a moment of hesitation that flickers in her eyes, but it quickly passes as the mortal lays her hand within his. “You didn’t scare me.” She reassures him, but Harry can hear the falseness of her response immediately, and that guarded demeanor only intensifies the nausea rattling inside him.

Is she lying to save his feelings, he wonders, or to make herself look tougher?  No matter which may be the truth, Harry hates that she has to feel the need to lie.  He’d been upset, yes, but he should know better.  And he should know that she doesn’t know better.  She thought she’d been doing something nice for him; she has no idea about the torturous results his ring protects him from.  And she doesn’t know because Harry refuses to tell her— because he refuses to subject her to that perverted knowledge.  This is his own doing. 

“I did. I did frighten you, and I was rude, and I’m truly sorry.” Harry sighs heavily, dragging his fingers through his sleep-tousled curls. “My ring is just— it’s very important to me, and I don’t really like to take it off, so maybe just—just ask next time, yeah?” He murmurs the words in a soothing tone, his thumb sweeping over her knuckles in a poor attempt to make up for the way he’d berated her. “I know you didn’t have any bad intentions, and I’m not angry with you for taking it, but it just scared me when I woke up and it was gone.” 

“I’m sorry.” Y/N repeats yet again, and although Harry can feel her melting into his touch, there’s still a hint of uncertainty lingering beneath her words. 

Harry forces a grin on his chapped lips, which he wets with his tongue before speaking again. “S’alright, dove.  No harm, no foul.  And no more apologies, yeah?” He brushes a finger over her cheek, trying his best to put on a lighthearted front for the girl. “It was rather tarnished, actually— needed a good cleaning.” 

A shy smile finally creeps its way onto Y/N’s face, and Harry has to stop himself from breathing an audible sigh of content at both the gesture and the lack of prying about why that ring was dirtier than the rest (the answer to said question is just as simple as it is complicated: it reminds Harry of someone he’d rather forget, and if he didn’t need it, he’d drown it in the deepest ocean he could find— keeping it clean is the least of his concerns).

“How about breakfast, hm?  It’s early, but we could make some pancakes, or—” Harry glances at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall, reading the time with surprise before his gaze travels back to Y/N with a confused look. “It’s not even seven yet.  What time did you get up?”

“Around 6:15?  6:30?” She lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug, and Harry’s cardigan slips down her arm with the motion. “I don’t really remember.”

With his other hand still squeezing her own, Harry rugs the sleeve of the cardigan back up her shoulder, smoothing it over her morning-cooled skin. “It’s a Saturday, darling.  What were you doing up so early?”

Despite her heartbeat having not quite returned to its usual tempo, Y/N nuzzles into Harry’s touch as he pulls her closer to him. “Couldn’t really sleep, I guess.” Tucking her face into his neck for a moment, Y/N indulges a penetrating inhale, enjoying the remnants of his mahogany and vanilla cologne before stepping back and past Harry to the cabinet.  

Standing on her tiptoes, Y/N opens the door and retrieves a pink flowered mug before sliding down the counter to her coffee maker. “Want some coffee?” She asks, touching the glass of the carafe lightly to make sure it’s still warm. “There’s butter in the fridge, I think, if you want to make your disgusting drink.”

Ignoring the dig at his beverage of choice— which Harry has explained to her, multiple times, has many health benefits (not that he needs them) and just tastes better than coffee with cream— the vampire leans his hip against the counter, crossing his arms over his bare chest as his brow furrows over his darkening eyes. 

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” He questions, his attention glued to Y/N’s actions as she seems to deliberately avoid his gaze.  He analyzes the dark circles under her eyes, apparent even from just her side profile, and a spark of concern ignites his chest.  Could this be his fault?  Is drinking her blood beginning to take a physical toll on her body?  His blood has been healing her bite marks, but what about her iron levels?  Is her circulation being affected?  Mitch has told him multiple times that drinking from humans is okay once or twice a week, as long as there’s a grace period in between feeding, but Mitch has also never had the same human for as long as Harry has had Y/N.  Have the weeks they’ve spent together begun to unravel her?

When Y/N simply shrugs in response to his question, and offers no other words of explanation, a tired sigh falls from Harry’s lips as he steps towards her, taking the now-filled coffee mug from her hands and setting it down on the counter.  He wraps his arms around Y/N’s shoulders, hugging the girl into his chest for a moment to get a gauge on her body’s response.  Her heartbeat stutters, yes, but that’s a usual response to being wrapped inside Harry’s embrace, and it returns to normal after a few beats.  Her body feels just as warm as it usually does, and her chest is rising and falling just as it should be.  Nudging his face into her hair, he breathes in deeply, filling his lungs with her fragrance.  No, nothing smells out of place, and her blood had tasted as delicious and as strong as ever last night.  If she’s having trouble sleeping, the cause isn’t anything tangible. 

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Harry mumbles the words into her hair before lifting his head up, extracting the girl from his arms just enough so that he can see her face. “If something is bothering you and keeping you up, then you can wake me up, too.”

Y/N worries her pillowy bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes become entranced by Harry’s rosemary gaze. “I know I could, but I didn’t want to.  You—” She swallows hard in an attempt to clear the thickness from her throat as her cheeks begin to burn. “You were sleeping, and I never see you sleep.” Y/N’s voice retreats into a sheepish tone at the admittance, her eyes falling from Harry’s stare to the floor between them. “You always fall asleep after me, and you’re always awake before me.  You need rest, too, H.”

While Harry would normally laugh at that simple phrase— at the fact that Y/N doesn’t know how wrong she is— Harry’s dimples remain dormant as he focuses on the concern in her voice. “I—” His voice catches in his throat, and he has to clear it before he can say anything else. “I sleep just fine.  Better, in fact, when I’m with you.” He confesses, his thumbs brushing over the exposed skin of Y/N’s neck. 

And after Y/N has extracted herself from his grip to take a sip of her coffee, after she teasingly groans while watching Harry drop a pat of butter into his own steaming mug, after he begins to crack eggs into a pan as Y/N starts to lay bacon on a baking sheet, after all that, Harry finally realizes what lodged in his throat. It dawns on him just as Y/N slips a pink apron over his bare, faintly hickey-bruised chest to protect him from splatters of grease, giggling to herself as he poses with his hand on his hip and makes a vulgar joke about how this looks like the setup to a cheesy porno. 

The vampire comes to the realization that Y/N takes notice of him. 

She notices when he doesn’t sleep.  She notices his exposed skin that could potentially be burned while cooking.  She notices the expressions on his face, reads the tone of his voice, knows when to press a matter and when to leave it be.  And she’s concerned.  She’s concerned about not seeing him sleep.  She’s concerned about him accidentally getting hurt.  She’s concerned about the swings in his moods, the shortness of his answers.  And while Harry knows her real concerns should be about allowing herself to be in such close proximity to someone— something— like him, he can’t help but feel a warmth in his chest at the thought of her worrying about him. 

As much as Harry likes to pretend otherwise, he knows he’s not easy to be around sometimes.  He can be vain, self-centered, self-serving, and inconsiderate.  He can be selfish, dishonest, and manipulative.  His mood can teeter at the drop of a hat, and he changes his mind like the weather on the best of days.  And on his worst of days, sometimes Harry wonders if anyone could care for him, or even stand to be around him, if it wasn’t a necessity. 

Although he’d never admit it, when Harry reflects on his friendships, he can feel a degree of insecurity in the threads that tie him to his crew.  He’s fairly certain that if he and Mitch met under different circumstances— circumstances when both of them were human— they would likely still be friends.  Maybe not as close as they are today, but friends, at the very least.  When it comes to Niall, Xander, and Adam, however… he’s not so sure.  Yes, he cares for them more than he’ll ever care for anyone again, and his loyalty to them is unwavering, but on his worst days, Harry can’t help but wonder if they would be friends if their connection hadn’t been forged on the basis of what they are, and understanding something that no one else can.  If being vampires hadn’t placed them in each other’s lives and sealed them in a bond of venom and blood, would they even have given the others a second thought?  Would any of them have wanted Harry in their lives?  Harry wants to think yes, but it’s not a question of what he wants; the truth is, Harry is uncertain. 

But when Y/N sits across from him with a smear of ketchup on her bottom lip, smiling softly at Harry as he wipes it off with his thumb, and he can’t stop himself from smiling back, he realizes something that’s never occurred to him before.  He’s able to be cared for by someone who is drawn to him for all the reasons humans are normally drawn to each other, and not because they have a mutual understanding of what it’s like to be an other.

Of course, he knows there’s a certain degree of falsity in that; part of his charm and addictive qualities come from what he is, and Y/N, like any other mortal, isn’t immune to that.  But instead of allowing herself to be driven away by the usual uneasiness that pairs with being so close to a vampire for so long, Y/N is leaning closer to him, laughing as he cracks a bad joke, kissing him over their breakfast, and showing evidence that she— against all odds— wants to know him.  And the thought sends a fluttering below Harry’s ribs. 

He wishes, just for a moment, that he could be capable of feeling the same. He wishes he could have the decency to give this girl the proper relationship she wants, or even the decency to break her heart quickly before she gets too attached to someone incapable of seeing her as anything more than a takeout meal.  He wishes he could get to know her— truly get to know her, without any ulterior motives.

But Harry is vain, self-centered, self-serving, and inconsiderate.  He’s selfish, dishonest, and manipulative.  And he has his fangs too deep in this mortal to let her go. 

///

“Are you sure I can’t pick you up?” Harry slides his phone between his ear and his shoulder in order to snag his keychain from his pocket, fumbling for the right key before inserting it into his locked door. “I can just drop my groceries off and then swing by your cafe, love.  It’s no trouble.”

“No, really, it’s fine, H.” Y/N insists from the other end of the line, her voice nearly drowned out from the roar of L.A. traffic around her. “I already left work, and I’m nearly home.  I’ll be over at your place within, like, forty-five minutes, I think?  I just have to change out of my uniform.”

With his front door now unlocked, Harry grabs his phone from its perch on his shoulder before pushing open the door with his hand full of groceries, stepping inside his apartment and nudging the door shut with his foot. “I know, but it’s a long walk to my place, isn’t it?”

“It’s, like, twenty minutes— practically nothing.  And besides, I have to stop at the post office and mail a letter to my parents.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth quirks up as he rounds the corner to his kitchen, setting his grocery bags on the island before leaning his hip against the kitchen counter, his now free hand braced against the cool marble. “You still send your parents letters?  Can’t you just call them?” He asks, tapping a ringed finger against the stone.

“If you knew my parents, you’d send letters, too.” Y/N sighs into the speaker, and Harry’s inhuman ears can hear the jangling of her keys in her hand.  He can picture her searching for them like she did the night they met, digging into her purse until she’s elbow deep, her tongue tucked between her teeth in concentration.

Despite the distinctive sound of a lock turning, Harry can’t stop himself from asking about her well-being. He’s so used to doing it with his other friends, it slips out on impulse. “Are you home now?  Made it alright?”

There’s a hint of exasperated amusement in Y/N’s voice when she responds. “Yes, I managed to walk home all by myself.  Didn’t even get murdered.” There’s another thud, and Harry imagines her shutting her door, pushing her weight against it to lock it properly. “I’m pretty good at taking care of myself, you know.  I have good instincts.” 

If she’s allowed him to get this close to her, Harry thinks, then her instincts aren’t exactly the caliber she imagines them to be, but he bites his tongue to stop himself from correcting her. “I’m sure you do, darling.” He murmurs the reply as he opens his fridge to begin stocking it with the items he’d purchased earlier. “Oh, by the way, make sure you���re wearing comfortable shoes, yeah?  We’re going to be doing a bit of walking later.”

“Right.  And you’re not telling me where we’re going because…?”

“Because surprises are fun.”

When Y/N huffs in response, Harry pictures the girl with a scowl on her face, her arms crossed tightly over her tummy as she gives him an endearing glare. “Not when you’re the one who’s being surprised.” 

Still, despite her protests, Harry hears the rustling of clothing as she pulls off her work polo, followed by the clanking of her belt, the snap of a button, and the familiar rustle of her jeans being peeled off her legs. “You just worry about undressing yourself, alright?  It must be difficult, since you’ve grown so used to me doing it for you.”

“Uh huh.  I’m hanging up now.” Y/N deadpans into the phone, but Harry can tell there’s a lingering smile underneath her flat words. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Alright, doll.  See you soon.” Harry sets a carton of eggs in the fridge before closing it, hanging up the call and slipping his phone back into his black slacks.  

It takes Harry a few more minutes to put the rest of his groceries away in his pantry.  He made sure to stock up on all the ingredients needed to make pancakes at the grocery store, as well as picking up a carton of the fancy pomegranate juice that Y/N had mentioned she was fond of.  In fact, as he was wandering the aisles of his local Whole Foods, he’d found himself seeking out the snacks that he’d seen in her cupboards.  He knows that humans need to eat much more often than vampires do, and seeing as how all the activities Y/N engages in at his condo are rather exhausting and energy-burning, he thought she’d need proper fuel.

After he folds the reusable cloth tote bags he’d brought to the grocery store and puts them back in the pantry, Harry climbs up his glass stairs to his bedroom.  He takes a moment to evaluate his appearance in the full length mirror hanging on the back of his door, sweeping over every detail with a careful eye.  His outfit is alright for what he has planned, he decides; his black slacks and scuffed white vans are comfortable, but more importantly, his white t-shirt embossed with a Hollywood Bowl print that clings to the muscles of his inked arms and broad chest, which Harry knows Y/N will enjoy.  His curls, however, need a bit of tending to, and Harry slinks into his bathroom to add a bit more product to his chestnut locks, getting rid of the little frizz that had developed in the L.A. heat in order to fix his curl pattern.  

As for his jewelry, he leaves on his usual rings: his gold initial pieces, his mother’s opal, his ruby, an engraved band, and his lionhead ring, which shines under the bathroom lights thanks to Y/N’s careful efforts the week before.  Once those are secure, he fastens his pearl necklace around his neck, and fixes the clasp of his cross before slipping a plain gold hoop into his pierced ear.  Once he’s satisfied with his accessories, Harry spritzes his favourite cologne across his body, giving his appearance one more look over as he leaves his bathroom and passes the full length mirror in his bedroom again.  

The Rolex on his wrist tells him that Y/N is due over any moment, and he’s just making sure his Gucci wallet is securely tucked in his trouser pocket when Harry’s ears prick up at the sound of two pairs of feet stomping into his condo downstairs.  It only takes him a moment more to identify the intruders based on their step patterns, and a frown tugs at the corner of his mouth as he checks the time again before sauntering down the stairs.

“And just what do you two,” Harry calls to his unexpected friends as he rounds the corner of the stairs, his eyebrow quirked in question as he steps down from the last platform, “think you’re doing here?”

