#fair enough- just for u we can ignore the fact he doesn’t have his phone rn

[doakarma]

Hey kid, how’re you doing?

//@the-caged-jester (don’t ask how Nikolai managed to find a way to interact with Karma, he just did (aka we crave interactions rn))

Hm?

He’s basically just silent, very confused and still barely makes any noise let alone actually speak

[lynk-zee]

I'm a new follower after binging to your writings akejwjeej anyway, I've been craving for some angst lately and here's what I got so far,

reader who started acting cold towards the MLs because they've been hanging out way too much with MC (not the reader) so they started not replying to them, talking or just not going out to them at all until the reader just ghosted them.

though I'm not sure if u write angst since it's not written or indicated.. it's up to you if u want to write this. if not, feel free to ignore XD

Envy

AN: Hi nonnie! Since I didn’t specify that i prefer to write hunter/ambiguous!Reader (basically not rivaling with the MC) before you sent in the request, I will write this for you! :)

Future asks should either MC!Reader or Ambigous!Reader please! Ty 🩶

It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t paying attention to you enough lately. And he was supposed to be your boyfriend! He promised that they were just friends, that it was nothing more than work, but now you didn’t know…

So when he texted you last, you turned off your phone, not wanting to deal with his bullshit.

Knows there’s something wrong immediately. You always answer his texts. Whether it be an emoji or a full-blown paragraph, you’ve never left Zayne on read. Ever.

So, he goes to the flower shop and buys you a bouquet. It’s not enough, but it’s a start. He texts you that he’s picking up your favorite dinner on the way back and asks what kind of macarons you want. You don’t answer, so he goes the safe option and gets your favorite. You almost don’t answer the door when he drops by, but you can’t hide from this forever. So with a heavy sigh, you swing the door open to see Zayne with a bouquet of flowers with dinner and dessert.

Zayne: Can we talk…?

You let him in, of course you do, and you eat dinner in silence. But Zayne is adamant about having this discussion.

Zayne: She’s my patient…and my friend.

You: I understand that, but that doesn’t mean you need to hang out with her all the time!

In the end you both discussed your feelings and set clear boundaries with him. It’s a step in the right direction. Later, he cuddles you on the couch, stroking your hair while whispering affirmations in your ear.

Zayne: I’m sorry, dear. You’re the only one for me… Never doubt that.

This was the third date he blew off. For her. Yes, she was just his body guard, and yes Rafayel has always been naturally flirty, but that didn’t mean his fondness for her didn’t affect you. You were his significant other! All his flirty affections should be yours and yours alone. You couldn’t stand the fact you had to share his attention. Apparently, Rafayel couldn’t either.

Rafayel: It’s not that big of a deal! She was just helping me gather metapearls to make into pigment— Yes, I could have called you. But she’s my bodyguard! She’s more cut out for it!

Sweet whispers and reassurances turned to broken promises. What was supposed to be one hour away turned to five and you were sitting alone in the fancy restaurant yet again. You didn’t even wait for him at home like you usually do. After turning off your phone, you opted to crash at a friends house.

This turned into a big fight.

Rafayel: What’s with you— You were never this clingy.

Clingy? Not wanting to share your boyfriend with a potential lover is clingy? When you brought up the b word (breakup), he got his act together real quick.

Rafayel: Okay, okay. She’ll be my bodyguard at PR events only… And I’ll only contact her for business purposes.

Though you’d rather her not be his bodyguard at all, you understand they have a deal regarding hunter work so it’s a compromise. While you’re at your desk doing some work, he wraps his arms around you from behind, nuzzling your into your neck.

Rafayel: ‘M really sorry… I was a real jerk… I love you…

The worst part about having this problem with Xavier is that he has no idea what’s going on. She was his coworker, his work partner, and his neighbor. There wasn’t much he could do to stop seeing her.

Xavier: I can’t just move out of my home because of you have a problem with her…

You: Yeah, but she doesn’t need to come over all the time to “teach you how to cook”. I could do that!

It gets worse when they go on missions together. He had promised to call you every night. But he didn’t. And you were fed up.

So, you blocked him. Only for the duration of his mission. But it’s long enough to send a message. The next day, he comes to your house with an arm full of plushies and a nervous look in his eyes.

Xavier: I read that in order to maintain a strong relationship, you have to communicate and set boundaries… Can we discuss this? Together?

You guys both end up having a heartfelt discussion at the table. You heard his side, he heard yours, and you came to a compromise about the situation. He takes you out on a sweet date as an apology. It isn’t the end all be all of apologies, but it’s a start. He holds your hand tightly, leaning over to kiss your forehead.

Xavier: I promise we’re in this together for the long ride, just you and me…

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: X

I will not ask you where you came from,

I will not ask and neither should you.

Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips,

We should just kiss like real people do.

Like Real People Do, Hozier

A/N: okay i know i say this every time but genuinely THIS IS MY FAVOURITE PART SO FAR!!!!! and my lil section of this story has come to an end!!! act one is done!!! and the beginning of act two aka part 11 will be coming on andrea’s blog!!!!! thank u guys so so much for all the love and support you’ve given us!!!! we truly cannot believe you guys have been so receptive and we love you all so so much 🦋 as always any and all feedback is deeply appreciated not just by andrea and I but by all content creators!!! seriously we do all of this for free while going to school and working full time and those little messages make our days so much better!!! so do reblogs!!! you should reblog the content you like!!!! leave a lil message in the tags!!! shoot us a message!! anything is truly madly deeply™️ appreciated 💌 thank you all once again for your support!!!! pls enjoy 🦋

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

word count: 37.9k

content/warnings: harry ignoring “bros before hoes” part 45684957, “FUCK FLORIDA!!! ALL MY HOMIES HATE FLORIDA!!!” - xander, fight scene (rap), jefferson x hamilton (friends to lovers), road head ahead?? uhhh yeah, i sure hope so!!!, MUSI 1113: history of classical music, prof. harry styles, sherlock and watson solve the biggest mystery yet, *edward cullen voice* and so the mosquito fell in love with the butterfly

“Are you going to stare at your phone all day, like a bloody tool, or are you actually going to join the conversation?”

Despite the baited question, Harry keeps his gaze on his device as he flicks through his notifications, opening one app after the other in quick repetition before closing the screen. “That depends.  Are you actually going to say something interesting?”

From the other side of his couch, Niall flicks up his middle finger with ease, his expression sour and unimpressed. “We are saying something interesting, you prick.  I want to get out of town next weekend, but no one—” The Irishman shoots a pointed look to Xander, who’s leaning across the kitchen island with an unbothered expression. “—can agree on where to go.”

“It’s not that I can’t agree, Niall. It’s that your ideas are stupid.” Xander shoots back in an exasperated tone, raising his Bloody Mary (with extra blood, hardly any Mary) to his scowling lips. “No one wants to go to fucking Florida.  It’s Florida.  Why the fuck would we go to Florida?”

“Because I’ve been alive for two hundred years—”

Adam clicks his tongue from the lounge seat by the window. “I’m not sure if ‘alive’ is the best description.”

“—and I’ve never been to Disney World!  I died from a fucking famine.  Am I not entitled— nay, am I not owed—” Niall straightens his posture on the couch as he addresses the whole of the room, a determined look set in his icy blue eyes that contrasts the dulled gaze of those watching him. “A warm churro, cold Dole Whip, and a set of over-priced Mickey ears?  Huh?”

“That still doesn’t answer the question of why we’d have to go to Florida to get that!” Xander exclaims, rounding the corner of the kitchen counter with his drink in hand.  He raises the glass to his lips, pausing halfway to point towards the wall of windows that’s currently letting in the midday Sunday sun. “We could drive a half hour to Disneyland, and get you the exact same thing!”

Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, Niall sucks in a deep breath through clenched teeth, as if he needs to calm himself down before doing something he regrets. “Xander,” He begins in a controlled voice, tight and tense and on the verge of snapping. “I suffered through starvation, fought in a world war, went through the Great Depression, and then fought in another fucking world war!  After all that, why would I settle for Disneyland, when we could easily make it to Disney World and back in three days?”

“You know…” Mitch says slowly, flopping down on the sofa between Niall and Harry, who’s already turned his attention back to his obsessive ritual of checking his notifications. “You can’t keep playing the ‘fought in a war’ card.  Harry fought in World War One, too, and I fought in the Revolutionary War.  And died in the Revolutionary War.  You do realize the majority of our group are veterans, right?”

Niall sighs in exasperation, clutching his beer in his fist to keep it from spilling as the older vampire beside him shifts on the couch. “I don’t play the ‘fought in a war’ card, Mitchell, I play the ‘fought in two wars’ card. And I think that card earns me the right to choose what we do next weekend.”

“And I think you folded those cards the moment you suggested Florida.” Wrinkling his nose, Xander finally enters the living room, and Harry risks a glance up from his phone to eye the dark-tinted liquid that laps at the edge of Xander’s glass with every step. “Why don’t we just go to Disneyland?  Or, better yet, why don’t we take a few extra days and go somewhere exciting?  I hear Greece is lovely this time of year; I wouldn’t mind trying some Mediterrean food for a week.”

“Florida is just as lovely—”

“That’s a lie, Florida is never lovely.”

“And Adam wants to go to Disney World, too!” Niall finishes triumphantly, taking a large swig of his half-empty beer before wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “So it’s two-to-one!”

“Two-to-two, actually.” Mitch interjects, pursing his lips at the childish grimace that overtakes Niall’s previously cheery expression. “I’m not too fond of alligators, and last time I heard from Sarah, she was in Italy.  It’d be nice to have a week with her in Greece.”

Niall rolls his eyes at the sudden tie, turning his gaze past his disappointing friend to his other almost-as-disappointing friend, tone growing firmer. “Alright, then, Harry, it’s up to you.  You’re our tie-breaking vote.”

Harry, however, had spent the better part of the last two minutes scrolling through the photos he and Y/N had taken on their date the day before, and doesn’t even glance up from his screen upon registering the utterance of his name. “Hm?  The vote on what?”

The frustrated Irishman lobs his bottle of beer at Harry’s head, his pitch powerful enough that it nearly collides with its target a millisecond later.  And would have collided, if Harry’s hand hadn’t shot up on a supernatural reflex to capture it perfectly within his grasp.

Keeping his eyes locked on his phone, Harry sighs at his friend’s antics. “Watch it, Ni, I don’t want to scrub beer stains out of my couch—”

“I wouldn’t have to resort to throwing bottles at your thick head if you could get it out of your girlfriend’s arse long enough to participate in our discussion!” The blue-eyed vampire shoots daggers at him, and the lightness of his irises shifts to a dark crimson as Harry’s gaze barely flickers to him. “Oh for fuck’s sake—” Bracing himself against Mitch’s lap, Niall launches over the couch and snatches Harry’s phone from his hands, scrambling back to his seat and stuffing it down his jeans pocket before Harry can react. “You’ll get this back after we finish talking, alright?  Now, where do you want to go next weekend?  Disney World or Greece?”

Although the urge to tackle Niall and fight for his phone twinges in Harry’s mind, he forces himself to stay seated, settling for just shooting a glare across the couch.  He’s certain that Mitch wouldn’t be appreciative of him and Niall biting at each other on top of him, just as certain he is of the fact that attacking Niall won’t exactly make him look mentally stable.  

Instead, Harry merely sucks in a deep breath, setting the beer bottle on the coffee table and dragging his jeweled hand through his hair before answering evenly. “First of all, she’s not my girlfriend.  And second of all… neither.  Y/N and I have plans next weekend.”

A collective groan runs through the room the moment the phrase falls from his lips, and Harry swallows down a smirk at the reaction he receives from his friends.  Only Mitch’s face remains free of irritation, and instead sits in a neutral expression that, from his years of friendship, Harry can tell is tinged with concern.

“You have plans with her every weekend.” Xander complains, taking a sip of his Bloody Mary as he sits down next to Adam on the lounge seat, pulling Harry’s attention from the eldest immortal. “How can you sit there and say she’s not your girlfriend when you’ve been ditching us for the last, like, three and a half months to spend time with her?”

That, in all honesty, is a fair question.  Harry knows that he’s been spending more and more time with Y/N in the last few weeks at the expense of his friends, and on some level, he does feel bad about it.  Except that when he actually thinks about it, he doesn’t feel that bad in the slightest. He has no reason to, given that he spends almost every weekday with his friends, so what’s the harm in saving his weekends for someone else?  

In fact, he rather enjoys bracketing off those days just to spend them with her, alone with no one else to bother them, where they can just bask in each other’s company. So no, he really doesn’t feel bad at all.

He has the sudden realization that, on top of having the sweetest, most addicting blood he’s ever had the good fortune of tasting in the last two hundred years, Y/N is just generally fun to be around. Due to this, Harry has unintentionally continued to grow closer and closer to the human girl with every second they spend together.  She’s witty, adventurous, and always down to try something new— both in public and in the bedroom.  And in the bedroom— a smile unknowingly creeps onto Harry’s face as he recalls the dinner he’d taken her to last month, and what they’d done after. 

He also recalls the morning that had followed, in which they had eaten breakfast on his couch together in nothing but their underwear, their bodies tangled against the sofa cushions as Y/N had fed him bites of French toast while he showed her the extensive collection of Polaroid pictures he’d taken the previous night before.  He vividly remembers the way she had squirmed at the images of her with her legs spread open for him, of her bare chest heaving and her back arching, and of the wetness dripping down her thighs and staining the sheets. And he especially remembers the way she’d hid her face away in his neck at the snapshot of his hand wrapped around her throat, as well as the picture of her suckling eagerly at his thumb while his array of rings had glinted under the flash of the camera. 

It had been so cute watching her eyes brim over with shyness, especially because she had been more than happy to shed her inherent timidness the night prior. He’d teased her about it, of course. How could he not? He’d laid there as she rested between his legs, pointing out every welt and bruise prominent on the photos, and then skimming his icy fingers over her actual body to find them. It had been a very intimate moment, given that they were reflecting on more than just the physical aspects of what they’d shared. It feels like their entire dynamic had shifted slightly, all due to the fact that the roughness and aftercare that had occurred between them were actions that required immense amounts of trust and communication. Harry felt closer to her in a way he hadn’t before, and if the softness behind Y/N’s eyes was any indication, she felt the exact same way. 

Their connection felt different now— purer, in a way, now that they’d seen one another in such an exposed fashion, but it still managed to stay within the boundaries Harry was intent on upholding. She’d given him a type of relief he hadn’t realized he’d missed so much, considering he hadn’t indulged in anything of that caliber in years due to certain doubts about his self-control. But somehow, he had managed to keep his supernatural strength and impulses at bay the whole way through, and he’d kept her safe and satisfied, as he promised he would. In return, she’d made him feel more in tune with himself than he had in a while. 

With all of those thoughts filtering through the vampire’s mind during their morning cuddle session, he had ducked down and kissed at the tip of her warm nose, sighing blissfully when she had returned the gesture onto the curve of his chin. Then, he’d begun pinching playfully at her sides, not being able to resist the urge to make her smile. He had burst into laughter when she herself had erupted into spontaneous giggles, thrashing against him while squeaking curses between gasps of his name, pleading with him to cut it out or she’d wind up falling off the sofa. It had been a wholesome pastime, up until he’d ended up sucking maple syrup off her fingers with that signature devious twinkle in his half-lidded eyes, and then she herself had ended up licking that same syrup off his abdomen. That had led to him tonguing it off the swell of her breasts, and then she had wound up lapping at something much more interesting than his stomach.

It’s only natural, though, considering that in the bedroom, Y/N is a refreshingly unstoppable force.  She matches his every push, pull, and thrust with ease, as if she knows his body by heart.  Maybe she does, Harry muses, considering that he undisputedly knows hers from every angle, like the stanzas of his favorite poem. And between all those things, is it really his fault he wants to spend as much time with her as he can?  Keeping her happy and content had worked well to sweeten her blood for him thus far, so why should he change his game plan now, when he’s so clearly in the lead?

Last weekend, for example, he and Y/N had driven the scenic route out to Malibu, where they spent the entire day lounging on beach towels and frolicking in the waves.  He’d enjoyed seeing her with saltwater hair, her soft skin encrusted with sand and warmed by the sun, almost as much as he’d enjoyed fiddling with the strings of her bikini and coating her body in sunscreen, because “protection from UV rays is a top priority, love.  Trust me.”  They’d packed a picnic lunch for themselves that consisted of homemade sandwiches, chips and salsa, and fruit skewers, which Y/N had hand-fed to Harry after she’d convinced him to let her bury him in the sand.  It had been irritating to shower the grit out from some unsavoury places, but worth it to see the smile on her face and hear her infectious giggles as she molded a sizable pair of sandcastle breasts onto his chest.  And doubly worth it after he took her home and fed on her sea-tinged blood.

Yesterday, as well, had been an example of how well Harry is doing with this arrangement the two of them have.  He’d picked her up in the early afternoon and taken her to the Museum of Contemporary Art, where they’d spent the rest of the day wandering the exhibits and debating the artistic merits of each piece.  Of course, their discussions were less educated and more humour based, as Harry tended to list every painting as reminding him of sex, while Y/N said that every sculpture she saw was a comment on capitalism, but it had made them laugh nonetheless.  And while the security guards standing by didn’t seem to think their overheard conversations were amusing— nor how they posed with the paintings, trying to mimic the various expressions depicted in the artwork— Harry could tell that Y/N was entertained. It was obvious in how sugary her blood had been after she’d fallen asleep hours later. And if Harry were a better artist, he would’ve created his own sculpture dedicated to the honey and lavender liquid that he’d become so tied to over these last few months, but it appears his position as a collector is what he was suited for— both for literal artwork and the metaphorical pieces he’d paint on Y/N’s body with his lips. 

It’s with all these events in mind that he turns to Xander casually as the man’s question echoes in his head once more. “How can you say she’s not your girlfriend?”

A clear and concise explanation slips from Harry’s tongue without a second thought. “I can say she’s not my girlfriend because it’s true.” Harry slicks a hand through his tousled curls again out of habit, so used to busying his fingers with fiddling on his phone that he has to find some sort of substitute. “Keeping her satisfied keeps her— and her blood— around.  And, yes, she’s a sweet girl, and a nice break from you lot—” He nods towards Niall specifically with a jerking motion and a raised brow. “But there…” He just barely hesitates before spitting the words out. “There aren’t any actual feelings there.”

“Oh really?” Niall challenges, his own brow kinking as he shifts on the couch, turning his body completely to face Harry at the expense of Mitch’s personal space. “So all those times I’ve heard the two of you shagging— all those times you’ve called her ‘a dream’ or ‘perfect’— there were no feelings in that?”

Xander wolf whistles at the comment as Adam barks out a laugh, and even Mitch allows himself a reserved smirk at the mention of Harry’s bedroom talk.  Harry, on the other hand, straightens his shoulders as a flush works up his spine and onto his cheeks, and instead commands his tone to be as cutting as possible when he forms his reply.

“I don’t think Y/N would be very appreciative to know you’re eavesdropping on us fucking like some type of perverted creep, so you might want to invest in a better pair of plugs before I rip your ears off and solve the problem myself.” Harry threatens lowly, eyes flashing bright red for just a moment before reverting back to their natural emerald hue. “And you can take what I say mid-fuck as a ready-made script, mate, since you have no clue how to sweet-talk a bird into making her cum.”

Niall’s hands reach up to cup his ears protectively due to the other monster’s violent warning, his brows furrowing into a pointed scowl. “Eat shit. It’s not like I have a choice but to listen, given that you two nearly bring the building down while—”

“You know,” Xander chimes in from the lounge seat, his voice taking on an accusatory tone as his eyes narrow at Harry. “I thought a constant supply of blood would mellow you out, but if anything, you’ve grown a bit more irritable.  Does this arrangement have an expiration date?”

“Xander…” Mitch begins, caution written into his quiet voice as his eyes flit from Harry to Xander and back again. “That’s not—”

Harry sharpens his voice into a blade as he slashes over Mitch, jaw growing taut as he spits out his retort. “I know a relationship lasting more than one night is a bit of a foreign concept to you, so I wouldn’t expect you to understand, but I really don’t think that’s any of your fucking business.”

“So you fuck the same person for a couple of months, and suddenly you’re a relationship expert?” Xander inquires with a humorless huff, his tone just as bitter as his eyes as he glares at Harry from across the room. “As if you haven’t had commitment issues since the nineteenth century?” Raising his drink to his lips, Xander takes a slow and calculated swig as Adam shifts in discomfort next to him, his eyes meeting Mitch’s with a nervous glance. “At least I can call shit what it is, while you just delude yourself for weeks on end, pretending that anything good can come out of your attachment to an insignificant human—”

“If I were you,” Harry says through gritted teeth, his fingers curling over the edge of his couch to hold himself in place. “I’d choose your next words very carefully, Xanny.”

“Or what?  Are you gonna dig into your Fifty Shades chest and spank me?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?  What, are you just upset you never got the full treatment?”

A hot flush crawls up Xander’s neck as his jaw clenches. “I never said I wanted it.”

“The jealousy written all over your face suggests otherwise.” 

“Alright!” Adam’s voice barks, swiftly slicing through the tension in the air, his eyes glowing crimson as he commands everyone’s attention from the two quarrelling vampires back onto himself. “That’s enough.  You’re both being ridiculous. Harry, you can’t be upset with us for trying to understand what you’re doing, mate.  We’re just curious, that’s all.  But Xander—” The youngest vampire’s snickering is cut off when his name is called sternly. “That doesn’t give you the right to ridicule him for it.  Harry knows what he’s doing— he’s a full-grown adult— and he wouldn’t do anything that would put himself, or any of us, into any sort of jeopardy.” With a long sigh, Adam’s gaze slides over the two creatures with a look of parental finality. “Are we good?”

Despite the annoyance still woven around each of Harry’s limbs, he forces himself to nod as he settles back into his couch, inhaling a deep breath through his nose.  Beside him, Mitch nudges the back of his hand against Harry’s arm, as if in encouragement, and the motion reminds him just exactly who it is that he’s talking to.  These are his friends— of course they have concerns about him.  Although they might voice those concerns in unusual ways (like sticking their noses into his intimate life), the meaning behind their words comes from a place of affection.

“Alright.” Adam says again, relief flooding across his face as he turns his attention to the rest of the room. “Now, we still need to decide what we’re doing next weekend.  Personally, I think a three day trip to Disney World would be a lot easier than Greece; I say we save that for next month, so we have more time to plan it and actually make the trip worthwhile.”

Xander, still a little irritated from his confrontation with Harry, huffs in response. “That’s all well and good, Adam, except you forgot that I refuse to step foot in that humid swamp-fest. Makes my face break out and my curls frizz up.”

“Jesus Christ, Xander.” Niall groans from the opposite end of the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose like before, nudging his large squared glasses up as he does so. “Can you just get that stick out of your arse long enough to—”

Whatever Niall is about to suggest Xander do seems to disappear from his mind as the Irishman suddenly cuts off his speech, his ears perking up as Harry’s phone begins to chime from his back pocket.  Although the sound is muffled from both the cushion and Niall’s trousers, the distinguishable opening motive of “Alexander Hamilton” playing can be heard by everyone, and it only takes one loop of Y/N’s signature ringtone for Harry to launch himself over the couch with his arms outstretched.

“Hey!” Mitch exclaims loudly, pressing himself into the cushions as Harry’s body writhes against his lap in his effort to extract the phone from Niall’s pants. “Jesus, watch your fucking feet!  You’re like Gumby!”

Harry, however, is only paying attention to Niall, who is fending off his attempts at snatching the device with one hand while holding the phone over the edge of the couch with the other. “Give it!” He snarls, eyes shading red as he watches an immature simper grow onto Niall’s face, his thumb poising over the answer button. “Don’t you fucking dare—”

“Shh!” Niall hisses at him, but his voice is lit with delight as he clicks on the green phone icon and raises the device to his ear, lowering his voice into a relaxed drawl. “Hi there, you’ve reached the Styles residence! Para español, por favor oprima el número uno. This is Niall speaking, what can I help you with today?”

“Oh—” Even through the tiny speaker, Harry’s highly tuned ears have no trouble picking out the gentle cadence of Y/N’s voice. “Hi, Niall!  It’s Y/N.”

“Y/N!” The younger immortal grins at Harry as he dodges his attempt at swiping for the device, setting his palm between Harry’s eyes and shoving him back roughly as he clambers up off the couch. He dashes across the living room to hide behind the lounge seat, sticking out his tongue and wagging it at his very peeved friend. “Lovely to hear your voice, darlin’!  How are you doing on this lovely Sunday afternoon?”

“I’m alright, thanks.” Harry hears her response as he pounces off the sofa, barreling across the room to chase after Niall. The shorter man is stealthy, and manages to duck and weave past Harry without a single issue, escaping under his left arm. He scrambles towards the glass stairs, holding back giggles as his opponent circles around the furniture to go after him, unhinged aggravation written all over his handsome features. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m just delightful.” Niall laughs airily, taking a sharp turn away from the staircase to confuse Harry’s impulses, snatching a throw pillow off the nearest couch and aiming it at the brunette’s head.  Like the beer bottle, Harry catches it easily, throwing it back at Niall’s stomach with a harder hand. Niall avoids it by a hair. “What can I do for you?”

“Uh, I just wanted to talk to Harry— I had a question for him.  But if he’s busy…”

“Yeah, he’s a little indisposed at the moment, I’m afraid.” Niall races into the kitchen, bracing himself against the marble island with that shit-eating grin still on his face, shuffling erratically from side to side to sike out the other creature across from him. “But I’d be happy to take a message from such a gorgeous girl as yourself.”

“Oh, um, that’s very kind of you—”

Harry rounds the corner of the marble island with a growl, snatching his phone from one hand and smacking Niall upside the head with the other. “Bloody prick.” He hisses over the other vampire’s snickers, eyes colder than his touch as he delivers another blow to Niall’s shoulder. “Fucking annoying, is what you are—”

“Niall?  Are you there?”

After heaving an exasperated sigh and sending one more glare to his friend, Harry raises his phone to his ear, doing his best to lighten the irritation in his voice. “Sorry, love. Niall just wants to be a bit of a bother today, it seems.” He sucks in a deep breath through his teeth as he turns away from the Irishman, wrapping his free arm around his middle as he leans his lower back against the island, crossing his ankles nonchalantly. He picks at a loose thread on his copper tartan trousers, voice coming out honeyed and delicate, as it always tends to get when he regards her. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He can hear the smile that spreads across Y/N’s face upon hearing from him, and the tone sends a flood of warmth through Harry’s chest. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, sweetheart, never.  I’m always free to talk to you.” Harry sends a cautious glimpse towards the living room, knowing that the four vampires sitting in his living room (Niall had slinked his way back to the couch now that his ridiculous charade had come to a close) are hanging onto his every word. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m good, just… I had a question, but if you’re busy—”

“No, not busy at all!  I’ve just been lounging around with the boys all morning. S’nothing serious.” Harry replies a bit too excitedly, straightening the hem of his fitted red and black striped t-shirt, which had gotten mussed during his tussle with Niall. “What d’you need?

Over the phone, he can hear Y/N clear her throat delicately, and a picture of her sitting on her couch in her living room plays across the front of his eyes, her thumb wedged between her lips as she chews on her nail, as she always does when she gets nervous. “Uh, well, I was also just relaxing this morning, and I was playing on my phone, and I kinda came upon this cute little bookstore called Verbatim Books. They have a bunch of really cool used books— and records, too, which I think you’d like— and they have this really neat, like, labyrinth layout—” Harry’s lips twitch as Y/N continues to ramble, “—and I’ve been looking for a replacement copy of Wuthering Heights because I dropped mine in the bathtub, remember?  And I wanted to get a new copy of Romeo and Juliet, as well—”

“Alright, slow down, pet.  Can barely understand you when you’re going a mile a minute.” Harry chuckles boyishly, absentmindedly carding a jeweled hand through the soft curls along the nape of his neck.  Just the sound of Y/N’s innocent dialect ringing in his ear manages to somehow soothe his entire body. “You want to go to this bookstore, is that it?  Because we can.” He flicks his eyes back over to his friends, who are already rolling their own in response. “Just give me an hour or two to finish up with the guys, and I’ll come pick you up—”

“Well, the thing is…” He pictures Y/N chewing on her thumb some more, timid uncertainty pouring into her usually clear irises. “Verbatim Books is in San Diego.”

“San Diego.” Harry repeats back to her, his free hand settling against the cold marble of the island behind him as he quirks an eyebrow in mild shock. “As in the San Diego that’s a two hour drive away?  That San Diego?”

Y/N’s anxious laugh tinkles through the receiver. “Yeah, that San Diego.  But if you have plans with your friends, I completely understand.  We can go a different day.”

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth wearingly, Harry glances at the digital clock blinking above his stovetop, reflecting back the time 12:53 P.M. “When do they close?”

“Five, I think?”

The vampire calculates the route to San Diego in his head, his sculpted brows creasing as the time frame appears in his mind. “If we left now, we’d probably get there between three and three-thirty.  Would an hour and a half be enough time for you to explore and find what you need?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, you are unbelievable,” Xander mutters from across the condo, but Harry pays him no attention other than raising a blue-lacquered middle finger to flip him off. 

“I mean, yeah, I think so, but—”

“Alright, darling, then just give me a few minutes to grab my things and kick everyone out.” Harry says firmly, pushing himself away from the counter to begin searching for his car keys. 

“No, Harry, it’s not so important that we have to go today, and I don’t want you to kick your friends out.  In fact…” Y/N’s voice becomes thoughtful as a new idea pops into her head, and she hesitates for a moment before suggesting it on the grounds of not wanting to come off as pushy. But in the end, her curiosity bests her. “Why don’t we save Verbatim for another day, and I could just come over and hang out with you and your friends?  I bought all the ingredients for this really yummy guacamole recipe I saw on Tasty the other day— we could do, like, an impromptu movie night or something.  I’ve been craving one of your margaritas all week.”

“Yeah, Harry!” Niall chimes in as Harry re-enters the living room, obviously ignoring his friend’s earlier threat against eavesdropping. “I could go for some guac and a marg— not blended, though. Tastes like shit that way.”

Harry stares at him in disgust as he snatches his keys from the coffee table. “You’re a fucking twat.” 

“What?”

“Oh— not you, babe!” Harry hurries to reassure her as Niall cackles in taunting satisfaction. “Sorry, I was talking to Niall.  No, it’s… it’s alright.  You want to go to this bookstore, and the boys were on their way out anyways—”

“Were you on your way out?” Adam asks Xander sarcastically, and Xander raises his half-full Bloody Mary as a negative response, making a mockingly sour face in return. “Okay, I thought so.  Neither was I.”

“—so it’s all fine.  I’ll leave in a few minutes, yeah?  Probably be at your place within fifteen?” Harry checks the time on his Rolex as he estimates his arrival. “Does that sound good?”

“I— sure.  Yeah, that works.” Y/N says slowly, her voice a little softer than it was a moment before. “I’ll see you when you get here, then.”

“Alright, doll.  See you soon.” Harry hangs up his phone with a tap of his finger, sliding the device into his back pocket as he turns to face his friends. “So that was Y/N—”

“Oh, really? I had no clue!” Xander deadpans, rising from the lounge seat and setting his condensation-covered glass on the coffee table, deliberately avoiding the coaster Harry always insists should be used. “See you later, Harry.”

Adam matches the motion, a smirk jolting across his scruffy cheeks as he stands from his seat and claps Harry over the shoulder as he passes by. “Have a nice drive, man.  We’ll do a movie night with Y/N another time.”

The promise plants a seed of unease inside Harry’s stomach, but he doesn’t allow it to show on his face, choosing to smile easily at Adam’s innocent comment instead. “Yeah.  Another time.”

“Yeah, have a nice drive, H.” Niall mutters as he passes him, his face set in a petty surrendered frown. “A nice, long drive.  Preferably off a very short cliff.”

“I would, Ni, but you’d miss me too much.” Harry grins at him jokingly, bumping the vampire’s shoulder with his own until his irritated expression softens into a slightly less irritated smile. 

It’s Mitch, however, who makes Harry pause the most as he goes to leave. He halts in the doorway of Harry’s flat with a somber look in his eyes, appraising his younger friend with a curious gaze, which settles into trepidation as he sighs reluctantly. “You okay, H?” He prods gently, the question heavy as it falls from his mouth.

While Adam’s words were lighthearted and Mitch’s are anything but, they still leave the same feeling of uncertainty curling through Harry’s belly.  And, like Adam’s words, Harry plasters the same reassuring smile across his features, doing his best to dampen his best friend’s concern. “‘M peachy keen, Mitchell.  Don’t need to worry about me.”

“Are you sure?”

Harry only hesitates for a split second before urging himself to respond. “AB positive.” 

///

If Y/N doesn’t say something to him, Harry is going to go absolutely insane.

It’s not that they haven’t had silence fall between them before, because they have.  They’ve had comfortable silences as they lay in bed at night, Y/N wrapped within Harry’s inked arms as her breaths align with his.  They’ve had quiet lapses in conversation during their usual breakfasts as they watch reruns of Y/N’s favorite crime show, or as they’ve wandered up and down the Santa Monica pier, or walked to and from casual dinners on warmer nights. Despite the lack of words flowing between them, Harry would always know what Y/N was thinking as he slipped his light denim jacket over her bare shoulders, capturing her hand within his own once more as he pulled her to the inside of the sidewalk so he could walk closer to the traffic.  Silence is nothing new to them, and has even been the host of some of Harry’s favourite moments between the two, given that being able to hold a comfortable pause with someone is such a beautifully rare occurrence. Silence has typically been his friend.

But the silences that linger in their past have never felt quite like this.

From the moment Harry pulled out of Y/N’s apartment building parking lot and into the busy traffic of L.A., the mortal girl had grown quiet, and seemingly immune to Harry’s inquiries about how her day had been since he’d dropped her off at her apartment the night before.  Although she first answered him with short snippets— no more than a few words long— by the time he’d peeled them out of the hustle and bustle of the city and onto the highway towards San Diego, even those answers had come to a faltering halt.  Instead, Y/N had propped her chin up on her hand, rested her elbow on the ledge of the car door, and turned her pensive gaze at the scenery whizzing by the window, which she watched with a contemplative crease between her brows.

And the infuriating thing is that he’d asked if something was bothering Y/N the moment she’d begun to clam up, and his question had only received a small jerk of her head and a barely audible, “No, H.  I’m fine.” No gentle caress of Harry’s hand against her leg or soft squeeze of her palm had granted Harry any more clarity on the subject.  

She’s allowed to have secrets, of course. Everyone does.  Harry himself certainly has his own fair share locked away in his chest, free from prying eyes and curious minds.  But the thing is, she hasn’t held any from him.  Any question Harry’s asked, she’s always provided an open and honest answer, even if there’s been a beat of hesitation before the words fall from her pretty lips.  But her answer today, of being fine, is so clearly the opposite of that, and her insistence on hiding it means that she doesn’t want Harry to know that she’s upset.  Which means— Harry’s hands tighten around the steering wheel as he rounds the curve of the road— that Harry’s part of the reason she’s upset.  He’s not sure how, or why, or what he’s done, but he’s done something.  Otherwise, Y/N wouldn’t be refusing to give him even a fraction of the warmth she’s usually so willing to gift him. 

Another sigh heaves from Harry’s chest as he lets one hand fall from the leather wheel onto his thigh, tracing the pattern of his plaid trousers absently.  He wants to ask again, just to see if her stubbornness has dwindled by the slightest degree.  And it easily could dwindle with just a breath of suggestion from Harry, but he refuses to do that, no matter how badly he may want to.  If Y/N is really mad at him for something, how can he convince her that she should forgive him if he’s using supernatural powers to make her admit what’s wrong.  Even more, how can he convince himself that he’s justified in earning her forgiveness?

Harry casts another concerned glance at Y/N before shifting in his seat to extract his phone from his trouser pocket.  With a quick swipe of his thumb, he unlocks it with ease, his eyes flicking from the road to the phone and back again as he opens Spotify. 

“You’re not supposed to text and drive, y’know.”

The sweet cadence of Y/N’s voice, despite its quiet tone, uplifts the corner of Harry’s lips and mills a gentle chuckle in his chest. “I’m not texting.  And I’m an excellent driver, sweetheart.” He glimpses at her from the corner of his eye before returning to his search through his playlists. “Got good reflexes.”

The human girl gives a hum of acknowledgement rather than another retort to his comment, and Harry’s newborn grin quickly melts into a frown as Y/N’s attention returns to the window.  Harry finds comfort in another sigh as he selects an album from his library, clicking the shuffle icon in the corner and tucking his phone back in his pocket. 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Music begins to roll out from the speakers that Harry installed in his car the year before, producing a hip-hop beat and the voice of Christopher Jackson as George Washington. “You could’ve been anywhere in the world tonight, but you’re here with us in New York City.  Are you ready for a cabinet meeting?”

Harry taps his fingers to the beat against the steering wheel as he steals a sly peek at Y/N.  Although she hasn’t turned to him again, he can see her eyebrows pricking up with curiosity as to what Harry’s doing. That’s all the encouragement Harry needs.

“The issue on the table: Secretary Hamilton’s plan to assume state debt and establish a national bank.  Secretary Jefferson, you have the floor, sir.”

The vampire bites back a triumphant smirk as he turns his gaze back towards the road, feigning a lack of interest in Y/N’s response as he begins to rap along to the Hamilton score. “‘Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness’.  We fought for these ideals; we shouldn’t settle for less.  These are wise words, enterprising men quote ‘em,” He cocks his head to the side, allowing his grin to fully light up his face as he captures Y/N’s attention within his. “Don’t act surprised, you guys, ‘cause I wrote ‘em. OWWW!”

Although Y/N’s expression stays neutral, he can see a twitch in her cheek at his loud exclamation, and Harry begins to exaggerate his actions even more as he gestures towards her with twinkling emerald eyes. “But Hamilton forgets!  His plan would have the government assume state’s debts.  Now, place your bets as to who that benefits.” Harry taps his chin symbolically, feigning thought, and then points towards Y/N with dramatized realization. “The very seat of government where Hamilton sits.”

Keeping her own eyes locked on the road ahead of them, Y/N gives a quick yet defiant shake of her head, the corner of her lip raised just a fraction more than it was a moment before. “Not true!”

“Ooh, if the shoe fits, wear it.” Harry’s simper continues to grow with the warming attitude Y/N’s beginning to display, and he shakes his head in return and raises his free hand in a questioning manner as he continues to rap along. “If New York’s in debt, why should Virginia bear it?  Uh, our debts are paid, I’m afraid.” He lifts his fingers into his curls, running them through his roots and pretending to fluff the ends poshly for a haughty effect. “Don’t tax the South ‘cause we got it made in the shade.” Tapping a jeweled finger against the dashboard, Harry emphasizes the beats of his next line. “In Virginia, we plant seeds in the ground.  We create; you just wanna move our money around.  This financial plan is an outrageous demand, and it’s too many pages for any man to understand!” He pretends to flip the endless pages of an imaginary novel, and then snaps his wrist dismissively with a cocky smirk, deftly guiding the car around the curve of the road with his other hand. 

“Stand with me in the land of the free, and pray to God we never see Hamilton’s candidacy.  Look, when Britain taxed our tea, we got frisky—” Harry rolls his chest to the rhythm of the song, his dimples deepening in his cheeks as he reaches over towards Y/N and pinches at her side playfully, warmth erupting across his veins when she squeals in surprise. “Imagine what gon’ happen when you try to tax our whiskeyyyy.”

“Thank you, Secretary Jefferson.” Washington says through the speaker as Y/N smacks his hand away and purses her lips, appraising Harry with a raised brow. “Secretary Hamilton, your response.”

For a moment, Harry waits with bated breath, thinking that Y/N won’t rise to his challenge.  She’s too angry with him, for some reason he can’t fathom, and when she opens her mouth, he assumes she’s just going to tell him off for—

“Thomas, that was a real nice declaration.  Welcome to the present, we’re running a real nation.  Would you like to join us?  Or stay mellow doin’ whatever the hell it is you do in Monticello?” Y/N rolls with the music just as Harry had, his rainbow cardigan slipping from her shoulder as she gestures towards him with ridicule. “If we assume the debts the union gets a new line of credit, a financial diuretic.” She lists off each subject on her fingers, making a sour face at Harry. “How do you not get it?  If we’re aggressive and competitive, the union gets a boost—” She slaps her hand down against her thigh passionately, as if his side of the imaginary argument appalls her. “You’d rather give it a sedative?”

Harry barks out a laugh as Y/N’s expression grows more incredulous, mocking him in character as if they were really on a Broadway stage, and not his ‘67 Cadillac driving down a highway in California. 

“A civics lesson from a slaver.” She snorts, reaching across the seat and tapping her knuckles against Harry’s head with a light touch. “Hey neighbour, your debts are paid ‘cause you don’t pay for labour.” She mimics his voice, right down to the slight British tinge that had made it into his Virginian twang, throwing up her hands and shaking them in an overexaggerated motion as she quotes him. “‘We plant seeds in the South.  We create’— Yeah, keep ranting.  We know who’s really doing the planting.” 

One of Harry’s hands shoots up towards his mouth and forms a fist, which he presses against his lips in fake astonishment at her dig, joining the background vocalists in howling. “Ooooh!”

The mortal gestures towards him with renewed fervor in her eyes that barely hides the amusement lingering in her irises. “And that’s another thing, Mr. Age of Enlightenment.  Don’t lecture me about the war; you didn’t fight in it!”

Harry bites back the jesting retort of “No, but Mitch did.” that nearly rolls from his tongue.

The minimal restraint goes unnoticed by Y/N, who continues her scathing attack on Harry’s alter ego as she points over her shoulder with her thumb. “You think I’m frightened of you, man?  We almost died in the trench,” She pinches together her index finger and thumb and brings them to her mouth, and the ease at which the mimicry of a joint comes to her makes Harry wonder if she’s ever actually smoked one. “While you were off getting high with the French!  Thomas Jefferson, always hesitant with the President.  Reticent— there isn’t a plan he doesn’t jettison.  Madison, you’re mad as a hatter, son, take your medicine.  Damn, you’re in worse shape than the national debt is in!” Gesturing theatrically, Y/N lowers her voice, keeping her intensity as she points to Harry. “Sitting there useless as two shits.  Hey, turn around,” she makes a small twirling motion in the air with her forefinger, and then juts two digits upwards as if to stuff them somewhere, “bend over, I’ll show you where my shoe fits!”

