#oh god i- i um- someone help me think up a tag for that vampire XDDD

[lost-in-azalea-forest]

hELLOOOOOO giving ya 2 and 8 for Neuvillete and 17 and 18 for Saga from the this or that ask game!! dobranoc and I hope you enjoyed your boyfriend's bday :D!! I'm sure he feels like this has been the best birthday he's had in so long

(@platonic-qpr-selfshipping)

Hi brooo ♡ tysm!! TT i sure hope he enjoyed his birthday 🥺🥺🥺 I sure did although ngl i'm having it a bit rough these days xd but thank you for the ask!! f/o thoughts make my days better fr

✭・.・✫・N/euvillette✭・.・✫・

2 - neck kisses or thigh kisses?

*cOUGH COUGH* EKhMmM uhm .///. w-well, um, uhmm... b, but i love both 👉👈 listennn there's something so nice about him kissing me from behind on my neck, brushing his lips up to my cheek... or, or when we cuddle i would kiss his neck only to then nibble on his cute pointy ears (///∇///) oh, but then thigh kisses, as, let's say, i help him take off his boots- oh- oh archons-

8 - already answered here

✭・.・✫・S/aga✭・.・✫・

17 - love at first sight or slow burn?

ekhm its kind of a joke between us at this point that he's been pining for me for 2 years since the first time i watched the series XD so i think it's pretty self explanatory; besides i feel like i would fall in love with him only after knowing him for a while, learning about his ideals and goals as well as seeing how he can be caring even though he usually looks rough and angy

18 - cuddle in bed or need their space to sleep?

bro im fucking clingy af and he's pretty chill and lets me do whatever i want, there was only one answer possible from the beginning XD

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: VII

Sunflower, my eyes

Want you more than a melody

Let me inside

Wish I could get to know you

Sunflower Vol. 6, Harry Styles

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

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

word count: 26.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because surprises are fun.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not like you have standards.”

“Hey!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s debatable.” Xander corrects. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s the point.” 

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

“Your dick’s probably small, anyways.” 

“Bigger than yours.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

Y/N isn’t lost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N ponders the question as she leans her head back onto Harry’s shoulder, her lips finding the edge of his jaw and pecking his cool skin for just a moment. “Both.”

“Both.” Harry repeats with a snort, shaking his head in exasperation as his hands drift to a new position on the keys. “Indecisive little thing, aren’t you?”

The mortal girl lifts her shoulders in a noncommittal shrug, scratching her nails along the fabric of Harry’s pants. “Just play me something.  Please?”

It’s the simplest request with the most complicated implication, but Harry can’t find a good reason to refuse it. 

“This is, um, another Chopin piece.” He feels clumsy in his explanation, struggling to remember the details that he’d once memorized in an effort to seem impressive. “Another Nocturne, in E-flat this time.”

Harry’s fingers begin to dance over the keys, and Y/N listens in amazement as a melody that is both happy and sad begins to spiral out from the body of the piano, wrapping her inside the warmth of the music.  

Not every phrase is even— the more Harry plays, it seems, the more the music phrases, bending and shaping itself around his elegant fingers, rolling with his every movement.  As the music begins to get sadder, however, Y/N notices the change in Harry’s face, and how each phrase begins to get choppier as his fingers stumble their way over the keys. 

Y/N smudges another kiss against Harry’s jaw when his fingers trip up again, squeezing his knee with reassurance. “Keep going.” She murmurs, rubbing his leg lightly as the music stutters again. “It’s nice.”

“I—” The music halts with a jerk of Harry’s hands, which he retracts from the keys as if the ivory burns him. “I don’t remember the rest.” He mumbles, laying his stubbled cheek against the top of Y/N’s head. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.  I really liked it.” Y/N trails her own fingers over the keys, pressing a few of the lacquered notes with idle interest.  The melody she spins out isn’t nearly as nice as the one Harry played, and she laughs at her own expense. “I’m not nearly as good.  I took a few lessons as a kid, but begged my mom to let me quit.  I wish I’d stuck with it.”

“That wasn’t too bad.” Harry’s dimples wink at her as he smiles boyishly, nodding to the keys with false reassurance. “That little tune sounded a lot like Mozart.”

“Uh huh.” The mortal girl rolls her eyes at the lie, bracing her palms against the polished wooden bench before rising from her seat. “Despite that praise, I don’t think I’ll be adding this piano to my shopping cart.” 

“Hm.  Too bad.” Her lover trails his fingers after her, reaching for her hand and intertwining her grasp with his. “It could make a pretty addition to your apartment, I think.”

“It would take up my entire apartment, more like it.” Y/N scoffs as she raps the fingers of her free hand against the side of the piano. “I don’t even think I could fit this in my living room.  Your apartment, however…” She raises an eyebrow as a grin works its way over her face. “You could fit it easily.  You should buy it.”

Harry rolls his eyes as he lets her hand fall from his palm, touching the keys one last time before shutting the cover over the keyboard. “I’m not buying the piano.”

“Why not?” Eyes widening in surprise, Y/N leans onto the instrument, gesturing with her arms the same way Harry did earlier as she shifts her voice to mimic Bob Barker. “It’s made of genuine mahogany, was once played by Beethoven himself, and can be yours, for the low, low price of—” She reaches around the side of the instrument to grab the tag tied around the leg. “Eight hundred and—holy shit, are you kidding me?”

Harry hums in response as he rises from the bench, shrugging his shoulders before crossing his arms around his tummy. “That’s actually a fairly good price for a used piano, you know.” 

Y/N blinks at him, her mouth opening and closing as she struggles to find words. “I— okay, yeah.  Sure.  So you should get it, then, if you consider that a ‘fairly good price’.” 

“I could,” Harry agrees, his muscles flexing beneath his tight t-shirt as he reaches to pick up the painting leaning against the instrument. “But I won’t.”

Her brow wrinkling in confusion, Y/N watches as Harry begins to examine the other objects in the room, turning his attention to the book-lined shelves and antique lamps. “Why?” 

The man sighs as he fingers the tassels hanging from a— in Y/N’s humble opinion— particularly ugly lamp. “Because I already have one—”

“You do?”

“—but it’s been in storage ever since I got to L.A. And while I usually love things in excess… alcohol, statement jewelry, orgasms—” He flashes a toothy grin at Y/N. “I don’t think overly-heavy instruments fall into any of those categories.”

“Why is it in storage?” Y/N asks, bemusement laced through her voice.  Before Harry began to stumble through the piece, there was a look on his face that Y/N hasn’t seen very often; a serene air swirled through his eyes, hiding something beneath it that Y/N couldn’t quite make out.  And she wants to. 

“Because I don’t have any interest in playing anymore.  Honestly, darling, I haven’t thought about it in years.” Harry laughs in a nonchalant manner, moving from the antique lamp to the creaking rocking chair in the corner. “Y’can have it, if you like.  Probably do you more good than me.”

Y/N rolls her eyes at the deflection, turning her attention away from the topic at hand. “I’m good.” She responds dryly, drifting over to the floor to ceiling bookshelf bolted to the wall. 

Her eyes trail over the exposed spines of the books, reading over the variety of titles with piqued interest.  The amount of genres she sees is countless, ranging from trashy paperback romance novels to timeless classics embossed in gold.  The farther up Y/N glances, the older the books appear, and she gets more and more curious as she glides her fingers over the rippled covers of the books within her reach.

While the novels climb up the height of the bookshelf to the ceiling, Y/N can only manage to reach halfway up the length she needs to, even while stretching on her tiptoes.  She settles down on the balls of her feet with a pout playing on her lips, her attention turning to the wheeled ladder that runs along bars bolted to the bottom of the shelving unit.  It looks rather old— like everything in the antique mall— and Y/N isn’t quite sure it’ll support her weight, despite her test of gripping a rung and pushing on it.

“Harry, c’mere,” She calls over her shoulder, hands gripping the sides of the dusty ladder as she balances a foot on the bottom rung.

Upon her beckoning, Harry saunters over, the painted print she’d selected still grasped in his ringed hand. “Yeah?” He asks, raising an eyebrow in question. “What is it?”

“Can you help me climb up the ladder?” Y/N nods her head towards the far-reaching shelves, biting her bottom lip with pleading eyes. “I want to see what’s on the top shelves.”

Harry’s gaze follows Y/N’s gesture towards the top of the library wall, a look of trepidation flickering through his eyes. “Is that really necessary?”

“Yes,” Y/N answers curtly, lifting her other foot onto the bottom rung before moving from her original step to the next. “And it’ll be a lot easier if you help me.”

Despite his protests, Harry sets down the framed print and complies with the request, grasping Y/N around her waist with firm hands as she scurries up the rickety ladder.  She can feel his fingertips pressing into her love handles over the denim, and it would be a lie to say she doesn’t enjoy it, but she refocuses her attention onto reading over the embossed titles that she couldn’t see from below.

“Y’know, on second thought… take all the time you need, dove.” Harry calls from below her, the smirk evident in his voice as he squeezes her hips once with a laugh. “I’ve got quite the view from here.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N releases one hand from the ladder to tug a novel off the shelf, examining the half exposed cover before sliding it back into its place. “I bet you do.” She retorts, wiggling her hips just enough to tease him without losing her precarious balance on the ladder.

Although the motion is meant to be a joke, Harry can’t stop the flash of genuine fear that ignites in his chest.  Humans are fragile, he knows, and a fall from the height that Y/N has climbed to could sprain her wrist, or injure her back, or crack open her skull like an egg, or—

“Careful there, Watson.” Harry attempts to disguise the worry in his voice behind a lighthearted joke as his grip on the human girl strengthens. “Wouldn’t want an accident to happen, now, would we?”

“That’s why I’ve got you, Holmes.” A tinkling laugh falls from her lips as she risks a glance over her shoulder at him, her eyes alight with amusement, before turning her attention back to the old novels. “You wouldn’t let anything happen to me, would you?”

There’s a nervous truth hidden underneath her words, and Harry knows it, but that doesn’t stop it from making his skin itch as the casual phrase sinks into his body.  In all his years, however, Harry’s gotten quite good at hiding his emotions, and this is no different.  

Instead of giving a sincere answer, Harry hardens his reply of “F’course I wouldn’t, pet.  Y’can never be too careful.” by letting one jeweled hand drift from Y/N’s hip to her backside, cupping it gently to support her, and taking delight in the way he can feel her body tense beneath his new touch.

It takes Y/N a moment to find her breath again, and when she does, all she can muster is a hum in the back of her throat. “Mhmm.” She sighs, trying her best to refocus on the books lining the shelves in front of her as she climbs higher. “Is that why your hand is grabbing my ass, you pervert?”

“Y’know, that seems to be your favourite nickname for me.” Harry’s smirk deepens as he contracts his hand, squeezing her fleshy backside after she takes another step higher. “I wonder why that is?”

“I wonder.” The flat response echoes from Y/N’s mouth as she pulls another book from the shelf to examine it before replacing it a moment later. “Maybe— and this is just a suggestion, so take it with a grain of salt, but— maybe if you didn’t act like a pervert, you’d get a nicer nickname.”

Although Y/N’s retorts are droll and to the point, Harry can hear the way her heartbeat begins to stutter each time he massages her, and it’s that fluttering rhythm that encourages him to grasp the sides of the ladder with both hands and pull himself up a couple rungs. 

“A nicer nickname, huh?” He breathes in her ear, pressing his chest to her back both to be close to her and to give her more support on the ladder. “Like ‘slut’?” Harry stifles the groan that nearly rolls from his throat when he feels Y/N stiffen. “That’s one of your favourites, isn’t it?”

“I—” Swallowing down the sudden lump in her throat, Y/N grips the sides of the ladder tight between her hands, her skin stretching over her tense knuckles as Harry’s breath begins to hit her neck. “Maybe. I...I suppose.”

Harry laughs quietly as he takes another step up the ladder, keeping himself braced against Y/N as he begins to smear kisses along the side of her neck, mindful of the iron cross that still hangs there. “You suppose?” He repeats, his tone slightly mocking when he hears the mortal shudder. “What about your other favourites?  Y’like when I call you my pretty little plaything, don’t you?”

The honey and lavender fragrance wafting over Harry intensifies as Y/N’s blood pumps faster and faster, the only sound emerging from the human girl being a quiet whimper from the back of her throat.

“There’s another one, though… another nickname…” Letting his teeth gently graze her earlobe, Harry whispers directly in Y/N’s ear, keeping his voice low and throaty as he does so. “It’s on the tip of my tongue, baby...” He suckles sloppily along her pulsing neck, delighting in the taste of her sweet skin in his mouth. “Remind me what it is?”

Already, Y/N’s breathing has grown ragged, and he waits a moment for the aroused girl to form a response, encouraging her with every nip of his teeth.  Just when Harry is about to ask again, she manages to choke out a reply.

“Whore.” She whispers, the embarrassment in her voice overpowered by the lust running through her veins. “I like it when you call me your whore.”

“That’s my good girl.” A satisfied smile tugs at the edge of Harry’s lips as he stamps a gentle kiss to Y/N’s jaw. “That’s another one, too.  My good girl.  And because you’re my good girl…” Harry snakes his right hand from the rung of the ladder to the buttons of Y/N’s overalls, deftly undoing the side snaps and gradually slipping his hand into the space between the denim and her clammy skin. “You’re going to keep looking for your books while I have some fun.”

Y/N lets out a broken gasp as Harry’s fingertips graze over her cotton panties, and her grip on the railing slackens as a rush of heat falls between her legs. 

“Careful, baby.” Harry cautions her, his left hand wrapping around hers and resetting her grasp on the ladder. “Can’t have any fun if you let go, hm?”

“We—” She twists her head to the side, straining to look over her shoulder and towards the entrance as Harry’s digits dance over the dampening spot on her panties. “Someone could walk in, Harry—”

Of course someone could, Harry thinks, but exhibitionism is so much easier to indulge when one has inhuman hearing that can detect the pounding of an approaching heart from fifty feet away.  He doesn’t disclose this information to Y/N, however, for a number of reasons, and instead chooses to scrape his teeth along the shell of her ear once more, his ruby lips soothing the marks instantly. 

“You let me worry about that, alright?” He murmurs lowly, sliding Y/N’s cotton panties to the side and dragging his index and middle finger through her dripping folds, enjoying how she shivers against his chest. “You just focus on finding the book you want and being a good little whore for me, princess.  Let me take care of the rest.”

When Y/N reflects on this moment in bed tonight, her clammy palms twisting around the sheets as she inhabits the memory of Harry’s mint-scented breath swirling around her as he massages two fingers around her throbbing clit with a teasing touch, one specific detail will stick out to her.  She won’t focus on how her heart is pounding so hard that she feels her chest might burst, or how her fingers shake as she reaches for another book on the shelf, per Harry’s quiet but intent instructions.  The thing that Y/N will remember in wonder and— on some level, self consciously— is how quickly the anxiety that spikes through her veins at the possibility of someone walking in and finding the two of them in such a compromising position bleeds into a high like no other.

Y/N likes to entertain the idea that she’s fairly adventurous, and has been open to a lot of things, especially since meeting Harry, but this— allowing him to finger her in a music room at an antique mall, where any customer or employee could discover them— is something so outside of her character that Y/N can’t think straight.  When Harry first slips his long middle finger inside her slick center, the girl nearly collapses, and Harry’s broad chest braced behind her is the only thing that keeps her upright on the ladder.

“Y’like that, doll?” Harry’s hot breath rolls over her neck as he purrs the words, adjusting his grip on the side of the ladder as his other hand skillfully toys with the human in slow and deep strokes. “Filthy little thing, you are, letting me play with you like this.”

The sinful remark draws a mewling moan from Y/N’s mouth as her head dips back onto Harry’s sturdy shoulder, her hands dropping all pretense of searching for a book and clutching the ladder like she normally clutches her sheets, or the headboard of whoever’s bed Harry has tossed her onto. “H-Harry…” She whimpers, her eyelashes fluttering as he circles his thumb around her clit. “Fuck…”

“You pretend to be so sweet, but you and I know the truth, don’t we?” The vampire sponges another kiss along her throat as he delights in the wet sounds his fingers make, which easily become drowned out by the quiet noises of bliss leaving his lover’s mouth. “You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

Y/N nods fervently as she allows her weight to fall back against Harry’s sturdy chest, trusting him to support her as he thrusts another finger inside her. “Anything, H, I—” The desperate proclamation is cut off as Harry curls his digits, bumping against the spot in the pit of her tummy that sets her entire nervous system on fire. “Shit, right there, baby, right there…”

Harry’s smug voice rings in her ear as he slows his stride, dragging his fingers in and out of her hot core at a pace that’s nearly criminal. “Y’don’t need to tell me, I know.” He pushes himself forward again, flushing Y/N between his chest and the ladder with just enough room to continue his activities. “I know what you like, how you like it, where you like it… Know my girl so well.”

As Y/N adjusts to the newly close proximity, the bulge in Harry’s slacks grows more apparent, rubbing against her backside over and over with each plunge of Harry’s fingers.  She lets out a strangled whine at the feeling, carving her teeth into her bottom lip in an effort to keep herself quiet. 

“You feel me, don’t you, minx?” Harry moans into her ear, catching his teeth along the shell before dragging them down her jaw to settle his lips just above her throbbing pulse point. “You feel what you’re doing to me?  How just a single whimper from those pretty lips, and one touch of your soaked cunt makes my cock ache?”

Despite her best efforts, a ragged sob breaks through Y/N’s self-imposed gag order, and her chest heaves within Harry’s tight embrace as her head lolls to the side. “I-I want it.” She pleads, her half-lidded eyes struggling to find Harry’s emerald irises in her haze. 

Those sea glass eyes, darker than she’s ever seen them, widen with fake surprise as his mouth curls into a smirk.  When Harry replies, his normally soothing dulcet voice is filled with insincere mocking. “Oh, you want it, do you?  You want me to fuck you in here?” Dropping his voice to its usual low resonance, Harry growls the next phrase in the human’s ear. “I know you want it, you fucking slut.  But you can’t have it right now.  So if I’m going to let you cum—” The conditional phrase pulls a sound of protest from her throat. “—then you’re going to have to do it around my fingers.” 

The begging girl cries out against his neck as her walls clench around his touch, the stifled pants that she gasps into Harry’s ear urging him to speed up.  Instead of giving her what she wants, Harry curls his fingers inside her, pressing deeper into that spongy spot to elicit another broken whine from her.  When he receives it, however, it’s accompanied by an unexpected blinding burn. 

The iron cross that hangs so delicately around Y/N’s fragile throat has slung to the side in her writhing pleasure, finding its way from her flushed collarbones to the base of Harry’s icy neck.  The vampire grinds his teeth as he feels the brand begin to form, choking back the sound of agony that fights its way out of his mouth.  His left hand clenches around the ladder, his knuckles stretching white as the waxed wood nearly splinters under his palm, while his right hand stutters its pace inside his lover, prodding harshly at her G-spot as a single grunt makes it past the cracks of his teeth.

Harry knows he needs to remove the cross from his skin, but he has no way of doing so without alerting Y/N to his discomfort.  If he lets go of the rung, both of them will tumble off, and Y/N has made it obvious how much she trusts him to keep her safe; that option is hardly an option, Harry thinks, struggling to keep his mind present as he fights through the pain.  The other option— the only one, really— is to retract his fingers from between the mortal’s thighs, feign some excuse as to why, and do his best to keep her from noticing the cross-shaped burn mark on his neck that will surely disappear within a few moments of the iron being removed.  It’ll be jarring, he knows, to pull Y/N from the subspace he can tell she’s beginning to slip into, and Harry hates it, but there’s nothing to be done.  His hand contracts inside her, desperately massaging her walls one last time before he retreats to—

The sharp action drags a mangled whine from Y/N’s throat, the sound more shattered than anything Harry has ever heard from her before, and it pulls Harry’s attention from the charring sensation of the cross branding his skin to the overwhelmed girl in his arms.  As Y/N lets her entire body fall against Harry’s chest, her eyes completely shut as she gives into the pleasure bubbling in her tummy, a realization dawns on Harry, searing him nearly as much as the metal on his inhuman flesh: he can’t let go of her.  He’s in too deep— literally, obvious in the way she tightens around his fingers— and if he were to stop now, Y/N would go into a sensitive daze that he can’t deal with in a public space.  If he lets go of her now, he’ll lose the connection he’s spent the last two months making. She might get over it, given that it’s just an orgasm, but subconsciously, there’s a possibility she could resent him for it. Especially in the extremely delicate phase she’s in at the moment. 

He knows it sounds stupid, but he can’t risk that.  He just can’t.  He’ll take burning agony over that any day. 

When Harry reflects on this moment in bed tonight, his jeweled fingers carefully combing through Y/N’s knotted locks as she shifts in his arms, the bite mark on her neck freshly faded to a light bruise, her chest rising and falling gently with quiet breaths, one specific detail will stick out to him.  He won’t focus on the blinding pleasure of Y/N grinding against his hardened bulge, her body moving of its own accord as she gives in completely to the sensations Harry pulls from her.  He won’t focus on the explicit moans that show she’s given up on attempting to quiet, her voice reverberating in Harry’s mouth as he inhales every desperate breath she exhales.  When Harry reflects on this moment, the thing he’ll remember the most is how the second he accepted his fate— that he’d have to bear the pain in order to keep Y/N happy, and he feels like there’s probably some deeper subliminal message hidden beneath that realization, though he refuses to indulge it— the mortal girl tilts her head to the side and begins to kiss Harry’s neck, soothing the scorched mark with her silky tongue. 

The relief is so sweet that Harry nearly cries out a fractured mewl, letting his head fall forward into Y/N’s shoulder to hide his desperate expression.  She continues to whimper into his skin, smudging kiss after kiss on his marked neck as if she knows how badly he needs it.  Even as her orgasm begins to rise in her belly, consuming her every thought, she continues to suck bruises onto his jugular, dragging her tongue over his cool skin repeatedly after every action.  Although the iron still stings, the sensation of Y/N’s textured tongue swiping over it turns the pain to pleasure, and it’s not long before Harry has himself centered once again, refocused on the task at hand. 

He speeds up the movement of his fingers, focusing on curling them inside her as his thumb rubs quick circles over her throbbing clit.  The sounds bouncing around the room are so lewd that Harry almost wishes someone would walk in, even if only to see how good Harry is capable of making his lover feel. 

“Y’can cum for me, baby.  Cum all over my hand.” He mutters in her ear, his teeth scraping against her fragile skin in desperation. “I know you have it in you.  Show me how good you are.”

Y/N feverishly grinds against his hand, all of her senses overwhelmed by the immortal as she licks across his neck. “So—so close, Harry—I—”

“I know, I know you are.” The vampire soothes her in a tone more gentle than he thought possible, palming her soaking cunt with as much pressure as he thinks she can stand. “Let go for me.  I’ve got you.”

The reassurance is the final thing Y/N needs to fall apart, and once she knows that she can, it happens with an intensity that shocks even her.  When the coil inside her belly snaps, a guttural moan tears from her mouth, and she grasps the pole in front of her as tightly as she can while collapsing back into Harry’s chest. 

“Fuck, there we go, yeah? Shhh, keep it down for me, angel. Don’t wanna have to stop until you beg me to.” 

Her grip on the ladder does nothing to support her, but as Harry’s hushed words ring in her mind, she knows she doesn’t have to worry about that.  Harry’s arms and chest are strong enough to do it for her, allowing her to sink into her pleasure as much as she needs to. 

When Y/N slumps in his arms, her neck finally shifts enough that her cross falls back into its designated position between her collarbones, providing Harry with relief from the scorching pain he’d been beginning to adjust to.  He can feel his skin begin to heal itself the moment the iron leaves it, and with that small fear tamped down, the creature can turn all his attention to the girl in his arms. 

He slowly and carefully retracts his hand from her panties, shushing the weak squeak that rolls from her lips at the motion. “Good girl.” He mumbles into her ear, kissing her temple softly as her breathing begins to regulate itself. “Shh, you’re alright.  Y’did so well for me, darling.”

The comforting praise comes easily to him, and as he continues to hold Y/N as she regains her previous headspace, Harry begins to wonder just how far he’d be able to push her before she reaches her limits.  How far into subspace can she go before she hits the point of no return?  Could Harry successfully guide her there and lead her back?  Could she ever trust him enough to submit fully to his every request, taking solace in the knowledge that he can take care of her as well as— or better, even— she can take care of herself?  Harry wants to think yes, but he can’t dwell on the idea any longer; Y/N’s beginning to shift against him again, and he’ll never be able to earn that wholehearted trust if he doesn’t tend to her now. 

Lifting his hand to his own lips, Harry wraps his tongue around his drenched fingers, lapping at the sweet wetness that coats them down to his rings.  He hums in appreciation, stippling another tender kiss to Y/N’s neck when he retracts his fingers from his mouth. 

“Taste so sweet, y’know that?” He whispers, the question half a test to see how aware Y/N is as her head begins to clear. “C’mere, I want you to taste.”

Y/N lazily tilts her head to the side, a small smile playing on her lips as they meet Harry’s for a slow kiss.  Trailing his fingers down her side, Harry skillfully buttons the side of her overalls again, adjusting the fabric to lie comfortable against her skin.

“How are you feeling, hm?” He murmurs, rubbing his large hand soothingly over her belly as her breathing begins to regulate again. “How was that?”

“I feel…” Y/N struggles to make sense of her swimming head, resting it against Harry’s shoulder as she tries to form a coherent response. “Good.”

Harry sighs with relief, smearing a quick kiss to her cheek as he grins. “Good.  That’s good.” 

With his right hand still wrapped around her middle, he carefully lowers himself and Y/N from the ladder, keeping a tight grip on the girl until he knows her feet are planted firmly on the ground. 

As the afterglow of her climax begins to fade, a heated flush begins to crawl up Y/N’s spine to settle on the apples of her cheeks. “I, um—” The corners of her lips tug upwards with a bashful tone, and she twists around in Harry’s arms to shyly meet his canopy green eyes. “I can’t believe I did that.” 

“You didn’t do anything.  It takes two to tango, pet.  And, honestly…” Harry flashes a boyish simper at her as he yanks her closer to him by her hips. “I think I did most of the work.” 

“That’s true.” A breathless laugh stutters from Y/N’s chest as she curls her hands around Harry’s bulging biceps, steadying herself from the after effects of her orgasm, which are turning her legs to jelly. “I could, um…” She flicks her eyes from the door to the prominent bulge in Harry’s black slacks before capturing his gaze in hers again. “Return the favour?”