“We wanted some change in scenery.” Niall quips sarcastically, emerging from the end of the entrance corridor with his hands in his pockets, shoulders shrugging casually. “And I told Xander you might be shirtless, which got him to tag along. But you’re not, much to his disappointment. Though I do think the way you’re about to burst out of that tee suffices. Isn’t that right, Xanny?” 

“That’s not true!” Xander snaps hotly, his cheeks blazing and glare electric as Niall cackles boyishly, stepping around him and towards the kitchen, like he always does when he walks into Harry’s apartment. The tanned man glowers at the other vampire as he makes a beeline for Harry’s refrigerator, slowly pinning his gaze back onto the owner of the condo. He clears his throat awkwardly before offering a solid explanation for their sudden visit. “Adam cancelled on pub trivia night, so we thought you might be available instead.”

Harry shakes his head with a sigh as he makes his way into the kitchen, as well— mostly to make sure Niall doesn’t reach for any of the expensive liquors he has arranged on his bar shelves; they took too long to collect for him to just allow a single person to down one bottle like a shot— and leans both elbows against the marble island. “Sorry, mate.  I’ve got a date with Y/N.”

“So bring her.” Niall pipes up from the fridge, a stolen bottle of Harry’s favourite beer already in his hand. Harry doesn’t complain— it’s a better substitute than his forty year aged scotch. “She went to uni, didn’t she?  She must be smart.”

“I’ve got better things planned for us than pub trivia with two obnoxious knobheads.” Harry retorts, his lips tugging into a smirk at Niall’s responding eyeroll. “That’s not very romantic, is it?  Taking her on a double date with you two?”

“And that’s not very nice, H. I’m offended you wouldn’t go on a double date with Xander and I.” The Irishman sniffles with fake sincerity, biting the bottle cap off his beer despite knowing that Harry keeps a bottle opener in the kitchen drawer to his right. 

Xander watches the spectacle with distaste, his nose wrinkling as Niall spits the cap from his mouth into his hand. “And I’m offended you’d think I’d date someone who does that.”

“It’s not like you have standards.”

“Hey!”

“But then again, no one sets a bar the way I do.”

“The only bar you set for me was potential alcoholism.” Xander mutters spitefully.

“I’d make a great boyfriend.” Niall interrupts with airy confidence, ignoring his friends bickering and taking a deep swig of his beverage, smacking his lips appreciatively. “But humans are too fragile to keep around for long, and most vampires are fucking psychotic. Unfortunately.”

“What about Charlotte?” Harry suggests nonchalantly, hooking his index finger into the cabinet beneath him and fishing for a coaster. He shuts the drawer and skims the item across the top of the counter towards Niall, just in case the man wants to put his glass container down. This is real marble, after all. “She seems pretty tame.” 

Niall glances at the coaster, but doesn’t make any conscious effort to set his drink down. Harry should’ve known; Niall isn’t one to put a pint down until it’s empty, but the possibility is there, nonetheless. It’s not his fault he likes taking care of his home. 

Niall sighs through his nose dismissively, following it with a light rattle of his head. “Charlotte’s too...smart. She’s a bit out of my league, and I feel like she’d get bored of me easily. Also, how would you know if she’s tame or not? You rarely hang out whenever she’s around.” 

“That’s because she hates me.” Harry states flatly, as if it should be obvious. And it should, considering the young woman had not held back on expressing her strong dislike towards the curly brunette. Harry has thick skin and words never hurt him, but Charlotte has a surprisingly vicious vocabulary; if he hadn’t been amused by her anger, she would have come pretty close to genuinely chipping his ego. 

Niall chortles softly. “Well, I mean, you can’t really blame her, can you? You’re kind of a prick.”

“A proper asshole, actually.” Xander chimes in, drumming his digits against the table’s surface and giving Harry a bright, innocent smile. 

The immortal momentarily casts his eyes towards the ceiling in mild annoyance. “Yeah, well, that’s just the way I am. If her and Miss Billy Ray Cyrus can’t handle some dark humor and dirty banter, that’s not my problem. Everyone else seems to like me just fine.” 

“That’s debatable.” Xander corrects. 

“You’re just mad I fucked you once and decided that was enough.” 

“Anywho,” Niall interferes, waving around his beer in order to catch his friends’ attention and prevent a catastrophic World War V, he proceeeds to swivel the topic back onto himself, “like I said, I’d make a great partner. I’m funny, I’ve got a whole shelf full of PS4 games, I like to think my oral skills are pretty decent, and—”

“Have you ever made a girl wet her sheets?” Harry prods with entertained curiosity, cocking an eyebrow questioningly.

Niall pauses mid-sentence with his drink perched to his lips, eyes flitting around thoughtfully as he shovels through cluttered memories of drunken one night stands and fleeting relationships. He relents with a sheepish scoff, shoulders sagging. “...No.”

“Then you’re not as skilled as you think.” Harry remarks passively, titling his head to the side with finality. “And I’m willing to bet Mitch’s next stock of O negative that eighty percent of your hookups probably faked it.” 

“Oi, bet, then.” Niall snorts, grinning around the spout of his beverage as he finishes his sip. He wiggles his brows playfully, squaring his shoulders proudly. “You can’t fake a leg-shake, darling.” 

“A leg-shake?” Harry inquires carefully, pursing his lips to keep from sputtering into pompous laughter. “You mean like this?” He then proceeds to dramatically buckle his right leg, immediately debunking Niall’s ridiculous theory. “Just like that?” 

The Irish bloke’s face drops into a scorned scowl as Xander and Harry break into a round of mocking giggles. He draws into himself with childish pettiness, narrowing his eyes pointedly. “Piss off.”

“Unless she couldn’t walk right afterwards, you didn’t really do what you think you did, Ni.” 

“It seemed pretty real to me!” The blue-eyed boy rebuttals sharply, cheeks tinging bright pink in embarrassment. 

“That’s the point.” 

“This is precisely why I’d never entertain a relationship with you, even as a joke.” Xander pipes up towards Niall, smirking cruelly at his friend’s bruised ego. “I like my orgasms to be real, and I’m not willing to put up an act to spare your fragile masculinity.” 

“Your dick’s probably small, anyways.” 

“Bigger than yours.”

“Is that a challenge? I’ll pull it out right now, I don’t give a fuck.”

“Well,” Harry cuts in loudly, not necessarily keen on watching two grown men compare penis sizes in the middle of his home, “it seems you two have some issues to work out, so the double date is a moot point, anyways.” His jade eyes flicker to his watch again; Y/N should nearly be here, and he doesn’t want these two goons present when she arrives— especially not with their balls out. That wouldn’t be a decent introduction, despite being an unforgettable one. “So I’ll talk to you two later, then.  Thanks for stopping by.”

“Hold up, I practically just cracked my beer.” Niall whines in return, holding up the chilled bottle in protest, leaning his backside against the marble countertop with a decisive motion. “Y’can’t kick us out yet.”

Harry laughs once, the noise sounding more strained than he would like. “Seeing as how I didn’t invite you over, I think I can.” He retorts, tapping a jeweled finger against the table. 

“The blood bag isn’t even here yet,” Xander reasons as he pulls out a chair from the kitchen island, taking a seat and making himself at home as if Harry hadn’t just told him to get the fuck out. “So what's the rush?”

The hair on the back of Harry’s neck prickles at the crude nickname, and the older vampire shoots daggers at the younger as he pushes himself off the marble counter. “There isn’t one, except I think hearing herself be referred to as ‘the blood bag’ may make her a little suspicious, don’t you?”

“We’ve referred to her as worse.” Xander shrugs offhandedly, kicking his feet up onto the bar stool next to him.

Harry’s brows furrow as he pushes Xander’s shoes off his furniture, dusting the leather cushion off. “Referred to her as what?  And when?”

Although Xander lifts one shoulder again as a vague answer, Niall smacks his lips loudly once again as he swallows the rest of the beer, and answers in a matter-of-fact tone. “In Vegas, after you ditched us to get your dick wet.  I think Xander called her a fuckable slab of kobe beef, and—”

“I said ribeye, actually.  Nice flavour, but a little chewy.” Xander corrects the Irishman, but has the decency to look halfway embarrassed when he catches Harry’s stony glare. “And it’s not like we’re wrong, right?  That’s all humans are.”

Niall gives an affirmative nod as he sets his empty bottle down on the marble counter, completely ignoring the coaster Harry had slid to him. “Don’t take it personally, H.  Xanny refers to his own dates as McDonald’s Happy Meal Twinks— at least a ribeye steak is expensive.”

“I’m not taking it personally.” Harry mutters the words in a low voice as his jaw twitches, tensing under the sunlight streaming through his floor-to-ceiling windows. “But comments like these are why you pricks need to get out of here before she shows up, or else I’ll be feeding from one of you tonight.”

A beat of silence falls between the three vampires as the palpable tension flowing off of Harry thickens the room.  Xander and Niall glance between each other and Harry, hardly able to hold the latter’s eyes, before Niall offers a small comment.

“I don’t think Xander would mind that, really—”

“Out.” Harry points a jeweled finger at the entrance corridor with a firm motion. “Both of you.  Go bother Mitch.”

He can see the disappointment and frustration that lingers on Niall and Xander’s faces, but neither of them fight him as they rise from their perches in the kitchen and walk dejectedly to the front door.  Harry briefly entertains the idea of walking them out, but decides against it; there’s a strange buzzing sensation rising through his ribs, and he’s not quite sure what he’ll say as he bids his friends— he has to remind himself that, yes, they’re his friends— goodbye.  It’s safer, he thinks, if he stays where he is and cleans up the mess that they managed to leave behind in their short visit. 

He comes to regret that decision, however, approximately three milliseconds after he hears the front door creak open, and a familiar but unexpected voice echos down the entrance hallway.

“Oh— hi.  Sorry, I may have the wrong apartment…?”

Harry freezes with Niall’s empty beer bottle clutched in his hand, his grip contracting so hard that he hears the thick glass begin to splinter.

“No, no, this is Harry’s apartment.  We were just leaving.” The grin on Niall’s face is audible underneath his Irish accent. “You must be Y/N.”

“I am, yeah.” Harry can hear the tiny thread of surprise at him recognizing her in the human’s words, and the even tinier thread of pleasure that undercuts it.  “And you must be...Niall, I think?  And Xander?”

Niall’s smug reply grates against Harry’s frozen skin, even from down the corridor. “Harry’s told you about us, huh?  Only good things, I hope.”

“Oh, I—”

Harry forces his legs to move with inhuman speed, the beer bottle not even having hit the marble counter by the time Harry appears at Niall and Xander’s shoulders. “Hi, darling.” He says through a strained smile, digging his stony fingers into the back of the two vampire’s arms, an unspoken warning of behave. “Y’made it alright, then?”

When Y/N shines a warm— albeit, slightly confused— smile in his direction, Harry wishes that he’d been faster in shooing his friends out the door, because the action nearly knocks the unrequired breath from his chest.  

She’d dressed in comfortable and casual clothes, as per his suggestion, and is standing just outside the doorway in light washed denim overalls, with a black and white striped t-shirt layered underneath, and her familiar cotton candy pink vans on her feet.  But the detail that digs its way to the forefront of his mind— more so than her satin lips, her heated cheeks that are appled with her smile, and the tousled locks that are pulled back from her face in a low ponytail— is the shining silver cross pendant that hangs on a chain around her smooth neck.

It’s a new addition that Harry has never seen before, and while he knows he shouldn’t be surprised— after all, she’d told him how she grew up in a religious town, how she’d attended church, how she used to say grace before dinner with her friends— the jewelry still piques his curiosity.

“I did, yeah.  It’s really not that long of a walk, H.” Y/N replies, flicking her eyes between Harry and his two friends, who are still watching her every move as if she’s a specimen to be observed. “Sorry, am I interrupting…?”

The Irishman with glasses— Niall, Y/N reminds herself— opens his mouth to respond, but Harry quickly cuts him off as he pushes past his mates to take Y/N’s hand and step outside the apartment, fetching his keys and yellow sunglasses from the small side table by the door in one smooth motion.

“Not interrupting anything, doll.  Niall and Xander were just on their way out.” Although Harry is smiling at her throughout the comment, the mortal can’t help but feel like the last phrase was aimed at the pair still lingering in the doorway.

“We were just stopping by to see if we could steal Harry for a last minute trivia game, but he said he was already booked.” Niall answers with an accepting shrug, glancing at Xander next to him, who’s still yet to say anything to Y/N, though he is carrying an unreadable empty expression as he gives the girl a calculating once-over. “Apparently, whatever he’s got planned for you two is more interesting than a few beers and watching Xander struggle to remember all the battles in World War I—”

“That’s not fair,” The brunette finally chimes in, breaking his attention away from her body to meet the blue-eyed boy’s gaze. Y/N is surprised to hear an American accent fall from his lips. “I’m the only one who wasn’t there, so how would I know—?”

“And you two are already arguing,” Harry cuts over his friends’ bickering, shooting them an annoyed glance as he wraps a cool arm around her waist, cautioning them to watch what they’re saying. “Which will only get worse once you get alcohol in your hands, and that is why I’m not going to subject Y/N to a headache-inducing night of torture.” 

Y/N looks up at Harry with innocent interest swirling in her eyes. “I don’t know, H, it could be fun.” She worries her bottom lip between her teeth as a crease forms between Harry’s brows. “Don’t you think?”

Niall catches Harry’s eye, taking advantage of Y/N’s distraction to cheekily flash him his crimson irises for a split second, voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm that only he can detect. “Yeah, Harry. Don’t you think?”

Jaw tensing, Harry bends down to brush his lips over Y/N’s ear, dampening his irritation down into a smooth and silky tone. “Don’t try to spare their feelings, love.  I’ve got something fun planned for us, I promise.” His teeth graze against Y/N’s skin, and he nearly drags his lips down towards her neck until he remembers her stuttering heartbeat can be heard by the other vampires in their presence.

The two creatures gawk at the image before them, utterly baffled at Harry’s unusual tenderness. It’s very out of character for him, that much is obvious. In all the decades Niall and Xander have been acquainted with the Victorian era immortal, neither have ever seen him be so gentle and touchy with another soul, let alone a human. It feels as if they’re looking at some type of warped parallel universe version of the normally stand-offish young man. 

Xander is the first to clear his throat, throwing Harry an annoyed grimace before pulling Niall out from the condo’s entryway. “We’ll see you later then, Harry.  C’mon, Ni.”

The Irishman offers a quick goodbye, gifting the strange girl a frail wave and a parting smile before being half-dragged down the hallway by Xander. Niall wrenches himself free and shoves Xander’s shoulder playfully as they round the corner to the elevator, their quiet voices— no doubt spinning juvenile gossip— fading out of earshot.  The look in Xander’s eyes had been concerning, Harry thinks, but nothing he needs to worry about right now.  If anything, he wants to forget that encounter as quickly as possible, and needs Y/N to forget it, too.

