#i wonder if there are any plans to update baby's model...

[homestuckreplay]

Homestuck Is For Cat People

(page 928-941)

KITTEN UPDATE: Rose has picked up the kitten and is cradling it so gently.

The big development here is another APPEARIFIER, this one green (on theme with the lab) and perhaps a different model as it has this arcade cabinet setup instead of the big flat Playstation Portable that WV had (p.738). A coin-operated appearifier is a fun thought and I’m glad the idea was planted in the story, even if it didn’t come to pass.

This appearifier can be adjusted in time, but has been specifically locked onto Rose’s childhood cat Jaspers, who is apparently a Very Important Cat – there’s a special catlock symbol on the bottom of page 929. The funniest reveal is that Jaspers was always wearing a suit, and was fitted with a new one for the funeral, but not his first one.

And then we zoom out and see BABY ROSE. So small. Giant wet anime eyes way too big for her face. This is from Thursday September 7, 2000, and Rose was born in the winter of 95/96, so she’s 4 close to turning 5, and she is already a therapist and (according to unreliable present Rose) may have written the phrase ‘characteristically recalcitrant’ in a notepad.

Rose’s immediate instinct upon seeing this is to cause a time paradox. As though she doesn’t have enough problems already.

KITTEN UPDATE: The kitten is clinging to the trailing end of Rose’s scarf.

Rose creates a slime-cat just as WV creates a slime-pumpkin (p.752), and then we get a MASSIVE lore bombshell. This appearifier is connected to a slime chamber/DNA sequencer, automatically sucking up the paradox slime which contains the DNA of whatever was/wasn’t appearified. (I can confirm from Real Life that molecular biology sometimes involves slime).  

If it’s working, the machine then creates a PARADOX CLONE; an actual, living, non-slime embryo of the creature which can most likely grow like any other creature of its species. This one isn’t quite working; the kitten nibbling the scarf is actually a very close copy but the two-headed version in a jar is a step backwards. These are, apparently, ‘unsuccessful attempts to perfect the science of ECTOBIOLOGY.’

‘Ectobiology’ is written in green in the narrative so we know it’s important. And it is a very green and slimy word. Maybe a word that could describe a kid wearing a green slime ghost shirt. John is (or wants to be) someone who clones creatures through appearification, sequencing, and synthesis. It’s… weirdly analogous to how alchemy works in Sburb. Appearifying the slime = dispensing the cruxite, a raw material to work on. Sequencing the DNA = carving the totem, encoding the specific data. And synthesizing a clone = alchemizing an object, creating something physical out of digital data. It actually seems really easy, and like it doesn’t require any actual biology knowledge. But how does John know about this science when we’ve never seen it mentioned outside this ominous underground lab? And does John have plans with this? Specific clones he’d like to create??

Jaspers ‘tells Rose a secret’ and again I am wondering if we are supposed to take this literally, if cat speech is possible via Skaia’s will or if this is a weird false memory of Rose’s. And then he’s appearified away, by someone who isn’t Rose at some point in the past/future. For exactly two weeks his location is hidden by static; then he returns battered, and then we get the Jaspers-centric animated page, something I wasn’t expecting for today but am thrilled to have.

KITTEN UPDATE: The kitten is blinking all four eyes in sequence, like a crowd doing the wave.

A funeral dirge filled with purrs and meows plays as we see Jaspers’ extravagant funeral (complete with Mom’s martini glass and what looks like a funeral lab coat?), time in the mausoleum, and journey to the lab and transportalization today to somewhere with a gray square-patterned carpet. I don’t think we’ve seen this specific carpet before, but we have seen some geometric gray carpets in Jade’s house (for example, p.914). This is intercut with moments of the new mutant kitten chewing on Rose’s scarf, rolling around, and being generally adorable. Surely Rose is falling in love with this kitten as much as I am.

Rose appearifies Jaspers back and with ‘all this sorted out’ (p.940) grabs both cats and transportalizes away to who knows where. I do not feel like anything is sorted out. I actually have nothing but questions. But I’m glad Rose is feeling good.

Thinking through all this. Someone – presumably Rose’s mom – has been trying and failing to specifically recreate Jaspers. We know that resurrecting Jaspers via Sburb is a big goal of Rose’s, even if she’s reluctant to admit it, so that’s a big parallel between these two characters who have a lot of distance and hostility. Rose was so young when Jaspers disappeared that losing him must have been a formative memory. Jaspers was likely Mom’s cat from before Rose was born; her cat plushies suggest she’s a cat lover in general. She might have been working on getting Jaspers back ever since the moment he disappeared. The question is, does she want him back for herself or for Rose?

It's also possible that this setup has been here even longer, and that Mom herself appearified Jaspers from Rose’s therapist couch that day. Maybe accidentally, and it had bad effects, and she’s been trying to create a new Jaspers ever since as an apology (a real Dr Frankenstein way to approach interpersonal relationships but GREAT characterization) or maybe on purpose for some more nefarious/experimental reasons, considering the ‘no accessible feed’ during the time between his disappearing from Rose’s side and reappearing at the river.

KITTEN UPDATE: The kitten has been PRETTY DECENTLY ESCAPALIZED along with Rose!

> Rose: Check for additional cats in your new surroundings.

[briamichellewrites]

62

August 2008. Dave and Mike were attending the funeral of his mother, Kathy. After fighting bravely for two years, she lost her battle against breast cancer. They met her friends as they came up to express condolences. Dave introduced Mike as his husband. Once they learned Kathy would be going into hospice, they had a small wedding ceremony with her in attendance at the hospital where she had been admitted. It was the last happy moment of her life.

They exchanged vows and rings in front of her and her nurses. The hospital chaplain presided over the ceremony. They planned to have another ceremony with their friends and families in the future. The hospital staff only allowed a certain number of visitors at one time. As such, they could not include Mike’s parents. They understood after it was explained to them.

It was for Kathy. They welcomed Dave into their family. He thanked them. They helped him and his brother, Joe with funeral arrangements. It had been a while since Joe and Dave got together. After his three children went to bed, they sat down and caught up. The past six months were the hardest emotionally. Dave had moments where he had to excuse himself from recording to gather his emotions. The band let him cry and express himself however he needed to.

As they were attending to Kathy in hospice, they learned that Bria was diagnosed with stage IIB breast cancer. That meant that the tumour was contained and hadn’t travelled to her lymph nodes. Donna attended the appointment with her for moral support. The oncologist gave her a good outlook. After going through her options, they decided to talk it over before deciding.

They sat down with Muto, Dave, Mike and her manager. As Brad was filming a movie, he was unable to be there. They talked about the diagnosis and her treatment options. Her best option was to have a complete double mastectomy. There was a chance that they would not be able to remove all of the cancer cells. In that case, she opted to do chemotherapy. She could put her career on hold for a year. They all agreed that was her best option.

Brad was beside himself when he heard the word “cancer.” He asked questions about her treatment options and what she was going to do. If she removed her breasts completely, it would not change how he felt about her. He would love her the same way regardless. It was the same thing if she lost her hair. That made her cry with happiness. How did she deserve him?

“I don’t know, baby. I ask myself how I deserve you every day.”

As Mike and Dave were mourning the loss of his mother with friends and family, she was at the hospital undergoing surgery. Mike took his phone, so he wouldn’t be distracted by it. He put it into his pocket. Though the funeral was sad, they laughed as memories were shared. Kathy was a wonderful woman, who raised two boys as a single mother after her divorce.

She was a role model to them. They had nothing but love and respect for her. She gave him the gift of music and was his biggest supporter. It was because of her, he was the man he wanted to be. She was no longer in pain. Even though they were expecting it, it didn’t make it any easier. Death was never easy. That was why he was so grateful to have Mike there beside him. He was the shining light in the darkness and why he got up every morning.

The surgery was successful. Bria is waking up from anaesthesia. I’ll update you once I get more information from the doctor. – Donna

The nurse anaesthetists were with Bria throughout the surgery. They monitored her vitals and made sure she didn’t wake up before the surgery was over. The surgery would take about six hours because they wanted to be thorough. During her consultation, she and the surgeon discussed different surgical options. She opted to not get implants until she was confident that she was cancer-free.

She was told that she could get implants whenever, or she could change her mind and decide not to get them. That was completely up to her. After going through her options, she decided to save her nipples. The surgeon inquired about her drug and alcohol use, as he saw she had a history of addiction. She was sober. Was she taking her medications regularly? Yes. In his opinion, the surgery would be easier because of her small chest size.

Donna sat and listened to everything. Her diagnosis of breast cancer brought her back to when she was two years old and fighting leukaemia. There was always a risk of relapse. She wondered why it had taken over twenty-three years. There was an urgency to start treatment as soon as possible to prevent the cancer from spreading.

With the death of Kathy, Donna didn’t want Dave to go through it again. She could only imagine what that would be like for him. He was very close friends with Bria. She was like his little sister. All they could do was trust the doctors because they knew more than they did.

Brad gave Donna his phone number, so he could be kept informed about the surgery. When she texted Mike, she sent him a message as well. He gave his phone to his assistant, Lara while he was filming. As he usually kept his phone in his trailer, he needed to keep it from going off. Lara replied introducing herself. Brad was unable to answer his phone, so she would give him the message.

Bria was at home after being discharged from the hospital. She was on the couch asleep when the boys got home. They talked about the surgery and the funeral while in the studio. The funeral was very nice. They were able to meet Kathy’s friends. Most of whom Dave and Joe didn’t even know. Where was Joe? He was with his wife and children at the hotel. The children were very tired from the long drive from San Diego. As such, they would meet up with them again the following day.

“You were in San Diego?”

“Yeah. My mother wanted her funeral at her local church, so her friends could attend”, Dave said.

“Then it makes sense as to why the children were tired. Both of you should rest.”

“Thank you.”

The long drive made them tired. Did they want to hear about the surgery? She could wait until they were rested. They thanked her before asking to hear about how it went. She updated them. Bria would have to make a follow-up appointment with the oncologist to go over the results of the surgery.

It was possible she would need to go through chemotherapy. Yes, they remembered that conversation. They would have to help her with cleaning the drains attached to her chest. She would show them how to do it once she woke up and had dinner. The dogs were taken outside and she left food for the animals. Mike would check the litter boxes, so Bria could rest.

They thanked her for being there. Of course. She asked if they had eaten dinner yet. They stopped at McDonalds on the way home and had a meal. Okay. Mike excused himself to check on her. He found Micha and Henry standing guard. They slowly blinked at him to say hello. He petted them before noticing she was still asleep. He wanted her to rest for as long as she needed to. Both he and Dave would help take care of her while she recovered from her surgery.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon

[emeraldspiral]

Okay, most of these I know are verified facts but I've never heard of the double-agent proto-Gaz concept before. How would that have even worked? Is she still human and Dib's sister but just a traitor to mankind? The only stuff I remember seeing from early Gaz concepts that didn't really make it into the show was that she was an artist who makes weird sculptures and drawings for their dad. Was the double-agent Gaz maybe an idea that morphed into Tak where she wasn't related to Dib but initially presented herself as an ally before revealing herself as an Irken?

I believe I remember something about early concepts for IZ being 50s inspired, but I'm not sure if it was supposed to be literally the 50s. If it was supposed to be modern day 50s retrofuturism, that would've been pretty much Jimmy Neutron's exact setting so I wonder if that had anything to do with them taking another direction. Like, I could see Nick welcoming the idea of the two shows sharing a universe if they had a cohesive tone, but I feel like they would've hated it if they had a similar look but one was really cynical and the other wasn't. Like, they apparently didn't want Zim compromising Rugrats's brand integrity by having Tommy Pickles cameo in Plague of Babies and they threw out a Zim script because the premise was too similar to JN's first episode. I feel like because Nick originally planned for there to be other shows to compliment Zim that were designed to target an older audience they might've wanted to maintain a distinct separation between Zim and other Nicktoons the same way Dora the Explorer and Blues Clues are because they're aimed at preschoolers. But then they never came out with any other shows that would pair with Zim, so they had to awkwardly cram it between shows like Rocket Power and FOP.

I cannot recall ever hearing about Dib's name originally being "Feebly" and I'm pretty sure in the earliest concept art I've seen he's still named Dib. At the same time, "Feebly" does sound vaguely familiar so maybe I have heard of it. It does make me kinda wonder about how Dib was originally conceived. Like, the name combined with the labcoat look from his beta design makes it seem like he was originally going to be a more stereotypical scrawny weakling nerd like Dexter. I wonder if maybe the creative process was something like what they did with Toph where they started off with the initial cliche idea and then were like "Now let's do they exact opposite" and made him this really aggressive, physically active, adventurous feral gremlin child with an edgy black jacket that made Nick execs uncomfortable. I dunno, given that he ended up actually needing to be toned down for the series after the pilot, and then toned down even further mid-series something tells me that could be very likely. Like, I could see the series working if they just rolled with the idea of making Dib out to be a bully so you sympathize with poor, pathetic Zim despite his evil intentions, but I don't see how a "feeble" Dib could've worked with either the more pathetic pilot Zim or the more menacing series Zim.

I'm not actually sure if the big head jokes were pushed by Nick or if they were Jhonen's idea. I'm pretty sure there is some mention of it on the updated "God Save the Dib" model sheet. I don't think it was so much that Nick asked specifically for big head jokes or for a "marketable" running gag as much as they were just asking for Dib to be made more funny because they found him too boring and unlikable as the straight-man/exposition dump character and it was making it difficult to get scripts approved (I'm assuming scripts like Battle Dib or Chickenfoot that centered around him with Zim not appearing).

Random Invader ZIM facts!

The show was originally going to be set in the 50s before Jhonen decided it was too cliche. ZIM’s greaser style pompadour wig is a remnant of this

Irken blood is pink

ZIM isn’t allergic to water - he’s reacting to the pollution in the water present on Earth

Gaz was originally going to be a double agent assisting ZIM in defeating Dib. This idea was scrapped before the pilot aired.

ZIM’s favorite color is purple

The Irkens were originally called the “Nyoing” - short for annoying. This changed to Irken as in “irk”.

Mark Hamill - Luke Skywalker and voice of the Joker in Batman TAS auditioned to be ZIM’s voice actor but Jhonen thought his voice was too menacing to fit him

Billy West - voice of Fry from Futurama - voiced ZIM in the pilot but was ultimately dropped as he didn’t want to be voicing two characters from animated sci-fi comedies at the same time

Dib was originally going to be named “Feebly”

Dib’s “big head” running joke was put in by Nickelodeon because they wanted to have more marketable running gags

Skoodge was going to eventually move into ZIM’s basement on Earth before the series got cancelled

Dib and Gaz are Mexican-American

ZIM is slightly taller than Dib

[itriedtoforgetblog]

heres some traditional art of probably my favorite series of all time! ratboy genius. these drawings forced me to take out those old ass water colours, i drew these while watching over starship genius, the flood, and ratboy genius dreams minecraft. (do check them out they are all free on youtube, such an underrated series.) my scanner is super old so i had to edit this image around a bit but i think it looks okay! i like the first one more since its more close to how bright it is in real life but- im kinda living for that pastel look.

[fight-the-corn]

Avengers x soulmate reader chapter eight

AN: I'm sorry I've been gone for so long! I'm finally back! I'm hoping to post a couple updates soon, but idk how motivated I'll be! Merry Christmas everyone!

Tw:abuse!

You had been living with the Avengers for almost a week, wearing Natasha's clothes. Tony had told you in private that there was no reason for you to go back to your house, and it had been tempting to try. Unfortunately, you had some keepsakes that were very important to you and you had to go back and get them, or you would never rest easy. Little things like photos with your old friends that you could never forget were worth the world to you.

Today was the day you decided to go. Tony insisted on coming with you, because what kind of a soulmate would be be if he let his little soulmate into a place that would traumatize her with one wrong move alone? He had agreed not to take any of the other Avengers, just telling them you and he were going out.

Arriving at your house, you took a deep breath.

"Tony is here. I am safe. He won't let me get hurt.". You repeated to yourself over and over, convincing yourself it was true as you walked up to the front door. You raised your hand to knock, took a deep breath, glanced back at Tony who have you a reassuring smile from the bottom of the steps, then knocked there times.

You heard footsteps, before the door was thrown open.

"Finally decided you were good enough for this family huh? Get in here.". Your father grabbed your wrist and roughly dragged you into the room. Within 3 seconds, he was pinned on the wall with Tony's hand on his throat.

" You don't get to touch her like that. You show her the respect that she deserves. Clear? " Tony wasn't planning on taking any shit from your dad.

"And who might you be?" Your father growled. " has the little whore finally gotten someone to hire her? She's an annoying little slut, don't you think? "

"I'd say nice to meet you, but that would be as far from the truth as possible. My name is Tony Stark, and I am her soulmate. She is not a 'little whore' or a 'slut' and I would advise you against referring to her as such in the future. We will grab her things, then be out of your hair for the rest of your lives, so let her get her things without a problem and I won't hurt you.

"But why do you want her? Have you seen her?" Your mom asked. "I mean, you're Tony Stark, you can get any hot model or woman in general! Why would you want this girl, with flab and frizzy hair? "

Instead of responding to her, Tony turned to you. "Go grab whatever you want princess, i'll chat with your parents."

You nodded, and within ten minutes you had your bag packed and ready to go, leave this life forever. You were holding back tears, anxious that your parents had finally made him see that you weren't worth it.

However, when you walked in the room, you were surprised to see Tony standing with his arms crossed and your parents looking... Guilty?

You looked at him and nodded that you were ready to go and he silently guided you out. You made it to the car and got situated while he started driving before asking him.

"Hey Tony?"

" yeah princess? "

"What did you and my parents talk about?"

" I just told them the truth. You are a wonderful girl who is very loved in her new home, and they had no right to treat you how they did. I told them that they had wasted all the years they had had with you and it's possible that they would never see you again. I told them that you had finally found a place where you were valued and I hope that they regret their past actions. "

You didn't know how to respond. Your eyes started to fill with tears of happiness and love, feeling like the most special girl in the world to have lucked out with these soulmates.

Tony pulled you out of your thoughts. "Was that ok? Did I cross a line? I'm sorry princess."

You shook your head. "I love you Tony ." you said. " thank you. "

"Of course baby. Anything for you.". He kissed your head , and the rest of the drive home was quiet.

[just-another-blog-of-fluff]

Familiar - Part 10

Word count: 3,550

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x reader (established relationship)

Warnings: Just a super fluffy, semi-plotless installment to the series

It was recently our dear friend Mr. Hiddleston's birthday, so I thought I might incorporate that into part 10! This part was based on a prompt from 💙💚❤️ anon where reader surprises Tom at his hotel while he's away, managing to scare him when he arrives 😉

There will be additional parts to the series going forward! I'm lacing updates to the series in between completing my other prompts. I know I'm not taking new prompts, but I will take suggestions for future parts of the series still, and I have a bunch of inspiration prompts to work with too from before😊

Series navigation: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

"Alright, darling... I should really get going. We've got a long day of filming ahead tomorrow."

"Oh, alright..." You sighed sadly into the phone. "Get some rest, and I'll talk to you tomorrow?"

"Goodnight, love."

"Goodnight."

You pressed the end call button, watching Tom's picture vanish from your phone screen only to be replaced by the photo of the two of you that you had saved to your home screen background. He'd been away for three weeks already, traveling the country to make appearances at various conventions with the Marvel cast, and you missed him terribly.

But that was about to change.

Toby hopped up onto your bed, waddling over to you across the bedspread and nuzzling his head into your shoulder. He'd gotten a bit bigger over the last month or so, and while he was well on his way to becoming a model citizen, he was most definitely still a troublemaker. You maintained the opinion that the name 'Loki' would have really suited the pup, but Tom refused to gratify you with his agreement.

Even after Toby chewed up one of his shoes.

"Hey buddy!" you cooed, scratching behind Toby's ears. His tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth, his tail a blur as he wagged with sheer elation just to be standing next to you. You pressed your forehead to his, grinning with excitement as you spoke to him in your squeaky baby-talk voice you always used with him. "Daddy doesn't know I'm coming to see him, does he? No he doesn't! He'll be so surprised, won't he, Toby?"

The pup yipped, rolling onto his back in clear expectation of belly rubs - a request you never could refuse. You scratched the soft, white fur on his belly while scrolling on your computer with your other hand, reviewing your travel details for the umpteenth time.

Tom's birthday was coming up in three days. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to get any time off of traveling to come home and be with you around that time, and your schedule had gotten pretty hectic now that the new semester of school had begun. You promised you'd facetime him on his birthday so you could at least see one another, but it just didn't feel like enough. Tom had always been so good to you - you wanted to return the favor and do something wonderful for him.

So, you'd called on someone you knew would be able to help you.

You'd anticipated Chris Hemsworth would be confused when you'd called him a couple weeks ago, but he didn't sound phased in the slightest. He was thrilled to be able to help you coordinate your plan to surprise Tom on his birthday. He was going to be in Boston, which fortunately was only a short plane ride away. With some bribery and a whole lot of groveling, you were able to get your work friend Amie to cover your shifts at the bar for the few days you'd be traveling. Chris set you up with the details for the hotel they'd be staying at, and helped you arrange a ride there from the airport so you could be there when they returned from the convention that evening.

Tom had surprised you so many times, you were thrilled to be able to return the favor.

The following morning, you bade a sulking Toby goodbye, leaving him in Noelle's capable hands before heading out to the airport to make your way to Boston. Before you knew it, you had arrived at Logan Airport where a car was waiting to drive you to the hotel.

You'd been to Boston before, but you'd never dreamed of staying in a hotel as fancy as the one the car pulled up to that day. Located in the heart of the city, surrounded by bustling city folk and rushing traffic, the entire building seemed to be made of polished glass windows. The interior lobby had a sleek, lounge-style feel, with sharp lines and dimmed lighting and large leather sectional sofas arranged for casual conversation. If you hadn't been tagging along on Tom's business trip, you'd have taken one look at the place and decided it was out of your price range.

Honestly, you wondered when you'd get used to these sorts of things.

At the check-in desk, you spoke to the concierge and provided them your name. His eyes flashed with recognition, a warm smile spreading across his face.

"Ah, yes! We've been expecting you." He leaned forward, glancing around before whispering, "A little birdie informed us you'd be surprising Mr. Hiddleston for his birthday this evening."

You laughed at the phrasing, a sudden image of a small bird bearing a striking resemblance to Chris Hemsworth forming in your mind. "Would you be able to provide a room key for his room so I can really surprise him when he gets back?"

The concierge checked your ID, then handed you a room key and directed you to a room on the 14th floor. You took the elevator up, wandering down the empty hallway until you located Tom's room and let yourself inside.

The entire room was lined with windows, providing a gorgeous view of the city streets under the late afternoon sun. A broad king-sized bed stood toward one end of the room, with Tom's suitcase laid out on top of it. On the other end of the room was a small seating area with artistically round-shaped chairs and sofas, behind which stood a full minibar stocked with various high-quality-looking liquor bottles.

Alright. Maybe you could get used to this.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket as you searched for a spot to hide your bag out of view. It was a text message from Chris, letting you know their group was on their way back to the hotel now. Hurriedly, you shoved your bag away in the closet and shut the door, getting to work finding a good place to hide.

After running through a few ideas in your head, (bathroom... too obvious; closet... too cliché), your eyes landed on the large cabinet underneath the television across from the bed. The space was fairly large inside the cabinet, and more importantly, it was empty. You ducked inside and shifted to sit with your knees pressed to your chest, reaching out and shutting the doors to plunge yourself into darkness. It was tall enough that you could sit straight without having to duck your head too uncomfortably. Leaning back against the back wall of the cabinet, you waited in excited anticipation for Tom to arrive.

About fifteen minutes had passed, and you began to think maybe you should have waited to get yourself situated in this cramped space when you heard a key card slip into the door to the room. Your heartrate ticked up as you heard Tom's footsteps shuffling into the room, the door clicking shut behind him. He was humming, as he often did when he was in a good mood. You grinned, listening to the warm, baritone timbre of his voice that you'd missed so much for the last few weeks. It was taking all of your willpower not to simply burst out and throw your arms around him in a giant hug. No, there would be time for that after - it would be so worth the wait when you caught him completely off guard and surprised him.

You heard his footsteps pass by your hiding place, fading only slightly before the zippering sound of his suitcase reverberated through the walls of the cabinet. Silently, you shifted onto your hands and knees and pressed your face against the doors, peering with one eye through the sliver of space between them. Tom's back was facing you as he dug through his suitcase for something - a change of clothes, you suspected, given he was still wearing the Loki 'variant' jacket along with the dress shirt and pants that went with it. Holding your breath, you soundlessly pushed the doors to the cabinet open and slipped out, rising carefully to your feet and sneaking up behind your distracted boyfriend.

You got as close as you could without becoming concerned that he might back up into you without notice, leaning forward a bit before shouting in his ear.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

The shout that left Tom's mouth was surprisingly high-pitched for the normally baritone-voiced man. He whipped around, eyes wide for a moment before he fully registered your face. You couldn't help but burst into laughter after hearing the sound of his shriek, throwing your arms around him anyway and squeezing him in a tight hug while your shoulders shook with your giggles. He slid his arms around you after a second, still seemingly shocked.

"How... darling, I'm so glad to see you, but how did you get here?" he asked.

"I had some help from your friends," you explained, loosening your hold so you could lean back and capture his lips in a kiss. "I see I succeeded in surprising you!"

"Uh, yes! It isn't typical for someone to sneak up on you in a locked hotel room!" He was grinning now that the shock of it was wearing off, finally registering the fact that you were there with him after three long weeks apart. "I can't believe you're here! Darling, I've missed you!" You shrieked as he dipped you backwards a bit to kiss you again, smiling against his lips. When he lifted you back to your feet, he asked, "Who is it I have to thank for setting this up?"

"Well, it was my idea... but Chris helped with most of the planning. And he may have pulled a few strings to help me book some things for us to do tonight."

"Ah, a good man," he declared fondly. "What have you planned for tonight, then?"

"To be honest, I only have a vague idea. I told Chris what I was hoping to do, and he said he'd take care of it from there. But... we haven't yet addressed the fact that you screamed like a girl when I scared you!"

Tom grinned sheepishly. "I'll admit, you got me. I was quite startled."

"Startled?? You were terrified!" you teased, giggling. "I'm gonna have to try this again sometime, maybe I'll get it on camera!"

"Oh, you think that's a good idea, do you?" he asked ominously.

"Oh, absolutely. I would definitely show all your costars. I guess I'll just have to settle for telling them the story this time..."

Tom gasped indignantly. "You will not!"

"No way am I keeping this to myself! It's too funny not to share!"

"You think it was funny, hmm?" His fingers dug into your sides abruptly, making you curl in on yourself in a fit of giggles. "How's this for funny?"

"Tohom!!"

"Don't 'Tohom' me! You thought you were going to get away with teasing me like that? Darling, honestly - you should know better by now." His fingers spidered up and down your ribcage at random, leaving you a twisting, giggling mess. You managed to twist hard enough to break free, backing away quickly with residual giggles spilling from your lips.

"N-no, Tohom! Stahay back!" you demanded, though both of you knew you didn't mean it.

"Stay back? You really think that's going to stop me?" He swiped for you and you leapt back just out of his reach. "Little rascal, you are."

"At least I don't scream like a girl!" you teased. His eyebrows shot up in amused surprise.

"Oh-ho, you don't? I'm fairly certain I could make that happen if you keep teasing me, darling."

Your face flushed with heat at the mere suggestion. He reached for you again and you stumbled sideways just in time, giggling rapidly. You'd so missed this playfulness with him gone the last few weeks.

"It won't be nearly as funny if you tell your friends that I scream like a girl."

"Oh, that's it."

He suddenly lunged forward, taking a much larger step than you'd anticipated, and captured you around the waist before you could scurry away. He pinned your back to his chest with one arm wrapped tight around your waist, dragging you backward and shoving his bag out of the way so he could scoop you up and drop you on the bed. You squeaked in surprise as he clambered up onto the bed to hover over you. Tom tickled you often, but he didn't typically make a big show out of it like this. Clearly he was keen on preventing you from telling his costars about his girlish scream.

"Are you going to keep it a secret now, darling?" he asked warningly.

"But... it's just too funny not to sh-AHAHARE THOMAS!!" He didn't let you finish, clawing at your sides and belly as he gazed down at you fondly.

"Wrong answer, love." His fingers crawled up your sides, quickly finding purchase on his favorite tickle spot of yours on the backs of your ribs on either side. You threw your head back and laughed hysterically, batting weakly at his hands. "How about now?"

"NAHAHA!" you responded incoherently, squirming under his ticklish touch.

"Hmm. I'm beginning to think you're getting immune to this spot, darling. Perhaps I've tickled you here too often." He paused his fingers for a moment, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek in thought but still grinning affectionately. You began to regain the ability to speak, shaking your head wildly knowing where he would inevitably target next.

"Tohom, don't do ihit!! I know whahat you're thinking!"

"Oh do you? I've become too predictable as well?" He winked cheekily. "We can't be having that."

He sat up and snatched your ankles off the bed, scooping them into the crook of his elbow before tickling the soles of your feet. You squeaked and kicked helplessly, giggles streaming from your lips as his fingertips grazed the inner edges of both feet simultaneously. He'd caught you on one of those days when your feet were more ticklish than usual - quickly, the sensation became overwhelming and you tapped your hand on the mattress to forfeit. He relented immediately, lying down on his side next to you with a silly grin plastered to his face.

"You're adorable, love. But you're still not getting away with teasing me in front of my friends this evening," he insisted. You turned onto your side to face him, scowling playfully.

"Fine... I guess we'll keep it our secret. But only because it's your birthday."

"Thank you." He cupped your cheek with his hand, pressing a long kiss to your lips that sent tingles down to your toes. "Now then - what should I be wearing for this evening's festivities?"

The two of you got dressed in nicer casual clothing, throwing on your warm jackets in case it got too cold that evening before heading down to the lobby of the hotel together. When you arrived, Chris Hemsworth was there waiting for the two of you. With a warm smile, he wrapped you in a big hug as he always did in greeting.

"Wonderful to see you again!" he declared. Turning to Tom, he asked, "Did she surprise you?"

"Oh, I surprised him, all right..." you cut in, a teasing air to your tone. Tom shot you a playful glare, pinching your side.

"Wait, is there something funny you aren't telling me?" Chris asked in confusion.

"Yes, but Tom won't let me tell you. Under penalty of tickles."

"That sounds like a rather unfair ultimatum, Tom," he teased.

"Not unfair - simply resourceful," he argued with a grin. Chris looked to you, and you quickly mouthed 'I'll text you' before Tom could see.

"Were you able to get a reservation for us tonight?" you asked. Chris smiled brightly.

"Of course! I called in a favor from a friend of mine. You'll have a wonderful time!"

You'd asked him to help you book a spot on one of the Boston Harbor sunset cruises. It was a warmer than usual evening for February in New England, and so it was the perfect night for a boat ride. Something about Chris's tone told you there may be more in store for the two of you than you'd anticipated, however.

With a quick goodbye to Chris, you and Tom headed out to the car that was waiting to bring you to the harbor. The moment you stepped out, Tom's eyes lit up when he took in the sight of the old-fashioned yacht you'd be dining in that evening.

"I've always wanted to do this - thank you, darling," he exclaimed, wrapping an arm around you and hugging you to his side.

"I thought it would be a fun way to spend your birthday," you replied humbly, heart skipping at the excitement in his voice.

You led him up to the boat, providing your name to the attendant. She nodded, motioning for you to follow with a polite smile. Hand-in-hand, you and Tom followed up the ramp and onto the deck, where the attendant then led you inside the upper level of the boat through a door.

The boat was already bustling with people preparing for dinner, some wandering about the deck while others were finding their assigned tables inside. The attendant whisked the two of you past all of that, leading you all the way to the back and through another door.

"Oh, wow..." you breathed in awe as you stepped inside the next room.

The entire back wall was windows, with a perfect view of the cityscape. In the center sat a solitary table with two chairs, a glass of champagne already set at each place setting. The room was dimly lit, modern uplighting having been installed around the upper edges of the walls. With the sun still somewhat bright, natural light flooded in from the outside, but you could tell that once the sun went down the lighting would be incredibly romantic. In the back there was a glass door that led out to what appeared to be a private balcony on the back of the boat.

"Please enjoy!" the attendant stated kindly as she stepped back out of the room. "A waiter will be with you shortly."

With that, the two of you were left alone in this beautiful dining room for two. You glanced at the table, seeing a folded note tucked underneath the vase in the center. You carefully slid it out and unfolded it, reading the handwriting scrawled across the paper.

I promised I'd deliver, didn't I? Don't worry about the extra cost - consider it my own gift for the birthday boy.

Enjoy!

- Chris

"I told you he was a good man," Tom reminded you, reading over your shoulder. He stepped around behind one of the dining chairs and pulled it out, motioning for you to sit. "My lady."

"Tom! You're ridiculous!" you giggled, taking your seat and allowing him to push the chair in for you before taking his own seat across the table. You picked up your champagne glass and held it up toward the handsome man in front of you. "To another year that this earth was blessed with your presence."

"Oh, darling, I'm blushing," he chuckled, clinking his glass against yours. "Thank you for the wonderful birthday gift. I can't imagine a better way to spend my birthday."

The two of you chatted while you sipped your champagne and ate your dinners, catching each other up on things that the other had missed in your time apart. You showed him all the photos of Toby you'd taken on your phone in the last few weeks (which was an embarrassingly large number), telling him all about how the pup had successfully learned the lay down and stay commands you'd been working on with him. Outside, the sun set slowly below the horizon, leaving the sky in inky black darkness lit with the glow of the city lights.

"Shall we step outside, then?" Tom asked as you finished your last bite of dinner. You nodded, allowing him to take your hand in his and lead you out onto the balcony.

The night air was slightly chillier than it had been earlier that day. Tom wrapped his arms tightly around you, warming you up. You leaned forward against the balcony railing, gazing at the dark water of the harbor where the reflection of the city lights danced across its surface.

"Did you enjoy your birthday?" you asked, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

"Every bit of it." He pressed a kiss to your cheek, warming you up from the inside. "This was absolutely perfect. Thank you, darling."

"You're welcome." You sighed contentedly, enjoying the sense of safety you felt in his embrace. "I should tell you... I texted Chris about your little mishap earlier."

"Oh?" He squeezed you tighter, leaning over your shoulder to get a good look at the guilty expression on your face. "You know you're going to be in trouble for that later."

"Mm, that's a problem for later me. Present me wants a kiss."

A warm rumble of a laugh reverberated in his chest as he turned you around to face him, arms still wrapped tightly around you.

"Who am I to say no?"

And kiss you, he did.

[the-witty-pen-name]

The Nanny Pt. 1

Lee Bodecker x Nanny!F!Reader

18+ 

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, implied age gap (reader is in her 20s), cursing, Sandy and Carl being bad parents, 18+ content in later chapters 

Summary:

Based on this Request: The reader moves to Meade/Knockemstiff while answering an advertisement for a nanny in the paper. We learn that the ad was posted by Sandy, who has the reader watch her child whenever she and Carl leave to do their secret thing. After one of these trips, Sandy and her husband never return, so the reader is left caring for their baby. With the new investigation into these events, she meets Sandy’s brother Lee, the older, out of shape, alcoholic bachelor, and they are suddenly thrown into each others lives as he begins looking into his sister’s disappearance. Through it all, Lee starts to fall for her, and they slowly become a family.

A/N: Here is the first part of my newest series and I want to thank the anon who reached out to me with this idea! 

If I missed anything I should include as a warning that I missed please let me know!

Taglist Form is in my bio and should be updated to now to include this fic! (If for some reason it isn’t working send me a message and I’ll make sure you’re added!!)

“Damn it, Sandy, can’t you handle that?” Carl yells from his dark room as the baby starts crying again.

“Fuck you, Carl,” Sandy shouts back, hurrying to put out her cigarette before heading to the nursery.

Their little girl was just about a year old, and neither one of them knew what they were doing. Carl was incredibly indifferent and despite her honest attempts at motherhood, Sandy’s maternal instincts never kicked in like she thought it would happen. Carl was annoyed that it cut into their time they would be on trips. They weren’t able to photograph models with the baby on the road, so he’d been itching to get back on the road.

“Is she hungry?” he shouts back, not even bothering to take his eyes off of the most recent photographs he had been developing.

“I just fed her!”

“Then why is she crying?”

“Fuck if I know,” Sandy shouts back exasperated. She scooped up the baby from her crib and started to rock her back and forth in her arms. Sandy also tried burping her, humming a little lullaby she made up on the fly… no luck. She walks around the house with the baby on her hip, trying to rock her back to sleep.

“We haven’t able to get back on the road in a year,” Carl says, clearly frustrated.

“That ain’t purely my fault,” she spits back, “Takes two to make a baby, Carl.”

“Fuck I know,” he groans, “But I need new inspiration. If I take one more picture of nature…”

“If she’s such a hindrance, pay for a damn sitter like I suggested months ago,” she counters.

“We can’t have no stranger walking around the house Sandy,” he points out.

“Just keep your damn room locked, it’s not a huge deal,” Sandy sighs. “Besides, no one is gonna snoop around if you pay ‘em enough. You damn well produce your own incriminating evidence; you should always have that room locked anyways.”

