#on an unrelated note people are banging on my door

[muchmossymess]

Guys im so good at conversations

[djungleskogs]

found out literally like most of my coworkers have been friends outside of work this entire time….

[jackhues]

Now I can’t get Luke’s friends flirting with youngest!hughes out of my head… like I know me and my older brother fight all the time but the second one of his friends flirts all my brothers are ready to throw hands

ohh, i love this!! using ethan edwards and luke as the brother and bestie (should i make this a new au?)

you pulled a chair from the dining room, using it to climb up onto the table.

gripping the top of the fridge for support, you leaned over to grab a pack of pasta and a can of pasta sauce.

"don't fall, sweet cheeks."

ethan's voice caused to jump, nearly banging your head on the cupboard and almost dropping the pasta.

"ethan, you asshole," you muttered. "can't you see i'm in a dangerous position? stop being annoying."

"stop calling her sweet cheeks," luke added. "that's gross."

you rolled your eyes at the two boys' banter, climbing down from the countertop.

"here, let me help," ethan held out a hand, helping you climb off the counter, before putting away the chair you grabbed earlier.

"thank you, eddy," you smiled, before glaring at your brother. "unlike some people, those related to me by blood, you helped me out."

"anytime, sweets."

"okay, that's enough," luke said, quickly stepping in between you two. "none of that. not in here. y/n, leave the kitchen."

"what? no," you held up the packet of pasta. "i'm making my dinner. you leave."

"but-"

"you're the one who has a problem with ethan and i-"

"ethan and you?" jack repeated, entering the kitchen, pointing between the two of you. "is that a thing?"

"it's not-"

"-oh it's definitely a thing," ethan said, putting a hand over your shoulder.

"stop that, stop that," luke walked between the two of you, dragging a laughing ethan out of the room.

jack glared at him, following the duo to try and 'intimidate' ethan.

it wouldn't make a difference. ethan had been around too long, he was immune to their threats.

"are you making pasta?" quinn asked, entering the kitchen, shaking you out of your thoughts.

you nodded.

"okay cool. make me some."

"no."

"i want the sauce mixed with the pasta, not poured on top."

"do you want cheese too?"

"obviously," quinn said. he motioned to the door that luke and jack dragged ethan out of. "what's going on with those three?"

"ethan was being nice to me, and luke thought it was flirting, so the two dumb butts are trying to intimidate him," you summarized. "they're so stupid."

quinn nodded slowly, "on an unrelated note, i'll be back."

you watched him head towards the boys, sighing to yourself.

idiots, they were all idiots.

[flatassthrowaway]

Passionately and Deeply

~Chapter Three, Other Edition~

I just wanted to thank everyone for engaging with my fanfic this far, and getting to the prologue over 70+ notes! It warms my heart that so many people like this series! I'll be putting out a masterlist when I release the fifth chapter.

Also there may be more than a few grammatical errors in here, feel free to ignore those.

Anyway, like always, I hope you enjoy!

New to the series? Read the prologue.

The air is warmer, the grass is greener, and my ties to this town are only becoming deeper.

Being with Ford on that fateful night took away nearly every fear I had. I felt like as long as I had him, nothing would stand in my way in life.

I think he pretty much confirmed the same thing with me.

And I couldn’t be happier about that.

Since then, we’ve been hanging out regularly. He’s shown me quite a few of the abnormal beings in this charming yet peculiar town. Among them were the plaidypus, the beard cubs (which were actually kinda cute), and the question quails (which were unquestionably adorable). Ford claims that there are dangerous beings that reside here, but the ones that I’ve seen have been rather innocuous. I actually scooped up the icicle mice from this winter and put them in my freezer so that they’ll live.

In other news, his grand-niblings are on their way to visit him and his family up here in a few hours. They’ll be staying for the whole summer.

Melody had her child, which was a boy. She named him Jesús Alzamirano Ramirez Jr., right after Soos.

They’re such a sweet couple, and now a sweet family. I hope they have a prosperous life.

Abuelita is smitten over her new bisnieto, or her great-grandson. He is quite adorable, after all. He was born on April 4th, and he’ll be two months old on the 4th.

I even got to hold him several times when I visited. My baby fever was hidden in the back of my mind, but that adorable baby boy brought it out again. On my days off of work, I would make my way to the shack and just tend to him while his primary familial unit rested up.

Ford seems to like the little bean, too. Although he doesn’t really strike me as someone who would like babies, he really took a liking to him.

“You’re so good with that little tyke,” he told me.

I smiled up at him while holding the little bean. “Thanks,” I said. “I always wanted children, and to be a mother.”

Ford’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Truly? You never mentioned it.”

I smiled back down at the sweet baby in my arms. “It never came up,” I told him. “Not until this sweet boy came into our lives. I truly believe that all babies are sent from Heaven.”

Ford smiled. “On an unrelated note, how old are you again?” he asked.

I playfully raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask about a lady’s age?” I asked, playfully indignant. “I’ll be twenty seven in seven days.”

“Ah, so you’re a gemini like me,” he said. “My great niece told me about the zodiac signs and everything related to them.”

“Oh really? When’s your birthday then?” I asked.

“Stanley’s and my birthday is in two weeks from today, on the 15th of June,” he said.

“The twins have the twins zodiac. How about that,” I said, chuckling.

“You wouldn’t happen to be a twin, would you?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No.”

“What a shame. I thought I would be able to set her up with Stanley,” Ford joked.

I playfully raised an eyebrow. “Who said my twin would be a woman?” I said.

Both of us just stared at each other before we softly broke out laughing.

All of a sudden, the door slammed open, and I saw two teenagers at the door, one boy and one girl.

The girl had medium brown curly hair that reached her mid back, the same copper brown eyes as Stan and Ford, and donned a purple headband with parted fringe bangs. Her sweater (why was she wearing a sweater in June?) was the same purple color as her headband and had spelled out MABEL, and wore a hot pink skirt that reached just a little below mid thigh, with dark purple almost black stockings, and some purple doc martens on. She was about average height.

The boy had a tan and dark brown lumberjack hat, the same medium brown curly hair and copper brown eyes as his sister, with long bangs that nearly covered his eyes. He wore a red flannel plaid shirt, blue jeans and timberlands. He was also about average height, which… kind of surprised me. Seeing that he was related to Stan and Ford, I thought he would be taller.

That doesn’t matter that much, though.

What matters is that this sweet baby boy started crying when both of them busted through the door. I shushed him, trying to soothe him.

“We’re here!” the girl yelled as Ford shushed her. She lowered her head. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“Who’re you?” the boy asked.

“Dipper, my boy, meet my good friend,” Ford said my name, introducing me to his great nephew. “Come here, Mabel, I want you to meet her, too.”

“Woah, nice to meet you! I’m Mabel! Grunkle Ford never said anything about his lady friend being so pretty,” Mabel introduced herself to me as I chuckled and Ford scratched the back of his head.

I can see where she gets her electrifying personality from.

“Nice to meet you too, dear,” I told her, this sweet baby finally settling down back into slumber.

“My name’s Dipper,” Dipper introduced himself. “Is that Soos’ son or is that your own child?”

I shook my head. “It’s his child. I’m just watching him while he, Melody, and Abuelita rest.”

“Woah, can I hold him? Please please please? I promise I’ll be extra careful!”

“Not yet, darling. Go wash your hands before you touch him. His immune system is very fragile right now,” Ford told Mabel. Mabel dashed to the sink, and Dipper walked, following her.

“So they are your niece and nephew,” I remarked.

Ford turned to me and nodded. “Yes. Besides this little tyke, they are the closest thing to being my own children.”

I smiled as I turned my gaze back to the sweet baby in my arms. “Did you ever want children, Ford?”

“Not particularly, no,” he said. “I was focused on my work. In a way, everything I’ve worked on, and currently working on are my progeny. But now… I think it’s far too late for me to be a father.”

“That’s a fascinating way to put it,” I told him. “And you never know! You might find someone to procreate with.”

Mabel and Dipper both entered the living room, and Mabel made grabby hands towards Jesús. “Lemme see him~!” she said in her baby voice.

I handed him to her, and she was completely enamored by his baby charm. “Hi buddy. It’s your cousin, Mabel,” she said softly.

I guess when the moment really calls for it, she can be quiet.

“So…” Dipper said my name. “Or do you prefer Miss? Ms? Ma’am?”

I chuckled. “You can say my name, it’s alright, Dipper,”

“Good!” Dipper cleared his throat. “I-I mean, good. I just have a few questions for you.”

“I have a few questions for you, too!” Mabel declared. The baby in her arms cried again.

“My dear, let me take the little tyke while you… speak,” he said, taking Jesús in his arms.

Mabel led me upstairs and Dipper followed us into the attic, where they were sleeping. It smelled like dust mites and moth balls.

They couldn’t have gotten something more appealing for these kids? Honestly.

I’m busting Ford’s ass about this later.

“So…” Dipper said my name. “What is your occupation?”

I told both of them what I did.

“What about before you came to Gravity Falls? What did you do? Where did you live? Did you graduate from university?”

Mabel rolled her eyes. “Jeez Dipper, it’s like you never had a conversation before! It sounds like an interview!”

“Mabel, these are important things I need to know about Great Uncle Ford’s new girlfriend,” he said.

I raised a finger to refute. “Well, actually-”

“Dipper, c’mon!” she whined before turning to me. “I’m sorry for Dipper, he doesn’t know how to have a proper conversation with a lady.”

“Wha- hey!”

“Aaaaanyway, I have more important questions to ask you than the stuffy questions my brother asked! I need to know: Do you like pigs or tardigrades?” Mabel said, narrowing her eyes at me comically.

“Well, I’d have to say pigs. Tardigrades are cute, but I never interacted with one,” I told her.

Mabel squealed. “Oh, this is great! Let me get Waddles!” she said, running out of the room.

“Oh great. Now you’ve set her off,” Dipper said. “Anyway, back to my questions. How old are you?”

I playfully smiled. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask for a lady’s age?” I asked, testing how strong his resolve was.

Dipper scratched the back of his neck. “I-I’m sorry, ma’am, I just-”

I smiled softly. “Listen Dipper, I understand you care for your great uncle, but speaking to me like this seems a little… out of character for you, if that makes sense,” I told him.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Just from the small amount of interaction I had from you, you’re clearly an intelligent young man,” I told him, his cheeks becoming a little red. “But your confidence is lacking. To make up for that, you overcompensate with a dour tone. I almost felt animosity coming from you in your questions, even though I know it’s not how you want to come across.”

“Wow… how did you get all of that?” Dipper asked.

I smiled. “I’ve been on this Earth for quite some time, dear. Most of the time, I can tell when someone isn’t being authentic.”

“Well… can I at least ask why you’re dating my grunkle?” Dipper asked.

I laughed. “Oh, that is hilarious,” I told him. “Hon, I’m not dating your great uncle. We’re just really good friends,” I told him. “If you ask him, he would say the same thing.”

Dipper breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. It’s still kinda questionable, but that’s a lot better.”

I smiled as Mabel came back in with a lean yet rotund pink pig with a cute nose and round cheeks. She said my name. “Meet Waddles!” she said, as Waddles let out a happy squeak.

I smiled. “What a cute little guy,” I said, slowly moving closer to him. “Hey Waddles.”

He sniffed my hand, and then nuzzled his head into my hand. I scratched just above his ears, and he was panting like a dog.

I think he enjoys it.

“Wow! He loves you already! How did you know his favorite scratching spot?” Mabel asked.

“Mabel, all over his body is his favorite scratching spot. He loves pets,” Dipper said.

“True, true,” Mabel said, sitting in front of me and next to her twin brother, crossing her legs. “Now then, where were we in our interview?”

“Actually… I want to take a different approach,” Dipper said, looking back at me.

Mabel turned her head curiously, looking at her brother. “Yeah? How?” she asked, looking back at me.

“Let’s get psychological,” Dipper said, narrowing his eyes at me.

“Hell yeah! Psychological warfare!” Mabel exclaimed.

Suddenly, the door opened to the attic, and Stan was in the doorway. “Psychological warfare? Ya don’t gotta tell me twice!” he said, taking a seat on the bed next to his great nephew, looking at me.

I was starting to sweat a little bit. Hopefully, they didn’t see it.

“I guess the main thing I’m worried about is that… well… you and Great Uncle Ford seem so friendly. I’ve never seen him like that with a stranger,” Dipper told me.

“I am a stranger to you, but not to your great uncle,” I reminded him.

“And that’s fine and all, but… how long have you known him?” Dipper asked.

“It’ll be four months on our birthday. Or maybe the day before? I dunno, somewhere around there,” Stan chimed in.

Mabel gasped. “You’ve cracked our Grunkle Ford in four months?!” she asked incredulously.

“I wouldn’t put it that way…” I told her.

“Yeah,” Stan surprisingly agreed with me. “It was more like one week.”

Mabel stared at me, awestruck. “One week?!” she shrieked, making me jump a little.

I nodded bewilderedly. Mabel screamed as if she were fangirling. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh~!”

“Mabel, get a hold of yourself!” Stan said.

“But c’mon Grunkle Stan! She’s exactly what Grunkle Ford needs! Do you really want him to rot in his lab all day, with no companion?” Mabel asked him.

Stan rolled his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh brother.”

Mabel stood up and nearly lunged at me. I nearly jumped out of my seat. “But seriously! You need to teach me your secrets! If you were able to charm Grunkle Ford in a week, you’re on the same level as a succubus in terms of charm and seduction!” She exclaimed.

I raised an eyebrow, deciding to play along with her. “Why does a young lady like you need to know about seduction?” I asked.

Mabel cleared her throat. “I am sixteen years old!” she boasted proudly, puffing her chest.

Dipper raised his index finger. “Almost seventeen,” he chimed in. “But Mabel, c’mon. Let us have at least a semi-serious conversation without you trying to make friends with her.”

Mabel turned around and blew a raspberry at her brother. “Boo! You’re so boring sometimes, Dipper!”

She sat back down next to her brother, and crossed her legs again.

“Now then, where were we…” Dipper trailed off.

“We were talkin’ about how long my brainiac brother and her knew each other,” Stan reminded him.

Dipper’s eyes lit up before he snapped his fingers. “Right!” His gaze zeroed in on me. “My point in asking that question was because Great Uncle Ford didn’t really begin to trust us until Mabel got that unicorn hair for him.”

I looked at the three of them quizzically. Unicorns are real? Or was this just the overactive imagination of teenagers?

“Kid, she’s from a normal town. Unicorns probably are a myth where she’s from,” Stan told Dipper.

I nodded. “Or so I thought… but after seeing some of the oddities Gravity Falls has to offer, I’d say I believe in the existence of unicorns,” I told them.

Mabel had a super serious face on. “Then believe me when I say that they are so condescending,” Mabel said.

Holy crap. I thought unicorns were supposed to be pure hearted or whatever? Now I’m hearing the opposite?

Nothing really is as it seems in Gravity Falls…

“Mabel, focus!” Dipper said in a tone of frustration.

Mabel shook her head. “Right! Sorry…” she said. “The point Dipper is trying to make is that it took Grunkle Ford so long for him to trust us that he’s shook that Grunkle Ford was so friendly to you within a week.”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, did you mean shocked?” I asked.

Mabel shook her head. “Nope. Dipper was shook,” she doubled down on her grammatically incorrect statement.

That must be the slang the kids came up with these days. Now that I’m an adult myself, I understand how my grandmother felt when I used slang terms.

“While you’re right, Sister, you know that ‘shook’ has been out for a while. No one except you uses it anymore,” Dipper said.

“Oh, you’re just salty that I finally used it right!” Mabel said.

“Oh, does that mean he’s weird?” I asked.

Dipper looked at me like I had three heads, but Mabel gave me a gentle pat on my arm.

“That was a good guess,” she said, before returning to sit with her brother.

“That… wasn’t even close,” he said.

I scratched my cheek as I felt both of them become hot. “I guess I’m showing my age, then.”

“Actually, speaking of which, how old are you? You look pretty young for someone trying to go after our great uncle.”

“Oh my gosh, Dipper!” Mabel exclaimed. “You can’t just ask a woman how old she is! That’s rude!”

“Actually, I wanna know how old this vixen is. How old are you?” Stan asked me.

“Grunkle Stan~!” Mabel whined.

“Can it, Mabel! We need answers!”

“I’ll be twenty seven a week from today,” I told them.

“Shit, kid… you’re a lot younger than I thought,” Stan said.

“Wow, that’s… controversial,” Dipper added.

“What do you mean?”

Dipper shook his head. “The fact that you’re friends with my Grunkle, and he’s in his sixties…”

“That shouldn’t matter. But with that being said,” I started. “I understand that you just want to make sure your great uncle is being safe, and I totally understand that. I haven’t hurt him, nor do I intend on consciously hurting him.”

“Bah! Your words mean nothing! How the hell are we gonna trust ya?” Stan asked.

Mabel stood up again, and stepped forward. “I’ll be the judge of that!”

“Mabel, sweetie, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Stan said. “This is a strange woman that you, I, and your brother don’t know.”

“So let’s get to know her, Grunkle Stan!” Mabel said, determination in her voice. “If she’s so bad, you need to give me at least one reason why I shouldn’t hang out with her. If it's for a decent reason, then I’ll stop.”

“Well… uh… urm…” Stan stammered.

So why the hell doesn’t he like me?

“Then it’s settled!” Mabel turned to me, saying my name. “We’re going to be great friends! I can feel it!”

Seeing this vibrant young lady in front of me blazed in determination, I couldn’t help but smile. “Let’s be friends.”

“Yay! Friendship, friendship, friendship~”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get too happy, pumpkin,” Stan said, standing up. “I’ll find a flaw in her, and when I do, you’re gonna know that I’m right.”

Mabel smiled. “Okay, Grunkle Stan,” she told him. As he walked to the door, he opened it, and Ford was standing there, looking indignant.

“Oh… well, uh, shit,” Stan said. “How long ya been there, Poindexter?”

“Long enough,” he seethed in a low tone. He pushed past his brother, and entered into the attic and went towards Mabel.

“Thank you for giving her a chance, my darling,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. Mabel gave a half smile.

He then turned to Dipper. “Dipper, my boy. Come with me to my laboratory. You too,” he said my name. We both stood up, then went down to his lab. The way to get down to his lab was so cool. I marvel at it every time.

Using a vending machine to hide the entrance way was so innovative, inconspicuous and just overall ingenious.

And using symbols that aren’t seen in everyday life? Brilliant!

Once we descended to the deepest level, we got off of the elevator. Ford then turned around and placed his hands behind his back.

“Dipper… do you not trust my judgement?” Ford asked him, hurt palpable in his voice.

“Great Uncle Ford, what do you mean? Of course I do!” Dipper reassured him.

“You must not,” Ford said. “You, along with my brother, think that I am not able to detect a bad person when I see them.”

“Wha- are you talking about-”

Ford cut him off. “Yes, I am.”

“Great Uncle Ford, it was never my intention to make you feel like your judgement was off… even though you trusted Bill… but that’s in the past. Your judgement has been sharp since then!” Dipper tried to assuage him.

Who is Bill? What did he do? What happened?

I have a mountain of questions right now, and I don’t think I’m gonna have any of them answered in the near future.

“I don’t think you need to worry about that, my boy. She is a good person, and I was able to promptly pick up on that,” Ford clarified.

“But how do you know, Great Uncle Ford? How do you know that she is a good person?”

Ford was about to open his mouth, but I stepped in front of him, then turned to face Dipper.

“Dipper… I know you don’t trust me now…” I started. “But the only way you’ll know for sure is if you spend time with me. Your sister has already put her faith in me, and it would mean a lot to me if you could, too.”

Dipper studied my face, searching for a trace of insincerity. Upon finding none, he finally nodded.

“Fine. I’ll spend some time with you, like my sister will,” he finally spoke. “But if I find that you’re using him just like Bill… I will never forgive myself.”

I nodded determinedly at Dipper. “You can trust me, Dipper. You’ll see in time. More importantly, you can trust your great uncle.”

Dipper sighed. “Yeah, I hope that’s the case, that I can trust you,” Dipper said, defeated.

“Chin up, my boy,” Ford said. “You’ll see why I enjoy having her around. For now, you can find some snacks in the cupboard before Soos makes dinner.”

Dipper raised a bushy eyebrow. “Soos is cooking now? He always ate burrito bites and anything instantaneous.”

Ford smiled. “Fatherhood really had him step up his game. Not only as a husband, but as a grandson.”

“Wow, I gotta catch up with him for sure!” Dipper then turned to me, saying my name. “I-I’m sorry about earlier.”

I shook my head. “I understand, Dipper. You just wanted to protect your great uncle from someone strange.”

Dipper smiled. “You’re anything but,” he said. “See you both at dinner.”

We both waved to him before I turned to Ford. He just had a look of mixed emotions on his face, somewhere from sadness to relief to anger, to even looking apologetic.

“I deeply apologize for the onslaught you had to endure on behalf of my family. I hope they weren’t too unrelenting in their questioning.”

I shook my head. “I told you many times, Stanford, and I’ll tell you again,” I said. “I really don’t mind. In fact, I find it heartwarming.”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “Heartwarming?” he said. “How on Earth did you find that heartwarming?”

“It’s so blatantly clear that you have a family that loves you. So much so to the point where they would ruthlessly interrogate someone who they thought could be a potential threat to you. If that isn’t a strong familial love and bond, I don’t know what is,” I told him.

Ford scratched the back of his head. “I suppose you’re right.”

I smiled coyly. “Of course I’m right,” I told him smugly.

Ford chuckled. “You’re such a cheeky girl. I never expected you to have a sly side.”

His praise made my heart skip a beat.

I maintained my smile. “That’s some high praise coming from you.”

“Oh, my dear, you should be used to me praising you,” he said in a deep voice, making me feel all hot inside.

Ugh, why is this happening? Have I really been so lonely that this man is starting to ignite a flame inside of me?

It’s been extinguished for a while, actually. I’m surprised it’s starting back up again. If it’s even starting up at all. This basement does tend to get hot.

“Gracious, are you okay? Please, say something!” Ford asked, his hands on my shoulders.

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Ford. I got lost in thought.”

Ford sighed a breath of relief, I smelt the coffee he normally drank on his breath. “Thank goodness. I was just telling you that dinner is ready, so we can go get some food to eat.”

I nodded. “I think I need something inside of me.”

Oh, fuck! That came out so wrong! I hope Ford didn’t pick up on that!

“You certainly do. Come, dear. Let’s go eat.”

I nodded before following him onto the elevator. In somewhat comfortable silence, we rode the elevator up to the first floor of the Mystery Shack, and we went into the dining room.

Soos was nowhere to be seen, but the young twins, Dipper and Mabel, were at the table, plus Stan. I decided to sit next to Ford, but as I was sitting down, Stan decided to voice his displeasure.

“Uh-uh. Stand up,” he said my name.

“Stanley! Enough!” Ford thundered. “This is becoming utterly ridiculous! Leave her be!”

Mabel and Dipper exchanged looks as Stan muttered something underneath his breath before Soos came back out. He had a joyful look on his face, which dropped once he saw the table.

“Hey dudes! …what happened?” He asked.

None of us cared to verbally answer him, so he just shrugged and sat down. Apparently, he had made enchiladas, which I strangely craved.

The dinner itself was awkward, but it wasn’t the worst one I sat through.

I thanked Soos for the dinner, and said my goodbyes to Dipper, Mabel and Stan.

Before I left, Mabel gave me her number. Just for me to give her some tips on how to become a succubus.

Goodness, that girl is a hoot.

Ford walked me back to my home, and once I arrived, I turned to him.

“Thanks for walking me back, again,” I told him.

Ford smiled. “It was the least I could do after you had to survive the onslaught,” he said as I laughed.

“I told you, it’s fine,” I said. “But if you want to spend time together… you know how to reach me.”

Ford maintained his smile. “That I do,” he said. “Goodnight, dear. Get some rest.”

“You too. Rest well.”

As I entered my home and closed the door, he began walking back. Even though I was somewhat joking the first time we met at the diner, I’m kinda glad he’s walking me back home. It makes me feel safe whenever he’s with me.

As I got ready for bed, and laid in it, I couldn’t fall asleep right away like I normally do. What was happening with my body, too?

I normally wasn’t so hot and bothered around him. His voice is naturally deep, but at that time…

Shit. I think he turned me on by accident. I think my flame has been reignited.

I need a cold shower.

💚

Likes and reblogs are appreciated! Check back next Friday for another chapter! Next chapter here.

[seattlesolace]

you've got me wrapped around your little finger // jay (ENHYPEN)

pairing: jay x fem!reader

summary: you and Jay have been friends forever, and it took you one slow dance, and a couple glasses of wine, to finally realize that you might have harbored feelings of love for him.

genre: fluff, suggestive // trope: friends to lovers // warning: suggestive themes towards the end, hyung-line make an appearance in texts, mentions of being drunk

word count: ~1.8k

author's note: this account is in need of an update, so have this little treat! I might be making more of these little one-shots based on old songs since I already have a whole playlist...

if you feel like this one feels a little different than my other works, it's because this is an old fic that I edited. I made this one maybe in 2016? for a different kpop idol. I've been thinking of reusing/recycling my old fics so I can post them to my accounts, and I hope you don't mind! (the fics haven't been posted elsewhere, so in a way I really am releasing it for the first time)

the song for this fic is this version by Beth Rowley, specifically this version. it's an OST for the movie An Education, but that's totally unrelated.

anyway, hope you enjoy this one!

The lights shone on the wet pavement as the car halted to a stop. The heavy rain that poured down for more than two hours was still persistent making the whole earth soaking wet. You opened the car door with a blazer over your head.

“Thank you, Sir! Jay, quickly!”

Another figure hopped off the car, not forgetting to thank the driver and closing the door shut. Jay took a side and held the blazer with you, running towards the porch of your apartment.

“Your poor jacket,” you said once you were inside. You gave the blazer some pats, attempting to clean it from water droplets.

“It’s fine. It’s not like it’s Armani,” Jay checked his reflection in the mirror beside the doorway, ruffling his hair.

You squinted. “It’s not? It’s really good quality.”

“It’s H&M. Do you really think I would wear an expensive suit to a party with a lot of careless people who can spill wine on you anytime?” Jay took the blazer from you and gave it a good shake. “This will do.”

“Thank God we are dressed up enough for the Uber guy to take us in and not scold us for being in the rain, right?” You climbed up the stairs with Jay following you from behind.

Jay nodded. “If I were wearing my usual clothes I don’t think he’d let us in. He’ll probably think I’m homeless.”

“I would disagree,” you murmured.

“Sorry?”

“I’m starving,” you said, grinning awkwardly.

“Then hurry up and get us inside your apartment and I’ll fix you something up,” Jay nudged you so you can move faster. You struggled with the keys before finally opening the door.

“My good man,” you said, inviting Jay in. Jay walked past you while blowing your bangs. You shrieked a little and quickly fixed your hair.

Jay hung his blazer on the coat hanger by the door and threw himself on the sofa. You waddled and sat down beside him, bending over to take off your high heels.

“No wonder you looked so tall,” Jay peered over at your shoes. “You could literally sprain your ankle if you trip while wearing those, right?”

“Please don’t say stuff that will make me dread wearing heels,” you sighed. “Beauty is pain. High heels look nice. I will sacrifice and put myself in pain in order to look nice.”

Jay nodded. “It does accentuate your legs—OUCH!”

You had slapped Jay's forearm before he could even finish his sentence. Jay chuckled and went on.

“I don’t even know why I decided to go to such a fancy party like that,” Jay leaned on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. “And to bring you with me.”

You made an ugly noise. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I thought I’d be bringing one of the guys, but they were all busy—“

“So I’m your backup plan.”

“No, what I meant was—“

“You regret taking me?”

“Can you let me finish?” Jay threw a death stare which made you zip up and continued to listen. “The party was pretty boring. I should have taken to you somewhere more fun.”

You nodded. “Which is why we’re back home early. I feel bad, though. I bought this pretty dress and I only got to wear it for an hour.”

You and Jay continued to stare at the ceiling.

“We left so early that we didn’t even get to the dance part,” Jay sighed and ruffled his hair. You turned your head to look at him.

“What were you expecting?”

“A dance with you, of course,” Jay still had his eyes glued to the ceiling. Your eyebrows furrowed.

“You know I can’t dance,” you said as you sat up and stretched out your arms.

Jay stood up and walked over to your laptop that was on the desk, open and untouched. He typed and clicked here and there and suddenly the sound system in your room turned on, playing Beth Rowley’s You’ve Got Me Wrapped Around Your Little Finger.

“Good choice,” you mumbled as you started to close your eyes. Jay walked over to you and reached out his hand. “What?” you asked nonchalantly.

“Dance with me,” Jay’s voice was stern and he looked serious. You laughed.

“I will if I’m drunk,” you refused before you went back to close your eyes. Jay set the song on repeat and walked over to the kitchen. After spending so much time looking around, you just had to finally ask.

“What are you doing?”

“You have wine, don’t you?” Jay opened the kitchen counters one by one. “If drinking will make you dance then let’s open one.”

You stood up, kicked away your high heels, and waddled over to where Jay was. You tiptoed a bit to reach the top kitchen counter and pulled out a bottle of wine.

“That looks too fancy,” said Jay, checking the bottle out. “Isn’t there a cheaper one?”

You shook your head. “It’s my only bottle.”

Jay scrunched his nose, unsure. “And you’re willing to open it?”

“Might as well,” you shrugged. Jay grabbed the corkscrew laying on the counter and skillfully popped open the bottle. You were subtly impressed.

“I don’t have proper wine glasses,” you peered into the drawers where you kept your mugs. “These will do, I guess.”

Jay looked at the Ryan-shaped mug and the Cony glass that you took out. He burst out laughing while pointing at the Ryan mug.

“I know someone who would love this,” he said as he poured the wine into it. You decided to keep quiet about how it was your ex-boyfriend who gave it to you as a random gift.

After pouring the wine and clinking your mugs together, and two to three more mugs later, you were already tipsy. Jay was still looking sober, and he wouldn’t shut up about how your tolerance was so low.

Your laptop then died of low battery about two glasses ago. Jay set his empty mug on the coffee table and plugged in your laptop to play the same song again. As the intro played, he walked over to you and reached out his hand one more time.

“Fine,” you sighed. “But I’m bringing this,” you raised your mug, still half full. Jay shrugged and pulled you up from the sofa.

You've got me wrapped around your little finger If this is love, it's everything I hoped it would be You've got me wrapped around your little finger You will see, by my words just how much you mean to me

Jay was fully aware of how unskilled you were at dancing, so he kept it lowkey and just took you for a slow dance. You had one hand around Jay's neck, the other close to your chest, still holding the mug. Jay placed both his hand’s comfortably around your waist.

“Is this dancing?” you asked. Your voice was starting to become hoarse. Jay wasn’t sure if it was the wine or just you being tired, but you sounded a thousand times more attractive.

You look a thousand times more attractive too, he thought.

“For you, I think you could get away with calling this slow dancing. I’m just worried you might break something if I spin you around.”

With that being said, you spontaneously spun yourself around and landed back into Jay's embrace. He laughed wholeheartedly.

“Wasn’t expecting you to do that,” he said. “Spin again.”

This time Jay took the mug out of your hand and hold your other hand to properly help you turn. Your flushed cheeks became even redder with your laughter.

When we kiss, it's as if our lips agree that we were meant to be When we touch, it's too much Oh the sparks that fly, are lighting up the sky

The song continued and you were already dizzy from spinning just two times. Jay decided it was best not to give your mug back. After mumbling-complaining for a while, you gave up and went back to slow dancing.

Both of you weren’t really paying attention to the lyrics, but somewhere along the song your eyes locked. Without blinking, you moved your head closer so that your nose touched Jay's. There was a brief silence before Jay finally closed the distance between your lips and you shared your very first kiss ever. Sweet, sour from the wine, and definitely warm.

You gasped and broke the kiss as you felt liquid seeping through your dress. Jay pulled back. His eyes widened at the huge red stain starting to form on your precious new dress.

“Jay…”

“I am so sorry, do you want me to—“

“Leave it to someone sober to spill wine on you, huh?” you gave Jay a little punch as you chuckled. Jay's face was already pale from the paranoia of being scolded by you. Especially after a kiss.

“I’m gonna go clean this up,” you said, swiftly making your way to the bathroom. When Jay wasn’t looking, you grabbed your phone and rushed away.

---

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” you whispered as you looked at yourself in the mirror, cheeks still flushed and red. Either from the wine, or the kiss. Or both.

You unlocked your phone and opened the group chat with your two friends, which already had 145 unread chats.

You: MAYDAY Isa: there she is Yoon: we were wondering where you were You: Jay and I just kissed

Isa and Yoon both started typing at the same time.

Isa: WHAT????? Yoon: YOU DID NOT! Isa: HOW WAS IT Isa: TELL US EVERYTHING Isa: SPILL IT Yoon: UNNIE YOU DID NOT!

After spending a couple of minutes too long, you heard a knock on the door.

“Are you okay in there?” asked Jay from the other side.

“I’m okay,” you shouted back. “The stain is just too hard to remove.”

Not hearing a reply, you went back to the chat. “Maybe I shouldn’t have?” you asked.

Isa: hey, the heart wants what the heart wants Yoon: we’re in no place to judge but you go, unnie!

Meanwhile, Jay took the time to check on his own group chat with his boys. He announced the same thing and all three of his friends freaked out.

Sunghoon: You finally did? Jake: How was it? Heeseung: Tongue?

Jay had to tell the boys to chill before explaining and finally ending his rant with a simple “I should have kissed her sooner.”

He didn’t have a chance to reply to the responses since you suddenly came out of the bathroom, helplessly walking back to the couch with the red stain on your dress only faintly cleaned.

Jay slipped his phone into his pockets real quick while you left yours in the bathroom. You both exchanged a silent, long, but meaningful glance at each other. Jay had to break the ice.

“I guess you have to take it to the laundry then?”

You smiled awkwardly. “Yeah.”

You both shifted your gaze somewhere else before looking at each other again. The song was still on repeat.

“Do you… want to…”

“Dance again?” you cut him off. Jay wasn’t quick enough to offer his hand because you instantly wrapped yours around his neck again. With a smile, Jay moved closer until your foreheads touched.

If this is love, it's everything that i've been dreaming of

-END-

© seattlesolace 2023, all rights reserved

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[misskathcake]

Honey Bunny - Part II

Story Masterpost for the other chapters

*~*~*

He just has to make her another dress, there’s no way he just can’t.

This new predicament that Harry has found himself into, is not actually as surprising and alarming as it was before. This time around, he doesn’t feel like a creep making some stranger omega a magnificent dress, he’s privileged enough now to call said omega as his best friend.

Said best friend omega has just sent him a picture of her chosen party dress that’s got Harry almost combusting on his seat to a disarray of rainbow glitters with little pink hearts scattered along with it for how splendid she looks.

You see, it’s Sophia’s 24th birthday party today, one that the sweet girl didn’t want to do in the first place. Just a week after their first month as friends, Harry met one of Sophia’s other close friends, Sarah, a beta who he instantly clicked with having learned that she was planning a little humble party with all of Sophia’s close group of friends and her family in the omega’s home.

At first, Harry was a slight mess after hearing that it was his best friend’s birthday in a few days time and seemed like Sophia had no plans of telling him about such an important detail if not for Sarah visiting the bakery that fateful day. Being used to his stubborn tendencies, the sweet omega had it all in control as she expertly turned Harry’s indignant ignoring actions and jutted bottom lip with squinted eyes clouded with slight annoyance, into nothing but cherry blossom tinted cheeks, sweet dimpled smile, and dreamy glazed eyes.

In Harry’s opinion, his little stubborn act was not done out of sheer nothing, it actually resulted to getting Sophia’s big juicy ‘yes’ after being probably fed-up with the alpha’s unrelenting saddened puppy dog eyes and bottom lip protruding further and further every time Sophia kindly waves off Sarah’s plans. Obviously, Harry supports whatever Sarah’s plans are for the omega’s birthday, he doesn’t think he can deny such an opportunity to help someone celebrate the precious sweetest creature on earth.

Harry tried to hide the smug grin that wanted to escape his flushed cheeks, feeling the narrowed eyes Sophia was throwing his way while she finished serving some of her customers before joining Sarah and him in his corner nook. The alpha and the beta already started planning bits of the omega’s mini party, Sophia giving them a roll of her eyes upon hearing the two’s plan of hiring a catering company for the food since they didn’t want her to slave-away in the kitchen on her special day.

“I love to bake,” Sophia said in protest, “I can totally make food for my own party without any complaints.”

Harry shook his head in disagreement just as Sarah answered in a smirk, “You might not be complaining, but I’m pretty sure, Harry over here will be complaining if you even try to open the door for your guests. Soph, you’re kind of the guest of honor, you should be sitting pretty at the head of the table in your garden where Harry and I will get people to set-up a whimsical garden picnic.”

“Amen to that!” Harry exclaimed in exuberation, raising his palm up for Sarah to high-five which the beta accepted in laughter while Sophia once again, rolled her eyes at their utter enjoyment of placing her in such a valued position.

“That’s ridiculous,” Sophia said in rebuttal, “You can’t expect me not to offer any single ounce of help when it’s going to be done at my own home. That’s kind of disrespectful.”

“What’s ridiculous, and disrespectful,” Harry noted in amusement as Sophia’s face looked as if she already knows whatever is going to come out of his mouth will be no help to her situation, “is that you even thought for a second that I will let you lift a single finger to help anyone for your party. What kind of alpha do you think I am?”

Sophia huffed, bangs swayed sideways from the air, “An insufferable alpha if you believe that I’m some sort of a traditional and spoiled omega who needs everything done and handed to her. My parents didn’t raise me like that, I’m afraid.”

“Sunflower,” Harry cooed, his ringed fingers reached to capture her dainty hands to fill the gaps between their hold, “Of course I know you’re not like that, and I can even attest that Fiona and John had done a magnificent job in raising you to be such a kind and hardworking woman. However, I’ve also learned after meeting your parents, that they will surely want their little princess to not do anything strenuous at her party. I’m sorry sunflower, but I think they’ll be on my side with this argument.”

Sarah was in an uncontrollable fits of laughter after Harry finished his point. The alpha tried to control his own when Sophia squeezed their clasped hands tightly, blue eyes narrowed even further as she attempted to destroy his resolve with her absolutely non-threatening disgruntled kitten face. To be honest, Tilly can do a much better job at threatening Harry, the cat already does on a regular basis.

“Why do you have to be so amiable?” Sophia pouted when she realized her ‘menacing’ staring at Harry is not working at all, the alpha just giggled at her attempts, “Mum and dad positively loved you, I’m kinda scared all my friends will react the same way. I guess I’ll just go to Anne’s place once you charm all of them to your side and against me. At least I know Anne will let me help her make her basque cheesecake plus, I can even get all your three slices.”

Harry should have felt offended at the blatant dig at his ravenous appetite, but he couldn’t for the life of him if Sophia had just talked about his mother in such a comfortable nature. It’s like going to his mum’s house is no longer a novelty to her, that she even feels safe to go there by herself without any invite from his mum or his company.

Meeting the parents had gone smoothly, if it was not clear yet from the way the alpha and omega are freely talking about their respective family members. The experience was so effortlessly easy and comfortable in all regards that it solidified Harry’s determination in officially asking Sophia if he can court her to be his mate, potentially some time after her party.

John and Fiona are both alphas, and Harry had learned that the only thing they love more than their bees is their only daughter. Harry smiled every time they had called Sophia their ‘little princess’ when they welcomed the both of them in their home, expressing how exciting it is that it’s the first time ‘their little princess’ had brought someone home for them to meet.

“Mum!” Sophia whined with her cheeks now flushed, the three alphas chuckled at her flustered state, “I told you I brought Harry with me today because he wants to learn more about our bee business with a first hand experience. He’s not here today for the two of you to interrogate like he’s my alpha or something.”

Harry tried not to preen at her utterance of ‘my alpha’ even if it’s not in the way he specifically wants her to mean it, John only laughed loudly while Fiona reached to pinch her daughter’s cheek.

“Nobody’s interrogating anybody, princess,” Fiona replied, “I don’t think it’s our fault that you’re getting shy because you just brought your crush home to meet your parents.”

“Mum! He’s not my crush either!” Sophia whined once again, totally avoiding Harry’s smirking face while her parents continued to laugh at her cute reaction. Harry could not fault them on that end since Sophia was doing her adorable head tilt with her pearl embellished sneakers pointed inwards.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Fiona said in a familiar sweet tone of a giggle, “so does that mean I can introduce your friend here, to our new bee farm help? Matilda is a fabulous omega, very caring and attentive which I’m sure you’re looking for in a partner, love.”

Fiona clutched a motherly hand on Harry’s forearm while she led them to the kitchen, teasing mischief glistening in her comforting blue eyes. She winked at him just at the same time Harry felt Sophia’s grounding hold on his other wrist, dainty hands gripped tightly on his skin clearly seeking for his attention which Harry gladly gave her.

The omega’s eyes were pierced at her mother’s similar blue toned wonder, she moved closer to Harry’s side by plastering herself to his side frame with her cheeks squished on his hefty alpha biceps by the time they took residence at her family’s home kitchen.

“I don’t think Harry will appreciate that, mum. Thanks though.” Sophia boldly said to her mother which made all three alphas in the room perk-up in interest.

“I don’t think that’s your decision to make, little princess. Being friends does not give you the right to make choices for them, your father and I taught you that.” Fiona replied with her teasing tone not heard by her daughter as the latter only continued her unpleasant stare at her mother.

“I know,” Sophia huffed, “but as Harry’s best friend, I know that he’s not looking for any partner or something like that right now.”

Harry giggled when he took turns looking at Sophia's narrowed eyes pointed at him as if telepathically saying that he better agree with her or else is left at the tip of her threatening stare, and at the omega’s lovely mother that is trying to assess if he would play along in teasing her daughter like some sort of alpha testing another alpha if they’re as badly hooked to her omega daughter like said daughter is failing to conceal with her clear actions of jealousy.

Unfortunately, Harry is a self-proclaimed sap that has wholeheartedly accepted the fact that he’s fucking whipped for their little princess omega daughter.

“Sorry, Fiona.” Harry smiled in defeat at the smug face of Sophia’s parents, “Sophia’s on point with me not wanting to meet anyone really. Also, I’m not very keen with the name Matilda to be honest.”

Harry instantly noticed that Sophia had finally graced them with her dimpled smile, keening a little bit more on his side from his words of compliance.

“Why’s that?” John joined the conversation in curiosity, eyes looking at her daughter that’s currently rubbing her cheeks in the soft material of Harr’s silk shirt.

“Well your daughter’s cat child is named Tilly, and I don’t think I can date a Matilda and their nickname is Tilly without me fearing for my life as flashes of that devious grey furrball will always pop into my head everytime I hear that name.”

“How about the name Sophia? You think you can date someone with that name?” John’s cheeky question made everyone stop their laughter after Harry had shared fear for anyone named Matilda or Tilly.

“Dad!” Sophia gasped in a voice of betrayal, “Not you too!”

“What? I’m just asking a normal question to try to get to know your new friend, little princess.” John waved off, instructing all of them to take a seat on their dining table as his wife and him arranged some food for them.

“I think my schedule can be arranged for that,” Harry replied in confidence as he helped Sophia on her seat like the usual, “I’m quite partial with omegas named Sophia to be honest.”

“Well you better be referring to my daughter or I might intentionally let the bees sting you later.” Fiona warned her fellow alpha as she and John took a seat at the table together with Harry and Sophia. The latter whined in protest once again for her parent’s ‘unkind actions’ even if they all knew there was no real heat in any of the things her parents have told Harry.

Harry just gazed in amusement like a total idiot at the way Sophia began to tell her parents to stop bothering him, his hand instinctively placed itself on her thigh, the action not missed by the eyes of the omega’s parents. Harry couldn’t find it in himself to be bashful for his blatant affectionate touches especially with what came next from his mouth.

“I would let the bees sting me myself if I was referring to another Sophia that is not as sweet and caring as your daughter. I don’t think I'm an alpha fool to not realize and appreciate your daughter’s one of a kind amazing nature, I’d actually like to say my deepest gratitude for the two of you for raising her that way.”

It was absolutely the right thing to say, Harry believes, as the day at Sophia’s family bee farm only progressed in a similar easy and joyous light. It became clear to him how being raised by both alphas certainly allowed Sophia to develop her kind and inclusive perspective in life. It definitely instilled in her that the traditional role of omegas as caregivers and homemakers is not all that she can be in life, and Harry can definitely see this from the way Fiona and John were not doing every single thing for her unlike the parents of his previous entitled omega classmates in fashion university. It even made Harry laugh when Sophia’s pouting did not work when she was too lazy to fetch the two of them’s beekeeper protective gear.

“We might call her princess, but she definitely isn’t treated like one in all regards,” Fiona told Harry as they watched Sophia begrudgingly walk to one of the farm sheds to finally get the necessities for their bee-related activities.

“Not sure how I can treat her in a less than royalty fashion when she deserves the world,” Harry honestly replied, cheeks flushing just a little bit at the knowing gaze the omega’s mother gave him, “plus, how can you resist that adorable pout, Fiona? That’s just impossible to not fall for!”

Fiona laughed in a similar high-pitched melodious tone that Harry loves to hear from Sophia, the sound making him smile at the resemblance.

“I’m not sure I can help you with that, love,” Fiona answered with a gentle smile this time, “I think you’re gone for her in a totally different way that John and I are.”

And Harry can’t even agree more at the truth of Fiona’s statement.

Harry is so gone for Sophia that he trusted her to help him wear the beekeeper protective gear even if she wasn’t the best at it, had religiously listened to every single bit she whispered on his ear about the bees and proper bee keeping and harvesting even if John was the more competent one, speaking just a few feet away while demonstrating to him what he should do, and Harry had ultimately given Sophia one of his jars of honey that he has harvested himself just to show the omega a glimpse of his provider qualities even if he knows he could have finished that little jar in a day.

So Harry might not have left Sophia’s childhood home with the abundant knowledge that could allow him to start and cultivate his own bee farm, nor the answer on how to resist her almighty pout, but Harry did leave with full permission and blessing from both alphas to court their daughter, something that respectable alphas should ask for when wanting to court someone. Fiona had almost cried in tears of joy, saying her surprise that Harry was one of the rare ones nowadays that still valued and exemplified such a high form of respect.