“So,” he pastes an easygoing grin onto his face as he locks his front door, turning to the mortal with a giddy twinkle in his forest green eyes. “Shall we be off, then?”

There’s a lingering look of confusion reflecting back at him, but Y/N doesn’t press the odd encounter as Harry intertwines his icy fingers with her own warm digits. 

“Alright.” She agrees, raising a questioning eyebrow back at him. “And just where are we going?”

///

“The Los Angeles Antique Mall.” Harry announces proudly when he opens Y/N’s door, extending a ringed hand to help her out of his low-riding car. “Twenty thousand square feet of vintage collectables, artwork, furniture, and anything else you could possibly want.”

Y/N stares up at the massive building in front of them, observing the worn wood facade and the collection of what seems to be (half faded) stained rocking chairs adorning the wraparound porch.  There’s also an impressive amount of wrought iron planters with various greenery scattered between the furniture, with groups of people milling between them as they enter and exit the giant mall. 

“You brought me antiquing?” She asks, an bemused look in her eye as she turns to Harry for an explanation. 

Wrapping his large grasp around her smaller one, Harry nods enthusiastically as he begins to lead her towards the door. “Yeah.  It’s fun, actually.  I’m always up for a bit of a treasure hunt, and I thought, since you’re still furnishing your apartment…”

“You know, now that you mention it… I could use some new curtains for my living room.  Maybe a nice side table.” Y/N allows, stepping over the wooden stairs to the door as Harry tugs her along. “But I’m surprised you like antiquing.  Doesn’t really seem like your thing, if I’m honest.”

A mischievous glint flits through Harry’s jade eyes as he treats her to a grin that’s all teeth. “I’m actually quite fond of antiques, truth be told.  I’ve got a good eye for vintage collectables.  And…” He lazily tugs on the handle of the door to open it, stepping to the side to allow Y/N to walk through first. “Maybe we’ll find a nice painting to replace that god awful tapestry in your bedroom.”

A scoff of indignation falls from Y/N’s mouth as she turns on her heel to punch Harry’s sturdy upper arm, nearly getting too distracted by the ropes of muscle beneath his tight sleeve to give a response. “I like that tapestry!  And, seeing as how you’re either sleeping or fucking me when you’re in said room, I’m a little offended that my tapestry is the thing you focus the most on.”

Harry bites his bottom lip between his teeth.  If only she knew how much time he actually spends staring at it. 

“Well, there’s certainly other things I focus on…” He replies with a casual air, slipping his hand into the back pocket of Y/N’s overalls to cup her ass suggestively, guiding her along the aisles of antiques. “But nothing ruins a post-orgasm glow like poor interior design, sweetheart. S’a bit of a buzzkill, y’know?”

“So is being patronized.” Y/N deadpans, extracting Harry’s hand from her back pocket as a hot flash begins to creep up her spine. “You keep mocking my interior design choices, and your orgasms are going to get a lot less frequent.”

The vampire belly laughs as he throws an arm around her shoulders, the action as natural to him as breathing once was. “I don’t believe that for one fucking second.” He replies gleefully, smudging an open mouthed kiss to Y/N’s temple. 

“You don’t, huh?” The human girl raises an eyebrow, cocking her head to scan the towering racks of oddities all around them. “I wonder if we can find you a vintage fleshlight here?”

“Already got one, doll,” Harry rolls his eyes as he brushes his cool fingers along Y/N’s exposed collarbone, his eyes catching the cross pendant again and brimming with curiosity. “And it’s just the tip of the iceberg that is my toy chest, y’know that—” 

Y/N feels Harry’s arm suddenly tense around her, his muscles contracting as his touch jolts away from her collarbones, his hand flexing beneath the open skylights of the building. “Everything okay?” Y/N asks, all her teasing fading away, replaced with concern as she pauses her steps toward the shelves. 

“I—” Harry flexes his fingers again, slowly removing his arm from her shoulder to examine his hand.  The tips of his fingers are a bright red, crimson burns contrasting against his pink skin, and although it only takes a few moments for the marks to fade, the uneasy feeling bubbling in Harry’s stomach lasts. “Yeah.  My, uh, my hand just cramped.  But it’s fine now, I think.”

Who the fuck, he wonders as he cautiously slings his arm back around Y/N’s shoulders, wears a cross made of, not silver as Harry originally suspected, but polished iron?  

Iron jewelry had fallen out of fashion a century ago, and Harry had never been more thankful than when it did, given how his flesh scorches at merely brushing the metal. When he took his family’s trinkets as a way to remember them before he had to leave, Harry had snuck into his father’s forge in the dead of the night to dip the jewelry in gold that he’d stolen from a local merchant who cheated poor peasants out of their valuables.  It had been a tedious task, and rather dangerous due to the threat of being caught, but it had also been necessary; if he hadn’t taken the risk, he wouldn’t have his sister’s cross earring, or his father’s matching cross necklace.  His dad’s pocket watch, luckily, had been made of silver, and didn’t need a golden bath, but everything else had to be encased to protect Harry’s skin.  

Iron jewelry had been a deterrent to him in the years to come after he was turned; it wasn’t uncommon for him to find a pretty young girl from a village and sneak her away for a night of fun, only to discover an iron chain dangling from her neck when he leaned in to take a bite.  It wasn’t a permanent problem, of course, as there were plenty of other soft places he could sink his teeth into, but it had been an annoyance then, and it still annoys him now. 

Harry does his best to push the irritation to the back of his mind, he really does.  He shows Y/N around the twisting maze of antiques, and does his best to showcase one of his favourite hideaways in L.A.  He points to anything and everything that could interest her, and doesn’t hesitate when she asks him to reach something heavy perched on a high shelf, even if she just wants to examine it out of curiosity.  Harry pulls out typewriters, vintage cameras, tarnished cigarette lighters, and a pastel yellow bicycle with an attached wicker basket from 1941, presenting all of the objects with the enthusiasm of a showcase model on The Price is Right, spouting falsified information about each product in the best impression of Bob Barker he can pull off (“This ancient, rusted bicycle— once owned by the Queen of England herself— can be all yours for just one easy payment of $8.99! Taxes and shipping not included.”). 

And although all of that incites multiple tinkling laughs from Y/N, and lights a glimmer in her eye, and compels her to walk closer and closer to Harry until she lets him sneak his palm back into the backside pocket of her overalls, the mystery of her necklace still eats at the far end of his brain. And it’s that insipid, insistent pest of a thought that causes Harry to readjust his grip on the framed Monet print he’d spotted in the racks (Y/N had tried to deny how much she liked it in order to thwart Harry’s triumphant smirk, but she still asked him to grab it for her with a grumble) and spare another glance to the innocent looking cross resting atop her clavicle. 

“That’s a pretty little piece.” Harry slips into a nonchalant tone with ease, nodding towards the necklace as he navigates the two of them around a corner. “Why have I never seen you wear it before?”

Y/N brushes her fingertips over the iron cross with a gentle motion.  Her fingers don’t scorch with a mere graze of the metal, Harry notes scathingly.  Not that he expected it from someone like Y/N. 

“Because I don’t wear it often.” She replies, lifting one shoulder without a second thought. “It was my grandmother’s— not, like, originally, but she’d owned it, and gave it to my mom, who gave it to me, so I guess it counts as a family heirloom, huh?”

“Guess so.” The vampire murmurs in agreement, prickles of wonder still coasting against his skin. “So what made you drag it out today?” Did you subconsciously realize that your neck needs protection when I’m near? Harry tacks on in his head, his brow furrowing at the troubling thought. 

And at that question, Y/N’s eyes drop to the floor, as if her bubblegum pink vans need an audience for every step they take. “Uh, I was just a little homesick, that’s all.” She mumbles the reply, her shoulders sagging as a dark shadow passes through her usually dazzling eyes. 

Homesickness.  The one human feeling that Harry can still relate to. “I’m sorry to hear that, darling.” He removes his hand from her back pocket to wind it around her shoulders again, mindful of the jewelry in question. “Did anything in particular happen, or…?”

Y/N lifts her shoulders once again as she tucks her hands into her pockets, her posture closing off more and more with every passing moment. “Not really.  I don’t know, I— normally I’m fine, but when I addressed my letter to my parents today, it took me a moment to remember my ZIP code.  It’s the same ZIP code I’ve had all my life, but… I nearly forgot it.” She glances at Harry from the corner of her eye, and Harry realizes that dark shadow is guilt.  She feels guilty. “I’ve been in L.A. for less than six months, and almost forgot my parent’s ZIP code.  I didn’t think that could ever happen.”

Harry hums low in his throat, a noise of understanding and finality.  It’s homesickness, that’s all.  That’s explainable, and understandable, and should be enough information to silence the gnawing irritation in his chest. 

And yet...

“Do you believe in God?” The question escapes from Harry’s mouth before he can even think to censor it, his own eyes widening on his behalf as his grip on the Monet print nearly releases from the surprise. 

“What?” Y/N stops in her tracks, although she nearly stumbles forward when Harry’s sturdy arm catches behind her shoulders as her eyes boggle at him. “I don’t— what does God have to do with antiquing?”

If Harry didn’t have to worry about digging himself out of the whole he created, he’d laugh at the incredulous expression on his lover’s face. “I was just curious, s’all.” He struggles to keep his voice casual, steadying his feet against the wooden floor in an effort to ground himself mentally. “I know you were raised with religion, but you don’t really go to church here— not that church equals a belief, but—”

“Um, I don’t…” Y/N extends her arm to let her fingers graze over the shelf of old lunch boxes next to them, feeling each dip of every embossed cartoon character. “I don’t know.  I don’t really believe in, like, a concept of God— at least, not the one I was raised with.  But I believe in…” She trails off as she attempts to gather her thoughts, chewing on her bottom lip absentmindedly as she searches for the right words. “Something.  I don’t really know if it’s a deity, or an energy, or just coincidence, but… I think there’s something out there that guides us.”

“So you believe in souls.” Harry’s mouth presses into a flat line, his jaw clenching for just a moment as he grits his teeth and then reiterates her previous point. “The thing that allows us to be guided, that is.” 

Or allows her to be guided, Harry thinks bitterly, casting his eyes towards their path ahead of them to avoid Y/N’s prying gaze. That’s really the only reason he’d brought up this entire religion conversation— the only reason he ever brings it up: he wants to know if she believes in souls, because in order to be guided by whatever higher power supposedly exists, one needs a soul.  And Harry’s fairly certain his was stolen from him in 1837. 

“I suppose.” Y/N allows, tracing the embossed lettering of a vintage Wonder Woman lunch box. “A soul, an energy, an aura— they’re all kind of the same thing to me.  The thing that keeps your heart beating.  I don’t think it needs to be tied to a religion; there’s so many different religions, but everyone has a heartbeat, you know?”

Harry nearly laughs out loud at the irony, but manages to stifle the sound into a non-committal hum. “Does your something include heaven and hell, or is that too based in Christianity?” He asks, half out of curiosity and half out of necessity. “If someone were to lose their soul…” He knows he sounds insane asking the question, but it bubbles out of him before he can choke it back. “Would you think them damned?”

The mortal girl stares at him blankly for a moment, her mouth just barely open as she considers his words.  He shouldn’t have asked, and he knows that— he knew it the moment the first question fell from his lips.  But the more they discussed the topic, the more it nagged at him.  Y/N, with all her good nature, her listening skills, and her soft heart, are most certainly bound for whatever good lies in store when a soul actually leaves a body.  Harry, on the other hand… If the monster’s conscience were to ever leave this Earth, he knows it’s not for the metaphorical pearly white gates. And for some reason, that notion bothers him more right now than it has in the last twenty decades.

“Um…” A nervous laugh echoes from Y/N’s mouth, the smile curling the edges of her lips not quite reaching her eyes. “Okay, this topic is way too serious for me to discuss sober.  Can I take a rain check on the damnation questions?  I’m getting Sunday school flashbacks, and living through that once was bad enough.”

Harry wills a smile onto his own face, but the expression is more apologetic than anything as he grips Y/N’s hand in his to tow her down an aisle of antique kitchen equipment. “Yeah, of course. Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you with such heavy questions. I guess I just wanted to get to know my partner in justice a bit more.” 

Y/N takes it in good stride, just as she usually does, her smile relaxing the moment she sees Harry’s dimples peek out from his cheeks. “Don’t worry about it, Sherlock.  I’d expect nothing less from such an established detective.”

As the pair pass under another skylight, Y/N’s cross glints at Harry as if to mock him. 

///

Y/N isn’t lost.

To the untrained eye, the mindless path she takes through the towering and twisting rows of the antique mall may seem like the wandering of someone who has no recollection of where they came from, nor where they’re going, but Y/N is adamant that she isn’t lost.  She isn’t, because when she split from Harry to take a trip to the washroom, he’d warned her not to get lost in the internal maze of the mall.  And Y/N, with a glare in her eyes and a scathing remark on her lips, had assured him that she, a grown woman, would be able to find her way back after she was done, and “Honestly, H, just wander a bit.  I’ll be able to find you easily.”

So Y/N isn’t lost, because she refuses to prove Harry right.  He’s already a cocky asshole with a huge ego, and she couldn’t bear seeing that ego enlarge as a triumphant smirk paints over his face the moment she calls him on his cellphone, admits defeat, and asks him to come find her.  She’ll do a lot of things for that man, but that isn’t one of them.

With that in mind, she turns down a corridor of the labyrinth of collectables, trying to find any discernible items that she could use to pinpoint her location in the labyrinth.  The yellow bicycle, maybe, or one of the vintage cameras Harry had pretended to photograph her with, or even the strange five foot carving of Bugs Bunny that she and Harry had agreed is probably possessed by a demon.  A haunted Bugs Bunny could lead her to her destination— or kill her, truthfully, but either option seems preferable over the solidifying future of having to call Harry.

After another five minutes of aimless ambling, Y/N retrieves her phone from her pocket, a grimace crawling its way onto her face as she opens her contacts to click on Harry’s name.  Her finger hovers just over the phone icon, mere millimetres from humiliation, when a few out of place piano notes float by her ears and catch her attention.

Y/N tucks her phone back into her overall pocket as her curiosity takes over, urging her ears to strain towards the distant melody, as well as for her legs to follow. It’s not long before Y/N is walking with purpose again, albeit a different purpose than before.  As the music gets louder, Y/N begins to pick out more details— how the piano notes that prick her ears are slightly out of tune, how the player begins and stops and begins again, dragging out different phrases, speeding through others with no clear intention.  The minor key of the piece makes Y/N feel like she’s walking into a memory as she wades through the shelves of long-forgotten belongings, old photographs of deceased people in Victorian fashions watching while the young woman falls back in time.