Harry snorts as he gives a quick shake of his head, his teeth catching on his bottom lip while he runs his hands down the back of her rumpled shirt. “Not here, baby.  How about we wait until we’re back at my place for you to show me how my sweet girl sucks cock, hm?”

“So it’s alright for you to distract me from my book search to finger me in a public area,” Y/N fakes indignation to distract herself from the ache that’s starting to pulse in her core again at Harry’s proposal. “But the moment I want to suck you off, you say ‘not here’?  What kind of double standard is that?”

Lips twitching in amusement, Harry stifles a laugh as he turns the girl in his arms, pressing her back to his chest once again before wrapping his arms back around her waist. “You’re right.  I distracted you from your book search. How rude of me.” He coos, nodding up to the shelf as he grazes his teeth against her pulse. “Think I see a pretty copy of Sense and Sensibility up there.  Y’think you can reach it, or do you need me to do it, sweetheart?” 

The shuddering of Y/N’s heartbeat contrasts with her heated reply. “I can reach it just fine if you behave yourself.” She shoots back, smacking the hand that’s beginning to wander towards her center again. “Or is that too difficult for you?” 

“It’s extremely difficult when I’m near you.” The reply, while truthful, sends a quiver down Harry’s spine, and he presses a chaste kiss to the human girl’s shoulder before releasing her from his grasp. “I’ll get the book.”

Y/N tugs the hair tie from her locks, shaking them out before pulling them back again in a neat manner. “You know, I never thought I was one for antiquing, but today was fun.” 

“Well, it doesn’t usually involve getting finger-fucked on a ladder,” Harry states bluntly, glancing over his shoulder with a dimpled smile on his face. “So I’m not really sure if today can be the marker for an average antiquing session.”

Y/N’s face boils at the brazen comment, and she tucks a strand of loose hair that she’d missed behind her ear as she swallows hard. “No.” She replies with a soft and timid laugh, shaking her head gently. “I suppose that’s true.” 

Harry hums in reply as he snags the old copy of the Jane Austen novel from the top shelf, climbing down the ladder effortlessly and landing back on the ground with a soft thud. “But I’m glad you had fun.” Harry steps towards Y/N with a satisfied air, gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger as a teasing smile plays on his ruby lips. “And I’m even more glad we found a replacement for that terrible tapestry of yours.”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she smacks Harry’s hand from her chin before snatching the novel from his hands. “Stop being mean to Amanda!  You’ll hurt her feelings.”

A snort boasts from Harry’s throat as he recalls the day she had told him what she’d named the piece hanging from her wall, and he bends down to scoop up the Monet print while shaking his head impassively, clutching it in one hand as he snakes the other around Y/N’s waist once again. “Well, I hope Amanda doesn’t have feelings, because I’m going to burn her.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Oh yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not, because I’m going to hang her over your bed, just so you can stare at her while you fall asleep each night.” 

Harry groans loudly as he guides his lover from the music room and back to the open space of the antique mall. “Please.  If anything is going over my bed, it’s a mirror, not a college freshman’s poor excuse of an attempt at interior design.” 

Y/N wrinkles her nose at the comment, shaking her head at the crude suggestion. “A mirror?  That better be a joke.”

“It was, but now that I’m thinking about it…”

“You’re disgustingly conceited.” 

“Oh please, you lo—” Harry catches himself just before the word love rolls off his lips.  Though he’s said it before when referring to certain aspects of their sex life (like how he loves the way her mouth feels, or how she loves the way he stretches her out), it just seems oddly repulsive to say at this very moment. Too intimate, almost.

Therefore, the creature bites back the offensive phrase and tugs her closer by the waist, covering up his sudden hesitation with his signature smirk. “You like that idea, don’t you, dove?”

Y/N keeps her face neutral as they pass by an older couple examining a grandfather clock. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Sure you don’t.” Harry laughs sharply, nuzzling his face into the top of Y/N’s hair and pressing a casual kiss to the crown of her head. “Need I remind you that your request for my interior design skills is what started this whole thing?”

“And if you had suggested I mount a mirror over my bed, this whole thing would’ve been over before it even had a chance to start.”

“You say that now, but if you were to see the way my cock looks while it slams into your—”

“Harry!” Y/N hisses, blood rushing to her cheeks as he guides her around a corner stacked with porcelain dolls. 

“Fine. No mirror.” Harry relents, a disappointed sigh falling from his lips as he palms Y/N’s waist closer to himself. “But the tapestry needs to be burned.”

“No.”

“Thrown away.”

“No.”

“Folded up and tucked under the bed?”

“Possibly.  And that’s as good an ending as you’ll get.” 

That night, after Harry has satisfied his craving for both Y/N and the sweet liquid that pumps through her veins, and has settled in for his usual nightly routine of rhythmically caressing her back to lull her into a deep slumber, and as he counts the breaths the mortal sighs between nightfall and sunrise while her soft snoring sings a lullaby to his ears, he can’t help but think that…

That yes, this really is as good an ending as he’ll ever get. 

[tinyboxxtink]

"Not My Yacht" *Chapter 1?*

So this is interesting:

So "Not My Yacht" was my very first fic. Like, I'm talking VERY VERY first.

So when I started asking around about ideas for a new series, a few of my lovelies went through my one shots and this story and "Doodling" got some good votes.

So, I decided to include the one shot and just added to it for a POTENTIAL new series. We'll see how this chapter goes over.

Also I'll be including Rita Calhoun in this for the FIRST time ever, so I may need assistance from @storiesofsvu to get her voice right. I did my best here. I'll be honest I've never really watched her, just that one where that guy blackmailed her or something.

Also Also, if it wasn't obvious enough this is obviously the beginning of the SVU episode "Her Negations".

I don't want to give anything away because I haven't even really thought that far, but I'm 95% sure this is going to turn in a William Lewis situation fic. So...pretty dark. I'm just warning you NOW.

Tag List

@madamsnape921

@lolliepopsicle

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@milkshqke

@wanniiieeee

@word-scribbless

@gibbs274

@sassyada

@aprildecker-blog

@bookishfanfic

@stars-in-the-skies-world

@stars-trash-18

@omgsuperstarg

@objection-argumentative

And yes, the results are in. There is a part 2!

You breathed in the salty air of the sea of the sunny South Hampton shore; It was a beautiful day for a yacht party.

You walked along the pier as you got closer to your boss’s boat: The Crime Wave. Her husband’s idea of a funny name she claimed as she had invited people from the office to this soiree. You were lucky to even get an invite, just being the assistant to the owner of the law firm. “Who else is going to help me dodge boring conversations with men who just wanted a "free ride” on the bosses boat?“ She had teased you; or at least you hoped she was kidding.

You really wanted to just relax and mingle among the elite lawyers of NYC, seeing as you wanted to be one of them someday.

You saw your boss, Rita Calhoun waving you down as you reached the dock space.

"Ah! There you are, for a minute I thought I’d have to mix my own drinks!” She laughed with a wink. You laugh nervously, unable to discern if she was kidding.

“Calm down sweetie, I’m a big girl. Besides, I like to make them myself, strong,” she laughed again, patting your shoulder. Crap had your face looked that panicked? Keep it cool!

“Go ahead, enjoy yourself. I’ll be here, making sure none of those damn punks tries to sneak on here for free booze,” she scoffed, nodding to a group of highly dressed teens playing chicken on the shoreline.

You nodded with a half laugh, stepping onto the yacht. It was a decent size, a second level deck and a very spacious main level. Not a lot of people had arrived yet, so you decided to pick a spot on the yachts back bench area before all the seating was taken. You began removing your over clothes revealing your swimming wear when you hear Rita greet someone else.

“Ah, Barba. You know we have flare guns on board,”

You turn to see the ADA of New York, Rafael Barba. He’s dressed in a windbreaker and what could be either a dark red or salmon polo. You realize Mrs. Calhoun is referring to the almost neon yellow color of the windbreaker, and you can’t help but giggle. It must have been way too loud because they both turn to you which caused you to immediately shut up and go back to undressing and laying out your towel, but ever so slightly still honed in on the conversation.

“You can never be too careful Rita, who knows how many enemies I’ve made in this town; someone might throw me over,” he smirked.

“And anyone here could make it look like a very convincing accident….even my aspiring protege over there,” Rita nods over to you, knowing full well what you were doing.

Barba turned and looked at you, your body frozen in mid towel thrust. You didn’t know whether to throw it over yourself or just run off the boat right there.

“I know it’s an awful jacket dear, you don’t have to keep staring at him.” She called over to you. God why did she have to be so….her.

“Jesus Rita give the girl a break, or did you invite her just to torture her on unbillable hours?” Barba scoffed with a half smile, walking over to you.

“Is it really worth the minimum wage to put up with her?” He asked.

“Mmm…it’s more for the experience, honestly.” You replied surprisingly smoothly.

“Oh….well I mean I could give you the experience without–” He started but was interrupted by your boss’s loud exclaiming.

“Yeah I’ll BET you’d give her experience Barba! Stop hitting on my intern and mingle with the adults.”

If you could dig a hole straight through the boat into the ocean you would do it right then and there.

“…..Without THAT.” He rolled his eyes, lightly flipping her the bird behind his back. You see her respond with a laugh then turns her attention back to the guests boarding.

“She’s probably been drinking since she got on the boat, yeah?” He asked you.

“I…I don’t know I just got here….” You managed to squeak out as your towel strayed from your hands. Barba grabbed it and helped you reposition it on the bench.

“Kinda windy for a yacht party, but Rita will take any chance to celebrate anything remotely resembling a boost to her ego. Am I right?” He chuckled, before sitting down on your towel.

“Just to keep it from blowing away, do you mind?” He asked, gesturing for you to join him. You nodded a boisterous “NO”, plopping next to him on the bench.

“I’m Rafael Barba,” he extended his hand to you, which you took and shook gently, praying to God he didn’t notice you were literally shaking. You had probably had the biggest crush on him since you started working with Mrs. Calhoun, he was constantly in her office challenging her with warrants and favors.

“Oh yeah I know,” you blurted out, mentally facepalming immediately.

“I see….” He raised an eyebrow. “And you are….?”

You were about to answer when his phone went off. He answered it putting one finger up and mouthing the words “one second.”

“Barba. Yeah….what? Seriously, Olivia? On a Sunday?!” He groaned into his phone with an exaggerated eye roll. He raised his hand and ran it over his face begrudgingly as he talked.

“Yeah….alright, fine. Yeah I’ll be there, give me an hour. I’m in the Hamptons. Because it’s my day off, Liv! Do you think I lock myself in my office over the weekends like a vampire in a coffin? Yeah…I’m sorry, I just…” He glanced at you.

“I was enjoying my Sunday.” He gave you a small sad smile.

“Yeah. Ok. See you soon.” He hung up the phone with an exasperated sigh.

“I’m sorry, I gotta go back to the city. Don’t let Rita push you around too much, okay?” He chuckled, rubbing the top of your head like a puppy. You felt your face scrunch up in annoyance, seriously? He thought of you as a kid?!

He obviously noticed, and quickly held out his hand again very sternly.

“Sorry, future counselor.” He said in an overly serious tone, and you couldn’t stop yourself from giggling. Again. Like an idiot.

Relieved he had fixed his faux paux, he gave you one last beautiful Barba grin as he jogged over to Rita and told her something before nodding to you once again, then walked off the boat and disappearing down the pier.

Your boss sauntered over to you, a shit eating grin across her face.

“Well Cinderella, you sure kept that cool.” She gestured for your phone beside you.

“Be sure to tell him your name this time,” she winked, handing it back to you. You glanced down at it as she walked away; she had added a number to your contacts.

“BHole Barba.” You laughed out loud. Nice. Maybe she wasn’t such a horrible boss after all….

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

By Monday you still hadn’t had the balls to text Rafael Barba. You had just stared at the number in your phone, imagining all the possibilities contacting him would lead to. You may have gotten so far as planning your summer wedding in the Hamptons, but nobody needed to know that.

But you had chickened out and left it alone, and now you were sitting at your desk typing up a memo for Rita when you saw him come waltzing through the door.

“Ah, Cinderella!” He smiled at you.

“Hey…” Your mind went blank, you couldn’t think of words. Wait, had he already given you a nickname?

“Cinderella?” You blinked in confusion.

“Well I never caught your name-- But I guess I shouldn’t even push it, you’ve clearly moved on and I must seem like a creep,” His train of thought proceeded out loud as he realized you hadn’t taken his number and here he was still flirting with you. Rita had given it to you, he had seen her type it in your phone. Obviously you weren’t interested, why was he pushing this?

“What? NO!” You said a little louder than you intended, actually a lot louder than you intended. You slapped your hand over your mouth after your little outburst, but to you relief he was still smiling.

“Oh? Well I suppose that’s good…” He was obviously fishing for your excuse as to why you had waited until he popped back in your face to talk to him.

“No, I um--” You racked your brain for an excuse that wasn’t “I was busy planning our lives together”.

“I….couldn’t think of something interesting to say,” You finally admitted with a pitiful sigh. You were not a good liar, and under pressure, forget about it.

Again, he still smiled-- but this time he laughed along with it.

“I mean, ‘Hello’ is always an option,” He chuckled. “Or...your name?”

“Oh!” Idiot. You hadn’t even given him your name, how was he supposed to fall madly in love with you without a name?

“Y/N,” You stuck your hand out awkwardly, Was this a ‘shake hands’ moment? Hadn’t you already met before? You stared at your hand as you moved it slightly back and forth, arguing with yourself whether or not this was necessary. Luckily, Rafael settled the argument by taking your hand and shaking it firmly.

His hands were so soft, his long fingers enveloped yours in them. You lost yourself in the moment, and before you knew it he was making an uncomfortable cough, snapping you back to reality. You dropped his hand and snapped yours back into your body like a zip cord, your face in a horrified stare.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry, that was so weird. I’m weird. I’m--”

“Well I don’t know what you were so worried about Cinderella, you’re clearly a chatterbox,” He gave you a tongued smile, referring to the word vomit you just couldn’t help spill all over him.

“Oh yeah, I’m a total word machine,” You laughed nervously. A word machine? What the fuck was that?

“...Word machine. Right,” He nodded in amusement. “Well word machine, would you mind shooting some words to my phone, or do you just enjoy this face to face thing?”

“With that face? Definitely the latter. But you can have my number anyway,” You typed a quick message and sent it to his number. Damn that was smooth! How did you do that?

Rafael made an impressed face with your line, but when he opened his phone his brows furrowed.

“Hit?” He gave you a curious look as he read the text out loud.

“Fuck it was supposed to be ‘hi’-- stupid autocorrect,” You muttered angrily. Yeah, that was more like you.

“Oh yes, the dreaded autocorrect,” He nodded while saving your number. “Turning fucks into ducks since 2011,”

“Oh I didn’t have a phone in 7th grade but I’ll take your word for it,” You laughed, but stopped when his face twisted into a mix of horror and discomfort when he realized how young you actually were.

Dammit. Why...why would you do this?

“....Right, is Rita in?” He quickly shoved his phone back in his pocket and headed into Rita’s office before you could answer.

“...Idiot!” You yelled at yourself as your hands went over your face and your face planted into your desk.

Well, that was nice while it lasted. All 2.5 seconds of it.

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

“Well Barba, about time,” Rita smirked as Rafael abruptly burst into her office trying to get away from you. “Done flirting with the intern are we?”

“Shut up,” He rolled his eyes, though his face was a deep shade of red.

“Oh no, what happened? Did your dentures fall out in front of her?” She smirked.

“I’m younger than you!!” He scoffed.

“Yeah but I’m not the one trying to boff a 25 year old,” She smirked harder, making Rafael angrier.

“Can I just get the warrant I came here for, Rita?” He huffed.

“Oooh, struck a nerve there, did I?” Rita chuckled as she grabbed some papers from her desk and started to hand them to him. “Barba, for the record I’m really not judging you. If I were 20 years younger, I’d hit it too,”

“Excuse me?”

“I had a lot of ‘cats’ in college,” She winked.

“Wow,” Rafael held up his hands. “Rita, we really don’t need to be that personal.”

“Fine, but all I’m saying is if you like the girl, don’t let a stupid thing like age deter you. Don’t tell her I said this, but she’s actually very competent and organized. I would almost prefer her not to graduate, unless she'd come work for me. She’s going to be a hell of a lawyer,” She gestured outside to your desk.

Rafael looked at the ground as he mulled over what she was saying, a small smile crawled across his lips as she complimented your potential.

“I’ll take that under advisement, Mrs. Calhoun,” He nodded as he walked towards the door with the papers in his hand, a huge smile across his face now.

He walked out to find you cursing at yourself and whimpering in embarrassment at your desk. When you heard the door shut you snapped to attention and stared at him, shocked he hadn't sprinted out of the office like Usain Bolt. Even more shocking was that Cheshire cat grin now upon his face.

“I-I’m sorry, I totally meant I was--” You tried doing math trying to make yourself reasonably older.

“It’s fine,” He chuckled as he put a hand over your counting fingers. You blushed at the touch of his skin on yours again, but quickly shoved your hands under the desk nervously as you tried not to look him square in the eye. His eyes were so gorgeous you were positive staring straight into them would actually get you pregnant.

“So does Rita ever unchain you from this desk?” He smirked as he was now very aware and very amused at how nervous he made you. He may be old, but clearly he’s still got it.

“Oh yeah, if I ask very nicely she let’s me--” You tried to think of something witty, but it wasn’t coming with him staring at you with those eyes. “....Yes,” You wanted to put your hands over your face but you didn’t want it to be a ‘thing’.

“Well, maybe if you’re an extra good girl she’ll let you off your leash early tonight,” He winked.

“....Am I a dog or a toddler in that situation?” You were genuinely asking, but Rafael clearly realized how insulting that must have seemed.

“Oh no no no, I just, shit,” He tried to backtrack but if he was being totally honest, you made him nervous. Maybe he didn’t have ‘it’ as much as he thought.

You noticed he was the one blushing now, oh my god were you making him nervous? QUICK, BE SMOOTH. BE SMOOTHER THAN YOU’VE EVER BEEN IN YOUR LIFE.

“Are you asking me out, counselor?” You did your best “sultry “voice with a bat of your eyes. Were you batting them too much? What was too much? Oh god you’ve done it for too long now. STOP BATTING.

“...I don’t know, guess you’ll have to wait for me to text you, future counselor,” He was impressed by the line, and decided to bow out before either of you made idiots of yourselves again. He gave you a wink and sauntered out of the office.

Great. Now he’ll probably make you wait two days for a--

*BEEP*

Your phone went off in your desk. You pulled it out to see a text message:

BHOLE BARBA: Dinner? Tonight?

You really needed to change his contact name. But that wasn’t the point right now. He just asked you out. Rafael Barba just asked you out. You stared at in your hands, unsure of what to do. Then you realized you couldn’t do this again, you couldn’t just sit there and imagine things, this required an immediate response.

You nervously typed a reply and hit SEND:

Sire ;)

“DAMMIT!!!” You cursed your autocorrect. You instantly sent another text.

Sure***

Before you could lecture yourself again, your phone beeped again:

BHOLE BARBA: Play

Play? What did that--

BHOLE: Okay** ;)

You typed the word ‘okay’ into your text reply bubble, ‘play’ came up in the autocorrect word list.

He was joking with you. He was flirting with you. RAFAEL BARBA WAS FLIRTING WITH YOU.

This work day could not end fast enough.

[absoloutenonsense]

sunday snippet

Thank you @disgruntledkittenface and @wadey-wilson for tagging me! I have not been doing a lot of my own writing over the last month, so here’s something I’ve been going back and forth on sharing for a while. 

It takes place before the start of my vampire au But If This Ends, and contains spoilers. If you haven’t read it and don’t want the plot to be spoiled, I would skip over reading this! 

*

Two vodka sodas, one gin and tonic, two lagers, one ale, one stout, seven Washington Apple shots. 

It’s a busy night at the bar -- the busiest Harry’s had since he started working here a couple of weeks ago. Jade has been truly wonderful about it, especially seeing as Harry just sort of showed up randomly and asked to see what the whole bar business was about. She’d asked quite a few times why now, and Harry didn’t really have a good answer, other than he’d had the idea take over his mind for the last five years or so and he decided it was time to dive in. 

It’s been hundreds of years since Harry worked in a bar, so he’s a bit rusty, but he finds nothing’s really changed about the job. Make drinks, take money, banter with customers… it’s all stuff he’s good at. He just wasn’t totally sure about the owning portion of it. He’s got various properties around the world (houses and buildings for rent, mostly) but from what he’s heard from Jade, this kind of business is much more hands-on. It might be good for a change of pace. 

“There you are,” Harry says to the group in front of him, placing the last of the seven shots down. 

“Can we open a tab?” one of the blokes says to him, holding his card out like he’s bored already. 

Harry tries not to let the annoyance show on his face as he takes it. “Sure. I’ll keep the card and run it when you’re ready to wrap up.”

The bloke nods, but Harry catches him rolling his eyes as he turns around. He wishes he could do the same, but instead he goes up to Jade at the POS. 

“What’s our policy on eating customers who are rude?” he asks. 

Jade laughs and finishes adding the drinks to the tab open on the screen. “Zero tolerance on eating customers.”

“Even if I Charm them after?”

“Even then.”

“Rats,” Harry says, snapping his fingers. 

She laughs again and pats him on the shoulder. “Just becomes a part of the gig. You’ll get used to it. Luckily, the arseholes are few and far between here.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” he says, swiping the card before starting to add the drinks he made to the new tab. 

A shiver runs up his spine all of a sudden and everything goes a bit fuzzy as clicks the button for the ale. Shaking himself out of it, he is able to zone back in and look for the shots on the screen. 

“Louis!” he hears Jade say behind him. “How were your holidays?”

“Brilliant, and over much too quickly,” a light, musical voice says. It’s thickly accented and playful. Another shiver up Harry’s back. He pauses, staring at the screen. The voice continues, “I missed you terribly, of course.”

“You’re a liar,” Jade says. “You didn’t miss me one bit.”

“Missed you once the plane landed again,” he laughs. 

Harry wants to turn around. Desperately, he wants to turn around, to check if it’s… but what if it’s not?

“What’re you having?”

“Got anything new since I was in last?”

“Got a raspberry ale on draft. Kind of like a sour, but not as tart.”

“Perfect, I’ll have one of them. I’ve been drinking fruity cocktails for two weeks, that’ll be a nice transition.”

“You got it. H, could you ring up an ale under Zayn and Liam’s tab?”

Without actually deciding to do it, Harry’s head turns, eyes skimming right past Jade until they land on an absolutely stunning shade of blue. 

He’s got brown hair swept across his forehead and scruff covering his sharp jawline. The skin is tanned a beautiful golden shade, giving him a glow and highlighting his defined cheekbones. As soon as they make eye-contact, he smiles wider, crinkles appearing next to his blue eyes as he looks Harry up and down. Harry is immediately hooked into him. 

His sunshine in front of him again, giving off waves and waves of playfulness and curiosity and fun. Harry feels his whole body turn as he smiles back. It hurt so much to say goodbye to Maggie, to have his sunshine here in front of him again after so long… nearly thirty years, he realizes. 

“Harry?” Jade asks, pulling him out of his reverie. 

“Huh?” he hums. After another moment he looks at her, with her raised eyebrow and amused smile. He looks down to her hand, holding the ale. Ale. Right, his job. Adding the beer to the tab. “Sorry, yes. Adding that to a tab.”

“Zayn and Liam’s tab,” she confirms, eyes lit up like this is the funniest thing she’s seen all week. Oh boy. 

“Yes,” Harry says nodding. He looks at his sunshine again before tearing his eyes away back to the screen. 

“Thanks Jade,” he says. 

Harry closes his eyes and takes a few moments to breathe. When he opens them, he finishes adding the drinks to the original tab he created, and then adds the raspberry ale to Zayn and Liam’s tab. 

“His name is Louis,” Jade says, suddenly beside him. 

“Huh?”

“Come off it.” She pushes at his shoulder lightly. “You have that same dopey look on your face as you did that one time I saw you with Elijah.” 

Fuck is it that obvious? Harry supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. He could never keep his cool when it comes to his loves.

“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?” she continues. “He’s an editor for a food magazine. Been coming here for about ten years now.”

“That’s… um, thank you,” Harry interrupts her. He doesn’t want to be told by anyone but him though. He wants to learn everything he can on his own, savour those moments between them, be able to fall in love the way they usually do. Well, Harry is definitely already in love, but that’s hardly the point. 

“Alright, alright,” Jade says, throwing her hands up. “I’ll leave you to it however you want. Or don’t want.”

Oh, no, Harry definitely wants. His eyes automatically drift around the room until he lands on him. Louis. He’s just now sitting down in the last booth at the end of the room. He tips his head back and laughs at something someone’s said. Harry’s hook lets him hear his voice immediately, like he’s in front of him and not all the way across the room.

“Fucking wankers, leave me be, I only just got back,” he says. 

Others are speaking, but Harry’s so enraptured by Louis that he can’t concentrate long enough to tune into what they’re saying.

“Hm?” he asks. And then he’s turning around, making eye-contact with Harry. He smirks immediately. 

Harry turns away abruptly at being caught. Fuck, that’s not a good first impression, is it?

“Yeah, he’s hot. What’s his deal then?”

There are people waiting to order drinks, but Harry’s not in the right mind to make anything right now. He ducks down and pretends to be looking for something in one of the refrigerators. 

“Ah, I see,” Louis says, voice a bit wary then. 

What is there to see, though? What did they say? Harry scolds himself for not being prepared, even if there was no real way to prepare. 

“Bet I could get him. Tonight even.” A pause. He laughs. “Well yeah, I’m just back from holidays. Still riding that high, aren’t I?” Another pause. “Don’t be such a twat. Watch and learn, boys.”

There’s no more from him then, but the energy is determined and wanting. Harry waits. And waits. And waits--

“Hi,” Louis says. Harry jerks back, catching the top of his head on the bottom lip of the bar as he stands. “Woah, there.” Harry curses and tries to reorient himself quickly as Louis looks on at him, concerned. “You okay?”

“Yep, yes, yeah, I’m fine. Um. Sorry. What, uh, what can I get for you?”

Louis smirks at him, watching Harry rub at the spot he hit before pulling his hand down. “Was hoping you could make some shots for me and my mates.”