“We only have to worry about your damn brother,” Carl points out, “We hire a fucking sitter that’s two people we need to worry about.”

“You’re just to goddamn cheap to hire somebody,” Sandy states, moving back towards the nursery, the baby now snoring softly.

“You know what? Fine,” Carl says defeated. “But you’re in charge of putting the ad out and hiring somebody.”

“Thank you,” she says in a sing song tone, happy she got her way. But the moment of quiet that follows is short lived as they baby starts crying again.

“Please for the love of God can you just take care of that?” Carl yells, and the argument circles back to the beginning.

You had sat in the small dinner in the corner booth hunched over the newspaper and nursing your now cold cup of coffee. You had just arrived in Knockemstiff and were looking for work. “Any leads?” Julie asked as she topped off your coffee. Julie was your roommate. You had found her the same way you were currently looking for a job. You must have answered at least ten terrible Roommate Wanted ads until you had found Julie. The two of you now share an apartment- the top floor of a three-family owned by a sweet older couple.

“Thank you,” you say without looking up from scanning the ads. “Maybe this one?” You say pointing to one of the ads. She looks to see her manager stepped out for his smoke break before sliding in the booth across from you. You slide the paper over to her and she reads the ad out loud.

NANNY NEEDED Knockemstiff, Ohio

Couple that travels for work in need of a nanny for one-year-old daughter.

Temporary live-in position for several weeks at a time. Pay negotiable.

Call Sandy Henderson at the below number.

“I can sublet the room temporarily while you stay there,” Julie offers. “It’s a pretty vague offer,” she continues. “I wouldn’t commit until you call and speak to that Sandy woman.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll need to be interviewed,” you agree. “What kind of people are comfortable just leaving their baby for weeks at a time with a perfect stranger?”

“Paul is still out back I think,” she chuckles, “I’ll let you use the wall phone.”

You take a seat at one of the stools at the counter, and she dials the number for you and then passes you the receiver. You mouth a thank you and she waves her hand in dismissal as she heads over to take someone’s order.

“Whaddya want?” the woman on the other end answers abruptly.

“Oh, I’m calling about the ad in the paper regarding the nanny position. Is it still available?”

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry, hun,” the woman says, now in a much nicer tone. “Thought it was my brother calling. Yes, it is, and we need it filled as soon as possible. When are you available?”

“For an interview?” You ask.

“Yeah,” she says mumbled, like she is dangling a cigarette from her mouth. “Can you come today?”

“Oh, wow. Yes, I can,” you reply.

“Great, um, you got a pen? Take down this address.”

About two hours, a change of clothes and a cab ride later, you were standing outside a house towards the end of town. It was a little run down, but what building in this town wasn’t? You were a little nervous of course, but it was also the most unconventional way you have gotten an interview. Part of you was relieved, because the woman on the phone sounded real, not phony, but the circumstances still made you uneasy. Julie had the address and said you’d call when you got back to the taxi dispatch.

“Welcome, welcome,” Sandy smiled, opening up the door for you. She had one hand on the doorknob and one of the cutest babies you’d ever seen in the other. “Come on in, make yourself comfortable.”

“Who is this?” you coo, leaning down to the baby’s eye level. “She’s darling.”

“This little sweetheart is Valerie,” Sandy smiles, passing the baby to you. “She’s so well-behaved. Hardly ever cries.”

“She’s adorable,” you smile, as the baby cuddles up close, resting her head on your shoulder. “I didn’t properly introduce myself on the phone. (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“I’m Sandy,” she introduces herself. “Please take a seat on the couch, get comfortable. I hate things that are so formal. Bleh.”

You take a seat on the couch, and readjust the little girl in your arms so she’s sitting on your lap and her back is resting against you so she is supported.

“So, my husband and I are on the road a lot, usually,” she begins, “We took some time off when we had Valerie, but we really need to start working again, you understand.”

“Of course, what do you both do?” you ask politely.

“We’re photographers,” she beams, “Mostly nature and landmarks- which reminds me! We have a darkroom in the house, but that door will be locked when you’re staying here. We don’t want any damage to any of the negatives we have stored in there you understand. Everywhere else in the house is yours to explore! And of course we gotta spare bedroom you can call your own.”

“Fair enough,” you joke.

“So, tell me about yourself, honey,” she smiles, crossing her legs in the armchair where she sat.

“Well, I just moved here a few weeks ago actually,” you begin, “I just recently finished school, and now I’m looking for work. I just got my degree in early childcare from the state college.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” she says with a clap of her hands. “So, you’re local?”

“Yes, I live in town.”

“Excellent! We’d also love for this to be like an on-call thing as well, you know for date nights and things like that for times when we’re home. Like for a few hours here and there. And of course, we’ll always live money for groceries or whatever you need on top of your pay for emergencies incase Valerie needs formula or diapers or anything.”

“Perfect,” you smile, surprised how well the conversation was going. Sandy was easy-going and nice to talk to. The two of you sat and talked for a little under an hour, her asking all the standard questions you anticipated. You also were able to ask her some more of your own questions as well. It was the most effortless interview you had been on easily.

“I’m sorry you weren’t able to meet Carl today,” she says when she is showing you out. “But hun, I feel confident to offer you the job. We haven’t had many applicants and you’re the most qualified one I’ve spoken to. The job is yours if you want it?”

“When can I start?” you smile, making her laugh.

“Your number is on the resume, right?” she says, scooping up the baby. You nod, waving goodbye to the baby and then saying goodbye to Sandy.

“I’ll call you when I speak to Carl, but I think once he knows he’ll want to head out as soon as we can. Plan for Sunday,” she says as you get into the cab.

Just like she had promised, you get a call from Sandy on Saturday afternoon asking you to show up the next morning at 9. You spend the day packing up your clothes and anything else you’d need for a few weeks. Sandy said they’d be back in two weeks but you pack for three just in case. Julie was also nice enough to help you. You didn’t need to do much. Ever since you had settled in Knockemstiff, you had been pretty lazy with unpacking and for once procrastination played out in your favor.

Julie insisted on taking you out to celebrate that night before starting your job tomorrow. There was a small little bar, a little shack of a place just on the outside of town you went to. Julie had a car and you drove, anticipating she’d have a lot more to drink than you. It was a hotter summer night, so you drove with the windows down and the radio playing a little louder than you normally would.

The outside was decorated with string lights of primary colors and the wooden awning looked like it was one more storm away from collapsing. But the atmosphere inside was to die for. The jukebox was playing loud dance music, and the place was crowded. Empty recycled glasses lined the walls on a high shelf as decoration along with weathered posters of anything Americana. A row of motorcycles and trucks were parked outside the little place and it looked like a pileup from how crowded the lot was. People lingered outside as well, and you both hoped you’d find seats inside.

The two of you found a high-top table and Julie made her way up to the bar, skillfully maneuvering through the crowd to grab you both some drinks. You let your eyes wandering, surveying the room and just people watching. Couples were dancing closely to the music that was rattling the jukebox, and a group of people were sitting at the bar huddles in to watch the little black and white portable television. You also noticed a group of men in uniform several tables down, local police. They weren’t paying any attention to anyone but their own conversation, except one.

He just so happened to have looked up just as your eyes landed on their table. Steel blue eyes cutting across everything and just staring right back into yours. It was a fraction of a second and his gaze was broken by Julie taking her seat across from you. You cleared your throat, and finally allowed yourself to exhale. You felt her raise an eyebrow at you but she didn’t press, just gave you a knowing smirk you brushed off. You still felt his gaze on you even if your view was now obstructed.

Sandy and Carl were in a rush when you arrived in the morning. Sandy ran you through the details of where everything was kept and told you that she would call to check in when she could when they made stopped. She helped you carry your bags in from the trunk of the taxi while Carl packed their bags in their car. He was polite enough, but you felt in your gut to just keep your distance. Sandy led you upstairs to the guest room she told you she worked to clean out for you. It was simple, a bed and a dresser with a small closet. She said it mostly had been storage and her weekend project had been clearing it out for you. It was simple, but good enough for you for sure. You thanked her and she dismissed it saying you were the one doing her a favor, making you laugh.

The whole ordeal was very hurried. Carl was rushing to get on the road as soon as possible and you could tell he was clearly irritated at how long Sandy was taking showing you around and explaining things about Valerie. Carrying the baby in your arms, you finally were settled in to your new role and Sandy gave one more big hug and a kiss on Valerie’s head before rushing down to the car. You waved to the pair of them from the small front porch, Sandy looking back and waving to the baby from the passenger seat until they were out of your line of vision.

The first day was a little daunting. New space, living in a house that isn’t yours and a baby babbling in your arms. She was a sweet thing, and she already had taken a liking to you. Heading over to her nursery, you saw that she had a little play pen folded up in the corner of the nursery and you quickly set it up in your room so you could unpack while keeping an eye on her. She babbled just happy utter nonsense to you while you navigated around the space and her big eyes just followed you, just watching you was entertaining for her for now. You were a new face and she was entertained just by that for now.

A few hours later, Valerie had settled down for a nap in the early afternoon. She was sleeping soundly in her crib and you were getting formula ready for when she woke up. It was quiet, the only noise in the house was the small sounds of your own rustling in the kitchen. You wondered when you would hear from Sandy, if it would be later tonight or in a couple of days. You just were lost in your own thoughts when you were startled by a loud knocking on the door. Instantly, Valerie began to cry. You wiped your hands quickly on the skirt of your dress before grabbing her. You rested her on your hip and rocked her gently, shushing her to calm down while you went to grab the door.

The first thing your eyes saw were the same blue eyes who was looking at you at the bar last night. The man’s eyebrows furrowed and he looked really confused. He had one hand rested on his hip and the other against the doorframe, but he stood up straight when he saw it wasn’t who he expected. Your eyes then went down to the shiny Sheriff’s Badge fixed in place on his uniform.

“Who are you?” he asks abruptly. “Where’s Sandy?”

“Sandy and Carl left this morning,” you explain, not sure if he recognizes you. “I’m their nanny.”

He laughs and shakes his head as he looks down, almost like he doesn’t believe you, or he just doesn’t believe the situation. “Carl? Carl Henderson hired a nanny?” he scoffs and you nod, holding Valerie a little closer. The little girl rubs her eyes and yawns, when her eyes flutter open, she looks at the stranger in the doorway and immediately reaches out to signal she wants to be held by him. You ignore her resistance to wanting to be in your arms until you get more information about why the Sheriff is at their doorstep, though she obviously knows him.

“I’m Sandy’s brother,” he explains, “Did she say when they were coming back?” He doesn’t try to hold the baby yet, just holds out one of his fingers and her little hand holds onto it tightly.

“Two weeks.”

“They hire a complete stranger to watch my niece and live in their house unsupervised while they drive around?” he scoffs, shaking his head again in disbelief.

“I’m more than qualified…”

“It’s not a jab at you, sweetheart,” the man tries to explain, “More so a reflection on my sister and her husband is all. They are… fairly selfish people and I wished this situation surprises me more than it does.”

“Should I tell her you came by when she calls?” you ask.

“If she calls,” the man chuckles, “Sure, let her know Lee stopped by to visit.”

“You don’t think she will?” you ask, tilting your head.

“We’ll see,” Lee shrugs, “Do I know you from somewhere?” He rests his arm back up on the doorframe and looks down to the baby again, extending out his free hand to her again and scrunching her cheeks.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, not wanting to admit you remembered seeing him last night. He purses his lips together and nods, not pressing further. He pushes off from the doorframe and puts his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Must’ve been in a dream then,” he smirks, and you feel your cheeks flush. He walks down the steps and back towards his cop car. “What did you say your name was?” he asks, turning back around.

“I didn’t,” you chuckle.

“Hmm,” he nods, and raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to fill in the blank. You tell him your name and he repeats it back to you like he’s thinking about it, trying it out to see how it sounds.

“Well,” he says, standing behind the open driver’s door, “Good luck, and I hope Sandy proves me wrong. Let me know if she calls.”

Taglist: 

@adelaide-walker @thedepressolit @samanthadegaro​ 

[simkhira]

I Have 300+ Gameplay Mods?! & Yes, They All Work Together...

Yes, you read that correctly. I have over 300 gameplay mods / overrides in my game. 340 to be exact. & Yes, they all work just fine together. By that I mean hardly any last exceptions / errors. So if you are looking for ways to spice up your game - here you go, sis:

⭐ = my ultimate faves

PLEASE SEE ALL 300+ LINKS ON YOUR MOBILE DEVICE! desktop tumblr won’t let us be great.

BIG DISCLAIMER: Use these mods at your own risk! Just because all 300+ of these mods work for me, does not mean they will work for you. ALSO - when patch day comes, do not refer to this list for the most up-to-date versions of mods… I will only be updating this list when I feel like I need to.

O K A Y

let’s start with... the basics:

MC Command Center ⭐

UI Cheats Extension ⭐

More Columns in CAS ⭐

No Mosaic ⭐

CAS Background

CAS Blob Remover

CAS Immersive Lighting

CAS Tidy Accessories + Details

New Loading Screens

Cube Map Remover ⭐

Into the Light (Lighting Mod)

Out of the Dark (Lighting Mod)

Twinkle Toes (Lighting Mod)

No Fade on Sims and Objects

Build/Buy Camera (Tab Mode) ⭐

Lot Trait Effects Hider

Smaller Plumbob ⭐

& then you need... realistic socialization:

Chat Pack ⭐

Whim Overhaul ⭐

Meaningful Stories ⭐

Personality Please

Better Elders

More Face to Face Conversation

Call Over Sims (Higher Distance)

Call Anytime + Chat Longer on the Phone

Unlisted Phone Numbers ⭐

Low Fun is Boring

Family Matters (Share Big News with Family Members)

Share More News ⭐

Congratulate More

Ask What Happened More

Conversation Tweaks

Chat Standing Still

No Stand Up to Greet

No Rude Intro Animation

No Flirty Animation

Apology Fix (Don’t Apologize if Your’re the Victim)

Angry Walk-style Only When VERY Angry

Less Intrusive Conversations

NPC’s Get Out of My Convo

Autonomous Parenthood Social Interactions

Autonomous Social Interactions

Reduced Idle Chatting

Know Your Coworkers / Classmates ⭐

More Away Actions

More Social Activities

Spend Weekend With

Teach Me the Rumbaism

now let’s talk about... realistic romance:

Chemistry System ⭐

Pillow Talk After Woohoo ⭐

No Shy First Kiss

No Woohoo Dance

Shower Woohoo Tweaks

No Romance for Family

Restricted Romance Interactions

Less Jealousy

Simda Dating App

Can I Come Over?

Date Night Event

Movie Night Event

Set Family Relationships ⭐

Set Extended Family Relationships ⭐

Bathroom Privacy Tweak

Bridal Shower Event

Bachelor(ette) Party Event

Auto Engagement / Wedding Ring ⭐

Vacation Weddings

Sit at Weddings

Better Wedding Presents ⭐

Honeymoon Event

Buy More Gifts from Phone

Ask for Romantic Massage

Realistic Divorce ⭐

Traumatic Divorce for Children

Improved Relationships

No Restaurant Bill When Invited ⭐

Faster Cooking at Restaurants ⭐

Better Food Quality at Restaurants

Finish Eating in Restaurants

Restaurant Guests Overhaul

Restaurant Sit Tweak

(can y’all tell that restaurants annoy me? lmao)

first comes love, then comes... pregnancy / toddler / kids / fur babies:

Ages Behavior Tweaks

Toddlers Spawn at Parks (with Parents)

More Children at Beaches

Pregnancy Overhaul

Rub Your Baby Bump (Small Pregnancy Overhaul)

Determine Baby’s Gender for All ⭐

Ultrasound Scans ⭐

Baby Shower Event

Amazing Birth (Rave About Your Delivery)

Advanced Birth Certificate ⭐

Sibling Care Tweaks

Make Less / Clean Less Mess

Auto Brush Teeth After Puking

Auto Put Activity Crafts into Inventory

Allow Toddlers to go to Services

No Call Out of High Chair

Toddler Power Nap

Better Toddler Milk

Better + Younger Nanny

Call a Babysitter ⭐

Call a Dog Walker

Shorter Dog Walks

Dog Walkers in Other Worlds

Scold All Pets

Sell Grown Up Pets

Pet Food Serving Overhaul

More Efficient Pet Brushing

Kids Can Walk Dogs

Kids Can Order Espresso

Kids Can Ride Bikes

Kids Have More Phone Interactions

Kids Can Cook

Kids Can Do Retail

Kids Can Garden

Kids Can Make Flower Arrangements

Kids Can Make Robots

Kids Can Workout

Kids Can Do Spa Activities

Kids Can Play Guitars

Kids Can Play Ping Pong

Birthday Anytime

Let Friends Age Up ⭐

No Auto Put Away Toys

No Auto Put Away Pet Toys

No Puddles Under Tubs (Toddler Bath)

Has to Pee Walk-style for Kids Only

Better Homework ⭐

Better Grade School ⭐

Better High School ⭐

Preschool for Toddlers ⭐

School Projects are Fun

More School Holidays

25 School Vacation Days

Prom Night Event ⭐

Sleepover Event

Pizza Party Event

Field Trip Event

Family Reunion Event

Pool Party Event

speaking of school... university:

Less Credits for Degree ⭐

University Costs More ⭐

University Holidays Fixed

Higher Scholarships ⭐

Rejection Letter

Harder Distinguished Degree Acceptance ⭐

Degree Required for Promotions

Faster Run to University Class

Teens Jump to University

Choose Your Helmet

Choose Your Roommates ⭐

Roommate Age-Checks

Roommate Significant Other Fix

Roommates No Random Outfit Changing

Roommates No Random Item Spawning in Dorms

Roommates No Spawning Meals

Roommates No Trash

Roommates Sleep All Night

Roommates Less Music

College Org Members Are Uni Students

Faster University Homework ⭐

Faster Tutoring Class

Copy Graduation Photos and Diploma

No Bad Microwave Buffs

No Ghosts on Campus

Sports Fixes

Game Day Event

Graduation Party Event

once you graduate... careers & aspirations:

Plan Career Outfit

Better Work Actions

Enlist in War ⭐

Live in Business

Faster Retail Actions

Faster Record / Edit Videos on Video Station⭐

Higher Acting Gig Payouts & Royalties ⭐

More Realistic Overmax Pay ⭐

Higher Payments for Paintings ⭐

Higher Royalties for Apps/Games ⭐

Higher Royalties for DJ Mixing ⭐

Higher Royalties for Lifestyle Brands ⭐

Higher Royalties for Song Lyrics ⭐

Higher Royalties for Music ⭐

Freelancer Edits are More Successful

Sketchpad No Fees

Campaign Rally Event

Visible Political Position

Watch Political Speeches at Podium

Retirement Party Event

The University Aspiration Pack ⭐

Accomplished Lady Aspiration

Family Aspiration

Grow Up Aspiration

Teacher’s Pet Aspiration

Knowledge Aspiration

Retirement Aspiration

Romance Aspiration

Famous Pastry Chef Aspiration

Twilight Years Aspiration

All-Rounder Aspiration

Programming Genius Aspiration

Travel and Culture Aspiration

Wellness Aspiration

9 to 5 Career Pack ⭐

Night Shift Career Pack ⭐

Part Time Career Pack ⭐

Fitness Career

Health and Beauty Career

Modeling Career

Journalism Career (Adult + Teen)

Trust Fund Career (Adult + Teen)

Welfare Recipient (Adult + Teen)

Saturday Jobs (Teens)

Oceanography Career (Teens)

Private Tutoring Career (Teens)

All Freelancer Careers (Teens)

Tutor (Odd Job)

Woohoo (Odd Job) - lmao

Art Show Event

hahaha... adulting sucks:

Basemental Alcohol ⭐

Happy Hour Event

SNB Realistic Bills ⭐

SNB Banking

Invest in Stocks

Lowered Thermostat Bills

Instant Thermostat ⭐

Auto Wrinkles for Adults

Life Decider 

House Warming Party (No More Fruitcake)

Door Knock Notification ⭐

Island Events Notifications ⭐

No Strangers Knocking at Your Door

Quick Showers / Baths ⭐

Shower + Bladder Reliever (don’t judge me)

Power Nap ⭐

Sleep All Night

Smarter Robot Vacuum

Functional Tide Pods

Clean Your Bedsheets

Auto Put Away Clothes

Auto Start/Dry Clothes

Laundry on Community Lots Costs

No Idle Laundry Animations / Sparkles

Don’t Prep Food Where You Angry Poop ⭐

Don’t Wash Dishes Where You Angry Poop ⭐

Eco Dishwasher

Faster Cooking ⭐

No Auto Set the Table

Ask to Cook, Bake, Grill

BBQ Event

Custom Food + Recipe’s ⭐

Custom Drinks + Recipe’s ⭐

Grannie’s Old Cookbook + Recipe’s ⭐

Bake Cupcakes in Oven

Coolers are Cooling

Advanced Fishing ⭐

Fishing Trip Event

Fish for Crabs, Lobster, & Shrimp

More Seafood Servings

More Snacks in Fridge

More Food at the Bar

More Food in the Cafe

Flea Market Every Sunday

Get to Church

just in case you... get famous:

No Fame Decay ⭐

Celebrities Never Reject Fans

Celebrities are Quarantined in Del Sol Valley ⭐

Get Famous Award Overhaul

Less Celebrity Reactions

Famous Sims Gain Followers Automatically

More Follower’s Resolution for Everyone

Free Staff (Chef, Barista, Bartender, etc.) ⭐

Gardeners and Maids on Weekends

Red Carpet Event

whatever you are... just be happy and healthy:

Fitness Controls ⭐

Balanced Calories ⭐

Go for a Walk

Hiking Increases Herbalism Skill

Power Workouts

Athletic Outfit in Winter ⭐

Healthy Drinks

Improved Meditation Stool

Improved Spa Day Tablet

Improved Yoga Mat ⭐

Craftable Pottery

Less Elder Exhaustion

Less Sickness

Longer Basketball Games

More Fun Stuff

Online Gaming with Headsets

and I can’t forget these... more gameplay mods:

NPC Controller ⭐

Improved Autonomy

Simulation Lag Fix

Simulation Timeline Unclogger

Improved Autonomy During Loading Screens ⭐

No Empty Venues When Arriving ⭐

No Temperature Deaths ⭐

No Death from Murphy Bed

No React to Stranger’s Death

Realistic Death (Mortem) ⭐

Memorial Event

Freezing Sims Don’t Turn Blue ⭐

More Club / Holiday Icons

Make Hidden Holiday Traditions Selectable

Random Holiday Traditions

Wellness Traditions

More Holiday Icons

Less Rain More Sun

Less Snow More Sun

Summer Blow-Out Event

Christmas Eve Event

New Year’s Eve Bash Event

No Ugly Rain Outfits

More Umbrella Variations in World

Open Umbrella on Rainy Days Only

No More Broken Umbrellas

Destroy Leaf Piles ⭐

Dress Code Lot Trait

Gender and More Lot Trait

Preferences Lot Trait

Add Sims to Groups During Events

No Auto Club Gathering ⭐

Flower Arrangements Slower Decay

Take Photo Overhaul (Moschino Stuff) ⭐

Snorkel Everywhere

Don’t Turn NPC’s into Spellcasters

No Role Outfits for Sages

ROM Portal Only for Spellcasters

& you also need these... much-needed overrides:

More Sponge Colors

More Sippy Cup Colors

More Dog Leash Colors

White Ice Skates

Better Food Textures (All of Them) ⭐

Hidden Bassinet ⭐

iPhone X Phone Replacement

Playing Cards Replacement

Military Salute Overhaul

Small Saucer Light ⭐

Working Medicine Cabinet ⭐

Working Alarm Clocks ⭐

Realistic Fighting Animation 

Oasis Springs + Island Living Palm Trees ⭐

special thank you to all of the wonderful mod creators! seriously, I could not play this game without you guys... (no, really.) There are way too many of you guys to name without missing someone... so if you reblog this, all I ask is that you please tag your favorite modders! (& maybe even add your favorite mods?)

[startanewdream]

Quidditch prodigy

Banner by awesome @the-dream-team​.

Summary: This time, when she tells Harry he will be the new Seeker, Minerva McGonagall says: “Your father will be proud. He is an excellent player himself” (and Harry knows it’s true because he spent years watching his father fly).

For @alec-lightwood-bane, who asked for a bit of James getting to be proud with his Quidditch prodigy. The only plot here is fulfilling your request :)

Now on AO3.

________________

From the first time that Harry mounted the little broomstick that Sirius gave him for his first anniversary, James knew his son would be a Quidditch player (sometimes he’d tell Lily that he knew that ever since he felt Harry kicking inside her, but Lily tells him all babies kick; it was not a signal, no matter how at that moment James was talking about Quidditch).

He is not surprised when brooms are Harry’s favourite gifts and, as his godfather, Sirius is more than willing to replace his brooms as Harry grows up, until, finally, for his eleventh birthday, Harry gets a Nimbus 2000. It is his first professional broomstick and Harry can’t stop talking about it all day, promising he will be a Gryffindor player in no time, discussing with Sirius how unfair it is that First Years don’t get to have their own broom nor play in their house team.

That afternoon, after the sunset when the temperature gets milder, they play a kind of five-person Quidditch, which makes no sense and have no rules other than Sirius and Lily are a team, James and Harry is another, and everyone needs to score a goal against Remus, who is a moderately good Keeper.

Harry spends most of the time trying to learn how to ride the broom, so very different from the juvenile models he trained before, mostly intercepting the passes between his mother and Sirius than actually scoring goals. It’s not his son’s best performance, but James says nothing, only ruffling Harry’s hair and making it even more messy than flying already did it.

Harry flies well, naturally, but as a Chaser he always seemed to lack something. He works twice because of it, and James supports him.

The next morning, James awakes at dawn for no good reason. He plans to go downstairs only to drink some water before going back to bed and just laying there, but when he arrives at the kitchen, he finds the backdoor opened.

His wand is at ready at once, but it’s only Harry flying at dawn. He stops at the doorway, watching his son. He really flies perfectly — and boldly, he notices, training movements that James is sure he didn’t teach him and that Lily would have a fit if she saw, long dives that end with him recovering from it at the least possible moment, loops in the air that make him stand thirty feet in the air hanging on his broom only with one hand.

It is like watching him doing an extremely dangerous dance, and James makes sure his wand is ready, just in case, though he feels it’s not the first time Harry is doing this. It looks too well practiced for it. 

And it’s not the usual Chaser movements either.

This thought comes for him at the same time that Harry picks up a Golden Snitch from his pocket. He closes his eyes and lets the Snitch fly away, waiting a few seconds until he opens his eyes and flies upward, standing very still fifty feet up, only his eyes moving, concentrated. James can’t see anything different, but after one minute, Harry dives suddenly. When he recovers from the flight, the Golden Snitch is secure in his hand, its wings flying pointless in his closed hand.

His laugh fills the silence of the morning.

When James starts applauding, Harry’s laugh dies. He turns to his father’s direction, his face reddening and a mortified expression arising there.

‘Dad — I — I can explain —’

It feels as if his son is confessing a sin, rather than showing his talents, and James doesn’t understand.

‘What?’

‘This, I —’

‘Well, I must admit I’m upset’, James says, his voice teasingly, but Harry doesn’t seem to notice this. ‘Next time, you should tell me’.

‘I didn’t want — I mean, this is just for fun, I don’t really —’

‘Flying without inviting me? I am so disappointed’.

Harry pauses, dismounting his broom and holding it unsurely. ‘You are not mad because I was playing Seeker?’

James blinks, confused. ‘Why should I? You are natural!’

Harry looks at his feet. ‘We always trained chasing. You are a Chaser’.

‘Yeah, I was, so?’

‘So I should be one. Like you. Everyone tells me I fly like you, and... I didn’t want to disappoint you’.

James shakes his head, baffled that Harry could come up with that conclusion. Well, there is only way to show him. ‘Mount your broom. Go on’. 

Harry’s eyes are big, not understanding him, but he does as his father says. James keeps motioning for him to go up in the air and, when Harry is fairly high, he transforms the basket of apples in the kitchen into a basket of golf balls, going to the middle of their backyard.

Then he starts throwing one golf ball in the air after another, and Harry understands at once, flying around and catching each one before they fall in the ground, even when James throws more than one at a time. His son is rather breathless when he lands next to his father.

James can only beam. ‘See? You could never disappoint me’.

‘Even if I don’t try for a spot at the team as a Chaser?’

‘Any team will miss much more if you don’t play as Seeker’. Harry lets out a laugh that is undeniably relieved. James watches his son as they sit in the middle of the garden. ‘I mean it, Harry. Even if you didn’t play at all, I would never be disappointed with you’.

Harry raises his eyebrows, eyes glinting with mischief. ‘Even if I hated Quidditch?’

‘Well, you are right, then I would have to disinherit you’, he says seriously, but Harry’s chuckles in answer tells him that Harry understands his father is only joking. ‘Since when do you practice as a Seeker?’

Harry throws him a sideway look. ‘Two years now’, he says, smirking when James looks surprised. It’s not easy to hide anything from his parents, and yet Harry seemed to have perfected that. ‘Ever since I found this old Snitch in the attic’.

He picks up the Snitch again from his pocket. The Snitch tries to fly away, but when Harry hands it to James, the wings calm suddenly, the Snitch resting peacefully on his father’s hand.

‘Oh, what’s that?’

‘Flesh memories’, James explains, smiling. ‘This is the Snitch I nicked a long time ago at Hogwarts. It was never used before, so since I was the first to catch it…’

‘It remembers you’, Harry finishes, amazed.

‘And I remember it’, James murmurs, letting the Snitch fly and grabbing it easily. Even after all these years, his reflexes are still good, he thinks smugly. ‘I used to try to impress your mother with it, you know’.

‘Did it work?’

James runs his hand through his hair. ‘None at all. I hope you have better luck showing off with the Snitch than I did’.

______________________

Harry writes home twice a week at least, and every one of his letters mention how he misses flying and then that he at least is counting the days for the first flying lesson, so he can be in the air even for a little.

James expects his letter as usual the day after the flying lesson is scheduled, but instead he wakes up to find a grey owl waiting for him at breakfast, watching him severely. Only Minerva McGonagall would have an owl that looks as stern as her, but then again James always remembers how McGonagall’s patronus is herself, so he shouldn’t be so surprised.

What surprises him is her request that he comes to meet her as soon as possible that morning, informing the Floo Network to her office will be opened.

It seems serious and he can’t help but think of something happening to Harry. His son’s owl is nowhere at sight, though.

He scribbles a note to Lily informing he will be out for a chat with McGonagall — it shouldn’t be news to her since they met at least once a month to talk about the updates in the Transfigurations field — and quickly vanishes inside the green flames.

She is expecting him when he arrives, looking over a few scrolls.

‘James’, she says, the weirdest of the expressions on her face. She seems satisfied. ‘Have a seat’.

‘Hello, Professor’, he says, slipping into the old formality without even noticing. He usually meets her at the Three Broomsticks, rarely coming into her office. It always brings him memories of his years at school, and he almost expects to find the Head Boy badge pinned to his clothes.

‘You seem tense’, she notes, watching him over her glasses. ‘Take a biscuit’.

He does. Her biscuits are really tasty, but sitting in front of her, waiting for her to talk, makes him feel like he has just done a prank and is about to get a detention.

‘You must be wondering why I called you here’.

That makes him grin. Jokes were always his remedy to diffuse any situation. ‘I reckon you missed me’.

‘Hardly, when I see a copy of you everyday in the halls’, she replies easily, almost smiling. ‘Your son is less loud, though’.

‘Well, he did get a lot of Lily’.

‘Unfortunately not her disposition to follow rules’, Minerva notes, sipping her tea calmly.

‘Uh’, James hesitates, unsure. It’s not normal to call a parent for any misconduct (or else his parents would never leave McGonagall’s office), so if she called him here… ‘What happened?’

‘You know we have some rules that are stricter than others. For instance, this year the third floor corridor is absolutely forbidden’.

Years of ignoring rules make James want to ask what’s there, or else go discover for himself, but he just nods.

‘And one of the rules we always follow is to expressly forbid First Years of owning a broom’.

‘Hum’, he mumbles, still unsure. Harry knows that rule (he certainly complained a lot), and James is sure he saw the Nimbus 2000 waiting patiently in their broomshed, so he doesn’t get what’s her point.

‘Your son is bound to break that rule this year’.

‘He brought his broom?’, James asks before he can think through it, his mind trying to understand how Harry got to replace his broom with a fake copy so he could smuggle it to the castle. There is a mild impression, but if Harry did it, he would be in serious trouble…

‘No, not yet, I was hoping you could send it. He told me has a Nimbus 2000, is that correct?’

Feeling like he is missing the point still, James nods.

‘Good. If you could send it next week, it would be perfect. I am still getting the board’s signature of approval, but it’s only a formality, Albus already authorized it’.

‘Minerva’, he interrupts her. ‘What is happening?’

‘Oh’, she stops, looking simply delighted. ‘Yesterday during his first flying lesson, your son took to the skies after some silly gibbering with the Malfoy boy. As you may know, Rolanda is quite loud about how any First Year that flies unsupervised gets expelled. Or, well, a detention at least, but we don’t tell them that. First Years are so inclined to follow the rules… present company excepted, of course’.

James smiles guiltily now. But even he, desperate as he was to join the team, followed that rule at least. Madame Hooch really imposed fear.

‘What happened then?’

‘I saw him through my window’, Minerva tells him, pointing to the window next to her, that provides a nice view of the grounds. ‘Fifty-foot dive, recovered without a single scratch. Did you teach him that?’

James raises his eyebrows. ‘No, actually, he taught himself’.

‘Well, he is a natural, that I can’t deny. So I made him the new Seeker’.

‘Hum, what?’

‘Seeker’, she replies, not bothering to hide her smirk now. ‘I know you’ve been long gone from the Quidditch field, but you do remember what a Seeker is, I am sure’.

Later he will appreciate the fact that Minerva McGonagall is teasing him. For now there is only bewilderment.

‘But — seeker — no First Year — he must be the youngest Quidditch player in decades —’

‘A century, actually’, she corrects him. ‘I checked the records’.

‘That’s — that’s amazing! I am so —’, he stops, staring at her. ‘He broke a rule and you are awarding him?’

Minerva looks moderately embarrassed. ‘It’s not an award. I expect him to train harder to compensate for the years the other Seekers have of advantage, and if he doesn’t seem to take this seriously, I will reconsider not punishing him — oh, stop smirking, Potter’.

She looks suddenly stern again, but James can’t help himself.

‘You have a soft spot for him!’, he declares, grinning. 

‘I certainly do not play favourites’, she answers, voice full of dignity. ‘I only think of what’s best for Gryffindor and —’, she drops all pretenses suddenly. ‘— you should have seen the try outs! Wood, that’s the captain, Oliver Wood, was crying at the end because no one was able to even find the Golden Snitch. And after last year…’ She shakes her head. ‘If it means we won’t get flatten out by Slytherin ever again — that annoying smirk on Snape’s face —, oh, well, I would buy your son a broom myself!’

James smiles proudly now. There was always a fanatical Quidditch enthusiast in Minerva and he adores when it shows. And from all he knows of Snape, he will hate the fact that James Potter’s son is in the team in his First Year, which is only a bonus (though that is a thing he won’t admit out loud).

‘No need. I will make sure he is dedicating himself, but knowing Harry, he is just too marvelled at being part of the team. It’s what he most wanted’.

She sighs, somberer now.

‘And that’s why I called you, actually. Considering your long history of disregarding rules, this Seeker position is not to mean that your son will get away with everything. I’d rather have him go through his school years without too many detentions’.

‘Only a few?’, James teases.

‘Let’s aim for one third of yours and I will call it a success. He is a Potter after all’.

James nods, trying for a serious expression that’s broken by the fact he can’t stop beaming. His son. First Year Seeker! He can’t wait until he tells Sirius.

‘Oh, I will talk to him’, he assures her. ‘We can’t let detentions get in the way of Quidditch’.

____________________

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: III

“You can have me tonight or never

I thought you understood

Baby, some people are meant to be loved and others just naked

So take what I’m willing to give, love it or hate it.”

—Wrong, Zayn and Kehlani

A/N: alright SO!!!! the original part 3 ended up being at the cusp of 50k words (because i have no self control) and that is a LOT to read in one go so it’s getting split into parts 3 and 4! which means!! double update laidese and germs!!!! part 4 will be posted this SUNDAY, AUGUST 16th at 5PM PST/8PM EST :D we hope you enjoy this chapter, feedback is greatly appreciated, and please please PLEASE!!! if you like it, reblog it!!! and if you want, go nuts in the tags!! every single one is read!!! it keeps content creators motivated 💌leyla @sunflowervolvimp3​ took the liberty of making an incredible playlist to go along with our story, so feel free to check it out and see if you can find any clues as to what’s in store for the characters 👀without further delay, here she is...buckle up 👁👁this is gonna be quite the ride

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

word count: 24.2k

content/warnings: cheeky banter over texts, The Crew dragging Niall to shit, more banter over a glass of cheap wine, vampire!harry showing up to “interior design” sessions looking like a runway model, some fwb smut, degradation kink, very mild mentions of blood, and some ugly tapestries that somehow lead to sexting

///

Y/N definitely puts Harry’s number to good use. Very good use.