The music grows louder as Y/N reaches a dark corridor with wood paneling lining the walls, and a painted sign saying “Music Room” beckons her down the passageway.  She follows with slow steps, and while she knows that maybe leaving the main mall area and losing her way down here isn’t a smart idea, the music that’s beginning to grow impossibly sweet pulls her forward.  Y/N rounds the corner to find the oak doors to the music room swung open, and when she lays her eyes on the figure sitting at the mahogany ground piano, she recognizes the silhouette of Harry’s back and shoulders immediately.

Y/N’s gaze falls from his flexing shoulder blades to his inked hands, the jewels on his rings catching the low light of the room as his lithe fingers dance over the dusty ivory keys.  He coaxes a melody from the instrument without any difficulty, as if the music had been simmering beneath his skin for ages.  Maybe it has, Y/N thinks, as she watches from the doorway with quiet wonder, and although she plans on silently observing for as long as she can, Harry only completes a few more phrases before the music drifts to a halt.

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d find me.” He murmurs, clearing his throat of the rasp that had settled in his vocal chords as he played. “Thought I’d be getting a scared phone call any moment now.”

The human girl steps into the room slowly, gliding around to the cut out of the piano and leaning across the lacquered wood. “I wasn’t scared.  And I would’ve found you sooner if you’d stayed put. I said wander a bit, not all the way across the building.” She retorts jokingly, trailing a finger along the smooth edge of the piano. All of the sarcasm in her voice melts right out, replaced by intrigue. “I didn’t know you played piano.”

“I, uh, I don’t.  Not much anymore, anyways.” Harry runs his digits between the keys again, using only enough pressure to dust the top of the ivory covers. “I wasn’t sure I’d remember how, honestly, but this…” He lifts an index finger to brush the dust off the gold embossed brand name. “It looks like the one I learned on, so…”

Y/N takes a seat on the wooden bench next to Harry, her shoulder bumping against his as she leans in to smudge a kiss across his cheek. “It sounded beautiful.” She assures him, noting the hesitation in his explanation. “What’s that piece called?”

“It’s one of Chopin’s Nocturnes, in C-Sharp Minor.” Harry curves his fingers over the keys, as if he’s about to begin again, but then relaxes the digits as he exhales harshly. “I don’t play it as well as— as the person who taught me.”

There seems to be a hidden story beneath those words, but Y/N doesn’t press it; if Harry wants to tell her, then he’ll tell her.  If not… Well, she’d rather not drag a sour memory from him in the middle of an antique mall.  Instead, she drags her fingers over his thigh, rubbing just above his knee in a comforting manner. 

“How long have you been playing?” She asks softly, tracing over a black lacquered key with her free hand.  When she pulls away, her finger is coated in dust, and she wonders how long it’s been since the piano has been touched by someone else.

The corner of Harry’s lips twitch, as if her question is particularly humorous. “A while.” He answers simply, and he tilts his head to the side to press his face against the top of Y/N’s head, inhaling the scent of her favourite shampoo. 

“A while?” Y/N repeats the vague answer to prompt further explanation, but when she gets none, she switches to another inquiry. “Can you play me something?”

The moment she utters the question, Harry shakes his head adamantly. “No, I— no.  I’m not that good, love, and I don’t really play for people.”

Surprise colors Y/N’s voice when she replies, lifting her head from Harry’s shoulder to look him in the eye. “This isn’t the time for false modesty, H.” She says, tapping two fingers against his knee as punctuation. “Since when have you been humble?”

A bark of a laugh escapes Harry’s chest in spite of himself, and he curls his fingers over Y/N’s to move her hand further up his thigh. “I’m not modest!  Don’t insult me like that, darling.  S’not nice.”

“Prove it, then.” Y/N massages over Harry’s inner thigh as she issues the challenge, baiting the vampire’s ego with ease. “Play me something.  Show off a little bit.”

Harry squeezes Y/N’s hand once as a quiet groan twists his lips into a pout. “You’re getting pretty good at manipulating me, y’know that?” He mutters, poising his lacquered fingertips back over the instrument. “Fine.  Do you want something sad or happy?”

Y/N ponders the question as she leans her head back onto Harry’s shoulder, her lips finding the edge of his jaw and pecking his cool skin for just a moment. “Both.”

“Both.” Harry repeats with a snort, shaking his head in exasperation as his hands drift to a new position on the keys. “Indecisive little thing, aren’t you?”

The mortal girl lifts her shoulders in a noncommittal shrug, scratching her nails along the fabric of Harry’s pants. “Just play me something.  Please?”

It’s the simplest request with the most complicated implication, but Harry can’t find a good reason to refuse it. 

“This is, um, another Chopin piece.” He feels clumsy in his explanation, struggling to remember the details that he’d once memorized in an effort to seem impressive. “Another Nocturne, in E-flat this time.”

Harry’s fingers begin to dance over the keys, and Y/N listens in amazement as a melody that is both happy and sad begins to spiral out from the body of the piano, wrapping her inside the warmth of the music.  

Not every phrase is even— the more Harry plays, it seems, the more the music phrases, bending and shaping itself around his elegant fingers, rolling with his every movement.  As the music begins to get sadder, however, Y/N notices the change in Harry’s face, and how each phrase begins to get choppier as his fingers stumble their way over the keys. 

Y/N smudges another kiss against Harry’s jaw when his fingers trip up again, squeezing his knee with reassurance. “Keep going.” She murmurs, rubbing his leg lightly as the music stutters again. “It’s nice.”

“I—” The music halts with a jerk of Harry’s hands, which he retracts from the keys as if the ivory burns him. “I don’t remember the rest.” He mumbles, laying his stubbled cheek against the top of Y/N’s head. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.  I really liked it.” Y/N trails her own fingers over the keys, pressing a few of the lacquered notes with idle interest.  The melody she spins out isn’t nearly as nice as the one Harry played, and she laughs at her own expense. “I’m not nearly as good.  I took a few lessons as a kid, but begged my mom to let me quit.  I wish I’d stuck with it.”

“That wasn’t too bad.” Harry’s dimples wink at her as he smiles boyishly, nodding to the keys with false reassurance. “That little tune sounded a lot like Mozart.”

“Uh huh.” The mortal girl rolls her eyes at the lie, bracing her palms against the polished wooden bench before rising from her seat. “Despite that praise, I don’t think I’ll be adding this piano to my shopping cart.” 

“Hm.  Too bad.” Her lover trails his fingers after her, reaching for her hand and intertwining her grasp with his. “It could make a pretty addition to your apartment, I think.”

“It would take up my entire apartment, more like it.” Y/N scoffs as she raps the fingers of her free hand against the side of the piano. “I don’t even think I could fit this in my living room.  Your apartment, however…” She raises an eyebrow as a grin works its way over her face. “You could fit it easily.  You should buy it.”

Harry rolls his eyes as he lets her hand fall from his palm, touching the keys one last time before shutting the cover over the keyboard. “I’m not buying the piano.”

“Why not?” Eyes widening in surprise, Y/N leans onto the instrument, gesturing with her arms the same way Harry did earlier as she shifts her voice to mimic Bob Barker. “It’s made of genuine mahogany, was once played by Beethoven himself, and can be yours, for the low, low price of—” She reaches around the side of the instrument to grab the tag tied around the leg. “Eight hundred and—holy shit, are you kidding me?”

Harry hums in response as he rises from the bench, shrugging his shoulders before crossing his arms around his tummy. “That’s actually a fairly good price for a used piano, you know.” 

Y/N blinks at him, her mouth opening and closing as she struggles to find words. “I— okay, yeah.  Sure.  So you should get it, then, if you consider that a ‘fairly good price’.” 

“I could,” Harry agrees, his muscles flexing beneath his tight t-shirt as he reaches to pick up the painting leaning against the instrument. “But I won’t.”

Her brow wrinkling in confusion, Y/N watches as Harry begins to examine the other objects in the room, turning his attention to the book-lined shelves and antique lamps. “Why?” 

The man sighs as he fingers the tassels hanging from a— in Y/N’s humble opinion— particularly ugly lamp. “Because I already have one—”

“You do?”

“—but it’s been in storage ever since I got to L.A. And while I usually love things in excess… alcohol, statement jewelry, orgasms—” He flashes a toothy grin at Y/N. “I don’t think overly-heavy instruments fall into any of those categories.”

“Why is it in storage?” Y/N asks, bemusement laced through her voice.  Before Harry began to stumble through the piece, there was a look on his face that Y/N hasn’t seen very often; a serene air swirled through his eyes, hiding something beneath it that Y/N couldn’t quite make out.  And she wants to. 

“Because I don’t have any interest in playing anymore.  Honestly, darling, I haven’t thought about it in years.” Harry laughs in a nonchalant manner, moving from the antique lamp to the creaking rocking chair in the corner. “Y’can have it, if you like.  Probably do you more good than me.”

Y/N rolls her eyes at the deflection, turning her attention away from the topic at hand. “I’m good.” She responds dryly, drifting over to the floor to ceiling bookshelf bolted to the wall. 

Her eyes trail over the exposed spines of the books, reading over the variety of titles with piqued interest.  The amount of genres she sees is countless, ranging from trashy paperback romance novels to timeless classics embossed in gold.  The farther up Y/N glances, the older the books appear, and she gets more and more curious as she glides her fingers over the rippled covers of the books within her reach.

While the novels climb up the height of the bookshelf to the ceiling, Y/N can only manage to reach halfway up the length she needs to, even while stretching on her tiptoes.  She settles down on the balls of her feet with a pout playing on her lips, her attention turning to the wheeled ladder that runs along bars bolted to the bottom of the shelving unit.  It looks rather old— like everything in the antique mall— and Y/N isn’t quite sure it’ll support her weight, despite her test of gripping a rung and pushing on it.

“Harry, c’mere,” She calls over her shoulder, hands gripping the sides of the dusty ladder as she balances a foot on the bottom rung.

Upon her beckoning, Harry saunters over, the painted print she’d selected still grasped in his ringed hand. “Yeah?” He asks, raising an eyebrow in question. “What is it?”

“Can you help me climb up the ladder?” Y/N nods her head towards the far-reaching shelves, biting her bottom lip with pleading eyes. “I want to see what’s on the top shelves.”

Harry’s gaze follows Y/N’s gesture towards the top of the library wall, a look of trepidation flickering through his eyes. “Is that really necessary?”

“Yes,” Y/N answers curtly, lifting her other foot onto the bottom rung before moving from her original step to the next. “And it’ll be a lot easier if you help me.”

Despite his protests, Harry sets down the framed print and complies with the request, grasping Y/N around her waist with firm hands as she scurries up the rickety ladder.  She can feel his fingertips pressing into her love handles over the denim, and it would be a lie to say she doesn’t enjoy it, but she refocuses her attention onto reading over the embossed titles that she couldn’t see from below.

“Y’know, on second thought… take all the time you need, dove.” Harry calls from below her, the smirk evident in his voice as he squeezes her hips once with a laugh. “I’ve got quite the view from here.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N releases one hand from the ladder to tug a novel off the shelf, examining the half exposed cover before sliding it back into its place. “I bet you do.” She retorts, wiggling her hips just enough to tease him without losing her precarious balance on the ladder.

Although the motion is meant to be a joke, Harry can’t stop the flash of genuine fear that ignites in his chest.  Humans are fragile, he knows, and a fall from the height that Y/N has climbed to could sprain her wrist, or injure her back, or crack open her skull like an egg, or—

“Careful there, Watson.” Harry attempts to disguise the worry in his voice behind a lighthearted joke as his grip on the human girl strengthens. “Wouldn’t want an accident to happen, now, would we?”

“That’s why I’ve got you, Holmes.” A tinkling laugh falls from her lips as she risks a glance over her shoulder at him, her eyes alight with amusement, before turning her attention back to the old novels. “You wouldn’t let anything happen to me, would you?”

There’s a nervous truth hidden underneath her words, and Harry knows it, but that doesn’t stop it from making his skin itch as the casual phrase sinks into his body.  In all his years, however, Harry’s gotten quite good at hiding his emotions, and this is no different.  

Instead of giving a sincere answer, Harry hardens his reply of “F’course I wouldn’t, pet.  Y’can never be too careful.” by letting one jeweled hand drift from Y/N’s hip to her backside, cupping it gently to support her, and taking delight in the way he can feel her body tense beneath his new touch.

It takes Y/N a moment to find her breath again, and when she does, all she can muster is a hum in the back of her throat. “Mhmm.” She sighs, trying her best to refocus on the books lining the shelves in front of her as she climbs higher. “Is that why your hand is grabbing my ass, you pervert?”

“Y’know, that seems to be your favourite nickname for me.” Harry’s smirk deepens as he contracts his hand, squeezing her fleshy backside after she takes another step higher. “I wonder why that is?”

“I wonder.” The flat response echoes from Y/N’s mouth as she pulls another book from the shelf to examine it before replacing it a moment later. “Maybe— and this is just a suggestion, so take it with a grain of salt, but— maybe if you didn’t act like a pervert, you’d get a nicer nickname.”

Although Y/N’s retorts are droll and to the point, Harry can hear the way her heartbeat begins to stutter each time he massages her, and it’s that fluttering rhythm that encourages him to grasp the sides of the ladder with both hands and pull himself up a couple rungs. 

“A nicer nickname, huh?” He breathes in her ear, pressing his chest to her back both to be close to her and to give her more support on the ladder. “Like ‘slut’?” Harry stifles the groan that nearly rolls from his throat when he feels Y/N stiffen. “That’s one of your favourites, isn’t it?”

“I—” Swallowing down the sudden lump in her throat, Y/N grips the sides of the ladder tight between her hands, her skin stretching over her tense knuckles as Harry’s breath begins to hit her neck. “Maybe. I...I suppose.”

Harry laughs quietly as he takes another step up the ladder, keeping himself braced against Y/N as he begins to smear kisses along the side of her neck, mindful of the iron cross that still hangs there. “You suppose?” He repeats, his tone slightly mocking when he hears the mortal shudder. “What about your other favourites?  Y’like when I call you my pretty little plaything, don’t you?”

The honey and lavender fragrance wafting over Harry intensifies as Y/N’s blood pumps faster and faster, the only sound emerging from the human girl being a quiet whimper from the back of her throat.

“There’s another one, though… another nickname…” Letting his teeth gently graze her earlobe, Harry whispers directly in Y/N’s ear, keeping his voice low and throaty as he does so. “It’s on the tip of my tongue, baby...” He suckles sloppily along her pulsing neck, delighting in the taste of her sweet skin in his mouth. “Remind me what it is?”

Already, Y/N’s breathing has grown ragged, and he waits a moment for the aroused girl to form a response, encouraging her with every nip of his teeth.  Just when Harry is about to ask again, she manages to choke out a reply.

“Whore.” She whispers, the embarrassment in her voice overpowered by the lust running through her veins. “I like it when you call me your whore.”