Harry bursts into laughter with reckless abandon, wrapping his free hand around his stomach as he bends over the steering wheel.  Reaching towards the stereo dials, he turns down the volume, letting the rest of the track fade to background noise before turning his gaze back to Y/N. 

Just like him, the mortal girl is bent over with fits of  belly laughter, and the sound echoes around the Cadillac in the sweetest way.  Harry would take that over the Grammy-winning soundtrack any day. 

“That was good, love.  You’re a proper Broadway starlette, aren’t you?” Harry says between giggles, rubbing at his dimpled cheeks before settling his hands back on the steering wheel. “Didn’t realize you’d been holding out on me so much.”

“I wouldn’t call that holding out.” The mortal girl counters, fixing the slouching shoulder of Harry’s cardigan as she rests back into the passenger seat with a satisfied air. “You’ve heard me sing all the parts to ‘Non-Stop’ at once.”

“Well, yes, but…” Poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue, Harry shoots a cheeky grin at Y/N as he drums his fingers against the leather wheel. “This time you were actually good.”

An indignant scoff falls from Y/N’s mouth as she reaches across the car and smacks his arm.  Harry can sense that she puts a lot of her force behind it, but the action feels as forceful as a fly landing on his shoulder, and he fakes a jostling of his body as he pouts. “You can’t hit the driver!”

“Then don’t insult my Broadway-worthy performances!” She remarks, crossing her rainbow-clad arms over her chest with a defiant air. “I think I’m quite talented— ready to take over the role of Hamilton himself, even.”

The creature rubs over his arm in an attempt to feign soreness, but the simper that’s still dimpled across his face gives him away. “I’m not sure if I’d go that far, peach.  I think I’d give you a chorus role, at best.” He snickers as Y/N’s mouth drops down into a disgruntled frown. “If anyone would be playing Alexander Hamilton, it would be me.”

“Uh, I don’t fucking think so.” She shakes her head adamantly, her brows drawing together in petty disbelief. “They wouldn’t cast a fucking Red Coat in an American Revolution play.”

Harry wedges his plump lip between his teeth at the tauntingly insulting nickname as his mind flickers to Mitch once more.  He’d be amused, Harry thinks, at how this girl seems to so easily mimic the attitude of those who have known Harry for decades. 

“I can do a flawless American accent, love.” Harry’s emphasis on the consonants in his response only highlights his native tone of voice. “But that’s not why I’d be picked to be Hamilton over you. It’s because I just fit the role of the main character better.”

Y/N sputters in her seat for a moment, jaw dropping open at the assured statement. “Are you kidding?” She demands, pressing her palms flat on her thighs as she narrows her eyes. “Like, are you actually fucking kidding?”

“Not one bit.” With his voice dropped to a serious tone, Harry keeps his eyes locked on the road as he replies.

“That is the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard.  I can’t believe you really—” Y/N sucks in a deep breath through her nose, as if she needs to calm and center herself in order to form a coherent answer, and her playful eyes slowly drift shut. “I grew up in a small town, dated the same guy for five years, was left behind while he went to university, where he then cheated on me, and then I moved from the town I’d never left before all the way across the country to Los Angeles, California.” Opening her eyes once more, Y/N turns her determined gaze back to Harry, collapsing her hands in front of her for emphasis. “I literally followed the ‘smalltown girl moves to big city’ trope.  There are dozens of LifeTime movies that follow the exact same plot.  If that doesn’t say ‘main character,’ I don’t know what does.”

“Mm, I’ll tell you what does.” Harry counters, wagging a ringed finger at the human girl while keeping the rest wrapped securely around the steering wheel. “‘Following the life of a handsome, rich British bachelor with a mysterious past, a great fashion sense, and who happens to be very well endowed.’”

“Oh, please. That says ‘one of two love interests from a Hallmark Christmas movie,’ at best.”

The vampire gasps with faux offense, clutching a hand to his dormant chest as he flickers his eyes to the scoffing girl. “A love interest?  You think that’s all I’m entitled to?” He asks, brow furrowed as he clicks his tongue. “Did you miss the part where I said I had a mysterious past and a huge dick?  Girls would foam at the mouth for me.”

“No, believe me, I know all about those two things.” Y/N snorts, brushing back a loose strand from her eyes before she rolls them. “Unfortunately for you, those are all key characteristics of a protagonist’s love interest.”

A smug smirk overtakes Harry’s face as he flicks on his turn signal, glancing over his shoulder before passing a car that has been going a bit too slow for his liking. “Huh.  Well, I suppose as long as you know that I have those key characteristics— particularly that last one— then I guess I’ll settle. S’the most important of them all, I think.”

He expects his joke to receive a rolling laugh from the human girl, or a noise of acknowledgement at the very least, but all that echoes from her is an empty hum from the back of her throat.  When Harry glimpses her way again, he finds that she’s resumed her previous expression of quiet contemplation, brow creased in thought as she chews on her bottom lip. Concern begins to weigh heavy in Harry’s chest once more.

“Speaking of mysteries, though…” She fiddles with her fingers, twisting one of her rings around a digit the same way Harry does when he’s anxious, and if he were in a better frame of mind, he might take pleasure in the fact that she’s picked up one of his mannerisms. “There is something I’ve been wondering.  About you, I mean.”

From her closed off body language and sudden shift in mood, Harry knows that this has something to do with the guarded and upset expression she’d had when he’d first picked her up.  And, from her lead in, he knows that his assumptions were right: her unsettled demeanor has something to do with him.  Although the possibilities leave a feeling of unease in the pit of his belly, Harry’s curiosity and his need to satiate her wariness wins out, and he forces himself to nod and ask, “What is it, dove?”

Y/N opens her mouth, but no question falls out.  From the corner of his eye, Harry watches as she closes her mouth again, as if she’s decided against asking whatever it is that she wants to. Harry is just about to encourage her to make her inquiry when a surge of confidence suddenly overtakes her body, and she’s spitting it out in a quick and confused voice.

“Why haven’t you introduced me to your friends?”

Out of all the causes for her guarded demeanor, the topic of his friends had been the farthest from his mind.  The question catches Harry so off guard that he, for what feels like the first time, doesn’t have a quick response already formed on the tip of his tongue.  Instead, his own mouth falls open in surprise, and he casts a quick look at the girl from the edge of his emerald eyes before turning back to the road in front of him.

He knows the answer to her question, of course; it’s the same answer that he’s given to his friends every time they’ve asked him to invite Y/N to a bar trivia night, or a weekend barbecue, or a club outing.  And, truthfully, it’s a question that’s been floating more at the forefront of his mind for the last few weeks as he and Y/N have continued to spend time together, gradually becoming a constant in each other’s lives. However, he didn’t expect it to be at the forefront of her own, as well.  

And the answer, really, is quite simple: if Y/N were to spend time with Harry’s gang of friends, there would be a larger possibility of her realizing that there’s something off about all of them.  Like how they all have a specific jeweled accessory that they’re never without, or how none of them seem to ever grow weary, or how they all have the same cold skin and slight shadows around their eyes.  Surely her keen eyes would catch how, despite the copious amount of shots and number of pints they throw back, none of them seem to become inebriated as easily as normal people would, and they can walk out of a club with their heads held high, free of stumbling or exhaustion.  It’s with careful planning and—truthfully— sheer luck that Harry’s managed to present himself with a halfway-human appearance, and he has no doubt that it would be ten times harder to keep up that charade when the chances of her discovering what he is quintuple.

“Uh…” His brow furrows while searching for a valid response to give to the mortal beside him— one that would avoiding hurting her feelings, while still sounding believable. “I-I dunno, really.  I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

The quiet “oh,” that slips from Y/N’s downturned lips alerts Harry that, no matter what response she was expecting, that wasn’t the right one.  She tightens her cardigan-clad arms around her middle as she nods tightly, keeping her gaze fixed pointedly on the passenger window.

Harry rubs his bottom lip with his ringed index finger— another nervous tic of his— as he tries to remedy the tension that’s been brewing between them since she first stepped into the car. “I mean… this whole thing—” He gestures between the two of them, and although the urge to take her hand makes his fingers twitch, he returns his grasp to the steering wheel instead of allowing himself to try and extract her palm from the fabric it’s hidden beneath. “— has been between just the two of us, so I didn’t really think… it mattered.” He finishes lamely, knowing that his justification is just making things worse. “Does it need—?  I mean, did you want—?”

“Well, it’s just…” Y/N lifts and lowers her shoulder in one quick motion, the cardigan once again sliding down to reveal the strap of her tank top underneath and a path of smooth skin that Harry yearns to touch. “It’s kind of like a— I don’t know, a marker?  Like if something is going… well…” She spares him a quick glance before returning her gaze to the passing scenery. “You tell your friends.  I’ve, um, I’ve told mine about you— like, my friends back home, over the phone— and if they weren’t so far away, I know they’d want to meet you, so I guess I—”

“You’ve told your friends about me?” Harry cuts over her, the shock laden in his voice raising it from its usual low drawl. “What did you tell them?  What did they say?”

An anxious flush begins to creep up Y/N’s neck and onto her cheeks, and Harry suspects that it’s not from the warm wool of the cardigan. “I did, yeah.  A couple weeks ago.  They called and asked how I was doing, if I had made any interesting friends yet.  And, well— I’ve pretty much only got you right now, so I kind of had to say something.” She lets out a weak laugh, more air than anything substantial. “I just said that we, um, we were seeing each other, kind of.  Like, mostly we’re friends, and we hang out, and—”

“We do more than hang out.” A grimace tugs at Harry’s own lips at her simplified explanation of their complicated relationship, and he risks an elongated look at the girl beside him, trying desperately to read her expression with no success. 

“I know that, but— like, we’re not dating, right?  It’s not… that was the best explanation I could give.  I don’t think there’s a proper label for what we are— not that we need one.” Although Y/N’s laugh holds more substance this time, Harry can still detect an undercurrent of tension in the sound. “Either way, they said they wished they could meet you, so I was just wondering— your friends know about me, obviously.  We’ve met a few times quickly, but we’ve never, like, had a proper introduction, you know?  I met Xander and Niall in the hallway, and Mitch briefly when we were having a movie night at your place… you talk about Adam a lot, too, and I’ve never even seen him in person.” Turning her head towards Harry with slow hesitation, Y/N worries her bottom lip between her teeth, her expression so frighteningly open that it makes Harry’s stomach turn. “Do they not… do they not want to meet me?”

Despite the quiet and cautious cadence of Y/N’s voice, and the way it twists around Harry’s unbeating heart like a vice, the question draws a soft laugh from the vampire.  Shaking his head adamantly, Harry rakes a hand through his curls before it goes to tap against the steering wheel decisively. “No, sweetheart, that’s not it.  They’re actually quite eager to meet you. As of late, I haven’t been able get through five minutes without Niall asking about you.  He pries like a gossipy nan and s’been getting on my nerves, honestly.”

Relief spreads through Harry as the admission brings a gentle upturn to the corners of Y/N’s soft lips, but it’s short-lived as another thought pops into her mind, and her cautious tone returns at the realization that—

“So you don’t want to introduce me to them, then.” She states quietly, a clear degree of hurt present in both her tone and her eyes as she twists her body beneath her seatbelt to face him head on.  As certain as she is in her assumption, the cautious shadow that sweeps over Harry’s face serves as confirmation of her statement, and it creates a hollow pit in her belly that grows with each passing moment.

Y/N is aware that their relationship— or whatever it is, because they still haven’t put a title on it, and that’s a whole other complication that she can’t dive into right now— is about as far from normal dating as they can get.  She’d fucked Harry before she knew his last name, he’d told her to take him deeper before he’d even told her where he was from, and he’d asked her on a date two months after they’d met, mostly out of territorial jealousy; everything that they’ve done has been out of the traditional order.  But still, she thinks, picking at her nails as the strain between them becomes palpable in the worst way, there are certain things that you do when you’re interested in someone.  Certain milestones that indicate that a relationship is viable and can be sustained for an extended period of time.  Meeting someone’s friends usually comes around the two month mark, and by Y/N’s calculations, that means they’re nearly two months overdue.

Which is fine, Y/N tells herself, dropping her gaze from Harry’s stormy sea glass eyes as she chastises the self-pity coursing through her veins.  Everything about their relationship has been done out of order; why should meeting Harry’s friends be any different?

Except it is.  As much as she hates it, it just is, because it’s not even that she hasn’t met them.  It’s that Harry, with his guilt-ridden eyes and darkened demeanor, clearly doesn’t want her to.

“Y/N,” His gentle utterance of her name draws her from her thoughts more than his hand crawling across the leather seat does.  It’s not until his cool fingers weave through hers that her fidgeting stops, and she even notices that he’s moved. “It’s not that I don’t want you to meet them, I just—”

“It’s fine, Harry.” She insists softly, despite the tightness in her statement making it obvious that it’s very much not fine.  She pastes a thin smile onto her lips as she shakes her head, trying to appease him as best she can. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Harry squirms in the driver’s seat, tightening his hand around the steering wheel as he heaves a sigh through his nose.  Y/N might be saying that, but the look in her eyes tells a different story.  Does she really think that she can look at Harry with such a wide, wounded expression, and he won’t bend over backwards to make things right?  The thought, although scathing, rings true in Harry’s mind as he worries his cheek between his teeth.  Does she not know the lengths he’s willing to go to just to make her feel better?  For fuck’s sake, he’s making a four hour round trip just to take her to a bookstore in San fucking Diego.  Somehow, without Harry noticing it, this human has managed to influence him in ways he couldn’t possibly imagine anyone ever would again.  Is he supposed to believe that she’s unaware of that?

Shaking his head tersely at her previous reply, Harry squeezes her fingers in his own, clearing the newly formed lump from his throat. “Yes, I do.” He says firmly, looking at the girl from the corner of his eye. “I can tell where your mind is going, love, and I promise you, it’s not as bad as you think.”

“Oh, yeah?” Despite the hurt still splashed across her irises, there’s an echo of a challenge in her tone. “So you just hide all of your… hook-ups from your friends, then?”

“You know I don’t have hook-ups, Y/N.  There’s no one else, there’s just— there’s you.  I only have you.” Harry makes his words as plain as can be, without any joke or teasing to downplay the sincerity of what he’s saying— or attempting to say, because his throat feels so tight that he can barely choke out a single syllable. “And that’s why I haven’t introduced you yet.  I… I like what we have.  This—” He raises their clasped hands, bringing the back of her knuckles to his lips so he can plant a chaste kiss over her soft skin. “I like it.  We’ve spent these last few months in a bubble, just you and me, and it’s been…” A smile tugs at the corner of Harry’s lips, nervous and shy, but tinged with hope. “S’been amazing.  And I’m just… not ready to give that up yet. I…I don’t know how to word it, really.  I’m not good with, um—” With emotions, he thinks to himself. He’s not good with expressing any of this, but he forces himself to try. “It just feels like what we have is something I want to keep private, because it’s special. It’s kind of like when you were a kid and you got a new toy, yeah? And you didn’t want anyone to touch it because you liked it so much, you wanted to keep it all to yourself. It was something so personal, you didn’t want to share it…” 

Harry trails off to look over at Y/N anxiously, and then comes to a sudden realization of the unintentional mistake he’d made by using such a materialistic analogy. His voice comes out rushed and apologetic. “And I’m not saying you’re an object or anything! I just wanted to explain it better and that’s the first thing that popped into my head. Did that...make sense? It probably sounded a bit dense. Or very dense. I’m sorry.” Harry knows he’s babbling aimlessly now, and with a surrendered sigh, he lowers their hands to the seat, still keeping Y/N’s fingers locked tightly with his. “I don’t want to share you, petal.  That’s what it comes down to, really— just me being selfish.  I like having your attention all to myself.”

Y/N listens attentively to Harry’s explanation as a new wave of blood boils to her cheeks, warming every inch of her body.  As much as she still has her doubts— about his reasoning, about their whole arrangement— she wants to believe him.  She wants to believe him more than anything in the world.  

So do it, she tells herself, grazing her lip between her teeth as her gaze remains glued on Harry’s (ridiculously attractive) side profile.  Believe him.  He’s never given you reason not to.

“Okay.” She finds herself saying, and she decides that it’s her turn to raise Harry’s knuckles to her lips for a kiss.  His skin is cool against her mouth, as always, and she lingers against him before lowering their intertwined hands to her lap. “I get it.  I like what we have, too; I don’t want it to change.  Plus,” She can’t resist tacking on a dig, glancing at Harry with a sly look. “From the brief interactions we’ve had, I think Niall and I are pretty compatible, so I don’t blame you for wanting to keep us apart.”

Although Harry barks out a laugh, he barely manages to hide the flash of crimson that streaks through his eyes at the suggestion. “Please,” He shakes his head as he strokes his thumb over the back of Y/N’s knuckles in a possessive manner. “I’m not worried about Niall.  If I was going to be concerned about you leaving me for any of my friends, it would be Adam.” Y/N shoots him a curious look, and his dimples pop out of his cheeks as he elaborates. “Good sense of humour, attractive, and arguably the most sane out of all of us, present company included.  But he can’t perform in bed like I can, so I think that’s a solid deterring factor.  And I doubt he’d drop everything to drive you to a bookstore you found out about through— where did you say you heard about this place again?”

“Uh,” Y/N drops her gaze from Harry, turning her head straight back to the road as she shifts in her seat. “I, um, I saw it on TikTok.”

The vampire snorts obnoxiously, pulling his hand from Y/N’s to rake his fingers through his rouge curls. “Jesus Christ, of course you did.”

Y/N matches his scoffing with ease, crossing her arms over her chest with a defensive air. “Don’t give me that tone!  This is exactly why I didn’t tell you! You know, you can actually find a lot of valuable information on there—”

“Yeah, because filming yourself doing the Renegade is a really great use of your time.”

“I didn’t say— wait—” The mortal girl quirks an eyebrow as she regards him with disbelieving eyes. “How do you know about the Renegade?”

“There’s a reason we blocked the app from Niall’s phone.”

///

Much to Harry’s relief, the drive back to Los Angeles begins a lot smoother than the drive to San Diego had.  

The bookshop had been extremely similar to the antique store they’d been to a while back— it had the same rustic, messy aesthetic that gives a cozy, homey vibe, and it had sprouted a seed of nostalgia in Harry’s chest. They’d wandered around for a bit with their fingers intertwined, rarely breaking away from each other for too long for the sake of maintaining their buddy system. The pair had filtered through the extensive array of titles and knickknacks, walking under archways built out of novels and winding through tall shelves full of vintage collectibles. Y/N had entertained herself with grazing over the spines of all the different books they’d passed, her eyes glazed with a form of childlike wonder he’d grown so fond of seeing. And while Y/N had been losing herself in all the old treasures the shop had to offer, Harry had found himself losing his thoughts to her dreamy smile instead. 

Satisfied with her purchases of Wuthering Heights and Romeo and Juliet, as well as a used copy of Jane Eyre (“Look, Harry, it has little notes in it from the previous owner!  Isn’t that neat?”), Y/N had settled into the passenger seat with ease, a light smile on her face as she buckled her seatbelt.  Harry’s own mood is considerably brighter than it had been on the previous drive, but his shift in energy had only partially been caused by his purchase of a new Simon and Garfunkel album.  Truthfully, Harry thinks, as he watches Y/N thumb through her new second-hand annotated book (the irony of her affinity for literature written from Harry’s original time period is not lost to him), his attitude is merely a mirror of the girl next to him.  It’s much more difficult to be in a good mood when she’s in a sour one, but on the flip side, it’s nearly impossible to be grumpy when she’s showing such a sunny disposition.

Her inquiries from their drive to the bookstore are worrying him, of course.  He knows that he’ll have to introduce her to his friends eventually, especially if he wants to keep this agreement between the two of them up.  He also knows that it’ll be ten times harder to do so with Niall running his mouth, Xander making sly digs, and Mitch and Adam watching him with parental-like concern.  Perhaps it would be easier to just call this all off right now, before things continue to progress.  It would certainly be better for Y/N, he’s sure of it.  Y/N, who gets excited over annotations in her books.  Y/N, who sings along off-key to the radio even when she doesn’t know all the words.  Y/N, who innocently presses tender kisses to his throat in a manner that draws an obsolete warmth from every limb of his undead body, and who smiles at his stupid inappropriate jokes and returns them with her own, and who fits into his arms like she was made for the sole purpose of filling them perfectly.

Y/N, who is reaching between the two of them, intertwining their fingers together with a practiced motion, and—

“Thank you for taking me to the bookstore.” The human girl murmurs, her lips grazing the back of Harry’s knuckles as she speaks. “I really do appreciate it, although I’m sorry I pulled you away from your friends.”

Harry’s woes melt away as she pecks across his icy skin, and a grin begins to jolt his lips as he brings her hand to his own mouth. “Don’t be sorry.” He smears a kiss to the back before dropping their tangled palms to the seat between them, his thumb caressing over her velvety flesh. “You’re much better company than the four of them.  And much prettier.”

“You’re such a flirt.” Y/N rolls her eyes at the comment, but leans further towards Harry in her seat. “And a liar.  We both know that Mitch is prettier.”

“Mitch?” Harry’s emerald eyes widen in appalled surprise, the corner of his lips twitching once more in amusement. “Out of all of my friends, you think Mitch is the prettiest?  What about Xander?  He’s quite the vain one, don’t you think?”

Y/N shrugs one shoulder in a light manner. “I like Mitch’s hair.  The long style works for him.”

“Ah, it’s the hair.  That makes sense; it’s always the hair.” Nodding sagely, Harry allows his lips to pull into a full grin. “So you like it long, hm?  Suppose I should keep growing mine out, then?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sherlock.” Y/N shoots him a smirk that’s much more mischievous than his own. “I said the long hair worked for him, not you.  Who’s the vain one now?”

Despite the jesting tone of her voice, jealousy twinges in the back of Harry’s mind as his eyes darken from emerald to forest green.  He forces his lips to stay upturned as he offers a response that’s only half a joke. “Ouch, Watson.  S’not very nice, especially considering how I’ve driven you to San Diego and back today.  I think I deserve a bit of praise, don’t you?  Instead of you mocking me—”

“I’m not mocking!” Y/N’s protest is muffled around the entertainment in her voice, the rainbow cardigan once again slipping from her shoulder as she shakes with suppressed laughter. “Making one little comment isn’t mocking!  It would be mocking you if I acted like you do when you get in front of a mirror— you make this one specific face, like you’re trying to pull a Blue Steel, and—”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Harry huffs as he yanks his hand away from Y/N’s, swiping it through his loose ringlet before clamping it back around the steering wheel. “Ungrateful little wench, aren’t you?  I have half a mind to pull over right now and—”

“A wench?  I’m a wench?” Y/N’s laughter grows louder, filling the entire Cadillac with the unabashed sound that, despite his act, warms the pit of Harry’s stomach. “Alright then, Merlin. What, are you going to put me to work in a labour house?  Is that what a wench does these days?”

“First of all,” Harry quips, giving her a flat glimpse, “I’d be Arthur, not Merlin. Main character complex, remember?”

Y/N rolls her eyes grandly, proceeding to lower her head in a dramatic bow. “My apologies, sire. How could I forget?” 

“And second of all,” the vampire states slightly louder, talking over her sarcasm, “no, because apparently, all wenches do nowadays is just make fun of the men who volunteer to spend four hours in a car with them without so much as a ‘thank you.’”

The mortal girl’s upturned mouth drops open in amused disbelief. “What—?  I said thank you!  Literally three minutes ago!” 

“Did you?  I don’t recall.” Harry sighs airily as he smoothly guides the car around a bend in the road. “All I remember is you saying you think Mitch is sexier than I am.”

Snorting loudly, Y/N crosses her arms over her middle as she gives a small shake of her head. “Alright, I think that’s a bit of a stretch.  I just said he has nice hair.  And, while we’re on the topic—”

“Watch it.”

“— his mustache is cool, too.  It suits him.”

“You know, I could grow a mustache if I wanted to.” Harry can’t help the pout that plumps his lips, nor can he help the whine that creeps into his voice when Y/N giggles at the sight. “It’s true!  I could!  I just choose not to.  And, really, you should be thanking me for it, because it saves you from getting a carpet burn between your thighs.”

“So I should be thanking you for driving me today, for not growing facial hair…” Y/N ticks off the items on her fingers with a ridiculing gleam dancing through her eyes. “Anything else we need to add to the list?”

Harry tuts as he thinks, pursing his lips in consideration before letting out a sharp exhale as a sly smile carves his dimples into place. “That cardigan you’re wearing.  You could thank me for letting you borrow it— although ‘stealing’ might be a more accurate term.”

A miffed expression rises to Y/N’s face just as a flush does. “I didn’t steal it!  I’ve just been borrowing it, like you said.”

“Mmm.  Alright.” Harry hums in the back of his throat as he glances at the girl beside him, kinking a brow expectantly. “And when can I expect it back?”

“Fairly soon, actually.  It—” Y/N’s cheeks boil with more heat as she drops her attention to her lap, clearing her throat gently before continuing. “It, um, it doesn’t really smell like you anymore, so…”

Silence falls between the two as Y/N’s voice drifts off, leaving behind only the sound of Fleetwood Mac gently drifting through Harry’s speakers to cut through the thickening tension that fills the vehicle.  It’s only the faint sound of Y/N’s own shallow breaths that reminds Harry that he needs to fake his own, and he sucks in a deep gasp of air, his throat burning as her thick honey and lavender scent settles on the back of his tongue.

“Well,” He begins cautiously, gauging her reaction from the corner of his eye while keeping most of his gaze glued to the road. “You can always steal it again after I get it back, yeah?  It’ll be good as new.”

Harry nearly heaves an audible sigh of relief when he sees the edge of Y/N’s mouth twitch. “Not steal.  Borrow.” She corrects, her voice as tentative as his.

The heavy atmosphere in the car begins to dissipate as Harry rolls his eyes with fondness. “Agree to disagree, dove.”

Y/N lets out a sound of dissent as she rubs her palms down her legs, drumming her fingertips against her knees with finality. “Thank you for letting me borrow it, H.  And thank you for not growing a mustache.” She giggles out, throwing a coy smile his way before her expression grows more gentle. “And thank you for driving me today, although I’ve already said it.  I’ll have to think of a way to repay you.”

“Oh, I could think of a few.” Harry says with a suggestive smirk, thrumming his ringed fingers against the steering wheel. “How do you feel about spending the night?  We could order dinner from that Thai place you like, take a nice bath, and I could spend a few hours between your thighs while you make those sweet little noises I like so much.  Sounds relaxing, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” Y/N agrees, keeping her voice as light as she possibly can at the mention of Harry’s skilled tongue working her over. “But that doesn’t seem like much of a thank you on my behalf.  Shouldn’t I be the one giving you something?”

Harry casts a look at the mortal girl with a raised brow. “Shouldn’t I get to choose my own reward?”

The fact that he sees the action of eating her out as a reward makes Y/N’s tummy froth. She really doesn’t know how she got so lucky, truly. “You should, but I can think of something better.”

The creature licks his lips once at the promise of something more enjoyable than her taste on his tongue. “Well, I wouldn’t say no to a blowie in the bath.”

“Actually…” Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as she casts Harry a sideways look through her lashes, twisting her body beneath her seatbelt to angle towards him. “I was thinking of something more immediate.”

The question of what she means by that dies before it can make its way out of Harry’s mouth, stopped in its tracks the moment Y/N’s fingers travel across the leather seat between them.  She rests her palm on his thigh for a moment before beginning to massage the muscle beneath his trousers, her delicate fingertips just brushing over his inseam as her hand works its way higher.

A choked groan is all Harry can manage when her touch travels over his suddenly-growing bulge, and it takes all of his focus not to veer the car off the road. “Y/N,” He says, his accent low and thick with warning. “‘M driving, sweetheart.”

“I know.” Her voice thrums darker than normal as her palm presses flat against him, moving in a slow circle over the plaid fabric with insistence. “I didn’t ask you to stop, did I?  You can keep driving.”

The laugh that rolls from Harry’s lips is breathless and strained. “Yeah, except I can’t when you’re— fuck—” Y/N squeezes along his hardening shaft, and Harry tightens his hands around the steering wheel with nearly enough force to bend it. “‘M gonna crash this bloody car if you keep doing that.”

“No, you won’t.” The mortal girl smiles sweetly at him as her nimble fingers pop the button of his tartan slacks, grasping his zipper and tugging it down so slowly that it’s almost painful. “You can multitask, can’t you?”

“Not like— God—” Clenching his jaw, Harry casts a pained glance at Y/N, only allowing himself a moment of looking before forcing his attention back to the road.  What he sees in that moment, however, is a mischievous glint in her eyes that’s hidden beneath set determination, and the combination would send a shiver down his spine even without her soft hand creeping beneath his trousers. “This doesn’t feel like a reward, pet.  Feels like torture.”

Y/N shrugs lightly, continuing to rock against Harry over his boxers as her free hand reaches for her seat belt and clicks the release button. “Maybe it is.  Maybe I want to see if you can stay just as focused as I did when you made me cum on that ladder. Remember?  Right in the middle of that antique mall?”

Harry watches as her seat belt retracts, a flash of worry striking through his body. Before he can voice his concern for her safety, her hand is dipping beneath the waistband of his boxers. “Y/N,” He strains to get her name past his lips, his abdomen tightening as she grips him snuggly, and her palm feels like agony and salvation all at once. “If you make me cum in my pants with an hour left in our drive, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Or maybe…” Shifting across the seat, Y/N leans into Harry’s ear, her breath hot against his cool skin as she pumps him slowly and ignores the comment he’d moaned. “Maybe I just feel the way you did that day.  Maybe I want to tease you a bit.” She uses the precum that’s begun to steadily leak from his tip as lubricant, twisting her hand around his length to elicit a hiss from Harry’s clenched jaw. She takes the shell of his ear between her teeth, nibbling at it just to feel him writhe in response. “What was it you said to me, H?  When you slid your fingers inside me in that little music room?”

Harry offers no response other than the short puff of air that leaves his nostrils as he clenches the wheel harder beneath his palms.  He keeps his eyes locked on the road, knowing that if he looks down and sees Y/N working him beneath his slacks, he won’t be able to restrain himself from yanking the car to the side of the road and throwing her into the backseat.  And however wonderful that sounds— because it does sound incredibly wonderful, especially when Y/N swipes her thumb teasingly over his bubbling tip— he can’t let himself give into her.

Y/N, however, doesn’t seem to accept defeat so easily, and begins to drift her lips down Harry’s jaw and neck.  While the area had previously been a sensitive spot for Harry in the worst way, he’s repeatedly come to find that the sensitivity he feels when Y/N caresses him there to be an entirely new and pleasant sensation. 

“You said you wanted to have fun, remember?” She licks over the curve of his throat, her own breathing growing heavy when she feels Harry’s Adam’s apple bob beneath her tongue. “Now it’s my turn, don’t you think?”

“Thought—” Harry swallows thickly again, his hips unconsciously thrusting up slightly into Y/N’s hot palm. “Thought this was about thanking me, wasn’t it?  Not getting even.”

Y/N pulls away from his skin with a coquettish look in her wide eyes, her brows raised and lips parted into a small pout. “Are you saying that my mouth isn’t enough of a thank you?”

“Your—?  Oh, fucking hell—” Harry nearly swerves the car into the other lane of traffic when Y/N frees his length from his trousers, the cool temperature of the air-conditioned car sending a shudder down his spine.  The sensation only increases when Y/N dips her head down and extends her tongue to tease his cherry tip with the textured surface. “Y/N.”

“That’s what I thought.” The human girl says smugly, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips even when she wraps her mouth fully around his head and sucks gently, just enough to draw a breathless whimper from the man above her. 

With one hand still grasped tight around the steering wheel, Harry threads his other into Y/N’s hair, roughly tangling his fingers between her silky locks.  He doesn’t guide her head as he usually does, but the idea of being able to move her if he wants allows him to feel a semblance of control. 

Y/N clenches her thighs together as she bobs her head down further, heat pooling inside her belly as she feels Harry tug on her hair with the lightest pressure.  She trails the tip of her tongue down Harry’s expanse, following the prominent vein that pulses underneath her touch. “Do you still want me to stop, baby?” She asks softly, looking up at him through her lashes as she pumps him in a slow motion, batting her lashes sultrily. 

“No.” Harry whines the word as he presses his head back into the seat rest, his neck flexing as he forces his gaze to stay pinned on the road. “No, love, just— fuck, just keep going.” He grits his teeth when he feels her nose smudge along one of his fern tattoos, his next phrase coming out as a barely contained growl. “You’re down there already, so you might as well.”

Tucking her loose hair behind her ears, Y/N takes Harry back into her mouth, pushing herself further and further down his cock at a pace that’s nearly agonizing.  Harry twists his hand within her roots to create a makeshift ponytail, holding the locks out of her face so that she can focus better on the task at hand.  He feels the mortal girl smile around his length, her tender fingertips drawing a little heart along his exposed pelvis as a cheeky thank you. 

As the highway straightens out, Harry risks lifting his hand from the steering wheel for a quick moment, and his deft fingers quickly find the volume button of the stereo to lower it to a quiet lull.  He wants to hear every sound of Y/N’s throat opening up for him, and the muted noises she releases at the taste of him in her mouth.  

Of course, all of that is nearly overpowered by his own sounds of pleasure, and he struggles to keep himself quiet as he grips the wheel with renewed force. “Fuck, doll, look at you...I just…Christ.” The last word comes out as an elongated groan, his eyelids fluttering as her tongue massages down his extent in slow and even strokes. “Just like that, darling. God, you’re so good. Such a pretty mouth with such a filthy fucking tongue, hm?”

Harry throws a haphazard glance over his shoulder as another vehicle passes them, and a flash of territorial protection runs through him at the possibility of someone looking into the car and seeing Y/N touching him like this.  The sight of her acting like such a bold little minx is for his eyes only, and that thought combined with her slow, blissful motions pushes him to inch his foot towards the gas.  Harry wants to put a bit of distance between them and the other traffic on the highway, which will insert some much needed privacy into the situation. 

His acceleration, however, is interrupted by a particularly rough bump in the road, and his body jerks in his seat as they drive over it.  He hears the sound of Y/N gagging before he registers the searing sensation of his cock hitting the back of her throat, and he risks a peek downwards to see Y/N’s watery eyes blinking up at him in disorientation.

“Baby—” He tugs her head up from his lap, concern mingling with the pleasure in his voice as he evaluates her well-being.  Her expression is hazy from her ministrations, and she blinks tears from her irises, keeping one hand wrapped firmly around his length as the other wipes away the wetness at the corner of her eye. “‘M sorry.” Harry gulps thickly as he smooths his thumb over Y/N’s scalp, trying to soothe any discomfort he may have caused. “Are you alright?”

Y/N nods in a jerking motion as her mood darkens lustfully, and she swipes her thumb over the glistening tip of his cock before answering. “I’m fine, H.  Just caught off guard.  Don’t worry.” The rasp in her voice is evidence of her actions, and Harry hates how the sound goes straight to his throbbing length in her hand.  Undeterred by the harsh thrust that had choked her a few moments earlier, Y/N leans down once more to smear more sloppy kisses to the head of his prick, rubbing the slit against her bottom lip to elicit a cracked gasp from Harry’s lungs. “Just wanna make you feel good.”

“You—You are.  God, you fucking are.” The praise falls easily from Harry’s raspberry lips as her mouth returns to its previous distraction, fully suckling on the leaking head as her hand continues to work him in a practiced manner. “Feels like a dream, sweetheart, t-the way you take me down your throat like that.”

The mortal girl keens at the validation, and uses it as fuel to push herself further down his shaft again.  She makes sure that she’s mindful of how deep she’s taking him, keeping her hand wrapped firmly around the base as a buffer in case they hit any more rough patches of road.  With that worry eased, she allows herself to focus on massaging his pulsing prick with her tongue, alternating movements with strong sucks to his sensitive tip. She twists her wrist at a rising pace, matching it to the tempo she’s established with her mouth, working him over messily and swimming in the strangled noises that pour out above her.

Y/N sniffles lightly, talking over Harry’s thick cock to the best of her ability, her voice garbled and raw. “You’re so fucking big, Harry. And so pretty, too.” She moves her hand lower down his expanse, carefully cupping his heavy balls and fondling them between her fingers, preening at the fractured grunt that filters from her lover’s taut throat. “And so full.”

“Please, baby…” The immortal’s quiet plea sends electricity coursing through every cell in her body, his grip on her hair tightening to the point where blots of color speckle her foggy vision. “Don’t stop. Just please don’t fucking stop.” 

“I want it.” She whispers around him, the warm breath of her words puffing down his prickling skin and sending goosebumps across his clammy thighs. “I want you to fill my mouth, Daddy. Want every last drop.”

The creature sucks in a rattling breath through the cracks of his teeth, waves of pleasure erupting along his cheeks and down the knobs of his spine, all because of how erotic her delicate voice sounds as it expresses such explicit confessions. “You’re fucking ruining me, dove.” 

The girl tugs at Harry’s balls gently, rolling them around her palm again as she gives a particularly harsh suck. He can’t stop the loud whine that tumbles down his tongue in response, his hips bucking upwards a tad in unrestrained need. “I want you to give it to me, H. Please? Want you so bad.” 

Harry throws his head further back against the headrest of his seat, his jaw dropping open in a silent moan as his heavy eyelids lull over his rolling irises, tears blearing his vision until he can barely make out the road in front of him. “Gonna—Gonna give it to you, pet. Gonna give you every last bit, all for my sweet girl.” 

Y/N hones her blurred sight above her onto Harry’s face, more warmth flooding the area between her thighs. He looks gorgeous as ever, with his prominent features slack in ecstasy, his clavicle cutting into the sweaty skin visible along the collar of his fitted tee, and with his unusually dark eyes framed by his long lashes. His chest is heaving wildly as he tries to keep his composure, his cross necklace glimmering in the sun with every rapid rise of his defined muscles. His sharp jaw is wound taut, the tendon along the structure ticking as he gazes at her drunkenly from above his sculpted cheekbones. His chestnut curls as matted along his temple and over the nape of his neck due to the heat of the moment, his thick brows are knitted together in pleasurable gripe, and his teeth-swollen lips are parted in aroused wonder at how skillfully she’s taking every last inch of him without any hesitation whatsoever. 

Y/N watches him intensely, drinking up every twitch of his expression and every soft groan he tries to stifle, her tongue lapping at him with more excitement than before. Harry locks eyes with her through his foggy haze, the corners of his flushed lips jolting upwards into a cocky open-mouthed smirk when he sees just how fucked he’s got her, despite the fact that he’s barely lifted a finger through the entire process. He slowly tongues over his chapped lips, glimpsing back up towards the highway for a split second to make sure he’s avoiding any other oncoming cars. He then returns his attention to the human, giving her head a playful tug and feeling the tip of his cock nudge along the roof of his mouth, resulting in a low hiss streaming past his condescending simper. “Why don’t you take a picture, princess? It’ll last you longer.” 

Y/N gives a quick squeeze to his balls, sly satisfaction weaving its way into her chest when she feels him jerk in response, a whined curse of, “Fuck me.” slipping through his defenses. “Maybe you should watch your tone while I’m down here.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at her challengingly, his palm grasping the back of her head with more intent and forcing her down, her nose smearing over his tummy as he hits the back of her throat deeper than before. He holds her there for a second, reveling in the way she constricts around him as soft gagging sounds bounce off the walls of his Cadillac. 

After a few seconds, he pulls her back up his cock to a more reasonable length, humming smugly as she shudders and coughs dryly, her eyes twinkling submissively. His voice comes out strained, but its dark and accented tenor holds its usual unyielding authority, as well as arrogant chiding. “And maybe you should learn not to talk back to me. Guess I’ll have to pull the paddle back out sooner than expected, huh?” 

A shiver coils down Y/N’s spine at the reference to that night. It happened a few weeks ago, but the memory is fresh in her mind as if it’s only been hours. It’s nearly impossible to forget, given everything Harry had put her through, and she often finds herself thinking back on it whenever she needs some relief and doesn’t have his company as help. 

The human murmurs her next sentence shyly, her watery eyes regarding him with a certain type of wistfulness that makes his balls ache. “Maybe you should.”

Harry lets out an airy chuckle at her eagerness, which slowly molds into a gravelly moan when she returns to dipping her head with faster, sloppier strokes. A few strands of hair have escaped the ponytail in his palm, and he takes great care in tucking them back behind her ears with his index finger, which then trails across her cheek affectionately. “Maybe I will. But right now, you just worry about finishing me off. Then, we’ll see if I’m feeling up to it some other time— if I feel like you deserve it.” 

Y/N nods her head obediently. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“‘Course, darling. Anything for my proper little slut. Especially when she’s taking me down her throat like such a good fucking girl.” 

Y/N’s only reply is a broken mewl, and she allows herself to become immersed back into the action of giving Harry the orgasm she so desperately wants to deliver.   

She can taste precum as it dribbles onto her tongue, a precursor to Harry’s impending climax, and the flavour makes her center throb.  She has half a mind to remove him from her mouth and beg him to pull over so that she can properly ride him, but she doesn’t doubt that doing so would add hours onto their travel time.  There’ll be time for all that once they’re back at his place, she reminds herself, pulling off of him just enough to lick her lips before lowering herself again.  Right now, there’s just one thing she wants above all else, and if the sounds Harry is making are any indication, she’s fairly close to getting it.

“So fucking close, angel.” Harry pants, his abdomen contracting over and over again as he struggles to keep the car moving at a steady and consistent pace. “Gonna make me cum, aren’t you?  Want Daddy to pump that pretty mouth full?”

Y/N hums around Harry as he yanks on her hair again, more for the sensation than to actually guide her.  Still, she pulls up from his prick with a pop, looking up at him with doe-like eyes as she replies. “Mhmm.” She hums again, giving him a particularly hard pump and delighting in the groan that rolls from his tongue. “Wanna taste you.”

“You— fuck, darling, that’s fucking it.” Harry’s words echo from his throat in a ragged gasp as he twists his jeweled fingers around her locks once more, straining his head back against the seat to keep himself from looking down again as she retakes him down her throat. “I’m gonna fucking— Oh my God, baby, please—”

Y/N digs the nails of her free hand into Harry’s pelvis, scraping over his plant tattoos as she feels his toned tummy tighten beneath her touch.  It only takes one more squeeze of her hand around his balls and one last determined suckle to draw his orgasm from him, and she lifts herself until just the head of his cock is in her mouth as he spills onto her tongue.  Her own eyes flutter shut as she whines at the salty taste, swallowing it down without a second thought.  She keeps her lips locked around him, wanting to capture every aftershock that spurts into her mouth, feeling ropes of cum splatter across her taste buds as Harry squirms against his seat, whining in encouragement.