In fact, during the span of the next month or so, Harry reckons that she pulls up his contact on her phone so often that she probably has him listed on speed dial. The assumption is dramatic and probably incorrect, on behalf of his arrogance, but with how much time they start spending together, it’s hardly a stretch.  

It all begins exactly a week after their first time meeting. 

Harry still hates clubs. 

He hates them more than he did last week. He hates them more than he did yesterday, more than he did this morning, and even more than he did a minute ago. He fucking despises them. 

And yet, as Harry stands here before the mirror in his enormous double-sink bathroom, fiddling with his damp hair as his flouncy dress shirt hangs unbuttoned from his broad shoulders, he’s absolutely positive he has never hated clubs more than right now. 

Niall got to pick the venue this time. He’d texted his choice in the groupchat (which is respectfully named Dinner Plans) about four hours ago, making sure to get the word out decently early so that everyone could start making their preparations, all in order for the crew to be on the move by nine P.M. 

It’s now nine thirty-seven, and everyone is fully set to leave at the agreed upon hour. Everyone except Harry. 

This, however, is not uncommon. He’s always the one that takes the longest to get ready, no matter how soon he starts. No one can remember an instance where Harry has ever been ready on time— which says a lot, considering most of the gang has years of memories from which they can pull. Mitch especially. With almost a century of friendship behind them, not once has the older vampire ever seen Harry stick to a deadline. His flare for being fashionably late is less a flare, and moreso an irritating burn. It always throws off their game a bit, but at this point, everyone has gotten used to the seemingly young vampire’s theatrics. 

So on this Friday night, there isn’t much more to do other than mold to his habits; Harry answers to no one except himself and it’s been that way for decades now, for a reason he’d rather not reminisce. He doesn’t owe anything to anyone, especially since he’s the one that always takes charge of getting them where they need to go, as well as getting them inside said destination. Complaining about their leader wouldn’t do the gang any good for a number of reasons, especially because Harry rarely ever listens. It is what it is— he’s just the way he is, and they’ve all learned to live with and respect that.

The funny thing? Harry does it on purpose, though his friends aren’t aware of it. He drags out the process of getting prepared simply so he can put off having to step inside one of those circus acts people refer to as clubs. He goes as slow as possible and does as much as possible, spreading seconds into minutes, and maybe— if he’s insistent enough and feeling particularly pesky— an hour. His record is an hour and twenty-eight minutes, which he wears with pride, much to his group’s unamusement. 

Harry knows no one will ever say anything about his annoying tendencies, unless they’re willing to volunteer themselves to take the reins for the night. Vampires are alert and productive, but only when they want to be— which is usually only when it benefits them— and only if they can muster up the patience for it. And frankly, none of the creatures he associates with have the patience required to deal with security, driving, and other obstacles the way Harry does. He’s indispensable, and therefore, everyone puts up with his shit. Quid pro quo has never been more effective. 

So here Harry stands, now thirty-eight minutes past the original time sorted for departure, carefully combing volumizing mousse into his slightly wet curls and spinning each ringlet around his index finger to give them the definition and bounce he’s so well-known for. Here he is, finishing up his post-shower routine as all of his friends mill around downstairs in his living room, waiting for him to come down so they can pack into his car and head out for the weekly hunt at whatever establishment has been deemed fit for the night. And here he is, taking his sweet time so he can be the signature pain in the ass that everyone hates to love. 

Once Harry has thoroughly coated all of his hair with the fluffy white cream, he pulls out his hair-dryer from the cabinet below his sink, snapping its accompanying diffuser into place and flipping his head upside down. He carefully scrunches his curls to his roots with the attachment, moving in thoughtful circles as he hums to the rhythm of a song he can’t be bothered to remember the name of. Staring down at his polished jet black heeled boots, he absentmindedly taps against the porcelain ground to the beat of the music, sighing wistfully as warm air circulates its way across his scalp. 

Harry turns his shoes to the side, admiring the detailing along the back of the heel. Across the curved surface is the word SUCKER, bedazzled onto the article with multicolored jewels, glitzing beautifully under the fluorescent lighting of his bathroom. The shoes had been a gift from a friend with connections in high places; more specifically, connections to the man who sits on the throne of the Gucci brand. Harry hadn’t questioned the present when he’d received it— only an idiot would bat a cautious eye at such a luxury. He’d fallen in love with them the second they landed in his palms, decked out in a gorgeous satin box and wrapped with sparkly black tissue paper. The only words that had dared leave his lips were, “Fuck, I think I just got hard.”

The shoes had fit like a charm, and he had wanted to save them for a special occasion. But given that he has hundreds of years worth of special occasions lined up for his future, he’d shrugged off his pickiness and yanked them out the back of his closet for tonight. What better way to show them off than at an overhyped disco hall? 

Harry flips his head right-side up once again, ruffling his fingers through his soft, shiny curls to check for any wet patches or stringiness. He rolls up the wire to his styling tool and puts it back in its designated spot, grabbing his favorite paddle brush and attentively filtering it through his hair until he gets the tousled waves that he’s grown so fond of sporting. He musses them until he’s satisfied with his appearance, nodding at himself casually in the mirror as he proceeds to wrap up the last few necessities he has left. 

Harry buttons his blouse, admiring it in the fogged mirror. It’s a flowy sheer black piece with holographic threads sewn through its expanse, the fabric continuously shimmering with every shift of his muscles from underneath. He leaves the last three holes empty to better show off the dark butterfly inking on his lean chest and the swallows suspended in flight along his collarbones. He doesn’t really have to leave the shirt open, given that the material is see-through to the point where it leaves very little to the imagination, obvious in how all the tattoos along his arms are clearly visible. But he does it either way— he likes it when people stare. He’s got the assets, he might as well flaunt them.

Harry loosely tucks the hem of the shirt along the brim of his high-waisted beige slacks, which he’d ironed with precision to an ideal fold. He opts out of a belt tonight, wanting to display the array of elegant buttons that line the front of his pleated trousers. The pants hang slightly flared around his ankles, and if someone’s interests were intent enough, they might catch a glimpse of his favorite socks underneath the cusps, the words FUCK IT printed across the dark cotton fabric. He always makes sure to have an aspect in his outfit that could make for neat conversation.  

The vampire pulls out one of his drawers, ghosting his fingers over his collection of jewelry before picking out a pearl necklace and his father’s gold-plated cross necklace, as well as a colorful array of rings. He makes sure to retrieve the most significant two, as always— his lionhead amethyst daylight ring and his mother’s opal. He never goes anywhere without them. 

After he’s slipped on those accessories, bending and stretching his fingers for good measure and feeling everything settle into place, he picks out the gold cross earring that matches his necklace. It used to be part of a pair that belonged to his sister. As he watches the gold twinkle in the artificial light, he briefly wonders what happened to its twin, but pushes the thought away before it leads him down a path of pessimistic speculations. 

Harry loops the dangly piece through his earlobe, sighing through his nose as his gaze jets around his entire look, searching for any possible faults he could tend to that would prolong the inevitable— another night of drunken morons and thick synthetic smoke. 

Harry decides to fold the cuffs of his shirt up to his elbows, knowing that it makes his veiny forearms look appealing. He rummages through his selection of colognes before deciding to go with his trusty Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille, spritzing a bit along specific pressure points on his neck where a pulse would otherwise be present, following along with the insides of his wrists. The scent of cloves, sugar-frosted vanilla, and cedar wood envelope him in a warm ambiance. After that task is complete, he fusses with his necklaces for a minute or so, settling the cross between his pectorals and resting the rosey pearls across his clavicle, fingering at their smooth surface in thought. Much to his defeat, everything seems to be in order, down to his freshly lacquered black nails. It’s not his fault he’s nearly flawless. His long— and unfortunate— extension on life had given him a plethora of years to work himself into a state of physical perfection. There’s only so much one can do to their appearance before it becomes superiorly stagnant. 

Harry tunes his heightened hearing for a second, listening in to the conversation his friends are entertaining on the first level of his condo. Niall’s voice is the first one that comes through, unsurprisingly. He’s always the loudest and has zero filter, present in how he’s freely ranting about Harry’s exaggerated mannerisms as he paces back and forth across the floor, footsteps heavy. No one seems to be paying him any mind— As usual, Harry thinks to himself, snorting softly— because everyone appears to be caught up in their own personal lives, too lost in gossip and exchanging opinions to give the Irish vampire any thought. 

None of his gang seem bothered by his lack of rush, but Harry knows he can’t keep them waiting forever. Fridays are the day they’d all collectively agreed to hunt together and it had been as so for almost twenty years. Being the leader, Harry can’t let his childish distaste for nightlife get in the way of what’s best for the group. He needs to hunker down on his selfish inclinations and be a responsible friend, or else a human might not be the only person Niall sinks his fangs into tonight.

With one final lingering stare at his reflection, Harry goes to retrieve his phone from its face-down position on the dark marble counter, simultaneously reaching for the light switch to begin powering down his apartment for the next couple of hours until he returns. Hopefully with a pretty girl hanging off his arm and less of a burn in the back of his throat. Although Harry may be cynical, he’s also practical; if he’s going to have to spend eternity on this planet, he may as well try to conserve enough energy to make it bearable. After decades of adjusting to electricity, the last thing Harry wants is to return to candlelit rooms and going to bed in time with the sun. 

The sudden chime that shrieks from his device causes him to jump a tad, brows furrowing in mild confusion for a few reasons. First, because it’s such an odd coincidence that right as he went to grasp it, his smartphone had gone off; it’s almost spooky. Second, because anyone who would normally dare message him at this hour is currently sequestered downstairs on the cushions of his sectional sofa, waiting for him to emerge from his room. Who else could possibly need to contact him this late, especially at the beginning of the weekend? 

Harry flips his red iPhone curiously (yes, he’d bought it in red for the purpose of irony), peering down at the unknown number shining back up at him from the screen. 

The text is simple enough: Hey, accompanied by three disco ball emojis. 

After a few seconds of blank blinking and adamantly searching through his mind for a clue as to who this could be, the answer smacks him square between the eyes. The memories come to him in quick flashes. 

A bald bouncer with a stupid name. A two-story room with seven foot tall speakers and a bar nuzzled in the corner. A group of loud, tipsy girls in stilettos and glittery dresses. One girl, sitting amidst the ruckus looking alone and indifferent while everyone around her gave into inebriated chaos. Mitch urging him to go talk to her. The overwhelming smell of honey and lavender. Gentle caresses placed across the tattoos painting his arms. Pretty lips the color of fresh blood, drained glasses of liquor, and witty banter exchanged between suggestive glances and cheeky grins. Shouldering through a crowded dance floor with the young woman in tow. Settling her into the passenger’s seat of his Cadillac and feeling heat explode across his cold cheeks when she’d yanked him down by his collar, kissing him like his lips were her only source of air. 

A quaint apartment complex, flickering lights in a corridor, and a worn couch. A warm mouth, smudged lipstick, teary eyes, and the gentle, shaky echo of, “I want to make you feel good.” High-waisted silk pants discarded on the floor, a cream lace blouse, and pastel pink lingerie. Thighs squeezing his head as her sweet taste spilled across his tongue. The mortal’s bare back pressed to his chest as he worked his hips roughly into her, mumbling dirty promises against her ear. Sugary whimpers and needy pleads. The warm, tangy flavor of her blood filling his mouth and sedating the burning in his throat. Childish giggles shared in a tiny flat, her warm fingers sewing between his icy own and tugging him into her room. A sleepless night full of steady breaths and only one heartbeat. A stupid tapestry and an ugly popcorn ceiling. A late morning strewn with sarcastic jokes mumbled over the rim of a coffee mug. Pulling his favorite t-shirt over his head and inhaling the sweet smell that had been glued to every thread. 

Making a drastic decision and typing his information into her phone. 

Harry doesn’t mean to speak aloud, but the name slips down his tongue as easily as he’d drawn moans from hers. “Y/N.”

It’s not like he didn’t remember her, because he did. And it’s not like he hadn’t thought of her since, because he had. But it’d been in passing and barely relevant— faint recollections in the form of fleeting seconds. 

He’d thought of her a couple days ago, when he’d been wandering around the mall with his friends. They’d passed by a candle shop where, among all the mixed scents, there had been the unmistakable aroma of lavender and honey somewhere inside, smelling vaguely like her. She’d unwillingly made her way to the forefront of his mind when he’d gone to do laundry, picking out his baby blue Marc Jacobs t-shirt from his hamper and feeling his eyes dilate and fangs protrude— a result of animalistic instinct. As it turns out, she had left a bloodstain along the inside of the yellow collar of his tee. It was dried and crusted over by the time he found it, but the effect it had on him remained the same as the night he’d drawn it fresh from one of her arteries. He’d chucked the garment into the wash carelessly with hardly any hesitation. 

The girl had even elbowed into his brain during an important self-care session. He’d been sitting in his glorified bathtub— which, in shallow honesty, is just a jacuzzi— with his cock twitching in his palm while his head hung over the edge, an orgasm teetering along the trench of his stomach as he’d repeatedly thumbed over his tip. When he’d finally coaxed himself into a climax, moans running freely across the empty halls of his home, the image he saw in those short moments of pure bliss was of her. It was Y/N, sitting in front of him with her hands clasped between her bare thighs obediently, his prick running along the length of her warm tongue as her eyes pleaded for him to cum. 

But, as he’d stated before, the picture had only lasted a handful of seconds. As soon as his high had died down, it had disintegrated to ash, and he’d been left with a slightly startled mental imprint in its wake, which had faded away within minutes. He hadn’t thought of her since. 

That is, until now. Until the surface of his jade eyes are reflecting the message his phone had just received at nearly ten P.M., her identity obvious in her choice of emojis. 

A disco ball. The exact same character he’d assigned himself beside his name in her contact list. It was an inside joke; a result of the hatred they both shared for clubs, juxtaposed by the fact that they had met in one. It was a cute determining factor in their minimal acquaintanceship, and he’s always a sucker for a good paradox. 

Harry continues to stare down at the text message, trying to conjure up some type of answer. She couldn’t have caught him at a better time, quite literally. She could be his saving grace tonight, if he plays his cards right. Maybe if he swoons her enough, she’ll invite him over again, and he can avoid another night full of shit-faced idiots and blinding strobe lights. 

After careful consideration, he swipes open into their new text conversation and taps back a reply he deems appropriate, satisfied with how it shows his personality— the same one the mortal girl had been so taken with upon their first encounter. 

Well, this is awkward. I don’t remember giving my number to a disco ball.

The vampire waits idly for a response, watching as the message delivers and is immediately marked by a read receipt. He doesn’t know why, but he likes that she has them on. 

A swift pause follows— in which he has no doubt she’s probably attempting to come up with some type of witty remark to his— and then the three grey bouncing bubbles pop up, signifying that she’s typing back. His device bloops with her response, vibrating in his large palms.

Funny as ever, I see. It’s Y/N, from the club last Friday. 

Harry’s slightly disappointed by her humor-lacking answer, but he’ll keep the interaction going for curiosity’s sake. Some people are fun in person and just not that bright virtually. Can’t always have it all.

Oh, hey, Y/N! So are you translating on behalf of the disco ball that wanted to talk to me or…?

He can practically see her eye rolling up at the grungy ceiling of her room and that notion makes his lips twitch. 

Ha. Ha. Hilarious! But no, I’M the one who wants to talk to you, actually.

Harry can feel her sarcastic tone through this specific message and that gives him hope. Maybe she does have social networking skills. 

Oh. Well, give the disco ball my best regards then, will you? Don’t want it to think I’m being rude and casting it aside.

The creature can’t see it, but now Y/N’s lips are the ones jolting as she sits on her bed in nothing but a towel, damp hair beading water down her naked shoulders and back.

How caring of you! I’ll pass on the message.

A full grin begins to edge across Harry’s cheeks as she returns his banter just as easily as she would face to face, dimples threatening to indent into place. That’s more like it. 

His fingers poise over the keyboard, mind flicking through the different scenarios he could steer this conversation towards. He has to be perceptive and respectful, but also keep her entertained. He figures asking about her intentions is the best route to take, but he’ll do it subtly. Being too direct could come off pushy. 

So...what gives me the honor of basking in your presence tonight, hm?

He adds a thinking face emoji to the end of the text as an afterthought. He rarely uses emoticons, but now is as good a time as any to start, especially because he has to seem like someone who belongs to her generation, rather than a Victorian era immortal.

Well, you said if I wanted more interior design advice to shoot you a text so...here I am, seeking your expertise.

Harry allows himself to break into a wide simper at the shrouded compliment. It goes right to his ego, just as he likes it. She’s smart. 

My expertise, huh? I take it that my taste in wallpaper left you pretty satisfied last time, then?

A similar grin buckles Y/N’s face at his playful smugness and she bites into the side of her index finger to try and suppress it. After a moment of thought, she releases her digit from between her teeth and taps back. 

Very satisfied, yeah. Your help was greatly appreciated.

Harry scoffs coyly, leaning his shoulder against the lightly fogged black marble wall of his bathroom, his friends and plans for the night all but forgotten. He’s having too much fun flirting to pay anything else much mind. 

My pleasure, love. I’d be more than happy to give it again, anytime you need it. Just make sure to fill out the customer service survey my boss emailed you. I’m shooting for a raise and could really use the brownie points. 

“Cute.” Y/N murmurs to herself in amusement, her chest fluttering as a result of the pet name, alongside how well they’re getting on. It’s almost like no time has passed at all. Almost as if they’re friends. 

She’d been nervous to reach out, fearing that he’d see it and ignore her— or worse, leave her on read. Needless to say, this is going way better than she could’ve hoped

Already filled that out. Gave you five stars and everything. Would’ve given you six if it was allowed. 

Harry shifts his weight against the surface he’s using for support, chuckling softly as he gnaws along the inside of his cheek. He feels like a teenager with all of this borderline childish back-and-forth. He’s not mad about it, though. It’s pretty enjoyable. 

Thank you so much for your input! It’s taken into deep consideration. VERY deep consideration, if I recall correctly.  

Warmth pours into Y/N’s cheeks at his innuendo, and she somewhat hates that he can get her all flustered without actually being present. He’s really good at this. A true lucky strike, to put it in his own words.

I’m glad my standards are held so highly, especially since I’m trying to book another advising appointment with you. 

Is that so?

Very much so. How about tonight, if you’re free? I’ve got a dire situation with some wood paneling that I just can’t handle alone.

The vampire’s irises flare crimson red in triumph. It looks like he won't have to put himself through another mortifying ordeal tonight, after all. 

I’m on a tight schedule, Y/N. These expertise are highly sought after, yanno?

Y/N snorts at his pompous joke. “Moron.”

Another text comes in from Harry before she can even think of a response.

However, I think I might be able to squeeze you in for a help session today. Say in about 10 to 15 minutes? 

With newly brightened eyes, Y/N gives the message five repasses to make sure she’d interpreted it correctly. She can’t believe he’d agreed, especially at an hour when most people already have weekend plans cemented for the night. And by the length of time he’d given her to prepare, she’s extremely thankful she’d decided to shower prior to attempting a booty-call. 

Sounds perfect. Do you need me to send you my address or do you remember, by some miracle?

Don’t worry about it, pet. I have a pretty good memory of that night. You made it hard to forget. 

Another layer of heat crawls up her neck and into her ears. She knows this is a casual thing, at best, but for some reason, the idea that he had deemed her unforgettable makes her entire body feel like it’s glowing. She tries to brush it off, chalking up his compliment to how they’d seen each other barely a week ago so of course he remembered. It was fairly fresh in both their minds. 

But Y/N is from an area where she was just another face in the crowd— another timid girl in an ocean of a hundred small-town carbon copies— and she’d certainly never referred to herself as anything particularly special. To have Harry, who is such a refined and attractive person, who most likely has dozens of hook-ups under his belt, call her that? Of all people? It just hits differently. 

She shakes herself out of her head, remembering that a very interesting boy is waiting for a response on the other end of her phone.

Alright, then. See you in 10 to 15 minutes, Mr…? 

Y/N comes to the realization that she doesn’t even know his last name. She doesn’t know the last name of the guy she’d let into her house and between her legs. God, if her parents could see her now...They’d blow California into a crater. 

The name’s Styles. Harry Styles. 

She immediately recognizes the reference, chewing at her bottom lip to keep a tab on a girly giggle. It’s probably not healthy how easily he reduces her into such a dopey puddle. 

Alright, then, Mr. Harry Styles. See you soon?

Very soon. Can’t wait to show you the wood samples I just found.

With a sly smirk dimpling his cheeks, Harry pushes off the elegant stone wall of his luxury bathroom, locking his device and absentmindedly tapping it along his palm as he does a quick mind-sweep of the interaction he’d just had. He’s going to get his needs taken care of—both intimate and carnal— by a girl with whom he meshes with so well, no less. This night has taken an unexpected turn for the better, and he’s never been more thankful for making such a rash decision the morning after a one night stand. 

The shrill boom of an Irish accent breaks Harry out of his flirty stupor, the sound bounding up the stairs of his flat and echoing off the tiles in his bathroom. “Harry, did you fucking desicate up there, you prick?!”

The vampire’s head snaps to the side towards where the sudden intrusion is originating, clearing his throat softly before answering, mostly to anchor himself back into the present. He’d been too busy floating in a daydream bubble to give his friends any proper attention. “I’m on my way down!”

Harry flicks off the light switch to his master bathroom, heading into his dimly lit bedroom and scooping up his wallet from its usual spot on top of the dresser. He tucks it into the wide front pocket of his slacks along with his cell phone, rounding the king-sized mattress at the center of his space, footsteps muffled by the thick maroon carpeting across the ground. He stops under the doorframe, giving his room one last calculating glance to make sure he isn’t leaving anything important behind. Once the creature is sure he’s set, he reaches over and slides the switch meter all the way down until the hanging lamps on the ceiling fade to black. 

Harry clambers down the glass and metal staircase, passing the collection of original paintings organized across the expanse of the largest wall in his home. His friends spot him from the huge couch once he’s halfway down the steps, and of course Niall is the first to make his presence audible.

“Fucking finally.” The blue-eyed vampire groans in exasperation, shooting up from his seat beside Xander, arms falling across his lean chest. “I thought you’d died. Really died.”

Harry dismounts the last stair carefully, heeled boots making a soft clicking sound against the polished light-wash wood of his floorboards. He pushes a few rogue curls out of his eyes, the corners of his mouth jilting upwards teasingly as he regards the fellow immortal. “If I have to keep staring at that shitty paisley button-up you’re wearing, I just might.”  

Niall’s irritated expression shatters into one of sheer hurt, hands fumbling with the silk fabric of his shirt, lips melting into a pained pout as he contemplates it sadly. His tone comes out whiney and defensive. “Hey! I really like this one!”

Harry side-steps the boy, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Your fashion sense makes me question my friendship with you.”

Niall’s face pinches with anger, thick brows furrowing as he roughly swats the brunette’s wrist away. “And your dickhead attitude makes me question mine.” 

Harry’s jade eyes dance with evil glee as he returns his palm to where it had been resting before to give a curt squeeze, his rings playfully digging into the muscle beneath Niall’s top. “And yet here you are, sitting on my couch, waiting to get into my car. Funny how that works, innit? We benefit from one another. Mutualism at its finest.”

The Irish man shrugs himself free of his friend’s hold once again, glaring at him with darkening eyes, but there’s no true malice behind it. “More like parasitism.” 

“So are you two gonna kiss now or what?” Mitch’s soft, mocking voice butts in as he drifts up beside Niall, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark denim straight jeans and his long hair tied back into a low ponytail. He’s wearing a light-wash Rolling Stones t-shirt he’d gotten at a concert he and Harry had attended back in the eighties, along with a pair of scuffed up sneakers. Pretty casual for a club— too casual, in Harry’s opinion. “The sexual tension is killing the audience.” 

The green-eyed boy cranes his sight back onto Niall, raising his eyebrows in question and puckering his lips. “What d’you say, Ni? Wanna kiss this little disagreement better? I’m down.”

The pale young man makes a gagging noise, stepping away. “Don’t know where your mouth’s been. But if your bed fellows have anything to say about it, it’s nowhere good. I’m going to respectfully decline.” 

“There was absolutely nothing respectful in that response.” Adam chimes in, chuckling as he bumps Niall’s shoulder with his own, hands clasped casually behind his back. “You need to work on your people skills.”

“My people skills are fine.” Niall quips back sarcastically. “Harry just isn’t a person, he’s a demon.” 

“Technically, we all are.” The curly-haired vampire points out, walking over to his matte leather couch and retrieving a pin-striped, grey-black fitted blazer from its backrest. He tosses the jacket over his shoulders, shrugging it on and fixing the material over his torso, the curves of the piece accentuating the strong muscles of his back and the dip of his slender waist. “I just don’t care to hide it, really. Especially not when it comes to Niall’s taste in clothes. Which is rubbish, by the way. If that wasn’t clear before.”

“It was.” Niall deadpans, gaze half-lidded and petty.

Harry fixes the sleeves of his coat around his forearms, smoothing out any wrinkles and buttoning the cuffs. He momentarily ducks into the kitchen, his enhanced eyesight spotting the small digital time-stamp of the oven even from across the room. He has less than thirteen minutes before he has to be at Y/N’s flat. He should’ve suggested a longer time span.

Harry turns back around to fully face his crew, situating his collar into place by folding it along the back of his neck, appraising their expectant appearances. They’re all waiting for him. He’s the one driving, after all. 

The immortal clears his throat, hands dropping to pat at his blazer pocket, making sure that his keys are in his possession. He sighs lightly through his nose, a knowing grin trying to force its way onto his lips but he keeps it at bay, wanting to maintain a straight expression to garner less backlash for the news he’s about to break. 

“I’m not going.”

The pause that fills the atmosphere and the blank faces his friends dote are almost comical. Harry bats his eyelashes at them without a single twitch or jerk of his features. He wants them to understand he’s being serious.

After at least ten heartbeats— a guess, considering no one in the room has one to provide an accurate measurement— a raging exclamation explodes from behind the other three vampires in front of him. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

Harry watches in mild amusement as Xander stomps up from behind the group, shouldering between Mitch and Adam and sticking him with a glower dark enough to instill fear in any living being. But Harry is hardly living, and he’s definitely not scared of a vampire who’s practically a newborn. Xander’s the youngest of them in terms of the immortality scale— he’d transitioned back in nineteen ninety-six when he was thirty, which gives the illusion that he’s older when in reality, he isn’t— so Harry’s strength easily outmatches his. Xander is basically the puppy of the circle, and he’s certainly yappy and annoying enough to support that title. His lack of age and wisdom is also probably why he’s the most explosive. 

Harry kinks an eyebrow up at the taller, tanned man, looping only one button through its designated hole in the middle of his jacket. That will allow him to show off what lies beneath it while also making sure the article won’t be a pest in the windy California night. “I’m not kidding. Something else came up that...peaked my interest.”

Xander’s fists momentarily clench by his sides and he then folds his arms across his lightly heaving chest, trying to hide his anger away along the insides of his elbows. He spits his words through gritted teeth, attempting to keep his cadence level. “What could have possibly come up so late that you only let use know after we waited for you for over an hour?”

Harry can’t stop himself from smirking this time around, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards with condescension. The statement that he produces is all too familiar to Xander, given that it mirrors the reply he had used on Harry exactly a week ago, when the leader of the group had asked him what his intentions were once they’d gotten inside their club for the night. “I have a date.”  

Xander’s entire face flushes a faint shade of cherry red. His forearms tighten across his body, tone more strained than before as he actively wills himself to remain calm. “A date?”

The shorter vampire smiles at him with fake innocence, working his every nerve like it’s his job. Harry doesn’t know why, but pissing Xander off is always such a delectable pastime. “Yup. With a girl I met last week, actually.”

“You don’t go on dates.” Niall pipes up, looking around at the other men in the room in confusion, almost as if his comment should be obvious. “You rarely even spend the night. Said so yourself.” 

Harry shrugs one shoulder indifferently, checking his reflection in the closest section of the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline, the lights of the cars and buildings below twinkling otherworldly. “I guess it’s less a date and more a booty-call, to be honest. I only agreed ‘cause it’s easier than having to drag my ass to that horrid club you chose to spend hours trying to find someone. This meal’s already prim, proper, and served. And I know for a fact I’ll enjoy it, so there’s no real harm.” 

He turns back to Xander, the man’s peeved reaction tickling him more than he thought it would. “What was that you said last time, Xanny?”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Oh, yeah! I'm just grabbing a to-go box for my already prepped meal.”

Harry’s friend’s cheeks dye a deeper shade of crimson, dark veins webbing across the iridescent whites of his eyes for a flickering second. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

Harry counters the angry expression with a bright smile, his dialect dripping with arrogance. “Girls dig it. And you seemed to dig it, too, if I recall correctly. Remember? You might not. Post-orgasm amnesia and all that.” 

Xander takes a measured inhale, releasing it slowly and allowing his anger to ebb away gradually, ignoring Harry’s blast from the past. His next question is physically directed towards their ex-chauffeur, but is truly aimed at the gang as a whole. “Who’s going to take us, then?”

The curly-haired vampire shrugs his shoulders once again, uninterested in the topic that is quickly growing old. “You could take Niall’s car. Problem solved.”

The whole clique lives in the same condo complex, mostly due to convenience. It’s already tricky for vampires to find others of their kind, so it’s a miracle that they’d all managed to end up together in the first place. And it’s an even bigger miracle that they got along well enough to form a tight-knit coven, which is the closest thing any of them now have to family. Living in close proximity is the ideal way of maintaining that rare bond, plus it allows them to help each other in staying safe and keeping their urges in line. 

Since they all live in the same building, Niall’s car is in the garage right beside Harry’s, so transportation shouldn’t be an issue. They just always take his vehicle because he’s the only one that actually enjoys driving. 

“Are you mental? Like actually, genuinely insane?” Xander sputters in appalled shock. “Niall drives like a lunatic!” 

“Oi, piss off! Maybe you should learn to drive then, huh? Instead of having all those guys you shag take you everywhere.”

Xander ignores Niall’s insult, putting his palms up in disgust, backing away. “I refuse to get in a car with him behind the wheel. Dying once was good enough for me.”

“Did I miss the memo?” Niall snaps, glimpsing around at all the monsters standing around him, attitude tight with annoyance. “Y’know, the one where you all just decided to shit on me tonight?”

Harry bursts into an airy cackle, listing his head to the side as he gives Niall a humorous once-over, his dangly cross earring dabbing across the crisp cut of his coat’s shoulder blade. “You don’t necessarily make it hard, love.” 

Niall’s jaw clenches as he narrows his icy blue eyes. “Xander’s right— you are an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, he’s also right about you driving like you’re on tranquilizers.” Adam sighs, running a palm up his face, using his index finger and thumb to massage either of his temples, despite the fact that they lack a pulse. “I guess I could drive? I hate it, but Mitch hates it more, so I’m our best bet. Better than Road Runner over here.” 

“Yeah, just keep talking about me like I’m not present. That’s fine. I’m spitting venom in all your drinks tonight.” 

“Well,” Harry boasts abruptly, interrupting the game of verbal ping-pong happening in front of him, taking a quick peek at his phone for the time. As much as he loves causing some good-natured chaos between his friends, he has less than ten minutes to make it to Y/N’s apartment on time and traffic’s a bitch at this hour. “I have nothing to do with this anymore, so I’m just gonna take my leave. You lot have fun figuring this out.” 

He swivels around on his heel, striding away with his usual haughty air straightening his back, heading towards the corridor that leads to the front entrance of the apartment. The softly lit hallway swallows his silhouette and for the first time since he’d left the secluded confines of his bathroom, he allows a giddy smile of excitement to tweak his lips. Just for a second and not a moment longer. If his friends had seen it, they would’ve taken the piss.

Niall’s accent cuts through the air, prickling at his ears as the glossy, cold doorknob comes into contact with his even colder fingers. “I can’t believe you’d abandon us just to get laid!”

“Lock the door on your way out!” 

///

When a sharp knock echoes across Y/N’s flat, she nearly screams. 

Her nerves have been on edge since the last text she’d received; only after reading that final cheeky message had the reality of the situation hit. 

This isn’t her. This isn’t her at all.

Inviting a total stranger into her home and into her bed was something she’d never experienced before last week. One night stands were very few and very far for her— she could count all the ones she’d had on a single hand, and even then they had been with people she had known to some extent— and it was due to the fact that this type of situation is slathered in mystery and unsureness. Giving herself up in such an intimate manner to someone she wasn’t acquainted to in some shape or form…It comes with a certain amount of risk, both physically and emotionally, which is why she hardly ever engaged in such activities before Harry.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with having that type of exhilarating fun in your life— she praises the women who can go around so confidently and express their sexuality however they please— but she herself had been raised under a roof that was moderate and conservative, and that environment had molded her into the person she had grown up to be. Those traditional concepts ran through the core of her being, and no matter how hard she tried to shake them, they refused to break loose. They weighed on her shoulders, constantly making her second-guess her motives and desires, most of which go against the status quo that had been implemented into her brain from a young age. This— whatever this is— is a huge step for her; it’s the first attempt she’s made to take over her own life and go against the grain she’d been accustomed to her whole existence. 

From the second Y/N had arrived here in Los Angeles and set a foot off the plane, she had been alone. Everyone who cared for her was miles and miles away and she was starting a new chapter on a completely blank page, with no one to guide her hand as she wrote. For the two months she’d spent settling in and trying to meld into her new environment, she had gone at it with a sense of emptiness hollowing the pit of her stomach. No one was there to comfort her during the rough patches, and no one cared enough yet to assure her that things would turn out alright. No one had bothered to tell her she was safe and that nothing would hurt her. No one made themselves available the way people did back home. 

That is, until she met Harry seven days ago. 

Their encounter had been purely for sexual gratification, but during that short time they shared, she vividly remembered him telling her that she could trust him. It was a preposterous statement to make— asking someone to trust you when you didn’t even know their last name— but the gaze in his emerald eyes had seemed so genuine and encouraging, and his voice had been so gentle and soothing, and his touch had been so delicate and consoling...That strange young man— with the pretty curls, intriguing tattoos, and dazzling smile— had somehow managed to untie the knot of unease that had been sitting in her belly for the last couple of weeks. She’s stumped on how he’d managed to wriggle it free; the only thing she can effectively say took a part in it was his eyes. There was just such a glass-like quality to them that reminded her of a mirror. It was like they were reflecting all her emotions back at her, using their familiarity to compel her into a state of mental peace. She’d appreciated it more than she’d let on. 

Something tells Y/N that this is the reason she had contacted him. She wanted to feel that safety net he had provided her with once again. She didn’t need an emotional connection from Harry, she just needed a bit of mental relief. She wanted something to take her mind off all her troubles. Something to distract her, even if it was only for a few hours. And with the way Harry had handled her last time, she knows he’s more than capable of helping her reach those goals. 

Y/N doesn’t think anyone has ever made her feel how Harry had that semi-drunken Friday night. She’d been with a few other people before, and had even been in a long-term relationship with someone she had once thought would end up being her husband, but none of those men came close to this peculiar stranger. 

In the town she was from, it was typical for people to marry their high school sweethearts. It was a small region where everyone either knew one another or knew of one another, so it wasn’t difficult to find someone that could fit into the role that needed to be filled. The person she had found was a boy by the name of Bradley, who she had begun to date their freshman year of high school. 

They’d met through mutual friends and he’d invited her to their first ever homecoming dance, where she had felt like everything was falling into place almost like in a movie. He was cute, with hazel eyes, sun-bleached hair, and freckles that jolted every time he laughed. He was polite, funny, and treated her with enough respect and dignity to keep her hooked for a while. Things had gone pretty well the four years they were together in high school; their relationship wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t exciting either. It was just...secure. He was there, and he was willing to give her his attention, and that’s all that really mattered to her at the time. She thought that was all she needed. 

Then graduation came and went, and so did Bradley. He left for college, set on the intention that they would make long distance work somehow. To keep a long story short, it hadn’t worked out how they expected. As the months passed, she noticed he started to separate himself from her more and more. The video chats are what disappeared first; what used to be a daily FaceTime call turned into a weekly one and then, if she was lucky, a monthly one. Phone calls followed the same fate. Texting became a chore rather than something to look forward to and she could feel him slipping, which left her feeling helpless because he was in another state, far away and too out of reach to appropriately solve anything. Energized conversations slowly faltered into five-word messages, which eventually teetered into barely any communication at all. 

When Y/N heard the news that he’d cheated on her, it didn’t even come from him. It came from his roommate. Things ended swiftly after that, which was the saddest thing of all. Almost five years of her life, completely gone to waste. Handling the pain was a whole other misery she’d had to shoulder, alongside the embarrassment and humiliation, which stemmed from the fact that she was aware her peers had heard about the whole ordeal. With the help of her family and friends, she’d eventually gotten over the heartbreak. The weird thing is, she doesn’t think she loved him. She loved the idea of him— loved that he represented everything she had been raised to seek in a relationship. They’d grown up together, their families knew one another, they shared the same friends, they had common hobbies. It was like a match made in heaven, though after it broke off, she quickly came to the realization that it hadn’t been made in heaven at all. Made in a test tube was a more fitting analogy. 