“Yes, yeah of course. What would you like?”

Louis bites his lip and looks up from his lashes. Harry feels enraptured by the way the light seems to catch his face seamlessly no matter how he tilts his head. 

“Something new. Something fun,” he says. “Been on my hols and I’m not quite ready to leave that.”

Harry nods, looking down at the way his bottom lip shines for a quarter of a second before looking back to his eyes. “Lemon drops?” he offers. 

Louis shakes his head slowly, eyes bright. “I want something a little more. Something I can feel on my tongue. Something I can savour.”

Harry swallows. “Jager bomb?”

“Mmm,” he hums, thinking. “That certainly would give me a mouthful.”

Harry nods dumbly. Fuck, he needs to get himself together. 

“Alright, then, three Jager bombs,” Louis says. 

Harry immediately starts grabbing the special cups for those shots. He finishes pouring the last of the Red Bull. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, your number, if you don’t mind.”

He takes a deep breath in. “My number?”

Louis nods. “Yeah. I feel like you’ve got a few more suggestions on other things I might like. Not sure we could cover all of them here at the bar.”

His number. Yes, a thousand percent yes. This is the absolute fastest any of his loves have shown direct interest in him, and Harry’s not about to waste even a moment of not being together if Louis doesn’t want to wait. 

“H,” Jade calls out. “We need some help here.” He looks over his shoulder to see a buildup of people waiting to order drinks. 

Right, his fucking job. His job that he got because something was telling him to come here. Someone. God he’s wasted so much of his own time. 

“Sorry,” he calls out. He turns back to Louis, who’s looking him up and down again. “How about I give you my number a bit later? I’ve just got to--”

“Of course,” Louis says, an easy smile on his face. He picks up the shots and turns so he’s looking at Harry over his shoulder. “Come find me when you’re ready.”

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

Not Perfect (JJ Maybank x reader) pt. 3

Summary: JJ Maybank is the one who makes sure your kook lawn is immaculate. Your family may look perfect just like the lawn from someone looking from the outside in, but it turns out you and JJ have more in common than you thought.

!!warning: This story talks about abuse through out, so if that’s triggering please don’t read. This is strictly fiction. THERE IS A PART OF ABUSE IN THIS SO PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION IT IS MARKED WHERE IT STARTS AND ENDS 

Masterlist: Not Perfect 

A/N: Sorry i didn’t get this out yesterday. I was able to go home from the hospital yesterday and was exhausted. Also, I think i proof read this after I typed it up but I don’t remember?? I don’t feel like doing it now. So, if there is any mistakes please ignore them. Anyways, hope you guys enjoy! xx 

Tag list is at the end. Let me know if you want to be added xx

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: OPEN {CLOSED}

I am currently taking requests for:

The Vampire Diaries/The Originals

Elijah Mikaelson

Damon Salvatore

Criminal Minds:

Spencer Reid

Derek Morgan

Supernatural (I’m only up to season 2, so please don’t request something with spoilers)**

Sam Winchester

Dean Winchester

Outer Banks (Netflix):

John B Routledge

JJ Maybank

Rafe Cameron

********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

When you awake the next morning, your head is pounding. And the smell around you, it was not your usual strawberry smell. It was musky, like some guy’s cologne. You peep out of one of your eyes. You were in an unfamiliar room in a stranger’s bed and it looks like a stranger’s shirt. You grip at the shirt looking down at it, “Oh god, what the hell happened last night?” Wincing you sat up, grabbing your head. Hearing voices outside the door, you froze, eyes wide.

“She’s been passed out all night. Should I wake her?”

“I’m sure she’s just hung over, JJ.”

“JJ?” You face palm your forehead, “Oh shit..” You groan, throwing the covers off you, looking around for your phone.

JJ quietly opens the door, careful not to wake you but he sees you’re already up, looking around the room. “Uh… good morning.”

You jump, facing him, “morning…”

He can tell by your face, you’re frightened, “We didn’t do anything last night.” He holds his hands up in surrender, “You vomited all over your shirt last night and I changed you.”

You glanced down at his shirt and then back at him, “Oh god.” You groan, “What time is it?”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, checking the time, “It’s almost 2:30.”

“2:30?! Oh god my dad’s going to kill me. I um.. I need to go. Like now.” Looking around, “Where the hell is my stuff?”

“It’s by the door,” He motions behind him, “I can take you home, if you’d like.”

You nod, eyes pleading, “please?”

He nods, stuffing his hands in his shorts, “John B already left for work though.. so you’ll have to ride on the back of my bike.”

~

You fixated yourself behind JJ on his bike, “You sure this is safe?”

He chuckles, nodding, “Yes, just..” he clears his throat, “wrap your arms around my waist.”

You slip your arms around his waist, tightening your grip, “I’m trusting you, Maybank.”

He glances over his shoulder at you, “I won’t let anything happen to you. Promise.”

You knew he was probably just being reassuring to help calm your nerves of getting on the back of his bike, but the statement felt more sincere than anything.

~

When you two pulled into the driveway of your home, there were cop cars everywhere. Police standing in your yard and your parents on the front porch talking to a couple.

“What the hell?” You get off the bike as JJ stops and turns it off. He follows you to the pathway that led to your house.

“Y/n! Oh god.” Your mother steps down the front porch, running to you and engulfing you in her arms.

“Sweetie we were so worried about you.” Your dad explains, hugging you and your mother. He can’t help but give a ‘if looks could kill’ look at JJ. You’d rode in on the back of his bike and had been with him.

“Well, I’m fine.” You say, pulling away to look at them. Your mother is holding your cheek, looking you over, making sure you’re not hurt.

JJ clears his throat, “I’m going to get going.”

Your mom and dad look at him, your mother’s eyes darting back to you, “What were you doing with him?” That’s when she sees the t shirt, which is clearly not yours. “y/n y/l/n. Oh my lord! Get yourself inside this instant. I can’t believe you were with the trash last night!”

You step back from her, looking at her like she’s crazy, “What? Mama, he’s not trash. He’s a decent human being.”

“who took advantage of you.” Your dad says, he’s motioning a police officer over.

“What are you doing?” You ask, looking at your dad.

“He’s not going to get away with this honey. You just tell the officer everything he did to you.” Your mother says, running her hand over your hair.

“Oh my god! No.” You shake your head, pushing her hand away, “He didn’t do anything! We didn’t do anything!” You look at JJ then your parents.

“Honey, you don’t have to lie to us.” Your father looks at the officer, “You need to arrest him. He’s the one who had my daughter last night. And it seems he took advantage of her as well.”

JJ holds his hands up in defense as the officer’s reach for him, “Okay, hold up, I didn’t do shit!”

“He didn’t do anything!” You begin to panic as the officer grabs JJ.

“Son, don’t make this any harder for yourself.” The officer explains. JJ’s eyes are wide and looking at you.

“Stop it!” You grab the officer’s arm, “he didn’t do anything to me. You can’t arrest him.”

The officer looks at your father then at you, “Ma’am. It’s okay, you’re safe now.”

Your father grabs your arm, pulling you away from JJ and the officer, “Let the officer do his job.”

“I didn’t do shit man! Come on!” JJ argues, as the officer starts to drag him away.

You rip your arm from your father’s running to JJ, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I’ll get you out of this, I promise.” You pull away to look at him and he nods, the officer pushing him into the cop car, slamming the door.

You turn to face your parents, anger all over your face, “What the hell is wrong with the two of you?! He didn’t do anything wrong!” You push through the two of them and storm inside, slamming the door.

~THIS NEXT PART DEALS WITH PHYSICAL ABUSE, PROCEED WITH CAUTION AND DON’T READ IF TRIGGERING~

“you think you can disrespect me like that?!” You dad screams. After the last cop car pulled out of your driveway, your dad had barged into your room and yanked you out of your bed, throwing you into the nearby wall. You knew this was coming, it was just a matter of time.

“He didn’t do anything!”

He sends a kick to your side, causing you to cry out in pain, the wounds from before not fully healed, “You don’t disrespect me like that!” He yanks you up from the ground by your hair, pushing you against the wall, his hands grip at your throat.

“Please.” You gasp for breath, gripping at his wrists, your eyes pleading.

“You’re an ungrateful bitch.” He spits, back handing you, “you’re to not get involved with trash! You hear me?!”

You sob, nodding.

He leans to your level, gripping your neck once more, making you look at him, “The Cameron’s will be here this evening and you WILL be on your best behavior. You WILL interact with Rafe Cameron so we can close the deal. You understand?!”

You whimper, nodding, “y-yes.”

He sends another punch against your face. He stands, composing himself. “If anyone asks, that boy was the one who did this to you.” He pushes his hair back as you sob on the floor of your bedroom, before stepping over your body and out of your room, slamming the door behind him

~ ENDS HERE ~

Your father and Ward Cameron had been at each other’s throats for years, for power and wealth. However, the last couple of weeks, things had changed, and new business deals were made. You were to woo Rafe Cameron and get close to him, to help your father close the deal with Ward. That’s what you and your father argued over yesterday before you went storming out of the house. You didn’t want to do it. You didn’t want to be a pawn in one of his games.

This wasn’t the first time your father had beat you. It all happened when he lost everything years ago. Your father made a deal with someone and it ended badly, causing him to lose everything. He took his anger out on you and has since then. Even when you guys moved to the OBX to start over and he started making money again, he took his anger and frustration out on you in any way possible.

Your mother knew of the abuse, she’d helplessly watched a few times, but she couldn’t do anything. She was a coward, wanting to live this luxurious lifestyle and in return she allowed her daughter to be beat. You hated your mother for it and you hated your father, but you were the perfect family. You had to be the perfect daughter and play along. Get good grades. Don’t party. Don’t drink or do drunks. Be a good girl. Your family had to keep their reputation up as this perfect family. However, your family was not perfect. There’s no such thing as perfect. It was all just an act.

~

When you finally had calmed down, you pulled yourself off your bedroom floor and made it to the bathroom. Your lip was busted, a new bruise forming around your eye. You slowly lifted your shirt, whimpering at the motion. The new blue and purple bruises covering the faded bruises. You slowly dropped the shirt before making your way out of the bathroom. You needed to help JJ. He was in this mess because of you.

~

When you arrived at the police station, everyone turned their heads at your new look. They knew too, but your father contributed enough to the police force that they turned the other way. You stepped up to the front desk, “JJ Maybank, he was brought in an hour ago.”

The lady types into her computer, shaking her head, “He was released as soon as he arrived.” She looks at you.

“Oh.. okay. Thanks,” You walked out of the station, looking around. You knew he hung out with John B Routledge and headed toward John B’s.

~

“So, wait, he arrested you?” Kie asks.

JJ nods, “Yup! Thought I had taken advantage of her.” He rolls his eyes, plopping down on the couch.

“That’s messed up dude.” Pope says.

“And then they just released you as soon as you arrived?” John B asks, “Why? I mean why go through all the trouble just to let you go?”

JJ shrugs, “I have no clue, man. But some shit is going on with her family. Her dad’s fucking psycho.” He does the crazy motion with his finger, “He’s always giving me this evil look. Anytime I see him.”

“sounds like it.” Kie leans back on the chair.

JJ looks down at his blunt, rolling it in his fingers, “I think he beats her.” JJ looks around at the pogues.

“No. There’s no way.” Pope says, “I’m there every week and never suspected it.”

“Plus, they’re perfect.” Kie adds, “I mean anytime they go out, they’re this perfectly happy little family.”

“Yeah but you guys don’t know the signs. I do.” He sighs, standing, “The way she changes when he’s around or when he touches her in anyway. I do the same thing around my father.” He mumbles, “Plus, what she said last night about what her dad did to her behind closed doors. It’s just sketchy dude.”

“JJ you can’t make that assumption though. She was drunk,” John B says, “I know you’ve been through hell, but she’s living a completely different life than you. Her family’s rich and perfect. She’s a kook. There’s no way her dad’s beating her.”

“I guess things aren’t always as they seem, huh?”

The pogues all turn around at the voice and are shocked when they see you and your appearance. The outline of your father’s fingers over your throat were starting to show. Your lip busted and your eye bruised and swollen. Their eyes are wide as they stare at you.

“Oh shit.” Pope says, slowly standing.

JJ takes in your appearance and all he wants to do is throw a punch through the wall. He slowly steps passed John B to get to you. He can see your eyes filling with tears as he steps closer. He doesn’t say anything but gently wraps you in a hug. He hated when he was right.

Obx taglist:  @emmalvei-blog​ , @tregua-oca​ , @weirdbiwitch​ , @losers-club6​ , @treestarrrrrrrr​ , @omgwhattheeven , @normatural​ , @lreincarnationl​ , @laurenron​ , @junkiemuppettxx​ , @beth-winchester21​ , @divcrdown​ , @timotaychalabae​ , @moose-squirrel-asstiel​ , @tangledinsparkles​ , @prejudic3​ , @lanarichards5  @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch​ , @fratboystark​ , @nas-marie-loves-u​ , @sunwardsss , @annedub​ , @jellyfishbeansontoast​ , @turtlee-says-rawr​, @fanficscuziranout​ , @wellthathappened2 , @write-from-the-heart​ , @louisolos , @outrbank​ , @sunset-d-rive , @family-buisnes​ , @traumaflavouredjuulpod , @http-cherries​ , @k-k0129​ , @mileven-reddie​ , @eclecticpuppyhollywoodhumanoid​ , @cinnamon-roll-seth​ , @teamnick​ , @rockyyc77​ , @ellojustafangirlhere​ , @sataninsatin​ , @lordsagittarius​ , @helplessquotess​ , @katerosexx​ , @kiarasgold​ , @thee-sex​ , @sunshinemadds​ , @ceruleanjj​ , @nikki082489​ , @ilovejjmaybank​ , @laubluered​ , @lcil123​ , @notmcchkn​ , @ceruleanjj​ , @fangirlvoice​ , @maybebanks , @lolitstiana​ , @danicarosaline​ , @obx-beach​ , @katiaw2​ , @hardyxlove , @kaelyn-lobrutto24 , @obxmxybxnk , @lasnaro , @thedarkqueenofavalon​

All my works tag list:  @blossomreed���

[inkandpen22]

Beautiful Angel of Darkness (8/8)

Pairing: Spike x Female!Reader

Warnings: Mild fluff 

Word Count: 1.5k 

Part Summary: Y/N falls apart after Spike disappears again and can’t find the way back until something snaps Y/N out of it

A/N: FINAL PART!!! Woohoo the first end to one of my series! I hope you all enjoy :)

Masterlist

A week later... 

Emptiness. All I feel is emptiness. For the last six months, I've been running toward finding my new purpose in this life. Then, one day Spike appears and knocks me off course. The walls and foundation I built grumbled into nothing. I am nothing. I feel nothing. In his absence, I'm nothing. 

There's a knock on my front door for which I ignore. 

"Y/N!" I hear Angel call from the other side of the door. "Y/N, answer the door." 

For the last week, I've laid in my bed waiting for some absolution. I stare out my window from dusk until dawn, yet nothing happens. Upon my silence, Angel wiggles the nob to learn that it was unlocked the whole time. He storms into my apartment calling my name until he appears in the doorway to my bedroom. 

"Y/N, no one has heard from you in days," he sighs as he approaches my bedside. 

My eyes remain fixated on my window. I watch as the branches on the tree wave in the wind, leaves fall from it with each passing breeze. Taking a seat on the edge of my bed, Angel releases a deep sigh. 

"Spike returned to Sunnydale," he tells me quietly. 

"I know," I speak for the first time in days. 

"He...um... " Angel stammers as he reaches into his coat pocket to reveal a piece of paper. "He stopped by the office before he left a few days ago. He wanted me to give you this. I was reluctant but Fred insisted." 

Gently, he places the folded-up paper on the edge of my bed beside my hand. I don't react, instead, I remain as I am, as I've been for the last few days. 

Angel brushes his hand over my cheek and rises from my bed. "I'm here if you need me," he assures quietly. He starts toward the door but stops in the archway. "He's not worth your pain, Y/N," he mutters over his shoulder. "I'll be back later to check on you." 

Once I hear him enter the hall, I lift the piece of paper and begin to unfold. Soon, Spike's handwriting is revealed on the small parchment. It's evident it was a last-minute decision, being on an official Wolfman & Hart labeled paper. 

My Love, 

I leave Los Angeles without you with great despair, a sense of pain I haven't felt in centuries. You are my dark angel. I'm nothing without you. My soul belongs to you. 

I will love you always and forever. 

Yours, 

Spike 

Memories flash across my mind like seconds of light. My entire human life was superficial and ordinary. Then, I met Spike and I felt instantly that he was my dark angel sent to lead me through life.  One, in particular, stands out to me, the moment I knew wholeheartedly that I was where I was meant to be. 

“Okay, one more time,” he so kindly does it again. 

I huff, growing slightly frustrated that I’m missing it and losing my streak. 

An IL word, how hard can it be? 

“Is it a phrase?” I question aggressively. It’s the one solution. 

He hums, a mischievous smirk appearing on his lips. 

To help me figure it out, I begin to name the letters out loud. 

“I, L, O, V…” I stop saying them, but Spike continues writing out the letters. 

Slowly, I turn onto my side and Spike’s hand slides to my waist. A faint smile remains on his lips as he brings his fingers to my temple and brushes my hair back. His eyes search my face with such admiration. 

“I love you,” he reveals quietly between us. 

A breathless laugh escapes my lips as I leap to wrap my arms around him. He falls onto the bed with laughter. I climb on top of him, utterly exploding with happiness. 

“You love me?!” I question for positivity. 

He snickers, amused by my reaction. “Don’t believe me?” 

He sits up, resting against the headboard, and grips my waist. “Yes, Y/N, I love you! I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you!” 

I cup his face, pressing my lips to his. I can’t help but smile against the kiss. I want to make this moment last forever. I break away, realizing I haven’t said it back yet. 

“Oh! I love you too! I love you so much!” I rush out. 

He smiles brightly, “I was hoping you would.” 

His hand wraps around the back of my neck and he brings me in for a gentle kiss. I’ve fallen under his spell, he’s utterly immaculate. Every moment with him is magical. I want to make up for every minute we spent apart before we met. As long as Spike’s mine, nothing bad can ever happen to us. 

We rest our foreheads against one another, starring at each other’s eyes. 

“From now until forever,” he promises me. 

“Forever,” I repeat the vow, meaning it wholeheartedly. 

God, I love him so much. My entire world is him. He’s the sun, the moon, everything. I will love him for eternity. 

As if resurrected and given a second chance, I rise from my bed and hurry to get dressed. I gather a bag of a few items that I can fit and rush down the hall to my living room. When I get out there, Angel is sitting in the armchair on the phone. When he sees me enter the room, he hangs up quickly. 

"Y/N?" He first says with confusion, then with seriousness. "Y/N! Where are you going?" He urgently questions as he flies up from his position. 

"Sunnydale." I grab my keys off the side table and march toward the door. 

Angel follows me like a shadow to the door as I swing it open. "Are you crazy?!" 

I chuckle wickedly and glance over my shoulder at the vampire. "Absolutely mad," I wink as I walk off. 

_______________________________________

From atop the mausoleum, I watch as Spike returns from the Bronze. Even after almost a year, Spike hasn't changed his routine. I suppose I should be thankful since it made locating him much easier. He walks with a sense of gloom about him, instead of the usual confidence and lack of care. I smirk as I leap down from the roof onto the leaf-covered grass. Spike halts and whips his head around to investigate the sudden thud. I linger in the shadows and out of sight to his annoyance. 

"Who's there?!" He barks and awaits a response as he spins around. When he doesn't receive one, he huffs. "Whoever it is, it's Halloween! Take the night!" 

He starts to march off toward his tomb and I follow a few yards behind. It's sort of ironic now that I think about it. He must've done this when we first met. He hunted me like prey, lingering in the shadows. I felt his presence and now he feels mine. It's funny how the roles have reversed. He found me and now I must find me. 

"I said back off!" Spike snaps as he stops dead in his tracks. "We don't hunt on Halloween!" 

"That's a shame," I chuckle lightly as I hide. "Halloween was always my favorite..." 

"Y/N?" Spike mutters to himself, unsure if it's real. 

I emerge from behind a nearby tomb and approach him stealthily. His crystal eyes meet mine in awe. 

"Here I am," I smirk. 

"What are you doing here?" He questions quietly. 

I circle him with a mischievous grin as he did when we first met. Our little game of cat and mouse continues, except this time I'm the big bad cat. 

"Some blonde, problematic, North London vampire left me this note, would you happen to know anything about that?" I tease. 

I stand behind him, gliding my fingertips across his back. He inhales sharply with a hiss at my touch. The reaction makes me giggle. 

"Perhaps," he answers, his voice a tad shaky. 

"I read it. Quite short, but there was something about it...The words made something snap inside my head. It was like I was dreaming and rose again," I describe the experience. 

"Is that so?" He plays along and I can feel his body relax. 

"It was like someone turned on a light." I pause to whisper in his ear, "a sweet cure." 

"And now?" He presses, filled with curiosity. 

I step to stand before him and I meet his beautiful eyes directly. They've haunted me for months and I finally have them starring into mine again. 

"Nothing else matters," I tell him. 

Hesitantly, he reaches up and caresses my cheek with furrowed brows. "You've come back to me?" 

I nod, leaning into his touch. 

"I've always loved you," he confesses breathlessly. 

"I know... and I never stopped," I confess softly in return as my eyes fall shut to ponder the sensation of his hand. 

"You and me forever?" He questions urgently as he cups my face. 

I nod gently and bring my hand to cover his. "All time." 

The edge of his lips curves upward to a light smirk as he leans down and brings them to meet mine. I'm electrified by the feeling and am reminded that my place in the world is with him. For all eternity. 

________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @currently-obsesed-with-spike​ @mx-pibbles​ @shy-ginger-in-the-graveyard​

[swiftlymoniquesblog]

I Just Want My Heart Back: Sam Winchester x Reader

A/N: Hello friends! Well, I thought it was time to update my Supernatural masterlist since I’ve been writing so much for Marvel and Harry Potter. It’s been way too long since I wrote something that wasn’t holiday related for Supernatural and after talking to a very good friend, I came up with this! 

BIG shoutout to @calaofnoldor because she gave some wonderful little nudges and suggestions for this and I’m quite proud of how quickly I put this together. The title for this was her idea, as well as this GIF so thank you lovely for all your help!

Warnings: Angst, swearing, breakup, jealous!Sam, mentions of sex, boobs (yep that’s a warning lol) and implied sex but nothing too filthy cause y’all know that’s not how I roll (and I want y’all to use your imaginations too ;))

Word Count: 4,383 

Supernatural Masterlist| Masterlist of all Masterlists

Feedback is greatly appreciated! Tag lists requests are OPEN as well as my inbox!

*Italics are flashbacks and POV*

-Monique

“I don’t think this is working out,” Sam says, coming to you one day after a hunt gone bad.

“What isn’t working out?” You ask, looking up to the taller Winchester.

“Us, you and me. You living and working with us. All of it.” He says, refusing to make eye contact.

“What? What do you mean it’s not working out? What’s the problem? I’ve been living with you and Dean for the last two years! Why is there suddenly an issue?” You question.

“Well lately, (Y/N) you’ve been really reckless on these hunts we’ve been going on,” he answers, still not looking at you.

“What? Reckless? I’m a hunter, Sam. I take chances just like you and Dean do and they don’t always go as planned, like today.”

“Exactly, that was really stupid of you to go in that warehouse by yourself,” he says as you’re taken back to the events of the day.

“Alright, Sam, you and I will scout out the warehouse, see if we come across any vics. (Y/N) I need you to be on the lookout and alert us if someone’s coming,” Dean said, with Sam next to him, guns aimed and ready to fire. But they looked to you and you were nowhere to be found.

“(Y/N)?” Dean whisper yells for you.

“Dean!” Sam says, panic filling his voice. The youngest brother pointed in the direction of where he was looking straight ahead, seeing you running inside the warehouse.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean yells as he and Sam run after you.

You were too far ahead to hear them running after you until it was too late. An entire pack of vampires had rushed you, trying desperately to sink their teeth into you. A good dozen or more were surrounding you and you began swinging, taking your knife to slice off the heads of the monsters as they grew too close. Screams of the victims could be heard as you fought hard, soon realizing you went alone. Just as one vamp lost its head, another was right behind you and sank its teeth into your shoulder. You scream out in agony; the venom was quickly spreading through your body.

“(Y/N)!” Sam yells to you, watching as you fall to the ground; the pain bringing you to your knees.

“Sam, we can’t stop, there are too many vamps out here!”

“She’s going to turn into one of them if we don’t help her, Dean!”

“Cas! If you can hear us, get your feathery ass down here and save (Y/N)!” Dean yells and then, a fluttering of wings came down in front of you.

“Hello (Y/N), let me take a look at you,” Cas says, kneeling beside you and carefully moving your collar of your shirt away from where you were a bit. You hiss out in pain as the wound was now exposed to the air around you.

“Alright (Y/N) luckily I was able to get here just in time before it got too bad so I can heal you enough now to transport you back to the Bunker but I’ll have to extract the venom from you later. okay?” Cas explained.

“Just, do it!” You cry and a blinding light flashed around you, causing you to lose your sight for just a moment but the sound of vamps being killed was the last thing you heard.

 “Alright, I admit, that wasn’t the best decision I could’ve come up with but I’m okay!”

“Yeah, but today wasn’t the first time you got hurt really bad on a hunt!” Sam yelled, suddenly making himself seem even bigger than he already was.

“What are you saying, Sam? You want me to leave?”

“Yes. I can’t keep worrying about you getting hurt because you’re too damn stubborn to listen to a damn thing Dean or I tell you! We’re more experienced hunters, (Y/N), we know what’s safe and what’s not. We can’t that burden over our heads,” He says.

You felt the tears brimming to the surface of your eyes but with the words he just spoke, you couldn’t let him see you upset.

“Alright, um, I’ll go pack my things and be out of your way.” You say, brushing past your now ex-boyfriend, but making sure to hit him hard as you did so.

When you reached your room, a photo of you and Sam sat on the end-table beside your bed, the smiling faces just mocking you. Grabbing the frame, you throw it across the room and scream at the broken glass now scattered across the floor.

“Fuck you, Sam Winchester!” You yell, hoping to anyone that he was listening.