She continues to milk him for everything he’s worth, repeatedly prodding the twitching vein protruding along his prick and scraping his sputtering head against the inside of her cheek, wanting to urge every last drop out of him. She only pulls away when the young man whimpers from above, shakily tugging on her hair to alert her that he’s crossing into more sensitive territory.

“Fucking shit…” He murmurs weakly, his breathing erratic as he eases off the gas pedal to reduce the car to a slower pace, rather than keeping the accelerated speed he’d fallen into as he came.  He combs his fingers through Y/N’s mussed locks as a faint, exhausted chuckle rolls from his lips, his thumb ducking down to collect a bit of the mess that had seeped out of the corner of her mouth. He pushes the digit past her swollen, colored lips, his breath catching as he watches her clean it off without a single hitch. “God, minx, I’m gonna need a little warning the next time you decide to do that. Thought I was gonna crash the car a few times.”

“You wouldn’t have.” Y/N reassures him quietly, looking up at him with a fond smile before turning her attention to his softening prick.  She licks up one stray bead of cum from his tip, delighting in the strangled sound the action draws from Harry. She then proceeds to carefully tuck him back inside his trousers, buttoning and zipping them up with ease.  She even takes care to tuck his red and black striped shirt back inside the waistband, but only after she presses a gentle kiss to his still-tensed abdomen, nuzzling her nose across his happy trail and feeling butterflies flutter in her belly when he lets out an appreciative mewl.

Harry inhales deeply as he watches her sit up from the corner of his eye, his hand slipping from her hair to his own to fix the disheveled curls. “No, I suppose not.  I have precious cargo.  Speaking of—” He reaches over Y/N’s body, and with one hand still on the wheel, fumbles to fasten her seatbelt back across her chest and lap. “Y’gotta keep this on if you ever do that again, alright?  S’not safe to have it off for so long.”

A fond smile tugs at Y/N’s lips as Harry sews his fingers over her thigh, squeezing lightly over her jeans before massaging the muscle.  She’s noticed that he’s grown more and more touchy and protective each time they’re intimate with each other, and it would be a lie to say she doesn’t enjoy it. “Yes, sir.”

Harry’s fingertips stutter over Y/N’s leg for just a moment, and the twitch of his sensitive cock beneath his slacks nearly causes Harry to swerve the car again. “Fuck, don’t say that right now.” He mumbles brokenly, his voice much more raw than he’d like it to be. “Don’t think my poor dick can handle it.”

Laughter bursts from Y/N’s chests, and the contagious sound draws a giggle from Harry’s own body as she settles her fingers over his, twisting them together in an instinctive motion. “Too sensitive?” She teases, lulling her head back against her seat rest while keeping her eyes focused on him, sweetening her voice down into a babying drawl. “You poor thing.”

A bright pink blush sears itself onto Harry’s cheeks as he clears his throat, tightening his hand around the wheel again to ground himself. “Yeah.  I only really like overstimulation when I’m the one administering it, not the one receiving it.  And you—” He squeezes her thigh as punctuation. “—are much too stimulating, especially when you’re looking at me like that.”

Another honeyed giggle falls from Y/N’s strawberry lips, and the corners of her eyes crinkle as her smile continues to grow. “I like seeing you like this.” She says decisively, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she reaches over and affectionately twirls one of his loose ringlets around her finger. “All flustered.  It’s cute.”

“Are you seriously calling me cute after deep-throating me while I drive?” Harry asks incredulously, a snort echoing from his throat as he shifts around in his seat.  He’s already uncomfortable in his trousers again, both from the wetness she’d left on him and the way her words are making him stiffen again. 

“Mm.” Y/N thrums in agreement as her free hand reaches for the stereo, dialing up the volume again so the sounds of The Kinks can be heard without strain. “I think you’re cute— very cute, actually.  Even moreso when you get all blushy. Am I not allowed to say that?”

Another layer of warmth soaks itself across Harry’s small ears and stinging nose, and he tries to play off his childish reaction with a casual scoff. He can’t deny the way the compliment makes him feel, though. It’s different from the praise she usually gives him, which tends to be sexual and in the heat of the moment. But this is much more intimate in such a sweet and tender manner, and he hasn’t received that type of innocent attention from someone in much too long. He likes it, he decides. Especially when it comes from Y/N.

She makes him weak, and though he’d normally seethe at the idea of anyone ever making him weak again, he comes to find that the softness she coaxes from him is something so different from the mainstream definition of that dangerous word. She makes him weak, yes, but not in a destructive sense. This girl— this simple mortal girl with bones made of glass and skin of fine velvet— makes him weak in the knees, and in the pit of his stomach, and in the cement walls he’d built around his phantom heart. She makes him vulnerable in new places that have been entirely foreign to him for the last twenty decades, if the glowing warmth surging through him is any indication. And for the first time in a while, he’s beginning to think that maybe— just maybe— that’s not such a terrible thing.

The vampire comes to the sudden epiphany that being weak for someone is unorthodox to him because it’s a human trait. Allowing yourself to form a deeper connection with someone— with a person completely the opposite of what you are— requires compassion and understanding. It requires willingness and empathy, as well as trust and pure intentions. It requires humanity. And that’s what Y/N is doing, Harry realizes. She’s taking that last wilted shred of humanity he possesses and is urging him to use it. Even though it’s not intentional on her behalf, and even though she has no idea of just how small that fragment of humanity is, it’s somehow miraculously working; just her being the caring soul she’s always been seems to be enough to awaken that part of him. 

Despite the fact that the immortal would normally laugh at such a stupidly cringey and cliche concept, there’s no denying that at this point in their little LifeTime movie crossover, it’s true. That’s why it feels so utterly weird— she’s bringing out a side of himself he hasn’t shown in literal centuries. She makes him feel the one sensation he didn’t think was possible for him to ever experience again: She makes him feel alive. 

Oh.

…Oh. 

Harry snaps himself out of his inner turmoil, sucking in a shaky breath and exhaling slowly, releasing all his consuming thoughts. Relying on his supernatural impulses to focus on any oncoming hazards, the creature allows himself the indulgence of shifting his hunter eyes onto Y/N for a lingering glance.  The sun is just beginning to set outside the car window, ducking over the cityscape and washing the distant buildings in mellow shades of soothing pinks, cozy oranges, and buttery yellows. The colors cast a golden light through the glass of his car, and it settles onto Y/N’s soft features like stardust, highlighting her flyaway hairs, the gentle slope of her plush lips, and the dreamy tinge in her captivating eyes.  

If Harry didn’t know any better, about both what she is and about not believing in such ridiculous tales, he’d think she was an angel.  Not that an angel would ever be seen with the likes of him.

“Y’can say that, petal.” He murmurs after a lengthy pause, reluctantly returning his attention to the long stretch of road in front of him, his palm still secured over Y/N’s denim-covered thigh.  If he focuses enough, he can feel her pulse through the fabric, and the steady thumping sends a strange prickling through his hand and into the rest of his body. “You can say whatever you’d like, and I’d listen.”

“Oh, is that so?” She pokes at him with a cheeky grin, using her nail to absentmindedly trace the blood red daylight crystals embedded into the eyes of his lionhead ring. “So you’re actually offering to listen for once, instead of making your cocky little comments?”

The edges of the vampire’s lips jolt with endearment. “Just this once, yeah.” 

Except it’s not just this once, Harry thinks to himself, adding on the words he will most likely never have the courage to speak aloud. I’d listen to anything and everything you have to say. No matter how small and insignificant it may be, or however random and useless you might think it is. I’d listen. For you, always.

Harry doesn’t express his private thoughts, but he pretends that he has, and he pretends that the smile Y/N is gifting him at the moment is her heartfelt response to his silent confessions. 

He adores it more than he should, and how could he not? It’s so blinding, he thinks it could very well burn him.

///

It’s not that Harry is nervous for tonight, because he’s not.  

Spending his Friday nights with Y/N has become as regular as clockwork, and Harry knows that it’s overdue in their routine for him to cook a dinner for her, given that she’d had the courtesy of doing it for him. He’s already picked up her favourite red wine to accompany the gnocchi recipe he’d sweet-talked Vincenzo into sharing with him (Gnocchi al Vostro Gusto— the one she’d enjoyed on their date at Bella Vita), as well as snagged all the ingredients for the lavender lemonade cocktail he planned to make her when she first arrived.  He’d even gone so far as to freeze a few petals from edible flowers into his cubed trays earlier in the day, just to up the ante on his already stunning presentation.  

He’s already set out shining dinner plates along his kitchen island, tidied and dusted his entire condo, and made each of his friends promise to leave him alone for the night.  He’s prepared everything that’s been within his power into sheer perfection; nothing could possibly go wrong.  So he’s not nervous, because everything is fine and because he never gets nervous. Being nervous is for morons, and he’s far from being one, so he just isn’t. It’s that simple. There’s absolutely no reason to be nervous. 

Except that he can’t manage to get his mahogany belt to lie properly against his waist (he’d searched in vain for his black Gucci belt with the logo buckle, but hadn’t been able to find it), the woven leather tail twisting repeatedly whenever Harry tries to tuck it beneath the rest of the belt.  And while the rational part of his mind knows that this doesn’t matter, and that he can just guide the tail into a loop along his olive trousers, the irrational part of his mind— which, unfortunately, just happens to be in control at this very moment— knows that tucking it in won’t look nearly as chic as folding it just right to lay the excess along the length of his thigh.

He’s already crafted the rest of his outfit so carefully, spending almost an hour deciding on the red and black patterned vest to pair with the trousers, and an additional forty-five minutes choosing which short-sleeved button up to layer beneath it.  He’d ended up picking a yellow top with indigo swatches along the collar, proceeding to tuck the shirt sleeves up along the sleeves of the knitted vest to give the fit a stylish flare. Harry thinks he looks good (although, to be fair, he always does), but he knows that if he turns his attention back to it for too long, he’d end up tearing it off and starting all over again.  However, judging by the clock that’s ticking from his bedside table, Harry knows that isn’t an option.  It’s 5:42 PM, and Y/N had said she’d be here by 6:00, and if Harry isn’t ready by the time her delicate knuckles rap against his front door, then she might just decide to turn on her heel and leave, and Harry won’t ever get the chance to ask her—

The creature stops short in his tracks, his fingers freezing over the leather of his belt that he’d just managed to settle into place.  He’s not asking her that, he reminds himself, loosening his limbs just enough to nervously twist his mother’s ring around his pinky.  He’s already decided that— and undecided it, and decided it again— after his road trip epiphany the previous weekend.  It doesn’t matter just how weak, or warm, or alive, or just plain human Y/N makes him feel.  He knows what this is, and has known since the beginning, and there’s just no way that he can bring himself to ask Y/N to be his—

Harry can’t even force himself to think of the word. 

He makes long strides towards his dresser, picking up the string of pearls lying on top of the varnished wood and fastening them around his icy neck.  What meaning could that word even hold for him, anyways?  He’s a vampire, and though Y/N makes him feel the complete opposite, there’s no way he could ever feel so human as to give into the notion of having a girlfriend.  A girlfriend leads to a fiancée, which leads to a wife, which leads to the expectation of a family, and Harry knows that none of those things are compatible with the immortal afterlife he lives now.  If Mitch, who is— by any accounts— ten times the man Harry could ever be, hasn’t even managed to lock Sarah— another vampire— into a solid relationship after three years, how could Harry delude himself into thinking that he could do that with a human?

And even if he, with all his commitment, abandonment, and trust issues aside, could have a relationship with a mortal— not any mortal, he reminds himself, but the only mortal that’s ever managed to capture a sliver of his genuine attention— that doesn’t mean he actually wants one.  Why would Harry ever want to be tied to one place, or one person?  Why would he ever want to have to phone someone before going somewhere, or have to check in on them when they’re doing the same?  Why would he want to deal with having to manage someone’s emotions, problems, and life?  He’s traveled the circumference of the world and back again, and seen more changes to society than any human could ever comprehend. He loves being reckless, and untethered, and not responsible for anyone other than himself. He enjoys being impulsive and not having to worry about his actions falling back on anyone else’s shoulders other than his own. It’s who he is— it’s who he’s been for a while now— and it’s who he had imagined he’d continue to be for another two centuries. 

It’s like that one country song that tormented his radio in the early 2000s— the one about life being like an endless road and about how people should enjoy it while it lasts. He believes the exact words are, “Life is a highway, I want to ride it all night long” or something of the sort. Horrendous song, but it held a pretty decent message. 

So with all of this taken into precise consideration, why would he, in his right mind, ever chain himself to one geographical location, and one single fleeting soul?

The answer floats to the forefront of Harry’s mind as he casts a glance towards his half-opened dresser drawer, where a pair of Y/N’s pastel blue sweatpants are folded neatly on top of his own pairs.  She’d left them there a few weeks ago, and while Harry had washed and dried them for her with the intention of giving them back, he’d decided it would be a better idea to keep them here in case Y/N ever ended up staying the night without planning to.  Just so she’d have something comfortable of her own to put on before falling asleep in Harry’s bed, on the side that he now keeps made up just for her.  

Why would Harry ever tie himself to one person?  Because that person is Y/N, and she’s not just a person.  She is— in every way except officially— Harry’s girl.

Harry can’t even bring himself to deny that fact as he fixes the collar of his shirt and strides out of his bedroom, dimming down the lights before making his way to the glass staircase.  Every issue he’d brought up, every fact that he’s tried to use to convince himself that he doesn’t want a relationship, can’t even be considered an issue when it comes to Y/N.  He already does all of those things— checking in on her to make sure she’s alright, letting her vent about her stress, listening to her problems with an attentive ear, holding her hand whenever they’re together, kissing her forehead while she lays against his chest, switching her to the inside of the sidewalk to ensure her safety, moving strands of hair out of her face so they don’t become a bother— and he does it all gladly.  He’s come to adore the soothing comfort he receives when he walks Y/N to her door after a date, or double checks the locks after she’s inevitably invited him inside.  He delights in calling her during her lunch breaks to inquire about how her day is going, and to remind her that “iced coffee isn’t a substitute for water, peach.  You’ll feel a lot better on your shift if you drink a glass, alright?”  And even when her voice is strained and laden with anxiety as she curls into his side after a particularly rough day, it still sounds like the most beautiful melody he’s ever heard, and the weight and warmth of her body against his own acts like a relaxant to Harry’s cold limbs.  

He rolls his shoulders now as he skips the last two stairs and lands squarely on his leather Gucci boots (they’re one of his favorites, and though they’re a simple black, they have a rainbow impression along the lip that he thinks is quite chic). He releases a long breath as he absentmindedly studies over his art wall, his eyes landing on the painting of a deconstructed sunflower. The abstract piece reminds him of the night Y/N had come over to his condo for the first time, and he begins to feel that annoying yet familiar knot between his shoulder blades that always seems to form when he’s away from her.  It’s something he hadn’t even noticed until a few days ago; how his body grows rigid and stiff whenever they’re separated, like he can’t allow himself to exhale until she’s beside him again.  He supposes it’s a strange vampire tendency— something carnal and territorial inside of him that thinks it’s his job to protect Y/N, the decadent and intoxicating center of his strange obsession, and when she’s not around, unease threads into his muscles until he can be sure his primary source of blood is alright. 

Or maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s something deeper inside him— some other reason to keep her out of any harm and an arm’s length away. However, he refuses to indulge that unsettling mystery right now. It’s too fucking complicated to dwell on.

Ambling into the kitchen, Harry begins to dig through his lower cupboards for the apron he hadn’t bothered to slip on when he was cooking earlier.  Pushing aside the white cover with the words “World’s Best (pancake) Tosser” stamped onto the front (it had been a gift from Niall, delivered with a sly grin and a cheeky comment about how the apron was too accurate to pass up), Harry selects the butcher’s apron printed with the phrase “Mr. Good Lookin’ is cookin’!” He slips the loop over his head and ties the straps behind his toned back with a quick motion, the edges of his lips quirking at the pompous joke. He knows Y/N will make a comment about it. 

He hadn’t bothered with the apron before when he’d been preparing the gnocchi simply because his loungewear isn’t necessarily that important, but now that he’s changed into something much nicer than the t-shirt and sweatpants he’d previously worn— and after he’d struggled with deciding on the outfit for so long— the last thing he wants to do is splash sauce onto himself as he navigates his kitchen.

Harry’s mind continues to race with nearly incomprehensible thoughts as he gathers the last of the ingredients needed to finish the meal, his nimble fingers easily peeling the skin from a clove of garlic before he begins to mince it with practiced skill.  Maybe that’s the cause of all his confusing feelings, he muses as he tosses a knob of butter into his preheated pan, scooping the garlic onto his knife and adding that to the mix as well.  Maybe that instinctual feeling to protect is the root of all his fantasies of a relationship.  He can’t possibly want— can’t actually believe that he’d...

Except he does.  

Sighing grimly as he snags a wooden spoon from a kitchen drawer, Harry nudges the cabinet shut with his hip before beginning to stir the sizzling concoction in his pan.  Somehow, against all odds— against all reason— he’s become attached to Y/N.  So attached that he’d spent an hour begging Vincenzo for this specific recipe when he could’ve so easily googled a different one and recreated it to near perfection.  So attached that he’d driven to three different liquor stores to find her favourite brand of red wine, which he’d set to chill in his fridge hours ago, because even though a cabernet sauvignon is supposed to be chilled for forty-five minutes at most, Y/N likes it icy cold.  So attached that he’d taken care to freeze individual flower petals into ice cubes, just so he could make her a cocktail flavoured with honey and lavender, the exact same way she is.  So attached that, for the first time in twenty decades, the concept of a relationship doesn’t draw a disgusted gag from his throat and doesn’t send a ghostly spike of pain to his neck.

“Doesn’t matter.” He mutters the words out loud to himself, as if speaking them audibly will reinforce their meaning.  Opening the fridge with a rough tug, Harry nabs the quart of cream he’d purchased earlier that day, bending the mouth of it open and pouring it smoothly into the saucepan and giving it a stir.  It doesn’t matter if he wants a relationship, because there’s no way that Y/N does.

A bitter laugh tears its way through his chest as he reaches for the bowl of gorgonzola cheese he’d shredded earlier, scattering the ingredient into the saucepan and slowly mixing it in.  He’s arrived at the same point he has all week when he’s had this argument with himself. The same fact that’s stopped him in his tracks each time he’s dared to think that— if he should ask— Y/N would say yes to him becoming a more permanent fixture in her life.  She’d say yes, he thinks.  Or he hopes, at least.  She’d say yes, until she wakes up in the middle of the night to Harry caged over her with crimson irises, terrifying shadows below his waterline, black veins webbing out from his eyes, and a blood-soaked mouth bared to reveal his dagger-like fangs. Then, she’d be gone.

Not gone, he amends in his head, the thought somber and acrid in his mind as he reduces the sauce to a simmer.  He’d have to go after her, of course, but not in the way a man usually goes after a woman.  Despite how they’d joked about it casually, Harry most definitely doesn’t belong in a LifeTime movie.  No, he’s from a much darker genre— less leading man, more malicious creature that lurks in the night— and the only thing he could do when he chases Y/N down would be to wipe all traces of himself from her mind entirely.  That’s the ending they’d be destined for if he let himself buy into his romantic delusions.  It’s better not to put a label on anything.  No labels keep a degree of separation between their two lives— at least, that’s what Harry tells himself.  And as much as it pains him, a degree of separation might be exactly what they need.

And yet, when Y/N knocks on his door two minutes later, just as he’s sprinkling various ground herbs into the sauce and setting it onto the back of the stovetop to wait until they’re ready to eat, Harry can’t help the giddy grin that immediately decorates his dimples. He hurries to untie his apron and tosses it onto the back of one of the chairs lined against his kitchen island, dragging a ringed hand through his purposefully tousled curls as he nearly super-speeds to the front door of his condo. He trips on his way there, spewing curses as he barely saves himself from face-planting the ground like an imbecile. He straightens himself out with a petty huff, slowing down slightly and being more mindful of every step he takes. His smile has already returned before he even yanks the door open.

Y/N— his Y/N, he allows himself to think affectionately— is dressed from head to toe in his own clothes.  Well, almost head to toe, he corrects, casting a sly glance at the way her black jeans hug the curve of her hips too perfectly to be his own pair.  But he recognizes the black and white speckled short-sleeve button up that’s french-tucked into the high-waisted denim, and shrewdly notes the addition of a Gucci belt looped around her waist— the very one he’d been searching for earlier.  She’s even styled the shirt the same way he does, with half the top buttons undone.  However— Harry licks his lips unconsciously as his eyes hover over her exposed chest— she’s paired the top with a delicate looking black lace bralette that catches his hungry gaze the moment he spots it.  Even the black ankle boots she’s wearing are reminiscent of his own fashion choices.

“Y’know,” Y/N’s amused voice cuts through his stupor, drawing his attention back from the obvious canvas of her body and up to her glittering eyes. “It’s not very gentlemanly of you to check out my tits before even saying hello.”

Harry’s mouth crooks sheepishly in response as he reaches out to her, looping his muscled arms around her waist and pulling her inside the condo and against his body with ease. “Hello.” He murmurs obediently, thumbing at her waist over the silky fabric as a teasing yet fond cadence sews its way into his voice. “So this is where my clothes keep disappearing to, hm?  I searched for that belt for an hour today.”

“Shouldn’t have left it at my apartment, then.” Y/N counters easily, curling her hands against Harry’s chest.  He can already feel her heat beginning to web through his entire being, warming him in a manner nothing has in the last two hundred years. “And you said tonight’s dress code was casual formal— which makes zero fucking sense, by the way— so I figured the best way to conform to that would be would be by wearing your own clothes.” A drop of hesitance begins to colour Y/N’s tone as she casts her gaze towards his own, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she tries to read between his teasing words for any hint of actual annoyance. “Is that… okay?”

“Perfectly okay, angel.” Harry soothes the worry lines that have formed between her eyes by stamping a kiss onto her forehead, allowing himself to linger for a moment to inhale her familiar scent of sugar and flowers.  It seems more powerful today than it usually is, almost bowling him over right there in the foyer, and he takes a step back to regain control of himself under the pretense of closing the door. “Honestly, I’m a little miffed that you look better in my clothes than I do.”

“‘Miffed’?” The mortal girl laughs as she reaches down to retrieve something from the ground, and it’s only then that Harry realizes that she’d had an overnight bag in her hand before he’d tugged her into his grasp and caused her to drop it.  “Who says ‘miffed’?  Are you a sixty-seven year old woman named Betty?” 

Although he allows a chuckle at her incredulous question, Harry’s attention has focused in on the bag inches away from her outstretched hand.  Cursing himself for being too wrapped up in her appearance to notice the item she’d been toting, Harry quickly fetches it from the ground before she can, carrying it further into his apartment before setting it down on one of the island chairs, as if the small distance could make up for the initial lack of manners he’d displayed. 

“No, I’m not.  I’m just British.” He should bring the bag up to his bedroom, he thinks, just so Y/N doesn’t have to wonder where her clothes are when she’s fraught with exhaustion later. But that would mean having to leave her side, and the grip her fragrance has on his senses right now won’t allow him to do so. 

“Oh, yeah! I almost forgot.” Y/N lilts with an exaggerated air, another giggle rising from her petal-like lips as she leans against the marble countertop on her elbow, propping her chin up in one hand and resting the other on top of the stone.  She regards him with all the affection that he doesn’t deserve, and yet always seems to crave, and it takes all of Harry’s willpower to not grasp her chin in his hand and sift their lips together just to taste her laughter. “Along with ‘pip pip’ and ‘cheerio,’ right?”

“Yes, those phrases are definitely at the top of my vocab list.  You’ve heard me say them a million times.” Harry rolls his eyes playfully, shaking himself from his distracted thoughts as he steps back behind the counter to effectively put a little bit of much needed space between him and the mortal girl.  His restless hands are already outstretched to his bar shelves before he even asks, “D’you want a drink, darling?”

Y/N watches with innocent curiosity as Harry sets two lowball glasses down on the counter before reaching into his cupboard for a jar of honey, which he spoons onto an awaiting plate.  He rims the glasses in the syrup before dipping them into sugar, sparking confusion in Y/N as she tries to decipher what cocktail Harry is making her.  Her befuddlement only grows as he extracts a bottle of clear liquid that she assumes is vodka and a purple concoction that she can’t identify. “What are you making?”

“Lavender lemonade.” Harry answers swiftly, reaching into a drawer for the small double-ended measuring cup tool that Y/N still can’t remember the name of, as well as his crystal cocktail shaker.  Y/N observes with wide eyes as he fills the shaker with ice and vodka before picking up the mysterious liquid. “This is lavender syrup.  Not homemade, unfortunately, but I do buy it from a little organic grocer I know at the farmer’s market.  Adds a nice floral note to the drink, and mixes well with the lemonade.” He caps the container and shakes it expertly (the way his muscled arms ripple with effort doesn’t go unnoticed by her, as it never does) before setting it down on the counter and making his way to the fridge freezer. “S’where I get my honey, too.” He chances a look over his shoulder just in time to see Y/N dip her finger into the honey pooled on the plate and pop the digit into her mouth, and Harry has to force himself to tear his eyes away as she sucks lightly on her fingertip, her cheeks just barely hollowing. “Do you like it?”

“Mhmm,” Y/N hums around the digit as she keeps her eyes shamelessly glued to Harry’s ass while he bends down to open the cooled drawer, retrieving a tray of cubed ice and coming back over to add one large block into each lowball glass. “Are there flowers in there?” She asks in wonder after retracting her finger from her mouth with a pop, leaning over the table more to observe the decorative ice that has filled the cups.

“Mm.” Harry matches her hum with a more pleasured undertone, both from her noticing the small detail, and from the unobstructed view of her cleavage that her new position allows him.  He picks up the shaker and strains the light purple lavender and vodka mixture into the glasses, topping off each cocktail with a can of sparkling lemonade that he’d also retrieved from the fridge. “S’pretty, isn’t it?” He asks, stirring the drinks with a spoon before holding up one of the glasses to the light and handing it to Y/N. “My own creation.  You’re the first person to try it.”

Their fingers graze as Y/N accepts the glass from him, sparking electricity up her entire arm, and she can’t help the irreverent moan that thrums in the back of her throat as she brings the glass to her lips, tasting the honey and sugar first before the lavender coats her tongue. “This is so good, H.” She praises, licking a lingering dab of honey from her mouth between her words.  Twisting the glass in her hands as she regards the lilac drink, Y/N eyes him over the rim of the crystal, pupils blown wide. “I didn’t think honey and lavender could ever taste so good.”

“You know, I used to think that, too.” Harry’s mumbles knowingly as his own eyes drift a shade darker. He watches the human girl’s neck strain with her swallow, as if she knows he’s trying to keep his gaze away from there and she’s beckoning him back. “But it’s my favourite flavour combination now.  Can’t ever seem to get enough.”

The comment goes right over the mortal girl’s head, just as Harry knew it would.  His expectations of the cocktail in his hand are also met from his very first sip; although the concoction is delicious, it pales in comparison to the fragrance wafting across the island from Y/N.  He may as well be drinking water, honestly. But he knows he’ll end up repeating the recipe a few more times at the very least, just because Y/N tells him that it’s her favourite drink he’s ever made.

“You say that every time I make you a new drink, dove.” Harry can’t help but quip coyly at the repeated compliment, setting his crystal tumbler against the counter with a quiet thud. “Am I supposed to keep believing it?”

“Obviously. Especially when each drink keeps getting better and better.” Y/N licks a drip of honey from the rim, her tongue delicately capturing the sugar crystals before her lips settle back onto the edge to take another sip. “You would be an amazing bartender, but we’ve already talked about that before.”

“We have, yeah.” Harry smiles softly as he recalls the conversation they’d had weeks ago, where she had said his drinks were better than anything she’d had at a club, and he had responded by saying he doesn’t have the patience to be a bartender. That conversation feels as if it happened a lifetime ago, and considering how much closer they had become since, it quite literally could be. “But refresh my memory, will you? Why is it that I’d make such an amazing bartender?”

Y/N gives Harry a jokingly flat glance as a response to his smug tone, but decides to humor him, nonetheless. “Well, you obviously have the mixology skills, and I don’t doubt that the whole thing you have going—” She nods her head to him over the island with a teasing smirk. “—would get you endless tips.”

“My whole thing?” Harry repeats the phrase with an air of faux confusion. “What do you mean, my whole thing?”

He knows what she means, of course.  But he won’t deny himself an opportunity to hear Y/N feed his ego with sweet-spoken praise.

Y/N doesn’t buy his innocent act for a minute, but still indulges him, yet again.  She likes to see Harry preen under her compliments just as much as he likes to receive them. “You know…” She casts her eyes over his figure slowly, picking out every detail she can comment on as she wedges her bottom lip between her teeth. “Your whole look— the tattoos, the muscles, the dimples, the sparkling green eyes, the shiny curls… all of that would have any drunk customer draped over the bar for you.  And even if you couldn’t get by on looks alone, you’re absolutely charming.  To the point of ridiculousness, honestly, but,” Y/N eyes him suspiciously, and while her words are mostly in jest, she can’t deny that she’s seriously thought them at some point in time. “I’m not entirely convinced it’s genuine.  Although being able to fake that kind of attitude would serve you well in a crowded bar.”

Whatever Harry was expecting to hear among the praise, an accusation of dishonest behaviour wasn’t it.  His brow furrows deeply as his lips turn down into a displeased grimace, and he drums his ringed fingers over the marble countertop as he cocks his head to the side. “What d’you mean?” The question is earnest now, no longer a coquettish teasing remark, and the warmth the mortal girl had provided him with begins to subside as a flash of icy doubt digs shards through his chest. “Not genuine?  Does it seem like I’m faking it or something?”

Y/N teases her lips with her tongue, unable to stop the nervous tic as she hears the displeasure that clearly strains Harry’s tone.  Setting her own glass down on the counter, Y/N lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I just mean, like… I don’t know.  I don’t really think that now, but in the beginning…”

“What?” Harry prompts her with more intensity than he’d meant to, but he’s spent so much of this past week analyzing their every interaction while wrestling with his own thoughts that he’s already on edge; he needs to hear what Y/N had thought of him when they’d first met.  His own recollection of the memories has made him flinch multiple times, particularly the times when he’d thought that Y/N was as boringly ordinary as humans come. He can only imagine what her take on the situation is. “Did I— was I rude, or—?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” She hurriedly assures him, shaking her head hard enough that her loose locks bounce around her shoulders. “You weren’t rude at all— the opposite, actually.  I don’t know, it just seemed… like it was too good to be true, y’know?” Her voice grows impossibly softer as she traces her finger over the rim of her glass, her eyes dropping from Harry’s like it hurts her to hold them. “Like, there was no way that someone could be so attractive, so funny, so good in bed—” Harry can hear blood creep up the nape of her neck against her will, beginning to pour into her cheeks. “—and so charming.  Something had to be an act.”

Despite the urge Harry has to justify his actions, he knows there’s nothing he can say that could prove Y/N’s original perception of him wrong.  And, in all honesty, he has no right to.  As much as he’d like to argue the fact, and as much as he did genuinely come to enjoy being around her, Harry can’t deny that from the first moment he’d approached Y/N in that club, he’d dialed up his charm as he always did without a second thought.  He’d flattered her, flirted with her, done everything he could to convince her that she should take him home so he could indulge in the two things he’s always manipulated people for: sex and blood.  And when that worked, he did it again, and again, and again, until they’d fallen into the pattern they have now.  He’d never lied, of course, and he prides himself on that— every compliment he’d paid her had been rightly deserved.  But even that justification doesn’t stop the shame that’s twisting its way through his limbs and making his head heavy.  

She had thought something had to be an act, and she had been right.  Harry himself was an act, in every aspect of the term— stretching the truth about his past, opening himself up just enough to make her open herself in return, setting her up so that she’d become dependent on their relationship. And all so he could sink his teeth into her neck without a second thought.  

He can’t exactly pinpoint when all that had changed— singing “Non-Stop” in his kitchen?  The jealousy he’d felt when he spotted her on a date with that insipid idiot, Jacob?  Seeing her in that yellow sundress when he picked her up for their first date?— but the fact that it had changed doesn’t erase how it had started. It doesn’t erase the cruelty he’d hidden beneath his calculating words, intricately-placed caresses, and dirty promises.

“Harry.” He’d been so caught in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice Y/N had moved until she’s standing right in front of him, one of her velvet hands twisting into his own as the other tucks a loose curl back from his creased forehead. “I don’t think that now.  You know that, right?” Even after securing the ringlet, she keeps her palm pressed against his cheek, and Harry can’t help but lean into the burning heat her touch provides. “I just— I’d never met anyone like you.  There was no one like you where I grew up.  I didn’t think someone could be so…” Y/N worries her lip between her teeth again, and Harry wishes he had enough in him to smooth the bite mark with a touch as soft as her own. “I didn’t know you yet.  But I do now.”

The vampire inhales a shaking breath as if he needs it to live, lifting his own free hand to wrap over the palm Y/N rests against his cheek.  Weaving his fingers through hers, he drags her hand lower until her skin is secured over his lips, and he smudges a gentle kiss against her handprint.  There’s something so tender in her words— no one could ever accuse Y/N of being disingenuous.  But he needed to hear this, he thinks as he presses his mouth repeatedly to her palm, the throbbing of her pulse in her wrist catching against his cheek.  He needed to hear how she thinks she knows him.  It’ll serve as a reminder that he can’t allow himself to succumb to the weak thoughts he’d battled earlier in the day.  As much as Y/N assumes she knows him, there’s things that she’ll never understand— things he would never allow her to understand, because she doesn’t deserve such a terrifying burden— and how could he keep up that pretense while allowing her to call him her boyfriend?

“I know you do, sweetheart.” Harry mutters the words into her fragile skin, inhaling her intoxicating aroma deeply until his throat burns in agony.  It’s a small price to pay for what he’s put her through. “It’s alright.  I don’t blame you for doubting it.” The smirk he forces onto his face is nowhere near believable, but he manages to keep the strain out of his voice enough to sell it. “I’m pretty hard to believe, y’know?  Especially when you grew up with people like Cucumber Dick.”

Successfully diffusing the moment, Harry’s comment tugs an irritated groan from Y/N’s chest, and she takes a step back from him as her hand falls from his face, despite her other fingers still remaining tied with his own. “You can’t just keep calling him Cucumber Dick, alright?  He has a name!”

“Yeah, Bradley.” Harry says in distaste, his nose wrinkling as he shakes his head slowly. “S’honestly worse than Cucumber Dick.  I’m doing him a favour— a bit of charity work.”

Y/N hums in the back of her throat thoughtfully as she steps back around the kitchen island, Harry’s arm extending over the countertop as she tugs his hand along with hers. “Then don’t do me any favours like that, alright?  Can only imagine what you call me when I’m not here.”

A few names pop into Harry’s mind— dream, darling, angel, and countless others that he’s murmured to himself in the privacy of his condo— but they’re tainted by the memory of his friends confessing how they’ve talked about her when he hasn’t been around to hear it.  How they’ve compared her to different foods, used that to reference her, as if that’s all she is to him.  As if she isn’t the only person who has managed to make him feel something in over two lifetimes.

In the rational part of Harry’s mind— which, once again, is sadly not the part of his mind that’s ever in control— he knows that he can’t blame his friends for thinking that.  It’s his own fault for being so insistent on that fact over the last few months.  How many times had they questioned his motives behind his daily phone calls to her, or how often he found himself dropping everything just to spend some time with her?  How many times had he rolled his eyes at their assumptions that he wanted more from the mortal girl than he’d ever admitted?  How many times had he asserted that there was nothing more that she could offer him than her body and her blood?  They’d only listened to what he was saying, despite knowing that Harry’s reassurances were false.  Did any of them suspect that things had changed for him now?  Or did they still think that Harry’s only motivations behind his relationship with Y/N are primal?

Harry pushes the badgering thoughts from his head as best he can as he reaches for his apron that’s still lying over the back of the chair.  He can’t dwell on those thoughts now.  If the turmoil twisting inside of him hasn’t subsided by the end of the night, he’ll call Mitch once Y/N is fast asleep under the extra blanket he keeps on his bed just for her.  Although he doesn’t relish the thought of admitting he was wrong to the likes of Xander or Niall— he knows their teasing and taunting would never end— he can talk to Mitch about it without the worry of judgement.

“Why don’t you put a record on, petal?” Harry asks absentmindedly, nodding his head towards the record player set up in the corner of his living room as he slips his apron back over his head. “I just have to boil the gnocchi, and then—”

“Wait, wait wait,” Y/N cuts over him with an increasingly gleeful expression, rounding the edge of the island again to tug on the strap of Harry’s apron. “Mr. Good Lookin’ is cookin’?” She repeats, unable to bite back the giggles that are rising through her throat. “Please tell me you didn’t buy that for yourself.”

His troubling mindset disappears the moment laughter falls from her lips and echoes around the kitchen. “‘Course I did.  And why wouldn’t I?” Harry simpers as his deft fingers easily secure the ties behind his back in a neat bow. “I’m Mr. Good Lookin’, and I’m cookin’.  S’only the truth.”

“Your vanity is astounding.  Truly.” Y/N trails her finger from the strap of the apron to the pearls around Harry’s neck, stroking the silky stones with the lightest touch. “Like, borderline narcissistic.”

Snaking his arms around her waist, Harry easily pulls the mortal into his body, securing her against his chest just as he had done when she’d first arrived.  It’s comfortable for him to have her pressed against him like this.  The steady rising and falling of her chest and hummingbird beat of her heart against his own unmoving organ keeps him centered, like his own personal lifeline. 

“Is it so wrong to be confident in my appearance?” Harry quirks an eyebrow as his dimples pop from his cheeks, and he slides his hands from Y/N’s back to her ass, cupping and squeezing firmly in appreciation.  His smirk only grows as Y/N’s cheeks begin to boil from the suggestive contact. “How can you contradict me when it gets such a reaction from you?”

“I think that has less to do with your looks and more to do with where your hands are.” She quips dryly, and yet her nails dig into Harry’s exposed collar bones with the slightest of pressure, a surefire sign of just how much his touch affects her.

Harry leans forward as the girl’s breathing grows more erratic, and he nuzzles his nose along hers while keeping the smallest of spaces between their lips. “Either way, I’m getting what I want, aren’t I?”

To his immense pleasure, Y/N’s words are breathy and strained when she replies, a side effect of the shallow inhales her body draws against his. “Which is?” 

“You.  More specifically, you melting under my touch like you just can’t get enough of it.” Harry drags his lips across Y/N’s for no more than a second before continuing his path up her jaw, only stopping when he can feel the flushed shell of her ear beneath his mouth. “You should indulge your vanity a little more often, sweetheart.  S’quite fun, honestly.”

Y/N shivers beneath Harry’s touch, her eyelids fluttering as his cool breath rolls over her ear and down her neck.  Turning her head to the side, she locks her half-lidded gaze with his own before slotting their lips together to indulge in the lingering taste of honey and lavender that sits on his tongue. 

Despite his instinct to draw her closer while curving her body into his own, Harry separates their lips with a gentle nudge of his forehead against her own, his breathing growing just as erratic as Y/N’s.  Control, he reminds himself as heat prickles along his icy skin from the tender pads of Y/N’s hands.  This isn’t like their first meetings, when he could invite her over under a pretense and take her against the counter before they’d even finished their drinks.  This is different now.  She’s different now.

“Why don’t you go put a record on?” He says again, his voice noticeably deeper than it was when he first made the request. “And I’ll finish getting dinner ready. Sound alright?”

Y/N manages to nod without removing her forehead from his, but that seems to be the only movement she makes; her palms remain pressed firmly against Harry’s tattooed biceps, even after he reluctantly releases his hold on her body.  She can’t help it— it feels too good to be so close to the young man to allow herself to willingly walk away.  Something in his presence is so calming, so steady to her, even when he’s whispering obscenities in her ear.

But outweighing the need to be next to him is her desire to make him happy, and if he wants her to pick out a record… “Alright.” She nods once more as her hands slip from his skin, trailing down his forearms and grazing his wrists before falling to her sides. “Any record?”

Harry drags a ringed hand through his curls, his lithe fingers tugging on the locks before falling to his side in a loose fist. “Any record.” He confirms as he reaches for a kitchen drawer, tugging it open to extract a long metal spoon. “Anything you want to listen to.”

He watches as a serious expression paints itself over the human girl’s face, as if the task he’s given her is of the utmost importance.  She turns on her heel and marches out of the kitchen as if on a mission, and as Harry turns towards the now-boiling pot of water on his stove, he knows that his own face reflects a look of fondness.  It’s too easy to let his guard down with her, he thinks as he ladles his homemade gnocchi into the rolling water.  When she looks at him, there’s such an openness in her expression that he can’t help but allow himself to be seen.

But being seen doesn’t always feel so sweet, which Harry remembers the moment he hears Y/N’s melodic voice ring from the living room. 

“When did you get a piano?”

Harry’s hand freezes mid-scoop, the few gnocchi that had been dangling on the edge of his spoon falling into the boiling water.  A bit of the liquid splashes out and lands on his arm, but quickly fizzes to room temperature once it meets his freezing skin. 

“Uh—” He clears his throat as he tries to refocus on his task, but his actions are much more frantic than careful as he finishes filling the pot with gnocchi. “I’ve had it for a while, remember?  I mentioned it to you before.  At the antique mall.”

When his explanation receives no response, he gives his own frustrated sigh, and sets down the polished spoon to retrace Y/N’s steps out into the living room.  As he expected her to be the moment he heard her question, he finds her with a reverent hand tracing the edge of the matte black Steinway grand piano that’s occupied a space in nearly every home he’s had since he purchased it in the 1920s.  Seeing her nimble fingers drift over the hand-crafted edge brings back a hazy human memory to Harry’s mind— a flash of sharply manicured fingers and a strangely pale hand, adorned with an opal ring as they danced over the pianoforte in an opulent sitting room. The sound of tinkling laughter that rang like a bell, pitched almost high enough to make his ears ache, and a soft, hypnotizing voice slathered in the most delicate accent he’d ever heard. 

Harry has to blink a few times to bring himself back to the present.

“What was that, darling?” He hopes his voice isn’t nearly as strained as it feels when he refocuses his eyes on Y/N’s waiting gaze. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I said that you told me it was in storage.” She glides over the intricately carved music stand, the digit dancing across every twist and curve of the decorative panel. “Why did you bring it out?”