“That’s my good girl.” A satisfied smile tugs at the edge of Harry’s lips as he stamps a gentle kiss to Y/N’s jaw. “That’s another one, too.  My good girl.  And because you’re my good girl…” Harry snakes his right hand from the rung of the ladder to the buttons of Y/N’s overalls, deftly undoing the side snaps and gradually slipping his hand into the space between the denim and her clammy skin. “You’re going to keep looking for your books while I have some fun.”

Y/N lets out a broken gasp as Harry’s fingertips graze over her cotton panties, and her grip on the railing slackens as a rush of heat falls between her legs. 

“Careful, baby.” Harry cautions her, his left hand wrapping around hers and resetting her grasp on the ladder. “Can’t have any fun if you let go, hm?”

“We—” She twists her head to the side, straining to look over her shoulder and towards the entrance as Harry’s digits dance over the dampening spot on her panties. “Someone could walk in, Harry—”

Of course someone could, Harry thinks, but exhibitionism is so much easier to indulge when one has inhuman hearing that can detect the pounding of an approaching heart from fifty feet away.  He doesn’t disclose this information to Y/N, however, for a number of reasons, and instead chooses to scrape his teeth along the shell of her ear once more, his ruby lips soothing the marks instantly. 

“You let me worry about that, alright?” He murmurs lowly, sliding Y/N’s cotton panties to the side and dragging his index and middle finger through her dripping folds, enjoying how she shivers against his chest. “You just focus on finding the book you want and being a good little whore for me, princess.  Let me take care of the rest.”

When Y/N reflects on this moment in bed tonight, her clammy palms twisting around the sheets as she inhabits the memory of Harry’s mint-scented breath swirling around her as he massages two fingers around her throbbing clit with a teasing touch, one specific detail will stick out to her.  She won’t focus on how her heart is pounding so hard that she feels her chest might burst, or how her fingers shake as she reaches for another book on the shelf, per Harry’s quiet but intent instructions.  The thing that Y/N will remember in wonder and— on some level, self consciously— is how quickly the anxiety that spikes through her veins at the possibility of someone walking in and finding the two of them in such a compromising position bleeds into a high like no other.

Y/N likes to entertain the idea that she’s fairly adventurous, and has been open to a lot of things, especially since meeting Harry, but this— allowing him to finger her in a music room at an antique mall, where any customer or employee could discover them— is something so outside of her character that Y/N can’t think straight.  When Harry first slips his long middle finger inside her slick center, the girl nearly collapses, and Harry’s broad chest braced behind her is the only thing that keeps her upright on the ladder.

“Y’like that, doll?” Harry’s hot breath rolls over her neck as he purrs the words, adjusting his grip on the side of the ladder as his other hand skillfully toys with the human in slow and deep strokes. “Filthy little thing, you are, letting me play with you like this.”

The sinful remark draws a mewling moan from Y/N’s mouth as her head dips back onto Harry’s sturdy shoulder, her hands dropping all pretense of searching for a book and clutching the ladder like she normally clutches her sheets, or the headboard of whoever’s bed Harry has tossed her onto. “H-Harry…” She whimpers, her eyelashes fluttering as he circles his thumb around her clit. “Fuck…”

“You pretend to be so sweet, but you and I know the truth, don’t we?” The vampire sponges another kiss along her throat as he delights in the wet sounds his fingers make, which easily become drowned out by the quiet noises of bliss leaving his lover’s mouth. “You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

Y/N nods fervently as she allows her weight to fall back against Harry’s sturdy chest, trusting him to support her as he thrusts another finger inside her. “Anything, H, I—” The desperate proclamation is cut off as Harry curls his digits, bumping against the spot in the pit of her tummy that sets her entire nervous system on fire. “Shit, right there, baby, right there…”

Harry’s smug voice rings in her ear as he slows his stride, dragging his fingers in and out of her hot core at a pace that’s nearly criminal. “Y’don’t need to tell me, I know.” He pushes himself forward again, flushing Y/N between his chest and the ladder with just enough room to continue his activities. “I know what you like, how you like it, where you like it… Know my girl so well.”

As Y/N adjusts to the newly close proximity, the bulge in Harry’s slacks grows more apparent, rubbing against her backside over and over with each plunge of Harry’s fingers.  She lets out a strangled whine at the feeling, carving her teeth into her bottom lip in an effort to keep herself quiet. 

“You feel me, don’t you, minx?” Harry moans into her ear, catching his teeth along the shell before dragging them down her jaw to settle his lips just above her throbbing pulse point. “You feel what you’re doing to me?  How just a single whimper from those pretty lips, and one touch of your soaked cunt makes my cock ache?”

Despite her best efforts, a ragged sob breaks through Y/N’s self-imposed gag order, and her chest heaves within Harry’s tight embrace as her head lolls to the side. “I-I want it.” She pleads, her half-lidded eyes struggling to find Harry’s emerald irises in her haze. 

Those sea glass eyes, darker than she’s ever seen them, widen with fake surprise as his mouth curls into a smirk.  When Harry replies, his normally soothing dulcet voice is filled with insincere mocking. “Oh, you want it, do you?  You want me to fuck you in here?” Dropping his voice to its usual low resonance, Harry growls the next phrase in the human’s ear. “I know you want it, you fucking slut.  But you can’t have it right now.  So if I’m going to let you cum—” The conditional phrase pulls a sound of protest from her throat. “—then you’re going to have to do it around my fingers.” 

The begging girl cries out against his neck as her walls clench around his touch, the stifled pants that she gasps into Harry’s ear urging him to speed up.  Instead of giving her what she wants, Harry curls his fingers inside her, pressing deeper into that spongy spot to elicit another broken whine from her.  When he receives it, however, it’s accompanied by an unexpected blinding burn. 

The iron cross that hangs so delicately around Y/N’s fragile throat has slung to the side in her writhing pleasure, finding its way from her flushed collarbones to the base of Harry’s icy neck.  The vampire grinds his teeth as he feels the brand begin to form, choking back the sound of agony that fights its way out of his mouth.  His left hand clenches around the ladder, his knuckles stretching white as the waxed wood nearly splinters under his palm, while his right hand stutters its pace inside his lover, prodding harshly at her G-spot as a single grunt makes it past the cracks of his teeth.

Harry knows he needs to remove the cross from his skin, but he has no way of doing so without alerting Y/N to his discomfort.  If he lets go of the rung, both of them will tumble off, and Y/N has made it obvious how much she trusts him to keep her safe; that option is hardly an option, Harry thinks, struggling to keep his mind present as he fights through the pain.  The other option— the only one, really— is to retract his fingers from between the mortal’s thighs, feign some excuse as to why, and do his best to keep her from noticing the cross-shaped burn mark on his neck that will surely disappear within a few moments of the iron being removed.  It’ll be jarring, he knows, to pull Y/N from the subspace he can tell she’s beginning to slip into, and Harry hates it, but there’s nothing to be done.  His hand contracts inside her, desperately massaging her walls one last time before he retreats to—

The sharp action drags a mangled whine from Y/N’s throat, the sound more shattered than anything Harry has ever heard from her before, and it pulls Harry’s attention from the charring sensation of the cross branding his skin to the overwhelmed girl in his arms.  As Y/N lets her entire body fall against Harry’s chest, her eyes completely shut as she gives into the pleasure bubbling in her tummy, a realization dawns on Harry, searing him nearly as much as the metal on his inhuman flesh: he can’t let go of her.  He’s in too deep— literally, obvious in the way she tightens around his fingers— and if he were to stop now, Y/N would go into a sensitive daze that he can’t deal with in a public space.  If he lets go of her now, he’ll lose the connection he’s spent the last two months making. She might get over it, given that it’s just an orgasm, but subconsciously, there’s a possibility she could resent him for it. Especially in the extremely delicate phase she’s in at the moment. 

He knows it sounds stupid, but he can’t risk that.  He just can’t.  He’ll take burning agony over that any day. 

When Harry reflects on this moment in bed tonight, his jeweled fingers carefully combing through Y/N’s knotted locks as she shifts in his arms, the bite mark on her neck freshly faded to a light bruise, her chest rising and falling gently with quiet breaths, one specific detail will stick out to him.  He won’t focus on the blinding pleasure of Y/N grinding against his hardened bulge, her body moving of its own accord as she gives in completely to the sensations Harry pulls from her.  He won’t focus on the explicit moans that show she’s given up on attempting to quiet, her voice reverberating in Harry’s mouth as he inhales every desperate breath she exhales.  When Harry reflects on this moment, the thing he’ll remember the most is how the second he accepted his fate— that he’d have to bear the pain in order to keep Y/N happy, and he feels like there’s probably some deeper subliminal message hidden beneath that realization, though he refuses to indulge it— the mortal girl tilts her head to the side and begins to kiss Harry’s neck, soothing the scorched mark with her silky tongue. 

The relief is so sweet that Harry nearly cries out a fractured mewl, letting his head fall forward into Y/N’s shoulder to hide his desperate expression.  She continues to whimper into his skin, smudging kiss after kiss on his marked neck as if she knows how badly he needs it.  Even as her orgasm begins to rise in her belly, consuming her every thought, she continues to suck bruises onto his jugular, dragging her tongue over his cool skin repeatedly after every action.  Although the iron still stings, the sensation of Y/N’s textured tongue swiping over it turns the pain to pleasure, and it’s not long before Harry has himself centered once again, refocused on the task at hand. 

He speeds up the movement of his fingers, focusing on curling them inside her as his thumb rubs quick circles over her throbbing clit.  The sounds bouncing around the room are so lewd that Harry almost wishes someone would walk in, even if only to see how good Harry is capable of making his lover feel. 

“Y’can cum for me, baby.  Cum all over my hand.” He mutters in her ear, his teeth scraping against her fragile skin in desperation. “I know you have it in you.  Show me how good you are.”

Y/N feverishly grinds against his hand, all of her senses overwhelmed by the immortal as she licks across his neck. “So—so close, Harry—I—”

“I know, I know you are.” The vampire soothes her in a tone more gentle than he thought possible, palming her soaking cunt with as much pressure as he thinks she can stand. “Let go for me.  I’ve got you.”

The reassurance is the final thing Y/N needs to fall apart, and once she knows that she can, it happens with an intensity that shocks even her.  When the coil inside her belly snaps, a guttural moan tears from her mouth, and she grasps the pole in front of her as tightly as she can while collapsing back into Harry’s chest. 

“Fuck, there we go, yeah? Shhh, keep it down for me, angel. Don’t wanna have to stop until you beg me to.” 

Her grip on the ladder does nothing to support her, but as Harry’s hushed words ring in her mind, she knows she doesn’t have to worry about that.  Harry’s arms and chest are strong enough to do it for her, allowing her to sink into her pleasure as much as she needs to. 

When Y/N slumps in his arms, her neck finally shifts enough that her cross falls back into its designated position between her collarbones, providing Harry with relief from the scorching pain he’d been beginning to adjust to.  He can feel his skin begin to heal itself the moment the iron leaves it, and with that small fear tamped down, the creature can turn all his attention to the girl in his arms. 

He slowly and carefully retracts his hand from her panties, shushing the weak squeak that rolls from her lips at the motion. “Good girl.” He mumbles into her ear, kissing her temple softly as her breathing begins to regulate itself. “Shh, you’re alright.  Y’did so well for me, darling.”

The comforting praise comes easily to him, and as he continues to hold Y/N as she regains her previous headspace, Harry begins to wonder just how far he’d be able to push her before she reaches her limits.  How far into subspace can she go before she hits the point of no return?  Could Harry successfully guide her there and lead her back?  Could she ever trust him enough to submit fully to his every request, taking solace in the knowledge that he can take care of her as well as— or better, even— she can take care of herself?  Harry wants to think yes, but he can’t dwell on the idea any longer; Y/N’s beginning to shift against him again, and he’ll never be able to earn that wholehearted trust if he doesn’t tend to her now. 

Lifting his hand to his own lips, Harry wraps his tongue around his drenched fingers, lapping at the sweet wetness that coats them down to his rings.  He hums in appreciation, stippling another tender kiss to Y/N’s neck when he retracts his fingers from his mouth. 

“Taste so sweet, y’know that?” He whispers, the question half a test to see how aware Y/N is as her head begins to clear. “C’mere, I want you to taste.”

Y/N lazily tilts her head to the side, a small smile playing on her lips as they meet Harry’s for a slow kiss.  Trailing his fingers down her side, Harry skillfully buttons the side of her overalls again, adjusting the fabric to lie comfortable against her skin.

“How are you feeling, hm?” He murmurs, rubbing his large hand soothingly over her belly as her breathing begins to regulate again. “How was that?”

“I feel…” Y/N struggles to make sense of her swimming head, resting it against Harry’s shoulder as she tries to form a coherent response. “Good.”

Harry sighs with relief, smearing a quick kiss to her cheek as he grins. “Good.  That’s good.” 

With his right hand still wrapped around her middle, he carefully lowers himself and Y/N from the ladder, keeping a tight grip on the girl until he knows her feet are planted firmly on the ground. 

As the afterglow of her climax begins to fade, a heated flush begins to crawl up Y/N’s spine to settle on the apples of her cheeks. “I, um—” The corners of her lips tug upwards with a bashful tone, and she twists around in Harry’s arms to shyly meet his canopy green eyes. “I can’t believe I did that.” 

“You didn’t do anything.  It takes two to tango, pet.  And, honestly…” Harry flashes a boyish simper at her as he yanks her closer to him by her hips. “I think I did most of the work.” 

“That’s true.” A breathless laugh stutters from Y/N’s chest as she curls her hands around Harry’s bulging biceps, steadying herself from the after effects of her orgasm, which are turning her legs to jelly. “I could, um…” She flicks her eyes from the door to the prominent bulge in Harry’s black slacks before capturing his gaze in hers again. “Return the favour?”

Harry snorts as he gives a quick shake of his head, his teeth catching on his bottom lip while he runs his hands down the back of her rumpled shirt. “Not here, baby.  How about we wait until we’re back at my place for you to show me how my sweet girl sucks cock, hm?”

“So it’s alright for you to distract me from my book search to finger me in a public area,” Y/N fakes indignation to distract herself from the ache that’s starting to pulse in her core again at Harry’s proposal. “But the moment I want to suck you off, you say ‘not here’?  What kind of double standard is that?”

Lips twitching in amusement, Harry stifles a laugh as he turns the girl in his arms, pressing her back to his chest once again before wrapping his arms back around her waist. “You’re right.  I distracted you from your book search. How rude of me.” He coos, nodding up to the shelf as he grazes his teeth against her pulse. “Think I see a pretty copy of Sense and Sensibility up there.  Y’think you can reach it, or do you need me to do it, sweetheart?” 

The shuddering of Y/N’s heartbeat contrasts with her heated reply. “I can reach it just fine if you behave yourself.” She shoots back, smacking the hand that’s beginning to wander towards her center again. “Or is that too difficult for you?” 

“It’s extremely difficult when I’m near you.” The reply, while truthful, sends a quiver down Harry’s spine, and he presses a chaste kiss to the human girl’s shoulder before releasing her from his grasp. “I’ll get the book.”

