#i am not tagging anything with it because its a mixed bag and i only want people here to see it lololol

[seadeepspaceontheside]

Usually its Silco doing this but hes busy and he's asking a favour from his groupies since his employee/reluctant child in the neighbourhood looks like he's been jilted. That being said Hob has fucking no patience for Jayce and his lack of closed bisexuality BECAUSE ITS AFFECTING HIS LOVE LIFE. WHAT OTHERS HIT ON MORTON ON ONE OF THESE OUTTINGS OR WORSE IF MORTIMER HOOKS UP WITH SOMEONE ELSE?!? this is the most self indulgent cringe thing for me. this is my soupwhatlock and the jack frost thingy brave thing.

[jamisonwritestf2trash]

hiiii hiiii!!! was curious :3 how's it gooinnnng?? uh, feeling booooooorooooooored got any fun headcanons you have floating around the space station?? :3

It's going well enough, Anon! I finally got around to this! Sorry it took me so long, I've been having a hard time doing things. But never mind that! Here's a mixed bag of headcanons!

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Medic can make a killer hot chocolate. The only issue being, he will NOT elaborate on why he's so happy and eager to make you one.. He'll hand you the most beautifully decorated hot chocolate, but he stares at you with the most terrifying smile, staring through your soul. You should drink it, though, what's the worst that can happen.

————————————————————

Speaking of Medic. This man would be a menace at Diner Dash. I can not explain. He'd just be so good at it. Put him in endless mode, and he'd play it for hours, you could not get him to put it down.

————————————————————

Speaking of video games, Scout is insane at Mario Kart. He will kill you on Rainbow Road, you will not win against him, he's a maniac. He mains Peach. Also, funny enough, even though he has so many siblings, none of them would play Mario Kart with him. He may have teared up because Pyro asked to play with him.

————————————————————

You know what, I'll just drop everyone's Mario Kart mains and their second option with no explanations!

Demo would main Yoshi, Dry Bones being his second

Engie would pick Daisy, dying on this kill. Um, as a second pick I get Lakitu vibes.

Heavy would choose Bowser, Luigi being his second

Medic switches between the princesses, but mainly Rosalina, King Boo being his second.

Scout is a Peach main ONLY, if he is alone! (One time, he messed up and picked Peach before anyone else could and was very embarrassed.) If he's playing with others, he picks Mario, Larry being his second.

Sniper doesn't care. He'd probably let someone else pick for him. He normally gets a princess character, but he doesn't mind.

Spy is always picking rose gold Peach, regardless of Scout's mocking. He doesn't need a second pick because he'll get pissy about it.

Soldier doesn't have a set main, but I feel like he'd pick any of Bowser's kids.

Pyro is a Shy Guy main, and I am so normal about it, Bowser Jr. Is its second pick.

None of them really fight over mains though, the all normally get the character they want.

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Totally away from all of that. I think Spy listens to classical music, and Scout also likes classical music so one time, Scout heard it from Spy's room and just came in, starting to make fun of him, but ended up just... sitting with Spy. I think a lot of their bonding is nonverbal.

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Hey, I'm doing another speaking of bit, Spy has a habit of showing up at the exact moment someone needs something, with the item. Medic needs a coffee? Oh well, Spy just happened to be there with one. Scout's looking for something? Spy just found it! How strange. He always acts like its such an inconvenience, this is the only way he can show love.

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Scout, Sniper, Medic, and Soldier all have sensory and texture issues.

Scout will gag at the thought of eating puddings and jellos and can't stand flashing lights. Sniper hates bright lights and hates the texture of anything slimy. Medic is overwhelmed by noises in crowds and can't stand sticky foods. Soldier has issues with fabrics and tags and can't stand soft/smooth.

————————————————————

Back to Spy again, I think he really likes the smell of lilacs and vanilla, I don't know why.

————————————————————

Scout once ran out of Bonk, Medic offered him a tea. Medic and Scout drink tea together when one of them has a bad day.

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Engie collects rocks. He's just always been a fan. Sometimes, he'll sit outside the base, looking at the ground just searching for pretty rocks. He's given some to Pyro before, and now Pyro goes and sits with him sometimes.

————————————————————

Sniper's happiest moments in life are genuinely sitting in a dark room, not talking, just sitting with someone he cares about. He finds the presence of someone more comforting than words.

————————————————————

You know those gimmick blogs that can identify something from one picture? Heavy can tell you exactly what book any quote is from.

————————————————————

————————————————————

Pyro, Demo, and Soldier collect fireflies together sometimes.

Anyways! That's all I have for now. Sorry, they aren't anything major or great. But writing them made me smile, so thank you for that, anon!

I'm hoping I'm finally back to writing because this reminded me how fun it is.

[byullielle]

My Darling // Sick!Changbin x Reader

Because of the announcement we have received regarding Bin's physical state i have taken it upon myself to send love this way because i am devastated for him (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠) get well soon bin-ah

Tags: Fluff, Caretaking, Sickness (a cold), Est. Relationship, Masked Kisses, Gratuitous use of 'Baby'

Disclaimer: mention of sweat and phlegm, mentions of food and cooking, implied that reader is a professional chef, intercourse implication, word 'sex' is used, divider used is by: @emptypetal

Chan opens the door for you upon your insistent knocking like your boyfriend is about to die. "Oh god, I thought you were about to break the door down," he sighs out of relief and exhaustion.

"Where is he, is he okay?"

"I think he caught it from the gym," he informs while observing the large plastic bag in your arms. It was filled to the brim with fresh and raw ingredients for chicken noodle soup and dakjuk, one of his comfort foods. "Is that so?" you sigh with a disheartened tone, you knew it couldn't be helped. He loved going to the gym and it made him feel good so you weren't one to stop him. And now not only was he missing out on seeing STAYs and doing the job he loves, he probably won't be able to go for several weeks.

Chan hands you a mask as you unpack the food you bought, knowing that there is nothing in the fridge aside from Jisung's cheesecake and Hyunjin's frozen fish cakes and tteokbokki mix.

"Listen, we really hate to leave him here but our flight to China is tomorrow," Chan explains while you wash the chicken and find a container you could place it in, "And we wouldn't wanna over impose on your presence but...would you mind nursing Bin?"

"Why wouldn't I mind?" you look up at him with an inquiring look, his 'leader concerned brows' finally settling down. "It's not that I don't have trust in the company to take care of him, but I think you do it best,"

You nod, "Don't worry about it Chan, I got it covered,"

You knock on Changbin's door, a weak grunt audible before you push your mask up properly and smile at the figure cuddled up in bed. The room is slightly dark, only illuminated by a lamp on his working desk. He's laid out straight, probably not able to move a lot as you carry in the tray of dakjuk, the aroma smelling great but you know Changbin couldn't smell a lot right now—its a bit disheartening because you know Bin loves the scent of food. "Hello baby," you softly smile at him as he smiles despite his reddening face and the cooling patch on his forehead. "Hey," he coarsely greets.

You set the tray on his nightstand before assisting him to sit up against the bed frame, adding a pillow on his back for support before he sniffles. "My baby got sick," your brows knit together in concern while brushing his curls away from his eyes as he closes them. "I know," he whines before you take the thermometer from his nightstand drawer.

"Let's take your temperature," you inform before pressing the button to turn it on, pressing the temperature gun near his temple before it flashes a digital 38.8°C. "What was your temperature a while ago?" you ask him before he turns to you, "39 degrees, what's it now?"

You sigh out in relief.

"Good, it got lower. It's 38.8 now,"

He hums in response before you keep the thermometer, taking the tray and placing it across your thighs before you hand him a glass of cold water. "You want me to feed you?"

"Please," he groans and cracks his eyes open, frowning further upon seeing your mask, as if remembering that he can get you sick and you still decided to stay for him anyway. "Thank you, babe. For cooking," he rasps out while clearing his throat. The phlegm was slightly audible but that didn't deter you.

"Anything for you," you kindly smile before taking a spoonful of porridge and gently inching it near Changbin's lips, "Blow on it first baby, it's kinda hot,"

"Like you?" he manages to insert, making you roll your eyes and shake your head with an endeared smile. He puffs on his food a bit before deeming it enough to slurp on. He munches on it slightly, assuming you got chicken caught up in the spoonful, and while you observe him he frowns. "I can't taste it properly baby, I think my tongue is broken," he sighs in disappointment.

You chuckle at him, placing the spoon back into the bowl for a second serving. "Don't worry, when you get well I'll cook something fancier for you," you assure him with a hand to his knee. He nods at the compromise before opening his mouth once more, quietly asking for another spoonful as you gladly feed him until the bowl is empty.

You look up at the clock hung up in the 3RETCHA living room, flashing '10:30' in red LED before you get up and pause the show you're watching. Deciding that it was time Bin changed his clothes, you grab a basin full of water and one of the clean hand towels Chan left you. You quietly pad through the threshold of the apartment, now quiet without the other three residents. You knock on Bin's door quietly before peering your head inside. He's now laid down sideways, seemingly well enough to scroll through his phone. "Hey baby," you make yourself known as he lifts his head up a bit before you make your way in, putting on your mask as you do so. "Whatcha doing over there?" you ask before setting the basin down on his nightstand. "I miss the STAYs, I can see their get well wishes to me," he explains before getting up slowly. "Your body ache any better now?"

"I can kinda move now my arms are on fire," he grunts before looking up at you, "Baby, hug me?"

"After we wipe you down," you beckon to the basin, a scowl meeting you. "Baby, you don't have to. I can do it myself,"

"Nope. Besides what are you shy about now," you chuckle before pulling your sleeves up, grabbing the towel, and wringing it free of water. "Let me,"

"You're an angel, you know that?" he comments, and you're not sure if it's the fever or embarrassment making his ears and neck pink. You smile and help him off his shirt, "Oh come on, you also do this for me," you reply while gently wiping the sweat off his broad and muscular back, soft to the touch.

"This and that are different tho," you can hear his cute frown in his tone, "That's sex, this is sickness. It's grosser,"

You laugh while wiping his arms gently, making sure the pressure you apply doesn't make his body pain worse, "Well, I don't care and don't mind. My Binnie is my Binnie regardless,"

An embarrassed noise escapes his mouth, unable to bury his face in his hands. Both of you relish in the silence after, the cool water bringing comfort to his hot and sticky skin. After wiping him dry you help him into a new shirt, and you gently peel off the cooling patch off his forehead. "Where do you keep your facial wipes?" you ask.

"The vanity drawer, right side,"

Nodding you head to his vanity area which is simply a smaller desk and a mirror aligned with the stool tucked under. You obtain the wipes and get back to him, wiping his sweat off his face, observing his features carefully as you go.

"Don't look at me like that baby, I'm trying really hard not to kiss you," he whines while placing his arm atop your thigh. You raise your brow in inquiry, "What do you mean?"

"Like you love me so much. Keep on doing that I might get the wrong idea," he half-jokes, making you smile fully in slight bashfulness. "I do love you too much," you dispose of the facial wipe before peeling a new cooling patch for him. You put on the patch, his body relaxing with the coolness before you lean down and press your masked lips against his exposed ones.

You pull away quick enough and you see his shocked face, making you giggle. "Baby!" he scolds, "You could get sick! Change it now,"

"I will baby, don't worry," you chuckle before pressing one more kiss on his lips, then on his patched-up forehead. "You owe me kisses when you get better,"

"Yeah you can count on it," he squeezes your hand gently as if holding himself back from requesting that you kiss him out of the mask. "Now go change your mask before I lose my damn mind Y/N L/N,"

A laugh escapes you. "Alright, just text me if you need anything okay? I'll be right out,"

He nods before you take the basin and trash bin out, disposing of the paraphernalia along with chucking your mask in the trash.

bonus:

if you wanna send in a prompt or an ask or just say hi feel free to do so!!

[jovenshires]

I feel like the real problem with the shourtney isn't the weirdo (affectionate) tumblr side but stuff like tiktok. Bc with almost every other ship it is only weirdo tumblr kind of people that treat it as ficition but with shourtney there are so many normies that are doing truther shit.

Tiktok is so so so so bad. There is a tiktok with half million views analyzing courtney and shayne selfies and account of their family to "prove" that they are a couple.

They scare me.

I am not part of either group but if you a weirdo tumblr shourtney shipper just know that when people complain about shourtney "shippers" they are talking about the second group of people mostly.

(sorry for so many people using your inbox to do ship "discourse" haha, I am doing too but feel free to ignore and delete this if you don't want to talk about it anymore)

okay so to start off - totally agree with you that it's not really tumblr that's the problem. i will say i don't go into the sh/ourtney tag (bc. not my monkeys not my circus) but at least as far as the mutuals i have that do ship sh/ourtney, they're super chill about it! as we do, they treat the dynamic as purely fiction, they don't ya know. harass anyone.

i (and i say this thankfully) am not REALLY on smoshtok. i get the occasional smosh men or angela thirst edits and that is About it. but i will say this: you all know i am totally against tinhatting in all senses of the word. i try to stay as far away from those sides of every social media platform. so i'm with you, that shit is nasty.

but even after all that - i saw that tiktok. multiple friends sent me that tiktok. i didn't like it or anything or engage with it on purpose but i saw it. and then i found out later that they were both tagged in it, as was the official smosh account. my brother in christ i truly wish i'd never seen it. i think its one thing to look at a picture and be like 'omg they're so cute here' but another thing to compile it as evidence and throw it back in their faces. at that point, it feels like forcibly outing an aspect of their life that they clearly either do not want to or cannot discuss. they are still people with a right to privacy. rpf is just that - fiction. this is something different and i hope they one day have the clarity to see that.

tbh i really appreciate your input; you worded it much better than i did!! this is what i was talking about when i said that this epidemic isn't a huge thing here on tumblr, and i think a lot of that is in part bc the cast isn't here for us to interact with. the official smosh blog has been dead for years and as far as i know (?) none of the cast uses tumblr anymore. i was thinking more of the instagram, tiktok, and some twitter fans. (twitter is a mixed bag though and i won't get into that here. ever.) 9 times out of 10 i am Not talking about tumblr fans when i critique shipping at large. (that is to say not always. we can always work on ourselves and grow as a community. i, myself, am always learning and growing.)

anyway! i wanted to publish this ask, because i think it's very succinct and touches on a subject that i think was very valuable to this discussion (re: tinhatting). this ask is totally fine and did not cross a line in any way and i genuinely appreciate the thought you put into sending it!! that being said - this is probably the last ask i will publish on the subject. though i adore you all and i want you to feel free to speak your piece, frankly, i would also like to maintain my peace knnfnfk i do think that these discussions are important and worthwhile but that being said. i am just one lil guy.

[leoramage]

Tagged by @charlosgoggles, I was pretty busy and kind of late when I saw the post! I immediately sat down once I had my free time to do this. Thank you for the tag my co-F1 astrology bestie in this app!

name: Leora Mage is actually an anagram of my real name! i am currently using it as a penname and stage name!

sign: my big three is leo-gemini-pisces!

time: its apparently 6:47 p.m. when i started writing this down. 9 p.m. when i finished (i had duties to attend to.)

favourite band/artist: i am the music bestie that listens to anything. you can't pin me down and tell me to list my favorite artists/band! ಠಿ⁠_⁠ಠ anyways here's the following:

solo artists: taylor swift, lana del rey, rihanna, doja cat, britney spears, ariana grande, olivia rodrigo, beyoncé, jennifer lopez, madonna, lady gaga, ava max, camila cabello, qveen herby

bands/groups: in this moment, ghost, the great discord, the neighborhood, the chainsmokers, little mix, blackpink, 2ne1, exo, bigbang, coldplay

bonus: i listen to classical music too (tchaikovsky, mozart, beethoven, etc.)

last movie: burlesque (as in christina aguilera) and house of gucci! i watched it for like a whole bus trip.

last show: house of the dragon! i love rewatching because of sir harwin strong & aemond targaryen!

also drive to survive as well, i was finding the episode fernando was in because i told my mom a local artist here in my country has physical similarities to fernando hahahaha

when I created this blog: i created this blog last year's ummer - solely for my practice, learn knowledge from other practitioners about my craft. i happen to love astrology too so it kind of stuck with me and my theme! i am continuously learning and mastering my craft but at the same time explore more.

other blogs: i have another tumblr blog but i forgotten what was the username but i do believe that i made that blog for roleplaying and posting my photo manipulation for a fandom i used to be in.

do I get asks: not until belle and becca sent me a game! i passed them on to my favorite writers and some to my moot blogs. i was supposed to send one to @charlosgoggles but they do not have their ask on lmfao

followers: 20 blogs are following me. most of them are my moots for sure or bots. idk, i did not check who is following me. i do not check who is following me to be fair (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)

average hours of sleep: 5-6 hours but sometimes longer. i work harder than i sleep.

instruments: guitar, ukelele, piano keyboard, violin. i only have a guitar and keyboard with me and i haven't touched them for ages. i learned how to play the other instruments because of my acquaintances who are passionate about music or simply band members.

what I am wearing: black maxi dress that i made myself!

dream job: i do believe i can be who i wanted to be if i put effort in it. so basically i do not have a dream job.

dream trip: world tour (my work requires a lot of that and isolation from the world. so it's quite a tough journey considering the rough waves of the ocean but anything for the bag of moneh)

favorite song atm: uh i do not have a favorite song at the moment. but i listen to subliminals a lot because they just calm my mind (my brain is so active that i need to decelerate it from thinking about the most obnoxious things) but let me check my most played in spotify... okay it says:

dance the night - dua lipa

tagging: @folkloresthings , @lorarri , @love-belle / @love-bellee , @goldsainz and @opheliaas-stuff because you guys are the sweet ones i had been interacting with for the past few days. i love them sm ฅ[⁠ᓀ⁠˵⁠▾⁠˵⁠ᓂ⁠]ฅ

(p.s. feel free to do in your own comfort 𔘓 much love guys 🤍🩷💕)

[justfor2am]

hi my interview has been rescheduled once again because of course it is ^_^ nothing wants me to be interviewed ig ^_^ anyways 🥺😈🛒🎢✨💋🎶⛔🍦🌞💖💌❌🧐🦅👀🤗💞🧠🤩🤯💔🤭 for the fanfic writer asks or wtevr they're called??? didn't realize until just now u even rbed an ask game so apologies 🫡 side note the 💥 emoji is so fun . its just like 💥💥💥💥💥 yk??? also feel free to skip any of those i just threw down the ones i think would be most interesting but as usual there r many

i am manifesting an interview AND a job for u, get that bag king!!!

also waough ty for giving me an excuse to talk abt my blorbos 🥺🥺🥺

and ya 💥 feels like ur comboing someone really well in a fighting game, like 💥💥💥 K.O. yanno?

this is def gonna be a long one tho soooo the rest underneath the cut this goes lmao

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

Anything having to do with touch. I'm a sucker for physical gestures, so anything that involves details like brushing someone's hair out of their eyes, hooking a tentative pinky around someone else's hand, it doesn't need to be overt to get me in my feels every single time.

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

Yes! I threatened a major character death in [though I've closed my eyes, I know who you pretend I am] late in the final (12th) chapter lmao

I knew that being that late into the fic most people would've forgotten what the specific tags were and even less would be willing to scrolling all the way back up to check lol

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

Like I said in the first Q, touch is a big thing for me. Eyes and anything having to do with vision also tends to be a big one, if you read a fic with both of those elements there's a decent chance I wrote it.

As far as overarching things, I prefer to write scenery over dialogue, and put a heavy emphasis on describing what the characters are feeling/thinking over having them verbally express it.

🎢 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

I wanna say my [detroit become human au] has shit hit the fan pretty quickly. The fic opens with the conflict and it takes a few chapters for the reader to get any context, but once you've got it, going back to the start just makes your heart break.

✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉

booo hiss grrr

no but actually uhhhhhh... I will say that when I've got a good idea rattling around in my head, I can churn out a fic for that premise very quickly. to the point that i accidentally wrote three chapters for one of my fics all within a day, because I'm unhinged like that

💋 First kiss fics. Love em or hate em?

LOVE but only if they're done right. I appreciate first kiss fics that aren't perfect or a little clumsy, but also i'm a sucker for those picture perfect moments too

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

YA i do my best writing with some music on. I've been listening to a mix of things lately (Love from the Other Side by FOB, that new Shakira collab, and Flowers by Miley Cyrus) but i've also been looping my 14+ hour long exo playlist

⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

I had a sculk!Grian fic from like, I wanna say October last year that I was 1k words into that just. Disappeared. No clue where it went or how I lost but, but in hindsight, it wasn't my best work.

I'm still a bit sad to have lost it, but considerably more proud of the things I've written since.

🍦 What’s the sweetest fic you’ve created so far?

I have come to the realization that I am horrible at writing fluff without some level of conflict within the fic. Whoops! Closest I've got is a [scarian sick fic] that I wrote recently lmao

🌞 Do you have a preferred time of day to write?

Either while I'm at work when it's dead during the day time, or frantically at like, 11 o'clock p.m., there is no in between.

💖 What made you start writing?

Wayyyyy back when I was 12/13 I used to be big into rp, and I came into the realization that the rps I was doing could just as easily be formatting into fics.

None of those fics were ever published, but getting to learn how to edit and rewrite scenes that had been planned out with another person made me want to start creating stories of my own.

💌 How do you feel about comments and feedback?

Love love LOVE comments and feedback. Literally getting a comment is like a serotonin boost directly into my veins to write more, esp comments that'll point out specific scenes or moments/lines they liked.

someone pointed out that they liked the way I described fresh hickeys like blooming violets and I haven't been able to stop thinking about that comment ever since.

❌ What’s a trope you will never write?

That's a good question.... I'm trying to think of one that isn't like, a blatantly obvious icky trope.

I'm not sure if it counts as a trope, but Y/N fics. Not only are their primary function to act as fan service, they end up coming off very RPF to me which I'm not a fan of.

Oh, also RPF. Any fic i write has to do 100% with the characters those people portray, not the real person.

🧐 Do you spend much time researching for your stories?

Depends on the fic! For my [actor au] I've just been kinda flying by the seat of my pants, doing the occasional googling but not much. The opposite of this would be my [detroit become human au] where I literally rewatched jacksepticeye's d:bh playthrough and scoured wikis to make sure i'm describing androids correctly.

tl;dr: generally no, only as needed unless I get fixated on it.

🦅 Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

Fly by the seat of my pants, but i'm trying to change this! For my multi-chaptered fics I've started actually planning out future events, and even for this one big one shot im working on, i've got an outline in the works.

...though generally, i don't plan. it's a bad habit.

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

GLADLY so speaking of that big one shot, it's going to be a boatem superhero au, i've started outlining it and getting my concepts together, i'm very excited for it!

here's a snippet:

It was fairly obvious that the Mayor had pulled some strings to get Scar to this stage; once a nobody vigilante who seemed more preoccupied with dazzling the camera over saving lives, Scar's public image had taken a hard left turn during the past few campaigning months.

The situation was more of an open secret— it was all too convenient for Scar, who practically lived in the Mayor's pocket, to be joining the city's most elite crime-fighting team.

it's VERY early in development so don't expect this one for a while tho

🤗 What advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started?

I'd say figure out your character's voice is a big one. It's easy to fall into fanon tropes and while they're fun, they can cause lots of warping in the way you write your own fics, which might make them sound off.

So look out for fanon tropes! Personally I've run into people who make Scar very sweet and innocent, to the point of dusting his hands clean of blame. It's an easy hole to fall into, and no one should fault a writer for falling into tropes.

There's a line to walk, and I find that watching content relating to that character really helps shaping that "inner voice".

Also, get someone to proof read your work who is willing to point out your mistakes. Editing/betaing is never meant to be a personal attack, but rather to make sure that the fic you present to the rest of the world is cohesive and clear.

💞 Who’s your comfort character?

Scar! He just gets me fr. He's one of my favorite guys to write because of how versatile and how much variety he has. He could be a silly salesman one minute, and a quietly scary assassin the next. Whatever the bit or joke is, he fully commits to it, often to the detriment of himself, but god does it make for good content.

Also he has a really good narration voice ok

🧠 Pick a character, and I’ll tell you my favorite headcanon for them.

(ty for the speedy discord reply lol)

Grian! my darling baby boy who has every mental illness ever

no but actually, i'd say my favorite grian head canon is anything having to do with him being an alchemist. i want that man brewing potions, getting blown up, and curing all his friends ailments with the most illegal looking brew you've ever seen in your life.

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

Grian, mostly because he comes easiest to me! There's such a sense of endless potential when I get ready to write him, and like, idk what it is, but longing too?

We've been getting it pretty heavy w/ his whole "I Miss Mumbo" campaign but like, grian to me feels like someone who's always thinking about reaching a hand out, and pulls it back at the last second. It's very relatable.

🤯 What’s a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

Weirdly enough, it's fluff. I always feel compelled to write stories with some level of conflict or it's not "satisfying" to me. I love reading the genre, but for whatever reason when I write it, I get in my head about if it's "good enough" or not without conflict. I'm working on that lol

💔 Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?

EDIT: so i misread this, you get fic recs as a bonus. my proper answer is: [my bad ending fae two shot], it will shatter you as it did me </3

i'm going to give two because i do what i want. the first being [It's Only Logical by TSTrashCaptain] which is a sanders sides fic that to this day, i can only dream of writing something so good. tw for themes of abuse and nsfw at times, but god. just reading the title again puts a knot in my heart in the best way possible.

now, this fic. [your heart rots in my hands by thepigeoncat]. this fic slaughtered me the first time i read it. i left a long ass comment on it. tw for major character death, but this is the perfect last life scarian fic.

it's beautiful, and tragic, and it makes me feel as though the world has truly ended /pos. please go read it.

🤭 Do you have a favorite tag to use when posting your works?

my favorite tag for when i post unbetaed work is "no beta we die like scar to the boatem hole"

as far as a REAL tag, hurt/comfort >:))

and my favorite one off funny tag is "i cannot emphasis to you enough how much blood is in this fic"

[fanfic writer emoji asks!]