Harry is not one that will jeopardize his chances with a gem of a person like that of Sophia, to the point where he had warned his mother to not even try interrogating the only person he’s going to bring home. She can embarrass him all she wants, but not even his mother will be allowed to tease the easily flustered Sophia.

Unlike Harry’s encounter with Sophia’s parents, the omega didn’t actually invite herself to his childhood home, the invite came directly from his mother after Anne had finally coaxed her identity out of Harry. His mother had been quite suspicious about his whereabouts after he stopped dropping by her home to get and ask more of her cooking like he had done the first few weeks he arrived back in Cheshire.

Harry didn’t really know how to tell his own sensitive omega mother that he had basically found another sweet and caring omega that feeds him and cares for him almost just the same as she does without unintentionally hurting her feelings in some ways. Anne would always be his mother, but he has yet to introduce anyone to her that has the potential of sharing a good amount of his heart that only Anne had previously dominated. He's never had any serious relationship ever, so he’s unsure of how his mum would react to such drastic changes.

Evidently, Harry had stressed and feared for nothing.

With a plate of his favorite cheesecake, Anne had successfully lured Harry away from the bakery and into her home kitchen despite the alpha’s apparent reluctance of leaving the cottage bakery early. Said reluctance was considerably lessened after arriving at his mother’s quaint home smelling the mouth watering aromas of the freshly baked basqued cheesecake.

He didn’t even think his mother would straight away ask him about his sudden change in routine, having only come back to her place twice after finding his inspiration for the new Sweet Creature collection, which he also provided minimal information about. Anne was not very confrontational of an omega, and it was apparent in the way she tried to conceal her suspicious looks when Harry had announced that he would only be having a singular slice of her cheesecake. That’s a right surprise right there, Harry knows, but what really turned it up a notch to possible crime territory, is the moment Harry reached for her mother’s cupboards to fetch a bottle of honey and drizzled a good amount of it on his singular heavenly slice.

The shock was no longer controlled by Anne, “Harry Edward, what are you doing?!”

He was mid-chew when he realized the reason why his mother had stopped her actions and kept her attention at him in total surprise.

“Why did you put honey on your cheesecake?” Anne asked when Harry had remained lost of words, “You never put anything on my basque cheesecake because you love it just that way it is. You said my love for you was already the ‘cherry on top’ of my cheesecake. Do you not like it anymore? Did I do something wrong to this batch?”

This is why Harry was having second thoughts of mentioning Sophia to his mother. Anne was quite sensitive and just like his best friend, they would somehow find a way to make themselves feel bad like they’re the ones who did something wrong to cause such a change. But no one’s in the wrong, Harry has just fallen for an omega is the thing, and is apparently really rubbish at sharing this wonderful information to his dear mother.

Out of panic, Harry almost chokes on his mouthful of cheesecake trying to extinguish whatever negative thoughts his lovely mother was thinking. “Mum you didn’t do anything wrong, I promise! It’s just that I’ve been spending a lot of my time in the bakery of my new friend and all she sells are honey infused or flavored dishes so my palette has quite adjusted to consistently looking for some honey.”

Anne’s worried expression changed to that of curiosity, “New friend? She?”

Harry stuffed his face with another forkful of cheesecake in the hopes of stalling the conversation and biting back a groan because of course, Harry might have never had a serious relationship but every time he mentions meeting someone new, Anne would certainly try to make a big deal out of it, essentially wanting to play the role of being matchmaker. Which is what she was most likely doing at that time as Harry watched her mother think to herself, smile widening as she connects the dots of her son’s sudden missing acts and lack of attentive communication in the previous weeks.

“Are you going to tell me who she really is or do I have to find this honey bakery myself and ask her why she’s keeping my son captive and has changed his palette away from his dear mother’s amazing cooking?”

“Mum!” Harry couldn’t help but finally exclaim, which earned a cackle from his mother who definitely wanted that exact reaction, “You can’t just do that, you’re going to overwhelm her! Besides, she’s the sweetest and kindest omega to exist ever on this earth, it’s a real blasphemy that you even think she’s holding me captive. I might actually be the one who’s holding her captive because of my want to always monopolize her attention.”

That was Harry being a mess of a rambler when panicked, mind to mouth filter completely forgotten which at times, Anne would be scolding him about. But as of that moment, it did nothing but spread an elated and intrigued aura around her mother.

And with an air of finality, Anne clapped her hands loudly in the far too silent kitchen with Harry’s heavy breathing of nerves the only thing permeating the place.

“That’s settled then, you’re bringing this kind and sweet omega of yours to my home this weekend and don’t even start with your excuses, young man,” and yes, Anne was pointing a knowing finger directly at him meaning that it’s serious business, “just tell her that I’m inviting her for afternoon tea and maybe if she’s willing, I’d love to teach her how to make my honey soap bars since according to you she adores honey so much.”

Who was Harry to deny his mothers wishes (demands)?

Having not received any negative reaction from Anne about the prospect of Harry bringing his omega home, which he can’t find it in himself to correct his mother when it feels like angels are singing down on him every time he’s being called Sophia’s alpha, Harry was not plagued by any kind of negative emotion or even nerves the day of said visit.

Sophia on the other hand, was visibly containing a bit of nervous energy, dainty hands reaching to pull down the sleeves of her cardigan every once in a while to create adorable sweater paws. It was a nervous tell that Harry had picked up on, offering his own ringed fingers for her to take while on the drive to his mothers house. The omega had not pulled out of his hold even as Anne had lovingly welcomed them to her house, his mother’s comforting presence and that innate consoling aura that omegas share, most definitely helped Sophia break out of her timid shell a bit more.

Sooner rather than later, both omegas were gushing over Harry’s old baby pictures that his mother had willingly brought with her when Sophia had endearingly remembered said existing photos of baby alpha Harry frowning and pouting because the attention of his mother was not on him. Unlike that foolish baby alpha posing for pictures in only his bloody diapers (like seriously, what was that baby thinking?) Harry didn’t find himself frowning at the lack of attention Sophia and Anne gave him. He’s surprisingly content just nursing his cuppa while listening to the two most important omegas in his life wax lyrical phrases about how adorable he looked as a young child with mashed bananas all over himself.

“When you said you loved bananas, I didn’t think you loved it this much, bunny.” Sophia giggled, fingers caressing the pudge of baby Harry’s stomach on the photo

“Oh sweetheart, it’s not just bananas he loved,” Anne chuckled, shifting in her seat to collect another photo album to place between Sophia and her on the table, opening it to a specific page, “Baby Harry was absolutely crazy for strawberries too!”

Sophia gasps in utter shock, hands covering her mouth in laughter, “Oh my god! Bunny, what were you doing?!”

Harry didn’t even need to bend over and look at the photo album where a particular photo of him was currently being observed by Sophia. He felt his cheeks flushed while Sophia continued her laughter and his mother absolutely basked in the embarrassed reaction that finally hit her son.

“Mum,” Harry said, trying to sound calm, “what did I say about not scaring Sophia away? You think showing her an arsed naked baby me, covered only in strawberry juices will not make her go running for the hills? I look like a bloody git there, mum!”

His dramatics never failed to make anyone laugh, Anne being the perfect example as she waved a hand in dismissal at his accusations, “Oh please, I couldn’t just not bring this out and make this lovely girl here think that you’re anything but a crazy mess of an alpha that needs someone like her sweet nature to put some propper wits on you. And besides, you only have yourself to blame for being such a shameless baby posing in the nude.”

You hear Harry complaining after that? Because Harry did not bloody complain after that honesty dripping words from his mother. Give it to Anne for having the ability to make him sound like a foolish excuse of an alpha while at the same time emphasizing the necessity of having the omega in his life to help him move past said foolish tendencies. Harry is quite lost on what kind of wing-womaning his mother was trying to achieve back there.

Thankfully, everything just went as smooth sailing as it did when Harry had visited Sophia’s childhood home. Except this time around, Harry didn’t even try whispering words of knowledge to the omega’s ear when the two ladies threatened to hit him with their wooden spoon when he acted like he knew the tedious process of soap making. With his arms raised up in surrender, Harry made himself useful by doing the cleaning once they were waiting for the honey soaps to set, while Sophia and Anne started talking about baking recipes and exchanging the anti inflammatory and antioxidant information about honey, his face breaking into a smile hearing them make plans of spending another afternoon together to explore the realm of honey in skincare.

What made the alpha sputter out a laugh of disbelief is the moment they made it clear he was not invited for such future plans.

“Are you two excluding me from this activity you’re planning?” Harry asked, foaming soapy hands the least of his concern as he waited for some explanation in the smirking face of his mother, and the rather sheepish looking Sophia. At least the sweet omega had some audacity to feel slightly bad at not including him in their plans, Harry’s devious (however lovely she may be) mother was not at all showing any trace of guilt, she even rolled her green eyes at him.

“Harry, I love you my son,” Anne responded, Harry already knew the next bit she was going to say, “but, I don’t think Soph and I can take your clumsy self being injured with these new ingredients and organic chemicals will be bringing for our skincare making experiments.”

“Excuse me? I’m no longer that clumsy baby alpha that tripped over my gazillion stuffed frogs like the picture you two were gushing about earlier.” Harry pointed out in confidence, “I can certainly hold my own ground and tend to whatever troubling matters that may occur to me.”

“We know you can bunny,” Sophia softly replied in a soothing tone, “What Anne and I were implying is that we, as in your mother and I, are the ones who can’t take it when you get injured. We just might panic and cry for your safety and do nothing productive after that. Do you want two distressed omegas fussing over you?”

Harry might love attention as the alpha in him is naturally inclined to, but hearing the word ‘distressed’ in relation to the two most significant omegas in his life, somewhat rewrites his own biology if it means that no attention on him will keep his girls safe.

So Harry didn’t fight once again, realizing soon after that it was the best action when Anne had hugged him goodbye in her tight embrace as she swayed the both of them in place for a few moments, whispering her high appreciation for Sophia and the absolute truth that he would not hear the end of it from her if he fucks up this budding relationship they were cultivating together. When your sweet mother swears at you, it’s a definite urgent matter.

Though it’s not a threat in Harry’s opinion, seeing his mother offer the same affection to his future omega (yes, he’s saying it out to the universe to manifest it) as she moves them back and forth in her solid hug, just makes the alpha more motivated to really pursue this one of a kind woman to be a permanent fixture in his life in the way he really wants her to be.

It’s really not a shock that Harry’s now losing his goddamn mind as he takes another look at the picture Sophia had sent of her party outfit. It was a mirror selfie that shows the baby pink, v-neck halter mini dress that the omega had ordered online and had denied Harry to take any peek at with the whining protests that being a fashion designer, he might judge her fashion choices.

Why she thought that, Harry cannot comprehend for the life of him. She’s fucking glistening in her natural beauty not only due to the fact that the dress was cinched with a sparkling rhinestoned belt, but ultimately at the sole fact that she can wear anything and Harry will still be floored at her beauty.

So he decides to send her a message with just that thought, because best believe, he will not be able to make it to her house for the party if he keeps getting distracted by her perfection; Harry has to say something to her before he really blows up from his awed feelings.

To: Honeyed 🌻: “Sunflower, you really better not be offering your help to anyone when you look like a bloody royalty in that dress; I might feel like a lowly peasant beside you now.”

From: Honeyed 🌻: “Well, are you wearing my favorite buttoned-up silk shirts and your rainbow Gucci booties? 🤔”

To: Honeyed 🌻: “Can never deny your wishes, love, especially on your special day. Of course I’m wearing them. I ordered a silk shirt that resembled the ocean blue of your eyes as well 😎”

From: Honeyed 🌻: “Really?! 😲 Then you’re absolutely bonkers if you think you won’t look as amazing as you usually are, bunny. How many times do I have to tell you that your chocolate curly locks are enough to make you look like a dreamy, pretty prince? You’re kind of silly for not seeing how pretty you are when you look at the mirror everyday 🤭”

To: Honeyed 🌻: “Silly enough that I would need as much verbal confirmation from you later with how prince-like and pretty I look? 😇”

From: Honeyed 🌻: “I guess. Be thankful it’s my birthday and I’m feeling appreciative of people today, and that you’re really pretty and I want to 🐰 🤏 so much! So please hurry up and drive safely already!”

It might have taken a while for Harry to understand her last message, but when he did, the alpha makes a quick trip back to his house to get a travel size bottle of his face moisturizer. If Sophia wants to pinch his cheeks to her heart's content later on, then Harry would want her to have the best time ever by giving her plump and freshly hydrated skin to pinch on.

*~*~*

It’s not the first time that Harry has ever seen Sophia’s house. He had the opportunity to walk the omega home quite a few times already, during the days where she’s closing the bakery and Harry will just not allow her to walk home alone in the dark and dangerous streets at that late hour. Granted that the country roads of Cheshire might not be prone to such grim incidents, the alpha will stand by his resolve to not risk Sophia’s safety in any way especially when he has some sense of control to help prevent anything that may occur.

As Harry’s pulling up Sophia’s residence, he’s struck once again how her wooden home is much more of a resemblance to an actual magical cottage than her bakery, which Harry already thought was the epitome of fairy land. Clearly he’s mistaken, and the point only becomes more highlighted when Harry enters her home and is instantly greeted by the warm ambiance of her dominantly brown toned interior.

Unlike her cottage bakery, Sophia’s cottage home is showcasing different hues of browns from light, to neutral, and to warm chocolate ones. Though Harry notes in interest that similar to the bakery, Sophia still has to add a bunch of pops of pastel colors sprinkled around her home, a vital embodiment of the omega in the comfort of her space.

Said pops of pastel colors is what greets the alpha upon his arrival.

“Harry, love! Good to have you here already!” Fiona appears all of a sudden, holding a pastel pink tray on one hand containing some crackers and tiny jars of jam, and a pastel blue pitcher on the other hand as she greets Harry with air kisses since both of her hands are currently preoccupied.

“It’s nice to see you too, Fiona,” Harry greets the alpha, quickly coming by her side to offer his assistance, “let me help you with that.”

Before Fiona could even protest, Harry has already found a grip on the pitcher. Fiona shakes her head at him with a tilt of amusement in her lips, while Harry motions with his hands for her to lead the way because he does not know where these amenities must be placed.

“I swear,” Harry hears Fiona softly murmur to him as they walk outside to Sophia’s vast garden, Harry instantly hearing the chatter from the party’s guests that have already culminated outside,“if you start acting this gentlemanly for the entirety of the day, my daughter would be dead spoiled.”

Harry tries to keep the snort trying to escape him, “Whatever do you mean, love? I’m not spoiling anyone.”

“Why don’t you say that to me again after you’ve taken a look at the table there,” Fiona motions her head from the other direction where Harry is currently facing behind from, “and then I might believe you. Now give me that pitcher and mingle with Soph and her friends, not just my daughter!”

Harry laughs at the evident assumptions of Fiona. Obviously, the mother of the omega he fancies, can easily read the way he plans to spoil Sophia with whatever she wants and needs of him, and to talk to only her mainly. I mean, the latter can be arranged in Harry’s opinion. If he’s really serious with courting her after this celebration (which he is, so don’t even start questioning him or he might bite), the most wise decision is to get to know the other people in Sophia’s life.

Before Harry can even think on how to approach Sophia’s friends and introduce himself without ultimately letting out his possessive tendencies over the omega, and scaring them away by making his intentions very clear that as a future suitor of the birthday girl, they better have their shit together and don’t do anything fucking unkind to Sophia or they will ultimately answer to him, Harry seems to be the one answering now to an impatient looking Tilly who’s found comfort on standing by his feet with narrowed beady blue eyes pointed at him.

“Well hello there, Tilly,” Harry greets the cat, bending down a little to offer the grumpy looking cat with one gentle head rub. Only one though, or scratches will be unleashed and Harry doesn’t really want to jeopardize whatever progress they’re making here.

“Why are you looking at me with a frown?” Harry questions the gray cat, “I haven’t even done anything yet, I’ve just arrived here. I thought we’re way past being angry with my presence alone.”

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say as Tilly answered with an annoyed meow, swiftly hitting her tail on Harry’s ankle which is something not foreign to the alpha as the cat always does that whenever she’s somehow annoyed with him, so that’s basically all the time.

A frowning Harry was ready to have a little talk with this little over dramatic cat, when said cat becomes the total diva that she is by huffing another annoyed cat sound at him before turning her back, a definite sign that Harry should be following her with the ‘or else’ cat noise being left unsaid.

Doing so actually removes any signs of Harry’s annoyance with Tilly, the scene that greets him makes Harry want to shake Fiona’s shoulder earlier for not telling him what he’s been greatly missing by keeping his back to that side of the garden.

Sophia, the sweet baker of an omega, is fucking shining in person like some holy being. The picture she had sent Harry earlier does not give complete justice to the enchanting goddess that she is, sitting just a few feet away from him.

The alpha is relieved that the birthday girl seemed to take his words in a serious note. Harry observes the way Sophia is sitting pretty at one of the sitting areas scattered across the garden, seeing her smile and giggle with her friends that are fawning around her like the total birthday royalty that she should be treated. Harry also notes the fact that no one is sitting beside her despite the long velvet couch she’s currently sitting on. Again, he doesn’t want to act all possessive in front of her friends, but it’s kind of difficult to suppress his innate feelings when it’s quite clear that just watching Sophia sitting by herself like she purposefully didn’t want anyone near her, is simply bringing out the most core alpha characteristics in Harry.

As if sensing Harry’s lingering gaze specifically stuck on her, Sophia’s ocean blue eyes suddenly caught his unrelenting stare. Harry can’t help but smirk at the way her glossed baby pink lips fall open in a little gasp, her focused blue orbs quickly scanning the entirety of Harry’s look.

The alpha was planning to actually start walking to where Sophia is, since he can’t be left standing in the middle of the garden like a total idiot, while her friends have caught-on to what the birthday girl was currently and unabashedly dreamily gawking at. However, Sophia suddenly takes it upon herself to determinedly skip her way to where Harry is standing, making him laugh at the sheer excitement radiating out of the omega as she steps on her tippy toes to wrap her arms around Harry’s neck in a tight embrace.

“Whoa,” Harry chuckles, steadying the two of them by bending a little while returning Sophia’s hold around her body, “what a welcome from the birthday girl herself, how lucky can I get?”

Sophia giggles directly in his ear, “Much more if you greet me first.”

Harry breathes in her sweet scent, nosing at her dimpled cheek, “I guess I have no choice but to greet you a happy birthday, sunflower.”

“Bunny, don’t say it like you’re being forced too!” Sophia removes her head from his shoulder, to look at the alpha with a pout that does not suggest any real annoyance at him.

Harry’s face scrunches in that smile she proclaimed to be her favorite, pulling her back in their tight hug with Sophia’s face cutely squished on his warm filled with fond chest, lips brushing across her earlobe in a soft whisper.

“I was just messing with you.” Harry admits, “My sunflower, happy birthday.” and because her sweet pheromones have been drowning his senses ever since the omega had taken notice of him, and because her skin is practically already there, Harry puckers his lips and leaves a sound kiss directly on Sophia’s ear.

Sophia’s reaction was fast, going considerably plaiant in the alpha’s hold with her scent only increasing to a much sweeter note indicating the pleasing feeling the little kiss had given her.

“Thank you, bunny. My birthday is already special because you’re here already.”

Harry chuckles at that, feeling pride swim over his insides at the tone of sincerity in the omega’s statement, “That’s good to hear, love, so sweet of you like usual. But I don’t think your friends would specifically appreciate that when I’m practically hogging all of the birthday girl's time.”

And it’s quite true, their whole interaction is not lost from the prying eyes of the limited guests Sophia’s intimate party had invited. Just from their position, Harry can see the curious glances of the group of individuals Sophia was talking to earlier. The same look of surprise and ill-concealed interest is very apparent in their features just like that of Georgie and Sabrina back in the bakery when they had first seen Harry interact with their boss.

Harry’s utterance causes Sophia to perk up in his arms, the excitement in her veins when she had first locked him in a tight hug was back, a look of determination swimming in her blue orbs as she pulls away from their hug to hold his hand instead beside him.

“Oh yes, I need to introduce you to my friends, thanks for reminding me, bunny.” and she ends it by bringing their interlaced hand up to her glossy lips to drop a sweet kiss on the back of his hand.

And then she was diligently walking the two of them together to the seating area she was once at, like a girl on a serious mission because introducing Harry to her friends apparently warrants the same treatment.

Harry tries not to feel smug at the way Sophia introduced him as, ‘This is my Harry, my bestest friend ever.’ and the way she had called for him in a pout, ‘Bunny, what are you doing? Sit beside me, please.’ Harry was being polite and respecting her space when introductions were completed and was about to take a seat beside Georgie, thinking Sophia wanted to sit by herself on the long couch.

But that was apparently the wrong thing to do, so Harry allows Sophia to guide him on how close she wants the alpha to sit beside her. Which shouldn't be a surprise that the omega didn’t leave any sliver of space between them, boldly placing his ringed hand on the top of her bare thigh with both her dainty ones contentedly resting on top of his.

Harry can really feel the stares of Sophia’s friends which from his first impression, seemed friendly enough with no real signs of threat or malice in them. Though Harry might be mistaken because Tilly, the self-appointed guard cat who takes her job very seriously, began to hiss violently with her stance signalling ready to attack and claws unmistakably popping out, when one of Sophia’s friends, Harry thinks his name was Brian, made a move of sitting beside Tilly’s mama.

Now that seemed to be the wrong thing to do for Sophia’s alpha friend, and again, Harry tries not to feel smug when Tilly had not given him the same reaction earlier (see, progress!) making it seem like she had deemed him worthy enough to sit beside the sweet omega baker. Maybe Harry should start introducing back scratches in Tilly and his’ blossoming non-volatile relationship.

Before Harry can judge the pros and cons of that, he finds himself being submerged in various conversations with Sophia’s friends, all of them eager to know how they’ve met, the basics of who he was and all that jazz. The alpha indulges their kind questions in the best way that he can, pointedly ignoring a specific alpha’s snort of hilarity when Harry had shared what he did for work because apparently, somethings are just not as manly and alpha enough. God, what a conventionalist prick.

Harry decides that he’s just not worth his time and gladly blocks Brian out by willingly answering the fashion related questions Sophia’s good-hearted friends are excitedly asking him. Thankfully it seems like the omega had chosen a group of people that are actually of the similar level of friendliness and honesty that she possesses to some extent (except for one, clearly), and Harry can’t help but smirk at the ease they have in teasing Sophia about their ‘relationship’ like any real friend would do.

Their glued-together position at the couch and their tightly entangled hands in full display for anyone to see, might not have been a good look in support of Sophia’s defense that the two of them are just the closest of friends and that no one is involved romantically with each other. Harry puts emphasis on not being romantically involved with anyone. He might be suppressing his claiming tendencies, but Harry’s not about to blatantly give the wrong impression of his loving intentions to Sophia.

Previous Harry might have taken offense in the defensive statement of the omega, but present Harry is chuffed at the apparent look of amused incredulity in everyone’s faces as if saying, ‘Yeah, sure, you guys are definitely just friends. Like totally friends that play with each other’s hands and stop mid-conversation to smile and look at each other like two idiots, and then proceed to pull each other closer together losing the main idea of personal space because you guys are OBVIOUSLY JUST FRIENDS!’

Yeah, Harry likes Sophia’s friends even if at the end of the day, he knows the only names he’d be remembering are the ones that are really the closest to the omega. Basically the faces of the three betas: Georgie, Sabrina, and Sarah, the three women that are able to make Sophia completely at ease, comfortable, and who actually knows her really well and not just from occasional messages and conversations in events like most of her other friends present.

So maybe Harry can understand now why the omega baker was hesitant in having a party, trying his best not to roll his eyes at Tracy, one of Sophia’s omega ‘friends’, who can’t seem to stop talking about this awful date she went to last weekend. Harry would offer his sympathy if only for the fact that her story didn’t actually make the guy seem bad, Tracy is just an apparent spoiled omega who expects everything to be done for and handed to her. You can’t expect a first date to cut your bloody steak for you into tiny little pieces, that’s just coming on too strong! Give an alpha a freaking break, is what Harry wanted to exclaim to her face.

Thankfully, Harry’s saved by John calling for everyone to take a seat on the long wooden log table in the middle of the garden for lunch would be soon served. Harry doesn’t think he scrambled to his feet that quickly upon hearing his golden ticket to escape a disastrous date story, ever.

Sophia giggles at the manner of intense focus Harry exemplified as they walked hand in hand to the table, “Bunny, are you so hungry that the only thing you can concentrate on is to walk the two of us as fast as possible to where the food will be?”

Harry returns her jesting smile with a roll of his eyes, “Not quite,” he answers, stepping away from their hold to pull the chair at the head of the table for the birthday girl, “I honestly just couldn’t take Tracey babbling about her date, makes us alphas sound like utter douches. I was genuinely fearing for my life there when she shared what she had done to her poor alpha date.”

Used to his dramatics, an eye roll is the only thing Harry receives from Sophia, obviously with her polite thank you for his gentlemanly actions as Harry settles on the seat of her right side because this time, the alpha knows there’s no other place the birthday girl would want him to be.

“What, you thought she’d also order the most expensive food here and make you pay for it as a lesson?” Sophia sarcastically says, “As far as I know, we’re at a birthday lunch where everything is free for the guests, and you’re not exactly short of funds Mr. Lingerie Brand Founder.”

Harry gives her a cheeky smile in response fit for her cheeky retort, “If this is your twisted way of getting me to ask you on a first date, I’d take you to the fanciest restaurant here in Cheshire with absolute pleasure, I’ll even give you the free reins to knock my wallet off.”

“Oh my god, you’re impossible!” Sophia chuckles while gently swatting Harry on the arm, the cotton candy pink flush of her cheeks leaves the alpha feeling elated at being able to cause that reaction. “I’m not a spoiled omega like that. Besides, the only thing that Tracey’s story did is to make me hungry for food. I actually wanted to stop her mid sentence to ask her to please elaborate on what the dishes looked and tasted.”

“I actually think I’ve been to the restaurant she was talking about,” Harry tells her while the platters and pots of food were starting to be placed on the big table, “I wouldn’t say the food was bad, but fancy restaurants, especially that one which is a fine dining setting, always serves their food in small portions. Definitely not worth it in my opinion.”

“Oh really?” Sophia replies, unfolding her napkin to place delicately on her lap, “Well that sucks.” she pouts at the prospect of not liking the experience of a fancy ambiance, all too suddenly turning into a slight smirk before saying, “But maybe it’s a good thing because I honestly feel like I can eat an entire elephant-size amount of food with how hungry all that talking Tracey did about food made me feel.”

Harry’s jaw actually drops open.

Let’s not even fool around here, we all know Sophia is basically imitating his dramatics during the first day they had met. Hearing her say it actually makes Harry think of what do actually people feel about him whenever he’s being that exaggerating? It’s a good thing that all the omega does is cute to his eyes so he won’t take the dig personally. I mean like, when does he ever take it seriously? He’s been dubbed as the ‘softest, fluffiest, grumpy alpha’ in his close friends group and he allows Jeff and Glenne to say that to anyone new they meet. Heck, even the press knows about that.

So Harry only chuckles at Sophia, a knowing brow raised at her, “I’d let your mocking slide because it’s your birthday. But don’t think I’d be hearing anything when you make me finish your elephant-size amount of food because your little tummy can’t take it.”

“Bunny!” Sophia gasps out his pet name dramatically, earning interested looks from her parents upon hearing the noise, “You always finish my leftovers because your alpha stomach is always hungry even if I feed you almost every single baked good available that day.”

Fiona and John laugh at her apparent outing of his eating habits, making Harry shake his head in fondness at Sophia, “And, that just strengthened my resolve cause you basically just called me fat, sunflower.”

“Did not!” Sophia pouts quickly, bottom lip that will never look not tempting to the alpha, jutted out shiny with her baby pink gloss, “Mum and dad, you guys heard what I said. I didn’t call H fat, right?”

When Sophia turns for her parents' support, Harry can’t help but laugh at the look of complete entertainment in both the older alpha’s faces, John specifically had his arms raised up in surrender.

“I’m not getting in between whatever lover’s quarrel you two are having” John says, making Harry and Fiona laugh harder at the way Sophia visibly deepens her pout at her father’s teasing response. Her blue eyes began to look expectantly at her mother to take her side on this one.

Fiona just shrugs her shoulders before answering in a smirk, “I don’t know what you want me to tell you, princess. But best believe Harry knows nothing but to spoil you. If that means eating your leftovers, then no worries because he would gladly pop a button out of his silk shirt just to please you.”

And Harry thought Fiona was on his side.

Regardless if Fiona’s statement might hold some semblance of truth (it irrevocably does but that is neither here nor there), Harry makes sure to place a smaller amount of food on his plate than what he could actually take in because he truly doesn’t want to ruin this new shirt he just bought and eating Sophia’s leftover might do just the thing if he doesn’t eat less beforehand.

*~*~*

Lunch progresses in a swimmingly fashion.

Pretty much everyone wanted to talk to the birthday girl and as much as Harry likes her attention to be pinned solely on him, he can’t really blame the others for wanting just a bit of it when Sophia’s not busy hand-feeding him a piece of her sweet potato fries cause she can’t finish the last singular piece.

It’s good that John and Fiona are seated in front of them at the long table, making Harry feel more comfortable while conversing with them. Don’t get him wrong, he thinks Sophia’s friends are generally lovely people, it’s just that they're obviously the individuals that Sophia will only get to see or interact with when there are social events like this. It doesn’t make sense to him to exert effort to get to know them for the entirety of lunch when he would only get to see them a handful times within a year.

Talking to Sophia’s parents on the other hand, is valuable time in Harry’s opinion. Not only is he getting to know a lot more about the two people that raised Sophia to be the amazing person that she is today, but he’s also gaining an insight on who and how the omega was when she was growing up that Harry will obviously not be able to turn back time to witness.

Plus, it also eases the alpha’s mind and distracts him a little having Fiona and John to converse with when Sophia had to attend to her host duties as the birthday girl. As much as they want to be beside each other for the remainder of the day, it’s just impossible when they both value human decency which includes being polite to your guests.

So he lets her go converse and have fun with her pals, leaving Harry a loud kiss on the cheek with a ‘see ya later, bunny!’ that totally wasn’t missed by her parents who totally didn’t tease the hell out of Harry how he should definitely ‘alpha up’ and just ask their daughter already. They even brought up the subject about tonight after Sophia’s party, which Harry definitely wants to think about later, and will certainly not talk about it right now while he still needs to have some sense of confidence and not turn into a puddle of pathetic nerves like he foresees will be the case later.

So everything is going smoothly with Harry just finishing talking about knitting with Fiona for as a fashion student, the alpha had only learned how to use a sewing machine which was a total shame in Fiona’s opinion. And now Harry is in the middle of a conversation with John about golf and the golfing community in Cheshire which the alpha happens to be a part of, when things just turn a little bit shit.

The unmistakable snarl of an angered Tilly breaks into the happy chatter of people, Harry’s attention instantly focusing towards the direction of the unpleasant noise. Tilly hasn’t done any of such ever since the start of the party, alerting Harry that something might be really up for her to let out that noise which usually is pointed towards Harry with her claws ready to sink on his skin for being too near Sophia.

And truth be told, someone is near Tilly’s sweet mama. Near enough the omega that Harry feels his own annoyed snarl trying to make an appearance.

Who might it be, you might ask.

Well Harry has a simple answer for that.

It’s fucking Brian!

Of fucking course it’s fucking Brian; the bloody manly prick of a fucking alpha.

“Excuse me,” Harry tries to calmly and politely tell Fiona and John, “I think my attention is quite needed somewhere else right now.”

The two simply nod their head in understanding, Harry feeling the stare of Sophia’s parents and the other guests on him as he makes his way to where Sophia and Brian are currently situated as they pitifully try to calm down a very agitated Tilly. As Harry reaches them, he gets a clearer picture of Tilly’s threatening stance and gaze directed at the other alpha, seemingly not backing down even if Sophia and Brian himself were coaxing her to put her claws back.

Any other day, Harry would find it funny and relieving that finally, Tilly’s hostile attitude is not directed towards him. But right now, he might even want that than this, whatever this is that Harry’s approaching. He just knows that Tilly always has the best intentions for Sophia in mind, meaning that Brian must have been displaying some dubious actions for the cat to act volatile towards him.

“Tilly,” Harry makes his presence known to the two people by crouching down beside the snarling kitten to catch her attention, “didn’t we talk about being polite, especially to mama’s friends, hm? What’s with all these rude and violent actions coming from?”

Harry hears the amused giggle coming from Sophia, and even if he can’t see the face of the other alpha present, Harry can also feel the look of ridicule he is throwing at Harry's head for talking to a cat.

Well guess what, talking to a cat is the only way your sorry arse is being saved from bloody scratches today, Brian, Harry bites back from saying when he’s successfully gotten Tilly to relax her claws.

In true Tilly fashion however, she still remains cautious and with her blue beady eyes remain sending warning gazes at Brian. Thankfully, she settles back a bit, now lingering by Harry’s feet as he stands up after thanking Tilly for her cooperation.

“That’s a good girl,” Harry murmurs appreciatively to the cat once he’s standing back to his full height, “Sorry about that,” he gives Brian the most semblance of a smile that he can manage to give him, “Tilly’s just really protective about Sophia, so don’t take her attack personally.”

You really should if you know what’s best for you, Harry bites back again while forcing the polite smile to remain on his face.

“Nah, it’s alright. I actually thought I got it all in control earlier, mate.” Brian waves off because of course he will with how bloody alpha-y he is, mate.

Harry tries not to grimace at the clear tension surrounding the three (four because Tilly must be included in the count as the guard cat) of them, especially when Sophia who was now beaming up at Harry with a full grateful expression, doesn’t seem to notice the shift in the air. Sophia naturally clings an arm around Harry’s bicep because that’s a thing they do more often than not when in near proximity. Harry however, does not fail to notice the way Brian’s eyes follow the movement with his jaw hardening in reaction.

“H is really so good with her,” Sophia gushes to Brian with unabashed delight present in her tone, “his patience is just top notch when it comes to my moody Tilly, I honestly don’t know how he does it! But look at them now, almost the bestest of friends, right bunny?”

Harry chuckles despite the apparent pointed stare Brian is giving him, “I don’t want to toot my own horn, but I guess I can say that the two of us have found some sort of compromise and a common ground. Like I have a better understanding of her now which is why I came here straight away when I heard her causing a ruckus.”

That seemed to spark something in Sophia, “Oh, yeah! Good thing you’re actually here, bunny. Well not for the ruckus or anything, it wasn’t like that. I just think Tilly was being a little dramatic to be honest.” she giggles, whispering the last part to make sure the still attentive Tilly doesn’t hear.

“Anyway,” Sophia continues when she’s sure Tilly didn’t hear her little dig on her, “I think it’s fab that you’re here because Brian was actually just telling me about this new big, and artisanal wooden furniture pieces he did himself for this new restaurant around town. Brian here says he even retrieved the wood himself, which I think is really hard and commendable.”

Let me guess, Harry thinks, he made everything by himself using his own strong hands. It’s so strong that he only used his big, bare hands to chop the goddamn tree like the real alpha that he is. Obviously he didn’t have any workers on his furniture firm, and obviously he’s so old-fashioned and traditional that using tools was a sin that will destroy his essence of being a manly alpha.

Harry’s not being bitter for the sake of being one, he just knows when someone is saying shit for the sake of wanting to look like the shit to impress someone. Clearly he’s not Brian’s demographic because Harry is not fucking impressed in whatever angle you look at that word.

Harry’s own jaw tightens when he sees Brian visibly puffs his broad chest just a little bit more that it’s honestly too obnoxious in Harry’s opinion, upon hearing the obvious innocent praise coming from Sophia.

“Brian most probably did such a good job with his new furniture line,” Sophia continues providing slight reprieve from Harry’s eyes that’s almost turning into slits at how much his dislike for Brian just grows by the second of being near him, “that the owners of the restaurant invited him for free dinner anytime he wants! What’s even better is that the owners allowed him to bring a plus one!”

Oh..oh.

Of fucking course Brian’s already asked Sophia to be his plus one! The omega doesn’t even need to elaborate any further with Harry just experiencing the fucking annoying smug look Brian is obviously giving him right now.

Before Harry can even process his massive vehemence of dislike to the guy and could even start understanding why Sophia, his sunflower, agreed to be Brian’s plus one when Harry thought the two of them were on the same page with where they want this friendship to blossom further, Sophia breaks his brewing misery with her next statement like cold water suddenly washing over him in relief.

“That’s why I think it’s perfect timing that you’re here, bunny.” Sophia’s wide beam pointed towards Harry making his earlier dejected feelings confused, “Brian invited me to be his plus one, but I was just about to ask him where this new restaurant is located so you and I can go together after our time at the bakery one of these days. I know the owners only allowed Brian a single plus one, but I thought it would be delightful if there were a few more of us so it can be a good friends hangout! We haven’t done one in ages, that's why I think it would be worth it to pay for the rest.”

Oh..oh.

Of fucking course, his sunflower is still his sweet, innocent, and friendly sunflower who’s just rather oblivious to romantic advances towards her! Unfortunately, it’s not the first time Harry has seen all types of genders and secondary genders try to seek her attention in the bakery. But every time it happens, Sophia just doesn’t completely understand the intention from such individuals. Only with the help of Georgie and Sabrina will the omega realize later of what had just occurred, looking red and quite embarrassed the entire time they’re teasing their boss with Harry barely containing his delight for Sophia’s unknowingness.

However, today’s the first time that Harry has noticed it up close and personal. Harry thinks he has not yet seen any of Sophia’s customers looking this shocked and crestfallen like Brian is expressing currently upon her oblivious rejection to his apparent advances.

Sophia might not have verbally rejected Brian, but the next thing she says (and DOES) is surely a rejection in the best way only Sophia can do.

“What do you think, bunny?” Sophia asks a silent and still processing Harry, taking it upon herself to enclose both her arms on Harry’s waist in a hug, chin resting on his torso to shine her ocean blues directly to his unsure green orbs.

Ouch.

The sweet omega baker is really oblivious if she can’t detect the very unpleasant look Brian is throwing at their tightly-knit bodies right now, because how can Harry rewrite his instinct to not wrap his own arms back at Sophia when the omega hugs him.

Plus, how can Harry say, ‘fuck yes, I’m absolutely going with you because you’re not going to fucking go on a date with this prick of an alpha’ without just blurting that out in full enthusiasm? He might be really happy on the inside for these turn of events, but he’s still a decent human being who wouldn’t rub it on someone’s face that they just got rejected, and essentially replaced, by him.

Instead, Harry tries to play it cool, “I think that can be arranged, if you want.”

“If I want?” Sophia repeats with an incredulous laugh following it, “Of course I freaking want to!” she exclaims before dropping her face on Harry’s chest and just casually nuzzles her nose into the soft fabric of his silk shirt, overtly inhaling his scent without any ounce of shame.

Sophia shouldn’t be ashamed of her actions, really. It’s just not good with Harry’s rising level of smugness that he’s basically putting more pain on an unmoving alpha just watching their exchange thinking: that should be me.

Well sorry, mate. Not all of us can be seduced by your alpha manliness, Harry tries to bite back again. In lieu of lowering down his high self-satisfaction, Harry decides to ask Sophia something that piques his interest.

“And why would you ‘freaking’ want to, sunflower?” Harry curiously asks, not expecting the pout that Sophia gives him.

“Bunny, the two of us have not yet dined somewhere else except for the bakery. Do you not want to eat out with me, or something?”

That undeniable sad tone in Sophia’s voice just won’t do. Fuck Brian and his rejected emotions!

“Of course not!” Harry quickly asserts, lowering himself to be able to rest his forehead against the pouting omega’s, wanting her to clearly listen to him. “I was planning to discuss something about this, later tonight.” The mention of later causes Sophia’s breath to hitch, little pink tongue poking out to wet her now bare plump lips without any shine of a gloss, “But, we can remove the discussion of our first eat-out tonight and just get it done with right now. If you're certain this is the restaurant you want us to go to, sunflower. Actually, where is it even?”

That results Sophia to break her unwavering gaze in Harry to shift towards the other alpha, the unfortunately rejected, and forgotten one. Sophia still remains in Harry’s hold, cheeks now squished on his chest comfortably while smiling kindly at Brian.

“I keep forgetting to ask,” Sophia giggles at Brian like she didn’t do anything to ruin his big alpha ego, “where’s this new restaurant located exactly, Brian? And I’m sorry if I’m taking so much of your time! I’m just getting side-tracked as per usual, totally does not help when H here smells so brill!” she giggles again, quickly adding, “But I promise after you tell me the location of the restaurant, we’ll be out of your hair and you can finally enjoy the rest of the party without being cornered by the celebrant.”

Oh please, that’s surely what Brian wants. Brian wants to get cornered by the birthday celebrant because he clearly fancies her. Harry would even be inclined to say that Brian would also want to corner him.

Corner Harry to punch him in the face like a traditional alpha would do to someone who steals their potential mate.

Thankfully Harry didn’t steal anything. He’s just along for the ride with the friendly and oblivious sweet omega (and the moody, protective guard cat, Tilly) wherever she goes; hopefully it’s a never-ending ride.

*~*~*

After the entire Brian debacle, everything actually goes back smoothly in the party.

No more cat threats and loud hissing, and definitely no more future advances to the birthday girl. Harry thinks Tilly and him have done a good job steering away possible ‘threats’ to befall upon their sweet omega. For those doubting party guests who will attest that they saw Tilly lunge on Harry’s legs in absolute distrust that he’s over feeding/choking Sophia while Harry’s spoon feeding her their shared cup of peppermint and vanilla bean ice cream, Harry would like to respond by saying that Tilly and him make the dream team regardless of their still rocky relationship, thank you very much.

Though the ultimate threat repellant would be Sophia’s adamant resistance of being apart from Harry. The birthday girl will take no nothing to not be joined at the hands, arms, hips, waist, and even foot with Harry; keeping the both of them connected in some way with their ankles interlocked together under the table where they were sitting.

Even now, when Sarah’s telling Sophia to take center-stage at the specific area they created at the far end of Sophia’s garden where her sizable doughnut tower cake is placed on the table, the omega is still stuck to Harry’s side.

As the birthday celebrant, everyone is currently gathered around said area, waiting for the omega to take her stand beside her ‘cake’ so they can all sing her a happy birthday with their phones all out to capture the moment. Harry definitely got the memo with his phone ready in one hand, camera app open and all.

The only problem is that Sophia doesn’t want to leave his side, and go blow her candle and make a wish like regular birthday celebrants.

“Sunflower,” Harry giggles in amusement at the omega who was trying to make herself even smaller behind his back where she is currently hiding herself with her arms wrapped securely around the alpha, “you can’t hide there forever and not blow your birthday candle. No matter how much I tell you that you’re such a tiny sweet creature, you actually can’t fit and hide inside my back pockets as much as we both want to.”

Harry feels Sophia’s giggles vibrate on his back from where she has nestled her face, mumbling, “Why don’t you go and blow the candle for me bunny, and then wish that I was pocket-sized so I can finally hide and fit inside your pocket every time I please.”

Harry chuckles despite the ridiculousness of Sophia’s apparent stalling of time, “Hate to break it to you love, but my wish isn’t going to work because I’m not the birthday celebrant. Didn’t you know wishes only come true when it’s the one with the birthday blowing the candle?”

“Really? I didn’t know that,” Sophia plays along, clearly trying to buy herself more time.

“Yup, well now you know. Do you want to hear another thing related to that?”

“Yes, please.”

“I also know that birthday celebrants who don’t blow out their candles, can’t eat their birthday cake. Because it’s now poisoned by the birthday gods who thought the celebrant was being ungrateful for not religiously following proper birthday etiquette. Good thing, guests like myself get all the privileges to eat all of it.”

“Bunny!” Sophia laughs loudly, hands tenderly squeezing Harry’s love handles, the alpha laughing along as he pictures the surely pouting and frowning adorable face of the omega who’s back to burrowing her face on his back, “You’re just teasing me now, stop it bunny!”

Harry feels endeared more than anything, “Well what do you expect me to say? I swear this is the first party I’ve ever been to where the birthday girl doesn’t want all the attention on her. Are you sure it is even your birthday?”

Harry thinks he deserves the playful bite Sophia imprints on his thin silk shirt, finding it difficult to hold back a groan from the sudden (and currently unwanted) punch of pleasure that coils warmly around his insides from just that singular action from Sophia. Harry is further caught off guard when Sophia plants a gentle kiss on where she had just lightly bit me, as if soothing the sting making the alpha’s breath hitch. Harry’s smile easily appears on his face from the never lost caring nature of the omega.

“You know I never like the attention,” Sophia whispers on his back, volume soft enough for just Harry to hear, “I think it’s really unnecessary to place this so much attentiveness on a person during the day of their birth. What are we even celebrating here? Me getting birthed today? I didn’t even do anything during that time 24 years ago! Mum should be the one being celebrated today for surviving labor and pushing me out.”

Give it to Sophia for having the ability to completely do a 360 degree turn on their conversation. Harry is absolutely enraptured while hearing Sophia talk about Fiona giving birth to her no matter how absurd and perplexing it may be.

Already kind of knowing that if he continues to follow along the path of this conversation, it would just lead them to nowhere. With an audible sigh filled with amusement more than annoyance - because Harry has accepted long ago that he can never get annoyed at the omega despite their apparent differences as Harry is a definite narcissist that needs his fill of attention - Harry submits to the never-failing idea of a compromise.

“How about this, sunflower,” Harry begins to say at the unmoving Sophia still comfortably plastered at his back, “you go there in the middle, make a wish and blow out your candle - no, keep your little vampire teeth please and let me finish.” he amusedly reprimands Sophia, continuing when he feels the meat of her lips on his back instead of her sharp pearly whites, “Thank you for cooperating, sunflower. Anyway, as I was saying, you go do all those birthday girl duties while I stay by your side to keep you company. What do you say?”

And it should be funny, definitely hilarious, that Sophia doesn’t even provide him any response and simply unlatches her tight hold around Harry by rearranging their position with her in front of him, arms reaching back to place both her hands inside Harry’s backside pockets as she quickly shuffles the two of them together beside the doughnut tower.

So much for preparing his phone out, Harry has no doubt that everyone in the party is having the time of their life filming a seconds ago timid Sophia, now comfortably basking in everyone’s cheers with her dainty hands still snug inside the alpha’s back pockets as if to keep them securely connected with Harry’s front tightly affix to her back.