You and Sam had always been close and just recently started dating. Sure, it was challenging but you thought since you were in the business too, it would be easier to work out any differences you may face; you were clearly mistaken. Taking a duffel bag from out of your closet, you throw all your clothes and toiletries inside, packing up furiously. When you were sure you had everything, you find a scratch piece of paper and write up a note for Dean. You and he were close too; he was like your older brother.

 Dean,

I am so sorry to be writing you this letter but I’ve been informed that I should not be living or hunting with you and Sam anymore. Apparently, I am a burden to you guys and you don’t want to have to worry about my well-being on every case. I guess I am just like you though; stubborn as a mule. I thought that was a good thing but according to Sam, it’s not. I thought he and I could work through anything because I became a hunter too, but I was wrong about that, too.

I’m not sure where he and I went wrong, but today was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I love him, Dean, I really do, but I guess he doesn’t love me enough to keep fighting for a relationship with me. I have a friend who’s a hunter who offered a place for me to stay and is willing to teach me new skills to improve myself as a hunter and who knows, maybe by then, Sam will actually want me around as a partner.

I’m going to miss eating greasy burgers and staying in cheap motels and watching Western’s with you but this is for the best. I can’t be around someone who doesn’t want me around and Sam has made that very clear that he doesn’t care about me anymore.

Here’s my address of where I’ll be staying at for a while; just don’t tell Sam where I’m at. I need to grieve the loss of one of the best things that have ever happened to me. I wish him well though, please tell him that.

I hope to stay in touch with you; you’ve always been like a big brother to me. I love you Dean and I’ll call you when I get to my new home.

Love, (Y/N)

Folding up the paper, you grab your bag and your keys for your car. Walking past Dean’s room, you slide the letter under his door and knock on it, before rushing towards the stairs out when you heard Sam calling for Dean.

“What’s up, Sammy?” Dean asks when he opens his door, noticing the note in front of him.

“I think I found a case for us to work. What’s that?” Sam said, looking at the paper in his brothers’ hand. Just then, the sound of a vehicle starting and driving away interrupted them.

“Who’s leaving?” Dean asked, walking out to the War Room; Sam remaining silent. “What?”

Sam remained quiet for a while until Dean starting growing angry.

“(Y/N) left,” Sam finally said.

“What? What do you mean, (Y/N) left?” Dean asked, still furious with his little brother.

“Where did she go, Sam?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said, avoiding the conversation he just had with (Y/N).

Just then, Dean remembered the letter that was on his bedroom floor. He reached for it from his back pocket and opened it.

Sam watched as Dean’s eyes bounced back and forth across the page; he was starting to feel guilty.

“You told her to leave?” Dean asked, in a calm voice but Sam didn’t peak.

“Answer me, Sammy! Did you tell (Y/N) to leave?!” Dean’s voice escalated.

“Yes,” Sam simply answered.

“Great, you know she’s gone, right? She said we see her as a burden? Did-did you tell her that?!”

“Yes,”

“Oh my God, Sam! That’s just great! You know she was the best thing that ever happened to you and you just push her away like that? Why?”

“She was always getting hurt, Dean? What was I supposed to do? Tell her she was doing a good job at constantly getting hurt?” Sam yelled back to his brother.

“Yes! She was stubborn like we are but she was willing to become a hunter just so she could be with you, Sammy! She loved your dumb ass and what, because she got hurt all the time, you stopped loving her?”

“No, I-I never said I don’t love her anymore,”

“Well, she thinks you don’t love her! And you know what else she said in this letter? She said she needs time to grieve the best thing that ever happened to her!”

Sam was quiet for a minute, letting his brothers’ words sink in. The girl he was in love with, was gone forever, all because he hated how stubborn she was and how she never listened. She was just like him and that bothered him. He didn’t want her to be like him, so broken and hurt, but she was also good. She was beautiful and had a positive outlook on life; always bringing happiness to the brothers when they were down. She was young and full of life, always caring about everyone else before herself and maybe that was why she always got hurt. But she loved Sam and he couldn’t understand why, but he felt lucky to have her. Maybe he was overreacting; he got hurt a lot too. It was part of the job to get hurt saving people’s lives and not everyone could do it but (Y/N)? She was good at it because she cared for people so much, way more than he or Dean even could.

“Did she say where she was going?” Sam suddenly asks, growing worried about where she had gone.

“She did, but she doesn’t want you to know. You really hurt her, Sam,” Dean said.

“I know, I fucked up bad. I thought if she wasn’t here anymore, that she couldn’t get hurt, and then I wouldn’t have to worry about her so much. At least, if she went away, she would be safe, but I don’t even know that to be true,” Sam confesses.

“Your plan just completely backfired on you,”

“Yeah, I made things worse, and for what?”

“Because I thought this was the best way to protect her and when she got hurt, Dean, she was almost always near death. I-I couldn’t stand seeing her like that because I knew there was a better way but she always had to go down the harder and more painful path.”

“Yeah, and you know why she did that?” Dean asked.

“Why?”

“Because she was a Winchester. She was stubborn and hard-headed but she is a fighter and she always believed in the best in people. And what did you do? You tried to penalize her for it,” Dean said.

“I know, I really fucked up here. I gotta try and find her, Dean. Tell her I was wrong,” Sam said, going to grab keys for one of the vehicles the brothers owned.

“Dude, she doesn’t want to see you,” Dean reminded him of the letter.

“Well, she didn’t leave that long ago. She couldn’t have gotten too far; I have to try,” Sam argued back.

“Want me to go with you?” Dean asked but Sam shook his head.

“I need you to stay here just in case she comes back home,” Sam says before realizing the Bunker wasn’t (Y/N)’s home anymore. “Just stay here.”

Sam grabbed a jacket and his phone before rushing off to the garage and jumping in behind the wheel of a car. Just before he sped away, Dean came out to the garage with a set of keys in his hands.

“Here,” he said, tossing the keys to Sam.

“Baby? You’re letting me take her?” Sam questioned, surprised that his brother trusted him with his most prized possession.

“Yeah, she’s pretty reliable and will get you where you need to go. Plus, (Y/N) loves her. If you do end up catching up with her, the least you can do is show up in a good-looking car,” Dean smirked as Sam threw the other keys back to him. 

Throwing the car into drive, Sam sped out of the garage, desperate to find (Y/N) and hoping he wasn’t too far behind her. He wanted to apologize to her, tell her he still loved her, and was only speaking out of frustration. Of course, he wanted her to stay and keep hunting with him and Dean but he worried about her a lot, and seeing her hurt all the time, wasn’t good for anyone. Maybe he was being selfish but he thought he was doing the right thing for everyone when he really was hurting the one person who meant the most to him. He pushed the gas pedal down as hard as he could, not caring about the speed limits, and looking around to see if her vehicle had stopped anywhere, as his mind kept wandering off to the letter she left for Dean. Why didn’t she leave one for him? Did he hurt her that bad? 

Sam’s POV

Damnit, I shouldn’t have told her to go and now, I can’t find her. What if I do find her and she doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore? She easily could tell me to go to hell; I mean I did that already but it would be worse hearing it from her. Would she ever let me explain where I was coming from? If she didn’t, I don’t think I would blame her; I wouldn’t let me explain. I hadn’t realized how long I had been driving for but it was starting to get dark. My speed had decreased drastically as I figured I should pull over and rest for the night. It’d be no good for me driving at night when I was this upset over the whole situation. Maybe this still made me seem selfish but I didn’t want to end up dead before I got to her. Seeing a small bar off the side of the road, I go to pull into the parking lot, searching for (Y/N)’s car just in case she had done the same as me. 

Getting out of the car, I lock Baby up and head inside, anxious to see if (Y/N) was there. Looking around the room, I’m met with a bunch of unfamiliar faces. I walk to the bar and order a shot of whiskey. The liquid burned as it went down my throat and temporarily made me feel better but that feeling went away quickly. Just as I was about to order my next shot, I look over out of the corner of my right eye and see that familiar face; the one who had been driving me insane. 

She was sitting at a booth with some guy who couldn’t keep his hands off of her but she didn’t seem to mind. Was she crazy?! This guy is disgusting! How could she be okay with him touching her? I’m the only one who is allowed to touch her. Wait, no, I can’t think like that; I’m the one who broke up with her. But did she have to be looking at him with those big (y/e/c) eyes? And that perfect smile? She used to look at me like that all the time and now? My last memory of her was the look of pure sadness and somber; like I just kicked a puppy or something. No, I just broke her heart. Alright, I hate myself but I need to do something about it instead of just sitting here and watching her fall all over some random guy. I may regret this later but I figure I should go with it and see what happens.

“Hey baby, there you are. I was starting to worry about you,” I say, pulling a chair over to sit on the opposite side of where her “date” was. She looked over at me with a look of disgust but my jealous side told me I was doing the right thing. 

“Go away, I don’t want to talk to you,” she says, turning back to the other guy, so I did the next best thing I thought to do. I stand up and wrap an arm around her waist, hoisting her over my shoulder. She screamed and started cussing me out, causing everyone to look at us. 

“Just our honeymoon is all, she’s a bit nervous,” I lied, looking at the bartender who just nodded his head and smirked; dirty old man. Walking back out to Baby, (Y/N) hits my back several times, telling me I must’ve lost my mind to be treating her like this and she is going to fucking scream when I finally let her down. 

“(Y/N) please, just let me explain,” I say, finally setting her down but still holding onto her arm.

“Why should I Sam? You made it very clear that we were over and that I was a burden to you; why can’t you just let me go? I just want my heart back because you destroyed it,” She says trying to wiggle free from my grasp.

“I can’t let you go,” I say, letting her out of my hold.

“You just did a few hours ago!” She says, growing frustrated with me.

“I didn’t mean anything I said back then; I’m so sorry,” I try to reason with her but I can tell she’s not buying it. 

“Why even say it then?” She scoffs, rolling her eyes at me. 

“I was talking out of my frustration. I hate seeing get hurt; you’ve almost died more than once. I hate that you’re just as much a Winchester as Dean and I are; just as stubborn. But you’re a damn good hunter and we’ve gotten better at this job because of you. I can’t imagine not having you hunt with us anymore; you’re too damn important to me now. I want you to stay; I need you to stay.”

She was quiet for a minute then spoke up, “you told me I was a burden to you, Sam. Do you know how that made me feel? You made me think you didn’t love me anymore. So when you told me to leave, I couldn’t fathom the words that were coming from your mouth. I sat in my car about a mile outside the Bunker and balled my eyes out. Do you not realize what you mean to me? I love you, Sam, but you just tossed me aside like I was nothing.” 

“That wasn’t my intention, (Y/N)! I-I thought I was protecting you!” I yell.

“Okay you really don’t want to be yelling at me right now when you’re already on thin ice here, Winchester,” she warns and I apologize. 

“I promise, that wasn’t what I meant to do. I thought I was protecting you by telling you, you were a burden on us. I knew that if I asked you not to hunt with us for a while, you’d just argue with me about why that’s not fair, so I figured if I told you that it was becoming too difficult for us to always care for you, that you would sit back yourself. And then it spiraled out of control from there and I kept up with the act that I didn’t care about you because I had to make you believe that you weren’t safe hunting. I never told you I didn’t love you; I can’t believe you thought that. I love you more than I’ve loved anyone else and I know that’s a lot to hear because we’ve only really been dating for a short time but we started off as friends first and I knew from that very first day you came to us for help on a case, that I loved you. And then when you told me you had feelings for me too, I was so happy because finally, here’s this amazing woman who understands the business because she does it herself and I love her. But I talked to Dean and he made me realize I probably made the biggest mistake of my life and I am so, so sorry. I only said everything I did because I cared too damn much about your well-being. And I know, it’s dumb and doesn’t make any sense but it’s the truth. I hope you can forgive me and we can go back to just being us. And I am so sorry you cried; I hate when you’re sad. But if you’ll let me, I want to make it up to you.” 

There was silence was settled between us for an agonizing amount of time before she did something I wasn’t expecting. She quickly closed the space between us and grabbed the back of my head to pull me into a kiss. Instantly, I grab onto her hips, holding her into place, while my lips let her know how much I truly missed her. I was growing tired of leaning over so I lifted her to my level, easily able to intensify the kiss. She held onto the back of my shirt like she was afraid she was dreaming and I would disappear at any minute, but I tried to convince her that I wasn’t going anywhere; I was too far invested in this. I broke the kiss for a minute, looking at the beautiful girl in my arms. 

“I have an idea,” I said, setting her down and unlocking the car. She watches me closely as I unlock the door she was standing closest to and open the door to her. 

“Get in,” I say. She does but doesn't understand what I was implying until I grabbed the bottom hemline of my shirt and lifted it over my head. When she realized what my idea was, she followed my lead, lifting her shirt over her head and threw it on the floor of the car. I duck down and make my way inside to the back seat, hovering over her as she lays across the seat. She looked up at me, never breaking eye contact until I kissed her again. My hands traveled down her body, and she reacted to my touch, back arching into me. She pulled away to remove her bra before attaching her lips to mine again. As more and more articles of clothing were being removed, she broke the silence for a minute.

“You know, Dean is going to kill us when he finds out we had sex back here.” 

I laugh, knowing she was telling the truth and thinking what my brother’s reaction was going to be.

“Well, he doesn’t have to know; we’ll get her cleaned before we go back to the Bunker,” I say, trying not to make a big deal out of what we had planned. 

“Oh, I don’t know, plus, how many times has he had sex back here?” She asked and I paused to think about it.

“You know, you’re probably right. I’m sure it’s been numerous times! Wanna just go check into that motel over there?” I suggest, throwing my head to the side to motion to the motel. 

“I mean, that’s tempting but equally as disgusting. You know how questionable those rooms are! If we’re going to have sex, I want it to be special!” She kept her stance on the topic. 

I sigh but realize she was right. I didn’t want to just sleep with her in the backseat of a car or at a dingy motel. As much as I was really wanting to go through with this, I figured we would have a much better time back at the Bunker. 

“Alright, how about we just make out like some crazy teenagers for now and save the rest for later,” I suggested, wiggling my eyebrows at her. She laughs for a moment before reaching down to pick her bra back up but I stopped her.

“Why don’t you just leave that off for now,” I say, eyes trailing down to ger exposed chest before a devilish grin made its way across my face. Her cheeks redden but she throws the bra back and brings me back for another kiss, my hands traveling their way over each breast, savoring the way her skin felt against mine. I missed this feeling; having her with me and exploring every part of each other. And not just for a day or just to ‘scratch an itch,’ but because we loved one another and I needed her to know just how vital she was to my life. Without her, I cannot go on; I know this from experience so I knew I needed to do whatever it took to make her realize that I loved her. 

And after a while and we began our journey home, my hand in hers as she sang along to the cassette tapes Dean had, I knew I finally found the happiness that I thought I couldn’t find because of the life I chose to lead and a life I prayed would never change. It may have been selfish to desire a happiness such as this but I also know I struggled to find peace so now that I have it, it’s like a precious artifact that I will fight to protect at all costs, no matter the risk to my own life, because that I what you do when you love someone. 

Taglist: @tloveswriting @calaofnoldor @thinkinghardhardlythinking @440mxs-wife @angeredcrow @baby1967impala @suckmysupernatural @slutforfics @sam-winchester-admiration-league @awesomesusiebstuff @hobby27 @spnjediavenger @polina-93 @simpleb00x​

[ranishoo]

7 for leslie and devlon do it you wont

oh fuck yeah

7. First words vs last words

First words:

Leslie felt sore. She felt hot. The ground was shifting around her. Her eyes were closed, yet light still poured in, tinting her vision red. Until it went dark again. But she was still awake, wasn't she? She tried to open her eyes, but they were far too heavy.

Fingers pressed against her neck and the weight she previously felt was gone in an instant, replaced by pure adrenaline. She shot upright with a yelp, her forehead meeting something solid that sent her back down to the ground, groaning and clutching her head. And someone else was groaning too.

Leslie opened her eyes, having to rub and blink them many times to fight the bright sunlight and a strange irritation, to find herself looking at a man sitting not too far from her. He was tall, lean but well-built, with dark skin and long dark hair, with what looked to be a side shave, or maybe a long mohawk? He too was rubbing a hand on his forehead.

"Oh god," Leslie began, "did I hit you? I-" She stopped, noticing for the first time where she was. What she was sitting on. What she had rubbed out of her eyes. Sand.

Sand?

All around her was pits of sand, dry patches of dirt and dead brush, and what might be the oldest looking ruins she'd ever seen. What the fuck? She'd just been in the Felsan foothills, surrounded by trees and rocks; what was she doing here? What was going on, and who was that man?

Leslie turned her attention back to the stranger, only to notice he had recovered and stood up, walking back over to her. He said something to her, but she couldn't make out what. She gave him a confused look, and he paused for a moment before repeating himself. Was he speaking Kett? Some of the words sounded familiar, but she couldn't fully comprehend their meaning.

The man scratched his head for a moment, and Leslie noticed two large fangs protruding from his lips. A vampire? No, he was in broad daylight, that would be stupid. Maybe a galik, then? She couldn't see his eyes, the slitted draconic pupils usually a dead giveaway, so she couldn't tell for sure.

"Ah..." the man started, his tenor voice hesitant and slow. "You... alright?"

So he knew a bit of Domian. It didn't seem like much, but at least it was something. Leslie still hoped he'd been speaking Kett before, and that she just hadn't understood through his accent; she at least knew a few phrases and random words in the language, so even if he barely knew Domian she might be able to ask him some questions.

The man cleared his throat.

"Oh! Um, yes? Sort of? Uh... sorry, where am I?" She attempted to stand, but her legs protested with possibly the worst cramps she'd ever felt, and she promptly landed back on the sand, writhing in pain.

Her eyes pinched shut, Leslie heard the man frantically calling in his language as he rushed toward her. Then in Domian, "Alright? Alright?"

It took her a moment to collect herself, but she remembered to stretch out her legs and gritted her teeth, working the cramp out. "I... yeah, yeah I am." Still on the ground, she held out a hand to shake his and gave him a pained smile. "I'm Leslie."

He stared at her for a moment, seemingly baffled. Then, slowly, he took her hand and cautiously helped her to her feet. Alright, not what she'd intended, but that was fine. She looked up at him, meeting his bright golden eyes partially obscured by the hair he had yet to brush out of the way. Slitted, just like a dragon.

"I am Delvon."

Last words:

Lucas clung to his arm as Delvon hoisted the saddlebag onto his horse, lifting the boy off his feet for just a moment. "Please don't go, Papa!" He looked at the child, his brown and gold eyes looking like that of a dog watching you eat a juicy steak. That boy had mastered the art of begging, and it took all of Delvon's strength not to scoop him up and bring him inside, foregoing the journey altogether.

He sighed. "Would you prefer I stay home and not hunt, and we go hungry for the winter?"

The boy groaned. "You could at least bring me along, I'm old enough now! Look!" He held up his tag, showing the snake fang to his father. It was galik tradition for a child to keep the fang from their first solo hunt and turn it into a necklace, a badge of pride and a sign that they were beginning the journey to adulthood. Over Lucas' life, Delvon would have the privilege to add more to the tag as his son developed his skills, and he could already tell he'd have to go searching for purple and red beads to mark the boy's prowess in vinum and impes magic. Clearly a trait he got from his mother, as Delvon still struggled on the rare occurrence when he did use his magic.

Sighing again, Delvon ruffled Lucas' curly brown hair with his free hand, a smile teasing his lips. "You have to stay home and protect the farm, remember? Mama and Kala can't do it all by themselves."

Lucas let go of his father's arm and crossed his own, pouting. "Mama could protect the farm all by herself! She's told me all about her adventures; she could keep the farm safe with both her hands tied behind her back."

The smile was still on Delvon's face, but it turned a bit more stern now. "Alright, then you're staying home to help with the harvest. The frost is coming soon, remember?"

Another groan from the boy, resigned this time. "Fine," he grumbled, "but next year I get to go hunting with you and Uncle."

Delvon rolled his eyes. "I make no promises, but I'll think about it. Now, where's your mother?"

Lucas pointed toward the house, where he'd left the door wide open when he chased after his father. Delvon started toward it, sighing. When would that boy learn that the purpose of their hearth wasn't to heat the outdoors? He stepped into the house, waiting for the boy to scramble past him before he shut the door, welcoming the warmth of his home after just a few short minutes out in the chilly morning air.

Leslie was in the kitchen, looking like she had barely just woken up as she nursed a mug of tea and attempted to keep her eyes from falling shut. She looked up from the drink to see Delvon in the doorway and she smiled, laugh lines crinkling to make her face look all the more beautiful. Her red hair was pulled back into a barely contained ponytail, curls flying everywhere to give her a frazzled look. Delvon walked over and smoothed her unruly locks, kissing the top of her head as he did.

'Somebody's a sap this morning,' he sensed her thinking, and he looked at her face to see her smirking at him.

"Perhaps I am," he shrugged, planting a quick kiss on her lips. 'Keep an eye on Lucas when I leave,' he thought, 'I think he might try to follow me this time.'

'He's been failing at that for the past two years,' Leslie replied, hiding a chuckle lest Lucas hear and ask what they're "mind-talking" about. That boy needed to come up with a better term for it; not that she had one, but it took all her willpower not to roll her eyes whenever he said the word. They'd explained tethering to both Lucas and Kala, and while Kala seemed to understand just fine, Leslie wondered if Lucas quite got the concept.

'He'll get it eventually,' Delvon said, interrupting her as he took a sip of her tea, 'he's just young.'

'For now,' she replied, taking the mug back, 'but how are you gonna feel when he gets older than you?'

She said it in jest, but the words gave Delvon pause. He had thought about this before; while he was full galik, they were only half, and they aged much faster than he did. In only sixty years they'd almost reached teenagehood, something that had taken Delvon well over two hundred years. Not to mention Leslie, who wasn't a galik at all. She was in her eighties, although she didn't look it. They wondered if it was the dwarf blood or her strong connection with magic that kept her looking half her age, but neither could figure it out.

Delvon knew what he had been signing up for when he married her; he knew he would outlive her by at least a thousand years, and he had accepted that. But it didn't make it easier to see the signs of age show on her, however slow they may appear. And to see his children grow up so quickly, while he'd seemingly not aged throughout their entire lifetime. He didn't know how he'd handle the years to come, when he was by their deathbeds, still a young man, and it terrified him. What would he do after they were gone?

His thoughts were interrupted by a hand on his cheek. "Hey," Leslie softly said, "you know I love you, right?"

Delvon closed his eyes and placed his own hand on top of hers, pressing his cheek into her palm. He allowed the sensation of his love and care to flow through their link, letting it wash over his wife. She shared hers with him in return, and the two stood there for a quiet moment, eyes closed as they basked in each other's affection.

As soon as the moment had started, it was over, and Delvon opened his eyes, slightly dazed. Leslie's eyes were similarly glazed over, and the two made eye contact for a moment before laughing. The overwhelming sensation they'd just shared left them both a bit stunned, and neither had really gotten used to that feeling.

A knock on the door interrupted them, setting their dog off. Sawyer rushed to the door, barking his head off, his tail wagging frantically. He knew who was on the other side.

"Settle down, boy!" Delvon called fruitlessly, more for his own benefit than anything else. Nothing could stop that damn dog from barking.

Leslie placed a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. "You off, then?"

"It would seem so."

"You better bring us back lots of game, you hear? Oh, and preferably some animal with good bones; we need new tools."

The man snorted. "Alright, necromancer, I'll find you your precious bones."

She smacked him on the shoulder, rolling her eyes. "You know what I mean, asshole. And no getting gored by a buck or a boar or anything. I've already had to patch you up enough for one lifetime; I don't wanna do it again."

Once again, Delvon kissed her on the head, taking his sword off the shelf they'd built high above the children's heads. "I promise I won't get stabbed if you promise you won't let the kids poke your eyes out with the rake."

"Yeah, yeah, I promise."

"I love you!"

"Love you too, Del."

Delvon opened the front door, smiling as he saw his brother on the other side. Sawyer rushed out to sniff Rochil's feet, his entire body squirming from excitement, and the three of them walked toward the horses. When Delvon mounted, he turned back to look at his home, seeing his wife standing in the doorway, waving to him. He saw Lucas peek his head out from behind his mother, and from a window upstairs he could see the tired face of Kala watching out the window as she waved goodbye. Delvon raised a hand to them and Rochil shortly followed. Then the two tapped their horses with their heels, setting on down the road, Sawyer trotting alongside them.

[jumukus]

A3! Event: Re: Tag Match Halloween Episode 9 Translation

Muku and Haruto are on their way to save Tsumugi and Shifuto.

Muku: Tsumugi-san, Shifuto-kun…!

Haruto: That guy is surprisingly fast…!

Actor A: Oh, great timing! Hey, you, vampire and werewolf, have an Etude Battle with us!

Muku: What!?

S-Sorry! We're not a pair…

Haruto: We're in a hurry.

Actor B: What? Running away?

Actor A: They're probably getting cold feet knowing they can't win against us.

Haruto: Haaah? No way.

Actor A: Let's battle it out, then!

Haruto: So annoying! I've told you we're in a hurry--.

???: Hold it right theeeere!

Muku: !

Citron: Let us be your opponent! What's your call!?

Haruto: Y'all…

Sakuya: Kumon-kun told us what's going on. Just go, guys! We'll take them on.

Muku: Thank you, Sakuya-kun, Citron-sama!

Actor B: Heh, so you're gonna replace them?

Citron: That's right.

Let's begin. Sakuya, show him how serious Ghossie is!

Sakuya: G-Ghossie…???

***

Citron: "Hehehe. What kind of trick should I pull this Halloween… I'm gonna surprise a lot of kids!"

Sakuya: "Don't do that! Since this is Halloween, we have to have fun and get along with everyone."

Citron: "Don't be like that. I've come up with a super interesting trick, you see."

"Curious much? Lend me your ear."

Sakuya: "?"

Citron: "So you see…. Pretend we're having a secret conversation and take this!!"

Sakuya: "Whoa!? H-Hold o… Hahahaha! It tickles! Hahahaha!"

"G-Geez! What are you doing?"

Citron: "Hahaha! How's that!? You didn't see it coming, did you!?"

"Hey, do you have any interesting tricks you can come up with?"

Sakuya: "Hmm… I want to pull a trick that can make everyone happy."

"Like… surprising them with marshmallows and cakes!"

Citron: "I see~. Let me give you this marshmallow, then."

Sakuya: "Eh, you sure? Thanks! I'm digging in."

"!? S-So spicy~~!!"