[furballfaggot]

the creatures have spoken. here is the fully unedited successful recipe, save for a couple extra notes i made when i posted them on discord and some clarifications. additional notes and failed attempts under the cut. please tag me if you make these i wanna know what yall think!!!!!!!!!!!

gio treats mk3 -- unedited recipe, more info at the bottom

goal of gio treats: crunchy, tastes good, bone

mk2 advancements: better texture, somewhat more of a taste, actually a bit crunchy, thick enough to cut beforehand

mk3 goals: stronger flavor, proper crunch

1 1/2 cups all purpose flour

1 cup cornbread mix

2 tbsp butter, melted

1 tsp onion powder

1 tsp curry powder

1 1/2 cup beef brof (made with 4 bullion cubes) (note: bullion is deliberately spelled billion in the original text)

small amount of any nice herbs (added to broth -- strained out probably) (note: i used bay leaves and parsley just to keep it simple, but feel free to add whatever you want)

egg

pinch of salt and pepper (note: originally typed out as "pincha salt n peppy")

"enough pancake mix to make it stick again"

preheat oven to 375 faggotheit

roll dough onto flat surface and cut into bone

transgender to GREASED cookie sheet

poke 4 holes into each bone with toothpick (mostly for looks tbh)

bake until baked (bout 21 minutes)

let cool until cool (7ish minutes)

serves people*, probably

for storage keep in ziploc bag. for added effect make sure its one of those ones that can stand up on their own when theres stuff in em

for the past week ive been trying to make a human body compatible dog treat of sorts because I Am Dog And I Am Weird. this is the 3rd attempt, which worked out wonderfully. im going to make a thread for the notes ive got about this recipe as well as the 2 rejects from before after i send this message, so dont be alarmed by that. no real editing done aside from this note because i think its funnier this way and i wanna preserve the energy behind the whole endeavor. feel free to substitute anything you want in place of anything here -- the broth and cornbread mix are what give these their flavor, so if you want something that isnt savory you should start there. none of this was based on any preexisting recipes, i just thought of what makes baked things how they are and threw bullshit numbers at the wall for a while

mark 3 original baking notes:

- the cornbread mix definitely fucked with the consistency some. in my defense we ran out of all-purpose flour after the 1 1/2 cups i used

- added 3 bay leaves and a couple shakes of parsley into the broth and didnt strain it. the bay leaves were discarded but the parsley stayed

- number 1 most unsettling feeling in the world: picking used wet bay leaves out of cold beef broth

- pancake mix was used ONLY to get the dough to where itd possibly keep its shape. DO NOT use any more of it than you need to

- something in this batch is making the dough rise. pancake mix? cornbread mix?? self-rising flour i used on the cutting board and rolling pin??? hopefully it doesnt fuck things up too bad either way

- froze the other half of the dough for future use. for What im not sure but for something

- is melting the butter the way to go or should i just let it soften? much to consider. there are many such cases. etc etc

- it looks like they dont rise all that much actually. definitely not enough to be a major issue wrt: if they touch but no verdict on taste and texture just yet

- i will say they definitely *look* better when theyve risen a bit. just aesthetics wise

- im gonna load the dishwasher while these bake

- toothpick doesnt squish and comes out clean after being taken out of the oven. so far so gamer

mark 3 original tasting notes:

- oh fuck yes

- FUCK yes

- FUCK YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

- theyre just dry enough, just crunchy enough, and just flavorful enough. fuck YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- the perfect little treat -- not too much flavor, but not too little of it either. just dry enough to dissuade having too many at once and/or to encourage more frequent hydration

- the cornbread mix was the PERFECT addition

- the thinner ones are a little off i will say. a bit burnt i think? but still not horrible

- the beef and herb flavors are just present enough for me

- im gonna be real i was NOT thinking these would turn out so good but im not upset in the slightest. might try and make a sweet version at some point if only so i can use it for my party in july

- mother of god i wish i had an actual tail to wag rn. that thing would be goin at like warp speed. curse this human flesh

- would absolutely KILL with soup. i might make extra noodle soup just for this theory

gio treats mk2

goal of gio treats: crunchy, tastes good, bone

mk2 goal: savory??? strong flavor also. ideally can be cut into from the start, to minimize waste

2 1/2 cups all purpose flour

2 tbsp butter, melted

2 tsp onion powder

1 1/2 cup beef brof

egg

pincha salt

preheat oven to 350 faggotheit

spread onto pan

roll dough onto flat surface and cut into bone

transgender to GREASED cookie sheet

bake until baked (bout 25 minutes)

let cool until cool (10ish minutes)

serves people*, probably

mark 2 original notes:

- dough was VERY sticky. like "put flour on the workspace and the rolling pin or you will have made glue" levels of sticky

- looks like ive got the ratio down for the right consistency to roll and cut into shapes! they were still a little limp when i moved them from the cutting board to the cookie sheet but thats probably easily fixed with a quick chill

- going for a savory approach here. if it works i might see if i cant recreate this with other liquids and spices. and one eggs

- better?

- flavor is less faint than mk1 but still not really all that present. the onion powder didnt really do much tbh

- a little chewy still. tiel suggested cooking them at a higher temp so ill probably try that next

- probably fucks hard with soup though

- the onion powder is kinda overpowering tbh

gio treats mark 1

goal of gio treats: crunchy, tastes good, bone

1 1/2 cups all purpose flour

2 tbsp butter, melted

2 tbsp brown sugar

"an amount" almond extract

4 tbsp honey

1/2 cup milk

preheat oven to 350 faggotheit

spread onto pan

bake lightly until just coherent enough to cut into (4ish minutes)

use bone cookie cutters to make into bone shapes (depending on how well you spread them they may be difficult to keep coherent)

bake until baked (bout 23 minutes)

let cool until hardened at least slightly (11 minutes)

serves people*, probably

mark 1 original notes:

- theyre fine. nothin to write home about. not quite what i was hoping for but fuck it we ball

- theyre kinda chewy? i might have made them too thick. or maybe there wasnt a good enough balance in the batter. ill have to work on that next time

- the sanding sugar i quietly added to the batter did nothing for the crunch factor actually

- almond extract is definitely not the right flavor for this one. it bakes into a light and delicate blink-and-you-miss-it taste, but too much and it overpowers the rest of it

- why did i use honey again? flair? prissybitchism? it does nothing

- like, theres hardly ANY almond here. its a ghost within this thing

- maybe i didnt bake them long enough actually. maybe they need more time in the oven

- maybe beef flavored gio treats would be pretty good actually. wonder what they make dog treats out of. im gonna google that actually

- ok im back. milk-bone treats (the ones i like the aesthetics of) are made with wheat flour, meat flavors, and a whole lotta chemicals i dont wanna read rn. so it cant be too hard

extra post-success notes:

- the honey in mark 1 may have actually been detrimental to the treats as a whole. my guess is somewhere along the way they fucked with the consistency and made them so chewy

- "an amount" lol

- i cannot stress enough that you have to grease your baking sheet and flour your workspace holy shit

- can you tell the bulk of these instructions were written super late at night

- the slight rise of mark 3 is perfect actually. makes them nice and airy while still giving them a good crunch

- dont roll the dough too thin!!!!!! they will burn slightly and suck lotsly if you do that!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- i didnt have to pick the bay leaves out by hand

- but i did

- i was gonna pour the broth out anyways

- i did start a load of dishes and look up what milk-bones were made of when i said id do those things. just btw

- i did actually time those baking and cooling times with the stopwatch feature of my clock app! those are not easy estimates, i actually did those ones right

- if it wasnt for me running out of flour partway through mark 3 i would never have added cornbread mix. everyone say thank you to the flour bag being so pathetically tiny

ive been trying and failing for the past couple nights to make a Human Body Compatible dog treat from scratch and yes i KNOW i can just use my bone cookie cutters on any dough i want to but thats different to me. thats just bone-shaped cookies. i dont want that. what i want is something superficially resembling a milk-bone dog treat but made for people and also not with a buncha chemicals i cant read. ive got 2 attempts under my belt so far and i intend to try more. ill post those drafts eventually

[skazoo]

dance of the thieves.

↳ han jisung x f!reader x bang chan

in the casino, the cardinal rules are to keep them playing and to keep playing them. what happens when they play you?

length. 3.4k

genre. con artist!au, poly!au, kinda enemies to lovers, crack, fluff, a little bit angsty,

warnings/tags. language, mention of sex, mention of violence, alcohol consumption

networks. @kflixnet

notes. here i am again with a fic vaguely inspired by the daydream i had while watching ocean's 11 for the 10th time! yay!

i wrote this in the middle of the night because i was scared of losing the inspiration but i like how it turned out...

ALSO! 87% sure there will be a part 2 bc i'm kinda a slut for this trio. just kinda tho. a nee way, pls tell me if you want to be tagged when pt.2 is out, i'll add you to the taglist!

i'm desperate for feedback and i love comments with your opinion!

(cross-posted on ao3 only)

navigation

it is a truth universally acknowledged by your community that monaco is the playground of the rich and stupid.

monaco is curated gardens and high palm trees; it is fancy cobblestone streets and luxurious sports cars, but above all, monaco is ‘le casino de monte carlo’.

high, ornate ceilings, lavish décor, and artificial bright lights mixed with the incessant fading music in the background are your home and your extremely competitive workplace.

in a business in which predators far outnumber preys, it is vital to assert dominance and to have clear in mind what the goal of the hunt is. the reward one wants to take home.

it is essential to individuate the competition and to always watch your back. always.

that’s why, when you enter the big fancy doors of the casino or ‘arena’ —as your fellow con artists like to call it— you take your time to scan the lobby and the adjacent bar, letting your trained eyes wash over the group of business magnates sitting on the plush sofas on your right and on the few bent heads hovering over refined drinks on your left. 

every time you catch a hard pair of eyes already staring at you with a competitive ferocity, an imperceptible hand movement of someone of your ‘area of expertise’, you let a finger elegantly tap on the small bag you’re mindlessly holding.

tap. tap. tap. tap. tap. tap.

seven, including you. 

they’re all eyeing you warily but only one worries you tonight.

the suffused lights of the bar create a coppery halo around his dark hair and with his perfectly ironed white dress shirt, his elegantly pierced ears, and his small waist you reluctantly understand how his targets always fall for his charms so easily.

you look at him from afar with contempt and you miss a certain pair of unfamiliar eyes following your every move. 

when you reach your self-appointed nemesis at the bar he fakes surprise and with slightly raised eyebrows he puts the drink back on its coaster and turns his body to look at you. amused eyes take you in and you have to resist the urge to scoff at his flirty antics. 

he clears his throat and offers a small nod, taking your hand and helping you onto the stool beside his. “L/N.”

“han.”

when you met han jisung for the very first time you were under all aspects a child. and he was too. 

watching from the sidelines monaco’s fauna come and go from the casino was confusing, especially for two orphans without anything in their name in one of the most disgustingly lavish places ever. 

at age twelve you were running in the streets swindling unaware tourists, snickering away in the warm night, and splitting everything in half. it was fair and organized and you were incredibly proud of the little business you had going on.

 

at fifteen you started to put up a little 'con show', more complicated, more cunning. he talked the victims to death and at his signal, you came into action leaving your target with empty pockets and a sour taste on their tongue. it was thrilling and you were so good at it, you managed to put aside some money for the ‘ji and Y/N leave hell’ fund. 

unfortunately for you, you were not the only one to see your great potential.

as soon as jisung hit legal age, your modest two-bedroom-one-bathroom apartment was stormed by official recruiting letters from the main groups of con artists in the city. they wanted him and he desperately loved that feeling of being wanted, of being needed; it made him feel powerful.

when you started to find in his eyes the same desire for ‘liberation’ you saw in the eyes of your mother when she left your six years old hand on the steps of the decadent orphanage, you made the decision that would have protected your heart in the most jealous way possible. you left him first.

you still remember how he looked: confused, lost, angry.  

but the next day your side of the apartment was completely empty, your keys were left on the hook on the entrance wall and he had wasted no time accepting one of the most well-paid jobs in monaco’s illegal life.

you think about your shared past every time you look at him, even now, as he signals the bartender to make your usual and he does it with such confidence that you have to look away from a mix of annoyance and nostalgia, regret, longing. 

“didn't see you there, colleague.”

“didn’t see me? you’ve been staring at me from the moment i stepped foot in here, colleague.” your tone is mockingly sweet but you know he can’t (or won't) understand it.

he winks. 

always, always so flirty, and for what? 

“maybe i was but can you really blame me? coming here looking like this… who could resist such a vision?”  

you scoff tiredly. “hopefully not my target. i kinda want to get home early tonight.”

he nods in acknowledgment and swirls the dark content of his glass with mellow boredom.

you take a peek at the time on his expensive watch and sigh. just a few more minutes and your prey will walk into the casino. just a few minutes and you clock in for the evening. 

“who are you here for today?” your lack of interest must not be that evident because his eyes sparkle with mischief and excitement.

he finishes eating an olive and smiles to himself. “music prodigy, genius producer, got even a bunch of big names lining up for him. got rich really fast and wants to spend everything he has in here tonight.”

he takes a sip of his sickening sweet drink and licks his lips; dark gaze never leaving your eyes. he’s got your attention and not only for his shameless seduction tactics. 

he’s dangerously close to describing the man you’re waiting for tonight.

“he was here for the grand prix but i’ve asked around,” he gets closer and you can feel his sweet cherry breath tickle your nose, “and he’s going back to seoul tomorrow morning so it should be a quick job.”

“a music producer?” the more he talks the more you feel that familiar annoyance bubble in your chest.

 

it’s not unusual for mishaps like this to happen but why do you always have to choose the same target as han fucking jisung? or way better: why does han fucking jisung always have to choose yours?

“yeah, he’s pretty young and a little bird told me he just broke up with his girlfriend so…” his sing-song voice tells you he’s waiting for you to finish his sentence.

you turn away from him and set your tense eyes on the main entrance. “so what? are you trying to find love? you know that no one loves a liar, right?” 

he scoffs out a laugh. “it’s not that.” he’s starting to get up from his stool and you feel the urge to follow his actions, getting into position before someone can take advantage of your high heels and sweep your ‘date’ for the evening right from under your nose. 

“all i’m saying is that he’s sad and alone and more malleable than ever. i bet i can make him give in in less than an hour-“

“what’s his name, han?”

his smile reaches his eyes and you kinda want to wipe it off with a well-placed slap. “why? you wanna join us?”

“han.”

“okay, okay. chill… his name is bang christopher chan.”

the soft music coming from the grand piano crackles like a broken vinyl and you wish that looks could kill because you are right. again.

“jisung.” you feel your angry voice echo in the small space between you.

wide eyes and a burst of nervous laughter is all he can muster when you stare at him like you want to wipe him off the face of the earth. “what? what did i do? why are you looking at me like that?”

you lower your voice lest anyone hears you. “what did you do? are you sure you want me to tell you what the fuck you did? because i won’t be cute about it.” 

he rolls his eyes like he always does to de-escalate with you, the initial worry, fades into a smug nonchalance. “just tell me and stop being so dramatic, Y/N. also, be quick, i have a job to do.” he’s looking around expectantly. it’s mostly for dramatics —you know it— but you’re getting antsy.

he goes to leave but you grab his arm and squeeze it so hard that it hurts. “wanna go toe to toe with me, han? he is my fucking target, i’ve been gathering information on him for days and i won’t let you take him away from me, understand?”

and there it is. that horribly attractive smirk. the one where a corner of his mouth is more raised than the other, the one that’s always there when he makes you lose your shit, the one you remember all too well. “but sweetheart, he’s not yours.” his lips come in a pout. “he’s actually free real estate for everyone in here and i bet my ass, he’ll be far too gone for me before you even have the time to get him with your little dirty tricks.”

you’re about to bite back but before you can threaten him more, the most stunning man you’ve ever seen in your short, mediocre life, takes a hesitant step into the golden hall.

he looks completely lost and his innocent dark eyes look around nervously, softening his sharp features. his platinum hair frames his face perfectly and reflects the artificial light of the hall making him look like an angel.

beside you, a blushing jisung tries to regain his signature charming composure before diving in the crowd and chasing after the unsuspecting music prodigy.

and just like that, the dance of the thieves begins. again.

—

you’ve been sitting at this poker table for what feels like hours and your target has lost each and every game, but still finds the motivation to keep taking out of his pockets what seems like infinite fiches; an ever-full flute of sparkling million-dollar champagne in reach and hands softly moving up and down yours and jisung’s thigh.

the evening is fading into night more quickly than you would have liked to if you were under normal circumstances. ‘fantastic, you’re going to have to work overtime again’ is what you would have thought if the company you had was horribly uninteresting but that —fortunately or not— is not the case.

when you and your unintentional ‘hunting mate’ attacked what you both thought was an unsuspecting prey with every sweet word and praise in your modest arsenal, you didn't take into account that bang christopher chan was a huge and terribly skilled flirt.

how can a single man make two of the best con artists —actors, if one will— in the city feel like flustered teenagers talking to their crush? you can’t really understand it and more often than not you just have to exchange an unbelieving look with jisung to see if he is actually seeing this shit too and you’re not just hallucinating in the middle of the casino.

you’re lost in your conspiracy theories when chan’s warm hand taps you twice just below your chin. “something on your mind, baby?”

you gulp and try to hide your blushing face from your sworn enemy into the blond’s shoulder. “no chan, just… i don’t understand why you keep playing if you haven’t won anything.” your tone is mellow, sweet. you see jisung slightly cringe from the other side of the prey.

chan lets out an airy laugh. his cheeks are flushed with the shade of alcohol and you swear you’re being hypnotized because you can’t recognize yourself as you smile fondly at the soft dimples that appear on his angelic face. “you know what they say, baby: ‘lucky at cards, unlucky in love’, and we wouldn’t want that, right hannie?”

jisung almost chokes on his saliva at the slightly slurred nickname and sticks to nodding his head no. it makes him feel giddy having the man’s hot breath tickle his neck. he’s always been sensitive there, you would know, he thinks.

you both watch in awe and, admittedly a little worry as chan elegantly drowns his fourth or fifth glass of champagne of the night, and you and jisung seem to be thinking the same thing because he glances at his wristwatch and then smirks at you in a way that assures you that he’s convinced he’s about to take home the drunk price without breaking a sweat.

“he’s mine, accept it,” he whispers when chan focuses on losing again at the table.

“you really wish you could take him, right?”

“alright, try to see it from my point of view: he’s been all over me the entire time and- ‘hannie’? do you expect him to choose you over me? like for real?”

you unceremoniously kick him under the table. “i’m really trying my absolute hardest to see things from your perspective but i just can’t get my head that far up my ass, i’m sorry.” he fakes offense. “one useful thing you can do is help me get him out of here, c’mon.”

you manage to get chan’s massive, statuary, greek-god body out of the cushioned armchair not without any struggle. he’s now hanging between the two of you, arms slung over your shoulders and you’re trying your best to drag him towards the garden maze, away from prying eyes.

“do you two need a place to stay tonight? you guys are so hot, you know?”

jisung chuckles softly. “are we now, channie?”

you almost lose balance as the blond abruptly stops in his tracks and pins han against the bushy walls of the maze. “i really do think that, baby and you can’t even begin to understand what i would do to the two of you right now if i could.” the last part is breathed out as a promise and at this point, you’re too hot and bothered by the way he possessively holds your waist that you’re ready for everything and anything he has in mind. “you would like that, wouldn’t you Y/N?”

“i- uh, yeah?”

“good girl, i knew you would…” a sentence so unimportant, so utterly insignificant as he slowly starts painting a trail of wet kisses down jisung’s neck, and in response, your colleague lets out a breathy moan.

then chan is laughing again and you know he’s not yet sobered up.

“what the fuck is happening to us!?”

you can see the center of the maze and he starts dragging chan’s body again but it’s evident he’s as shocked as you are. “i don’t fucking know! i just know i want him to do… unspeakable things to us.”

you choke on spit. “us!?”

eyebrows raised to the sky, eyes that look like they’re going to pop off any second now and he raises both his hands, shrugging his shoulders. you don’t even hear the deaf thump of chan’s body dropping dead on the grassy trail. “i guess!? if you were having a hard time noticing, i like you! love you even! since I was old enough to understand what these feelings meant!”

“ji, w-what?” you called him that a lot when you were partners and you can see on his face that he remembers.

“yeah… and- and you hurt me Y/N. you hurt me so much and despite that i still-”

you grimace but you have to stop him. “jisung i’m so sorry but where is chan? where did he go?”

“-what?”

you get back to back with jisung as the lights of the maze shut down for a second and are immediately switched back on, pointed straight at your faces, constricting you in a prison of spotlights. 

from the bushes, in the dark, you can vaguely make out seven silhouettes approaching you slowly, menacingly.

“by the way i just told you that i love you and you didn’t even acknowledge me,” he mutters as to not draw too much attention.

“oh, sorry i’m not reacting to this news with appropriate excitement but i’m really freaking out right now!”

“you don’t have to worry as long as we’re together.”

you throw a surprised look over your shoulder. “oh wow, so now you’re staying?”

“why, what did you expect?”

“i expected you to run, jisung! to leave me just like you did before!

“did i run Y/N?! or was it you? you told me you didn’t need me anymore and i didn’t want to be the weight that kept you from living the life you wanted!”

“you say you loved me but you accepted the job! you didn’t even ask me to stay!”

“because you left our apartment before i could even try anything! i didn’t want the job before you ran away from us!”

a loud and mocking laugh reveals the first of the looming figures from the bushes “my god, chan they’re hilarious, you were right.”

and then he emerges from the shadows in all his sober glory. “now, now minho, you know i don’t lie.” he stares intensely at you and smirks. you can’t even form a coherent thought.

another figure comes into the light. this one is blonde like chan but is dangerously swinging a bat in circles and jisung is sure he doesn’t like that. “i like the chick but are you sure i can’t punch him in the face?” 

“yes, i’m sure hyunjin. calm down.”

“what if i break his nose just a little bit? i mean, it’s not like i’m killing anyone! 

a deep voice from the back echoes in the air. “what do you want? a gold star?!”

you drop your arms from the fighting stance you had. “i’m sorry but who are you all?”

silence drops. the only thing that resonates in the small center of the maze is chan’s feet crunching the gravel under his elegant shoes. when he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne he opens his arms and six shadows spread out on his sides like wings. “we’re stray kids,” he pauses, “and you’re going to be working with us from now on.”

“and like i already said, i don’t lie. i do want to do things to both of you.”

“to us?” jisung’s voice is high with excitement.

“to you, with you, we'll see where this journey takes us, won’t we baby?” 

you can’t stop yourself from letting out a little squeal and he smiles. 

“see, you two are too much fun to rot in this city.”

SIX MONTHS LATER. 

you wish you could stay like this forever. you really do. but you have a job to prepare for and they know it too even if they're blatantly choosing to avoid the truth.

the bed sheets smell clean, the tropical sun is warm on your skin, a soft breeze makes the white curtains fly around the room, and you can hear the sound of the waves crashing on the shore just outside the beautiful beach house with the occasional loud laughter of changbin who's playing some stupid game with the others on the porch.  

so, yes. it's hard to get up from the white-lined bed especially if you're basically head-locked into the strongest and bulkiest chest you've ever had the pleasure of sleeping on.

you shift slightly and chan whines from under you. he can be such a baby when things are not to his liking and you honestly love this drowsy part of him.

you prop yourself on his chest and start to leave on his smooth chest little pecks, bites. some are harsher and you can feel him tense. "channie, baby, i have to get things ready for tonight." he stirs. "and you and ji should too, you know?"

at his name being uttered with such affection, the other man slowly blinks and fondly stares up at you from his sheltered position under chan's arm. he watches you as you talk to your lover and can't help but smile. just smile at how happy and calm you look despite the uncertain past he knows you both had.

you catch him watching you and he's happy you don't keep to yourself the airy chuckle that leaves your parted mouth.

you lean over chan's body to reach your old nemesis. one kiss on the forehead, one on the nose, and the last -the most important, jisung thinks- on his mouth. sweet, long.

at the commotion, chan releases you from his hold and turns to hug the other man. 

now you can prepare for what awaits you all this evening. 

the all-time greatest heist of your life.

[hobbitsnapes]

YOU GUYS ARE DATING

Corpse x MGK!sister reader

(Found this image on Pinterest so all credit goes to artist, if you know who it is please comment below so I can credit them)

A/N: this was requested by @heyitssab

Tree is tall of sex in this, but it’s more in a joking matter, plus corpse has stated he doesn’t mind as long as you are not a minor or send or tag him. I’m literally 2 years younger than him, and have no intentions of ever tagging him or sending him any of my work XD

Summary: how many idiots does it take to tell the brother and friend they’re dating? Apparently takes 2 very forgetful people, who kept their relationship secret without knowing it.

It had just been by chance, a small chance that he had been scrolling through his tags. liking and reposting art, when he saw a tag from someone he followed. He wrecked his brain for when he had followed her, coming up empty. She was cute, no denying the beauty she had as she laughed in the video. It was a clip from a stream that he didn’t know she had, as he couldn’t even remember her name, wearing his merch as it fit her snug. It fit her perfectly in fact, the large hood covering her face, hiding the flush to her face from her rather large chuckles that left her body. He couldn’t help but like the photo, and he couldn’t help but to press message either.

It was first only small likes to posts, an Occasional message, and a view on their livestreams, but that all changed when he spoke of the song he was working on with her older brother.

It all started that night, when both lay in their beds as they talked, laughed, and felt their hearts flutter each time they heard one another speak.

Her phone rang violently in her bag, nearly making her drop the to go bag all over the ground as she walked. “Hello?” She asked, as she held both bags with her hands as her shoulder gripped the phone as if it’d fall down a cliff. “Hey bug!” He exclaimed, making her chuckle as she heard the booming sound of his voice. She had always detested the nickname, as he gave it to her as kids due to her horrendous fear of the creatures. But, it brought more joy to her, as it reminded her of their youth. Having been adults for years, it was fun to hear such a childish name that’s stuck.