Harry can’t even be bothered to be honest, finds himself singing Sophia a happy birthday just as merrily as everyone else. He even has the privilege to whisper the words directly to the birthday girl’s ears, no one can ever feel as lucky and blessed as Harry right now as Sophia moves around to hug him properly after blowing out her candles.

“Bunny! You have to taste this!” Sophia avidly tells Harry after picking a doughnut from the tower and taking a good bite out of it with her little cheeks filling in an instant like an adorably tiny chipmunk.

Harry giggles, thumb reaching out to wipe the residue of honey that’s left on the side of Sophia’s puffy lips, because of course the sweet omega baker’s birthday doughnut tower has to have honey in it. He happily accepts the piece of doughnut Sophia is hand-feeding him right now, green eyes matching the ocean blues of Sophia that’s staring at him as they light-up just the same at the magnificent taste hitting his taste buds.

“Wow, what is that?” Harry asks, mouth shamelessly opening wide to signal Sophia the urgent need for another bite.

Sophia gives him a beaming smile, happily feeding Harry the last bite of her doughnut, “It’s a simple honey-glazed doughnut but I asked mum to add bits of bacon in the batter so there will be a good savory surprise in it. I thought it would be good, do you think it’s good, bunny?”

Harry doesn’t answer right away, choosing instead to leave Sophia for a minute while he quickly snatches six doughnuts in the rapidly disappearing doughnut tower. The omega rightfully laughs at how ridiculous Harry certainly looks with six doughnuts grasped tightly on his bare hands, rings getting sticky with honey be damned.

“What are you doing?” Sophia guffaws, pointing at the table Harry had just left, “There are plates there to put that on, bunny.”

Harry just grins at the omega without any trace of regret, “Sunflower, you gotta do what you gotta do to secure these goodies. Look at them absolutely raiding the doughnuts!” Harry dramatically points his occupied doughnut containing fist to John and other fellow alpha guests doing the same thing with their bare hands, “No time for plates when your father is on the loose ready to take the kill with these honey goodies!”

“Hey, I heard that!” John calls him out, doughnut-free hand wiping away the excess honey on his lips making Harry laugh.

“It’s true!” Harry teases back, “and John, I think you missed a spot on your cheek, you absolute messy eater! You’re making us alphas look so wildly starved! Definitely not a good look on us.”

Harry even had the audacity to shake his head jokingly in disappointment, taking an obscene bite on two doughnuts in one big go. Harry moans at the sweet and savory perfect mixture of the honey and bacon. “Wow, that really is the shit! No wonder John is ready to pop the buttons of his new shirt!”

John, bless him, chuckles loudly and takes Harry’s teasing in stride, “You, young man, better be thankful that you’re important to my daughter or I would have kicked you out right this instant with all your jesting. Don’t expect a goodie bag either to take home with these bad boys.”

And because they’re clearly having a laugh at each other, Harry and John simultaneously began shoving two whole doughnuts in one go like absolute rabid animals that have not been fed for ages.

“Oh my god! You guys are impossible!” Sophia squawks a laugh at their state, eyes wide in disbelief as she watches her father and best friend practically inhale the doughnuts. “You two better behave yourselves and stop looking like freaking alpha cavemans!”

As the birthday girl, it would be the imperative for guests to follow her wishes to the best of their ability. As much as Harry breathes to do everything Sophia wants, he can’t really help the very loud burp escaping his highly-satisfied and doughnut-stuffed body. What’s worse is that John and him release their deafening burps of satisfaction at the same time.

Sophia groans at them in disgust, “Holy..you two are the worst!”

To be honest, Harry doesn’t think so. John and him are not the worst when they both seem to have the same brilliant mind, eyes locking together in mirth with a nod of understanding given to each other. The two of them are definitely not the worst when they expertly enclose a protesting Sophia in a hug on both her sides, Harry and John smacking a sickeningly sweet (literally) kiss on her cheeks.

The omega’s melodious laughter suggests that she agrees to Harry’s point now. Her sticky and lovingly flushed cheeks are the least of her concerns, skillfully reaching for the remaining honey doughnuts on both Harry’s and John’s hands and bringing it straight to her mouth with the biggest bite that she can make while smirking triumphantly at them.

Fine. Harry guesses her father and him deserved that.

*~*~*

Sophia’s 24th, intimate garden party ended by the time the sun had turned golden and slowly disappeared all it’s bright rays as the night sky took its turn on the main stage of the atmosphere.

Considerably, everyone has also taken their leave as the party seems to wrap-up. Guests take turns to say their last wishes and goodbyes to Sophia, the sweet omega saying her gratitude and appreciation for every single guest that made it today. Harry watched in amusement as Tilly, the ever trusted guard cat, stayed beside her sweet mama because it’s totally logical that people handing their gifts to Sophia as they leave, might contain the threat that the cat had her eyes set on since the start of the party.

Thankfully, no untrusting gifts were handed to Sophia and all Tilly has to worry about now is how to share her space with Harry for the rest of the night. The look of confusion that turned to apparent displeasure Tilly had given the alpha when Sophia had led him to the guest room, is still ingrained in Harry’s mind as he himself tries to make complete sense of the magnitude of their current situation.

Here’s the thing: Harry is going to have his first sleepover at Sophia’s fairy cottage tonight.

A week back, when Harry had asked the sweet omega baker what she had wanted for her birthday, the alpha already expected that Sophia’s timid and modest nature would be difficult for him to get a straight answer. Except that Sophia seems to like keeping Harry on the tip of his toes as she surprises him once again with her quick answer.

The omega said in the most certain voice Harry had ever heard coming from her: “I want to have a sleepover at my house after the party; just a me and you type of sleepover.”

And Harry might have ruptured an artery or something, that day due to unrestrained surprise from her confident request. In full disclosure, Harry had never gone to a one-on-one sleepover with an omega before, not even a female for that matter. His sleepover experiences only included staying at Jeff’s place (fellow alpha), Mitch’s flat (beta friend), and occasionally Glenne’s home (omega friend that also happens to be taken by his alpha best friend).

Harry’s only point of reference are one night stands at the places of the omegas he’s met at the bar. Though that’s not really going to help his situation here. First of all, Sophia is not a stranger he just met at the club, she already holds a big part of Harry’s heart that she shares with Anne even if Sophia doesn’t know that yet. And second of all, Harry is not a fucking prick of an alpha who immediately expects that Sophia’s birthday gift request holds any sexual elements into it.

No matter how horny he may seem, Harry is never going to do anything Sophia doesn’t want to, especially sexual ones. Never, it’s disgusting when alphas - or whatever gender/secondary gender you are - don’t understand the concept of getting consent. Fucking dickheads those people are.

Before Harry got consumed with his angry thoughts about indecent human beings, Sophia might have taken his silence in a wrong way as the omega quickly explained herself on why she had requested for such. The sadness in Sophia’s eyes that she tried to hide with her sheepishness of not having enough friends when she was younger that she could actually trust to have a sleepover at her childhood home, made Harry feel for her especially when she continues that now she’s grown-up, she isn’t quite comfortable asking her friends for something quite childish.

“Never childish, love.” Harry had assured her with strong arms cradling the petite form of the visibly embarrassed omega gently on his chest after having found her way on his lap.

Harry had never agreed faster in his life for something he’s not so sure how to do or go about. Not regretting his decision in any form when it had gifted him in return the most glorious and awestruck smile from the omega, as if she couldn’t comprehend how someone like him will willingly give that type of present to her.

If it’s not stressed enough, well he’s going to stress it again and again.

Harry would do anything that Sophia needs or wants to the best of his abilities. And if that includes sitting on her lilac couch in his grey joggers and worn-out white tee doing mindless sketching on his sketchbook to settle his nerves down, then Harry would gladly do it.

Sophia had left Harry for a moment to go get ready herself for their ‘cozy sleepover’. The omega had named it that after excitedly showing Harry the materials of various snuggly pillows and blankets and quilts she prepared for their blanket fort. It’s apparently the first item in their agenda: make the best, and coziest blanket fort in the living room.

The alpha agrees with a big smile; he can do blanket forts. Blanket forts do not make him nervous for their sleepover, so Harry will happily spend time perfecting their fort. He says the same thing to Sophia who giggles in reply, telling him to go wait for her at the couch as she sorts herself out of her party dress so that Harry can also save up his energy for laters’ tedious fort making business.

Harry doesn’t offer any protest, not quite comfortable to even tease her when he kind of really needs his last alone time to think properly before he just blabbers to Sophia the most important question for tonight. So, Harry does the thing that centers him the most: lingerie sketching.

Harry tousles his long curls away from his face, focusing intently on the sketch of the dress he currently has. The straps he drew to be tied into bows at the shoulder, a clear inspiration from all the birthday bows he saw today. The flower-like cups on the bust of the dress are inspired by the floral printed sandals Sophia wore for her party look, Harry grins at how mismatched it looked earlier with her plain pink party dress but knew deep down that whatever Sophia wore will always be beautiful and appealing to him.

Harry also placed big attention on the waist part of the dress, paying homage to the glistening rhinestone belt Sophia wore earlier. Harry smirks, remembering how the belt had perfectly cinched her little body tighter, highlighting her figure with her loving curves on display receiving much needed appreciation. Harry definitely needs to emulate that in this piece, making the skirt of the dress three layered to exhibit more of a flared motion that Sophia’s earlier dress lacked.

Harry is just coming into the big terms that for him to actually be able to sell this dress, it has to be done with a see-through fabric. His Sweet Creature is a lingerie and intimates brand, Harry can’t be selling detailed party dresses. But envisioning his new, see-through piece being worn by his muse, is not the wisest thing right now to do. Harry does not want to ruin his remarkable progress in being able to successfully control his stiffys in relation to thoughts and instances with the sweet omega baker.

And because the universe wants to challenge Harry for whatever fucking reason, Sophia appears in the living room just as the alpha is trying to think about dead kittens to calm down his unhelpful and traitor of a body. And because the universe and his body is apparently ganging-up on Harry right now, Sophia is standing just a few feet away from the alpha on the couch, wearing white cotton shorts with little heart imprints into it with it’s matching little cotton crop top, and Harry’s blue silk shirt from earlier.

“Bunny, is it okay if I wore this?” Sophia asks Harry casually, beginning to close some of the buttons.

“Uhm..” Harry trails off dumbly, because what the fuck is happening? These emotions present in him right now surely do not happen in friend sleepovers.

Oblivious to Harry’s dumbstruck reaction, Sophia happily claps her hands in success after buttoning half of Harry’s shirt on her body, “I was going to look at the guest room if I had misplaced any cardigan there, cause all mine is in the laundry tonight. And then I saw this perfectly folded on your bed and it just called to me, bunny. So I hope it’s okay that I’m wearing it for tonight, don’t wanna get cold during our sleepover.”

Of course, it’s totally okay that my clothes called for you, Harry frantically thinks based on Sophia’s explanation.

That’s totally understandable because it’s only normal for your omega to be attracted to my alpha’s scent that’s why you think my shirt called for you, Harry continues to madly think to himself.

With all these thoughts, what comes out of Harry's mouth?

“Of course, sunflower, you can wear my shirt for tonight. But are you sure you want to though? Don’t think it will be quite comfortable on your skin when I basically wore it for the entire day.”

And, alright? That’s all you gotta say Harry, after you frenzied yourself with your thoughts earlier? You surely are a whipped alpha if you're thinking of Sophia’s comfortability instead of your own sanity.

Oh Jesus Christ, help me, is all Harry can answer to himself as he tries to busy his thoughts by taking away his sketching materials back to his bag while Sophia giddily sits beside him.

“Totally not,” Sophia replies to Harry’s question, tilting her head towards her shoulder with the tip of her nose slightly hitting the fabric of Harry’s shirt on her shoulder, “Silk feels comfortable on my skin, and the scent of peppermint and sandalwood is definitely comfortable to my senses.”

Yeah. Harry really needs some sort of divine intervention if he thinks he can survive this friendly sleepover without having the undying urge to kiss the omega.

“That’s good,” Harry provides as a short reply, clearing his throat in hopes of getting back more of his English vocabulary.

Sophia giggles while looking at him, Harry’s not sure what for, but he doesn’t want to take his chances and look even more stupid infront of her so he quickly takes control of their conversation.

“Want to start on that blanket fort?”

No verbal response was given to Harry for his question, only a squeal of genuine excitement from Sophia like she had forgotten of the important plan she had just made for them earlier. Harry does not complain at her unceasing excited giggles while dumping piles upon piles of blankets on his arms. Harry finds himself laughing at the omega for thinking his big, alpha arms can actually hold all the damn blankets from freaking Zara Home.

“Did you buy every single blanket from Zara home, or something?” Harry mumbles with his entire face being covered by the continuously growing tower of blankets on his arms.

Sophia giggles and does not take offense at Harry’s teasing, “Don’t forget H&M Home, and White Company, bunny.”

Harry guffaws his snorting laugh in surprise at Sophia’s answer, resulting in the blanket tower toppling over his arms and onto the floor, making him laugh harder when he trips on one of them. Instead of feeling embarrassed, Harry happily follows the fallen blankets on Sophia’s living room floor in absolute laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

“This isn’t going so well,” Sophia says with total fondness seeping out from her voice, the same emotion being reflected in her blue orbs as Harry stares at them contentedly while shamelessly snuggling on the countless blankets now on the floor.

“Sunflower,” Harry calls for her softly, making himself look cute because he can, “how about we put a rain check on that blanket fort and you just go join me here on the floor where all your blankets have fallen perfectly for a cozy time.”

He picks up one of the pillows on his reach to snuggle tightly on top of chest to show complete cozy bliss, the only selling factor that will make Sophia concede.

“No way,” Sophia shakes her head at him despite the permanent grin on her features.

“But-”

“It won’t be a perfect, cozy sleepover if we don’t do the blanket fort.” Sophia pouts because she can, “You do look quite snuggly-toasty there, but I want the whole experience of a quintessential sleepover. But again, bunny you still look really cute there on your..”

Sophia motions with her hands around Harry and all the blankets that truthfully is not miraculously fallen perfectly on the floor so easily, it’s more haphazard than harmonious.

“Fine,” Harry relents simply while sitting up, “only because you called me cute.”

“Whatever.” Sophia rolls her eyes with blushing cheeks, always getting flustered when reminded of her sweet actions that she seems to not notice when she does it. “Now stand up and get your game face on cause this now is going to be the serious blanket fort business time.”

Harry doesn’t know what type of game face Sophia is asking of him, decides all together that he can’t even conjure his face to make one when all it seems to break into is the nose-scrunching closed lip smile of utter fondness. It’s hard to do any other faces than that when it's just instinctual when it comes to the amazing omega.

*~*~*

As the night progresses, Harry thinks that he can actually add ‘having sleepovers with my omega friends’ on the list of things that he can do. Harry thinks he might have just made himself apprehensive over nothing earlier. He doesn’t know what’s to be nervous about spending the night at Sophia’s place when the blanket fort they spent 45 minutes perfecting is probably one of the best creations that Harry has done in his life.

The two of them are now trying to settle inside their fort, finding the most comfortable position they want to stay in while watching the Lizzie McGuire movie (because any film with Queen Hilary Duff is obviously sleepover appropriate) with their cups of herbal tea are cradled nicely in the palms of their own hands. Harry actually wanted to point out that having herbal tea as their refreshment, and only form of snack (if you can even call it that), is not following the quintessential sleepover Sophia was musing about from earlier.

Instead, Harry remembers that he kind of needs herbal tea right now, like he really needs it to help calm him down from what he’s about to do soon.

The alpha just can’t wait anymore is the thing.

Helping Sophia not get drowned in her heart printed loungewear (the heart detail is totally going to be added on his second piece) in the endless mounds of blankets, as well as giving the little omega a hand with lifting heavy chairs as support for their blanket ceiling, has been quite a fun time. Even if Sophia had stubbornly refused his efforts to help her detangle the fairy lights to be placed at the edges and around their fort, Harry had fondly kissed her cheek when the pouting omega came back to his side with her imaginary tail between her legs in defeat, the fairy lights further tangled in a ball.

It had been a really good experience no doubt, it’s just that everything would have been miles better if Harry didn’t have to suppress the need to kiss Sophia silly. Harry can let it pass if the feeling only passes him once, but it was every bloody time!

The words, “Sweet omega, you don’t need to ask for my help anymore because as your alpha, it’s my job to always care for you and help you without any prompt. You’re my responsibility now. So may I please have a kiss to tell me you understand the importance of what I just said?”

All those words are what Harry has been biting back since their sleepover has fully commenced.

So yes, all things considered, everything is dandy. But to make everything even dandier, then Harry needs to once and for all appease his alpha by confessing to Sophia.

That’s where his resolve has brought him now while looking at the screen of the telly, showcasing just the first part of the movie in Lizzie’s high school graduation. At this moment, Harry really can’t give any drop of his focus on the movie despite knowing Sophia is basically engrossed in the film beside him. It’s the thought that makes him think that it might not be the best decision to start a massive serious conversation with the omega who is currently paying not much of an attention to him.

But again, Harry cannot physically and mentally faff around anymore.

Thus, in the spur of all moments, Harry mutters a “Fuck it.” loud enough that when he turns to look at Sophia, the omega whips her head to his direction a second later.

“What’s wrong, bunny?” Sophia cutely tilts her head in question, the glow of the fairy lights and the telly illuminating her slightly frowning face.

With no time to wax lyrical of how gorgeous the cast of light highlights Sophia’s natural features, Harry takes a deep breath in hopes of still being able to find semblance of what he had originally planned to say when the movie was over, reaching for Sophia’s hands (thankfully not holding her cuppa or it would have spilled all over and ruined their moment!) in a grounding hold, placing it on his lap before saying:

“May I please be given the chance to court you, omega?”

The look of unbridled surprise that washes over Sophia’s face is not a shocker to Harry, he kind of already expected that knowing her this long, together with the little squeak of surprise that leaves her parted lips.

What he didn’t expect is what she replies not even a minute later.

“Do people still even do that?”

Harry tries not to read into her apparent surprised question that isn’t really a straight out rejection but, ouch.

Does she not want to be courted? Is that like a no go for her in every situation? Harry frantically thinks. He desperately racks his brain of any moments or conversations they had before that Sophia might have told him her views on courting.

Holy shit, is the omega against the entire idea of courting because it’s too traditional? And now she probably thinks Harry is a complete alpha prick, no better than Brian from earlier, for putting her in this position of needing to choose between their friendship or her personal principles and view in life.

The look of panic and downright horror must be painted across his face because the next thing Harry knows is Sophia is returning the same look of trepidation in her beautiful face making the alpha feel even more guiltier.

About to spiral in a myriad of apologies - love confessions and his feelings be damned - Sophia startles Harry once again, literally this time, making him almost jump out from his own skin at the loudness of her coming statement.

“THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT!” Sophia all but shouts, hands disappearing from Harry’s hold to place on her cheeks in an embarrassed tick, “That’s not what I meant at all, bunny.” The omega repeats much slower, with more firmness in her tone with every word in that same sentence. Her blue widened eyes searching earnestly at Harry’s own for some sort of reaction.

The alpha can only offer her a look of mixed surprise and confusion, more-so confused because what does she mean by that? As far as Harry knows, the answer to his earlier question only required a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ as an answer. Any other response is going to leave him the need to ask for an explanation.

Except he doesn’t need to. Sophia continues to speak when arriving empty handed of her desired reaction from Harry. Her dainty hands now the one reaching for Harry’s trembling ones, movie forgotten in the background as Sophia gently litters every exposed skin of his hand with what the alpha can only deduce as apologetic kisses.

“Bunny, I didn’t mean for you to take my question the wrong way,” Sophia implores in a tone of utmost sincerity, “It was genuinely just a question out of surprise. Like, I haven’t heard anyone ask that to my friends, let alone to myself so it really caught me off-guard and I obviously spiraled in the wrong direction of a response because I’m really quite crap at anything relationship talk.” and not even the self-deprecating chuckle that Sophia gives herself breaks Harry from his on-edge notion.

“I don’t even know why that’s the first thing I blurted out,” Sophia continues, “that’s not even my answer to your specific question, like at all.”

Breathless, Harry asks, “What was your answer supposed to be then?”

Harry is hyper aware of everything Sophia in that moment. The way her breath suddenly hitches, ocean blues looking down at their interlocked hands, long feathery lashes hitting the topmost part of her cheekbones for every blink she does, plump bottom lip in between her teeth, and Harry’s utmost favorite cotton candy pink blush is ever-present on her rounded, dimpling cheeks.

Like she wants to kill Harry with her gorgeousness, the omega takes the final shot home right after.

Eyes looking underneath her lashes, laser-focused on Harry’s soul, Sophia replies:

“Yes,” Sophia’s harmonic giggles an absolute melody in the alpha’s ringing ears, “Of course it’s a yes, bunny.”

It’s not just simply a ‘yes’ Harry registers in his love muddled brain, it’s even fucking better! Sophia answered with an, ‘of course! and yes!’

Harry might be in heaven already. The glorious stars on Sophia’s eyes, her angelic voice and cherubic dimpled smile is enough proof for Harry to believe that he might have died just that second.

“Really? Are you for real?” Harry asks with disbelief written in his eyes because that’s the only sensible thing to say when one feels fucking unworthy for being allowed in heaven and in the presence of such an angelic, otherworldly, goddess.

Sophia giggles once again, squeezing Harry’s hands in her hold before repeating, “Yes! I’m so serious, bunny!”

“But..why? How?” Harry dumbly asks, which he should just shut up because he’s making himself become more unworthy by questioning this stunning celestial of a being that has made Harry the luckiest man in all galaxies!

Sophia takes the alpha’s rather stupefied reaction in stride, rolling her eyes with an undeniable upward curve of her lips, “Why are you asking these questions? Of course it’s going to be a yes. How can it be not when I always give you extra honey cookies cause I care for you so much, I panicked myself into oblivion when you arrived late that one day at the bakery, cried and cuddled on your lap like some needy omega. Your patience for my cat makes me feel over the moon, we both met each other's parents already which is a tell-tale sign that you’re important to me, I wouldn’t just bring you home if I didn’t see a future in us. Heck, I turned down Brian earlier, an alpha who I’ve known longer than you, and proceeded to compliment your scent straight to his face, and then I’m wearing your scent right now in your used shirt because it makes me feel fucking safe and comforted. How can all that not be a yes?”

There’s a lot of important things to note in Sophia’s utter show of bravery in sharing her thoughts and emotions. Harry’s so proud of his timid girl letting all that out from her chest to show him how much he means to her, the ever-sweet omega even cursed for his sake!

But only one thing gets stuck on Harry’s alpha brain on repeat, and definitely shouldn’t be the one worth mentioning.

“So you did know that Brian was hitting on you!” Harry exclaims, that's the first thing he says when he got his full wits back, “I knew you couldn’t have been that oblivious when he was being so fucking obvious that whole time!”

Despite the deep craters still indented on Sophia’s smiling cheek, the omega gives Harry the most deadpan look she can muster in this moment, “Are we seriously going to be talking about Brian right now?”

“Fuck no!” is Harry’s immediate response filled with disgust, he doesn’t even try to hide it in his face that’s all screwed-up in the most not-cute way making Sophia laugh. “I don’t want to talk about that prick of an alpha, like ever. Why are you even asking me that?”

“Because!” Sophia laughs in the faux horrified expression Harry is giving her, “From all the beautiful things I said about my feelings for you, you decided to focus on that one! It’s your fault, not mine for thinking that you want to talk about Brian.”

Harry would take all the blame from her if the alpha gets to see her this carefree and elated forever. It’s as if they weren’t just both nervous in their own ways minutes prior, like they didn’t just undergo a colossal thing in their evolving story, turning to the next chapter of courting!

“Don’t even mention his name.” Harry points out, failing to remain the faux frown on his face when Sophia just keeps giggling at every response he gives, “How about you continue just talking about my name, and all the butterflies-in-your-stomach emotions that you feel whenever you hear my name.”

Harry obnoxiously wiggle his eyebrows up and down, the tone of Sophia’s giggles becoming more dulcet by the second.

“I’ve kind of done all the talking since earlier,” Sophia says softly, thumbs gently stroking the skin of Harry’s hands as the atmosphere in the room suddenly becomes much quieter than before. Without the telly still playing their movie, Harry thinks he’ll be able to hear Tilly breathing in the omega’s room from how faint and steady their surroundings have become.

“So is it my turn to finally be able to sing sonnets about your beauty and kindness and all the wild animals fluttering in my stomach from how good you make me feel now that I’m officially going to court you?”

The teasing tilt in Harry’s voice is not met by the usual amused laugh from Sophia, nor is her eyes ignited by his cheeky comment. Instead, what remains is the bright flush on the apples of her cheeks any time Harry even remotely insinuates saying things to compliment her. The only difference that Harry notes while in the bare lit living room, is that Sophia almost looks like she’s nervous being beside Harry while blushing.

The two of them are way past being nervous around each other, especially when the both of them blush around each other more often than not when teasing blurs the fine line of blatant flirting.

Harry’s more confused when he also hears the poorly contained skittish tone is Sophia’s considerably much quiet voice saying, “How about..let’s do the talking later and just do something else right now?”

Harry slowly nods his head trying to understand where the omega was going with this, “Alright, but what kind of thing are you thinking of doing now? Oh, you think we should go back to watching the movie? I know you said this is one of your favorite movies and we’ve missed a good portion. Lizzie and her classmates are in Italy already!” he motions his head towards the forgotten telly.

When he doesn’t get an immediate response or even a nod of a head from Sophia, Harry carefully watches her in pure curiosity. Sophia is blinking at him with wide doe-like eyes, starlit pools of blue unmistakably peering from Harry’s eyes and his lips, the omega’s own little mouth parting just a little bit making Harry too late to catch on with what’s happening.

“May I kiss you?”

Sophia whispers as Harry feels his soul knocked-out of him and sent flying straight to the fucking moon in utter ecstasy at the honey dripping words that just left the omega’s spit-slick lips from the way her little tongue is poking out and wetting the pink plumpness just waiting for the go signal to be kissed from the once again stupefied alpha.

And because Harry is rendered love-dumb now, the alpha all but squeaks out a “yes”, barely even getting to tap his thighs to motion Sophia to come nearer towards him when the omega swiftly crawls to his lap in expert ease.

Harry narrowly misses taking a deep breath in, before Sophia has got her arms wrapped tightly around the nape of his neck, head tilting with her eyes closed as she closes the distance between them in one fluid motion. The first press of their lips elicits a simultaneous moan of pleasure from the two of them, Sophia’s legs encloses around Harry’s lax body even tighter, the latter’s hold on her hips raises upwards to hug her waist closer to his body.

The kiss isn’t a hungry and desperate one by any means, and yet Harry still feels breathless when Sophia disconnects their now tingling lips just inches away, her dilated eyes stares dreamily at him.

“That was my first kiss,” Sophia softly confesses, bringing one of her dainty hands to cradle the alpha’s cheek lovingly, with her thumb reverently swiping across his lips like she can’t believe she just kissed that and had checked ‘have my first kiss’ off her bucket list like she’s the lucky one.

Harry is the fucking lottery winner right now for he has finally gotten his mouth on hers!

Can you believe that? Unworthy alpha him has just got kissed by the sweetest most kindest creature in this planet and what good deed has Harry done in his past life to be given this honor of being Sophia’s first kiss?

“Was it a good first kiss?” is all that Harry can reply without sounding like a mixture of ungrateful that he thinks Sophia deserves someone much better than him to share her first kiss with, and proud with hints of innate possessiveness that he’s the first and only kiss the omega has had.

Sophia just slowly nods her head as if in a daze, before her familiar giggles erupt from her parted lips, “I feel like I’m levitating.”

Before Harry’s responding giggles could subside for him to sing the chorus of Dua Lipa’s ‘Levitating’ because he’s romantic (a cheeky shit) like that, Sophia cups both his cheeks and surges back on his lips in a much deeper kiss than their first one.

It’s quite intense this time around with Sophia’s tongue bravely meeting his own as she’s apparently a natural learner in the art of kissing. Why is Harry even surprise that Sophia can suck and caress his tongue so expertly in just her second kiss in her whole life when the omega is a fucking celestial being who can do anything she wishes. That’s the last thought Harry settles on his mind before he completely relaxes into Sophia’s unrelenting kisses, returning her little licks and gentle sucks with just as much vigor as the omega is languidly giving him.

Harry didn’t think that kissing can be this good, but fuck him, he’s converted now in believing that he will happily allow himself to drown in Sophia’s kisses and he’d be content in the afterlife.

Except that the longer Sophia passionately lathers his kissed-red lips and tingly-sucked tongue with all her magical loving and care, Harry doesn’t think he’d enjoy the afterlife if he ain’t get to have this with him. Talks about afterlife aside, Harry tries his hardest to harness back his love-lost wits to put a halt in these fast-moving kisses.

Dipping his hands to squeeze fairly tight on Sophia’s hips, Harry moves his lips away from the omega’s to murmur quickly but firmly, “I think we should take a breather, don’t want to go too fast with this aspect of our relationship.”

That makes the omega pout, they’re close enough that her wet protruded bottom lip touches Harry’s own, “I get you, but don’t wanna stop kissing; makes me feel so good, bunny.”

Harry doesn’t try to bite back the groan that leaves his chest, “Sunflower, you really shouldn’t be saying that if you don’t want to provoke my alpha to make you feel even more good. You haven’t met this horndog side of my alpha yet, so I’m kindly warning you right now to be careful with what you’re saying when we’re this close and I’m drunk with your kisses.”

Sophia laughs at that, her warm breath hitting Harry’s smiling lips as she brushes their noses together in an eskimos kiss, “I promise I’m not going to say anything that will provoke your inner horndog alpha anymore. Besides, I just had my first kiss with you moments ago. I don’t think I’m ready for anything beyond that.”

Sophia’s eyes return their nervous shade after saying that, bottom lip about to be bitten in a nervous tick when Harry moves faster and brings Sophia’s plump bottom lip inside his own mouth to suckle tenderly. He releases it a few seconds later with a wet popping sound, hands holding her body tight around him, and begins to run up and down her back in a soothing manner.

“Sunflower,” Harry sweetly calls to her ear when Sophia dropped her full weight atop of Harry’s body as she hides her embarrassed flushed face on the crook of his neck with her arms wounded around his neck, finding comfort in making herself feel small in Harry’s hold.

“I hope you know that I’m also not ready for us to do anything other than kissing and hugging tonight, right? Do you know that?”

When Sophia just hums out a noise not either agreeing or disagreeing with Harry’s question, the alpha then thinks that maybe his horndog of an alpha has been showing more of it’s devious personality than he had thought it was doing. If Sophia can’t give him a direct answer on this matter, then for sure, Harry must have been unclear with the extent of his intentions towards her. And that doesn’t sit right with Harry, at all.

Harry sighs, trying to keep his growing frustrations about himself quiet, “My sunflower, I’m sorry if I haven’t been clear enough with my intentions about our courting. To make myself crystal clear, I’m not expecting anything sexual related for tonight, and even the next night, or even the next few weeks or months after tomorrow. This part of our relationship is going to be done at your own pace, okay? I’m not going to be an alpha prick who’s going to pressure you into doing anything you don’t want, sexual or not.”

Harry says that to help ease whatever qualms Sophia might be harboring within her and is too timid to talk it out verbally with the alpha. Although after Harry’s assurance, the earlier pliant omega straddling his lap suddenly turns rigid under his hold.

“But what if my pace is too slow for you?” Sophia says with urgency in her tone, springing out from her hiding spot in Harry’s neck to look at him with trepidation written on her face.

“What do you mean?” Harry gently asks, not wanting to make the girl feel more at edge than he already knows she’s starting to get, “Sunflower, when I said at your own pace, I mean that in my utmost sincerity. Your consent in everything is important to me, so if you decide that you just want to kiss and cuddle for the entirety of our relationship this year, then I’d be down to do that without any complaints.”

Sophia whines out a frustrated noise, “That’s because you’re too nice for your own good. What if you’re just saying that right now, and then when our courting progresses and you feel that you have to hide and suppress your emotions cause you don’t want to pressure my slow pace? I don’t ever want to be the cause for you to not fully express yourself, bunny, I never want to be that person.” she shakes her head frantically, “I always want to make you feel comfortable and safe, that you can tell me anything and be wholly open with me. But that won’t be the case if you’re too kind about sparing my slow-moving pace. And then if I ever gain the confidence to finally do anything sexual with you besides kissing, what if, no, I already know that I wouldn’t be any good at it because you’re going to be my first. Which is not good because you’re a proper fit alpha that most probably has other omegas lining up for you in London but then you're too kind to say anything about my performance even if it’s going to be such a disappointment. I don’t want to disappoint you, bunny!”

Sophia’s honest rambling is so quick that the next thing Harry knows, he’s got an armful of a nervous-wreck of an omega who’s scent has changed from it’s sweet tones to that of the alarming aroma of distress alerting Harry’s core instincts to protect.

Hyper-aware of Sophia’s trembling body that has dropped back once again on Harry’s chest with her face tucked at the side of his neck, the alpha steels his thoughts to be able to properly tend to the distressed omega in his arms.

“Omega, may I please be allowed to scent you? I need to scent you to make you feel alright, okay sunflower?”

Feeling her wobbling lips on the skin of his collarbone, Harry doesn’t need any verbal response from the omega when Sophia herself goes straight for Harry’s scent gland to begin scenting him. That’s the best answer Harry needs for his question as he doesn’t hesitate to nose down the side of Sophia’s neck before burying his own nose in the omega’s scent gland.

Calming pheromones are released within the both of them as they languidly continue scenting one another, taking their fill of each other’s heavenly scents without any hesitation for the first time without fear of possibly crossing an imaginary line in the friendship by finding too much comfort in each other’s innate unique scents.

Harry leaves a tender kiss on Sophia’s scent gland, feeling her release a content purr of satisfaction as Harry gently noses at the skin of her neck, unable to comprehend how he was now granted the privilege to bask in the sweet omega’s glorious scent all he wants.

Though with much pressing matter to attend to, Harry pulls himself away from her neck, ready to completely settle Sophia’s grave worries.

“Sunflower, I need you to listen to me closely,” Harry places a kiss on top of Sophia’s blonde locks, situating his cheek comfortably on top of her head as Sophia continues to snuggle at his neck giving Harry her hum of having as a sign of her full attention of listening to him.

Harry begins by saying without any preamble, “I never, ever, want to hear you call yourself a disappointment ever again, alright? That’s not true, it can never be true, and it’s something I will actually fight tooth-and-nail with you if you try disagreeing with me. I also want you to know that I don’t care about anyone else besides you, whoever those people you’re referring to waiting for me in London is nothing compared to you, I don’t even know them and I don’t give a single fuck about them.”

Harry presses gentle kisses on Sophia’s temple to calm his racing heart, “You’re so special to me, sunflower. I don’t know if I can even properly tell or show you how important you are to me, but what I can promise to you is that you’re never going to disappoint me, especially when we have our first time.”

Sophia lets out a whimper on his neck, not out of panic this time, more flustered than anything. Harry soothes the omega by pressing his thumb delicately on her scent gland, resulting for the sweet girl to instantly relax in his arms once again.

“You’re everything to me that the sole fact that you’re ready to share yourself with me in the most intimate way possible, is already a magical experience for me. Sex is not about having the best performance, it’s a never a performance. It’s about connecting with your partner in a different, much deeper realm. Sex is supposed to make us get to know each other better, so sure, our first time might not be the ‘best’ technique-wise because I’m surely going to ejaculate five seconds in,” Sophia giggles at his joke which appeases Harry’s alpha for being able to comfort the omega, “but that’s the beauty of it. We’ll get to explore each other’s pleasures as well as the things that might not work or do not tickle our fancy. We’ll get to take care of each other and make sure that the both of us are safe and happy. That’s why you’re never going to be a disappointment to me, sunflower, inexperienced or not.”

And just to further emphasize his point, “My alpha already worships you if that’s also not clear enough.”

That makes Sophia shift her head just a little from Harry’s neck, peeking from underneath her messy bangs as Harry skillfully locks his gaze on her blue orbs, never one to not get lost in them obstructed by her hair or not. The alpha feels his heart stutter at the glowing light of appreciation being presented to him by Sophia’s ocean blues and perfect smile.

“Thank you, bunny.” she whispers in utmost sincerity, “My omega feels lucky to have the kindest alpha, ever.” and then she burrows back into Harry’s warmth like she didn’t just undoubtedly refer to Harry as ‘her alpha’ for the first time when said alpha still cannot even entirely believe everything that has happened tonight.

Like an unspoken agreement, Harry and Sophia return their focus back on the telly while still comfortably resting on the same position with the omega cuddled close in the alpha’s chest, sitting perfectly on his lap where Harry starts to think she truly belongs.

Harry considers that nobody really has to know how many times their attention from the movie was replaced with the interlocking of lips and tongue, or how he wouldn’t accept anyone’s comments on the possibly excessive scenting they’ve done to each other as they happily got lost in the perfect mixture of their scents.

Though most importantly, nobody needs to know how Harry suddenly sprang to his feet, carrying a shrieking Sophia as the alpha begins to sing and dance along with Hilary Duff in the Roman colosseum while the omega follows along soon after in absolute gleeful laughter with all of earlier worries completely erased by the dorky antics of her alpha.

And as Lizzie was about to take her final pose on the stage, Harry slowly stops his awful dance moves in lieu of placing both his hands on the similarly happy-dazed Sophia who also halts her countless times better dance moves.

Both falling into a rabbit hole of green pools and blue gems, Harry blissfully utters,

“This is what my dreams are made of.”

*~*~*

Thinking back in hindsight, why did Harry instantly correlate Sophia’s question: ‘if courting is still something people did’, to rejection when it’s an entirely valid question on it’s own.

You might be wondering what this courting entails, yeah? Well Harry kind of is too. Now that might sound alarming, but no need to fear when we all know Harry’s strong stance on: ‘fuck the traditionalist alpha pricks!’ and yes, that was for you, Brian!

So knowing that courting has its roots from the traditionalist mindset of alphas and omegas in their society, Harry is certainly keen on creating his own, much inclusive and progressive idea of courting.

Ever since he was a young child, the concept of courting is something young, cherubic curls Harry had vowed to do for his future mate. Although even then, he had been against the notion of doing it for the sake of being macho and exhibiting all your manly traits to make an omega feel like they don’t have to do any single thing anymore because their alpha is there to take care of them.

That’s fucked up, Harry thought back then and still shares the same answer until today.

First of all, everyone is composed of both female and masculine traits. For an alpha to suppress one side of their being and only focus on the other, is simply not healthy when it’s a known life fact that ‘everything should be in moderation.’ The same saying goes with omegas finding their mates just to end up doing nothing and turn out to be spoiled people.

Relationships should be about honesty, openness, and being able to give and take from each other. If one is to use the traditional ways of courting, then Harry thinks it’s not a relationship they’re trying to build. Harry never wants to make his mate feel like they no longer have a right to be independent, and they must depend on Harry for everything since he’s the alpha in their relationship.

Thus, it was only logical for the alpha to formulate his very own much simple and inclusive blueprint to courting the kindest and prettiest omega ever known on this planet. Harry wants to show that showering his omega with gifts doesn’t have to come from the perspective of wanting to simply spoil and train them to rely for everything on the alpha. It must come from the alpha’s hard work making these courting gifts special for both people and not just a ‘means to an end’ of winning an omega’s answer.

The first step in Harry’s courting is to make sure that it’s not only Sophia that should experience the wooing of the alpha, but also the important people, or in Sophia’s case, the important animal in her life.

Since humans are much easier to understand and gauge the usual standards of what they find pleasing, Harry starts his courting by getting different flower arrangements sent to Sophia’s loved ones, aka: Fiona and John. No matter how simple the gesture might be, Harry absolutely loved John’s reaction of also receiving something.

“It’s a yes for me already, son.” John joyfully exclaimed in the FaceTime call Harry gets after Sophia’s parents have received the first arrangement of flowers delivered to them. The timing was honestly on point, John calls to thank Harry when the latter was currently finishing his early morning sketching in Sophia’s bakery.

And just for the record, Harry had obviously personally delivered the sweet omega baker’s own flower arrangement. Don’t tell Fiona and John, but the arrangement he got made for Sophia was a few quids more expensive than theirs.

“Dad!” Sophia squawked while Harry laughed beside her as they both watched for the nth time John waft the floral aromas of Harry’s little present. “You can’t say that because you’re not the one he’s really courting!”

John just shook his head in amusement at her daughter’s response, “Princess, why did you even require him to court you? The lad is basically gone for you ages ago, like the first time your mum and I met him ages ago.”

Harry chuckles at the honest question, nose scrunching in fondness at the pink flush that formed on Sophia’s face as the latter responded, “That’s not ages ago dad, please check your calendar.” and it was Harry’s turn to squawk a laugh at her cheeky answer, “Besides, I didn’t require him. H wanted to do the courting when I didn’t even know that the notion is still practiced.” The two share a smile of understanding at the memories implied in those last words.

And it’s true, Harry had been the one adamant with the courting. So adamant that he can’t believe he also got Tilly a toy as a courting gift.

Now Harry’s not stingy or anything, would gladly buy Tilly something if Sophia (or out of his secret cat-infatuated side of himself) had requested for him to do so. It’s just that this gift is a much more personal present to give.

The idea first came to Harry when he realized for the first time that the name of Sophia’s bakery, ‘The Hunny Pot’ was actually referenced from the iconic yellow bear who’s the only one that can rock a red crop top and nothing else. Apparently, baby Sophia had loved Winnie the Pooh, which she thinks has a lot to do with being exposed at an early age to anything that has relation to bees and honey. But either way, Sophia had grown-up still completely fond of the children’s character that she named her own baby bakery from Pooh's poorly spelled pot of honey.

Harry was blind-sided by that information for some reason, that added with Sophia’s relentless teasing that he’s a silly alpha for only realizing that the name of her bakery that he goes to every morning is from a classic story, Harry had found himself lost in a spiral of finding the perfect knitted stuffie of Pooh to give Sophia.

It’s really just out of pure lock that upon the numerous tabs of online stores that Harry has opened on his laptop, he finds one that’s selling knitted Piglet stuffies for cats. If that wasn’t a sign for Harry to buy his frenemy a gift, then he doesn’t care because he bought it regardless.

To be honest, Tilly didn’t even display any adverse reaction - well nothing out of the ordinary so an annoyed snarl is really nothing - when Harry had personally gifted her the Piglet stuffie. The grey furrball wasn’t even repulsed by his scent that’s enclosed within the knitted thread of the toy after Harry had scented it.

Her mother, on the other hand, had a vastly different reaction than her cat child.

Sophia had not placed the Pooh stuffie down anywhere that day Harry had first gifted it to her. It was always in her hold with the omega’s little button nose constantly buried on the soft material of the stuffie as she without a care in the world took handfuls upon handfuls of Harry’s scent from the stuffie.

“Bunny, this is one of your best ideas yet.” Sophia had firmly and sweetly told him while Harry giggling gave back the freshly scented Pooh stuffie back to the omegas arms.

It hadn’t been a full day since the alpha gave her the scented toy and Sophia had already come to his corner nook in the bakery asking to re-scent it. Harry was honestly astonished since personally scented materials usually hold it’s smell for a minimum of one week.

That was a rather successful first step in Harry’s courting which encouraged him to start with phase two of his courting blueprint.

The second item on his courting agenda is to bake Sophia her all-time favorite honey goodie: the classic corn muffin with honey butter.

Harry’s not shit at cooking, he’s pretty decent thanks to Anne who had forced him as a young child to help her around the kitchen. That’s why this isn’t really something that would be a means to show Sophia that he’d battle the hell-fires of cooking just for her. It’s more of, ‘When you’re tired or in need of help, you can call for me, your alpha, to make you your favorite honey goodie. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to make it for you all the time because you love cooking it yourself and I’d never take that away from you. I’m just doing this to show you that when you want, you have the option to trust me to make you something you like.’

Harry thinks it was a sound plan with an appropriate reasoning behind it. It didn’t even cause him any fuss when he bought his ingredients at the grocery near his place, nor was it difficult to take the long drive to Sophia’s parents house to get fresh honey from them. Don’t think Harry has forgotten the informative conversation Sophia had given him about deceiving honey brands that can be found on the shelves of commercial stores.

Wanting to really surprise the omega, Harry decided to wake-up at the crack of dawn that day, which says a lot since he already leaves his bed in the early hours of the morning on an ordinary day. But to be able to give Sophia the freshest corn muffin with honey butter with the most time she can have to enjoy it, Harry has to bake it at three AM since the bakery opens at six and the morning shift is the only shift that he can monopolize Sophia’s time.

With ‘Positions’ by Ariana Grande playing on his bluetooth speaker, Harry carefully glided across his kitchen to make these corn muffins. He definitely lacks the natural finesse that Sophia possessed when he watches her bake this, but Harry thinks he still does a mighty job by not cutting his fingers when he was knifing out the corn from its cob. Considering how clumsy he can be, and that it was fucking three AM in the morning and no one in his neighborhood is awake, having his fingers intact is a win for Harry.

What’s more of a win is that he’s honey butter didn’t melt from the not-so-short walk he did from his house to the cottage bakery. Jogging there would be much faster, but he was carrying precious cargo and he can’t risk tripping over nothing and seeing his corn muffins fall to the side of the street in a pathetic mess.

And thankfully, Sophia didn’t think his efforts on baking for her is anything near pathetic.

The omega had chortled a thorough sound of surprise, eyes almost falling off its sockets as she shockingly looked at the perfectly boxed eight corn muffins with the separate container for the honey butter which Harry even took the time to draw some bees on its label.

“Bunny, you didn't?!”

Harry smirked at her fixed state of surprise (pats on the back, pats on the back for you H!), winking as he replied, “But yes, I totally did.”

One second they were staring at each other in varying degrees of surprise and fond like two idiots who need more sleep. And then the next, Sophia was springing to Harry’s arms, the omega had clung to him like an adorable koala as she peppered his face with dozens upon dozens of kisses. Harry is quite biased with the strawberry flavor of her lip gloss, so the alpha takes his time to savor the kisses her lips directed towards his own because he’s already addicted to the sweetness of its taste and the plumpness of its shape.

Harry giggled out in Sophia’s lips when the latter had not shown any sign of stopping any time soon with her sweet assault towards his face, “Sunflower, the honey butter might melt.”