Y/N’s love life after that painfully slow cliche disaster consisted of random boys around town she recognized from school and work. The hook-ups were fleeting and hardly satisfying, but at least they were something. She soon found out that she could do better on her own, but whenever she craved someone else’s touch, she was grateful to have anyone she could get. She’d mainly stuck to the same guys for the sake of consistency; it was easier having people she already knew how to please and vice versa, though she’ll admit it was mostly a one way street. Men can be so clueless sometimes that it’d be funny if it wasn’t so irritating. 

Then Y/N had skipped town and closed off sexually for a while. She had stayed shut down until Harry had walked into her life with that stupid sly smirk and his unorthodox— yet surprisingly attractive—fashion sense, sipping straight tequila like a fucking psycho from the cup in his jeweled fingers. He’d waltzed right onto the stool beside her at the bar, right out of the club with her hand in his, and then right past the doorframe of her apartment, kindly gifting her the best sex of her entire life. He’d worked her every desire with a certain skill and awareness she had never experienced (not from any of her past lovers, and definitely not from Bradley’s vanilla tendencies), dismantling her body as if he’d known her for decades, leaving her sore and aching in a way she didn’t know was humanly possible.

And now here Y/N is, pacing back and forth from her small living room to her even smaller kitchen, chewing along the knuckle of her forefinger as she tries to tie down the jitters running amuck in her belly. 

She repeatedly smooths down the dress she’s wearing, claiming that it’s to get rid of the wrinkles, but in truth, it’s to wipe the dampness from her palms. The outfit had been a birthday present from her cousin the year before and she’s rarely worn it since the move, which is a direct result of her lack of socializing. She only ever really leaves her home for groceries and to attend work, neither of which call for a pretty sundress and strappy tan sandals. Despite having gone out to the club a few times, the dress doesn’t fit that scene either. LA gets a bit chilly at night and she has yet to grow accustomed to the city’s weather. Wearing this after-hours would surely end with her acquiring a mild case of hypothermia. 

The garment is a light blue baby doll design, littered with tiny daffodil prints of varying shapes and colors. It stops about three-fourths down her thigh, fluttering outwards in layered flares, its bandeau-style top held in place by thin straps of the same fabric. She figured she’d deck herself out nicely; from the one interaction she’d had with Harry, she can tell he’s a person of refined taste. It was evident in his expensive clothing and his wide variety of precious rings. She doesn’t know why, but there’s a toiling in the pit of her tummy urging to impress him. 

Y/N’s hair has been freshly washed and blow-dried, her legs thoroughly shaved into silk, and she’d applied a light layer of makeup, done in anticipation that anything heavier would likely end up smeared across her face— a result of sweat and Harry’s dominant persona. Simply reflecting on his commanding sensual presence makes her self-pedicured toes curl in her sandals. 

Y/N hadn’t been sure on how to prepare for his arrival. She wasn’t versed in advanced hook-up culture— her raunchiest experience was in the backseat of someone's 2004 Toyota Corolla. She doesn’t want to get this wrong. Going overboard would make him feel smothered and awkward, but underselling would give him the impression that she doesn’t have any respect for him, save for what lies between his legs. Those are the last two things she wants him to gather from this. 

She’d settled for pulling out a bottle of red wine that had been a house-warming present from the landlord. Not too shabby, but not too loud. And who doesn’t enjoy a cup of half-decent wine on a Friday evening, right?

Y/N had just finished arranging two glasses— which she’d found at the thrift shop down the street for a steal— onto the counter of her kitchen when that swift rapping sound had broken through the tense air of her home, echoing from the front door and causing a yelp to lodge in her throat. 

Ice shoots through her veins. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She takes a handful of penetrating breaths, concentrating on how the cool air feels expanding her lungs. The technique aids in calming some of her nerves, grounding her just enough that she can will herself to move without her knees giving out. Y/N tentatively makes her way down the corridor that leads to her front door, heart hammering against her ribs. She shouldn’t be this riled up— he’s literally already been inside her. There’s pretty much nothing she can hide from him at this point. 

On the other side of the door, Harry is blissfully ignorant to the panic attack threatening to overcome Y/N. 

The vampire leans his shoulder against the frame of the somewhat raggedy door, arms crossed over his thick chest as his gaze bounces judgmentally around all the patches of peeling paint. He chews at a piece of gum— which he’d popped into his mouth on the drive over to make sure he tastes as delectable as always— in slow, lazy motions, jaw flexing as he unconsciously pops an array of tiny bubbles with his teeth, waiting for Y/N to emerge. 

Harry glances up at the flickering light bulb in the hallway of the complex, nose scrunching in distaste at the annoying flashing. She really needs to get a better place, he thinks, reaching up and dragging the pad of his middle finger along the curve of his bottom lip, absentmindedly wiping off a bit of extra chapstick that had colored outside the lines when he’d applied it. He always tries to keep his mouth soft, especially when he knows he’s going to be using it. Plus, the vanilla bean flavor pairs well with mint. 

The sound of a seal cracking open yanks his attention, the door before him slowly swinging inwards. Cool air pours from inside, bathing him in a scent that his frenzied instincts had been subconsciously craving the last couple of days. Harry cranes his neck over his shoulder, spitting his gum out and not bothering to watch where it lands. He turns back just as Y/N’s familiar figure comes into view.

The first thing he notices is the dress. 

Fuck, the dress. 

It’s nothing too fancy, just a casual sundress, but it fits her like it was made specifically for the purpose of testing his restraint. He rakes his gaze up and down her body shamelessly, much like he had on the night they met. 

The light blue background and rainbow miniature floral print compliments her skin tone nicely, making it stand out below the dingy light hanging above their heads. The piece lands about halfway down her thigh, fanning around her legs slightly in frilly folds, tempting him with that bit of innocent exposure. An image of him ripping the dress up her thighs races across the forefront of his mind and he can feel his fangs momentarily break through his gums.  

As Harry draws his sight upwards, the minimal throbbing between his legs only amplifies. The dress cinches just below her bust, accentuating her chest, and he comes to the painful realization that she’s not wearing a bra underneath; she doesn’t need it due to the bralette-like top. One simple tug of his index finger would leave her completely bare and that conclusion causes a sweltering itch to erupt along the back of his throat.

Harry’s irises finally come to rest on her face, finding that the rest of the human girl’s look appears just as it had last week. Minimal makeup, no accessories, and the smell of chamomile shampoo strung through her hair, though it’s easily smothered by her natural scent of flowers and sugar. He also finds that while he had been blatantly undressing her with his eyes, she had delighted herself in doing the same. Watching her gawk at him hungrily caresses his ego immensely, evident in how the edges of his mouth kink. 

Y/N doesn’t mean to ogle, she really doesn’t. But from the instant he’d come into view, standing there propped against her threshold with his ankles crossed and his lean arms folded over his strong chest, she couldn’t control it. He just looks so fucking good— better than last time, which she didn’t think was plausible— and she gets the feeling that he knows he looks borderline godly. 

Harry’s clad in what appears to be a sheer mesh flouncy button-up with holographic threads speckled through the material, shimmering under the dim atmosphere of the hallway. The last three holes of the shirt are left open, exposing his tanned pectorals and thoroughly inked chest. Last time they had been together, she’d been too distracted by the aching between her thighs to properly notice the swallow tattoos along his collarbones and the giant butterfly at the crest of his stomach. But now, she stares at them freely as they expand and contract with his easy breaths, her mouth beginning to water. 

The blouse is covered by a dark pinstriped blazer, the crisp shoulder blades of the jacket complimenting his broad frame as the curves dip along his waist alluringly. The loose top is tucked in along the brim of yet another pair of high-waisted trousers, though they are creme-colored instead of copper. The ironed pants give way to a pair of glossy black heeled boots, which are bedazzled along the back of the two-inch elevation, the jewels twinkling in the shape of a word that she can’t make out at this angle. 

Harry’s collection of luxurious rings and necklaces adorn their usual spots and she gets the impression that he never leaves home without them. His gold cross earring sways back and forth lightly, her warped reflection cast across its surface and staring back at her numbly. 

Harry breaks through the haze his physique had cast on her brain.

“Nice to see you again, Disco Ball.” 

A shiver slithers down her spine at the deep baritone of his voice, English accent slathered across every syllable and dripping with suggestive teasing. She’d forgotten how sultry he sounds, even when he’s not actively striving for it. 

Y/N’s attention jets up from where it had been pasted to his body, the expression across his handsome features one of snarky self-assurance, which tells her she’d been caught. Indents cave into his cheeks, twitching with glee as he bats his lashes slowly, eyes going half-lidded in amusement. He looks so sinful with those shiny ringlets curling around his small ears, framing his sharp jaw and kissing the nape of his neck, alongside those raspberry red lips and the emerald hue sparkling around his pupils. She can’t tear herself away.

After an elongated second of silence on her part, Harry raises one of his sculpted brows expectantly, letting her know he’s waiting for a response. Heat overflows Y/N’s cheeks and buzzes across the shells of her ears.

“H-Hi. Uh— Nice to see you. Too. Nice to see you, too.”

An odd sense of déjà vu flags in the back of her skull and she’s reminded that this is exactly how they’d met the first time around— with her making an utter fool of herself, much to his entertainment.

The crescent above his top lip curves upwards as a result of his grin widening. He taps the tip of his elegant shoe patiently against the cement ground, arms shifting against his chest and she can see the way his biceps strain the fabric of his coat. He’s just so fit.  

Harry’s tone comes out playful and lighthearted. He doesn’t need to be invited in again since she’s already explicitly allowed him in before, but he asks anyways, out of courtesy. “Can I come in? Or are you planning on taking me dancing or summat?”

The laugh that escapes Y/N is dense with a nervous edge, but it’s better than a stuttering jumble of incoherent words. She moves out of the way, flushing her back to the wall of the tiny entrance corridor and leaving just enough room for him to squeeze by. “Yes, come on in! Sorry.” 

“You’re alright, darling.” The tall vampire steps forward into the mortal’s home, turning sideways as he does so, chest pressing against her own. He glances down at her lips for a flash of a moment, then back to her eyes. “Thank you.”

Y/N’s grip on her doorknob tightens. She looks up at him through her lashes, bottom lip barely trembling. “No problem. Thanks for coming over on such short notice.” 

Harry runs his tongue across his teeth, pressing it to the inside of cheek as he absorbs the mildly erotic image of Y/N decked out in a frilly dress, glancing up at him shyly as her chest heaves slightly against his own. “Well, I couldn’t leave you to handle that pesky wood paneling all on your own, now could I?”

A smile ghosts over her delicate lips as she shuts the door and locks it, not breaking eye contact. “How generous of you. My hero.” 

Far from it, love.

Y/N slips out from where Harry had wedged her to the wall, beckoning him after her with a gentle turn of her head. The creature tucks his hands into his front pockets, following her down the narrow stretch. They drift past her room (he makes sure not to look in and spare himself the horror of seeing that dumb tapestry) and past her bathroom, into the expanse of her living area. It’s just as small and cozy as he remembers it and he can’t stop himself from scoffing lightly as his sight drifts over the couch. Good memories. 

“Would you like some wine?” Y/N’s question carries softly from inside her kitchen. She’s already gripping the glass bottle in her hand, attempting to pull out the cork, and she hadn’t thought of needing a wine-opener until now. Fuck. 

Harry makes his way to join her, passing underneath the archway and taking the spot across from the girl. He leans his lower back on the counter, hands remaining perched casually in his slacks. “I’d love some.”

“Great.” She huffs, twisting stubbornly at the spongy cap with all the might she can muster, the rough surface scratching her palm. “Let me just— just get this open.”

Harry’s head lists sideways as he wards off a chuckle. “Want some help?” 

Y/N releases an irritated grunt, shoulders slumping a tad as she fails to get the top loose. She holds out the bottle towards her visitor, titling it from side to side in surrender. “Be my guest.” 

The immortal pulls his hands out from his pockets, taking the container from her grasp and the human notices how they dwarf the bottle. It shouldn’t be hot, but it is. 

Harry wraps his ring-clad digits around the cork, giving it one easy twist and Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off as she hears a pop tinge the air. Harry offers her the wine and cap in return, licking his lips to avoid laughing in her face. Supernatural strength always delivers. 

“How…?” Y/N’s owlish eyes flicker back and forth between Harry’s cocky expression and the object in his hands. “How did you even...?”

The brunette gives her a nonchalant shrug. “Guess you loosened it up for me, Thor.” 

She gingerly takes the beverage and its accompaniment from his outstretched palms, blinking at him in mild shock. Her slight unease is swiftly phased out, however; a result of his cute banter. It was probably just a lucky coincidence. “I guess so.”

Y/N pours out two glasses of the dark red liquid, handing one to Harry, feeling her heart skip a beat when he wraps his hold around the stout flute and their fingers brush. He stays like that for a heartbeat, with his icy digits sifted between hers, the amber specks in his irises glittering like diamonds. Then, the moment is over and he pulls away slowly, guiding his drink up to his plush lips. She hates how he can leave her so breathless without a single hitch. 

The girl watches as Harry takes a leisurely sip of the alcohol, his gaze dancing around her kitchen curiously as she finishes recapping the bottle and scooting it into the corner of the counter. 

A thought dawns on her as soon as she focuses back onto the boy before her. Harry looks weird. He looks so weird standing in her small, dingy kitchen with its worn wooden cabinets and fake marble tabletop. He looks so out of place, dressed head to toe in designer brands and fancy fabrics, hands and neck decorated with posh jewelry, and the unmistakable smell of an expensive cologne wafting from his masculine throat. And he most certainly is out of place when it comes to who he’s associating with. He’s out of Y/N’s league, not only physically, but in his behaviors, as well. It’s so obvious it almost hurts. 

Yet here Harry is, looking polished and stylish, while she’s sporting a mere sundress that was probably bought off the clearance rack at Kohl’s. It just doesn’t mix, and she finds herself wondering why he’d chosen her in the first place. When she had voiced similar concerns the day they’d slept together, he had told her it was because she was timid and he wanted to see if he could break through that. But Y/N isn’t stupid. There has to be some other reason. Why else would a rich bachelor pay attention to a small-town runaway in a measly floral—

“I like your dress.”

Y/N glances up at Harry from where her mind had fallen, startled by the sudden interference in her dark thoughts. She’d been tracing across the slope of his structured jaw, mesmerized by how it would grow taut every time he swallowed down a gulp of his beverage. 

She had ambled so deep in her head, she barely manages to mutter a passable answer. “Oh, thank you! I’ve had it for a bit, but I barely wear it.”

The edges of the vampire’s mouth quirk around the rim of his glass, creases wrinkling along the corners of his bright eyes. “It suits you nicely. A beautiful dress on a beautiful girl.” 

Y/N’s belly somersaults, a sheepish giggle running along the undercurrent of her next mumble, so low it’s hardly audible. “Thank you. Again. Thought I’d bring it out for a special occasion.” 

Harry’s eyebrows jump upwards at her comment. He draws his wine glass from between his lips, resting it against his hard stomach and gifting the human a cheeky once-over. “So I’m a special occasion, now, am I?”

Y/N looks down at the straps of her sandals, fighting off a grin. She shrugs one shoulder offhandedly, bringing her cup to her mouth and taking a long drag of the sweet liquor, feeling it wash across her tongue and leave a warm glow in her tummy. “Maybe.” 

Harry hums teasingly in his throat, tapping his pinky pensively along the bottom of his glass, opal ring clinking against the crystalline surface. The color of his drink makes the black polish on his nails stand out almost artistically. “I’ll take any compliment I can get, especially from those pretty lips.”

Another wave of heat flushes across the apples of Y/N’s cheeks. “You really know how to flatter a girl, don’t you?”

The monster tips back another swig of wine, savoring the notes of wild cherry and pomegranate in its palate. Not bad, especially for what he can tell is a ten dollar bottle. 

He cocks his head to the side, irises glitzing knowingly amidst his long lashes. “I think we’re both aware that I most certainly know how to flatter a girl.” 

Y/N’s stare snaps up to lock with his, the faintest whimper stringing her vocal chords. If it wasn’t for Harry’s heightened hearing, he would have never known it’d happened. But he does, and he can feel the throb between his thighs spike as a result. The sounds she makes are just as wonderful as he remembers.

The sexual tension suspending in the room is practically palpable. After a bundle of her heartbeats— which is gradually rising in intensity— echo in his ears, he decides to speak up again. 

“I’ve been thinking about you.” 

The statement can be taken into so many different contexts and that’s why Harry chose it. She could interpret it as innocent admiration on behalf of a smitten lover, or as another layer of sensual praise. It’s versatile, successful either way. 

Y/N blinks at him exactly three times in surprise. “You have?”

She’d been thinking about him, too. Non-stop. And now that she knows it’s mutual, she doesn’t feel so nervous anymore. It reassures her that they’re on the same page of this messy novel written about their undefined association. Or that they are at least within the same chapter.  

Harry bobs his head in confirmation, indulging another sip of wine, letting it filter through his taste buds slowly. His glass is almost empty. “Mmhm. Walked past this candle store at the mall the other day and they had one burning that smelled just like you.”

His confession is sweet and it makes the tips of her fingers tingle. Y/N copies his action, taking another gulp of her beverage, attitude airy and inquisitive. “Is that so? And what do I smell like?”

Harry’s response is immediate and confident, almost as if he’s spent time thinking on the subject prior to today. “Honey and lavender.” 

Y/N nods her head in wonder, laughing gently. “That’s oddly specific.” 

Harry feels like he’s been smacked between the eyes with an iron rod. That was an idiot move. Absolutely moronic. 

He just now comes to terms with how intimate the comment he’d made had been. It suggests that he’s pondered on this topic, which gives the impression that he could be more interested in her than he actually is. He doesn’t need this loose connection turning into some type of cliche romantic comedy; he doesn’t have the space, patience, or emotional stability for it. And certainly not with someone he’s only fucked once. 

The vampire clears his throat, figuring that he can clean up this metaphorical spill by throwing a bit of crudeness at it. “Then yesterday I had a donut, yeah? One of those cream-filled ones. And when I took a bite of it, all the cream just came oozing out and I was like, ‘hm, this reminds me of someone…’”

The slightly endeared expression on Y/N’s face crumbles to dust, voice shrill and indignant at his lewd analogy. “You fucking perv!” 

Harry sputters into a round of boyish cackling, nearly wheezing when her foot reaches over and strikes him on the shin. He clasps over his stomach with his free hand, head falling back in glee as her features pinch in embarrassed disgust. He manages to speak between bursts of giggles, water gathering along his tear ducts due to how hard he’s laughing. “I’m just being honest!”  

“No, you’re being a gross little fourteen year old asshole!” Y/N exclaims incredulously, but she can’t keep herself from joining in on his boasts of amusement. 

His laughter is contagious. It’s loud and unapologetic in a manner she rarely sees in anyone and he just looks really fucking cute with his dimples jolting and smile lines creasing. It’s hard to stay mad at him, though it’s not like she’d truly been upset in the first place. 

Harry reigns himself in, inhaling deep breaths and wiping at his tears with the back of his large hand as a joyful groan rumbles in his chest. A few more giggles sneak out when he sees Y/N’s flat expression, but he manages to stifle the rest. His tone is jesting, poking fun. “If it makes you feel any better, I was respectful enough to wipe the donut down with a napkin, as well.” 

“Fuck off.”

Harry grins down snidely at the last inch or so of alcohol left in his glass, bringing it to his mouth and downing it all in one go. He places the cup down carefully on the counter behind him, his arms finding their way across his stomach, fingertips momentarily tapping at his elbows. He appraises a playfully grouchy Y/N, pursing his lips to hide a smirk. 

He watches as she takes another small taste from her drink, her pulse lulled by its contents. She’s not drunk by any means— not even buzzed— but it had helped calm the tittering in her throat that Harry had been able to detect earlier. She’s relaxed now, all anxiousness washed away by the small serving of liquor and his inappropriate (and extremely funny, if he does say so himself) jokes. 

The creature thinks it’s proper time he gets what he came for. 

“I really am glad you reached out, though.” Harry starts, an easygoing smile nudging across his alcohol-swollen mouth. “Truly.” 

Y/N snorts sarcastically, attempting to hide how his comment had made her pulse sharpen. He’d heard it anyways. “Oh, are you? Truly?”

Harry pushes himself off the edge of the counter, slowly sauntering over to Y/N, who instinctively draws back further against the tabletop behind her. She ogles at him from below heavy lashes, glass still perched between her tinted lips, excited anticipation written all over her body language. He can practically feel the heat radiating off her, rising a few notches the closer he gets. 

“Yeah.” Harry’s arms unfold, one stretching over her shoulder to prop his palm against the cupboard behind her head, the other fiddling with the seam of his blazer. He slides his forefinger and thumb along the single buttoned hole, giving it a rough tug and allowing his jacket to spring open. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun interior designing with anyone. Not for a while.” 

Y/N glimpses down at where his coat had parted, drinking up the sight of his lean torso behind the see-through material of his shirt. Now that he’s nearly pressed against her, his scent is stronger than before, burying her under smoky notes of vanilla and seasoned firewood. A familiar heat pools between her clasped thighs. 

When she pipes up, it’s shaky and whispered, covered in a dreamy undercurrent. “Yeah, me either. It felt...nice.”

Harry’s irises flash crimson for a millisecond, but she’s too occupied gawking at his tight stomach to notice. His dialect takes on a low, seductive twang, the breath of his words fanning across her face. All she can smell is wine, mint, and...vanilla chapstick? 

“It felt really nice.” 

Y/N’s view drags up to land on his lips. They look as soft and appetizing as last time, tempting her to just drop her flute onto the floor and replace it with his mouth. “Extremely nice.” 

An outside force suddenly tips her glass upwards and she realizes it’s Harry’s fingers. He nudges her cup until the liquid inside funnels towards her mouth, his intentions set on helping her finish it off. She drains the wine obediently, staring up at him dazed and moony, feeling a few drops escape along the sides of her mouth and tickle down her chin. The jade-eyed boy then gently pries the glass from her fingertips, reaching over and placing it inside her sink to be handled later. 

Y/N’s hands fall flat against his thick chest, feeling it rise and fall steadily below her grasp as he takes a step forward, their bodies completely flushing together. His palm trails up the exposed sliver of her thigh, diving a couple of inches below her dress and giving the outer area a hard squeeze. He doesn’t go any further; he won’t until she explicitly asks for it. He’s a prick about a lot of things, but never consent.

Harry leans down, running the tip of his cold nose along her clenched jaw, his warm tongue peeking out to collect the streams of wine that had dripped out. The contrast in sensations makes her knees buckle and what he murmurs hotly against her skin doesn’t help in calming those motions at all.

“Wouldn’t mind making you feel that nice again.” 

Y/N’s mind stalls, overwhelmed by his touch and smell. She can feel him sponging tender kisses at the corner of her mouth, and she can feel the palm of his hand massaging at her thigh needily. She can feel his breaths quickening in pace the longer he’s around her, and she can feel the foundation of a moan building in his lungs in the form of small vibrations, which run across her palms and twitch her fingers. She can feel everything; she’s never been more hyper-aware of her surroundings than now. And all because of this one mysterious young man. 

When Y/N finally speaks, Harry feels relief flood his system, though it is swiftly replaced by intense desire. 

“I wouldn’t mind it, either.” 

That’s full permission if he’s ever heard it. 

Harry’s other hand drops from its spot against the cupboard behind her, joining its partner on her opposite thigh. He coasts his palms fully below her flowy dress onto her hips, a lascivious simper crawling across his cheeks at the lack of extra fabric beneath her clothes. “No panties tonight?”

The human swallows heavily, shaking her head as she leans it back against the wooden cabinets, giving him access to her throat. At the sight, the vampire’s fangs protrude, cutting into the inside of his lower lip as venom fills his mouth. He wills himself to maintain control. It’s difficult, considering his sharp eyes can make out the chiseling of her arteries pumping blood just beneath her delicate skin, but he forces composure into his behavior nonetheless. With all of the lights on and Y/N completely sober, he knows he won’t get away with another mid-fuck stunt like the one he pulled last time they were in this position. 

Instead, he distracts himself with what he can draw from her at this very moment— another unbelievable orgasm. 

“Such a filthy little fucking thing.” Harry growls, smearing his lips down the center of her jugular, nipping love bites into her flesh but making sure not to split it open. “S’that how bad you wanted it when you texted me? So bad that you didn’t even bother to wear anything underneath?”

Y/N whines softly when he passes over a particularly tender spot along her neck, shuttering against his chest. “Y-Yes.” 

A low chuckle rolls from Harry’s wandering tongue as he hones in on the area that had coaxed such a delicious reaction. “Fuck, that was such a pretty noise. Are you sensitive here, baby?”

Y/N nods with fervor, running her touch up his pectorals and over his strong shoulders, diving under his coat and fisting at the mesh that strains across his muscular back. Her eyes roll closed, her next confession coming out in the form of a feathery sigh, legs parting wider for him to comfortably fit in between. “I just...I just need you.”

Harry eagerly accepts the invitation, sifting between her thighs and hiking them up onto his hips. The fact that he can suspend her so effortlessly, almost as if she weighs nothing, makes the pit of her tummy boil. “You need me now, d’you? How much, doll? Want you to tell me how much you missed my cock.” 

The young woman winces ever so slightly at the crude word and it amuses him to no end. “So fucking much, Harry.” 

He can confidently say his name has never sounded sweeter than when it trickles from Y/N’s tongue. 

When he speaks, it’s packed with all the pent up turmoil radiating deep in his abdomen. “Did you think about me the way I thought about you?”

Y/N’s reply falls breathily from her mouth without any hesitation. “Y-Yeah. Couldn’t get you out of my head.”

A cocky hum tinges the air on his behalf. “And why’s that?”

“Because…” The girl struggles to swallow, finding it difficult to match how easily brazen he can be. She pushes through. “Because you fucked me better than anyone else ever has.” 

The compliment is one Harry gets often, but for some inexplicable reason, it hits so much deeper coming from Y/N. “Mm. Poor baby just needed to get properly rawed, didn’t you?”

“Had no idea how badly I wanted it until you came along.” 

A dark chuckle rolls from the creature’s lips at her bluntness. He repeatedly passes his textured tongue over the pressure point on her throat, flames igniting in his chest when she releases another watery, desperate mewl. “God, look at you. Practically already dripping. Like it when I play with you like that?”

“Fuck, y-yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

And so Harry keeps going, and he doesn’t stop. Not at her neck, and not anywhere else. Not until she begs him to hours later, when he’s whittled three orgasms out of her trembling body, each one more intense than the last. 

The first one takes place right there on top of the kitchen counter. He boosts her up onto the table, bunching her pretty sundress around her quivering thighs— as he’d fantasized prior— while she fumbles with his trousers. He tends to her every breathy whimper as she eases him out of his briefs, marking his teeth all over her throat with the assurance that his blood will fade the bruises by morning. He tears his jacket down his broad shoulders, panting into her mouth as she undoes all the buttons that line his elegant iridescent shirt, moaning softly when she breaks their kiss to paint her hot lips down the expanse of his heaving chest and tight stomach. Y/N ducks down as far as her angle will allow, wanting to taste as much of his skin as she can. She wants to memorize its salty smoothness for as long as she lives. 

Harry watches her with bliss-drunken fondness twitching his mouth, head falling back to hang between his shoulders as a low, “Such a good girl.” rumbles from his throat. His ring-clad fingers tangle into her locks and scratch at her scalp lightly, strained exhales encouraging her to keep going as she delights herself with tainting love bites all over him. He yanks the girl back up by her roots, grabbing her hips and roughly scooting her forward towards him, clammy foreheads pressing together as he fixes to fill her up for the first time in what feels like eternity. 

The monster’s voice is as dominant and thick as she likes it. “Eyes up here. Want to see you come undone while I fuck you.” 

The way he spreads Y/N open makes her choke out a scream like nothing else she’s ever heard. Harry simply clamps one of his palms over her mouth, continuing to ram into her at a harsh stride, gasping against her ear with every thrust as she rakes her nails across his back. “Gotta keep that pretty mouth quiet. Thin walls.” 

The human feels like her heart is going to break through her ribs and what she doesn’t know is that with every passing beat, Harry feels it tenfold. And it’s driving him fucking insane— she drives him fucking insane. Especially when she looks at him with that glossy, begging gaze, biting into the mound of his hand as he slams his hips inside her so hard, the glasses in her cupboard shake. “Like it when I give it to you rough? Yeah, I thought so. Just like that? Harder? Say please…Christ, you’re a fucking angel.”

Y/N is dirty. So fucking filthy, and Harry loves every second of it. Loves that anything he throws out, she returns with as much enthusiasm, if not more. Loves that she can take his cock as hard as he’s willing to give it, which says a lot, considering his stamina and strength usually surpasses most humans. He’d met very few mortals who can match his sexual prowess and she happens to be one of them. She not only takes it, but pleads for more. She doesn’t just seek her own pleasure, but insists on delivering his own. And though they’re polars opposites at their core— she’s timid, physically standard, and boringly normal, whereas he’s confident, attractive, and unusually superior in every sense of the phrase— they fit together better than he’d ever care to admit. They’re perfectly compatible, down to their personalities and their intimate needs. 

As Harry stands there— fingertips leaving welts across her waist as he grunts brokenly against her throat, stretching her out like she was meant to take him this deep, her moans sounding like classical melodies to his ears— he thinks that maybe...maybe he’ll keep her around. A friends with benefits situation would be the most ideal. And to quote his own clever motto from before, it would be mutualism at its finest. 

The alliance would be nothing emotional; simply for the sake of providing each other with requited relief, as well as providing Harry with a convenient feeding arrangement. Neither of them would have to submit themselves to going to those terrible clubs, they both already know what the other enjoys, and the banter they share is pretty fulfilling. Plus, her blood is one of the sweetest he’s ever had. Whatever magic lies in her veins tides over his cravings in a fashion he’s never quite experienced. They both get what they want and don’t have to deal with the disasters of real commitment; neither are in a place in their lives where they can shoulder such a big responsibility. Harry is emotionally unavailable, as he has been for the past two centuries and as he intends to be for the next dozen. Y/N has just started anew in a place where she has so little to give and so much to lose, dating is the last thing on her mind. A casual no-strings-attached arrangement would be a perfect gift, bow and all.

And with the way they make each other cum multiple times that night— once on the counter, and twice on that trusty old couch— there’s not a single doubt in Harry’s mind that this is most definitely mutualism at its peak. 

///

During the span of the next few weeks, Harry learns a lot about Y/N. It’s surprising how informational someone’s sex habits can be. 

The second week after they had met— and the first since their second very heated, very satisfying encounter— she shoots him a text on Wednesday, of all days. 

Harry isn’t doing anything particularly interesting when he receives her message. He had gone to see Mitch play at the bar that had recently booked him as a semi-permanent gig, sitting in the booth furthest in the back from all of the ruckus, fingers tapping along the waxed table to his best friend’s skilled jazzy guitar chords. Mitch always teases Harry about how he doesn’t have a job, which the vampire always waves off. Working for money is stupid and unnecessary; any materialistic wants and needs that plague him, he can get with the help of compulsion. Therefore, what’s the use in condemning himself the horrors of customer service or a constricting office cubicle? 

His best friend is halfway through his set when Harry’s device vibrates against the sticky surface before him, tittering fingers coming to an abrupt stop. He flips over his iPhone, eyes flickering over the screen, a coy grin spreading its way across his blushed lips. Y/N’s contact beams up at him in return. He’d set her profile as just her name alongside three disco ball emojis, for the sake of their little inside joke. 

I’m getting off work a bit earlier than I thought today and was wondering if you wanted to help me with my ceiling fan.

Harry bites into his bottom lip to muffle a chuckle, shaking his head lightly as he stares down at the comical request. 

That’s odd. Last time I was there, you didn’t HAVE a ceiling fan.

Y/N sits on her lunch break in the backroom of the cafe where she’s employed, a veggie wrap halfway suspended towards her mouth when Harry’s text bloops in, pointing out her embarrassing mistake. She blinks at his correction blankly, eyes closing in faint humiliation as her true intentions are now painfully clear. 

After a second of recollection, she types back some damage control, though it hardly has an impact. Harry’s already chortling to himself just thinking about how contorted her face must look at the moment.

I’m aware, thank you. I meant I wanted help picking one out. I’ve got a few tabs saved as potentials. 

He decides to be a little shit about this whole thing, continuing to mock her.

You could just send me the links right now and I can tell you which one I like. You know that, right?

Y/N knows that. She also knows, by the tone and texture of his response, he’d only mentioned that alternative to be annoying. He knows she’s not talking about ceiling fans, and he just wants her to chase after him. Unfortunately enough for Y/N’s pride, she’s more than willing to.  

I just think your opinion would be much more valuable and effective in person, since you’d be able to help me search for other ones at the same time. We’d cover more ground. Two heads are better than one!

We do make quite the team, don’t we?

I personally think so. A dynamic duo for the books, honestly.

A soft round of applause cuts through the air around the vampire, signaling the end of Mitch’s performance. Harry glances up to see his best friend mounting his guitar back into its case, smiling bashfully at the crowd and nodding his head in thanks to all their praise. Harry coins his luck; things couldn’t have wrapped up at a better time. 

Alright, Watson. What time will you be home?

Y/N stops mid-chew through a bite of her meal, cheeks puffed as the corners of her mouth twitch at his nerdy reference.

I’m off at 6:45. Should be home by 7. 

I’ll see you there, then. 

See you there. Also, why do YOU get to be Sherlock? Seems a bit sexist. 

Harry rolls his eyes at her quip, smirking to himself as he types out his final response.

Well, first and foremost, I’m literally English. Secondly, last time I checked, I’m always the one in control. And frankly, you seem to like it that way. See you at seven, darling.

And at seven on the dot, Harry’s outside her apartment. His friends would be amazed at his punctuality. He only shows it when it’s worth the trouble.

The creature walks up the steps to the mortal’s complex with his Ray-Ban sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, keychain tucked into the back pocket of his black skinny jeans, and his tan Chelsea boots clicking against the cement ground. A light wind whips his Keith Harrington Safe Sex t-shirt against the broad muscles of his back, drawing a soothed sigh from his lungs. He loves the California weather. 

He gives her door three swift knocks with his ring-clad knuckles, stepping back from the entrance and clasping his large hands behind his back as he waits. 

When Y/N answers, Harry tilts his chin down a smidge, looking at her over the brim of his chic black glasses with his signature dazzling smile dimpling his cheeks. He lists his head slightly in a formal greeting. “Detective.” 

The girl’s irises flit up to the ceiling as amusement twitches her lips. She plays along. “Nice to see you again. Detective.”

She moves off to the side, beckoning him to come in and he gladly takes the offer, striding into the flat and down the narrow corridor he’s grown quite familiar with. Y/N follows him back into her living room, gaze quickly drinking up his appearance. He’s casual today— less jewelry, more comfortable clothes— and he works the normal fit as effortlessly as he works his fancy brands. Especially with those tight dark jeans. They hug his thighs in a fashion that should be illegal. 

Harry twists around on his heel to face her, reaching up to remove his sunglasses and tucking them along the collar of his tee. A handful of curls fall across his forehead, framing his face and sculpting his jaw, as usual. A sweep across Y/N’s physique tells him everything he needs to know. 

She’s still in her work clothes, clad in a navy blue polo shirt and a pair of dark skinnies similar to his. Her hair is down, though the strands have a dent that suggests she’d been wearing a ponytail. Her mascara is smudged a tad under her seemingly tired eyes, but her attitude is as bright and lively as always. She appears messy, but he likes it. It’s a type of unconventional beauty that’s natural and genuine, which he can appreciate.

He contemplates her with a certain slyness that makes her shift in her socked feet. 

“I got a message earlier. Sounded kinda frantic.” He drifts closer to the human, a sultry tension growing taut between them. He glances upward for an instant, as if recalling a thought. “Something about ceiling fans…?”  

Y/N chews into her cheek to keep from giggling, allowing him to press his chest to hers. He slowly begins to back her up towards the shabby couch, which has seen this interaction happen one too many times. “Yeah, I’m thinking of getting one. Figured it’d help. It just gets really hot in here sometimes, y’know?”

“Mmm…” Harry thrums in agreement, deep in the back of his throat. His hands crawl onto her hips and grasps them somewhat roughly, index fingers hooking into the belt loops of her jeans as he leans down to brush his soft lips over her own. She’ll never grow tired of the electricity that passes through them every time their mouths touch. It kindles her needs unlike anything else. “It does get pretty hot in here sometimes. Especially if you’re working up a sweat.” 

He pushes her further towards the sofa, movements gradual as she drifts backwards, careful not to trip her. She glimpses down at where their lips are flirting, breath hiccuping when he licks his lightly in anticipation, his tongue just barely grazing her Cupid’s bow. “Absolutely. A fan would definitely help relieve some of that stress.” 

“Yeah.” Harry nudges the tip of her nose with his own, feeling her grab at his biceps for security as he continues inching her backwards blindly. “It can work wonders for when you’re all pent up, too. Especially when you’re really tight, which I know for a fact you are.”

The backs of the girl’s knees hit the edge of the couch and she topples into its cushions. She sits up onto her elbows, sheer need inking into her irises as he patiently begins to undo his belt. His long, nimble fingers work with ease and he seems to be in no particular rush, which pricks at her nerves because she feels completely the opposite. She’d been thinking about him since Friday night— or rather, Saturday morning, when he had actually stayed for breakfast that time around. 