“Hey mopey.” She chuckled, as that was the name she gave him when he was in his emo phase that he never outgrew.

Both talked as she walked towards the elevator, mainly about how his day had gone as she silently listened.

She had always been this way, always the shyer of the two, the one to listen to others first before she said a word. He had teased her for it most of their childhood and teen life, but he had grown to love it, as he could let loose or rant to her about anything, and he knew she’d be there just to listen to him.

“So what’re you doing right now?” He asked, as she got into the elevator. “Just grabbed some dinner a few minutes before you called and nearly made me shit.” A smile painted on her face at his boisterous laughter.

“Are you at home?” He asked, as he heard the sound of the elevator beeping in the background. “No, I’m spending the night with my boyfriend.”

She had mentioned about a month prior that she was seeing someone, the joy it brought him to hear the excitement and joy in her tone as she gushed about their first date.

If this was 7 or 8 years prior, he would be bombarding her with questions about the man, who he was, where he lived, where he could meet him to find his intentions with his baby sister. But, in the last few years, he found himself feeling calmer whenever she’d mentioned her love life. He knew she was smart, and would never date a man who treated her poorly. The few breakups she had, they always ended amicably, her head still high as she told him. So, he never asked her any questions about the man, as he could tell from the few times she mentioned him, he could feel the love this man had for her, and Vice versa.

The strong barreling of her phone alerted them awake, both groaning out as she reached for her phone without lifting her head from his shoulder. “Hello?” She mumbled, voice slurred as the saliva was thick in her mouth, barely awake as she fought to listen in on who dares to wake them up.

“Hey!” He exclaimed, making her equally exhausted lover groan. She shifted off of him, laying on her back as he turned away from her, as to hopefully shut his eyes and fall back asleep. She was used to her brother's large voice, as it hardly phased her after growing up with him. “Colson, why are you calling me this ungodly hour?” “Oh come on, it’s not that early.” “Col its-“ She pulled her phone from her ear, eyes shutting violently as the bright light blinded her “5 o’clock in the morning. So again, I’m going to ask you, why did you call me at the asscrack of dawn?” “You don’t remember?” He asked, making her irritation grow. “No, that’s why I’m asking.” She says, as she rubbed her sleep crusted eyes. “You were coming up today to hang out with casie, remember?” Her hand stopped rubbing her face, as she felt her heart stop momentarily. “Wait, you mean today? I thought I was coming Friday?” “No, both of you settled on today, remember I told you that’s perfect because I have a day off?” She felt her heart pain as she heard the sadness in his tone, knowing he’s expecting her to bail. “Yeah sorry, I thought you meant Friday so I mixed it up, let me get ready and I’ll be out the door okay? Love you” she said, as she hung up the line.

Before she could even move, she felt his arm wrap around her body. A tired groan leaving his lips. “Nooo stayyyy.” He groaned, pulling her body to his. She smiled as she looked down at him, wrapping her arm on his chest and the other behind his neck. “I wish I could live, but I can’t.” Planting a soft kiss against his lips. “Stay in bed for a few more hours, please?” Her heart pulled at his tone, hearing just how tired he was. “I can’t, casies wanted me to come up for weeks now. And it takes a good 3 hours to get there. I wanna spend as much time as I can with them before it gets dark so I can get back safely.” He groaned at this, wrapping his arms around her. “Yeah but it’s only 5, it wouldn’t be safe to drive since we went to bed like, 2 hours ago.” “Yeah, and whos fault was that mister?” She teased, “hmm, sorry but I just couldn’t keep my hands to myself after not seeing you for a few days.” He mused, pulling her body closer to his, planting his lips against hers. A small hum left her lips as he pulled her thigh over his, grabbing the flesh harshly as their lips cascaded together. “Mm, no no no, you’re not gonna convince me to stay here just to go another round.” She said, as she got off from his warm body, throwing his large hoodie over her bare body. “Oh come on babe, are you sure about that?” He said, making her turn around to him. A small gasp left her lips as her eyes took in his milky white complexion. His honey brown eyes looking back at her with a small smile etched onto his face. His hair a tousled mess that resembled a bird's nest, some pieces falling onto his face. “Honey, I’ve been wanting to see my family for weeks now, I see you almost everyday and practically live here. I’ll be back tomorrow so I can grab more clothes from my place okay?” She placed a kiss to his lips, both holding one another in their arms. “I don’t know why you don’t just say fuck that place and just move in.” He mumbled, making her chuckle and heart warm. “Don't you think it’s a little soon though? I mean we’ve only been together a few months love.” “Yeah, but you’ve practically lived here since we got together, you literally just go there to get more clothes that you end up leaving here.” She looked into his eyes as she thought about his words. “Hm, I’ll think about it today okay?” She mused, planting a kiss to his lips. A soft okay leaving him as she got up.

“And babe, remember if you live here, we can have all the sex we want and not have to worry about driving to get one another.” He exclaimed, laughing at the loud honey she screamed from the bathroom.

She couldn’t help but laugh out as she watched, as her niece tried her hardest to braid her fathers grown out hair. It was near impossible not to, as pieces would fall out, resulting in her pulling them harsher, nearly pulling his eyelids back due to the tension from his temples. “Okay okay you’re gonna fuckin scalp me.” He chuckled , as all three bursted out in large laughter.

“So how’s school going this year?” She asked her, as she delicately painted her nails. Both of the girls had found themselves on the floor in front of the nice coffee table, as colson sat and chatted with them. “It’s going really well.” “Oh yeah? Make any new friends?” She teased. “I mean, kinda.” She couldn’t help but hear the wavering in her tone, spotting the faint blush dusting her skin. “Ohh, so there’s a someone eh?” She teased to her, making the preteen hide her face as to conceal the flush. “His names Garrett, and we both take social studies together. He always sits next to me at lunch, and we’ll draw on my notebook.” She gushed, making her smile. “Soo, do you think he likes you?” “I mean, that’s what everyone keeps saying.” “Yeah well don’t worry about it to much cas, you’re not dating anyone for many more years. You’re still a kid.” Her das said, making the young girls face fall.

Y/N knew he was only saying this to protect her, as he said the same thing to her growing up. “Hey, don’t be bummed out about it. He is right, you both are only 12 and should focus on school. But don’t worry, he’ll come around. He was just like that with me up until my current boyfriend.” She whispered, making the young girl chuckle.

“Speaking of which, how are you guys doing?” He asked, as she hadn’t mentioned hun to her in a while. He didn’t think it’d hurt to ask. “Great actually, we’re thinking of moving in together actually.” “That’s great! I’m really happy that y’all met.” “Yeah, I am too.” She hummed, a flush dusting her cheeks.

Both men laughed as they chatted on the phone, talking about anything that would come to mind. What was once only a collaboration for a song, turned into an amazing friendship that caused both of them to call at late hours just to shoot the shit.

A yawn left his lips, as he listened to colson ramble on about another song he was making. “Woah, you tired man?” Colson asked, shocked to hear the sound. “Yeah sorry, was up most of the night last night.” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Were you feeling alright?” He asked, worry laced in his tone. He knew all about his friends illnesses, even once being on the other end of the phone during a bad spell one day.” “Oh yeah yeah yeah, was just, up with the misses last night.” He chuckled, a flush blooming on his cheeks. “Ohhh yeah? And how was it?” This shocked him, nearly feeling his heart stop. Like, does he usually know about his sisters sex life? He didn’t think much of it, as he knew just how close both were. “It was absolutely fucking amazing. Like I thought we’d be done for the night, fully tapped out but after like 5 minutes she’d be right back on me for another round.” He chuckled, his flush even worse than before. “Ayyyeee good for you corpse, glad to hear that puss is bussin.” He laughed at this, throwing his head back. “Yeah, it’s bussin bussin.”

Both men talk as they read from their phones, eyes wide in absolute awe of the love they received from the song. They had just dropped it a few days prior, not expecting the cry of joy from both fan bases.

He didn’t even look up from it when she walked in, until she bent down to plant a kiss to his forehead. “Sorry I had completely forgot about the tea I made you an hour ago, but I put it back on the stove to heat it up so if it’s twisting funky just tell me okay?” Before he could even thank her, both their heads whipped towards the loudness from the other line. “Y/N? Is that you? What in the hell are you doing there with corpse!” He didn’t sound angry, more shocked than anything, both of them looking at the phone in confusion. “I, I love here? Remember I told you like a month ago I was moving in with him?” “WHAT!” Both jumped at the loud scream. “Wait so you guys are dating!?” Both we’re even more perplexed, until it dawned on both of them. Their eyes wide as they turned their heads to one another slowly. “Wait you didn’t tell him?” “No? He’s one of your best friends so I thought you did!” “He’s your brother! So I thought you did!” Both whisper, until all three lay silent. That was until, the large cry of laughter that leaves the two, leaving colson even more confused. He wasn’t mad, not at all actually. More shocked and confused than anything. Until he started thinking, it does make sense, all the times they spoke about one another without him knowing, all the times they mentioned-“OH GOD!” He yelled, gagging violently, making them stop their laughing fit. “What's wrong? Why are you yelling?” She asks “like a month ago corpse was talking about how he was tired cause he was up all night having sex AND I HAD NO IDEA HE WAS TALKING ABOUT YOU! OH GOD WAS THAT WHY YOU WERE LIMPING THAT DAY WITH CAS AND I!” Both laugh even harder, as they listen to his ever growing gags.

“So yeah,. That’s literally how we had no idea we were keeping the relationship secret from her brother.” He laughed, as he red the comments and listened to his friends' laughter. She sat beside him, head laying on his shoulder as he told the story. She couldn’t help but to look back up into his eyes, as he glanced down at her, planting a soft kiss to her lips. “Keep it pg guys.” Colson said from the other line, making them chuckle.

[marvels-bitch-boy]

Emerald Eyes: Chapter 1

Hi!! okay, so this is my first ever attempt at writing a series! but I'm so happy that I'm giving this a try

this is the first chapter of my series idea (character backstory here) that I had after a mental breakdown from watching black widow, so here we go!

Chapter 2

Chapter 1: (Wanda’s POV)

Word count: 1,128

Wanda had been relaxing on the couch of the avenger’s common room when suddenly her brother came whizzing in, turned off her show and was seated beside her, she was shocked and scolded her brother for springing up on her

“Pietro! What the hell!... I was watching that!”

Pietro just brushed her and off and started talking “so there's this party-” she immediately cut him off as she went to turn the tv back on “no”

Pietro waited a second before he started again “...so there’s this party at a college a few miles away tonight-” she looked away from the tv with a serious face “No, I’m not going-” Pietro cut her off this time “-and a bunch of the new agents are going together...aaaanndd you can take vision with us” he flashed his puppy dog eyes and gave pleading smile, she rolled her eyes but reluctantly agreed because her boyfriend can come with “fine I’ll go, only because he can come”. Pietros smile grew and he pumped his fist in victory “Yess! We’ll leave at 9!” and with that, he was out of the room just as fast as he entered.

Wanda got dressed for the party, headed down to the compound’s front door, and waited for her brother and boyfriend. She didn’t have to wait that long for Vision as he had arrived only seconds after her, he greeted her with a kiss and they stared into each other’s eyes for a moment before Pietro came into the room with a gust of wind and pretended to gag when he saw the pair, Wanda and Vision simply chuckled to themselves as they walked out of the compound and headed to the car Pietro grabbed from the garage.

When they arrived at the party Pietro immediately was greeted by a group of drunk agents, he told his sister he would be right back -she knew she wouldn’t see him until the end of the night except when he pulls some crazy stunt before she or Vision drags him back to the compound- she and Vision enter the party and were both overwhelmed with the intense smell of alcohol and the heavy flow of the music with the mix of the bodies dancing to the music and dim lights inside making it impossible to see the full length of the crowd. Vision, on the other hand, can see a table full of different drinks and offers to go and grab one for Wanda being the gentleman that he is.

Wanda goes to sit on a couch on the other side of the party and she sits alone for a moment before she feels the couch dip to her side, like every rational girl at any college party she assumes its another heavily drunk guy who came to hit on her, but to her surprise, the stranger doesn’t say anything he simply lays his head back and closes his eyes for a second before he opens them and simply gives her a tight-lipped smile and a small wave. Wanda returns the wave and looks over at the sea of dancing drunk college students, the stranger just looks over at her and gives her an inquisitive look he speaks up before she can say anything “I bet I can guess who you’re here with?”

Wanda lightly scoffs at this with a warm smile “I’m sure you can...go ahead” she waves her hand over to the crowd in front of them, he chuckles and looks over the crowd and squints as he strokes his chin to pretend to be thinking this makes Wanda roll her eyes playfully and smack his shoulder “go on guess already, I don’t have all night” with that he gives her a satisfied look “okay okay, you’re here with…” points over to Pietro who is currently hanging from a bannister with a blanket as a cape yelling “I AM THOR” right before he jumps off into the crowd, the stranger turns his head back to wanda “brother, and…” and turns back to the crowd and points at Vision who is currently attempting to reach between groups of people at the drink table “boyfriend…” he looks back at Wanda with a ridiculously goofy grin spread across his face, she simply shrugs and replies with “lucky guess” the stranger then returns the shrug with a smirk “its a gift of mine”

Wanda and the stranger fall into conversation after this, it’s a very comfortable flow and both seem to be enjoying it, “you did not trip him down THAT MANY steps?!?” the man -that Wanda found outs name was Y/N and was a recent graduate- burst out as he started laughing at Wandas recount of one of the many times she tripped her brother as he tried to run away from her, Wanda starts laughing with him “yes I did, that isn’t even the best part after-” but she was cut off as a small fight had broken out on the other side of the party, Y/N stopped laughing as he got up and quickly looked back at Wanda “sorry I gotta go make sure nobody breaks a bone” Wanda just gives him a tight-lipped smile and a wave goodbye as she watches him make his way over to the rising commotion.

Moments later she is joined by Vision who now has a cup in hand as he approaches her with a smile, she takes the cup as he joins her and asks her if she has been enjoying herself she simply nods and hums as she takes a sip of the drink her boyfriend graciously brought her, they both sit and watch the crowd for a few more moments before Pietro comes barreling over shouting “WE NEED TO LEAVE! LIKE RIGHT NOW!!” before he runs out the door and towards the car, Vision and Wanda look at each other before joining Pietro at the car, they rush out of there as fast as Vision is willing to drive, and Pietro is dying laughing in the backseat, Wanda just rolls her eyes at her brother before he leans over between the two in the front and asks with a wide smile “soooo...did you two enjoy yourselves tonight?”

TIME SKIP----- 2 months

Wanda is walking through the lobby of the compound with the other avengers to greet the new SHIELD recruits that are arriving for their advanced training at the avengers compound, Wanda stays nearest to Natasha and Vision, she notices two agents that are dressed in completely different uniforms that are talking to Steve who is listening very attentively, he nods at the two as they walk past him to the recruit living quarters, Wanda doesn’t see the face of the new recruit only the back of the (Y/H/C) haired man as he walks down the hall holding his duffle bag

A/N: AHH oh my god! I can't believe I'm actually giving this a shot but fuck it! I really hope you guys like it!!

Let me know if you want to be tagged and I will gladly do that when I post the next chapter!

[takamikeiigos]

Okay I know made an ask already like 2 days ago🙄 but what if hawks s/o had to fake their death on a mission for like a month or 2😮‍💨 and when they come back the first thing they do is look for hawks even though they’re tired, beaten and look like complete shit😩😩 I’m just such a sucker for these kind of tropes !!!

Also how’s ur day been :))

ayo i got you fam!!!

this was legit all i could think of for like 3 days so i hope it's okay!!

Title: "You Came Back to Me"

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences (for now)

Relationships: Hawks x Reader

Tags: temporary character death, violence, drinking as a coping mechanism (minor on hawk's part), emesis

Word Count: 2.8k

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3

You look up at the villain who currently has you pinned to the floor, your ragged breaths leaving your mouth with every rise and fall of your chest.

His vibrant green eyes are piercing as they stare down at you, his expression wicked and merciless as he presses his foot harder against your throat as a warning.

"Here are your options, darlin'," he pulls his foot away, instead opting to sit back on his haunches. He brushes your hair from your face and rests his hand on your cheek. It makes you flinch and your breath hitch.

"You either find a way to dissappear, or I'll track down that precious little birdy of yours and take his wings for myself."

○ ○ ○

- three weeks prior -

"Let me come with you. Please."

"Kei.." you say softly as you back the rest of your necessities in your bag, finally turning to look at him.

He's on edge, you can tell by his posture. His wings are drawn tight to his back, but his feathers are puffed out. It reminds you of how hair stands on end and goosebumps make them selves known under fear and stress.

"You know I can't.."

"This is too much for one person to handle." His arms are folded across his chest now as he leans against the doorframe of your shared bedroom.

"You don't think I can handle myself?" The words leave your mouth sounding offended, and he instantly deflates.

"That's not what I meant. If you didn't know what you were doing, you wouldn't be working for one of the top agencies in Japan." Keigo steps forward, now in your space, and you can see a faint trace of fear flicker across his face. "I just.. this man is very dangerous, y/n. And if anything happens.."

"Hey. It'll be okay. It'll only be a month and I'll be home before you know it. I won't let anything happen, I promise." Your hand falls against his cheek and he nuzzles into it, both of his hands coming to rest against your own.

"You promise?" he asks quietly, needing one more confirmation that you'll be home and safe in a couple weeks.

"I promise."

○ ○ ○

"Have you made your mind up, sweetheart?" Kimura, the man who has had the utmost pleasure in beating you within an inch of your life, asks. He slams you against the brick wall of the alleyway one more time for good measure, his hand wrapped firmly around your throat.

"Please.." you gasp out, your hands coming to wrap around his wrist, trying to relieve the pressure against your larynx. "P-please promise me you won't hurt him, that you w-wont lay a hand on him.."

He chuckles darkly, tossing you aside onto the cold, dirty floor of the alleyway.

Your vision is blurring, slowly darkening at the edges, but you manage to see him move a few feet away, bending down to pick something up off the ground. You blink sluggishly and suddenly he's in your space once more, holding the object, which you soon realize is your phone, in your face.

"Go ahead, songbird. Give him one last goodbye."

You cringe at the abuse of the nickname that you hold so dear, but weakly reach out and take your phone from his hand, Hawks' number already dialed.

All you had to do was hit send and that would be it.

You close your eyes and rest your head against the brick wall, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. You can feel tears burning as they make themselves known, clinging to your eyelashes and not yet falling to your cheeks. You blame it on the amount of pain you're in, but you know the true reason is because you're absolutely terrified.

You press send.

As it rings you notice Kimura bringing out his own phone, holding it up and aiming it in your direction.

What a sick bastard.

"Baby bird!" Keigo's voice comes cheerfully from the other line. Though it warms and calms your senses, it still makes you sad knowing that he's completely oblivious to what's about to come.

"H-Hey, Kei.." you try your best to keep your voice steady, but the damage from excessive force to your throat is unforgiving and the words leave your mouth sounding raspy and distant.

"Y/n, where are you?" Keigo's voice drops an octave and you can tell his worry has set in, which was exactly what you wanted to avoid.

"I'm okay, just uh," you pause mid-sentence, your throat tightening around the words as tears threaten to spill again, "just got knocked around a lil bit."

Your laugh comes out bitter. You hate the sound of it.

"Y/n. Tell. Me. Where. You. A-"

"Kei, listen. I need you to know how much I.." your voice betrays you and cracks, and you suddenly find that you can't fight the overwhelming fear and sadness coming over you. You weakly bring a hand up to wipe at your battered cheeks, tears continuing to fall and mix with the grime and blood that covers your skin.

You try again to steel yourself, another deep breath falling from your lips shakily, making your lungs rattle. It's becoming harder each second to keep your eyes open and your mind focused, but if you make it through this one phone call, you know you'll be able to rest easy.

"I need you t'know how much I love you. 'N that everything's g'nna be fine. That you'll be okay. And to not c-"

Suddenly a gunshot rings out and your whole world stands still for a split second, before turning completely sideways.

You register warmth blossoming over your abdomen, spreading and soaking your hero uniform. You can hear Keigo frantically yelling from where your phone slipped from your hand and landed on the concrete next to your head. And the last thing you see is Kimura holstering his gun with one hand, tapping away on his phone with the other.

"What a shitty ending for a hero, don't you think?" Kimura grins down at you.

Yeah. What a shitty ending for a hero.

○ ○ ○

The quiet trickle of water finds its way to your ears, and the feeling of something cold and damp against your forehead is a soothing contrast to how hot your body feels.

Opening your eyes feels as though it takes half of whatever strength you have left, and your vision swims. Suddenly hit with a wave a nausea, you lean over and vomit over the edge of the bed you're laying on. Luckily there's a bucket on the floor, and you assume it was placed there for a reason.

That someone placed it there.

In a panic you sit up, your wounds pulling tight and your body protesting. Your vision swims again and it takes you a few moments to ground yourself.

"Ma'am, please don't move too fast. You'll re-open your wounds and you're already in bad shape," a quiet voice projects throughout the room. You look up and notice an older man, probably in his sixties, sitting in a chair next to the bed you're currently occupying.

"Who are you? Where's Kimura?" You grit out, grabbing the edge of the blankets and tossing them off of you. The man in front of you is ready for your attempt at escape and he places steady hands on your shoulders, pushing you back onto the bed.

"Please! My name is Daichi Tanaka, I am a doctor! I found you in an alleyway near Higashiosaka. I would have taken you to a hospital but you begged me not to," the man pleads, his hands persistent on your shoulders.

You glare at him momentarily, before relaxing back onto the bed, still weary of his intentions.

"Kimura? Is that the name of the person who did this to you?" The man - Tanaka - asks hesitantly.

You ignore his question in favor for asking your own, "How long have I been out?"

Tanaka stares at at you, seeming to contemplate answering, but you figure he finally realizes you aren't taking any shit because his answer comes out with a sigh.

"A little over a week. You've been in and out, your fever finally broke this morning."

Over a week. You've been out for over a week and you don't know where you are, where Kimura went, and where Keigo-

Keigo.

It all comes crashing back to you and you lie back, your hands resting over your eyes.

Tanaka seems to have been reading your mind, because he pulls your phone from the nightstand next to you and passes it over.

"I wiped as much blood from it as I could. You have many new notifications and quite a few missed calls. I wasn't able to unlock it to call anyone, but it seems there are many people worried about you." Tanaka stands then, making his way toward the bedroom door.

"I will give you some privacy for now, but expect me to be back in twenty minutes to check up on you."

With that, Tanaka leaves, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

You stare down at your phone, the screen cracked and a few specs of blood and dirt tucked into its crevices. You type your pin in and pull your notifications up, Keigo's name amongst others filling the screen.

You don't realize you're crying until a small hiccup forces its way from your mouth, your cheeks wet with tears.

You notice a voice-mail from him, and though you know it's only going to make you more upset, you force yourself to open it to make sure he's okay.

His voice floods the room and it immediately breaks your heart at how wrecked he sounds. You can tell he's been crying by how gravelly his voice sounds as the message plays out.

"You know," Keigo laughs bitterly over the phone, "I punched Ryosetsu in the face for letting you go on this mission alone. Gave 'im a real nice shiner on your behalf."

The message goes quiet and you can hear what sounds like a glass bottle being opened in the background, Keigo's quiet sniffles also making themselves known.

"Fuck, y/n. They didnt even.. they didnt even find your body. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that, huh?

"They wouldn't even let me anywhere near the scene, I had to sit back at the office while they kept me informed. He said there was uh.." you assume Keigo pauses to take a swig of whatever he's drinking based off the tink of the glass bottle, "heh, he said there's a low chance you're even alive because there was so much blood. Fuck."

You grimace at how blunt he is with the statement and how distant his voice sounds. You can only hope that he hasn't been drinking as often as your thoughts are telling you.

"Please come back to me," he whimpers over the message, and a new wave of tears fall down your cheeks. "Please.. I can't do this without you."

○ ○ ○

A few days pass.

Tanaka refuses to take any of your shit.

He most definitely refuses to let you leave until you had one more solid meal in you, and one more day of rest.

You're still a little weak, bruises and abrasions littering your skin ( not to mention the nasty bullet wound Tanaka managed to sew up for you ) but you finally have enough strength to stand and walk on your own.

He pleads with you to stay one more day, just to ensure you're strong enough to be by yourself, but you shake your head and bow before him.

"Thank you, Mr. Tanaka, but I have to keep moving. It might be unsafe for you if I stay."

So instead he writes down his phone number on a crumpled piece of paper and hands it to you, patting your hand briefly.

"You're a strong one, just be sure to take care of yourself." He smiles kindly at you, and you nod before taking your leave.

○ ○ ○

Days go by as you hop around from town to town, only stopping for food and rest.

It's been a little over two weeks since you made the decision to distance yourself to ensure the safety of your friends and Keigo, and nearly two months since you were assigned the mission. While you knew faking your death was the only way to keep people from asking too many questions about why you suddenly disappeared, you weren't expecting to actually get shot and almost die.

You keep up with the recent events as best as you can, continuously watching news coverage and especially keeping tabs on Keigo's agency.

Your breath catches in your throat one day while you're moving through a rural seaside town, large red wings and a familiar hero uniform immediately catching your attention.

A flood of emotions run through you and it takes everything in you to not run up to him and hold him. But the fear of Kimura's prying eyes hold you back, and you steadily remind yourself that you're doing this to protect him.

You keep your distance and watch his every move. He's staring down at his phone for a while and after a few moments it rings. He brings it to his ear and though you can't hear what he's saying, it must be something important.

Because soon enough his wings are spread out and he's taking flight into the afternoon sky.

○ ○ ○

'Pro-Hero Hawks makes appearance in. Tanabe - finds lead on hero killer'

'Hanamatsu hero case still under investigation'

'Top Hero Agency in Japan pursuing hero killer - Kimura'

The news headlines on your phone cause your blood to run cold. How foolish of you to think Keigo would let this go so easily.