Citron: "Ahahaha! It's a surprisingly hot marshmallow!"

***

Child A: Ahahaha! So funny!

Child B: The kind ghost is so cute~!

Child C: Here you go, ghosts, your candies!

Sakuya: Thanks!

Actor A: Darn it, we lose…

Actor B: While it was frustrating… I've gotta admit that was such a great battle. Just as the rules state, take our candies.

Citron: Thanks!

We've fulfilled our duty.

Sakuya: Yes…! Now we've only gotta pray Tsumugi-san and the others are safe…

Haruto: They should be here…

Forest Gramps: Oh my?

Muku: Forest Gramps!

Forest Gramps: Why are you two in such a hurry?

Muku: Sorry, I don't know how to explain this well but… Is there a place here that can be used to hold someone captive?

Forest Gramps: A place to hold someone captive? Hmm, all the attractions here are placed outside, though…

Besides the ones here, we only have a warehouse.

Haruto: ...That's it!

Muku: Can you show us the way to the warehouse…!?

Forest Gramps: Sure. Over here.

***

Haruto: There's a lot of things placed in front of the door.

Forest Gramps: Since when did this happen… I don't remember having these things here this afternoon.

Muku: We need to take them away and open the door quickly! Heave-ho…!

Haruto: Guess we've got no choice here.

Forest Gramps: Let me help you out!

Muku: Tsumugi-san…! I finally found you!

Tsumugi: Muku-kun…!

I believe you'd come to find us. Thank you.

Haruto: *sighs*... How the hell did you let yourself be kidnapped?

Shifuto: No, it's just, I was careless.

Muku: I'm glad both of you are safe. Let's get out of here first.

Tsumugi: Puck-kun and Jay-san were the ones locking us up.

I saw them replenishing their sweets themselves without performing an Etude…

I met eye contact with Jay-san back then. He probably locked me up here to silence me.

It was quite crowded, so I ended up getting caught easily without you noticing, Muku-kun. I'm so sorry.

Muku: You shouldn't apologize for that, Tsumugi-san!

Shifuto: I saw Jay-san dragging Tsumugi-san around.

It looked kind of alarming, like--it'd be bad if I don't help him. So I chased after them…

But I ended up getting locked up too.

Haruto: Idiot! Tell me first if you're going to chase them!

Tsumugi: But we're saved because of Shifuto-kun's IG Live…

Haruto: Tsukioka, this is our problem. Be quiet.

Tsumugi: Ugh...okay.

Haruto: Why did you choose to hold a livestream, anyway? You could have just video called me via LIME.

Tsumugi: Oh. Y-You're right…! You can make a video call through LIME.

So, Sorry. I suggested using Live since we could communicate through video. I completely forgot LIME also has that kind of feature….

Shifuto: I was like, "Oh, you're right, that's a great idea!" when Tsumugi-san told me about it. So I held a livestream but then--.

I realized I could've just video called you.

Haruto: *sighs*...

Shifuto: Though with IG Live, since a lot of people can watch our stream, there might be some who figured out where we are.

Muku: You have a point.

Shifuto: Haha. Well, everything's turned out all right in the end.

Puck: Ah!!

Why are you out here!?

Jay: Haruto…

Puck: How did you know th… Ah, the phone!

Shit! I forgot to take this guy's phone!

Jay: God…

Muku: Why did you do this?

Puck: It's because of you, Mankai Company…! You guys always get in my way, even this time…!

So I figured I should cause you some troubles.

Haruto: ...How about you, then? Do you have grudges against God-za or something?

Jay: ...Rather than God-za, it's you that I have issues with.

Ever since I was in God-za, I don't like that arrogant attitude of yours.

That's why I wanted to get in your way so that you would not win the competition.

Haruto: *sighs*... How stupid.

Jay: I figured we might have a chance of winning if we hindered both the winning candidates.

Puck was thinking the same thing, so we decided to team up.

Puck: We got panic when Mankai Company found out we have been secretly adding sweets ourselves, and then--.

We saw the leaflets y'all have been handing out.

We came to look at the place and found a warehouse here, so we decided to lock you up!

Jay: Incidentally, we already planned to kidnap that God-za's top actor from the start, because that way, you would not be able to do anything without your partner.

I've never thought he'd come to this place himself, though. His stupidity saved us the trouble.

Haruto: !

Shut up, dumbass! You have no rights to make fun of God-za's top actor!

Jay: …

Shifuto: Haruto-san.

Haruto: You see, in the past, I was willing to do anything as long as I could win.

But… I've realized it just doesn't feel right with me if I win through other ways besides my performance.

Tsumugi: …

Haruto: I'm going to report your misconduct!

Jay: Tch…!

Muku: ...They're gone.

Shifuto: Haruto-san, did you perhaps defend me?

Haruto: Shut up. You're wrong. Don't get carried away.

Muku: Um, Puck-kun.

Puck: What!?

Muku: Let's have another acting battle after this.

Puck: …!

...S-Sorry.

Muku: You should be saying that to Tsumugi-san and Shifuto-kun, not me.

And to Forest Gramps as well. You used his place without permission, didn't you?

Puck: ...I'm sorry, and here, take your phone back.

Tsumugi: It's fine. Like what Muku-kun said, let's have another acting battle after this.

Forest Gramps: Hoho. You're also very welcome to come to play here.

< Episode 8 | Masterlist | Episode 10 >

[penwieldingdreamer]

My best friend, naughty lover and partner for life

Part 1

Part 2

Oh my thank you guys for all the likes and reblogs, I never would have thought that I’d get this reaction. In this part we finally get to meet Keanu and I hope you will like it, too. Let me know what you think. If you want to be tagged let me know and I’ll put you in the queue. Have fun!

Warnings: none

Words: 1141

You had worked at Arch Motorcycle for three weeks and to be honest it was the best decision you had made in the last twenty four months since you moved from the outskirts of Salem, Massachusetts. How you ever ended up with Tommy was beyond you now, thinking back to the time he asked you out on Halloween.

Giggling to yourself as you conjured up the picture you two made. He in a military uniform and you as modern Salem witch, every article you wore was black. People actually thought you were a witch, asking you what they should do to get the ones they had crushes on.

But now, you missed all of that. Your family mostly who still lived there, while you were miles away in a different state. Looking down at your still small belly which mostly resembled the belly pouch you had after getting stuffed during Christmas holidays. “You know, thinking back on it, Tommy never really was father material. He's still a child himself so I get it that he doesn't want you, but no matter what I'm going to love you.”

A throat clearing behind you made you sit up hastily. “Ugh, I can come back later if you're busy with, ugh whatever you're doing.”

The voice sent shivers down your spine and you turned around to come face to face with the second half of the Arch Motorcycle founders. On the day Laura, Cindy's aunt had taken you with her to meet with the Chief of Staff, you both ran into Gard Hollinger. When you told him off your pregnancy he was a bit standoffish about it, but calmed down when his wife Sharon told him to take the stick out of his butt and give you a chance. He instantly took a liking to your work ethic and friendly aura.

“Oh, um, no.” you stumbled slightly getting out of your chair, but thankfully the hand of your brown eyed rescuer shot out to help you. Straightening and pulling your top down you looked up at the handsome face of your second boss. When Laura told you who was the co-founder of Arch Motorcycle you did your best to not faint, and no it wasn't because you were starstruck, but you couldn't believe working for someone that millions of women would die for being just five seconds in his presence. Up until today you had seen nothing of him, as Keanu was in Post-Production of his upcoming movie 47 Ronin and mostly at Hawthorne when you were gone for the day. “Sorry for that.” you mumbled, picking at a thread on the bottom of your top before crossing your hands over your chest embarrassed at the display or lack of gracefulness .

The dark haired actor gave you a soft smile, the small lines around his eyes getting deeper with it, making him even more attractive. “It's okay, glad I could help.” He pulled his left hand through his dark brown tresses while he held his helmet in the other. “I guess we haven't been properly introduced before. I'm Keanu.”

“Y/N, nice to meet you.” you shook his hand, shifting your eyes around your room, not sure what to say or do. Keanu swallowed audibly, putting his helmet down on Laura's desk he rubbed his hands together, feeling slightly nervous being there. You didn't know why as he was the celebrity and you just a 'normal' person, but he probably had his reasons.

You were startled when he finally decided to speak up again, finding your eyes with his brown ones. “So” he cleared his throat. “how do you like it?”

“Oh, it's, it's nice here. Better then at the diner I worked before with Laura's niece Cindy.”

Nodding his head, Keanu relaxed a bit and leaned himself back against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest making the fabric of his jacket bulge around his arms. You could feel the tension leave your body, too, the knots in your stomach loosening up again. Thank god or you couldn't guarantee that he'd leave with clean clothes.

“That's nice to hear. Gard told me a bit about you and what you're doing here. I'm sorry I couldn't be around before but we'll probably see each other a bit more now.”

Biting your lip you looked him over, starting from his dark brown hair and down to the boots he wore. You turned back up to face him, feeling the heat rush to your face, not sure what Mr. Hollinger told him. “And what did he say, if I may ask?”

Chuckling the actor send you a smile. “Just that you were looking for a different job and that your work has by far been better than the ones we had before. You're the first to come and the last to go, don't you have someone waiting for you?”

“Not anymore, to be honest and well, my family doesn't live here, so it's just me.” Feeling a bit lightheaded you sat down at your desk, not sure if it was the pregnancy, his presence and the way he acted or the fact that you missed your family. Keanu copied you, sitting in Laura's desk chair, looking every bit the CEO he was, well more like the laid back and relaxed version, not the usual New York business style. “And where exactly do you come from? I detected some Bostonian accent.”

Giggling at his rendition of his supposed Boston accent, you gave him a quick nod. “Salem actually, a bit on the outskirts.”

“Salem, really?” You nodded. “That's amazing.” He leaned forward and shot you an inquiring look. “Do you really jump naked from the roof on Halloween?”

Loud laughter echoed in the office when you heard his question. He was nearing his fifties and asked questions like a small child. You snorted softly behind your hand before shaking your head. “No, we don't do that, but most people are dressing up as witches and wizards, some as werewolves or vampires, but mostly it's witches.”

“And you? Witch or Vampire?”

You smiled cheekily. “What do you think?”

He tapped his beard covered chin, before a grin spread over his lips. “Vampire.”

Pursing your lips, you softly shook your head and held your hands up. “Sorry, but no. I'm a witchy kinda gal. We're watching all sorts of witchy movies on Halloween and got Midnight Margaritas just like Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman in Practical Magic.”

“So the whole nine yards, eh?”

You nodded your head and repeated after him, earning a wider grin from the actor. Cindy had been right about your bosses, they were easily satisfied, totally chill and laid back. You couldn't have found a better place to work at. Hopefully it would stay that way.

Part 3

Taglist

@meetmeinthematinee @ladyreapermc @axshadows @a-really-bi-girl @fanficsrusz @ficsnroses @toomanystoriessolittletime @fortheloveoffanfic @pinkzsugar @lunaeminxxx​ @momorix3​ @sallyp-53​ @keanureeefs​ @baphometwolf666​ ​ @mrspeacem1nusone​

[bittysvalentines]

The Stranger the Better

From: @hockeydyke

To: @bitty-smol

Summary: Kent’s had a bad day and he figures date night with Bitty will improve his mood. But when Bitty watches a hot stranger get stood up, he decides to invite the man over to join him and Kent for the night. The only problem? Kent knows the guy.

Rating: T

Tags: Alternate universe- no one plays hockey, Established Eric “Bitty” Bittle/Kent “Parse” Parson, Eric “Bitty” Bittle/Kent “Parse” Parson/Jack Zimmermann, Misunderstandings

Kent hadn’t had the best day so far.

All things considered, though, he was doing a pretty good job of holding it together. In fact, he was actually proud that he hadn’t snapped at his boyfriend at all despite his bad mood, because he was still feeling rational enough to know that he didn’t actually want to push Bitty away or do anything to make things worse. Instead, he was trying to ignore it and go about his daily routine as usual.

And sure, maybe it wasn’t the best thing in the world for Kent to push down all his feelings and frustrations, but Bitty had a tendency to pick up the moods of the people around him, and Kent didn’t want to make Bitty grumpy just because he had the misfortune of being both physically and emotionally close to a particularly pissy Kent Parson on what could otherwise be an entirely pleasant Friday night.

So Kent had texted Bitty during work and suggested a low-key dinner date, because enchiladas and a couple happy hour drinks from Cactus Cantina across the street from their apartment certainly couldn’t make things worse. All Kent knew was that the place was casual, the dessert menu was up to Bitty’s standards, and the drink selection rotated often enough to keep him happy, so it was a win for both of them, and they usually ended up there at least once a week.

And that’s what brought Kent to where he was currently, sipping a half-priced strawberry swirl margarita and pouting because his boyfriend wasn’t paying attention to him. This was particularly offensive to Kent since Bitty was busy looking over Kent’s shoulder at some hot guy who’d sat down on the other side of the room around when they’d arrived. The nerve of it all. Sure, Kent and Bitty had an open relationship, but that didn’t mean that Kent never got jealous-- especially when he was two margs in and in need of attention as he tried to tell an entertaining story about Jenna from Marketing.

Bitty rested his chin on his hands and made heart eyes in the hot guy’s direction again, and Kent finally gave up and sighed as loudly as he could get away with in public. “Come on,” he said, sounding only slightly whinier than he’d intended. “Is this guy really that hot? You’ve been staring at him for ten minutes.”

He began to turn, but Bitty darted his hands out and grabbed the collar of Kent’s shirt to keep him from doing it. “I swear to god, Kent. Do not look at him right now. It’d be so obvious that we’re staring.”

Kent threw his hands in the air. “Alright, alright! I’m not looking, okay? You can describe him to me.” He stared in front of himself instead, at the turquoise accent wall and exposed brick and generic cactus-themed decor. “See, not looking, so paint me a damn picture. But make it a sexy picture, at least.”

Bitty leveled Kent with a stare. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, but he did take another good look over Kent’s shoulder. “He’s got gorgeous blue eyes and cheekbones that could cut glass. Honestly, he looks familiar. I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

“What kind of familiar?”

“Like, B-list reality TV star famous. Or maybe some kind of modeling? He has the bone structure for it. He’s easily the hottest person here, other than us, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Kent repeated. “And he’s seriously been alone this whole time?”

“Yes! The waitress has checked up on him, like, five times. Poor thing,” Bitty said, frowning. “Someone definitely stood him up. We should go see if he wants to come sit with us to take his mind off of it.”

“Are you kidding me? I bet he got stood up because he’s an asshole.”

“Kent.”

“What if he’s a serial killer?” Kent said, then sat up straighter and poked at Bitty’s forearm. “Even worse-- what if he’s the kind of guy who golfs on weekends?”

“Oh, shush. You’ve been such a grump today,” Bitty said, which, ouch, but true. Maybe Kent wasn’t as good at hiding his feelings as he thought, which was possibly something that he should talk to his therapist about. “We’re going to do something nice and we’re going to feel good about it.”

Feel good. A Freudian slip, or maybe a complete coincidence, but it was enough for Kent to jump to a conclusion that he felt pretty good about. He grinned.

“You just want us to have a threesome with him, don’t you?”

They stared each other down for a few moments. Bitty had a decent poker face, but Kent had known him for long enough to recognize the faint pink blush on his cheeks as a dead giveaway that he was right.

Finally, Bitty gave in. “Okay, fine, I think we should invite him home with us. But once you see him, you’re gonna agree with me. He’s exactly your type.” And before Kent could speak, he added, “Your other type, sweetheart. Not like me at all.”

“Big guy?”

“Mm,” Bitty hummed, gazing over Kent’s shoulder and nodding, chin resting in his hands again. “Thighs for days. Dark hair, very mysterious. Could definitely play a vampire in a movie, but like, a vampire who works out.”

“Fuck, okay. Invite him over,” Kent said, just as their waitress passed by again. While Bitty stood and headed out of Kent’s view, Kent waved her over so she could get him another margarita. She brought the drink out immediately. Kent was just lifting it up to his mouth for a sip when Bitty returned, smiling and bouncing on his toes as he sat back down across the table from Kent.

And then next to him, because Kent Parson’s life was a nightmare or at least a mildly uncomfortable stress dream, Jack Zimmermann sat down, looking stunningly handsome but also sheepish and shy right up to the moment when he met Kent’s eyes. Immediately, Jack’s annoyingly perfect face collapsed into a frown, looking for all the world like he’d seen a ghost.

At least, that’s what Kent felt like, because here was the same Jack Zimmermann who Kent had been moping about all day, after seeing on Facebook that morning that he’d moved back to town after more than five years away. Kent hadn’t seen him in person for nearly as long, since the last time he’d made a pitiful attempt to win Jack back at the Zimmermann family holiday party was just a month before he’d met Bitty. This was that Jack Zimmermann, back in his life without any warning.

It was all Kent could do not to spit out his entire mouthful of tequila and sugar, and the only reason he didn’t was because his shirt was white and he didn’t feel like spending his evening trying to remove a pink stain from it, but God, he wanted the drama of it.

Bitty dove right into introductions, seemingly unaware of Kent’s hopefully well-disguised mental and emotional crisis. “Jack, hon, this is my boyfriend, Kent. Kent, this is Jack. He just moved in across the street from here.”

Kent swallowed. His drink felt like it had gone stale in his mouth. “We’ve met,” he said, dry.

“Oh, really?” Bitty asked, looking up at Jack again, narrowing his eyes.

Jack didn’t say anything at all. Instead, while he sat there slack-jawed and wide-eyed, Kent had to explain what was going on. “This is Jack Zimmermann,” Kent said, trying to use his eyes to convey his sheer panic to Bitty. “I played hockey with him in high school,” he said, because that was easier than saying that Jack was the one who broke his heart, and anyway, Bitty knew the entire story and would be able to infer.

Bitty continued to force a smile. “Goodness! Well, I really walked right into that one, huh? No wonder you looked so familiar,” he said, patting Jack’s arm in a way that Kent knew was meant to be both comforting, but actually made Jack look like he was about to implode.

“Eugh,” Jack started, helpful as ever, and something about his rich tenor made Kent’s blood feel warm. It was also possible that the tequila had just hit. “I can go. I don’t want to, um, upset anyone. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to! We’d still be glad to have you join us,” Bitty said. “I know that Kent has so much he’d love to talk to you about, and I’m sure it’s the same on your end of things!”

“Bits,” Kent hissed. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever been betrayed this badly. Bitty was definitely sleeping on the couch tonight, but he couldn’t say that right now, because that would probably look bad in front of Jack.

Kent didn’t want that, probably. In fact, he wasn’t at all sure what exactly he did want from Jack now, at this point in his life, at age 25 and happy with his boyfriend, job, cat, apartment, and basically every other aspect of life that showed that he had proudly moved on from Jack Zimmermann.

And yet Kent couldn’t help but let his mind drift to how happy he was that he hadn’t had time to change after work, because he looked pretty damn good in his slacks and button-down. He wasn’t wearing a hat, but he had spent a very long time in front of the restroom mirror touching up his hair after his lunch break, so he felt pretty confident that it looked good right now. Comparatively, this was a much better way of running into Jack than, say, running into him during a late-night grocery run when Kent was wearing ratty sweatpants and a shirt with a picture of his cat on it.

Kent thought he looked okay. And he did want Jack to know that he was okay.

Jack was still frowning, and the worry lines in his forehead and around his eyes were deeper than they used to be. His eyes were also, somehow, so much more blue than Kent remembered, as if time had somehow erased their intensity. After a moment, Jack cleared his throat, stilted and awkward, and said the one thing that could convince Kent to give this a shot: “I’ve missed you.”

It was too much.

“Yup,” Kent said, standing up fast enough to knock into the table and jostle it, loudly shifting the plates and glasses and fake cactus on top of it. “I gotta hit the bathroom. Bitty?”

Bitty stood, much more graceful, and slid out of the booth. “It seems like I also have to use the restroom. Stay here and we’ll be right back,” he said, and something in his tone was commanding enough that Jack obediently remained seated and didn’t argue.

Kent pushed through the main room of the restaurant and back to the hallway where the restrooms were located and closed the door once he and Bitty were both in the one-stall men’s bathroom. He took stock of the situation: shockingly he wasn’t having a panic attack, but he was still feeling thrown off and almost dazed.

“I think I’m in shock. Could I literally be in medical shock right now? Am I crying?” he said to his own reflection in the mirror, eyes wet and hair wild. His hair had cowlicks, it seemed, remained tamed. Over his shoulder, he could see mirror-Bitty facepalm, then move closer so he could pat Kent’s shoulder.

“Kent, honey,” Bitty started, then paused as Kent leaned over the sink and splashed water in his face, hoping to refresh himself. “I love you, but you really have zero common sense. You’re getting your shirt all wet.”

“Good!” Kent said. “Does it look like I’m crying? Because I’m totally not crying.”

“You don’t look like you’ve been crying because you’ve basically trained yourself not to cry properly, which is absolutely not healthy, but I’m not going to lecture you about it right now,” Bitty said. “But even if you were, it’d be fine! I’m sure he’s freaking out just as much as you are right now!”

“Is this a pep talk, or are you trying to make me feel guilty?” Kent asked. “Because I don’t feel guilty. He ignored me for years, Bits. It never meant anything to him.”

“Kenny.” Bitty grabbed Kent by the shoulders. Kent could feel them flex and press into his shirt as Bitty raised up slightly onto his toes. It was a habit he’d developed from years of trying to close their three-inch height difference, and the familiarity of it lulled Kent’s pulse to a more reasonable pace. “You’ve been wanting closure with him for as long as I’ve known you. I know he broke your heart. But you’re both adults now and I think you’re finally mature enough to talk about it, so why don’t we give it a try?”

Kent leaned forward until Bitty understood what he wanted and wrapped his arms around him in a proper hug. He sighed. “Yeah, okay. Even though I hate it when you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” Bitty said, giving Kent’s back one final pat and then gently pushing him back out of the restroom and into the main floor of the restaurant.

For the first time, Jack smiled. “Did you spill a glass of water on your shirt?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kent said. “What really matters is that my boyfriend thinks you’re hot. Can you buy him a drink and also explain why the fuck you’re back in town?”

“Oh,” Jack started, then faltered. “I guess, I-- well. I got a new job.” He took a deep breath, then turned to Bitty. “Sorry, what would you like to drink?”

“Just a regular margarita, thank you,” Bitty said, sliding into the booth next to Jack. “So, Mr. Zimmermann. Please tell us all about this new job of yours.”

And so Jack did. Kent was quiet during their first round of drinks, listening and watching and learning about this new, older Jack Zimmermann. He was still reserved and still a little bit slow on the uptake when it came to the jokes and slang that Kent and Bitty easily tossed around, but he also cracked a few jokes of his own, which was something he never used to do when they were teenagers. He was more relaxed, too: although Kent spent several minutes watching Jack’s hands, he didn’t see them shake at all.

Their conversation flowed easily enough that two hours passed without Kent noticing. He only realized that it was close to ten-- closing time-- that their waitress had started to hover around the table, pacing at the edge of Kent’s line of vision. At ten, she shuffled up to the table, but didn’t say anything yet. The girl was young, probably in high school, and Kent felt bad for her. He’d hated waiting tables, too, back when he’d done it in college. He looked at Bitty, then at the waitress, trying to subtly let him know that it was time to go.

Bitty nodded, and then, under the table, kicked Kent. It was all Kent could do to keep from yelping, but he somehow managed it and shot a glare in Bitty’s direction, thankful that Jack was oblivious and rambling happily about his photography. Bitty kicked Kent again. Clearly, it was up to him to decide how they were going to end the night.

“Alright,” Kent said, before his leg had to sustain any more damage. He waved the waitress closer and motioned for the check. “How about we move this to our place? You can meet my cat, Zimms.”

Jack looked up. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he said, accepting the check and sliding his card into the holder before either of them could stop him. It was a convenient way for him to avoid eye contact.  “I don’t know if you want anything like that, and if you want to just ignore me so we go back to pretending each other doesn’t exist, I could get over that too.”

“But,” Bitty prompted, kicking Kent again.

“But I’d like it if you’d come home with us,” Kent said, finally looking up from where he’d been fidgeting with his debit card.

It was dim in the restaurant this late at night, the colorful string lights and candles doing little against the dark outside, but Jack’s eyes were shining. He nodded, thoughtful. “This was nice. I’d like that too.”

“Thank God,” Bitty said. “Okay, let’s get out of here. I’m dying to get out of my work clothes,” he said, giving Jack a wink that made him choke on his last sip of the single pint of beer he’d been nursing all night.

As they left the restaurant, Jack and Kent walked on either side of Bitty, who looked as pleased as the cat who’d gotten the cream. “Told you we’d feel good about this,” he said, knocking his hips against Kent’s own and smiling, and that’s when Kent realized what should have occurred to him the moment that Bitty invited Jack over to their table.

That little shit knew who Jack was all along.

“Oh, man,” he said, throwing his arm around Bitty’s shoulder. He nuzzled his nose against Bitty’s ear before blowing in it and laughing when Bitty squealed. “You’re lucky I love you.”

[milk-luvr-dot-com]

“A New Assistant” - The Thick of It - Chapter 1

Summary: Cabinet reshuffle day, the shit has increased beyond belief, and Malcolm doesn't like change. Especially when his new assistant, Ivy Fisher, is just as coarse as he is.. and a tad hot.

Word Count: 5317

Rating: Mature (for adult situations, language)

Warnings: No Ao3 Warnings, Explicit Language, Homophobic language, fatphobic language, sexist language, ablest language

Categories: F/M, Gen

Tags: Falling in love, crushes, comedy, slow burn, explicit language, original female characters, AU - canon divergence, mutual pining, additional tags to be added

Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Ao3 Link and full work under the cut.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24510592/chapters/59169388

Malcolm clapped, and turned around. "Come on, people! Let's get going here," he was shouting, "I've got a to-do list longer here than a fucking Leonard Cohen song!"

The woman, who Malcolm had never bothered to learn the name of, just another office coffee jockey offhandedly mentioned, "Don't you have a new assistant coming in today?"

"Oh, fuck," he pinched the bridge of his nose, "that's the other thing, shit."

Malcolm took a call, ducking into his office. "I've got this-this reshuffle going on, the Leamington Spa by-election coming up, and on top of it I've gotta tame a new fucking pet... yeah, they're giving me a new assistant. Yeah, could be a prostitute for all I care. I've got more on my plate than a spinster at a wedding... yeah, that wasn't a reference to your daughter, by the way, Andrew."