“Uh, I dunno, really.” An uncomfortable itch settles onto Harry’s skin, his stomach turning as Y/N takes a seat on the creaking piano bench set in front of the instrument. “I just, uh, figured it should be displayed somewhere, instead of gathering dust in a storage unit.  It’s a vintage Steinway, y’know?  Those need to be taken care of.”

In truth, the vintage instrument had rung Harry quite a high bill over the last few decades, not only in the price it cost to keep it in permanent storage, but in the services he’d had done to it once a year to keep it in its nearly pristine condition.  Despite keeping it out of sight to keep it out of his mind, he couldn’t seem to allow himself to let the instrument fall into disrepair, just in case he ever decided to display it again.  Or sell it, as he’d been leaning towards doing over the last few years— a genuine Steinway piano in condition as good as his had quite the high price tag.  But he’d never been able to force himself to part with it, as it looked too similar to the one he had originally learned to play on.  Even though those memories were tainted with the usual pain that came with thinking about his human life, it was still his life, and he ached to hold onto some part of it.  It’s why he had his mother’s ring, and his sister’s earring, and his father’s cross and pocket watch.  It’s why had a small wooden box hidden away under his bed with memorabilia from his first life.  As much as it hurt to remember— and it did, in ways he can’t possibly begin to describe— remembering seems better than the alternative.

“Well, if you want to show it off…” Y/N’s fingers are trailing down the fallboard now, inching their way towards the ivory keys with a daydream-like purpose. “You shouldn’t hide it away in the corner of the room.  It would look gorgeous in front of the windows, don’t you think?  A proper centerpiece.”

It would make a beautiful centerpiece, and he originally intended it to be so after the delivery company had dropped it off at his condo a few days before.  After bribing Adam and Niall with the offer to buy out their bar tabs for an entire month, the three of them had spent the afternoon rearranging the furniture in his living room to display the Steinway in the center of the room.  He’d thought that, knowing how excited Y/N had been to hear him play the piano in the antique store, she’d like to hear him play in his own home, on an instrument he knows like the back of his hand.  He’d even begun kicking around the idea of teaching her a few songs, but those musings had quickly turned sour as the instrument brought back more memories of his foggy human life.  In the end, he’d decided to restore his living room back to its original state with the addition of the Steinway thrust into the corner, where the ghosts of his past could plunk the keys quietly without drawing too much of his attention.  He’d done his best to ignore the instrument over the last couple of days, and in his hurricane of thoughts that had centered around Y/N, he’d nearly forgotten about its existence completely.

He can’t be mad that Y/N is asking about it; after all, he’d brought it out of storage with her specifically in mind.  But seeing the newfound object of his affections with her fingers poised over the keys brings back a rush of emotions he’d been repressing for the better part of two hundred years.

“It—” Harry clears his throat once more, trying to rid himself of the lump that is rising up like bile. “It took up too much space in the center of the room.  Wasn’t very cohesive.”

“That’s too bad.” The mortal girl’s words fall from her mouth in a murmur as her gaze remains locked on the keys, almost as if she’s in a trance.  Her finger begins to press down on the ivory with a slow and meticulous motion. “It seems like such a shame to—”

“Let’s— Let’s not get into that now, sweetheart.” Harry says hurriedly, his fingers catching her own before she can trigger the instrument to make a sound. “Dinner’s almost ready, and you—” He forces a grin onto his lips. “—still haven’t picked a record out.” Threading her fingers through his own, Harry gently tugs the human girl up from her seat on the piano bench. “Would you rather I do it instead?”

As he expected, Y/N wrinkles her nose with distaste as she rises to meet his emerald eyes. “No.” She scoffs as a quiet snort rises from her throat. “I don’t need to listen to some weird experimental 60s music while trying to eat dinner.”

While Harry would normally bite back at her dig, he just responds to her with a thin laugh and a smile without dimples. “Exactly.  So why don’t you pick something out,” He jerks his head over his shoulder to where his record player and vinyls sit neatly on a shelf lining the wall, ignoring the ghastly spike of pain that twinges his neck as he does so. “And I’ll plate dinner, yeah?”

“Alright.” She agrees, and Harry nearly breathes a sigh of relief before she finishes her phrase. “But you’ll play for me later tonight, won’t you?”

The phantom pain grows until it extends down Harry’s entire spine, filling every nerve in his body with a sense of anxiety and trepidation.  The last thing Harry wants to do is move his fingers over those weighted keys, and with the burning sensation now shooting through his fingers, making his hand twitch around Y/N’s, he’s not even sure he can.

But he is sure of one thing, and that’s the fact that he can’t ever seem to say no to Y/N.

“Yeah, dove.  Of course.” Keeping his voice even, Harry pulls her away from the extravagant instrument as inconspicuously as he can. “Later tonight.”

///

There are so many things that Harry has done over the last two centuries that have both angered and confused him.  

He’s held grudges against himself over the way he’s acted, the people he’s surrounded himself with, the people he’s allowed himself to trust, and the blatant disregard for human decency he’s allowed himself to succumb to.  In the last twenty decades, Harry has amassed enough vendettas for fifty lifetimes, let alone the one endless life he’s been given.  And yet, even with all of those missteps in mind, the fact that Harry ever looked at Y/N and deigned her an ordinary human might be one of the biggest mistakes he’s ever made. 

It’s so clear to him now— sitting across from her at his kitchen island, the few scented candles flickering between them doing almost nothing to cover her sugar and flower scent, her eyes reflecting back the burning flames and something else that Harry can’t quite put a finger on— that he’s not sure how he ever missed it.  How had he once leaned against the counter in her own kitchen, looked into those very same eyes, and managed to convince himself that it was only her blood that drew him to her?  How had he listened to her sweet and sensual voice murmur delicate phrases about her day and her emotions, and not realize that he was inching closer and closer in order to hang on every word, as if she had the supernatural ability to compel him as he did her?  How had he seen her in the smokiness of the club, with her fragile skin practically luminescent under the pulsing strobe lights, and thought that she was so utterly unmemorable and unnoticeable that he could easily take her home for one night without anyone wondering about her whereabouts?  How had he convinced himself that it would only be one night? 

There are so many things that Harry will always be angry about, will never forgive himself for, and his initial perception of Y/N is one of them. 

If he has any redeeming qualities, he thinks as he watches the mortal girl spear a bite of gnocchi onto her fork over the rim of his wine glass, it’s that he can, at the very least, admit when he’s wrong.  He can admit to himself that this girl— this self-assertive, stubborn, vivacious, kind-hearted mortal girl— is the most interesting and most intriguing human he’s ever met.  And as terrifying as that is, it’s also a little thrilling; it’s been so long since Harry has felt a pull to someone like this.  The sensation, while unfamiliar and something he’s severely out of practice with, is just as electrifying as he remembers, and now that he’s had a taste of it, he can’t stop chasing that high. 

It’s that undeniable pull which drive Harry to murmur an unauthentic apology about not having a dining table (he’d chosen a larger living room over a dining area when he moved in, and his friends just settled for eating at Niall’s when they wanted to sit down somewhere) because he’s secretly pleased that he has an excuse to sit next to Y/N.  It’s that pull that makes him hang on her every word about her day like she’s relaying the plot of a Greek tragedy, his facial expressions perfectly mimicking hers as she describes the customers she dealt with.  It’s that pull that sends his fingers forward of their own accord to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear as the soft melody of Hozier’s “Like Real People Do” floats between them like a comforting lullaby.  It’s that pull that, when she inquires about the entrée he’d prepared for them, causes him to proudly admit that he’d recreated the recipe from Bella Vita after wrestling it from Vincenzo.  It’s that pull that urges him to scoop up one of his own gnocchi and bring it to Y/N’s lips to feed her the first bite of the meal, his hand cupped delicately under the utensil to catch any sauce that might drip onto her shirt (which is really his shirt, and that fact alone delivers so much more pleasure than he ever would’ve thought possible).  

It’s that pull, that adrenaline rush, that indescribable sensation, but underneath it all, it’s her.  It’s always been her, since the moment they’d first met.  From the moment he first laid eyes on her.  How is it, Harry wonders, that his first sighting, enhanced by his supernatural senses, had managed to make him so blind?  How is it that he’d had this girl in front of him all along, and he’d managed to delude himself into thinking that he’d be able to stop himself from becoming vulnerable for her?  And maybe, he wonders slowly as he clears Y/N’s empty dinner plate from the marble island to the sink, he’s still deluding himself, because for some strange reason, being vulnerable for the mortal girl doesn’t seem to be as terrifying as he thought it would be.

The vampire suddenly recalls a specific day all those weeks back, when Y/N had stayed over and they’d taken their first bath together in his jacuzzi. He thinks about how he’d allowed himself to be vulnerable for just a fraction of a second, when he had admitted to her that she often caught him off guard. She had returned the sentiment, and he remembers the words he'd uttered to her amidst the warm steam and quiet splashing of the water. He had said that he found her influence on him— the influence they had on each other— to be scary, but exhilarating. And now, after spending so much time together and allowing himself to grow closer to her than he ever could’ve imagined, he’s come to find that his attraction to Y/N is no longer incredibly scary. Yes, there’s still a sliver of fear in him at the notion of opening himself up to her, but it’s only natural— there isn’t one person in existence who isn’t scared to strip themselves emotionally bare for someone else. However, his genuine excitement soothes his hesitations, and it startles him in a pleasant manner he can’t quite decipher.

Setting the dirty dishes into the sink to be dealt with later, Harry risks a glance at Y/N over his shoulder.  He watches as she wipes the corner of her mouth on a napkin before raising her stemmed glass to her lips, delicately draining the last of the crimson liquid before placing it back down with a clink.  When he catches her sparkling eyes, Y/N shoots him a smile that, even with only one corner of her lips lifted, manages to dazzle him from across the kitchen.  Harry can hear the fresh flush of blood that overtakes her cheeks, as if the wine itself is settling beneath her fragile skin.

Yes, vulnerability should petrify him.  Vulnerability means danger.  It means giving someone the ability to break you, and Harry knows this from firsthand experience.  Harry might be the only monster in the room, but in this moment, Y/N is the ominous threat. She’s the vague silhouette that hides in the shadows, the mysterious mass circling just beneath the waves, waiting for the right moment to strike.

But now that he’s dipped a toe in, Harry can’t stop himself from diving headfirst into those dangerous depths.

“D’you want another drink, love?” He asks, turning back around and leaning his hip against the marble counter as he cocks his head to the side in a questioning manner. “Some more wine before dessert?  Or another cocktail?”

Y/N glances at her multiple empty glasses in front of her, but shakes her head slowly. “No, I’ve had enough to drink.  But I’d love a cup of tea, H.  If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.  A cup of tea, coming right up.” Harry reaches for the sleek kettle that he keeps set on the backburner of his range, flicking on his tap with his other hand before settling the hollow object under the stream of water. “You know, I think this is the first time I’m actually making tea for you.  S’a real treat, isn’t it?” He flashes a toothy grin at the girl before placing the now-full kettle back onto the burner and twisting the knob to high. “A proper cup of tea made by a proper Brit.  Can’t get much better than that.”

Y/N rolls her eyes playfully as she circles her finger around the rim of the empty wine glass, her motions just starting to get heavy with the liquor. “It’s just some dried leaves and water, Harry.  Don’t get too full of yourself.” 

“I think you’re the one who’s usually full of me, aren’t you, pet?” Although his back is turned towards the stove, Harry can hear the effect his words have on the human girl by the small, nearly imperceptible gasp that leaves her lips. “‘M not sure you’re allowed to make that observation.”

Despite the choked feeling that’s welled up in her throat at his comment, Y/N quickly clears it out with a small cough, capturing Harry’s sea glass eyes with her own to stare him down stubbornly. “I’ll make any observations I want.” She says firmly, crossing her arms over her exposed chest in a mockingly angered pose.

A fond laugh rolls from Harry’s stained lips as he opens his cupboards and extracts two tea cups that are painted with vines of wisteria flowers.  He’d found them a few years back at the very same antique mall he’d brought Y/N to, included in a china tea set that he hadn’t been able to resist buying.  The hand painted violet flowers had caught his eye from the moment he’d glanced at the china cabinet they’d been locked inside, and he’d barely been able to tear himself away from the glass case to retrieve the key from an employee.  

He’d always had a soft spot for wisteria; there had been a wisteria tree outside of his childhood home, and he and Gemma used to collect the bunches of blooms and bring them inside for their mother.  That had been a long time ago, of course.  When they were children.  Harry can’t quite remember at what age they’d stopped digging through the garden for flowers— it might have been when Gemma turned eleven, which would’ve made him…. Seven?  Harry frowns at the uncertain memory as his grip tightens around the delicate china cups.  Yes, he reminds himself, he would’ve been seven.  His sister had been four years older than him, and it was around age eleven when she’d declared herself a lady, and said that it wasn’t ladylke to dig through a garden and walk around with dirt under one’s fingernails, and Honestly, Harry, you must wipe your feet before stepping into the house, or else you’ll track mud everywhere—

With trembling hands, Harry sets the wisteria tea cups down on the marble counter, flexing his fingers to get rid of their shakiness before reaching for the respective saucers.  It seems that Y/N’s ability to make him feel more human isn’t just resurfacing the manners and emotions he’d long suppressed, but the memories, too.  How long had it been since he’d heard his sister’s voice ring in his head as clearly as that?  How long had it been since he’d thought of the tiny foyer of his childhood home, which he’d tracked mud into countless times as his mother and, eventually, his sister clicked their tongues at him?  Is the tree still there, he wonders as his thoughts continue to spiral.  Or had it been cut down in the two hundred years since he’d last seen it, long after his family had all… 

Harry places the saucers carefully down against the marble before bracing himself against the edge for just a moment.  Barely thirty seconds have passed since Y/N’s retort, and although his enhanced mind had begun to spiral, it’s not too late for him to give a half-sane response.  

“I know you will, sweetheart.” He finally murmurs, hiding his face as he pulls open his fridge to extract the carton of oat milk he’d purchased last week.  Y/N, he’d come to learn over the last few months, prefers milk over cream in her tea, just like she prefers sugar over artificial sweeteners. 

Harry can feel the burn of her eyes into his back as he extracts a teaspoon from his kitchen drawer and the kettle begins to whistle.  Focusing and relishing in being the object of her attention, Harry removes the kettle from the heat, flicking the stove off before reaching for the canister that stores his tea bags.  In an effort to fully distract himself from the troubling thoughts of his past, he begins to hum the tune to the Hozier song that had been playing earlier, before the record had spun to stop just before they’d finished their entrees.  With the near murmur of the melody reverberating through his throat, he spends a moment debating on whether or not he should use the matching wisteria-adorned teapot that sits on the highest shelf of his cupboard, but quickly decides against it— it’s too formal for the occasion.  But tossing two separate tea bags into the two teacups, he finds as soon as he does it, doesn’t feel right either; after all, he’d told Y/N that he’d be making her a proper cup of tea.  That fact settles the manner in his (moreso than usual) changing mind, and within a few moments, he has the two teabags deposited into the teapot before pouring in the boiling water to steep the satchels of dried leaves.

Halfway through his preparation, his ears had perked up with the distinct sound of Y/N rising from her chair, which had been followed by the muted pattering of her feet against his hardwood floor.  Not bothering to ask where she’d been going, Harry had instead decided to wait for his suspicions to be confirmed.  Sure enough, just as he’s stirring the sugar and oat milk into Y/N’s cup of tea, he hears the quiet press of one of the keys of his piano.  C4, if his aural skills are still as tuned as they used to be.

Setting the two cups of tea onto their respective plates (Y/N’s with milk and sugar, and Harry’s plain), the vampire easily balances both cups of tea in his hands and makes it to the living room without spilling a single drop.

Just like before, Y/N seems entranced by the piano, plunking out different notes and letting them ring into the open air.  Harry can’t help but wince slightly as he approaches— as talented as Y/N seems to be at some things, music theory does not appear to be included.

“Christ, love, a tritone?” He protests, his voice hinging on a whine as he approaches the piano bench. “What, your fingers couldn’t make it a perfect fifth, hm?”

The answer to his teasing question comes in the form of Y/N’s entire body jumping as her fingers stutter over the keys, an audible gasp falling from her mouth while her hand clutches to her chest and her head turns to stare at Harry over her shoulder. “Jesus, you scared me!” She says breathlessly, her palm massaging over her the area where Harry can hear the rapid pulsing of her heart. “Have you always creeped around like that?”

A playful grin tugs at the immortal’s lips as he extends an arm out, handing the china saucer and cup to the human girl. “Only when I’m carrying boiling tea.  Scooch over, will you?” Nudging his way onto the newly unoccupied space of the bench, Harry nods his head towards the keys she had been previously playing. “Was that an original composition?”

“Beethoven, actually.  I’m surprised you didn’t recognize it.” Y/N blows gently over her tea with pursed lips before taking a small sip.  Harry knows that his sister would have condemned the action, along with the following slurp, by calling it unladylike, but the inelegant manner leaves a fond feeling buzzing through his body once more. 

Raising his own teacup to his lips, Harry chuckles quietly over the rim of the cup. “I wouldn’t have pegged it for the classical era, actually.  Sounded more atonal to me.” He takes a small sip of tea, the liquid scorching down his throat in the best way. “You said you took lessons when you were younger, didn’t you?  Do you remember anything?”

“Twinkle twinkle little star, maybe.” Y/N takes another small gulp before setting the cup back down on the saucer. “I was, like, eight.  Nursery rhymes were as far as I got.” Her gaze drops to the caramel coloured tea with a curious gaze; Harry had remembered exactly how she takes it, despite him only having seen her make a cup of tea once a few weeks ago. “But you, on the other hand… Mr. Good Lookin’...” Her lips jolt into a teasing grin as her eyes flicker to the side to capture his own. “You’re quite the musician, from what I remember.  And you promised to play me something.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Harry’s smile grows imperceivably tighter as he takes another drag of the boiling drink, his throat growing thicker with every swallow. “And you still want me to?”

Brow furrowing at his reluctance, Y/N cocks her head to the side in bewilderment. “Of course I do, H.  I loved listening to you play for me at the antique mall.”

Harry thinks back to that day, when he’d stuttered his way through a Chopin piece before his stumbling fingers had given up entirely. “I’m just a little out of practice, love.  It’ll be a bit messy.”

“I didn’t ask for perfection; I asked for you to play.” Her warm fingers find Harry’s upper arm, massaging the tattooed muscles just underneath the tucked sleeve of his shirt as she regards him with wide, curious eyes. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but if you’re nervous because you might mess up… Well, you heard me play.” Her light laugh rings through the cavity of the piano, reverberating off the highest strings in a way that only Harry’s immortal ears can pick up. “I won’t be able to tell the difference.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Despite his reservations, a half-hearted smile finds its way to Harry’s lips over the rim of his tea cup, which he sets down on the living room side table after taking one last sip.  

Flexing his ringed fingers, he repositions himself on the piano bench, moving more towards the center of the seat as Y/N moves down to the edge to give him full access to the piano.  For a brief moment, his hands hover over the ivory and ebony keys as he evaluates the repertoire he knows he can muddle his way through without too much trouble.  He’s already played a few Chopin pieces for the human girl, so that composer is out.  Liszt doesn’t seem to fit the mood, either, as his pieces are much too ornamented for their quiet living room ambience.  Debussy is out before Harry can even consider him; the last thing he wants to do is invoke any more memories of sitting at a piano with the much too familiar composer.  And Beethoven and Mozart seem too contrived for this setting, as well.

With a frown on his wine-stained lips, Harry spares one glance at Y/N, whose own eyes are glued to his floating fingers.  She reaches out with a tentative touch of her own, gliding them across Harry’s tensed knuckles with a pressure so soft that, if not for the heat of her skin, Harry might not feel it at all.  The cautiousness of the motion is not lost on him— it’s almost as if Y/N is worried that she’ll spook him out of playing, like any sudden movements could break him.  It reminds the creature of the awareness he has whenever he touches her; how he always carefully evaluates the amount of pressure he uses whenever he glides his fingers over her vulnerable skin. 

As if she were a butterfly, he thinks, not for the first time.  His butterfly.

Harry doesn’t remember making the conscious decision to start playing.  He doesn’t even recognize the piece that’s tentatively ringing from the piano until the repetition of the first motive, when Y/N emits a satisfied breath and her warm hand falls back to Harry’s thigh, rubbing gently over his olive trousers with that same delicate touch, almost as if he were a butterfly.

The creature’s fingers continue to glide over the ivory keys, his phrases growing smoother and more confident with every passing moment.  He pays careful attention to the dynamics of the piece, trying his best to recall the sheet music that he hadn’t looked at in decades, but it only takes about thirty seconds for him to realize that it’s easier to just let himself feel the music.  With Y/N’s hand continuing to dance over his thigh in time with the tune, Harry lets himself play around with the score, peppering in crescendos and decrescendos as he sees fit.  He draws out some of the minor phrases, hoping to wrench on his obsolete heartstrings the way he had when he first learned the piece in the early 20th century, and hovers his fingers over the bass notes as he uses the pedal to make them ring out into the living room.  

Halfway through the composition, Harry realizes that he’s breathing with the phrases, timing each inhale and exhale of his lungs with the musical lines.  It only takes him another two measures to realize that Y/N is doing the same, her body leaning into Harry’s as Harry leans into the instrument.  And that, he finds as his jeweled fingers slide over the keys, tugs on his heartstrings more than any melody ever could.

As he approaches the end of the piece, he softens his touch, his fingertips almost ghosting over the keys as he gently presses the final notes.  Harry keeps his foot hovered over the pedal, allowing the quiet cadence to fade to silence in its own time, and as it does, he can feel his body coming back into itself— which is strange, considering he hadn’t noticed the trance-like space he’d slipped into.

Y/N, however, must have noticed, because her voice is hushed and hesitant when she speaks again, waiting until the final notes have completely faded to silence, as if she’s afraid that she’s interrupting something. 

“That was so beautiful, H.” She praises, her hand still rubbing over his clothed thigh.  The motion would normally drive Harry mad, but for some reason, all it does to him in this moment is bring a strange lump to his throat. “What’s it called?”

In his unfamiliar haze, it takes Harry a moment to find his own voice. “Uh, Papillons.” He says through his thick accent, clearing his throat subtly as he lowers his hands to his lap.  He hadn’t even realized they were still lingering over the last notes. “It means—”

“Butterflies.” The mortal girl nods in recognition, a thoughtful look over her face as she taps a finger against his trousers, her tone slightly jesting as she murmurs her next sentence. “I know enough sixth grade French to understand that.  Is it a French piece, then?”

“No.” Harry jerks his head in the negative, only remembering to soften the agitated motion after it’s happened.  He raises his keen eyes to meet Y/N’s, a reminder of where he is.  And a reminder of who he’s with. “It’s the fifth movement in a suite by Robert Schumann— the “Polonaise,” in B-flat major.  S’one of my favourites.”

“I can see why.” Y/N murmurs, a fond smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “It was wonderful, really.  ‘Out of practice,’ my ass.”

Even with the residual anxiety still coursing through his veins, Harry manages to force out a chuckle at her teasing. “Trust me, I’m just as surprised as you are.  But Schumann has always been a favourite composer of mine—” Harry takes Y/N’s teacup from her, noting how her eyes had flickered to the ground, as if she was looking for a place to set it, and she sends him a thankful grin as he sets the cup next to his own on the end table. “—along with his wife.  They were both incredibly talented musicians.”

“His wife?” Intrigue threads through Y/N’s voice as she props up an elbow on the piano, resting her chin on her loose fist as she turns her body towards Harry. “She was a musician, too?”

Harry hums affirmatively as he cracks his knuckles, flexing his fingers in his lap to loosen them from the buzzing sensation that’s still prickling his skin. “She was, yeah.  They had a pretty passionate love story, y’know.  That’s why his music is so beautiful— he wrote it all for her.”

Y/N doesn’t miss the reminiscent tone that seeps into Harry’s voice, and she threads her fingers through his own as her eyes widen with a gentle plea. “Will you tell me about them?  Schumann and his wife?”

“I—” Hesitating at her request, Harry squeezes her hand tightly, half in affection, half in warning. “It doesn’t have much of a happy ending, darling.  A bit of a tragedy, that one.”

“I want to know.” The human girl nods her head stubbornly as her eyes flash with determination. “Just because it has a sad ending doesn’t mean it’s not worth knowing.” 

Harry pauses for a moment, allowing her words to fully sink into his mind and spark the beacon of hope that’s sat coldy in his head for so long. “I suppose that’s true.” 

He mulls over where to begin, thinking back to all the newspaper articles he’d read about a child prodigy in Germany in the 1820s, who was the daughter of—

“So the story really begins with Friederich Wieck.” Harry’s voice falls into a smooth cadence as he begins, thumbing over Y/N’s warm knuckles absentmindedly as he recalls the information. “He was a music teacher, most known for piano, but what he really wanted to be known for was raising a child prodigy.  He had a few children, but the one who filled that description was Clara, his second oldest.”

As Harry begins to spin the tale, Y/N can’t help but focus on his expression.  Although his eyes are set on their linked hands, she can tell that his gaze is far away, as if he’s seeing the scene play before his eyes as he tells it.  It’s fascinating, she thinks, seeing him focus so intently on something as niche as an old love story between musicians, but more than that, it’s new to her.  This is a new side of him that she hasn’t seen before— not cocky, or charming, or playful.  This side of him is intent, as if he wants to make sure that every word he speaks is the truth.  His expression is almost as interesting as the story itself.

“Clara’s parents, Friederich and Mariane, didn’t really get along very well, and Clara had a lot of trouble when she was young; she didn’t really speak until she was four.  But music always came easily to her, which made sense, considering her parents.” Harry’s free hand drifts back to the ivory keys, just resting over the lacquered surface. “Her mother was a musician, too— an accomplished singer.  But after her parents split when she was five, when Mariane had an affair with a family friend, Clara was left with her father.  And her father wanted to focus on her music career.  He gave her hour-long lessons every day, and made her practice for two hours on top of that.  She made her performance debut when she was just nine years old, in 1828, at the Gewandhaus in Leipzig.”

“Okay, wait.  Pause.” Y/N worries her bottom lip between her teeth as she waits for Harry’s faraway eyes to refocus on her confused expression. “What does playing in Leipzig at age nine have to do with a love story?”

An amused laugh slips from Harry’s lips at Y/N’s impatience. “I’m getting there, sweetheart.  A little bit of patience would be beneficial to you, I think.  And a little bit of trust in me, yeah?”

Although she huffs a little bit, Y/N relents, squeezing Harry’s hand in acknowledgement at the phrase he always seems to end up repeating: Trust me. She vaguely wonders why it’s so important to him. “Alright, fine.  Continue.”

“Thank you.” Harry swipes a hand through his tousled curls before settling it back down on the keys, running his fingertips over the smooth surface absentmindedly in the same rhythm he’s swiping over Y/N’s knuckles. “Okay, so… She played in Leipzig a few times that year, and once was at a private music party at someone’s house, where she met Robert Schumann.” At the mention of the name, Harry shoots Y/N an ‘I told you so’ look, which she meets with a roll of her eyes. “He was a gifted pianist, and was so inspired by Clara’s playing that he got permission from his mother to quit his law studies in order to study piano under Clara’s father, Friederich.  So in 1830, Robert moved into the Weick household as one of Friederich’s students, and—”

“Sorry, I— pause again.” Brow furrowed, Y/N’s eyes narrow in suspicion as she mulls over Harry’s words. “So— if Clara was, like, nine—”

“Eleven, actually.  It’s 1830 now, remember?”

“Alright, eleven.  If Clara was eleven… You said Robert quit law school to study music.” Y/N’s narrowed eyes widen as she regards Harry, as if asking him to contradict her suspicions. “How old was Robert?”

“Around twenty, I think.” Harry says casually, lifting his shoulder in a light shrug. “He was born in 1810, so— yeah.  He would’ve been twenty.”

“Twenty?” Y/N yanks her hand from Harry’s as she fully twists her body to face him, as if just hearing the horror in her voice isn’t enough. “He was twenty?  I thought this was a love story?”

“It is!  It’s just—”

“No, it’s not!  It’s gross!” Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Y/N shakes her head harshly, her loose hair spilling over her flushing cheeks. “A twenty year old shouldn’t—”

“He didn’t!  Nothing happened until they were older, love.” Harry captures Y/N’s hand within his own again, smoothing over her knuckles as he hurries to reassure her. “And it was the nineteenth century… a nine year age gap in a relationship wasn’t exactly uncommon.” For a brief moment, Harry wonders what Y/N would think if she knew just how much older he really was than her.  Would she react with the same horrified expression she had now?  Yank her hand from his again as she had just done?

“Yeah, well…” Y/N’s appearance is still bristled as she shoots Harry a condemning look. “There’s a difference between a nine year age gap and a child—”

“Nothing’s happened yet, sweetheart.” Harry bites back the involuntary laugh that bubbles through his chest at the indignant tone of her voice. “Now can I continue?  Or do you want to yell some more?”

Although her response is grumbled, the mortal girl mutters, “Fine.  Continue.” as Harry lifts her knuckles to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of her hand. 

“Thank you.” He lowers her hand back down to his thigh, smoothing it over his trousers before continuing where he’d left off. “So Robert studies under Clara’s father and stays with them for a year.  And although Clara and Robert were just friends, Friederich could tell that they were becoming close, which he didn’t like.  And before you say anything,” Harry watches as Y/N’s lips twitch into a frown. “It wasn’t because of Robert’s age.  Friederich didn’t want Clara to fall in love with anyone; he just wanted her to focus on her music.  He still wanted his child prodigy, you know?  So he began to take her on tours through Europe.  But by the time Clara was sixteen, it was clear that she and Robert had feelings for each other.  They wrote countless letters to each other, signed them ‘your special friend’... And when Clara turned eighteen, Robert asked Friederich for his permission to marry his daughter.  And Friederich said no, because that would ruin his plans for Clara’s music career.”

Despite her hesitation at the relationship, Y/N still mutters a quiet “Harsh.” at the story.

Harry’s hands return to the keys, but this time, they do more than hover.  He begins to press a few notes slowly, letting one ring out completely before moving to the other, and it takes Y/N a few moments to realize that he’s playing an actual melody, albeit a deconstructed one. 

“Because Clara wasn’t twenty-one yet, they needed her father’s permission to marry, so Robert took the case to court.  And it was…” His fingers stutter over the keys for a moment as his face twists up, remembering how the story had decorated the society pages of newspapers back then. “Messy.  Really messy.  But in the end, Robert won the case, and he and Clara were married.  And they wrote all this beautiful music together…” Harry’s left hand joins his right over the piano, moving with more intention now as he adds a quiet harmony to his slow melody line. “They weren’t good with words, but they were good with music.  That’s how they communicated with each other.  You can hear the love in everything they wrote, the devotion they had for each other.  Listen,” He says in a hushed voice, the melody of the music becoming unbearably sweet. “D’you hear it?”

“I do.” Y/N nods softly, her fingers massaging Harry’s thigh muscle as he continues to play.  It’s not a lie, either; there’s a sincerity in what Harry’s playing that twists within her chest.  

Or maybe, she thinks, her eyes trained in the profile of the man beside her, it’s just Harry. 

“Didn’t you…” Y/N hesitates both in her words and her motions over Harry’s leg as a new thought tugs at her mind. “Didn’t you say the story had a sad ending?  That all seems good, isn’t it?  Clara and Robert got married, wrote music together…”

Harry’s fingers begin to slow down, returning to the reduced melody he’d been playing previously, as if weighed down by the knowledge he’s about to share. “Uh, yeah.  Robert had a lot of problems— mental health issues.  Later in their marriage, he became manic, had episodes where he saw angels and demons… and he was worried he’d hurt Clara.” Harry says quietly, risking a glance at the girl beside him, who’s watching him with such wide and trusting eyes that he almost can’t bear it.  Harry knows what it’s like to fear hurting the ones you care for. “He tried to kill himself, and when he was unsuccessful, he asked to be taken to an insane asylum.  And he never went home again.  He died there, just a few days after Clara was finally allowed to visit.  S’like…” Harry’s fingers pause over the piano once more. “S’like he was waiting for her.  Before going.”

Detecting the emotion in his voice, Y/N raises her hand from his thigh, smoothing back a few loose curls before gently setting her palm over the curve of his neck. “That is a bit of a tragic story, I’ll admit.  To have fought so hard for each other for so long… And then to lose all of it like that…”

“Yeah.” Harry clears the lump from his throat as subtly as he can.  He’s certainly no stranger to loss, to feeling helpless at being unable to save someone you love… He knows that pain all too well. 

As if she can sense the darkness in his mood, Y/N rubs a comforting hand across his shoulder and down his arm, drifting over his inked skin with a warm touch.  Her comment, however, is more lighthearted than her caring caress. 

“I still think the age gap is a little weird.  How do you go from writing letters about being ‘special friends’ to falling in love?”

Harry rises to her baited joke, doing his best to shake himself from his introspective thoughts as his fingers begin to drift over the keys once more.  He focuses on just his right hand now, playing out an absentminded yet tender tune as he speaks. “So if I started to call you my special friend, you wouldn’t like it?”

“God, no— that sounds awful.” Y/N scoffs, her own hand drifting to the ivory keys. “We’re sleeping together, not making mud pies in a kindergarten class.”

Harry’s laugh is more genuine as he begins to slow down his playing, plucking only single notes that Y/N echoes in the lower register of the piano. “Alright, fine.  Not special friends, then.”

“There’s just so many cooler historical ways to say we’re having sex, y’know?  None of that ‘special friend’ bullshit.” Y/N continues to match Harry’s notes as best she can, wincing every so often as she plays a dissonant key. “Like… ‘lover.’  That’s a good one.  Nice and simple.  Or—” Her eyes light up with mirth as the thought pops into her head. “Courtesan to the queen.  Not as simple, but it certainly rolls off the tongue.”

Harry quirks a brow at the suggestion. “And you’ll be the queen in question, I presume?”

“Of course.  Do you have a better idea?”

“‘Paramour’ is a neat little name, don’t you think?” Harry asks, his fingers pressing down a simple perfect fourth on the piano to punctuate his question. “Sounds pretty elegant.  Understated.”

“If you want understated…” Y/N matches the top note of Harry’s interval, already knowing she wouldn’t be able to match the actual notes without hurting both of their ears. “We could do what historians do when talking about ancient queer couples.  Say we’re just good friends.”

The creature hums in acknowledgment at the back of his throat. “We could, yeah.  Or we could be mistresses.   Is there a word for a male mistress?” Harry quirks an eyebrow as his lips pull into a quizzical frown. “A master?”

“Jesus Christ, never refer to yourself as a master again.” Y/N groans loudly, her fingers slipping from the keys as she feigns a shudder. “That just sounds creepy.  Even creepier than a special friend. How about…” She tries her best to stifle a wry grin as a more vulgar alternative pops into her head. “The Whore of Babylon?” 

“Fuck’s sake, what did I say about slut-shaming me?”

“I just thought it’d fit! It has a nice ring to it! But if it really irks you that much— Oh, wait—” She quirks her head to the side, a new wave of amusement lighting up her eyes as she thinks of her next step in their game. “What about ‘special advisor’?  You know, like we’re in a historical drama, and I have a kingdom to defend from oncoming war, and you’re my most trusted advisor, and when my husband is away with the army, you and I sneak off into my chambers…”

Although he giggles boyishly at the suggestion, Harry can’t ignore the twinge of jealousy that shoots up his spine at the mention of Y/N’s— albeit imaginary— husband.  He doesn’t like being referred to as her side relationship, even in an imaginary world of queens and wars.  Even then, he wants to be Y/N’s first choice. 

Because she’s his, he realizes, his fingers continuing to pluck out single ivory notes as a way to deal with the impending ball of tension that’s growing inside his abdomen.  Even in a game, in an imaginary world, in any way imaginable— Y/N is his first choice. 

He just— he wants her, in every sense of the word. And he knows all the reasons he shouldn’t— he knows how reckless it is to allow a human to get so close to him, how he’ll never truly be able to be honest with her, how he’ll always be using her for her blood, how he can’t give her the human relationship she deserves.  But he can’t stop from thinking about Robert and Clara, who fought for each other from the very beginning, who persevered through every challenge thrown their way, and who still only got sixteen years together before circumstance tore them apart. 

Harry is here. He is— for all intents and purposes— theoretically alive.  And the girl he wants more than anyone else is right next to him.  There’s no doubt in his mind that it’ll be difficult, but does he not owe it to those who ran out of time to try?  At the very least? Does he not owe it to himself to fight for the happiness he’s spent so long evading, all out of fear? 

He can manage that.  He can manage his cravings around Y/N enough to take only what he needs, and never anything more.  He can manage his double life and keep her from falling victim to the darkest corners of his mind. He can manage his strength enough to treat her as delicately as he’d treat a butterfly.  He can manage the most monstrous parts of himself.  He can do that for Y/N. 

But only if she wants him to. 

It’s that hesitation that brings a tremor to his hands as they pause over the keys, poised over the lacquered surface that he can barely tear his gaze from. “A special advisor sounds fun, yeah.  Or you could…” Harry clears his throat roughly, sweat pooling across his brow as he fiddles with the opal ring on his pinky.  He twists it back and forth around the digits, only managing to spare one look from the corner of his eye at Y/N’s quizzical face before dropping his stare back down to the piano. 

“Or you could, um… you could just… call me your…” Say it, the voice in his head practically yells. It’s just one word. It’s not that hard. “Boyfriend. You could just call me your boyfriend.”

A heavy pause fills the air in the large room, and Harry feels like he’s being suffocated. His voice grows fainter when he detects the sudden hitch in Y/N’s breath, but nothing else. He finds himself wanting to fill the empty space between them with something, or else he might pass out from the nerves. “If you… If you want, that is.  It would just keep it simple. Plain and simple.”

Plain and simple, Y/N thinks as her hands curl together in her lap, slotting between her thighs as if the pressure of her clamped legs can keep her from feeling how they shake.  It would keep it plain and simple.

But when has their relationship ever been simple?

It should’ve been simple, and the mortal girl knows this.  Two consenting adults, calling each other every once in a while for a bit of release— that’s simple.  That kind of relationship doesn’t have any pressure.  There’s no need to try and impress one another, or to meet any expectations.  That kind of relationship is no muss, no fuss, and no strings attached.  That was how they had started, and it had been simple.  It had been easy.  It had been uncomplicated. 

And it also hadn’t been that way for a long time.

Y/N’s known for a while now that the line between two friends having sex and being in a committed relationship has become increasingly blurred; that was all but confirmed when Harry nearly pitched a hissy fit when he saw her coming home from her date with Jacob.  But even with all of the dates, the gifts, the phone calls during her lunch breaks, the homemade dinners and drinks and desserts, even with all of that— Y/N never thought that they’d actually arrive at this moment.  This moment, in Harry’s apartment, their bodies pressed together on the small piano bench, his fingers fidgeting nervously as hers are pressed between her thighs, with the word boyfriend dangling over their heads like a sword.

She can’t pretend she hasn’t thought about it, because she has.  And she can’t pretend that her thinking about it doesn’t usually lead to her daydreaming about it, because it does.  It’s why she spends the majority of her downtime wrapped in Harry’s rainbow cardigan, and why she’d picked out his button down shirt to wear tonight.  It’s why she’s talked about him to her friends, why she’s begun to speak about him casually to her coworkers, instead of hiding in the storage closet when he calls her on her break.  Because even though they aren’t together— even though they’re friends in the least and seeing each other at the most— it had been nice to pretend that either of them were capable of being more.

Y/N is no stranger to heartbreak, and she’s spent long enough studying her own commitment issues to be able to recognize them in someone else.  Harry had pretty much told her in the beginning that relationships weren’t his thing, that he didn’t want to be defined by a label that could so easily be broken.  And Y/N, who hadn’t opened herself up since Bradley, had been inclined to agree.  Relationships are messy, and labels only bring expectations that would eventually not be met.  Seeing each other is easy.  Seeing each other is breezy.  Seeing each other leaves room for interpretation, for allowances, for excuses to be made if one of them suddenly changes their mind.  Seeing each other is plain and simple. 

Boyfriend.

The truth of the matter is that Y/N shouldn’t be so terrified of such a simple word.  In all forms and fashion, Harry practically already is her boyfriend— he literally calls her his girl during sex, for fuck’s sake. They do everything that a normal couple does, and have been doing it for a while now.  She’s fairly certain that calling Harry her boyfriend instead of the guy she’s seeing wouldn’t actually change their relationship that much.  But if she’s honest with herself, Y/N knows that it isn’t their present day situation that’s sending a cold sweat down her back.  Boyfriends, from her limited experience, lead to fiancés, which lead to husbands, which lead to children and a white picket fence in an unassuming suburb.  That was the exact life she’d come to L.A. to escape— how could she willingly fall back into it?

And then she hears Harry exhale shakily, his thumb fumbling with the opal ring on his pinky, and she knows exactly how she could willingly fall back into it.

This is Harry.  Harry, who tells her the stupidest jokes that can somehow still make her laugh.  Harry, who gives her all of his attention every moment that they’re together.  Harry, who listens to every story about rude customers without complaining once, hanging onto her every word as if what she says matters more than life itself.  Harry, who makes her believe that it does.  Harry, with entrancing emerald eyes, shining chestnut curls, intricately inked skin, and the most comforting arms she’s ever been held in.  This is Harry.  Not Bradley.  Bradley wanted the wife, the white picket fence, the house filled with children.  Harry— as far as she can tell— just wants her.  And she just wants him.

Plain and simple.

Y/N extracts one of her hands from between her legs, snaking it over Harry’s, where she captures one of his fiddling hands in her grasp.  Intertwining their fingers, Y/N fixes her gaze onto his opal ring as she hesitantly swipes her thumb over his cool knuckles.

“Yeah,” She whispers the word, as if speaking any louder could break whatever it is that’s brewing between them. “Yeah, that could work.  I’d really like that.”

The human girl watches from the corner of her eye as Harry’s lips, which he’d been gnawing on nervously while waiting for her response, slowly curl into a hesitant grin, as if he’s nervous to show how anxiously he’d been waiting for her to answer.  He keeps his sea glass eyes glued to their tangled hands, his own fingers contracting to test their grasp. 

Harry knows that it’s selfish of him to be so happy that the girl he cares for is entering into a relationship with a monster.  But seeing as how he’s the monster in question, he can’t make himself feel guilty for it.  All he feels is the elation that’s slowly spreading through his entire body, and the determination that’s chasing it.  He can do this.  He’s strong enough.  He can be strong enough for her. 