To think he wouldn't trace every piece of evidence and go to the ends of the earth to take down someone who hurt you.

○ ○ ○

You keep tabs on him as best you can. It begins to feel like you're stalking him, in a weird way, but you'll be damned if you did all of this just to put his safety on the line.

Keigo stays in Tanabe for the time being, the week passing by in a blur as you track his movements.

You figure Kimura went into hiding since his criminal activity fell flat after your encounter with him, but Keigo is as persistent as he's ever been, nitpicking every lead that comes his way.

A few days later word gets out that Kimura has been spotted in the village of Hidakagawa, just thirty minutes northwest of Tanabe.

You only hope you can get there before Keigo does.

○ ○ ○

Hidakagawa is exactly what you pictured, a perfect little town for a low-life criminal to live under the radar.

Its quiet and rural, its occupants living their lives happily tucked away from the bustling life of the city.

A few squad cars rush past you as you look at the map you have pulled up on your phone. It seems a little out of character for such a small town, so you push yourself forward and follow them.

○ ○ ○

When you finally catch up to the squad cars, the scene before you makes your hair stand on end.

Keigo has Kimura pinned to the ground, battered and bruised, his fist closed around a one of his feathers that he's currently wielding as a blade. A few dozen officers surround the scene, guns drawn and on edge.

Kimura smirks up at him and whatever he says is out of earshot, but its enough to piss Keigo off and send him into a frenzy.

"Kei, stop!" You find yourself yelling shakily. You finally manage to push through the barricade of officers and it's then that Keigo makes eye contact with you, his closed fist halted in the air.

Kimura takes the split second of distraction to knock the blade from Keigo's hand, flipping their position so the winged hero is pinned to the floor of the temple. He pulls out his gun and cocks it, pressing it to Keigo's forehead.

All the while Keigo keeps his eyes on you.

"I thought I told you to stay away, little one," Kimura grits out, wiping a trail of blood from his mouth, "Now it looks like your little hawk is about to lose his wings, all because someone can't listen."

You move on impulse when Kimura turns his attention back to Keigo, and you grab the handgun from the officer closest to you.

You waste no time in firing a bullet, hitting Kimura right in the temple. But as it strikes he squeezes the trigger of his own gun on impulse, which is still trained on Keigo, a second round going off.

- to be continued -

tbh i was super nervous to post this bc im so new to the fandom but here we go!!

also i just made up random characters bc im not quite caught up with the manga, and also picked random spots in japan that i know absolutely nothing about

rip to my writing skills lmfao

♡ ky

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: VII

Sunflower, my eyes

Want you more than a melody

Let me inside

Wish I could get to know you

Sunflower Vol. 6, Harry Styles

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

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

word count: 26.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.” Y/N offers the words quietly, turning in her chair to properly face him with sincere eyes. “I just noticed that it was more tarnished than your other jewelry, and I thought I could—”

“You can’t take my rings from me.” Harry answers in a harsh voice, his face reflecting about as much warmth as stone on a winter’s day. “I thought I’d lost it.  You can’t do that.”

“I’m sorry.” Y/N repeats the phrase again, gentler this time as she wraps her hands around her steaming mug.  She had guessed that the opal ring was his mother’s, but like Harry’s ruby ring and initial rings, she’d deduced this lionhead decal was more for decoration than anything.  If it was something important, one would figure that he’d take better care of it.  But it seems she’s not as adept at reading Harry as she’d like to think, because his explosive reaction had been totally unexpected.  For the first time since she met him, Y/N feels uneasy in his presence.  Had she really offended him that much?

The truth of the situation, unbeknownst to her, is that Harry’s reaction is no more purposefully malicious than Y/N’s intentions. Although the ring is back on his finger, and the crystals are beginning to protect him again, Harry’s thoughts are still muddied as he glances around the apartment, carefully surveying the circumstance like the top predator he pretends not to be.  There’s still a throbbing in his skull, and his eyes remain painfully dry, despite the fact that his healing has kicked in and mended his blistered fingertips.  In this moment, Harry feels weaker than he has in centuries; if someone were to attack right now, he wouldn’t be able to react quickly enough to protect himself. How could his aching head afford him any clear plan of attack?  How could his burning eyes show him every approaching danger?  How did he let himself become so relaxed— so stupidly lax— that he didn’t notice a mere human slipping off his most precious and needed object as he slept soundly in her bed?

“I really am sorry, Harry.” Rising from her chair with her quiet speech, Y/N steps towards him, hand outstretched to touch his inked forearm. “I didn’t know—”

Her hot fingertips against Harry’s frozen skin jar the vampire, triggering his fight or flight instincts as he tenses beneath her touch. “No—” He wrenches his arm away hurriedly, the searing graze reminding him of the sunlight that had harmed him just seconds ago, his wild eyes meeting Y/N’s in a feral frenzy. 

Although her chest barely moves, Harry can hear the stuttering breath that the girl sucks in through her teeth, her eyes widening at the severity of his actions. “I’m sorry.” She whispers the phrase again, her fingers jerking back from Harry’s arm in shock. “I…”

The more time passes, the more Harry regains control of himself, and as Harry melds his shattered composure back together, he can see the fear beginning to stain its way onto Y/N’s face.  The uneven beating of her heart pricks his ears, as does the scuff of the floor beneath her bare feet as she takes a step back from him.  When that uncertain fear reaches her irises, Harry is suddenly flashed back to their first date, when he’d been worried that she might be scared of being alone with him, and how delighted he’d been when he realized that wasn’t the case.  And now, as a sick feeling begins to settle in his stomach, he knows he’s blown it. 

Inhaling deeply through his nose, Harry urges himself to relax. 

“No, I’m sorry.” He softens his voice as much as he can muster in order to apologize, rubbing his charred eyes with one hand, hoping they’re still the canopy green Y/N is familiar with. “M’just half asleep still, and I was worried that— I’m sorry.” Harry extends his ringed hand in invitation, desperately craving the warmth of Y/N’s touch now that he’s leveled out, but not wanting to take it unwillingly. He wants her to feel safe enough to give it to him. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

There’s a moment of hesitation that flickers in her eyes, but it quickly passes as the mortal lays her hand within his. “You didn’t scare me.” She reassures him, but Harry can hear the falseness of her response immediately, and that guarded demeanor only intensifies the nausea rattling inside him.

Is she lying to save his feelings, he wonders, or to make herself look tougher?  No matter which may be the truth, Harry hates that she has to feel the need to lie.  He’d been upset, yes, but he should know better.  And he should know that she doesn’t know better.  She thought she’d been doing something nice for him; she has no idea about the torturous results his ring protects him from.  And she doesn’t know because Harry refuses to tell her— because he refuses to subject her to that perverted knowledge.  This is his own doing. 

“I did. I did frighten you, and I was rude, and I’m truly sorry.” Harry sighs heavily, dragging his fingers through his sleep-tousled curls. “My ring is just— it’s very important to me, and I don’t really like to take it off, so maybe just—just ask next time, yeah?” He murmurs the words in a soothing tone, his thumb sweeping over her knuckles in a poor attempt to make up for the way he’d berated her. “I know you didn’t have any bad intentions, and I’m not angry with you for taking it, but it just scared me when I woke up and it was gone.” 

“I’m sorry.” Y/N repeats yet again, and although Harry can feel her melting into his touch, there’s still a hint of uncertainty lingering beneath her words. 

Harry forces a grin on his chapped lips, which he wets with his tongue before speaking again. “S’alright, dove.  No harm, no foul.  And no more apologies, yeah?” He brushes a finger over her cheek, trying his best to put on a lighthearted front for the girl. “It was rather tarnished, actually— needed a good cleaning.” 

A shy smile finally creeps its way onto Y/N’s face, and Harry has to stop himself from breathing an audible sigh of content at both the gesture and the lack of prying about why that ring was dirtier than the rest (the answer to said question is just as simple as it is complicated: it reminds Harry of someone he’d rather forget, and if he didn’t need it, he’d drown it in the deepest ocean he could find— keeping it clean is the least of his concerns).

“How about breakfast, hm?  It’s early, but we could make some pancakes, or—” Harry glances at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall, reading the time with surprise before his gaze travels back to Y/N with a confused look. “It’s not even seven yet.  What time did you get up?”

“Around 6:15?  6:30?” She lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug, and Harry’s cardigan slips down her arm with the motion. “I don’t really remember.”

With his other hand still squeezing her own, Harry rugs the sleeve of the cardigan back up her shoulder, smoothing it over her morning-cooled skin. “It’s a Saturday, darling.  What were you doing up so early?”

Despite her heartbeat having not quite returned to its usual tempo, Y/N nuzzles into Harry’s touch as he pulls her closer to him. “Couldn’t really sleep, I guess.” Tucking her face into his neck for a moment, Y/N indulges a penetrating inhale, enjoying the remnants of his mahogany and vanilla cologne before stepping back and past Harry to the cabinet.  

Standing on her tiptoes, Y/N opens the door and retrieves a pink flowered mug before sliding down the counter to her coffee maker. “Want some coffee?” She asks, touching the glass of the carafe lightly to make sure it’s still warm. “There’s butter in the fridge, I think, if you want to make your disgusting drink.”

Ignoring the dig at his beverage of choice— which Harry has explained to her, multiple times, has many health benefits (not that he needs them) and just tastes better than coffee with cream— the vampire leans his hip against the counter, crossing his arms over his bare chest as his brow furrows over his darkening eyes. 

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” He questions, his attention glued to Y/N’s actions as she seems to deliberately avoid his gaze.  He analyzes the dark circles under her eyes, apparent even from just her side profile, and a spark of concern ignites his chest.  Could this be his fault?  Is drinking her blood beginning to take a physical toll on her body?  His blood has been healing her bite marks, but what about her iron levels?  Is her circulation being affected?  Mitch has told him multiple times that drinking from humans is okay once or twice a week, as long as there’s a grace period in between feeding, but Mitch has also never had the same human for as long as Harry has had Y/N.  Have the weeks they’ve spent together begun to unravel her?

When Y/N simply shrugs in response to his question, and offers no other words of explanation, a tired sigh falls from Harry’s lips as he steps towards her, taking the now-filled coffee mug from her hands and setting it down on the counter.  He wraps his arms around Y/N’s shoulders, hugging the girl into his chest for a moment to get a gauge on her body’s response.  Her heartbeat stutters, yes, but that’s a usual response to being wrapped inside Harry’s embrace, and it returns to normal after a few beats.  Her body feels just as warm as it usually does, and her chest is rising and falling just as it should be.  Nudging his face into her hair, he breathes in deeply, filling his lungs with her fragrance.  No, nothing smells out of place, and her blood had tasted as delicious and as strong as ever last night.  If she’s having trouble sleeping, the cause isn’t anything tangible. 

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Harry mumbles the words into her hair before lifting his head up, extracting the girl from his arms just enough so that he can see her face. “If something is bothering you and keeping you up, then you can wake me up, too.”

Y/N worries her pillowy bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes become entranced by Harry’s rosemary gaze. “I know I could, but I didn’t want to.  You—” She swallows hard in an attempt to clear the thickness from her throat as her cheeks begin to burn. “You were sleeping, and I never see you sleep.” Y/N’s voice retreats into a sheepish tone at the admittance, her eyes falling from Harry’s stare to the floor between them. “You always fall asleep after me, and you’re always awake before me.  You need rest, too, H.”

While Harry would normally laugh at that simple phrase— at the fact that Y/N doesn’t know how wrong she is— Harry’s dimples remain dormant as he focuses on the concern in her voice. “I—” His voice catches in his throat, and he has to clear it before he can say anything else. “I sleep just fine.  Better, in fact, when I’m with you.” He confesses, his thumbs brushing over the exposed skin of Y/N’s neck. 

And after Y/N has extracted herself from his grip to take a sip of her coffee, after she teasingly groans while watching Harry drop a pat of butter into his own steaming mug, after he begins to crack eggs into a pan as Y/N starts to lay bacon on a baking sheet, after all that, Harry finally realizes what lodged in his throat. It dawns on him just as Y/N slips a pink apron over his bare, faintly hickey-bruised chest to protect him from splatters of grease, giggling to herself as he poses with his hand on his hip and makes a vulgar joke about how this looks like the setup to a cheesy porno. 

The vampire comes to the realization that Y/N takes notice of him. 

She notices when he doesn’t sleep.  She notices his exposed skin that could potentially be burned while cooking.  She notices the expressions on his face, reads the tone of his voice, knows when to press a matter and when to leave it be.  And she’s concerned.  She’s concerned about not seeing him sleep.  She’s concerned about him accidentally getting hurt.  She’s concerned about the swings in his moods, the shortness of his answers.  And while Harry knows her real concerns should be about allowing herself to be in such close proximity to someone— something— like him, he can’t help but feel a warmth in his chest at the thought of her worrying about him. 

As much as Harry likes to pretend otherwise, he knows he’s not easy to be around sometimes.  He can be vain, self-centered, self-serving, and inconsiderate.  He can be selfish, dishonest, and manipulative.  His mood can teeter at the drop of a hat, and he changes his mind like the weather on the best of days.  And on his worst of days, sometimes Harry wonders if anyone could care for him, or even stand to be around him, if it wasn’t a necessity. 

Although he’d never admit it, when Harry reflects on his friendships, he can feel a degree of insecurity in the threads that tie him to his crew.  He’s fairly certain that if he and Mitch met under different circumstances— circumstances when both of them were human— they would likely still be friends.  Maybe not as close as they are today, but friends, at the very least.  When it comes to Niall, Xander, and Adam, however… he’s not so sure.  Yes, he cares for them more than he’ll ever care for anyone again, and his loyalty to them is unwavering, but on his worst days, Harry can’t help but wonder if they would be friends if their connection hadn’t been forged on the basis of what they are, and understanding something that no one else can.  If being vampires hadn’t placed them in each other’s lives and sealed them in a bond of venom and blood, would they even have given the others a second thought?  Would any of them have wanted Harry in their lives?  Harry wants to think yes, but it’s not a question of what he wants; the truth is, Harry is uncertain. 

But when Y/N sits across from him with a smear of ketchup on her bottom lip, smiling softly at Harry as he wipes it off with his thumb, and he can’t stop himself from smiling back, he realizes something that’s never occurred to him before.  He’s able to be cared for by someone who is drawn to him for all the reasons humans are normally drawn to each other, and not because they have a mutual understanding of what it’s like to be an other.

Of course, he knows there’s a certain degree of falsity in that; part of his charm and addictive qualities come from what he is, and Y/N, like any other mortal, isn’t immune to that.  But instead of allowing herself to be driven away by the usual uneasiness that pairs with being so close to a vampire for so long, Y/N is leaning closer to him, laughing as he cracks a bad joke, kissing him over their breakfast, and showing evidence that she— against all odds— wants to know him.  And the thought sends a fluttering below Harry’s ribs. 

He wishes, just for a moment, that he could be capable of feeling the same. He wishes he could have the decency to give this girl the proper relationship she wants, or even the decency to break her heart quickly before she gets too attached to someone incapable of seeing her as anything more than a takeout meal.  He wishes he could get to know her— truly get to know her, without any ulterior motives.

But Harry is vain, self-centered, self-serving, and inconsiderate.  He’s selfish, dishonest, and manipulative.  And he has his fangs too deep in this mortal to let her go. 

///

“Are you sure I can’t pick you up?” Harry slides his phone between his ear and his shoulder in order to snag his keychain from his pocket, fumbling for the right key before inserting it into his locked door. “I can just drop my groceries off and then swing by your cafe, love.  It’s no trouble.”

“No, really, it’s fine, H.” Y/N insists from the other end of the line, her voice nearly drowned out from the roar of L.A. traffic around her. “I already left work, and I’m nearly home.  I’ll be over at your place within, like, forty-five minutes, I think?  I just have to change out of my uniform.”

With his front door now unlocked, Harry grabs his phone from its perch on his shoulder before pushing open the door with his hand full of groceries, stepping inside his apartment and nudging the door shut with his foot. “I know, but it’s a long walk to my place, isn’t it?”

“It’s, like, twenty minutes— practically nothing.  And besides, I have to stop at the post office and mail a letter to my parents.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth quirks up as he rounds the corner to his kitchen, setting his grocery bags on the island before leaning his hip against the kitchen counter, his now free hand braced against the cool marble. “You still send your parents letters?  Can’t you just call them?” He asks, tapping a ringed finger against the stone.

“If you knew my parents, you’d send letters, too.” Y/N sighs into the speaker, and Harry’s inhuman ears can hear the jangling of her keys in her hand.  He can picture her searching for them like she did the night they met, digging into her purse until she’s elbow deep, her tongue tucked between her teeth in concentration.

Despite the distinctive sound of a lock turning, Harry can’t stop himself from asking about her well-being. He’s so used to doing it with his other friends, it slips out on impulse. “Are you home now?  Made it alright?”

There’s a hint of exasperated amusement in Y/N’s voice when she responds. “Yes, I managed to walk home all by myself.  Didn’t even get murdered.” There’s another thud, and Harry imagines her shutting her door, pushing her weight against it to lock it properly. “I’m pretty good at taking care of myself, you know.  I have good instincts.” 

If she’s allowed him to get this close to her, Harry thinks, then her instincts aren’t exactly the caliber she imagines them to be, but he bites his tongue to stop himself from correcting her. “I’m sure you do, darling.” He murmurs the reply as he opens his fridge to begin stocking it with the items he’d purchased earlier. “Oh, by the way, make sure you’re wearing comfortable shoes, yeah?  We’re going to be doing a bit of walking later.”

“Right.  And you’re not telling me where we’re going because…?”

“Because surprises are fun.”

When Y/N huffs in response, Harry pictures the girl with a scowl on her face, her arms crossed tightly over her tummy as she gives him an endearing glare. “Not when you’re the one who’s being surprised.” 

Still, despite her protests, Harry hears the rustling of clothing as she pulls off her work polo, followed by the clanking of her belt, the snap of a button, and the familiar rustle of her jeans being peeled off her legs. “You just worry about undressing yourself, alright?  It must be difficult, since you’ve grown so used to me doing it for you.”

“Uh huh.  I’m hanging up now.” Y/N deadpans into the phone, but Harry can tell there’s a lingering smile underneath her flat words. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Alright, doll.  See you soon.” Harry sets a carton of eggs in the fridge before closing it, hanging up the call and slipping his phone back into his black slacks.  

It takes Harry a few more minutes to put the rest of his groceries away in his pantry.  He made sure to stock up on all the ingredients needed to make pancakes at the grocery store, as well as picking up a carton of the fancy pomegranate juice that Y/N had mentioned she was fond of.  In fact, as he was wandering the aisles of his local Whole Foods, he’d found himself seeking out the snacks that he’d seen in her cupboards.  He knows that humans need to eat much more often than vampires do, and seeing as how all the activities Y/N engages in at his condo are rather exhausting and energy-burning, he thought she’d need proper fuel.

After he folds the reusable cloth tote bags he’d brought to the grocery store and puts them back in the pantry, Harry climbs up his glass stairs to his bedroom.  He takes a moment to evaluate his appearance in the full length mirror hanging on the back of his door, sweeping over every detail with a careful eye.  His outfit is alright for what he has planned, he decides; his black slacks and scuffed white vans are comfortable, but more importantly, his white t-shirt embossed with a Hollywood Bowl print that clings to the muscles of his inked arms and broad chest, which Harry knows Y/N will enjoy.  His curls, however, need a bit of tending to, and Harry slinks into his bathroom to add a bit more product to his chestnut locks, getting rid of the little frizz that had developed in the L.A. heat in order to fix his curl pattern.  

As for his jewelry, he leaves on his usual rings: his gold initial pieces, his mother’s opal, his ruby, an engraved band, and his lionhead ring, which shines under the bathroom lights thanks to Y/N’s careful efforts the week before.  Once those are secure, he fastens his pearl necklace around his neck, and fixes the clasp of his cross before slipping a plain gold hoop into his pierced ear.  Once he’s satisfied with his accessories, Harry spritzes his favourite cologne across his body, giving his appearance one more look over as he leaves his bathroom and passes the full length mirror in his bedroom again.  

The Rolex on his wrist tells him that Y/N is due over any moment, and he’s just making sure his Gucci wallet is securely tucked in his trouser pocket when Harry’s ears prick up at the sound of two pairs of feet stomping into his condo downstairs.  It only takes him a moment more to identify the intruders based on their step patterns, and a frown tugs at the corner of his mouth as he checks the time again before sauntering down the stairs.

“And just what do you two,” Harry calls to his unexpected friends as he rounds the corner of the stairs, his eyebrow quirked in question as he steps down from the last platform, “think you’re doing here?”

“We wanted some change in scenery.” Niall quips sarcastically, emerging from the end of the entrance corridor with his hands in his pockets, shoulders shrugging casually. “And I told Xander you might be shirtless, which got him to tag along. But you’re not, much to his disappointment. Though I do think the way you’re about to burst out of that tee suffices. Isn’t that right, Xanny?” 

“That’s not true!” Xander snaps hotly, his cheeks blazing and glare electric as Niall cackles boyishly, stepping around him and towards the kitchen, like he always does when he walks into Harry’s apartment. The tanned man glowers at the other vampire as he makes a beeline for Harry’s refrigerator, slowly pinning his gaze back onto the owner of the condo. He clears his throat awkwardly before offering a solid explanation for their sudden visit. “Adam cancelled on pub trivia night, so we thought you might be available instead.”

Harry shakes his head with a sigh as he makes his way into the kitchen, as well— mostly to make sure Niall doesn’t reach for any of the expensive liquors he has arranged on his bar shelves; they took too long to collect for him to just allow a single person to down one bottle like a shot— and leans both elbows against the marble island. “Sorry, mate.  I’ve got a date with Y/N.”

“So bring her.” Niall pipes up from the fridge, a stolen bottle of Harry’s favourite beer already in his hand. Harry doesn’t complain— it’s a better substitute than his forty year aged scotch. “She went to uni, didn’t she?  She must be smart.”

“I’ve got better things planned for us than pub trivia with two obnoxious knobheads.” Harry retorts, his lips tugging into a smirk at Niall’s responding eyeroll. “That’s not very romantic, is it?  Taking her on a double date with you two?”

“And that’s not very nice, H. I’m offended you wouldn’t go on a double date with Xander and I.” The Irishman sniffles with fake sincerity, biting the bottle cap off his beer despite knowing that Harry keeps a bottle opener in the kitchen drawer to his right. 

Xander watches the spectacle with distaste, his nose wrinkling as Niall spits the cap from his mouth into his hand. “And I’m offended you’d think I’d date someone who does that.”

“It’s not like you have standards.”

“Hey!”

“But then again, no one sets a bar the way I do.”

“The only bar you set for me was potential alcoholism.” Xander mutters spitefully.

“I’d make a great boyfriend.” Niall interrupts with airy confidence, ignoring his friends bickering and taking a deep swig of his beverage, smacking his lips appreciatively. “But humans are too fragile to keep around for long, and most vampires are fucking psychotic. Unfortunately.”

“What about Charlotte?” Harry suggests nonchalantly, hooking his index finger into the cabinet beneath him and fishing for a coaster. He shuts the drawer and skims the item across the top of the counter towards Niall, just in case the man wants to put his glass container down. This is real marble, after all. “She seems pretty tame.” 

Niall glances at the coaster, but doesn’t make any conscious effort to set his drink down. Harry should’ve known; Niall isn’t one to put a pint down until it’s empty, but the possibility is there, nonetheless. It’s not his fault he likes taking care of his home. 

Niall sighs through his nose dismissively, following it with a light rattle of his head. “Charlotte’s too...smart. She’s a bit out of my league, and I feel like she’d get bored of me easily. Also, how would you know if she’s tame or not? You rarely hang out whenever she’s around.” 

“That’s because she hates me.” Harry states flatly, as if it should be obvious. And it should, considering the young woman had not held back on expressing her strong dislike towards the curly brunette. Harry has thick skin and words never hurt him, but Charlotte has a surprisingly vicious vocabulary; if he hadn’t been amused by her anger, she would have come pretty close to genuinely chipping his ego. 

Niall chortles softly. “Well, I mean, you can’t really blame her, can you? You’re kind of a prick.”

“A proper asshole, actually.” Xander chimes in, drumming his digits against the table’s surface and giving Harry a bright, innocent smile. 

The immortal momentarily casts his eyes towards the ceiling in mild annoyance. “Yeah, well, that’s just the way I am. If her and Miss Billy Ray Cyrus can’t handle some dark humor and dirty banter, that’s not my problem. Everyone else seems to like me just fine.” 

“That’s debatable.” Xander corrects. 

“You’re just mad I fucked you once and decided that was enough.” 

“Anywho,” Niall interferes, waving around his beer in order to catch his friends’ attention and prevent a catastrophic World War V, he proceeeds to swivel the topic back onto himself, “like I said, I’d make a great partner. I’m funny, I’ve got a whole shelf full of PS4 games, I like to think my oral skills are pretty decent, and—”

“Have you ever made a girl wet her sheets?” Harry prods with entertained curiosity, cocking an eyebrow questioningly.

Niall pauses mid-sentence with his drink perched to his lips, eyes flitting around thoughtfully as he shovels through cluttered memories of drunken one night stands and fleeting relationships. He relents with a sheepish scoff, shoulders sagging. “...No.”

“Then you’re not as skilled as you think.” Harry remarks passively, titling his head to the side with finality. “And I’m willing to bet Mitch’s next stock of O negative that eighty percent of your hookups probably faked it.” 

“Oi, bet, then.” Niall snorts, grinning around the spout of his beverage as he finishes his sip. He wiggles his brows playfully, squaring his shoulders proudly. “You can’t fake a leg-shake, darling.” 

“A leg-shake?” Harry inquires carefully, pursing his lips to keep from sputtering into pompous laughter. “You mean like this?” He then proceeds to dramatically buckle his right leg, immediately debunking Niall’s ridiculous theory. “Just like that?” 