Y/N had sat on top of her small dining table while he took the seat before her shirtless, leaning forward with his arms crossed nonchalantly over her lap as she fed him bites of lemon blueberry pancakes. The pads of his calloused fingers had drawn random shapes across the warm skin of her thighs, attempting to cheekily slip beneath her pajamas shorts and he’d giggle boyishly around mouthfuls of food every time she would swat his hand away. He looked so fucking pretty that morning, with his curls tangled in tuffs and the vague imprint of her teeth scattered across his grinning mouth, angry red scratches decorating his bare shoulders. That wholesome yet dirty image had left her head spinning for days. 

The sound of Harry’s zipper ripping open blinks Y/N back into the present and she nearly gawks as he grabs onto the hem of his graphic t-shirt and yanks it over his head, arms crossing as he does so. He tosses it onto her playfully, laughing as she smacks it away from her face and gives him a deadpan look. Harry leans forward, propping his palms on either sides of her head and bracketing her in, the unmissable scent of his delicious cologne invading her senses as his dark tattoos ripple over the lean tendons of his stomach and arms. His strangely cold forehead flushes against hers and he nips at her top lip, tugging it between his teeth and releasing. His voice comes out as deep and hypnotizing as ever. 

“Get undressed for me. Want your thighs wrapped around my head.” 

Harry comes to find that for such a reserved girl, Y/N has a pretty intriguing sexual mindset. She’s open to a lot of stuff he’d never expect from a rural-town escapee. Her kinks surprise him, but pleasantly so, considering they cross over with a lot of his own. She’s into choking, which he adores. There’s nothing hotter than feeling her pulse slam against the palm of his hand as his array of rings mark into the delicate skin of her throat. She likes being restrained, which translates into Harry pinning her wrists above her head while he slams between her drenched thighs. It’s difficult to achieve that on the sofa, so they end up rolling across the rug on the floor, her legs tangled around his hips like a vine as he pants into her mouth, damp hair flopping over his forehead and tickling her eyelashes. Ideally, he would have used his belt to tie her hands to a headboard. If they were at his place, he would’ve just reached for the metal cuffs he has hanging casually off the railing of his bed, which he keeps there for easy access. But they’re in her living room, so he makes do with what he can. 

The vampire doesn’t stay over that night, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he promised Niall he’d help him out with a car issue. Apparently the motor is making a weird noise and Harry isn’t shocked one bit. Niall barely has the brain cells to be alive, much less to handle the upkeep that comes with owning a vintage vehicle. He thanks Y/N for a good time as he slips into his tight jeans and recovers his sunglasses from the floor, pulling his tee over the already fading hickies littering his collarbones, fitting his accessory into his sweaty curls. 

Harry leans down to where she lays limply, splayed over the couch where he had placed her after picking her up off the ground (only after he’d made her cum twice). He plants a nonchalant farewell kiss to her parted lips, thumbing over her bruised nipples jestingly and grinning into her mouth when she whimpers. “I’ll see you later, Watson. Let me know which fan you decide to buy.” 

Two days later, Harry’s phone chimes again, this time with the unique ringtone he’d assigned just for her. 

He’s relaxing in his bathtub, submerged up to his chest in hot water mixed with Epsom salts and jasmine bubble bath, his locks sudsy with shampoo. He’s in the middle of shaving his face, dragging the straight razor (his time in the nineteen thirties made him picky towards any other tool, especially those simpleton plastic ones) down his jaw carefully, making sure not to nick the little moles under the corner of his mouth. When his device goes off, he halts all his motions, glancing over from the hand mirror he’s holding before his face. He’d changed her contact name to Watson as homage to their funny little dynamic, but he’d kept the disco balls in their place. He respects the roots of their acquaintanceship.

Fan came in. Wanna come check it out?

He had a nagging suspicion he’d hear from her today. It’s another Friday night, after all. He’s just happy she’d texted earlier than last time so he can flake on his friends without forcing them to wait for an hour. 

Wow, you chose two day shipping? You must be itching to see me.

Don’t let it go to your head. The only thing I’m itching for is your professional opinion. 

Right. Well, me and my professional opinion are washing up at the moment so give me thirty minutes and I’ll be there, yeah?

Sounds good to me, Sherlock. 

Harry decides on an outfit that falls at the center of his dressing spectrum— something comfortable but not lazy. Something semi-formal. He doesn’t really have to impress her anymore (not that he had to try that hard in the first place) but he wants to look good, either way. There’s nothing wrong with showing off what he has, both physically and wardrobe-wise. He chooses a horizontal-striped fitted tee made of thick cotton, the lines alternating between brown, beige, and a light caramel. He tucks the shirt into a pair of mid-rise corduroy flared pants that are a dark mustard shade, shrugging on an olive green jacket with red and white stitch detailing along the edges, large images of cacti embroidered along its expanse. His pearls, cross necklace, and he opts out of his earring this time. Rings, vanilla chapstick, mint gum. Keys, wallet, starch white Vans. 

Before he knows it, he’s being roughly pulled into her home from his spot just outside her threshold, his cherry-lacquer nails carding into the silky hair along the nape of Y/N’s neck as his teeth skim over the hollow of her throat. The human grapples to push his coat off his wide shoulders, backing further down the small hallway of her flat and kicking the door shut. She holds his head firmly to the sensitive spot in her neck that he’d toyed with a week prior, and he can’t resist the way his eyes blink crimson— a hunting impulse, stemming from the sound of her blood rushing through her carotid artery. He hadn’t fed last time— vampires only need to feed once a week to avoid desiccation— so he surely intends to tonight. 

Harry’s hands fit perfectly around the dip of her spine, pulling her body tight to his as he paints sloppy kisses over her jugular. He gets his teasing words out in between desperate gasps and breathy chuckles. “And here I thought this was genuinely going to be about the fan.”

“Shut up.” 

Y/N makes a sharp turn, tugging him into her room instead of the living room and it dawns on him that this is the first time they’re going to fuck in her actual bed. All those instances of sleeping together and not once had they done anything on the piece of furniture that was intended for that sole purpose. It’s ironically hilarious and he voices that opinion as they stumble onto her mattress. 

“You know,” Harry murmurs into her mouth as she shoves him flat onto the rumpled sheets (she hadn’t made her bed this morning and that’s endearing, for some reason), straddling his lap as she hurriedly pulls his t-shirt out from along the waistband of his trousers. “Out of all the times we’ve done this— which is quite a few— we’ve never done anything on your bed other than sleep.” 

That’s a lie. He’s never actually slept in her bed. After staring at the ceiling blankly two weeks ago for about eight hours, he had been smart enough to grab his phone from his pants the second time around. He spent that stretch of time playing Mario Kart and watching Unsolved Mysteries on Netflix with the volume down just out of human earshot, so as to not disturb her slumber. 

Y/N ducks in order to drag her wet, pillowy lips down the butterfly inking on his tummy and over the spines of the two ferns on his pelvis, licking across his happy trail. He jerks in response, a soft grunt gurgling in his lungs as she uses her index finger to trace the outline of his hardening cock through the velvet fabric of his slacks. Her voice is distant, giggle breathless. “Yeah, you’re right. How counterintuitive.”

Harry swiftly pops the button of his trousers, helping her coax them down his legs, releasing a stuttery moan when she immediately bends down and mouths at his prick over his briefs. The soiled stain forming around the tip of his cock would be embarrassing if he didn’t know she found it hot. 

His tone is tight but humorous as she continues licking at him eagerly through his underwear, nails digging into his inner thighs. “Am I your first?”

Confusion flickers in her eyes for a moment before she realizes the joke. He’s referring to if he’s the first person she’s slept with on her new bed in her new home. “Yes, you are, actually.” 

Harry’s juts his bottom lip out into an overly-sweet exaggerated pout, talking in a honeyed drawl. “Aw, I get to christen your bed with you? We’re practically married now. When’s the baby due?” 

“God, you’re a moron.” Y/N bursts into a fit of laughter as she mounts back onto his lap, pinching at his torso in fake spite and feeling her insides flutter at the airy giggles that escape him. She gnaws on her bottom lip thoughtfully for a second, watching with hunger as he finishes removing his shirt and momentarily sits up to chuck it onto the ground over her shoulder. 

Harry falls back onto the mattress, folding his taut arms behind his neck, biceps flexing with the movements as his strong chest and toned stomach look as appealing as ever. She runs her palms over his tanned skin, feeling the sturdy muscle shift beneath her touch. Shit.

The immortal slinks his head to the side, eyes going half-lidded in suggestive mischief as he sees the way she’s objectifying him. He doesn’t mind; he actually lives for it. “Are you just gonna keep staring or are you gonna fuck me?”

His lewd comment washes warmth across Y/N’s ears and spurs her into action. In less than a minute, she’s fully unclothed, bouncing on his cock with a type of need that boils the pit of Harry’s belly. His fingers are digging bruises into her waist, slamming her down onto his prick with enough force to make the old bed creak wildly. She may be on top, but he’s still the one pulling the strings. 

Y/N collapses forward, anchoring herself onto her forearms on either sides of his head, burying her face in his auburn ringlets. She bites onto her tongue, trying to keep a tab on the atrociously loud sounds threatening to spill from her mouth. They come out as broken whines instead, which Harry drinks up like a glass of aged bourbon. She fists at his roots, jolting with every thrust he gives upwards, her knees digging into his love handles to keep balanced. At this point, she’s barely riding him at all. He’s just ramming himself into her from below as he guides her hips and she doesn’t have an issue with that at all. She likes when he leads.  

His growl comes out low and raspy, riding on a moan, his warm, choppy exhales pebbling her bare nipples. “How’s that, darling? How’s that cock feel?”

Y/N nods her head frantically, not trusting her tongue to form an appropriate response. 

“Tell me.” He grits out through bared teeth, back arching a bit as he feels the knot of white hot pleasure in his stomach twist and turn. 

“I— I can’t. I’m—”

One of Harry’s hands coasts down the small of her back and onto her ass, giving it a harsh squeeze. She yelps at the new sensation, pain and bliss intermingling. “Yeah, you fucking can. You will. Use your words. Tell me how much you like it.”

A violent shutter runs through Y/N’s limbs and she instinctively pushes back against his palm. Harry’s eyebrows kink in question as he feels her draw her face back from his hair. One look at her eyes tells the entire narrative: She wants him to spank her. 

Harry slowly lifts his hand from her skin, brows raising a bit higher for confirmation. Y/N smears his lips against his forehead and left cheekbone, bobbing her head desperately, whispering a tiny, “Yes, please.” that sends smoky tendrils of hot air cascading down his straining neck. 

When the vampire’s hand comes down, it’s fast and hard, his cold rings biting into her flesh and leaving welts, the sound echoing off the glossy walls and tall bookshelf in her room. The cry that betrays her could probably be heard down on the main floor of her complex. 

The shattered noise makes Harry sanity slip and he’s lucky she’s too lost in her own bliss to see the way his eyes glow dangerously red. “Fuck, you’re such a slut for it.” 

Harry suddenly boosts himself forward, toppling Y/N backwards until she’s the one wedged against the bed. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, nestling her face into the crook of his sweaty collarbones, cracked cries pooling into the junction of his clavicle as he hikes her roughly up his thighs. He sinks further between her legs until he bottoms out with a loud garbled groan, pushing so deep she can feel him in the trench of her belly. 

“Oh my God, Harry— I— fuck, just—just— oh!”

His pace rises in intensity, strokes messy and unforgivable as he fucks her into the bed, the cracking of the frame warning him that it might give away. “Oh, so you liked that, did you? Like it when I call you a slut and stretch you out like one?”

Harry feels Y/N’s teeth rip into his shoulder in order to evade a scream; a strong shiver pin-balls down his spine as a result. Her voice is absolutely wrecked as she talks over her muffled mouth. “Loved it. Loved it so much. Want—Want more. Please, please, please.”

Harry holds her down firmly to the sheets, pounding into her with a form of unrestrained force he’s never exhibited. She just drives him to the brink like no one else has in nearly twenty decades. “Can you feel me in your tummy, pet? Can you feel how I fill you up?” 

“Yes, yes— it’s so good, Harry. You’re incredible.”

“Such a proper little whore.” He has to actively hold back from digging into her throat with his fangs, his eyes screwing shut in concentration as his orgasm begins to burn through his veins. “Begging me to fuck you like one, over and over. You’ve never had it this good, have you?” 

“N-No. You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.”  

“Hands off.” 

“W-What?”

“Hands off.”

Y/N obeys, throwing her arms above her head and letting them hang off the edge of the bed as he’d instructed. It’s not like he wants her to stop scratching down his back, but he knows that if she continues, he’s going to black out. He’s already teetering, obvious in the black webs he can feel materializing over the whites of his eyes.

“Ask for permission.” 

The mortal unclamps her teeth from his bruised shoulder and swallows heavily, her words sputtering out from how hard she’s jerking against the bed. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please—can I—can I cum?”

“‘May I cum.’” The boy corrects, half because he wants to be a cocky ass, and half because it’s automatic. He was raised during an era where intellectual accuracy was of utmost value in society. It’s hard to leave those lessons behind. 

Y/N hiccups another mewl, hands curling into loose fists above her head as he continues to fuck her deliberately into the duvet. She repeats his phrase shakily. “May I cum? Please?”

Harry’s lashes flutter open and as soon as he sees her, all doe-eyed, covered in his love marks, with her bottom lip trembling...It’s like a switch flips. When he speaks, it’s soft and encouraging; a drastic contrast from his mood a few seconds ago. “Yeah...Yeah, baby, go ahead. Cum for me.” 

That night, as Harry lays there awake staring at that awful popcorn roof with the taste of her blood fresh on his tongue and her steady heartbeat throbbing in his heightened ears, he catches himself smiling in the dark. It doesn't have to do with emotions or feelings or any of that complicated bullshit. It just has to do with the fact that he found some consistency in his life, as unattached and materialistic as it may be. They don’t have a complex bond or a deeper meaning. They simply just coexist. They provide some common stability to each others’ lives and it helps keep an important balance. Stability is so rare to find, especially for an immortal who is condemned to witness the world constantly evolve around them while they remain frozen in time. Society will change, people change, appearances change, alliances change, and though it can be exhilarating, at times, Harry never truly has a say in it. He’s always just strung along for the ride.

This is different. It’s static, and that’s all he really needs it to be. Sex can be so emotionally messy if lines aren’t drawn and boundaries aren’t set. But with Y/N, it’s like they have a silent understanding— an unspoken agreement signed by both parties. It’s a notion that could have spared Harry his life in the past, and it’s an ideal that— even in death— took him centuries to learn:

Some people are meant to be loved, while others are just meant to be naked. 

///

The third week is when things escalate for the better. 

Specifically, Tuesday night. That’s when the sexting starts. 

It’s a pretty calm evening and Harry finds himself with nothing to do. Mitch is out with Sarah, who had come into town two days ago due to the band she’s touring with being on a three week break. She’d said she wasn’t staying for long— maybe a week, because she has plans to visit some other bloodsucker friends in Canada. Even though Mitch tries to hide it, Harry can tell he’s bummed about Sarah’s short visit. The older vampire is good at hiding his emotions, but Harry’s known him for so long that he could read Mitch’s mood even if he was blindfolded and gagged. 

The jade-eyed boy had been honest with his best friend, asking him what the point was in continuing to see someone whose depth of interest in the relationship wasn’t as developed as his own. Mitch had simply shrugged one shoulder and told Harry that he wouldn’t understand. He mentioned something about how eventually, the freshblood high would wear off and Sarah would find herself wanting to settle down somewhere with someone she could trust for the rest of eternity. Mitch explained that he cared for her enough to wait until then. 

His best mate had been wrong. Harry does understand. He understands the concept of chasing after someone who, in the end, didn’t want anything to do with him. He understands it a little too well, sadly. He figures that’s the same fate Mitch is bound to suffer, just on a less extreme level. 

But then again, Harry’s perception of love is majorly skewed, so who is he to judge?

With Mitch tied up with Sarah (probably literally, though Harry doesn’t dwell on that; it’s none of his business), his options dwindle to the rest of the crew. Niall and Xander had invited him to a concert they were attending, but Harry politely declined the offer. The musicians were some wannabe indie band and Harry would rather swallow a nicotine addict’s blood than listen to a couple of morons sing in cursive. Adam had suggested he tag along with him, Ny-Oh, and Charlotte to a new art exhibit that had opened up in the next town over. It was a thirty minute drive, so it wasn’t that bad, but Harry declined that invitation, as well. He loves art, if the giant collection on his wall has anything to say about it, but he doesn’t get on well with Ny or Charlotte. They say he’s “too much of an arrogant dickhead” to be around for an extended period of time. They’re right, of course, but it still hurts. Plus, Ny has a mullet and Harry knows he wouldn’t be able to withhold from making a Billy Ray joke. It’s best he stay away, lest she end up with an achy-breaky heart.

So that leaves him here, all alone at eight P.M. on a Tuesday, plopped on his couch in nothing but a pair of maroon plaid boxers as Hamilton plays on the ninety inch flatscreen mounted on his glass wall. He had left the curtains open, not really caring that he’s practically naked. The sun’s already set and it’s almost pitch black outside; plus, he lives on the twenty-fourth floor of the condominium complex. The only living being risking an eyeful is a peepy pigeon. Even then, Harry’s more than happy to put on a show. He’s confident enough in himself that nudity is practically second nature. His friends can attest to that. 

Harry lays across his leather sofa with a large checkered throw cushion snuggled into his side, one of his hands slung across the backrest of the couch as the other remains submerged wrist-deep in a bag of Veggie Straws. His socked feet are propped up on his round marble coffee table, ankles crossed and posture anything but eloquent. The apartment is silent, except for the musical streaming through the speakers of his television set and the gentle pattering of rain just outside his glorified window pane, accompanied by the faint flickering of the city lights below. The atmosphere of the room is relaxed and cozy and it lulls his soul in a manner he can’t put into words.

Harry has always liked the rain. Ever since he was a child, he would sit by the small round window of the attic room he shared with his older sister, watching it fall from the sky in sheets of glittering sapphires, soaking into the dry ground and turning it into a slush of dirt he would later sneak out to play in. When he got older, he would prop his shoulder against the doorframe at the back of his father’s blacksmith shop and gaze at it, mesmerized by how it would trickle down the streets of the public market, washing away all the grime that came with a bustling city’s reputation. Sometimes he would stand in it, feeling its cool touch run down his arms and soak into the back of his sot-covered work shirt. He enjoyed how it would cleanse the sticky sweat from his face and neck, its gentle nature leaving him feeling like he could float through air. Then his father would call him back into the store and playfully scold him for allowing himself to get drenched, warning that his mother would kill him if he caught a cold. 

Harry’s changed a lot since then, he knows that, but it comforts him that his love for rain is the one aspect of his personality that two hundred years of Hell had failed to take from him. 

The melodies swimming out of his TV reign him back in from memory lane. 

Harry’s not really one to enjoy musicals, but back when Hamilton had first hit Broadway, he’d used his persuasive supernatural abilities to sneak into one of the first showings. He’d been curious as to what all the hype was about, and the play did not disappoint. The songs were catchy, the acting was good, and the characters were brought to life through raw emotion and comedy. He respected that. And the plot of the story itself resonated with him deeply, as well. A protagonist that rose from nothing, fell in love with the wrong woman, and made terrible life choices that seemed correct at the time, which would all eventually lead to his death. It hit a bit too close to home. 

If he had a dollar for every time he’s seen it since it had come out on Disney+, he could probably pay rent himself instead of compelling others to do it for him. 

The play is halfway through one of its most famous ballads when the monster’s phone dings with a familiar tune. A smirk is already etching itself across his face before he even unlocks his device. 

I need interior design advice. 

I’m still a little sore from our last help session. How’d you bounce back so quick?

Funny, but I need ACTUAL interior design advice this time. 

Harry’s brows furrow in mild confusion and slight disappointment. He draws his hand from the junk food container, dusting off the crumbs. Oh. 

Genuinely? 

Yup!

He guesses he’ll give it a go. He does have pretty exquisite taste; the modern gothic aesthetic of his condo proves that. It’s not like he has anything better to do.

Alright, shoot. 

Y/N releases the breath she’d been holding in. Thank God he’s agreed to help. As much as she’s ashamed to admit it, Harry’s really the only person in LA that she deems relatively close to a friend. She hasn’t managed to mesh well with her coworkers much, despite the fact that she’s been trying extremely hard. She just doesn’t wanna force herself into unfulfilling fake friendships for the sake of having people to flaunt. It’s not right and she knows she’d grow to resent it. 

So instead, she’d reached out to the one California resident who doesn’t make her skin crawl. 

Whew, okay, thanks in advance! So I went out yesterday and got a new bedspread and I wanted some help choosing a new accessory to go with it, which is going on my wall. 

Harry’s ears perk up and his back straightens at her statement. Could she finally, by the grace of fucking God, be getting rid of that shitty tapestry? 

Well, let me see it, then. Don’t keep a man waiting, I’m dying to play Property Brothers over here.

A picture comes through of the two new accessories Y/N is referring to and the way Harry’s face drops instantly is almost comical.

Which tapestry fits better? I’m thinking the Van Gogh style painting of a lighthouse. The blue goes well with the dark turquoise of the comforter. But then again, the forest canopy has those pretty exotic flowers that compliment the coral stitching. I can’t decide. 

The vampire’s face pinches in disgusted horror as he blinks down numbly at the image on his screen. He’s going to be sick. Those Veggie Straws are about to make a hideous comeback. 

…two new tapestries? Did the other one rip or…?

What? No!! I just saw these down at the thrift store and thought they were cute. Why? Are they really that bad??

They’re not just bad, they’re worse. He’s going to ask her to blindfold him next time he visits. 

They’re…kinda immature, dove. I just thought you’d go for something cooler this time, like a vintage painting or a couple vinyls to mount on the wall. 

Immature? 

Oops. He should have picked his words more carefully. Now he’s gone and offended her and she’ll probably bite down the next time he puts his—

Another message interrupts his spiraling negative conclusions.

I know you didn’t just call ME immature when you compared me to a cream-filled donut, Harry. 

The playful tone in the text delivers a wave of relief that is almost as pleasurable as what lies between Y/N’s legs. 

Can I speak freely for a second? Full disclosure, no consequences?

That preface makes me think you’re about to chew me out.

I’ll be gentle, I promise. I know it’s not our usual dynamic, but I’ll give it a go.

Y/N ignores the bristling across her cheeks. 

Alright, go head.

I just think tapestries are kinda stupid. They scream “confused teenager trying to find myself.” But that’s just my opinion. I’m only telling you so you know that I’m probably not the best bloke to go to with tapestry inquiries. 

Harry watches as a read receipt stares up at him for a few seconds. Just when he thinks he might have truly upset her this time, her message bubble pops up. 

So...the one I’ve had hanging in my room the last three times you’ve been over…

I had to actively restrain the urge to strangle myself with it.

Y/N breaks out into laughter. The image of waking up to Harry laying facedown on her bedroom floor, balls naked and mummified within a sunrise tapestry...It’s sending her. 

Well, you know what? That’s not fair! You can’t judge my house when I haven’t even had the chance to judge yours. 

Harry nods once to himself in surrender, reaching up to finger-comb a few rebellious curls out of his eyes. She makes a valid play. 

Fair enough. You’ll have to come over and give me your opinion sometime.

I’d be honored to. Now, would you be so kind as to put your own personal bias aside this once and help me choose which one to put up. I promise I’ll spare you any more tapestry-related problems in the future. I’ll remove it from my customer contract.

Harry sighs defeatedly. He can’t believe he’s giving up his integrity for sex. 

Fine. Send me a picture of both of them up on the wall. It’ll give some perspective. 

Y/N giddily obliges, deciding to send a video instead. That way, she can get all of the angles in one go rather than having to send multiple pictures. 

Harry waits patiently, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth as he taps his foot against the coffee table to the tune of Wait for It, which is playing in the film that has now become the backdrop of his night. When Y/N’s next message comes through, he’s mildly surprised to find it’s a video. He clicks play, watching intently as she circles the two pinned tapestries slowly, making sure to get a proper view from all sides. By the time the thirty second clip is coming to an end, Harry’s leaning more towards the tropical canopy painting. It’s not as loud and she was right about the flowers matching the stitching on the duvet. 

He’s about to tap back “the forest one” when something flashes across the screen that makes him choke on his snack, launching him into a coughing fit.  

It’s within the last three seconds of the video and if he had cut it off in order to text back, he would have missed it. But he hadn’t, and now it’s burned into the back of his eyelids, causing a buzzing sensation to string right to the area between his thighs.  

The last few frames of the video, Y/N had lowered her phone from the position she’d been suspending it, probably thinking she had already stopped filming. She hadn’t. And because of that, Harry gets a full frontal view of her body, covered in nothing except a pair of lace panties and a mid-thigh oversized Avengers t-shirt. The entire screen fills with bare, silky skin and raunchy lace and he can feel his fangs poke into his tongue. 

Harry’s not a pre-teen; he’s not going to drool over seeing a pair of legs. What really gets to him is the fact that it appears Y/N still has a few hickies across the inner area of her thighs, which have failed to fade as quickly as the others. They should be gone, given that anytime Harry feeds (like he had the last time they’d slept together), he always gives her a bit of his blood to heal. Meaning, normal bruises like that should be gone. Maybe he just hadn’t given her a high enough dosage, or maybe he’d marked her more than he remembers, but either way, the stains are there.

The vampire ogles at the paused image with a dry throat and wide eyes. Just seeing her like that, dressed in comfy yet effortlessly sensual attire with no bottoms on whatsoever, freely flaunting his love bites around her apartment, probably looking at them in her mirror, thinking about how his teeth had felt grazing her skin…

It’s enough to pop a stiffy into his briefs. 

Harry glimpses over the top of his phone, swallowing thickly at the large bulge beginning to tent his boxers. His socked toes curl as he feels a longing throb begin to swell at the pit of his clenching stomach. Great. This is just fucking perfect. 

He attempts to tap back a reply, but his hands have started quivering slightly, clumsy thumbs ruining his message to the point where he has to retype it three times.

The forest one. I agree with what you said about the stitching. 

Okay, thank you so much! Your input is highly appreciated, as always.

The immortal finds himself gnawing at the inside of his cheek, weighing on whether he should mention the little softcore porn moment she’d unknowingly shot, or if he should just let it slide and go take care of the issue that is literally weighing on him— he can feel it getting heavy against his thigh. 

His fingers seem to take on a mind of their own, printing out a quick sentence and hitting the send button before he can rethink his motives. 

Did you watch your video before you sent it?

Uh no...It looked pretty okay to me while I took it. Why, do you need a different one? Was the lighting too dark? 

The fact that she sent it by accident only adds to the appeal. She’s such a good girl. So fucking innocent and sweet, she could practically give him a toothache. 

Do me a quick favor and rewatch it all the way to the end. I think you’ll be surprised with what you find.

Y/N leans back against her bookshelf wall, chewing on her bottom lip as a sly grin ticks the corners. She doesn’t have to rewatch the video. She’s fully aware of what she had done, which had been completely on purpose. She’s only playing dumb to see his reaction, getting off on how flustered he seems to have become. Yes, her intentions for contacting him had originally been purely for his opinion on decor. But when she saw the chance, she decided to jump headfirst and take it. What are friends with benefits for if not for times like these, when you’re too lazy to come over but need a bit of relief? 

The human allows a full thirty seconds to pass, simulating that she’s watching the video, and then thoughtfully taps out her response.

Oh, whoops. Sorry for the indecent exposure.

Harry shifts in exasperation against his sofa, the radiating in his abdomen crawling up to his chest and down to his knees. He needs to take care of himself now.

It’s fine, babe. You just might wanna be more careful, cause this time around you got lucky that it was me and it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Could go south if it were someone else. 

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly at his scolding, but continues to play the clueless act, curious to see where it’ll take her. 

You’re absolutely right, I’m so sorry. 

Harry clears his throat, flinching as he feels a soft twitch run up the length of his cock. He exhales tightly, trying to steer the conversation into a lighter mood. He doesn’t want her to feel bad; it’s not like he’s angry about this. He’s hot and bothered and needy, but not mad.

I just think it’s funny you exposed the fact that you go around your house without pants. 

Oh, fuck off! No one ever wears pants around their own house, especially if they’re alone. It’s one of the laws of physics. No human resistance, no pants. 

Harry glances down at his body symbolically, where he’s clad in only his underwear, as well.

Touché.

Exactly. 

A pause befalls the conversation as both parties fish for something new to say. The situation’s become less lively and more intense now and neither are sure how to navigate without crossing a line. In a surge of courage, Y/N decides to just directly communicate her intentions, praying that he doesn’t take it the wrong way. 

I have an idea, just hear me out. For the sake of evening the playing field, I think that since you saw me pantsless, it’s only fair that I see you the same way. It balances out, right?

Harry’s jaw drops in an open-mouthed simper, impressed by her blatant suggestion, but also by how smoothly she had delivered it. He mumbles his next words to himself, voice amused and somewhat awed at how she had managed to spin this to her benefit. “You clever little minx. Bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

Y/N purses her lips, shrugging her brows cheekily.

Maybe.

The vampire scoffs, taken aback not only at the ploy she’d pulled off, but at how unapologetic she is about the whole thing. It’s hot. 

Alright, l’ll bite. Tick for tack. 

The photo that comes through makes Y/N choke on her spit. It’s not anything too revealing, but it packs a lot. Literally. 

It’s a pretty casual picture, and she gets the feeling he took it as so just to be a tease. In the frame, all she sees is a snapshot of Harry’s lap, thighs straining against the flimsy material of a pair of crimson tartan boxers, the large tigerhead tattoo he totes somehow prominent in the low lightning. Of course it stands out, though. That’s to be expected; his thighs are thick in the most satisfying fashion and they’re one of his most defining features. She can also see the bottom half of his lean tummy, the cutoff being the crest of his belly button. His fern inkings are peeking out of from below the waistband of the Calvin Kleins, dark and matte on his lightly bronzed skin, and she spots the nonchalant position of his crossed ankles in the background. 

As appetizing as every little detail is, the centerpiece of the portrait is the obvious bulge pressing into the fabric of his briefs. The outline is so prominent, the picture borderlines on graphic. His cock looks pretty as ever, even when it’s covered; the thin underwear leaves very little to the imagination. 

Y/N has to bite down on her tongue to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

Wow, okay, well...Your picture was much more explicit than my video. That’s not fair at all. Throws off the equilibrium we were trying to establish. 

Harry chuckles aloud, shaking his head in amazement at how well she can bend the game to her will. Three weeks ago, when he’d first laid eyes on that shy girl at the club, he would have never expected her to be so bold. Now, she has him wrapped around her pinky like a string.

You’re absolutely right. My apologies. Maybe you should send one similar so we can even out the stakes. 

You read my mind.

Y/N’s next picture causes a hiss to stream through the cracks of Harry’s teeth, eyes glinting red.

It’s a picture taken on top of her bed, the angle set from above. She’s laying on her side, her torso twisted so that her backside is in the shot, her huge tee pulled tight against her waist so it creates an enticing cinching effect. Her thighs are clasped together, the collar of her shirt pulled away just enough that he can see where the valley of her chest begins to curve, and the cheeky lace panties are working utter wonders for her ass. He can’t stop staring. He physically can’t pull himself away, his eyes bouncing across every pixel, attempting to commit the picture to memory to keep it locked in the back of his brain forever. 

Y/N awaits anxiously for his reaction, biting into the pad of her thumb as the seconds list by, wondering if he had enjoyed the nude or if he was just sitting there judging all her flaws. It’s been so long since she’s sent a risky photo like that, she can’t help but stress. Sharing your body with someone digitally is almost as intimate as real sex and it comes with similar worries and insecurities. Was the angle good? Are her stretch marks unattractive? Are the dimples along her backside gross? Is he second-guessing their arrangement? Is he wishing they hadn’t met?

She practically drops her phone when it vibrates.

God, you look stunning. Like a proper fucking dream.

All of her concerns immediately disintegrate, replaced by an odd sense of pride. She’s happy that he enjoyed it, and she’s thankful for the caliber of his response. Most men don’t care to comment that nicely, if they comment at all, and Harry’s enthusiasm only excites her further. She wants to keep going. 

You look pretty fucking good yourself. Wish I could just kneel between your thighs, take you into my mouth, and make you feel good for hours. 

Harry struggles to get saliva down his parched throat, her words bouncing around the inside of his skull, sending a current of bliss directly to where he needs it. 

Hours? You want me down your throat for hours?

For hours, Harry. I’d literally just sit between your legs and let you fuck my face again. Let you use me to make yourself cum.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Harry’s broken whine echoes off the tall walls of his home, one of his big hands finding a path to his curls and tugging in desperation. He needs to keep composure. 

Harry’s next snapshot comes through and Y/N has to screw her eyes shut for a second to brace the bolt of electricity that zips down to her core. 

The boy’s thighs have parted wider, his feet now down from the table, knees hanging off the edge of the sofa. His free hand has delved below his briefs, pulling them up just enough to show a tad of the neatly trimmed area beneath. His fingers are cupped over his cock, hiding it from plain view, but the imprint of his knuckles on the fabric suggest he’s gripping it tightly. The longer she looks, the more she notices— specifically, a dark damp patch spreading at the middle of his boxers and she knows damn well what it is. The fact that she’d got him riled up enough that he’s leaking through like that...She can hardly breathe right. 

Shit, you look so good. How do you always look that fucking good? I just want to feel you stretch me out while you moan into my mouth. 

Harry slowly starts pumping his palm up and down his cock as he rereads her words, catching his lower lip between his teeth, his naked and flushed chest stuttering. He doesn’t want to be the douche that tells her to send another picture, but he really needs her to. He wants to see what she’s doing, how she’s fairing. Wants to know if he has her as fucked as she has him right now. 

It’s almost like they share a telepathic link because not even five seconds later, another beautifully filthy photo is decorating his screen. 

This time around, Y/N has decided to fully lay on her back, spreading her legs open and drawing her knees up slightly so that her thighs are not only flexing, but displaying all the love bites he’d left only a few days prior. They’re all different shades of purple and brown, scattered over the satin suppleness of her skin, painting a canvas of the heated night they’d shared. It’s art at its most prestigious, if he’s ever seen it. And she has her hand ducked below her panties, the outline of her fingers situated right over her clit. 

Harry’s own hand instinctively tightens around his length, pulling a weak groan from his parted lips. He throws his head back against the backrest of the couch, bucking into his palm and teasing his forefinger over his bubbling tip. He spreads the precum all over the sensitive head, whimpering when the draft from the air conditioning caresses it and sends a quiver toppling over his shoulders. 

Fuck, she’s driving him mental. There’s only one way to take care of this effectively, despite their distance. 

I’m going to call you.

Y/N gulps heavily, licking over her chapped lips and feeling her pulse jump at the realization that she’ll be getting to hear his throaty voice coax her through an orgasm. Not only that, but she’ll get to hear him cum, too. She’ll get to hear every shattered gasp and needy mewl, almost as if he were pouring all those sounds of pleasure right into her ears in person. 

The mortal’s heart hiccups when his contact pops up on the Caller ID, phone vibrating insistently. After a deep breath taken to ground herself, she slides her shaky thumb over the glass, slowly bringing the device up to her ear. Her voice is soft and timid as ever, a tremble running through its undertone. “H-Hello?”

Harry’s words come through the crackling speaker as dark and smoky as whiskey, pouring into her mind and intoxicating her as easily as the real liquor would.

“Flip onto your stomach and take off the lace. Now.”

[kyotakumrau]

2021.06.05 DIR EN GREY SOGAI at Tokyo Garden Theater

01 DOZING GREEN - acoustic version

-Intro-

02 絶縁体・Zetsuentai

03 空谷の跫音・Kuukoku no kyouon

.

04 人間の被る・Ningen wo kaburu

05 Devote My Life

06 CLEVER SLEAZOID

07 DIFFERENT SENSE

.

08 赫・Aka

09 Ranunculus

-inward scream-

10 谿壑の欲・Keigaku no yoku

11 The World of Mercy

12 朧・Oboro

13 かすみ・kasumi

ENCORE

en14 Followers

en15 OBSCURE

en16 落ちた事のある空・Ochita koto

en17 Sustain The Untruth

en18 激しさと・Hageshisa

my report under the cut ↓

Today felt so weird at first. Getting ready it felt like I was going to another screening event, it took some time for it to sink in that today it's going to be different, that it's going to be an actual live concert. That they will be playing on the stage.

Even already waiting in my seat it still didn't feel real.

The venue, Garden Theater, is amazing. I was on the 2nd floor balcony B, so quite on the left (shimote), but the view was amazing. I mean it was not close to the stage, but the round shaped audience and steep steps between rows were designed really well. And I was lucky to be at the end of the row so I had a higher barrier to grab when headbanging. I made a proper use of it!!!! 😆

Around 4:45ish many of the venue staff came to hold the black curtain hiding the stage firmly, not leaving any chances we could have a peek?😅 Anyway, the walls, ceiling and curtain were all black with white 疎外 projected on it.

People were still coming in a bit past 5,

The PA table was ready but still relaxed. I had a quick look at the leaflets left for us at our seats. We were all sat separated with an empty seat even if you got 2 tickets together.

Finally at 5:13 the lights went off and the curtained opened. We were greeted by the sound of acoustic guitar first... three band members sat on chairs, Kaoru, Toshiya on the left and Die on the right, Kyo was standing, Shinya in the back on drums. The lights were quite dim with gentle spotlights on the members.