Y/N tugs the hair tie from her locks, shaking them out before pulling them back again in a neat manner. “You know, I never thought I was one for antiquing, but today was fun.” 

“Well, it doesn’t usually involve getting finger-fucked on a ladder,” Harry states bluntly, glancing over his shoulder with a dimpled smile on his face. “So I’m not really sure if today can be the marker for an average antiquing session.”

Y/N’s face boils at the brazen comment, and she tucks a strand of loose hair that she’d missed behind her ear as she swallows hard. “No.” She replies with a soft and timid laugh, shaking her head gently. “I suppose that’s true.” 

Harry hums in reply as he snags the old copy of the Jane Austen novel from the top shelf, climbing down the ladder effortlessly and landing back on the ground with a soft thud. “But I’m glad you had fun.” Harry steps towards Y/N with a satisfied air, gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger as a teasing smile plays on his ruby lips. “And I’m even more glad we found a replacement for that terrible tapestry of yours.”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she smacks Harry’s hand from her chin before snatching the novel from his hands. “Stop being mean to Amanda!  You’ll hurt her feelings.”

A snort boasts from Harry’s throat as he recalls the day she had told him what she’d named the piece hanging from her wall, and he bends down to scoop up the Monet print while shaking his head impassively, clutching it in one hand as he snakes the other around Y/N’s waist once again. “Well, I hope Amanda doesn’t have feelings, because I’m going to burn her.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Oh yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not, because I’m going to hang her over your bed, just so you can stare at her while you fall asleep each night.” 

Harry groans loudly as he guides his lover from the music room and back to the open space of the antique mall. “Please.  If anything is going over my bed, it’s a mirror, not a college freshman’s poor excuse of an attempt at interior design.” 

Y/N wrinkles her nose at the comment, shaking her head at the crude suggestion. “A mirror?  That better be a joke.”

“It was, but now that I’m thinking about it…”

“You’re disgustingly conceited.” 

“Oh please, you lo—” Harry catches himself just before the word love rolls off his lips.  Though he’s said it before when referring to certain aspects of their sex life (like how he loves the way her mouth feels, or how she loves the way he stretches her out), it just seems oddly repulsive to say at this very moment. Too intimate, almost.

Therefore, the creature bites back the offensive phrase and tugs her closer by the waist, covering up his sudden hesitation with his signature smirk. “You like that idea, don’t you, dove?”

Y/N keeps her face neutral as they pass by an older couple examining a grandfather clock. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Sure you don’t.” Harry laughs sharply, nuzzling his face into the top of Y/N’s hair and pressing a casual kiss to the crown of her head. “Need I remind you that your request for my interior design skills is what started this whole thing?”

“And if you had suggested I mount a mirror over my bed, this whole thing would’ve been over before it even had a chance to start.”

“You say that now, but if you were to see the way my cock looks while it slams into your—”

“Harry!” Y/N hisses, blood rushing to her cheeks as he guides her around a corner stacked with porcelain dolls. 

“Fine. No mirror.” Harry relents, a disappointed sigh falling from his lips as he palms Y/N’s waist closer to himself. “But the tapestry needs to be burned.”

“No.”

“Thrown away.”

“No.”

“Folded up and tucked under the bed?”

“Possibly.  And that’s as good an ending as you’ll get.” 

That night, after Harry has satisfied his craving for both Y/N and the sweet liquid that pumps through her veins, and has settled in for his usual nightly routine of rhythmically caressing her back to lull her into a deep slumber, and as he counts the breaths the mortal sighs between nightfall and sunrise while her soft snoring sings a lullaby to his ears, he can’t help but think that…

That yes, this really is as good an ending as he’ll ever get. 

[softomi]

crossing the threshold 

prompt: our love is spread across years, even if for the majority was not spent together; I’ll make up for it forever 

pairing: atsumu x reader

word count: 5.3k

general taglist:  @graykageyama @tsume @thesorebae @micasaessakusa @alouphen

When Atsumu was sixteen, he met you. A little ten-year-old with cute chubby cheeks, it was during a time when he envied Suna for having a little sister. You had mistaken him for Osamu from behind and while thoroughly offended, he couldn’t dare to raise his voice to a young girl. Atsumu merely patted your head, he bent to your eye level and introduced himself sweetly.

“But you can call me Tsumu. Just remember.” Atsumu stood straight, striking a pose, “I’m the better looking twin okay?”

Innocently, you nodded, “Okay.”

You were absolutely starstruck by him from that point on. If you had to pick your first love, Miya Atsumu is the face that comes to your mind. Contrary to the childish antics that he may give off to his friends and onlookers, he was absolutely sweet to you.

He’d buy you ice cream, random trinkets, and even picked you up from school once when Rintarou got detention for sleeping in class. Atsumu was like a second older brother you wished Rintarou would be sometimes. Granted, you love your brother, but sometimes he lacked the certain caring aspect that Atsumu seemed to always give you.

“Do you like me better or your brother better?” Atsumu watched your childlike eyes light up.

The popsicle in your hand was melting and your legs swayed on the seat, the ringing of the convenience store’s door echoed into the air. You grinned, “Tsumu!” Your head falls forward into your popsicle, the hand that’s smacked the back of your head connected to your brother, “Rin! You’re so mean!”

“What did I tell you.” Rintarou looks down on you, “Don’t associate yourself with Atsumu. He’s a bad man.”

Atsumu grumbles, standing to his feet to point his popsicle at your brother, “Don’t brain wash her like that! Everyone knows I’m the better twin!” He screams into the night and you laugh.

At twelve years old, you’ve made a mental note in your head that one day you were going to marry Miya Atsumu. It was fate, you two were just meant to end up together; but at twelve years old, you experienced your first heart break. Miya Atsumu was eighteen and had a beautiful girl attached to his arm.

Unknowingly, you followed him when you saw him randomly on the street. When you entered the cafe, your heart broke upon seeing him embrace the pretty girl. He hadn’t even noticed you until he properly sat down next to her. His arm draped around her shoulder as he used his other hand to wave to you. As a heartbroken twelve-year-old, you ran out of the café shop.

“Do you know her?”

Atsumu’s arm falls slowly, “Yeah, she’s my friend’s sister. Not sure why she ran out like that. She absolutely adores me.”

All the way home, you ran, not even noticing that you had sprinted past your brother and Osamu. For the weekend you locked yourself in your room trying to quell the sadness of your heart. Atsumu was no longer the man you knew, he was no longer sweet or nice, he was a monster.

You stuck your tongue out at him, “Osamu is the better-looking twin. I want to take a picture with Osamu only!”

Osamu laughs, your hands wrapped around Osamu’s arm as you pull him to take a picture. Graduation day called for families to flood the school and once the ceremony ended, pictures were being taken by everyone. Your parents made you take over fifty pictures with your brother before the twins joined. Atsumu suggested a picture with his favorite little girl and you barked at him.

“You’ll take a picture with me right Samu?” You were practically hugging his arm, Atsumu glaring from behind the parents with cameras.

“Okay! My turn!” Atsumu squeezed through.

“No!” You clung to the grey-haired twin.

After much ruckus, it was concluded that you’d take a picture with all of the boys. Osamu to your right, Atsumu to your left and your brother standing tall behind you. While you leaned closer towards Osamu, your face was bright red, oddly aware of Atsumu’s arm around your shoulder as he poses with a smile.

Your mother hung the picture in the hallway. It stared at you for four years, you hadn’t seen him since he graduated.

Atsumu ran into you at his brother’s restaurant. His brother chatted with a young woman, the familiarity of the figure making him curious when he entered. In fact, when you finally turned to look at him, he almost choked on his own tongue.

“Look at you!” His hand falls on your head, “You’re so big now.”

You swat his hand away, “Don’t touch me, you’re going to ruin my hair.”

Atsumu laughs, pulling into the seat next to you, “How old are you now? Fourteen?”

“Sixteen!” You grit your teeth, “I see you still have the uglier hair.”

Atsumu leans his head back, “You’re still so mean!” He feigns a tear shed, “I remember when you used to adore me so much.”

“That was when you brain washed me.” You stuck your tongue out to him.

Atsumu stares, the amazed grin was glued to his face. It makes your cheeks tint and your heart picks up in pace, “So what are you doing here? Are you visiting me?!” Atsumu wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into an awkward hug, “Did you miss me?!”

Atsumu retracts his hands when someone smacks him from behind. You pull away with a deep hue on your cheeks, brushing your hand through your hair to refix the position. Rintarou stands behind Atsumu, effectively continuing to smack the man another time just for the fun of it.

“Bye Samu!” You’re waving to the male, turning to look at Atsumu briefly with a scowl, “Bye loser.”

Atsumu found you still adorable, attempting to pinch your cheeks and pulling away quickly when you try to bite him. Compared to when he had first met you, small and tiny in the kitchen of your home, now you were taller, hair grown out, and the school uniform fitted on you nicely. Even as you were leaving, Atsumu couldn’t help but turn and stare.

“Ow.” Atsumu rubs the back of his head, Osamu glaring down at him, “What.”

“She’s sixteen, you pervert.”

Atsumu groans, “I wasn’t thinking anything, you’re the pervert for even about thinking it.”

Another four years pass like that, at twenty for you, Atsumu is twenty-six. He finds it hard to believe that you were indeed you. The occasional social media post he saw of you from your brother’s feed definitely didn’t do you justice.

“Are you still as snarky?” Atsumu sits across from you.

The feel of the restaurant was one that he found oddly romantic, chandelier lights in a private room, he had specifically chosen a private area to not draw attention from fans. A table separated the two of you, the waitress hadn’t returned since bringing out the food, and there was the faint sound of classical music playing from the speakers above.  

“I don’t know.” You slowly twirl the wine glass, not offering a glance to him, “Do you still have the ugly blonde hair.” You lift your eyes from the wine, a small grin on your lips, “Oh yeah, looks like you do. At least you learned what toner is.”

“Hey, be nice. I’m the one graciously paying for this meal.”

“You’re the one who begged me to come here and I was so close to getting treated to a meal by Kiyoomi.”

It hadn’t been long since you moved to the same city; ever since you visited his practice once with your brother, you had been contacting him non-stop to be invited to his practices and while your eyes were set on his teammate, he practically cock-blocked any chance he could get.

“You know he’s a clean freak.” Atsumu pokes at his food, “Omi doesn’t even accept gifts from his fans.”

Your eyes sparkled, a cheery grin on your lips, “That’s why he’s so perfect, so caring about his own health.” Atsumu frowned. You pulled out your phone, a giggle on your lips as you showcase your lock screen, “The last time I visited, he took a picture with me! Isn’t he so cute!”

Atsumu snatched your cell phone, causing a distressed sound to emit from your mouth, “Why would you put that as your background! What about the picture we took together?”

You grip your phone back, a sharp glare at him, “I like Omi!”

“My stats are better than his.” He randomly throws out into the air, but the way you stare at your phone has him irked, “You listening to me?”

You hum, “So what if your stats are better. Omi definitely has the better looks; do you think you could give me his number?”

Atsumu groans loudly, the knife in his hand nearly cracking the plate. His fork stabs the steak, before your mouth can spew any more about Kiyoomi, he’s shoving food into your mouth.

“Can you just eat now.” He grumbles.

Your hand covers your lips, slowly chewing the meat with a grin, “Sorry.”

Atsumu and you met more often than you had ever intended. There were many nights where he picked you up from work, many conversations over text, many times he would come over to your apartment to just hang out. He’d take over your couch, body sprawled out as he flipped through the television. You’d force him to stop at a volleyball match, opting to watch your brother play over any television series Atsumu could find.

It was quiet, the commentary from the game being the only sound of your apartment. You sat on the ground, back pressed against your couch, a bowl of popcorn sitting in your lap which you ate as though you were watching an action-packed movie. Atsumu laid on his side, an arm draped over your shoulder, fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

His arm suddenly shifted and with a swift second, he withdrew. The sudden action caused you to jolt, looking over your shoulder at him questioningly. His face suddenly hit with a blush.

“What?”

Atsumu coughs, “it’s nothing.” Your eyes turn back to the screen but his mind races. Recalling the moment in which his hand accidentally brushed against your chest, while the fabric of your t-shirt concealed what was underneath, he knew well what it felt like when a woman lacked an undergarment.

He stared at his hand, his face growing redder the more he thought about the incident and he can only assume you were too engrossed into the game to notice. Atsumu feels as though he’s crossed a very awkward line.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” He excuses himself, locking himself into the room, hands aggressively trying to brush away the flush of his cheeks.

As he’s in the bathroom, he takes his time in trying to cool down. He’s trying to find some lotion, hands rummaging through the drawers until as he opens one, he spots the familiar brand of condoms, it’s ones that he’s used before. He blinks three times, an image of you tucked between bedsheets flashes in his mind, before harshly slamming the drawer. Hands flying to his face, and he couldn’t help but think how his luck had run out so fast.

“Tsumu?” You call from the living room, “Everything good in there?”

“Yep!” He answers, “Just looking for some lotion.”

“It’s in the last drawer.”

As he exits the bathroom, he watches you; everything suddenly was different. No longer were you the cute, innocent girl that was his friend’s sister. Perhaps there was another side of you that he just lost track of. Atsumu finds himself seated on the other end of you, legs tucked close to him while continuously eyeing you from the corner of his eyes. A blush creeps onto his face when you look back at him with a smile.

“Congratulations on your win!” You scream into your cell, completely unfazed at the way people in the convenience store looked at you, “See! I told you that you’d win! Tsumu you were so cool with your last serve.”

Atsumu chuckles, a sudden boastful feeling in his throat, “Even better than Omi right?!”

Your voice falls silent, “Your serve was alright.”

“You’re supposed to be supporting me!” Atsumu whines, “Where are you right now?”

“Right now?” You exit the convenience store, staring up at the neon sign, “I’m leaving the store right now.”

“The one by the post office or the one by the chicken restaurant?”

You continue to walk, “The chicken restaurant. Why?”

Arms wrap around your waist, a shriek comes from your mouth as your lifted into the air, spun around excitedly as you hear his laugh. When he sets you down, you turn, hand slapping against his chest. The dim streetlight focusing on you both.

“You should be celebrating with your team.” You look up at him, the excitement in his expression has him practically wanting to jump all over the place.

The grin plastered on him is the brightest you had ever seen. He wraps his arm around your neck, pulling you along the pathway to your home, “I already did, now we need to celebrate!”

He presses a harsh kiss on your cheek, your hand automatically wipes the sloppy kiss, “Disgusting. I’m letting you get away with that because you won your game today.”

Foolishness on his lips, he takes the bag from your hands, carrying it the rest of the way to your place where he promptly raids your kitchen of food and drinks.