And with just that one utterance, Sophia was springing back out of Harry’s arms this time around and heading straight to the muffins. Her apparent excitement should have notified Harry that her first reaction upon taking that first bite of the corn muffins and honey butter that he made must be something more extra than what she had been currently displaying.

So truth be told, there was Harry trying his best not to pop any stiffy as Sophia had moaned with her head thrown back in her shoulder as she munched her first bite of the muffin.

“Heavenly, that’s absolutely heavenly, bunny!” Sophia complimented further, not making Harry’s situation any better as he feels his traitorous (and pitiful) dick chubbing up just a little bit on his skinnies as Sophia continues her heavenly sounds of appreciation for Harry’s baking.

Not wanting to ruin the moment for the omega, Harry decided to busy himself with preparing their cuppas because not only does he need a distraction from his unfortunate situation down south, but Sophia is certainly distracted and seems to be in a whole different world as she continues to eat Harry’s gift. Besides, Harry feels happy whenever he gets to prepare their morning cuppas no matter how simple the task may be, it shows that Sophia trusts him to go about his own way in her kitchen.

And that thought stopped right there for Harry because a new thing that he discovered during the period of their courting is that talking about trust, making the omega feel comfortable and safe, or anything remotely related to domesticity, gives the alpha love boners.

Does he need those right now? Preferably not.

While despite those hard parts (literally) in that second step of courting, Harry still thinks he did brill. That day ended with Sophia pouting at him as she told him off on why the alpha didn’t stop her when he noticed that before breakfast shift was even over, she already ate a total of six muffins.

“Now I only have two left and I don’t think that’s going to be enough to satisfy me.” Sophia whined which made Harry giggle at her adorable nature without even the need for her to try.

“Aren’t you going to bake the same corn muffins later? You can just eat some of those once you finish the one’s I made you.”

“It’s not the same!” Sophia groans almost frighteningly sounding like Tilly whenever the alpha scratches her back (progress!) just a little too much for her liking, “You’re forgetting the keywords, bunny: the once you made for me! The muffins later will not be baked by you.”

And because Harry thinks Sophia is smartly catching-up on the extent of his speech during that night in her cottage of his alpha already worshiping her omega, Sophia adds with a barely concealed sly smirk,

“Or are you?”

Let’s just say Harry can apparently substitute for Georgie or Sabrina when one of them can’t make it to the bakery.

Whipped, absolutely whipped like the third batch of honey butter Harry made that day.

For the third step in Harry’s agenda of courting, the idea was actually inspired by the omega herself without any prior explanation as to why the alpha did this third type of wooing.

Ever since that fateful and monumental night that Harry likes to call, ‘The night I finally understood for myself what dreams are made of as said by Hilary Duff, the queen herself.’ (which Sophia had reacted with, ‘hey now, hey now, you can’t seriously be serious, bunny?’) where the omega had shamelessly worn his used shirt for the remainder of their night which may or may not revolved around making-out with each other in their very romantic and cozy pillow fort, Sophia had expressed her liking for wearing Harry’s silk shirts in the confines of her own home.

Expressed as in: had asked for Harry to bring her some of his silk shirts that should be freshly scented by the alpha or it’s a no go for her.

Because his possessive nature has only been ignited further now that his courting Sophia, Harry dreamily nods to her request like a love-dazed puppy running back and forth fetching a damn stick waiting for a reward.

Harry’s reward came in the form of the blissful smile on Sophia's face the first time Harry had followed with his agreement to her request, sweetly confessing that she likes wearing his scent on her skin whenever she’s at home because it’s the only time they’re ever truly apart from each other.

Not wanting to overwhelm the omega, Harry really bit back from saying, ‘I’d move into your house in a heartbeat if you never want to be apart from my side again. Tilly can go scratch me all she wants but I don’t care as long as you’re always happy with me and not missing me.’

That response was without a doubt, going to overwhelm the timid omega. So Harry settles for the next best thing he can to show her he’s all for Sophia wanting a piece of him whenever and wherever she is.

Harry decided to gift Sophia with one of his silk shirts (the omega got all frowny with Harry when he had suggested to buy the omega her own brand new silk shirts but just in the alpha’s size) which the alpha tried his best to find the one that closely resembled the pastel yellow tone of her lovely bakery apron.

At first Harry didn’t know what special touch he could add to the silk shirt that would make it a courting appropriate present. He was in the middle of finalizing his sketch of the second piece for the new collection, the sheer dress now had it’s fine details of white hearts at the trimmings of the layered skirt area inspired by the omega’s loungewear that she wore ‘The night I finally understood for myself what dreams are made of as said by Hilary Duff, the queen herself.’ , when it hits Harry like a brilliant lighting bolt.

When Sophia first saw the stitching of ‘Styles’ Sunflower’ on the upper left part of the silk button-up shirt, she said: “Do I even want to know why?”

Her sassy remark makes Harry gasp dramatically from his standing position in front of Sophia who was sitting on her couch with her new courting present in her lap, “Excuse me? I made that all by myself and you’re giving me that sassy attitude? I’ll let you know everyone else with adequate knowledge about fashion would be shitting themselves now if they got a hand stitched, and freshly scented piece by Harry Styles himself!”

Sophia knew his highfalutin words are nothing but cheeky and joking so she laughed accordingly, her head thrown back to her shoulders. “Well I’m going to start shitting myself if you don’t stop acting like such an obnoxious alpha!”

“I didn’t even want to act that way but you provoked me by giving me such a sassy reaction!” Harry playfully bantered back.

Sophia giggled at the faux frown on Harry’s forehead and that pout strategically formed on his lips, “I couldn’t help myself. This is without a doubt, a very alpha-y thing for you to do. It’s like you're claiming me by giving me this shirt.”

“I don’t know if you haven’t noticed it yet but my ravenous appetite is not because I was compensating for not being able to eat when I was younger, it’s because I’m an alpha and it’s in my genetics to always be hungry, and apparently, having strong possessive and owning tendencies.”

Harry’s teasing earned him a classic eye-roll from the omega who had quipped back around a smirk of her own, “I didn’t say anything bad about it, or that I don’t like it. So there’s no need for you to tease me that hard.”

“So you do like it?” Harry couldn’t help but fish-out for more, especially when the omega not-so-discreetly began rubbing the soft fabric of Harry’s gift on her bare shoulders with her body adorned by a simple cream colored strappy vest.

Whatever cheekiness Sophia’s features may have contained earlier, it quickly disappeared upon the alpha’s question and was replaced by her usual soft tones, “Of course I like it, bunny,” an in a much quieter tone, “I’m sure you know that it’s also written in the biology of my secondary gender that I’m not exactly opposed to feelings of possessiveness.”

Peeking from underneath her lashes and wispy blonde bangs, Sophia focused directly on Harry’s own gaze with the alpha’s treasured blush gracing the omega’s dimpled cheeks.

“It’s in my biology to like to feel owned, and to be able to exert the same emotion to my mate by being in the other position of being the one doing the owning.”

Sophia’s vulnerable response was honest to god, like a breath of fresh air from Harry.

No matter how assured he is that their courting is very much consensual and no one is doing anything the other does not want to. It feels reassuring to hear from the person your courting that you’re not the only one who’s constantly naturally tapping in their innate and almost primitive and animalistic emotions.

It’s safe to say that after that exchange, Harry no longer feels guilt within him whenever he visibly preens in pride whenever Sophia wears one of his silk shirts in her cottage bakery. To his rapture, the omega even returns his preening every time she wears the specific pastel yellow shirt of his. The alpha bravely presses a gentle kiss on the stitched, ‘Styles’ Sunflower’ whispering afterwards in total reverence, “My omega sunflower.”

It’s quite a shame Sophia makes Harry preen harder every time she replies back in the same admiration, “You’re my alpha bunny too.”

So with all the open acts of preening and recognizing each other as their own, Harry had also made it his job to make sure that his omega sunflower is never cold.

Weeks of seeing the omega baker wearing his thin silk shirts in her bakery, Harry noticed the specific pattern every afternoon. Sophia returns from the back room no longer adorned by Harry’s shirt but was now wearing one of her pastel cardigans out of her vast collection of those soft and warming materials.

Harry doesn’t know what possessed him, but for the fourth item on his courting blueprint, the alpha finds himself knocking on the door of Sophia’s childhood home, Fiona greeting him brightly as she asked her fellow alpha if he had brought with him all the materials they needed for today’s session.

Because apparently, Harry was going to learn how to knit a cardigan for Sophia; plain and simple as that.

The alpha quickly learns that it's anything but that.

“Shitting hell,” Harry let out in frustration as his abnormally big alpha fingers failed to successfully curl the yarn on the rounded knitting needles.

Fiona chuckled from her position right in front of Harry, the two having decided to knit outside at the patio which Harry is now thankful for as the cool England air would be a good reprieve from his steadily growing heat of cuss words.

“I hate to break it to you love,” Fiona smiled at Harry with her own knitting work placed to a pause, “but you’re just at the very first step. Casting on is nothing to the knit and purl I’ll be teaching you in a while once you get your yarn on your needles.”

Harry should have taken that as a warning. But he was his regular stubborn and highly determined alpha so he didn’t see the clear out Fiona was trying to give him earlier.

By the time afternoon tea was brought to them by John, Harry was a downright crazed man who only knew the words, ‘knit, purl, knit, purl, knit, purl, knit, purl’ as his sore hands continued to do such. Harry was so lost in the notion that Fiona’s call for him to take a break resulted in him rudely brushing her off with a groan of ‘No! Knit, purl, knit, purl!’

Thank the heavens Fiona and John had only laughed at his impolite response, most probably aware of the deep alpha spiral Harry has found himself in for the purpose of arduously finishing something that his omega needs, the feeling familiar to them being alphas themselves.

Harry fortunately got his bearings back and apologized profusely to the mother of the omega she was courting for his highly impolite behavior. But true to the carefree nature of Fiona, the female alpha just pushed Harry’s cuppa into his direction telling him to give his hands a break and fill his stomach with some biscuits before Sophia comes knocking on the door ready to berate her and John for not feeding Harry properly, regardless if they’re her parents.

Harry shook his head in a giggle after he took a relieving sip of his afternoon tea, “I don’t think she has a mean bone in her body, Fiona.”

Fiona hummed around her own cuppa, gave the younger alpha a knowing look, “Not saying she was going to have a talk with John and I from a mean perspective. It’s more out of an overprotective, innately caring, loving bone?”

And Harry could go behind that.

Could certainly believe without a doubt that it was from said ‘loving bone’ that Sophia had strongly chastised Harry when he had finally gifted the omega the finished baby pink cardigan that thankfully, actually resembled and functioned as one, no matter the countless mistakes Harry had encountered while making it.

“You didn’t have to do this, bunny.” Sophia for the nth time repeated with the unmoving frown still etched on her pretty face, her tone laced heavily with concern, “Look at how bruised and sore your hands are!”

Harry doesn’t even have to look down to have a clear picture (and clear feeling) of how poorly and unfortunate his hands look right now. Doing the casting on, the knit and purl crazy unending loop, casting off, seaming all the separate pieces together, and meticulously doing the final touches to the cardigan, has deeply ingrained in Harry that no matter the throbbing pain he was feeling, it didn’t matter and did not compare to the burning need Harry had to be able to provide warmth for his omega.

So Sophia’s words of reproach that he knows stems from her concern for him, did not ruin the alpha’s ecstatic mood for not only being successful in doing his first (and fucking last) knitting piece, but that too of not making a fool of himself in front of the omega. Nothing stopped Harry from reaching out his aching hands to pick the discarded baby pink cardigan as he held it up for Sophia to try on.

With a cheeky smile, Harry wiggled his eyebrows up and down in a ridiculous nature, wanting the omega to break-free from her worried aura and change to that beautiful, sunshine energy of hers.

“Sunflower, come on,” Harry coaxed, “Come try my newest creation? For me, please?”

Sophia sighed, coming to Harry’s space to indulge his kind request, though not completely out of her worried state just yet as she verbally confirmed it with a pout present, “I’m still upset that you work yourself so hard without needing to. I have a collection of cardigans to begin with, bunny.”

“But you don’t have one made by the Harry Styles,” Harry proudly said, gently fixing the fit of the cardigan on Sophia’s petite form, “and don’t get too cocky about the fact that you’re the only one that has a knitted cardigan by the Harry Styles.”

That made Sophia snort an unattractive sound, “I don’t think I should be the one getting worried about being cocky, the Harry Styles.”

Harry just gave her a cheeky smile, pinching Sophia’s round cheeks, “You love it, now go give me a twirl in your new lovely cardigan.”

And because it’s a courting gift after all, and that Sophia actually lights-up in whatever piece of cardigan she sees, the sweet giggling omega does a few twirls for Harry in the middle of her living room floor.

“Wooh!” Harry exaggeratedly hoots, “So ravishing, so graceful looking, bloody bewitching that cardigan looks on you, sunflower!”

So bewitching in fact that the omega has somehow put a spell on Harry as he found himself making other things for her. This time around, it’s in the form of various honey bath products for his fifth courting matter of business.

“Harry, I swear to god do not remove those rubber gloves cause you’re going to infect these bath products with your germs.” Anne scolded him.

Earlier it made sense that Harry goes knocking on his mother’s door, this time to ask for her help since she is an enthusiast for such honey skincare products. But now he’s kind of having serious second thoughts about that since it’s the fourth consecutive time she had called him out.

“Mum, we all have germs.” Harry shook his head but agrees nonetheless, molding the bar of honey soap with the fucking gloves on as he watched it slip from his hold again because the fucking gloves are not helping.

“Not lovely and pure, sweet Soph,” Anne corrected him in confidence, “That kind omega is simply exquisite that there’s no way she has any single smidge of germs on her.”

Harry realized that he could get all the telling-off from his mother over the simplest things, as long as he gets to continue listening to his lovely mother talking his ears-off about how simply exquisite his omega is.

In Harry’s opinion, making these assortment of honey bath products was much easier than knitting a cardigan. Fashion and sewing might be a strong suit of his, but concocting these cleansing and soothing products as he harnessed his inner science geek, Harry was not worried for the well-being of his hands. Don’t tell Anne but the gloves definitely went past the purpose of getting the products contaminated with his germs, but it also protected Harry’s ringed fingers from any more bruising.

Sophia would surely give him her own telling-off if Harry impedes on the progress of his healing hands. Sophia had been religiously lathering his sore hands with aloe vera every morning that he arrives at the bakery, and every evening when he leaves.

Speaking of the sweet and hardworking omega baker, Harry was unsure if it was a fortunate or unfortunate chance that Sophia happened to be bone-tired when Harry had planned to give her his last courting present. Though no matter the answer, Harry made it his mission to give his amazing and diligent omega the ultimate relaxing experience with his personally crafted honey bath products.

Because Sophia had been busy at the bakery, Harry was successfully able to ask for a spare key to her cottage home in the guise of leaving the bakery earlier than usual so he could head straight to Sophia’s home kitchen and cook them some dinner. Never one to decline any of his cooking offers especially when she’s already too tired to do it herself, Sophia lovingly kissed him on the lips and whispered her kind request of wanting pasta carbonara with bits of honeyed bacon into it.

Harry was never capable of denying anything the omega wants. So after sprucing-up Sophia’s bathroom with a scattering of tea light candles around the space, not forgetting scented candles and just a good amount of rose petals thrown aesthetically without it being a pain in the arse to clean up later, the alpha proceeded to slave-away in the kitchen to make Sophia her requested dinner.

With their ankles twirled around each other under the table, Harry began his pampering of Sophia as he busied himself feeding the both of them with one fork and plate for two, the glass of water never far away from his reach whenever Sophia needed a sip. The omega positively preening at all of Harry’s attention, probably thought this was part of his courting agenda. It technically wasn’t, but Harry would not cut himself short and by boxing himself in this courting blueprint when he just naturally wants to dote on her in whatever simple or extravagant means he can manage.

“I’m just going to go shower,” Sophia said, “but you can stay in my room bunny while I’m getting ready for our movie night.”

“Sure, love.” Harry replied simply, not wanting to show his real excitement of what’s waiting for Sophia in her bathroom, “I’ll go get settled in your room while flicking through NetFlix to pick what movie we can watch, Any requests for tonight’s movie, sunflower?”

Sophia smiled at him with gratefulness seeping all over her tired features, “None really. I already chose our dinner, which was absolutely brill, by the way.” she winked and then giggled at the chuckling alpha, “I think it’s only right you go pick our movie.”

Harry whistled at her response, “That’s a very dangerous thing to let out, sunflower. What if I chose a scary movie?”

“I don’t think you will, bunny,” Sophia eagerly replied in a tone of obvious conviction, Harry waits at the edge of Sophia’s bed where he was sitting in great anticipation when the omega had turned around to open the door of her bathroom, “you’re just going to scare yourself a- OHMYGOD!”

And she went ahead to scare herself when she saw Harry’s surprise waiting inside for her ensuite. Harry couldn’t reel-in the amused smirk setting free on his face when Sophia quickly turned around to face the alpha with her ocean blues wide and open like an actual vast ocean on the beach, little pink mouth parted all shocked and pretty.

“Bunny, what’s this?” she wildly motioned with her hands towards her bathroom that was currently basking in the warm glow of the lit tea lights.

Harry raised his both arms up as he shrugged his shoulders with his head pointed towards his right shoulder in a cute tilt, “Surprise?”

“What do you mean?” Sophia asked in pure puzzlement, “Wasn’t dinner a surprise already?”

“Can I not have two surprises for the omega I’m courting?”

“Why do you have to be so sweet and so thoughtful?”

“Why are we having a conversation with questions?” Harry laughed.

Sophia laughed heartily along with him and replied, “I don’t know, because you just did such a good job shocking your omega with two surprises in one night?”

That made Harry’s smile turn soft, “Sunflower, this conversation will just go on and on cause you know I never back down in any banter of ours. But, I think you should really enjoy my actual surprise for tonight. That dinner awhile ago wasn’t really part of my courting plan but I’m really grateful that you appreciated it nonetheless.”

“I always appreciate whatever you do for me,” Sophia said with her head tilted in that cute way Harry loves as they stared at each other with an absolute dreamy tint in their eyes.

“I know, I feel it.” Harry giggled, “I also know that you should go take a bath already and use the honey bath products mum and I made.”

The alpha reached below the omega’s bed to retrieve the wicker basket that contained the little arrangement of his honey goodies: honey bar soap, honey bubble bath, honey face mask, and honey shampoo. He placed the basket on his lap and shared to Sophia what each product was, cheekily remarking that if she wanted to know what the benefits of each product were that went beyond just cleaning your body, then Sophia should just ring Anne to get those information because Harry can’t be bothered to remember the difference between the antioxidant and antibacterial properties of honey.

“I do recommend you use every single product in conjunction with each other to achieve the ultimate honey relaxing experience.” Harry offered a silent Sophia who had remained stock-still in her position outside her opened bathroom door, dreamy gaze directed at the alpha.

Before Harry could have risen up to give her the wicker basket containing all the products, Sophia stops him from even moving a muscle at her question.

“Will you join me in the bath while testing these honey goodies?”

Harry felt his face mimic the raging blush that bloomed on Sophia’s cheek after asking such a forward question.

‘What is it with this innocent and darling of an omega always trying to make me burst out an artery from all her very genuine but brazen-faced questions’, Harry asked his muddled brain that was filled with nothing but a never-ending loop of the omega’s question.

And because Harry has already had the wonderful taste of what happens when one stops faffing around in life, the alpha says ‘fuck it.’ in his head as he nodded an approval to Sophia’s question. The omega let out a pleased sound that’s near to her usual purr of utter contentment as Harry stood-up from his sitting position and made the short way to be directly in front of the omega.

With one arm holding the wicker basket, Harry used his free hand to put gentle fingers on Sophia’s chin as the alpha carefully raised her downturned head for her to be able to look directly into Harry’s eyes as he spoke.

“Are you sure this is what you want, sunflower?” Harry softly whispered in the quiet of the room.

When the omega just kept her gaze unmoving on his eyes without any concrete reply, Harry began to reassure her, “You don’t have to invite me with you in the bath if you’re uncomfortable about it. I’m not expecting anything in return from my gifts for you, and I just want you to enjoy them without worrying that I need some sort of retribution; just want my omega to be happy and comfortable.”

Sophia breathed out a deep breath after that, gentle hand moved to cradle Harry’s hold on her chin as she transferred it to cup her full cheek, eyes filled with a sense of sureness, Sophia replied, “I want you to join me. Not because I feel like I owe you or something, I just know it would make me really happy and really comfortable if you join me in the bath tonight.”

What can Harry do when the omega had basically used his own words against him? Nothing but to comply is what he found himself doing.

“Okay,” Harry simply replied with a smile of relief, while it also fully dawned on him what was about to happen, including the technicalities and possible implications behind it, “But I kind of didn’t bring any swimming trunks with me to wear because this was the last of the things I’ve expected happening tonight.”

His slightly awkward giggling resulted in a confused look on Sophia’s face, “What’s the swimming trunks for?”

More awkward giggling at that, Harry hating the way his face was flushed in deep pink just from the innocent question of the omega, “Um, like..I need it because we’re going to be inside the same bathtub? And like..I didn’t want to assume that we’re going to do it like..completely bare and naked?”

“Oh.” Sophia rapidly blinked at him when it also registered within her, cotton candy pink blush on her cheeks have evolved to a firetruck red if Harry wanted to be more specific, “Yeah, your question totally made sense.” she giggled sheepishly with her eyes having a hard time to meet Harry’s own.

“It’s totally fine if my lack of swimming trunks changes your resolve about this an-”

“No.” Sophia swiftly interrupted him, blue eyes back with its determined glint staring Harry down to his soul, “No, my answer is still the same. We’ll just get in the tub together with both our undergarments on, I’m good and comfortable with that.”

Despite the deep blush that remained on the omega’s face, Harry didn’t dare question Sophia’s ardent statement. Instead, Harry motioned his arm for the omega to do the honors of entering the bathroom first with a smile of reassurance thrown her way. The nerves that the alpha was feeling rise-up his system, was greatly soothed when Sophia returned his soft smile with the same tone of reassurance and that everything was a green light for her.

The burning scented candles enveloped the room with the aroma of calmness which Harry kept breathing in as he waited for the tub to be filled with warm water, the container of honey bubble bath waiting in his hand. He could hear Sophia shuffling behind him, trying to steady his still present nerves by breathing in more artificial calming smells from the candle as to distract himself from the omega that was most probably undressing herself from her dainty work clothes and leaving only her undergarments on.

Harry could definitely keep his cool, should definitely keep his cool because if he undresses later and the first thing Sophia saw was his hard-on, then the innocent thing might actually go running for the hills because she hasn’t even done anything and Harry already has a ‘few strokes in and ready to pop a knot’ type of stiffy.

Harry sighed a deep breath as he filled the tub with a good amount of the honey bubble bath, knowing that he can’t stall time and gather his wits to make his body react in a not-so sexual way from the prospect of seeing Sophia barely covered in clothing. Just to kick things off, it was only proper in Harry’s mind that he also undressed while not facing Sophia, so as to not overwhelm her.

Slowly, he removed every piece of today’s clothing away from his skin, folded it neatly and placed it on one of the surfaces in Sophia’s bathroom where it won’t get wet.

Left with only his black briefs on his lower half, Harry doesn’t want to seem like an idiot to the all-too quiet omega and keep standing with his back facing her just because he doesn’t want her to see such a natural biological reaction in his down south area.

As Harry likes to say in situations like this, “Fuck it.”

Harry turned around and was hit everywhere by Sophia’s ethereal beauty like it’s the first time he’s seeing her all over again. And in some ways that is true, it’s the first time Harry has seen the sweet omega baker in only her soft sage green matching little panties and bra.

It should be a shame that as a renowned lingerie designer like himself, Harry has seen enough people in their fucking underwear for his chosen career that could allow him to pin-point and explain what’s working and what’s not.

But when it came to that moment that his eyes lingered on the timid tilt of Sophia’s head, arms crossed behind her back in a nervous display, shoulders slightly hunched-up pushing her supple and perfectly weighted looking breasts more gorgeously in the confines of her bra, green eyes trailed down at the cute and small pudge of her soft looking stomach, gaze further dipped down to her curvaceous hips and tiny little panties perfectly guarding her utmost sweet innocence away from Harry’s wandering lucky eyes, all the alpha could utter in a tone of unbridled wonder was one word.

“Beautiful.”

He didn’t even rack his brain for any synonyms for such a common word and yet the timid omega standing just a few feet away from him, actually purred and preened in contentment at his simple and highly unoriginal utterance.

“Bunny..” Sophia trailed off in a breathless whisper, goosebumps rose on Harry’s skin without even having touched the soft ivory skin of the omega on his own.

“Omega, come here, please.” Harry gently directed the dreamy dazed Sophia with his hands finally connecting lightly with the skin of her arm and waist, as the alpha helped his omega to step inside the bath.

“Careful, my omega sunflower.” Harry said, giving Sophia time to position herself comfortably around the mass of bubbling, honey fragrant water.

Sophia whipped her head backwards to look at Harry, a little pout formed on her pink lips, “Alpha, join me here, please, bunny. Settle on my back, please.”

The undeniable tone of need laced around her kind and polite words, absolutely rumbled at Harry’s chest in an outright mess of pleased and aroused emotions.

The alpha languidly complied to Sophia’s request, every single notion of ‘fuck it’ he let out in his head as he found his way on Sophia’s back inside the bathtub, no longer giving a single fuck if Sophia feels his hard cock straining his briefs on the dimples of her back when he gathers her whole form in his arms in a tight embrace.

Let her feel it, he concluded within himself. This was him wanting to be open for his omega, this was his alpha surrendering and being vulnerable for his sunflower omega.

With Harry’s back resting at the edge of the tub, arms wounded tightly around Sophia’s stomach with his big paws mindlessly caressing the bare skin of her thighs, up to her arms and collarbones, the omega was completely pliant from head to to with her full back pressed perfectly on Harry’s bare and strong torso.

Sophia’s own dainty fingers began exploring and mapping around every visible patch of skin of Harry’s. It almost felt tickling as Sophia’s soft touches glided to every nook and cranny of his exposed body, all for her taking. The alpha allowed her to rest her face sidewards on his collarbones to nose along his defined jawline and drop kisses wherever she pleased.

It didn’t take that long for the two to find their respective scent glands and began keenly scenting one another, taking little breaks for their lips to meet in the middle.

They let themselves get drunk in each other’s comforting scents, lose themselves in their passionate little kisses, licks, nips, and suckles, submitted to the grounding feeling of their unrelenting hold, touch, caress on each other’s skins gave them, and the tranquility of their current atmosphere in the warmly lit bathroom, has added to their perfectly addicting energies.

If Harry forgot the rest of his courting gifts because of all that consuming emotions mentioned above,

Fuck it.

[myrulia]

"You two are dating?" - Michikatsu x Reader

SECRET DATING HEADCANONS

COLLAB

.｡.:*✧Synopsis: You and Michikatsu are secretly dating in college, mainly to not attract attention from both his brother and a certain horny friend of his. How will you react when you are caught?

.｡.:*✧Warnings: Small smut

.｡.:*✧[A/N]: This is my part of the Secret/Fake dating collab by @httptamaki, a Modern!AU with our favorite Kimetsu No Yaiba twins!

➢ How you two started dating? Well you met back in High School and that’s where things started to prosper

➢ Michikatsu was a generally well known man with your classmates, and even had a few girls crushing on him and his twin brother, Yoriichi, due to their scarily good looks

➢ Both twins were scarily attractive and that intimidated you at first, especially during high school

`` Have you seen the Tsugikuni brothers today?! They look so good! I tried asking Yoriichi out today but his attention was else where! `` You were off somewhere in the corner of a class, speaking with a close friend of yours about something completely unrelated until all eyes were on you, for Michikatsu Tsugikuni approached you.

➢ Obviously, you were surprised - no, appalled at how a Tsugikuni wanted your attention

➢ That was the day he confessed his own little crush on you whilst being on the roof of the school. How could you not accept? You also had taken a liking to the attractive raven haired male and saying no would be similar to jumping off the same roof where you admitted your feelings

➢ That's when worry set in

➢ All types of girls, boys, and theys liked them both, and constantly thirsted over the two while claiming "they're mine!" It was immature to say the least, but entertaining to see their feelings not get reciprocated from one of them

`` What if by saying we are together, they would start attacking me on purpose? Or saying hurtful things out of spite? `` You inquired with worry laced in your tone. Michikatsu took your hand in his, expressing his own idea. `` I know this might not seem like the best idea, but we do not have to openly tell people we are together, it can be our secret. ``

➢ And that's how your secret relationship started

➢ Of course, you had your worries, but seeing as how your relationship even made it to college due to it starting in your senior year of high school, they all simply washed away

➢ It was actually not as hard as you made it out to be to hide your relationship. During your first year of college, you knew not to act too close, but instead as acquaintances who simply knew each other back in high school

➢ Yet, even though some females who also went to high school with you recognized you as the girl who got asked out by Michikatsu, they did not cause any problems surprisingly enough

➢ Now, you're probably asking how you got caught? Oh boy...

➢ During your second year of college, Yoriichi and Michikatsu started living off campus in their own home that you were excited to learn of from your lover who happily shared the news to you when you both were alone in your dorm

➢ Around that same time, Professor Muzan Kibutsuji, the one teacher you loath the most for always favoring other students and failing to hide it, assigned a group project of 5 for your classroom, and to your luck, you were put in a group with not only the twins, but Douma and Shinobu

➢ You were friends with Shinobu, but not so much with Douma. The male would constantly tease you, trying to get your number at any given second while you were put together at a different table to brainstorm ideas for said project

`` Sooo..~ What are we doing for the project hm? Maybe we should exchange numbers so that we can converse more afterwards. `` Douma's suggestion did not go unnoticed by everyone, who automatically knew what he meant by the wink he directed in your attention. Shinobu, who thankfully also hated the male, slapped him silly upside his head.

➢ Michikatsu, who absolutely despised him, always struggled to hide a specific vein that would pulse on his neck that hinted clear signs of aggravation, but unfortunately, you two were just not ready to openly express your relationship

➢ After the class and the slap hurricane Shinobu laid upon Douma, Yoriichi invited the group to their house, and you being excited that you could finally come over, said yes a little too quickly

➢ Thankfully, it did go unnoticed by everyone, so your nerves were relaxed

`` I'd love to, but I have plans with a special lady that weekend, so unfortunately I cannot make it, maybe Shinobu ca- `` ``I cannot make it either, but [Y/N] can and she'll text me the ideas anyways, have fun, `` was all the biology major female said before turning on her heel and leaving swiftly.

➢ Now having plans set in motion, you waited patiently for the weekend to arrive, and when it did, you were beyond ecstatic

➢ That's where everything went down hill

➢ Thanks to the directions messaged to you by Michikatsu, you made it to their estate with no issues. You were nervous and excited at the same time. It was impossible to not feel such ways when this is the first official time you would be in the private space of your boyfriend

➢ He had also given you a key to entering was not a problem, but what you did not expect to see was your boyfriend standing there and waiting for you

`` Yoriichi isn't going to be home this evening, so I figured we could come up with our own project instead, `` Michikatsu said with a fire ablaze in his eyes as he grew closer to you. The gaze itself caused shivers to emit from your spine once your brain registered at what he was suggesting, and you could not lie, the idea had you wet already.

➢ Obviously you and the raven haired male had slept together a plethora amount of times before, most times leaving you sore and having to suck it up and pretend nothing happened during classes while he sat proudly knowing he was the reason

➢ In a matter of seconds you both are now in his bedroom, you beneath him and him leaving butterfly kisses up and down your neck until his lips latch onto yours again, all the while getting you undressed

➢ Let's skip a little ahead because you know what happens here ;)

➢ By time Michikatsu is already balls deep within your wet depths and thrusting into you like no tomorrow, Yoriichi entered around that time with confusion plastered on his face upon hearing banging against a wall as well as another noise he could not quite decipher

➢ The confused twin trailed up the stairs until he knocked onto Michikatsu's room door, expecting an answer but instead all he heard was an audible moan of his brother's name

➢ The poor look on his face once he learns what his brother and his girlfriend is doing

➢ At that point he is fed up of being overheard so he bursts into the room, although he did not think the entire plan through because now he got the open sight of you having your legs wrapped around Michikatsu's waist, his hands interlocked with yours, as well as the evident sight of both your naked and sweaty bodies

➢ Needless to say, he was traumatized

`` Get out and knock!, `` your lover would say as he throws a pillow at the swiftfully exiting male who looked beyond apologetic. `` I did knock! You were too loud! `` At that point you were beyond red, trying to process the entire situation that just unfolded. Your relationship had finally been known.

➢ Michikatsu immediately pulled out of you, cleaning the both of your bodies of any mess (mainly cum and sweat but shh)

➢ Once you both were clean and fully dressed, your boyfriend carried you bridal style out of his bedroom to a certain twin brother that was waiting impatiently in the living room for an explanation as to why he just saw his partner and twin sleeping together

➢ Now, as the three of you were sitting in the living room, you and your lover being even redder than tomatoes, waited for whatever Yoriichi had to say

`` Now, I do not mind if two consenting adults are having one night stands, but can you explain to me as to why you decided to have such loud sex? `` You completely flushed at his explicit words, but also thankful for the fact that he was utterly clueless about your relationship, although it was about time to come clean. `` Yoriichi, I am sorry you had to come home and see that, but there is something we need to tell you..- `` `` You two are dating? ``

➢ Now at that point, you fully died

➢ Seeing as how you have been silent the entire time and left Michikatsu to say everything, you decided to speak up

`` Yes we're together Yoriichi. We have been together for a long time, since high school actually. We've been in a relationship since then and I apologize for not saying anything. ``

➢ Now that the news was out to the one who deserved to know the most, he was much more understanding and even excited about his older brother finding the love of his life

➢ But the next day, things were real embarrassing

➢ You and Michikatsu were extremely silent at your group table during Professor Kibutsuji's class. Obviously Shinobu's observant self took note of this, along with how you did not send her any of the "ideas" you came up with

➢ Shinobu, Douma, and Yoriichi all stared at the two of you, who were now sitting beside each other and being reddened messes at the news you are about to drop on the observers who were starting to get impatient

➢ You've been secretly dating for years and now that the truth is about to come out, it felt gut wrenching to say the least

`` My brother and [Y/N] have something they'd like to say, `` Yoriichi started so that the topic could get a move on and everyone could get a good grade by getting it over with and working on the project. `` Well..- `` said Michikatsu. `` [Y/N] and I are together, and we have been since high school. We were in a secret relationship. ``

➢ Douma being the fucker he is definitely busted out laughing, holding his stomach as tears formed in his eyes

➢ Shinobu on the other hand stared wide eyed, refusing to believe that she could not realize you both were together for such a long time

➢ Although Yoriichi had a proud smile on his face in view of the fact that the news was already out

➢ But due to the prying ears of many around you, some began staring at your table, the secret was now out and you couldn't do anything about it

➢ Even though, you both were happy knowing you no longer had to hide the happiness you two brought each other, as well as now Michikatsu does not have to worry about Yoriichi anymore, for now he will fuck you if he feels like it, give you attention if he feels like it, and get attention himself if he feels like it.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

[letterstomonkey]

I Took My Sadness Too Far

I think I took my sadness too far.

Every time I arrive at family gatherings,

I am haunted by pitiful gazes of relatives who have read only

The worst scraps of my story,

As if I am the rescue dog of this family and

They have done me a great favor

By letting me pretend to blend in

Paying for pills and therapists

Typing lengthy paragraphs of

Encouraging birthday texts about

How I have better things ahead next year,

But my siblings and my cousins only receive

A simple “Happy birthday”;

I think I took my sadness too far.

Every cat scratch on my arms

Raises concerned eyebrows from my friends

And I cannot remember the last time I had a teacher,

Coach,

Or counselor

Who did not single

Me

Out from the crowd of people they are responsible for-

Because they all know I am the 

One to be worried about,

The flight risk,

The Doctor’s notes of special needs,

A list longer than a CVS receipt;

I think I took my sadness too far.

The lady I have gone to every so often since I was a little girl

Who seldom makes eye contact

In silence as she paints my nails

Became unnervingly

Nice

To me all of a sudden,

Every time I visited,

Unrelenting compliments and curious conversation-

Until I remembered the fresh scars

On my left hand

That I had grown used to,

Right before her gaze,

Purple lines raised 

She instantly knew;

I think I took my sadness too far.

It chokes me

How everybody knows me

For this one characteristic

Of my existence,

Forgetting to acknowledge my 

Real accomplishments

As they dramatize the smallest ones,

Making sure I know full well that they are 

So ecstatic 

I am alive, still;

I think I took my sadness too far.

I am not ashamed

Lord, I never have been

I write lyrics out of watercolors

Blended by my teardrops,

Stunning displays of depression

Taking place

From a mind-blowing young age,

But these people in my life only

See my art as a 

Cause for concern,

A reason to schedule another therapy appointment,

Remove the razors from my bathroom,

Coming over without permission

If I ignore their calls and texts for too long;

I think I took my sadness too far.

I watched it become my identity

When I learned I will never be allowed to 

Buy a gun in my country

Because I forfeited my right to such

When I lost control, escorted out in grippy socks

Banging the walls of the brinks truck

Begging to be let up for air

But I would not listen to the crazy girl either-

How does one lose control so young?

They all asked me out loud

I did not have much of a desire to explain 

How I was the litter of the population’s most 

Unsightly runt,

Burned from her exploded car, so

I answered them as the last light

Escaped from my eyes;

I think I took my sadness too far.

I could have screwed dead bolts in every door

Locking my thoughts and keeping the demons out

And maybe I wouldn’t be here

If I had just played outside more

Or covered my ears when they screamed

Instead of pressing against the door to listen,

And I should have never started writing

The sadness into pages

Turning them into entire chapters

Of a book that will never be published

Because nobody else likes to live in 

Depression,

Soaking in it’s familiarity,

For an entire childhood turned to

Adulthood

Letting my bones marinate in the trauma that

Wakes me up with tense, heavy shoulders-

By now, this could have all been over;

I think I took my sadness too far.

[writingsbychlo]

smoke and fire (13)

word count; 14,463

summary; in the aftermath of an unusual rescue, some big revelations come to pass.

notes; y’all are gonna hate me but love me.

warnings; descriptive gore, gun use, reference to death, violence, gang activity, reference to drug use, reference to arson, reference to house fires, main character injury.

It was a known fact that it took three whole seconds in the morning before you could process where you were, and remember anything other than your own name.

That first second was spent in a quickly disseminated state of serenity. Your head wasn’t yet hurting, and you eased back into consciousness with a slow start, the darkness surrounding you oddly reminiscent, but the chilling cold and the damp was less so.

The second was when panic rushed through your system.  Your throat felt blocked as you came back to consciousness, the pain in your head came crashing back over you like a crushing tidal wave, the blood rushing on your head as coughs racked your body, trying to take a deeper breath, and panic filled you.

The third second made you roll onto your side, spluttering a little as pain throbbed behind your eyes and your head was spinning, making you feel like you were falling for just a second, before your nails were scraping at the material underneath you as you tried to sit up, everything along your body screaming out in agony and almost giving out with your weakness. It wasn’t soft cotton like your sheets, it was gritty like stone, tearing at your nails.

And then, you remembered.

You remembered exactly where you were, and what had happened, and why you were here. Well, that part was still a little fuzzy, you’d never really been given a reason. The pain in your body made sense, the dull throbbing in one eardrum more than the other and the shock of residual adrenaline left in your sore body that was beginning to make a resurgence in your fear, and you forced yourself to take a deep breath.

The familiar burn of tears in your throat as a lump formed and the stinging of salt in your eyes as they threatened to fall, and then you found the strength to sit up, to blink and clear dust-filled eyes a little more, before wiping a hand over your face to get rid of it all. There wasn’t much light where you were, but there was a clear spot of musty-yellow lighting in the centre of the room, your body curled in the corner, dumped in uncomfortable positions that made your legs ache, and there was a figure you recognised leaning over the table.

Covered in blood, frantic, brown eyes fixed on you that glittered under the low light, you swallowed thickly.

“Nice of you to join us, sleeping beauty. Think ya’ can come give me a hand over here?” Your brows furrowed, still trying to piece the puzzle together, but then there was a clicking that made you jump unnecessarily violently in fear, the memory of the last time you’d heard it flashing behind your eyes like a scene from a movie. Newt was panicked, but clearly trying to stay calm, his eyes widening just a fraction in a messaged for only you to hear, and despite the pain you felt, you forced yourself to your feet.

Your bag was weighing you down, medical supplies rattling, and you stumbled on feet that you could barely feel until your hands were braced on the edge of the table, and you could see what was going on a little better.

A gunshot victim, at least four bullet wounds, two packed with gauze that was rapidly soaking through as Newt had pressure on two others; swapping between them frantically if the pile of blood-sodden gauze on the floor was anything to go by. You assumed from the recognisable tattoo on the other half of this mans face too that he was a part of whatever gang this was, and clearly, an important member if they were willing to commit these kinds of crimes to save his life.

“You got more gauze, ‘cus I’m running out, and I could use your help getting him fixed up before we both end up looking like him.”

His words were low and whispered, and you gaped as you stared at the man. “This guy needs a hospital, and a team of professional medical surgeons. Like, Derek! Or, Dr Lahey! We aren’t trained for this!”

“Yeah, well, we’re all he's got.” Newt huffed, a spit of blood leaving the unnamed man’s body between Newt’s gloved fingers as he tried to shift his weight, a whispered curse from his lips as he tried to stop the flow again.

You nodded, swallowing thickly and squeezing your eyes shut in a desperate attempt to quell the pain bouncing around the inside of your skull. You assessment the scene, noting the Newt really hadn't been able to do much, and thankfully, if the change in the daylight outside was anything to go by then you had only been out for an hour or so, maybe a little longer, light still coming in between the cracks in the boarded-up windows.

The man in the corner was slumped in his chair, gun sitting beside him on the table, and your heart was racing so fast that the headache you sported was only getting worse. Your voice felt raw and hoarse as you tried to speak on it, squeaking and cracking the first time you tried to speak in anything above a whisper.

“We’re gonna’ need some water over here, boiled if you can to stop an infection, but even just bottled water would do at this point.” The man sitting on the chair stopped his rocking, the groaning of the seat against the concrete pausing, and you jumped as the front two legs slammed back down onto the floor. He stared at you for a moment, analysing you, before giving in, wandering over to the door and undoing a heavy deadbolt to open it up, never turning his back to the two of you and keeping his gaze locked with yours before throwing a demand for bottled water over his shoulder.

There was scuffling, various sounds of movement on the other side and you assumed there would be multiple people, before the door was closing once again, and the grating sound of metal was making itself knowing again in such a piercing scream along the lock that you shivered, wincing at the chill it gave you, stomach twisting.

“All right, this is a fucking mess.”

“You don’t say, love.” Newt grunted, a soft laugh falling from him as you opened up your bag, hands shaking as you tore it roughly, the zip ricocheting along its tracks to expose the contents to you. A fresh pair of gloves, and two of the strongest painkillers you could find that you forced yourself to choke down dry, and then you were attempting to focus.

Your scissors came first, chopping around Newt’s hands as best you could to remove the sodden clothing that covered his body to expose blood-smeared and frayed skin, torn from bullet wounds and bruised from the bleeding under the skin. Pushing the fabric aside, Newt pressed down a piece of gauze that was turning redder from pink by the moment, no white left on it, and the colour of his skin was beginning to turn sickly pale.

Grabbing for your flashlight, you noticed it was gone, left nowhere on your bag and missing from your person, patting down every pocket, before your partner simply huffed. “I wanted to do a trauma exam, except my torch is on my keys, too, and they took those a while ago because they have things that could be used as a weapon on them.”

“What, like my star-shaped plushie keyring?”

“Apparently.” You rolled your eyes, reaching a hand up to the lamp overhead, and tapping your fingers against the metal, hissing at the heat building up along the cover of the lamp, but deciding it would have to do. It wasn’t ideal, and it wouldn't give results all that accurate, but if there wasn’t any functioning or reaction at all, then there was no point in doing this at all, because the bleeding in his torso wouldn’t be the bleeding that would kill him.

Grabbing onto the stem instead, you covered his eyes with one hand, adjusting the lamp to sit a little differently, holding it over his head. Moving your hand back quickly, you lifted his eyelid, his pupil sluggish in his movements, but there was definitely a reaction, and you let out a little breath of relief. One more thing you could deal with. Checking the other eye, just to be certain, you got much the same reaction, not a speed you were overall happy with, but certainly better than nothing. This guy really had seen the worst of it, there was swelling along his jaw, cut and battered, a blackish bruise forming above his cheekbone and burst blood vessels in the same eye, and that was just his face.

He was coated in blood, and you couldn't tell whether it was his or someone else’s, some dried and other patches still oozing, body marred with bruises and cuts, both old and fresh, most of which were unrelated to the gunshot wounds he had. A fist came banging on the door, just in time, water bottles being handed through when it was cracked open a fraction, and there was only six of them by your count, eyes flittering over the sealed packets of water that hadn't even been opened, and you’d have to stretch it to make it last.

“How’s your leg?”

“Better than this guy, he has a bullet in his thigh.” The joke was to brush off his own pain, but for the past couple of minutes, he’d been shuffling his weight from one foot to another, and you glanced around, noting the box that was sitting only a few feet away. The unidentified man set to guard the two of you was coming over, the door sealed up tight once again and the packet of water in his hands.

“Can you put them down on the box? We could use the extra surface?”

He paused, glancing at it, considering the request, before agreeing. Silently, albeit, he accepted your request, dropping the bottles down onto it and kicking the crate across the floor to you, wooden container scraping over the stonework and bumping against your leg roughly, and you tried not to glare at him as your leg buckled.

A coppery taste filled your mouth as you licked over your bottom lip, wincing at the slight pain of the cut, swollen and sore, but not as much as the pain along your forehead, a cut you assumed you gained on the drive here. “So, first up, we need to try and stitch up those holes.”

“If I let go of these cuts, he’ll lose a lot of blood.”

“I know. We can work fast, but I need you to do the stitching, because I’m not sure I’m up to it right now.” You held your hands up, the uncontrollable trembling taking you over was far too violent to be able to do sutures, but you could definitely hold down pressure. Newt nodded, your hands closing over his, the squeeze of cold blood between your fingers from the gauze making you gag slightly, choking down that feeling of nausea.