“Can I…” His voice is just as quiet as hers, nearly cracking at the end when he finally lifts his gaze to her heated cheeks, wide eyes, and stained lips. “Can I kiss you?”

A tender laugh falls from those stained lips as Y/N combs his curls back over his ear, dragging her thumb over the sharp lines of his jaw. “You do that all the time, so the answer is obviously yes, isn’t it?” She thumbs down the muscles in his neck, until her palm settles over the collar of his shirt to fist the fabric between her grip. “You don’t even need to ask anymore.”

“It never hurts to ask.  And this time…” Harry worries his bottom lip back between his teeth before he soothes the bite mark with his tongue. “It’s different.  We’re different.”

“Not too different.” Y/N leans forward until their noses nudge against each other, their mouths kept apart only by an inch.  She cards her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, twisting the locks around her digits in a way that’s so much softer than Harry thought possible. “Still us, yeah?”

The taste of honey and lavender is so thick on the back of Harry’s tongue that he’s almost choking on it, but he’s never felt less thirsty in his life.  He has this under control.  He can tame this.  He can.

“Yeah.” He inhales deeply through his mouth, as if he were relishing the bouquet without tasting the wine, and slots their lips together with ease. 

Although they’ve shared countless kisses over their months together, this might win the record for the gentlest that they’ve ever shared.  There’s no rush, no animalistic need to pull Y/N closer and tighter against his body.  There’s only her burning warmth, her silky skin, and her sugar and flower flavour washing out the black tea that had been lingering on his taste buds.  Harry has never felt closer to being human again than he has in this moment.  Right now, they’re not a predator and his prey; they’re simply two people who, against all odds, have managed to find each other.  And Harry is owed this happiness.  He knows he is. 

The rest of the night passes in a blissful haze of comfortable domesticity.  They eat dessert on Harry’s couch, feeding each other bites of raspberry sorbet in between giggles and banter.  It’s something they’ve done countless times before, but there’s something different about it now; maybe it’s the fact that Harry knows that Y/N isn’t going to push him away now.  She wants him.  She wants him.  She’s leaning into his touch every time he brushes his knuckles over her cheek, laughing at his poorly-timed jokes, gazing at him through her lashes in a way that stirs desire in the very pit of his belly.  They’re comfortable together, and for the first time, Harry is realizing just how wonderful that is.

It’s the only thing on his mind as they stand side by side in front of his double vanity in his en suite, his gaze tilted to the side to watch as Y/N removes her makeup with some wipes she’d packed in her overnight bag (Harry makes a mental note on the brand so that he can pick them up the next time he finds himself near the drug store).  He’s never had such casual comfort and ease with someone like this before; the last time he’d found himself in a relationship, it had been in a time where maids were required to help lace and unlace corsets and valets prepared him for bed.  There was never a chance to watch as someone he cares for ties their hair back in a loose ponytail before rubbing cleanser into their skin.  He never got to observe the quiet, intimate moments of someone’s bedtime routine.  In the early days of their relationship, Y/N had never had a chance to properly take her makeup off before Harry was tugging her into bed, her lipstick smeared across his face as much as hers.  This is his first time really witnessing that transition, and he likes it more than he thought he would.

There are, however, a few things that he knows Y/N likes before bed, and he gives her a moment of privacy to change into her pyjamas while he makes the quick trip to his kitchen to fill a tall glass with cold water.  He doesn’t need to grab an extra blanket this time— he’d already made sure to toss the knit afghan onto his bed before Y/N arrived, and he finds it draped over her body when he returns to his bedroom.

“You look cozy.” He comments with a fond smile, handing the mortal girl the glass of water as he pulls back the other half of the blankets.  He climbs underneath the covers, propping his elbow up on his pillow as he lies on his side to watch as she takes a sip of the drink. “Y’alright, love?  Need anything else?”

Y/N shakes her head as she sets the glass down on the bedside table and settles back into her pillows, stifling a yawn into the back of her hand.  She always gets sleepy after she has a few drinks, something she’d explained to Harry— much to his amusement— a few weeks prior, after a movie night at her house when he’d made his famous margaritas.  They’d been having a Harry Potter marathon, and they’d barely begun the second before her eyes had started to flutter closed. 

“I’m good, I think.” She tugs the blankets up to her chin, tilting her head to the side to find Harry already staring at her with a soft expression. “Actually…” Extending a hand to him, she lifts her covers off her body enough to indicate what she wants. “C’mere.”

A boyish giggle falls from the vampire’s strawberry lips, and he flicks off the lamp before crawling towards Y/N in the enveloping darkness.  He folds himself right into her side, opening his own arms for her to slide into, but is surprised when her hand finds his shoulder and tugs him closer to her.

Harry takes the hint and hesitantly settles himself onto her own body, allowing the mortal girl to rest his head along her collarbones, his ear finding a home just above her beating pulse.  One of her hands knots itself in his hair, delicately detangling his messy curls as the other finds a home on his naked shoulder blade, rubbing over his defined muscles with the hottest touch Harry has ever felt. 

It’s a vulnerable position, one that Harry hasn’t been in for decades.  And yet, instead of feeling the usual mix of fear and trepidation, all Harry can feel is comfort.  The combined sensation of Y/N playing with his hair and massaging his shoulder is more pleasurable than he ever could’ve assumed.  A month ago, that would have confused him.  But now… he exhales softly as Y/N’s nails lightly scratch along his scalp.  He can be vulnerable with her.  He trusts her.  And, to his extreme luck, she seems to trust him.

A few minutes pass with nothing said between the pair, the silence around them punctuated with only the sound of their breathing and Y/N’s lone heartbeat.  If Harry didn’t know better, he’d think that Y/N had fallen asleep, but his sharp senses know that’s not true; her pulse is still a few beats faster than it normally is, and her breathing hasn’t completely evened out yet.

Sure enough, Harry’s suspicions are confirmed when Y/N whispers into the darkness a moment later, as if she could hear him mentally assessing her body language. “Harry?” Her voice is gentle, halfway between a whisper and a murmur, as if she’s afraid to be any louder. “Are you awake?”

Harry bites back the smirk that threatens to overtake his lips. “Mhmm.” He hums, nuzzling his head further into Y/N’s caring touch. “Still awake.”

She matches his hum of acknowledgement, the pads of her fingers pressing deeper into the knots of his back. “I was wondering…” Her voice thickens with hesitation. “Would you, um, would you sing for me?”

Without completely lifting himself from her chest, Harry raises his eyes to meet her own, her fingers pausing their motions through his locks as he does so. “Sing?” He asks, taken off guard by the out-of-the-blue request. “Y’want me to sing?”

Although there’s a shadow of shyness across her face, Y/N nods slowly. “I heard you humming earlier today, while you were cooking, and it sounded nice, so I was just thinking about it…” She clears her throat nervously, and Harry can hear the wave of blood that rises to her cheeks. “But you don’t have to.  I know it’s late—”

“No, petal.” Harry hurries to ease her, a frown settling onto his face as he hears her breathing grow shallower with anxiety. “S’fine.  No need to get shy.” Harry is amazed at how smoothly the reassurance falls from his lips. “Yeah, I’ll sing for you.  Any requests?”

Despite him telling her not to be shy, Y/N just shrugs her shoulders in response to his question, her eyes locked on the ceiling above them as if she can’t bring herself to meet his gaze.  Harry plants a kiss along her clavicle before settling back into her plush chest, mentally running through the catalogue of songs he’d been humming earlier.  He should pick something soft, he thinks.  Something like a lullaby.

Y/N resumes her gentle combing through Harry’s locks, mostly to distract herself from his thoughtful silence.  She shouldn’t have asked him to sing something— he’d made it clear earlier that playing the piano for people was something that made him nervous.  They’d sung together playfully multiple times, and Y/N could tell that Harry has a pretty voice, but half-singing, half-rapping along to the Hamilton soundtrack is so different than singing to her in the darkness of his bedroom.  She shouldn’t have asked.  In fact, she should tell him to just forget it, and—

“I had a thought, dear, however scary, about that night, the bugs and the dirt.” Harry’s low vibrato echoes around the previously silent room, his voice no louder than a murmur.  Y/N can feel the vibrations of his vocal chords against her chest, a quiet hum that soothes her like nothing else ever has. “Why were you digging?  What did you bury, before those hands pulled me from the Earth?”

Harry clears his throat quietly between the stanzas, his own eyes drifting close.  He’s never been one for stage fright— he’s always been eager to show off his vocal skills, and there’d been a time when all he wanted was to sing on stage in a smoky speakeasy.  But this— singing in the quiet of his bedroom for an audience of one— is more intimate than he’s used to, and he knows if he catches Y/N’s observant gaze right now, he’ll lose his nerve.

“I will not ask you where you came from; I will not ask and neither should you.” Harry tunes his ear to the steady pulse of Y/N’s heart, using the rhythm as a makeshift metronome to keep his time.  To keep himself steady. “Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips; we should just kiss like real people do.”

Harry feels a spike of warmth against the top of his head, and it takes him a moment longer than normal to realize that it’s Y/N’s lips pressing against his hair.  As he continues to sing, she times her caresses of his ringlets with the beat of his words, which he keeps timed with the beat of her heart.  They’re in a cycle, he realizes as he quietly sings the second verse into her skin. She’s lined up with him as he lines up with her.  They’re locked together, steadying the other while relying on them to keep them steady in return.  For the first time in two hundred years, Harry feels truly in sync with someone.

“Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips,” Y/N’s mouth smudges against his temple once more as he nudges his nose along the base of her throat, allowing himself to press his own lips against the satin skin of her chest, just over her heart. He feels like he could stay in this moment forever, which means something given that he truly does have forever. He’d spend every second of the rest of eternity frozen in this instant, if the world allowed it. He’s content, and relaxed, and cradled in his duvet with the one other soul who has somehow managed to thaw the coldness from his stony heart. For the first time in too long, he feels like an actual person again. He isn’t bogged down by his carnal instincts, or by the fear of losing his composure, or by the fact that he doesn’t have a thumping rhythm behind his ribs. 

He doesn’t need all of that because he has Y/N, and she makes him feel more real than all of those aspects ever could. 

“We could just kiss like real people do.”

[underneaththe-waterfall]

How do I put up with you?

Why is there barely and Bambam angst ?like anywhere?😖

summary: You and bambam have an argument as he says you are buying to many clothes. You both end up having an argument which leads to Bambam fucking you until you fall asleep.

CONTAINS: ANGST  , SMUT , FLUFF. ALSO  (hair pulling and oral sex )

F/N= friends name

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN I BUY TO MANY CLOTHES” you say sitting on the couch with your arms crossed and an expression on your face that was starting to scare Bambam. This whole thing started when Bambam saw you walk into the house with like 6 bags of clothes and an extra bag full to the brim with makeup. Its not that Bambam doesn’t like it when you shop and neither is he stingy , but he had noticed lately how often you went shopping and by now his whole wardrobe along with your own was full of your clothes. 

It started with Bambam speaking to you calmly but it all just rubbed you the wrong way and you got defensive and by now you both were yelling in each others faces .”DO YOU EVEN KNOW THAT I HAVE TO HANG MY CLOTHES IN THE TOILET BECAUSE I HAVE NO SPACE IN MY WARDROBE BECAUSE OF YOU”.  In the beginning of this argument when Bambam began yelling at you it shocked you as it was very uncommon for him to yell at you, but now you wanted to fight back. 

“THEN WHY DONT YOU BUY YOURSELF ANOTHER WARDROBE!” at this point Bambam felt so angry he felt like he was gonna explode. You were really taking this too far. “You buy all this stuff out our shared account and were gonna go bank corrupt soon and we all know who contributes the majority of the money in the account and its clearly not you.” Bambam replies in an annoyed tone clearly stopping himself from yelling.

This crossed the line for you. Bambam knew how insecure you were about you job as a fashion designer as you were still a beginner so you weren’t really making a lot of money. Instead you were stuck being an assistant for another fashion designer who payed you very less. Despite how less your pay was you still always put it in your and Bambams shared account so it was fair for the both of you. This truly hurt you because there was no way you were expecting that from Bambam. 

You remained silent now just looking at the floor trying not to cry, It was getting too difficult as now your eyes were stinging and your throat was closing up because of how badly you wanted to cry. From the corner of your eye you could see Bambam watching you. You kept your gaze on the floor as you walked out the living room straight to your and Bambams bedroom and locked the door. You heard him say something but you were so blanked out that you didn’t even hear. As soon as you entered the room you let it all out. You laid there on the bed and cried. You had been told many times by fans and others that you were just a failure and fashion designers earnt  nothing and thats why you were with Bambam;because you were a gold digger and just wanted him for his money. 

This was always a part of your relationship that made you feel insecure. You didn’t like the fact that bambam had to pay for if not all, most the things you bought. Even your mum had told you to get a real job. So now was the time you got a real job. Your friends family owned a cafe and she always offered you a job there so you both could work together. You declined the offer kindly and decided to follow your dreams. But you were clearly not living in the real world if you thought you could just follow your dreams and become whatever you wanted. At this point you needed money. You didnt want to spend any of Bambams money from now on. Especially not after how he reacted. 

So you called your friend and it took less then two rings for her to pick up and answer in a cheerful tone “HELLO OMG WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN YOU HAVENT SPOKEN TO ME SINCE AGESSS” you chuckle at her excitement and answer back “F/N i just spoke to you yesterdayy” she let out an over exaggerated sigh and answered “Anyways why did u call its not like you to call me when your with your fancy boyfriend .”You roll your eyes at her even though she couldn’t see and laugh. 

“Umm, can I work at your cafe from tomorrow I know this is very short noticed but-” she cut you off with an excited squeal and she answered “OFCOURSE YOU CAN IM LITERALLY THERE RIGHT NOW AND ITS SO BORING” you smile at her answer. You were truly lucky to have her. ”Okay ill be there  tomorrow morning” you respond. You could hear a customer behind her and she answers back in a rush “Okay ill see you i gtg” and before you could even answer she cut the phone. 

You fell back on to the bed and let out a breath you hadn’t realised you had been holding. You would no longer spend Bambams money. You lay there in a bed for a while before you heard a timid knock on the door. So now was when he had decided to apologise. You ignored him before the knock turned a little louder. After ignoring it for a while you heard him twist the door handle and let out a sigh .”Can you open the door I just wanna have a shower.” You were dumbfounded. He really just wanted a shower? You went and opened the door not even looking at him for a second before laying back down on the bed and going on your phone. Bambam was just as stubborn as you and also didn’t spare you a glance as he headed to the wardrobe in front of you. You watched him from behind as he opened the wardrobe .A bag of your clothes that you had just bought recently fell out of the wardrobe and all your clothes in the bag fell on the floor. 

Bambam looked back at you as if to prove his point but you quickly closed your eyes not wanting him to think your paying any attention to him. He let out a groan and began picking up your clothes that had fell on the floor and put them back in the bag that you lazily hadn’t gotten rid of. He began looking through his clothes and took out a pair of grey shorts and a loose black shirt. You watched him as he took out his towel and shut the drawer. Even though you were really angry at him you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him. This time when he looked back at you , you didn’t look away. You looked at him as he looked back at you with a blank expression. He looked away quickly heading to the bathroom.

By the time Bambam got out it was beginning to get dark. You headed to the bathroom as soon as he got out and had a long warm shower. Usually you would wear one of his shirts or hoodies but today you didn’t want to. Instead you wore one of your own loose shirts and headed to the bed after turning off the lights. Even in the dark you could see that Bambam was already half asleep .You thought to yourself ‘am i petty enough to sleep on the sofa or make him sleep on the sofa?’ You decided to against it as you were not in the mood to get back pains especially when you had work tomorrow. You also decided that there was no point telling Bambam that you have work tomorrow. He would probably be glad that you would no longer have to spend his money anyways. (you were wrong)

You laid down on your side of the bed instantly wrapping yourself around the blankets and it felt so good after a long day of arguing with bambam. You were laying there in your own thoughts until you felt an arm wrap around your waist pulling you closer. Bambam always done this in his sleep and usually you found it adorable but not today. You took his arm and not so gently removed it from your waist moving further away from him. But all your effort went down the drain as he pulled you close again and mumbled something in his sleep. You decided there was no point moving him away any longer as it would result in you staying up all night. You got yourself comfortable in Bambams arms (even though you didn’t want to) and fell asleep in seconds. 

You woke up to the sound of your alarm going off extremely loudly and a grumpy looking bambam sitting crossed leg on the bed with his arms crossed staring at you. He had a pout on his face and he seriously looked like he was about to cry. For a second you nearly forgot about yesterday and were about to jump onto and cuddle him but then you stopped yourself. The alarm went of so you could get ready for work. You turned off the alarm and you could feel Bambams eyes on you. When you finally looked at the time you realised you didn’t have long left and that you should begin getting ready.

Bambam finally spoke as he saw you get up from the bed in a rush. “Where are you going.” You honestly didn’t want to reply but you didn’t want to have disturbed his sleep to not even tell him the reason why. ”I have to go to work.” he looked deep in thought for a second before he spoke again “But you have no work on Saturday”.You groaned and answered him “Well now I do and you should be glad because ill no longer spend your money and ill pay you back all of the money you’ve spent on me dont worry.” 

He had nothing to say. Bambam did not expect you to take everything so seriously. He didn’t want you to overwork yourself and there was no way you could pay him back for all the money he spent on you. It was simply too much. Bambam didn’t meet your eyes as you left for the bathroom. He waited for you to get out the bathroom and the second you walked out he cornered you against the wall with both his arms on either side of your head. 

“Your not going work. ”He says firmly looking at you in such an intense way that you had to look away. You adjusted your towel under his stare and spoke “I do. Now move out of the way i’m gonna get late.” He looked at you for long enough for you to finally look back at him. He looked angry and it was clear to you it was getting hard for him to remain calm. You moved around so you could get away from him but he wouldn’t budge. 

This whole thing was starting to annoy you. First he told you that you waste all his money and now that you wanted to make more money for yourself he wasn’t letting you do it. You couldn’t understand what was wrong with him. “OMG WHATS WRONG WITH YOU IM GONNA GET LATE TO WORK BECAUSE OF YOU , SO FUCKING ANNOYING UGH.” You screamed in his face whilst hitting his chest with your fists and he didn’t even flinch for a second. You hadn’t even realised that you were hitting his chest until he held both your wrists with his hands. 

Now he looked really pissed of. He tightened his jaw as he spoke “How dare you speak to me like that.” The confidence you had a second ago had now all disappeared. You looked away from his as he spoke , your wrists still in his hold. When he saw that you weren’t gonna answer him, his hold on your wrists tightened and you let out a whimper. It was clear that you had pissed Bambam off too much. There was no way he was going to let you get away with this. 

“Take off your towel and get here” he says while he lets go of your wrists and moves to sit on the edge of the bed. You didn’t want to annoy him even more by not doing as he said so you began to strip yourself of your towel as he watched your every move. You tried to hurry as you quickly took of your panties after your towel and walked towards him feeling very exposed. 

He motioned for you to lay across his lap so your ass would be right in front of him on his lap. Now you knew exactly what was about to happen. ”Good” You hear Bambam say as he rubbed his hands all over your ass occasionally squeezing your skin. You were laying there your eyes getting droopy until you felt a harsh slap on your ass that made you jolt awake. You let out a whine as Bambam messages the spot he just hit .You could still feel the sting of the previous slap until he slapped the same spot again .He began messaging the spot again and by now you had tears in your eyes. He gave your ass a last strong slap before he told you to get off his lap. The last hit was so bad that tears began to fall from your eyes and you let out a groan. 

When you stood up the pain on your ass magnified and you winced at the feeling. Bambam also stood up after you and you felt so small in front of him. He towered over you as he spoke “Get on all fours on the bed.” You done what he said immediately getting on your hands and knees on the bed. You waited for him to do something as you couldn’t see him. You heard some shuffling and by the time you saw Bambam he was only wearing his boxers and getting onto the bed. 

You could see his bulge through his black boxers and you wondered to yourself how long hes been hard for. You faced forward as he was on his knees right behind you. You felt his hand wonder around your ass and you winced at how sensitive your ass had become. His hand wondered up all the way up your spine to your neck. He pushed your neck down and you took that as a sign to move your head to the bed and then his hand reached to the centre of your back. You understood what he meant and you arched your back. 

After you were in position Bambam moved his finger down to your pussy moving your wetness around. He had no idea that this whole situation would arouse you so much. He moved his head in between your legs from behind you instantly licking the lips of your pussy. You tried your best not to make a sound as his tongue didn’t go in but licked the outside of your pussy. He used two of his fingers to open your lips and he began drinking up all your wetness. He was moving his tongue so fast and his fingers were also circling around your clit. You felt like you were gonna pass out. 

For what felt like an eternity ,Bambam continued to eat you out and by now your legs were giving out and you felt like you were about to cum. You let out a particularly loud moan as his tongue circled around your entrance and you moved your hips back onto his face out of desperation to reach your orgasm. He held your hips firmly now stopping all movements of your hips and continued .As your orgasm approached your body began slightly shaking and Bambam knew you were about to cum. He moved his face away suddenly and you let out a whine now feeling extremely needy. 

“Did you really think it was that easy?” He says with a small chuckle and you let out a groan in response. It was clear that he had pulled down his boxers as now you could feel the tip of his cock circling around your pussy. You could come just from the feeling of that. You could feel how hard bambam was and you had no idea how he could remain so composed even though he was rock hard. You wanted him to fuck you so bad , you moved your hips back and let out a needy wine. You heard Bambam mutter “What a slut” as he moved the tip of his dick to your entrance. He pushed it in all the way in one go and you let out the loudest moan you had let out that night. 

You felt intoxicated as bambam held onto your hips tightly as he thrusted into you hard and fast. You could feel his anger and hurt through the way he was moving. Bambam pulled your hair making your back arch even more as he fucked into you. You could hear his grunts and it was all getting too much for you. Your legs couldn’t keep you up any longer as you were about to cum. 

Bambam could see that your legs were about to give out so he held you up his grip tightening around your hips as he moved his hips even faster.” Aagh im gonna cum” you say in between breaths and it was getting too hard for you to speak. You heard him hum as he sped up pushing your head into the bed as he continued to fuck you. 

With another harsh thrust you could feel Bambam reaching deep inside of you and you let out a whine as he hit your special spot. He noticed this and continue to thrust into the same spot until you screamed out his name as you came. Bambam was really close to and he slowed down a little in case you felt very sensitive.When he couldnt control himself any more he took hold of your hands putting them behind your back as he held your wrists. He fucked you even harder letting out all his built up anger and with a grunt you could feel Bambam filling you up. 

He pulled out as you collapsed onto the bed completely breathless and you both were covered in sweat .He laid down beside you not looking at you. You remained silent until he spoke “You don’t need to over work yourself. Theres no shortage of money.” You didn’t say anything as sleep was begining to take over you.You didnt know what bambam said after that as you fell into deep sleep not even caring about the argument anymore. 

Bambam looked to see if you were still awake as he wanted to apologise but he smiled when he saw you now completely asleep. He felt guilty for saying the stuff that he did but he seriously no longer had any space of his own. He moved a piece of hair that had fallen on your face and noticed how exhausted you looked. He placed a gentle kiss on you lips and got up to get a towel. 

He returned to your sleeping figure on the bed and tried to clean you as gently as possible. You were so deep in your slumber that you didn’t even move an inch as Bambam pulled your legs apart in order to clean you properly and to remove his cum from your body. After he had cleaned you up he heard the sound of your phone ringing and decided to check who it is. It was F/N. Bambam picked up the phone to hear immediately “ OMG Y/N WHERE ARE YOUU I TOLD MY MUM YOU WERE COMING TO HELP TODAYYY , SHE WAS SO EXCITED SHE EVEN-” Bambam cut her off by answering. He had realised that you were about to start working at your friends cafe.”Uh hi its bambam , Y/N’s asleep right now and she wont be coming today ill let her know you called.” Bambam was hoping your friend wouldn’t get upset that you weren’t coming. After a second F/N replied “Ah um okay let her know I called” and after that she immediately cut the phone. 

Bambam laid down next to you and let out a sigh whilst wrapping his arms around you. He smiled as he pulled you closer and mumbled “stupid” with a chuckle .”I love you” he said before he also fell asleep.

MASTERLIST

[baby-bearie]

romeo, juliet, and evites to funerals

(NOT MY GIF)

jj maybank x reader

taglist: @sunflowermotel @howdyherron @drew-starkey @maraseavey @outerbanqs @tinylatina01 @yelyahryan @loveylangdon @obxwriterfan @jjmaebank @avashroom @rewindlr @katie-avery @raekenliar @ceruleanjj @adoreyoudrews @dolanfivsosxox @heyhargrove @lashtonandmalumsbaby @beautyandthebleh @pancahke @outrbank @kiarasflowr @corleigh @poguemacking @kristineee-obx @shawnssongs @thorsangel @daniel9seavey9 @hopefultrashforanythingreally @pixelated-pogues @dpaccione @thatshiscigar @hesscott @damonsalvawhore27 @fanficscuziranout @trustfundparker @teamnick @becca-harlow @trashmouthpogues @rudys-pankow @ilovejjmaybank @tomzfrog

a/n: uh oh. back again. thank you @jjmaebank for the beta read i love u. i did switch that one tangled reference i made.

JJ hates when you’re mad at him. You won’t text him, you won’t answer your phone, if you actually see him you’d never acknowledge him, and kisses? Forget about it. You’re not exactly a lot of fun when you’re mad at JJ.

You’re currently mad at JJ.

He figured that out after about the 3rd call you failed to return, and now he’s blowing up your phone. Nearly 50 unread texts, 27 missed calls and 13 voicemails, all in a span of 2 hours.

He’s persistent, he really is. Annoyingly so. Whenever JJ upsets you, his go to plan is to just irritate you into forgiveness. He thinks you can’t ignore him forever. You’re determined to prove him wrong. It’s been 3 days, and you’re proud of yourself. This is the longest you’ve held out against his torrent of digital apologies. You want to go longer.

It didn’t take JJ long to realize what you were mad about. For at least the fourth time this month, JJ had missed your date. You had planned a day on the mainland at a local fair, but you spent last Friday waiting as the ferry came and went.

If he had just canceled, you wouldn’t be mad. But he didn’t cancel, he just texted you every half hour, just when you were ready to give it up and leave, that he was coming and to hold on. And then around 5, a good 3 hours after he said he would come, he showed up.

And then he made fun of your outfit.

“Dude, what the hell are you wearing?” He even laughed.

So you left.

It is now Monday morning, and your phone has not stopped ringing for the past 8 hours. How the hell did he manage to keep going, nonstop, for 8 hours?

You can’t deny that you miss him. Going without JJ’s touchiness is affecting you too. Last night you had to cuddle a pillow.

You’re fixing your bed when the pebbles start hitting your window.

One, two, three, four. A pause. And then at least 30 pebbles all hit the window at the same time. You huff in annoyance, rolling off your bed to unlatch the window and shove it open.

“Hi, baby.” JJ is standing on your lawn, sheepishly smiling at you. His hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck.

You quirk an eyebrow at him, unamused.

“Oh, c’mon, Y/n! You can’t still be mad at me.” “Oh, I very much can! Or could you not tell from the numerous times I called you back?” You scoff.

JJ laughs, pushing his hands out at you, as if he’s reaching for you. “See, you’re talking to me already.” “Go away, JJ!” You grit your teeth.

“No.” “Go. Away.” “I don’t want to! Not until you forgive me!” “If you stay here another second, I’m literally going to ignore you for the rest of your life. We’ll get married and have kids and I still won’t talk to you.”

JJ snorts. “That would be bad for our family.”

“I will communicate with you through our children.” “Okay, well you’re pretty, like, vocal, if you know what I mean- “JJ, you disgust me.” “so I don’t know how you plan on me puttin’ a baby in you if you won’t talk to me. Communication is key, Y/n.”

“Okay, first of all, shut the fuck up. Second of all, if you don’t get off this street in the next ten seconds, I will call John B and I will make him drag you off.” You deadpan.

“That wouldn’t even work, John B would take my side.” “I’m his favorite!” You insist.

“Okay, I’m done talking to you, goodbye forever,” You begin to close the window, and JJ shouts. “Wait, wait, Y/n, wait, I swear I will start yelling.” “Goodbye, JJ.” You shut the window and JJ sighs dramatically.

He smirks up at you through the window before he opens his mouth.

“I am hopelessly in love with Y/n Y/l/n, and I’m going to scream about it now.” He whoops. Your neighbor sticks his head out his door. JJ turns and waves at him. “She’s up there!” He shouts, pointing at your window.

You yank the curtains in front of your window and flop back on the bed.

“Y/n, oh, Y/n, parting is something something? Oh, sweet sorrow! Something, something, I never read Romeo and Juliet last year, true beauty?” He screams.

You pull another pillow on top of your head, trying to muffle JJ’s yodeling outside your window. It barely works. You can make out more half-assed Romeo and Juliet references, but you know for a fact the only version of that play he knows is the gnome one.

Eventually, he leaves. You don’t dare actually check to see if he’s gone, scared that in true JJ fashion, he’s just baiting you. But after a good 30 minutes of quiet, you know JJ’s not patient enough for this. He’s gone.

He’s not done though.

He continues to overheat your phone with calls and texts. At one point he sends you an evite to his funeral. “Rip: jj maybank. Cause of death: lack of y/n.” The invitation reads.

At least he’s getting creative.

You’re almost thankful when the clear weather turns into a thunderstorm, knocking out your power. With no wifi, there’s no JJ.

Or so you were hoping.

You’re curled up with a cup of coffee and a family sized bag of chips in front of the TV, barely paying attention to the movie playing when he starts knocking on the door.

You’re not sure who would be at your door in the middle of a storm this bad. Obviously, one boy, but even he’s not dumb enough to come all the way here in weather this bad.

Except he is dumb enough.

You swing the door open to reveal a soaked JJ, squinting in the rain and holding up a bouquet of drooping carnations. He grins at you goofily.

“JJ, you dumbass, what the hell? Get in here!” You grab his wet arm and drag him inside. Even better, he came here in the rain, in a sleeveless shirt.

“Did you get my evite? Because I’m fucking freezing. I think this is how I go.” He’s dripping all over the floor.

You throw a glare over your shoulder as you retreat to find a towel.

Once you’ve wrapped it around him and forced him into a chair, you finally get to scream at him.

“You’re- You’re infuriating, you know that?” You cry out. “You drive me insane! What am I supposed to do if you get sick? Or worse!”

“Then you could’ve sent out those evites.” He smiles hesitantly.

“I’m being serious!”

JJ gives you another toothy smile and holds out the wimpy flowers. You take them from him and immediately hit him with them, spraying water droplets across his face.

“Ow. Okay, I deserved that.” JJ holds his hands up in defense and you hit him with them again.

“Maybe I shouldn’t buy you flowers anymore!” “You’re such an asshole!”

“I’m the asshole?” JJ stands now. “Yes, you’re the asshole.” “I’m the one getting beaten up with flowers!”

“What, did you think you could just show up here with stupid flowers and your stupid face and all would be forgotten?” “Well, no, okay, kind of?” JJ doesn’t know what to say to make you happy.

“That’s not how this works. You can’t just pull some big gesture and fix everything.” “Okay, you’re right. Y/n, I’m sorry.” He grabs your shoulders to look you dead in the eyes.

“You’re sorry?” “I’m sorry.” He shakes you a little.

“You’re sorry for what?”

JJ rolls his eyes, but finishes. “I’m sorry for standing you up and then being harsh about your fashion choices. I did not mean to hurt your feelings. It will never happen again.” JJ sounds like he’s reciting from memory.

“It’s going to happen again, you loofah.” “Loofah? I feel like that’s a new one.” “But you have to apologize, JJ.”

“I tried!” JJ protests, but you cut him off.

“And not over the phone.” You give him a look.

“Okay.” His hands travel to your hips. “Next time, I’ll say I’m sorry. Not over the phone. Can I please just kiss you now?”

“Is that all you came here for?” You laugh. “Pretty much, yeah.”

JJ leans down to kiss you, and you can feel him smile against you.

You pull away, eyes still closed. “I swear, stand me up one more time and I will dump you for- “Shut up.” JJ kisses you again but you lean back. “For good.” You finish and kiss him again.

“But then how would we,” He pecks your lips between words, “have that family you were talking about.”

You tug your head back completely. “I will leave you and my imaginary family.”

JJ shakes his head at you before he looks at the tv.

“What are you even watching?” “Romeo and Juliet.”

“Wait, isn’t he supposed to be a lot shorter than that?”

[blossom-hwa]

Bloom, Bloom, Pow! |1| - CHANGMIN

Happy Valentine’s Day!!!! Please enjoy the first half of nearly 17k of pining for the boy I would be pining for if he was in my life <3 

Special thanks to @wingkkun​ for helping me come up with several parts of this story!! I don’t know how you deal with me, Kai, but I really appreciate it <3

(Suggested playlist: Bloom Bloom, DDD, and Just U by The Boyz :D)

Pairing: Changmin x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst if you squint, university!au

Triggers: cursing, alcohol

Word Count: 9.4k

Dancing with you, Changmin feels like flowers are blooming in his heart.

Part 1 | Part 2

TBZ Masterlist | Interwoven

~ you

It starts like this.

Ji Changmin is notorious for his dancing, not because he’s bad at it (he’s arguably one of the best students in the dance department), but for his habit of moonwalking through the university halls. Headphones stuck in his ears, phone in hand, he twists and twirls around campus, eyes closed in concentration or fixed on some faraway point in space, lost in the realm of his music.

And the strangest thing is, he never bumps into a single person.

Oh, he might brush against an arm or two. His fingertips might graze a shoulder with a butterfly’s touch, his feet just barely skimming over another’s shoes. But crashing into someone? Knocking into a wall? Never.

It’s fun to see, really, when you cross paths with him or when he shows up on the school Snapchat story. Even though you only know Changmin by name (Kevin talks to him, but you haven’t had the pleasure), there’s something endlessly graceful and fascinating about the way he moves, slipping through the crowded halls with the cheerful air of someone who doesn’t care about what other people around them think.

It starts with an impulse, just something to lighten up your mood. You’re walking to one of your least favorite classes (look, writing might be fun, but certainly not the way your professor teaches it) when Changmin’s bright orange mop of hair appears ahead. A slight smile creeps up your face as he comes closer, an unstoppable force parting the crowded sea of students.

An idea pops into your mind.

Trip him up.

Briefly, you question yourself. Why?

Like that meme, your brain supplies a concise answer. You gotta.

You’re grinning, moving before your mind can even process what your body has decided to do. Stepping awkwardly around a couple of other students, you place yourself right in Changmin’s path.

He twists.

You turn.

He lurches.

You step.

He flashes you a confused look, his usual faraway gaze replaced with something bemused and even slightly annoyed. For a second, you feel a flash of uncertainty – what if he doesn’t see this as the joke you mean it to be? After all, you don’t even know each other. How is he going to take this?

But he must see the teasing smile on your face and the glint in your gaze because his eyes sparkle, lips stretching wide into the brightest grin you’ve ever seen him wear. His moves take on an exaggerated cadence, arms stretching widely, legs smoothly twisting around your much less graceful feet as he twirls, just avoiding your flailing hands jokingly trying to stop him.

Changmin wins, of course. Your mediocre attempts at obstruction are nothing against his skill. As he slips away, he flashes you a smirk of farewell, leaving you with only the memory of a bright smile, graceful limbs, and an awkward dance.

You expect it to be a one-time thing. It’s so stupid when you think about it later – what the hell possessed you to do that, anyway? You’re cringing just thinking about it – so there’s no way, you tell yourself, no way that Changmin would bother to acknowledge your presence again. When you walk down the same hall a few days later and see a bright orange head of hair artfully bobbing in your direction, you just smile a bit at the residual memories.

But Changmin catches your eye, his gaze brightening when it meets yours. As the curve of his lips widens, one graceful finger twitches slightly in a tiny gesture – get over here. His eyes glint – try me.

A grin spreads across your face as you step closer. Why not?

And so, again, you dance.

. . . . .

~ changmin

Changmin doesn’t really know what makes you so special. He doesn’t know why he indulges your twists and turns, weaving in and out of your awkwardly stepping feet on the way to class. He doesn’t know why he didn’t just give you a weird look the first day you stepped into his path, avoided you as best he could and walked away.

But that would’ve erased the smile on your face, he reasons, thinking back to the memories. It would’ve extinguished the sparkle in your eye, muted the brightness of your expression into something far less brilliant. And despite the fact that Changmin barely knows who you are, has only a vague recollection of your name from when someone once called to you down the hall, in that moment, he subconsciously knew that there was nothing he would willingly do to dim your sparkle. Not a sparkle of beauty, necessarily, or of mere physical loveliness. No, in your smile, there’s something deeper, something brilliantly incandescent that strikes right into Changmin’s heart.

Other people think it’s stupid. Younghoon, for example, wonders if he’s gone absolutely nuts the first time he witnesses the dance (well, Changmin calls it a dance – Younghoon says it looks more like a cult ritual). “What the fuck was that?” he asks after you walk off, raising an extremely confused eyebrow.

Changmin just shrugs, watching your figure disappear down the hall before slipping back into his usual moonwalk. “I don’t know,” he replies honestly. “We just do it.”

“You’re so weird,” Younghoon mutters, shaking his head slightly. “Do you even know their name?”

Again, he shrugs. “Y/N, I think?”

Younghoon chokes. “You think?”

If Changmin thinks about it, it is kind of stupid. You stepped into his path in a crowded hallway and proceeded to try and trip him up, all while wearing a huge grin on your face (that Changmin thinks is beautiful, but he won’t dig into that just yet). Changmin, instead of trying to get away, decided to indulge your fun. You’ve never exchanged a single spoken word – he isn’t even sure you know his name, though he can’t really say anything because he isn’t sure he knows yours – and you’ve rarely interacted, even nonverbally, beyond a few smiles and the little confrontation that happens every Monday and Wednesday at approximately two-ten in the afternoon when the two of you walk down the same hall.

But it doesn’t feel stupid, not in the moment. It feels right, somehow, grinning as widely as his lips will allow while you try to step all over his toes. You never manage to trip him, not in those few seconds of dance, but Changmin appreciates the effort and laughs along with you, exaggerating his movements and pretending to almost fall, just to see the smile on your face grow wider.

So the stares don’t matter, not to Changmin. He can stomach the strange glances, the hidden smirks, the subtly raised phones trying to catch the scene for the school Snapchat story (anyway, if it bothers him enough, he can terrify Jaehyun into deleting it). He can shrug off Younghoon standing like a silent tree nearby, stuffing his face with bread and praying no one associates him with his squirrelly best friend, because seeing your brilliant smiles and hearing your stifled laughs are more than enough to get him through the rest of the day.

“You never smile that widely around me,” Younghoon remarks one day, “and I’m your best friend.”

Changmin just shrugs as he flashes you one last grin over the sea of students in the hall, turning back to face his friend. “Well,” he says, purposely trying to be infuriating, “there’s a reason for that.”

Younghoon whines, of course, pouting his lips in the way that wins him so many admirers around the school, but Changmin ignores it in favor of thinking about your smile, your laugh, the way your eyes sparkle and your limbs fly in your attempts to throw him off his balance.

Yes, he thinks, there’s a reason.

The reason is that your smile is more beautiful than anything he’s ever seen.

. . . . .

~ eric

Eric considers himself pretty well-versed when it comes to feelings. He’s fallen in love a lot, even with people he often doesn’t even know too well. Something just always pulls him in – a particular smile, a mischievous glint of the eye, the way they tap their pencil against their chin when deep in thought. He falls easily, quickly, and a little too hard, and as a result, he can recognize the look in his own eyes (and in others’, too) when he’s fallen head over heels for someone lovely.

He doesn’t have too many problems shooting his shot, either, which is nice. Sunwoo’s told Eric several times that he’s jealous of the way he can walk up to someone so easily and go, “Hey, I want to get to know you a little better – mind if I take you on a date?” To Eric, though, it’s just part of the process. He gets nervous, no doubt, but more often than not, if he’s courteous, he’ll at least meet a new friend, even if the feelings don’t end up being reciprocated.

When Eric slams into you on his board one day – what the fuck were you doing, anyway? Trying to trip up that wide-eyed kid with the dimples? Though to be fair, he shouldn’t be skateboarding in the halls – the first thing he notices is your pretty smile, the embarrassed grin you give him as he apologizes profusely, extending a hand to help you up. His heart thumps once.

True to himself, Eric’s ready to drop a flirty pickup line, make you laugh a little, and ask if he can get you a coffee or something to make up for the trouble. The words are forming on his lips, just about to burst from his throat when he feels a laser gaze glaring holes into his back.

Against his better judgement, Eric looks back slightly. The doe-eyed boy you were, what – interacting with? Dancing with? He needs to go over that scene in his head again – is staring back with so much concentration it looks like he wants to tear out Eric’s entire soul.

You drop Eric’s hand and he looks back, startled by the sudden lack of touch. “Don’t worry, really – I’m not hurt. Thanks for helping me up,” you say.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Your voice.

If Eric’s heart wasn’t already fluttering over your smile, it’s certainly fluttering now over your voice. God, it makes Eric want to just be your friend, at the very least. There’s a perfect mixture of warmth, gentility, and kindness in your tone, sprinkled with something so very sweet that soothes his ears.

Hell.

But by contrast, your smile is distant, like you’re thinking of something beyond the moment. Eric takes the current brief silence to look where your eyes flit off to, trying to see who you’re fixated on.

The doe-eyed boy is walking away, shifting gracefully through the group of students currently converging on the path. Your gaze follows his disappearing figure, something longing and endlessly lovely in your expression.

Ah, Eric realizes, heart sinking slightly. You’re already in love.

The memory of a gaze glaring holes into his soul briefly flashes in his mind, causing Eric’s slightly dampened smile to curl into a light smirk. 

From the looks of it, the doe-eyed boy seems to be in love with you too.

Eric looks at you again. “I’m really sorry about that,” he says honestly. “I definitely shouldn’t have been skating in the hall, but I’m glad you aren’t hurt. I hope I haven’t made you late to class?”

You shake your head, smile now focused. You’ve returned to the present. “You’re good,” you reply, briefly checking your phone. “I’ve still got a few minutes.”

“Well, just the same, if you ever want payback in some form or another, just ask around for Eric Sohn.” Picking up his board, Eric flashes you a smile, wishing slightly that your longing gaze was fixed on him, not the dimpled boy who’s long since disappeared. “I can buy you a coffee or something to make up for it.”