In the middle of the night he remains the only one awake, your head fallen on his shoulder as you drifted to slumber. Atsumu feels a lump in his throat, the alcohol in his system tells him to hold you close. He takes in the scent of your hair, his fingers lifted to push aside the strands from your face, he quickly pulls back when you stir. He’s wide awake that night, staring at the ceiling while you slept soundly in your bedroom and he on your couch. Atsumu raises a hand to peer at his fingertips, the warmth of your hair still hot against his skin.

There was a fine line with how Atsumu was feeling and it felt uncomfortable for him to be staring at the line. If he moved passed that line, it could jeopardize his friendship with you, his friendship with your brother, and it was absolutley agonizing. But it was just as terrible being on the safe side pining over you.

“Seriously?” Osamu quirks a brow to him, he laughs, “No way.”

Atsumu groans, forehead pressed against the counter of his brother’s restaurant, “I’m serious. Is it wrong?”

Osamu nods, “Very.”

Atsumu frowns, a defeat on his face when he looks at Osamu, “You’re supposed to be helping me.”

Osamu perks, “Oh I’m sorry. Please, I’m sure Rintarou would love you to date his sister who’s six years younger than us and who we practically watched grow.”

Atsumu slumps back to his position face down on the counter, “I’m a terrible person.” Atsumu moans, “She’s so pretty, and funny, and she gets me.” Atsumu sits straight up, “Like yesterday, she came by my practice and brought me lunch!”

Osamu crosses his arms, “Didn’t she bring that for her precious Omi. I saw her instagram post.”

“But she gave me mine first!” Atsumu pulls his fingers into a fist, “So because I’m first, she likes me more!” Atsumu’s lips fall to a scowl, “Right?”

Atsumu declared that his main problem; all other problems aside, such as your brother. How could he know if you liked him if all you ever looked at was Sakusa Kiyoomi.

It wasn’t easy but he managed to get you a priority pass into the venue of his game. It wasn’t your first time in the arena but it would be the first you actually watched him play in person and not behind a screen. You were quick to find Osamu setting up his onigiri stand, a chuckle on his lips when he saw you.

“Weren’t you invited by Atsumu?”

You tug your hat, a blank expression in your eyes, “Yeah, why?”

Osamu whips out his phone, you strike a quick pose at the shutter of his camera. The pictures were sent in a quick text to his brother. And just to clickbait him, Osamu sends a sweet and short text to make sure his brother would open the images.

She looks so adorable in the MSBY Black Jackals merch.

Atsumu never opened a text so quick, and he’s never felt betrayal so fast before. The jersey you wore while identical to his from the front, the back displayed Sakusa’s name and jersey number. The hat you adorned was knitted with Sakusa’s number and the side of the hat you’ve written his name in white marker against the black cap, hearts drawn cutely before and after his name. To add salt to the wound, there was a clear picture of your phone case, you’ve switched it out from the cute peach phone case he got you to a Sakusa Kiyoomi phone case.

“I hate you so much.” Atsumu holds his phone with a harsh grip, staring at his teammate.

“What?” Sakusa answers.

The game ended in a roar, Atsumu’s heated head channeled into the ball caused quite a few victory points. At one point, he was thinking about accidentally serving a ball to the back of Sakusa’s head but that would only result in you caring for the man more. He could imagine you pushing him aside to tend to your precious Omi.

Many fans lingered once the game was over, Atsumu found himself surrounded by reporters but the corner of his eyes caught your figure walking past security and onto the main ground. His words drawing out as you skipped your way to Sakusa; the hat on your head pulled off as you asked him for an autograph on your hat.

“Hey!” Atsumu jogs to the two of you, his arm finding themselves on your shoulders.

“You did absolutely amazing Omi!” You brush Atsumu’s arm off and he frowns.

Sakusa puts a mask on, “Thank you.”

When he walks away, you’re still starstruck, the hat in your hand held tightly. Atsumu glares daggers into the back of his teammate’s head. The moment you turn to him, Atsumu is smiling.

“Look!” You’re shoving the hat into his face, “He signed my hat!”

Atsumu pretends to be excited, “Next thing you know, he’ll sign your shirt!”

You gasp, “Do you think he would? Wait.” You turn, attempting to run away from him, “I must go find him again.” You giggle when Atsumu catches your arm, pulling you back to him, “I guess the Miya Atsumu would do.”

He takes in your playful eyes, mischievousness on your lips, and the way your cheeks grow when you look at him. If he wasn’t so hopelessly in love, maybe he would have already kissed your lips.

“Want to take a picture?” Atsumu slips his hand to take your phone from your back pocket, a gesture making you smack his arm.

A small pout on his lips when he notices that your wallpaper is still one with Sakusa; but he recruits one of his other teammates to take a picture. Atsumu’s hands dance on your waist, pulling you into him, pressing his cheek against yours, practically trying to crush you into him, you’re laughing. He finds it adorable.

“I’ll wait for you.” You tell him as he leaves to the locker rooms.

You’re scrolling through your cell phone, the pictures on your phone grinning back at you. A slow smile emerges on your lips, Atsumu’s hands on your waist trying to hold you still even though you know he’s trying to tickle you. Your finger holds onto the photo, what follows is a short video of yours and his smile growing larger. Out of impulse, you set the image as your lock screen.

“Gotcha!”

You jump, head whipping back to find your brother staring down at you, “Gosh!” You hit him, “You’re so annoying. Go away!” You attempt to smack his leg but he retracts quickly.

Rintarou pokes the hat on your head, “Did your boyfriend sign the hat for you, is that why you’re so happy?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” You speak up, “he’s the best player on the Black Jackals!” You stick your tongue out to him, “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at practice or something.”

He points behind him, “Samu and I are going out to eat, thought I’d watch the end of the game. What are you doing?”

“I’m waiting for Tsumu. We were going to go out to eat too.”

“Great.” He narrows his eyes, “Let’s all go together then.”

For some reason, it was painfully awkward for Atsumu. Osamu found it painfully amusing and the Suna siblings shared one brain cell, focusing their attention on the food. The moment all four of you walked into the restaurant, Atsumu almost instinctively chose the seat next to you; the sudden awareness of your brother in the room had him switching seats rapidly.

“So.” Osamu began, “How come you don’t have a boyfriend yet?”

Atsumu begins to cough, a sheepish grin on your lips, Rintarou doesn’t pay attention to the question.

“I guess no guy has piqued my interest yet.” Your hand covers your mouth, attempting to chew and talk at the same time, “I’ve dated here and there but nothing serious yet.”

Osamu nods, “You’re still young, how old are you now?”

You swallow, “Twenty-one.”

Osamu puts a hand onto his brother’s shoulder, “Did you hear that Tsumu, twenty-one.” Atsumu tries drinking water to cease his coughing, “That means that we’re six years apart, right?”

Rintarou finally looks up, “Why are you so suddenly interested in our age difference?”

Atsumu coughs once more, “It’s not like age differences matter.”

Your brother’s actions stop, “Why would the age difference matter in this situation?”

Atsumu and Osamu cough, their food going down the wrong pipe at the same time. In that moment, you steal food from your brother’s plate, the action diverting his attention from the twins. Like siblings, you bicker with your brother as he steals from your plate this time.

The ride home was just as painful. You sat in the back seat, Osamu driving, Atsumu in the passenger side, and your brother with you in the back. The only sound coming from the radio and you kept yourself occupied with your cell phone; not a care in the world that there was some tension in the car.

“I’ll see you guys. Rin, make sure you remember next month is mom’s birthday. Let’s spit a gift.” You wave to the three boys before running off into your apartment building.

The air in the car suddenly thick. Rintarou sits up, hands placed on the shoulders of Atsumu’s seat, “The age difference joke.” Atsumu feels his soul leaving his body, “I’d prefer it if you lay off.” Rintarou slumps back into his seat, “But I don’t care, do as you see fit.” Atsumu looks at him through the passenger side mirror, “I don’t control your lives.”

Atsumu wonders if that was his friend’s way of giving his blessing.

“You still like me better than your brother, right?” Atsumu pokes at you from the seat on your couch.

You roll your eyes, “Will you be quiet if I say yes?” Atsumu nods, “Then yes mister clingy, I like you so much more than my brother.”

Atsumu grins, “How about Omi?”

You shoot him a glare, “You’re stretching it pretty far there.”

There’s a moment of silence before he lets out a deep sigh, one that you’ve suddenly grown accustomed to understanding that he wanted attention.

“You know what we never do?” Atsumu shuffles in his seat.

You look at him, “Is it be quiet?”

Atsumu pokes your cheek, “Nope.” He pulls away when you try to bite his finger, “We never talk about our past. We literally grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same school, knew the same people.”

“First off.” You’ve turned to fully look at him now, “We went to the same school but never attended at the same time and second, we know the same people because you’re friends with my brother.” Your shoulders shrugged, “You gotta admit, we didn’t get close until almost two years ago when you inserted yourself into my life.”

Atsumu grins happily, “Now you’re blessed with me.”

“More like cursed.” You swat his hand away when he tries to touch your nose.

“What about your first crush or love?” Atsumu tilts his head to you, “Mine was this girl I was dating when I was eighteen. Boy, I thought she was the cutest girl ever until she got extra clingy and jealous. I thought she was going to claw my eyes out.” Atsumu laughs, when he notices that you lack laughter, he pokes your sides, “You?”

“Mine?” Your eyes can’t meet his gaze, “It was you.” Atsumu freezes, perhaps his ears played a joke on him. Suddenly when you look into his eyes, your lips smile, “Yeah, I had the biggest crush on you when I was ten. Isn’t that funny?”

But he doesn’t laugh, his hands cover his face to hide the blush, “That’s so cute.” Atsumu pinches your cheek, “Little you had a crush on me?” You smother a pillow into his face, but it doesn’t drown out his sounds, “It’s absolutely precious!”

“Shut up!” You screech.

He pulls the pillow away, he’s laid out on the couch now, your legs positioned on either side of his hips and with the removal of the pillow in his face, his hands grasp your wrists, the sudden realization that you were straddling him had heat coming out of his ears.

“Sorry.” You pull away. Atsumu shrinks to the opposite side of the couch, face hot as you get up, “I’m gonna order us some food.” Your arm covers your face, trying to hide the heat that’s rushed to your cheeks.

“That’s different.” Osamu notices your phone case, “Wasn’t it a Sakusa one before?”

You lift your phone, “Yeah, my other phone case got dirty and I saw an Atsumu one. The Sakusa ones were sold out so I just thought why not.”

“Interesting.” When he states that you shrug, moving along to find your seat in the arena. Osamu peers over the side of his cart, staring at the overabundance of Sakusa Kiyoomi phone cases in the stall next to him. Osamu merely laughs, “They’re so stupid.”

Atsumu finds himself once again surrounded by reporters, his hands wave signaling that they could talk to anyone else but him, even pushing his other teammate to the reporters.

“Excuse me, can I have your autograph?”

Atsumu tries to smile politely, “Sorry, maybe next time.”

“Alright, I guess I’ll just go find Omi.” Atsumu does a doubletake, his lips spread into a fine grin.

His arms pulling you into a hug, you repress trying to let out a sound of disgust when you realize he’s all sweaty, “What are you doing here?” Atsumu’s fingers run through a strand of your hair, “I thought you were working?”

“I was and then suddenly.” You folded your hands into a fist, coughing into it slowly with a mischievous smile, “I got sick.”

Atsumu uses a finger to push your head back, “You shouldn’t be lying at work.”

Your eyes quickly dart to behind him, “Quick! There’s Omi!” You grab Atsumu’s arm, “Can you take a picture of me and him please!”

It took a little convincing and some rules, but Sakusa complied to the photo. Atsumu grips your phone, an eerie grin on him as he sees that Sakusa places a hand onto the small of your back. But as Atsumu turns on your phone, the happy picture of the two of you washes over him. As he tries to swipe to go to the camera, the picture plays into a short video and for a second, he feels love wash over him.

“Tsumu!” Your voice wakes him from his thought. He’s quick to take pictures and you skip to him after thanking Sakusa for the pictures. Your lips fall into a scowl, “Tsumu! They’re all blurry!”

Atsumu is walking away from you, he shrugs his shoulders as he heads to the locker rooms, “I guess I don’t have a steady hand.” He’s laughing as you yell at him.

Atsumu finds himself slowly walking, he sees you leaning against a pillar, cell phone in your hand, just waiting for him. He finds himself wanting to admire you for a little bit longer, he wants to run his fingers through your hair and most importantly, he wants to feel what it would be like to kiss you.

“Were you slow motion walking here or something?” You laugh.

But Atsumu doesn’t feel like laughing right now, he feels like he wants you; more than anything he’s ever wanted before. The look in his eyes change as he’s suddenly rubbing a thumb over your cheek.

“If I’m crossing a line.” Atsumu’s eyes dart to your lips, “Just tell me to stop.”

He’s leaning down, your back pressed against the pillar. One of his hands rests on your hip the other still a caressing your cheek. He lets himself pause before your lips; eyes deeply lost in yours before he takes the dive. He’s absolutely immersed in you, your arms bring him deeper in and he’s euphoric. He dips in, pushing your head back to bump against the pillar. You let out a groan, pushing his arms away as your hand flies to the back of your head.

You chuckle, “A little too eager there.”

“Sorry.” Atsumu bites his lower lip, the seconds ago just barely registering in his head, “Was that alright?”

“Do you want some kind of grade?” You purse your lips, “Maybe a B+.” You tease but Atsumu pouts. Your fingers tug on his jacket, palms against his cheeks to pull him down, pressing a quick peck to his lips, “Does that answer your question?”

Your footsteps begin to walk away from him. You look at him from over your shoulder; he still seemed stunned, but the way you moved drew him in.

“If you’re going to just stand there, I might just go ahead and find Omi.”

Like a puppy, he runs to you; hands reaching out to you as you begin to scamper through the hall. A delighted squeal leaves your mouth when he catches up, arms encasing you in a hug; he’s pressing a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

“So, we’re just supposed to get used to this now?” Osamu watches Atsumu throw an arm around your shoulders, his brother sticking his tongue out childishly, “What are you so smug about, you spent practically two years pining over her.”

Rintarou sighs, suddenly feeling uneasy about the situation, “I thought you knew better. I told you to not associate yourself with Atsumu.”

Your fingers interlock with Atsumu’s, the siblings in front of the two of you continue to yammer but their voices are drowned out with Atsumu pressing his lips against your hair. He feels the need to draw his seat closer to you, and your brother scowls.

Atsumu lets go of you with a shriek, the hot soup spilled onto his pants.

“Rin!” You shout.

“He crossed the line.”

Your brother hogs the napkins, Osamu laughs loudly, and you watch your boyfriend scream in agony. You roll your eyes at your brother, after all, you were still his little sister and he can’t just have anyone trying to make a move on you.