A knock came at the door of his office, and he lowered the phone, pressing a button to end the call. A woman stood there, dressed modestly, not wearing too much makeup. She was dark-haired, short, approaching middle-age. She had steely eyes, both in color and in meaning, that said "I take no shit 'round here!" She was, admittedly, attractive. She was holding a clipboard flat, with a disposable coffee cup balanced on top.

"Hello, I presume you're-" She spoke, with a cockney accent, strangely.

"Malcolm, Malcolm Tucker, you're the newcomer, yeah? Come on, walk and talk." He weakly, in a "dead fish" manner shook her hand, and then brushed past her.

She pressed her lips together, following him. Malcolm walked down the hall, and greeted a friend. "Doug, Doug, Dougie! Look at you, cock the size of Pink Panther's tail. Come have a kit-kat." He shook hands with the scrappy-looking fellow, then turned around.

"Um, I'm afraid I turned it down, Malcolm." Doug apprehensively explained.

The assistant became invisible, neutral.

Malcolm's eyes turned cold, and acute. "You know 90% of household dust is made of human skin? That's what you are. To me."

His phone rang, again, and he answered sharply, "Doug Hayes is a massive abortion. Again, not a reference to your daughter." He sat down in his chair. She stood at the door. "We need somebody to plug this DoSAC hole. Anybody. A fucking mammal with a head." Malcolm whooshed past her again, turning briefly to gesture her to follow.

Malcolm went out to summon someone else. Passing by, a man commented something between a catcall and a teasing gesture at them.

"Shut up!" the two of them both said, at the same time, which surprised both of them. They shared a moment of eye contact that could be a love letter in Yorkshire.

Malcolm returned back to his hell cave. She stood at the door. "Sam, Sam!" He flicked through pages provided for him. "Get me... Nicola Murray. Yeah."

He made eye contact with her, widening his eyes as if to imply the person he was talking to was a moron. "If she says no, well, I don't know, the only other candidate's my left bullock with a fucking smiley face drawn on it... Great. Yeah. Bye!" Malcolm pressed the end call button, once again.

He tossed his phone down on the desk, and rubbed his face. He looked over at her. "Well, come in, what, do I have to invite you exclusively like a vampire?"

She clandestinely rolled her eyes, "No."

"Right. Good. Have a seat."

She sat down. "What's your name?" Malcolm asked, finally, after about her being here for about 15 minutes.

"Ivy."

"Not your Tuesday night stripper name, your full name."

She furrowed her brow, "My name is Ivy. Ivy Amelia Fisher."

He sat up. "Jesus, what were you born on a commune? Are you a fairy tale character?"

"No, and not like yours is any better, Malcolm Tucker." Ivy said his name with such malice. "Go on, I bet your middle name is something daft, like, like..."

"Theodore."

"Yeah, like- wait hang on.." she began stifling a laugh, "is your middle name actually Theodore?"

"It was my granddad's name, look, I don't have time for this. Ivy, go on, set up shop in that corner over there. I've got too much to do today, and I don't need you prodding at me like a male dancer's fat cock at a latex fetish strip bar."

"Right." Ivy stood, and began clearing off piles of needing-to-be-shredded papers that should have been done months ago off of some teacher fold-out type desk. Malcolm got on the phone and began tearing into someone. Ivy started taking notes for insults she can use in the future.

Admittedly, from what Ivy had seen, she looked up to Malcolm. She'd heard about him before she got pigeonholed into it, just vaguely. After cleaning up the litter box for years from some fat cat in another department, she was sure she was ready for Malcolm. And she was, just not exactly in the way she'd expected. She'd been given a list of pointers from the main meat of DoSAC about dealing with him, which went straight in the trash. Ivy preferred learning from experience, anyway.

"Ivy?"

"What?" She looked up.

"What actually is your job?"

His genuinely curious demeanor threw her off completely, "Uh, I'm your assistant. I deal with the, er, horseshit. Making your job a bit easier. Paperwork, coffee runs, yelling at people. The like."

"Really?" Malcolm raised an eyebrow.

"Mhm, now can I finish my housekeeping, sir?" She turned.

"No, actually, you can't. Can you elaborate on the 'yelling at people' part?"

She sighed, and sat down in her creaky office chair. "I've been told, and I've observed, that you do a lot of yelling."

"Yes, I do, it's my favorite part of my day. It's my therapy."

"That's very sad," she pointed a pen at him, "but my job is to do the yelling you don't want do to. Mostly at the insane clown posse of DoSAC upstairs. But I'm sure I have plenty to learn from you, sir, about your sort of.. swearing slam poetry."

"Slam poetry?"

"Christ, have you got Tourette's, yes. You're known for your myriad of insults, especially at the department I was last at. Now let me finish, and maybe I'll yell for you, as a treat." Ivy slammed a stack of 'to shreds' into a bin.

Malcolm, for once, was challenged with the same energy he had. Jesus, she was as uncouth and colorful as he was. Maybe he needed to be put in his place, maybe that's what he was missing. It didn't help that with every insult thrown his way he'd grow more attracted to her. Her soft, curly, dark hair was tamed back only by her hair elastic, which must have been one strong as hell hair elastic, because she had a lot of hair. Her eyes, which were stoic at all times, seemed to be endless.

"Fuck are you staring at?" She interrupted his goo-goo eyes session with a cold remark.

"I'm staring at my fucking computer, now can I work without you accusing me of rape?"

"Jesus Christ, sir." She pinched the bridge of her nose.

  Ivy had finished clearing her space, and was obsessively shredding things.

"That's fucking annoying." He remarked, about 5 minutes in.

"Would you prefer me to chew it up and shit it out on your keyboard tonight, sir? This is all your to-shreds, anyway."

"Yeah I would actually." He leaned back, looking at Ivy. "I've got a meeting after lunch with the new Secretary of State, Nicola Murray."

"...Alright?" She folded her hands together on her desk.

"You're coming with me. You can learn a thing or two. Please stay quiet, though."

"Mmm.. okay."

"In regards to lunch," he paused to sigh, "I'm going down to the Sainsbury's on the corner. Make sure the tazmanian shit devil doesn't come 'round and fuck everything up."

"Right."

He grabbed his shoulder bag by the office door. "D'you want anything?"

She looked up at him, squinting and thinking. "Er... yeah," Ivy pulled out her wallet, pulling out a few quid, and holding it up, "a Dr. Pepper."

He left, returning about 20 minutes later, setting a brown bag down on her desk, which startled her. He said nothing, collapsing in his desk chair.

"Thank you, sir." She unrolled the top of the bag.

"Huh?"

"Thanks." Ivy raised her eyebrows, reassuring what she said.

He made some vague Scottish agreement noise, digging into whatever he's eating. She looked inside the bag, which held her money that she gave to him and her pop. Ivy looked at him, then back down at the act of kindness. She decided against saying anything, since the environment was already thick with tension.

They finished eating. Ivy had her salad that she brought from home and her Dr. Pepper. Malcolm enjoyed his deli food. And then it was up to the circus for the pair of them.

"Is this the number 1 ladies' detective agency?" Malcolm and Ivy almost ran into Nicola's office. Glenn was in the middle of doing something stupid.

Nicola stood, "Malcolm Tucker! The real deal. Hello." They shook hands.

"The real deal! Good to see you. You're looking great." He gave his false friendly smile.

"And I'm guessing this is your new assistant...?" The taller of the two women questioned.

Ivy stuck out her hand for her to shake, "Ivy Fisher."

"Yes, exactly." She nodded, and took her hand.

Malcolm turned to the other two morons in the room, "Alright, Hinge and Bracket, time to go and hang up your lady-cocks."

Ivy slinked back a bit, and let Malcolm continue talking. "Nicola Murray! Here you are, Secretary of State for the Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship."

"Yep, I now have one of the longest job titles in Western politics. Thank God I don't have to wear a lapel badge."

Ivy looked out the glass and at 2 of the 3 stooges. One of them was mirroring the action Glenn was doing earlier. She smiled at them, not in a sympathetic or nice way, more just to laugh at them.

"It's a pity that we couldn't just make an abbreviation of it, you know, like PFI. Which I think stands for Pretty Fucking Imbarassing." Malcolm began, then continued, snidely, with "If you're a bit sloppy with the details. Which clearly your fucking husband is."

Ivy had started a list earlier of things that Malcolm said that she could later bring up in conversation. Either for purposes of teasing and berating or to have a psychology evaluation with. The list was a t-chart, which was directly on a piece of liner paper that Ivy kept at the back of the clipboard at all times. There wasn't much on there, aside from "Doug?" (which was regarding why Malcolm was yelling at Doug about household dust) on the side of psychological evaluation, and "PFI? Imbarassing?" which was on the haranguing side.

The woman in the flower print dress inhaled, and then began explaining, "Okay, look, James works for Albany, fine. He wasn't even working there when the contract was awarded-"

"Don't worry, that was just me-" Malcolm smiled again, beginning to laugh.

"Okay. Right. Fine."

"I mean, that's the sort of thing the press will throw at you." He glanced over to the other, shorter woman, as if he was speaking to both of them. "I mean, you step out of line, they'll be all over you. Like a pigeon on a chip. Is that your chair?"

Nicola looked at the prison jumpsuit colored chair. "Oh, God, yeah. It's cool, isn't it? It's got lumbar support." She slapped the back of it.

Ivy moved closer to Malcolm, sensing he was about to leave. "Bin it." He said starkly, grinning. "People don't like their politicians to be comfortable. They don't like you having expenses, they don't like you being paid, they'd rather you live in a fucking cave." She bit her lip, trying not to smile at Malcolm's words.

"Okay, fine, so what should I be sitting on? Should I just get an upturned KFC bucket?"

He grew agitated, lowering his brow. "Just a fucking normal chair. Right? Not a fucking massive vibrating throne."

"God, fine, I'll get a new chair." Nicola gave in, furrowing her brow.

"No, don't get a new chair, the press will go ape shit. 'New Secretary of State wasting money on chairs,' they'll kill you. Don't do anything until you've settled in. At least a week or two."

"Right, so you want me to bin this chair, and not buy a new one. Great. That KFC bucket is sounding like a good option now."

The room fell to a silence. Then Malcolm broke that silence, with "So, uh, you've got three kids, yeah?"

"Uh, I've got four. Yeah."

"Four?"

"Yeah! Katie's 16, she's the eldest. She's just left school."

"Not going to a college, to university?"

"Um, she's a bit of a rebel."

"What sort of a rebel? I mean, so what are we talking here, are we talking a pierced naval or holidays at Pakistani training camp?" Malcolm rested his face on his fist.

"It's.. It's chiefly heroin. Although she has cut down since getting pregnant by that Nigerian people-smuggler, because the track marks would have affected her porn career." Ivy and Malcolm both raised an eyebrow, in surprise.

Another woman, Terri, Ivy thought was her name, came in, silently. She startled Ivy. "I'm sorry to disturb. Um... Morning Malcolm. And morning..."

"Ivy Fisher."

"Right. Morning, Ivy. Just wanted to give you a few things here, that's change from the fruit salad. This is this morning's paper. Do excuse me." She left, and Malcolm had crossed his arms.

"I'm surprised that you haven't vetted me, I thought you'd know about the kids."

Malcolm looked around, "It's just that 'cause you were just sort of, you were a bit of a late-ish kind of appointment. That didn't quite give me the time to, you know, to fuck the Is and fist the Ts as Robert Robertson might say. And I had to spend a chunk of my morning, you know, catching Ivy here up to speed." He gestured to her.

"Right, I understand that. It's just that, it... really doesn't take that much time. To read someone's profile, that is.."

Ivy rolled her eyes, knowing and feeling exactly what Malcolm is feeling, and what he's about to unleash. "Well, I didn't have time, and I'm sorry about that. Okay? Fine. Okay, let's do it now. Okay. Mrs. Walton, what about these other kids? What ages are they?"

"They're 11, nine, and five."

Malcolm furrowed his brow, "11?"

"Mhm.."

"So that's uh, secondary school?"

"No, she's uh, still at primary, state primary. Lovely little school with terrible SATS results, but, you know, really good kind of broad demographic and steel band."

"So, she will be going to a secondary school, what, in September?"

"Yeah. Yeah, so um... I can see where this is going, um, it's not an issue."

"Great! Well, if it's not an issue I'll just fucking toddle off, then. I'll go and have a nice relaxing wee sleep under my duvet. Probably wouldn't even have to tug myself off 'cause I'm so fucking relaxed about that. 'Cause I know there is no fucking issue here. Right?"

"She's not going to the comprehensive, Malcolm. She's going to a local independent school."

Ivy sighed, and he put his hands on his hips. "Jesus H. fucking Corbett. Do you honestly think- do you honestly believe that as a minister, you can get away with that? You are saying that uh, all your local state schools, all the schools that this government has drastically improved, are knife-addled rape sheds, and that's not a big story? For fuck's sake.. sort it or abort it."

"Let's get this clear, my family is off-limits. Alright? This job is not going to get anywhere near my husband and my kids. It just doesn't."

"Of course it fucking does. As per the wee barcode and the serial number under your right armpit, you are now built and owned by the state. And you are under the spotlight 24 hours a day, darling! You know what you are? You're a fucking human dartboard. And Eric fucking Bristow's on the oche flinging a million darts made of human shit right at you. Can you take that? Can you?"

"Okay, you, the all-swearing eye. You didn't even know how many kids I had. You had to ask me. You!" Nicola pointed to Ivy, "did you even know my fucking name before we came in this office?"

Ivy grew cross, "of course I did, what fucking mongol can't remember Nicola Murray?"

"Hey! Don't bring Ivy into this!" Malcolm pointed in an accusatory manner at her.

"So who on Earth in the press is even going to know or care?"

He lowered his voice, "Do you remember The Big Breakfast? Remember that programme?"

"Yes!"

"Remember how Chris Evans started that, remember how it was a big success? And then they had that guy, Johnny Vaughn, remember him? Everybody loved him. Fuck knows why, but they loved him. Do you know what this is here? This, here, is fucking series 10 of The Big Breakfast." He gestured out into the DoSAC office area. "And do you know what you are? You're the fucking dinner lady that they have asked to come and present the show. The reason that I didn't know about you and your children is 'cause you were so low down on the list of candidates for this job, I didn't even have a chance to look into you. So low. Way, way, way, way, way, way, way low."

She sighed, and Malcolm continued with his incredulous self-esteem attacking tear. "You are now being scrutinized for what you wear, what you say. For your hair, your shoes, your fucking earring, your fucking cleavage, and your dress. Which, by the way, is way too loud."

"Too loud?"

"Yeah, I'm getting fucking tinnitus here! Look, your crooked husband I can make go away. But your crooked husband combined with you being worried about your underage daughter coming home up the duff from some truanting bastard, I cannot. She goes to the comp, okay?" Malcolm stood back again, and left in a hurry, with Ivy tailing behind.

They returned back to Malcolm's office. Ivy slapped her clipboard down, and Malcolm slapped his notebook down, both exhaling immensely and collapsing into their respective chairs.

"I hope you got some of that." He said.

Ivy looked up, then flipped through pages on her clipboard. "Uh-huh. The Big Breakfast, knife-addled rape sheds, obnoxious chair-"

"No, I mean, in regards to the press."

"Ah."

"Yeah, what I said applies to you, too now. Not as intensely as her, but certainly-"

"Watch my back?"

"Watch your back, yeah."

Ivy went back to filling out paperwork. There was a lot of it since her recent employment. Malcolm interrupted her, "have you got any kids?"

She didn't look up, but she raised an eyebrow. "No. You?"

"Nah. Never had time for a wife or kids."

"What, are you Paul the real estate novelist?" Ivy smiled, looking up.

He smiled, chuckling, "No." Ivy was taken back by seeing him unironically and genuinely laugh. He stared at her wedding finger, seeing it was empty. "And by the looks of it, you don't have a husband either."

She shook her head, "No..." Looking up, she continued, "Never really found the right one. I know, fucking cliche. Would rather grow balls and be castrated by a ceiling fan than hear anyone ever say that to me, but it's the truth." Ivy returned to her work, looking at her laptop. She turned her attention to a note that she had tacked onto the side. "Oh, cabinet meeting today," she announced to him.

"Yeah, let's hope Nicola will get her shit scooped out and handed to her there, put her in her place. I didn't like the insubordinate smug bitch." Malcolm leaned back in his chair.

"I didn't like her either, came after me for no fucking reason."

"Well, let's go over there and give her hell, for no fucking reason."

"We can do that?"

"I'll think of something to hassle her with on the way over. Come on, I'm bored anyway."

They both stepped out of the office and down and out. Malcolm spoke to some bloke on the way down.

"Hey, what's wrong with you, you look like you've shat a Lego garage or something."

"Jim Lane's daughter is standing as an independent in Leamington Spa."

Malcolm turned back around, putting emphasis on the first letter to come out of his mouth, "For fuck's sake... Fuck! This is going to split our vote."

"Jesus." Ivy quietly interjected.

"Do you think we're in trouble? Maybe we should have chosen her over Liam Bentley."

"No, she thinks just because her dead fat-arse dad was the MP that gives her the right to be our candidate. No, no no. This isn't tsarist Russia. It's not the fucking Dimblebys."

"What do we do?"

"We send everyone up there to support Liam Bentley, including the Prime Minister."

"You want to send Tom up there?"

"Yeah, fuck it, he'll be alright as long as he doesn't do the smile." The other bloke smiling awkwardly, mirroring what Tom would have done. "You hit the phones, right? I'll be with you in two shakes of a crying baby."

Ivy didn't know what was going on. To be honest that was the environment of the facility anyway. No one had their shit in a pile, no one had a purpose in life, they were just walking about in a mad trance at half the pace of an elderly snail, like a mad junkie in a Tesco's.

They reached their destination, and Malcolm began by haranguing Nicola about the outfit.

"Wow. Black widow."

"Malcolm. Ivy."

"Congratulations, first cabinet, heard you wowed them."

Nicola looked smug as ever. "The meeting's literally just finished, how would you know that?"

"Russian spies." Ivy made an imaginary rainbow over her head to be sarcastically spooky.

Malcolm smiled, "the PM texted me, he's very impressed. You could be nominated for best newcomer."

"Really?"

"No." Malcolm smiled again. So did Ivy.

The three made their way back up to Malcolm and Ivy's hell cave of torture and harassment. Ivy sat at her desk, working on paperwork again, but listening in.

"I see you've set up shop, Ivy."

"Yup. Had a shit ton to shred." She glared at Malcolm, who sat down.

"You knew Jim Lane, didn't you? The dead fucker. God rest him."

"Yeah, I did, a bit, back home. Very sad, all those weeks on life support... Nice chair." Nicola looked annoyed that Malcolm was allowed to have nice chairs, like a jealous arsehole of a kid on Christmas.

"Sad? What, lying on your back getting fed nutrient through a tube? It's my idea of a fucking holiday."

"Getting both a catheter and a colostomy bag also a part of that holiday, sir? You must be into some kinky shit." Ivy remarked.

"Shut up." He said lightly. "How'd you like to go to Leamington?"

"...When?"

"Today. It's never too soon to go to Leamington."

"I've just taken over a department, I have a hell of a-"

"You've been asked by the PM specifically to pop along to Leamington, and do some photo ops with Liam Bentley, supporting him. Yeah?"

"I don't really have any choice, do I?"

"If you wanna keep your job, no." Ivy interjected again.

“Of course you have a choice, you can decide exactly how you’re going to say yes. You can do it with a voice. Have fun with it.” Malcolm looked briefly over at Ivy, who began murmuring in a Mickey Mouse type voice.

Nicola sighed, “Yes. In my own voice.”

“I look forward to toasting your success.” He motioned for her to leave, and she did. “Have a lovely time in Leamington, yeah?” Nicola didn’t respond.

Malcolm pushed the door closed, sighing and collapsing back into his seat. “Jesus. Never easy. Never fucking easy.”

Ivy capped her pen, looking up at him stoically. Ivy thought he was mildly attractive too. In an unconventional way. She was excited to unravel the enigma surrounding him. This hard shell of a man, who smelled like clam chowder (maybe that’s the shell part, actually), who obviously has no friends. It was indeed sad. He was indeed, clearly sad, and maybe a tiny bit sexy. But, besides all this, she thought her first day was going well, so far. She was already paling around with Malcolm. She had learned a lot of new insults to hurl at people who were being dickheads. 

“Do you think I should introduce myself to everyone upstairs? Formally, I mean?”

He had his face in his hands, but he looked up and blinked, then replied. “Uhh.. I don’t know, I mean, I think they’ll sort of find out. On their own. I don’t really like to tell them anything, it makes it more enjoyable when they find out about it on their own somehow. Like a chicken with it’s head cut off.”

“God, they’ll make up some daft little story sooner or later about how I’m either related to you somehow or that we’re fucking.” Ivy laughed. Malcolm chuckled along, noticing how pretty she was when she laughed.

The room and conversation fell to a lull. They continued to do paperwork, with breaks in between where Malcolm would berate someone on the phone.

“Oh, shit.” Malcolm was checking his watch when she looked up. “Nicola’s on in about 5 minutes.”

They both stood up at the same time and made their way to the DoSAC office space. 

“Malcolm- oh, and…?” Glenn asked.

“Ivy Fisher.”

“Ivy. Right. Nicola will be there in a minute.”

The DoSAC group gathered around the crappy telly, waiting for Nicola to do her act, and try not to make a complete fool of herself. Olly was ducking around on the screen. Ivy and Malcolm leaned against a desk next to one another.

“She’s handling this very well, Malcolm.” Terri explained, as if Malcolm doesn’t have eyes of his fucking own. “Don’t you think?”

Malcolm was holding a print off of Liam Bentley’s campaign poster, examining it. He covered a part of it and whispered to Ivy, “I am bent.”

She snorted, “better not happen.”

He stepped up, “She’s looking a bit, uh.. A little bit edgy.”

Nicola had moved in front of the L, forming a perfect shot that said “I am bent.” Just as Malcolm had predicted. Chaos erupted in the office, people were shouting at Terri to get her to move. Ivy bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

Malcolm calmed Glenn down, and slinked back. Ivy was caught up watching the telly.

“Ivy! Come on.” He called after her. If Olly was here, he’d say something stupid, like “daddy’s calling.”

About halfway walking back to his office, Malcolm got another call. He absentmindedly walked back to the office area, which irritated Ivy to no end.

“Well you know what, Howard? She’s not bent, neither in the sense of being corrupted or being gay. And by the way, that’s an incredibly homophobic headline, you massive poof.” He shot a look at her, and then a different, more cross look at where he was going. “You’ve got egg on your face, Howard. You over-easy pissbag.”

“Oh, hey, Yoko Ono and the two remaining Beatles, piss off.”

“Right, any chance we could just skip over the usual abuse bit and move on to the part where we sort this all out?”

“Very low chance, but let’s see.” Ivy hugged her notebook.

“Yeah. Uh, you need to make a decision. Are you still going ahead with the private school? Because if you are, we need to draft a statement saying that your husband is leaving his job.”

Nicola looked at him in disbelief. “Are you taking the piss? You’re expecting me to choose between fucking up my daughter’s life or fucking up my husband’s life?”

Ivy nodded, and Malcolm said “Yeah.”

“So I just have to choose between them, like they’re on some fucking cosmic dessert trolley?”

“Listen, darling, I can’t fight on two fronts, you know? If the press run with both these stories you’re fucking dead.”

“You set this up, didn’t you?”

“What?”

“To put me in my place? Or get back at me for ignoring your advice? Or some other weird perceived slight that doesn’t in any way merit this massive fucking out-of-proportion Israeli-style response.” She yelled towards the end there.

“You don’t realize, I’m your fairy fucking godfather, right? I’m your fairy fucking godfather. And fuck it, she’s your fairy fucking godmother,” he gestured to Ivy, “fairy fucking godparents, but we haven’t got a magic wand that we can wave about, all we’ve got is a fucking Blackberry and a chiv. You’ve got a decision to make, make it. Talk to you later.”

It didn’t occur to Ivy until after they left that she was included in the conversation. Re-analyzing the words in her head, she realized he compared them to a married couple. Ivy smiled and brushed her hair back with her hand.

Nicola ran after them like some puppy dog. “Malcolm! Sorry, can we just carry on talking about that thing? Was it you who positioned me there?”

“God, why do you care?” Ivy said.

“You know what the first sign of madness is? Paranoia.” He pressed the lift button. “Have you seen that film, you know, A Beautiful Mind? The one with that, er.. Russell Crowe? The one with the maths guy who thinks that the CIA are working away in a shed at the bottom of his garden. That’s you.”

“No, I am not the mad one here. You are the mad one. You’re Russell Crowe.”

“No, no, no, no, no. You are Russell Crowe. And you need to fucking listen to me, Russell, you fucking antipodean fucking kangaroo-loving fruitcake. See, this poster stuff? That’s fucking small fry. That’s fucking whitebait, Russ, me old cobber.” Ivy and Malcolm walked into the elevator. “The really horrible stuff, that’s all still about to happen to you, right?”

Nicola looked hesitant at entering the lift. “You coming in?” Ivy invited her.

“Uh, no…”

They both raised an eyebrow at her. “I can’t- I don’t use lifts, I’m claustrophobic.”

Ivy held the “stay open” button on the lift. “What the fuck?”

“You’re what?” He had eyes the size of a baseball at this point.

“Not hugely, I can be in rooms, you’ve seen that, I just don’t do lifts, that’s all.”

He dramatically spun around, as if to measure the dimensions himself. “This lift is fucking huge! I mean this is bigger than some rooms, this is bigger than some people’s flats!”

“It’s about not being able to get out.”

“Oh, well, that’s great. That’s fucking great. That’s another thing right there. Not only have you got a fucking bent husband and a fucking daughter that gets taken to school on a fucking sedan chair, you’re also fucking mental!”

Malcolm continued to tear into her for the next minute and a half or so, comparing her to a myriad of things, most notably being a coffee machine. He looked at Ivy, who pressed the floor button finally. 

“Jesus fucking Christ. That’s all I can say, is Jesus fucking Christ.” Ivy rested herself against the side of the lift, crossing her arms. 

He rubbed his face, and then looked at her. “I know. Hey, by the way, you can jump in, now.”

“Hm?”

“I said you can jump in. I won’t get cross.”

“Other person might.”

“So? That’s half the job.” He grinned. “Making people cross.”