Acoustic DOZING GREEN. It was sush a magical start! It set the mood for 'no singing or shouting' policy. I loved this take so much🖤

And it finally felt real. A real live performance😭❤️

Btw there were so many cameras they definitely have plans to release the footage from tonight's show somehow, we should all just pray they will include all songs🙏

...and speaking of cameras, Shinya had a small camera riding around his drum set, from afar it looked like a model train set😂

After the acoustic song the staff quickly picked up the chairs to take them off the stage and the band members changed the instruments for the rest of the set.

In the background the intro for SOGAI was playing. I can remember a figure with their arms raised towards the sun or sky like in a prayer (the figure appeared later in one more video but I can't remember which song) and that DIR EN GREY 疎外 appeared as letters made of ice.

Kaoru had his hair slicked back, wearing dark/black clothes. Toshiya had the jacket with gold elements. Shinya white shirt and pink hair. Die had a long red jacket with a black spiraly pattern.

Kyo had very light blond hair and wore make up including two larger dots on his forehead, and a gold chain. He wore a jacket in the beginning, with a white shirt underneath. At first I thought he had a scarf but later on the front of his shirt and his chest was all red with (fake) blood so I think it was blood from the start.

We clapped when 疎外・SOGAI appeared on the screen and as they were to start. There was movement in the audience from Zetsuentai, we could wave our hands, headbang and so on, but it was so different not being able to sing and shout... but Toshiya definitely was doing great with all the back vocals and shouts that were usually done by us...I don't remember hearing him so clearly until today😆

Kuukoku followed and we listened.

After a short break when the four standing band members waited turned came Ningen wo Kaburu and a change of mood. We did great staying quiet but still staying active during the song.

The clapping between songs was fierce and often!

And OMFG the start of Devote! I gasped when the screen showed a gold Tokyo Olympics logo! But then the footage started to show the logo melting, multitude of gold coins, running in a race giant gold babies (like a disturbing image of a baby that seems like an adult made of gold) who then started to march like an army and held firearms, fighting, terrorizing, and then coins again and the gold Olympics logo again and it kept changing. And "価値が欲しい/ 生きる価値が欲しい / 残酷なお前が・I want to have a worth / for my life to have a worth / cruel you" had us all raising our fists. It was a very powerful performance. And then they followed that with CLEVER SLEAZOID. The setlist tonight was 💯👌

One of the videos had various scenes of war and fighting, even the dates 1941, 42, 43 and 44 with some descriptions under them, but they showed so many conflicts it was more as if to show that humans just keep fighting same wars over and over again...

Starting from Aka the mood changed again, they continued on the route to grab, tear and stab our hearts... was it all this time without hearing Kyo live or was it all this time for Kyo not singing live with dir... the raw emotions delivered cut really deep. The inward scream was just crying at first, gasping for breath, then Kyo stood up holding the mics wire, the mic bumped loudly against the stage and the crate, then Kyo returned to the crate and crouched on the top while he continued to cry. Keigaku tonight was one of the darkest performances of the song I've heard. And Kyo changed the lyrics at least partially in the beginning, at first was something about a birth? (I want the footage from tonight so bad)

The World of Mercy was just... so miserable. So unhappy. And by this time I had no doubts about the red on Kyo's shirt.

For Oboro they used the footage from the pv in the back and red lasers on the stage as well. In the beginning there was only one set on Kyo, who stood with his arms raised as in wanting to grab the red lines. Two more red laser sets were added to the sides, one on Die and other on Kaoru and Toshiya. They looked like lava or fire at times, especially when catching on things. Oboro was amazing live, it's such a strong song to pull us from where the World of Mercy has left us a moment before.

Also, Kyo's stand was updated with Oboro theme: the stand itself is quite plain but there's a big bloody pregnant belly with legs bend at its sides under the crate... it looks quite grotesque, like being tucked under a staircase or ...under the tatami.

They closed the main set with Kasumi. It was so wonderful to have Oboro and Kasumi back to back.

And then we clapped and clapped and clapped until they came back.

We got very powerful encore as well. To me Followers was to help us pick up the heart pieces and put it back together. And then the other 4 songs were to pump us with the energy. The headbanging, the ...hand-scream-pumps! And they all kept asking for more! All four of them started to walk to the other sides of the stage, coming to the edge of the stage. Ochita is a mighty song, we can respond so much now, I can only imagine what it will become in the future!!

The energy got so overwhelming, the energy we couldn't shout out, I couldn't help but start crying as we were still headbanging and raising and waving our hands.

Before Hageshisa Kyo kept shouting 'last song! Last song!! LAST one' and hitting the mic on his chest. We went mad.

They couldn't throw anything like they used to, but I think they stayed a bit longer on the stage because of that. They all had a good look at the audience before they left, Kyo first, waving us goodbye as he jumped down from his stand. I kept clapping and the rest of band members left one by one, Shinya, Toshiya, Die and then Kaoru last. Kaoru took a pick from his stand and saluted us as he was leaving. But I was crying too much at this point to notice more.

It was incredible.

It was like noticing what was missing when your life gradually started to grow dull but it happened so slowly you haven't realized it was happening. That energy, just, woah.

And then they announced the autumn tour! The video showed a dirty, polluted river and a boat with people in safety suits on it. And then the title came up and dates.

Desperate. So accurate.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Twelve Months - Good Omens fanfic

Happy 31st Anniversary of Good Omens! :D

To celebrate this momentous occasion, I have posted a slightly-sad, slightly-sweet Wake the Snake fic on AO3, because our demon has been napping for a whole Twelve Months, and sometimes Angel gets a little lonely!

Thank you all for another fantastic year in this fandom!

--

Twelve months.

Aziraphale pushed open the door to Crowley’s flat, a simple shopping bag tucked under his arm.

The lights were still off, the curtains drawn in the awful empty room he called a study. Nothing had changed.

He passed through the enormous, rotating section of wall and into the solarium. This was still bright—many of the plants flourishing despite being unattended so long, despite clearly not having enough water. A few had started flowering. They waved their branches at him as he entered, perking up eagerly.

The angel waved back, but first he peeked into Crowley’s bedroom.

He was still where Aziraphale had left him, on his last visit a month before. Bright red hair spilled across black pillows, grown into a stringy mop. Duvet pulled up to his messily-bearded chin. One hand curled up beside him on the bed.

Still asleep.

With a sigh, Aziraphale crossed over to the plants, who greeted him excitedly, unfurling their newest leaves, a few vines hanging down to brush his face.

“Hello, my lovelies. How are you all doing? Look at you, grown at least a foot since I saw you, I’m sure. And you! What beautiful pink buds. Very impressive.”

He didn’t think Crowley would approve of how he spoke to the plants, but the poor things had been so distraught on his first visit, straining to keep upright, trying to hide their yellowing leaves. So much healthier now, much happier for just a bit of attention. He picked up the watering can and gave them all a quick splash. He didn’t know how much water each needed, but it didn’t seem to matter.

“You keep it up, dears. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Picking up his shopping bag again, Aziraphale headed down the hall to the kitchen. The kettle sat on the island where he’d left it, and he quickly refilled it and set it to boil. While he waited, he pulled his latest creations from the bag: a small pumpkin spice cake from a recipe he’d been perfecting since fall, a lemon coconut cake, and a few apple cinnamon muffins.

Two plates—a muffin for each, a slice of the coconut cake for himself and the pumpkin spice for Crowley.[1] The rest went into the refrigerator, where they would never go bad or stale.

Aziraphale put the plates onto a tray, along with forks and napkins. Next he found two mugs and pulled the little tin of his second-favorite tea out of the bag just as the kettle boiled.

For himself, a teaspoon of the expertly blended leaves, steeped for exactly three minutes, resulting in a pale brown tea with a slightly spicy aroma. For Crowley, he dropped a tea bag into boiling water and let it sit until it was almost black.[2]

He carried the tray back to the solarium and selected a bright red-and-gold tulip that was nearly vibrating in its eagerness to be noticed. A moment to assure the other plants that they were still doing fabulously—particularly a self-conscious little succulent that had rather drooped over the winter but was making a fine recovery—and he once more headed into Crowley’s bedroom.

Crowley had rolled over, and now sprawled on his back, sleeping soundly. He’d apparently kicked a bit, too, as the blanket had slid down past his stomach. Aziraphale smiled as he set the tray on the chair he’d brought in some months ago and got to work.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, dear,” he started cheerfully, carefully rearranging the objects on the little bedside table. “I have a few things for you again, I hope you don’t mind.” Just enough space to slide the mug and the little plate. Perfect.

“I received a package from Tadfield again. Everyone wrote a note and then gathered them all together, really quite clever. They’re all doing well, if a bit bored.” The table was nearly overflowing with little items now, brought in by Aziraphale to cheer the place up. Framed pictures of their human friends, quarantining with their families, clustered in one corner so tightly you could hardly see them anymore.

He pulled the latest out of the shopping bag. “Anathema has started a garden,” he explained, pausing to show the photograph to Crowley’s sleeping form. It showed the witch, kneeling outside her little cottage, working on growing several rows of herbs. “I got the impression she was off to a rough start, but she hopes to send us some mint in the next package. Although Newt warned me not to expect too much, as they’d already forgotten which patch is mint and which is oregano.” He set the picture with the others, and slid the potted tulip alongside it. “I’m sure she could use some advice from you, when you’re ready to share.”

“Nnnnh.” Aziraphale spun eagerly, but no, just Crowley shifting in his sleep again, rolling onto his side.

The angel paused to pull the duvet back up to Crowley’s chin, tugging it straight and smoothing a hand down his back. In a way, his friend was nearly unrecognizable, with that hair and ridiculous beard, but in another way looked the same as ever. That was always Crowley’s way, of course, constantly changing yet somehow always the same.

He lingered, taking in the shape of that face, leaning close, lips hovering above his cheekbone—

Aziraphale pulled back, quickly digging into his bag again. “Oh! Ah, the, um, the children have been making projects for their art class. This past month was sculpture, and they sent us some. Look!” He pulled out four little figures of oven-baked clay. “Ah, young Wensleydale has made a very clever model of a train car. Brian’s is…abstract.” He turned the next a few different ways. “And Pepper’s is, ah, either a very complex symbolic representation of the Patriarchy, or…a troll, I think.” They just fit on the edge of the table, all in a line, a very mismatched tableau. The fourth, on the end, was the best, in Aziraphale’s opinion. “Adam made a little Dog, and it’s very well done, don’t you think?” The canine figure posed with one leg raised and head cocked, ready to play, but the shadow it cast was just a little too large, too ominous, for such a small creature.

With a sigh, Aziraphale shifted the row this way and that. “I sent a letter to Warlock, over in America, but haven’t heard back since Christmas. I believe they’re very busy with something. Politics. You know how it is.” When the Dowlings had left England, they’d planned to return for a visit the following summer. A global pandemic had had other ideas.

“In any case, that just leaves Tracy and Shadwell. I understand he’s decided to hate the concept of literacy this month, so no word on how his war with the squirrels is going. And Tracy has declared she will spend the summer making a fairy garden. I thought her sketches looked very promising, and she promised to send us an update in June. I’m sure you’ll find it charming.”

“Hrrrrm.” Crowley sank under the duvet, nestling down a little deeper. Aziraphale smiled, settling into the chair with his plate and mug.

“Things are loosening up again,” he explained, taking a bite of cake. Delicious, if he said so himself. Sharp and not too sweet. “People are getting vaccinated, shops opening up. It’s really a lovely breath of fresh air, at least when you’re not wearing a mask.” A long sip from his mug, then he held it, fingers tapping. “It’s been nice walking through the park again, just in time for the baby ducks. And that record shop at the corner, they’ve had some wonderful new additions. Which reminds me.”

Putting aside his mug, Aziraphale dug through the bag again and pulled out a handful of square plastic cases. “They had a whole shipment of those little records the Bentley likes. Modern music. I picked out the ones with the rudest names. I’m sure you’ll enjoy them.” He pulled out the first disc and placed it atop Crowley’s phone. The device blinked in confusion a few times, then obediently copied all the music.

“Of course, it’s not all good news.” He stacked the rest of the discs atop the phone and returned to his tea. “Reopening means the customers are coming back. Yesterday, this one individual spent almost an hour browsing the same three shelves. And then he tried to make off with one of my books.” Another long sip. “Granted, he offered to pay, but still. What sort of establishment does he think I’m running?”

Aziraphale paused, waiting for Crowley to respond, not that he ever did. The demon’s eyelids moved a little, but no more.

Sighing, Aziraphale turned to his muffin. “You know, many times in the last year, I’ve wished you were there. Particularly during reopening phases. You could have posed as a customer, and then I’d be able to tell people I was at the capacity limit. Oh, and the people who would call to try and buy my rarest books. Collectors, or so they claimed, but then they just turn around and sell to anyone for twice the price! I’m sure you’d have some biting things to say about such people.” He smiled at Crowley’s sleeping face. “I’ve missed that, and your jokes. Rather more than I expected to.”

When his plate and tea were finished, Aziraphale set them on the floor and reached again into the bag. “Now, I have been attempting to teach my computer how to use the internet. I think it’s going quite well. Adam and his friends gave me a ‘homework assignment’ to find articles on recent news events, and I made the most wonderful discovery. Did you know that humans now share their news through humorous pictures? I printed out my favorites to show you.”[3]

He flicked through a few. “Ah, to start with, a few months ago there was this American politician with amusing mittens who showed up everywhere for a few days. It was extremely droll.” He leaned closer, holding them up for Crowley to see. “Ah, a few more from America. The murder hornets arrived, though by that point everyone had forgotten them. The election became increasingly confusing, and it all ended in a parking lot. For a little while everything was ‘This-or-That Total Landscaping,’ and before that everything was cake.” He showed a few extremely clever illusions. “I did try to make my own, but couldn’t manage it without miracles, which I felt was cheating.”

Really, leaning like this was starting to strain his back. Aziraphale shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, the better to share his pictures. “Ahhh. Also for a time everyone’s calendars were stuck on ‘March.’ And then earlier this year, a group of people learned how the stock market works, but sadly not how to spell it. The whole situation seemed very much like the sort of thing you’d be involved in. And…Oh, this angel from a television show was sent to Hell for…reasons.” He glanced at the shape beside him. Crowley had curled in slightly, pressing against Aziraphale’s back. “Yes. Various reasons. And then this musician, I suppose, went on his own. Both had many people extraordinarily upset.”

The next few images would really tickle Crowley, if he could actually see them. “The biggest news is that a large ship got stuck sideways in that canal in Egypt. Stopped half the world’s shipping for a few days while they dug it out! I’m sure you would have liked that very much. Exactly your sort of trouble. The humans were all very excited.”

The final photo was another of the ship, an image Aziraphale had made himself, printing out a blank version and writing on it in felt-tip pen. The hull of the enormous ship was labeled, “An eternity putting up with the tedious bureaucracy and frequently conflicting commands of my superiors until I begin to doubt my own judgement and sanity,”[4] while the small digger working steadily beside it was “Crowley.”

Aziraphale watched the demon beside him, not really expecting a reaction, certainly not getting one. He reached over, brushing brilliant hair back from Crowley’s forehead. “I think you’d have had rather a lot of fun last year. Or perhaps you’d have been upset you could only watch from a distance. Or…”

He’d leaned much closer than he’d intended, hovering just above Crowley’s forehead.

“Well!” Aziraphale stumbled to his feet. “I suppose that’s just about everything.” He picked up the tray from where he’d rested it on the floor, starting to re-load it with everything he’d brought in. Crowley’s cake and tea sat untouched, as always, but Aziraphale wouldn’t dream of skipping them. “We’re all very optimistic for the summer. Two months and everything should be just…just tickety-boo. Perhaps we can go for that picnic soon, if…yes…”

They’d made such plans for 2020. All the things they would do now they were free. Plans, and other thoughts carried in their minds, possibilities that would play out in their own time. Not too fast, just a slow, steady exploration of everything they could be…

“Well. Pleasant as that idea is, best not to—to plan too much, as the previous year made fools of us all. I just…” He turned away from the tray and watched Crowley sleep, hands clasped before him. “I miss you terribly. And I wish…very much…”

He picked up his shopping bag. One item still inside. The same one he’d been carrying for months, trying to find the courage to bring it out.

With a shaking hand, he reached in and drew forth a soft hand-made doll. He’d spent much of the winter on it. Simple white cotton for the head and body, wooly curls for the hair, and stiff white lace for the wings. Dressed in waistcoat and bowtie made from Aziraphale’s favorite tartan.

He still wasn’t sure why he brought it. He’d stitched several little toys, particularly a lovely black-and-red serpent with gold button eyes that had watched him from the sofa since November. But this, for reasons he couldn’t articulate, this one was for Crowley.

“I, ah…” He shuffled closer, doll clutched in both hands. “I made, um…” Back to the edge of the bed, one hand fumbling across the duvet. “…thought you might like…”

Crowley’s face stood out in stark contrast to the pillow, pale skin and bright hair. Aziraphale wanted to drink it in, memorize every detail, to hold him over until next month. The curve of his nose, the sharp angle of his cheekbones. His lashes flickering as his eyes moved. His lips, pursed ever so slightly…

“Bless it, Angel, are you going to kiss me or not?”

Aziraphale gasped, pulling back from the bright gaze of slit-pupil eyes. “You—you’re awake!”

“Nnnh. Half.” Crowley shifted, head moving across the pillow, eyes threatening to shut again. “Wouldn’t miss your visit.” One hand reached out, plucked the doll from Aziraphale’s unresisting fingers. “For me?”

The angel nodded. “If…if…you like it…or I could—I could just…”

Without a word, Crowley pulled the doll under the duvet and curled up, tucking it under his chin, a faint smile on his lips.

“If you were awake you—you should have said something! I’ve been going—going off like a fool all this—oh!” Aziraphale could feel his face turning hot as he recalled a few times his tongue had been a bit too loose for propriety.

“Mmmmmh.” The golden eyes were shut again.

“Crowley?” No response. “Crowley!” Aziraphale scowled. “Anthony J. Crowley, if you’ve fallen asleep again, I swear, I’ll—”

He’d do what? The angel fumed, but what could he really threaten? To stay away? Never.

“Alright then, I suppose I’ll see you in June. I’ve had several new requests for extremely rare manuscripts and I need to go pen some responses reprimanding these vultures for their cheek. I can—”

“You can stay.”

He spun around. Crowley had one eye barely cracked open. Gently, he pulled back the duvet, showing there was just enough space for Aziraphale beside him.

“I…I couldn’t.” But he stepped forward, not back. “I have business tomorrow, things to—”

“Just tonight then.”

His fingers brushed the mattress and pulled back as if burned. “You—you don’t really mean this, you’re just talking in your sleep.”

“Nah.” Crowley settled the doll by his pillow, making space. “Why else would I give you my key?”

“I…to…water the plants?”

“They take care of themselves.” Crowley held open his arms, eyes shut once more. “I missed you, too.”

Well. What could he say to that?

Aziraphale took off his shoes and slid into bed, into Crowley's arms. They wrapped around him gently as Crowley wriggled closer. “Mmmm. Y’r softer than the doll.”

“Oh.” He’d been called soft many times, generally as a way to imply he was a failure as an angel. But just this once, it made him feel rather pleased. “Soft is good?”

“Verrrry good.” Crowley twisted a bit, trying to find a comfortable way to rest his long limbs, and finally settled curled up against Aziraphale’s chest, tucked below the angel’s chin with a leg hooked over his knees.

The angel smiled. “And you’re…you’re noodlier than a stuffed snake. Err…”

A chuckle, just a stirring of breath across his throat. “Can’t wait to hear the story behind that.” Crowley nuzzled against his shoulder with a sigh. “Good night, Angel.”

Aziraphale swept the brilliant hair back again and bent down, pressing his lips to Crowley’s forehead. A soft, gentle kiss that made his friend smile a little more broadly. “Good night, my dear.”

Crowley drifted off again, burrowing close, as the angel continued to gently tease the back of his hair. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps tomorrow's work wasn't so very urgent. Perhaps a bit of rest would do him good. And perhaps...

Well. Don't plan too much. But for the first time, Aziraphale felt a bit of optimism about the coming summer and its possibilities.

“Sleep well, Crowley.”

[1] Crowley had invented pumpkin spice, and Aziraphale assumed he must like it. In truth, Crowley despised it, and regretted every autumn how it took over the entire world. He missed apple cider season. [2] Aziraphale had suspected since the early 1950s that Crowley secretly took his tea with several lumps of sugar, but would continue to pretend he didn’t know until Crowley confessed. Considering current circumstances, that was unlikely to be any time soon. [3] Aziraphale’s fax machine, revived after over three decades of disuse, had been somewhat confused to be asked to perform any task at all, much less to print memes onto photo paper with perfectly balanced color; but like the plants and Crowley’s phone, it couldn’t stand to disappoint the angel. [4] It was possible he hadn’t quite mastered this new form of communication.

[tadpole-san]

are we still friends? ;  d.g. part two pairing: titans!dick grayson x reader, on-and-off relationship warnings: dick being his therapy-needing titans self, slight canon divergence from titans 1x06, and an ending that may or may not lead to a part two a/n: i will never let go of my personal dick grayson grudge, but this exists solely because i love @capricorn-stark

The last time you had seen Dick Grayson, he’d outfitted himself with packed belongings and a one-way ticket to Detroit, Michigan. Seeing him off at the airport would turn out to be the last time you saw him for a year - a fact you hadn’t picked up on at the time, but did, in fact, predict. To a degree.

“You could come visit,” he’d offered, just steps away from his gate. “You - well, you said you had plans to go to Chicago, right? The drive’s not too bad.” It was hard to say no.

Because this was Dick Grayson, and he had to be so earnest about everything he did. Even when it was asking you to come see him as he was moving hundreds of miles away from Gotham (hundreds of miles away from you, a part of your mind whispered, even as you reminded yourself that this didn’t have anything to do with you so much as it had to do with his fractured relationship with Bruce). Because he was trying to make things work.

“How are you able to be friends with your exes?” you’d asked, bemused and flabbergasted all at once. It wasn’t the first time. “I really try to hate you, you know.” That got him to laugh - which was nice. You felt as though you hadn’t really smiled in a long time.

“Maybe that’s my superpower.”

“Your superpower is super annoying,” you’d deadpanned, before leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you around, Grayson.”

An empty promise neither of you acknowledged.

After that, it was all too easy to fall out of touch with Dick - one too many missed calls, excuses of taking more shifts at his police station when you were more than capable of keeping up with the news that spoke of a vigilant Robin without its bat, until eventually, total radio silence. And you were happy to leave it at that, knowing that whatever Dick was working through, he’d clearly rather do it on his own.

So when even the Robin sightings in Detroit stopped entirely, you didn’t push things. Maybe he’d finally done it: give up the costume for good, leave the life behind like he said he would do, but never actually committed to.

This was probably a sign. That you need to go see him, like you said you would do, but never committed to.

Which means that the last thing you expect, on your morning coffee run in Chicago, was to quite literally run into the man of the hour himself.

“Dick?” The word comes in a way that is akin to a strangled duck squawking.  You wonder if the man before you is real - if you’re not just imagining the figure that stands before you, cuts and bruises littering his face. As if he’s been in a fight.

With his track record, there probably was a fight. With him, there’s always the fight.

“Sup?” Dick’s not the one who answers you first. It’s the kid standing at his side, walking with a swagger that speaks volumes to the confidence of a kid who’s filling out the big boy shoes with his own ego. You try not to judge too much - there’s always a story behind a stance like his. “Jason Todd, at your service.”

A train passes on the overhead, the sound drawing you out of your thoughts. You realize his hand is still offered to you, and you shake it, still staring at Dick. He’s tense, shoulders drawn, hunched in on himself and bracing for a fight.

Something’s up. And with the Boy Wonder, it’s always something big, and possibly earth-shattering. Inwardly, you sigh. On the outside, you smile wryly and introduce yourself to Jason.

“You probably know who I am,” you say, letting go of Jason’s hand and stepping back. Your grip on your bag tightens. “Dick’s a big storyteller, once you get him going.” Dick verbally steps in before Jason can say anything to either confirm or deny your words.

“I could use your help.”

He doesn’t say we.

“I can see that,” you deadpan, motioning to his face. Your hand stops shy of actually touching the bruise blossoming against tanned skin. “A personal favor, then?” He turns his head away from you, and you spot the (quite frankly) atrocious brown car parked on the curb.

“That’s my ride.” He’s defensive, and you get the feeling that it isn’t about the car. You raise your hand in surrender, but he doesn’t relax - in a way, it’s nice to know that you’re probably not the reason he looks ready to pull a Flash and run as soon as the chance to do so opened up for him.

“You’re parked in front of my ride,” you reply, reaching into your bag and pulling the keys out. You let them twirl around your finger as you turn and walk towards your car, looking over your shoulder at him. “Am I going to need to make a stop at home to get the old suit out?” Somehow, that actually brings a smile to Dick’s face, and he ducks his head slightly as he chuckles.

“I just need you,” he calls out, finally pulling a hand out of his pockets and raising it in your direction to let you see the phone in his palm that’s open to your texts with him. There’s a new one that is likely the address of whatever safehouse he was holed up in.

You try not to linger on his words for too long.

“They’re hot,” you hear Jason say. It’s followed immediately by a yelp - presumably from Dick either elbowing him or punching his arm - and a “you’re way too young for that.” Despite yourself, you grin.

You’d missed him. Even if you weren’t going to admit it to his face.

When you finally make it to the address Dick sends you, he’s not even the one who lets you pass Bruce’s more-than-extensive security system. It’s Jason who does that.

Instead, you find Dick bent over the bathroom sink, the blade of a scalpel pressed to the skin of his arm. There’s also an unconscious body cuffed to the shower behind him, but you compartmentalize that for later.

“Are you okay?” At the sound of your voice, DIck freezes - like a deer caught in headlights - and looks up at you. You can see him visibly relax as he lets out a sigh that works to relieve some of the tension wound up in his body. You raise an eyebrow, and walk over to him.

“It’s not what you think,” he tells you, then uses the scalpel to motion towards the device discarded on the white porcelain. You pick it up, turning it over in your hands. “Bruce planted a tracker, in me, and I’m trying to-”

“Cut him out?” you finish, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Cut it out,” he corrects.

“I know what I said.” You watch through the mirror’s reflection as he finally makes the incision, thick red blood pouring down his arm and dripping into the sink. You’re already opening the cabinet to find gauze to wrap his arm with. “Let me see that-” The ringtone coming from the phone between you two cuts you off. You look at him. And then you look down at the screen. The name Kori flashes across it.

“New girlfriend?” you dare to ask, meeting his eyes in the mirror. Dick purses his lips, swiping a bloody thumb over the screen to deny the call before he’s reaching for the tweezers.

“No,” He grits his teeth, maneuvering the metal tweezers in the wound he made. “We just met,” Dick adds, meeting your eyes again. For his sake, you offer a tentative smile. He sighs, and finally retracts a tracker that resembles a battery watch. It falls into your open hand. You’re glad for the distraction, because - shit.

Those eyes.

Dick possesses what you swear is the most beautiful shade of eyes you’ve ever seen, and he models them beautifully. Those baby blues were always going to be your downfall, and seeing them had been enough for you to call in a precious sick day at work so you could help him out on whatever case brings him to Chicago. They’re the reason you have a case in your car trunk containing a suit you swore to leave in the closet.

They make you realize you can be so weak.

“I’m not dating right now,” Dick continues, filling in the space of your prolonged silence. He doesn’t take the gauze from your hand - even though he could - and instead, holds his arm out towards you so you can wrap it yourself. “Actually, I haven’t really seen anyone since I was with you.”

“I think that says less about what our relationship was, and more about you going full lone-wolf.” You hesitate to finish, and you keep a loose grip on his arm. His skin is warm. “The more you try to be the anti-Bruce, the more you’re becoming like him. You know that, right?” He’s not looking you in the eye anymore. Anger isn’t what drives him to do that, you think - it’s more like a combination of guilt, of the expression of a kid who thinks he’s a disappointment to the people leaning on him. People shouldn’t lean on a kid.

“I’m working on it.”

“I know.” Finally, you set the roll of gauze aside and release his arm. It allows you to take the chance to reach for him and make him look at you again. “And thank you,” you add. “For coming to see me.” He manages another smile, reaching up to cover your hand in his. You know what he would do if you were still dating. He would’ve pressed a kiss to your hand, and he would laugh it off, probably with some sort of cheeky quip. A I knew you missed me too much or I’d come by to see you any day.

You’re not dating anymore. And it’s confusing as hell, because sometimes it feels like you still are. On the rare days that he still calls you for no reason to tell you about a case from work he’s stuck on, or to remind you that you made a promise to see him, pairing it with a good tease about how seeing him in the new uniform would probably be too much for you. On those nights, Robin isn’t flying solo on the streets of Detroit.

“The lead brought me to Chicago,” he explains, tilting his head in the direction of the man lying in the shower.

“Is it a work case?”

“Not exactly. It’s-” you anticipate the familiar complicated. The word doesn’t come. “There’s a lot I need to update you on,” he settles on saying instead, running stained hands under the sink. “And if it’s Chicago, you’re going to be my number one. Right?”

“Right,” you agree, traces of amusement seeping into your tone as you cross your arms. “I called in sick at work,” you add. “Am I going to need to make up an excuse for the rest of the week?” The question, lighthearted as it’s supposed to be, holds weight to it that neither of you acknowledge.

“I’m probably going to be out of the state in a couple of days,” Dick says instead of answering, drying his hands off with a towel. He lets it drop in the sink, walking back out in the hallway with you. “You don’t need to - it’s a lot. And there’s these guys I’m kind of traveling with-”

“Dick.”

When he faces you, it’s your turn to shove hands in your pockets to avoid wringing them out in front of him. You take a deep breath, leaning back on your heels to look at him. “You didn’t need to find me,” you tell him. “That Jason kid? He wouldn’t be sticking around if he couldn’t be decent backup for this.”

“Are you detective-ing me out right now?” Dick’s actually trying not to laugh. You’re not sure if you should hit him or not.

“That’s not a word!”

“You know what I mean! And yes! I’m trying to figure out what’s going on with you!” By now, he’s actually laughing - and even if a part of you is annoyed, sure, there’s more of you that just feels relief. Because you can’t remember the last time he’d laughed like that, either, and it gives you a bit of hope.

Hope that the parts of him you fell in love with aren’t as lost as you thought.

“There’s a lot,” he admits, shifting his weight and trying to step back so he isn’t crowding you in the hall. “I know - the Bruce thing, you’re sick of that bullshit. I got a lot going on.” His phone starts up again, and this time, he pulls it out. The fluorescent light washes out his skin, but you can see his expression sober up. “I need to take this.” The traces of laughter in his voice are gone, and it feels like he’s slipping away again. There’s frustration that must show on your face, because he reaches out to you and moves a stray lock of hair out of your eyes in a silent apology.

“Go.” You manage not to sound as bitter as you feel - and with him, it’s not a bitterness that’s always there, but it inevitably creeps up on you. The same way the shadow of a bat hangs over him. Dick nods, and you start to walk away when he grabs your wrist again.

“You aren’t my backup for this,” he says firmly, and you know you’re fucked. Because he’s looking at you with those eyes, and it’s like you’re in that airport with him all over again, with nothing but empty promises and a broken relationship the two of you are hanging onto by a thread. “You’re-” he falters. He hesitates, and you’re ready to watch Dick Grayson walk away from you again.

“You’re everything.”

DC Taglist:

@cipheress-to-k-pop

[writingsfromhome]

Nuclear Family V

Part Five: Some Things Never Change

A/N: I’ve reread and rewrote and finally wrapped this up! It got really long because I didn’t want to drag it into another part, but I did include an epilogue--I couldn’t help myself. Hope it lives up to the expectations! And thank you x100000 again for reading along <3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V

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

The next morning, we sit down together and soothe Charlie's worries. Harry holds my hand at one point and we play the best acting gig either of us have ever played as we pretend there's not a ginormous unspoken trilogy between us. Charlie's tentative at first, but when Harry pulls her onto his knee and whispers something to her. She breaks into a giggle and hugs him. At least that was patched over, I think. But when Harry meets my eyes over her head, I look away. Some things might never be patched over.

I’d set up a play date this morning, thinking Charlie might have needed a distraction. It also gave me time to pack our things without her to distract me or feel the emotional baggage I was packing up too.

I had planned to find an air bnb, waking up at 7am to start searching. But when I updated Marc after he asked what I was doing that evening, he insisted we stayed with him. We’d lived together before, and he was almost always at work, so it gave us enough space.The best part was he lived in the same building as Harry; it was almost too perfect, and when I’d asked Charlie she was totally on board. Spending time with Marc while being able to take the elevator to see her dad sounded just sounded like her play place had expanded.

After Charlie leaves, and I’m almost done packing, I look for Harry to talk. I find him toweling his hair after his shower. He had to head out for shooting today so I needed to speak to him before he left or else he would think I slighted him. He notices me in the foggy mirror and turns, and I try not to find the towel tied around his waist distracting.

“Hey, so...I’ll be out of your hair today...no pun intended.” I laugh lamely after he continues to stare at me blankly. Okay, maybe his towel was more distracting than I’d like to admit. And this was an awkward conversation when we had so many unspoken things between us. “Um, so I found other accommodations finally. So we’ll move out and it’ll be like we planned initially?”

“Huh?” Harry freezes, arms in midair.

“I don’t know why it took me this long to find another place,” I blabber on. “But I think yesterday was kind of a wake up call? I shouldn’t have stayed this long anyway and-”

“Wait, Y/N, stop. You’re leaving?”

“Just the flat,” I finally look at him, he looks stony. “We’ll actually just be a few floors down staying with Marc, so it’s kind of perfect.”

“Marc?” A flame lights itself in his eyes, usually the colour of a spring field, they’ve now turned into a field of ashes as he realises what I’m saying. “You’re moving out? To Marc’s? Because of yesterday?”

“Yes, that’s what I just said.” I try to remain calm, but it’s hard when he’s acting like this. “Harry, yesterday just made me realise I’d lost sight of the horizon or whatever. We were never supposed to live with you for this reason! We knew when we planned this that it would complicate things. I was just so obsessed with making Charlie’s birthday perfect I didn’t look for anywhere else, and her birthday was basically disastrous so that was useless. Now you can live freely, Miranda can come and go-”

“Oh and living with Marc won’t confuse Charlie?” Harry demands.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think you know exactly what that mean Y/N. You’re being a bloody hypocrite-”

“What?!” I can’t keep the calm anymore. “I’m a hypocrite?”

“Yes! You! You think Charlie seeing Miranda and me together would confuse her yet you’re taking her to your boyfriend’s house-”

“Who said anything about my boyfriend--and how dare you sound so judgemental about that! Sorry I didn’t get the memo; Harry can have a girlfriend but Y/N can’t! She’s got to be the single virgin mother all by herself!”

“That’s not what I said!”

“No, I think it’s what you were trying to say! Being so fucking judgemental about my love life. This isn’t my fault! I’m not asking you shit, Harry!”

“What the fuck Y/N!” Harry whips the towel he was using for his hair onto the ground. My heart beats erratically in my chest; the last time we fought like this it was because I’d told him I was pregnant and it had ended really ugly. But the way he got under my skin, as hard as I wanted to be the mature one, I couldn’t. “You don’t have to be so bloody sarcastic all the time! I just don’t understand how living with Marc will be any better!”

“Marc’s barely every home, and he’s lived with us before, it’s worked out fine. Charlie adores him-”

“Oh yeah I bet she does! You would’ve loved it if Marc was her father yeah? He’s always had a thing for you, even when we were together. Now’s your chance to be a perfect little family with Marc!”

“I did not say that, don’t put words in my mouth-”

“Oh, but I think that’s what you were trying to say,” Harry mocks me. He’s a ball of rage as he stalks towards me. “I don’t understand your obsession with this guy and why he’s so close to Charlie!”

“You know Marc! We’ve been friends with him for-wait why am I defending myself? This isn’t about that!”

“Well I think it should be!”

“Where are you going with this Harry?!” I shout, putting my hands out to his chest as he continues walking towards me, as if maybe I could shield myself from his growing fury. “I don’t want to fight! I’m just trying to do what’s best for Charlie. And for us.” 

We stare at each other, uncomfortably close, chests heaving as the fire crackles low.

“Well, too late for that.” He says, but the snark is gone. “I’ve finally got Charlie living with me and you’re taking her away.”

“I-I’m not taking her away.” My voice rises immediately. “Don’t you dare say I’m taking her away!”

“You are!” He says stubbornly.

“What the fuck do you expect? You want me to stick around so it’s you, me, and Charlie? You want me to stay here and be miserable, have our kid be confused about what’s going on with who?”

“I don’t want you to be miserable, I just want us in one place!”

“We’re not this perfect little nuclear family you have in your head! We can’t be!”

“Not when you’re bringing the nuclear into the family,” Harry mutters immaturely.

“Oh my god, what’s wrong with you?!” I want to pull my hair out.

“What’s wrong with me is you’re taking away my daughter from me!”