The Irish bloke’s face drops into a scorned scowl as Xander and Harry break into a round of mocking giggles. He draws into himself with childish pettiness, narrowing his eyes pointedly. “Piss off.”

“Unless she couldn’t walk right afterwards, you didn’t really do what you think you did, Ni.” 

“It seemed pretty real to me!” The blue-eyed boy rebuttals sharply, cheeks tinging bright pink in embarrassment. 

“That’s the point.” 

“This is precisely why I’d never entertain a relationship with you, even as a joke.” Xander pipes up towards Niall, smirking cruelly at his friend’s bruised ego. “I like my orgasms to be real, and I’m not willing to put up an act to spare your fragile masculinity.” 

“Your dick’s probably small, anyways.” 

“Bigger than yours.”

“Is that a challenge? I’ll pull it out right now, I don’t give a fuck.”

“Well,” Harry cuts in loudly, not necessarily keen on watching two grown men compare penis sizes in the middle of his home, “it seems you two have some issues to work out, so the double date is a moot point, anyways.” His jade eyes flicker to his watch again; Y/N should nearly be here, and he doesn’t want these two goons present when she arrives— especially not with their balls out. That wouldn’t be a decent introduction, despite being an unforgettable one. “So I’ll talk to you two later, then.  Thanks for stopping by.”

“Hold up, I practically just cracked my beer.” Niall whines in return, holding up the chilled bottle in protest, leaning his backside against the marble countertop with a decisive motion. “Y’can’t kick us out yet.”

Harry laughs once, the noise sounding more strained than he would like. “Seeing as how I didn’t invite you over, I think I can.” He retorts, tapping a jeweled finger against the table. 

“The blood bag isn’t even here yet,” Xander reasons as he pulls out a chair from the kitchen island, taking a seat and making himself at home as if Harry hadn’t just told him to get the fuck out. “So what's the rush?”

The hair on the back of Harry’s neck prickles at the crude nickname, and the older vampire shoots daggers at the younger as he pushes himself off the marble counter. “There isn’t one, except I think hearing herself be referred to as ‘the blood bag’ may make her a little suspicious, don’t you?”

“We’ve referred to her as worse.” Xander shrugs offhandedly, kicking his feet up onto the bar stool next to him.

Harry’s brows furrow as he pushes Xander’s shoes off his furniture, dusting the leather cushion off. “Referred to her as what?  And when?”

Although Xander lifts one shoulder again as a vague answer, Niall smacks his lips loudly once again as he swallows the rest of the beer, and answers in a matter-of-fact tone. “In Vegas, after you ditched us to get your dick wet.  I think Xander called her a fuckable slab of kobe beef, and—”

“I said ribeye, actually.  Nice flavour, but a little chewy.” Xander corrects the Irishman, but has the decency to look halfway embarrassed when he catches Harry’s stony glare. “And it’s not like we’re wrong, right?  That’s all humans are.”

Niall gives an affirmative nod as he sets his empty bottle down on the marble counter, completely ignoring the coaster Harry had slid to him. “Don’t take it personally, H.  Xanny refers to his own dates as McDonald’s Happy Meal Twinks— at least a ribeye steak is expensive.”

“I’m not taking it personally.” Harry mutters the words in a low voice as his jaw twitches, tensing under the sunlight streaming through his floor-to-ceiling windows. “But comments like these are why you pricks need to get out of here before she shows up, or else I’ll be feeding from one of you tonight.”

A beat of silence falls between the three vampires as the palpable tension flowing off of Harry thickens the room.  Xander and Niall glance between each other and Harry, hardly able to hold the latter’s eyes, before Niall offers a small comment.

“I don’t think Xander would mind that, really—”

“Out.” Harry points a jeweled finger at the entrance corridor with a firm motion. “Both of you.  Go bother Mitch.”

He can see the disappointment and frustration that lingers on Niall and Xander’s faces, but neither of them fight him as they rise from their perches in the kitchen and walk dejectedly to the front door.  Harry briefly entertains the idea of walking them out, but decides against it; there’s a strange buzzing sensation rising through his ribs, and he’s not quite sure what he’ll say as he bids his friends— he has to remind himself that, yes, they’re his friends— goodbye.  It’s safer, he thinks, if he stays where he is and cleans up the mess that they managed to leave behind in their short visit. 

He comes to regret that decision, however, approximately three milliseconds after he hears the front door creak open, and a familiar but unexpected voice echos down the entrance hallway.

“Oh— hi.  Sorry, I may have the wrong apartment…?”

Harry freezes with Niall’s empty beer bottle clutched in his hand, his grip contracting so hard that he hears the thick glass begin to splinter.

“No, no, this is Harry’s apartment.  We were just leaving.” The grin on Niall’s face is audible underneath his Irish accent. “You must be Y/N.”

“I am, yeah.” Harry can hear the tiny thread of surprise at him recognizing her in the human’s words, and the even tinier thread of pleasure that undercuts it.  “And you must be...Niall, I think?  And Xander?”

Niall’s smug reply grates against Harry’s frozen skin, even from down the corridor. “Harry’s told you about us, huh?  Only good things, I hope.”

“Oh, I—”

Harry forces his legs to move with inhuman speed, the beer bottle not even having hit the marble counter by the time Harry appears at Niall and Xander’s shoulders. “Hi, darling.” He says through a strained smile, digging his stony fingers into the back of the two vampire’s arms, an unspoken warning of behave. “Y’made it alright, then?”

When Y/N shines a warm— albeit, slightly confused— smile in his direction, Harry wishes that he’d been faster in shooing his friends out the door, because the action nearly knocks the unrequired breath from his chest.  

She’d dressed in comfortable and casual clothes, as per his suggestion, and is standing just outside the doorway in light washed denim overalls, with a black and white striped t-shirt layered underneath, and her familiar cotton candy pink vans on her feet.  But the detail that digs its way to the forefront of his mind— more so than her satin lips, her heated cheeks that are appled with her smile, and the tousled locks that are pulled back from her face in a low ponytail— is the shining silver cross pendant that hangs on a chain around her smooth neck.

It’s a new addition that Harry has never seen before, and while he knows he shouldn’t be surprised— after all, she’d told him how she grew up in a religious town, how she’d attended church, how she used to say grace before dinner with her friends— the jewelry still piques his curiosity.

“I did, yeah.  It’s really not that long of a walk, H.” Y/N replies, flicking her eyes between Harry and his two friends, who are still watching her every move as if she’s a specimen to be observed. “Sorry, am I interrupting…?”

The Irishman with glasses— Niall, Y/N reminds herself— opens his mouth to respond, but Harry quickly cuts him off as he pushes past his mates to take Y/N’s hand and step outside the apartment, fetching his keys and yellow sunglasses from the small side table by the door in one smooth motion.

“Not interrupting anything, doll.  Niall and Xander were just on their way out.” Although Harry is smiling at her throughout the comment, the mortal can’t help but feel like the last phrase was aimed at the pair still lingering in the doorway.

“We were just stopping by to see if we could steal Harry for a last minute trivia game, but he said he was already booked.” Niall answers with an accepting shrug, glancing at Xander next to him, who’s still yet to say anything to Y/N, though he is carrying an unreadable empty expression as he gives the girl a calculating once-over. “Apparently, whatever he’s got planned for you two is more interesting than a few beers and watching Xander struggle to remember all the battles in World War I—”

“That’s not fair,” The brunette finally chimes in, breaking his attention away from her body to meet the blue-eyed boy’s gaze. Y/N is surprised to hear an American accent fall from his lips. “I’m the only one who wasn’t there, so how would I know—?”

“And you two are already arguing,” Harry cuts over his friends’ bickering, shooting them an annoyed glance as he wraps a cool arm around her waist, cautioning them to watch what they’re saying. “Which will only get worse once you get alcohol in your hands, and that is why I’m not going to subject Y/N to a headache-inducing night of torture.” 

Y/N looks up at Harry with innocent interest swirling in her eyes. “I don’t know, H, it could be fun.” She worries her bottom lip between her teeth as a crease forms between Harry’s brows. “Don’t you think?”

Niall catches Harry’s eye, taking advantage of Y/N’s distraction to cheekily flash him his crimson irises for a split second, voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm that only he can detect. “Yeah, Harry. Don’t you think?”

Jaw tensing, Harry bends down to brush his lips over Y/N’s ear, dampening his irritation down into a smooth and silky tone. “Don’t try to spare their feelings, love.  I’ve got something fun planned for us, I promise.” His teeth graze against Y/N’s skin, and he nearly drags his lips down towards her neck until he remembers her stuttering heartbeat can be heard by the other vampires in their presence.

The two creatures gawk at the image before them, utterly baffled at Harry’s unusual tenderness. It’s very out of character for him, that much is obvious. In all the decades Niall and Xander have been acquainted with the Victorian era immortal, neither have ever seen him be so gentle and touchy with another soul, let alone a human. It feels as if they’re looking at some type of warped parallel universe version of the normally stand-offish young man. 

Xander is the first to clear his throat, throwing Harry an annoyed grimace before pulling Niall out from the condo’s entryway. “We’ll see you later then, Harry.  C’mon, Ni.”

The Irishman offers a quick goodbye, gifting the strange girl a frail wave and a parting smile before being half-dragged down the hallway by Xander. Niall wrenches himself free and shoves Xander’s shoulder playfully as they round the corner to the elevator, their quiet voices— no doubt spinning juvenile gossip— fading out of earshot.  The look in Xander’s eyes had been concerning, Harry thinks, but nothing he needs to worry about right now.  If anything, he wants to forget that encounter as quickly as possible, and needs Y/N to forget it, too.

“So,” he pastes an easygoing grin onto his face as he locks his front door, turning to the mortal with a giddy twinkle in his forest green eyes. “Shall we be off, then?”

There’s a lingering look of confusion reflecting back at him, but Y/N doesn’t press the odd encounter as Harry intertwines his icy fingers with her own warm digits. 

“Alright.” She agrees, raising a questioning eyebrow back at him. “And just where are we going?”

///

“The Los Angeles Antique Mall.” Harry announces proudly when he opens Y/N’s door, extending a ringed hand to help her out of his low-riding car. “Twenty thousand square feet of vintage collectables, artwork, furniture, and anything else you could possibly want.”

Y/N stares up at the massive building in front of them, observing the worn wood facade and the collection of what seems to be (half faded) stained rocking chairs adorning the wraparound porch.  There’s also an impressive amount of wrought iron planters with various greenery scattered between the furniture, with groups of people milling between them as they enter and exit the giant mall. 

“You brought me antiquing?” She asks, an bemused look in her eye as she turns to Harry for an explanation. 

Wrapping his large grasp around her smaller one, Harry nods enthusiastically as he begins to lead her towards the door. “Yeah.  It’s fun, actually.  I’m always up for a bit of a treasure hunt, and I thought, since you’re still furnishing your apartment…”

“You know, now that you mention it… I could use some new curtains for my living room.  Maybe a nice side table.” Y/N allows, stepping over the wooden stairs to the door as Harry tugs her along. “But I’m surprised you like antiquing.  Doesn’t really seem like your thing, if I’m honest.”

A mischievous glint flits through Harry’s jade eyes as he treats her to a grin that’s all teeth. “I’m actually quite fond of antiques, truth be told.  I’ve got a good eye for vintage collectables.  And…” He lazily tugs on the handle of the door to open it, stepping to the side to allow Y/N to walk through first. “Maybe we’ll find a nice painting to replace that god awful tapestry in your bedroom.”

A scoff of indignation falls from Y/N’s mouth as she turns on her heel to punch Harry’s sturdy upper arm, nearly getting too distracted by the ropes of muscle beneath his tight sleeve to give a response. “I like that tapestry!  And, seeing as how you’re either sleeping or fucking me when you’re in said room, I’m a little offended that my tapestry is the thing you focus the most on.”

Harry bites his bottom lip between his teeth.  If only she knew how much time he actually spends staring at it. 

“Well, there’s certainly other things I focus on…” He replies with a casual air, slipping his hand into the back pocket of Y/N’s overalls to cup her ass suggestively, guiding her along the aisles of antiques. “But nothing ruins a post-orgasm glow like poor interior design, sweetheart. S’a bit of a buzzkill, y’know?”

“So is being patronized.” Y/N deadpans, extracting Harry’s hand from her back pocket as a hot flash begins to creep up her spine. “You keep mocking my interior design choices, and your orgasms are going to get a lot less frequent.”

The vampire belly laughs as he throws an arm around her shoulders, the action as natural to him as breathing once was. “I don’t believe that for one fucking second.” He replies gleefully, smudging an open mouthed kiss to Y/N’s temple. 

“You don’t, huh?” The human girl raises an eyebrow, cocking her head to scan the towering racks of oddities all around them. “I wonder if we can find you a vintage fleshlight here?”

“Already got one, doll,” Harry rolls his eyes as he brushes his cool fingers along Y/N’s exposed collarbone, his eyes catching the cross pendant again and brimming with curiosity. “And it’s just the tip of the iceberg that is my toy chest, y’know that—” 

Y/N feels Harry’s arm suddenly tense around her, his muscles contracting as his touch jolts away from her collarbones, his hand flexing beneath the open skylights of the building. “Everything okay?” Y/N asks, all her teasing fading away, replaced with concern as she pauses her steps toward the shelves. 

“I—” Harry flexes his fingers again, slowly removing his arm from her shoulder to examine his hand.  The tips of his fingers are a bright red, crimson burns contrasting against his pink skin, and although it only takes a few moments for the marks to fade, the uneasy feeling bubbling in Harry’s stomach lasts. “Yeah.  My, uh, my hand just cramped.  But it’s fine now, I think.”

Who the fuck, he wonders as he cautiously slings his arm back around Y/N’s shoulders, wears a cross made of, not silver as Harry originally suspected, but polished iron?  

Iron jewelry had fallen out of fashion a century ago, and Harry had never been more thankful than when it did, given how his flesh scorches at merely brushing the metal. When he took his family’s trinkets as a way to remember them before he had to leave, Harry had snuck into his father’s forge in the dead of the night to dip the jewelry in gold that he’d stolen from a local merchant who cheated poor peasants out of their valuables.  It had been a tedious task, and rather dangerous due to the threat of being caught, but it had also been necessary; if he hadn’t taken the risk, he wouldn’t have his sister’s cross earring, or his father’s matching cross necklace.  His dad’s pocket watch, luckily, had been made of silver, and didn’t need a golden bath, but everything else had to be encased to protect Harry’s skin.  

Iron jewelry had been a deterrent to him in the years to come after he was turned; it wasn’t uncommon for him to find a pretty young girl from a village and sneak her away for a night of fun, only to discover an iron chain dangling from her neck when he leaned in to take a bite.  It wasn’t a permanent problem, of course, as there were plenty of other soft places he could sink his teeth into, but it had been an annoyance then, and it still annoys him now. 

Harry does his best to push the irritation to the back of his mind, he really does.  He shows Y/N around the twisting maze of antiques, and does his best to showcase one of his favourite hideaways in L.A.  He points to anything and everything that could interest her, and doesn’t hesitate when she asks him to reach something heavy perched on a high shelf, even if she just wants to examine it out of curiosity.  Harry pulls out typewriters, vintage cameras, tarnished cigarette lighters, and a pastel yellow bicycle with an attached wicker basket from 1941, presenting all of the objects with the enthusiasm of a showcase model on The Price is Right, spouting falsified information about each product in the best impression of Bob Barker he can pull off (“This ancient, rusted bicycle— once owned by the Queen of England herself— can be all yours for just one easy payment of $8.99! Taxes and shipping not included.”). 

And although all of that incites multiple tinkling laughs from Y/N, and lights a glimmer in her eye, and compels her to walk closer and closer to Harry until she lets him sneak his palm back into the backside pocket of her overalls, the mystery of her necklace still eats at the far end of his brain. And it’s that insipid, insistent pest of a thought that causes Harry to readjust his grip on the framed Monet print he’d spotted in the racks (Y/N had tried to deny how much she liked it in order to thwart Harry’s triumphant smirk, but she still asked him to grab it for her with a grumble) and spare another glance to the innocent looking cross resting atop her clavicle. 

“That’s a pretty little piece.” Harry slips into a nonchalant tone with ease, nodding towards the necklace as he navigates the two of them around a corner. “Why have I never seen you wear it before?”

Y/N brushes her fingertips over the iron cross with a gentle motion.  Her fingers don’t scorch with a mere graze of the metal, Harry notes scathingly.  Not that he expected it from someone like Y/N. 

“Because I don’t wear it often.” She replies, lifting one shoulder without a second thought. “It was my grandmother’s— not, like, originally, but she’d owned it, and gave it to my mom, who gave it to me, so I guess it counts as a family heirloom, huh?”

“Guess so.” The vampire murmurs in agreement, prickles of wonder still coasting against his skin. “So what made you drag it out today?” Did you subconsciously realize that your neck needs protection when I’m near? Harry tacks on in his head, his brow furrowing at the troubling thought. 

And at that question, Y/N’s eyes drop to the floor, as if her bubblegum pink vans need an audience for every step they take. “Uh, I was just a little homesick, that’s all.” She mumbles the reply, her shoulders sagging as a dark shadow passes through her usually dazzling eyes. 

Homesickness.  The one human feeling that Harry can still relate to. “I’m sorry to hear that, darling.” He removes his hand from her back pocket to wind it around her shoulders again, mindful of the jewelry in question. “Did anything in particular happen, or…?”

Y/N lifts her shoulders once again as she tucks her hands into her pockets, her posture closing off more and more with every passing moment. “Not really.  I don’t know, I— normally I’m fine, but when I addressed my letter to my parents today, it took me a moment to remember my ZIP code.  It’s the same ZIP code I’ve had all my life, but… I nearly forgot it.” She glances at Harry from the corner of her eye, and Harry realizes that dark shadow is guilt.  She feels guilty. “I’ve been in L.A. for less than six months, and almost forgot my parent’s ZIP code.  I didn’t think that could ever happen.”

Harry hums low in his throat, a noise of understanding and finality.  It’s homesickness, that’s all.  That’s explainable, and understandable, and should be enough information to silence the gnawing irritation in his chest. 

And yet...

“Do you believe in God?” The question escapes from Harry’s mouth before he can even think to censor it, his own eyes widening on his behalf as his grip on the Monet print nearly releases from the surprise. 

“What?” Y/N stops in her tracks, although she nearly stumbles forward when Harry’s sturdy arm catches behind her shoulders as her eyes boggle at him. “I don’t— what does God have to do with antiquing?”

If Harry didn’t have to worry about digging himself out of the whole he created, he’d laugh at the incredulous expression on his lover’s face. “I was just curious, s’all.” He struggles to keep his voice casual, steadying his feet against the wooden floor in an effort to ground himself mentally. “I know you were raised with religion, but you don’t really go to church here— not that church equals a belief, but—”

“Um, I don’t…” Y/N extends her arm to let her fingers graze over the shelf of old lunch boxes next to them, feeling each dip of every embossed cartoon character. “I don’t know.  I don’t really believe in, like, a concept of God— at least, not the one I was raised with.  But I believe in…” She trails off as she attempts to gather her thoughts, chewing on her bottom lip absentmindedly as she searches for the right words. “Something.  I don’t really know if it’s a deity, or an energy, or just coincidence, but… I think there’s something out there that guides us.”

“So you believe in souls.” Harry’s mouth presses into a flat line, his jaw clenching for just a moment as he grits his teeth and then reiterates her previous point. “The thing that allows us to be guided, that is.” 

Or allows her to be guided, Harry thinks bitterly, casting his eyes towards their path ahead of them to avoid Y/N’s prying gaze. That’s really the only reason he’d brought up this entire religion conversation— the only reason he ever brings it up: he wants to know if she believes in souls, because in order to be guided by whatever higher power supposedly exists, one needs a soul.  And Harry’s fairly certain his was stolen from him in 1837. 

“I suppose.” Y/N allows, tracing the embossed lettering of a vintage Wonder Woman lunch box. “A soul, an energy, an aura— they’re all kind of the same thing to me.  The thing that keeps your heart beating.  I don’t think it needs to be tied to a religion; there’s so many different religions, but everyone has a heartbeat, you know?”

Harry nearly laughs out loud at the irony, but manages to stifle the sound into a non-committal hum. “Does your something include heaven and hell, or is that too based in Christianity?” He asks, half out of curiosity and half out of necessity. “If someone were to lose their soul…” He knows he sounds insane asking the question, but it bubbles out of him before he can choke it back. “Would you think them damned?”

The mortal girl stares at him blankly for a moment, her mouth just barely open as she considers his words.  He shouldn’t have asked, and he knows that— he knew it the moment the first question fell from his lips.  But the more they discussed the topic, the more it nagged at him.  Y/N, with all her good nature, her listening skills, and her soft heart, are most certainly bound for whatever good lies in store when a soul actually leaves a body.  Harry, on the other hand… If the monster’s conscience were to ever leave this Earth, he knows it’s not for the metaphorical pearly white gates. And for some reason, that notion bothers him more right now than it has in the last twenty decades.

“Um…” A nervous laugh echoes from Y/N’s mouth, the smile curling the edges of her lips not quite reaching her eyes. “Okay, this topic is way too serious for me to discuss sober.  Can I take a rain check on the damnation questions?  I’m getting Sunday school flashbacks, and living through that once was bad enough.”

Harry wills a smile onto his own face, but the expression is more apologetic than anything as he grips Y/N’s hand in his to tow her down an aisle of antique kitchen equipment. “Yeah, of course. Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you with such heavy questions. I guess I just wanted to get to know my partner in justice a bit more.” 

Y/N takes it in good stride, just as she usually does, her smile relaxing the moment she sees Harry’s dimples peek out from his cheeks. “Don’t worry about it, Sherlock.  I’d expect nothing less from such an established detective.”

As the pair pass under another skylight, Y/N’s cross glints at Harry as if to mock him. 

///

Y/N isn’t lost.

To the untrained eye, the mindless path she takes through the towering and twisting rows of the antique mall may seem like the wandering of someone who has no recollection of where they came from, nor where they’re going, but Y/N is adamant that she isn’t lost.  She isn’t, because when she split from Harry to take a trip to the washroom, he’d warned her not to get lost in the internal maze of the mall.  And Y/N, with a glare in her eyes and a scathing remark on her lips, had assured him that she, a grown woman, would be able to find her way back after she was done, and “Honestly, H, just wander a bit.  I’ll be able to find you easily.”

So Y/N isn’t lost, because she refuses to prove Harry right.  He’s already a cocky asshole with a huge ego, and she couldn’t bear seeing that ego enlarge as a triumphant smirk paints over his face the moment she calls him on his cellphone, admits defeat, and asks him to come find her.  She’ll do a lot of things for that man, but that isn’t one of them.

With that in mind, she turns down a corridor of the labyrinth of collectables, trying to find any discernible items that she could use to pinpoint her location in the labyrinth.  The yellow bicycle, maybe, or one of the vintage cameras Harry had pretended to photograph her with, or even the strange five foot carving of Bugs Bunny that she and Harry had agreed is probably possessed by a demon.  A haunted Bugs Bunny could lead her to her destination— or kill her, truthfully, but either option seems preferable over the solidifying future of having to call Harry.

After another five minutes of aimless ambling, Y/N retrieves her phone from her pocket, a grimace crawling its way onto her face as she opens her contacts to click on Harry’s name.  Her finger hovers just over the phone icon, mere millimetres from humiliation, when a few out of place piano notes float by her ears and catch her attention.

Y/N tucks her phone back into her overall pocket as her curiosity takes over, urging her ears to strain towards the distant melody, as well as for her legs to follow. It’s not long before Y/N is walking with purpose again, albeit a different purpose than before.  As the music gets louder, Y/N begins to pick out more details— how the piano notes that prick her ears are slightly out of tune, how the player begins and stops and begins again, dragging out different phrases, speeding through others with no clear intention.  The minor key of the piece makes Y/N feel like she’s walking into a memory as she wades through the shelves of long-forgotten belongings, old photographs of deceased people in Victorian fashions watching while the young woman falls back in time.

The music grows louder as Y/N reaches a dark corridor with wood paneling lining the walls, and a painted sign saying “Music Room” beckons her down the passageway.  She follows with slow steps, and while she knows that maybe leaving the main mall area and losing her way down here isn’t a smart idea, the music that’s beginning to grow impossibly sweet pulls her forward.  Y/N rounds the corner to find the oak doors to the music room swung open, and when she lays her eyes on the figure sitting at the mahogany ground piano, she recognizes the silhouette of Harry’s back and shoulders immediately.

Y/N’s gaze falls from his flexing shoulder blades to his inked hands, the jewels on his rings catching the low light of the room as his lithe fingers dance over the dusty ivory keys.  He coaxes a melody from the instrument without any difficulty, as if the music had been simmering beneath his skin for ages.  Maybe it has, Y/N thinks, as she watches from the doorway with quiet wonder, and although she plans on silently observing for as long as she can, Harry only completes a few more phrases before the music drifts to a halt.

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d find me.” He murmurs, clearing his throat of the rasp that had settled in his vocal chords as he played. “Thought I’d be getting a scared phone call any moment now.”

The human girl steps into the room slowly, gliding around to the cut out of the piano and leaning across the lacquered wood. “I wasn’t scared.  And I would’ve found you sooner if you’d stayed put. I said wander a bit, not all the way across the building.” She retorts jokingly, trailing a finger along the smooth edge of the piano. All of the sarcasm in her voice melts right out, replaced by intrigue. “I didn’t know you played piano.”

“I, uh, I don’t.  Not much anymore, anyways.” Harry runs his digits between the keys again, using only enough pressure to dust the top of the ivory covers. “I wasn’t sure I’d remember how, honestly, but this…” He lifts an index finger to brush the dust off the gold embossed brand name. “It looks like the one I learned on, so…”

Y/N takes a seat on the wooden bench next to Harry, her shoulder bumping against his as she leans in to smudge a kiss across his cheek. “It sounded beautiful.” She assures him, noting the hesitation in his explanation. “What’s that piece called?”