She smirked, looking at him. “And half the enjoyment, too.”

[serendipitous-magic]

Question Game - AKA Oversharing Hour

I was tagged by @the-angry-pixie​! And I’m a chronic oversharer, so this was fun. I’ll put most of it under a read more line because there’s a LOT.

1. Do you prefer writing with a black pen or blue pen? 

Black. Dunno why.

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or city? 

City city city city city city city city. I’m already going fucking batshit as it is, trapped in suburbia. I want to be able to actually do things, anything. Anything other than just being around the house and / or work. (And I felt like this before the pandemic started.) If you live in the city you can walk out your door and be somewhere else within like 5 minutes. A city park, a cafe, a train/subway, a local attraction, a museum, an artist’s booth, an outdoor market, etc. etc. 

Living in suburbia is like, well, to go literally anywhere you have to get into your car first and drive like 10 minutes minimum to get out of the neighborhood, and then if you want to go anywhere that’s not the grocery store you have to drive 20 minutes to get to another area of town, and then once you get there that’s the only place you can be without getting into your car again and getting a nice shot of anxiety from having to drive in traffic and have aggressive drivers roar up on your ass because you’re going 5mph above the speed limit and they want to be going 15mph above, and god help you if you have to merge, and oh by the way this is your only option to get around because public transit doesn’t really exist in any useful way in Big Suburbia, and nothing in within walking distance of your house except like 2 playgrounds and maybe one (1) gas station. (I hate it here lmao)

If I was trapped in the country I’d probably be chill with it for about a week, and enjoy the break, and the on day 8 I’d snap and go on a murdering spree out of stir-craziness.

3. If you could learn a new skill what would it be? 

I want to learn German and eventually be fluent in it. But since I’ve already started trying to learn and I don’t know if that counts, I’ll say cinematography. As in the actual working of the camera and lighting and all that. I can dream up some pretty striking images but actually getting the camera to do the settings needed to capture them is another story entirely.

4. Do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar? 

Nope. I drink coffee and tea both, and I don’t put any kind of sweetener in either of them. I used to put a shitton of sugar in my coffee and honey in my tea, and then I had some mild eating disorder struggles in college and I never got back in the habit of putting stuff in my hot drinks after that. It just tastes wrong now, after being used to plain black coffee.

5. What was your favourite book as a child? 

Either the Harry Potter series or The Hobbit. My grandma would take care of me a lot when I was really little because my parents both worked full time to support us, and every single time I was at her house she’d sit us down at the dining room table and read something to me. Not Junie B. Jones or anything, either, but real, big, thick books. I loved the shit out of Harry Potter and The Hobbit; I would request them repeatedly. We pretty much went back and forth; we’d read Harry Potter, and then The Hobbit, and then when a new Harry Potter book came out we’d read that, and then The Hobbit again, and so on and so forth.

6. Do you prefer baths or showers? 

Showers. I love baths, they’re magical, but ain’t nobody got time for that unless it’s a special occasion. I got too much shit to do to spend an hour lying in the bathtub.

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which one would it be? 

Vampire. Purely on the basis that if I was immortal maybe I’d finally have time to get my to-do list done and accomplish things. I’d miss the sunlight though.

8. Paper or electronic books? 

Paper. Here’s the thing, I really want to enjoy ebooks, but they just don’t hold my attention at all. Maybe I’m too conditioned by the internet to have a short attention span when I’m looking at a screen, idk.

9. What is your favourite item of clothing? 

I have a dark gray hoodie from the Seattle Aquarium from when I went on a road trip across America with my BFF a few years ago. It’s still my absolute favorite thing. I also enjoy my hiking boots a lot. (I wear them all the time, really they should just be called “everyday boots” haha)

10. Do you like your name or would you like to change it?

I like my name and I would also like to start going by something different. Probably just because I’m a restless soul and I feel the best (and least trapped) when I’m on the move or when things are changing. The second I get somewhere I want to be somewhere else. That’s just how I am. Gwen is a cool name (I’ve personally met maybe 3 people in my whole life with the same name, face-to-face), but there’s a lot attached to that nickname that I don’t necessarily want to carry with me when I eventually escape my hometown and start down a new path.

11. Who is a mentor to you? 

A friend and former professor whom I usually refer to online as Producer Man. He’s a producer (as you may have guessed) who kind of took me under his wing after I was in one of his film classes in college. We work together on film projects now and he’s teaching me bit-by-bit (usually by way of long, rambling, tangential stories / lectures) about the industry. He’s a really good guy. Like, he for sure has a case of Old White Guy sometimes, but his heart is absolutely in the right place. “He’s a little confused, but he’s got the spirit.” He’s always leaving $10 tips at coffee places and working himself to the bone to get his students connected to jobs and internships that will help them with their careers. 

12. Would you like to be famous and if so, what for? 

Yes, my stories. Actually, “famous” is not the right word. It’s just that fame is so tightly associated with success in our society. I want to be successful. Whether I’m widely known or not is pretty inconsequential to me. I want to make stories and I want them to have an impact. Books, film, etc. It’s about as simple as that.

13. Are you a restless sleeper? 

Oh yeah. I have trouble  sleeping as much as I should because I usually kind of jerk awake in the morning with this vague feeling that I forgot something or that I’m late for something. Also I stay up later than I should because I’m a night owl, and yet I like being up early because early mornings are great. And usually if I dream at all it’s something kind of stressful, like I dream that I forgot something important or did something wrong. I’m a Stressed Bean. 

14. Do you consider yourself a romantic person? 

I think so, yeah. I’m pretty obsessed with the idea of romance (I mean look at my OTPs), but heteronormativity got me fucked up enough that I’m bad at actually navigating real romantic feelings or relationships because society never prepared me for The Gay.

15. Which element best represents you? 

Fire, probably.

16. Who do you want to be closer to? 

My mom. We fight a lot and there tends to be a lot of tension between us. It’s a long complicated story. It boils down to, she really hurt me when I came out as not-straight at 15 and she lost all of my trust and even though she’s working on being less homophobic we’re still kind of trying to repair that divide seven years later.

17. Do you miss someone at the moment? 

Dude, I miss everyone. I’m an introvert and I’d love to be at a big party right now. I miss socialization. (As does everyone.) 

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory. 

The first time I experienced deja vu, I was about eehhh 6? And I legitimately believed, for several years of my life, that I had future-predicting abilities. Like, supernatural-level future-predicting abilities. Because I didn’t really know what deja vu was, so I thought, every time it happened, that I had already ~seen~ that moment in my dreams or something. 🤣

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten? 

Hm. (My immature ass brain yells “DICK.” No, brain. Those were dark heteronormative times. Also, grow up.) 

Probably some of the sushi in Seattle. I actually love sushi, it’s just that when it has full-on legs and eyeballs I start getting a little squeamish. I like the rolls and the kind where there’s some fish meat laid out on a nice little bed of rice, that’s delicious. But when they brought out the whole shrimp with legs still attached, I was like “How in the (redacted) am I going to chew / swallow that.”

20. What are you most thankful for? 

That I happened to be living with family when this pandemic hit. I was supposed to move out (and across the country, actually) as of... like 4 days ago, as it happens. That was the plan. Plane ticket was gonna be booked for 7/15/20. Obviously, things didn’t quite work out that way, because of the pandemic and a few other reasons. But I can’t imagine if I had been in an apartment living with roommates, or in an apartment on my own struggling to get by, when this happened. A lot of people couldn’t pay rent and lost their homes. I was very, very lucky to be where I was, when I was, and very lucky that I have family who let me stay in their house pretty much indefinitely while this clusterfuck of a year happens.

21. Do you like spicy food? 

Yes! I looooove spicy thai food especially. I miss the massaman curry from a local Thai place so much 😭

22. Have you ever met someone famous? 

Um. Maybe? I met Veronica Roth once at an author talk in the library where I work, although it was before I worked there. And I met some guy from New Zealand who’s famous for his sword fighting skills because my dad does sword fighting stuff. Don’t remember his name though.

23. Do you keep a diary or journal? 

Yep. I have to write down everything or I forget. (I often say I have the memory of a goldfish.) Also, I have this compulsion to record and preserve my experiences in life, because I feel like our time on Earth is so fleeting and if I don’t write down what’s important to me, I’ll forget it and lose it.

24. Do you prefer to use a pen or a pencil? 

Pen. Pencil gets smudged.

25. What is your star sign? 

Scorpio, which is ironic because they’re supposed to be ~hyper sexual~ I guess, and I’m like gray-ace or something in that zone.

26. Do you like your cereal soggy or crunchy? 

Crunchy. Who eats soggy cereal? Are you okay? Do you need help? This is an intervention. 

27. What would you want your legacy to be? 

My stories. Life and sentience, as we experience it, is made up of just that: experience. And I read somewhere that, on some level, the human brain doesn’t differentiate that much between real life experiences and fictional experiences. I think that’s true. If you read or watch or hear the right story, it can really touch you and change the way you see life, or even change the way you live life. Stories have an incredible amount of power, both in individual people’s lives and in larger society. A huge amount of power. I want to be able to give people experiences that will Enrich Their Lives (do I sound like a lifestyle coach yet? 🤦🏼‍♀️), but also stories that actively do good in society. Positive representation, body positivity/neutrality, diversity, healthy relationships (Hollywood has a real problem with that). Hope. It’s the best thing I can think to give society, and storytelling is what I love to do.

28. Do you like reading, what was the last book you read? 

I love reading. I wish I did it more. Part of my problem is that I get caught up in the hectic Rat Race of modern society and I never feel like I have time to sit down with a book for hours. Another problem of mine is that I start too many things at once, meaning I currently have like 5-10 (I lost count) books that I started reading, and I want to finish all of them, which means no progress ever gets done on any of them.

I last finished The Goldfinch, and I am currently working on The Secret History, Good Omens, Dune, a book my dad wrote, Directing Actors, Shot by Shot, The Way of Kings and I forget what else.

29. How do you show someone you love them? 

Physical affection, acts of service, words of affirmation, quality time, and gifts, in that order. If I’m close to someone, whether romantically or not, I want all the affection. And I’m kind of dying in quarantine. 

30. Do you like ice in your drinks? 

Depends. I usually don’t put any in, because it’s just gonna water down the drink and get in the way of drinking it (you know when the ice attacks your face?), but I don’t really mind ice in my drinks.

31. What are you afraid of? 

Helplessness. I Have Control Issues. ✌️ Also stagnation.

32. What is your favourite scent? 

Amber. Or any scent that’s kind of autumn-y. You know what I mean. Some other examples include dryer sheets, wood smoke, cigarette smoke (my big sister used to smoke a long long time ago, and although I never saw her do it, I still associate the scent with her), pine resin, rain, that Mahogany Woods scent from Bath and Bodyworks.

33. Do you address older people by their name or surname? 

If they introduce themselves as Pam I call them Pam. If they introduce themselves as Mr. Brown I call them Mr. Brown.

34. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life? 

 If “money is not a factor” means I have an infinite amount of money to spend as I wish, then: buy land, build film studio complex on land, found company, hire fellow creatives, make movies.

If “money is not a factor” just means that I don’t have to work 40 hours a week to afford rent, then: move to Chicago, rent a nice studio apartment, write stories, maybe work 15 hours a week at a used bookstore or coffee shop to get me out of the house and socialize. Go to museums, go to the park, walk along Lake Michigan, go to gay bars, ride the train, brave the Illinois winters, own a cat, paint, play guitar. Build my actual career on writing / storytelling. Probably also do some filmmaking.

Alternatively: buy an RV (not like an American Trailer Park shitty RV, I’m talking the NOICE ones), buy good film equipment, be a freelancer, live in RV driving around to wherever the next filming location is. Life is a road trip and I’m doing what I love. Writing, storytelling, filmmaking. My home would travel with me. Writing in cafes; roadside attractions; early mornings on the road with coffee in the cup holder as the sun comes up; being able to go anywhere to film; always experiencing something new.

35. Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean? 

I’ve lived in a landlocked state my whole life, so I guess swimming pools. And, listen, I CANNOT get water in my mouth at the beach without wondering exactly how many kids have peed (or worse) in that water. (I know that’s a thing with pools too, but pools get cleaned.)

36. What would you do if you found £50 on the ground? 

Wonder what some poor European is doing in America right now. But if it was $50, I’d probably yell “DID ANYONE DROP THIS?” and then take it if no one speaks up.

37. Have you ever seen a shooting star? 

A few times, yeah.

38. What is the one thing you would want to teach your children? 

Grades are not the end-all-be-all. Skip some homework assignments to spend time with friends. Skip class sometimes. I’m serious. If you make school your top priority, even over your own personal life, you will come away with good grades and a lot of regret and missed opportunities. Learning is HELLA important, and very very little of it happens inside a school building. Get a 15 hour weekend or after-school job in high school, befriend your coworkers, and have fun with it. Use your paychecks however you want. Join a school club - one that you’re actually interested in. Do stupid shit. Light your textbooks on fire after graduation or go to the 24 hour Wendy’s at 2am with your friends or kiss that person you met at summer camp or sleep on the porch because it’s too hot to sleep inside. Be smart and safe, but follow your whims. If you let yourself fall into routine, apathy will poison you.

39. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it? 

I already have a couple small ones, but the one I want next is a four-leaf clover. Don’t know where. Maybe my right inner wrist or maybe an ankle. Or like behind my ear. Luck has saved me so many times. (See above, with how I happened to be living with family when COVID hit.)

40. What can you hear now? 

Swamp cooler downstairs, the clock ticking in my office, cars outside, people moving around the house. I’m surprised the neighbor kids aren’t shrieking their absolute heads off as per the usual. 

41. Where do you feel the safest? 

When I’m alone and unobserved. 

42. What is the one thing you want to overcome/conquer? 

TMI warning, but I absolutely despise public bathrooms. How am I expected to pee when there’s somebody sitting like three (3) feet away, with only a partial wall between us, hearing everything that’s going on? My fight or flight response simply will not allow it. It’s too awkward and therefore Not Safe. Either that public restroom has to be empty except for me, or it has to be so loud and bustling that ain’t nobody hearing anything. Anything in-between and I’m in hell.

43. If you could travel back to any era, what would it be? 

The ‘80s. Let’s be honest, even that far back makes my life (as a woman, and as a gay person) hella difficult. But, consider this: it’s the ‘80s. Furthermore, consider this: a part-time job might have actually supported me and paid rent back then 😱 Holy fucking shit. Sign me up. I just wouldn’t want to go any further than than like 1980, because again: lesbian. Being a woman in the past = even harder than it is today, being gay in the past = even harder than it is today, being a gay woman in the past = oh no.

44. What is your most used emoji? 

In order of descending frequency:

😂🙄😊😁🤦🏼‍♀️👀😬🌈🤷🏼‍♀️😙

45. Describe yourself using one word. 

Creative

46. What do you regret the most?

Wasting my entire teenage experience. (See #38.) I did quite literally nothing with my life except homework for like 18 years. If I had taken even a tenth as much time for myself as I did for school, I would be so much farther along as a person today.

47. Last movie you saw? 

In the theaters? ........ uh. Shit, I don’t actually remember. It’s been like 5 months. (As it has for everyone.) But the last movie I watched was Lights Out, because I’ve been watching the director’s youtube channel. You could tell it was low-budget and that the director was still kind of finding his stride, but it had a lot of heart behind it and the creators clearly gave a fuck, which made it enjoyable. I am firmly in the camp of “not everything has to be a Magnum Opus or have a multi-billion dollar budget to be a good movie.” If I engaged with it and got some sort of emotional experience out of it, and if it had a good message, I consider it a good movie.

48. Last tv show you watched? 

I don’t usually watch a whole lot of TV shows (who has the time?) but I think the last thing I watched was either The Witcher or that new Unsolved Mysteries miniseries on Netflix. Oh and I was watching Dead to Me because I just love Linda Cardellini’s face and I want to wrap Judy up in a blanket and cuddle the shit out of her and protect her from all things 🥺 My precious beautiful unstable sweet murder baby.

49. Invent a word and it’s meaning. 

Apapanic. It’s where you’re so stressed about things that half of your brain is panicking but the other half is so overwhelmed that it circled all the way back around to being calm to the point of apathy, so you just kind of sit there like

[kpopisamood]

Queen’s Clan { 14 }

Summary: y/n is plagued by nightmares. She realizes that the more she runs away, the less frequently they haunt her. However, in running away, she’s also running straight into her ultimate demise. Will she be saved in time by those who would lay down their lives for her, even if they don’t know of each other’s existence?

Monsta X/Reader, Human/Vampire(s), Reverse Harem

Warnings: light smut?, violence, language

Word count: 2.77k

Tag list: @noonaduck @lovinggalaxies @elenaramos1 @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden @snowythellama @stargazersara @luvthatleader-nim @sugasheart @vincent-stargogh

***

You’re a badass. You can do this. This will be a piece of cake. A walk in the park. An easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy—

“My god, Y/N, chill out before you sweat through your dress. I just had it rush delivered and you’re not about to embarrass yourself tonight.” Miss Kudrow reprimanded, tightening up the corset that surrounded your dark evening gown. You would think the appalling garment would go underneath it all, but no, apparently that was the in style dress code for Queens nowadays.

The evening gown was a deep red, fitting for the irony of the situation. It plunged down a decent amount in front and back, showcasing all the goods without revealing too much and was floor length. You had just about begged Miss Kudrow to let you wear any sort of flats, but she insisted on throwing “lemme stab ya” heels in your face and giving you a dirty look until you tried putting them on.

This, of course, was all done behind closed doors and sounded like you were being tortured to the boys who would worriedly pace back and forth in front of your door every so often. You’d been in there for hours and any time they knocked or asked to come in, Miss Kudrow would screech at them.

All while getting your hair and makeup ready, she quizzed you on all the Royals and mannerisms you had to take on around certain ones. You’d probably gotten over half right and you were about to pat yourself on the back, if not for her chastising you to study more.

When you’d finally been deemed dolled up enough, Miss Kudrow has guided you out the door and down the stairs, immediately surrounded by your Clan.

“You look beautiful, My Queen.”

“Absolutely ravishing.”

“Fuck.”

All of these comments left their lips, causing a slight blush to spread across your cheeks as you smiled at them in return. They’d looked amazing as well, all adorning their versions of suits complete with bow ties and multi-colored roses in their front pockets.

Shownu had a classic black tux, finished off with a black rose, his hair neatly slicked back. Minhyuk wore a deep gray suit, with a pink rose and hair combed straight. Wonho had a dark suit, almost black from how deep blue it was, with a teal rose, his hair straightened. Jooheon wore a similar black suit to Shownu, wearing an orange rose in his pocket and hair done in messily cute curls. Changkyun wore a dark brown suit with a dark purple rose, letting his locks fly free, not done, but not tangled.

They’d looked mouthwatering and you might have stayed to gawk more, had Miss Kudrow not cleared her throat.

Minhyuk and Jooheon took to your sides, each putting a hand out. You’d gripped them softly and let them lead you out, followed by the rest to a black SUV outside, brights shining on all your forms. They guided you to the back and ushered you in, taking the seats open next to you and in front. Miss Kudrow sat in the passenger side and gave the driver instructions to an address.

The trip felt like hours. It was probably because you were so nervous, but you couldn’t help but feel hesitant and frustrated. You’d studied for this and even made a Clan to protect you from the Royals. But still, would you be able to rise to the occasion?

“Breathe, Y/N.” Minhyuk whispered, interlocking his fingers with yours.

“We’re all here for you.” Jooheon promised, mimicking his actions and placing a chaste kiss on the back of your hand.

You leaned your head back and let out a deep breath you’d been holding, closing your eyes and letting your mind wander. What would your life be like had you not met these men? Would you be alive? Would you have taken any others into your Clan?

“We’re here.” Your eyes snapped open and you saw smiling, encouraging faces looking at you, awaiting your orders.

No, you wouldn’t have taken anyone else besides them.

***

“Are all preparations taken care of?”

“Yes, your Grace.”

“She will be here?”

“Yes, your Grace.”

***

Even with your amazing gown, you felt small in the room full of Royals. They all eyed you, some in disdain and others in outright curiosity. It had made you feel like a new toy in a kindergarten playground.

The Gathering was held in a huge mansion, owned by one of the Queens. From the outside, it looked like a beautiful mansion with columns and large windows. On the inside, it was more like a club; dark, with strobing lights and a bass that enveloped your entire being the deeper you went in . She’d had several rooms open for the public to use; ballrooms, dining rooms, etc. Miss Kudrow had let you know that, unfortunately, your Clan couldn’t all attend with you. As a rule to avoid overcrowding and other miscommunications, Royals were only allowed in with one member of their Clan. The other Clan mates were to help in the kitchen or watch the grounds for possible threats.

You’d wanted to go to the dining hall and get some food, but once again, Miss Kudrow had said you needed to be social and worry about food later.

You’d begrudgingly nodded and asked Shownu to accompany you. He was one of the bigger Clan Mates you had and you guessed it would make you seem powerful to others. Shownu has eagerly agreed and offered you his arm to take.

Once you were both in the ballroom, you felt naked to the prying eyes and found yourself feeling nervous by the constant whispering whenever you passed by someone.

The ballroom was grand, a glossy, wooden floor that cut off in sections to form a dance floor next to a wall of windows that led to an even grander balcony, where the night sky surrounded the mansion.

“Um, excuse me. Are you Y/N L/N?” A voice nudged you out of your reverie. Shownu smiled brightly as he slightly bowed to the Queen who had approached you with respect.

“Oh, um, yes! That’s me!” You responded, curtseying back to her.

“I’m Sonaelina Incendies! Welcome to my party!” She greeted cheerfully. Your mind immediately recognized that name. She was one of the names you wanted to ally yourself with.

She was wearing a silky, black dress. Her hair pinned up in a fancy updo and arms covered in silky, black half sleeve gloves. Her makeup was done professionally, giving her a bold, darker look that matched well with her ensemble.

“This is your house?!” You asked in awe, taking another appreciative look around.

“I don’t actually live here. This place was my parents’ and I didn’t feel right moving in so we just use this place to do events every so often.” She explained with a faraway look in her eyes. You’d remember reading what happened to her parents, losing them at such a young age and so horribly. But she shook her head and smiled at you once again, glancing at the man to her right.

“This is Jackson. He’s part of my Clan.” She proudly stated, giving him a look so loving, you felt you were intruding.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m Jackson Wang.” He bowed deeply to you, still keeping his Queen’s arm latched to his.

“Oh, right! This is Shownu. He’s a part of my Clan as well.” You smiled at Shownu, him returning your look with a proud gaze.

“My name is Son Hyunwoo and I am pleased to meet you.” He bowed.

Sonaelina had asked the boys to give you some space to talk and, after reassuring Shownu he didn’t have to leave your side, just simply stay a few feet back, he’d agreed.

“So, welcome to the Queendom.” She joked, walking by your side as she said hi to the other patrons. Some nodded at you in acknowledgment while others barely glanced at you.

“They mean well, I promise. You’re just a new face and they’re not sure where your loyalties lie.” She explained, going on to meet more Royals while Shownu and Jackson shared a few laughs and followed behind you two.

“Sonaelina, you crazy bitch! I finally found you!” A shriek sounded from behind you. All at once, Sonaelina was almost tackled by a girl with short, silver hair and a white dress to match. You’d eyed Jackson to see he wasn’t in the slightest surprised and even laughed at the young girl who came running at her.

“‘Ria, I swear you’ll be the death of me one day.” Sonaelina admonished, clutching at her chest and puffing her cheeks in feign annoyance.

The girl waved her off and laughed before you caught her attention. She tilted her head in a cute puppy dog sort of way and approached you. “You must be Y/N!” She laughed, clasping your hands in her own and shaking them furiously. You saw the way her eyeshadow intensified her looks; a red, smokey color that was very different from her attire but made her features just as prominent as Sonaelina’s.

“I’ve heard so much about you—well, we’ve talked so much about you! My name is Astor Ria and if you don’t mind, I’d like to hear your backstory and all the gory details! Wait, not in a bad way, but you’re a hot topic amongst the Royals and—“

“Well, hello there,” A new voice greeted, taking your focus away from the rambling girl.

A woman with black hair down to her waist and a dark green dress approached your little group, staring down her nose at you.

“So, you’re the new Queen?” She asked, eyeing you up and down. You felt a presence behind you and you tensed up, only to relax when you felt Shownu cup your arm in comfort.

“Hyunwoo.” She nodded at him, causing his grip on you to tighten slightly.

“Your Grace.” He said, tone respectful but with a slight clip to it.

“Someone took you in after all. Elena will be pleasantly surprised.” The woman laughed, taking a drink from her champagne. She took a step closer to you two and brushed his arm in a gesture that was anything but innocent.

Your vision tinged red on the edges, prompting your next move.

He was yours.

“Excuse me, but if you so much as look at my Mate, let alone touch him, I won’t hesitate to put you in your place.” You said, tone soft but giving her your best ‘fuck-with-me’ look.

She yanked her arm away in shock before frowning slightly at you. “Right, my mistake, Lady L/N.” She said, rubbing her arm in a way that made you think your words had physically hurt her and you kept your reproachful look on her, though you were just as confused.

“Jennessa.” She called out, and a smaller girl came out to take her hand, with a “My Queen.”

The air was quiet before Sonaelina took charge. “Y/N, this is Silvia and her Clan mate Jennessa. She was just leaving, right?” She pressed, daring the older girl to fight her.

“Jennessa, it’s time for my feeding.” Silvia huffed, letting the younger girl lead her out.

“Bitch.” Astor muttered once she was out of earshot. Shownu sagged in relief next to you and you eyed him wearily. “I was wondering when she’d make her presence known.” Astor shrugged the unpleasant encounter off, but you were still focused on Shownu.

“Looks like you just made yourself public enemy number one, Y/N. I think we’ll get along just fine!” Sonaelina laughed.

“Excuse us.” You said, hastily grabbing his hand and guiding him out of the room. You’d looked around for some place private to talk and managed to find a dead hallway. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s one of my former Queen’s allies.” He looked down, guilt taking over.

“Hey,” you started, cupping his face in your hands. “It’s alright. Just as you promised to protect me, I’ll protect you be it standing up for you or fighting someone.” He chuckled and covered your hands with his own, bringing them to his mouth and kissing them tenderly.