“Might take you up on that one of these days,” you grin. “I’m Y/N. Wanna exchange numbers so I can leech that coffee off of you?”

Heart thumping wildly, fingers tapping quickly, Eric enters his number into your phone, saving himself as Eric Sohn 💙. He hopes you don’t mind the emoji.

“Blue heart?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you take the phone back. “Not a red one?”

Can’t exactly do that when it’s clear you’re in love, he thinks, though he doesn’t say that out loud. “Nah.” He shrugs. “Figured that’d be too much. Need to get to know you a bit before I do anything more, right?”

A sweet, soft smile spreads across your lips, and Eric has to fight hard not to melt at it. “I appreciate that, Eric,” you say, pocketing your phone. The way you say his name blooms in Eric’s ears. “See you later, maybe?”

Eric knows he probably shouldn’t make judgements so quickly, but it’s hard not to believe in your sweetness with your kind voice and gentle smile. You deserve love, he decides in that moment, with the doe-eyed, dimpled boy who clearly loves you back.

Mentally, he puts a stamp of approval on the mission formulating in his brain as he nods. “See you,” he says, grinning.

Even if he isn’t the one you’ll fall in love with, he can at least help a new friend find their happiness.

. . .

~ kevin

Kevin thinks there’s a special place in hell for lovebirds who clearly like each other but won’t even consider the notion of actually talking and maybe going on a god damn date.

And there’s an extra-special little island in that ocean of fire for such lovebirds who have never spoken a single word to each other in their lives and have only communicated through stupid smiles and mushy eyes and worst of all, motherfucking mating dances.

Yes, that’s what he calls your tiptoe-tap dance-whatever-the-fuck-they-are dances with Changmin. You hit him the first time he said it out loud, but what else can he call it? There’s no other term that fits the situation nearly as well. It’s weird and strange like most mating dances are, and most importantly, the two of you are head over heels in love.

“We’re not in love!” you snap when Kevin brings it up. “How can we be in love if we haven’t even spoken once?”

Kevin nearly spits out his drink.

“You’re telling me,” he enunciates slowly once he’s recovered, “that you have never spoken to this guy, the same guy you were worrying about to me yesterday because you didn’t see him in the hall on schedule, not even once?”

When you nod yes, scowling in embarrassment, Kevin legitimately faceplants into the table. He stays there for several whole minutes, trying to digest the situation and the sheer idiocy of two of his closest friends.

Doesn’t matter. You’re clearly in love, or at least have a very hopeless, incurable crush on Ji Changmin. And if Changmin’s face is anything to go by, he’s head over heels for you too – Kevin’s never seen his friend with that big of a smile on his face or that sparkly of a look in his eyes.

He wants to vomit just thinking of it.

Okay, fine, so maybe some of this abhorrent disgust is due to the fact that Kevin is single and not exactly ready to mingle after several disastrous blind dates. Maybe some of his annoyance at your mating dances is unfounded. But in his defense, the two of you are stupid as fuck.

He’s in the middle of complaining about this mating dance phenomenon to his freshman friend, Eric Sohn, when Eric puts out a hand. “Wait, stop,” he says, halting Kevin mid-complaint. “Are you talking about Y/N and that… that guy, with, like, really round eyes and a dimple?”

Kevin’s eyes narrow. “How do you know them?”

“Well, uh, I accidentally crashed into Y/N on my board while they were doing…” Eric helplessly waves his arms around.

“The mating dance,” Kevin supplies.

“That’s a horrible name, Kevin.”

“It’s the closest thing that explains it.”

“Well, whatever.” Eric cringes. “I gave Y/N my number in case they wanted me to like, buy a coffee or something in exchange for nearly committing a murder. So that’s how I know them. Not sure of the other guy’s name, though.”

Kevin sighs. “Ji Changmin.”

“THAT’S CHANGMIN?”

“Shut up!” Kevin snaps. “Just let the whole dorm hear your screaming, won’t you?”

“Sorry,” Eric snips back, though more quietly this time. “But you all talk about how he’s scary as shit and always dancing? He wasn’t dancing when he walked off, and he looks like… I don’t know, a child? I thought he was a freshman.”

“Wait.” Kevin puts his hands on Eric’s shoulders. “You just said Changmin wasn’t dancing when he walked off?”

Eric slowly shakes his head. “I don’t think so?”

“Oh, my dude.” Kevin begins shaking Eric back and forth. Eric’s head wobbles on his neck for several seconds before he comes to his senses and knocks Kevin’s hands off of his shoulders, scowling. “Eric Sohn, you are fucked.”

“What?” Eric’s eyes immediately turn panicked. “Why?”

“Ji Changmin dances all the fucking time,” Kevin says, putting his head in his hands. How has Eric already fucked up this badly in his first year? Kevin’s a mess, but he can say he’s solidly a B-level mess, meaning he more or less has his social shit together, even if not his academia. “If he wasn’t dancing when he walked away, that means he was pissed off.”

A beat of silence. Then – “Would it help if I had a semi-sort-of plan to get him and Y/N together?”

Kevin’s head snaps up. So maybe Eric isn’t entirely clueless. “So you know they’re literally in love with each other?”

Eric rolls his eyes. “It’s so obvious,” he whines. “Why haven’t you even thought to play Cupid?”

“Because Y/N is stupid and won’t admit that they have feelings, and I haven’t talked to Changmin that much this semester because we have different classes,” Kevin groans. “They’re both so stupid.”

“Eh.” Eric gets a faraway look in his eyes. “It’s hard for a lot of people to realize they’re in love.”

Silence falls as Kevin tries to pin down the familiarly weird feeling his friend is exuding. Eric’s gaze stays faraway, fixed on some point in the metaphorical distance (he’s staring at a wall covered in tacky posters and random sketches – there’s no way he’s enamored with Kevin’s half-baked drawings of trees and scissors and shit).

He looks sad.

“Oh, Eric.” Kevin’s frustration falls away as he pulls the freshman into a hug. “You like Y/N, don’t you?”

Eric doesn’t even deny it, he’s so far past that. “It’s stupid, Kevin. I’ll get over it, I always do. It’s just a crush.”

Not for the first time in his life, Kevin wishes he had his friend’s maturity, even though he wouldn’t enjoy the root cause. Falling in love as easily as Eric does would be too hard for Kevin to deal with. “Eric Sohn, you are one of the most selfless people in the world,” he declares. “You don’t have to do this, you know? If it hurts, you don’t.”

“No, Y/N deserves love.” Eric puts his chin on Kevin’s shoulder. Kevin takes the opportunity to pat his head. “Changmin does, too, and I think they’ll find it together. God knows he was staring holes into my back while we were talking.”

Kevin thinks he’s going to melt. “You’re dumb as fuck,” he says fondly, laughing at Eric’s squawk of indignation, “but you’re sweet. Too sweet for your own good.”

“… Is that a compliment?”

“It’s whatever you want it to be.” Kevin pulls back from his friend. “Ready to play Cupid?”

Eric nods, sadness partially replaced with mischievous fire. Kevin will take that much for now. “Yeah!”

. . . . .

~ changmin

Changmin doesn’t expect to be punched in the gut when he’s going with Younghoon to get a stupid cup of coffee.

Okay, no one actually punches him. But it certainly feels that way when he sees you sitting with the skater boy kid who knocked into you the other day, talking at a table by the window.

Younghoon doesn’t notice at first, just goes up to the counter to order at the (overpriced) campus Starbucks. Changmin loiters nearby, waiting for Younghoon to get his drink and come over, all the while trying to not obviously stare at you and the other kid having an animated conversation just a few feet away.

“What’s with the pout?” Younghoon asks, trying unsuccessfully to scare Changmin with his sudden presence. His own lips turning down with his failed attempt, he follows Changmin’s gaze to the two students sitting by the windows.

“I’m not pouting,” Changmin says, pout deepening.

Younghoon nearly spills his coffee, he snorts so hard. “Sure,” he says. “I’ll just pretend you’re not moping over someone you’re head over heels for whose name you don’t even know.”

If Younghoon actually spills his coffee when Changmin elbows him in the ribs, no one can tell. The look he gives the taller boy is enough to silence him for the next half an hour, at least.

He tries to focus, he really does. Though the drinks are overpriced, Changmin won’t deny that the coffee-scented air of the Starbucks is pleasant. It’s mid-afternoon, a time when most students are in class, so it isn’t too loud, either. But despite all of this, Changmin can’t focus on psychology. His eyes keep drifting over to the table by the window, where your conversation still hasn’t ended.

“Ji Changmin.” Younghoon waves a hand in front of his face after his concentration wanes for the umpteenth time. “You came here to study.”

This time, Changmin doesn’t deny the pout that settles on his lips. “I know,” he says, genuinely upset now. He wants to focus and get this studying done, he really does, but he just can’t put his mind to it.

Younghoon sighs. “Why don’t you just try talking?” he asks, eyes flickering over to where you’re still chatting animatedly with the skater boy. God, it’s been at least half an hour – haven’t you finished your drink? Why aren’t you gone yet? Why are you still here, invisibly punching Changmin in the chest every time you smile at the skater kid?

The words slip out of Changmin’s mouth before he can stop them. “What if they’re dating?”

There’s a moment of silence. Then Changmin realizes just what he’s indirectly admitted to his best friend.

Fuck.

“Well, that’s the first step.” Younghoon reaches over and pats Changmin on his slumped head. “Admitting your feelings. Proud of you, Changmin.”

Scowling, he slaps the hand off his hair, ignoring Younghoon’s yelp of indignation. “Not funny,” he whines, putting his head back down. “What if they are?” God, he should’ve helped you up before that skater boy did, run over and given you a hand first. Now skater boy’s on a date with you and Changmin feels…

Oh, God.

He’s jealous.

Shame and embarrassment flood his face at the realization. This is gross, his mind wails. Why does he feel jealous over you, someone he’s never even spoken to? The only semblance of interest you’ve given him is your initiation of the sidewalk dance. And maybe your smile.

Changmin’s pout deepens impossibly further. Actually, you probably give your lovely smile to every person you meet. He isn’t special. In fact, he’s betting that the skater kid fell for your smile too, the smile that makes it feel like stars are raining around his feet.

“Hey, earth to Changmin?” Younghoon waves a hand in front of his face. “You good?”

“No,” he replies, burying his head in his textbook again. “Leave me alone to mope.”

Younghoon just snorts, pats his head, then goes quiet, presumably back to studying. Meanwhile, Changmin doesn’t even bother to make a pretense of looking at his book anymore. He just stares into darkness.

Feelings, he decides, fucking suck.

. . .

~ you

Eric, you come to find, is a really fun guy. He might be a little awkward, but he’s clearly got a warm heart, and with every second you spend with him, you find yourself feeling more and more comfortable in his presence. With him, an entire hour and a half pass in a flash before you check your phone and realize you have class in less than ten minutes.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize, hastily putting your things together. “Time passed so quickly. I didn’t keep you from doing anything important, did I?”

He just waves a hand. “Don’t worry!” The bright smile that’s been gracing his face this entire time grows even wider. “I don’t have a lot on my plate at the moment. It was fun talking to you.”

“Me, too.” You push your chair in. “Let’s do this again sometime? I’ll buy my own coffee, though.”

Eric’s grin makes him look like a puppy. You have the irrational urge to pat his head and coo. “Of course! See you later, Y/N.”

“See you.” Waving once, you exit the café, ready to head off to class.

Just outside the building, though, something makes you linger. You feel weird, like someone’s staring. Quickly, you look back through the window of the Starbucks. Eric’s still there, talking to a tall boy in one corner, but he isn’t looking at you.

Your gaze shifts, and invisible heat floods your cheeks as Ji Changmin stares back from behind the glass, seated at a table at the far end of the café.

He’s wearing glasses today, you notice blankly. They’re round, frame his eyes perfectly, and make him look god damn adorable.

Your heart flutters.

For a moment, you just stand there, rooted in place. What do I do here? you think desperately. What are you supposed to do when you’ve never actually spoken to him, only exchanged greetings in the form of weird dance steps (if they can even be called that) and, well, smiles?

Oh. Smiles.

Those work, you guess.

Slowly, you curl the corners of your lips into what you hope is a grin. It grows wider as Changmin smiles back, eyes crinkling and teeth showing as he waves to you from inside the café.

Your mood, already lightened by your conversation with Eric, skyrockets impossibly as you wave back, mouth splitting into a grin that stretches from ear to ear.

God, since when did just seeing Ji Changmin make you feel this happy?

In a moment of heightened stupidity, you point up to your eyes, drawing circles with your fingers in a motion that you hope indicates glasses. Changmin points to the frames on his face, and you nod, hands forming two thumbs ups, which your unthinking brain hopes will convey the fact that you really like how he looks with them on.

It feels like it should be impossible for Changmin’s smile to get any wider, but it does. Through the window, you watch him clap a hand to his mouth shyly, shoulders shaking slightly as he presumably laughs. It makes you laugh, too, and you wave one more time before walking away.

Then what you did actually hits you, and like that first time you stepped in Changmin’s path, you put your face in your hands and cringe as hard as your body will allow.

You really did that, you scold yourself. You really made circles with your fingers and gave him fucking thumbs ups because you liked his glasses.

You’re a fucking moron.

. . .

~ eric

When Eric walks up to Changmin’s table to talk to his friend, he immediately reevaluates his entire opinion of the doe-eyed boy.

His face is buried in the textbook when Eric starts approaching (which, first of all, mood). However, when he gets closer, Changmin lifts his head out of the pages and fixes him with the deadliest, pointiest glare that Eric has ever faced in his life.

Eric now sees why Kevin calls Changmin scary as fuck. The stare he gave when Eric crashed into you was nothing compared to this.

His eyes feel like daggers slowly slicing into Eric’s skin.

“Um.” Eric stops a couple feet away from the table Changmin’s sharing with the friend he needs to talk to. The friend looks up curiously, and Eric seizes the chance. “Can I, uh, talk to you? For a second?” he asks, desperately hoping they can get away from Changmin’s glare as soon as possible. “Please?”

The friend blinks once, then nods. “Be back in a minute, Changmin,” he says, about to stand up.

“Why can’t you talk to him here?”

Oh, God. If Eric wasn’t ready for the whiplash that came with seeing Changmin’s soft features versus his sharp glare, he really wasn’t ready for the soft tones of his voice contrasting with the venom blended in. Everything about Changmin, at first glance, screams innocence and sweetness.

What the fuck goes on behind that exterior?

“Um,” Eric stalls, desperately trying to think of an excuse. “I –”

“Don’t be rude, Changmin,” the friend cuts through smoothly, standing up. Eric immediately feels dwarfed by this guy’s long legs, but he doesn’t care as much as he normally might because he’s so glad he’s getting rescued. “Let’s go.”

The Starbucks isn’t large, but Eric follows the friend to a far corner, away from the table. Once they’re there, he clears his throat. “Um –”

“Are you dating them?” the tall guy interrupts. “The one you were here with before?”

Once the question settles in, Eric starts shaking his head violently. “No, no, I’m not. No. I just – well, I slammed into Y/N on my board, so I offered to buy coffee for us sometime to make up for it?” He tries to smile. “Not dating.”

“Oh, thank God.” The friend rubs his forehead. “Changmin was going to have an aneurysm.”

Well, that confirms that his near-death at the eyes of Ji Changmin wasn’t in vain. Relief and sadness run through Eric’s brain at the confirmation that yes, Changmin is head over heels for you. “Yeah, uh, I was actually going to ask about that.” He swallows. “Are you and Changmin close friends?”

A curious look. “Yeah, you could say that. Why?”

“Well, I don’t know if you know Kevin Moon, but he’s sick of watching Y/N and Changmin pine over each other without bothering to make a move,” Eric rushes out. He can still feel Changmin’s gaze boring holes into his skin. “But Kevin doesn’t have classes with Changmin this semester and he definitely hates my guts, so…” He sighs. God, this is harder than he thought it’d be. “Basically, are you tired of watching them pine, and do you have the time and energy to play Cupid with us?”

For a moment, Changmin’s friend just stands there, staring him right in the eyes Eric. Then a smirk spreads over his face. “Of course I do,” he says, now grinning like a god damn maniac. “Count me in.”

A breath of relief rushes out of Eric’s lips. “Thank God,” he mumbles. “Give me your number. We start plotting this weekend.”

His phone comes back to him with a new contact named Kim Younghoon in it. “Why are you doing this, anyway?” Changmin’s friend – Younghoon – asks as Eric puts the phone away. “What’s in it for you? Didn’t you only meet Y/N when you crashed?”

“Their pining is disgustingly obvious,” Eric says matter of factly. “I’ve been Kevin’s friend for years, and now I’m also Y/N’s. Why not alleviate both of their pain by getting them together?”

Younghoon looks at Eric, almost like he’s appraising him. Eric feels kind of like a bug under a microscope and he’s absolutely sure this tall guy is going to take back his agreement and call him weird before he suddenly smiles widely. “You’re cool,” Younghoon declares as though he’s just made a scientific discovery to rival Einstein’s photoelectric effect. “Looking forward to... whatever this is.”

With that, Eric ducks out of the café as fast as possible, leaving the smell of coffee and (thankfully) Changmin’s burning stares behind. Once outside, he pulls out his phone again and creates a group chat.

To: schemerz

Eric: younghoon and kevin say hi to each other

Kevin: hi younghoon

Younghoon: hi kevin

Step one of operation cupid is complete. Eric grins.

Eric: pack your bags boyz we begin scheming tomorrow

Younghoon: why do we need to pack bags

Younghoon: are we going somewhere

Okay, well, maybe this will take some time, Eric thinks, looking at Younghoon’s texts. But it can’t be that bad. You and Changmin are so obviously crushing on each other. It won’t take too much work to make get you two together, will it?

. . . . .

~ younghoon

Younghoon genuinely never knew that trying to get his best friend together with the person he likes could be this infuriating.

It’s not only that he has to continually reassure Changmin that no, skater boy – whose name is Eric Sohn, stop calling him skater boy, I can hear the “derogatory” even if you don’t say it out loud, Changmin – is not dating you, yes, he heard it with his own two ears, and yes, Eric said it with his own words. Saying this over and over, honestly, is annoying enough. Younghoon can deal with that, though. It’s just a product of Changmin’s own insecurity and lovesickness, nothing that he can control.

But actually trying to set the two of you up?

Torture.

They first devise a stroll at the mall, just to get you two to actually maybe talk. Kevin demands that this plan be put first because he cannot stop screaming over the fact that the two of you are so whipped but haven’t spoken a single word to each other ever.

Which, honestly, same. But at least Younghoon doesn’t yell about it in the group chat.

(Sometimes, looking at all of the capital letters in Kevin’s messages gives him a headache.)

The plan is to invite both you and Changmin to the mall, then ditch so the two of you will maybe actually exchange a few words with each other by the end of the day. It’s going pretty well – both of you have agreed to go, completely unaware that the other is showing up – but then you have to cancel because of a sudden quiz you need to study for the next day.

Well, fine. Younghoon just ends up shopping with Changmin for the entire afternoon (Eric still ditches for obvious reasons – cough, Changmin, cough – and Kevin has to study for the same quiz, which he curses about endlessly in the group chat for an entire day). Not a big deal. Younghoon likes clothes, and against his better judgement, he likes Changmin.

So no harm done. Besides, there’s always next time, right?

Wrong.

The university dance team has a concert coming up that Kevin begs you to go to, all under the guise of supposedly supporting one of his friends, Juyeon. When you show up at the venue, Younghoon can still tell you’re confused over why you’re there – you don’t really know Juyeon, he hears you hiss to Kevin, so what’s going on? – but you seem nice enough. Friendly enough. Younghoon likes you immediately. 

This plan isn’t as straightforward as the mall-ditching one. A certain Ji Changmin is one of the best dancers on the team, so he has his own solo halfway through the show. Younghoon proposes that Kevin force you to show up so you can melt over Changmin’s performance and either profess your love right then and there (which is the ideal case) or at least compliment the dancer on his skills. Either way, it gets the two of you to talk.

So, suffice to say, Younghoon is pissed when his well thought-out, perfectly structured plan falls apart when you have to leave before the end of the entire show because your roommate needs you to do something or the other that is somehow more important than you confessing your undying love for Changmin.

(Nothing, he complains later in the group chat, could be more important than that. Not even your roommate nearly setting the whole dorm on fire. Eric might beg to disagree, but Younghoon will just tell him to beg.)

Well, it kind of works out. Your roommate’s fuckup doesn’t happen until after Changmin’s performance, and Younghoon gets a front row seat to your jaw literally dropping when he comes onstage and starts dancing the way his dance major body always does. Younghoon legitimately thinks he could pick stars out of your eyes, the way you’re staring at Changmin. And even though you have a hand over your mouth, he can easily tell you’re smiling like no tomorrow.

So Younghoon gets the satisfaction of both seeing your reaction to Changmin’s performance and telling Changmin that his crush watched him dance. The wave of shock that immediately crawls up his best friend’s face makes Younghoon want to cackle and shake his head at the same time. It gets even better when Younghoon relates the look on your face as you watched and the compliments you told him to pass on.

Changmin has never smiled that widely or that shyly, ever. As his best friend since childhood, Younghoon will attest to that. It’s amazing and offensive and slightly gross.

God, Changmin’s whipped.

But this small success doesn’t make up for half of the entire plan that failed. You and Changmin still didn’t talk, after all, even if you fell even deeper in disgusting love. So Kevin advocates for a return to the simple method of making plans and ditching.

This time, it’s a movie that the schemer line (hey, Younghoon came up with that name – he thinks it’s a damn sight better than Kevin’s “The Boyz,” regardless of what the younger boy says) plans to ditch you two at. Kevin suggests horror, mainly because he’s not going to be there to watch it, but also because of the ages-old cliché where you’ll probably get scared and hold Changmin’s hand or some shit.

(Younghoon knows it won’t be the other way around not because of some sexist idiocy, but because Changmin laughs at possession and ghosts and keeps horror movie masks in his room to scare his friends with. He thinks Annabelle and Chucky are cute. Worst case scenario, you happen to enjoy horror too, and the two of you bond over your weird interests. Which isn’t even a worst case scenario, because you two will talk, and that’s the whole point of the plan.)

They really think it’s going to work this time. Kevin reports you arriving on time to the theater and immediately runs off so you won’t see him and start asking questions like why he’s hiding behind the potted bushes outside a nearby bistro. Younghoon and Eric wait with bated breath at the campus café for any last-minute updates before Kevin gets back.

When Kevin actually shows up at the café, having taken the bus back from the theater, they’re about to celebrate a plan finally completed. Younghoon thinks he’s going to start screaming from relief.

Then a text shows up on Kevin’s phone from you, asking why he never showed up.

Panic.

When they finally get their minds together, Kevin rattles something off about a family emergency and a call he had to take, which gets you off his back for a bit. But then he asks if you actually went to see the movie anyway.

It turns out you left fifteen minutes later when no one showed up.

No one.

Meaning Changmin never got there either.

Eric slams his head on the table. Kevin looks like he’s about to explode. Younghoon himself is about to throw his drink at something when he gets a text from Changmin mere minutes later, asking where he is and why no one’s at the theater.

breadhoon: it’s so late?? why didn’t you text earlier??

qminnie: the bus was late :/// why isn’t anyone here? I know it’s not just because the theater is dark, I walked around all the seats and couldn’t find you or kevin

Kevin starts screaming.

As Eric’s shoving a yelling Kevin out of the café and apologizing to the baristas, Younghoon just fires off a quick excuse to Changmin, who’s apparently still at the theater – I’m really sorry, my dad called about something and it ran super late, just watch the movie and let me know how it is – all the while internally screaming as loudly as Kevin physically is in this moment.

Later that evening, Kevin texts the group chat with the question on all of their minds.

moon boy: how is it that all of our plans fucking failed

Younghoon just wants to jump off the top of his dorm building.

It turns out that Eric, despite being the youngest of the three of them, has the most brain cells. He proposes something so simple but with the potential to be so effective that it blows Younghoon’s mind.

“Well, if ditching them to be alone doesn’t work, we might as well just be there,” he reasons over morning cups of coffee (courtesy of Kevin, who lost rock paper scissors and is still pouting over it). “Someone throws a party, we all show up, and we can play, like, mafia. Or truth or dare or whatever. That’ll get them to interact, probably.”

It’s a beautiful plan. Younghoon hugs the younger boy and proclaims him the smartest freshman he’s ever met (“I’m pretty sure I’m the only freshman you’ve talked to this year, Younghoon.”). Kevin praises the higher beings for the seven tenths of a working brain cell that Eric holds.

They work out the details quickly. Sangyeon will host the party – he holds one every other month anyway, so it won’t be too much trouble to let him know what’s going on. Besides, his parties are usually pretty controlled, so less risk of someone doing something illegal and freaking everyone out. Younghoon, of course, will bring Changmin. Kevin will bring you and Eric. In turn, Eric says he’s going to bring his friend, Sunwoo, because, quote unquote, “I need a freshman to keep me sane after dealing with you messes of upperclassmen.”

(Well. He has a point. Younghoon may look put together, but the only things that register in his thoughts most of the time are anime and bread. Kevin doesn’t even bother looking put together, which only speaks volumes about his level of brain chaos.)

“If this doesn’t work,” Kevin declares the moment they finish hashing out the plan, “I’m going to drown myself in one of the fountains.”

“It will work,” Eric says, determined. “It has to.”

Younghoon doesn’t say anything. All of their past failures have taught him to keep his mouth shut. However, if this plan fails, he’ll gladly jump into a fountain with Kevin and inhale water up his nose.

. . . . .

~ you

“You’re not going to ditch me, are you?” you ask for the umpteenth time, narrowing your eyes once more at your (now exasperated) friend.

“No,” Kevin groans, rubbing his temples. “I’m not going to ditch you, and for the last time, there were emergencies, okay?”

You want to give them the benefit of the doubt, you really do. Especially Eric – there’s no way he would do anything malicious to you on purpose (meanwhile, if Kevin was mad enough, he just might), he’s just too sweet. But first Kevin dragged you to this dance show that you’ve never been to before, which was weird enough, and the timing for that last movie cancellation was too coincidental to not be suspicious. If it was just him cancelling, you might not question it, but none of the three showed up.

Kevin’s planning something, probably with Eric and Younghoon. You just don’t know what.

“Uh huh.” You make sure to show your disbelief in those two words as you walk up the steps to Sangyeon’s house. “Damn, it’s been a long time since I’ve been here.”

“It’s so big,” Eric says from behind where he’s finally caught up to you two. His friend, Sunwoo, lingers quietly at his side, though his wide eyes betray his amazement.

“I always forget how big this place is,” Kevin agrees, ringing the doorbell. “Just stay on the ground floor, though, it’s not too bad. And watch your drinks. Sangyeon’s parties are usually pretty chill, but anything could happen.”

You snort. “Yes, Mom,” you mock, just as the host himself opens the door. “Hey, Sangyeon!”

“Y/N!” He pulls you and Kevin in for a short hug, then smiles at the visibly nervous freshmen standing behind you two. “Oh, hi! You must be Eric and Sunwoo, right?”

They just nod, still awed. Kevin stifles a snort as your lips curl into a fond smile – it’s weird to remember that you used to be a freshman just like them,. There isn’t much more time to think, though, because Sangyeon quickly ushers the four of you inside and all of your thoughts drown in the party’s chaos.

A couple of hours pass in mind-numbing peace. Kevin mixes you an atrocious cocktail that you pour down the sink when he isn’t looking. You watch Jacob shake his hips on the dance floor while Kevin twerks to Beyoncé. Even Eric and Sunwoo, who were originally just hovering around you, loosen up after a shot or two and find someone else they know to talk to, a freshman whose name you’re pretty sure is Hyunjoon.

Things are going well, you think in your tipsy haze. No one’s thrown up yet, no one’s passed out (well, Felix looks pretty sleepy, but he’s a sleepy drunk – how much Jisung already managed to give him to drink, you aren’t sure), and best of all, no one’s done anything stupid that’ll go viral on the school’s Snapchat. This is nice.

Then Kevin grabs you by the wrist, done twerking, and hollers unintelligible words in your ear as he drags you to the edge of the dance floor. He says more, but all you catch is “watch” and a yelled “YOUNG BOON.” Or something like that. 

Confused, you just try not to spill your drink as Kevin pushes you through the crowd that’s forming in the living room. There’s a lot of yelling and cheering as the music changes, and then someone gets pushed to the middle of the dance floor.

A hand flies to your mouth.

It’s Changmin.

“Kevin,” you hiss. “Kevin! That’s Changmin!”

Even drunk, your friend manages to give you the most judgmental look you’ve ever seen. “No shit, Sherlock,” he snaps. “Just watch!”

For a moment, Changmin just stands in the middle of the circle that’s formed, eyes wide and doe-like (and absolutely fucking adorable, even under the red lighting). Then something in him shifts – it nearly gives you whiplash – and the dancer Changmin you saw that day Kevin dragged you to the concert comes out in full force.

It’s short, his performance, much shorter than the five-minute long solo he had at the concert. But holy fuck, it’s explosive. Even the smallest flicks of his fingers seem to send off sparks of light, red glinting off his face and the buttons on his shirt.

He has you captivated, so much so that you don’t register Kevin shifting until he’s positioned almost directly behind you. Changmin’s dance is winding down, a softer look coming back into his previously focused eyes, and everyone’s cheering and starting to clap before a harsh shove sends you sprawling forward.

For a moment, you stand right in front of Changmin, eyes undoubtedly wide with confusion as the situation filters through your muddled brain. Embarrassment begins to spread through your body as people begin to chant, “DANCE! DANCE! DANCE!”

Fuck. 

This must have been Kevin’s plan.

Whipping your head around, you try to find and glare at your friend (you’re seriously rethinking that title), but he’s already disappeared. You then try to shrink back into the crowd, but they don’t let you. Someone plucks the cup from your hand, erasing your last excuse for leaving the circle of screaming partygoers as you look around desperately for a way out.

Then a hand extends into your vision, fingers twitching in a gesture you’ve come to associate with a certain person at a certain time at a certain place, two ten p.m. on Mondays and Wednesdays just inside the literature building.

Slowly, you look up to see Changmin shyly smiling back, eyes glinting in the way you’ve come to (not so) secretly adore.

A grin unconsciously spreads across your face as he launches back into his dance, more laid-back and flowy this time, much like the moonwalks he does down the halls at school. Almost on instinct, you lurch into his space, barely managing to brush over his foot as he nimbly steps away.

On a normal day, the dance you do is already messy and weird to passersby – you’ve made your way onto at least one of the university Snapchat stories already – so you can’t imagine how this looks in the moment. It must seem so uncoordinated, especially with your limbs loose with alcohol (Changmin still moves as steadily as ever, what the fuck) and the fact that you can’t really see where you’re stepping in the dim red light of the room. But it doesn’t matter – Changmin’s grinning so widely and you’re laughing, really laughing, loud enough to overpower what you think is Kevin’s yelling (it sounds something like “WHY ARE YOU DOING YOUR FUCKING MATING DANCE AND NOT DANCING LIKE A NORMAL PERSON?”, so it must be him), and everyone’s cheering and clapping and even though you can see a few phones being pulled out, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t fucking matter. All that matters is your fingers brushing against Changmin’s, his laugh ringing in your ear, and the smiles on your faces until –

Until Changmin grabs your outstretched hand, tangling his fingers in yours, and encircles your waist with his free hand before dipping you down until his face hovers just a foot above yours.

Someone’s screaming, someone that definitely sounds like Kevin, but you can’t process it. Everything feels like you’re underwater – muffled, blurred, indecipherable. All you can think of is how fast your heart is beating, how hot your face feels, and how intensely Changmin is staring into your eyes.

Holy shit.

You can barely breathe.

When Changmin eventually lets you up to screams and hoots, your knees almost buckle. If not for his fingers still entangled in yours, you probably would’ve collapsed, but he seems to sense this and grips your hand even tighter.

The smile can’t leave your face, even though it turns smaller and shyer as the crowd disperses and you’re left holding Changmin’s hand for no reason. You should let go, probably, but you don’t want to, and Changmin doesn’t seem uncomfortable with it either. Still, the physical link between you two only grows more and more obvious as the two of you stand in silence, unable or unwilling to speak.

Changmin finally breaks it. “Hi,” he says in this voice that legitimately makes you want to crumble into the ground. It’s soft, it’s sweet, it’s something entirely uncharacteristic yet at the same time so fitting for the boy who just danced his heart out on Sangyeon’s living room floor. “I’m Changmin.”

Your voice leaves you, and the minute you take to find it feels like an eternity. These are your first words to him, your mind screams – don’t say anything stupid!

Staring into his sparkling doe eyes, you swallow hard before saying your first words to the boy who may or may not have already stolen your heart.

“Hi,” you say, smile threatening to grow even wider, wide enough to split your face. “I’m Y/N.”

. . .

~ changmin

He’s only heard three words from you, but Changmin thinks he could drown in your voice. It’s lovely, smooth in a way that flows over his body like warm spring rain. Willingly, he would stand under the shower of your gentle tones, putting his face to the sky and letting your words wash over him, soothing his skin.

Vaguely, his mind tells him that it’s way too early to start waxing poetic about your voice. You’ve only spoken three words to him, for fuck’s sake – what is he even doing?

A whisper that sounds suspiciously like Younghoon floats through his brain. You’re whipped.

Well. He just might be.

“Isn’t this kind of weird?” you suddenly say, jerking Changmin out of his you-induced haze. The smile on your face is a little embarrassed, now, and he catches you glancing at your fingers still linked with his. Briefly, he wonders if he should let go – he’s the one who first grabbed your hand, after all, what if you’re uncomfortable? – but you don’t seem to hate it. If anything, your smile grows a little shyer.

Changmin may think horror movie dolls are cute, but your smile is even cuter. He might melt right then and there.

Belatedly, he realizes you’re looking at him, waiting for a response. “Um – weird?” he replies, praying that his voice doesn’t crack.

(It doesn’t, not this time. Thank the lord.)

You look down again, this time at your feet. Probably out of embarrassment. “I mean,” you say, silvery voice tickling Changmin’s ears, “we’ve been interacting for at least several months.” The full force of your smile hits Changmin as you raise your head. “But we’ve barely spoken a word to each other.” When you laugh, he hears bells. “Isn’t that strange?”

“Well, when you put it that way, yeah.” Changmin giggles (yes, he fucking giggles, what the hell, why can’t he sound any cooler than he really is?). “But I think it was lucky. Well, I think I was lucky to meet you.”

He wasn’t supposed to say that out loud. He wasn’t fucking supposed to say that – what’s wrong with him? He used to be so good at watching his words – but at least, despite his embarrassment at having revealed this part of him, he gets to see you flustered. It’s adorable, he thinks, so much more adorable than anything else in the world. “How come you, um, stepped in my way that first time?” he asks, genuinely curious.

Changmin doesn’t expect the embarrassed snort that comes out of your mouth, but it makes him laugh. “You know that meme, the one where it’s like ‘why are you doing this?’ and your brain just says ‘you gotta?’” Rolling your eyes slightly, you snicker. “That’s what went through my mind. You never bump into anyone, so, well, someone had to try to mess you up.”

Changmin’s going to print a hundred copies of that meme and tape them all over his dorm. He will never be so grateful for a stinking Internet horcrux in his entire life.

Well, okay, he’s probably exaggerating. But still.

“That’s mean,” he says, purposely pouting his lips. “Why would you want to mess me up?”

You elbow his ribs, giggling. “Someone has to bring the king down at some point.”

Changmin’s about to take advantage of his current burst of confidence to respond to that – “You think I’m the king?” – and possibly fluster you even more, but someone’s yelling “LOVEBIRDS!” in a voice that sounds a little too much like Kevin’s. Both of you turn around instinctively, which probably only fuels the lovebird fire (though Changmin can’t bring himself to care at the moment).

“WE’RE PLAYING MAFIA!” someone else – is that Jaehyun? Probably – yells. “GET OVER HERE!”

“Mafia?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “That…”

Changmin can hear the exasperated apprehension in your voice. He hears it in his own whenever his friend group gets together to play the game. “Let’s just see what happens,” he suggests, trying hard not to melt when you look over at him. “Someone might do something stupid?”

Your laughter sounds like sparkles, wind chimes twinkling in the breeze. Changmin wonders what he wouldn’t give to hear it for the rest of his life. “You’re right, you’re right.” Glancing once more (and smiling a little wider) at your still-linked hands, you jerk your head in your friends’ direction. “Shall we?”

As he nods, Changmin privately thinks that there’s nothing in the world that could dissuade him from following you.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for this stupid oblivious couple GOD)

[jimlingss]

Sugar and Coffee [22.5]

Back to Chapter 22

Words: 2729 || The Ultimate Mini-Chapter of the series

“You’re working in a grocery store now?” Taehyung asks with raised brows, surprise taking hold. He never imagined his friend being a produce boy, yet it seems fitting somehow. “Isn’t working in the bakery section more suitable?”   Jimin shrugs. “I didn’t get to pick, but the job is pretty relaxed, so I’m not that worried. My manager is really nice and I’ll probably quit when I find a real position after graduating.”   “Nice, dude.” They fist pump. “Now you can buy me my deli meats all the time.”   “You’ll have to reimburse me, Tae.” The boy with his full cheeks has his eyes crinkled.   The two boys have known each other since their elementary days — where Taehyung kept stealing Jimin’s books and pencils until one day the timid latter had enough and tackled the former on the playground. They stuck together after that, finding that their personalities balanced. It would only be later until they met Yoongi in math class, Hoseok in Jimin’s extracurricular, and Jungkook during an outside volunteering event in High School.    It was how the four of them came to be, how they naturally formed a friendship over the course of time and still remain close after so many years. So Taehyung has no hesitation when his phone starts blowing up with notifications and immediately verbalizes his woes—   “Oh shit.”   “What?” Jimin abandons the game he’s playing. He’s never been good at them like the rest were.    “Yuna found me on instagram,” Taehyung grimaces. “She just added me and liked all my pics since three years ago.”   Jimin bursts out laughing much to his best friend’s dismay. “She’s the girl Y/N and Jungkook was showing around, right?”   “Yeah, that sixteen year old.”   The shorter man’s brows furrow. “Isn’t she eighteen?”   “Same thing.” Taehyung sighs despite the fact that he’s only twenty himself and Jimin muses that he often acts twelve. But he doesn’t utter his thoughts and Taehyung tosses his device onto the couch. “She kind of scares me.”   “Why?” Jimin gives a toothy grin. “She’s tiny.”   “Haven’t you heard what Yoongi said? The shorter ones are always the ones closer to hell.” It’s a fair point. “The smallest peppers are always the spiciest, am I right?”   “Fuck off, it’s about girth not length.” He ignores how Taehyung’s brows wiggle. “Didn’t she ask you out before she left?”   “Yep.”   “What did you even do? She wasn’t like that to me or Hoseok.”   “Exactly. I have no clue.” Taehyung would make a joke about he’s just naturally irresistible but this is no time to joke around. Yuna is undeniably intimidating and a serious threat to his existence. “I heard from Y/N that she’s thinking of coming here, so thank god we’re all graduating in a few months.”   “Yeah, well you might need another semester with the grades you have.”   “Bro.” Taehyung sits up straight. “You want to fight?”   He shrugs. “I’m just saying you can’t get away with a thirty percent in nutrition.”   “Fuck. Don’t remind me. I need to catch up on my readings.”   “Same here.”   Yet no one moves. They don’t even flinch.    The two should crack open their textbooks and start reading — but Taehyung’s arm only stretches to grab a controller and join the game Jimin’s in.   The night continues on as the two relish in their youth and ability to be irresponsible without repercussions. Or at least too many repercussions.

The air of the small coffee shop is tense. It is as if the four walls are closing in, but still, she’s glad that it’s a public setting. She can’t bear if it was just her and him. At least in public, there are voices to fill in the background silence and the threat of public embarrassment keeps her from crying, from having an outburst.   It’s difficult to face someone she used to care so much about. To this day, she still doesn’t know what she felt can be called love. But the fact that she has to contemplate it, she’s inclined to think that it’s not. But that doesn’t mean their short and sweet relationship was any less meaningful. He was her best friend for so long after all.   Aeri swallows hard, sipping her drink. She tries not to get the paper cup to shake so much in her clammy hands and ends up putting it back on the table when she realizes she can’t taste it well.   After another beat, she lifts her eyes to look at his and realizes that he’s been staring at her.   Aeri breaks the silence. “Why’d you call me here, Hoseok?”   “I thought it would be nice to talk.”   “About what?”   “Us.”   Closure. He came here for closure, but she’s not sure what kind of closure he wants or how he wants to shut this bittersweet chapter of their lives.   “What about u-us?” She hates that her voice breaks, but oddly enough, it isn’t as painful as it was a few weeks ago. A few weeks ago, she would’ve never been able to face him like this, wouldn’t be able to even look at him without crying. It seems like as time goes by, it becomes easier.   “I’m sorry.”   He says in a weakened tone that hurts her as well.   “Don’t apologize, Hoseok.”   “No, but I want to. I’ve been thinking about it a lot — and what we had….it was good.”   “It was.” Aeri smiles. “Wasn’t it?”   He nods, eased at her openness, that she’s not defensive or angry like he thought she would be. Like she has the right to be. “I don’t think I tried hard enough to make it work.”   “I didn’t either, so don’t blame yourself alone,” Aeri says, a tiny smile tugs on her lips. She accepts his apology. “I had my part to play in it too.”   “I didn’t want to hurt you.”   “I didn’t either. But it’s okay, Hoseok. We just weren’t right for each other.”   He nods. It goes silent. He musters a tender smile. “Truce?”   “Truce.” The girl giggles when they shake hands across the small table. “You still owe me ten dollars when I lent you gas money.”   “Oh, you’re really going to bring that up now?”   “Of course,” Aeri laughs. “Fair is fair.”   It’s hard to be acquainted with someone who used to be so much closer. Someone who has so many memories — good ones and hurtful ones. And often times the end can never be the same as the beginning.   For the rest of their lives, Aeri knows that she’ll always keep Hoseok at a distance, at an arm’s reach, for the sake of her own heart and self-preservation. But she considered herself one of the lucky ones — that they have a mutual understanding, that they can still see each other, and can still have some semblance of a platonic friendship.   She’s lucky when she knows that the two of them will never revert to being complete strangers.