His hands slipped out from underneath your own, and you pressed down the second they were gone, the man underneath you groaning under his breath as he constantly walked the border between conscious and unconscious. As you held down, Newt reached across his body, snatching up the first of the water bottles. Unscrewing the lid and placing it down, he left the cap beside it, before he was shuffling through his bag.

Pulling out the kit with needles and thread in, your emergency stitches kit that you’d ever actually to use in the field, and you were having flashbacks and pinpricks of pain along the tips of your fingers as you remembered practising the stitches in the academy, constantly poking your fingers with the metal thread.

The strongest antiseptic followed, dark brown liquid in a half-empty container sloshing against the sides, and it dripped across the edges, spilling a little in his haste, before he was diluting it in the first bottle. Lid back on, shaking it to mix, the once drinkable water turned a murky brown colour, and your eyes were stinging a little front he still open bottle letting strong fumes out into the air.

“I’m thinking chest, stomach, stomach, thigh.”

“Should probably elevate his legs if you wanna’ go thigh last, it’s pretty close to his femoral.” Newt nodded, glancing around, before realising there wasn’t much for the two of you to work with.

“Alright, chest, thigh, stomach?”

“I guess.” You mumbled, none of the odds being in either of your favours, and you watched as your partner pressed his fingers down against the pulse in the man’s neck, frowning at what he found and holding the position down for longer than what was good, the results silently given to you simply by the actions. “Do you need me to push the cut shut so you can stitch?”

“I do, but if you let go of those other ones, he’ll bleed out.”

You gnawed a little on your lower lip, fear and panic building once again, because every slip this man made closer to death, he was dragging both you and Newt with him. The words hadn't been specifically spoken, nothing was clear, but you could read between the lines, and if this man didn’t survive the day, then neither would you and Newt.

You didn’t know what had happened to him, you didn’t want to. Whatever kind of illegal activities, gang territory fight or simply men wreaking havoc upon one another had caused this, you wanted no more part of it than keeping him alive long enough to hope that you and your friend might get out of this situation. The hand under your heart thudded a little more violently as he surfaced back into total consciousness once again, a gasping breath followed by sputtering, fresh red bubbling in his spit as he tried to clear the blood that was pooling in his throat, before an agonising sound was leaving him.

“What the hell are you doing to him?”

You jumped at the loud voice, yelling from across the room and the gun clicked again, the sound a threat that made your entire body stiffen painfully, nails digging into the mains chest as your hands tried to ball themselves into fists.

“We’re trying to save his bloody life!” Newt yelled back, and you gasped, eyes widening a little, because if the two of you had already learned anything from talking back to these people it was the risk of a ruptured eardrum and a killer headache. Clearly, this wasn’t the same man who’d taken you hostage, the rasp in his voice a little different and this man simply grunted at the pair of you disdainfully, rolling his eyes and shuffling in his seat beside the door.

“Alright, what if we use the bags for weight? It’s not ideal, but if we work quickly, I can hold one shut while the bags put some pressure on the other two, and I can hold it shut.”

The blond before you flicked his eyes over everything, fiddling with the tools as he toyed with the tweezers he had retrieved, wiping them down as best he could with some tissue dipped in the antiseptic water. “This guy is so gonna’ fucking die.” He whispered, and you couldn't help the chuckle that left you, swaying on your feet a little as you did, the rush of a chemical other than adrenaline being overwhelming.

“Well, we’re all he’s got.” You repeated his words back to him, a cheeky flash of white teeth in a smile that was gone as fast as it came, before you were shaking your head and refocusing on the task at hand, chasing away anything else you might be feeling in the moment. Daring to free one hand from his thigh, you watched the rapid spurts of blood that came free, trickling over his trousers to the table below, before you were putting your bag down on top. You couldn't see much, whether or not it was even working, but it was the best chance the two of you had.

Newt copied your action, placing his bag down over the wounds on his stomach, much like you had done, giving the two of you the chance to focus on the wound on his chest.

Taking the disinfectant from his hand and pressing down a cotton pad over the end, you soaked the small white ball in the liquid, packing it into the wound as Newt tried to clear the area to see what he was doing, but really, it was only smearing the blood around further. You could clean him up and do a better job of it later, but the first thing you needed to do was get the blood flow under control and wash off the antiseptic once it was clean.

You pinched the hole shut, temporarily stopping the floor, beads of red pooling at the corners, and Newt spilt water over the tops of your fingers, the cold feeling making you shiver, because despite the freezing temperatures in whatever kind of warehouse you are trapped inside of, the layer of clammy sweat coating your skin was hiding you from the chill. Once you could see what you were doing, Newt sighed, taking the tweezers in one hand, and nodding his head.

“Push up around the edges to stop the bullet slipping, I should be able to get it pretty quick. I was good at this part.”

“You scare me a little, why the fuck were you a bullet removal prodigy?” He shrugged, winking a little and holding the metal tongs over the wound, before nodding his head once. Slipping your fingers out of the way, you pressed down around the edges, blood spurting up again but you pressed down, stopping the bullets from shifting as Newt pushed into the man's chest through the hole already made. There was a scarcely audible sound, one deaf to the untrained ear but like sirens to a paramedic, the cling of the tips of the needle against the tip of the bullet, and newt shifted his fingers a little.

Letting the metal open back up from where he’d squeezed them closed like a bullet, the edges of the hole stretched around the expanding metal, and an intense look of concentration took over Newt’s face, not even looking at the wound but staring at the wall behind you, looking right through it as he operated purely on instinct and the touch as he felt his way through it. He let out a victorious little noise, pulling back, and as he did, he brought out the shell of a bullet, one that looked to be homemade, though that didn’t exactly surprise you, and it let out a much louder clanging as he dropped it back down onto a metal tray beside the victim’s head.

You moved instantly, the second that it was pulled back you were pushing your thumb and forefinger back up against the edges of the cut to contain the bleeding. Holding it tightly, Newt picked up the next set of his equipment, an atraumatic needle, one of ten and you hoped he was as good as he boasted being because you only had ten between you both, and you’d need two per wound with the length of these wires to seal them up tight enough.

You watched, carefully, as Newt threaded the first of the holes through the wound, pulling it out of the other side with the tweezers, and beginning to tie a series of surgical knots to keep them closed. He gave it a test tug, the skin pulling as he did, but it didn’t rip or tear, neither the wire nor the flesh, a solid base with which he could work. Beginning to sow him up further, Newt moved in steady motions, each gap only two millimetres apart at the maximum, pulling them tightly enough to stop the blood flow and allow tissue repair to began, but not enough that it would tear at the inevitable strain it would undergo when it was done up.

As soon as she was halfway through, attaching a new thread to continue with, and the wound was getting closer to being shut, allowing you to move your fingers out of his way, a slight breath escaping you as your breathing hitched each time the needle or thread came too close to you, because the last thing you needed right now was to get an infection from someone else’s blood and a dingy warehouse, or to lose time on this man’s life by having to start disinfecting everything all over again.

As he sealed it up, he pulled all of the threads a little tighter, working his way along to make sure the thread was evenly distributed, before fastening up the thread. He pulled back, the both of you waiting with bated breath to see whether blood would come free or whether they would bust open once your fingers moved, and while they pulled tautly, they never broke or tore.

You flooded with relief, Newt letting out a mix between a chuckle and a sigh, relief overlaying it all, and you took just a second of reprieve to know that you were just one step closer to this all being over. Opening your mouth, you weren’t sure what was coming, words of gratitude and accomplishment sitting on your tongue, aimed at any kind of higher power that might be watching over the two of you right now, but your partner beat you to it.;

“Let’s check the bag wounds.”

You nodded your head, swallowing back whatever you were going to say, beginning to feel a little dizzy as your head spun, and you squeezed your eyes shut for a second, containing the way you were feeling. Lifting away the bag that was sitting over his thigh, you were both surprised and impressed that the bag method had held reasonably well. There was more blood than there would be if you’d held it yourself, but you could work with what you had, and as your eyes flicked to where Newt was checking his stomach, you found similar results. Your gut was twisting again, bile rising in your throat at the sight of the blood in various places, an unusual phenomenon as blood had never bothered you before, and you turned away, gagging as vomit threatened to make itself known, and you tried not to clap a blood-soaked hand over your mouth, the thought only sickening you further.

“Woah, you alright?” You gagged, dry heaving a few more times as you tried to keep back the vomit that was on the verge of making itself known, tears lining your eyes and heat flooding over your cheeks as everything within you threatened to let go, but you managed to keep a lid on it. “The fuck was that?”

“I don’t know. I’m fine. Just aftershock, I think. Hunger, too, maybe, been a long time since I had anything real to eat, I think my body is just all fucked up right now.” His eyes narrowed on you, but he nodded, accepting the answer because the two of you needed to focus on things that were more important.

Once you had suppressed your nausea, you were picking the scissors back up, Newt resetting and disinfecting the equipment once again as you cut away at a patch of the ruined jeans the man was wearing. The denim was stiff while wet, and you struggled to cut it, your fingers aching as the metal of the handles pressed into the edges of your fingers, and you released a breath as you were holding as it was finished. Wiping down the area and packing the hole with disinfectant to make sure it was clean.

The procedure between the two of you started up again, only a second later you were pinching the wound shut, waiting for Newt to extract the bullet before moving to knot the thread and begin to fasten the stitches. It felt like time was coming to a stop while also speeding along, your fingers moving to the pulse point on his neck to monitor how it was going, counting the beats you could feel and trying to remember how light it felt so each period check would reveal whether it grew stronger or weaker.

You felt like the clock was ticking by too fast, every time you glanced up to the musty glass barrier hanging over the door seemed like it was spinning by at double speed, the hand constantly moving in starling jumps around the clock, the shadows in the room growing more pronounced and sharp as the sun moved across the sky, the light becoming duller as the one hanging over you both seemed to become brighter, and you watched Newt work.

As a team, you stitched him up, making sure that each wound was sealed up tightly and that they wouldn't burst, the pair of you physically exhausted. You could see the ache in Newt’s leg, he’d given up on even trying to hide it a while ago, as the two of you had moved onto the third bullet hole, all of his weight sitting on his good leg as he balanced barely anything on the bad one. Four bullets were sitting in a row, lined up neatly beside his head, and you let out a sigh, scrubbing over his skin carefully to wipe up the traces of blood.

Once he’d been stable enough, you checked his vision again, his reaction times having increased by a fraction of a second, but it was enough to mark an improvement, and his pulse was picking up with both strength and speed. You could see the bruises and cuts along his skin more clearly once you’d wiped him down of excess blood, littered with marks that would fade, only the bullet holes to turn pinkish-purple with scar tissue eventually, to join all of the other battle wounds along his flesh. Various tattoos to match the symbols on his face were across his body, and you made sure to treat every single cut, not wanting to leave anything up to chance, your body screaming out in protest as your adrenaline died down, and exhaustion was crawling in.

You were overwhelmed, tears building in your eyes, and Newt mentioned nothing as a few fell free, because you were sure that at some point - perhaps before you’d surfaced back to consciousness all that time ago - that he would have done the same. The situation was terrifying and you were struggling to process it all, every thought you had was like a swirling hurricane, melded with every other thought and emotion you were feeling, leaving you hopeless to process your thoughts but just lay rampant to them.

Anxiety was spiking through your system, choking it down by focusing on the methodical cleaning of the man, but eventually, there was nothing left to do. Fresh gauze and bandages were stark in comparison to his sickly-coloured skin, wrapped neatly and tightly and finally staying crisp and clean as you had everything under control, and your legs were threatening to buckle. You packed away slowly, stepping back from the table, and removing your gloves to join the scattered piles of medical waste that covered the floor and the edges of the workspace.

Newt didn’t even bother to put things back properly, to look after the equipment, he simply dropped it all inside, doing the zip up enough to hold it shut, before it was dangling from his fingers by the straps, and you followed suit.

Noting the movements, the man in the chair stood, his movements slightly wobbly from how long he’d been sat down, and you realised how long must have passed. As he approached, he kicked one of the empty bottles aside, all six used to the last drop for cleaning and disinfecting, and he pulled the gun from his waistband, making sure his finger was over the trigger in case either you or Newt made an attempt to pull something.

Not that you had any chance, there was a pile of everything that could possibly be used as a weapon over on the table beside where he had been guarding.

“He’ll live?”

You raised your hands, folding them behind your head in a symbol of your cooperation as he turned to you, and you tried not to sway too much in your weakness, simply nodding your head to him, and swallowing thickly. “He’ll need to keep those wounds clean, you can take the stitches out in about a month, or longer, wait until they start to form flesh for a scar but take them out before the skin gets too puffy.”

He nodded his head before lifting the gun up a little higher, motioning to the bag you held, and you trembled, his finger flexing a little on the trigger. “Whatever we’re going to need to keep it clean. Get it out. Put it on the table here, and then walk over to the wall until your back is pressed to it.”

You lifted the bag slowly, the dragging of the zip over the metal was all that field the room, tense silence taking over before you were reaching inside, daring to take your eyes off of the man and quell your fear to be able to reach inside. Pulling out both the diluted and undiluted bottles, you hoped he didn’t notice the lack of canister spray you’d left at the scene, your mind suddenly becoming aware of the life you’d left hanging in the balance, and wondering whether he’d survived.

By now, the shift at the firehouse would have been over, and you did not doubt that a missing persons case would have been filed for you and Newt, the abandoned ambulance after over an hour of no check-in would lead them to know something had happened, but you didn’t know how long it would take to find you, or if they even could.

Placing the bottles, spare bandages and wraps, as well as some painkillers down on the table, you stepped back, fastening your bag up.

“He’ll be in a fair amount of pain for a while, they should last two weeks, he can’t take any more than two a day, or else he’ll OD.”

The man nodded, motioning backwards toward the shadowed walls, and you stepped back slowly, Newt following when his command was given, and his hands were held up into the air too, both of you proceeding with caution.

While one danger had dissipated, another was making itself known, the purpose of being brought here was over, you and Newt had served your purpose, and if the man asking for supplies and advice was anything to go on, it meant that either they planned to let you go or planned to kill you, because you clearly wouldn't be sticking around to follow through on a treatment plan.

Once your back hit the wall, you stilled, Newt coming to stand beside you. The door was unlocked, several more men coming in, and the four of them all lifted their comrade carefully, carrying him out, and the door slammed shut behind them, leaving you both in cold silence. This area of the room seemed even colder than that of your impromptu operating theatre had, the shadows creating a drop in temperature, but you were simply too tired to care anymore.

Your head was still throbbing, your eyes felt heavy each time you tried to hold them open, the adrenaline and fear in the situation had been all that had helped to even keep you awake, and you rolled your head from side to side, trying to ease the pain in your neck.

Newt followed beside you, your legs pulled up before you as his stretched out, your bags abandoned together between your bodies, and your head came to rest on his shoulder, a heavy sigh let out.

“I think you have a concussion.”

You chuckled, but it was dry and humourless, simply a sound made to fill the silence and bush him off, but he wasn’t accepting that answer. His hand closed over yours, lacing your fingers together comfortingly and squeezing tightly, and you did your best to squeeze him back just as firmly. “I don’t have a concussion, I just have a headache.”

“Yeah.” He hummed, and you thought for a second, you may actually have won an argument with him. “But you also have nausea, you passed out, you’re a little confused, you’re weak on your feet and you can barely stand up straight.”

“It’s a-”

“You say aftershock and I’ll slap you.” He teased, a genuine laugh leaving you this time, and your shoulders rose and fell with a shrug. “When we get out of here, w-”

“If.”

“When we get out of here,” His voice was a little firmer, commanding you to have as much faith as he did, “Will you please just get it checked out? Just to make me feel better.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes behind closed lids, and groaning when he jostled his shoulder to wake you back up to the fullest alertness you could muster. “Fine! Fine, when we get out of here, I’ll get it checked out.”

Silence encased you both, darkness taking over, and the man who’d been tasked with guarding you both returned, taking his seat again and setting up to play on his phone from the second that he was comfortable, and you waited. He said nothing, not noticing the stare both you and Newt had fixed on him, your heart sinking as he remained quiet. The longer his lack of information dragged on, the more you felt doom beginning to sweep over.

The fact that he had nothing to say to you both screamed volumes into the void. There were no threats to keep your mouths shut, or looming promises of what would happen if you exposed the group’s location, or even any information on when you’d be leaving, and it seemed that they had no intention to let you go at all.

As you wiggled a little against the concrete, butt becoming numb from the stone underneath you, your legs stretched out to match your partners, and your eyes closed. You were fading away again, drifting towards sleep as it called out to you, the spinning of the room, the dizziness that was bordering on vertigo and the nausea with the headache, it all seemed to lessen as you slipped from consciousness.

Newt was talking to you, forcing you to stay just enough awake that you didn’t drift completely, but you weren’t processing what he was saying, the words just becoming background noise that disturbed you from being able to slumber, but you suspected that was the whole point. He wasn’t talking about anything important, he was telling you his mother’s recipes and the time he once went to buy new work shoes but almost walked out of the store while wearing an un-purchased pair because he was so tired from a double shift.

You missed the banging in the other rooms, you missed the actions taking place, barely roused by the sudden shaking your body felt, and you only snapped back to consciousness when you felt hands on your body. You kicked roughly, Newt barely avoiding the blow as all the pain you’d felt came flooding back over you in shockwaves, making you shudder violently at the surge of pain and nausea, before you were blinking at the dull lighting in the room.

“Stick with me, love. Tommy would kill me if we had to take you to the hospital after the final hurdle because I couldn’t keep you awake.”

“Oh, shut up.” Your words were slurred, and you shook your head, eyes squeezing closed at the throbbing taking place behind them. “You’d love that, I’m surprised you haven’t sacrificed me for a trip to the ER yet, anything to see Dr Derek in his lab coat, right?”

Pink flushed his cheeks, his eyes flickering over to the door, and he leaned in a little, hugging you tightly and shaking you enough to jolt energy through your body, a groan on your lips as he did. “Something is going on outside, and I never pass up a chance for an I-told-you-so!”

“A what?” You questioned, confusion still washing over you, but you never got a chance for an answer. The sound of a bullet pinging against metal was so sharp that it left another ringing in your ears as you cupped your hands over the sides of your head just a second too late. Newt did the same, falling away from shock with a grunt, and the man beside the door was in a little more agony at his close proximity to the sound.

You blinked blurry vision clear, watching smoke curl up from the lock, before the heavy metal door was falling open. It was a uniform you recognised, one of the police members you’d already seen much of over the last few cases, your brows raising a little as you watched them enter. You kept your hands over your ears, at least two more shots reverberating through the air and you felt them more than you heard them, body feeling the impact and breath feeling knocked from your lungs at the vibrations over the airwaves.

It was all like a dream, detached from reality as you were pulled to your feet by an officer, Newt’s hand dropping away from yours and you stumbled, feelings as though your movements weren’t your own. As you were guided through the halls, you tried to remember some of it, any of it, but everything you saw and heard seemed to be going in one ear and out the other.

Flashing blue lights outside with wailing sirens signalled the police cars, and several men around you were all being arrested, pinned down face first and snarling as they were cuffed, but you didn’t have enough energy to feel intimidated right now.

The fresh air was a shock, like plunging into water below the freezing point, and you took a sudden and gasping inhale, coming to a full stop, and everything out of focus suddenly went into overdrive. As you stepped out of the building the haze seemed to drop away, and you took another lungful of the air, panting breaths as you tried to fill your lungs with the source of oxygen, a panic attack building as you finally let everything cup back through, and gentle hands were guiding you to an ambulance.

You recognised the paramedics waiting inside, they were friendly as they greeted you by name and you recognised them from another case, perhaps the one on the bridge or at the chemical plant, you weren’t too sure, but it didn’t matter. An oxygen mask was placed over your face, fresh breaths of air racing through your lungs on a steady distribution that forced your breathing to even out, and you were grateful for it, not wanting to break down until you were curled up in your own bed tonight.

You winced at the flashlight that flickered over your eyes, stars in your eyes flashing for a second as you blinked to clear them, and while the paramedic around you shuffled within their own devices, you shifted yourself slightly on the stretcher, turning to stare out at the collections of cars instead, trying to see more than just the inside of the ambulance.

You searched for Newt, unable to find his blond hair for a good few minutes, before finally, you spotted him. Messy mop head in a far corner, beside a collection of cars that didn't belong to the public services, but instead to the members of the public services.

He was wrapped up tightly in his best friend's arms, Thomas patting his back comfortingly, as Minho all but bounced with excitement at his side. Brenda was leaning on her car, and Gally was standing beside them, hands tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. They were all in casual clothing, clearly having changed since the end of their shift had rocked around so long ago, the night sky closing in overhead as the day was being chased away, and you took another deep breath through the mask, smiling again.

Just the sight of your team was reassuring, to know they’d found you, they’d come to collect you, to make sure you were okay, and your heart thumped steadily and surely in confirmation that you needed their comfort right now. They were talking, Newt using a lot of hand gestures and while you couldn't tell much about their features, you knew they’d all be flickering from amusement to confusion to horror. Newt was quite the storyteller, at any time, no matter the trauma.

They turned, Newt pointing over to the ambulance you were within, and you raised a hand to wave to your friend as you watched all of their attentions move to you, before the paramedic before you was summoning your attention once again. You turned to her, the call of your name snapping you to the moment, and as much as you didn't want to look away from them all, you knew you’d be reunited with them soon enough.

“Well, you definitely have a concussion.” She confirmed, and you pouted, taking a final deep breath from the oxygen mask, and then taking it off.

“Newt is going to live for the ‘I-told-you-so’.” You scowled, and she seemed to come into more focus within your memory now. You remembered her, she had been there at the chemical plant, she’d been new at the time, a trainee, fresh out of the academy and on one of her first cases, and you’d tried to comfort her about the card system, making sure to navigate as many red cards away from her as you could to make a hard day just a little easier.

She grinned, handing you a plastic cup with some tablets inside, and a bottle of water, with the lid already unscrewed. “I’ll spare you the medical analysis, I’m sure you know what to do.” You only nodded, taking both from her gratefully and tipping the pills onto your tongue, before following them with a gulp of water, and taking them down eagerly. “Two painkillers to keep the headaches and muscle soreness at bay, as well as the nausea.”

“As much as I’d love to chat, I’m going to have to rain-check. Am I good to go? I’m desperate to just get home.”

She chuckled, nodding, and you stood up, still feeling a little unsteady and lightheaded, but it was beginning to get easier. Giving her a final thanks, and climbing down from the van, you closed the doors up for her, banging on the back when they were sealed up, and she gave a thumbs up from inside of the window, before sorting everything out and preparing for their journey back.

Turning around, there was a body directly behind you, and you cursed loudly while jumping, eyes trailing up from a familiar chest to his face and raising a brow as warm honey-coloured eyes stared at you. “Fuck, Tommy, hasn’t anyone ever told you not to sneak up on someone who’d been freshly rescued after an abduction? We tend to be jumpy.”

He grinned, shaking his head a little at your words, before your own smile was following. His hands came up, cupping your cheeks, and you leaned into the warmth that his palms brought over the cold skin of your face, sagging a little at his touch. “I have a lot of questions, but the main one is; are you okay? I just need to know you’re alright, and everything else can wait.”

“I’m okay, Tommy, I promise. A little battered and bruised, but hey, what’s new?” He rolled his eyes softly, a yawn following on your lips as you covered it, not missing the fond look he held as he continued to stare, eyes sweeping over your features. You waited for a second longer, before nudging one of your feet forward to bump your toes against his, your brows raising a little. “What’s wrong?”

“I was just really fucking worried about you.” He whispered, eyes dropping down a little, fixing on your lips, and licked over his own. His hands fell further down, sitting over your jaw and he dragged a thumb across your lips a little, your mouth pouting instinctually as he did, and his lips flicked up at the edges, never taking his gaze from where his finger was resting. “Chasing after you is like being on a damn rollercoaster.”

“How’s that?” You mumbled, breath clouding in the cold air slightly but the words were whispered, and his lashes tickled against your cheek as he shifted to bump his nose against yours, dragging them together slowly, his lips pressing to his own finger on the other side.

“Exciting, addictive, a total rush, but a little scary right at the big drop.”

You brought a hand up, sitting over his cheek, his head tipping into your hand, and his thumb slipped away, leaving nothing between you to stop you from being able to taste the overly sweetened coffee on his breath that he drank whenever he got worried. “Don’t kiss me yet.”

“Why not? It’s me and you, and now I know you’re okay, and I just really want to.” He teased you, pushing in enough to trace his lips very gently against your own, sparks of electricity shooting along you at the fleeting brush that you could still feel but wasn’t enough to be a kiss, but already left you wanting more. “If you don’t give me a reason soon, I’m gonna’ kiss you breathless, and they’ll need to put you back on that oxygen mask.”

You let out a soft breath, an airy laugh, before finding the strength to pull back by a fraction. “I have a concussion.”

He snapped back, eyes wide and brows furrowing so tightly you thought he'd get permanent perry lines, his jaw dropping in disbelief. “You said you were fine! You little liar!”

“I am fine!” You took his hands, pulling them away from your face and weaving your fingers with his on both sides, before rocking up on your tiptoes, and pressing your lips to his lower cheek, hearing him whine a little at the near-miss kiss. “I’m just a little woozy, and tired, and shaken up.”

“You promise that’s all?”

“I swear.” You offered, and he smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to your own cheek in return as he respected your boundaries. “If you can set rules for our first kiss, then so can I. I want to be at my peak when we do, I don’t want anything to spoil it, I want to remember it perfectly, and not have such a killer headache, preferably.”

“I can live with that. We’ll wait. For now.” You nodded your head, foreheads resting together once again, and your eyes closed, simply soaking in how it felt to be surrounded by him, before a loud and exaggerated clearing of the throat was breaking you apart, and Brenda stood with her hands on her hips, a wicked smirk on her face as she stared at you both.

“Do we get any greetings, or do we not matter anymore? Because I was kinda’ worried about you too.”

You grinned, the woman who you were proud to call your best friend was holding her arms out for you, and you dropped Thomas’ hands, feeling him let you go and step back just as quickly now that everyone else had come over, and you wrapped her up in your arms as she squeezed you tightly, rocking you from side to side. Another pair of arms wrapped around you, and you grinned as the familiar smell of your partner’s aftershave overwhelmed your senses, the man clinging to you from the back as he wrapped his arms around the both of you.

Minho followed, a wicked grin on his face as he draped himself across Brenda’s back, squeezing all of you even tighter, and Thomas followed beside Newt, Gally and Fry coming next, until you couldn’t see out past the mass of bodies that had joined, feeling as though you were in the middle of a rugby scrummage and you could barely breathe, the laughter you were letting out doing nothing to help.

Eventually, Brenda was elbowing the men back, letting you slip free when they all backed away, and you missed all of their body heats, wrapping your arms a little tighter around yourself to keep warm All you had was the thin material of your uniform shirt, soaked in blood and clammy sweat, as well as various medicines and chemicals, with a vest underneath. It was doing little against the cold of the night closing in, twilight well past as stars started to make themselves known.

You shivered, rubbing your hands up and down your arms, wondering how Newt wasn’t feeling the cold, but he was excitedly retelling the tale already of the surgery the two of you had been forced to perform, a story that would last him for ages, no doubt, but it was his way of processing the trauma; to turn it into something he was proud to remember instead of something he was scared to think about, something that made him feel bold instead of terrified, and you wanted to support that, so you kept your mouth shut.

Stepping back over to Thomas, his gaze left his best friend, flicking down to you, his hands tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie, and raising a brow when you tugged his arm out of his pocket. He let you, his arm limp in your hold as he let you guide him, a soft pink flushing his cheeks as you tucked yourself under his arm, your cheek moving to rest on his shoulder, your hands tucking into his pocket and one set of fingers weaving with the fingers of his that were still inside. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, before turning to look up at him as his arm squeezed around you a little more tightly.

There was a grin on his face, one with a hidden meaning as he bit at the inside of his cheek to contain it. “You know, Newt is gonna’ give us shit for cuddling.” His fingers were moving over your back in slow patterns, large palm rubbing slowly and transferring warmth back to you where you were chilled to the bone.

“I don’t care. I’m fucking cold, and you’re nice and warm.” You moved, face pressing into him a little further, the rest of your words becoming muffled, and he chuckled.

“Well, in that case,” He simply rested his chin on the top of your head, freeing up his other arm to hold you more securely, and letting out a slow breath that became a slight yelp as you pressed cold hands under the edge of his hoodie to sit on warm skin, grinning cheekily at the scowl that formed as you did. “Is any of the story Newt is telling actually true?”

“Surprisingly, most of it.”

“Well, which p-” He was cut off, the gruff clearing of a throat making him fall silent, and you pulled back, slightly embarrassed as heat made itself known along your cheeks when you found the police officer to be looking for you, the rest of the squad falling silent too and all turning to look at you, following the officer’s gaze, and you untangled yourself from Thomas.

“Sorry to interrupt you all. I just need your statement, ma’am, it’ll only take a moment.”

“You haven’t given your statement yet?” Newt quizzed, clicking his tongue in a tutting fashion, and you stuck your tongue out a little bit at him.

“You still haven’t been checked out by a paramedic yet?” You mocked, his amused face falling as he mock-glared at you, Minho pinching his arm as he tried to insist he was perfectly fine, his friend telling him otherwise.

“I’ll meet you over by that car in a moment, it’ll only take a few minutes to get your statement.” You nodded, the policeman giving you a polite smile, before tapping his pen against the pad in his hand and wandering away to the vehicle.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Lips brushed against your ear, making you jump a little, and you turned back to face the man behind you, your lieutenant standing back up to his full height as you did, and raising his brows.

“No, I want you to take Newt over to an ambulance and force him to get a check-up. He’s more than happy to diagnose me, but he won’t do a self-diagnosis.” Thomas laughed, a hearty and full sound, and you assumed there were memories flashing behind his eyes of a childhood full of similar circumstances. “I’ll come and meet you over by the cars afterwards. I’m going to need a lift home, y’know..”

His hand came up, tucking away stray hairs behind your ear, and nodding his head. “I was already planning on that, don’t worry.” You smiled, head ducking a little, and you tensed up a little at the clenching in your gut again, fearing it was another bout of nausea rising, but instead, your stomach rumbled, loudly. There was a snicker, hidden in your hairline, and your lips pursed, a shy feeling growing within you once again. “I’ll take you to get some food, too.”

“Shut up.” You mumbled, a finger hooking under your chin, pulling your face up, and there was a smirk there that only made you flush further. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like you’re adorable? Because, you are.” You scowled, blush only growing stronger, and he smoothed a thumb over your cheek as did, glancing away over your shoulder for a second. “Go give your statement, I’ll wrestle Newt into an ambulance.”

“Mhm, ‘kay.” You twisted your head, nuzzling a little into his palm for a second, before pulling it away from your face and squeezing his hand. “I want McNuggets. McDonald’s drive-thru.”

“Whatever you want, angel.”

You raised a brow, hand smoothing down over his chest to sit just above his stomach, and his eyes dropped, following your hand, a slightly more vulnerable look on his face when he turned back to you; wide eyes, swallowing thickly. “Whatever I want?”

“Anything.”

You tugged on the front of his clothing. “Can I wear your hoodie?”

He froze for a second, before a rush of a breath was leaving him like a punch, and he smiled, reaching behind his head with one hand and tugging it up, stripping the garment off and shucking it down his arm, the long-sleeved shirt underneath rising up a bit as he did, and you forced your eyes away from the happy trail revealed or the flex of his biceps, taking the warm garment from him. He held it out, soft green material looking warm and inviting, flooded with his body heat and the smell of him, your fingers twitching to take it.

Undoing the buttons on the front of your shirt, you cursed under your breath at the cold while taking it off, just a tank top left underneath, before taking the hoodie. It caught on your ponytail, Thomas helping you to adjust it over your head before taking the ruining uniform from you and draping it over his arm like a waiter’s towel, nodding his hair and lifting your hair free from the collar.

He leaned in, lips pressing to your forehead, a soft kiss given to you, before he was pushing you backwards. “Go. Go give your statement, the sooner it’s over, the sooner we get you those nuggets. I’ll meet you at the cars.” Tucking your hands into warm pockets, you wandered away, bumping your hip against Brenda’s as you did and she stumbled a little from where she’d been balancing mid-yawn, flipping you off as you laughed while walking away, and making your way over to the officer.

He stood up straighter from where he’d been leaning against his car as you approached, offering you his hand and introducing himself politely, and you freed up a hand to shake, giving him your name for the record, before your hands were once again clenched with the oversized hoodie’s pockets.

It was a simple case, there wasn’t much to tell. In all honestly, you didn’t know much. You wouldn't be much help, you’d been unconscious for the first half of the journey and in the midst of your concussion symptoms the second time, and you’d never seen the man pull up. You did tell him what you could, about the unusual call, you and Newt splitting up to check the area, before finding the man under the bridge. You tried your best to patch him up, before the two of you had been taken at gunpoint, and you’d lost consciousness when you’d been put in the car.

You asked about the fate of the man under the bridge, your heart sinking a little at the answer you got. He hadn't made it, he’d tried to use the equipment you’d left him but had passed away before the hour mark had passed, and you gripped onto yourself tightly to contain how you felt. He attempted to comfort you about it, to tell you that it was the gang activity you and Newt had speculated it to be, and that the man who’d been stabbed was a criminal, but it did little to ease your suffering.

You were a big believer in second chances; if you didn’t you wouldn't be in the place you were now, with the family you’d found.

Once he had you sign off on the confidentiality forms and disclosures, your name signed next to Newt’s chicken scratch signature, you were free to go, more than ready to just go home. Everything ached, you were still sore and covered with pain, your muscles all tensed up and torn from the strain of the day, your hunger making you feel like you were being eaten from the inside out by your own stomach and the headache that came with it wasn’t a highlight of your day, and your bed was calling out for you.

As promised, the teams were over by the cars, music playing on the radio from within Brenda’s as the door was open, letting her lean against it, and Newt was sucking happily on one of the lollipops reserved for little children that some of the ambulances carried, his tongue turning purple from the false-grape flavour of it.  

He saw you coming, a little bounce in his step as you approached, before he was coming to stand before you, a smacking sound making itself known as he pulled the sweet treat away from his mouth. “You okay? Did he tell you about the guy?”

“Yeah.” You sighed, and he frowned, shrugging a little, but holding his arms open.

“He was a bad guy, you can’t save everyone, but you tried, okay? You gave it your best.” His words were true and you knew they were, you didn’t want to wallow in self-pity, you’d done everything you could without losing your one life, in which he would have died too, and you were trying not to risk your own life as much these days. “You’re okay, right?”

“Yeah.” You huffed, and he squeezed you a little tighter, clearly not accepting that answer, and waiting for me. “God, I hate this job sometimes, but I love it too. We save more lives than we lose, we change more lives for the good than bad, but every job has its bad sides.” It felt like you’d been having an awful lot of the bad side lately, but that only meant there was a lot of good to come to balance out the scales. “Have you texted Derek, yet, I bet he’s pretty worried.”

Newt let out a breathy sound at the mention of his crush, sagging in your arms a little before pulling back, and pale cheeks were flushed with warmth, the men avoiding your gaze and scratching at the back of his neck. “Not yet. Bren had my bag in the car, I got a lot of missed texts and a missed call, but I don’t really know what to say. It’s late, he finishes shift soon, I figure I’ll just wait until I get home.”

“Maybe you should go and see him.” You teased, poking at his shoulder, and your friend’s flush only deepened, shaking his head a little.

“I want to take a hot bath, and watch embarrassing rom-coms and eat an ungodly amount of food in a very unattractive way, and I don’t think me and Derek are quite at that stage. Yet.” He added the last word on, smirking as that cheeky attitude came flooding back, and you felt a presence coming to stand behind you. You knew who it was without having to turn, feeling it instinctively as a slight thrill raced through you, before a kiss was being pressed to the back of your head, an arm slipping around your waist, and a chin hooking over your shoulder.

Newt smirked, eyes moving over the pair of you slowly, and you ignored the look as he busied himself by moving to the backseat of Brenda’s car to retrieve your bag as well, and rifling through his own for his phone.

“Is this okay?”

“Why wouldn't it be?” You relaxed a little further into his hold, his fingers toying with the stitching underneath the pocket of the jumper idly as you sagged into him, feeling the movement of the muscles in his chest as he shrugged.

“Whole teams here, and you’re kinda’ the centre of attention right now. You and Newt. I didn’t really wanna’ push my boundaries, but I’m kinda’ afraid that if I let you go again, you’re going to get into some more stupid shit and get me all riled up again, and I’m still all full of adrenaline form these last few hours worrying about you.”

You moved to the side a little, twisting your head to be able to look up at him, eyes scanning over his face as you analysed his words, nothing but honesty and vulnerability shown to you. “Hey, I didn’t get myself into this one, it just happened. For once, I have no blame! I was cooperative with the criminal, kept my mouth shut, for the most part, you would have been proud of me.” His lips twitched with a soft form of amusement at your joke. “Besides, they all know how I feel about you, anyway. I’m not exactly subtle about it, and neither are you. I don’t think whatever this is, is exactly a state secret.”

He beamed at that, you weren’t sure why, but his face lit up with pure joy, and he nodded his head sucking down to peck the tip of your nose with a sweet kiss, one that made you feel ticklish, your face screwing up slightly. Turning back to your friends, you watched Newt stare at his phone for a second, considering accepting a call as his finger hovered over the accept button, the vibrating device with Derek’s name flashing along the top going off after a second, and you frowned.

“You sure you don’t want company tonight, Newt?”

“Yeah, I don’t really think either of you should be alone. Especially not with your concussion.” She pointed at you, but her attention quickly moved back to Newt, and the lanky blond shrugged. “How about a girl’s night? You can join in, Newt, because you can talk guys, so you’re acceptable.”

“Wow, thanks, Bren.” His tone was sarcastic but his face lit up a little, and he chuckled. Brenda turned back to you, raising her brows.

“Girl’s night?”

“How about a girls day tomorrow?” She pouted, and you grinned. “You’re right, I really shouldn’t be alone for forty-eight hours with severe concussion symptoms, but I think I can monitor them myself by tomorrow night.”

“Exactly, tomorrow night! Who’s gonna’ look after you tonight, huh? Girls. Night.” She punctuated her words with emphasis, and you tried to hide your giggling at her confusion behind your hand as even Minho groaned, both Fry and Gally snickered. “What?”

“Brenda..” Minho sighed, nodding his head towards you, where Thomas was squeezing you a little tighter, pressing a series of kisses along your hairline, and she studied you both for a second, before scoffing.

“Really? You’re taking Thomas home instead of me? Boo, you whore.”

You gaped, not sure whether to be offended or amused, and Thomas made the decision for you, protesting in offence on both of your behalves as he questioned why he was deemed as a ‘bad’ choice. “He’s bigger. He gives good cuddles. He promised me McNuggets. He smells good. Those are compelling arguments.”

Thomas’ chest puffed out a little against you and the compliments. “Uh, I smell excellent, I give great cuddles, I’d buy you a share box of nuggets that you wouldn't have to share, and I could put on tall boots.” She raised her hands, her voice teasing now, and your head tipped to the side as you stared at your best friend. “But, fine, girl’s day tomorrow it is.”

“I’ll come to that!” Newt chirped, sticking his hand up, and you nodded your head, Brenda taking the opportunity to high-five him.

“If Newt gets to go, then I’m staying.” You huffed, Thomas squeezing you a little tighter, and you lowered a hand to rest over his, soothing as his intense affections were based on the need for his comfort as well as your own.

“Uh, no.” Brenda deadpanned, her bluntness making you laugh. “You’re one of the main topics we’re going to be talking about. Newt gets to come because he can talk boys, and he tells me about hot doctors.”

“So I can’t come?” Minho chipped in, pouting a little for effect as he stared at Brenda, and her words went silent, no arguments to offer as her eyes narrowed on him, a silent argument between two colleagues that only you knew to be between two lovers, and you chuckled to yourself. He knew he’d won that battle, a smirk taking up on his face, and she huffed.

“If Min gets to go, can I come then?” Gally took a more polite approach, and you nodded your head.

“Sure you can.”

“You’re gonna’ fit all these people into your living room? On your two-seater couch?” Thomas teased, a couple of smirks being thrown in his direction at his reference to knowing your apartment so intimately, and you hadn't even realised that you’d been so freely inviting people to your home until now. You felt a little winded by the realisation, by the idea that it would be so simple to accept someone into the place that was so private to you, the place you’d retreat to after a long day to get away from work, but now, work was your family, and you wanted to share it with them.

“Well, Tommy-boy here can drive himself and you over to my place instead?”

“Team day at Minho’s!” Newt cheered, throwing his hands up in the air, and you laughed, the sound fading into a yawn as you covered your mouth.

“Okay, but late afternoon, because I’m exhausted, and I want a lot of sleep.”

“Late afternoon.” Brenda teased, rolling her eyes. “Midday. You better be there.” She barely gave Newt the chance to get the bags from the backseat before she was slamming the door closed, Gally twirling his keys on his finger and Fry already leaning against the car, half-asleep as his head was popped up on his hand.

You took your bag from Newt, who was catching a ride with Gally, the member of the firehouse who lived the closest to him. Brenda’s car was leaving first, spinning dangerously on mud-tracks as she left, and you were impressed with how recklessly she dared to drive surrounded by cops, but that was probably playing it safe for her. The rest of the team slowly followed, Thomas’ arm still wrapped loosely around your waist as he guided you over to his car, fresh mud spattered up along the polished paintwork, and your bag was placed on the backseat.

He was holding open the passenger door for you when you were ready, and you sank into the seat, offering him just a smile in acknowledgement, before he was rounding the vehicle to get in too, car starting up smoothly, and his hand on the back of your seat as he reversed out of the spot.

Switching gears, he inched forward slowly, pulling up the track carefully, and glancing back in the mirrors, before both hands were sitting on the wheel, and he was flicking on the indicator for the highway.

“You still want to go to the drive-thru?”

You considered it for a second, watching the road as he pulled out, before giving in to your craving. “Yes.”

“Okay.” He hummed, a hand reaching down to find one of your own where it was sitting in your lap, linking his fingers together loosely with your own. The radio was playing softly, the cars were flying past you on the highway as you weaved between lanes, an area you didn’t recognise, and clearly, Thomas wasn’t all that familiar with it either because he didn’t talk much, instead, focusing on the signage along the road for a long time.

It was a longer journey than you’d expected it to be, almost thirty minutes passing before you were entering an area of town that you began to recognise, the very edges of your territory as far as you’d expanded so far, and you squeezed Thomas’ hand a little tighter, letting him go every so often when he needed it to change gears or to drive, but his hand always seemed to find it’s way back to being pressed up delicately with your own.

Your mind slipped a little bit, wondering just how it was that you found yourself here.

It had been a long time since you’d allowed yourself to trust anyone, to really let anyone in, and now you found yourself surrounded. Your entire team had shown up to collect you tonight, all of them wanting to make sure you were okay; honest and true with nothing to gain from it themselves except for knowing that you were safe, and the man beside you had let himself dig in a little closer.

Instead of just holding your heart, he’d managed to let himself inside, residing there and making it his own with everything he did. The moment you’d laid your eyes on him, you’d hated him, hearing him already hate you felt like a bittersweet mouthful, making it easier not to get attached but hard as it always made you one step further from home. You’d spent so much of your life forcing people away while dreaming about one day finding your home that you’d never stopped to watch the time slipping away around you as the chances seemed to get further and further away, until Newt had forced you to.

You had your own history that made you the way you were, but you’d never stopped to give Thomas the benefit of the doubt that he did, too, and you’d taken out your anger on him when it was unwarranted. He’d clearly forgiven you for it and moved on, but you’d never really apologised.

“I’m sorry, Tommy.”

He frowned, the neutral expression he’d held switching to a frown as he began to slow the car down, navigating through the car park as a surprising number of cars still milled around, shopping at the mall in the stores with later hours into the night and various fast-food joints, the illuminated letter ‘M’ calling out to you, and Thomas joined the queue of cars.

“I never said sorry for the way I treated you. I had stuff going on, I had a lot of issues, but I didn’t stop to think that maybe you had stuff going on too, and I’m sorry.”

He seemed stuck for a second, like a deer caught in the headlights, before he sank into his seat a little bit. “That’s okay, I forgive you. You didn’t know I had stuff going on at the time, I shouldn't have been mad at you, either. I took it out on you, but really, I had issues with someone else.”

The name was on the tip of your tongue, but before you could speak your next words, the static of the intercom requesting your order made the both of you jump, and Thomas rolled down the window. It took a moment, deciding as quickly as you could and putting in an order for what it was that you were craving as your stomach rumbled again, that typical greasy smell of fast-food drifting through the open window.

You stayed quiet for the rest of the transaction, reaching out to turn the music up a little bit as you switched over to a classical station, finding the latest chart-toppers to be a little overwhelming in the moment, but late-hour classical piano and violin notes were much more comfortable. The bags were hot in your lap as Thomas handed them over clutching his McFluffy in your hand carefully and staring down longingly at the chunks of chocolate candy and caramel sauce through the lid, somewhat regretting your decision not to get one when he’d offered you one.

Parking up at the back, a little bit away from where everyone else was, and you unclipped your seatbelt, watching him do the same, before he was pushing his chair a little further back and getting comfortable. You handed him over his cheeseburger, and the fries that followed, stealing one from his portion and watching as he grinned, sitting them on his lap and unwrapping the burger, while you opened up a box of nuggets, offering one to him.

You sprinkled some salt over the box, shaking the nuggets after he’d taken one to mix the seasoning, but you couldn't eat one, couldn't focus, not when a certain question was still hanging on the tip of your tongue.

“What’s up? They make it wrong? It’s pretty hard to mess up chicken nuggets.” He teased, leaning over to inspect them and winking cheekily as he plucked another from the large box, popping it into his mouth and chewing happily, a sound made as if to confirm to you that they were okay, but the food wasn’t what was bothering you.

“Can I ask you a question, and you promise you’ll answer honestly?” his brows furrowed, but he nodded, taking another large bite of his burger. You hesitated, picking at the edges of the bag, ripping the brown paper slowly, and you sighed. “That woman in the bar, that was Teresa, wasn’t it?”

He stiffened at the mention of her name, his face falling, and he was stiff as his head turned away from you to stare out of the dashboard, and your lips pursed, anxiety coursing through you at the time that it took him to reply. He chewed slowly, eventually swallowing his mouthful, and you took a cautious bite out of a chicken nugget as you waited. “Yes.”