“It’s one of Chopin’s Nocturnes, in C-Sharp Minor.” Harry curves his fingers over the keys, as if he’s about to begin again, but then relaxes the digits as he exhales harshly. “I don’t play it as well as— as the person who taught me.”

There seems to be a hidden story beneath those words, but Y/N doesn’t press it; if Harry wants to tell her, then he’ll tell her.  If not… Well, she’d rather not drag a sour memory from him in the middle of an antique mall.  Instead, she drags her fingers over his thigh, rubbing just above his knee in a comforting manner. 

“How long have you been playing?” She asks softly, tracing over a black lacquered key with her free hand.  When she pulls away, her finger is coated in dust, and she wonders how long it’s been since the piano has been touched by someone else.

The corner of Harry’s lips twitch, as if her question is particularly humorous. “A while.” He answers simply, and he tilts his head to the side to press his face against the top of Y/N’s head, inhaling the scent of her favourite shampoo. 

“A while?” Y/N repeats the vague answer to prompt further explanation, but when she gets none, she switches to another inquiry. “Can you play me something?”

The moment she utters the question, Harry shakes his head adamantly. “No, I— no.  I’m not that good, love, and I don’t really play for people.”

Surprise colors Y/N’s voice when she replies, lifting her head from Harry’s shoulder to look him in the eye. “This isn’t the time for false modesty, H.” She says, tapping two fingers against his knee as punctuation. “Since when have you been humble?”

A bark of a laugh escapes Harry’s chest in spite of himself, and he curls his fingers over Y/N’s to move her hand further up his thigh. “I’m not modest!  Don’t insult me like that, darling.  S’not nice.”

“Prove it, then.” Y/N massages over Harry’s inner thigh as she issues the challenge, baiting the vampire’s ego with ease. “Play me something.  Show off a little bit.”

Harry squeezes Y/N’s hand once as a quiet groan twists his lips into a pout. “You’re getting pretty good at manipulating me, y’know that?” He mutters, poising his lacquered fingertips back over the instrument. “Fine.  Do you want something sad or happy?”

Y/N ponders the question as she leans her head back onto Harry’s shoulder, her lips finding the edge of his jaw and pecking his cool skin for just a moment. “Both.”

“Both.” Harry repeats with a snort, shaking his head in exasperation as his hands drift to a new position on the keys. “Indecisive little thing, aren’t you?”

The mortal girl lifts her shoulders in a noncommittal shrug, scratching her nails along the fabric of Harry’s pants. “Just play me something.  Please?”

It’s the simplest request with the most complicated implication, but Harry can’t find a good reason to refuse it. 

“This is, um, another Chopin piece.” He feels clumsy in his explanation, struggling to remember the details that he’d once memorized in an effort to seem impressive. “Another Nocturne, in E-flat this time.”

Harry’s fingers begin to dance over the keys, and Y/N listens in amazement as a melody that is both happy and sad begins to spiral out from the body of the piano, wrapping her inside the warmth of the music.  

Not every phrase is even— the more Harry plays, it seems, the more the music phrases, bending and shaping itself around his elegant fingers, rolling with his every movement.  As the music begins to get sadder, however, Y/N notices the change in Harry’s face, and how each phrase begins to get choppier as his fingers stumble their way over the keys. 

Y/N smudges another kiss against Harry’s jaw when his fingers trip up again, squeezing his knee with reassurance. “Keep going.” She murmurs, rubbing his leg lightly as the music stutters again. “It’s nice.”

“I—” The music halts with a jerk of Harry’s hands, which he retracts from the keys as if the ivory burns him. “I don’t remember the rest.” He mumbles, laying his stubbled cheek against the top of Y/N’s head. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.  I really liked it.” Y/N trails her own fingers over the keys, pressing a few of the lacquered notes with idle interest.  The melody she spins out isn’t nearly as nice as the one Harry played, and she laughs at her own expense. “I’m not nearly as good.  I took a few lessons as a kid, but begged my mom to let me quit.  I wish I’d stuck with it.”

“That wasn’t too bad.” Harry’s dimples wink at her as he smiles boyishly, nodding to the keys with false reassurance. “That little tune sounded a lot like Mozart.”

“Uh huh.” The mortal girl rolls her eyes at the lie, bracing her palms against the polished wooden bench before rising from her seat. “Despite that praise, I don’t think I’ll be adding this piano to my shopping cart.” 

“Hm.  Too bad.” Her lover trails his fingers after her, reaching for her hand and intertwining her grasp with his. “It could make a pretty addition to your apartment, I think.”

“It would take up my entire apartment, more like it.” Y/N scoffs as she raps the fingers of her free hand against the side of the piano. “I don’t even think I could fit this in my living room.  Your apartment, however…” She raises an eyebrow as a grin works its way over her face. “You could fit it easily.  You should buy it.”

Harry rolls his eyes as he lets her hand fall from his palm, touching the keys one last time before shutting the cover over the keyboard. “I’m not buying the piano.”

“Why not?” Eyes widening in surprise, Y/N leans onto the instrument, gesturing with her arms the same way Harry did earlier as she shifts her voice to mimic Bob Barker. “It’s made of genuine mahogany, was once played by Beethoven himself, and can be yours, for the low, low price of—” She reaches around the side of the instrument to grab the tag tied around the leg. “Eight hundred and—holy shit, are you kidding me?”

Harry hums in response as he rises from the bench, shrugging his shoulders before crossing his arms around his tummy. “That’s actually a fairly good price for a used piano, you know.” 

Y/N blinks at him, her mouth opening and closing as she struggles to find words. “I— okay, yeah.  Sure.  So you should get it, then, if you consider that a ‘fairly good price’.” 

“I could,” Harry agrees, his muscles flexing beneath his tight t-shirt as he reaches to pick up the painting leaning against the instrument. “But I won’t.”

Her brow wrinkling in confusion, Y/N watches as Harry begins to examine the other objects in the room, turning his attention to the book-lined shelves and antique lamps. “Why?” 

The man sighs as he fingers the tassels hanging from a— in Y/N’s humble opinion— particularly ugly lamp. “Because I already have one—”

“You do?”

“—but it’s been in storage ever since I got to L.A. And while I usually love things in excess… alcohol, statement jewelry, orgasms—” He flashes a toothy grin at Y/N. “I don’t think overly-heavy instruments fall into any of those categories.”

“Why is it in storage?” Y/N asks, bemusement laced through her voice.  Before Harry began to stumble through the piece, there was a look on his face that Y/N hasn’t seen very often; a serene air swirled through his eyes, hiding something beneath it that Y/N couldn’t quite make out.  And she wants to. 

“Because I don’t have any interest in playing anymore.  Honestly, darling, I haven’t thought about it in years.” Harry laughs in a nonchalant manner, moving from the antique lamp to the creaking rocking chair in the corner. “Y’can have it, if you like.  Probably do you more good than me.”

Y/N rolls her eyes at the deflection, turning her attention away from the topic at hand. “I’m good.” She responds dryly, drifting over to the floor to ceiling bookshelf bolted to the wall. 

Her eyes trail over the exposed spines of the books, reading over the variety of titles with piqued interest.  The amount of genres she sees is countless, ranging from trashy paperback romance novels to timeless classics embossed in gold.  The farther up Y/N glances, the older the books appear, and she gets more and more curious as she glides her fingers over the rippled covers of the books within her reach.

While the novels climb up the height of the bookshelf to the ceiling, Y/N can only manage to reach halfway up the length she needs to, even while stretching on her tiptoes.  She settles down on the balls of her feet with a pout playing on her lips, her attention turning to the wheeled ladder that runs along bars bolted to the bottom of the shelving unit.  It looks rather old— like everything in the antique mall— and Y/N isn’t quite sure it’ll support her weight, despite her test of gripping a rung and pushing on it.

“Harry, c’mere,” She calls over her shoulder, hands gripping the sides of the dusty ladder as she balances a foot on the bottom rung.

Upon her beckoning, Harry saunters over, the painted print she’d selected still grasped in his ringed hand. “Yeah?” He asks, raising an eyebrow in question. “What is it?”

“Can you help me climb up the ladder?” Y/N nods her head towards the far-reaching shelves, biting her bottom lip with pleading eyes. “I want to see what’s on the top shelves.”

Harry’s gaze follows Y/N’s gesture towards the top of the library wall, a look of trepidation flickering through his eyes. “Is that really necessary?”

“Yes,” Y/N answers curtly, lifting her other foot onto the bottom rung before moving from her original step to the next. “And it’ll be a lot easier if you help me.”

Despite his protests, Harry sets down the framed print and complies with the request, grasping Y/N around her waist with firm hands as she scurries up the rickety ladder.  She can feel his fingertips pressing into her love handles over the denim, and it would be a lie to say she doesn’t enjoy it, but she refocuses her attention onto reading over the embossed titles that she couldn’t see from below.

“Y’know, on second thought… take all the time you need, dove.” Harry calls from below her, the smirk evident in his voice as he squeezes her hips once with a laugh. “I’ve got quite the view from here.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N releases one hand from the ladder to tug a novel off the shelf, examining the half exposed cover before sliding it back into its place. “I bet you do.” She retorts, wiggling her hips just enough to tease him without losing her precarious balance on the ladder.

Although the motion is meant to be a joke, Harry can’t stop the flash of genuine fear that ignites in his chest.  Humans are fragile, he knows, and a fall from the height that Y/N has climbed to could sprain her wrist, or injure her back, or crack open her skull like an egg, or—

“Careful there, Watson.” Harry attempts to disguise the worry in his voice behind a lighthearted joke as his grip on the human girl strengthens. “Wouldn’t want an accident to happen, now, would we?”

“That’s why I’ve got you, Holmes.” A tinkling laugh falls from her lips as she risks a glance over her shoulder at him, her eyes alight with amusement, before turning her attention back to the old novels. “You wouldn’t let anything happen to me, would you?”

There’s a nervous truth hidden underneath her words, and Harry knows it, but that doesn’t stop it from making his skin itch as the casual phrase sinks into his body.  In all his years, however, Harry’s gotten quite good at hiding his emotions, and this is no different.  

Instead of giving a sincere answer, Harry hardens his reply of “F’course I wouldn’t, pet.  Y’can never be too careful.” by letting one jeweled hand drift from Y/N’s hip to her backside, cupping it gently to support her, and taking delight in the way he can feel her body tense beneath his new touch.

It takes Y/N a moment to find her breath again, and when she does, all she can muster is a hum in the back of her throat. “Mhmm.” She sighs, trying her best to refocus on the books lining the shelves in front of her as she climbs higher. “Is that why your hand is grabbing my ass, you pervert?”

“Y’know, that seems to be your favourite nickname for me.” Harry’s smirk deepens as he contracts his hand, squeezing her fleshy backside after she takes another step higher. “I wonder why that is?”

“I wonder.” The flat response echoes from Y/N’s mouth as she pulls another book from the shelf to examine it before replacing it a moment later. “Maybe— and this is just a suggestion, so take it with a grain of salt, but— maybe if you didn’t act like a pervert, you’d get a nicer nickname.”

Although Y/N’s retorts are droll and to the point, Harry can hear the way her heartbeat begins to stutter each time he massages her, and it’s that fluttering rhythm that encourages him to grasp the sides of the ladder with both hands and pull himself up a couple rungs. 

“A nicer nickname, huh?” He breathes in her ear, pressing his chest to her back both to be close to her and to give her more support on the ladder. “Like ‘slut’?” Harry stifles the groan that nearly rolls from his throat when he feels Y/N stiffen. “That’s one of your favourites, isn’t it?”

“I—” Swallowing down the sudden lump in her throat, Y/N grips the sides of the ladder tight between her hands, her skin stretching over her tense knuckles as Harry’s breath begins to hit her neck. “Maybe. I...I suppose.”

Harry laughs quietly as he takes another step up the ladder, keeping himself braced against Y/N as he begins to smear kisses along the side of her neck, mindful of the iron cross that still hangs there. “You suppose?” He repeats, his tone slightly mocking when he hears the mortal shudder. “What about your other favourites?  Y’like when I call you my pretty little plaything, don’t you?”

The honey and lavender fragrance wafting over Harry intensifies as Y/N’s blood pumps faster and faster, the only sound emerging from the human girl being a quiet whimper from the back of her throat.

“There’s another one, though… another nickname…” Letting his teeth gently graze her earlobe, Harry whispers directly in Y/N’s ear, keeping his voice low and throaty as he does so. “It’s on the tip of my tongue, baby...” He suckles sloppily along her pulsing neck, delighting in the taste of her sweet skin in his mouth. “Remind me what it is?”

Already, Y/N’s breathing has grown ragged, and he waits a moment for the aroused girl to form a response, encouraging her with every nip of his teeth.  Just when Harry is about to ask again, she manages to choke out a reply.

“Whore.” She whispers, the embarrassment in her voice overpowered by the lust running through her veins. “I like it when you call me your whore.”

“That’s my good girl.” A satisfied smile tugs at the edge of Harry’s lips as he stamps a gentle kiss to Y/N’s jaw. “That’s another one, too.  My good girl.  And because you’re my good girl…” Harry snakes his right hand from the rung of the ladder to the buttons of Y/N’s overalls, deftly undoing the side snaps and gradually slipping his hand into the space between the denim and her clammy skin. “You’re going to keep looking for your books while I have some fun.”

Y/N lets out a broken gasp as Harry’s fingertips graze over her cotton panties, and her grip on the railing slackens as a rush of heat falls between her legs. 

“Careful, baby.” Harry cautions her, his left hand wrapping around hers and resetting her grasp on the ladder. “Can’t have any fun if you let go, hm?”

“We—” She twists her head to the side, straining to look over her shoulder and towards the entrance as Harry’s digits dance over the dampening spot on her panties. “Someone could walk in, Harry—”

Of course someone could, Harry thinks, but exhibitionism is so much easier to indulge when one has inhuman hearing that can detect the pounding of an approaching heart from fifty feet away.  He doesn’t disclose this information to Y/N, however, for a number of reasons, and instead chooses to scrape his teeth along the shell of her ear once more, his ruby lips soothing the marks instantly. 

“You let me worry about that, alright?” He murmurs lowly, sliding Y/N’s cotton panties to the side and dragging his index and middle finger through her dripping folds, enjoying how she shivers against his chest. “You just focus on finding the book you want and being a good little whore for me, princess.  Let me take care of the rest.”

When Y/N reflects on this moment in bed tonight, her clammy palms twisting around the sheets as she inhabits the memory of Harry’s mint-scented breath swirling around her as he massages two fingers around her throbbing clit with a teasing touch, one specific detail will stick out to her.  She won’t focus on how her heart is pounding so hard that she feels her chest might burst, or how her fingers shake as she reaches for another book on the shelf, per Harry’s quiet but intent instructions.  The thing that Y/N will remember in wonder and— on some level, self consciously— is how quickly the anxiety that spikes through her veins at the possibility of someone walking in and finding the two of them in such a compromising position bleeds into a high like no other.

Y/N likes to entertain the idea that she’s fairly adventurous, and has been open to a lot of things, especially since meeting Harry, but this— allowing him to finger her in a music room at an antique mall, where any customer or employee could discover them— is something so outside of her character that Y/N can’t think straight.  When Harry first slips his long middle finger inside her slick center, the girl nearly collapses, and Harry’s broad chest braced behind her is the only thing that keeps her upright on the ladder.

“Y’like that, doll?” Harry’s hot breath rolls over her neck as he purrs the words, adjusting his grip on the side of the ladder as his other hand skillfully toys with the human in slow and deep strokes. “Filthy little thing, you are, letting me play with you like this.”

The sinful remark draws a mewling moan from Y/N’s mouth as her head dips back onto Harry’s sturdy shoulder, her hands dropping all pretense of searching for a book and clutching the ladder like she normally clutches her sheets, or the headboard of whoever’s bed Harry has tossed her onto. “H-Harry…” She whimpers, her eyelashes fluttering as he circles his thumb around her clit. “Fuck…”

“You pretend to be so sweet, but you and I know the truth, don’t we?” The vampire sponges another kiss along her throat as he delights in the wet sounds his fingers make, which easily become drowned out by the quiet noises of bliss leaving his lover’s mouth. “You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

Y/N nods fervently as she allows her weight to fall back against Harry’s sturdy chest, trusting him to support her as he thrusts another finger inside her. “Anything, H, I—” The desperate proclamation is cut off as Harry curls his digits, bumping against the spot in the pit of her tummy that sets her entire nervous system on fire. “Shit, right there, baby, right there…”

Harry’s smug voice rings in her ear as he slows his stride, dragging his fingers in and out of her hot core at a pace that’s nearly criminal. “Y’don’t need to tell me, I know.” He pushes himself forward again, flushing Y/N between his chest and the ladder with just enough room to continue his activities. “I know what you like, how you like it, where you like it… Know my girl so well.”

As Y/N adjusts to the newly close proximity, the bulge in Harry’s slacks grows more apparent, rubbing against her backside over and over with each plunge of Harry’s fingers.  She lets out a strangled whine at the feeling, carving her teeth into her bottom lip in an effort to keep herself quiet. 

“You feel me, don’t you, minx?” Harry moans into her ear, catching his teeth along the shell before dragging them down her jaw to settle his lips just above her throbbing pulse point. “You feel what you’re doing to me?  How just a single whimper from those pretty lips, and one touch of your soaked cunt makes my cock ache?”

Despite her best efforts, a ragged sob breaks through Y/N’s self-imposed gag order, and her chest heaves within Harry’s tight embrace as her head lolls to the side. “I-I want it.” She pleads, her half-lidded eyes struggling to find Harry’s emerald irises in her haze. 

Those sea glass eyes, darker than she’s ever seen them, widen with fake surprise as his mouth curls into a smirk.  When Harry replies, his normally soothing dulcet voice is filled with insincere mocking. “Oh, you want it, do you?  You want me to fuck you in here?” Dropping his voice to its usual low resonance, Harry growls the next phrase in the human’s ear. “I know you want it, you fucking slut.  But you can’t have it right now.  So if I’m going to let you cum—” The conditional phrase pulls a sound of protest from her throat. “—then you’re going to have to do it around my fingers.” 

The begging girl cries out against his neck as her walls clench around his touch, the stifled pants that she gasps into Harry’s ear urging him to speed up.  Instead of giving her what she wants, Harry curls his fingers inside her, pressing deeper into that spongy spot to elicit another broken whine from her.  When he receives it, however, it’s accompanied by an unexpected blinding burn. 

The iron cross that hangs so delicately around Y/N’s fragile throat has slung to the side in her writhing pleasure, finding its way from her flushed collarbones to the base of Harry’s icy neck.  The vampire grinds his teeth as he feels the brand begin to form, choking back the sound of agony that fights its way out of his mouth.  His left hand clenches around the ladder, his knuckles stretching white as the waxed wood nearly splinters under his palm, while his right hand stutters its pace inside his lover, prodding harshly at her G-spot as a single grunt makes it past the cracks of his teeth.

Harry knows he needs to remove the cross from his skin, but he has no way of doing so without alerting Y/N to his discomfort.  If he lets go of the rung, both of them will tumble off, and Y/N has made it obvious how much she trusts him to keep her safe; that option is hardly an option, Harry thinks, struggling to keep his mind present as he fights through the pain.  The other option— the only one, really— is to retract his fingers from between the mortal’s thighs, feign some excuse as to why, and do his best to keep her from noticing the cross-shaped burn mark on his neck that will surely disappear within a few moments of the iron being removed.  It’ll be jarring, he knows, to pull Y/N from the subspace he can tell she’s beginning to slip into, and Harry hates it, but there’s nothing to be done.  His hand contracts inside her, desperately massaging her walls one last time before he retreats to—

The sharp action drags a mangled whine from Y/N’s throat, the sound more shattered than anything Harry has ever heard from her before, and it pulls Harry’s attention from the charring sensation of the cross branding his skin to the overwhelmed girl in his arms.  As Y/N lets her entire body fall against Harry’s chest, her eyes completely shut as she gives into the pleasure bubbling in her tummy, a realization dawns on Harry, searing him nearly as much as the metal on his inhuman flesh: he can’t let go of her.  He’s in too deep— literally, obvious in the way she tightens around his fingers— and if he were to stop now, Y/N would go into a sensitive daze that he can’t deal with in a public space.  If he lets go of her now, he’ll lose the connection he’s spent the last two months making. She might get over it, given that it’s just an orgasm, but subconsciously, there’s a possibility she could resent him for it. Especially in the extremely delicate phase she’s in at the moment. 

He knows it sounds stupid, but he can’t risk that.  He just can’t.  He’ll take burning agony over that any day. 

When Harry reflects on this moment in bed tonight, his jeweled fingers carefully combing through Y/N’s knotted locks as she shifts in his arms, the bite mark on her neck freshly faded to a light bruise, her chest rising and falling gently with quiet breaths, one specific detail will stick out to him.  He won’t focus on the blinding pleasure of Y/N grinding against his hardened bulge, her body moving of its own accord as she gives in completely to the sensations Harry pulls from her.  He won’t focus on the explicit moans that show she’s given up on attempting to quiet, her voice reverberating in Harry’s mouth as he inhales every desperate breath she exhales.  When Harry reflects on this moment, the thing he’ll remember the most is how the second he accepted his fate— that he’d have to bear the pain in order to keep Y/N happy, and he feels like there’s probably some deeper subliminal message hidden beneath that realization, though he refuses to indulge it— the mortal girl tilts her head to the side and begins to kiss Harry’s neck, soothing the scorched mark with her silky tongue. 

The relief is so sweet that Harry nearly cries out a fractured mewl, letting his head fall forward into Y/N’s shoulder to hide his desperate expression.  She continues to whimper into his skin, smudging kiss after kiss on his marked neck as if she knows how badly he needs it.  Even as her orgasm begins to rise in her belly, consuming her every thought, she continues to suck bruises onto his jugular, dragging her tongue over his cool skin repeatedly after every action.  Although the iron still stings, the sensation of Y/N’s textured tongue swiping over it turns the pain to pleasure, and it’s not long before Harry has himself centered once again, refocused on the task at hand. 

He speeds up the movement of his fingers, focusing on curling them inside her as his thumb rubs quick circles over her throbbing clit.  The sounds bouncing around the room are so lewd that Harry almost wishes someone would walk in, even if only to see how good Harry is capable of making his lover feel. 

“Y’can cum for me, baby.  Cum all over my hand.” He mutters in her ear, his teeth scraping against her fragile skin in desperation. “I know you have it in you.  Show me how good you are.”

Y/N feverishly grinds against his hand, all of her senses overwhelmed by the immortal as she licks across his neck. “So—so close, Harry—I—”

“I know, I know you are.” The vampire soothes her in a tone more gentle than he thought possible, palming her soaking cunt with as much pressure as he thinks she can stand. “Let go for me.  I’ve got you.”

The reassurance is the final thing Y/N needs to fall apart, and once she knows that she can, it happens with an intensity that shocks even her.  When the coil inside her belly snaps, a guttural moan tears from her mouth, and she grasps the pole in front of her as tightly as she can while collapsing back into Harry’s chest. 

“Fuck, there we go, yeah? Shhh, keep it down for me, angel. Don’t wanna have to stop until you beg me to.” 

Her grip on the ladder does nothing to support her, but as Harry’s hushed words ring in her mind, she knows she doesn’t have to worry about that.  Harry’s arms and chest are strong enough to do it for her, allowing her to sink into her pleasure as much as she needs to. 

When Y/N slumps in his arms, her neck finally shifts enough that her cross falls back into its designated position between her collarbones, providing Harry with relief from the scorching pain he’d been beginning to adjust to.  He can feel his skin begin to heal itself the moment the iron leaves it, and with that small fear tamped down, the creature can turn all his attention to the girl in his arms. 

He slowly and carefully retracts his hand from her panties, shushing the weak squeak that rolls from her lips at the motion. “Good girl.” He mumbles into her ear, kissing her temple softly as her breathing begins to regulate itself. “Shh, you’re alright.  Y’did so well for me, darling.”

The comforting praise comes easily to him, and as he continues to hold Y/N as she regains her previous headspace, Harry begins to wonder just how far he’d be able to push her before she reaches her limits.  How far into subspace can she go before she hits the point of no return?  Could Harry successfully guide her there and lead her back?  Could she ever trust him enough to submit fully to his every request, taking solace in the knowledge that he can take care of her as well as— or better, even— she can take care of herself?  Harry wants to think yes, but he can’t dwell on the idea any longer; Y/N’s beginning to shift against him again, and he’ll never be able to earn that wholehearted trust if he doesn’t tend to her now. 

Lifting his hand to his own lips, Harry wraps his tongue around his drenched fingers, lapping at the sweet wetness that coats them down to his rings.  He hums in appreciation, stippling another tender kiss to Y/N’s neck when he retracts his fingers from his mouth. 

“Taste so sweet, y’know that?” He whispers, the question half a test to see how aware Y/N is as her head begins to clear. “C’mere, I want you to taste.”

Y/N lazily tilts her head to the side, a small smile playing on her lips as they meet Harry’s for a slow kiss.  Trailing his fingers down her side, Harry skillfully buttons the side of her overalls again, adjusting the fabric to lie comfortable against her skin.

“How are you feeling, hm?” He murmurs, rubbing his large hand soothingly over her belly as her breathing begins to regulate again. “How was that?”

“I feel…” Y/N struggles to make sense of her swimming head, resting it against Harry’s shoulder as she tries to form a coherent response. “Good.”

Harry sighs with relief, smearing a quick kiss to her cheek as he grins. “Good.  That’s good.” 

With his right hand still wrapped around her middle, he carefully lowers himself and Y/N from the ladder, keeping a tight grip on the girl until he knows her feet are planted firmly on the ground. 

As the afterglow of her climax begins to fade, a heated flush begins to crawl up Y/N’s spine to settle on the apples of her cheeks. “I, um—” The corners of her lips tug upwards with a bashful tone, and she twists around in Harry’s arms to shyly meet his canopy green eyes. “I can’t believe I did that.” 