Min Yoongi is a man of many things.   He is quiet, but deadly. He is grumpy and lethargic, but will go out of his way to make someone’s life miserable and has the biggest smile when he sees suffering. He had the most joy when Taehyung stubbed his toe against the doorframe, when Jimin was last place during Smash.   Most of all, he’s an enigma. Lazy, yet the hardest working. Mean and snarky, yet always willing to lend an ear and shoulder. Indifferent and aloof, yet the one who never fails to react first in a crisis.   But of all things...you never expected him to be clingy.   “So this is what you do all day?” Yoongi gestures to the clutter on the kitchen counter, the wires and gum paste rolled out, styrofoam and toothpicks, small brushes and petal dust shades. “You practice making flowers and then go home to suck Jungkook’s dick?”   “Excuse me.” You scoff. “I practice making cakes too.”   “You’re fun.”   “If you don’t like it, then leave me alone,” you mutter out of the corner of your mouth, concentrating back on the rose you’re working on. “Why are you hanging out with me anyway?”   “Because it’s you or Taehyung right now and I’d rather spend time with you than Taehyung.”   “What’s wrong with Taehyung?”   “He’s Taehyung.”   A light scoff falls out of your mouth. You know the motherfucker has a soft spot for him, but he can say whatever he wants. He’ll deny it even if you confronted him. “Want to make flowers?” you offer.   “Nope.”   Min Yoongi would rather fiddle with kitchen materials and spin around on the stool than brush up on sugar flowers, piping flowers or fondant flowers. But you don’t have the time or energy to argue.   You do, however, show off once you’re finished. “What do you think?”   He hums as he looks at your finished product. “Not half bad, I guess. I’ve seen worse.”   It’s not the greatest compliment in the world but you’ll take it especially since it’s coming from him. You’ve noticed in the time you’ve known Yoongi that he has a difficult time praising others. He always tries to work around it, skirting through the subject, never verbalizing his feelings despite being such a straightforward person.   It never fails to be entertaining to watch.   You grin. “If my relationship with Jungkook ever goes to shit, we’d still be friends, wouldn’t we, Yoongi?”   “Sure,” he mumbles while resting his elbow on the counter, cheek in his palm lazily. “But your relationship with Kook won’t ever go to shit. Kid’s too whipped for you.”   Your smile only widens. “He is, isn’t he?”   “You are too,” he says when you attempt to exclude yourself. “It’s gross to watch, but whatever.”   “You need someone in your life too, Min. Maybe you’d be less bitter all the time.” It’s not that he’s bitter, but you like to tease that he is since you know it grinds his gears. “I have a cousin of a cousin who’s around our age. Want to meet her?”   His expression wrinkles like he just bit into a lemon. Yoongi sits upright. “First of all, fuck you. I’m not bitter — I’m just me, bitch. Secondly, I don’t want to meet anyone, much less your cousin. And last of all, you’re becoming worse than Taehyung.”   “Maybe this is an invitation for you to leave then.” You grin cheekily at Yoongi and it doesn’t amuse him. It’s unfortunate he doesn’t have a soft spot for you like Jungkook does. “And don’t call me a bitch. Only Jungkook’s allowed to do that in bed.”   “I didn’t need to know that.” Yoongi’s face crumples more and he waves at you. “Just stop talking and continue what you’re doing.”   Min Yoongi is an enigma and someone you relate to the most. Often times you feel him on a spiritual level. And in spite of what he might think internally, he’s a great friend.    He’s logical, reasonable, the clarity that the whole group usually needs before they think doing dumb shit, like jumping off the roof of the dining center into a pile of snow beneath, is a good idea. He’s hilarious in a sarcastic, snarky way and cares the most when no one’s looking.   He reminds you of an older brother who will always watch your back — and he makes you glad that both you and Jungkook have him in your life.

Jungkook had a dream.   It was odd — only because it felt so real and how it still sticks into his mind hours later. Usually dreams fade away like memories of childhoods where he can’t distinguish people, actions, his own thoughts but generally what had occurred and the feeling he had obtained.   But Jungkook remembers this dream well.    It was a dream where he wobbled to the kitchen in this small house with wooden floorboards and hideous wallpaper, his home, and found you by the window above the sink. Only, you were old with gray hair and wrinkles around your face, an apron tied around your body that was shorter and more sluggish. And his own hands were wrinkled like crumpled paper, round glasses perched on his nose, his movements slowed down as he staggered.   You had turned around and complained about the damn neighbour kids ruining your garden with their littering and he had to calm you down for fear of you getting a heart attack. It was so entirely mundane, and he had never been more confused when he awoke.   “Jungkook!” His mother shouts over the phone. “Are you still here?” Her voice sounds farther away. “Honey, the phone’s broken again! I can’t hear him!”   The boy snaps back to attention. “No, I’m here! Mom? Hello?”   But neither of his parents hear him. Instead, there’s rustling and the sound of his father’s voice. “Give me that. Hello?”   “Hello?” Jungkook sighs.   “Hello?! Goddammit, I just fixed this old thing yesterday!”   “No, I’m right here!” He has to strain his voice, shouting loud enough that could warrant complaints from the people next door. “I can hear you!”   “Honey, is that you?” His mom calls out again and there’s more rustling. “Where’s the speakerphone? Oh, here. Hello?”   For the tenth time, Jungkook exclaims— “Hello!”   “Finally. I thought the phone was broken again.” Both his parents start discussing the phone issues and Jungkook nurses his headache before the conversation gets back on track again. “Have you been eating well?”   “I’ve been fine, mom.”   “Good! Your grandma’s visiting and she’s been so worried about you. It’s not good to do all that exercise and not eat well! You’ll burn all your fat and just be skin and bones!” There’s the sound of his grandma’s voice at the back that he can’t distinguish well enough to make out what she’s saying. “Anyhow, your aunt and uncle send their regards. We’ll be visiting their home this time for the Holiday season come December. Also Lia and Eunbi wanted to ask if Y/N will be coming home with you.”   “Uh.” Jungkook scratches the back of his neck. “I’m not sure yet.”   “Oh, well, do bring her, dear.”   His dad suddenly says, “Heaven knows, your mom and grandma can’t stop talking about how great she is. If she comes by, I’ll fire up the grill and we can have a barbecue too!”   “Yeah, we’ll see,” he exhales sharply.   Jungkook still hasn’t announced to his family that he’s dating you yet. If you agree to come back with him for Christmas, he’ll probably make it known to them but he can’t even fathom the many more times they’ll call if they knew. God, they would probably call you directly and he would rather spare you from their smothering love.   Suddenly a thought creeps into Jungkook’s mind. “Hey, mom. Can I talk to grandma for a second?”   “Sure! Mom! He’s here.” He can hear the phone getting passed, more buttons accidentally being pressed, and his grandma’s voice sounds closer as if she accidentally turned off the speakerphone.    “Hello? Kookie, is that you?”   They exchange the usual back and forth, asking about each other’s well-being and wishing one another good health. His grandma also tells him to bring you around some time when he comes home and how lovely you are — but he doesn’t need to hear it. Jungkook’s already long learnt that.   “Hey, grandma.” He finally approaches the question he’s been meaning to ask. Slow and hesitant, but he manages. “What was it like to grow old with grandpa?”   He can practically hear the soft smile on her face. “Oh, it was wonderful.” There’s a pause as if the aged woman is looking for a word to exactly describe her experience. Though she finally seems to be able to find it. “It was a privilege.”   A privilege.   That’s the perfect word. It encapsulates his dream entirely.    It was sad to be aged, to see you tired, to feel weighed down himself and slower than what he’s used to. But when he looked at you, he didn’t just see an old woman — he saw the snarky girl he knew of in high school, the attractive girl he daydreamed about for so long, the one he’s with now. And the one who will join him for so many more memories.   Even if it was just a dream, Jungkook’s excited to make it a reality.

[powerosewaterpuff]

yk so i was watching bmw (boy meets world :) ) while procrastinating an essay so oF COURSE i decided to write some more of my reverse robin au (that pertains to jason being the oldest of the batkids w/ him and dick growing up together) except fLUFF bc i cannot handle angst rn (oR cOulD I wE wiLL nEvER kNoWwwW)

oh and disclaimer there may be several medical inaccuracies so please feel free to correct me :)

jason often gets night terrors, ones that can get particularly awful when bruce goes on an overnight business trip. so one night bruce is in new york after being forced into it by lucius, with dick being adopted for some time now. dick was awake because he was having trouble sleeping, for no real particular reason in all honesty. he heard a short yell though, coming from the room next to him and he dashed over, tripping over his blanket and still gripping zitka tightly. he knew that he wasn’t supposed to fight yet, but he doesn’t really think about that as he yanked jason’s door open.

he then saw his brother laying on his side, turning back and forth, breathing heavily looking so visibly pained it was hurting dick. he rushed over to jason, his eyes darting around because he just didn’t know what to do. taking his chances he tapped jason’s shoulder gently, and he already felt like it wasn’t the right move but he sucked it up and tried again, only this time to some result. jason shot up, gripping on tightly to dick’s arm, his eyes hazy and unfocused and his chest heaving.

dick remained still, only slowly trying to push jason off of him and back into his bed. jason’s grip didn’t let but he laid back in bed, squeezing his eyes tightly as if he was trying to push away everything he had just witnessed. dick took this as an initiative to gently climb into bed, as jason fell back into a less violent but equally as stressful sleep. he placed zitka next to jason, who still hasn’t let go of his arm, and awkwardly sat up in bed, almost acting as a protector. slowly, dick began to doze off, feeling a lot more comforted in his brothers prescence then he had been in his own room.

jason on the other hand, doesn’t remember much of that night, as he rarely fully remembers any of his night terrors (only the scars they leave behind), but when he wakes up at the ass crack of dawn with a few fragments of something he would prefer not to remember, he puts it together rather quickly. he guessed it would happen, and he could’ve told bruce and he knew the guy would drop anything in a heartbeat, but that pissed him off, more so then it justifiably should. he wasn’t a child and he hadn’t been a child for a long fucking time, and it was stupid that he couldn’t deal with a single night without bruce. jason then turned onto his side, disgruntled with a new found rage directed at himself that he might take out on someone else, when he found dick, sleeping at an awkward position.

he was leaning on the headboard, but was slumped down and drooling a bit, which would have been hilarious blackmail material on any other given day. but today, jason felt a pit in his stomach. the only rational thought that his mind could conjure in its fear muddled frenzy was please tell me i didn’t hurt dick, pleasepleasepleaseplease. he quickly checked over dick’s face, cupping his checks and looking for any signs of a bruise. he had given bruce a particularly nasty one earlier in his tenure at the manor, after bruce attempted to restrain him while he was having a night terror so he could avoid hurting himself, instead jason kicked him in the jaw. he even felt bad about it the next day, which was an odd surprise for him at the time.

after checking over dick hasilty, he could see he wasn’t all that hurt, even though if he looked hard enough he could see inklings of nail shaped markings in dick’s right arm just under his shirt sleeve. jason felt a bit of bile rising up, as he gently shifted dick into a better sleeping position, and pulled the blanket up to his chin and slipped a pillow underneath him. dick opened his bleary eyes, mumbling jason’s name in question, and squinting his eyes. jason rolled his eyes but nodded, “yeah, it’s me. now sleep–why’re you shaking yer head? you don’ wanna sleep? too bad.” jason pressed another pillow onto the side of dicks face in a teasing attempt to smother him to sleep, but dick only proceeded to giggle, and snuggle closer to jason, who had sat up already. jason tossed the pillow to the side after a few seconds of play fighting, dick was going to be too sleepy to remember this break in the ‘teasing older brother’ façade. so, he ran his hand through his little brothers hair and laid back down, tracing soft circles into dick’s scalp absentmindedly. and feeling a rush of gratitude that bruce had brought this little circus boy into his life. he really didn’t know what he would do without his little brother. (needless to say, dick became a constant comforter in jason’s night terrors).

jason blames dick for everything. if a vase got knocked over, it was a dick. if the tv wasn’t working, dick had been playing with the satellite. if his phone was missing, dick stole it to play games. if his sweater had a stain, you better bet it was dick. the boy in question, of course, adamantly denies these facts and does have a way of persuading bruce (he is the golden child after all, jason could testify to that), but bruce also knows both of his boys are annoyingly good liars. so every incident is treated like a little miniature crime scene, and it never fails to make jason howl in laughter at dick explaining how he couldn’t have possibly used up jason’s shampoo because he has his own washroom with his own shampoo and so w h y jason w h y would i steal your shampoo. (jason’s usual response is a deadpanned ‘why wouldn’t you’, and that just gives bruce another headache as the two bicker on and on and on.)

the pair of them usually go biking together, and it’s usually quite tranquil to start. until dick makes a sly comment that jason’s old bones must be so tired from cycling, so why not take a break? jason snide reponse is how the fuck are you touching the pedals with your stubby ass legs. that’s really all it takes for them to delve into a full on biking race. it never really ends well, but the two always come out rolling in laughter so whose to complain.

dick thinks real housewives of beverly hills is better then new jersey, and jason is adamant that new jersey is superior in every shape and way. the two agree that atlanta is the absolute winner no matter what though.

jason is dick’s english tutor. and it’s safe to say that it’s an experience. dick already knew a fair amount of english growing up, his father had been a wonderful teacher but it wasn’t exactly up to gotham academy standards apparently (jason knew the feeling) and his accent was still quite prevalent to have him be considered an esl kid, so jason ended up being his tutor once dick started going to english class at school and after his time with an esl instructor. jason, who has an untapped passion for literature that not many can match, is absolutely dedicated to teaching dick, because fuck man this is genius! genius, dick! and dick isn’t exactly a fan, but he does secretly think jason should be a teacher, he’s better then any of the teachers he’s had that’s for sure (his father would’ve really loved jason too, that was also for sure). and dick is considering buying him a little briefcase with his little initials on it. ((it happens, and jason tries really really hard not to cry))

bruce is absolutely that parent that secretly takes pictures of every single moment possible. he isn’t a photographer, in any sense, but he likes to capture natural moments, and he has a series of pictures dedicated to the one trip him and the boys took to Barbados where he started this habit. he wasn’t and still isn’t a big fan of beaches, they’re hot, crowded and just too much for bruce to feel any kind of comfortable in. he remembers sitting under a floppy beach umbrella, feeling the knot in his chest sit heavily on his heart, fire ants scurrying across the underlining of his skin, burning under the side stares of those passing by. it wasn’t until he caught a glimpse of dick riding on jason’s little shoulders, as they trotted around waist deep in the clear ocean water, that the fist squeezing his heart like the rotten fruit it was began to ease. he glanced down at the camera that alfred had subtly slipped into their bag after dicks insistence, and lifted it up to fiddle with it slightly. then raised it up to take a swift picture. capturing jason mid laughter as he leaned back, in a joking attempt to shake dick off who was in the middle of a yelp but had entrenched his hands in jason’s mop of curly hair. it was hilarious imperfect, but bruce would not want it any other way. not at all.

(jason found it once. he saw the picture at the corner of his eye sitting by the keyboard of the ‘Batcomputer’ ((dick was so shitty with names, thank god he didn’t come up with flippy man as his code name )), and he hesitated for a moment before hastily grabbing it. examining it with an unexpected amount of gentleness, he rubbed his thumb against the glass above dick’s hands in his hair and felt something snake around his heart. slowly and methodically seeping into it until he felt like he couldn’t fucking breathe. then he heard damian trotting down the stairs as he explained the details of his anthropology class to dick who was hopping down behind him. jason shoves the picture back and grits his teeth together to ignore the sting that was absolutely not in his eyes)

aAAAND THATS ALL!! i’ve had these in my notes for a while so it’s relief to get them out there hehe so i really hope y’all enjoy ive legit been falling in love with this reverse au bC THERE IS SO MUCH POTENTIAL U G H IVE NEVER BEEN EXCITED TO WRITE SHIT UNTIL NOW SO Y A Y FOR INSPIRATION

Y A Y :)

[weasleypogues]

caught (j.b.r)

so thankfully someone pointed out to me that i completely misread a request and mixed it up so here is a sistermaybank x john b!! im so sorry to whoever requested it but i hope u enjoy this one!!

i kinda got a little carried away and made this very long so bear with me

master list.

having jj maybank as your older brother came with everything you would expect. you did crazy shit with no repercussions or care. but there were other times where you would balance each other out because, at one point, someone had to use their senses and be the rational sibling. you two shared so much in your life that it was difficult to even think of doing things without him by your side.

however, one of those things you did without him was to date his best friend, john b. but hey, it’s not like you and john b weren’t friends initially either. when jj and john b first became friends, you weened yourself right in like the annoying little sister because you admired your brother and were basically attached at the hip. you liked the idea of having your own personal bodyguards but that didn’t mean that you couldn’t rock someone’s shit when you got the chance. but most of the time you preferred love not war, unlike jj.

when you and john b first got together, it felt like walking on eggshells. you’d tread lightly and watch your words carefully around jj and the rest of the pogues. yes, you trusted kie and pope with your lives, but it wasn’t fair to make them carry around that secret for the sake of your relationship. you weren’t sure why you kept it a secret from jj. i mean if he chose john b to be his best friend, that had to mean that jj found john b’s qualities and loyalty worthwhile and admirable. 

what you wouldn’t admit to john b, and barely wanted to admit to yourself was a different reason to not tell jj. because jj wasn’t the only person you were keeping this a secret from. you wouldn’t dare tell your father that you were dating someone. because someway, somehow, he would make that the reason to stir the pot to you, jj, or both. you would hate yourself if you were the reason for another bruise on your or jj’s body. so, altogether you decided it was best to keep it a secret to prevent anyone from getting hurt. 

it was a saturday morning when you woke up to a text from john b, you smiled to yourself at the mere thought of him. meet me at the chateau in an hour. you quickly hopped out of bed and went to pack a bag for the day. as you weaved through empty beer bottles and random trash on the floor, you tiptoed to not wake your father up. you peaked quietly into jj’s room and saw he was passed out as well, taking a mental note to leave him a post-it or send him a text to wake up to to let him know you were going to be gone when he woke up. 

after brushing your teeth and throwing on a bathing suit and a pair of shorts, all you needed was your phone and a water bottle from the fridge. treading lightly on the creaky floors, you began to walk towards the kitchen until you heard footsteps from behind you. your hands got sweaty and your heart sunk into your stomach.

“where you goin’ this early in the morning?” you father said to you in a husky and slurred voice. 

“just out with a friend on their boat for the day.” you responded with a slight smile to play it nonchalantly. if your father saw anything but a content look on your face, you knew he would pick apart your emotions and facial expression if you didn’t act like everything was a-okay. 

“who’s this friend?” your father interrogated, with an unpleased look on his face. you soon came to realize that no matter how normal you acted, he would still be the same old jerk no matter what. “is it a friend that left this in your room a couple of days ago? because i sure as hell know this don’t belong to you.” 

you saw his hand lift up a dirty and slightly faded black bandana, wrapped around his knuckles. fuck. 

“oh my friend gave it to me one day actually-” you responded quickly and nervously. it felt like your body went numb because you knew that there was no way in hell that this situation would end well.

“don’t lie to me, (y/n)!” your father yelled, with a look on his face that you knew too well but it would still leave you frozen in fear. it seemed a lot of the time that jj was the one to fight back because jj could take punches here and there and put on a front for everybody. you weren’t gifted with easily putting on a facade like he was so you would try your absolute hardest to extend the argument long enough that eventually your father would just knock out from the alcohol and that would be the end of it. 

“what the hell is going on?” jj walked out of his room with a tank top and shorts on, rubbing his eyes to get adjusted to the extreme sunlight in the living room. 

“is this yours, boy?!” your father raised the bandana higher and his face got redder as his eyes pierced themselves into jj’s path. jj quickly shook his head. he has no idea why his father brought this up to him but jj had no other reason to lie about it not being john b’s because yet again, no one knew of what was happening between you and john b.

“it’s john b’s.” jj answered, almost like a cadet to a colonel, following orders and meaning no disprespect. although jj wanted to disrespect his father to the end of the world for everything he put you two through. however, once those words came out of jj’s mouth you knew everything from here on out would be completely downhill. 

“it was in your sisters room actually.” you didn’t dare look around at jj. you could only handle one glare at a time from this family. although, you were surprised to hear jj back you up.

“dad, she can do what she wants.” jj responded, with no emotion to not set him off. however, whatever anyone responded with was going to stir the pot. 

“don’t talk back to me, you little shit!” you father huskily shouted at your brother. he took a couple steps towards jj and you knew this was going to get physical. you allowed the tears to well up in your eyes for the millionth time if your life because of him. 

you quickly whipped around and your blurry vision made it hard to see who was throwing what punches. it wasn’t until one loud thud to the ground was when you realize that jj had knocked your father out and looked up at you, blood dripping from his lip and nose. 

“let’s get out of here.” jj blankly stated and you nodded quickly as you ran to get your backpack and phone and basically booked it, trailing behind jj’s footsteps. you figured that his feet were taking him to the exact place that john b had told you to meet him: the chateau. you weren’t sure if this was the best idea or the worst. jj used the chateau as his safe space after things would get bad with your dad but you weren’t sure if that was the case this time or he was on a mission to find out why john b’s bandana was found in your room. 

you anxiously picked at your cuticles with your hands to your sides, nervous to hear the first word that would be spoken between you two. but you knew it had to come eventually but you didn’t know if you had the guts to be the first one.

“explain to me why the bandana was in your room.” jj asked, his voice softer than you expected but when you looked slightly up at him, his jaw was clenched and his eyes stayed darted in front of him as you two continued to walk. 

“i don’t know how you want me to answer this.” you responded, with your head slightly down because if jj looked over at you, you couldn’t look him in the eyes after he took a beating because your dad decided to snoop in your room. 

you weren’t sure how long you were walking and how long the pauses were in between each thing spoken but you ended up at john b’s house in no time. your eyes glanced up as you saw your boyfriend hop down his front steps and give you two a smile before his faced dropped seeing 1. your terrified face, 2. jj’s bruised and bloody face, and 3. the fact that he only invited his girlfriend over so why was his best friend here looking like he was going to rock his shit? 

“uhh, hey guys...” john b greeted, unsure how to approach the situation. when his eyes flickered to yours for a split second, you just gave him wide eyes back because you too were unsure about how to even begin. 

“are you dating my fucking sister?” jj asked, shoving john b slightly. john b stumbled behind as his jaw slightly dropped and he put his hands up in defense. this was your cue to go and try to break it up.

“no man! i mean yes but like we can explain!” john b responded, seemingly coming up with the worst responses ever when confronted with something like this. you weened your way to stand in between them.

“yes jj, we are dating! can you let us explain?” you practically yelled because you knew if you spoke in a normal tone, that anything you say would not get through to him because of the blood pounding in his ears from adrenaline. and because he would probably ignore you regardless. 

“no! there’s nothing to explain. this is clearly a secret you two fucking kept from me for how long? a month? two months? more? jesus christ if it’s any more i’m punching your teeth in, john b.” jj exclaimed, as his jaw clenched even harder and the veins on his forhead became more prominent. 

“just two months! okay?! can we all calm down and talk about this like regular people?” you slightly pushed jj, not letting him get any closer to john b. you were always afraid of this outcome but you never pictured it being like this. “you can’t just go around hitting people when things don’t go your way! just pull a ‘dad’ while your at it and beat the shit out of your best friend.” 

“don’t bring dad into this (y/n).” jj said through clenched teeth, although his face softened at the idea of you comparing him to your father. it was jj’s fear to resemble any quality that your father had and to hear that come out of his little sisters mouth hurt him. 

“look i didn’t mean it like you were dad. but clearly it doesn’t work when you both think violence is the answer. so can we just sit down and we’ll explain everything to you?” you asked, your voice softening as you threw your hands to the side in defeat. jj took a deep breath in before flickering his eyes between you and john b. he just nodded in silence and he lead the way to john b’s front porch and sat on the couch. jj simply waved his hand in the air, prompting you two to explain. 

you took a deep breath and let everything spill. you and john b had kept the secret from him because you were scared of how he was going to react. you two basically kept it a secret from everyone to spare them any stress. and you spilled to the both of them that you were keeping it a major secret because if somehow, someway, word got back to your father that you were dating someone, he would lose his shit. 

“look, me and john b didn’t plan for this to be the way you found out. and i didn’t plan for this to be the way that dad found out. and if i could go back i’d tell you immediately to save you from what happened back there. but i can’t. just know that i love you and john b. you’re my brother for fuck’s sake. your feelings matter the world to me but i also wanted to take myself into perspective and make myself happy. we aren’t doing this to punish you whatsoever, i did it because i can’t see myself dating anyone else.”

and with that you grabbed john b’s hand and rubbed your thumb back and forth on the back of his while he squeezed yours in response. jj lifted his hat and ran his fingers through his hair with his free ones and let out a deep breath he had been holding in.

“i really love your sister, man. i would die than let anything hurt her and would beat myself up if i was the one who did. i couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.” john b said, with the most sincere tone. a long, deafening silence followed and you felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest.

“look...you guys are going to have to let me get used to this. i know you guys’ve been together for a while but ease it up in front of me, this is all just like super weird for me right now. i guess i should be happy that it’s john b and not some douchebag kook.” jj responded, rubbing his hand over his face because he felt overwhelmed. “and as for dad, i’m sorry it went that way. but next time there’s a secret like this, you can tell me. i’m blood for fucks sake.” 

you gave your older brother a small smile and nod before getting up and taking a couple steps towards him. your approach quickly prompted him up and you pulled him in for a hug. 

“not too much pda in front of me also. and i’m keeping a hawks eye watch on you, john b. thin ice, brother, thin ice.” jj said, pointing his two fingers to his eyes and that pointing them at john b. you laughed and slightly shoved jj.

“gotcha, bro.” john b responded chuckling and than gave jj a bro shake. 

“soo... boat day?” you spoke up sheepishly, hoping to start the day fresh as you gave puppy-dog eyes to your brother and boyfriend. 

“you call kie, i’ll call pope and then we’ll head out.” jj answered as you excitedly pulled out your phone to call kie. as you placed the ringing phone up to your ear you felt a kiss on the top of your head and an arm snake around your waist.

“at least it’s out of the way now.” john b whispered to you, as you nodded and looked up at him before kissing him. 

[wxsuthorn]

a sort of organised analysis of The Gifted characters

pt. 1: Pang

(this analysis includes episodes 1-13 of season one and 1-7 of season two, so it probably isn’t completely accurate, but i tried my best. also please excuse grammar or spelling errors that i might’ve made cuz i write these late at night when my creativity sparks lmao)

Characteristics and qualities in the beginning of season 1

Even in the very first episode, Pang already showed some idealistic qualities. He always thought that the school system wasn’t fair, and he always tried doing the right thing (or what he thought was the right thing). His idealism wasn’t as extreme in the very beginning of the show, since he wasn’t as confident in his abilities. He probably didn’t have much interest in changing the school system when he (and the people around him) saw him as a dumb kid from classroom 8. Getting into the Gifted Program was what affected his idealism to the point where it became a fault.

Before he discovered his potential, he was most likely very confused about his “academic rank”. He was in classroom 8, yet he was in the Gifted Program... but he hadn’t found his potential yet. I can imagine him questioning his worth and how significant he really was; he was also one of the first kids in the gifted class to outwardly express how they felt about the unfair treatment of the ordinary students compared to the gifted students. This was probably because he got to experience both ends of the unequal treatment, unlike the rest of his gifted classmates.

In terms of intelligence, Pang is street smart. In episode one he thought of a distraction to not get caught stealing the test. He also used the egg drop parachute to save his phone. He is innovative and can create ideas and identify problems. In episode one (again), he noticed that Wave was sweating and seemed weak. He also noticed Ohm’s bloody nose and Mon moving a locker full of weights. He was aware of shit... but he’s not very aware of other people’s feelings... at least not fully.

Pang’s friendship with Nac hits different after the pangwave fight but anyways... Pang knew that he didn’t use the cheat sheet, and he couldn’t tell Nac anything about the Gifted Program, so he probably didn’t fully understand why Nac was so upset when he technically did nothing wrong. Nac even said he wasn’t upset that Pang was in the Gifted Program. I think that’s why Pang never talked it out with him and just kinda exploded at him. Even though he may see himself as empathetic, it’s really just him being idealistic. He mistakes his ideals about equality for empathy, when, in fact, those are two separate things. When it comes to individual people, I don’t think he’s very good at understanding them thoroughly enough. Nac’s reasons for being upset with Pang are realistic and valid. He’s in class 1, Pang’s in class 8, yet Pang was the one who got into the Gifted Program. Nac gave Pang a cheat sheet, and even though Pang denies using it, he couldn’t really believe that he got in with the grades he has. And on top of that, Pang doesn’t even tell him what happens in the class. Nac feels used and excluded, but Pang wasn’t paying attention to that. He ended up blaming the unfair system, which was just a factor of the conflict, but never took a moment to look at what he himself could’ve done to help the conflict, or even what he might’ve done wrong. but issokay cuz pang is a smol bean and i love him

Characteristics and qualities in the middle - the end of season 1

Lets talk about Pang discovering his potential in episode 6. He first noticed it when he told Nac to bang his head on a metal bar. This wasn’t the first time he used his potential on Nac, though. In the first episode he used it on him and said something like “don’t talk to me ever again”, and so Nac didn’t communicate with again him until episode 6. This was when Pang used his potential on him saying “why can’t we just talk it out?” and Nac was finally able to communicate his frustration. Nac was blaming Pang for shit he didn’t do and it was unreasonable, according to Pang, but Nac didn’t know the full story. If you look at the way Nac sees things: Pang is in the Gifted Program, Pang used me to get into the program (because there’s no way he just got in without using my cheat sheet), I got punished when Wave provoked me and Pang tried playing hero, as if he was some perfect angel. Pang has new friends, he has no use for me anymore, I don’t need him either, I find new friends, Pang suddenly joins in, everything goes haywire, my anger and frustration towards him explodes, and he just ignores what I’m feeling and tells me that I’m wrong and that I’m an asshole. Like I did something wrong, and he’s perfectly innocent. Lmao Nac is salty af. And he has a good reason to be. Pang doesn’t understand Nac’s thinking, and on top of that, he makes almost no effort to understand. His beliefs blind him into thinking he’s done no wrong.

Now lets talk about his actual potential, and how it affects him. His ego and self esteem rises, but Pang doesn’t notice it. It’s explained in the end of season 1 that the reason Pang lost is because he wanted to do everything on his own because he thought that only he was able to defeat the director. His ideals and his ego are very closely connected. Pang teams up with Wave because he thinks that Wave will be the most useful to stop Director Supot. Now, I don’t think Pang doesn’t care about his friends, but his actions are neglectful. When Pang teams up with Wave, he tells none of his other friends about what he’s doing. He doesn’t tell Namtaan or Ohm, literally his two closest friends, and convinces himself that he’s doing it to protect them. News flash, he isn’t. He’s trying to be a hero. His ego rapidly increasing might be because of how he was constantly ridiculed when he was in classroom 8, and suddenly he gets this power that makes him “superior” to ordinary people. Another possibility is that his ego was already big, but we he only showed it/applied it when he was trying to take down Director Supot.

Now lets talk about the season 1 finale: Pang becomes aware of his ego through the director foiling his plan and humiliating him. This is a big part of his development as a character. Ofc in season 2 he still has a problem with neglecting and doing things solo, but he become a little more aware, and for 2 whole year’s he’s able to somewhat-effectively lead the gifted gang in their fight against the anti-gifted.

Characteristics and qualities in season two (up until episode 7) 

Lets discuss: Ms Darin. aka ms loser. Remember in the beginning of episode 7 where he trusted her cuz of what she said and he noticed her actions (oop remember this trait from before? he’s aware of shit!), but it turned out it was all lies. He eventually got back on track after Third showed him the truth, and was smart enough not to trust Ms. Darin after that. I wanna guess that the reason he started trusting Ms. Darin so easily (other than what she said and did) is because he was in distress from failing Korn and Time. He needed some support, and he wouldn’t let his friends support him because “im a hero blah blah blah i dont wanna worry my friends they dont need to help me with my burdens cuz i can do it on my own :D” season 1 Pang type shit. Ms. Darin was an adult who seemed trustworthy enough, plus Director Supot was gone, and he was the main antagonist in season 1, so isn’t everything only gonna get better now that he’s gone? Plus when Grace said that he sounds like the adults lksdjlkjslfjjsdf THAT HIT ME.

Now I wanna talk about him with Chanon. I’m praying that Chanon is pure and not corrupted because if he is he might’ve used Pang and might do so in the future too... but let’s not focus on that. Pang finally has a mentor-figure in his life that he looks up. Someone to balance out his ego and show him that he can’t do everything on his own. yeah that’s all i have to say about that.

Punn. “You’re done, Pang.” Yeah lets talk about that because holy mcnuggets. Punn knows Pang well enough to know how intensely idealistic and passionate he is. Once the director is gone, Punn is like, bitch u got nothing else to obsess over MOVE ON. He’s basically saying Pang’s existence was so heavily tied with fixing the school system that when eveything’s fixed, he’ll be “done.” It’s similar to Five from the Umbrella Academy, where his whole life was set on fixing the apocalypse that he felt that life had no meaning without an apocalypse to prevent.

Now let’s talk about PangWave... I truly believe that Pang sees Wave as his equal, as his friend, and as a person whom he cares for deeply. His ego and idealism, topped with all the stress he’s going through (by himself), are dangerous towards his relationships. Wave feels used by Pang, and explains how Pang only comes to him when he needs his help, and avoids him when he disagrees with what Pang thinks. Pang is so fixated on his ideals and beliefs that he will do anything to make sure they become a reality. He’s obsessed, and it’s sooooo bad for his relationships with others. It shows that even on Namtaan’s bday, he can only think about “doing the right thing”, because that’s his number 1 priority. PANG JUST GIVE URSELF A BREAK PLEASE TAKE A METAL HEALTH DAY JUST SLKJFLSDKJJD MEDITATE OR SMTH.

I could type for several hours longer but I think this is enough word vomit for this post.

Summary

- VERY IDEALISTIC !!!! TO A FAULT

- He has somewhat of an inflated ego, but uses his ideals and beliefs to cover it up and convince himself that he is a “good person”

- He overworks his brain by never thinking of himself or other people’s emotions and focuses on his idealistic goals and his idealistic goals ONLY.

- He’s very aware of the things’s around him, and is street smart, but he’s not as aware when it comes to other people’s feelings and thoughts.

- He cares for his friends, but his extreme idealism ends up hurting them, and in turn hurting himself and further encouraging him to self-isolate.

- Independent, but this is mostly due to him thinking that he can handle problems on his own and he doesn’t want to get others involved.

- He is becoming more aware of his wrong actions, hence him apologising to Wave about going after Korn without him, but not enough to actually prevent these wrong actions.

- didn’t talk about this much but GUILT!!! I can tell that he feels immense guilt (especially in the latest episodes) whenever one of his friends get hurt and he’s very involved in what got them hurt. However, when it comes to hurting people emotionally, his guilt is tricky to read. At least for me it is lmao. Cuz he doesn’t always fully understand his friends’ feelings because he can’t always admit that he’s done something wrong, but with the recent pangwave fight he definitely felt some type of guilt there. Or maybe it was frustration? idk skjdflajsdfl someone else step in on this one pls

- He needs rest and a mental break. And some therapy maybe? Like please can one caring adult help this poor child.

- His character is actually pretty consistent wow the writing in this show is great.

- a cute boi who needs a hug. Preferably from Wave and/or Ohm.

[yikeswtfmate]

(1) New Message from Unknown Number

main masterlist // (1) New Message Masterlist // next part

Summary: Y/N is drunk and can’t remember her ex’s number.

A/N: Hello, it is I, the idiot who writes Social Media AUs when she’s drunk but is too lazy to put them in the proper format and just leaves them to die somewhere on her laptop

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Social Media AU - that’s a lie, it’s actually just texts in Word format 🤡)

Warnings: swearing, dumbassery

Unknown Number: Hey asshat so listen

Unknown Number: I kno we hvnt spoken since like

Unknown Number: High school but whateve idc

Unknown Number: U’re an asshle so I dnt even care that its like…

Unknown Number: 3 in the morning nvrmd

Unknown Number: Ive ben dared to txt my hottest ex by these evil witchS so

Unknown Number: Here u go

Unknown Number: At least u had decent abs so congrats on tht jfc

Unknown Number:  also u dnt get to complain abt this txt bc like

Unknown Number: u dated me for 6 months on a dare so U KNOW WHat this shuold feel like ya

Unknown Number: Wow dude that sounds like a dick move

Unknown Number: Seriously who the hell dates someone for 6 months on a dare?

Unknown Number: Doesn’t that only happen in movies though?

Unknown Number: hey bitchass dont act like u don’t kno what im talkinG abt

Unknown Number: Oh shit yeah, sorry. I don’t know who this asshole of an ex is but I sure as hell am not him

Unknown Number: Dude sounds like a complete waste of human space

Unknown Number: And I think I wouldn’t get to live it down if my friends would hear I did something that shitty

Unknown Number: Wait lemme ask Sam

Unknown Number: Nah, he says Steve would’ve beaten my ass if I were to do that so there u go

Unknown Number: m sorry who tf are u

Unknown Number: Bucky

Unknown Number: what kind of stupid name is bucky

Unknown Number: Shit man, u’re the one blowing up my phone at 3 in the morning, sending me weird ass messages when I don’t even know u and u dare say my name is stupid???

Unknown Number: Sheit srry

Unknown Number: Is been A long night

Unknown Number: nd week

Unknown Number: Actlly make thAt the whle entire fuckin month

Girl with asshole ex: Srry fr bothering u

Unknown Number: It‘s cool

Girl with asshole ex: Hey the witches ask if ure hot

Bonky: Yeah

Girl with asshole ex: WHAT THE FCK MAN AT LEST BE A LIL BIT HUMBLE SMH

Bonky: U wanted me to lie?

Girl with asshole ex: Fair point

Girl with asshole ex: They wnt a pic

Girl with asshole ex: Pic or it didn’t happen punk

Girl with asshole ex: Tht was nat

Bonky: What kind of party are u at that you can constantly text me?

Girl with asshole ex: Wanda’s place

Girl with asshole ex: Girls night

Girl with asshole ex: Getting hammered on wine BITCH

Girl with asshole ex: Also dnt change the subject

Bonky: I don’t even know your name

Girl with asshole ex: Why would I tell u my name I just want to see a suppsdly hot asssd

Bonky: You know mine and now you want me to send u a pic of me

Bonky: Bit of a disadvantage here babe

Girl with asshole ex: Babe?

Girl with asshole ex: BABE?

Girl with asshole ex: Fine

Girl with asshole ex: BABE if I tell u my name will u send a pic of u so we kno u arnt a 60yr old perv

Bonky: I’ll think about it

Girl with asshole ex: Hey fuck u

Girl with asshole ex: Not fair

Bonky: How do I know you’re not the 60yr old perv?

Girl with asshole ex: Cuz she got big tiddies to prove

Girl with asshole ex: And that was wanda

Girl with asshole ex: So now u know my fridsn

Bonky: Still don’t know your name tho babe

Bonky: Also tell Wanda she shouldn’t give out this type of info to strangers

Girl with asshole ex: ure not a stranger anymore bonky

Girl with asshole ex: ure my babe nao

Bonky: I’m going to let that Bonky slide just bc u’re cute

Bonky: But I’m also going to stop replying until you tell me your name

Girl with asshole ex: U think im cute?

Girl with asshole ex: 

Girl with asshole ex: I mean u havnt even seen me but thats fair

Girl with asshole ex: Wand and nat say its true so ill believe u rnt lying to me rn

Girl with asshole ex: But I wanna see if ure cute

Girl with asshole ex: Wait why r u up st 3 in the mrng I mean we re drunk but wht r u doing

Girl with asshole ex: Babe u need to take better care of urself

Girl with asshole ex: Babe

Girl with asshole ex: Babe?

Girl with asshole ex: BABE?

Girl with asshole ex: Ph shit ure actually ignoring me

Girl with asshole ex: I dont like this

Girl with asshole ex: I actually like talking to u

Girl with asshole ex: Pls stop ignoring me

Girl with asshole ex: COME BACK AND LOBE ME

Girl with asshole ex: Babe?

Girl with asshole ex: Fine

Girl with asshole ex: It’s Y/N

Bonky: Now, that wasn’t so hard was it? 

Babe: fcuk u

Bonky: I’m up at 3 bc we ordered pizza and decided it’s time to beat Sam’s ass in Mario Kart once and for all

Babe: Nd how’s that going for ya?

Bonky: Bitch has been beating us for the past 3 hours

Bonky: Thor is the only one getting at least close to him now so we’re about to give up

Babe: Wait shit how r u replying so fast if ure playing Mario kart tho

Bonky: I gave up two hours ago

Babe: Quitter

Bonky: Just gotta know which fights to pick babe

Babe: Heads up I might be fallin asleep soon

Bonky: Drink some water before that, maybe get some food in u as well to soak up all the alcohol and have an advil close for tomorrow

Babe: Ok MOM

Bonky: Hey Wanda willingly told me you have “big tiddies” so your friends don’t seem to be doing a good job of taking care of you

Bonky: Might as well let me do it so you don’t die tmrw

Babe: Ohhhh so u careeeee babe im touched

Babe: Kkkkkk Ill talk tu u tmrw ill be dead soon

Babe: Nd I do have big tiddies

Bonky: Good night babe

*

Babe: What the shit

Bonky: I see you survived

Babe: Barely

Babe: My head might explode soon and I feel like I’ve vomited for an entire lifetime

Babe: TMI sorry

Bonky: I’d like to point out I’m glad I don’t have to decipher your texts anymore and that you can actually spell properly

Babe: Fuck you Buckaroo

Bonky: I would also like to remind you that I have on good authority that you have “big tiddies” so don’t make me use that against you

Babe: I am going to kill Wanda

Babe:Ugh I need coffee

Babe: I’ll talk to you later

Bonky: I’ll be waiting for you babe

*

Babe: So

Babe: BABE

Bonky: Yes baby?

Babe: 

Bonky: Nah, you love it

Babe: Fine

Babe: You still haven’t sent a pic of you though. I might be able to rise Nat and Wanda from the dead if you do

Bonky: What do I get in return?

Babe: The promise that I will keep replying even though you might turn out to be an ugly orc?

Bonky: Not enough

Babe: Fine. I’ll keep talking to you until you want me to stop. Or until I get bored of you

Bonky: Eh, you can do better

Babe: What do you WANT?