You nodded, keeping it to yourself and looking through the bag for a packet of ketchup, opening up the small tub and dunking the savoury treat inside, swirling it around, and eating the other half. You licked salt from your lips as you finished, and turned back to look at him, where he was staring down at his food, a confused look on his features. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

He took a breath, seeming to have an answer ready to go, as though he’d anticipated your words, before his jaw snapped shut, and he put his burger down, sighing a little and nibbling on his lower lip, before giving in. “I didn’t want you to know.” You raised your brows, not the answer you were expecting, and he turned to look at you, taking in your expression, and shrugging a little. “You said you wanted honesty.”

“But why?”

“Why didn’t I want you to know that was her?” You nodded, and he took a bite of his food, prolonging the suspense as he procrastinated on his answer. “I guess,” He spoke through his food, grimacing a little upon realising, and you couldn't help your smile, eating another one of your chicken nuggets. “Because you’re nothing like her, and what we have isn’t the same, and I didn’t want you to have to cross with her.”

“Did you love her?”

“Yes.” He didn’t pause this time, stiff once again as he gave you the truth without even considering lying, and you felt conflicted. You weren’t sure whether you wanted to reach out and comfort him, or comfort yourself and put your walls back up; in the end, the person best at comforting you was Thomas, and so you needed to be that for him. Reaching a hand out, you placed it on his arm, and he jumped at the contact, seeming shocked by it. He turned to look at you, eyes dropping to where your hand was sitting on his arm. “Are you mad at me?”

“I don’t have anything to be mad at you for, Tommy. I’m just sorry you got hurt.” You whispered, and he let out a shaky breath, his hand coming up to sit on your cheek, his face dropping to bump his nose with your own, sharing a breath and nudging into you.

“Just so you know, this is one of those moments that I would kiss you, if we’d already had our first kiss.”

“I’ll remember that.” You grinned, bumping back against him, before pulling away, and eating a chicken nugget as he whined slightly at the loss of intimacy.

“She, uh, she was a paramedic. You reminded me of her, at first.” You turned, realising that in the interest of honesty, he was going to tell you it all; the information that other members of the team skirted around and answered vaguely, a mystery that had been locked up tight to keep you out of, all of them having gotten hurt in some way. “She had the same attitude you did, she didn’t really let people in; a lot of walls. We were.. something. She didn’t want to put a label on it, she wanted me behind closed doors but never wanted me near her in front of the rest of the team. She had boundaries, she wanted me to come over late but never wanted me to stay the night, she wanted to have dinner and drinks but never in public. It felt exciting, but wrong. But I couldn't stop.”

“Thomas, you don’t have to tell me this.” He sniffed a little, eating his fries quietly and shaking his head a little as he relived the memories.

“I want you to know.” You felt touched that he wanted to share one of his deepest pains with you, but it was scary, because it meant you had to do the same. “I should have seen the signs, she always wanted more, and she never wanted to settle down, kind of like you.” His words cut a little, stinging, despite knowing them to be true. “She said she was leaving one day, out of the blue, and I blamed myself for it. We got into an argument, she didn’t even tell me she was moving house until she asked me to sign her transfer papers. We yelled a lot, and I was upset, so I signed them and told her to just leave. She did.”

“Is, uh, is that the day that-”

“Newt got hurt? Yeah.” His voice cracked slightly as he spoke. “She left, and I was upset, and about an hour later, we got a call. I’d been too busy pacing my office and seething over it that I didn’t call in for a substitute. Newt told me it was okay, he’d been comforting me. He went alone on that call, got stuck under material that had fallen on his leg. Minho found him and carried him out after he passed out.”

He crushed the empty cardboard carton in his hand, the sudden sound making you twitch at the shock, and he whispered an apology upon sensing the environment he’d created.

“Newt’s been my best friend since I was a kid, and because of my feelings, he got hurt. I shouldn't have taken it out on you, but there were just so many similarities, it was overwhelming. I didn't want you to meet her, because you're nothing like her.”

“I’m not? Kinda’ sounds like we’re the same.” You finished your food, packing the wrapped back into the bag, and facing him more confidently as you turned in your chair, and he chuckled.

“You’re nothing like her. She may have been what I loved once, but you’re something entirely different.” He picked up his ice-cream, peeling back the lid on it and poking at the contents with a smile on his face now as he mixed the toppings in. “You’re sweet, you get along with everyone and you want to be with us, I can tell, even if you were going to leave at first. You.. you want me, you don’t hide it. I like that. You’ve spared my best friend a lot of pain instead of causing it, and you make Brenda feel like a woman again when she’s surrounded by men, and you cook with Fry. You’re a real part of our family, I don’t think she ever was.”

Once he deemed it thoroughly mixed, he took a large spoonful of it, holding it up and poking it against your smile lightly.

“Take a bite, I know you want some. You can share mine.”

You did as told, accepting the ice-cream he was offering to you, and relishing in the sweet flavour. He took his own bite, and despite how happy you were, there was still a pang of lingering guilt as you kept back your secrets from him after he’d told you his. “You’re not the first firemen I’ve been involved with.”

“I figured as much.” You were a little surprised, pausing in your words as he looked at you like it was no big deal, and he shrugged, offering you another spoonful. “I mean, I figured you had to have some kind of history in a firehouse, with your transfer record, more switches than a lightbulb sees.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning at his joke a little. “Well, you were right. In my first house, I was straight out of the academy and young, and there was a fireman. He was charming, and very attractive, and he had this way that made my heart race.” You reached up, wiping a stray piece of ice-cream for the edge of Thomas’ lip. “Like you do.”

“I make your heart race?” He was smirking, liking knowing he had such an effect on you, and you redirected your attention to the dessert, turning the spoon he was bringing to his mouth and stealing the spoonful, the chill helping to calm your flushing features.

“You know you do.” You swallowed the treat, licking the sugary taste from your lips. “He had a previous injury, and a drug problem. I was young and naïve, and he wanted the ambulance stock for the pain so he could avoid surgery. When the truth came out, I took the fall and lost my job, while he got off with a reprimand and being put on probation. I had to move to a whole new state to escape it and find a new firehouse. When someone tried to get close to me there, I panicked and thought they would use me again. I moved, and I moved, and I moved. Whenever someone got close, I panicked. I got confused. I wanted family, and I was so set on finding that perfect family that I never stopped to let anyone in, until I came to ‘21, and encountered a moody lieutenant.”

Thomas grinned, cold lips pressing to your cheek as he ducked down, and you squirmed at the slightly sticky feeling of melted ice-cream, the cardboard cup empty as it had been shared between you both.

“My real family, there’s not much to say about them. I don’t have much, my mother hasn’t spoken to me in a while, she sends a birthday card every year, and that's about all there is for me. Until I found all of you.”

“It was just me and my mom when I was a kid, and there was a house fire. She’s never been quite right since, I grew up looking after her, and Newt was the kid across the road who brought me trays of food his mom made for us, and who brought me the homework sheets when I had to leave school early. He’s my family, too. This whole squad is.”

You felt like a weight had been lifted off of your chest from the confessions, from finally trusting someone enough to tell them your story, feeling the burn of tears in the back of your throat, but you were too tired to cry, having no tears left to give. “Tommy?”

“Yeah, angel?”

“Can we go home now?” He nodded, starting the car back up, and you leaned over the centre console a little to rest your head on his shoulder, feeling him turn to press a kiss to the top of your head. “When we get there, I want to go to bed, and I want you to stay the night, and then I want to spend the whole day with you tomorrow, in front of our family, without hiding anything.”

He took a second to reply, letting out an unsteady laugh, before starting up the car and nodding for you as you pulled back. “I would fucking love that.”

[justasparkwritings]

Troll In Love: Part 1

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Exes to Lovers, Non-Idol AU

Rating: PG-17

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: What happens when your work nemesis and your ultimate troll team up to flip your world upside down? 

Note: This piece is for the #thebtswritersclub fic exchange! Look out for Part 2 later this week. 

This fic is dedicated to, written for the incomparable @xjoonchildx​, who I have been lucky enough to be paired with. A major fan, this was an intimidating endeavor, and I’m kind of in love with what I’ve created for her. And if she hates it .... it’s trash okay? jk... kind of. 

Banner by me. 

Monday: Pitch Meeting

           “Everyone has an inherent archnemesis,” Claire began her presentation, eyes peering across the conference room, attempting to make thoughtful eye contact with her peers.

          Finally, a staff writer, this pitch marked her first foray into feature writing. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried, in her three years at the company as a freelance writer, it wasn’t that she didn’t draft proposals, complete preliminary research, no, she absolutely did. But there was always someone in front of her, someone who always came around the corner, nicking first place with seconds to spare. Claire hated you from the moment you arrived, bright eyed and excited, a recent college graduate gunning for a position at the magazine. While it took her years to pitch a cover story feature, years to move from an assistant to full-time staff writer, you had done so in a handful of years.

          Today, Claire decided, that would change.  She had prepped and planned for weeks, laid in wait for Marissa to give her the go ahead to pitch her idea to the team. Adjusting her Dior, she shifted from heel to heel before speaking again.

          “We all have that one person who no matter what we post, they find a way to demean it, turn it negative, make it about something completely unrelated. Whether that’s politics, or religion, or sex, there is that one troll we can’t help but root against. My proposal is to use a few members of staff to find their internet trolls, to engage with them over a period of time, and if they’re willing, interview them, both separately and together. I want to discover what it is that makes them keep commenting, why they always seem to gravitate towards certain posts, who their audience is and how it relates to our greater understandings of our enemies.” Claire sighed, the heavy lifting of her presentation just beginning.

           “I like it, who do you want to use?” Marissa asked.

           “Someone from each of our most high-profile teams, or the people in our office that have the largest social media followings. For a few that overlaps,”

           “Who are those people?”

           “Y/N, Jaxson, Hoseok, Emma and Bridgette,” Claire explained. “They have an average Instagram following of ten thousand, and on Twitter it’s twelve thousand.”

           “What do you post that gets you so many followers?” Gillian questioned.

           “My ass,” Jaxson laughed. “But really, it’s Drag Race content,”

           “Good, you have a list. I need written permission from each of you to interview you and your top internet harassers.”

           “I’d like to request that my name be off the list,” You asked, hand still raised.

           Hoseok asked, knowing the answer deep in his bones. “Why?”

           “I just, I don’t think it’d be a –

           “Nonsense, you have a large following, I’m sure there’s someone who pisses you off regularly,” Marissa interrupted.

           “Yes, there is! What’s his name? Jimin?” Claire pretended to scan her page, her cursory glance perfunctory instead of practical.

           You heard the gasp leave Hoseok’s mouth before you registered what was happening.

“Fuck you!” You snapped. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate, but the sentiment remains.”

           “It was, but it also sealed your fate.” Marissa stood. “Start assembling your team and listen to Claire, I’m sure she has a list of things she needs from you.”

           “I do!” Claire chimed.

           “Great, get me the contracts from legal and get it to each of the people you’ve listed before 5PM today, I want signed consent before you leave this building.”

           “What if I don’t want to?” You asked, your final plea.

           “You owe her for the debacle with your last interview,” Marissa reminded you.

           “It’s not my fault they were drunk both times! I got the article done and out. It was one of our biggest issues in the last year and was followed up by two other feature pieces by me that beat that record,” You countered, your success an unnecessary brag in a room full of people who feared and admired your work.

           “I don’t care, Y/N, handle it,” Marissa sauntered out, her assistants following close behind.

           Slouching in your chair, your eyes landed on Claire, glaring daggers into her perfectly straight midnight bob. She was everything you hated, a brown noser, a narcissist, a career driven monster who had been biting at your heels since you arrived. She was jealous, blinded by some lofty goal that she’d be an editor or editor in chief before 28, a feat rare in fashion, unless you were Elaine Welterwroth or Margaret Zhang, of course. They had become editors and editors in chief by ages 29 and 27 respectively. Though Zhang had begun her career blogging at 16, a fact that only infuriated Claire who was too busy popping pimples and trying to lose her virginity to her junior varsity boyfriend.

          Claire could spend days listing everything she hated about you. She hated your easy interactions with coworkers, the ability to have the entire room stop and listen when you spoke, the craft of your written work and relationships maintained with subjects years after interviewing them. She hated how you left work with Hoseok on your arm or went to drinks with the assistants and interns. How you achieved so many bylines, becoming an editor in your own right without so much as breaking a sweat, while she was scraping the barrel to be noticed. You seemingly had everything Claire wanted, and Claire was sick of it.

Monday: Your Office

           “Thank you, for your participation,” Claire said, sitting across from you in your office.

           “You aren’t welcome, I’m actually rather unimpressed with your ability to ambush not only me but the other people you’ve trapped into doing your article,” You crossed your legs, adjusting the waist band of your trousers and continued to scowl at her. Claire had only heard of your less than cheerful personality, though it remained largely rumored, she had never had it confirmed or dared to see it in person.

           “How, charming,” She rolled her eyes.

           “Look, you don’t want to be talking to me, I don’t want to be talking to you. Just tell me what you want so I can send you on your way.”

           Claire watched as you reached across your desk to grab your black and white planner, flipping open to the weeks page and holding your pen at the ready. The inside, covered in stickers and hand lettered phrases, fit the persona Claire so desperately wanted to mimic.

           “I need you to read and sign this,” Claire slid the agreement across your glass desk. “Then, I need you to identify the username of your troll, and I need to borrow an intern from your team.”  

           “You can’t have one,”

           “Marissa said I could have whatever I needed, and I need an intern to comb through your tweets.”

           “I can save you the trouble, I rarely tweet, when I do, it’s addressing the same ass hat,” You explained.

           “Well, I need their handle,”

           “Fine,”

           “And the intern,” Claire was firm.

           You rolled your eyes, before pressing the intercom. “Hey Alexis, can you send Erin to me?”

           “Sure thing,” Alexis replied.

           “Thank you,”

           Claire rolled her eyes.

           “Jealous?” You questioned.

           “Read the contract, sign it and send it back to me along with answering the Form that’s in your inbox,” Claire directed.

           “Great,”

           “I’ll be back on Friday to go over your tweets and exchanges before we decide on a tactic to reach out to them and ask them to come in for an interview,” Claire explained. It didn’t annoy you that she was prepared, but it did piss you off a little to know how much she had thought this through. Maybe you should give her a chance, professionally, not socially, Claire would remain a bottom feeder.

           “Who says they’re in the city?” You questioned.

           “If not, we’ll Zoom with them, okay?”

           “Excuse me, you wanted to see me?” Erin peered through the door; wavy bangs parted slightly to expose her forehead and freckled cheeks.

           “Yes, your projects are on hold. Claire here needs your help with her feature article, and as my intern, you are to report to her for the remainder of the project,” You explained.

           Erin’s eyes widened, never had she been reassigned to a special project, let alone with Claire who was notorious for running interns and assistants into the ground. “Who will take over my work?”

           “Can you make a list of where you’re at and send it to me? I will meet with the team tomorrow to talk about where we need to fill in the gaps,”

           “Okay,”

           “Claire, this is Erin, if you are a bitch to her, I will ensure you don’t ever write a feature piece or move past copy editor here or anywhere,”

           “I don’t know where you get off thinking you can speak to me like –

           “I am your superior, and you will respect my intern or face the consequences,”

           “Fine,” Claire turned and left, leaving Erin wondering what on earth she had been roped into.

Tuesday: Happy Hour

           “You gave the real handle?” Hoseok asked over drinks after work, a little happy hour to celebrate leaving the office before 7PM.

           “What was I going to do? She could easily look at my Twitter and Instagram and find out, why lie?”

           “What happened to preservation?” Hoseok mocked.

           “Either I give in and get Claire off my back, or I get called to Marissa’s and have consequences, like I’m a fucking child.”

           Hoseok eyed you suspiciously. “Did you give her his name?”

           “You saw in that meeting, she already knows. I blame you,”

           “Me?”

           “Yes you, always talking about dance classes with Jimin, the good old days of photographing him and styling him in college. He abandoned me to go to school with you, and you’ve taken it all in stride.” You explained. It wasn’t a new story, a new plea, a new exploration of your tempestuous non-relationship with Jimin. It was sad, really, listening to you express the hurt you’ve never let go of.

           “He didn’t abandon you to come to school with me,” Hoseok laughed.

           “Potato, Tomato,”

           “You should talk-

           “Nope, you made your once monthly ‘you should talk to Jimin’ comment a week ago over margheritas, you don’t get another for ten more days,” You scolded.

           “Fine, fine.”

           “I don’t even know where he is,” You muttered, pink liquid of your Paloma slipping down your throat.

           “That’s a lie,”

           “Can you stop calling me out and let me hate him?” You hadn’t meant to snap, but the constant chatter revolving around Jimin was too much to handle, it was too much in two days, too much in the years since you last saw him. Park Jimin was, and has remained, too much.  

           “Fine,” Hoseok resigned. “Have you looked at your tweets lately?”

           “No, I refuse to go back and read whatever horrors I wrote in 2019,”

           “You should,” He suggested.

           “I guarantee Claire will force me to read them. Probably aloud at some last-minute staff meeting she puts together on Friday to fucking fillet me,” You rolled your eyes again, the last dregs of grapefruit clumping together as they slid down the side of your glass.

           “Maybe if you weren’t so,” He starts.

           “Bitchy?”

           “Your words, then she would like you,”

           “She’s hated me since I got there, I’ve tried being nice. I’ve tried being cordial. Claire and I will never mix,” You explained.

           “He’s gone blonde you know,” Hoseok’s eyes have flittered past you, glancing down the street at the setting sun, glad he brought his latest Gucci jacket to keep him warm in the early spring evening.

           “Didn’t you hit your moratorium on how long you can talk about Jimin in a conversation?”

           “You said his name!” Hoseok argued.

           “He isn’t Trump, Hoseok. I can say his name, sometimes.”  

           Hoseok let the moment simmer, cooling gently before turning it up to a raucous boil. “I’m having a kick back next Wednesday, will you come?”

           “If he’s not there,” You answered.

           “I can’t promise that,”

           “Then I can’t promise either,” Chewing the ice from your glass, you let your mind wander to the possibilities of what might happen should you show up to Hoseok’s party and are greeted by Jimin. Blonde Jimin. Jimin with the sparkling eyes and winning smile. Jimin who harasses you on the internet weekly, Jimin who you haven’t spoken to since you were 22, Jimin whom you hated with every fiber of your being.

           Worst case scenario, you couldn’t avoid him and would be forced to speak words to him. Best case, you time it perfectly and he’s either just left or hasn’t arrived and you can doll out pleasantries before Irish-goodbying and never having to confront him.

           “Y/N, please, you haven’t seen my new place yet and it’s finally furnished,” Hoseok pleaded.

           “I’ll think about it,” You resigned.

           “Great!”

           “I fucking hate you and our friendship,” You scoffed, signaling the waiter to bring you the check. You should’ve ordered food, being buzzed and talking about Jimin was never a good idea.

           “I know you do.” Hoseok winked before picking up the tab for you both.

           “At least tell me you haven’t invited Seokjin,” You asked, slipping your coat over your shoulders.

           “Well-

           “You’re fucking with me, right?” You questioned. “You fucking invited both of my exes to a, I’m sorry, kick back? Hoseok, no.”

           “I love you, and I’m sorry, Seokjin helped me find some great pieces for the place, and you know he’s friends with Namjoon and Jungkook,” He tried to explain.

           “That doesn’t mean I want to stare at them over my tenth flute of champagne and my plate which will be piled high with cheese and crackers and pieces of salami.”

           “You and Seokjin are fine though, you ended-

           “Don’t say amicably,” You cut him off.

           “Well, close to it. Please,” He begged. Begging never looked good on Hoseok.

           Staring into his dark irises, a shade mimicking your own, you couldn’t hold the anger brewing. Being around Seokjin was always a better alternative than Jimin. Though the pity he often felt towards you, at your angered state which has never really subsided, was embarrassing. “I’ll think about it.”

           “I love you,” Hoseok pulled you into a hug.

           “Yeah, yeah, then why do you keep doing this to me?”

           “Because I love you,”

           “Tell Taehyung to call me,” You said, waving to him before stepping into the waiting Lyft you’d called at the bar.

           “I will, can’t make any promises,” Hoseok winked before turning towards the subway, where he’d pull out his head phones and scan through the photos he’d taken throughout the day, waiting to get home to Taehyung to analyze, edit and critique them.

Thursday: Claire’s Makeshift Office

           “Are you ready?” Claire asked, sifting through the papers on her desk.

           “You had me come to your office, after you scheduled a meeting to ask if I’m ready? Yes Claire, I’m fucking ready,” You snapped.

           “Erin,” Claire gestured towards your intern who tried to hold her eye roll.

           “So, I combed through your tweets, sifting through your interactions with Mochimin, which is a very creative username,” Erin began.

           “Yeah, his name and nickname combined,” You rolled your eyes.

           “And we read through them all, well mostly me… and I have to ask, are you sure these are your tweets?” Erin questioned.

           “Yes, and what should be his responses,” You answered reaching forward to grab the printed copies waiting for you. You scanned over the interactions, the subtweets, the blatant tags, the retweets and comments not just by Jimin, but a few of your friends too.

           “Why have you been telling us he’s the troll?” Erin asked.

           Her question caught you off guard, eyes wide, shock echoing in your bones.

           “What the fuck? What do you mean? Look at how he fucking responded!”

           “Y/N, you’re the troll!” Erin laughed. “It’s you, not him,”

           “I am not! This is a fucking joke! It’s not April Fools yet, way to put the cart before the horse!” Your voice radiated throughout the small conference room.

          Claire, not having an office of her own, had requested it to conduct most of her teams work. It was your least favorite of the conference rooms, colder both in décor and temperature than the others, it was situated on the corner leading to the kitchen. Glass on two walls, it was the definition of exposed. Everyone could see your outburst. Everyone could watch you fall to pieces. You guessed Claire had planned it this way, to demonstrate how focused her team was, how dedicated to the project they were, to show everyone her value as a staff writer instead of a freelancer. You also assumed she did this to ensure that whatever break down you were beginning to have, would have at least ten witnesses, ten people to side with her that your behavior was irresponsible and reckless.

           “Oh please, get over yourself,” Claire chuckled. The light in her eyes proved your assumptions, she was enjoying this. “Do you see how you interact with him?”

          “What do you mean how I interact with him? He started this!” You lowered your volume, side glances from colleagues passing by alerting you to the unprofessional decibels you’d began reaching.

          “In almost every interaction, you bait him, hook line and sinker. It’s you, Y/N,” Erin explained.

           “No!”

           “Yes, this poor man, just living his life while you’re purposefully harassing him!” Claire feigned shock, eyes widening, mouth slightly open. It was taking everything in you not to resort to physical violence.  

           “I would never,” You glowered.

           “You have! For years, it’s always you,” Erin said again.

          “I, no, that’s impossible. He started it!”

          “Admitting is the first step,” Claire’s placid smile was demanding to be smacked off.

          “Fuck you! This is ridiculous!”

          “July 10, 2020: Thinking of one man in particular, hoping the bleach in his locks burns in the summer heat.Followed by his comment: thinking of one woman in particular, hoping she knows I wear a hat and use purple shampoo.” Erin read.

          “I, I, no!”

          “October 13: Nothing makes me happier than not being invited to a birthday bash with all my friends. He responded: All you have to do is ask. On your birthday, he tweeted: Happy B-Day to the girl who … oh never mind she hates me. You responded: nobody asked for your half-hearted bullshit, next time I hope you choke on it.”

          “He started it!”

          “Why are you so awful to him?” Erin wanted to know.

          “I am not, he began harassing me first,” You tried to argue.

          “Does Hoseok know?” Claire chided.

          “Know what?”

          “About your vendetta,”

          “It’s not a vendetta!”

          “Then explain why you tweet or subtweet him at least twice a week, and then when he responds, tweet him again! You don’t even tag him, just vaguely mention discernable parts of his personality or appearance,” Erin explained.

          “I do not! How do you know what he looks like?” You tried to counter.

          “His profile picture, and a certain friend of yours doesn’t mind sharing-

          “You asked Jungkook? Or was it Taehyung? Or I’m sorry, both?” Your eyes were wide, breathing labored, anger boiling to inhumane levels.

          “Well, if we asked Hoseok you would’ve kno-

          “You called or texted or DM’ed Jungkook and Taehyung, and asked about Jimin?”

          “Yes,” Erin bowed her head, guilt written into the freckles her blush tried so desperately to hide.

          “I cannot believe you, Erin,” You spat.

          “I’m sorry Claire wanted me to,”

          You turned your gaze to Claire, who had begun to cower in her seat.

          “You did the one thing, the absolute one thing that you knew, you fucking knew, would set me off. You did this on purpose, you fucking bottom feeder, you fucking dillweed you crossed the fucking line, Claire,” You spat. Your volume had lowered into a low growl, far more deadly and intimidating than any yelling you had done.

          “We have the proof, Y/N, you can’t deny it, you attack Jimin regularly,” Claire unskillfully attempted to move the conversation away from Jungkook and Taehyung. Like you would balk at her intrusion.

          “You don’t get to violate my personal life, to violate the lives of the people I care deeply about, to expose sources and put them in danger should this article go south, poking and prodding into the lives of people who are dealing with their own bullshit to push your own fucking agenda, Claire,” You were seething, Te Fiti in Moana, Mrs. Weasley against Bellatrix, Kim Kardashian against the ocean searching for her diamond. Your wrath knows no bounds, and Claire had finally crossed the line into territory she could never come back from.

          “It’s for the job, nothing personal.” Claire shrugged. You could see it in her eyes, she wanted blood and was elated to be getting it.

          “This is entirely personal.”

          “Well, you can ask Jimin about it when we interview him,” She smiled, lips upturning revealing her veneers, red lipstick perfectly matte and shaped against her thin flesh.

          “No, absolutely not,” You shook your head.  

          “Yes, that’s part of the deal you agreed to,”

          “I take it back. I revoke my consent!”

          “It’s non-negotiable,” Marissa said. She had sauntered in during your berating, watching as you tried and failed to continue believing that you weren’t the troll. “You have agreed to this, and you will sit through the interview and cordially answer Claire’s questions.”

          “Marissa, this is crossing a line,” You stated.

          “You have to be held accountable,” Claire said.

          “Fuck you, Claire. Believe it or not, there are somethings that are beyond your understanding and a few that are not appropriate for work,” You continued to scold her.

          “Y/N, why are you being so hostile?” Claire was mocking you, with Marissa by her side, she was invincible.

          “You picked me on purpose. What have you been working with Hoseok? Is this some larger plan to get me to talk to Jimin? I don’t want to talk with Jimin or talk to Jimin, isn’t it bad enough he’s being brought into my work? Oh and let’s not forget you using Erin and Hoseok to gain access to Jungkook and Taehyung, who are beyond off limits.” You listed each of her offenses, careful to leave out indiscretions that occurred before this project of hers began.  

          “You agreed to-

          “No, I was forced to do this by you, Marissa,” You began.

          It wasn’t hard to glower at Marissa, one of the most decorated editors in chief, beloved by Condé Nast, best friend of Anna Wintour… Everyone aspired to be her, but in the last year, through your promotion and growing turbulence within the magazine, her leadership had begun to falter. Her steady hand, guiding each staff writer and editor towards success and elevating everyone’s work, was crumbling at an alarming pace. Yet, no one knew why or if anything was being done to rectify the damage her wake was leaving.

          “I was coerced into this under some pretense that I owe Claire something for a so called fuck up that resulted in the biggest boon in our magazines readership in the last year, which was followed up by not one but two feature bylines and my promotion. I have done more than enough at this company, in this industry, to sit here and be forced to engage with a man who destroyed my world. I will not speak with him, or to him or listen to him. I will not, and if you force me, I will get legal involved. Should this bullshit continue, you can expect my letter of resignation next week.”

          Standing and shoving your chair in, you turned on the heels of your Oxfords and marched straight to your office. Closing your laptop and shoving your planner into your tote, you grabbed your phone.

          “Where are you going?” Hoseok asked. He moved in time with you, following down the many corridors of your office and towards the elevators.

          As you stepped in, you pressed lobby and waited for the doors to be closed before turning to him.

          “Did you tell Erin she could contact Jungkook and Taehyung?” You asked.

          “She did what?” Hoseok yelled, soundwaves bounding off the metal and plastic of the elevator, reverberating in your ears.

          “Did you?”

          “No, I can’t believe she, are you serious?” Hoseok couldn’t lie, a fundamental flaw in his design made it impossible for him to tell the smallest fib.

          “Did you work with Erin and Claire to get me involved in this feature? To get me to talk to Jimin?” You didn’t mince your words or pad your language to make him feel less attacked. You needed the answer, and you needed it now.

          “No, I didn’t know Claire was doing this until she pitched it. You think I would-

          “Hoseok, they called Jungkook and Taehyung. They want Jimin to come in to be interviewed, they won’t stop until I-

          “Until you what?”

          “Marissa has always supported me, championed me. But Claire has her number, she has her locked and loaded, aiming for me and I don’t know why,” You confided.

          “She has been slipping lately,” He agreed. “There’s only one way to stop this,”

          Together you stepped out of the elevator, moving past the turnstiles to the revolving door.

          “Am I crazy?” You asked, the insecurity beginning to overtake your bravery.

          “No, something weird is going on,”

          You clarified, “No, I mean, am I crazy for… for doing this to Jimin?”

          “I don’t know if you’re crazy, but you’ve definitely not been your best self,” Hoseok answered.

          “He makes me so-

“You still love him,” Hoseok interrupted.

          “I-

          “Go talk to him,” Hoseok encouraged. “Call me after, we can get drinks and wallow or pick out an outfit for your hot date.”

          “What if he-

          “Just, talk to him, okay?” Hoseok requested.

          “Okay,”

          “I’ll check in with Jungkookie and Taehyungie,” He assured.

          “Thank you,”

          “I’ll also scope out open positions, we can’t stay here,”

          “I love you, Hobi,” You confided, a statement that flowed so easily past your lips, you didn’t have to think or parse through the emotions that went along with it. You’ve always loved him, always will.

          “I love you too, Y/N,” Hoseok draped his arm around your shoulders before placing a kiss to your forehead, a gentle embrace, a squeeze of confidence, a gesture of love. He moved swiftly from you back into the building, and as you watched him walk away, you took a deep breath.

          Taking your phone out of your pocket, you dialed a number you had tried to forget.

          “To what do I owe this unexpected delight of a call?” He asked. His voice was the same, chipper and cunning in the same breath.

          “I need to speak with you, ASAP,” You told him.

          “Okay, I’m working from home today, come over whenever,” He invited you without hesitation.

          “You still live at the same place?”

          “No, moved up. I’ll send you the address,”

          “You know who this is?” You asked, uncertainty back in your bones.

          “What, Y/N, you thought I deleted your number?” Jimin laughed, one of only a few sounds that shot right to your knees, making any posture unstable in the docile sounds of his joy.

          “I, I don’t know, I guess. Look I’m going to hail a cab, I’ll be there in 20,”

          “I look forward to it, just tell the doorman you’re here for me and he’ll let you up,” Jimin said.

          “Okay, see you soon, I guess,”

          “I can’t wait,” Jimin was smiling, you couldn’t see it, but the lilt in his voice was all the assurance you needed. Bracing yourself for the impact of him, of his voice, of his laugh, of the way he looked at you, you hailed one of the last remaining cabs in the city and prayed for courage.  

Next: Troll in Luv Pt. 2

[enigmainvestigations]

ENI Season 1 Premiere (episodes 1-7)

AO3 post: ???    Series link: ???

Episode 1 - Matchbox

Something banged below him. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it was enough noise to wake him. He stirred lazily, feeling his undershirt sticking to his skin. The room was humid this morning -- if it even was morning. He could feel the nausea creeping in after all those drinks the night before, it made his muscles hurt, and his throat drier the more that he woke. He slowly opened one eye, and the hazy outline of his window met his vision. He wasn’t sure if he’d left it open the night before; all he knew was that everything was much louder this morning. He let out a deep groan and reached a hand out to the floor to grab his glasses. Putting them on, he stared at the cracked ceiling above him, willing the nausea away. Throwing one leg off the couch, he slowly pulled himself up, trying to get his mind into gear enough to make it to the bathroom. His throat protested as he cleared it. Finally pulling himself up to his feet, he made his way to the small kitchenette in the next room. He opened the icebox, plucked the ice cube tray from within, and made his way to the bathroom. Cursing, he struggled to fit his tall frame in the cramped room, where he turned on the faucet and plugged the sink. He cracked the tray to release the ice and dumped them into the basin. Discarding the tray to the ground, he took a deep breath and pressed his face into the cold water. The sting sent a jolt into his mind, making him recoil quickly, gasping for air. Feeling his glasses sliding to the tip of his nose, he reached up and removed them, wiping his free hand across his face.

Placing his glasses back on, he leaned over the sink again, rapidly splashing the freezing water through his hair and around his neck. The sensation was horrid, but he could feel his brain waking up. He began to rinse his arms too, but stopped when the phone started ringing. Its dreaded sound filled the office, forcing him to turn off the water and grab the small towel by the sink. As he made his way over to his small wooden desk, he dried himself off, and, picking up the handset, answered:

“Yeah?” “Inmate 71170, this is officer Blue 334. Check in.” came the usual droll voice. “Not an inmate, on release.” Edward responded. There was a sigh. “We’ve gone through this, it's just procedure.” “Well, it’s a dumb procedure, and you’re dumb for following it,” Edward grumbled, as he sat down in his desk chair. “Good morning to you, too, Nigma. Glad to hear you’re your usual chipper self.” There was the slightest pause, then the voice became stern once more. “Check in.” “Still alive. Still in the exact same spot as the last time. You should know that, you called me.” Edward said, plucking the cigarette pack off of his desk. “Paperwork says you attended all your meetings. Employment?” the voice asked. There was no emotion or finesse to its tone; it bored Edward. “Self-employed. Can I just answer ‘nothing has changed’ and be done with it?” Edward asked hurriedly, speaking around the cigarette in his mouth as he lit it. “No. We’ve gone through this, Nigma. Profits?” “None,” Edward answered, unable to keep the anger out of his voice.

There was the sound of typing on the other line. “Alright, you’re all set. Your appointment with Dr. Lewin is at 11am on Thursday. Expect another follow-up call in a few days.” “A few days?” Edward arched his back, stretching. “Are my daily activities so boring you fools think I don’t need babysitting every morning?” He heard the sound of the line going dead and slammed the handset back on the receiver. He took a deep drag on his snipe, hissing in anger as he blew the smoke out. He’d come to expect such rude behavior from the officer, but the disrespect still got under his skin. Standing up from the desk, he shuffled back to the bathroom. Instead of entering, he snatched a clean shirt from the back of the bathroom door and pulled it on, buttoning it and tucking it into his pants. A belt, socks, and his shoes quickly joined the ragged ensemble before he grabbed his coat and made his way out of his office. He descended the rickety wooden stairs down to the main entrance of the building and stepped out onto the sidewalk, squinting at the sunlight. The heavy air was already making his skin feel dirty. He wondered if the grime of the streets was seeping up through the moisture. The thought was revolting.

Edward checked for a break in the traffic then hurried across the street, the action making his muscles ache in protest. Once across, he ducked into the small corner shop, snuffing out his cigarette on the wall by the entrance. The dawn work rush was long over, leaving the shop mostly empty. There was just enough change in his pocket to get his usual goods; a quick check confirmed that. He ordered a coffee, and a copy of the morning’s paper. Tossing the coins to the counter, he noted the owner's expression. It was the same every morning; a look of distrust and, perhaps, a twinge of fear. The man never spoke, but he also never caused Edward any trouble, and Edward was happy for that.

He grabbed his newly purchased items and darted back across the street, but slowed down significantly when he reached his building and climbed the steps back up to his office. He took a sip from his coffee and he took off his coat, then tossed it to the couch as he passed by and flopped back into his desk chair. He set the coffee down and rubbed his palms together rapidly, trying to relieve some of his nervousness. A small breath escaped his lips as he flipped it open, skimming some of the articles just to make sure there hadn’t been some catastrophic event while he’d been passed out. He was sure he’d have plenty of time later to read through it. He was rarely busy on his appointment-free days, and he needed to check the classifieds for any potential work. Leafing through the pages, a small headline made him stop: “Riddler Released,” it read in bold. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes rapidly skimming the small article. It was on his release from Arkham, and said something about it not being in the public’s best interests. He was dangerous, the journalist declared, and it was clear that they had only “set him loose on the city” because of a lack of funds. Reading the words, he could feel the muscles in his jaw tighten and his teeth clench.

He’d been out for about three weeks now, and the idea of his release only now being reported made him feel somehow small. Typically when his name had been in the paper it was front page news, with the flashiest of zingy headlines. “The Riddler’s Rampage” had always been his favorite -- he used to have a clipping of it, and he’d kept it pinned up at one of his hideout’s workstations. But now, here he was, barely important enough for a small blip on the fourth page. Is this what he’d been reduced to? Is that what they thought of him? And what did they mean that his being released was just due to funding? Did they really think that they would let him, of all people -- someone the mayor once called one of the most dangerous criminals in all of Gotham -- would they really let him out on the streets simply because they couldn’t afford to keep him? One time, during a blackout, the asylum had redirected power from external generators just to keep the locks on his cell in place. One would think the people in the city would be more frightened. He was sure having him out and about would instill fear in the public; the looks he received on the street certainly cemented that thought. But the funding conclusion was insulting, irritatingly so. But, then, that annoying inner voice crept in, the voice that had started months ago and hadn’t stopped bugging him since.

Things are different now. None of you are really all that scary anymore, not after the real fear that the public felt. In their eyes, your release is just another example of how the city has turned its back on its people. They’re more afraid of that reality. He felt his confidence seep away and pushed the paper away from him on the desk. Those thoughts always seemed to choose the worst moments to creep in, second-guessing his rationality and stalling him whenever he needed confidence. He took a sip of coffee and reminded himself it wasn’t always bad, that it’d saved his life more times than he could count. Right now, though, wasn’t one of those times. He really wished he had better control over that voice, but it always chose the worst moments to creep into his thoughts. He’d always been critical of others, and was used to his mind picking apart the weaknesses and flaws of the people around him. It always felt like an advantage he held over them -- but then, his mind had done something rebellious. It looked inward. It found his flaws, his weaknesses. And now it refused to stop or yield in its examination of everything wrong with him and his thinking.

He leaned back in his chair. What little energy he’d had to be productive today had gone, and his frustration was making his hangover worse. He could feel a slight headache coming on; his first thought was that he would never drink again, but he knew that was a lie. For the first time in his life, his mind was an enemy, unrelenting and traitorous, and, sometimes, the alcohol was the only thing that got it to stop. Bad nights, like last night, were just too exhausting to deal with on his own.

The phone rang again, yanking him from his thoughts. He stared at it as if confused, pondering who it could be, and reached over to answer. “Enigma Investigations, this is Nigma,” he said plainly into the handset.

There was a silence at first, then came the tender voice of a woman, “Mr. Nigma? Edward Nigma? As in, the Edward Nigma?” Edward rolled his eyes, but kept his voice as professional as he could. “Yes, miss, that’s me. What can I do for you?” He assumed it was a reporter, probably desperate for some scandalous headline to please her editor; he was sure he was going to get a lot of those, now that the story of his release was getting around. There was a pause on the line. “My name is Donna Hattie, I-” she paused for a moment. Edward could hear the nervousness in her voice when she continued, “I’m sorry, I’ve never done something like this before. I feel rather foolish. I was just wondering if I could speak with you?” Edward frowned at that. “About what, exactly, Miss Hattie? I’m sorry, but I’m not really interested in speaking with any papers at the moment.” “Oh, oh, no! Nothing like that! It's just -- I read in the paper you’re a private investigator?” Hattie said hurriedly.

Edward felt his brain jolt back to life. “Yes! I’m so sorry, Miss Hattie. I’d assumed I’d be hearing from reporters a lot today. My apologies, what can I help you with?” “Oh, it's fine. I’m sure you get a lot of those kinds’a calls,” she huffed lighty, and the next words she spoke were much softer, as if she was whispering, “I wanted to speak with you about my apartment building. It's just -- I’d prefer to speak to you in person, if that’d be alright?”

“Of course,” Edward could feel his pulse quicken, “let me give you the address.” The next few moments were rather swift. He gave her the easiest route to his building from her side of the city; she wasn’t that far away. Bidding her safe travels, Edward hung up the phone. His eyes scanned the room in horror, and he began quickly tidying up, opening the windows to help air it out as he went through the room. He chucked the garbage out the window onto the fire escape, sifting it out of view with his foot. He flipped the couch cushions over and snatched his coat up, hanging it by the door. He gave the room one last look over and, deciding this was as good as it was going to get, he hurried back to the bathroom. The water in the sink was still cold, but he didn’t have the time to worry about that now. He had to get at least some of the city grime off. He removed his clothes and glasses and dunked his head in the freezing water, ruffling it through his hair. Cleaning and drying himself off the best he could, he grabbed his only set of clean clothes from the bathroom door, expertly putting them on. Adjusting his glasses in the mirror, he fixed his hair and made a mental note of how much he hated how the grey color of his suit looked on him. The color, combined with his weight loss, made him look unhealthier than he actually felt. He took a deep breath, taking one last look at himself in the mirror, and hurried back to the main room, closing the bathroom door as he left. It wasn’t much of a wait for Miss Hattie to arrive. He’d had just about enough time to gulp down the rest of his coffee when he’d heard the knock on the door. Answering it, he let her in and held out his hand to her. “Nice to meet you, Miss Hattie. Hope it wasn’t too hard to find?” At first she seemed apprehensive, but she shook his hand. “Oh, no, dear. Your directions were rather clear, it's nice to meet you as well.” Pulling her hand back, she rested a painted fingernail to her lip, a small smile forming there. “It is you,” she said softly. “I’ve seen your picture plenty’a times. Y’know, I thought this was just someone trying to make money off’a your name? It wasn’t until I saw that article in the paper that I got up the courage to call you.” Edward was taken back by that, but quickly put on a smile to cover it. “Ah, I see. Well, I’m glad you did. Please, sit,” he said, and he motioned her to the small wooden chair in front of his desk. He pulled it out for her, making sure she was comfortable, before sitting down himself. He noticed her looking around the office, though he didn’t detect any looks of fear or disgust. He was used to surprise meetings in his previous line of work, but now he felt like a fish out of water, almost sure he’d overlooked something. It is odd she looks so relaxed around you, not many would be. The thought struck him suddenly, and he decided to take a closer look at his prospective client. Miss Hattie was a short woman; it was hard to determine her age, but she certainly had seen some years. He noticed her attire, crisp and clean, though nothing she wore cost over a dollar. He’d heard the West Side accent over the phone, and even though his ego slumped when he saw she clearly wasn’t some millionaire here to have him follow her rich husband around, something about this scenario made his mind itch for more information.

It was especially odd, considering that the city had only just now started to get itself back together. And after what had happened he knew the citizens of Gotham were anxious of the survivors, especially those who were criminals. The unease was palpable, as if at any moment they were expecting retaliation, retribution for their hand in the events. That the criminals were going to do to them what they’d condoned. The people of the slums were especially nervous; they’d already been through enough of the chaos, and he knew they were already bracing for the second round of destruction. And now, here sat Miss Hattie, in the office of a criminal -- a survivor -- in a slum not too far from where the horror had begun. He wasn’t sure if she was brave, smart, desperate, or if she was simply a cog in another scheme to get to him. He’d gotten used to desperate calls from investigators trying to get his statement, and the doctors at the asylum had spent most of their time trying to crack into his mind to see what possible damage had been caused by the events. Or, maybe, someone wanted to take advantage of his new lot in life to get revenge. That wouldn’t be surprising. Miss Hattie didn’t look the type; rather than some sort of malicious spy, she looked like a woman who had worked her whole life and probably had a family. Normal, boring human behavior. She did seem a tad nervous, but, if she was genuine, he understood why that was. He broke himself out of his thoughts and flashed her a calm smile. “So, you said you’d feel more comfortable talking here. Are you in any kind of danger?” Miss Hattie looked shocked by the assumption, shaking her head with a light chuckle, “Oh! No, no. It's nothing that serious. It’s just, I’m staying with my son currently. I don’t think him or his wife would approve of me coming here to speak with you.” Smart kid, Edward thought. “I see. Is your son aware of -- well, you said something happened with your apartment building? It was a little hard to hear you over the phone.” “Yes, he’s aware. It's why I’m staying with him,” Miss Hattie said, a twinge of nerves showing in her voice. “So it's not just a quick family visit, I take it?” Edward asked. She clutched her handbag tighter, and the muscles in her arms tensed. She was shutting down. Edward leaned forward, lowering his tone to calm her. “Miss Hattie, you don’t need to be nervous. Anything you say to me, I’m not going to repeat, not to anyone. I legally can’t, even if I wanted to. Nothing you say leaves this room.” Her eyes brightened at that, and he could see some of the tension leave her. “Really?” she asked, before letting out the breath she’d been holding, fanning herself with the handkerchief she’d plucked from her bag. “I’m so sorry. I’ve never done something like this before. Thankfully, never had to. I wasn’t sure-” she stopped suddenly. Leaning forward, she dropped her voice. “If I tell you about a crime, do’ya have to tell the cops?”

Edward raised his brows. “No,” he said flatly. That didn’t seem to calm her as much as he’d hoped. “Miss Hattie, you really don’t need to worry about the cops with me. I’ve had plenty of experience with them. Trust me, they won’t get anything out of me.” He thought the boast might’ve been overdoing it, but, to his surprise, she chuckled. “Oh, I bet you do! I thought as much, but I wasn’t sure if -- didn’t know if you had to report crimes, and things of that sort.” she said through her laughter. “I wouldn’t be doing this job if I had to. Anyway, I can run circles around them if need be. You really don’t need to be concerned about that.” He was rather surprised by this development, he hadn’t pegged her as someone who might be involved in the more seedy elements of the city.

“Good! I don’t trust them with this. I mean, they’re already involved, and that’s part of the problem. Fools aren’t doing a very good job, as I see it.” She leaned back in the chair, appearing much more relaxed than she had been since she arrived. Not a predator, she’s the prey, he thought. “They don’t have the best track record. But, they are rather busy at the moment. So, was it a break in?” he asked.  