My blood was just boiling now. I get in his face, “Harry, do you not remember that you never wanted us? You had the option to stay with me, while I was pregnant with Charlie. You had the option to hold your daughter the day she was born. You could’ve had all of it. Every step of the way! You chose not to, you let me go, you-you told me I could go...” I break off suddenly, so I didn’t sob as the memories rush back. I told everyone I was over it, I had processed it. But when Harry rejected me, he also rejected Charlie and I never got over that.

Harry hears my breath hitch, he backs away from my outstretched hands and I let them drop.

After a heavy silence, Harry speaks up: “Y/N I’m sorry. I heard what you said yesterday. I was up all night just thinking about it...”

“Well that’s wonderful for me,” I retreat into the comfort of sarcasm.

“No--you were right, I didn’t want commitment. I was bloody afraid of it. I was listening to everyone who said if I had a kid, my career would be over. I wanted to stay young, and I just let you deal with it by yourself. I was selfish and I wish I could go back and change everything.”

“Well that’s not much help now; you never once said any of this to me! You moved on--don’t deny it. I saw you in the tabloids, the media. You don’t think I kept track of you? I loved you! You’re the father of my kid, and while I was up on less than an hour of sleep trying to get your 2 month old to stop crying at 3am, you were out partying with models and getting smashed.”

“I couldn’t-I just spiraled-”

“Well it’s nice that your spiraling looks so much like partyingl” I roll my eyes. “Mine looked like crying in the bathtub with my ears ringing, and covered in baby vomit.” I cross my arms. I had held it in for four long years, it was about time I snapped, and I guess this was it.

“Y/N.” he turns away from me, rubbing his face. When he turns around, his heart is on his sleeve. “There were so many times I would pick up my phone and type in your number, just to hear your voice. Just to ask you about Charlie--it ripped me apart that I wasn’t there. That you weren’t here, with Charlie. You’d send me pictures of her and I would get so excited to see what she was up to, what new thing she learned...”

He breaks off, his face now shining with tears. He walks up to me and holds my hands, my heart tugs and I know I’m crying too. “Y/N when I held her for the first time when she was a few months old, and she looked up at me and smiled. I didn’t even know I could love like that. So I changed Y/N--tell me you saw me doing anything reckless after that first visit. I made sure I grew up so I could always be there for her. And you. But you never talked to me. You were always so cold to me and I was scared to break the ice. So I just let you raise her without me, not realising what I was missing out on. I fucking missed all of it because I was just trying find the perfect words to get this off my chest and I never found them.”

“Harry-” I sigh. “You could’ve tried. But...you moved on though. You have a girlfriend-”

“I had to try to move on,” he explains urgently. “You barely spoke to me. I’d ask how you are and you wouldn’t always reply, our texts were only about Charlie. You never invited me over when I was in LA. I thought you didn’t care about me so I had to move on, and the way we ended things I didn’t blame you! I let you know I would be there for Charlie--but I had to move on because I didn’t think we would ever have another shot.”

“I didn’t know what to say to you when you came over Harry. The way we left things before I moved back home, It was awful.” I whisper. The words he’d said, the things I said, the broken glass and just hours of fighting. Then the panic attacks and crippling fear of not knowing what I was doing with my life. It was easy to let it harden you, rather than invite it back in.

“The way I let you leave...was awful.” He agrees. “So I’m asking you now to stay Y/N.”

“And do what?” I ask, didn’t he get it? “Sit around while your girlfriend is over all the time, have her pop in with her own key while I’m only just woken up looking like a troll? Let you kiss me in the dark when she’s not around? Have her ignore me like I’m not even there?”

Harry has the decency to look embarrassed, dropping my arms. He sighs, and looks at me with regret. “This is balls up.”

“Yeah, I know Harry. That’s why I’m finding other accommodations.”

“I don’t like it’s with Marc.”

“I don’t care Harry, you don’t have any say over who I stay with.”

“But Charlie-”

“She can stay with you when she wants,” I agree. “I know you’ve got a shoot all week so it’s a good week to be out.”

“I like coming home to you two.”

“Harry,” I warn him. He couldn’t afford to speak like this when he had a girlfriend. I didn’t want to fall for him again. He made it hard not to.

“I don’t like it but I can’t stop you.” He concedes, arms crossed over his chest. I skim over the bare flesh, taking in the ink that Charlie loved to ask a million questions about. He notices me looking and I catch the cocky grin on his face.

“I’m looking at the ink,” I say, even though I didn’t have to defend myself.

“I know,” he shrugs but the grin stays on his face. I roll my eyes and head back to finish packing but he pulls me back to him and suffocates me against his bare chest. “I’m sorry, for then. For now. Forever.”

He lets me go but he keeps his arms around my waist. I look up at him and for the first time in a long time, I see my old Styles. Confident, determined, and a little cocky. The one I fell hard for.

“Noted,” I say, not giving in this easily, I still had to process this whole conversation and figure out what this thing between Harry and I meant.

A low chuckle bursts out from him as he stares down at me. “I miss you,” he says.

“I’m right here,” I say, stepping back so he lets me go. I leave him with a smile on his face, not ignoring the way he said he misses me. Without even realising it, my feelings of resentment had begun to slip away. But I still knew space would be best for both of us.

***

It’s Thursday evening, Charlie was with Harry having dinner at his mum’s place. Marc’s edition is officially in printing and he’s home at a decent enough hour that I put aside my work and share a glass of wine with him.

“Sounds intense,” Marc says to me after I give him the details of mine and Harry’s fight. Since then, we’d have breakfast as a family once but I did text him beyond just talking about Charlie. Pictures, memes, old memories, the occasional pointless text. It was sort of nice having him in my life again.

Charlie was going to work with him tomorrow, and she was so excited about that. It gave me time for alone time, and to catch up with Marc.

“It was intense, it felt like the old Y/N and Harry.”

“Uh oh. I don’t miss them,” Marc huffs. “You’re a lot nicer now, and he’s not as much of a cocky bastard anymore.”

“Wow, tell me how you really feel.” I tease. But he was right, back then I was young and sassy and I wasn’t afraid to let the world know. Marc and I had met when he reached out to me to write an article for his magazine and it was a coincidence that Marc and Harry knew each other from cover shoots. Marc used to be a photographer.

“I like this Y/N better,” Marc leans into me, his voice deepening. “She’s kind and strong and gorgeous, and the best part is she lets me kiss her.”

He pauses in front of my face and I lean the rest of the way in to let him know he could. That’s all the signal he needs. Our drinks abandoned, we quickly move into the bedroom and I can’t believe I forgot how good it felt to be wanted like this.

***

The next time I’m in Harry’s flat, I’m picking Charlie up. She stayed with him, but Miranda had surprised him by showing up early right after her flight landed. His short text made me get up there right away, after what happened the last time Charlie saw Harry and Miranda together, I wasn’t sure if she would misbehave.

But oddly, she’s mostly quiet.

“Did you have fun?” I ask Charlie, as she eats her cereal slowly. Her back is to the hall Harry stands in and it was a good thing as Miranda drapes herself across him. Unfortunately, I had to see it; I guess she got the memo that Charlie knew what was going on, and she was okay with it--or as okay as a four year old could be.

“It was so cool mom,” Charlie says. “There was so many rooms and one was space! It had the moon and there was a castle and they made the explosion sound and...” Charlie explains in no sensible order everything she saw at the studio, and I listen to her spill out her excitement but every so often my eyes drift to where Miranda shamelessly reunites with Harry. It makes my stomach turn. Especially after the conversation we had. I wasn’t an idiot, I knew Harry wasn’t going to rearrange his whole life because we’d finally had the Talk about what happened between us all those years ago. It was just watching them, and knowing that that was Harry moving on. From me...when I never fully moved on from him. It was pathetic, I know.

“Have you had coffee yet?” Harry asks a little while later after he’s unhooked Miranda’s claws from him and made his way to the kitchen. Charlie is slowing down her speech but when Harry appears she launches into more questions about set and when his “movie” would come out (it was a music video).

“No, I saw your text as soon as I woke up.” I say, between Charlie’s breaths. IT seemed she was going to be a while. “I could use a cup.”

“I heard you’re staying with Marc,” Miranda suddenly comes up and sits at the table, addressing me. “He’s a nice guy, I’ve worked with him in the past. Easy on the eyes too.”

“I’m right here,” Harry holds up my empty cup and looks pointedly at her. She winks and I nearly vomit.

I smile instead, “Yeah. He’s a really good friend, and Charlie loves him. And he lives downstairs so it worked out really well.”

“Yeah,” she smiles. This was the most she’s said to me since she got here. I watch as she glances at Harry who’s making my coffee the way I like it. “I heard you two are really good friends.”

Yeah...” I didn’t like what she was insinuating. I look up at Harry but he’s suddenly very interested in the sugar. “I can do that.” I grab it from him and make sure to glare at him as he passes it to me.

“We should do like, a double date.” She suggests. “Harry, don’t you think that would be fun? You and me, Y/N and Marc?”

“What about me?” Charlie pouts.

“You and Gemma!” Harry looks at me. “I forgot to mention, Gemma wanted to take Charlie out, spend some time with her while she was in London.”

“Perfect!” Miranda sounds almost too excited. It makes me suspicious.

***

When I tell Marc about the double date, he’s more than eager to attend. I know he just wanted to annoy Harry. I was nervous what this all meant.

But somehow I find myself standing with Marc in front of the restaurant while I try to prepare myself for whatever the evening held for us. Marc eventually just grabs my hand, winks, and pulls me in even though I wanted to just stay outside for a bit longer. Maybe a lot longer. Maybe just never go in.

As dinner goes on, things grow more and more awkward. Miranda is chatting up Marc about their old shoots, Harry grows more irritated as Marc receives all the attention, and his eyes track Marc’s hand any time it’s near me. I knock back my wine, as does Harry. Miranda continues to chat up Marc, and I inhale the food when it finally comes simply because the whole situation was stressful.

“The food’s good here,” I comment but only Harry hears me over the other conversation at the table.

“I always wanted to take you here,” Harry comments. “It has the best victoria sponge I’ve ever had.”

“You know I hate victoria sponge,” I scrunch my nose.

“I know!” Harry laughs which seems to get the table’s attention. His laugh usually did, as I’ve said. “That’s why you have to try it, you’ll finally like it.”

“Like what?” Marc asks.

“Victoria sponge,” I cringe visibly which makes him laugh.

“I think she loves cheesecake too much, right?” I know Marc is remembering the night I came to his house after a big fight with Harry, he’d bought a cheesecake for his then-girlfriend but I’d cried into it and finished the whole thing in one sitting. He’d had to improvise with cupcakes the next day. I still feel bad about that.

“Y/N is a cheesecake fanatic,” Harry says a little aggressively.

“Cheesecake’s way too fattening,” Miranda says absentmindedly, not realising what she was implying.

When the table grows awkwardly silent, Harry tries to come to her rescue. “That’s when you know it’s good food.”

“Touche,” I tip my glass just to have an excuse to have something to do and...well, drink.

At the end of the night, Harry asks if we want to go back to his place. I say no as Marc says yes and because he had the louder voice that’s what we do. I shoot him a dirty look but he only winks at me. He was having way too much fun.

Harry excuses himself and joins us in the Uber late. In his hands is a box with victoria sponge.

***

“Do you think he knows I’m not your boyfriend?” Marc asks later that night. We’d drank another bottle of wine and everyone was a bit more...vocal than before. What started out as fun stories from our younger days, quickly turns into passive aggressive comments as Harry stared a hole at Marc’s hand on my thigh, and Miranda stared at Harry staring at Marc’s hand on my thigh. She’d asked to speak to him midway through and now they were arguing in another room where every so often we caught some of their argument.

“You can’t even take your eyes off..............a bloody cake? You didn’t even think to.........I don’t get it!” That was Miranda.

“Thinking too much..........stop........of course I love you.......Charlie’s mom!” and that was Harry.

“I just knew this dinner would go like this,” Miranda says loudly.

“So you’re testing me now?” 

“Yes Harry, that’s obvious isn’t it Y/N?” Marc comments beside me.

“You’re having too much fun,” I lean my head back and sigh against the headrest.

“I have a stressful job, I don’t go out often. Can you blame me for being mildly entertained here?”

“Ugh...yeah okay me too.” I look over at him and he laughs. I hated the tension it was causing between Harry and I but I couldn’t help the small petty satisfaction of showing Miranda up after she tried to steal the show at dinner tonight. “What happened to the flight attendant you were seeing?”

“She took a flight out of London and never called me back?”

“Poor you,” I pat his shoulder. “We’re just not cut out for relationships are we?”

Marc shakes his head solemnly. I sigh, the alcohol making me more melodramatic than I was. “We’re finding my ex and his girlfriend arguing, entertaining. Who am I?”

“This is why we get along,” Marc leans into me, he smelled good. “Two boring people, getting our petty kicks with other people’s drama.”

“I think this is kind of my drama too,” I groan.

"Then I guess it’s kind of my drama too,” Marc says happily.

“You’re serious,” I say, leaning my head back against the sofa again, too tired to say anything else.

“I always have your back,” Marc says and I open my eyes just as he nuzzles a kiss against my exposed neck, and Harry walks into view.

“Harry,” I sit up and Marc jolts up as I nearly knock my head into his. Harry looks roughened up, his hair lays every which way as if he ran a rake through it. His face is flushed yet he stares at Marc like he wants to pop his head off.

“I’m really sorry, I’m going to have to call it a night. Miranda is...we have to talk and-”

“Yep, yep, we’re out.” I don’t need to be asked twice. Neither does Marc. Marc heads immediately to the door but I pause by Harry.

“Sorry...” he apologizes again. He looks like a lost puppy which is what makes me press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“We’ll talk in the morning. Gemma is dropping Charlie off around noon.”

“Okay,” Harry looks over my head to Marc, who is opening the door to give us some privacy. He looks back at me, searching my face for something. “I didn’t want the evening to end like this, it’s just...complicated.”

“I get it,” I cut him off, and more gently say again, “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yes please,” he mumbles. Even though Harrys’ done this to himself, I can’t help but feel a little bad. I pat his arm and turn to head out with Marc. Harry could get himself out of the mess if he wanted.

***

I don’t hear from Harry the next morning, before I pick up Charlie, he leaves me a cryptic text that we should probably not go over today. Charlie and I spend the day exploring London some more instead, although she’s tired in a few hours so we end up picking up Marc after work and enjoying dessert by the river.

I still hear nothing on Saturday morning, Charlie asks about Harry and I lie saying he way busy. It’s only around noon that a haggard Harry shows up at Marc’s door. I was helping load the dishwasher so Marc answers the door. It’s the loud shout from Charlie that alerts me to the guest.

I pass Marc on my way to the door, he just raises his eyebrows to say yikes and it’s an understatement when I see him. Messy hair, a five ‘o clock shadow, and he looks like he hadn’t slept.

“You look...rough.” I say while Charlie sits on his back. I almost want to tell her to be fragile with him with the way he looked.

“It’s been a rough couple days.” He comments, his voice scratchy. “I need to talk to you.”

“Charlie, love, go inside for a bit? I’ve got to speak with your dad.”

“Aww,” she moans as Harry helps her dismount.

“I’ll play with you later little monkey,” Harry tickles her and she squeals as she runs away. His eyes follow her with a smile.

“So...” I step into the hall, tilting the door behind me.

“I think Miranda and I broke up.”

“Ah,” that made sense. “What happened?”

“She...it’s so complicated. Why are women so complicated?”

“Woman here,” I point to myself and raise an eyebrow. He shakes his head and sighs.

“Apparently she...set up that double date so I could see you’d moved on. Except, according to her, the way I was acting made her realise she was never going to measure up to you. She...she wanted me to choose between you and her, I told her...” he gulps, leaning against the opposite wall for some support. “It wasn’t the same. You were Charlie’s mum, we would always be in each other’s lives. She made her peace with it but this morning when I woke up I don’t know...I don’t know what I said. She was just gone. She isn’t answering her phone. I thought we were okay, we made up yesterday but today...I don’t know.”

“Wow,” I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t think she would actually ask him to choose. And now she went AWOL. “Do you know where she might be?”

“I went to her place, her roommate said she thought she was with me. I just don’t want her to do anything rash.”

“Sorry, Harry.” I look him over, I couldn’t help but feel bad for him. Before I could say anything more, Charlie zips outside with the drawings she had done at the museum. She just wanted his attention, and as he takes them from her he smooths his face over and gives her all the excited feedback she wanted. I slip inside and tell Marc we might head up for a bit.

Harry hesitates before letting us in. The place was a mess. Things are strewn about everywhere. A broken lamp sits near the entrance.

“Woah,” I say.

“Woah” Charlie echoes me with more emphasis.

“Ehm,” Harry scratches his head. “I...was trying to find something.”

“You shouldn’t be so messy dad,” Charlie immediately begins walking to her room, like she always belonged here. A small part of me is already sad for when we had to leave.

“Sorry love,” Harry cracks a grin and we exchange a glance.

“D’you need help...?”

“No, come sit. I’ll pour us a drink.”

We sit in the kitchen, sipping our wine in silence. Charlie plays with her toys in the back, a comforting background noise.

I reach my hand out eventually and brush Harry’s hand on the countertop. He looks over at me, zoning back into the present. His smile is small and sad, dimmed and broken like his lamp. I thread my fingers through his and squeeze for comfort. He brings my hand to his lips and kisses it and I try not to look as affected by it as I feel. He lets go after he kisses it.

“Thanks for being cool about this, I didn’t know who to go to.”

He looks so lost, and upset. I want to comfort him but there are no words I can say to do that. I open my mouth to try to say something anyway, but the familiar sound of his front door opening interrupts me before I can.

“Harry?” Miranda’s distinct voice carries over. Harry shoots out of his chair and goes to meet her. I watch on, out of view as she hugs him and apologises. “I just needed to clear my head. Then I got a taxi and ended up near my mum’s. I think I drank too many mimosas. I don’t know Harry, I brought an apology drink...”

She trails off as she spots Charlie laying down with her toys. She looks towards the kitchen and I look away quick enough to not see if she’d seen me or not.;

“I didn’t realise you had...guests.” She says slowly, slower, I can tell her words slur together. She really did have too much to drink.

“My...Charlie came up, her mum’s just in the kitchen.” Harry says, his words loaded with unspoken meaning.

“Oh. So I leave for a few hours and you invite them back.” My eyes bug out as I realise Miranda was planning on rehashing it right here. I get up and move towards Charlie but unfortunately I have to pass by them to get there.

“I was supposed to see Charlie yesterday, I didn’t know where you went! You weren’t picking up I just invited them up-”

“My phone died!” Miranda pushes Harry away and I move quicker towards Charlie, urging her to go play in her room but she stays on the floor stubbornly.

“Miranda please love, let’s not start this here again. Charlie-”

“What about me Harry? I haven’t gotten any attention from you for weeks! I thought we agreed yesterday-”

“They’re just here for the month! I never get to see her Miranda stop being unreasonable.”

“I don’t know why I thought coming back here was a good idea!” Miranda shouts. I pull Charlie up but even she’s frozen in spot watching Miranda. “You’re just never going to love me the way I want to are you? I’m never going to compare against...her. Them. Whatever!”

Harry tries to soothe her but she throws him off again, dropping her bottle to the floor with a thud. She turns to me while I back away to the bedroom with Charlie. “This is what you wanted isn’t it? Him all to yourself? This is why you came here all along? I bet your air bnb didn’t even have a bloody issue! He never wanted you in the first place! Newsflash: he has a girlfriend! Me! Not you-”

“Miranda! Enough.” Harry says and she shuts up. I scoop Charlie up and take her to the room but she starts crying because she dropped Oreo in the living room. I go back for it and Miranda is shouting at Harry, either she was too drunk to care or she was at the end of her stick. Or both. But when she starts to swear Harry tries to move her outside.

“It’s not like she can hear over how loud she’s fucking crying!” Miranda shouts. She really was having this breakdown here, but I pause. I wasn’t okay with her talking about Charlie like that, and I watch as Harry freezes over as he feels the same way.

“Miranda. That’s enough.” He says seriously.

“I’ve had enough Harry,” she’s on the verge of tears. I shuffle back to the bedroom and quiet Charlie down but as soon as she does the shouting gets loud enough that we can hear.

“Why is she yelling at dad?” Charlie asks, her nose red from crying.

“She’s...upset.” I say lamely.

“She shouldn’t yell at him,” she says quietly.

“Sometimes, when you’re that upset it just feels like you have to yell. But you’re right, we shouldn’t yell at each other. They’ll be okay.”

Eventually they quiet down and I feel like a prisoner stuck in the room, wondering when it was okay to leave. Charlie feels the same way because she eventually opens the door when I’m distracted and heads out.

“Charlie,” I whisper from the room but she doesn’t come back. It’s oddly quiet out and when I peep through there’s nobody actually there. I strain my ears and maybe hear them in the bedroom. I guess he’d convinced her to move location.

There’s a feeling in my stomach, like a hard seed rooting in place and pulling up the dirt as it sprouts up into my chest. I suddenly just wanted to go home, back to LA. It felt so complicated here, and I know Charlie felt at home with her dad but I was just a traveler passing through here. London, felt like a home, but it wasn’t my home. And the feeling forces me to sit down on the edge of the couch. Charlie notices my expression and hovers nearby, eventually climbing up beside me and leaning her head on me. I pull her into me and try to work my way out of the funk I found myself in, turning on the TV just so I didn’t have to suffer in silence.

When Harry eventually comes out with Miranda, I’m making a snack for Charlie who stays seated in front of the TV, eyes glued to whatever was on. I try not to think too hard about why they both looked freshly showered, about what this meant for us all. Miranda sits on the couch and Harry hovers over them all watching. From my view in the kitchen, the feeling from before creeps back. Harry catches my eye just then and raises his chin, is everything okay. I smile reassuringly, it takes everything in me to fake it, before resuming my slicing.

I had to get over Harry, I think. On some level, I was still holding onto him and not dating anyone because I continued to compare everyone to how he made me feel. I was vulnerable living with him, I’d made up some version in my head of a family while I lived here and I watched Harry in his fatherly role. Some part of me hoped it would come true. But watching him with Miranda and Charlie like this, he didn’t need me. I was just a past dream, one that felt good to indulge in. Miranda was clearly his future.

“Charlie,” I call her name once I’ve cut up her snack. I stay in the kitchen, where I watch Harry touch Miranda’s shoulder reassuringly. I watch them make up and then watch as she leaves. Harry doesn’t once come into the kitchen, and I try not to show how gutted I feel.

***

I don’t hear from Harry for a few days. Charlie decided to sleep over for a few days, and I’m more than fine with it as I work to meet some upcoming deadlines. Marc pops in and out of his apartment, we have a few meals together but mostly I let myself get lost in my work. Charlie comes up every so often, but she spends most of her time with her dad. With only one week left here, I understand. I didn’t want to be around him, and make it harder for me to move on.

With less than a week to stay, Charlie asks me curiously as I put her to bed,

“Is Uncle Marc your boyfriend?”

“What?” I stare at her, where was that question coming from? Marc and I made sure to keep our distance whenever she was here. “Why would you ask something like that?”

“I dunno. Dad said you cared about Marc.”

“Dad said what?” I breath deeply. For someone who was calling me a hypocrite he outright told Charlie Marc was my boyfriend? “Marc and I are just good friends honey, like you and Carrie. I don’t know why your dad said that.”

“I like Uncle Marc,” Charlie says as she grows sleepy. “He’s nice.”

I grind my teeth, why would Harry say something like that?

I go back to the living room where I was working on an article, Marc sits opposite me working late too. But no matter how many times I read what I wrote, I can’t focus. My mind spins asking why Harry would tell Charlie something like that.

“Where are you going?” Marc asks as I get up suddenly.

“I’m leaving Charlie asleep here,” I pick my sweater off the couch and slip it on. “I need to talk to Harry.”

“It’s 12am,” Marc puts his laptop to the side. “Ohh I see. You don’t have to use code with me love.”

“What?” I’m confused but it clicks a moment later. “Marc don’t be so immature I just need to talk to him about something he said to Charlie.”

“I won’t wait up, don’t worry. Charlie’s fine here.” He resumes working on his laptop and I don’t even bother correcting him. I fly out of the apartment and up to Harry’s. I didn’t care if he was sleeping, I needed to speak to him. I do a quick knock before fiddling with my key, entering the space just as Harry comes into view.

“Y/N?” Harry’s sleepy face stares at me for a beat, his eyebrows furrowed. And suddenly faced with a shirtless Harry, I realise I could have walked in on him doing anything. I didn’t really think this through--Miranda could be over. Shit.

“We needed to talk,” I close the door behind me and stand up straight, ready to lay into him.

“Now?”

“Yes, now. It couldn’t wait.”

“Come in, I guess.” He steps back and I walk into a brighter space, he follows behind.

“Why would you tell Charlie that Marc was my boyfriend? Or we were seeing each other?” I jump right in.

Harry must still be sleep-confused because he sits down on an armchair and stares up at me trying to piece my sentence in his head. My hands on my hips are fists as I wait impatiently.

“I didn’t tell her he was your boyfriend.” He starts slowly. “She just asked why we weren’t hanging out like before and all these questions about--well you know Charlie. So I said it was complicated; we cared about each other but you cared about other people too like Marc.”

“Why bring Marc into this? She doesn’t know anything.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Harry gets defensive. “I was just trying to break it down to her.”

“So you brought Marc and me into her mind as someone I’m with--the reason why we weren’t hanging out like before? As if Miranda and you isn’t excuse enough?”

“Well, not anymore?” He squints up at me.

“Well...why not anymore?” I didn’t follow.

“Y/N...” He stares at me, searching my face as if I was lying but I don’t even know what I would be lying about. I raise an eyebrow. “Miranda and I broke up--that day you were here and she came in, we broke up, I thought you knew that. That’s why Charlie was staying with me for so long, I wasn’t going anywhere.”

“Y-you broke up?” I was stunned, the way it looked to me, they had made up. “Charlie knew?”

“I don’t know. She just thought Miranda wasn’t coming around. I don’t know if it was worth explaining to her.”

“Oh. Wow,” I sit down on the couch, digesting that Harry and Miranda actually broke up that day. All this time I thought he was quiet because they were back together, but he must have been getting over the breakup. And I didn’t even ask him how he was--he must think I was- “Harry I had no idea, I would’ve....done-or said something. If I knew. I’m sorry.”

“I thought you were just staying out of it,” Harry chuckles to himself. “I didn’t realise you didn’t know.”

“The breakup was so...civil. I couldn’t tell! Can you imagine if we broke up like that all those years ago?”

That makes Harry laugh. “Maybe we would have made up quicker.”

“Maybe,” I whisper, playing with the ring on my finger. My mind races as the last few days make a lot more sense. But the only question that lingers on my mind was, why Harry didn’t try to make his move. If all those words he said over the last few weeks were true--why didn’t he try to talk to me? The only thing I can come up with was that he wanted to stay friends. It would get too complicated. “Well, now that that’s cleared I should probably go.”

I stand up as Harry does. He clears his throat, looks up at me like he wants to say something. I wait a moment, and when he doesn’t the awkward starts to settle.

“Sorry for waking you,” I say, trying to signal that I was now leaving.

“Doesn’t matter.” He shrugs it off. “But...aren’t you mad that I told Charlie?”

“Uh, yeah. Kind of,” I try to figure out where he’s going with this. “But, given your circumstances, I’ll let it slide just this once.”

“Oh c’mon Y/N,” There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Don’t give me that. I don’t need your pity-forgiveness.”

“Fine,” I cross my arms playing along. “If that’s what you want, I don’t forgive you.”

“Good. I want to earn my forgiveness.” Harry says, and it sounds like he’s saying one thing but meaning another.

“Okay well, I’ll think of something.”

“I can think of a few things,” he says with a twinkle. I can’t help the laugh that bursts out; he was making me nervous.

“Like what?” I impulsively ask, fuck it I tell myself. If I couldn’t flirt with my daughter’s single dad what was the point, right?

“Hm,” he takes the few steps between us and flashes me a charming smile. “I could get on my hands and knees and beg, or” he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and his finger traces the curve of my ear down to my neck, his movements slow and his finger dipping borderline dangerous. “I hear jewellery can work.” he taps my chest but just as quickly his hand moves up to cup my face, his thumb brushing my lips, “or I can cook you your favourite meal and watch you enjoy it or...” I keep my eyes on him, trying not to give in, but as soon as he moves his hand up into my hair, I close my eyes without meaning to. He knew my favourite feeling was his fingers in my hair and even now, it was no different.

“Or what?” I whisper, eyes still closed, too afraid of what I’ll see if I open them.

“Look at me,” He whispers. I swallow, he says it again and I finally open my eyes. He’s not even hiding what he wants, but he is holding back. “I don’t want to force you into anything, I want you Y/N...but I know you’re with Marc so if you want me to stop I-”

“Harry,” I cut him off. Marc was right, he really didn’t know--that must be why he left me alone. And now in the midst of this heat, I had to tell him--I’d only played myself: “Marc and I aren’t together. We got together a few times but we were never actually...together.”

“Wait.” his hand leaves my hair and I want to snatch it back. He takes a step away, his eyes flitting at he thinks. “So this whole time?”

I shrug.

“This whole time, you just let me believe you and him...”

I try not to look too guilty as realization dawns on him. When he steps towards me again, his mouth is curved into a smile. And one might think it’s a nice smile, but the look in his eyes, I knew he was gearing up for something, because now he knows I let him believe Marc and I were going out on purpose. And I was going to pay.

“Okay, okay so I can explain,” I hold my hand out but he just keeps walking until I stumble back into the couch I just got up from. He leans over me, and a giggle bursts out from nervousness. “Harry really, I-”

“You let me believe,” he grabs the hand I have raised and envelops it in his, taking away my only defense. “That you were going out with Marc? just to bother me?”

“Well,” I’m at a loss for words as I look everywhere but at his face. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“A little too well,” he murmurs. When I give in and look at him, I'm a goner.

“I'm sorry,” I say. “Really I-”

“You’re not getting away with it that easily.”

“What happened to forgiveness? We can mutually forgive!”

“I’m not that kind of person,” he says. Before I can respond he’s somehow managed to lift me up and sling me over his shoulder.

“This-Harry!” I try to wriggle out but his hands are iron clad on my legs. His apartment floats upside down as he carries me. “I’m sorry! C’mon! This is cruel and unusual punishment! I-”

The breath is knocked out of me as he lays me down on the bed, we look at each other for a moment and then his face cracks into a grin, “Last time I checked, you were into cruel and unusual punishment.”

I laugh, “That was four years ago love, a lot can change in 4 years.”

“Hm,” he leans over me and I crawl up the bed until my head hits the pillow, as he follows. “But some things never change, do they?”

“No,” I stare into his green eyes. They shine with unadulterated joy and adoration. My stomach swarms with butterflies like I’m a teenage girl, like I was Y/N so long ago, excited the hot guy from the party took me home. I hold his face in mine and kiss him with the same joy and adoration. “Some things never change.”

“I love you Y/N,” he says into my neck. I push him up to look at him, he says it again and I can’t stop grinning.

“Are you going to make me wait?” he raises an eyebrow. “Is that my punishment.”

I shake my head, “I think we punished each other enough the last few years.”

He nods in agreement, “That’s deep.”

“So’s my love,” I push the cheesiness which always got him to laugh. He laughs now too, and I feel the small thrill of being the one to do that. “I love you”

“Phew. Now let me kiss you,” he pulls my shirt off effortlessly and our lips meet in the middle, missing each other already.

And as we press into each other, relearning every inch of the other, catching up for all those silent years, we just fit together like we were absolutely made for each other. And truer words didn’t exist: some things never change.

Epilogue

[twilitty]

Moonlit ch.1

This is the first chapter in my new fic Moonlit, it will be posted on Tumblr, ao3, and ffnet. New chapters uploaded every week and a half. Message/comment to be added to my tag list.

3k words

big thank you to my beta reader @effervescentlyirrevocable who has given me the absolute best criticism and helped make this chapter so beautiful :)

Bella moves to Forks Washington, her first week is uneventful. This fic has aged up characters, making them all at entry-college level ages.

Chapter One

My senses are sharper in Forks than they were in Phoenix, I’ve only been here a handful of days yet everything seemed brighter, louder, more alive than my past home. There was something here for me, something that made me feel more alert than I have in years.

The sound of heavy rain slowly pulls me out of my restless sleep, an elbow is thrown across my eyes in an attempt to keep the real world at bay. It’s always raining, the mist layering the ground never abandons its post, and the chilly air seemingly lasts indefinitely. The rainy town of Forks Washington sooner resembles my personal hell than it does a sleepy old town. The forest that borders the town at each cardinal point is layered in green moss, damp dirt, and an endless supply of fresh animal tracks. I’d moved to Forks only a week ago, the sum of which was spent unpacking dreadfully thin clothing and acquainting myself with the few stores and public access areas the town has to offer.

My father, Charlie, has had little to do with this process apart from moral support and the occasional bag of fast food that he’s picked up while on shift. Charlie is the town's police chief, a job that both seems ill-needed and also unbearably boring. How much crime can be committed in a town of fewer than ten thousand citizens? Other than the odd tag on a school building or bush party, what does his shift consist of? I have yet to bring my insulting opinions on his career to his attention, and likely will never do so. He’s a good man with a heart of gold and a passion for the judicial system, which is ever-present in his TV browsing as he cruises through endless episodes of Law & Order.

I’m not a big TV person, even back home in Phoenix, I preferred reading to the television. Perhaps this was related to my mother’s endless stack of yoga DVD’s that seemed to consume our viewing; her in a downward dog position gossiping about her latest advancements at her newest club membership, me sitting on the couch finishing a craft for her so she won’t be late submitting it. My favourite of her crafts was embroidery, one month I embroidered nearly two hundred dandelions on a pair of jeans for her. She gave them to the club administrator as an apology before she quit.

Regardless, at night when the TV is blaring the intro theme to a cop show, I am curled in bed with a book under my nose and headphones in my ears. Blocking out the rain is a full-time chore.

This morning is a particularly eventful morning, not because of any specific events, but rather the events that will be set into motion because of this morning. Today is the first day of my online college courses. I’m currently enrolled in an undeclared major. My hope is that the three courses I’m taking this spring term will help me decide on what I want to do in the future.

Charlie had given me a new laptop upon my arrival in Forks, a current model with modest upgrades to “enhance my academic experience”. Or at least that’s what the box boasted. I am not entirely convinced that a larger memory will miraculously cure me of my educational despise. High school was tortuous, I had few friends and fewer interests outside of my mother’s hobbies. I had no extra-curricular activities that were not synonymous with financial responsibilities. The monthly budget book was mine to care for, as was the constant, intrusive phone calls of the bank when my mother got too engaged in a store. She’s a gullible woman if nothing else. If a store clerk tells her a blouse suits her figure, she’ll purchase ten colours in the article along with two in a size lower just in case she finally loses the ten pounds she’s been trying to shed.

My eyes have barely opened, the down of my forearm just a fraction away from my pupil when Charlie pounds against my door. You’d imagine I was fostering a fugitive in here with the noise he’s making, but this is just the way my father is, loud noises and soft voices. I wonder, idly, if perhaps he has minor hearing loss from spending so much time around guns.

“I’m up!” I call out, my voice is thin and calloused with morning sleep. I clear my throat as the knocking cuts off, “Good morning, Dad.” Charlie doesn’t like me calling him Charlie.

“Morning, Bells,” he calls back through the door, quiet enough to not be taken as aggressive yet loud enough to sound authoritative. He is a father, my father, at heart. He pauses, and it’s as if I can hear the mental gears shifting in his mind. He hasn’t had to be a father since I was a baby, after that Renee was the parent. Charlie was the summer distraction. “Don’t be late for school.” I grunt a response, reaching for the alarm clock on my nightstand and groaning at the early hour of the morning. Barely eight, class doesn’t officially start until noon. I guess there’s nothing wrong with logging in early, although I’d much rather catch up on the sleep I’ve lost to the thunderous storms we’ve been experiencing recently.

As if he could sense my intentions, Charlie knocks against my door again. “Bella, I mean it. You didn’t come here to slack off, now.” No, I think nastily, I came here for peace and quiet.

Between unpacking my belongings and touring the town, I’ve developed a routine in my new living situation. Charlie is fond of my company, enjoying having a woman in the house outside of his ex-wife, my mother and ex-roommate. Although, his fondness of my presence does not directly translate to time spent together. He makes me breakfast, occasionally placing it in the oven to keep warm, and then immediately heads off to his family that is the Forks police station. We meet again for lunch, depending on our individual plans for the day, and then reunite again just in time for dinner. Food really is the great American pastime.

I dress in jeans and a light blue sweater that smells mysteriously of mildew although it’s a recent purchase and has yet to be worn outdoors. I suppose the rain permeates every available space, closed windows be damned. My socks are tall and I have to roll my jeans up at the bottoms to accommodate for the thick, high fabric of them. It’s a trick Charlie taught me for wearing rain boots, the higher the socks the less likely they are to run down to your toes as you walk. Immediately after that trick was taught I went to the nearest hiking store and purchased a pair of rain boots. My first pair of rain boots at nineteen years of age. Unfathomable yet ironic considering my lineage marks back to the wettest town in the continental US. My ancestors roll in their graves every time I step outdoors and forget a jacket or umbrella, I’m sure of it.