Bonky: A pic of you in return

Babe: I’m not sending you nudes, perv

Bonky: If I wanted to see you naked and be a dick about it, I could’ve asked last night, don’t worry

Bonky: But if you’ll know how I look it’s only fair I should know how you look

Babe: That sounds reasonable

Bonky: I’d say it’s a fair exchange

Babe: Fine, you first then

Bonky: If you don’t send me a pic of you afterwards babe I will stop replying, just so you know

Bonky:

Babe: Did you type super hot guy with the most beautiful eyes in the world in Google or something?

Bonky: I’m touched but no. Sam took that photo at a work event

Babe: Bitch do you really expect me to believe this is you? That looks like a guy who just stepped out of a magazine, I highly doubt I would have the luck to text him instead of my ex when drunk

Bonky:

Bonky: Are you always this annoying?

Babe: …

Bonky: What? Do you want me to take a selfie with the fucking newspaper now? I read the news online babe, I’m not getting off of this couch just so I can buy a stupid newspaper to prove it’s me

Babe: Do you have one in a suit?

Bonky: …why am I putting up with this?

Bonky: Hold on

Bonky:

Bonky: It’s been 5 minutes, are you going to reply?

Bonky: You still have to send me a picture of you though, a deal is a deal you know

Bonky: Fine, I warned you

Babe: Shit sorry

Babe: Hi Bucky, this is Natasha

Bonky: Hi Natasha. Is Y/N alright?

Babe: Uhm how should I put this?

Babe: Y/N is crying right now and she can’t reply herself

Bonky: What? What happened? Is she okay?

Babe: Oh yeah

Babe: She’s just crying because (and I’m quoting here) you’re “so beautiful, it’s like all my wet dreams and fantasies have come together. I swear this is some cosmic joke, this is not happening”

Babe: I’m not sure if she’s laughing or crying now

Babe: But she keeps yelling at me that I have to send you the most perfect picture of herself that has ever existed or you will stop talking to her

Babe: I think she started crying again because “I will never live up to that level of perfection, he told me that I have to know which fights to pick”

Babe: Uh yeah so here

Babe: 1 Photo Attached

Bonky: Hey Nat, could you tell Y/N that I would like to talk to her now?

Babe: Sure

Babe: Hey

Bonky: Baby?

Babe: Yeah?

Bonky: You picked the wrong fight if you think “you will never live up to this level of perfection”

Babe: Oh God

Bonky: Stop being an idiot

Bonky: And listen to me

Bonky: I would really like to keep talking to you. Mainly because you’re an idiot who makes me laugh, but it’s also the fact that you are the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen in my entire life

Babe:

[innittowinit]

Abandoned amusement parks are the best place for young children (Chapter 19)

Fic summary: 

Techno, Tommy, Wilbur and Phil have been hanging out at the abandoned amusement park in the woods since they moved in. Techno likes knowing he's definitely alone with his brothers Tommy likes climbing on the old rides Wilbur likes having a place to play his music Phil likes spending time with his younger brothers

That is, until a group of brothers calling themselves the 'dream team' move in down the road. Will the sleepy boys give in and share the park or will they succeed in scaring the new kids off?

Chapter summary:

Eret's been acting...strange Techno senses somethings definitely off

Chapter word count: 1726

AO3

Friendships were a complex thing. Techno had known that as long as he could remember. People come and people go, it was nothing, especially not to him or Wilbur. Inherently, they knew all they had was each other, maybe their other brothers would also always be with them but what they had together was a special bond. Neither Phil nor Tommy would ever be able to understand them the way they understood each other and that was fine, they had lived every day side by side, they shared almost all their core memories and so their rationality was incredibly similar because of it, meaning they could very easily understand each other. 

Never had they asked for a friend that would feel the same way as the friendship they had with each other, and yet they always seemed to be asking for too much. That’s the part that confused Techno. 

Never had they needed to be understood. Never had they needed something complex. All they needed was someone to accept them so why did it feel like everyone always ended up leaving? Were they the problem? It always felt like they were trying so hard so why did it feel like they were pushing people away? 

You see, recently Eret had been acting….off. 

He had been stumbling over words, fidgeting, leaving quickly with the excuse of ‘being late for something’, and taking hours to reply to any kind of message. Each of these things would be fine on their own but with them all together, they felt a little strange. 

It didn’t seem like Wilbur had noticed the recent shift in behaviour yet so Techno didn’t dare bring it up, it wasn’t uncommon that he was overly cautious and he didn’t want to risk upsetting his brother over something that might not even be a big deal, especially when he had just started to get over the incident with the ticket booth. 

“So....He’s been busy a lot lately” Wilbur sighed, draping himself across the couch and clutching his phone in one hand. Niki had insisted they add some stickers onto it since letting them live off a ‘boring flip phone’ (as she had called it) was apparently not okay.

“Do you think he’s okay? Maybe something’s going on at home..”

Oh. Techno was positive everything was okay at home. Of course there was a possibility that he was just being protective of Wilbur because he didn’t want anyone hurting his brother but seriously! In his opinion, if you had enough money to eat fucking burger king as a school lunch you were doing fine financially, and really, that’s all that mattered right? Money had always been the reason why their parents were never around.

It was probably just his jealousy talking but he had always had a bit of an underlying anger for people with a big disposable income, how was it fair that their parents had to work so much at minimum wage jobs that they could hardly see them just to keep them warm and fed and yet other families could have their parents around by the time they were home from school /and/ have extra money for treats.

“Wil, don’t worry about him.” Techno sighed, trying to choose his words carefully. He knew Wilbur was always more sensitive to rejection than him.

“He’s more..social than we are, he probably just has other friends that he doesn’t want to ignore or something”

“Maybe.. I wish he’d tell us though, I don’t like being left on read” 

With a sigh and a gentle prod for him to sit up a bit more, Techno wrapped an arm around Wilbur, feeling how he melted into the contact straight away. Of course it hurt Techno too to be ignored by the one person they thought actually could be a good friend but he needed to put on a brave face for Wilbur. Of course it felt like a stab in the gut to have trusted someone so much to be able to start talking to them and then they just disappear but Wilbur needed him right now, it was obvious to anyone that he was the one with the bigger connection issues. 

“Wil, trusting people is a part of being friends. We can talk to him tomorrow alright? And we can explain that it would make you feel better if he said his plans before disappearing”

-----

It was Tuesday night and other than a few memes she had screenshotted off of instagram and sent them, they hadn’t really heard much at all from Eret. She hadn’t hung around them long enough at school for either of them to really bring it up with her and honestly, Techno was getting incredibly worried about what was going on. He’d never had a real friend like this before, of course Skeppy always made him laugh but he was family so he didn’t count, if he messed up with family he knew as long as they weren’t adults they’d still love him afterwards, friends worked differently though. He had his Hypixel friends too but they didn’t count either since they were online and he could type to them on days when he was struggling more. By now he’d known them so long they were basically family, they’d all taken hours out of their own time to research Techno’s problems to try and be as accommodating as possible- all in all he really couldn't compare them with Eret.

It was tricky and he knew communication was one of the more important parts, which was ironically what he struggled with the most. Maybe on one of his worse-off days, where he normally would have had Wilbur doing most of the talking for him, Eret had assumed he was angry with her or giving her the silent treatment, maybe she had taken offence to the fact that Wilbur and Techno were very obviously closer than she was with each one of them. The thought that somehow they might have made her feel left out made him feel a little sick, had they not explained well enough what had led to this point? Maybe it was selfish for them to relish in the fact that she rarely bugged them for explanations.

All in all, Techno was sure they had done something for the sudden shift in attitude and, not wanting to make Wilbur feel worse than he already did, he wasn’t sure who could help him. 

Maybe he could wait up until his parents got home? People on TV were always getting advice from them but then again.. His family wasn’t really like those on tv, if he was being honest he was half sure he’d be yelled at for being awake before he could have a chance to ask for help. 

He could also ask Phil, but then again Phil was already beyond stressed trying to make sure they were all okay, he really didn’t want to bother him. Niki was closer to Wilbur than she was with him and he was sure his hypixel friends were all still at school because of the time zone difference. 

The only other person he could really think of talking to about this was Skeppy, and so, hopping out of bed, trying his hardest not to make too much noise and wake up Wilbur, he made his way to the PC. 

11:36PM 

From what he knew, Skeppy usually stayed up late and slept so late he often missed his bus anyway so he probably was still up.

Clicking onto discord, he breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the green dot next to his cousin's icon, immediately messaging him. 

11:36 OrphanDestroyer: Hey nerd

11:36 OrphanDestroyer: U awake?

It took a few minutes for him to answer, Techno was just about ready to give up and accept he had just chosen the one night he may have gone to bed on time to try and message him.

11:42 japanesesymbolforbeginner: 1 sec ina call wiv bbh 

Writing ‘bbh’ off as one of Skeppy’s friends he had forgotten to tell them about, Techno waited patiently for Skeppy to say he was free. 

11:46 japanesesymbolforbeginner: ok im done, what you need

11:46 OrphanDestroyer: SO

11:46 OrphanDestroyer: Do you remember Eret?

11:48 OrphanDestroyer: Okay well basically for like the past few days he’s been ignoring me and Wilbs and I’m really really worried we offended him or something like maybe we hurt him or he’s mad or maybe he decided he's too good to be friends with us which tbh I don't blame him for because we kinda are losers and maybe people won't be friends with him because he's friends with us or something? Idk idk I just really wish he’d tell us something because like Wil is freaking out and idk what to tell him, he really struggles with this kinda stuff and I wanna help but idk how. 

11:48 japanesesymbolforbeginner: Ok...fuck

11:48 japanesesymbolforbeginner: Has he replied to any messages or anything? Maybe he’s busy?

11:48 OrphanDestroyer: Not really 

11:49 japanesesymbolforbeginner: Okay okay so here’s what I think you should do

11:49 japanesesymbolforbeginner: If he’s ignoring you you're gonna need to confront him next time you see him and don’t just agree when he makes an excuse to leave, like say you NEED to talk

11:50 japanesesymbolforbeginner: If u think he’s offended bc sometimes you don't speak a lot maybe just message him some resources or whatever on the type of mutism you deal with, even if he doesn’t reply he’ll probably still open it.

11:50 japanesesymbolforbeginner: like he might just be in the position where he’s nervous he’ll offend you if he asks something about it? Like maybe he doesn't understand fully and he just needs one of you to open the discussion 

11:50 OrphanDestroyer: okay you're probably right

11:50 OrphanDestroyer: There’s a link I have to one I normally email teachers whenever we have a new one so i'll probably send him that

11:50 OrphanDestroyer: Tomorrow though, my dads gonna be home soon and he’ll kill me if im still awake 

11:51 japanesesymbolforbeginner: aight, night Techno, good luck and btw you're all always welcome to come over if things get tense over there with ur parents

[honeyjxsung]

Stray Kids as your boyfriend

m.list

Request:  can u write a reaction for skz as your boyfriend?? please include woojin ONLY IF YOU DONT MIND, its comforting having him there still. ty!

a/n: this is my first reaction lol so pls be kind to me >.< i feel like this was too long so i apologize, but nonetheless Enjoy <33

Woojin:

Literally a teddy bear

He's so cuddly its crazy

Like he may not seem like it but he really loves cuddling with you

But only when yall are alone

I think he’s moderately clingy(?) 

Like he’s down to hold your hand in front of his members but he gets embarrassed when you kiss him in public

A lot of forehead and temple kisses

Radiates husband energy

Like he's big husband material right there

Many picnic dates or just walking outside by the river

He will use his angelic voice to his advantage

He will serenade you with his guitar or piano

And every single time you melt

Literally gives bear hugs

And not the suffocating type

When he engulfs you into his arms you feel warm inside

And both of you love it

fighting

He’s the oldest so he’ll be a bit calm and collected when it comes to fighting

He would want to settle things down completely 

Like there’s no way either one of you is going to bed mad at each other

It just wouldn’t feel right

If it was his fault he’ll quickly apologize and be the bigger person and will make it up to you with a cute gift

If it was your fault he’ll instantly (and reasonably) forgive you and shower you with kisses

He just doesn’t want to fight with you

-

Also 

He’s just the right amount of jealous you feel?

He’ll leave you alone and let you have your freedom

But if anyone gets too close to your liking, you best know he’ll be right by your side

And that’s why you’re so grateful for him

Because he’s always there

Chan:

A really caring boyfriend

Always puts you first

Like always

But then again he’s a busy guy, given that he’s a leader of an idol group and all

And you get that

So you’ll normally spend some time with him in the studio

And you don’t mind because you love seeing him be so passionate about something he loves

But he would feel bad for making you stay with him so every once in a while he may take you somewhere fancy

He’s someone to give lots of back hugs

Most of the time he’ll back hug you unexpectedly because he thinks you being surprised is absolutely adorable

And the nicknames oh my god

yALLREADY KNOW about ‘baby girl’

He’s gonna call you that a lot

Fighting

Fights will mostly be about him and his well being

The fact that he isn’t taking care of himself even if he’s saying he is just makes you a tad bit frustrated

And when you try to talk some sense into him, he also grows irritated because he’s so exhausted with everything

Which is why he may be a BIT stubborn when it comes to arguments

But he’ll later realize how childish he's being

He might unintentionally raise his voice, but will immediately soften up when he sees you tense

Whether or not it’s his fault, he’ll apologize nonetheless

He's a mature guy so he’s good at handling situations like this

But fighting isn’t common so luckily he doesn't have to deal with it often

He will end the fight by pulling you close and kissing you forehead

“Im sorry babygirl”

-

Ever so often he’ll let you listen to his unfinished works to get your opinion

He just wants you by his side because it gives him a sense of comfort

Minho:

He has a lot of difficulties showing his emotions, but he’s really so loving towards the people he loves

especially you

You both tend to tease each other a lot, but that’s just how you guys are

Pda and all that lovey dovey stuff may seem a bit awkward, but when he’s in need of attention, he’ll just cling on to you and not say anything

And you would have to shower him with affection to get him satisfied

And don’t worry, he’ll gladly return the favor in a blink of an eye

He tends to show his feelings physically

Like have you seen him with his members?

He will be all up in your face

Will love laying on your lap

Or he’ll just try to purposely annoy you because that's how his brain supposedly works

Fighting

You guys would bicker a lot, and you wouldn’t really have actual fights, but there would be times when it would get serious

The cause would either be because of jealousy or he has been neglecting you

By neglecting you, i mean him not really showing any emotion toward you

It may take a while, but he will apologize

When he’s forgiven hell jump into bed with you and just hold you tight

If it’s you who’s apologizing, he wouldn’t really ‘say’ that he’s forgiven you

He would silently pull you close and kiss you

But that action alone will say a lot

-

Once again he's a jealous boy, so don’t be surprised if he holds onto your waist a bit tighter than before and clenches his jaw when you walk by some guys

Or a guy

Really he wouldn’t explicitly say that he’s jealous

He’ll just drop subtle hints

“That guy had big muscles don’t you think?”

But in the end you always tell him you love him and it makes him feel a whole lot better

But other than that he can be straightforward with other things

That’s why his members call him a statue

Because he tends to be soulless and poker-faced most of the time

Even when he’s trying not to be

But deep down you know how much of a softie your boyfriend can get

Changbin: 

He’s honestly such a cute bean

Will try to act all tough and ‘tsundere’ like but you both know he can’t keep that up

He’s actually really cheesy and clingy

And sometimes he can be a handful, but it's alright

He always gets picked on by his members about his height

So if you are shorter than him he is not going to let that opportunity of teasing you pass

He will snicker as he compares your heights

But of course you can’t let his cockiness get the best of him

So the other 8 members have your back and torment the poor boy

‘Wait that’s not even fair i'm being outnumbered!’

‘y/n, you were supposed to be on my side!’

He wants to impress you so he’ll invite you over and flex his rap skills

And 100% of the time he succeeds

Because you can never get over his flow

Fighting

This guy is also really insecure so he’ll be pretty jealous and that’s mostly the cause of your fights

He’s afraid that he isn’t good enough and that he doesn’t deserve you

And that is absolutely not true

He’ll mostly cry only because he hates fighting with you

But of course he’s not gonna show it

He is someone who needs to recollect himself and will probably need some time by himself

And that’s when he’ll let it all out

He’ll feel embarrassed if he cries in front of you

So he tries his best to not cry when you’re near

When he’s calm he’ll apologize

And you give in quickly

Thank goodness

-

He just wants a bit of attention

Ok maybe a lot of attention

Because as much as he says he loves dark

Hes babie

Hyunjin:

Your typical ulzzang boyfriend

He’ll take you to cute cliche dates

Cute walks at the park with ice cream

Also we all know how much he loves photography

He will take so many selfies with you and him

His phone is just filled with him and you doing stuff together

And occasionally some kkami pics

But mostly you two

He’ll bring you to the practice room and show you his dance moves

And possibly he’ll teach you some too

When he’s all sweaty he’ll tease you and try to hug you but you’ll run away from him

And most of the time it’ll end in play fighting

He’s gonna hug you either way and you start hitting him

But then again he can’t help it

Because he’s also really clingy and in need of your touch 25/8

Fighting

Alright so ALL know hyunjin can be a petty bITCH

no cap 

He fights with his members so there will be times where he may fight with you

But obviously it’s not as violent you know

Nothing physical 

What yall are fighting about is probably stupid or small

He just tends to over exaggerate things which makes it become serious

And when he’s mad he can get pretty sarcastic and it gets kinda scary

Will most likely roll his eyes and give you the cold shoulder

You normally have to apologize first or make a move in order for him to apologize back

Almost all the time he’ll feel bad ignoring you so he’ll end up crying when you go up to him

He’ll spend his entire week not leaving your side

As a way to make it up to you

-

Did I mention he was clingy af?

Likes to wrap one arm around your shoulders

Doesn’t really say it out loud but he loves the height difference

He’ll subtly make things harder for you just to see you slightly frustrated

He finds it cute

Like he’d put things on the top shelf so you can call him to get it

“Babe can you please help me?”

“I don’t know, can I?”

“Hyunjin!”

Jisung:

A cheeky mf

Loves to go out on dates, but if it’s anything scary, he’s gone

Expect many karaoke dates

He’ll try serenading you singing all up in your face

But you’ll just roll your eyes and laugh at how cringy he’s being 

Cuddles for days

He loves to show affection and get attention so he’ll always be with you so you can drop small compliments to make him happy

And it does

He’s really good with his words so the sweet nothings he’ll tell you often make you blush

And it’s surprising how quickly he makes them up on the spot

His freestyle skills are being put into good use am i right?

Once again he craves for attention so give him lots of praise

Oh and he keeps saying he’ll protect you or whatever but if you take him to a haunted house or anything related to that, he’ll hide behind you the entire time

He’s just a wimp

Likes to give you pet names

“Baby” is a regular though

Just somewhere along those lines

He tends to lay on your lap so you can play with his hair

If he falls asleep you normally take your chance and braid his hair so he wakes up looking like a 5 year old girl

Fighting

Petty bitch #2

Just like hyunjin, jisung doesn’t really let his guard down

Because he’s good with words it’s difficult to win an argument with him

Even if he knows he’s wrong he’ll try his best to make him sound right

His pride tends to take over him and he’s aware that it’s a bad habit

He tries to fix himself because he doesn’t want to hurt or scare you

But when he’s really angry he will go oFF

He’s one of those types to realize what he’s done right after he’s done it

He’s quick to regret

So unlike changbin, if he ever scares you, he’ll immediately run up to you

He’d carefully hold you and repeatedly apologize

He’s a big cryer as well

Even if it’s in front of you his eyes will be bawling

And of course you forgive him

Yall will just end up on the couch or in bed holding each other but not utter a word

Felix:

Ok this boy is the sweetest 

He’s extremely caring and gentle to all

He tends to show his love physically 

Whether it’d be hand-holding, kissing, hugging, touching you in general, you name it

It explains why he's so mf clingy 

And you mf love it

Every once in a while he’ll give you gifts for no reason

Such as a promise ring

He has one to match as well 

He wears it everyday and gets all giddy when he sees you wear it too

Staying up to watch him play games is a regular

He always keeps the spare controller open because he wants you to join

And you do

Except most of the time you don't know how to play

At first he’d laugh at how terrible you are and would kill you every game to see you pout

But when he sees that you actually wanna play for him he gets soft and eventually teaches you the controls

Will die on purpose to see your face light up

Fighting

Okay lowkey this guy can be scary 

He tries not to raise his voice, but his deep tone still sends shivers down your spine

Fighting may result in him cursing loudly in english (assuming yall are speaking korean)

But not at you

Never would he curse at you

Just out of frustration

When he sees you tear up he calms down a little and sighs

Without speaking he’ll open his arms out to you and will embrace you tightly

He’d say sorry and will try not to cry in front of you to stay strong

But if he does he won’t show it 

So he’ll bury his face in the crook of your neck so you won't see his tears

He just really hates fighting with you so it makes him sad

-

but don’t worry, fighting is a rare occurance

he’s really energetic most of the time, so be prepared

will love running around and yelling

he’s like a hyper 12 year old

and its cute

Seungmin:

Oh this guy

He’s a bubbly boyfriend

You’d describe him as a hyper puppy and the name fits him well

His face lights up when he’s with you and it’s so cute

The members are lowkey freaking out because the boy acts so mean to them 

They literally think he’s a different person when you’re around

It’s because he acts as if you’re made of glass

Like anyone can tell that you’re so precious to him

And hOODIES FOR DAYS

Seungmin’s wardrobe is literally full of hoodies so you have a great amount of them

Like when he’s sorting his clothes, he’d have a separate pile for you

It would be all the clothes he’s willing to lend to you

Similar to hyunjin, his camera roll would be full of you

But the thing that makes him and hyunjin different is that it won’t be selfies

It's just pictures of you and the scenery

But he knows you’re the real view (gag) 

The candid photos are his favorite because it really captures your natural beauty

He can stare at your pics for hours as creepy as it sounds

You get embarrassed but he hypes you up and calls you beautiful

And unlike han, the boy doesn’t really get scared easily so he can ACTUALLY protect you if yall are doing something slightly terrifying

But that’s after he laughs at your scared reaction

Which brings me to my next point

Occasionally he likes to tease you 

A little pranks here and there

And he’s so glad that you can take a joke

Because you’ll always get your revenge

Which is why there’s never a day when your relationship gets boring

Fighting

Honestly I can't picture having a major fight with seungmin

But it would probably because he did or said something that really crossed the line

He’d get very defensive with hints of sarcasm

He wouldn’t necessarily yell or scream

He’d slightly raise his voice, though, to get his point through

When he gets to his boiling point, however, he would leave the room to blow off some steam

He’d use the time to really reflect what he’s done

When he comes back he’ll immediately go to you and hug you

He hates when you fight

He would very much prefer the small bickering any day

Jeongin:  

Oh this precious gem

You and i.n would be in the honeymoon stage but not really

Like you guys are very comfortable with each other, but you are still lovey dovey, you feel?

But of course he won’t do the cute stuff in front of the members

holding your hand is an exception, but that’s it

He’ll get too flustered in front of them and he doesn’t want to be teased

He’s super cuddly and cuddles will often result in play fighting

He’s also super super giggly 

You live for his laughs

It just brings an immediate smile to your face

Like who doesn’t adore him?

Dates are either really exciting or really chill and relaxing

Like amusement parks and karaoke rooms on one hand and staying inside to sleep or play video games on the other

But if yall are inside it’ll either be at your place or at his when the members are gone

He’s just way too shy

Hoodies for days part tWO 

He’ll be the type to give you his baggy clothes

The way you look small in them makes him feel a bit more manly as if you’re his responsibility

He’s so used to being baby-ed that he wants to be the man for once

You have an unlimited supply of his hoodies

Its great

Plus jeongin loves when you give it back and your scent just marks the entirety of the fabric

It smells like home and he finds comfort in it

Just like how you find comfort when you can smell his cologne

Seriously it sounds weird, but trust me it’s cute

Obviously, he won’t tell you that he loves your perfume because he thinks he’ll make it awkward

But it's just something he looks forward to when you’re exchanging his hoodies

Fighting

Even though he is the youngest, jeongin tries to be mature

He’s very understanding so fights will be rare

But then again he’s also extremely reserved

He’ll keep his negative feelings bottled up until he can’t take it anymore

He won’t really yell, he’ll just keep talking and talking

And he won’t let you interrupt because this boy has a lot to say

Arguments usually happen because he takes his anger out on you unintentionally

So he’ll apologize when he sees your widened eyes

He’ll soften up and will say sorry quietly before kissing your forehead

He might cry as well because he will feel so bad 

But you hush him as you hug his body tightly, telling him that it’s okay

Everything is okay.

[redjaybathood]

Everyone (well not everyone, someone was like: you ship batcest, delete my post you reblogged!) liked 50 Shades of Gray Brutaljay AU but I am unlikely to ever write that because my favorite dynamic to write with Jason and Bruce is antagonistic, and this story really has to be a cliche romance. So, here's a snippet of the fic I am not going to write (and I was not kidding in the tags, if you guys like the idea, you're welcome to it)

Being a reported for Gotham U student paper allowed Jason to meet a lot of people. Some of them, like Film major Eddie Bloomberg, he became fast friends with. Others, like high school dropout and self-proclaimed ethical hacker Tim Drake, were more like his nemesis. But even they had more soul and personality in them than Bruce Wayne.

But it’s not like he could pick his own assignments. Though, to be fair, his editor didn’t want him on Wayne either.

“Your vendetta against rich people is ridiculous,” Barbara said, blowing her nose on the phone.

“I don’t have a vendetta, what the fuck? I’m friends with Roy Harper, did you forget?”

“Oh come on, his father is rich, but Roy? Anyway. If there was anyone else I could have sent instead of you - we don’t need you blowing up on him, you have no idea what circles of hell I endured to get this interview.”

“When I ever blew up at the subject?”

“Punch. Line.”

Oh, yeah, one of the girls who stanned Joker. Jason still couldn’t get over a fact that his campus had two separate people who wore Joker’s image on them proudly. At least, Duela Dent really was Joker’s daughter, just not this world’s one. Kaye, though, was a bidding serial killer, and he wanted her gone.

“I thought you of all people...” Jason murmured into the phone, and Barbara’s reaction was sharp.

“Oh, yes, me, of all people. Because I do so love to be defined by what happened to me. But if you choose to conflate my entire existence to that single point? Keep in mind that I somehow manage to ignore her.”

Jason had his opinions about that, but he wasn’t entirely sure if it was a good idea to express them, so he changed tracks.

“Can I have at least my own list of questions?”

“No.”

“Then have his PR agent just email you the answers, Jesus. I really don’t see the point of me going all the way across the city to ask him some soft-balls he has a speech written in response to.”

“I need the footage for our website and social media, is the point.”

So that was that. And that’s how Jason found himself borrowing a tie from his new roommate slash nemesis, and listening to very unflattering comments from his other roommates about his choice of a shirt. They were assholes. Except for Duke. Duke was cool, but maybe it’s because he was a baby of their family. First year, no major declared yet. He could become anyone. Jason could only hope he doesn’t end up like Tim, or Dick, or Stephanie, or hell, even him.

"Don’t stress it,” Duke advised. “Look, I know what you’re thinking. Like if you look poor enough, they won’t even allow you into the Tower, much more to interview their boss. But you have an appointment, and it’s a regular office, not Iceberg Lounge. You look professional enough, no bouncer at the door is going to turn you away.”

It was easy for Duke to say, it was harder for Jason to internalise.

"Besides, it's not like you have money to spare to buy a new shirt."

"Can I borrow yours?" Jason asked hopefully.

"Nope," Duke replied, and clapped him on the back.

Maybe it was too late for him, and Duke already became an asshole.

But in a way, it made Jason feel better. There was nothing else he could have done, and if his irrational fear of being turned away at the door came true, at least Barbara couldn't fault him for that, right? Well, that wasn't strictly true, she tended to fault him for everything. But it wouldn't be fair.

Yeah, when Bruce Wayne gave him once-over and commented dryly: "I do so admire men with bold taste in clothes.” - Jason regretted everything in his life that led to this point. He ran a hand to smooth other his red shirt - it wasn’t even that “bold”, what the fuck, it’s not like he had a floral print on it or something - and smiled.

“Thanks. I do so love to receive unwarranted comments on my appearance.”

And that’s how it went downhill from there.

Jason set up the camera, got the printed sheet of questions out along with his notebook and a pen. Wayne commented on him being “analogue”, how refreshing a change that was after seeing so often young people glued to their screens. Jason used it as an opportunity to ask how many young people he actually knew, in lieu of explaining that his piece of shit phone, if you tried to use the keyboard for longer than 30 seconds, overheated pretty much instantly.

“Barbara Gordon, for example,” Wayne said.

If she was the only one he knew under thirty, then it wasn’t surprising he had this stereotype about young people being online constantly.

“She’s the daughter of my dear friend at GCPD, Jim Gordon. He does an admirable work with cleaning Gotham streets, and I expect as much from his daughter. Where is she, by the way?”

Yeah, Babs, real circles of hell, asking your dad to set up a meeting with his bridge buddy, Jason thought bitterly.

“Cold,” Jason tried for apologetic smile but it turned out more like fake-enthusiastic one. “Hope you don’t mind the last-minute switch.”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all.”

Wayne gave him another once-over, and a smile of his own. It was, objectively, a very charming smile, but in context it was pretty yikes.

“Okay! Let’s start! You're financing a new domestic abuse awareness campaign. Of all the charities, why did you feel it was the most important cause to focus on?"

Not like you have ever experienced it, Jason didn't add, because a) he didn't want to antafonise Wayne right off the bat, b) it would be an asshole move reminding Wayne about his parents' death and besides, who knew that they were like before they died? And that buttler of his, while it seems unlikely he would have been still employed if anything was going on when Wayne was a kid, you couldn't underestimate the pull shitty parental figutes could have on your life. He still considers Ma Gunn his family, even if he was the one who ratted her out to cops.

If not the thing with Sionis, he probably wouldn't have done it either.

[imaginesforyourfandom]

Not Going Well - Krashlyn Imagine

A/N: This is a sequel to Following Footsteps

(Y/N) POV:

I bit my lip as I waited for the bus to come to a full stop. This was it. My first camp with the U-17 squad. I had already got a plethora of tips and advice from my parents and aunts. The dos and don’ts of how to stand out to the coaching staff. I was terrified if I am being honest. I want to be able to prove myself without everyone being dicks to me about the fact that my parents are on the national team.

“Ready to go?” Marc asked me as I nodded my head. I stood up and walked into the hotel with him. I was a few days late to camp due to prior things I had to do with my parents and because they are on the national team, I was given an exception, so I was already off to a bad start.

He told me what room I would be in and gave me a keycard as I headed up to go get settled. There was supposed to be a team meeting in about half an hour so that was just enough time to get up there and get my stuff put down. I think I had enough time to call my parents to let them know I got in safe.

I got to my room and opened the door. I could hear some chatter as I entered the room. There were two girls sitting there as I smiled. I walked over to the empty bed and sat my stuff down. They were both staring at me before looking at each other. I decided maybe I would have to make the first move here.

“Hey” I said nervously as they both stared me down for a moment. I stood there awkwardly before one of them smiled.

“Hey!” she said holding out her hand to me. “I’m Mia and this is Samantha.”

“I’m (Y/N)” I said as the girl I identified as Samantha snickered a little.

“Yeah we know.” She said sarcastically as I nodded my head. “Who doesn’t know the daughter of Ashlyn Harris and Ali Krieger?”

“That’s fair.” I said as she rolled her eyes.

“I’ll catch you later Mia.” She said standing up and leaving the room. Mia gave me a small smile as we stood there for a moment.

“Is the whole team going to be like that?” I asked as she gave me a sad smile. She nodded her head as I sighed. I was already hating this.

“I just think…there are a lot of questions about how you got here.” She said carefully as I nodded my head.

“I understand that.” I said as I moved to put some of my stuff in a order that would make sense to me.

“Look…all I can say is you have to try to ignore them. They are going to think what they want. So, you just got to go out there and prove you deserve to be here.” She said as I nodded my head.

“I know.”

I decided that I would wait to call my parents as Mia, and I headed down to the team meeting. When we walked in, I recognized Samantha with a couple other girls as Mia went to sit by them.

“(Y/N) come here.” Marc said as I walked over to him. I stood by him as he turned towards the group of girls. “Okay everyone listen up. This is (Y/N) Harris. She is a little late to camp due to prior commitments, but I expect you to make her feel welcomed.”

I stood there awkwardly before he finally let me sit. I sat by myself as we went through the team meeting. I could feel everyone staring at me as I tried to stay focused. I was mentally going through everything the team had told me about staying focused so that I didn’t embarrass myself more than I already had.

After the meeting, most of the girls seemed to go off on their own leaving me by myself. I had gone back to my room and called my parents to let them know I was there safe and sound.

“My baby!” my ma yelled as I smiled at hearing her voice.

“Hey ma.” I said softly as I heard a soft uh oh from the other side of the phone.

“What’s wrong?” my mom asked as I sighed.

“This doesn’t really feel like its going well.” I said honestly.

“It’s been less than a day.” She said as I nodded my head.

“Yeah, but I feel like they all only think I am here because of you guys.” I said as I heard them sigh.

The next few minutes were spent with them giving me some encouraging words. They were doing their best to keep my spirits high, but I just wasn’t having a good time. Eventually, they had to leave for practice of their own as I laid in my head deciding what to do. This was going to be a long camp.

The next few days were odd to say the least. Mia had decided to stay near me because I looked like I needed friend. I had definitely been proving myself in practice so some of the girls seemed like they were coming around to me, but some of the girls – aka Samantha—had continued to be a dick to me. Since I was hanging around Mia, it meant I had to be around Samantha. So, its more of a win-lose situation.

Currently, I was heading towards the lobby for a special team meeting with Mia, Sam, and this other girl Natalia. No one knew what the meeting was for. Just that it was mandatory.

“What do you think (Y/N)?” Mia asked me as I looked at her.

“I don’t know. I mean…this could be for literally anything.” I said as they all nodded. We continued walking as I opened the door for everyone. I went to walk in until I bumped into Sam. She had stopped and her jaw had dropped open. I frowned looking past her.

My own jaw dropped as I spotted Alex, Kelley, Christen, ma, and mom. I bit my lip trying to hide my excitement as Kelley was the first to spot me. She broke into a full on run as I braced myself when she wrapped her arms around me.

“Munchkin!” she said holding me tight to her.

“Kelley I can’t breathe.” I said as she let me go. I smiled at her as I turned to see Ma coming over. I jumped slightly falling into her arms. After the rough time I have had, I am so relieved to have them here.

“Ma.” I mumbled into her shoulder as she held me close to her. I felt another person join our hug as I immediately recognized my mom, “Mom.”

“Hey baby” she said softly as I looked at them with tears in my eyes. We stood there for a few moments before I realized mostly everyone was staring.

“I need to take a seat.” I mumbled as they laughed a little. I went and sat next to Mia. She had a smile on her face as I tried to contain my excitement. Sam hasn’t stopped staring at Alex and Christen so I think she might be a little star struck. She is a forward after all.

The meeting was basically to inform us that they would be at our final few practices to help evaluate the team and stuff. This definitely was not a coincidence, but I wasn’t going to complain. Once the meeting was over, some of the girls were just staring excitingly at my family.  

“You’re so tough. You go say hi.” Natalia said to Sam who shook her head.

“No. It’s THE Alex Morgan and THE Christen Press. You go say Hi.” She snapped as I chuckled slightly. I bit my lip deciding to have some fun. I stood up and went closer to Alex jumping slightly on her as she groaned catching me in her arms.

“Hey” I said as the forward smiled at me. Christen had her arms crossed as she was giving me an amused look.

“Hi” Alex said dropping me on the ground but keeping her arms around me. “I won’t lie. I missed you little one.”

“How could you not?” I said smugly as she jokingly pushed me away. I laughed as I turned back towards the girls who were watching in awe. “You should come meet my friends.”

“Lead the way.” Christen said as I walked towards the other girls as Sam and Mia and them had wide eyes.

“Guys meet Alex Morgan and Christen Press.” I said smiling as they all gave them excited smiles. We spent a few minutes talking as I let them talk. I felt arms wrap around my neck as I glanced up to my mom. She gave me a soft smile.

“I missed you my love.” She said softly.

“I missed you too mom.” I said as she grinned at me. The rest of the day was spent with my family and the girls. Most of them were definitely being nicer to me and I was interested to know if that would continue after this. I guess time would only tell.

The End.

[theartoflovingthomashunt]

Fashion Week: I Need Your Assistance [AU]

[Red Carpet Diaries Masterlist]  ||  [Hollywood U Masterlist]

Characters: Alex, Thomas Hunt, Addison Sinclair Rating: General Notes: Date Night - @choicesfebruarychallenge​​

This is an AU where Alex is a student at Hollywood U and secretly dating Professor Hunt, only Addison knows about them. Professor Hunt is heading to Fashion Week in NYC and the university selected Addison and Alex to accompany him as his assistants for the week and serve as representatives of the institution. 

Fashion Week Series (They can mostly be read as stand-alone stories, but from part four on, they work better if read in sequence)

Part One: Here We Come

Part Two: Seas the Day

Part Three: Hidden Perks

Part Four: Time to Make a Choice

Part Five: I Could…I Do…I…

Part Six: I Need Your Assistance

Part Seven: Meet Me

Part Eight: Valentine

Part Nine: Whatever It Takes

Part Ten: Goodbye, New York

– – –

Hunt stood motionless for a moment in front of the door separating their two rooms before reluctantly knocking. 

“It’s open,” Addison called. 

Hunt cleared his throat and knocked again.

Addison opened the door. “Oh! Professor, sorry! I thought Alex was with you.”

“She’s in the shower.” Hunt paused in the doorway. “I was looking for you. I need your assistance.”

“Of course, that’s what I’m here for. Come in,” Addison replied, gesturing him into her room. “What can I do for you?”

Hunt shook his head, his cheeks turning flush. “Never mind.”

“Professor, it’s literally the reason I’m here–to be your assistant. Whatever it is, I’ll do it,” Addison offered.

“You’re here for Fashion Week… this is personal,” Hunt admitted. 

“That’s even better!” Addison beamed, her curiosity building every second. “What do you need?”

“Not so loud! The walls in these standard rooms are not the same quality as more lavish ones,” Hunt criticized, however, his voice softened as he continued, “I need your help to plan the perfect date night for Alex.”

 Addison squealed with delight her face shining bright. 

“I’m already regretting this,” Hunt acknowledged taking a step back. “Maybe we should forget it. It’s too much of a risk. There are too many variables and unknowns here.”

“We won’t be in New York forever, you should take advantage of every moment you have,” Addison suggested. “Whatever I can do to help, I will. Alex’s my best friend and you make her so happy.” 

“I feel the same way about her.” The corner of his mouth curled up as his thoughts drifted to her. “I want to do something special for her on Friday. Fashion Week will be over by then which will hopefully alleviate some of the press and attention surrounding us.”

“What do you need me to do?” Addison questioned again. 

“I’ve taken care of the first part of the evening, but I don’t feel we can risk going to a restaurant for dinner, so we’ll have to eat here. While I have Alex out of the room distracted, if I leave you with some items and directions, do you think you could make over the room so it looks a little less like a hotel?”

“Makeovers are kind of my thing,” Addison insisted gleefully. “Usually it’s with wardrobe, but I do love interior decorating! I’ve got this! You keep Alex busy and I’ll make sure everything is perfect for when you return.”

“Thank you, Miss Sinclair… Addison,” Hunt said gently.

“You’re welcome,” Addison smiled, in awe of how much he cared for Alex. “I’ve gotta say, I’m surprised. I didn’t really peg you as someone who put much stock in Valentine’s Day.”

“What?” Hunt questioned quickly.

“Don’t get me wrong, Alex is going to be pleasantly surprised, I just expected you would be all ‘Valentine’s Day is a horrible holiday built on consumerism blah, blah, blah,” Addison’s voice trailed off as she noticed his unamused expression. 

Hunt cringed at her words. He had been so preoccupied with planning his surprise for Alex that he didn’t even realize that his plans would happen upon Valentine’s day. He was tempted to postpone it just to spite the holiday, but he didn’t want to wait another day. “I hadn’t realized.” 

“So, you’re telling me, you didn’t even know it was Valentine’s day? And, you were doing all of this just because? What’s the occasion then?” Her eyes widened with a thought as a grin spread from ear to ear. “Do you love her?” 

Hunt scowled but the creases around his eyes softened as he exhaled.

“Oh my goodness!!!!” Addison squealed again, clapping her hands over her mouth to muffle her excitement as she jumped up and down. “Professor!”

“Miss Sinclair, if you please,” Hunt scolded her. “Settle down.”

“Sorry, sorry! It’s just that this is the most wonderful thing I’ve heard. I’m so happy for her and you. So all of this is for you to tell her?” Addison swooned.

“Perhaps I should speak with Alex on this topic first,” Hunt suggested. She could see his adoration of Alex in his eyes and in his smile. It was a beautiful sight to witness. “I have a complicated enough relationship with one student, I’m not sure I’m ready for two. I wouldn’t have come to you if I thought there was another way.”

“Let’s hold off on putting that wall back up for one more minute longer, because, fair warning, I’m going to hug my best friend’s boyfriend now and ignore the fact that he’s also my professor,” Addison pulled Hunt into a tight embrace, letting go after a couple of seconds. “You two really have something special.” 

Hunt nodded, a sullen look seeping across his face. “Now, I must hope she feels the same way.”

Addison placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I know she’ll appreciate all of this, but she doesn’t need a big declaration. She adores you for who you are. She just enjoys being with you. Don’t forget that.” 

“I should go,” Hunt stated as he heard the sound of the water turning off. “Thank you for your assistance, advice, and discretion. Alex is very lucky to have such a supportive friend.”

“Thank you for making her the happiest I’ve ever seen,” Addison replied. 

The minute the door closed Addison ran to her phone and started searching decorations and style boards for transforming a simple room into a romantic oasis. She was sure Hunt had his own ideas, but even he deserved to be a little surprised. She would make sure that their evening was as perfect as could be. 

– – – – –

Thomas Tags: @the-soot-sprite​​​ ;  @alleksa16​​​​  ;  @hopelessromantic1352​​​​  ;   @flyawayboo​​​​ ; @mfackenthal​​​​   ; @lilyofchoices​​​   ;  @alj4890​​​​  ;  @twin-skltns​​​​   ;    @ab1901​​​​ ;   @riseandshinelittleblossom​​​​  ;  @thearianam​​​​  ; @trappedinfandoms; @awkwardambition ;