“No. It’s -- the building caught fire,” she said. The words sounded hard for her to get out. “The whole thing just went up in flames, like a matchbox.” That statement brought back some memories Edward preferred not to think about. “I see. And I take it they have already investigated, and found no foul play?” He saw her nod, and continued. “You don’t agree?” Miss Hattie took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before she spoke again. “The firemen said it was an electrical fire. Something about how the grounding had gone bad, chalked it up to damage that must’ve happened during the lockdown, or some such nonsense.” She wiped her face with the handkerchief. “Thing is, though, the landlord had everything checked. I remember, I had to let some workers into my apartment. Tore a hole in my wall to get to some of the wiring, never did completely pick up after themselves.” She huffed, annoyed. “Wait, they just did maintenance on the wiring in the building?” Edward asked. She nodded in response, making him frown. “Was the building part of the lockdown?” “No. See what I mean? It's strange,” she said, frowning down at the floor for a moment. Looking back up, her eyes met his, and he could see a determination in them that wasn’t there before. “Mr. Nigma, I’m just gonna be honest with you. I can’t pay you much. I know that I don’t have that much of a reason to even be suspicious, but I just have a feeling. You ever just know something’s wrong? And the feeling just won’t go away? No matter how much you try to talk yourself out of it?” Yeah, you know what that’s like, all too well. Edward nodded, enticing Miss Hattie to continue, “All I really need -- you’re a very smart man. I’ve heard of the things you’ve done, I read all about what you did with the Gunners Boys. I followed it through the papers. If something is wrong, I’m sure you’ll be able to find it. I just -- can you just go take a look? That’s all I need, just your eye, just look and see.” She took a breath before continuing, “It will only take about an hour of your time, and if you tell me you don’t see anything suspicious, I’ll accept it.” “And if I do find something suspicious?” Edward asked.

“If you do… I guess I’ll just have to keep pestering those cops.” Miss Hattie finished, sitting up in the chair. Edward remained silent, his mind running through the potential issues this case could bring up. If the police were already involved, he knew his presence would surely get people talking -- as if many people talk about you these days -- but he really didn’t want to give them an excuse to come knocking at his door. And going out to the slums at night wasn’t a very safe idea, either. Normally, he wouldn’t feel any concern over it, but he really had lost quite a bit of his muscle mass over the last few months. The lack of money and food aren’t helping in that department, but you’ve been in worse shape and survived. This could still be a trick, but using some woman with a story of a fire sounded like an idiotic ploy just to lure him out to some abandoned slum. His mind started to wonder if this could have anything to do with Penguin, when that voice grew more insistent. She’s going to pay you to go look at some burnt rubble, stop overthinking it. You need the money. Hell, you don’t even really have to go. You could make up some story, she’d probably believe you. “Alright, I’ll give the scene an examination,” Edward finally said, making a small smile cross Miss Hattie’s lips. “Thank you. Thank you very much, Mr Nigma,” she said. During the rest of their exchange, her mood seemed to have improved. Edward found it strange but oddly comforting that she happily handed her money over to him. She seemed in full confidence he’d be true to his word, which was certainly not the treatment he was used to receiving, especially from regular citizens. He grilled her for a few more moments, asking questions of any potential concerns he should take into account and jotting her answers down in his notebook. He helped her to her feet and reiterated the directions for the quickest route back to her side of the city. She thanked him for his concern, and, just before he closed the door behind her, she looked him in the eye, still with that calm smile. “I really do hope I see you again, Mr. Nigma,” she said, before descending the stairs. Not as gullible as she seems, he thought.

He spent the rest of the daytime hours eating what little food he had left in the kitchenette, taking a much-needed nap to help with his hangover, and washing his other suit in the bathroom sink. He hung it on the laundry line outside his window on the fire escape. With the humidity he knew it was going to take longer than normal to dry, the rains were really lingering this year. After finishing picking up the garbage he’d dumped there this morning, he looked to the sky, noting the low hanging clouds that looked full enough to burst. He frowned as he climbed back through the window to the kitchenette. He’d had enough of the rains, to be quite honest. He never thought it was possible, but he was ready for the chill of the Gotham fall. He took the money Hattie had given him and hid it in the narrow crack in his desktop, while his mind began working over the case again. What would be the best way to handle it? He was sure if he simply did a walk by the premises he’d be able to gather enough visual cues to make up a convincing story, hopefully something that would ease her mind. He looked out the window behind him, staring at the rain clouds rolling over the slums around him. The rain would be good cover. He’d be able to sneak in without many witnesses, and he was sure the storm would keep many unsavory people off the streets. He sat down at the desk, reached over to grab the paper he’d discarded that morning, and began flipping through the pages. His neighbor’s radio turned on -- it was always loud enough for him to hear it with the windows open -- and he listened periodically to the news reports that broke in. Eventually it became too dark for him to finish the article he’d been reading, so he flipped on the tiny lamp on his desktop. A light tapping sound began on the window behind him. It was raining. He leaned back in the office chair, letting out a deep breath; he figured now was time to make a final decision. He listened to the streets below, hearing the vendors begin to close their windows and pull their displays inside. The city was closing down early. If he planned this right, he could finish in enough time to stop by one of the shops and grab some more whiskey. His fingers were tapping out a rhythm on the desk as he thought, his mind rapidly deciding on the best plan to get there and back. Standing up, he grabbed his switchblade from the desk drawer and stuffed it into his pocket, turning off the light as he went to grab his coat. Throwing it on, he placed his hat on and locked the door behind him as he headed down the stairs. He stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked around. There were a few children down the street playing in the rain, but otherwise people were quickly shuffling about, trying to find shelter. He turned on the spot and began the walk to the streetcar stop. Walking the city blocks there would be unpreferred in the rain, but he decided it would help ease more of the fog his hangover still had over his body. The walk wasn’t as horrible as he’d figured it would be, and the streetcar wasn’t as packed as he’d imagined. He easily found a spot to sit on one of the benches, his aching muscles thankful for the rest. As the streetcar rattled along its track, his mind began to mull over all the information again as he formed a plan to get in and out quickly. He vaguely watched as riders got off at different stops, eventually leaving the streetcar almost empty. Being lost in his thoughts for most of the trip, he was alarmed when a sickness began in his stomach. Then it hit him. It was the smell of the city around him, the rain, and that familiar sickening smell of rotting, burnt wood. The smell of the river flooded his senses. He’d forgotten they’d changed the streetcar route. He didn’t look up, he didn’t need to, he could already hear the sloshing sounds of the water as they got closer to the island bridges. His eyes scanned his surroundings for a street sign, but as he did, he could feel his hands start to shake. He willed them to stop. The sign for Billington passed by, and he hurried to the back of the car, hopping out into the street. The sudden silence of his surroundings made the sounds of the river so much louder in his ears. He hurried onto the sidewalk, silent. His breath was quickening, and he could hear the blood flowing through his head. The sickness in his stomach was becoming almost unbearable. He shook his hands at his sides, trying to relieve some of the nervousness and the tension. Without looking up, he turned down the sidewalk, beginning the remainder of his trip. Keeping his eyes low to the pavement as he walked, he heard a car turn down a street behind him. It made his nerves spark in anticipation. He tried to keep his focus just on his steps, one foot in front of the other, ignoring the memories trying to creep back into his mind. Another step forward and his foot went right through a puddle. The sensation of the dirty water filling his shoe opened up a floodgate; suddenly, flashes of events tore through his mind.

Knee-deep water, the weight of the gun in his hand, the pulsing pain in his right leg.

He stopped on the sidewalk and shut his eyes tightly, trying to get the memories to stop, but the smell of the river kept bringing them back. He let out a pained groan. He didn’t understand. He felt so out of control. The one thing that had always been his greatest ally was turning on him. The fear quickly turned to frustration. He opened his eyes, deciding he was sick of it, sick of avoiding it all. All he was doing was just desperately patching holes on a sinking ship. He turned and looked at the island bridge, thinking it was time to stop running, and start confronting it head-on.

Some remnants of the barricades remained: large trunks of wood and brick were pushed up against the railing, razor wire glistening in the rain. The street was still damaged nearby, and the city had done some rush patch job to fix it, leaving the cracks still visible on the uneven pavement. The island across the river looked tiny. The dark buildings speckled the horizon; it looked like the remains of something dead, a carcass, rather than a once-populated island. It smelled different now, and the silence of it made him uneasy. He’d expected an intense barrage of memories, like what happened often at night, but he was met with something lifeless. He stared for a moment longer, noticing the fencing the city had put up around it, seeing where they’d cleaned a route on the main roads for the construction traffic. Looking to the street signs above, he saw the directional signs for the Narrows had been blocked off. Large “detour” signs took their place, directing traffic to the overhead bridges. The sight gave him a feeling of finality. The island held no answers, and it provided no closure. It was just dead. Letting out a deep breath, he took one last look at the island and continued down the opposite street toward his destination.

The farther he got from the Narrows, the more the sensations began to ease. His fear and frustration was replaced with a sense of emptiness he hadn’t expected; he felt almost numb to it all by the time he reached the buildings he was headed to. He’d thought actually looking at the island would be like confronting some horrific beast, and the lack of that resolution or answers of any kind was wearing on him. Stop worrying, talk to Lewin about it in your next appointment-- but that thought frightened him. He took a deep breath to compose himself, then he looked up at the buildings around him. The lights inside them and the soft sounds of people filled the air; he hadn’t thought this block would still be inhabited. Then he saw it: the darkened shell of what he assumed to be Miss Hattie’s previous residence. He could see the smoke damage on the remaining two buildings beside it. He noticed that both were still housing residents. He watched a cat slink inside an open window of a dimly lit room, heard one of the residents dump some wash water to the alleyway. All of it struck him as odd. It appeared Hattie’s building had sustained most of the damage, and it was enough damage to make the whole building uninhabitable. Yet the other buildings appeared to only have minor damage. Hurrying up to the entrance, he checked his watch and noted the time. Taking out his notepad, he skimmed his notes quickly, refreshing his memory and reinvigorating his focus. He climbed the few steps to the main entrance and gently pushed what was left of the front door open. The main hall didn’t appear to be too damaged by the fire, and he took a few steps inside, noting that the upper floor had been torn open by the firemen. Gotta watch your step up there, he thought as he saw the floor above through holes in the ceiling. He took out his flashlight and flicked it on, checking the apartment to his left first, before making his way slowly up the steps. He looked between the two doors on the top landing before going through the door on his right, per Miss Hattie’s instructions. He frowned while looking over the damage. It was quite bad, like a matchbox he remembered her saying -- and it certainly looked it.

Everywhere he looked was burned, the skeletons of her furniture scattered around the apartment, with every inch blackened by either smoke or fire. Moving further in, he kept his eyes to the floor, hopping over the weak spots as he picked his way to one of the back rooms. He reached a doorway and looked inside, searching the small room with his torch until he finally spotted the hole in the wall Miss Hattie had mentioned. He stepped over to it, avoiding another hole in the flooring, and bent down to check inside the wall.

Suddenly, a floorboard creaked in another room. He could hear what sounded like footsteps behind him. He frowned and turned his flashlight toward the door, bathing the hall in light.

He listened, hearing only the tapping of the rain water throughout the building.

Continue reading: 

Ep 2  *  Ep 3  *  Ep 4  *  Ep 5  *  Ep 6  *  Ep 7

[amispnrewatch]

SPN 1x06 “Skin”

Okay, I’m gonna try to type while I watch this time instead of forgetting this blog exists until the episode is almost over.

You can tell the footage for the previously on segment was saved on a VHS copy instead of the original film that the show was shot with because even in the HD iTunes version I have it looks low quality as fuck. And jumpy in the way that brings me back to my teens watching the WB all the damn time.

I love this song. WTF is this song. Shazam says “Good Deal” by Mommy and Daddy. I… have no comment, except that it sounds like everything I was listening to in college at the time this shit was airing.

Aaaaand not!Dean turns around to face the SWAT team after obviously torturing some woman. THAT is a cold open.

I wanna know what that car is in the background. It’s pretty. Maybe a convertible Impala? They have similar grills. This is not at all important.

Also, I love that with these higher definition versions of the episodes you can see that Sam’s email is lawboy and whatever dot com and that people in the fandom have started calling him Law Boy. It’s hilarious.

DEAN: Well, what exactly do you tell ‘em? You know, about where you’ve been, what you’ve been doin’?

SAM: I tell ‘em I’m on a road trip with my big brother. I tell ‘em I needed some time off after Jess.

DEAN: Oh, so you lie to ‘em.

SAM: No. I just don’t tell ‘em….everything.

DEAN: Yeah, that’s called lying. I mean, hey, man, I get it, tellin’ the truth is far worse.

SAM: So, what am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life? (DEAN shrugs.) You’re serious?

DEAN: Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can’t get close to people, period.

Aaaaand now I have Dean and Cassie feelings again and we haven’t even gotten to her episode yet.

SAM: No, man, I know Zack. He’s no killer.

DEAN: Well, maybe you know Zack as well as he knows you.

Aaaaaand now I have Dean and Lee feelings and we’re nowhere near Lee’s episode in season 15.

YOU JUST BLEW THROUGH A STOP SIGN DEAN WTF.

Little Becky. Oi with the reusing of names.

Of course Sam made friends with a bunch of rich kids while he was at college in a desperate attempt to try to be normal.

SAM: You know, maybe we could see the crime scene. Zack’s house.

DEAN: We could.

REBECCA: Why? I mean, what could you do?

SAM: Well, me, not much. But Dean’s a cop. (DEAN laughs.)

DEAN: Detective, actually.

I love that Dean was like “how dare you call me that.”

Okay, after a bit of research, I totally want to take a day trip to Bisbee, Arizona, but it’s already in the 90s here in the desert and it’s not even May so that trip is going to have to wait until… winter or something. There is no way in hell I’m going deeper into the desert when the weather gets hotter.

It’s a historic mining town tourist trap looking place now which is exactly the kind of shit I love.

SAM: Bec, look, I know Zack didn’t do this. Now, we have to find a way to prove that he’s innocent.

I mean, not technically, technically you would 1) NOT FUCK WITH A MURDER INVESTIGATION YOU’RE NOT LEGALLY INVOLVED IN BECAUSE ANYTHING YOU FIND WOULD BE INADMISSABLE IN COURT 2) find evidence to provide a reasonable doubt for the jury that he did commit the crime. You know, like a lawyer would need to do, Law Boy.

DEAN: I just don’t think this is our kind of problem.

When I made my husband watch this show with me (he’s seen it all at least once now over the years) this is the recurring thing that drove him crazy.

You guys can’t even go in through the back door? Or shut the front door behind you? Really?

REBECCA: (tearfully) Well, there’s no sign of a break-in. They say that Emily let her attacker in.

Yeah, that doesn’t even really mean that she knew her attacker. Just that it was someone she let her guard down around or got in some other way. See: The Son of Sam and Nightstalker, etc.

Love the pinup magnet on the fridge. I’d throw shade at that, but I have a pinup magnet on my fridge too so… pot kettle and all that.

Okay, both people in the next couple are gorgeous.

And oh wow those special effects changing eyes… wow.

This poor couple. I feel so bad for them in this episode.

How… how are the police gonna explain the way he was able to beat himself over the head with a bat??? I…

I love that 5:30 in the morning on TV is clearly like… 10 AM.

Okay, this is a really unrelated point, but the graffiti on the dumpster here reminds me of the Teen Wolf fandoms use of the name Void!Stiles when Stiles Stilinski was possessed by a Nogitsune… I just spent way too long digging through YouTube and my Tumblr tags from back when those episodes were airing looking for a few specific videos and couldn’t find them. The TL;DR reason I bring it up here is goofball, bi-coded main character guy getting possessed by an entity set on destroying the people he loves. SOUNDS LIKE THIS EPISODE AND A WHOLE LOT OF SPN RIGHT. I love that all these monster hunting shows call out to each other.

This scene haunts me years later and I don’t even WATCH Teen Wolf. I just watched the fandom on Tumblr collectively lose it’s shit then tripped down a Hale Pack fanfiction rabbit hole.

ANYWAY

Back to Supernatural, a show that also treated its fan base, cast, and characters like garbage! Huzzah!

DEAN: Well, there’s another way to go—down. (They look down and notice a manhole.)

I’m gonna be mature and ignore the double entendre there…

But I love that Dean thinks of the world in 3D. Which sounds like a dumb statement to make, but this is honestly a good example of that in action.

SAM: I bet this runs right by Zack’s house, too.

Really Sam, sewers run by houses? SO WEIRD. I WOULD HAVE NEVER GUESSED.

DEAN: You know, I just had a sick thought. When the shapeshifter changes shape—maybe it sheds.

SAM: That is sick. (DEAN puts the bloody pile back on the ground.)

Guys, there is a WHOLE ASS EAR in that pile of yuck you’re looking at. I think it’s pretty safe to assume the shapeshifter indeed sheds its skin like a snake. A much… gooier snake.

Sam’s friend is rightfully pissed at him for fucking with the crime scene.

This is before the pearl gripped guns?! Wow. I never noticed that before.

Also, this whole episode gives me feelings.

++++

Cool. Tumblr mobile ate a whole section of my notes on this when it crashed for NO APPARENT REASON. Love that.

It always boggles my mind that actors can trust the people they’re working with enough to let people “tie” ropes around their neck or put them in actually dangerous positions in a scene.

SHAPESHIFTER: He’s sure got issues with you. You got to go to college. He had to stay home. I mean, I had to stay home. With Dad. You don’t think I had dreams of my own? But Dad needed me. Where the hell were you?

SAM: Where is my brother? (The shapeshifter leans in close to SAM.)

SHAPESHIFTER: I am your brother. See, deep down, I’m just jealous. You got friends. You could have a life. Me? I know I’m a freak. And sooner or later, everybody’s gonna leave me. (He backs away.)

SAM: What are you talkin’ about?

SHAPESHIFTER: You left. Hell, I did everything Dad asked me to, and he ditched me, too. No explanation, nothin’, just poof. Left me with your sorry ass. But, still, this life? It’s not without its perks. (He laughs.) I meet the nicest people. Like little Becky. You know, Dean would bang her if he had the chance. Let’s see what happens. (He smiles and covers SAM with a sheet.)

This exchange is just… so much. So many feelings. And I will forever (unless we magically get a fix-it fic mini season someday…) be SO MAD that none of this got resolved in that pointless, trash heap of a finale.

REBECCA: Okay, so, this thing—it can make itself look like anybody?

SHAPESHIFTER: That’s right. (She chuckles.)

REBECCA: Well, what is it, like a genetic freak? (The shapeshifter laughs.)

SHAPESHIFTER: Maybe. Evolution is about mutation, right? So, maybe this thing was born human but was different. Hideous and hated. Until he learned to become someone else. (REBECCA looks around, uncomfortable. The shapeshifter’s eyes glint silver, and he smiles.)

It always amazes me how much of this show is a pile of accidental queer allegories parading around in an ill-fitting toxic masculinity suit.

Vulcan mind meld! I love nerd!Dean. Also, I’m rewatching Star Trek: TOS with my husband, because that is what my life amounts to these days, rewatching comfort TV and flailing over the bits I love.

This post does a better job than I can do of pairing up screen caps with the dialogue of this next scene. SIX EPISODES IN. They’re dumping all of this character depth SIX EPISODES IN. FUCK THIS SHOW FOR NOT EMBRACING ITSELF.

Okay, I love that he screams back in her face after he threw the phone. It’s not something to laugh at because the situation is horrifying, but I can’t help laughing at it every time.

AND THE WAY THEY CUT THESE SCENES. Going from him winding his hand back to backslap her directly to him dropping the chains on the table to show how hard he must have hit her without actually making the actors hit each other. Good job editing department!

I… don’t understand the shifter’s motivation for killing people. If he can take over people’s identities without killing them, why kill them? Is it just because he’s a homicidal, rapist piece of shit? Cause that’s all it seems like.

How did the SWAT team even know she was being attacked? Why can the snipers aim no better than Storm Troopers?

Ugh, these kind of transformation body horror scenes are exactly why werewolf stories have never really appealed to me much. Like, I could do without watching your ribs move and teeth fall out, dude.

BUT.

THIS FUCKING SCENE.

I looked up the song that’s playing over shapeshifter!Dean being caught by the SWAT team and then going through the grotesque transformation. (And as far as I know, the iTunes version has the original music from the episodes.)

It’s a song called “Mary” by The Death Riders

Who's your mother, who's your mother here boy // Who's your mother, whos your mommy dear // Who's your father, who's your father here boy // Who's your father, who's your daddy dear

Silently screaming // Where everyone knows // Daddy's always watchin' // Where everywhere - everywhere I go

I don't wanna be a freak show pretty boy anymore // I don't wanna be a full time slave // I don't wanna be your midnight cowboy anymore // I just want to be Mary

This is… a fascinating choice. Here are the rest of the lyrics. The song as a whole has a weird incesty kinda vibe to it? Kinda like when SPN tries to straight-wash itself and misses the mark wildly. (Like Dean’s male siren episode.)

The midnight cowboy line reminded me of 12x11 and the bull riding scene with “Broomstick Cowboy” by Bobby Goldsboro playing over it

Dream on, little Broomstick Cowboy, // Dream while you can; // Of big green frogs, // And puppy dogs, // And castles in the sand.

For, all too soon you'll awaken; // Your toys will all be gone. // Your broomstick horse will ride away, // To find another home. // And you'll have grown into a man, // With cowboys of your own. // And then you'll have to go to war, // To try and save your home.

And then you'll have to learn to hate; // You'll have to learn to kill. // It's always been that way, my son; // I guess it always will.

Because, you know, why not add tons of feelings into the lyrics, right?

Props to the people who can embrace their rewatches and reclamations of the show with ease. Because every episode seems to remind me of how hollow and tragic Dean’s ending was and I just… struggle all over again.

Anyway, back to the episode so I can move on with my day.

REPORTER: An anonymous tip led police to a home in the Central West End, where a S.W.A.T team discovered a local woman bound and gagged. Her attacker, a white male, approximately twenty-four to thirty years of age, was discovered hiding in her home. (A sketch of DEAN appears on the screen.)

DEAN: Man! That’s not even a good picture. (SAM looks around cautiously.)

SAM: It’s good enough. (He walks away.)

DEAN: Man! (He follows SAM.)

(CUT TO: Alley. DEAN and SAM are walking. DEAN steps into a puddle.)

DEAN: Ugh, come on.

I love that we get two tiny little back-to-back vanity moments for Dean here. One commenting on the sketch artist rendition of him being broadcasted on the news and the other tripping in the puddle. There is literally someone running around the city trying to kill people while wearing Dean’s face, but Dean is still concerned with how he looks appears to others. He’s still concerned with keeping up his own performance. The shifter left him with just a t-shirt, so he doesn’t even have his usual comfort layers on and at any moment someone could spot him and call the police or try to kill him for assaulting Sam’s friend. His life is wildly out of control in that moment and the only thing he can try to focus on is his appearance (something semi-controllable) and finding the shifter before any of that other shit can happen.

One day I want to put together a like top 10 episodes focusing on / explaining each TFW character from the series. Like the kind of list you could show someone who’s never seen the show, but has OPINIONS about the characters (or who hasn’t seen the whole show and seen the growth they went through… you know, like the people responsible for the travesty of 15x20). This episode would be on that list. I’m not sure how I could manage to make a list of only 10 episodes to understand Dean Winchester by, but eh.

SAM: What are you gonna do to me?

SHAPESHIFTER: Oh, I’m not gonna do anything. Dean will, though.

SAM: They’ll never catch him.

SHAPESHIFTER: Oh, doesn’t matter. Murder in the first of his own brother? He’ll be hunted the rest of his life. (He picks up a sharp knife and examines it.)

Speaking of season 15 in general, this right here. This was Chuck’s villain story arc thesis statement. AND THEY DROPPED THE GODDAMN BALL WITH IT. I think that’s the thing that honestly pisses me off the most these days (about 5 1/2 months from when the finale aired) is that they tried making the whole thing a tragedy but did such an awful job with it that it just ended up like a deflating condom balloon at a dive bar concert. Disappointing and gross. The finale for season 14 set them up SO FUCKING WELL and it just… didn’t get there.

Becky’s parents are gonna be pissed at how torn up their house is after all this shit…

And you’re not shooting him when you first see him strangling Sam because…?????

I like that he took the necklace back. Also, is this kinda Dean death number .5 of the show? Like it wasn’t him but it was also kinda him. Eh.

At least they left the windshield on Baby this time. Reflections are better than tearing her apart.

[flatassthrowaway]

Passionately and Deeply

~Chapter Three, Childfree Edition~

I just wanted to thank everyone for engaging with my fanfic this far, and getting to the prologue over 70+ notes! It warms my heart that so many people like this series! I'll be putting out a masterlist when I release the fifth chapter.

Also there may be more than a few grammatical errors in here, feel free to ignore those.

Anyway, like always, I hope you enjoy!

New to the series? Read the prologue.

The air is warmer, the grass is greener, and my ties to this town are only becoming deeper.

Being with Ford on that fateful night took away nearly every fear I had. I felt like as long as I had him, nothing would stand in my way in life.

I think he pretty much confirmed the same thing with me.

And I couldn’t be happier about that.

Since then, we’ve been hanging out regularly. He’s shown me quite a few of the abnormal beings in this charming yet peculiar town. Among them were the plaidypus, the beard cubs (which were actually kinda cute), and the question quails (which were unquestionably adorable). Ford claims that there are dangerous beings that reside here, but the ones that I’ve seen have been rather innocuous. I actually scooped up the icicle mice from this winter and put them in my freezer so that they’ll live.

In other news, his grand-niblings are on their way to visit him and his family up here in a few hours. They’ll be staying for the whole summer.

Melody had her child, which was a boy. She named him Jesús Alzamirano Ramirez Jr., right after Soos.

They’re such a sweet couple, and now a sweet family. I hope they have a prosperous life.

Abuelita is smitten over her new bisnieto, or her great-grandson. He is quite adorable, after all. He was born on April 4th, and he’ll be two months old on the 4th.

I even got to hold him several times when I visited. I forgot how soft they were, and how good they smelled. On my days off of work, I would make my way to the shack and just tend to him while his primary familial unit rested up.

Ford seems to like the little bean, too. Although he doesn’t really strike me as someone who would like babies, he really took a liking to him.

“You’re so good with that little tyke,” he told me.

I smiled up at him while holding the little bean. “Thanks,” I said. “It’s ironic, since I never want to be a mother or have children.”

Ford’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Truly? You never mentioned it.”

I smiled back down at the sweet baby in my arms. “It never came up,” I told him. “Not until this sweet boy came into our lives. Having a set amount of time with him is fine with me.”

Ford smiled. “On an unrelated note, how old are you again?” he asked.

I playfully raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask about a lady’s age?” I asked, playfully indignant. “I’ll be twenty seven in seven days.”

“Ah, so you’re a gemini like me,” he said. “My great niece told me about the zodiac signs and everything related to them.”

“Oh really? When’s your birthday then?” I asked.

“Stanley’s and my birthday is in two weeks from today, on the 15th of June,” he said.

“The twins have the twins zodiac. How about that,” I said, chuckling.

“You wouldn’t happen to be a twin, would you?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No.”

“What a shame. I thought I would be able to set her up with Stanley,” Ford joked.

I playfully raised an eyebrow. “Who said my twin would be a woman?” I said.

Both of us just stared at each other before we softly broke out laughing.

All of a sudden, the door slammed open, and I saw two teenagers at the door, one boy and one girl.

The girl had medium brown curly hair that reached her mid back, the same copper brown eyes as Stan and Ford, and donned a purple headband with parted fringe bangs. Her sweater (why was she wearing a sweater in June?) was the same purple color as her headband and had spelled out MABEL, and wore a hot pink skirt that reached just a little below mid thigh, with dark purple almost black stockings, and some purple doc martens on. She was about average height.

The boy had a tan and dark brown lumberjack hat, the same medium brown curly hair and copper brown eyes as his sister, with long bangs that nearly covered his eyes. He wore a red flannel plaid shirt, blue jeans and timberlands. He was also about average height, which… kind of surprised me. Seeing that he was related to Stan and Ford, I thought he would be taller.

That doesn’t matter that much, though.

What matters is that this sweet baby boy started crying when both of them busted through the door. I shushed him, trying to soothe him.

“We’re here!” the girl yelled as Ford shushed her. She lowered her head. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“Who’re you?” the boy asked.

“Dipper, my boy, meet my good friend,” Ford said my name, introducing me to his great nephew. “Come here, Mabel, I want you to meet her, too.”

“Woah, nice to meet you! I’m Mabel! Grunkle Ford never said anything about his lady friend being so pretty,” Mabel introduced herself to me as I chuckled and Ford scratched the back of his head.

I can see where she gets her electrifying personality from.

“Nice to meet you too, dear,” I told her, this sweet baby finally settling down back into slumber.

“My name’s Dipper,” Dipper introduced himself. “Is that Soos’ son or is that your own child?”

I shook my head. “It’s definitely not my child. I’m just watching him while he, Melody, and Abuelita rest.”

“Woah, can I hold him? Please please please? I promise I’ll be extra careful!”

“Not yet, darling. Go wash your hands before you touch him. His immune system is very fragile right now,” Ford told Mabel. Mabel dashed to the sink, and Dipper walked, following her.

“So they are your niece and nephew,” I remarked.

Ford turned to me and nodded. “Yes. Besides this little tyke, they are the closest thing to being my own children.”

I smiled as I turned my gaze back to the sweet baby in my arms. “Did you ever want children, Ford?”

“Not really, no,” he said. “I was focused on my work. In a way, everything I’ve worked on, and currently working on are my progeny. Even if I wanted to… I think it’s far too late for me to be a father.”

“That’s a fascinating way to put it,” I told him. “And I completely agree. My work is my baby.”

Ford chuckled as Mabel and Dipper both entered the living room, and Mabel made grabby hands towards Jesús. “Lemme see him~!” she said in her baby voice.

I handed him to her, and she was completely enamored by his baby charm. “Hi buddy. It’s your cousin, Mabel,” she said softly.

I guess when the moment really calls for it, she can be gentle.

“So…” Dipper said my name. “Or do you prefer Miss? Ms? Ma’am?”

I chuckled. “You can say my name, it’s alright, Dipper,”

“Good!” Dipper cleared his throat. “I-I mean, good. I just have a few questions for you.”

“I have a few questions for you, too!” Mabel declared. The baby in her arms cried again.

“My dear, let me take the little tyke while you… speak,” he said, taking Jesús in his arms.

Mabel led me upstairs and Dipper followed us into the attic, where they were sleeping. It smelled like dust mites and moth balls.

They couldn’t have gotten something more appealing for these kids? Honestly!

I’m busting Ford’s ass about this later.

“So…” Dipper said my name. “What is your occupation?”

I told both of them what I did.

“What about before you came to Gravity Falls? What did you do? Where did you live? Did you graduate from university?”

Mabel rolled her eyes. “Jeez Dipper, it’s like you never had a conversation before! It sounds like an interview!”

“Mabel, these are important things I need to know about Great Uncle Ford’s new girlfriend,” he said.

I raised a finger to refute. “Well, actually-”

“Dipper, c’mon!” she whined before turning to me. “I’m sorry for Dipper, he doesn’t know how to have a proper conversation with a lady.”

“Wha- hey!”

“Aaaaanyway, I have more important questions to ask you than the stuffy questions my brother asked! I need to know: Do you like pigs or tardigrades?” Mabel said, narrowing her eyes at me comically.

“Well, I’d have to say pigs. Tardigrades are cute, but I never interacted with one,” I told her.

Mabel squealed. “Oh, this is great! Let me get Waddles!” she said, running out of the room.

“Oh great. Now you’ve set her off,” Dipper said. “Anyway, back to my questions. How old are you?”

I playfully smiled. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask for a lady’s age?” I asked, testing how strong his resolve was.

Dipper scratched the back of his neck. “I-I’m sorry, ma’am, I just-”

I smiled softly. “Listen Dipper, I understand you care for your great uncle, but speaking to me like this seems a little… out of character for you, if that makes sense,” I told him.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Just from the small amount of interaction I had from you, you’re clearly an intelligent young man,” I told him, his cheeks becoming a little red. “But your confidence is lacking. To make up for that, you overcompensate with a dour tone. I almost felt animosity coming from you in your questions, even though I know it’s not how you want to come across.”

“Wow… how did you get all of that?” Dipper asked.

I smiled. “I’ve been on this Earth for quite some time, dear. Most of the time, I can tell when someone isn’t being authentic.”

“Well… can I at least ask why you’re dating my grunkle?” Dipper asked.

I laughed. “Oh, that is hilarious,” I told him. “Hon, I’m not dating your great uncle. We’re just really good friends,” I told him. “If you ask him, he would say the same thing.”

Dipper breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. It’s still kinda questionable, but that’s a lot better.”

I smiled as Mabel came back in with a lean yet rotund pink pig with a cute nose and round cheeks. She said my name. “Meet Waddles!” she said, as Waddles let out a happy squeak.

I smiled. “What a cute little guy,” I said, slowly moving closer to him. “Hey Waddles.”

He sniffed my hand, and then nuzzled his head into my hand. I scratched just above his ears, and he was panting like a dog.

I think he enjoys it.

“Wow! He loves you already! How did you know his favorite scratching spot?” Mabel asked.

“Mabel, all over his body is his favorite scratching spot. He loves pets,” Dipper said.

“True, true,” Mabel said, sitting in front of me and next to her twin brother, crossing her legs. “Now then, where were we in our interview?”

“Actually… I want to take a different approach,” Dipper said, looking back at me.

Mabel turned her head curiously, looking at her brother. “Yeah? How?” she asked, looking back at me.

“Let’s get psychological,” Dipper said, narrowing his eyes at me.

“Hell yeah! Psychological warfare!” Mabel exclaimed as she pumped her fist in the air.

Suddenly, the door opened to the attic, and Stan was in the doorway. “Psychological warfare? Ya don’t gotta tell me twice!” he said, taking a seat on the bed next to his great nephew, looking at me.

I was starting to sweat a little bit. Hopefully, they didn’t see it.

“I guess the main thing I’m worried about is that… well… you and Great Uncle Ford seem so friendly. I’ve never seen him like that with a stranger,” Dipper told me.

“I am a stranger to you, but not to your great uncle,” I reminded him.

“And that’s fine and all, but… how long have you known him?” Dipper asked.

“It’ll be four months on our birthday. Or maybe the day before? I dunno, somewhere around there,” Stan chimed in.

Mabel gasped. “You’ve cracked our Grunkle Ford in four months?!” she asked incredulously.

“I wouldn’t put it that way…” I told her.

“Yeah,” Stan surprisingly agreed with me. “It was more like one week.”

Mabel stared at me, awestruck. “One week?!” she shrieked, making me jump a little.

I nodded bewilderedly. Mabel screamed as if she were fangirling. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh~!”

“Mabel, get a hold of yourself!” Stan said.

“But c’mon Grunkle Stan! She’s exactly what Grunkle Ford needs! Do you really want him to rot in his lab all day, with no companion?” Mabel asked him.

Stan rolled his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh brother.”

Mabel stood up and nearly lunged at me. I nearly jumped out of my seat. “But seriously! You need to teach me your secrets! If you were able to charm Grunkle Ford in a week, you’re on the same level as a succubus in terms of charm and seduction!” She exclaimed.

I raised an eyebrow, deciding to play along with her. “Why does a young lady like you need to know about seduction?” I asked.

Mabel cleared her throat. “I am sixteen years old!” she boasted proudly, puffing her chest.

Dipper raised his index finger. “Almost seventeen,” he chimed in. “But Mabel, c’mon. Let us have at least a semi-serious conversation without you trying to make friends with her.”

Mabel turned around and blew a raspberry at her brother. “Boo! You’re so boring sometimes, Dipper!”

She sat back down next to her brother, and crossed her legs again.

“Now then, where were we…” Dipper trailed off.

“We were talkin’ about how long my brainiac brother and her knew each other,” Stan reminded him.

Dipper’s eyes lit up before he snapped his fingers. “Right!” His gaze zeroed in on me. “My point in asking that question was because Great Uncle Ford didn’t really begin to trust us until Mabel got that unicorn hair for him.”

I looked at the three of them quizzically. Unicorns are real? Or was this just the overactive imagination of teenagers?

“Kid, she’s from a normal town. Unicorns probably are a myth where she’s from,” Stan told Dipper.

I nodded. “Or so I thought… but after seeing some of the oddities Gravity Falls has to offer, I’d say I believe in the existence of unicorns,” I told them.

Mabel had a super serious face on. “Then believe me when I say that they are so condescending,” Mabel said.

Holy crap. I thought unicorns were supposed to be pure hearted or whatever? Now I’m hearing the opposite?

Nothing really is as it seems in Gravity Falls…

“Mabel, focus!” Dipper said in a tone of frustration.

Mabel shook her head. “Right! Sorry…” she said. “The point Dipper is trying to make is that it took Grunkle Ford so long for him to trust us that he’s shook that Grunkle Ford was so friendly to you within a week.”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, did you mean shocked?” I asked.

Mabel shook her head. “Nope. Dipper was shook,” she doubled down on her grammatically incorrect statement.

That must be the slang the kids came up with these days. Now that I’m an adult myself, I understand how my grandmother felt when I used slang terms.

“While you’re right, Sister, you know that ‘shook’ has been out for a while. No one except you uses it anymore,” Dipper said.

“Oh, you’re just salty that I finally used it right!” Mabel said.

“Oh, does that mean he’s weird?” I asked.

Dipper looked at me like I had three heads, but Mabel gave me a gentle pat on my arm.

“That was a good guess,” she said, before returning to sit with her brother.

“That… wasn’t even close,” he said.

I scratched my cheek as I felt both of them become hot. “I guess I’m showing my age, then.”

“Actually, speaking of which, how old are you? You look pretty young for someone trying to go after our great uncle.”

“Oh my gosh, Dipper!” Mabel exclaimed. “You can’t just ask a woman how old she is! That’s rude!”

“Actually, I wanna know how old this vixen is. How old are you?” Stan asked me.

“Grunkle Stan~!” Mabel whined.

“Can it, Mabel! We need answers!”

“I’ll be twenty seven a week from today,” I told them.

“Shit, kid… you’re a lot younger than I thought,” Stan said.

“Wow, that’s… controversial,” Dipper added.

“What do you mean?”

Dipper shook his head. “The fact that you’re friends with my Grunkle, and he’s in his sixties…”

“That shouldn’t matter. But with that being said,” I started. “I understand that you just want to make sure your great uncle is being safe, and I totally understand that. I haven’t hurt him, nor do I intend on consciously hurting him.”

“Bah! Your words mean nothing! How the hell are we gonna trust ya?” Stan asked.

Mabel stood up again, and stepped forward. “I’ll be the judge of that!”

“Mabel, sweetie, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Stan said. “This is a strange woman that you, I, and your brother don’t know.”

“So let’s get to know her, Grunkle Stan!” Mabel said, determination in her voice. “If she’s so bad, you need to give me at least one reason why I shouldn’t hang out with her. If it's for a decent reason, then I’ll stop.”

“Well… uh… urm…” Stan stammered.

So why the hell doesn’t he like me?

“Then it’s settled!” Mabel turned to me, saying my name. “We’re going to be great friends! I can feel it!”

Seeing this vibrant young lady in front of me blazed in determination, I couldn’t help but smile. “Let’s be friends.”

“Yay! Friendship, friendship, friendship~”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get too happy, pumpkin,” Stan said, standing up. “I’ll find a flaw in her, and when I do, you’re gonna know that I’m right.”

Mabel smiled. “Okay, Grunkle Stan,” she told him. As he walked to the door, he opened it, and Ford was standing there, looking indignant.

“Oh… well, uh, shit,” Stan said. “How long ya been there, Poindexter?”

“Long enough,” he seethed in a low tone. He pushed past his brother, and entered into the attic and went towards Mabel.

“Thank you for giving her a chance, my darling,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. Mabel gave a half smile.

He then turned to Dipper. “Dipper, my boy. Come with me to my laboratory. You too,” he said my name. We both stood up, then went down to his lab. The way to get down to his lab was so cool. I marvel at it every time.

Using a vending machine to hide the entrance way was so innovative, inconspicuous and just overall ingenious.

And using symbols that aren’t seen in everyday life? Brilliant!

Once we descended to the deepest level, we got off of the elevator. Ford then turned around and placed his hands behind his back.

“Dipper… do you not trust my judgement?” Ford asked him, hurt palpable in his voice.

“Great Uncle Ford, what do you mean? Of course I do!” Dipper reassured him.

“You must not,” Ford said. “You, along with my brother, think that I am not able to detect a bad person when I see them.”

“Wha- are you talking about-”

Ford cut him off. “Yes, I am.”

“Great Uncle Ford, it was never my intention to make you feel like your judgement was off… even though you trusted Bill… but that’s in the past. Your judgement has been sharp since then!” Dipper tried to assuage him.

Who is Bill? What did he do? What happened?

I have a mountain of questions right now, and I don’t think I’m gonna have any of them answered in the near future.

“I don’t think you need to worry about that, my boy. She is a good person, and I was able to promptly pick up on that,” Ford clarified.

“But how do you know, Great Uncle Ford? How do you know that she is a good person?”

Ford was about to open his mouth, but I stepped in front of him, then turned to face Dipper.

“Dipper… I know you don’t trust me now…” I started. “But the only way you’ll know for sure is if you spend time with me. Your sister has already put her faith in me, and it would mean a lot to me if you could, too.”

Dipper studied my face, searching for a trace of insincerity. Upon finding none, he finally nodded.

“Fine. I’ll spend some time with you, like my sister will,” he finally spoke. “But if I find that you’re using him just like Bill… I will never forgive myself.”

I nodded determinedly at Dipper. “You can trust me, Dipper. You’ll see in time. More importantly, you can trust your great uncle.”

Dipper sighed. “Yeah, I hope that’s the case, that I can trust you,” Dipper said, defeated.

“Chin up, my boy,” Ford said. “You’ll see why I enjoy having her around. For now, you can find some snacks in the cupboard before Soos makes dinner.”

Dipper raised a bushy eyebrow. “Soos is cooking now? He always ate burrito bites and anything instantaneous.”

Ford smiled. “Fatherhood really had him step up his game. Not only as a husband, but as a grandson.”

“Wow, I gotta catch up with him for sure!” Dipper then turned to me, saying my name. “I-I’m sorry about earlier.”

I shook my head. “I understand, Dipper. You just wanted to protect your great uncle from someone strange.”

Dipper smiled. “You’re anything but,” he said. “See you both at dinner.”

We both waved to him before I turned to Ford. He just had a look of mixed emotions on his face, somewhere from sadness to relief to anger, to even looking apologetic.

“I deeply apologize for the onslaught you had to endure on behalf of my family. I hope they weren’t too unrelenting in their questioning.”

I shook my head. “I told you many times, Stanford, and I’ll tell you again,” I said. “I really don’t mind. In fact, I find it heartwarming.”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “Heartwarming?” he said. “How on Earth did you find that heartwarming?”

“It’s so blatantly clear that you have a family that loves you. So much so to the point where they would ruthlessly interrogate someone who they thought could be a potential threat to you. If that isn’t a strong familial love and bond, I don’t know what is,” I told him.

Ford scratched the back of his head. “I suppose you’re right.”

I smiled coyly. “Of course I’m right,” I told him smugly.

Ford chuckled. “You’re such a cheeky girl. I never expected you to have a sly side.”

His praise made my heart skip a beat.

I maintained my smile. “That’s some high praise coming from you.”

“Oh, my dear, you should be used to me praising you,” he said in a deep voice, making me feel all hot inside.

Ugh, why is this happening? Have I really been so lonely that this man is starting to ignite a flame inside of me?

It’s been extinguished for a while, actually. I’m surprised it’s starting back up again. If it’s even starting up at all. This basement does tend to get hot.

“Gracious, are you okay? Please, say something!” Ford asked, his hands on my shoulders.

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Ford. I got lost in thought.”

Ford sighed a breath of relief, I smelt the coffee he normally drank on his breath. “Thank goodness. I was just telling you that dinner is ready, so we can go get some food to eat.”

I nodded. “I think I need something inside of me.”

Oh, fuck! That came out so wrong! I hope Ford didn’t pick up on that!

“You certainly do. Come, dear. Let’s go eat.”

I nodded before following him onto the elevator. In somewhat comfortable silence, we rode the elevator up to the first floor of the Mystery Shack, and we went into the dining room.

Soos was nowhere to be seen, but the young twins, Dipper and Mabel, were at the table, plus Stan. I decided to sit next to Ford, but as I was sitting down, Stan decided to voice his displeasure.

“Uh-uh. Stand up,” he said my name.

“Stanley! Enough!” Ford thundered. “This is becoming utterly ridiculous! Leave her be!”

Mabel and Dipper exchanged looks as Stan muttered something underneath his breath before Soos came back out. He had a joyful look on his face, which dropped once he saw the table.

“Hey dudes! …what happened?” He asked.

None of us cared to verbally answer him, so he just shrugged and sat down. Apparently, he had made enchiladas, which I strangely craved.

The dinner itself was awkward, but it wasn’t the worst one I sat through.

I thanked Soos for the dinner, and said my goodbyes to Dipper, Mabel and Stan.

Before I left, Mabel gave me her number. Just for me to give her some tips on how to become a succubus.

Goodness, that girl is a hoot.

Ford walked me back to my home, and once I arrived, I turned to him.

“Thanks for walking me back, again,” I told him.

Ford smiled. “It was the least I could do after you had to survive the onslaught,” he said as I laughed.

“I told you, it’s fine,” I said. “But if you want to spend time together… you know how to reach me.”

Ford maintained his smile. “That I do,” he said. “Goodnight, dear. Get some rest.”

“You too. Rest well.”

As I entered my home and closed the door, he began walking back. Even though I was somewhat joking the first time we met at the diner, I’m kinda glad he’s walking me back home. It makes me feel safe whenever he’s with me.

As I got ready for bed, and laid in it, I couldn’t fall asleep right away like I normally do. What was happening with my body, too?

I normally wasn’t so hot and bothered around him. His voice is naturally deep, but at that time…

Shit. I think he turned me on by accident. I think my flame has been reignited.

I need a cold shower.

💚

Likes and reblogs are appreciated! Check back next Friday for another chapter! Next chapter here.

[ihatebnha]

hiii sorry to bother you!! I was just wondering how you grew your acc and got traction on ur posts when u first made ur account? <3

Aww, you're not a bother at all! I always love getting asks, so this is nothing.