“Yes, My Queen.” He lamented, giving you small pecks up your arm to your shoulder, then up to your neck and jaw, sucking at the parts that made you gasp out and clutch onto him desperately. “You publicly called me your Mate.” He pointed out, his lips tilting up in a teasing manner.

“What of it?” You challenged him with a smirk of your own.

“Oh, I’m not complaining one bit. Seeing you get a bit possessive and claiming me so openly is a very big turn on.”

“What, did you think I was going to let her touch you like that?” You asked incredulously.

He chuckled and said, “Of course not, My Queen.” He gave you a look that warmed your heart in a way that caught you off guard and you tried to take control of the situation.

“You know, one thing bugs me.” You breathed out against his ministrations.

“Oh?” He prodded, continuing his onslaught. Kisses would turn to brushes of his lips then to nips and he was slightly licking at you now.

“Everyone else made noises when I...you know.” You sighed as he sucked in a part of your skin where your shoulder met your neck. “You didn’t.”

“Would you like me to make noises for you?” He asked, pulling away from you slightly to gauge your reaction.

“Only if it’s alright with you.” You told him seriously.

He took a moment before he sighed and grabbed your hand, placing it on his chest. “Let’s see if you can, Y/N.” He challenged, giving you a slight smirk.

He really shouldn’t have challenged you. You were never this competitive, but these boys brought something out in you. It made you want to take what you wanted from them but also give them just as much as you took. An idea struck you and you smirked inwardly.

You backed him up against the wall harshly, not so much as getting a breath out of him. You leaned in slowly and brushed your lips up his jaw and nibbling slightly at his earlobe. Your hands wandered, one gripping the front of his suit, and the other going lower to where his belt loops were. You pulled him by his loops and ground yourself against him, watching his face. He bit his lip hard, closing his eyes in concentration.

“Ah, ah, ah. Look at me.” You demanded softly, grinding into him once more. His eyes snapped open as he started rolling his hips against yours.

Just that look alone was going to send you over. The need in his eyes and the pure, unadulterated lust had you feeling warm in forbidden places. Your instincts suddenly took over before you bite down harshly on your lip, causing a few drops of blood to spring up and pulling him into a simmering kiss.

He groaned out and gripped you tightly, returning the kiss in fervor before he turned and pinned you instead. He licked your bottom lip over and over, before opting to insert his tongue into your mouth and trying to command dominance over yours. You let your pride go and shamelessly moaned into his mouth, hips still rolling against his.

“Not that this isn’t arousing, but if you continue this here, you’ll likely fuck each other in public and give all these Royals a show. Unless, you want an audience?” Wonho asked from your side.

Shownu pulled away with a huff, a string of saliva connecting you two before being broken by the distance between you. His lips were smeared in red, and seemingly bruised from yours and you could only imagine how you looked.

“The party will be over soon, so we should start taking our leave.” Shownu stated, still out of breath.

Unbeknownst to you, another set of eyes were watching you three as you left together.

Please do NOT repost! All rights reserved!

[samsbastardzone]

Hey, you know that 35 d&d questions ask meme? I answered all of them.

This is a long ass post. Be warned. It took up seven and a half pages in google docs. Original post here.

1. A favorite character you have played.

Would have to be Zize Fortier, dragonborn gunslinger. Their tag on this blog is #zize and you can find their bio and info on my character page. Love that bastard!! He’s sweet and bratty and a total delight to play (we are such an OP party, y’all).

2. Your favorite character that someone else has played.

UM UM gonna talk about a few here. To be fair to people I play a *lot* of games with, I’m only gonna  talk about one PC per person.

- The bastard trio in my Wildemount game– @toomanyorphans ’s Nakoria, @overplannedbutunnamednpc ‘s Zier (also an NPC in the campaign Zize is in), and @glasyasbutch ‘s Nissy. They all really suck so bad but in SUCH funny ways. They’re varying degrees of self centered and awful, but we trust each other in this campaign, and those 3 players are SO funny in their RP.

- (RIP) Avri in my Wildemount game. They and Bly named each other,,,,  they were parent and child…… VERY sweet. huge goliath with tiny bird in backpack.

- @bekahdoesnershit ‘s Raini. Zize’s BFF, and her tag on that blog is rich. She’s SUCH a bitch but we love her.

- @bhissar ‘s Saela. She is a dream character for me to DM for– very little fleshed out backstory with room to explore, with still-concrete events in it. Consistent character choices and personality, to the point I can sometimes predict what she’ll do. Very cool aesthetically. And overall? EXTREMELY sweet. Baby, baby bird.

3. Your favorite side quest.

Either the one going on right now in amnesia, where we have to collect brain matter from big powerful elementals, or the stop we made at a family of vampires in Acarnya (the one I played Osfyr in).

4. Your current campaign.

There are five of those, with two on hold. 

-Wildemount, aka the Frozen Sick module from Explorer’s Guide to Wildemount (we’re almost done with that, my PC is Bly). 

-Amnesia campaign aka high level campaign: we woke up in hell with no memories! PC is Zize. 

-Hoard of the Dragon Queen module, near the beginning of that, PC is Pointy. 

-Horror campaign, only two sessions so far, but we’re trapped in an alternate dimension carrying out tasks for a creepy dude. PC is Vinny. 

-Kithan, where we’re high level monster hunting guild members searching  out ancient artifacts of the gods (campaign based on the Monster Hunter games), PC is Topaz.

-Silas, party is currently trying to help dragons free themselves and stop a… dude? No spoilers! I DM. On hold because I had too many campaigns going at once.

-Silas v2: extremely vaguely based on the plot of season one of the web series Carmilla. A tweaked version of the first arc the Silas party went through. On hold because it was played in person at school.

5. Favorite NPC.

I don’t really have any NPCs in my campaigns that I’m super attached to, except– Nikeo, a goliath rogue PC in Silas 1, had many adopted children. Three of them– kobolds– sometimes stand on each others’ shoulders, put on a long coat, and help out around their parent’s store. They’ve named themselves Koby.

As for favorite NPCs in campaigns I’ve played, I can think of… a lot. The first is Laurel, a blue dragonborn loner type who followed Osfyr and friends in Acarnya. They were kind of broody and dark, but they really drew me in. They were the first NPC we really talked to– they were sitting on top of the post office laughing at the mob scene of people protesting not getting their mail delivered.

I’d also pick Osfyr’s partners in that campaign– Yelkian, a backstory love interest I came up with, a flamboyant soft sorcerer. Jupiter, politician’s niece, who took pity on Osfyr’s attempts to seduce information out of her and let them succeed on both counts (seduction and information). Xerxes, extra AF rogue with a big loving family, who swept in after a fight on the back of an eagle-wildshaped Brysth (npc druid). 

There’s a blue dragon in the HOTDQ campaign that we don’t know much about. I really enjoyed the way @dungeonsanddraconicqueer played him. He’s just a dude! Lex’s warlock made a Deal with him to leave the town alone. We still don’t know the implications of that. It’s fine, guys.

And then, there’s Stewart the Skin Steward, a servant of False Mystra. Fun dude.  Very cavalier– nigh, enthusiastic!– about the fact that his entire city was made of skin. Something of a skin connoisseur, in fact!

6. Favorite death (monster, player character, NPC, etc).

Saela, hands down. She got breathed on by a dragon, yo. We then had to stop playing for 4-5 months because a player lost access to the Internet. I wrote a vision/speech from her warlock patron, the Raven Queen, the night she died, and basically didn’t touch it until I read it out in game. It involved a confession that the Queen was  tired of being a god, and showing Saela all the lives she’d touched. Then we used Matt Mercer’s rez rules for her. She came back– but it was her choice.

7. Your favorite downtime activity.

Fucking tinkering dude!!! I don’t get to do it enough as Zize and that is entirely my fault. @ morgan, eyes emoji

8. Your favorite fight/encounter.

I LOVE creepy shit. There was a train car with people dancing in it, and party members got enchanted to dance along and eat the food,  and the revelers were clearly in pain, and snuffing out a candle caused a reveler to disappear. Creepy shit!

In Kithan, we had to climb a staircase, and we timed it with produce flame which is a 10 minute duration cantrip, and we were climbing for 50 minutes. We started to see things in the edges of our vision. Then someone realized it was an illusion, and it all vanished. It freaked me out so bad.

In amnesia campaign, at level 19, we were traversing a cave, and our shadows started dripping the same black goop we were there to investigate. We killed one and it took down the max hp of the person whose shadow it was, and then they straight up didn’t have a shadow until they long rested. It really freaked us out, realizing the shadows were actually creatures, but they were like CR 1. Really effective use of a low level monster.

9. Your favorite thing about D&D.

The way it has something for everyone… the way it’s brought me so many friends… the way it’s inspired my OC creation like nothing else.

10. Your favorite enemy and the enemy you hate the most.

I’m not sure if this is asking about NPCs I’ve had as enemies, or any monster in D&D canon? The longest campaign I played in didn’t have long term enemies  per se. I’d say I was frustrated with the cultists that ambushed us last session in HOTDQ,  but I didn’t hate them! I just couldn’t seem to hit or dodge them. As for a favorite… probably False Mystra: the demon lord Orcus who’d taken over  the position, and therefore the duties, of Mystra, the god of arcane magic.  We killed it,  but then whoopso!! Our wizard lost her powers.

11. How often do you play and how often would you ideally like to play?

I play an ideal amount, honestly: four times a week, for about 2.5-3 hours a session. HOTDQ Tuesdays, Kithan and horror campaign switching off Wednesdays, Wildemount Thursdays cause we miss CR, Amnesia Sundays.

12. Your in game inside jokes/memes/catchphrases and where they came from.

Amnesia: Yocheved, the party barbarian/full time fish, has a secret third arm and/or a prosthetic ass. Cylthia, the druid, does arson (but actually). Relentless is a Crown paladin, so she puts her fingers in her ears when we do crime/lie. She also has a rod of lordly might that, immediately post amnesia, she made into a 32 foot climbing pole. Yocheved eats pounds and pounds of raw fish for every meal.

Wildemount: just the shenanigans and sabotaging each other that the Bastard Trio get into. Example: Nissy was tasked with buying Zier a cloak for cold weather and purposely got him an  ugly one. Zier then prestidigitated it to be a nicer color.

13. Introduce your current party.

Oh boy, I have 6 of those. Here goes. Keep in mind many of these characters are played and games are DMed by my friends who have OC blogs of their own: Raini and Ayen are bekahdoesnerdshit, Ezra, Nissy, and Roona are glasyasbutch, Horror DM, Lent, Eve, and Nakoria are toomanyorphans, Wildemount DM, Saela, Daecyne, and Cylthia are bhissar, HOTDQ DM is dungeonsanddraconicqueer, and Amnesia DM, Zier, Nyxi, and Sarril are overplannedbutunnamednpc. Not an OC blog, but Yocheved, Avri, Arbor, Thraf, Nikeo, and Whisper are mickgoesabsolutelyhamforbarbie.

Amnesia (Zize): Lent, tiefling paladin, former crownsguard who “fell” (became an oathbreaker), then un-fell when we lost our memories. Cylthia, tiefling/elf druid who can shift between tiefling and elf forms and loves setting things on fire. Yocheved, 14 foot tall nereid (fishfolk) barbarian with a dry sense of humor, is the party parent. And Raini, aasimar wizard, sass machine and Zize’s bff.

HOTDQ. My PC is Pointy. Ezra, quiet human paladin. Theata, moon elf rogue. Freya, sweet (human?) light cleric who sometimes misreads situations. Eve, 13 year old (!!) human warlock who kinda sucks, but like, she’s 13. Nyxi, motherly gnome bard who Is going to adopt Pointy. 

Wildemount (Bly): Alene, human barbarian. Quiet and with somewhat of a parent instinct. Some sort of Mysterious Backstory. Delta, aasimar rogue, similarly shady backstory? Unclear. Sticks with Alene. Nissy, drow rune knight, sucks. Zier, drow sorcerer, also sucks. Nakoria, dragonborn warlock, ALSO sucks. (Those three make up the Bastard Trio.) Avri (F for them), goliath bard and Avri’s guardian, died last session by falling on a floor full of knives. 

Horror campaign (Vinny): Roona, halfling bard, very impulsive, eats exclusively with her spoon that says ASS, and chills in Vinny’s fanny pack. Ayen, elven teenage warlock with a dark backstory. Sarril, Ayen’s not-dad, half elf beast barbarian who got it from his wife. Arbor, dryad  monk, who wears an all white plague doctor outfit at all times.

Silas v1 (DM), Original party before 1 left and 1 died: Hacka (RIP), human luchador-styled drunken monk. Nikeo (left), goliath rogue with so many adopted children. Inferno, fire genasi paladin/phoenix sorcerer with anger and impulse control issues. Saela, babiest aarakocra warlock of the Raven Queen. Hacka’s player now plays Voda, a stoic water genasi tempest cleric who cast Raise Dead successfully on Saela. Nikeo’s player now plays Whisper, a tabaxi astral soul monk.

Kithan (Topaz): Thraf, monsterborn (universe-compliant dragonborn) barbarian. Very social, very outgoing, very stupid, and very traumatized. Fucks majorly. Daecyne, sweet tiefling druid and Topaz’s good friend. Viosa, aasimar homebrew class I forget the name of, uses her small stature and allure to her advantage. Damur, half-orc eldritch knight, the party’s only braincell.

14. Introduce any other parties you have played in or DM-ed.

Acarnya. My PC was Osfyr. Soraphine, traumatized halfling bard. Azalea, human fighter. Durzuell, haughty high elf sorcerer. James, nerdy half elf wizard. Drago, erratic Russian dragonborn monk. Kairon, slightly edgy ranger/paladin (but we love him). 

Nordenheim. My PC was Cap. I will admit: we only played 2 or 3 sessions, so I don’t really remember  most of the other party members except Rory, a fire genasi ranger who almost burned to death.

Silas v2 (hopefully will continue; I DMed): Kysseris IV. Half-elf paladin, uptight. Tower 1-6, warforged wizard who crawled out of the desert and is looking for info on how he was made. Mae “Pock”, gnome rogue, very small and  sweet. Josh, human trickery cleric, kind of an asshole, but in a way that’s funny and hasn’t bled over into IRL annoying.

[school] West Marches campaign (Ner): by the nature of West Marches, there was never a consistent party, but a few stood out to me. Red Foot, a hyperactive kobold sorcerer who’s level 8 against all West Marches odds. Lyra, Great Old One warlock of Tzee’Mhor, an abomination goat that a party I was in accidentally created. Fildo Baggins, divination wizard who can only affect allies whose toenail clippings he has in his vial.

15. Do you have snacks during game times?

Hell yeah babey!!! I mostly play digitally, especially during COVID, and I need something to munch after DMing for a while. Shit’s exhausting.

16. Do you play online or in person? Which do you prefer?

Welp! Online mostly, since everyone I want to play with has the audacity to live far away, and now exclusively online because of COVID.

17. What are some house rules that your group has?

Our Amnesia party is so rich that we just don’t keep track of money. In Kithan, a lot of rules that make characters less powerful are just… abolished (like the bonus action spell rule). (The DM likes super OP characters so she can throw SUPER OP monsters at us.  My character has a necklace that gives 5 additional uses of channel divinity.)

18. Does your party keep any pets?

Nope. No opportunities for them. Zize’s party has a little water snake on the druid’s arm but I doubt that will last very long.

19. Do you or your party have any dice superstitions?

Absolutely. Cursed dice get j a i l.

20. How did you get into D&D? How long have you been playing?

Acarnya got me into d&d, it was my first campaign, and it was happening at the place I lived. I’ve been playing almost 2 years. (Critical Role inspired me to DM)

21. Have you ever regretted something your character has done?

Not sent a fucking letter to say goodbye to their boyfriend before the world-fate-deciding bullshit that was gonna happen and possibly destroy shit. It was fine in the end though!

22. What color was your first dragon?

Red. Man, that guy sucked, he almost killed Osfyr. We were investigating a monastery secretly run by dragons disguised as humans.

23. Do you use premade modules or original campaigns?

Original campaigns. I’ve never run a module before! I’m not opposed, but most of my campaigns came from ideas  that I had. I’ve never been short on ideas for a game.

24. How much planning/preparation do you do for a game?

As a player, I just open my character sheet and get out dice. As a DM, I try and think about what material I want to get through this session, and write some narration and/or stat things out if I feel like it.

For DMs

25. What have your players done that you never could have planned for?

A lot of times, Inferno has rushed into battle from what I’d built as a stealth mission, and gotten her ass and sometimes the party’s asses kicked. I should really have learned by now.

26. What was your favorite scene to write and show your characters?

Definitely Saela’s resurrection ritual and vision.

27. Do you allow homebrew content?

Yes! I’ll check it first,  but I’m all for expanding the boundaries. I homebrew items and monsters all the time, why shouldn’t my payers get to homebrew their shit?

28. How often do you use NPCs in a party?

Too often in my first arc. I had like 7 NPCs running around at all times (they were Carmilla characters). Super not recommended. I have 0 right now.

29. Do you prefer RP heavy sessions or combat sessions?

I’m still finding my groove with RP as a DM. I like encouraging my players to RP amongst themselves. I consider myself fairly good at combat on both sides of the equation, DM and player, so that’s always fun to me, especially when my players enjoy it too.

30. Are your players diplomatic or murder hobos?

I have one actively reforming murder hobo player, the rest are diplomatic. (The character, Inferno, is having a great growth arc. I’m super proud.)

For Players

31. What is your favorite class? Favorite race?

I fucking love genasi as a concept. Favorite class would have to be rogue or cleric, but gunslinger’s up there too.

32. What role do you like to play the most? (Tank/healer/etc?)

I  honestly don't have the patience to not play DPS. I love doing lots of damage. Healing is satisfying, support is satisfying, but there’s a reason I picked rogue twice and tempest cleric over other domains.

33. How do you write your backstory, or do you even write a backstory?

Sometimes the backstory is part of the character concept– especially for Pointy, because I had the name first, then went hmm why would she have this name. Almost always, though, more backstory gets written during the campaign when I have an idea. Sometimes a character will act in a way I don’t expect, and it’s fun thinking of a justification to fill backstory gaps.

34. Do you tend to pick weapons/spells for being useful or for flavor?

Mostly  usefulness honestly. I’ll make choices among several for flavor, but I’m a big proponent of using mechanics to build character. What I mean is, think about Magnus in TAZ Balance– his protection fighting style contributed a lot to the way Travis played him as a protective person. I love that shit.

35. How much roleplay do you like to do?

I like to do a lot, but unfortunately my  energy is pretty down lately so I haven’t been doing as much.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Free to Be You and Me: Part One

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,604

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

Life wasn’t the same without Sam. It was just you and Dean now, but you could sense a part of your boyfriend wanted his brother back. They haven’t been separated from each other not once in their whole lives. They learned to lean on one another, to depend on each other when they couldn’t depend on someone else. You couldn’t speak for Sam, but Dean was wreck. He took you on back to back hunts, and you knew it was to keep himself from thinking about where Sam was, what he was doing, and who he was with.

Where you and Dean wore professional clothing for FBI interviews, Sam was probably in something casual. Where you and Dean utilized your FBI badges, you can only imagine Sam burning his or burying them deep into the ground. Where you and Dean take down monsters, and slicing heads off vampires, you can only imagine Sam is in the kitchen, slicing fruits and vegetables as he tries to live the high life. Where you and Dean would be smearing blood off your faces and cleaning the goo off your bodies, Sam is probably wiping sweat off his brow from the jogs he does every morning. Where you and Dean wash Baby, Sam is out there wiping down a counter as he cleans his messes.

Where you and Dean are, you know for a fact it’s where Sam isn’t.

Life without Sam was hard, but you managed to go on. Grabbing the gun you always used with your left hand, you used the clean dish rag in your right to wipe down your gun and make sure everything was working properly. While you were sitting on the closed toilet seat, Dean was standing in front of the mirror as he cleaned his leather jacket with a damp washcloth. The silence between you two was comfortable until you heard a flap of wings. Looking up, you and Dean were both startled by the only angel in your life.

“God,” Dean thumped the sink in surprise, “don’t do that.”

“Hello, Dean. Y/N,” the angel said. Dean turned around to face the angel, but he was really close and personal to your boyfriend. Looking between the two men, you watched as Dean searched Castiel’s face for any kind of sign that he regretted being this close to him.

“Cas, we've talked about this. Personal space?”

“My apologies,” he cleared his throat before moving away from him. Dean grabbed his jacket and walked towards the bed, but you stayed right where you were.

“How'd you find us? I thought we were flying below the angel radar,” you said as you rubbed your ribs to illustrate the point you were trying to make.

“You are. Your father told me where you are,” he said as he looked around the room to see if he could find a sign of Sam.

“Where is Sam?”

“Us and Sam are taking separate vacations for a while. So,” Dean trailed off as he slipped on his jacket.

“Which is code for him and Sam. I think we need Sam just as much as he needs us,” you added.

“You find God yet? More importantly, can I have my damn necklace back, please?” Dean asked as he changed the subject.

“No, I haven't found him. That's why I'm here. I need your help.”

“With what? God hunt? Not interested.”

“It's not God. It's someone else.”

“Who?” you wondered.

“An Archangel. The one who killed me. His name is Raphael.”

“You were wasted by a teenage mutant ninja angel?” Dean snickered as you finished cleaning your gun.

“I've heard whispers that he's walking the earth. This is a rare opportunity.”

“For what? Revenge?” you asked.

“Information,” Castiel corrected. Dean walked back over to the sink before picking up one of his knives and the washcloth before starting to clean it.

“So, what, you think you can find this dude and he's just gonna spill God's address?”

“Yes, because we are gonna trap him and interrogate him.”

“You’re serious about this,” you noticed.

“Give us one good reason why we should do this.”

“Because you're Michael's vessel and no angel will dare harm you. And Y/N is Amara’s vessel, and no matter how hard they refuse to believe in her, they won’t harm you in fear of what you might be able to do.”

“It’s not like I’d give them a chance,” you chuckled.

“Oh, so we’re your bullet shield.”

“I need your help because you two are the only ones who'll help me. Please.”

“Of course, we’ll help. Where is he?”

“Maine. Let’s go,” the angel said before reaching out to you and Dean with two fingers. Teleporting wasn’t an issue for you, but somehow it was for Dean. So, when he saw the fingers head his way, he leaned away from them.

“Whoa.”

“What?” Castiel asked as he dropped his hand.

“Last time you zapped me someplace I didn't poop for a week. We're driving.”

“And we're here why?” Dean asked as he got out of the car. Castiel told him where to go, and that led you three to be in Waterville, Maine right outside of a sheriff’s station.

“A deputy sheriff laid eyes on the archangel.”

“And he still has eyes? Alright, what's the plan?” you asked.

“We'll... tell the officer that he witnessed an angel of the Lord, and the officer will tell us where the angel is.”

“You seriously want to walk in there and tell him the truth?” you scoffed.

“Why not?”

“Because we're humans,” Dean explains as he pulled out a spare FBI badge and stashed it inside Castiel’s coat. He fixed the appearance of the coat and tie as he continued talking, “and when humans want something really, really bad, we lie.”

“Why?”

“Because that's how you become President,” he said sarcastically before the three of you headed inside.

“Deputy Framingham?” you spoke, catching the older man’s attention. Both you and Dean pulled out your FBI badges to flash to the man.

“Hi. Alonzo Mosely, FBI. This is my partner, Eddie Moscone and Emily Braxton,” Dean introduced you three. Looking over to Castiel, he stood there and did nothing with a blank face.

“Also, FBI,” you urged. 

Castiel still stood there and did nothing until he caught your eyes. He quickly reached into his coat and pulled out the badge that Dean stashed there and opened it. He had a terrified and stiff look on his face, and his badge was upside down. Dean did a double take before he rolled his eyes with a sigh. He reached over and fixed it so that it was right side up.

“He's, uh, he's new. Mind if we ask you a few questions?” Dean asked as Castiel looked curiously at the badge.

“Yeah, sure. Talk here, though,” the sheriff said as he indicated to his right ear. He led you three to his office before shutting the door and taking a seat at his desk. “Hearing's all blown to hell in this one.”

“That happen recently?” you asked.

“Yeah. Gas station. Why you're here, isn't it?”

“Yes, it is. You mind just, uh, running us through what happened?”

“A call came in. Something about a disturbance out at the Pump and Go on Route 4.”

“What kind of disturbance?” Dean asked.

“Would not have believed my eyes if I hadn't seen it myself. We're talking a riot. Full scale.”

“How many?”

“Thirty, forty, in all-out kill-or-be-killed combat?”

“Any idea what set them off?” you asked.

“It's angels and demons, probably,” Castiel spoke. Sheriff Framingham looked at Castiel with a weird look, and you snapped your eyes to the angel. “They're skirmishing all over the globe.”

“Come again? What did he just say?”

“Nothing.”

“Demons,” Castiel said at the same time as Dean spoke. Reaching over, you slapped Castiel in the chest harshly before giving a glare that said, “shut the hell up”.

“Demons, you know, drink, adultery. We all have our demons, Walt,” Dean saved your asses.

“I guess.”

“Anyway, what happened next?”

“Fucking explosion, that's what. They said it was one of those underground gas tanks, but, uh, I don't think so.”

“Why not?” you asked.

“Wasn't your usual fireball. It was, um—”

“Pure white,” Castiel finished for him.

“Yeah. Gas station was leveled. Everyone was... it was just horrible. And I see this one guy, kneeling, real focused-like, not a damn scratch on him.”

“You know him?”

“Donnie Finneman. Mechanic there.”

“Let me guess, he just, uh, vanished into thin air?” Dean chuckled.

“Uh, no, Kolchak. He's down at Saint Pete's.”

“Saint Pete’s,” Castiel repeated with a frown.

“Thank you for your time,” you smiled as the three of you left the office to head straight to the hospital. Why an Archangel be here, you didn’t know, but when you walked into Donne’s room, you understood everything by the sight of him. He was sitting in a wheelchair, catatonic. Approaching him, you looked at his face which didn’t register that you were even in the room.

“I take it that's not Raphael anymore,” you said.

“Just an empty vessel,” Castiel sighed.

“So, is this what I'm looking at if Michael jumps in my bones?”

“Or if I let Amara in?” you also wondered.

“No, not at all. Michael is much more powerful, and Amara even more so. It'll be far worse for you two,” the angel spoke the truth. Sighing, you looked away from the man in sadness.

“So, what do we do to contact Raphael? If he’s gone, then how do we find him?” you asked.

“We prepare.”

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