Charlie is waiting for me downstairs, both a surprise and unwelcome presence. I had a battered copy of Dorian Gray under my arm, I was expecting philosophy and moral ambiguity, not idle conversation. Before the chief notices my book, I slide it over the back of the couch and enter the kitchen with a polite smile. There’s bacon frying on the stovetop, the police chief is dressed in uniform already, but has a stained white apron tied around his neck. ��Dad?”

“Oh,” he turns around and gives me a tight smile, “Excited for your big day?” You’d imagine it’s my first day of preschool with the amount of enthusiasm he’s trying to keep hidden from me, not my first day of online school. I don’t say anything to dampen his mood, I’m glad he’s excited about something. His life is repetitive, if my existence here proves to be no more useful than just disrupting his schedule, it will still be a success.

“Yeah, I guess.” He turns back to the bacon and shifts it around quickly, the grease snapping up at him. If it burns him he doesn’t show it, just maintains the stiff-backed posture of a respectable police officer cooking his daughter breakfast. “I’ve gotta ask, what’s up with the apron?” I stifle a giggle behind a bite of the toast that’s sitting in the middle of the small table. He shakes his head in faux annoyance.

Charlie takes the pan off the hot element, sliding the bacon onto two plates and pouring the grease into an open can. The second trick he taught me since arriving here: never pour grease down the drain.

“I’m in uniform, it would be disrespectful to the badge to stain it.” He slides a plate of bacon in front of me, sitting down in his designated seat across the table. “Besides,” he takes a sip of coffee from his to-go mug. “Can you imagine walking into a police station smelling of fried pig?”

Breakfast ends quickly. We each eat a piece of toast, Charlie stuffing a second piece into a plastic bag “for later” and heading out the door. I still have half a plate of bacon in front of me after he leaves, the maple glaze filling the small kitchen with its smell.

After my Mom and Charlie got married, Renee redecorated much of the house. Her lace curtains still hang in the master bedroom window, constantly drawn closed. The rest of the house has been minorly updated with age, the TV got bigger, the couch more comfortable, new bed linens and even newer rocking chairs on the porch. I had asked Charlie if they were Moms when I first came up to the house a week ago.

They were rocking gently in the wind, the wood seemed to be polished as it shined in what little light filtered through the depressive clouds. They were sitting side by side, matching pillows on them both, a coffee table in the middle with a stack of coasters. It was an old person's porch, where husband and wife would sit all grey and wrinkled, waving at the neighbourhood kids as the bus dropped them off from school. I could almost picture Charlie and Renee sitting there, her knitting a scarf and him content to just watch her and the scenery.

He informed me that they were relatively new, a purchase from a shop down on the Reservation. We haven’t spoken about them since, but I wonder if perhaps he wishes he had someone to sit out there with him.

I spend the morning before class doing odd chores around the house. It’s nice living at Charlie’s, nicer than I had expected it to be. I’m not a fan of the weather or the fact that I currently have no social life, but it’s nice to just sit. I throw my laundry in the wash and manage to get the kitchen cleaned up with just enough time left over to sit on the couch and read a chapter of my book before class.

School has never been my strong suit. That’s not to say I get poor marks or intentionally skip classes, I just never found it as fulfilling as my peers seemed to. I never woke up and looked forward to the social or academic aspect of high school. Perhaps this contributed to me postponing my college experience and only starting it now when I should already be a year into my program.

When I log into my schools online database and click on my first class, Social Psychology 1001, I’m immediately transported to a screen filled with windows and the faces of my classmates. “Hello, class!” The professor's voice calls out over my computer. Perhaps online school won’t be my strong suit either.

Class ends and the next one starts, and I get through all three classes and an hour's worth of homework by the time Charlie pops in for dinner.

“Hey, Bells,” He calls as he opens the front door. I can hear him from where I sit in the kitchen, hanging his gun belt up by the front door and kicking his boots off into a heap on the floor. I imagine Mom back in Phoenix, walking into the house with arms full of bags and tossing her flip flops onto her pile of shoes beside the coatrack she used for purses. Some things won’t ever change.

“How was work?” I ask. He pauses to poke his head into the kitchen, moustache moving as he chews on his lip. I can’t remember when Charlie initially grew out his moustache, just that one summer I arrived and thought could he look more like a cop?

“Good, good, just some meetings. New family moving into town, all foster kids around your age.” He takes pause, staring off into some middle ground in the hallway as if deep in thought. His eyebrows furrow, “Don’t want any trouble makers coming in, but the father seems nice. Respectable.”

“That’s nice,” I contribute conversationally. Charlie and I rarely have material conversations, always just idle talk of the weather or what's for dinner. I’m not entirely sure how to approach this topic, which clearly seems to be occupying his mind.

“Yeah, he’s a doctor.” He grins at this, toothy and a little crooked to the right side. A pang of embarrassment settles in my chest before he speaks, as if knowing where this will turn. “Perfect for you, considering how often your clumsiness-” I wave a hand over my face, grimacing at his words. “Don’t speak it into existence,” I mutter with a half-hearted plea underlying my words. He chuckles, disappearing up the stairs.

I hear the shower turn on after a few minutes of him fumbling around, presumably trying to get undressed. I’m sure once he’s showered and in sweatpants it’ll be twenty questions about my day of school. I’m not sure I have the heart to break the truth to him: it absolutely sucked.

The material was interesting enough, psychology has always been close to my heart. I loved the idea of people being more than their actions and thoughts, that there was something making them say that or something making them act that way. Perhaps this was yet another symptom of having Renee for a mother.

I sit at the kitchen table for a moment longer, my computer is closed in front of me and my pencil case- dreadfully unnecessary with school being online-sits closed and untouched. I haven’t made any friends in my classes, not that I had expected to. Twelve years of public school and no friend group to show for it, just a few texts every couple of weeks. Why would I have believed college, and an online college at that, would be any better?

Having enough with my thoughts, I get up from the table and pack my things into my bag. I’ve completed enough work for today, the rest of the evening I’ll spend either with Charlie or in my room. I’d rather not be nose deep in pdf textbooks and youtube videos constituting as follow-up lectures, I’ve had enough of that today. As if sensing the immediacy of my departure from the kitchen, the shower cuts off and I hear the bathroom door squeak open. For a man who, until recently, lived alone with too much free time, you’d imagine he’d have taken better care of the house. Nearly every door, except my own, creaks open and closed. I made sure to oil my hinges nearly immediately after moving in, I didn’t want Charlie to wake up every time I sneak downstairs for a comfort snack or warm glass of milk to help me sleep. He’s lived alone for nearly twenty years, he doesn’t need his sleep schedule disrupted now.

“The game is on in-” Charlie pauses as if double-checking the times mentally, “- an hour and a half. Are you interested?” He’s calling from up the stairs. I wonder if he truly wants me to watch the game with him, whatever sport it may be, or if he’s only being polite.

“Uh, I was just going to organize my room right now and then maybe make something for dinner,” I say in response. The floors don’t make a noise and I know he’s heard me, but he doesn’t respond. A lump forms in my throat, perhaps he really did want to watch with me.

“That’s fine, but if you want we can order in?” The lump passes and I convince myself that there is no reason to avoid the TV. It’s not like I’ll be a disruption, if I get bored I can read on the couch. I’ve only watched TV with Charlie on a few occasions since my move here, and each time I strategically saved my questions for the commercial breaks.

“Sure! That works.” The floorboards creak and I hear him retreat into his room, the door closing with a pitiful squeak.

We eat pizza on the couch, a large meat-lover for the carnivorous father and a small vegetarian with extra mushrooms for the daughter who cares about her cardiovascular health. We eat slowly, occasionally Charlie will make a face at the television or mumble something under his breath, but other than that we’re quiet. The sport turns out to be baseball and I recall a few of the basic rules from the tragic gym classes of my past. It’s not disastrous in any way, and surprisingly I don’t get bored. There is something relaxing about the repetitive nature of the game.

After the game ends we box up the remaining slices and put them in the fridge to be eaten tomorrow, say good night, and go our separate ways at the top of the stairs.

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@musingsofvenus @maybesandohnos

[hear-me-growl]

Ambrosia | Ksj | Chapter VI (final)

ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ Aᴏ3 || Dɪᴏɴʏsᴜs ·ᴘᴜʙ· ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀᴘᴏsᴛ || ↻ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

> ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut, humor, fluff, angst | s2l > ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: millionaire!Seokjin x bartender!, nyotaimori model!Reader > ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: mature [+18]; strong language and explicit sex > ᴡᴏʀᴅᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.9k

sᴇʀɪᴇs ɪɴᴅᴇx ||  ⟵ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴠ

💙 ᴀ/ɴ: can’t believe this beast is finally done (though I might post a bonus epilogue, we’ll see 😉). Thank you so, so much for reading and leaving likes. Not gonna lie, it’s been a hard one to write, but also extremely fun. As my first story in English (and also my first BTS fic), it holds a special place in my heart. Also I may or may not be a sucker for this Jin. Now that it’s over, don’t be shy to let me know your thoughts. It’s important for creators that you give feedback, even if just a few words or a keyboard smash. You can make someone (not only me) very happy.

Ambrosia brought a lot of people to my blog and I’m super thankful for you all and very excited to write many more stories you’ll enjoy too. Once again, thank you for all the love and support. 

Psst! Keep an eye out for the next update on the Dionysus ·pub· series. Did someone say Hobi?

“Thanks, you fuckers! We love you!”

The growl in the frontman’s voice raised screams and whistles that rumbled through Dionysus. Sweaty, ethereal and devilishly handsome, Taehyung bowed for the crowd chanting his band’s name. Everytime their signature purple bunny posters covered the beaten bricks of the pub, a mass of people flooded the establishment. V’s Moon Rabbits caused a frenzy wherever they played, waking the masses with their sound like a rockslide. The rock, jazzy melodies paired with the singer’s looks skyrocketed their popularity in underground Seoul.

However, no matter how many concerts and jam sessions were scheduled, they always came back to Dionysus —the pub that gave them a chance when nobody did.

After the performance, they usually hung out at the bar until they found a fan desperate for a chance to share the night with their idols. Doe eyes and sultry smiles in every corner, the boys never went home alone.

Tonight you didn’t work behind the bar, though. You just sat on a barstool, keeping your best friend entertained on her shift, ready to jump to her rescue if she felt overwhelmed. Not that she needed it, she handled the crowd with a big smile on her face. Beer in hand, you chatted animatedly with the blonde singer and Namjoon, the drummer, since the others had already found someone to drag to the bathrooms for an intimate rendezvous.

“You broke your drumstick. Again. You owe me 30.000.”

“I distinctly remember you mentioning both of them, so I’m not paying a single won.”

“C’mon, man. Don’t be a pussy,” Taehyung nudged his bandmate’s side as he took a sip of his beer. “Next time don’t make it so easy for her to win.”

“Yeah, pay up, Joon,” you chimed, a taunting tone lingering on your lips.

“Sorry, love. The rules were clear.” 

The tall man leaned back on the bar and gave his signature jaw-dropping smile, flanked by two cute dimples. Who would’ve thought underneath all that there was the lady-killer of the century? You bent forward towards him, sniffing before wrinkling your nose.

“Does it smell like chicken over here?”

A snort came from your other side, Taehyung trying to conceal his laughter and you snickered along. Namjoon’s tattooed hands ran over his chin as he watched the both of you in amusement too before speaking.

“Tell you what it doesn’t smell like: money in your pocket. Now, if you excuse me,” he said, eyes fixed on a juicy target. His self-satisfied smirk turned sultry as his gaze darkened, “there’s a pretty doll over there not sucking my cock and I’d like to change that.”  

In a flash, the drummer finished the rest of his drink, attention solely on the woman at the other side of the bar. Still perched on the counter, he looked at you with a raised brow. “Unless you want to join her?”

“Go get your dick wet already,” you nudged with a groan, fully aware that he wasn’t entirely joking.

Like a panther, he stalked towards his newfound prey, mixing with the crowd. Taehyung and you chatted for a little while. He differed from his charismatic persona on stage. V’s goal was to attract people with mysterious looks and alluring smiles, but Taehyung was much more reserved, rude even, except around his close ones. At some point, you noticed the cute girl behind him. You recognised her immediately and smiled warmly, inviting her to talk to the singer.

“Hi, Tae,” she greeted quietly.

Hearing his name, he turned around to face his number one fan. Her face brightened up with the attention.

“Hey, baby girl. Just arrived?”

“Err— yeah, I’m sorry I missed the show.”

“You’ve been to all of them for the past two years, I think you can skip one, ” he sneered. After that an awkward silence settled between the two. When he started to turn back to you, ending the conversation, she was quick to keep his attention.

“Do you… umm… wanna dance with me?”

“Not now, I’m talking.”

“Oh, of course! I’m sorry I interrupted,” she apologized, looking at you with doe eyes.

“No worries, sweetie,” you intervened as you shot a murderous glare to the man, the second-hand embarrassment urging you to help the poor girl out. “Stay and chat with us. What do you drink?”

Her eyes jumped from you to Taehyung nervously, a flash of pain through them when he lazily checked his phone, clearly indiferent. She swallowed a sigh, shrinking in defeat.

“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’m going to… my friend should be here somewhere,” she grimaced at her own excuse, but bit her lips and cocked her head before speaking again. “See you later, Tae?”

“I don’t know my plans yet, baby girl.”

“Right,” she whispered, looking at his side like he’d shot just her. After a beat, she cleared her throat, eyes on the floor. “Bye, then.”

She walked away, hand on her face to hide from the overflowing crowd and ponytail shaking. The singer took a sip from his beer, still on the phone. He didn’t even bother to look her in the eye to reject her.

“One: that was actually painful to experience, and two: you are a major asshole. That poor girl follows you like a puppy with heart eyes and you know it. Do you have to be so rude?”

“Hey, she knows what she’s getting into,” he answered with a shrug.

That naive fool. What a terrible mistake she made falling for Taehyung. To him there was no point in lying, so he proudly waved the “I’ll never be your boyfriend ” flag before anything happened and then jumped to the next roll in the hay without sparing a glance. Never settling, never making false promises. He was upfront about his intentions, so it never bothered you before, despite how tactless he was. Tonight, however, you felt pity at the heartbroken look in her eyes. Love brought more pain than happiness, she’d learn sooner or later.

Suddenly, something bumped into the barstool and you stumbled forward. Taehyung catched you before you could hit your head on the counter. With a snarl on display, you turned and yelled at the culprit, who zigzagged towards the exit, probably to smoke or take a piss. You scoffed. He probably didn’t even hear you, given his unsteady walk. Just as the door opened, a tall, neatly dressed figure entered the bar, stepping aside just in time to dodge the tripping drunk. 

It took a second for you to register the tingle travelling across your skin like wildfire brought by the newcomer. You had felt it before, that twisted warm fuzzy feeling, a disease that spread and ruined people. All too familiar and foreign at the same time, like rewatching an old movie with new eyes. 

‘You felt something that night and you feel it still’. 

The words echoed in your memory, taking you a couple of weeks back. That night after the event was your last conversation with him and you thought you’d finally rid yourself of unnecessary trouble. Quite the opposite. You found yourself craving for something, no matter how much instant ramen you ate or how long you stayed at work to keep yourself busy. His silence was directly proportional to your uneasiness, but you refused to connect the dots.

Until tonight.

Faster than light, your head snapped back at the singer to avoid being seen. Reason overlapped panic as you assessed the damage. That mind-reading snake was right, you felt something beyond physical for him. At least now, fully aware of the issue, you could fix it. Keeping a cool head, you devised a plan of action. It was imperative to eliminate those thoughts before they infected your brain any further, to show both him and yourself that your interest was merely a passing malaise, like a cold or an indigestion. You just needed to find the right medicine for it.

“You okay there? You look like you either had an epiphany or smoked the worst weed in Seoul.”

Taehyung’s voice was low in your ear and you realised the lack of distance between the two. Feeling him chuckle, you looked up at him. You’d forgotten he was even there, hands still low on your waist. In a feeble attempt to regain some control over yourself, you grabbed the shirt over his taut stomach and swallowed hard. Half-lidded, he tongued the corner of his mouth revealing a smug smile. No wonder people lost their shit about him. He looked bewitching and fun, but most importantly, uncomplicated. The perfect remedy for your stupid, stupid heart.

“Kiss me,” you blurted, eyes locked on the mark at the edge of his lower lip.

“What?”

A quick glance back at the door and you frowned before closing the distance to press your mouth roughly on his. For a second, he seemed confused, but then responded eagerly to the kiss. When you pulled back, panting and determined, he tongued the corner of his mouth in amusement.

“Not complaining, but where did all that ‘I don’t make out with my buddies’ philosophy go?”

“As far as buddies go, you’re the shittiest one I have. Not much of a loss there,” you joked, shifting your weight impatiently. Now of all times, Tae had to grow friendship ethics. Although you should’ve praised his character development, right now was a rather inconvenient moment to be a gentleman. What you needed was a distraction in the form of an unapologetic fuckboy. Fast.

Luck on your side, Taehyung just grinned cheekily, happy to indulge your sudden neediness, and tipped his head towards the crowd. He let you guide him through Dionysus, to a dark spot where you’d fuse with the stench of sweat and bad ideas.

“Gimme a minute, ok? Don’t move!” Shortie greeted with a warm smile, waving above intoxicated laughs and the strings of an old song’s bass. 

Seokjin nodded and leaned on the counter, avoiding the alcohol spilt all over it. Dionysus was especially crowded that night, which only made scanning the multitude in hopes to find you harder. 

After your last conversation, he gave you some space, a chance to miss him. On paper, it was a good strategy. What he didn’t expect was his plan backfiring. After a couple of weeks of self-restraint, his will power ran out. He missed you. Instead of working on his next project as he should’ve, his car brought him across Seoul to you —his personal bittersweet pill. He couldn't help but smile, even when the air reeked of sweat and the sticky floor threatened to peel off the red of his soles. What wouldn’t one of those sensationalists that defamed him give to publicly gut him for his new-found addiction. Those ever-changing eyes that begged him to keep trying despite your constant rejection made quitting you impossible. Only if you would see it too.

“Now, I’m all yours. Sorry to make you wait,” said the petite bartender, already pouring his usual drink. “I’m happy to see you, it’s been a while.”

“Work has been busy lately. No help tonight?”

 “If you mean it in a ‘ is my hot-ass crush here? ’ kind of way, she is,” your friend said, catching his intentions easily. Not that he put any effort in masking them, constantly looking around the place for you. “I don’t know where she went, though. She was sitting over there just a moment a— what the...?”

Seokjin followed her gaze, fixed intently somewhere behind him. Your body pressed against someone’s, fingers buried in blonde hair. Unable to look away, he watched a mouth clash against yours before traveling down your neck.

“Oh, Jin, I’m sorry. This dumbhead, I don’t know what’s gotten into her. Taehyung? Really? He’s like her little brother.”

I’m pretty sure “little brothers” don’t stick their tongues down your throat . Shortie kept talking in the background, probably making excuses for you. To his surprise, the first thing he felt wasn’t anger or jealousy, but something close to satisfaction. An odd sense of pride filled his chest every time the blonde touched you where he had before, when he kissed over the skin he had marked as his already. 

The man turned the two of you around, giving Seokjin a perfect view of your backside. Long fingers travelled down your spine, cupping your delicious ass with a rough squeeze. The same ass he remembered perking back for more despite the leftover sting his palm left behind. He couldn’t shake the vibrant shade of red he created that night, nor the soft whines you sang for him. Pretty eyes clouded with lust as you came on top of him, now etched in his memory forever —along with the iciness you left behind on his sheets the morning after.

With a fist full of his leather jacket, you laughed. Seokjin could tell it didn’t quite reach your eyes. In fact, it seemed like the attention on the man in front of you was only half-hearted. 

Yes, he noticed the pink tint on your cheeks, the hips grinding on a thigh clad in ripped jeans and shortened breaths. But he was also aware of your eyes bouncing around the pub distractedly as your companion nipped your jaw. A smirk tugged on Seokjin’s lips. He’d seen withdrawal before, when his mother quit smoking. Gum could not replace a cigarette and a toyboy could not replace him.

Meanwhile, you kept trying to redirect your wandering thoughts to Taehyung, who locked lips once again, sucking on your lower one. Closing your eyes, you attempted to concentrate solely on his tongue on your mouth. The air was humid, too many bodies in one room. It stuck to your skin the same way it did at the club with Seokjin, but somehow thicker. Tae smelled rich and exotic, nothing like the subtle sweetness of his surely expensive cologne. You remember because it lingered on your skin the morning after, along with the marks he imprinted all over your body. You weren’t as excited for Taehyung to leave his.

Catching your train of thought, you emptied your mind and only allowed pleasure to invade it. You left out a sigh at the hot pressure running through your veins as his thigh flexed against your core just right. It was all you needed at that moment, a nice body against yours to fight the infection of Kim Seokjin. Large hands roamed your body, brushing your breasts on their way up to your hair and tangled there to deepen the kiss. Just when you had achieved the perfect balance between numbing everything around you and enjoying the feeling, the blonde whispered hotly in your ear. His low grumble shook you out of your blissed state, crumbling any prospect of eluding reality.

All of the sudden you found the spicy kisses bland. A light frown etched between your eyebrows when you studied his profile. It dawned on you that it was Taehyung who just told you to come all over his jeans. Taehyung. The same guy who sent you stupid memes while taking a shit because “he was bored”. Fuck, you even came close to orgasming in front of him. Because of him. You winced at the thought. What a genius idea, 15-minutes-ago you. Way to go.

About to detangle from his hold to apologise for the impromptu makeout session —a damn good one, true, but probably scarring for life— he beat you to it. Hands still around you, he arched an eyebrow over your shoulder. 

“Hey, man. Want something?” he rasped out.

“The lady and I need to talk.”

Great . Just fucking peachy. You took a steady breath before turning around, putting a bit of space between you and your friend. The first thing you noticed was Seokjin’s piercing gaze, squinting slightly from how intently he looked at you. 

“Do we now?” you questioned acidly, wearing your best unfazed visage.

Seokjin looked damn fine tonight. Hands casually in his pockets and the gleam of his silver watch just showing. In that position his shoulders squared further. The urge to bite along the curves leading up to his neck rose out of nowhere. You really needed a cold shower.

He smirked at your response, as if he knew your deepest, dirtiest secrets.

“Yes, we do,” a command more than anything else. Still, you recognised the glint of playfulness in the black coffee of his eyes. The one you foolishly claimed for yourself, even though he probably used it on other girls. “Leave the puppy behind and let’s go outside. It’s too loud in here.”

“Who the hell is this jerk again?” Tae enquired dryly, offended by the nickname. He placed a hand on your hip, squeezing slightly to regain your attention.

You jumped slightly at the contact. Seokjin’s eyes snapped up, acknowledging his presence behind you, still too close. The sharp edge of his jaw rolled in annoyance, almost imperceptibly, but he was quick to smooth it with light-hearted indifference.

“The only reason she’s making out with you, kid.”

Amidst the deafening ambiance, you heard a pin drop. There was a beat of silence, tension so high it took you both a moment to register. Then, Taehyung stepped forward, moving you aside. He was not a fighter, despite what one may think with that foul mouth and attitude of his, but he had no problem in punching a douchebag.

“The fuck did you say?”

“Tae,” you stopped, catching his arm. Seokjin remained unaffected, holding the younger’s glare with neutral expression. “Please, don’t. Just go, I’ll deal with the asshole.”

Brows still furrowed, he studied you for a moment with scepticism. “You sure?” 

“Yeah, look I—” You pulled him closer, so you could talk to him more privately. No need for Seokjin to hear anything that could be used against you later. “I’m sorry. About all of this, I mean. I shouldn’t have kissed you tonight when there’s other, um, stuff on my mind. I needed something to help me unwind and you were here so... ”

“Five more minutes and you might’ve ‘unwound’ all the way.”

Your face burned immediately, aware of his lingering taste and the stickiness between your thighs. Pure joy bloomed on his lips at your reaction.

“Back to the whole friend thing?”

“Sure,” he shrugged, “but you owe me a beer for the semi.” 

With that, he nodded at Seokjin in some sort of solemn bro code and the older reciprocated. Men’s short grudge-holding span was always fascinating to witness. He waved both of you goodbye, as if the awkward situation had never happened. Trust Taehyung not to really give a fuck. He was the best at it.

You eyed Seokjin up and down and snaked through the crowd towards the back exit without a word. He followed closely the trail you opened, people too distracted to care if their drinks spilled when you shoulder them. Not sure if you felt angry, relieved, mortified, confused,  scared shitless or all of the above, you avoided looking back to check if Seokjin was still there. How did a fun night out with your friends end up like this? You were at home and ready to order a nutritionist’s worst nightmare. You coming to Dio, right? The boys perform tonight. Pretty pleeeease?🥺 That cursed text was to blame. Whoever invented best friends should be sued.

The difference in temperature made you shiver when you stepped out of the pub. A single bulb illuminated the alley, rain puddles and broken glass reflecting its dim light. The night was calm. Not a single siren wailed, like they usually did. Only the constant boom of the bass drum could be heard now, noise muffled underwater, as the door closed behind Seokjin. Your own pulse followed the rhythm, feeling the vibrations deep in your chest.

“Why are you here?” you finally asked. “Just to ruin my night or did you make a sport of being a jerk?”

“Doing you a favour. It didn’t look like you were having a good time,” he answered, amused. You could almost see the ‘I know when you are’ itching to follow. 

“That’s not for you to decide. Go home.”

“Not without you.”

His wolfish smirk stretched as he threw a wink. A bit late to try to lift the mood, in your opinion. He seemed to forget that the world didn’t revolve around his stupid, handsome face. It happened at the nyotaimori event, and it happened tonight. Even if you would’ve ended up alone anyway, he had no right to come all the way to Dionysus to mess with your head and ruin your plans —said plans being to drink the embarrassment of almost fucking Taehyung away. Still, he shouldn’t have interfered. You shouldn’t have tried to relax your emotional cramp with Tae either, but it was his mistakes you wanted to focus on, not yours.

“I missed that frown of yours, sushi girl.”

Unaware that you’d been scowling, your arms crossed in self-defense.

“Listen, you can’t just barge in on my life every time you’re bored,” you chided. “Get a hobby, plant a tree or whatever. Didn’t you like fishing? Go do that. Just don’t bother me.”

His features softened slightly. “You remember.”

How could you forget the half an hour rant at the burger joint? Truth be told, you did disconnect half-way, but you recall his somewhat boyish excitement as he gave you a whole monograph on baits. Also the fish puns, those you recall with painful accuracy.

“Just because you are full of yourself enough to have your ears clogged doesn't mean that mine are.”

He shook his head and laughed at your comment. When he stood in front of you to brush a stray strand out of your face, you froze for a second. The tenderness of the gesture was suffocating, his gaze on yours too. No matter how hard you tried to keep distance, Seokjin always found a way to close it. You wanted to run.

His eyes fell on your lips for a moment, intense and wanting. Suddenly that sliver of fondness evaporated from them as something else caught his attention. A hand slid down to your neck and his thumb wiped there repeatedly as if he wanted to clean the spot. Once again, his jaw tensed and his stare grew jet black. Swallowing hard, you felt your cheeks reddening both at his touch and the admonishing tut he gave. He was glaring at what you assumed was a hickey left there by Taehyung. Irrefutable proof of your useless attempt to escape the itch that was Seokjin. Because he was exactly that —a maddening, unreachable itch that one cannot assuage. 

“Don’t you think it’s cruel to toy with that Kurt Cobain wannabe?” The tone remained teasing, but his hard, steel stare gave away his mood. He’d never felt jealousy before, and it tasted dry and sour. “He might get the idea that you’re interested.”

You held his gaze, puffing with cockiness to disguise any sign of guilt. “I wouldn’t worry about him, he gets what casual means. Ask him for pointers on that.”

“You think I don’t?” he chuckled airly, brow raising. “I’ve had plenty of that, believe me. But this? Us ? Nothing casual about it, sweet cheeks. I told you already: I like you. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Perfect teeth on display, he smiled at you. Selfish bastard, airing those words so carelessly. He gave the impression of a teacher explaining the slowest student how to do simple math, not a man admitting his feelings. Yet, the confession sounded brutally sweet in the quiet back alley. Perhaps the beer still buzzing was to blame or the opiate smell of his cologne coating your senses, but you wondered if it would be that bad to believe him. Then reality poured on you like tar. Even if he did feel like he said, it wasn’t worth the risk. He’d grow tired eventually and leave, like everyone else. He’d ask why couldn’t you be sweet and shy like his exes. He’d tell you that he would never introduce someone like you to his parents. He’d text saying that he would come home late after work, night after night. He’d call you a slut because ‘don’t lie to me, I saw you flirting’ with someone’s panties in his back pocket still. Every time you were naive enough to catch feelings, you’d paid for your stupidity tenfold and ended up hurt and broken. You wouldn’t go through it all again.

“There’s no us ,” you reminded both him and you.

“We should change that, then,” he offered with a shrug. “I want us.”

The fucker knew how to play the strings of your heart, a master puppeteer with the cruelest intentions. Every word was a shiver of excitement that pooled in your uneasy stomach. It felt a lot like love and it was terrifying. Love always faded into ugly crying, ice-cream and vodka. Cornered against your own crumbling walls, you transformed your mixed feelings into bitterness.

“I don’t know what kind of spoiled-prince fantasy you live in, but in the real world people don’t always get what they want. Shocking, I know. Get a whisky to swallow that crazy fact and leave me alone.”

You shoved him away and walked back towards the door, desperate for Seokjin-less air. The pressure in your lungs was suffocating. 

“Don’t run away, let’s talk about this.”

“There’s nothing left to say, rich boy. I told you I don’t play couples anymore.” Seokjin snorted, surely about to make a quick retort, but you cut him. “Find someone else for your little rom-com attempt. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’m going back in to find a man who can fuck me and not catch feelings after the first kiss like a Disney princess.”

“I’m not sure if your goal is to hurt me or make me lose interest, sweet cheeks, but it’s not working,” he stated, low grit in his tone. “Push me away all you want, I’m not letting my perfect woman slip through my fingers. Not when I know you feel the same way I do.”

You should’ve left and forgotten about him, but you took the bait.

“Oh, please, enlighten me. How’s that exactly?”

“Restless. Every fucking second of the day. Wondering if I’d laugh at the joke I just told or if I’d enjoy the new restaurant you’re at. Tired and grumpy, because you want me lying next to you so bad that you can’t sleep at night. Frustrated, because the moment we kissed, I ruined everyone else for you.”

You snorted, amused both at the accuracy of his words and how much they irritated you. Hopefully he’d assume you were mocking him. It had to be some sort of superpower, there was no other way he could read you so effortlessly. With every layer of sarcasm he peeled you felt more naked, more vulnerable to his sharp sweet nothings. Falling for him felt inevitable and you were afraid of crash-landing.

“Maybe you didn’t see me making out with a guy literally 5 minutes ago.”

“Oh, I did, sweet cheeks,” he said slowly, taking a step towards you. His lips curled upwards and you swallowed hard at the sight. He was hypnotic, expensive clothes fitting like a second skin. What an awful moment for your legs to become butter. “I saw his sloppy tongue on your mouth and you not smiling at him like you do with me. I saw how you kissed him just to take me out of your head.”

Your retreat ended quickly when your back bumped into the door you had been so determined to walk through. Emergency exit now blocked, the only strategy left was to hold your ground. And you would’ve, but the beating of your heart drowned any coherent thought. He stopped when the tips of his shoes kissed yours. Lifting your chin up, you tried to swallow the sand in your throat to no avail. Seokjin propped his hands on each side of your head, the slow tempo of his movements almost theatrical. Spikes of anticipation raised all over your skin. As he caged you, his eyes leveled with yours. You saw a glimmer of triumph in them, lips stretched in a self-satisfied grin. Maybe you could bite it off, kiss him hard enough to erase it.

“Careful, your ego is showing.” 

“Your bluff too,” he countered.

The poorly lit alley stayed silent for hours in the little bubble your words created. Stray raindrops that slid from the rooftops hit the ground uncomfortably loud. Perhaps it was just your percepcion. Seokjin held your glare with blazing determination. It was useless, you couldn’t convince him to leave. Around him you felt made out of glass, he saw through every lie and every rejection. You were love-sick and you both knew. There was no miracle remedy, no snake oil to cure this heart infection —it spread too deep already. The further away you tried to stay out of love, the deeper you got in it. The poetic irony might just as well slap an ‘I was here’ sticker on your forehead. 

With a heavy sigh you accepted defeat. 

“What do you want from me, Jin?”

Your whisper came out as a plea. Arms went limp on your sides, exhausted. ‘ Please, be gentle ,’ you wanted to say. Even if the words never came out, Seokjin understood. Your features stiffened as you braced yourself for the blow, ready to take the hit. You looked too fragile, too beaten. He hated it. Seokjin felt the need to hold you and make all the promises he intended to keep. He’d be there to lull you to sleep if you cried, to share your smiles, to lift you when you fell, to say ‘sorry’ every time he’d fuck up and ‘it’s ok’ when you did. A four-letter word burned his throat like alcohol, but he wouldn’t voice it —he didn’t want to scare you away.

“Right now? I want to kiss you. I want to take you home and take my time eating you out to get whatever doubt you might have about me, about us, out of your system. I want to make you come while you scream my name and forget that stupid idiot and any other idiot before him. I want to fuck you slow to make you understand how much you want me and then hard to show you how much I need you.” He inched even closer, trapping your eyes with his so you could read his heart in them. “I want to find you beside me in the morning and make a routine out of it. I want you to laugh at my naked butt in an apron while I make breakfast and fuck you again and again in the kitchen until you to beg me to never let go.” 

He paused, lifting a hand to cup your cheek. His eyes fleeted down as his lips ghosted yours, tickling the skin with his breath, and then back up for his next words. 

“I want everything with you.”

You were desperate to close the distance in a kiss, drown in his words. Techno beat pounded in your chest so loud that you thought something might explode. Everything . You wanted that too.

“Jin, I…” as you talked, your lips graced his. He looked at you intently, pupils completely blown and a choked gasp escaped him at the brief contact. The hand on your face tensed, showing you his neediness. It only spurred yours. “I’ve tried this before and it never turns out well.” 

“Not with me, sweet cheeks.” 

“I’m scared. What if—?” 

“Don’t be,” he cut with a smile and a wink. “You’re stuck with me. I promise.”

Tired of fighting a lost battle, you gave in. Your body moved on its own and you closed the barely-existing space between you, sealing your mouth and his with a kiss. There was urgency in his response, as his tongue immediately asked for permission. He kissed you with a starved need that you were quickly to match. His kisses were ardent, numbing you from anything outside Seokjin. Every doubt and heartbreak died where he started. Eager to taste you, he bit your lips until they puffed. Although neither of you couldn’t get enough of it, there was something gentle in your passion. His arms encased you and brought you close enough to fuse with him. Muscle memory laced your fingers to his dark hair, disheveling its perfect shape into whatever you wanted, and your hips grounded his. You molded together in a frenzy of desire. It was satisfying to see every limb and kiss back in place, exactly where they were meant to be. Like one of those compilation videos, it was addicting. The only thing missing was his bare skin on yours to make the moment perfect.

As you got lost in him, his words filled your head, triggering a moan that Seokjin drank with devotion. Perhaps it was foolish, but you let yourself believe him. No flowers, no romantic music in the background, just sincerity in his eyes as he said them. He didn’t paint a movie-like romance where every day would be perfect. He didn’t swear a life of never-ending happiness or vowed to never hurt you. No, he made one promise: that he’d be there. The effortless conviction in that one promise told you that he’d stay and try, that he’d fight for you. He was stubborn and persistent enough for you to trust him. Besides, he always kept his promises before. 

Now that you allowed what you felt for him to flow freely, you couldn’t cointan it. He flipped your world upside down. You wanted to tell him what an irritating, fun, conceited, irresistible prick he was, that sometimes you would choke him and others you would kiss him until your lips drew blood, that with him you felt the barest you’ve ever been, but also the safest. Words weren’t enough to express all that, so you kissed him fervently and urged him closer, your heartbeat reverberating in his chest, to show him instead. He grunted, immersed in you and those words you didn’t speak. No need for it, he heard them in the way you moaned and pressed against his hardened cock, seeking desperately some kind of friction. Your hands roamed his shoulders, crinkling the material of his shirt. He felt so yearned for that he forgot to breathe. When his lungs couldn’t take it anymore, Seokjin broke the kiss, missing it the moment cold air hit his wet lips. You whined at the loss, but allowed yourself a moment to recover. Panting heavily, you both stared at each other. At that moment, he looked perfect. Dishevelled and void of that cold mask he wore most of the time, it was the final shot you could take —you were recklessly and catastrophically in love, with no hope of recovery. All that fight you put up, just to lose anyway. What a poor soldier you’d make. With a breathy laugh you rested your forehead on his chin, which brought a bright smile. Still trying to get some air, he kissed your hairline tenderly as he brushed back flyaway strands. Your fingers mimicked the intimate gesture, drawing circles on the nape of his long neck.

“By the way, I don’t beg,” you quipped suddenly, lifting your head so he could see the arch on your brow and a half bitten smirk. The moment was getting too soppy already.

“You look like you enjoy new experiences.”

A wink and a kiss and then you were in his arms again, hidden in your newfound shelter as it started to drizzle in the back alley of Dionysus.

ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ: @aretha170

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ, ᴇᴅɪᴛ ᴏʀ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ © hear-me-growl, October 2020