“You didn’t do anything.  It takes two to tango, pet.  And, honestly…” Harry flashes a boyish simper at her as he yanks her closer to him by her hips. “I think I did most of the work.” 

“That’s true.” A breathless laugh stutters from Y/N’s chest as she curls her hands around Harry’s bulging biceps, steadying herself from the after effects of her orgasm, which are turning her legs to jelly. “I could, um…” She flicks her eyes from the door to the prominent bulge in Harry’s black slacks before capturing his gaze in hers again. “Return the favour?”

Harry snorts as he gives a quick shake of his head, his teeth catching on his bottom lip while he runs his hands down the back of her rumpled shirt. “Not here, baby.  How about we wait until we’re back at my place for you to show me how my sweet girl sucks cock, hm?”

“So it’s alright for you to distract me from my book search to finger me in a public area,” Y/N fakes indignation to distract herself from the ache that’s starting to pulse in her core again at Harry’s proposal. “But the moment I want to suck you off, you say ‘not here’?  What kind of double standard is that?”

Lips twitching in amusement, Harry stifles a laugh as he turns the girl in his arms, pressing her back to his chest once again before wrapping his arms back around her waist. “You’re right.  I distracted you from your book search. How rude of me.” He coos, nodding up to the shelf as he grazes his teeth against her pulse. “Think I see a pretty copy of Sense and Sensibility up there.  Y’think you can reach it, or do you need me to do it, sweetheart?” 

The shuddering of Y/N’s heartbeat contrasts with her heated reply. “I can reach it just fine if you behave yourself.” She shoots back, smacking the hand that’s beginning to wander towards her center again. “Or is that too difficult for you?” 

“It’s extremely difficult when I’m near you.” The reply, while truthful, sends a quiver down Harry’s spine, and he presses a chaste kiss to the human girl’s shoulder before releasing her from his grasp. “I’ll get the book.”

Y/N tugs the hair tie from her locks, shaking them out before pulling them back again in a neat manner. “You know, I never thought I was one for antiquing, but today was fun.” 

“Well, it doesn’t usually involve getting finger-fucked on a ladder,” Harry states bluntly, glancing over his shoulder with a dimpled smile on his face. “So I’m not really sure if today can be the marker for an average antiquing session.”

Y/N’s face boils at the brazen comment, and she tucks a strand of loose hair that she’d missed behind her ear as she swallows hard. “No.” She replies with a soft and timid laugh, shaking her head gently. “I suppose that’s true.” 

Harry hums in reply as he snags the old copy of the Jane Austen novel from the top shelf, climbing down the ladder effortlessly and landing back on the ground with a soft thud. “But I’m glad you had fun.” Harry steps towards Y/N with a satisfied air, gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger as a teasing smile plays on his ruby lips. “And I’m even more glad we found a replacement for that terrible tapestry of yours.”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she smacks Harry’s hand from her chin before snatching the novel from his hands. “Stop being mean to Amanda!  You’ll hurt her feelings.”

A snort boasts from Harry’s throat as he recalls the day she had told him what she’d named the piece hanging from her wall, and he bends down to scoop up the Monet print while shaking his head impassively, clutching it in one hand as he snakes the other around Y/N’s waist once again. “Well, I hope Amanda doesn’t have feelings, because I’m going to burn her.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Oh yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not, because I’m going to hang her over your bed, just so you can stare at her while you fall asleep each night.” 

Harry groans loudly as he guides his lover from the music room and back to the open space of the antique mall. “Please.  If anything is going over my bed, it’s a mirror, not a college freshman’s poor excuse of an attempt at interior design.” 

Y/N wrinkles her nose at the comment, shaking her head at the crude suggestion. “A mirror?  That better be a joke.”

“It was, but now that I’m thinking about it…”

“You’re disgustingly conceited.” 

“Oh please, you lo—” Harry catches himself just before the word love rolls off his lips.  Though he’s said it before when referring to certain aspects of their sex life (like how he loves the way her mouth feels, or how she loves the way he stretches her out), it just seems oddly repulsive to say at this very moment. Too intimate, almost.

Therefore, the creature bites back the offensive phrase and tugs her closer by the waist, covering up his sudden hesitation with his signature smirk. “You like that idea, don’t you, dove?”

Y/N keeps her face neutral as they pass by an older couple examining a grandfather clock. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Sure you don’t.” Harry laughs sharply, nuzzling his face into the top of Y/N’s hair and pressing a casual kiss to the crown of her head. “Need I remind you that your request for my interior design skills is what started this whole thing?”

“And if you had suggested I mount a mirror over my bed, this whole thing would’ve been over before it even had a chance to start.”

“You say that now, but if you were to see the way my cock looks while it slams into your—”

“Harry!” Y/N hisses, blood rushing to her cheeks as he guides her around a corner stacked with porcelain dolls. 

“Fine. No mirror.” Harry relents, a disappointed sigh falling from his lips as he palms Y/N’s waist closer to himself. “But the tapestry needs to be burned.”

“No.”

“Thrown away.”

“No.”

“Folded up and tucked under the bed?”

“Possibly.  And that’s as good an ending as you’ll get.” 

That night, after Harry has satisfied his craving for both Y/N and the sweet liquid that pumps through her veins, and has settled in for his usual nightly routine of rhythmically caressing her back to lull her into a deep slumber, and as he counts the breaths the mortal sighs between nightfall and sunrise while her soft snoring sings a lullaby to his ears, he can’t help but think that…

That yes, this really is as good an ending as he’ll ever get. 

[cinebration]

A Moment of Madness (Jonathan Crane x Reader) [Request]

Hey! Could I please request a Jonathan Crane x female!reader imagine with the prompt "Just let me see him one last time. Please." — Requested by @newyorks-hottest-club​​

Warnings: none

Gif Source: dcmultiverse

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you can’t see him.”

You frowned, shoulders slumping. Meeting the officer’s gaze, you pleaded, “Just let me see him one last time. Please.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

Sighing, you tried another tactic. “Has Dr. Crane been evaluated yet?”

“What?”

“There have been varying reports regarding his sanity over the last eight years. Has he even evaluated?”

“No, but you can’t—”

“I hold a PhD in psychology, Officer”—you tilted your head to read his name tag—“Collins. Not only am I licensed to evaluate Dr. Crane, but I knew him some years before he went off the deep end. As such, I’m one of the only people qualified in this town to determine if he’s insane or not. Now, I can come back with the right paperwork and with your boss barking murder at you, or I can see him now.”

Collins swallowed thickly.

“Sir, I have worked extensively with violent offenders. I am more than capable and qualified to handle an evaluation of Dr. Crane. It’ll save your ass in the long run.”

“I don’t follow.”

“No? If this man isn’t assessed, his trial could fall apart. Now, you wouldn’t want this man to walk off into the streets, would you?”

Scratching the back of his neck, the man shook his head.

“Good.” You smiled prettily. “So, let me sign in, get a visitor’s badge, and then you can escort me to a holding room.”

Collins did as he was told, whisking you through the process. Before passing through the metal detector, he stopped you. You handed him your purse.

“Empty your pockets.”

You reached into your pockets and removed everything but a small plastic bag in your right front pocket.

Collins looked up from your purse. “Why do you have two inhalers?”

“I need a backup,” you said. “I’m always misplacing the main one. Speaking of, I will need to bring one with me.”

“No, ma’am, that’s not—”

“Do you really want me dying on the floor today?”

He blinked, shook his head. You plucked one of the inhalers from out of the bag, stepped through the detector.

No beep.

“Knock on the door or holler if you need anything,” the officer said, his hand on the door to the evaluation room.

“Thank you, officer.”

He pulled open the door, and you stepped through into a well-lit, windowless room.

At the table in its center sat Crane.

“Come to gloat?” He shook his head, laughing ruefully to himself. “Amazing what comes out of the woodwork when one is at one’s lowest.”

You sat down at the table, looked at him. He met your gaze levelly, those clear-blue eyes appearing flat. You could see how sharp they were behind that feigned disinterest.

He had hardly changed from your post-graduate days. He seemed the same Crane, mildly distant and dripping with condescension.

“Anything to say?” He asked. “Or are you here to gawk?”

You remained silent.

“Alright. I’ll keep talking, then. I kept up with your work,” he said. “It wasn’t very interesting, until you published that piece based on your work with violent offenders. Then you seemed to disappear.” He fixed you with a stare. “I admit I haven’t been as…involved in the academic and scientific circles, but where have you been these last few years?”

“I was perfecting my work.”

“She speaks!”

You smiled thinly. “We should never have stopped working together.”

His eyebrows arched. “Oh?”

“Our research wasn’t so different in the end. You like fear and madness, but I like moments of madness. It’s more interesting. When the normal person snaps and then returns.”

He shook his head. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Knowing how to break people.”

“Fear breaks people.”

“Consequences break people.”

He shook his head. “Why are you here?”

“Did you pick up the thread of my research?”

“Sure.”

“Which was?”

“If I recall correctly, something about the elasticity of the mind.”

“Yes, but there was more to it than that.” You reached into your pocket, pulled out the small packet. “You see, what I was most interested in was how to use that elasticity. Or rather, how elastic the brain is before it breaks. A moment of madness versus a turn to it completely.”

You placed the packet on the table. Crane’s dropped his gaze down to it. The condescending smirk on his lips faded, his eyes suddenly sharp.

“Do you know what drives a moment of madness? Sudden emotion.” You unzipped the packet. “Particularly rage.”

Pulling out a pair of industrial-grade earplugs from the plastic bag, you slid them across the desk to him. He stared down at them, then back to you, caution mixed with faint hope on his face. “Earplugs?”

Retrieving the other pair from the packet, you slipped them into your own ears as you spoke. “Interestingly enough, humans are hardwired for violence. Trigger them correctly, and you can have a riot. Put those on.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Crane picked up the earplugs and slipped them into his ears, his handcuffs rattling. You slid out one of your bobby pins, broke it at its folded center. Taking the flat end, you reached for his hands and slipped it into the small space between the teeth of the handcuff and the lock housing. You pushed the bracelet forward a few notches, tightening it around his wrist. The bobby pin slid forward a fraction.

Then you pulled the cuff off, the teeth sliding over the bobby pin and out of the housing.

You repeated the process with the other cuff, freeing him.

He stared at you in disbelief, guarded caution trying to hold back the excitement in his eyes.

“I dropped off the map,” you explained, brandishing your inhaler, “because I had to conduct my work away from prying eyes. I didn’t have an asylum to work in.”

“And what, exactly, was this work?”

You grinned, your smile feral. “Triggering moments of rage.”

You pushed the top of the inhaler down. Instead of a puff of medicine, the internal mechanism triggered a small device inside.

The inhaler left in your purse outside the room let out a high-pitched whine.

In less than five seconds, the prison exploded into chaos, a cacophony of screeching and screaming filling the place.

“That’s our cue.” Almost leaping from your seat, you opened the door with a flourish and waved him out of the room.

Crane in tow, you hurried down the hallway toward the front desk. Collins, visibly shaking, had his hands around another officer’s neck, throttling him. The other man clawed at Collins’s face, spitting and choking.

You picked up your purse, leaving the second inhaler behind, and calmly walked through the office. Crane kept pace beside you, looking around in astonishment as the men in the office screamed at each other and the inmates, unaware of your passing.

Klaxons blared suddenly, the metal doors behind you slamming shut as you walked out the front door. Two uniformed officers sprinted into the building, lunches forgotten.

You strode past them to a nondescript sedan in the parking lot. Crane hopped into the passenger seat as you slipped behind the wheel, nonchalantly turning over the engine as the chaos from the prison spilled out onto the street. Through the heavy duty earplugs, you could hear the inmates inside screaming bloody murder, the bars of their cages rattling as they clawed at each other and at themselves, trying to escape.

You pulled out of the parking lot, driving away leisurely.

Crane looked over his shoulder, laughing. Raking a hand through his full hair, he turned back to you, eyes sparkling with excitement. He plucked out the earplugs as you did the same.

“That was inspired,” he breathed.

“I have a lab just outside of Gotham. I managed to get my hands on some of your gas.”

He stilled, his mouth parting slightly in surprise.

“This,” you said, shaking the inhaler before tossing it into the backseat, “is only the surface. You haven’t yet seen what I’ve managed to do with the cerebellum.”

“Well, I have to admit, I never thought you were capable of this.”

You glanced at him, the wolfish smile returning. “You just have to get to know me better.”

“Well, then, Doctor, I think we’d better get acquainted.”

[stripper-patrick]

Heaven 🇫🇷Florian Munteanu

|part 1: Get You| |part 2: Heaven| |part 3: Hell|

Warnings: language, smut, nsfw

Song- Streets: Doja Cat

Tags: @rebellious-desires @mrsbanreswillseeyou @eclecticblkgirl @designerwriterchic @bvssmob

Relationship: Florian Munteanu x black plus sized reader

My alarm goes off and I happily get up getting ready for our trip to Paris. I go to the bathroom wetting my face with warm water seeing as cold water just makes me mad. I exfoliate my face and lips before moving on to brush my teeth and swish some mouthwash.

I hop in the shower scrubbing, shaving, and exfoliating my body with my warm vanilla sugar scented soap from bath and body works. I rinse off the soap and step out applying coconut oil to my damp body then applying the matching warm vanilla sugar lotion to lock in the moisture. I’m black we gotta stay hydrated and mind out business.

I put on some deodorant and face moisturizer grabbing a black bra and some burgundy rhinestone Brazilian panties. I grab the outfit laid on my nearby chair and my Nike air 270’s. I sit at my vanity doing a light makeup look and adding some Vaseline for that shine affect on my lips. I decide to tie up my long braids in a cute little bun and I see my phone buzz. I swipe right and answer Florian’s call “good morning” I smile

“Good morning” my breath physically catches in my throat at his deep raspy morning voice. “Are you ready?”

“Yes I am”

“Oh and be sure to have something nice we’re going to brunch with my family”

“Oh ok” I nod. I did pack some fancy outfits because it’s Paris who wouldn’t but I know China hasn’t met his family yet. “So do you fight tonight?”

“No tomorrow. And we’ll be staying with my parents at their house”

“We’re not staying in a hotel?”

“No” he chuckles

“Ok then”

....

I park my car on a vacant lot seeing a singular airplane and Florian sitting on the steps. I get out and my jaw is dropped to the core of the earth.

“Hey baby girl” he jogs over hugging me and I’m too in shock to even acknowledge the nickname. I pop the trunk and grab my suitcase before he takes it from me “I could’ve got it”

“For what I’m here. You look good”

“Thank you” I smile “so you own this plane?”

“Kinda me and my brother went half on it. You’ll get to meet him later” he winks. Flo takes my luggage to the flight attendants and holds my hand leading me into the spacious red leather interior of the plane.

“This is dope Flo” I say

“Thank you” we sit across from each other and the flight attendant brings us champagne in a glass.

I take a sip and I can taste how expensive it is.

“So how long will this flight be?”

“About 12 hours” I sigh as we take off.

“Well how do we pass time?” He cocks up his eyebrow Suggestively and I smile.

...

“Ok how old were you when you lost your virginity?” I ask looking over. We’ve now moved next to each other giggling from the champagne.

“15” he answers. We’re playing a game of truth or strip. It’s simple. If you don’t wanna answer your truth you have to strip. Better than truth or dare. He has taken off his socks, shirt and watch and I took off my biker shorts and socks.

“Oh” I nod “if you had to choose between me and Brad Pitt to have sex with who would it be”

“Can I choose both?” I laugh

“Nope”

“Ok I would choose you” I laugh “I don’t know Brad like that or how good he is”

“How do you know I’m good in bed?” he leans getting closer.

“Aside from the details China tells me I can tell you know how to use what you got”

“What do you mean?” He smiles.

“You know what I mean” I laugh. Deep down I want him to prove me right but that would be completely outta line.

“I need an example” all of a sudden I’m shy but not to shy to bite my tongue.

“Like your tongue you look like you know how to use it in the best way” He doesn’t say anything he just stares at me. I feel myself leaning in. He’s leaning too. Our lips attach and it was like a flame was set off in my body. I’m frozen but my lips are still moving in sync with his.

Flo’s large hand caresses thigh then bring them in my underwear rubbing slowly at my clit. I moan in his mouth and he speeds up. Out of instinct I try to close my thighs arching my back but he keeps a good grip. He slips a finger in and starts kissing my neck. I moan out but the flash of my best friends face crosses my mind and I place my hands on his shoulders and stop all movements.

“You’re with China” I say breathing heavily. He nods looking down and my clit is throbbing and so badly I want so much more but I know I’d feel the worse whether China found out or not.

“You’re right I’m sorry” he nods taking his hand out of my underwear. His fingertip is wet with my juices and I let out a puff of air holding my head in my hands. I grab my pants and we redress ourselves before sitting back down. I sigh closing my eyes getting comfortable. All I can think about is his head between my legs and him being dominant and absolutely man-handling me. I open my eyes again looking out the window at the dark night sky.

‘Something takes over me and I straddle Flo and grab his arms wrapping them around me. I grab his face kissing him and he grinds me against his hard on. He’s quick to pull off my underwear and shimmy down his pants just a little bit. The tip inserts through my walls and I-‘

“Y/N you should probably get some rest” I snap out of my thoughts and he’s just staring at me.

“Yea you’re right” he stands to grabbing two blankets from the closet. He hands me one and I give off a small smile and a thank you. I pull the heavy soft blanket over my body up to my chin before taking a deep breath that transitions me into a deep sleep.

...

I wake up just at sunrise to see Florian asleep. He looks peaceful when he’s asleep. I look out the window watching the beautiful sky. It’s painted a mix of pink purple and yellow in the cleanest way.

I smile and stand up stretching my legs and back. There’s a big window at the back of the plane and I walk back there folding my arms just looking.

I feel arms around my waist and Florian’s hand slides up my neck to my jaw bringing my lips to his. I can’t help but kiss back now. This is so wrong but it feels so right.

I turn my body taking in his embrace and his hands go down to my butt giving it a light squeeze. He stops kissing me and walks away back to his seat. I watch his eyes close and I go sitting next to him. I lay my head on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around me and I lay on his chest drifting to sleep once again.

...

We are just getting off the plane in the warm climate of France. Considering it’s spring there’s a slight chill in the air making me put on a light jacket. Flo grabs our bags taking it to the car and the driver gets out. He looks like Flo honestly. Not as tall but still over 6 feet, green hazel eyes, pretty smile. The have a resemblance towards each other. Florian gives him a big hug with a laugh “how’ve you been?” The guy asks

“I’ve been good. This is Y/N. Y/N this is my brother Daniel” he opens his arms and I give him a big hug.

“Nice to meet you” he smiles

“Nice to meet you too”

“How’s China” he glances at me smiling

“She’s great” he nods

“Good well let’s not waste any time let’s go” he nods. I get in the backseat and I see a woman in the front. “Hi I’m Amelia” she introduces. Perfect skin, long legs, gorgeous blonde hair. She’s a model.

“Hi I’m Y/N” she smiles sweetly and turns around. Florian sits next to me and his brother gets in the driver seat as we pull off in the beautiful city of Paris. Or as I like to call it, Heaven.

As we go through I’m glued to the window tapping Flo’s thigh every time I see something cool like mimes, flowers, and even puppies. I notice Flo’s hand on my thigh and I want to move it so badly for the sake of just feeling bad but I can’t. This feels so good.

We arrive at the house shortly after and it’s huge to say the least. I get out and Daniel opens the trunk. I go to grab my bag and Florian smacks my hand. My jaw drops with a laugh emitting from both of us while Daniel and his wife walk by.

“I’ll get it” he says. He picks up my suitcase and his as well rolling both of them into the house. I’m still enjoying the exterior. An older gentleman comes out looking at me. I walk up to him and a huge smile spreads across his face. “Are you English?” His thick accent much like Flo’s emits through his perfect teeth.

“Close. American. I’m Y/N, Florian’s friend”

“No girlfriend?” His thick accent doesn’t stop the curiosity but still love coming from him.

“No she’s at home” I smile. He extends his arms pulling me in for a hug. He smells like teakwood and a little bit of backwoods.

“We have dinner tonight. You like goat?”

“Never tried it” I laugh. He wraps his arm around my shoulder walking me into his house “your house is beautiful”

“Thank you. Me and my wife built it when Daniel was born” he explains “from the ground up and this is one house I will never get rid of”

“I’m just in love with it” an older woman appears with broad shoulders and a disgusted look on her face staring right into my soul.

“Who this?” She asks pointing to me. I hate when people wave their fingers in my face it makes me wanna fight. But for her sake I’ll chalk it up to a culture difference.

“Diana this is Y/N Florian’s friend” his father speaks “oh my apologies my name is Emilio”

“You think you’re good enough for my son?”

“Excuse me?”

“Ma stop” Florian scolds “what the hell is wrong with you”

“I apologize she can be a handful sometimes. Which is why we’re separated” Emilio says to me. I can’t help but giggle and he shows me around more with Flo behind us.

...

I get out the steamy shower and a knock comes at my door. I open it slightly seeing its Florian dressed in a Nike tracksuit. I’m only in a towel and I smile at him. “Hey you look good” I step aside allowing him in and he shuts the door sitting on the bed.

“Thanks” he answers “you look better. I think my mom will love that” he laughs

“Funny” I smile sarcastically laughing to myself

“Y/N I’m sorry but I just can’t help myself when I’m around you. Every time even when all of us like me you and China are together I want to make you mine and I know that’s your best friend-“ I cut him off with a kiss. That’s that wrenching feeling inside of me knowing I’m going to hurt my best friend is strong. But my feelings for him are stronger. What we have built is too strong for me to just walk away.

“Let’s just have fun this weekend and we’ll see where to go from there” I reassure him. Florian slides his hand up my thigh dangerously close to my bare pussy. Before he moves any higher I push his hand away “I have to get ready”

“Alright alright” he stands up “just meet me downstairs” he kisses my head and I shut the door behind him. I sigh shaking my head ridding myself of the thought that betrays myself and my best friend the most. I go in my suitcase grabbing the short casual t-shirt dress I brought. It accentuates my curves but still is simple.

I grab some sandals sliding those on and snapping the strap to my ankle. I take one last look in the mirror before opening the door to his mother standing right in front of me. “Hi?” I respond in more of a question like tone

“Are you going to Florians fight in 2 days?” She asks

“I am” she rolls her eyes muttering something under her breath. “What was that?” I call out daring her to say it again. People, especially older people, need to realize respect isn’t given it’s earned and if you put me in a position where I have every right to disrespect you, then that’s that.

“Take your ass back on the plane and go home. My son doesn’t need you” Just then I hear Florian yell and he comes up the stairs.

“Let’s go Y/N” he grabs my hand but I yank it away too heated in the moment to understand he means good.

“Nah she wanna sit here and keep disrespecting me. I’ve had enough. Me and him aren’t-“ Florian picks me up taking me downstairs where he sets me down on my feet. His hands are still clad at my waist as I fume.

“I’m tired of her talking to me like she’s lost her gotdamn mind”

“Just don’t let her get to you. I’ll talk to her later tonight. Please” he begs. I sigh and he pulls me in for a tight hug. I take a deep breath of his cologne gathering my thoughts. I let go and walk in front of him to the kitchen earning a swat to my behind. I shake my head and we approach the table full of others. They all stare at me including his mother sitting at the end. I sit down and Flo sits next to me. The maids bring out an appetizer and it’s an orange soup. I grab my spoon taking a sip and it’s delicious.

“This is called a zuppa toscana” Emilio says “something my mother used to make me and my brothers all the time” he smiles. The family engulfs themselves in chatty conversations and I continue sipping on my soup. Flashbacks of the plane and Florian rubbing my pussy keep hitting me creating a waterfall in my panties. I can already feel their soaked through. I stretch my hand on his thigh lightly resting it there. Florian glances at me before going back to his food. I move my hand on top of his crotch rubbing lightly making a firm grip. I feel his thigh twitch and his hazel turn into a dark brown. I keep rubbing him through his pants feeling him harden. I keep rubbing until the chef comes out of the kitchen.

“The food is taking some time but it will be out shortly” the chef announces smiling.

“Perfect Y/N come with me” Florian grabs my hand dragging me with him throughout the house.

He opens the big glass door and lets me out first. I look around seeing we’ve entered a beautiful garden. “This is gorgeous” he shuts the door and grabs my hand not saying a word. Florian leads me through it to a bench in front of some flowers. I bite my lip and he wraps his hand around my throat sealing any space between us with a kiss. His hands move to my butt giving it a nice squeeze. I gasp feeling his tongue slip in my mouth. I feel dizzy and hot. I’m not sure who’s air I’m breathing anymore. He lets go and I suck in a breath of air as Florian sits on the bench. He pulls my dress off tearing off the thin fabric of my lace thong. He sits me on his lap and I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders. I grind along his hard-on as he grips the back of my neck holding me in a powerful kiss. I lift my dress up pulling my underwear to the side while he unbuckles his pants. Florian lets out a big girthy dick and I watch as it pulsates and leaked with precum.

I grab ahold of it and glide myself onto him feeling his dick expand my walls gracefully. Once I’m fully on him Florian grabs my hips digging into them guiding me to ride him. This increases my pleasure somehow.

“I’ve waited for this for so long” he moans bucking my hips faster. I bounce my ass and my acrylics glide through his short hair. My breath is caught in my throat by how fast I’m going and how big he is. My hands move to his chest and I let out that first succulent moan. Florian rolls my hips faster attaching his lips to my neck heightening my pleasure. I claw at his chest hearing his deep voice rumble in my neck “I’ve wanted this tight pussy around my cock and in my mouth since I first met you”

My moans get louder hearing his vulgarity and my legs begin shaking from the pressure building in my center. Florian holds me down with one arm and his other hand snakes up to my mouth silencing my moans. Somehow this makes this rendezvous 10x hotter. He starts pounding me out from below and the only thing you can hear is skin slapping on skin and his low grunts and moans.