[corvus--rex]

This prologue is going on longer than I thought, but it will be over soon, probably one more short chapter. But until then, I'm so sorry, have some baby Keith angst.

one more for the Galra cat glossary: tehrl - a miniature feline (smaller than a housecat) that are kept as pets and pest control

~*~*~*~

They had been traveling for over a day, stopping only when necessary. It was night again, and Krolia sat in the carriage, watching the landscape pass by, the sleeping form of her kit curled against her side. She tucked the soft blanket around him more snugly, a tender smile on her lips as he let out a soft, contented purr and snuggled harder against his mother. One hand kept him close while the other reached under the neckline of her traveling dress to pull out the depiction of Marmora she always wore.

Marmora was the Galra central goddess. A queen of legend, she was deified after her death for having managed to unify the disparate Galra kingdoms against a common enemy. Before then, the Unilu hadn’t been thought of as a threat by anyone, the race of small, four-armed goblins more of an annoyance than anything. But they were clever, and made up for their size with numbers. They knew that to attack a place like Altea was suicide, but the constantly-warring Galra kingdoms would be far easier. Marmora called for the separate kingdoms to unify under her banner to go to war against the threat. While they tacitly agreed at first, soon the other kingdoms realized that they never would have survived without her leadership. The Unilu were soundly defeated and Marmora led the Galra to a new age for their race, one that had continued for generations.

Krolia ran her thumb across the relief set into her medallion. The ancient Galra queen stood proudly, her sword-bearing arm held high, the other holding a ball of violet flame. She stared at it, drawing some comfort from her ancestor before letting the pendant drop. She turned back to the carriage’s small window and watched the land change from the deep, dark woods of Daibazaal to the green forests of Altea. It would take at least another two days of travel to reach the capitol. They would arrive exhausted from their journey and she could only hope that she would reach it before any messenger from Zarkon and that King Alfor would welcome them.

The little prince had no trouble keeping himself occupied during his waking hours, something Krolia was infinitely grateful for. He still believed that they were on a surprise vacation and that they would be meeting his father somewhere along the way. She kept it to herself, but she had felt their bond snap when they were not far from the castle. She knew what the stretch of distance felt like, the pain of longing for her mate when they were separated by royal duty. This was not that. This was a ship’s line breaking, the thick rope hitting her like a whip’s crack. This was glass shattering on a stone floor, glittering shards spread wide. It left her raw and bleeding, with a deep ache for a mate she would never see again. Krolia let herself feel it only in the dark of night, where she would wrap herself in her voluminous cloak tighter, hold her kit closer, and let the tears fall silently.

Another full day of traveling through Altea, and Keith was beginning to become bored of the endless carriage ride. Leaving his coloring on the floor, he climbed onto the seat and into his mother’s lap, immediately finding the soft fur of his tail and running his tiny claws through it.

“Where are we going, Mama?” he asked. “When are we gonna get there? Where’s Papa?”

Krolia sighed. She knew her kit’s inquisitive nature wouldn’t stay quiet for long and that she would have to tell him sooner rather than later. She decided that answering his questions in order would be best.

“We’re going to Altea, little one. We should be there around this time tomorrow.” She paused, knowing that there were parts of their last night in their home that weren’t for little ears. “Your Papa – he’s – I’m so sorry, kit. Your Papa won’t be coming with us.”

Keith was too young to understand what his mother wasn’t saying. “Why?” he asked innocently, “Did Papa hafta go on a trip again?” He was familiar with his father’s diplomatic meetings, sometimes in places far from the Daibazaal capitol and their home.

Krolia sighed again, willing her tears back. “No, kit. There are bad people in our home now, and I don’t know when we’ll be able to go back. We’re going to Altea to ask for their help. Your Papa sacrificed himself so we could get away safely.”

The kit’s face screwed up in confusion. “What bad people? And what’s sa…sack-if-iced?”

“People your Papa and I thought we trusted. One of the generals of our army, Zarkon. He wants to rule Daibazaal himself instead of your Papa. He decided to take what he wanted, and your Papa died so we can be safe.”

Keith only had a vague understanding of death. His only encounter with it had been when his pet tehrl died after being poisoned by an angry former member of castle staff. Their dismissal, to no one’s surprise, had been due to behavioral problems and killing the small prince’s beloved pet had earned them a stay in the city jail for a few months. Keith at first couldn’t understand why the miniature feline wouldn’t play with him like it always did. But his guard sent for the queen, and Krolia explained that the tiny cat had died and what that meant. She allowed her small kit to hold something of a funeral for the animal, but his child’s attention span moved on to something else not long after, even though she knew he still missed his companion. It seemed that the meaning of death hadn’t progressed in his mind beyond his lost pet, and it was a concept he couldn’t quite apply to his father.

“You remember Rrahr?”

Keith nodded, thinking back to finding his tehrl motionless on the floor by its food dish. Something clicked, and he looked up at his mother, eyes wide. “Is that what happened to Papa?” he asked, his voice trembling, “Did the bad people hurt my Papa so he can’t come back?” His ears flattened and his tail dropped, suddenly afraid of his mother’s answer.

“They did. I am so sorry, little one. Your Papa’s not coming back.”

Violet eyes quickly filled with tears that spilled over, leaving dark stains running down the fine, soft fur, and he scrambled in his mother’s lap, throwing his arms around her neck, sobs racking his small body. Krolia held him, running her claws through his hair, trying to hold it together for him. But she couldn’t, not in the face of her son’s innocence, and held him tightly while her own tears fell, privately mourning the loss of King Davvik in the roles he cherished most; those of beloved Alpha and mate to Krolia, and the devoted and loving father to his young son. She held Keith until his sobs subsided into hiccupped tears and finally into the even breath of sleep. When she was sure she wouldn’t wake him, Krolia tucked herself against the back of the deep velvet cushion and wrapped her thick cloak around her sleeping kit, and let sleep take her as well.

Keith was withdrawn and quiet for their last day of travel. His toys and pencils couldn’t hold his attention, and he sat beside Krolia, arms wrapped around his stuffed rakhai and stared out the window. He only perked up the smallest amount when they entered Altea’s capitol. He saw the glowing white spires of the castle and turned to his mother, tugging on her sleeve.

“Is that where we’re going, Mama?” he asked quietly.

Krolia nodded. “Yes, it is, kit. We haven’t been stopped by the city guard, so it looks like we’re safe for now. I’ll need to talk to King Alfor and then I’ll know what’s going to happen, alright?”

Keith sniffled, burying his face in his favorite stuffed animal. “I want Papa,” he said through a new round of tears.

Krolia picked him up, hugging him in her lap. “I know, kit. I do too. We’ll just have to take our home back for him.” The combination of finally arriving in Altea’s capitol city and her son’s grief gave her new determination. Queen Krolia of Daibazaal would reclaim her throne, restore Marmora’s line, and ensure that no one would ever forget what happened that night.

~*~*~*~

Intro | Prologue pt 1 | Prologue pt 2

[astaroth1357]

Long Distance Longing with the Brothers

Want a little angst and sweetness? I love how this turned out and I think it’s a new favorite for me. I honestly should wait to post it... But I have no patience, I love it too much. Weirdly enough, thank Taylor Swift’s new album for giving me this idea. Go figure. 🤷‍♀️

Warnings: Angst, implied starvation

Intro:

The brothers knew it was going to happen eventually. The year can't last forever, and at some point they were going to have to say goodbye to their human for the break… But that didn't make the situation any easier. Nobody likes being so far from the one they love. It was only a matter of time before our boys are reaching a breaking point...

Lucifer

Lucifer has never really had a reason to not to work before… Like, yeah there are those days where things get stressful and he takes a step back, but actually taking an extended period of time to just... not work? A "vacation" if you will? He’s never had the desire. What would he even do with himself?

Well, for the first time in literal God knows how many centuries, he had an answer for that question. He was going to be with MC.

And that's exactly what he told Diavolo when he finally accepted that missing the MC was negatively affecting his work. 

He wanted a… "vacation."

Diavolo had never once thought Lucifer would ever ask, and to be fair the man never thought he would either, but he's more than happy to give his friend a few days off to visit his dear human.

Whatever brief hit that his pride took by having to admit that he needed a break was more than made up for by finally seeing the MC again. He knew he missed them, painfully aware of that fact, but just the sight of them waiting to meet him outside the portal was enough to nearly take his breath away…

His first vacation was sure to be paradise. 

Mammon 

Oh, the distance was killing this poor boy. Any day where he can’t have the MC on his arm feels worse than when he's on a losing streak…

Speaking of a losing streak, he's been stuck in one for a whole month without his beloved partner in crime with him. Did he lose his lucky charm or was he just too down in the dumps to gamble well? Anyone's guess.

Well he got fucking sick of it. He wanted to see the MC, ASAP. But how would he get to the human world…?

It takes a week but he gets an idea. It took another for it to actually trigger.

Like clockwork one of the witches he's regularly in debt to, one that just happens to be a bad gambler herself, summoned him out to give her a little extra luck. Usually, he'd just kick whatever slot machine she’s parked herself at and be done with it but this time he's got to ask… How long does that summon spell last, eh?

He made a new sort of bargain. She gets to take Goldie out for a spin if she gave him some time in exchange… 24 hours to be exact.

He didn't waste a second after striking the deal because he had a lot of flying to do.

The MC probably didn't expect to hear frantic knocking on their door at the break of dawn, nor to find a beat tired and disheveled Mammon leaning outside it….

But he embraced them for all it's worth anyway. If it meant feeling them in his arms again, he'd trade away the whole world if he had to...

Leviathan 

He… didn’t do so well with the distance. Like at all. He'd mope around the house, constantly bemoaning how unfair things were. Not even his favorite games can give him any joy because those were the games he used to play with MC…

Sneaking in the occasional video call was pretty much the only thing that could make him smile anymore. Just seeing their face felt like getting a cold drink in the middle of a scorching desert… But he wanted more.

Thankfully, the MC themselves gave him a really, really good idea…

For two weeks straight, Levi seemed to get out of whatever funk he was in to help out around the House… Like, really help out. Suck-up levels of help out. It creeped everybody out...

After a time he finally approached Lucifer and made a simple request. There was an anime convention going on in the human world soon and he'd like to attend…

The ulterior motive for this little visit is practically written on the wall, but he'd been acting so damn unnerving for the past two weeks Lucifer just gave him permission to make him stop.

When the MC agreed to meet him on the opening day, they said they'd be dressed up as someone he'd recognize. Frankly, he was expecting Henry or maybe Ruri-chan but he was completely floored to see them waiting for him dressed in a familiar black hoodie with coral-like horns on their head and a carefully crafted serpent's tail behind them.

To this day he still can't decide what made him happier: seeing the love of his life so adoringly dressed as him or finally feeling their body collide with his after they came running to each other outside the convention hall...

In the end it probably doesn't matter because for that whole day alone, he finally felt like he had everything he could of ever wanted right there with him.

Satan 

Satan's not one for idle moping so when he felt that yearning in his chest finally hit a tipping point, he didn't whine. He didn't complain. He got up and did something about it.

Teleportation magic is tricky to master and dangerous to perform even with sufficient skill. One wrong move and you could end up smearing yourself across three different continents…

But like that would stop him.

He pulled out every book he could find on the subject, researched for days, then practiced for weeks. First on books and apples, then on some of Lucifer’s belongings.

He had to keep making new excuses to throw Lucifer off the scent (especially after he started sending some of his shirts away to different parts of the house) but after some time, it finally paid off.

Satan was probably the last person the MC would have expected to see show up in their room randomly one night, sitting casually by a lamp and reading a book like he didn't just master time and space just to come say hi.

But who was going to be all that picky when they could finally shower their nerdy cat-lover in all the love and kisses they've both been missing for months now?

Asmodeus 

If you took Asmo at his word, then the sheer depths of longing and despair he was experiencing while the MC was away could far outweigh that of anyone else to ever have existed in the history of all time.

He was the Avatar of Lust, desire was in his nature. Couple that with a burning need to have his lover as close to him as he possibly could and it was safe to say he was losing his mind!

This might have been the reason Solomon finally gave in after his 16th-ish time trying to beg the sorcerer to help him. He really was quite pitiful in this state...

When Solomon told Asmo that he could smuggle him out of the teleportation gate between the Devildom and human world ONLY if he could magically disguised his appearance, he was kind of expecting Asmo to refuse. This was Asmo he was talking about. He honestly thought that he'd rather die than deprive the world of his beauty so selfishly…

The world is full of surprises, ain't it?

No matter where they were, no matter what they were doing, the MC was suddenly mowed over by a "stranger" running at them at top speed like an Olympic sprinter. It’d probably have been pretty scary before Solomon lifted the enchantment shortly after to reveal their demon’s gorgeously familiar face.

Solomon wasn't going to let him stay too long, lest he incur the wrath of Lucifer, but Asmo couldn't care less. Be it a thousand hours or a few short seconds, he could always find a way to make his time with the MC last a lifetime...

Beelzebub

Fun fact, Hell freezes over a little every time Beel says "I'm not hungry…" No. Seriously. A freezing wind blasts across the entire Devildom like the realm itself gets a sudden chill...

So imagine the levels of panic that went through pretty much everyone there when his appetite started to fail him.

It's not like the poor baby could help it, food just tasted so much better when the MC was there that eating without them was like trying to digest actual disappointment… He got tired of trying after a while.

A few days of this behavior were worrying, but when he started to get a little thinner the family went into an uproar, starting with Belphie but soon spreading to the rest of the House as well.

Lucifer's soft spot for the twins may have influenced his decision. I mean, it was awfully generous of him to get Diavolo to approve of an fully sanctioned, planned meeting between Beel and the MC. He probably wouldn’t have offered that to anyone else...

Not that Beel cared about all that background favoritism anyway. Hell, on the day that he was finally allowed to see them, he couldn't be bothered by anything other than holding the MC close and hoping they'd never let him go again.

His appetite did return to him eventually, of course, but as long as he had his human with him even the cheapest street taco tasted like a fine five star-meal.

Belphegor 

Frankly, Belphegor was sick and tired of missing people.

Ever since the Celestial War he missed Lilith. When he was stuck in the attic, he missed Beel. And now that the MC was away he was supposed to just sit patiently and miss them too? No way. Not happening. Something about that had to change.

It wasn’t the first time he'd gone to Lucifer in an angry huff, but admittedly he had more ammo than usual...

There was a… discussion between the two. It went on for a couple hours… There may have been some words to the effect of, "Don't you think you owe me?" exchanged… 

Honestly, it was kind of amazing Belphie didn't end up in another attic "timeout" by the end of it. But he got what he wanted, so what's to complain about?

With a little persuasion on his part, Lucifer managed to get Diavolo to approve of a weekly visit for the two, SO LONG as Belphie stayed on his best behavior in the human world.

There wasn’t really much worry about him acting up, though, since he'd have his nap buddy back. It would be pretty hard to be a threat to humanity when he was too busy staying snuggled up to his favorite person until well past noon...