I know I'm not supposed to be on here, but... I've always wanted someone to ask me this so I got a little excited LOL. I really hope this helps, and feel free to send in any specific questions if I'm unclear about anything because I know for a FACT that I've probably missed some stuff.

Disclaimer: this is just how I did it during an interest boom as someone who doesn't write long fics... obviously, it's different for everyone and there's no wrong way to have or run a writing blog esp. since viewership has changed <3

-

I think I should start off with saying... one of the main ways I gained traction was by writing and posting my own prompts. Daily.

I actually wanted to start a blog specifically because I'm bad at coming up with my own ideas... but when I was just starting out, I figured it would be really difficult to get anon requests (and especially those that were in tune with what I wanted to write) if I didn't actually have any content out... so I personally worked SUPER hard at just posting a handful of my own drabbles every couple days in order to get the material flowing and the repertoire established with or without any interaction/response.

I think... this and this were two of my first posts? Nothing too complex obviously, but both being unrelated to requests.

It's also important to note that posting pieces specifically is what I did and DO believe keeps the influx of followers steady. Sure, you can be the funniest person on earth and have banger reblogs, but as someone very picky about the blogs I follow and the content I see on my dash, I have found there always needs to be some flow of writing and/or serious content discussion... even if it's just a think piece... for people to really, truly care about talking to you.

It's very likely that you'll have less people following you specifically to interact if all your posts are non-writing related reblogs of things. It is possible to get followers by just supporting authors that way, but you'll never have people banging on your door to chat unless you make stuff of your own and post it somewhat consistently.

For me, I had a couple of regular anons at less numbers, but I wasn't getting all that many consistently til I had about 800-1000+.

I also... worked really hard at ONLY posting writing related things... even if it was hard or I hated the prompt LOL... and I even kept personal posts kept to a minimum for the longest time. I'm still recovering from that LOL.

But... I think it really helped that I started out writing smut first? People LOVE smut... and it doesn't even have to be that long (or good) to get attention, so that definitely helped me.

...Let's see. Another thing that I think I was benefitted by was having a good URL and an easy to navigate, DISTINCT theme (my theme was a meme for like four months LOL).

I've always refused to lean on those fancy, term-coded ones because I find them rather..................... access-unfriendly, but being recognizable is SO important as I ALWAYS notice people in my inbox when their urls are cool or their themes standout, even if they don't actually write.

And though it's not required, I also think it's easier to find moots that way, too (esp if it's your main).

(And if someone you like follows you, make sure to say hi or send an ask off anon!!)

ALSO, I think it's super important to set up a masterlist the second you have content out and to either put it either as or on your pinned post. Back when there were more blogs and I read content more regularly, I literally wouldn't go through blogs if it wasn't easy to find ALL of their work... and I'm sure theres a few people who remember this, but for the longest time, my pinned post was literally just "masterlist."

A masterlist is what proves to people that you have work you want to share and that it's worth looking at!!!

But to continue, and I say this not just as an author, but as someone who's been on tumblr since 2011.... all that shit about tagging posts with 5 billion things? That's mumbo jumbo tbh. Your posts may end up more places... but no where that important because tumblr only tracks the first five tags.

"____ x reader" is really the MAIN thing I worried about... and I always made sure it was the FIRST tag I put. I kept all my personal thoughts TIL AFTER I established where I wanted the post to be found.

As an example, when I first started, I would tags pieces: "bakugo x reader, bakugou x reader, bakugo, katsuki bakugo x reader, katsuki bakugou x reader" and that's IT.

These days, you can probably get away with even less than that as the tags are a fucking mess and no one important really looks at them.

And mainly... I think I was just patient. I definitely got asks at first but... it took me MONTHS to get anywhere close to where I'm at now... and even then, I think I've lost a lot of regulars due to inconsistent posting.

The thing about this all though, is that... running a blog is a different experience for everyone, and frankly, SHOULD REMAIN DIFFERENT. I know my views are very biased based on how I interact on tumblr... but that's what makes the community stronger, you know? Coming together.

SO, TL;DR: post content DAILY, be identifiable, tag well, and HAVE PATIENCE... and you should be fine. I'm sure there will come a day when you reflect back and miss being a smaller blog.

Good luck❤️

[thetorturerwrites]

Bucket

Snippet:  You were little more than a thrumming nerve. Your entire body throbbed inside your suddenly itchy sweater and leggings, aching and ready for him to do whatever it was he would do. That was the entire nature of your relationship with Adam. He told you what he wanted, and you delivered.

Notes: I wasn't sure I was going to post this because it is different from my regular Sackler, but I need to get it out of my brain. As always, this is an adult work, and there's not a lot about me that's fluffy. So, please be aware. Also, this is all the way behind the cut because it is just straight porn, y'all.

“Fuck, that’s it.”

Adam’s strong hands wrapped around your skull entirely. His fingers dug into your scalp, guiding you up and down again and again. He grunted at your whimper; the sound clipped by the stab of his dick against your uvula. Every salacious sound boomed in the empty theater.

On your knees between his, you clutched at his corded, jean-clad thighs, but the smooth fabric thwarted your every effort at keeping your balance. You slid against the stage's hardwood floor, only contained by his manipulative grip and his boots at the outsides of your thighs.

For the last half hour, Adam used your mouth to edge himself. He inched right up to the line where you’d taste that salty desire dribble out; and then, he’d back off, slapping his dick at the flat of your tongue with a lewd groan or allowing you to lick at the distended veins decorating his cock and wiggle your tongue tip into his weeping slit.

He was all you could smell, all you could taste. When he allowed it, musk and sweat tainted the air you breathed. You lapped at the tangy underside and head of his dick, swirling the slick around and around before swallowing it down on a delirious sigh.

Cock drunk from the first drop.

The longer he fucked your mouth, the more it swelled and numbed, and the natural apprehension of your throat to keep invaders out grew lax. That’s what he wanted. That was the goal — to park his massive dick into your throat as far as he could and cum down it.

His phone alarm blared, signaling the impending start of the next rehearsal.  He responded with an annoyed kick to send it skittering across the floor.

“Goddammit.” He tangled his fingers in roughly, jerking you back to the tip. He yanked his black t-shirt up and out of the way, baring that mouth-watering abdomen. “Hands.”

You were little more than a thrumming nerve. Your entire body throbbed inside your suddenly itchy sweater and leggings, aching and ready for him to do whatever it was he would do. That was the entire nature of your relationship with Adam. He told you what he wanted, and you delivered.

Blow job in the middle of the day, the park, the cab? Often. Pictures of your tits at three in the morning so he could jerk off when everyone else in the apartment was asleep? Check. Dirty bar bathroom fucking while his narcissist girlfriend waited? Of course.

He used you — however, whenever, wherever he wanted.

You reveled in it, in being his on-demand whore. Often, he didn’t care if you enjoyed it. He never worried about making you cum or being nice. You were at his disposal for every vicious fuck, for every lascivious, law-breaking adventure.

You picked up where his idiotic girlfriends left off.

And now? Now, you obeyed for the hundredth time, wrapped both hands around his straining, heated cock, and used them in tandem with your mouth, twisting and tugging. His arousal and the spit he coaxed from the back of your tongue combined to make every pass glide easily. Each obscene slurp and shuck echoed, a sinful chorus your heart beat in rhythm to. He moaned loud as you massaged and drooled and swallowed.  

The sounds he made had you rocking pitifully against nothing. Pins and needles shot through your calves and feet. Your quads burned; your head swam. But your breasts were heavy with arousal, nipples erect in that way that made you want to beg him to lick and suck them. Your pussy clamored, banging an intense, unrelenting tempo and soaking through the paltry fabric between your thighs.

“Think about this goddamn mouth more than I should.” He huffed and squirmed, unable to decide between the combination of lips and hands or the invitation at the back of your neck. “Can’t get Hannah to give a decent blow job to save my life. Shit, fuck, right there.”

You purred at his words and concentrated harder on relaxing your jaw and swiping your tongue along his length in response. This was the only praise you ever received from Adam — this comparison to whomever he was dating.

Clutching at your head, he forced you down, down, down until your nose nudged his groin and your throat, abused and beaten into submission, accepted his barrage. He growled and thrust in, pushy and pleased with himself.  He interrupted each gag with a new spearing of his cock. Barking another curse, Adam lodged himself so far into your throat he blocked your air supply and spilled straight into your gullet, denying you even the taste.

He was demanding, depraved, delectable.

He held you there a long time, until your fingers eased and your shoulders slumped with imminent unconsciousness. When he finally vacated your mouth, he held you upright by the throat as your brain came back into itself. He waited until you blinked bleary eyes at him and licked your swollen, cracked lips.

Pulling away, you took a dizzy moment to adjust your clothes sluggishly. You wiped the sticky spit from your face and nodded once, the only sign he ever asked for that you weren’t going to die or press charges.

He jerked his head towards the back door and grabbed his script from the floor.

“Get the fuck outta here.”

***

AS: Carmine’s. 15. Y: N. Too far. 30. AS: Fine.

Twenty-five minutes later, you strolled through the Italian restaurant’s door and paused at the attendant’s booth.  You were here to meet someone, you said, breezing by her with a smile as you had a dozen times before. For all she knew, you were a regular paying customer, not a booty call who was about to corrupt some recently cleaned surface.

Pointing yourself toward the restrooms, you hummed and strolled through the bustling room. You caught sight of Adam seated at an over-crowded table, surrounded by half-drunk, too loud people he looked close to murdering.

The scowl on his face promised any number of sinful things.

As soon as he caught your eye, you ducked down the dim hallway and into the ladies’ room to wait. Carmine’s was one of his favorite spots because of this particular bathroom — single occupancy, thick door, sturdy lock.

Minutes later, tall, dark, and menacing stepped in, slammed the door, and threw the lock into place. Hands on his hips, he leveled that annoyed gaze at you. Your breath hitched; your mouth watered. Slowly, deliberately, his eyes roamed from your favorite pair of come-fuck-me boots, along shapely curves accentuated by black skinny jeans. He lingered at the low swoop of your blouse and the rich plum coloring your full lips.

Somehow, his gaze darkened even further.

“You on a fucking date?”

He closed the distance in two irritated strides, prompting you to stand up straighter. Adam’s left hand pulled you in by your ass, squeezing and lifting you against him. His right found your breast to graze and swipe his thumb back and forth over the straining nipple. The lace bralette you wore left nothing to chance. You felt every nudge of the stiff peak side to side, sending electric current straight to your clit.

“Are you?” You met his eyes, a dare and a plea all wrapped up in one look. “You don’t care.”

Honey-gold eyes narrowed at you. Lush, pink lips hard lined. The hand at your breast lifted to your face and smeared the pretty lipstick all across your cheek, lending an air of just-fucked to your as yet unfucked appearance. You were loose for him from the first text, before you even walked in the door, but the sound he made melted your insides.

“You’re right.” Adam spun you to face the mirror and tore at your pants, nearly ripping the button clean off. “Don’t give a damn.”

Shoving the fabric down your hips, he impatiently tore your panties, pushed you further up onto the little counter, and dipped his fingers into the well at your core.

“Always ready for me, huh bucket?”

Your head dropped on a hushed groan at the pet name. Bucket. Short for Cum Bucket — his own personal sperm bank.

You didn’t need to answer; the evidence was clear. And before you could even plan the words, the fat head of his cock pushed past your puffy labia and broke the jellied seal on your cunt. You bit your lip hard to keep the whining noise from turning loud as he stretched you. It burned so goddamn good, and you lifted onto your toes for even an inch more.

Warm-up over, Adam gripped both of your hips and slammed forward punishingly. The force of it was so great, your mouth popped open on a hiccup, something between a delighted cry and a punch to the chest. Stunned, you planted your clammy hand on the mirror for some support, but he held you in place. His wide, determined hands kept your body right where he wanted it.

His pace was brutal. Hips pistoning, fingers digging in, teeth bared. All take and no give, he leaned further into you, pressing your abdomen against the marble counter so hard you knew there would be bruises. Each pass was frenzied, and the only thing that muffled the slap of his body against yours was the fact that the bathroom was next door to the kitchen.

The smell of sex mingled with spice and bread, coaxing a gurgle from your stomach. Starved in more ways than one, you arched your back and tipped your ass up further, earning a pleasured grunt from behind.

You knew the drill, and you held your breath. He hardly wanted to hear your sounds, often because he was muttering angrily or cursing at whatever bullshit happened over the course of the day. Your wailing was distracting, annoying, he said. You screwed your eyes shut to keep from watching him fuck you in the mirror, certain that you wouldn’t be able to keep quiet if you did.

But a whimper escaped, and you clawed at the sink. It was too much, too fucking good to bear in silence no matter how hard you tried.

His panting and grunting was music, and you pictured every shiny, veiny inch disappearing into your sizzling cunt. He didn’t care if you came, but he could drive you there, drive you crazy, the way he bottomed out, the way his sheer size filled you into your guts, the way he pushed and pulled and moved you to his liking.

Fucking you like this, in the bathroom of such a fine family establishment, was vulgar, disrespectful. His girlfriend and her friends were right outside, drinking and carrying on, but he was in here with you, hollowing out your pussy for his freight train cock.

It was mean and rude and shameful.

Addicting.

Something changed this time, though. You hurtled fast towards the kind of blinding orgasm only Adam could deliver, struggling to keep your mouth shut as you did, when his firm hand wrapped around your neck and lifted your back into his chest. He tightened his grip and hissed in your ear.

“Open your eyes. You think some suit can fuck you like this?”

The sight that met your peeking was carnal candy. His face was flushed and right at your ear. Your mouth hung open, letting strangled sounds of pleasure squeak free. He buried his dick far, far, far into your cunt and gripped the soft swell of your stomach for leverage. His fingernails dug in, and you could do nothing but brace, hold on, quake.

“Some college frat asshole gonna make you cum like I do? You know you want to. Almost there aren’t you, bucket? You think I don’t know when you cum?”

That was it. That’s all it took to send you reeling. Your body lit up, constricting around the angry cock inside and pulling a volley of curses from its owner. A long, muted ‘ffffffuck’ dripped from your lips right before the rest of you followed, shaking through the orgasm and the hot flood of slick that accompanied it.

It was liquid fire leaking down your thighs for him, a delicious loosening of every muscle to draw him in even further, and he rewarded you with a loud groan and a vicious bite to the shoulder.

He fucked you through your high mercilessly, never stopping the rough, quick pace. Pushing your torso away, he wrapped his hands back around your hips and furiously crashed into you until he snarled and emptied his cock, painting your insides with a fresh coat of Adam.

He was right.  Nobody could fuck you like that.

Slumping against the mirror, you mewled at the cool press of the glass, grateful for the temperature change. You bit your lip as he pulled out, already feeling empty in the wake of his use. Managing to make your legs work, you pulled your clothes back into place and reached to turn on the faucet so you could wash away the mussed make-up, but he caught your hand and turned you to face him.

He tipped your face up by fingers at your chin.

“Fucking tramp is what you are.” His voice dropped, and it seemed like almost a muse to himself, something you weren’t supposed to hear. “Never prettier than when you’re crying and filled with cum.”

Your brow furrowed, lost in this moment because you didn’t know what to do if he was praising you without comparing you to Hannah or whoever it was today. You could count the times he looked you right in the face on one hand, and you looked away, not wanting to go down the rabbit hole of how beautiful he was.

“Wear it like this. Show everybody what kind of whore you are.”

He dipped his head, bit your cheek, and spun out of the room. You mashed your lips together and took another long moment to get all of your shit back together. Slipping out, you tucked your hands into your jacket pockets and slithered through the crowd towards the door.

“Miss?  Hey shit, are you ok?!?”

You knew what it looked like. He knew what it would look like, too; that was the point.  It looked like you’d been assaulted in the bathroom. And to explain the disheveled clothes, the messy hair and smeared make-up, you’d have to say no, I let this guy I know fuck me while you all ate ravioli. You’d have to say no, I wasn’t assaulted; I’m his tramp, his whore, his on-call cunt.

For a flash, you contemplated doing just that, mulling over how the words would sound, would taste on your tongue.

Deciding against it, you ignored the concern and tossed a brief look over your shoulder to your at-will tormentor before disappearing out into the street.

***

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Rigid fingers encircled your upper arm, gouging at the tender flesh through your dress shirt as the body attached to those fingers yanked you backwards into the janitor’s closet. You shrieked, pushing at the human column who kept you pinned in the corner.

“You come when I ask you, that’s it. You don’t fucking follow me here with my girlfriend like some goddamn stalker.”

It took a full 30 seconds to register the person grousing at you.

“I know the rules, Adam.” You fished out your badge and held it up for him to see. “I work here.”

He seethed for another heartbeat, then another. It was almost as though he wanted to be angry at you, at something. He snatched the badge and looked from you to it and back again.

“Didn’t know dirty sluts could get regular jobs.”

“Pay me.” It was blunt, and it shot out of your mouth before you could think better of it. “Till then, a girl’s gotta eat.”

His hypnotic eyes flashed, and he licked his lips, taking a step closer to you. Swallowing to wet the wicked dryness of your throat, you scooted back until you hit the wall, clutching your bag between you and him. You weren’t sure you meant what you said, but it was too late to take it back.

He looked at you like he wanted to eat you, and your body rose to the very idea of his mouth between your thighs. And then you thought how much better your shift would be if he fucked you first. A sloppy, rough ride to get you through the day.

“Wha-” Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to look at his face and not lower to see if his dick was hard in those navy blue slacks. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Some bullshit writer thing.” He leaned into your personal space and licked up the salty bead of perspiration at your temple. “But now I’m thinking about stuffing your filthy cunt full of my dick.”

Your agreement with the notion must have played across your face because he shoved your badge in your mouth, turned you around, and pushed your cheek against the cold slab wall. His deft hands wasted no time in sending your black dress pants to pool around your ankles and tugging aside your panties.

No warning, no checking to see if you were ready. He did exactly as he said he would; he stuffed his hard length into you, stretching and tearing, making you bite down on the plastic card.

Your eyes stung, tears smudging mascara and eyeliner into a globby blur. You scratched at the wall and squirmed through the pain, but Adam didn’t miss the way your hips moved, the way your ass wiggled against his groin. It didn’t matter why or where; you would always be ready for him to fuck you. Even if it hurt.

“Nasty, eager, goddamn slut.”

It was fast, frenetic. He pounded you so hard your eyes crossed. The full scope of your relationship coalesced in this moment. He fucked you blazingly quick, only worried about himself, and you flailed like a rag doll, a whore toy for his amusement.

You whimpered, unable to stop the noise even though you knew it wasn’t welcome. You carved little white divots into your badge with the death grip you had on it. Adam growled behind his own gnashing teeth, pulled you down onto his dick good and deep, and spilled into your waiting cavern. In a matter of two minutes, he finished with you and left.

It had been some time since it was that fast. Your head swam, caught in the murky middle of euphoria that only you, only your body could get him to do that and the ache and pulse he always left you with, the edge you seldom got to drop over.

It was the worst, and best, sort of torment, a masochism that got you through day after day.

***

“What’s wrong?! Are you dead?!”

You shoved your earbuds in and answered the phone in a panic because nobody made phone calls these days, especially the person on the line.

“Not dead. Where are you?”

You sighed, relieved that Adam wasn’t injured but unsure if he had lost his mind. Phone calls were against the rules.

“Working. You still haven’t paid me.”

His laugh soothed your nerves a bit; and like always, you waited for him to tell you what he wanted.

“Are you fucking anybody else?”

The question surprised you. This entire conversation surprised you. None of this was normal behavior for Adam, who spent all this time telling you he only wanted your mouth, your pussy. You weren’t sure what this was, but you knew to your bones it had to be part of his game.

“Nope. Should I be?”

He released a heavy sigh, the sort where you’ve finally sat down after a long day. You pictured it; him stretched out and relaxed. You only ever saw him relax the brief bits of time it took him to put his clothes back on.

“Can’t say no, can I? Probably shouldn’t be fucking around with me, cheating all over the place.”

“I’m not the cheater.” You half hoped he could hear the sneer, his comment souring your gut. “You are. I’m just a single gal with terrible judgment who likes to get fucked.”

“Yeah, you do.” He chuckled again, abandoning the self-loathing for something else. “Do you touch yourself when you’re not with me, bucket?”

You chewed your lip until it hurt. Even the mention of that name, the dirty things he called you, set your insides to warming, skin to flushing.

“Ah... no.” You winced because this wasn’t the sort of conversation you imagined having with anybody. Your masturbatory habits weren’t exactly noteworthy. “No, I don’t.”

“Why?”

“It.. uh... it makes sex better.”

“You don’t always cum when I’m fucking you, though. What do you do then?”

You sighed in defeat because you would do whatever he wanted, tell him whatever he wanted.

“Wait. I just wait.”

“Why?”

“Fucking hell.” You rubbed at your flaming cheeks and forehead. “Because it hurts, alright? You happy? Why are we talking about this?”

“Don't pretend to be shy. I’ve fucked you all over the city. Tell me what hurts.”

You could hear it now, a quiet rustling, a shift of his body, the slight change of his breath. He was stroking himself; you were sure of it. The very idea emboldened you.

“Fine.” You huffed, exasperated, and tried to settle, pressing your back against the wall. “It's this ache that never gets better. Everything stays swollen, and there’s this throb that’s always there. Once I cum, that goes away, and I have to start all over.”

“So, you don’t like to cum?”

You pondered the question, tapping your fingers restlessly. The answer was simple, but you didn’t want to say it out loud.

“No, I do. If it's been weeks of that deprivation, the orgasms are pretty amazing, but the in between is sometimes better. It keeps the memories fresh when I’m alone.”

Which was always.

“Does it hurt right now? Are your tits sore? Pussy wet and aching from being empty?”

The stutter to his voice confirmed it; he definitely had his dick in his hand. You shifted on your stool, spreading your legs apart far enough to push your pussy down against it. If you arched your back a little, your shirt grazed your skin in such a teasing way.

“You’re thinking about my tits now?”

He grunted, cursed under his breath.

“Think about you all the time. Your mouth and how you drank my piss that night.” He groaned and shifted again. You could hear him fucking his fist now. “How you’ll fuck me anywhere I want. Your cunt and how tight it gets when you do cum. Feel like I could fuck you every day, and it wouldn’t be enough.”

Struck dumb, you blinked hard at your monitor, unable to tell if this was honesty or manipulation. Players always played the game.

“Adam...”

“Hnngfuck. You don’t say my name enough.”

“You don’t say my name at all!” The heavy moment lifted, and you laughed because there was a part of you that doubted he even knew your name. “You call me bucket.”

“Guh!” Short, choppy gasps wafted through the phone, conjuring all manner of salacious imagery and staining your panties. “Came in you three times that day. You were so fucking pretty on your knees for me.”

“You did.” You nodded at nothing, eyes not even focusing anymore. You didn’t think he remembered the times he spent with you, let alone the first time he called you by a pet name. “Twice in my mouth and once in my pussy.” 

You debated the next thing you wanted to say, not sure if it was even worth saying, but you jumped off the bridge. Terrible judgment. 

“I even bought a shirt that says bucket.”

This was bad. Catching feelings for Adam would be so easy and yet monumentally stupid. Luckily, reality stepped through the door and headed for your window.

“Customer. Gotta go, k Adam? Bye.”

Ripping out the ear buds, you shoved them, your phone, and everything that just happened away.

***

AS: Remember where I live? Y: Y AS: Stop ducking me AS: 6pm AS: Wear the shirt

You stalled at the door, unable to bring yourself to knock. This was risky, dangerous, and you knew you should turn right around and go home. Bringing your side piece into the home you shared with your partner was an all-around asshole move.

Yet, here you were.

He wasn’t wrong; you had been ducking him. That call was too close, filled with too much potential. So, you let it sit, went on dates and outings with your friends, spent a lot of time purposefully misplacing your phone. None of it was enough, not nearly enough to make you stop thinking about Adam. Or the way he fucked you.

But if you did this, you weren’t sure you’d recover.

Decision made, you spun on your heel, shaking your head no. Can’t do it. Won’t. He must have opened the door right at that moment because his big hand caught you around the wrist and tugged you to a stop.

“Hey, where the fuck are you going?”

You dared a look over your shoulder and found him standing in the doorway in a dark button up with the sleeves cuffed at his elbows, tattered blue jeans, and bare feet. Looking like the damn devil himself.

He didn’t see it the first time; so, you shook your head for his benefit, but you couldn’t say out loud that you were leaving.

He took that silence as invitation and pulled you towards the door, as though he didn’t have the magnetic pull of the sun himself. Back at the threshold, he hooked a finger under your chin, tipped your head back, and swept a feather-soft kiss across your mouth.

“Miss me?”

Your brain short-circuited, and you stared at him, unable to formulate any kind of response.

He’d never kissed you before.

One taste wasn’t enough for him, though, because he snatched up your face into both hands and laid a kiss on you that singed you to the very tips of your eyelashes. Those pillowy lips you’d only ever seen in a hard line moved against yours in the best way, and the satisfied sound he made blew through your resolve to leave.

He seemed to know the very second your tension somewhat eased. He hunched down, slid your arms around his neck, and lifted you onto your toes so he could walk you into the apartment. Slamming the door behind you, Adam leaned you into it for support and slid his knee between yours, pinning you right there.

You still weren’t certain what to do, and it kept your face tight, anxious. Something rumbled against your chest, tickling your nipples as he broke the kiss. Your brow knit, and you tried to focus on his face. Long fingers slid around your throat loosely, the thumb at your chin keeping your head tilted.

“Relax. Let me taste.”

He nipped at your jaw, tripping a shudder that rushed down your spine. The next pass he made at your mouth came with the tease of his tongue along the seam of your lips. Your chest seized; you clutched at his shirt and squirmed in his hold. And then, his tongue curled along yours, cinnamon sugar and Sriracha spice. You thought you might die; you certainly didn’t mean to whine the way you did, but it escaped before you could catch it.

“You’ve swallowed so much of my cum, I expected you to taste like me.” His raspy words smeared a trail down your throat as his hands slid up to find skin under the hem of your shirt. “The rest of you taste this good?”

Your instincts screamed that this all was taking too long. You never had this much time, and he was wasting it with kisses and pretty words he didn’t mean.

“You.. ah..” You pushed at his shoulders to get him to look at you. “You don’t have to say those things. We both know I’m a sure thing. So, maybe let’s skip that part, yeah?”

“You got somewhere to be?”

“No, but Ha--”

“Good.” He licked at the shell of your ear and curled his fingers into your ribs. “Cause I’m in the mood to wreck you.”

Adam slanted his mouth over yours once more, stealing any further objection. His kisses were hungry but unhurried, and he explored your mouth as though he had all the time in the world. He unbuttoned your jeans and slid his hands down beneath the waistband, cupping and kneading your ass, teasing at the edges of your panties.

Those fingers that mainly dug bruises into your hips dipped between your legs, sliding along the sticky fabric. He pressed open-mouthed kisses all along your jawline and neck, biting sexily beneath your earlobe. Your hips rocked against his caress of their own accord, your body starving for this kind of touch from this particular man. Dubious, you chewed the inside of your cheek to keep your erratic tongue in check. It was likely that if you got too loud, all of this would end.

“Stop doing that.” He tugged at your lower lip, watching the corner of your mouth quiver. “Wanna hear you.”

Caught in his confusing web, you glued your eyes to the ceiling. If you looked at him, those feelings you tried so hard to skirt would come barreling back.

“Adam... what is this?”

Finding his way into your panties, he slid his long fingers between your slippery labia and against your oft-neglected clit on a pleased purr. You choked on your own spit, fisted your hands into his shirt, and pushed at his shoulders on reflex.

“Something new.”

It was subtle, intimate, the way he stroked your pussy, and it pushed you right up to that cliff in no time flat. Shaking inside your skin, you dropped your head against his shoulder. For weeks now, you rode that line, the sharp edge of denial; and in only a few passes of Adam’s thick fingers, your body was ready to jump off.

“M’gonna.. shit.. Ad-am!”

A loud, pained groan ripped from your throat when he pulled his fingers away, dangling you right there on the verge of bliss. This was more in line with the man you knew. This cocky asshole who could play you like a violin.

“Noooo, not yet.” Hasty now, he pulled off your clothes, tossing hoodie, shoes, and jeans over his shoulder. Catching sight of your white tank with ‘bucket’ painted over your breasts in script, he paused, gaping. “That’s the best fucking thing ever.”

His hands were suddenly everywhere. Shoving your arms away, turning your face to his for voracious kisses, groping at your aching breasts underneath the shirt. He palmed and rubbed and tugged at your flushing tits, all while whispering in your ear how he wanted you to wear that shirt all the time, wanted to paint it with his cum.

When he pinched and rolled your nipples, a low tide of pleasure wracked your body, pitching you into a tremor. Your cunt contracted and twinged, bending you towards its tormentor on a strangled moan. You couldn’t help it; your body could only handle so much. Adam’s eyes flashed, dark and glittery. He said he always knew when you came, and it seemed he was right.

“Think we can do better than that, bucket.”

And then he was on his knees, pressing you into the wall by one hand at your stomach and tearing your panties out of the way with the other. His lips connected with your cunt on a loud moan, and your brain stopped working. Your knees buckled, unable to keep you steady as he lathed your sex and thighs with messy, slurping kisses.

“Adam,” the desperation in your voice was terrible. “Jesusfuckinghell.”

Your pitiful, pleading noises only made him double down. His kisses came rougher, harder, and he sucked your clit until you shouted. Tears pricked at your eyes, but all you could do was beg. Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop.

But of course, he stopped.

Flush against you, he trapped your trembling mouth to share your taste, grunting as you tangled tingling fingers into his hair to keep from buzzing right out of your body.

“Want you to crawl to my bed, bucket. Put that pretty cunt up so I can see.”

The world stopped. You blinked rapidly, feeling like someone had doused you with ice cold water. Pushing him away, you shook your head and tried to disentangle your limbs from his.

“Y-you want me to crawl,” your face dropped into a scowl, anger diffusing through your already heated chest and neck, “To Hannah’s bed?! Fuck you, Adam. No. That’s too much.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he tugged you back into place beneath him and nudged your nose with his. He rubbed his thumb back and forth over your mouth until your gaze softened from fury to confusion.

“My bed.” His voice was soft, his eyes searching. “No more Hannah. Or Jessa. Or anybody.”

You blew out a long, uncertain breath, letting it lead right into the question. “... when?”

“The night you hung up on me. Couple hours after that.” He drew lazy circles on your hip with his fingertips. “Found out I got a part I really wanted after I talked to you, and you were the only person I wanted to celebrate with. Been trying to pin you down for weeks so I could tell you.”

Something new, he said. You looked up at him with wide, shining eyes, trying to decide if he was telling the truth.

“I want you around. When I wake up at three a.m. because I want to fuck you so bad. I wanna take you to new restaurants so we can cheapen up their bathrooms. Wanna call you bucket in public so people think I’m crazy. Think I owe you about a thousand orgasms, and I wanna give them to you.”

Twisting out of his hold, you shook your head. Unstable, fuzzy on your intention, you leaned against the couch while you slid your jeans and shoes back on. You looked everywhere but directly at Adam and dodged his hand when he reached for you.

“Can’t do this right now.”

With a crash of the door behind you, you ran out of the building with no particular direction other than away from him.

***

“Fuck, that’s it.”

You tangled your fingers in soft, raven locks and scratched at Adam’s scalp. That was your handle to guide him up and down, side to side. He hummed into your slick pussy, lapping and sucking so loud someone had to have heard.

On his knees at the little sink, he buried his face far between your thighs, nudging your clit with his nose and jostling it ever so slightly with each vulgar kiss, each smacking pop against your labia. Brushing his mouth and cheeks through the syrup shining on your skin, he murmured praises about how amazing you were, how good you tasted, what a filthy thing you were to spread your legs for him in this grimy bathroom. His words tumbled away with the spear of his tongue, replaced by your wanton whimpers. Gripping your legs to keep them apart, he tongue fucked you until the things coming out of your mouth made little sense.

Smacking his hands away, you tugged on his hair to draw Adam up to stand. He cupped your face and smothered you with a tart kiss. It was his turn to whimper as your fingers worked the belt and buttons of his pants, wiggling them open and down his hips.

“You’re sure?”

"Mhm. Debt paid." 

You bit at his swollen lips and nodded, untucking his heavy, hard dick and scooting to the edge of the sink. For weeks now, you treated Adam the way he had treated you for so long. You called him when you wanted to cum, and you put him on his knees wherever you were.

His lips, his tongue, his fingers — all worked every time you called, but you didn’t let him fuck you. And you didn’t return the favor.

All you could think about right this moment was getting his dick inside of you. You pinched a hot drop of want from his inflamed cock head and relished the needy groan that accompanied it. He hesitated, as though he didn’t want to ruin it; but finally, he lined himself up and struck, rocking his hips and shoving, shoving, shoving until he bottomed out.

He whined into your neck, gripping your hips in that possessive way you didn’t realize you wanted so badly. You clung to his shoulders, thighs cinched around his wide body. He filled and stretched you so goddamn good, but it was the things coming out of his mouth that sent you careening.

“Shit, that’s good. Missed you so fucking much. Can’t believe it's been this long since I’ve been in your cunt.”

Like so many times before, Adam held you in place, his broad hands anchoring you to the sink ledge so he could pound into you with abandon. The slide of his dick was mind-numbing, and you bit into his shirt to keep from shouting.

The tingle first started in your toes. It slithered up your calves and jerked your knees together at Adam’s sides. It had been such a long time since you’d had him inside you that your pussy squeezed tight, earning a growled string of curses at your ear. Your clit was so engorged and aching that his light touch sent your yelp echoing in the little room. Redirecting his hand, you bit down on his thumb and watched his gaze change.

In a second, he was old Adam, punishing and wickedly wild. He forced his thumb further into your mouth and pressed down on your tongue, making the saliva pool around it. Your eager moan was louder than you intended, but it only made him fuck you harder, faster.

He liked it when you were quiet, but he liked it more when you were loud. Liked it even better when you were loud in public.

“Greedy girl, aren’t you? Always ready for me to fuck you stupid.”

You tipped your pelvis into that perfectly tantalizing angle, where the drag of his cock head rubbed against those spots that made you see stars again and again, and you ignited. Everything tensed, toes curling, fingers quivering. Your cunt clenched around him so hard, his thrusts turned violent, forcing you to accept him deeper and deeper.

You wailed his name into his shoulder, unraveling completely from your white hot center outwards.

With his cock seated far inside your ravaged pussy, Adam latched back onto your clit, rubbing the hard nub in quick circles to draw out your orgasm. You shrieked and batted at his hand again, but he caught your arm, drew it behind your back painfully, and bit into your neck.

“If you want my cum, bucket, you’re gonna have to milk me for it.”

His hips kept moving against yours, the slightest of thrusts, but it was his fingers, his evil fingers that ruined you. They never stopped moving at your clit, even when you begged him for a breath. They slid down around your weeping entrance, where his cock stretched you, and back up, bringing a fresh coat of slip to help his fingers fly.

Your eyes slammed shut; your face scrunched up tight and mute. He dropped his mouth to the crook of your neck, cinched your arm more firmly behind your back, and growled as your cunt convulsed for him a second time. You couldn’t even shout; all you could do was keen and quake.

It was enough to push Adam over. He jerked against you, grinding and losing himself to the obscene pull of your spasming pussy. He moaned your name into your pulse and clung to you frantically.  His voice hitched, and he poured into you so hard you heard him sniffle, overcome with the blinding pleasure of it.

When your breathing returned to normal, and the aftershocks subsided, he helped you back into your clothes since your legs were still wobbly. He even tied your shoes.

“Don’t worry.” He bit your cheek the way he used to, the way that was unique to the two of you. “We’ll tell the manager you had a seizure or something.”

Chuckling, you snuck your hand into his; and this time, you left the bathroom together.

[manikas-whims]

Troublesome New Girl

Sequel to A Place Good Enough

[Read on AO3]

Characters: Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey, Kaz Brekker

Summary: Inej has newly joined the Dregs. She goes to return Kaz's coat in the presence of many members. *cue the teasing & jokes*

Jesper meets Inej & evidences of Jesper's crush on Kaz (tiny bit of angst).

Kaz is his usual self & sets an example. A violent one :)

Note:

I just noticed this complete written fic has been sitting in my drafts for a month now. I'm so dumb 〒_〒

PLEASE DO READ THE PREVIOUS PART IN THIS SERIES TO UNDERTAND THIS SEQUEL.

Hope you guys enjoy!

Inej

The constant noise of banging against wood rouses Inej from her sleep. She looks around haphazardly only to find herself lying on a cot in an unknown room, her torso covered by a grey coat. Sun's rays blind her eyes momentarily as she turns her face, an open window staring back at her, not the daunting walls of the Menagerie. Memories of the previous night flood back and her shoulders deflate in relief. She takes a long breath to calm her rapidly beating heart. She doesn't need to endure Heleen's beatings or sell her body anymore. She is free of that life. Free.

“Oi new girl!” a voice calls, followed by more knocking at the wooden door to her small room. “Brekker told me to bring you some clothes. I’m leaving a pair out here.”

Right! Kaz Brekker had promised her better clothes. She leaves the comfort of the cot but by the time she unlocks the door to thank whoever was on the other end, the person is gone. She catches a short glimpse of a feminine figure with blond hair at the stairs and vows to thank her later. Picking up the clothes, she closes the door.

Jesper

When Jesper had heard his fellow Dregs gossiping about Dirtyhands bringing back a girl with him late at night, he hadn’t given it much thought. He had ignored Anika when she had said that she was literally asked by Kaz himself to provide the said girl with some clothes. In fact, he had completely shooed away anyone who came up to fill his ears with rumors about this unknown Suli girl and the bastard of the barrel. So when a small, bronze-skinned girl bumps into him on the third floor of the Slat, he's stunned.

"Ohhh—", The girl waves her hands frantically, her pupils dilating in concern, "I'm sorry."

But Jesper doesn't bother with apologies for he's too busy appraising her. Now she does match the rumored descriptions and is even donning Anika's lame clothes. But what actually piques his interest is a neatly-folded coat in the deepest shade of grey held between her dainty hands. He doesn’t need to think long to guess who it belongs to. There’s only one person who doesn’t indulge in the colorful fashion sense of the barrel— Kaz “Dirtyhands” Brekker.

He feels his insides fuming. But no way is he going to act like an idiot and jump to conclusions. Just because here's a girl he’s never seen before and she happens to have a coat, doesn’t mean that every single narrative he's heard about this whole situation is true.

He narrows his eyes in what he assumes is his best look of suspicion as he towers over the girl. “Where did you get that?”

"Um", she looks down at the piece of clothing and mumbles in the most innocent tone, "Mr. Brekker lent it to me."

Mr. Brekker!? The hell kinda way is this to address a man you slept with? Or whatever the heck it is that Dirtyhands prefers to do with girls..

"Why?" he asks. From Jesper's experiences, the young lieutenant of the Dregs isn't big on kindness. "Why did he lend it you?"

The girl's brows narrow in thought. It seems she herself is unsure of the reason. Her left palm clutches her right forearm in apprehension. "I guess..because I wasn't in a very decent attire."

Alarms go off in Jesper's head again. What exactly happened between her and Kaz? His heart needs answers yet he knows that its none of his business so he suppresses the unease welling in his belly.

"Well Kaz is up there." He gestures in the direction of the attic. "I'm headed there right now so I can give it to him."

The girl frowns. "I can't let a stranger do that for me. Besides," she twirls a strand of her hair, her eyes alight with some indescribable emotion, "I must properly thank him myself."

Jesper is familiar with this look. It mirrors his own when he was still a newbie at the Dregs and wanted to prove himself, wanted to repay Kaz for saving his ass. And not just by helping him pluck stupid pigeons but also by adding extra sums of profits to his ledger. Jesper can empathize with her on this.

"He saved you too," The Zemeni asks carefully, "didn't he?"

She stares at him, gauging the understanding in his expression and simply nods.

He rubs the side of his neck awkwardly. "Well, wanna go up together?"

Her eyes widen and she involuntarily takes a few steps back. Distrust. Fear. He can empathize with this action as well. In the barrel, it'd be foolish to believe a complete stranger within few moments of the first encounter.

"Then," he smiles the smile that many have called charming and starts his ascend upstairs. He only looks back once to wink at her, hoping it'll quell her anxious mind a bit, "follow my lead?"

"I can do that." she mumbles, more to assure herself and takes the first step of many that will become the foundation to their sibling-like friendship.

Kaz

When it comes to change, development and fresh ideas, Per Haskell always cowers and dismisses the topic. People like that will never achieve anything if they aren't willing to take risks. The restoration of that abandoned fifth harbour would already be in motion if Kaz hadn't chosen to waste another of his precious mornings trying to convince his boss that investing in it may prove fruitful to the Dregs. And so, after a pointless argument he had had earlier with the old man, he's decided to take matters into his own hands.

Huffing audibly, he continues explaining every member present in his room their respective job for the day. The boisterous throng huddled around him, begins dispersing all of a sudden. Curiously, Kaz looks up to find his faitful right-hand man Jesper Fahey walking in, a mischievous glint in his silver irises.

"We bumped into each other on our way up here." Jesper gestures behind him.

And it is then that Kaz notices her presence— Inej Ghafa, the strange Suli girl he had brought back from the West Stave. Oddly, he had felt her presence moments ago but had brushed it off as a mere byproduct of his rest-deprived mind playing tricks on him. Turns out his intuition hadn’t been wrong at all.

"Its that Suli girl."

"The one that Brekker took up to his bed?"

"Who would've thought Haskell's rabid dog had such exquisite tastes."

The one that Brekker took where? Haskell's rabid what? Kaz isn't sure which remark he finds more insulting towards his reputation. Although he does realise he has no one except himself to blame. He should'nt have let the girl follow him up to the attic last night. As usual, he'll have to cover this small err with fresh tales about himself that are even more gruesome than the previous ones. But for now he must find out why the new girl is here.

Anika’s clothes are baggy on her small frame— a deep green shirt so loosely-fitted that she has tied its ends into a double knot just above her belly-button whilst the fawn-colored trousers hang tastefully around her hips. He watches her long, silky hair sway behind her as she walks gracefully in his direction, determination glimmering in her dark brown irises. Shock briefly flits across his gaze but before he can even think of stopping her, she shoots out her hands in which he (dreadfully) recognizes, she’s holding his coat. He can feel all eyes in the room already settling on him. They collectively stare in a mix of shock, curiosity and..is this jealousy he's witnessing on a few faces?

"What do you think you're doing?" He grits out. He hears a muffled snickering which he's sure is Jesper's and wonders if the two somehow managed to become friends in the short span of their climb up the stairs. And that they both planned this prank together on their way.

However, Inej only furrows her brows, debunking his ridiculous theory. She seems to be wondering what she's done wrong as she answers confidently, "I forgot to return it last night."

More interested staring ensues. The new pen in his palm snaps.

Is this girl serious right now? It took him long, unrelenting years to rise to the position he's at. He's spilled his blood, sweat and tears to scatter the seeds of terror about him throughout the expanse of Ketterdam. Even people who come across him for the first time, visibly shiver and turn pale. So what part of their last conversation has given her this courage to approach him so casually? She seems to have forgotten the fact that he’s an infamous barrel thug, feared by merchers, stadwatch and gangsters alike. She isn’t supposed to saunter up to him and return his coat, making this whole exchange appear to be a scandalous affair to the curious bystanders. She isn't supposed to crumble Dirtyhands' hard-built reputation with just a few words!

"Stand aside, I'm busy." He mutters, because he truly has no idea how to get out of this predicament and hopes that his caustic tone will get the message across just like it does with everyone else.

To his utter dismay, Inej seems to be far more tactless than Jesper, who still hasn't stopped snickering. She tucks the coat back in her arms and bites her lip as if suppressing herself from saying something mean. Her eyes quietly regard his own, an unspoken understanding settling between them. She is aware that if she doesn't wish to be thrown back into the Menagerie, she must behave properly with him. And yet, her nostrils flare as she responds, "I just wanted to pay my gratitude-"

"You can pay your gratitude," Kaz hisses back, glaring up at her from his perched position, "with your services." And its only after uttering those words does he realise the ambiguous implications hinted in them. Jesper's shoulders are shaking uncontrollably now, his palms tightly clamped around his mouth to muffle his laugh.

"Slow down, Dirtyhands." comments someone from the back and the whole room bursts into a howl of laughter. Inej brings a palm to her lips, gasping in mortification.

Kaz massages his eyes. Dealing with these ruffians has already been a headache. Now this new girl just walks in and takes the cake. She's proving to be far more dangerous– scratch that– far more more troublesome than he had expected.

He lets them have their fun as he pulls out a knife from his coatsleeve and gets up. He ambles towards Dirix, his steps slow and deliberate. He's sure it was Rotty who'd made the joke but Dirix is standing closer and it doesn't really matter who said what. Dirtyhands just needs to set an example.

The young boy is suddenly looking very pale. Kaz grabs his right hand, the dominant one and digs the blade along the joints of his fingers. The knife easily tears through his skin and goes deeper into the muscle beneath. Dirix is now screaming whilst everyone else hold their breath. From his peripheral vision, he catches the horror on Inej's face and rolls his eyes. Surely she must've heard of his violent endeavors at the menagerie. She shouldn't have approached him in the first place if she's going to be so shocked everytime he spills someone's blood.

He roots out the knife before it can completely sever Dirix's limbs. "Get 'em patched up." The boy is already running out.

He walks back and tosses the knife to the desk, its loud clang making everyone flinch in fright. "Pipe down before I actually start chopping tongues."

The threat silences everyone.

"This is Inej Ghafa." He points at her and the girl cowers slightly. Not at all the abrupt attention on her, he notices, but from him. "She's to be a new spider."

This one simple statement seems to piece together everything for them. Though he has an inkling that his previous act of brutality also plays a major part. They nod and whisper amongst themselves. He almost scoffs. Of course its easier for them to believe that Kaz Brekker took up a girl to his room for information. Not some spicy dalliance.

"Now get to work." He orders and one by one they shuffle out of the room, Rotty nodding respectfully. He knows he was spared merely by luck.

Jesper is the last one. He winks at Inej before taking his leave. "See you around, new girl!"

And with all of them gone, Kaz turns to Inej. She inhales a breath in anticipation.

"Let's start your training."

So hopefully that was as fun reading as it was for me writing :3

Coming parts will have Inej's training and ofc her picking her canon outfit.

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SoC Masterlist

( divider by @firefly-graphics )