“Are you gonna cum on me?” I nod furiously trying to push away from his death grip. The pounding becoming too much “uh uh take this dick”

I have no choice but to sit there and take it. My entire body tensed and I begin my convulsions while gripping on the bottom of his shirt. He takes his hand off my mouth and I instantly move to his neck where loud moans are muffled in his shirt. “Fuck I’m gonna cum” I hop off to the best of my ability and get on my knees. I grab the base of his dick jerking it hard while sucking on the tip. Before I know it warm, bitterness is brought into my mouth while he grips the edge of the bench moaning. He’s gripping so hard that his knuckles are turning white.

“That’s my girl” I milk him dry and keep sucking until he’s begging me to stop. I come off his member with a pop and smile at him. Florian grabs my throat giving me a wet sloppy nasty kiss.

“You’re so nasty” he smiles “I love it”

I pull my dress down and discard my underwear in my bra. Florian fixes himself and I see the door open. It’s the chef.

“The food is ready. I was told you might be out here since it’s your favorite spot”

“Yes thank you. Just showing her the flowers” he extends his hand and I walk in front of him. The chef leaves the door open walking away and I giggle to myself thinking of what we just did. I’m gonna beat myself up later about it.

[qqueenofhades]

Hi. You made a post a couple of days ago about how queer historical fiction doesnt need to be defined only by homophobia. Can you expand on that a bit maybe? Because it seems interesting and important, but I'm a little confused as to whether that is responsible to the past and showing how things have changed over time. Anyway this probably isn't very clear, but I hope its not insulting. Have a good day :)

Hiya. I assume you're referring to this post, yes? I think the main parameters of my argument were set out pretty clearly there, but sure, I'm happy to expand on it. Because I'm a little curious as to why you think that writing a queer narrative (especially a queer fictional narrative) that doesn't make much reference to or even incorporate explicit homophobia is (implicitly) not being "responsible to the past." I've certainly made several posts on this topic before, but as ever, my thoughts and research materials change over time. So, okay.

(Note: I am a professional historian with a PhD, a book contract for an academic monograph on medieval/early modern queer history, and soon-to-be-several peer-reviewed publications on medieval queer history. In other words, I'm not just talking out of my ass here.)

As I noted in that post, first of all, the growing emphasis on "accuracy" in historical fiction and historically based media is... a mixed bag. Not least because it only seems to be applied in the Game of Thrones fashion, where the only "accurate" history is that which is misogynistic, bloody, filthy, rampantly intolerant of competing beliefs, and has no room for women, people of color, sexual minorities, or anyone else who has become subject to hot-button social discourse today. (I wrote a critical post awhile ago about the Netflix show Cursed, ripping into it for even trying to pretend that a show based on the Arthurian legends was "historically accurate" and for doing so in the most simplistic and reductive way possible.) This says far more about our own ideas of the past, rather than what it was actually like, but oh boy will you get pushback if you try to question that basic premise. As other people have noted, you can mix up the archaeological/social/linguistic/cultural/material stuff all you like, but the instant you challenge the ingrained social ideas about The Bad Medieval Era, cue the screaming.

I've been a longtime ASOIAF fan, but I do genuinely deplore the effect that it (and the show, which was by far the worst offender) has had on popular culture and widespread perceptions of medieval history. When it comes to queer history specifically, we actually do not know that much, either positive or negative, about how ordinary medieval people regarded these individuals, proto-communities, and practices. Where we do have evidence that isn't just clerical moralists fulminating against sodomy (and trying to extrapolate a society-wide attitude toward homosexuality from those sources is exactly like reading extreme right-wing anti-gay preachers today and basing your conclusions about queer life in 2021 only on those), it is genuinely mixed and contradictory. See this discussion post I likewise wrote a while ago. Queerness, queer behavior, queer-behaving individuals have always existed in history, and labeling them "queer" is only an analytical conceit that represents their strangeness to us here in the 21st century, when these categories of exclusion and difference have been stringently constructed and applied, in a way that is very far from what supposedly "always" existed in the past.

Basically, we need to get rid of the idea that there was only one empirical and factual past, and that historians are "rewriting" or "changing" or "misrepresenting" it when they produce narratives that challenge hegemonic perspectives. This is why producing good historical analysis is a skill that takes genuine training (and why it's so undervalued in a late-capitalist society that would prefer you did anything but reflect on the past). As I also said in the post to which you refer, "homophobia" as a structural conceit can't exist prior to its invention as an analytical term, if we're treating queerness as some kind of modern aberration that can't be reliably talked about until "homosexual" gained currency in the late 19th century. If there's no pre-19th century "homosexuality," then ipso facto, there can be no pre-19th-century "homophobia" either. Which one is it? Spoiler alert: there are still both things, because people are people, but just as the behavior itself is complicated in the premodern past, so too is the reaction to it, and it is certainly not automatic rejection at all times.

Hence when it comes to fiction, queer authors have no responsibility (and in my case, certainly no desire) to uncritically replicate (demonstrably false!) narratives insisting that we were always miserable, oppressed, ostracised, murdered, or simply forgotten about in the premodern world. Queer characters, especially historical queer characters, do not have to constantly function as a political mouthpiece for us to claim that things are so much better today (true in some cases, not at all in the others) and that modernity "automatically" evolved to a more "enlightened" stance (definitely not true). As we have seen with the recent resurgence of fascism, authoritarianism, nationalism, and xenophobia around the world, along with the desperate battle by the right wing to re-litigate abortion, gay rights, etc., social attitudes do not form in a vacuum and do not just automatically become more progressive. They move backward, forward, and side to side, depending on the needs of the societies that produce them, and periods of instability, violence, sickness, and poverty lead to more regressive and hardline attitudes, as people act out of fear and insularity. It is a bad human habit that we have not been able to break over thousands of years, but "[social] things in the past were Bad but now have become Good" just... isn't true.

After all, nobody feels the need to constantly add subtextual disclaimers or "don't worry, I personally don't support this attitude/action" implied authorial notes in modern romances, despite the cornucopia of social problems we have today, and despite the complicated attitude of the modern world toward LGBTQ people. If an author's only reason for including "period typical homophobia" (and as we've discussed, there's no such thing before the 19th century) is that they think it should be there, that is an attitude that needs to be challenged and examined more closely. We are not obliged to only produce works that represent a downtrodden past, even if the end message is triumphal. It's the same way we got so tired of rape scenes being used to make a female character "stronger." Just because those things existed (and do exist!), doesn't mean you have to submit every single character to those humiliations in some twisted name of accuracy.

Yes, as I have always said, prejudices have existed throughout history, sometimes violently so. But that is not the whole story, and writing things that center only on the imagined or perceived oppression is not, at this point, accurate OR helpful. Once again, I note that this is specifically talking about fiction. If real-life queer people are writing about their own experiences, which are oftentimes complex, that's not a question of "representation," it's a question of factual memoir and personal history. You can't attack someone for being "problematic" when they are writing about their own lived experience, which is something a younger generation of queer people doesn't really seem to get. They also often don't realise how drastically things have changed even in my own lifetime, per the tags on my reblog about Brokeback Mountain, and especially in media/TV.

However, if you are writing fiction about queer people, especially pre-20th century queer people, and you feel like you have to make them miserable just to be "responsible to the past," I would kindly suggest that is not actually true at all, and feeds into a dangerous narrative that suggests everything "back then" was bad and now it's fine. There are more stories to tell than just suffering, queer characters do not have to exist solely as a corollary for (inaccurate) political/social commentary on the premodern past, and they can and should be depicted as living their lives relatively how they wanted to, despite the expected difficulties and roadblocks. That is just as accurate, if sometimes not more so, than "they suffered, the end," and it's something that we all need to be more willing to embrace.

[tinyboxxtink]

"Weird Secret Friends" *Chapter 2*

Part 1

Part 3

Y'all IDK what it is about this story but I can just write and write and write. This one ended up being 11 pages [on a google doc] And I only stopped because it's 2:15 am.

I hope you guys like this, but I just want to clarify: This isn't a Barisi fic. I'm sorry, if you're looking for that, just...this isn't it. I mean they do interact and it'll be fun, but they will not be ending up together.

That being said, enjoy this new chapter! I'm debating on how pathetic enamored Sonny is, I don't think I'm gonna go that deep. No worries, people.

As always let me know if you want to be added/deleted off the tag list!! <3

Tag List

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@milkshqke

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@gibbs274

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@bookishfanfic

@stars-in-the-skies-world

@stars-trash-18

@omgsuperstarg

@objection-argumentative

-------

"Y/N, I'm so happy for you and Barba. You make the cutest couple," Sonny beamed at you while you were wrapped in Rafael's arms, huge smiles on all of your faces.

"Thank you Sonny, that means so much." You gave him a warm hug.

"Yeah….and you'll make the cutest couple in HELL!" All of a sudden Sonny pushed both you and Rafael off a cliff.

You were falling to your death when you woke up to your professor glaring at you.

"Have a nice nap, Miss Y/N?" He scowled at you.

"Um," You cleared your throat and straightened up at your desk. "Yes sir,"

"Good," he huffed as he headed to the front of the classroom once more. "Maybe now we can continue without your snoring,"

You heard the students around you snicker at his comments as You sunk lower into your desk and waited for class to end. It had been a long train ride home and then a drive to your apartment last night, you hadn't gotten home until around 2 am and had this 8 am class. As soon as the professor dismissed your class you booked it out of the class and out into the parking lot of your community college.

"Ugh, could this day get any--" before you could even finish your thought you got your answer. Your phone beeped with a text from Rafael:

RAFA: Hey killer, how's the bullshit county? 😉

That was the nice thing, then just as you were about to text him back your phone lit up.

SONNY BOI CALLING

"Shit!" You hissed to no one. "How does he know?!"

"Ahem….Heyyy, cuz," You answered it with your best nonchalant voice. That of course sounded totally chalant.

"Hey sunshine," His voice sounded relaxed, thank God.

"What's up?" You tried keeping your tone light as you neared your car.

"Well y'know I was just thinkin, I feel real bad about standing you up last night,"

"Oh, Son it's no big deal really," the fact that he felt guilty about anything made you feel even more guilty.

"No, I know you have a busy schedule and it takes a lot to get into the City and I just blew you off," He kept on with the guilt train.

"You didn't blow me off Son you had work. I get that--" You unlocked your car and got in, starting it so your windows would thaw. And your whole body.

"Well I wanna make it up to you," He cut you off.

"Oh?" your voice fell short. This couldn't be good.

"Yeah, my boss-- well he's not really My boss but Mr. Barba--"

Oh shit. Barba? Was Barba having a party? Why wouldn't He tell you that? Wait why WOULD he tell you that? Stupid. Wait, what was Sonny saying?

".... birthday, so you could be like my date," you caught the tail end of his invite.

"Birthday?" You repeated like a parrot. It was Barba's birthday? Oh god. You were really trying not to focus on how old he was. Don't ask. For the love of god don't say it Sonny.

"Yeah don't worry you don't need to get him anything, I got it covered," Sonny assured you.

Well, that was one way you could figure out just how much your cousin cared about his "idol". The more expensive the gift, the stronger the feelings were. You wondered whether you should ask him now or wait for the surprise. Maybe you should ask now, then his answer should tell you what you'd be getting into.

*So what did you get this 'non boss' of yours?" You asked slyly.

"Oh," now Sonny's voice dropped. "Well I, I don't wanna say,"

Fuck.

Don't panic. Do not panic.

"Oh come on Sonny," you did your best to keep a joking tone. "What am I gonna do, tell him?"

Should you joke about it? Hidden in plain sight, right?

"No I guess not, it's not like you know him,"

Whew.

"It's just kinda embarrassing…."

Oh god.

"O-Oh?" You tried to stay calm. "Why's that? Is it a gag gift?"

Please be a gag gift.

"Actually it's a new briefcase," He replied.

"Oh why is that embarrassing you goof?” You gave him a hard time. What was that in the emotional baggage department? Pun intended.

"I mean, it's more expensive than the one I own," You could hear the shrug in his voice.

Fuck. Don't ask why. Don't ask. But if you don't ask, that will be even more suspicious wouldn't it?

"Oh Son," You asked softly. "Why would you do that?"

"Well the one he has is as old as dirt, I think it's probably the first one he ever bought. I wanted him to look snazzy in court." He replied with a super eager tone.

"That's sweet," you were pounding your steering wheel in frustration. Say it.

"Seems like a lot of work for a mentor though," You closed your eyes mentally killing yourself.

"Yeah well," he laughed uncomfortably.

Say it.

"Sonny…” You didn’t want to do this.

“Yeah?” He was oblivious.

“You know you can always talk to me,”

“Yeah of course,” He assured you.

“About anything,” You scrunched your nose.

“Yeah I know, sunshine,” He half laughed.

“ANYTHING,” You reiterated

There was a long awkward pause.

“...Sonny?” You made sure he hadn’t hung up on you.

“Yeah, I'm here,” He replied softly.

“So?” You waited for the bomb to drop.

So…. He sighed. "I just want him to like me,"

Dammit.

"....Yeah," You nodded, cursing yourself.

"Yeah, its stupid. I'm stupid." He laughed again.

“You're not stupid,” you laid your head on the steering wheel in shame.” I mean the heart wants what it wants right?”

“What?! Oh my god, Y/N,” He scoffed. “I'm not gay,”

“….Sonny it's 2021,” you shook your head. “Sexuality is a spectrum,”

Right well. He laughed defensively. "I'm on the p in the v scale,"

“Ugh, Sonny,” you made a face.

“Sorry sunshine,” He apologized. “I just...why would you even think that?!”

“Uh…” You paused.

Maybe he wasn't fully aware that he had romantic feelings for Rafael. If you started pointing out the signs, he might realize it. But then you'd have a cousin going through gay panic AND then finding out it doesn't matter anyway.

"No reason," You lied.

"I just want him to like him so he'll give me a good recommendation once I graduate Fordham Law,"

"Oh" you smacked your head. "Duh. Right. Of course,"

That was completely legitimate. Maybe you had been misreading this whole thing. Now you just had the whole overprotective Gotti side of Sonny to worry about.

"Well I guess I could spend the weekend in the city," You shrugged as you pulled out of the parking lot.

“Absolutely!” He exclaimed. “My couch is always open,”

Not exactly where you were thinking of sleeping, but you weren't blowing your cover over the phone. Wait, maybe you should. Then he couldn't kill you over the phone. Wait, he's presumably at work right now. You didn't know how closely he worked with Barba, but you figured it would be a hell of a lot easier for Sonny to get to him before you could stop him from killing Rafael.

"Sure sounds good. I'll see you then cuz,” You smiled and hung up the phone.

------

Friday arrived, and you once again found yourself standing outside Forlini's. You debated heavily whether to go in or not, but you told yourself you were going to wait for Sonny outside this time, no more risking a sexy bar rendezvous.

You hadn’t really responded to Rafael’s texts the last few days, and you certainly didn’t tell him you were coming. Maybe you should have told him. You grabbed your phone to text him when you heard a familiar voice behind you:

“Y/N?”

You spun around to see Rafael dressed to the 9’s, smiling at you. He smelled delicious, mixed with the food aroma wafting out of the restaurant and the smell of freshly fallen snow in New York City.

“...Happy Birthday, Counselor,” You bit your lip nervously.

“W-What are you doing here?” He stared at you as if he thought he was dreaming.

“Sonny invited me,” You nervously smiled.

“Seriously?” He laughed.

“Seriously,” You nodded with a laugh as well.

“Did-- did you say anything to him?” He asked you worriedly.

“Are you insane?!” You hit him. “No!”

“So why did he invite you here?” He asked.

“He said it was to make up for ditching me the other night,” You shrugged.

“...The irony,” He smirked.

“Mmm,” You nodded with an amused smile.

“Well this is a very happy birthday indeed,” He smiled, pulling you closer into his coat similar to the night you had met.

“....Just don’t ask which one it is,” He warned you while staring at your lips deviously.

“Deal,” You nodded in agreement before he pulled you into a hungry kiss.

“DUDE!!” You snapped back before his lips were on yours for more than a millisecond. “Are you nuts?! Sonny’s gonna be here any second!”

“It’s my birthday, carino,” He made a pouty face. “Don’t yell at me,”

“Oh lord,” You rolled your eyes. “Alright, man child,”

He was about to go for another sneaky kiss when you both heard a voice from behind you.

“....Sunshine?”

“Oh!” You jumped ten feet away from Rafael when you turned to see Sonny standing there with a huge gift bag, staring slack jawed at the two of you. “Sonny! I um, we--”

“I was teaching your cousin a lesson in New York safety,” Rafael talked over you, his face completely stone. God he was a good liar.

“Excuse me, counselor?” Sonny raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you. You just stared in speechlessness.

“She was standing on this curb holding her bag out for any miscreant on these streets to just wrestle away from her, I was just demonstrating how,” He gestured to your open purse.

“Barba I really think this ain’t that kinda neighborhood,” Sonny half laughed.

“...You never know,” Rafael shrugged. “Now let’s all get inside, I’m sure everyone is anxious to start celebrating me,”

You and Sonny both rolled your eyes with smiles; too similar of smiles, you noticed. Thankfully, he did not. You both followed Rafael back to a private room where a bunch of fancy dressed people were mingling with drinks in their hands while two long empty tables stood in the middle of the room. They all stopped and clapped when Rafael walked in.

“Oh, for me?” He feigned surprise and humility.

“Yeah right Barba,” A woman laughed sarcastically. “You’re the one who invited us here,”

“Touche, Rita,” Rafael smirked as he began making the rounds around the table greeting everyone.

“So are we allowed to eat now, I’m starving,” An older man asked.

“And I’ve got a son waiting,” A red headed woman chimed in.

“Right, right,” Rafael nodded as people began to take seats. “Sorry everyone, you know I love to make a dramatic entrance,”

“Oh trust me we know, Barba,” Another man called. “Your catwalks into the courtroom prove that. I think we have a montage of them,”

“Ha Ha,” Rafael rolled his eyes, then turned to you and Sonny.

“Sonny,” He put a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you sit next to me?”

“R-Really, counselor?” You saw Sonny’s eyes light up like Christmas tree lights.

Fuck. You knew he was only asking him so that you would sit next to him as well. And while you loved the idea, you knew how much this was toying with Sonny’s feelings.

“A-Are you sure, about that Mr. Barba?” You gave him a look.

“Absolutely, Miss-- I didn’t catch your name?” He played it so cool.

“Y/N,” You held out your hand as you re-introduced yourself.

“Right, well--” He shook your hand then turned his attention to Sonny who was still beaming like a kid on Christmas. “I don’t know how much Carisi has told you, but he is quite the promising mentee of mine,”

“....R-Really, Rafael?” Sonny blinked in disbelief, causing Rafael’s smile to falter for a moment. Sonny had never called him “Rafael” before, it was always “Barba”. Shit, maybe he had given him too much praise.

“I mean, you know, for a lap dog,” He quickly added with a snarky tone and a smirk.

“Mr. Barba!” You tried not to raise your voice at the birthday boy. “That is my cousin you’re talking ab---”

“No, no it’s fine Y/N-- th-that’s how we work isn’t it, counselor? He just gives me jabs, I know he doesn’t mean it,” Sonny laughed nervously, staring at the floor. He knew not to get too comfortable with Barba, why did he even try it?

“Indeed,” Rafael nodded in agreement. “But, I still request you sit by me-- at least I know you don't poison my food. Which is more than I can say for many of my esteemed ‘guests’,” He eyed the tables of people before him.

“Then why invite them to your party?” You quirked an eyebrow.

“I get that Jersey doesn’t have the social classes of Manhattan, Miss Y/N,” He smirked. “But here, you’ve got to do things to keep up appearances,”

“Oh do you?” You practically growled.

“Yes,” He nodded while a waiter brought him a glass of scotch. “Even if you don’t like someone, if they serve a purpose for you than you do what you must to keep in their good graces,”

“Oh is that so? So you’re only kind to people who can ‘serve’ you?” You crossed your arms and narrowed your eyes at him.

What kind of Danny Zuko bullshit was this?! This was an entirely different Rafael Barba you had met the other night. He was kind, flirty, endearing. This new Barba was snarky and condescending, and you were not amused at all.

“Y/N, chill,” Sonny hissed at you. “This is just how Barba is, he’s harmless,”

“Yeah well you might not mind being his doormat Sonny, but I sure as hell won’t be,” You angrily stomped off.

“Oh my god,” Sonny muttered, wondering if he should run after you or not. “Barba, I am so so sorry about her,”

“It’s fine, Carisi,” He watched you stomping away, trying to hide the guilt in his voice. He was just trying his best to throw Sonny off the trail. He may have overcompensated just a tad.

“I-I should go check on her, She’s just a kid--”

“No, allow me,” Rafael put a hand to Sonny’s chest. “It was my faux paux, I should apologize to her myself. I was being a bit of an ass,”

“Yeah but that’s just you, Barba,” Sonny chuckled, trying not to blush at Rafael’s hand on his chest.

“True, but I forget not everyone knows me as well as you do, Carisi,” And now he was trying to be extra nice to Sonny to get on his good side, while cluelessly egging on his feelings.

“That is very true,” Sonny laughed even more nervously. “I’ll uh, I’ll take a seat and get our drinks ordered,”

“Excellent,” Rafael smiled at him, probably one of five times in the entire time they’d known each other. He gave Sonny one more pat on the back before walking after where you had stomped off to.

He found you right before you hit the front door, his hand catching yours before it could grab the handle. You turned and scoffed at him, your scowl still present after stomping off.

“Oh, come to appease me, counselor? How can I be of service to you?” You snapped.

“Please, Y/N,” He gave you apologetic eyes as he pulled you closer to him. “I’m sorry, I just-- I didn’t want Carisi to think anything was off. He already caught us being handsy, I had to make it look like we disliked each other,” He explained.

“Oh I think you’ve done that above and beyond, jackass,” You huffed. “First I’m too stupid to not get robbed in the city, and then I’m too uncultured to understand ‘high society’ manipulative bullshit?”

“I’m sorry, I may have gone a little over--” He started.

“But that wasn’t even an act, was it?” You interjected angrily.

“What do you mean?” He asked you curiously.

“Your line of you having ‘use’ of a person? I assume that is why you have a room full of powerful people you dislike as opposed to a room full of sycophants?” Yeah, you might just go to community college but you knew big words too.

“I mean, that is how it works--”

“Jesus Christ,” You shook your head with a laugh. “You know I understood for about half a second why my cousin is so infatuated by you, but I am losing that belief real quick,” You turned and started to walk away again.

“Y/N come on,” He grabbed both of your arms this time and pulled you close into him, your noses almost touching.

“Look I’m-- I’m sorry, that I’m---this,” He gestured to himself.

“But that’s just how I have to be in their world,” He gestured back towards the room. “I’m telling you, it’s a room full of sharks. If I show weakness or misstep in decorum, I’m nothing but chum to those people,”

“The guy you met the other night, that’s the real me,” He put a hand to your cheek. “I never get to be that guy, not in public. That’s why I was so attracted to you,” He put his other hand on your waist.

“I don’t have to be ‘Rafael Barba, the snarky ADA with a silver tongue,’ I can just be…’Rafa’,” He gave you an earnestly sad smile.

“I’m sorry,” You blinked in confusion. “I know I’m not helping myself but what exactly is the ‘ADA’?”

Your question brought that familiar amused grin and a laugh. “See, this is what I’m talking about,”

“Oh yeah I know, the ignorant girl you can placate--”

“No,” He put a finger on your lips. “The earnest, normal, gorgeous girl,” He kissed your forehead. “I’m sure if we took a poll in here right now the majority of the room would be with you, not knowing what an ADA is,”

“Which still doesn’t answer the question,” You pointed out.

“I…” He tried to think of a way to explain his role in the Manhattan judicial system. “Well, the DA of the county is like-- the King of Lawyers in that section. Or queen, as my boss is Rita,” He shook his head with a laugh. Oh Rita Calhoun, the stories he could tell about her.

“So, you’re her king?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Eh, I’d say Prince but she’d probably say Jester if she heard this metaphor to be honest with you,”

“Mmm I like that,” You finally let yourself smile at him.

“A Prince?” He grinned.

“The Jester,” You gave him a tongued smile, settling against his chest.

“Well, I’ll gladly take that title if it makes you happy,” He kissed your forehead. “I’d do anything to make you happy right now,”

You looked into his green eyes, they were now their usual sparkling green hue, and you remembered very quickly how you had gotten yourself in this mess in the first place. He really was a sweet, charming, gorgeous guy. And then you remembered those were probably all the reasons Sonny fell for him too.

“Ahem.” You straightened up and stepped out of his grasp. “Well, what would make me happy right now is getting back to my cousin,”

“Oh,” Rafael’s eyes softened into a sad gaze.

“Rafael, I think he really likes you,” You bit your lip with guilt. “And you toying with him just now isn’t helping!”

“Toying with him?” Rafael’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion? “I wasn’t toying with--”

“Sit by me, Carisi? You’re important to me, Carisi?” You imitated his questions in a mocking tone.

“I had to ask him that so you would--” He started to explain, but you already knew.

“I know!” You stopped him. “I know, that’s why it’s so fucked!” You put your hands over your face.

“Carino…” Rafael walked over and pulled your hands from your face and held them.

“I’m hurting him every second that I stand here with you, and I--” You bit your lip trying not to cry. “I’m still doing it! I can’t walk away!”

“So don’t,” He squeezed your hands with an even sadder look.

“This is just--” You broke free from his grasp once again and wiped your eyelids. “We need to get back before Sonny comes after you,”

“....So where does this conversation leave us, then?” He asked you cautiously.

“I don’t…” You gazed into his puppy dog emerald eyes. “I don’t know, I don’t want to think about it right now, okay?”

“Fair enough,” He put his hands down in concession. “...But we really need to--”

“Yeah, I know,” You nodded softly as you walked back to the private room, Rafael trailing behind you.

All you could think on the way back was how in God’s name were you going to make it through the rest of the night.