#she never planned on getting any sort of pet because my girl comes with ISSUES

[pergaminaa]

Modern au:

Abraxos is Manon’s security blanket like— yes he’s her dog but to her he’s more than just that. She really can’t be without him she just starts falling apart and needs to have with her constantly.

As a dog breed, I honestly believe that Abraxos is a Rottweiler; looks scary and menacing (he will shred anyone who threatens Manon to pieces though) but he’s actually a cuddly teddy bear. He loves his human and is always attentive. He can sense her emotions and provide what she needs. If she’s anxious while they’re out walking he growls at the invisible danger, scaring any lingering creeps away. At home, he just wants to cuddle never mind his weight can actually crush her but neither Manon nor Abraxos cares.

[a-n-conrad]

Pet (Karl Heisenberg x Reader)

[Summary: After being gifted to Heisenberg, you manage to survive his games. From there you start to develop an interesting relationship. And as you start to play the role of his pet, things get a bit interesting. (She/Her pronouns)

Warnings: SMUT, unhealthy relationship dynamics, Author belongs in horny jail, Reader has “female” anatomy, themes of pet play, swearing, biting (Blood), reader is losing her sanity a bit, spanking, oral (both receiving), hair pulling, unprotected penetrative (vaginal) sex

Request: Literally, not a single person asked for this. You only have me to blame.]

You felt a bit foolish, being in the situation you were in. You had been one of the people gifted to the “Lords” of the village to do with as they pleased by Mother Miranda. You had to admit, when you were frightened, even more so when you were handed over to the infamous “mad wolf-man”. He had quite the reputation. But unlike the others, you had proven yourself useful enough for him to keep you around, instead of experimenting on you or feeding you to his lycans.

You survived at first by staying out of his way. It was like a game to him. Heisenberg liked games, and you adapted to them rather quickly. At first, the game was to be the perfect assistant. You’d clean, cook, do minor repairs, and stay out of his way as needed. You were there when he needed you to do something, you’d do it perfectly, and then you’d be out of his sight. And he’d try to catch you slipping up, making you nervous with whispered promises of the punishments that awaited you if you did.

It was an odd dance, having to learn the ins and outs of Heisenberg’s moods. Learning how to tell when he was in a bad mood, and when he was in the mood to joke. And as time went on, it seemed that there were more days when he was in the mood to sit and banter with you. And you started to bond a bit, less as captor and captive, and more as something close to friends, though you wouldn’t necessarily call it friendship.

Eventually, he started to grow a bit fond of you, occasionally joking with you that he had started to see you as a pet. He’d grin a bit as he called you pet names, names that were somewhere between affectionate and demeaning. He’d pat your head, like he was praising a dog, when you did something right. He had even joked about making you a collar to show the rest of the Lords that you were his pet.

You knew you probably should’ve hated it. You should’ve gagged at the idea of a collar, and you should’ve hated his pet names. But you didn’t. You found yourself grinning when he called you a “good girl”. You leaned into his touch when he’d pat your head. You could feel yourself losing your sanity. You had to be insane to feel this way, but as you got to know Heisenberg, you found yourself feeling as though it was worth it.

Karl Heisenberg was an interesting man, and one you had to admit that you were fascinated by. He had a biting form of humor that had become much funnier as you realized you weren’t in the danger that you thought you were, and you could hear the intelligence behind it. His jokes were always at least a little clever, as long as he could keep his head. He was complex, with motivations and actions that didn’t always match. And his emotions were so complicated that you were pretty sure he hadn’t even started sorting through them, choosing to instead deny their existence.

He was a mess of a man. He got mad enough to throw metal scraps of rusted metal around the room when an experiment went wrong. He’d rant for hours about the issues he had with his “family”, having to hold himself back from breaking things when he got to Alcina. He felt as trapped as you did. He thought of letting his appearance go as an act of rebellion. Because of that, he’d go a full week without washing his clothes, letting the blood and oil stain the fabric until it might as well be dye. And he didn’t sleep for days sometimes, choosing instead to stay up all night in his workshop, only leaving when he starts to border on collapsing.

But between his anger issues and dysfunction, you saw something in him that you weren’t sure that even he saw. You saw it in the sparkle in his eyes when he figured out an issue that had been bothering him. You saw it in his sleepy groans when he woke up in the middle of the day after staying up all night before. You saw it in his smirks and smiles as he thought of something clever to say.

He was charming in his own way. Not in the way you thought of charming. He wasn’t elegant like Alcina, but he was warm. He was like a fire. Volatile. Deadly. Beautiful. And warm. And perhaps you were a bit of a pyromaniac, as you found yourself staring into a fire pit, longing to see the damage it could do if you let it free. You wanted to see what Heisenberg could do to you. You wanted to let him.

- - - - -

You were a bit suspicious that you weren’t hiding your feelings very well. Heisenberg was clever, and he was incredibly observant. He needed to be. His “family” didn’t exactly get along with him very well, and knowing what you knew about his “siblings”, they would’ve taken any opportunity possible to kill him and take his place as a favored lord. So he was constantly on his toes. And that meant that you were sure that he had noticed you were acting a bit off recently.

And you were sure that he had figured out exactly what was causing you to act that way, by the way that he teased. There was a glint in his eyes when you started to get flustered that was new to you. The way he smirked at you as he praised you, his hand resting casually on your arm for a few more seconds than before. He had even gone through with his collar joke, though he hadn’t given it to you to wear.

He’d wink at you as he held it in front of you, though. It was a silver chain that was about an inch thick, made into an easily adjusted necklace by the extra bit of chain that hung through the loop. The extra bit of chain that also worked as a built-in leash. He’d hold the collar in front of you, dangling it casually from one of his fingers when you started to get sarcastic with him, making comments about how his “pet” needed to be put in her place. And you’d try your best not to show how much you truly wanted that.

It had become another one of Heisenberg’s games. You could tell that he knew. And he knew that you knew that. So the game became how long you could go without breaking.

“So, kitten,” you jumped a bit as Heisenberg appeared behind you. You were making dinner, and had thought that Heisenberg was still working in his shop. He usually didn’t leave for dinner until you came to get him if he ate dinner with you at all, “You seem a bit spaced out. Care to tell me what you’ve got on your mind?”

You could say what you really wanted to. You could say that you wanted him to rail you until you couldn’t walk. But that would end the game. And Heisenberg only liked to end games if he could win them in a satisfying way.

“Nothing you need to worry about, sir,” You muttered, finishing the food you were cooking and pulling it off of the stove, “Just lost in thought.”

He hummed a bit, noticing how you refused to make eye contact. That wasn’t new, but you weren’t usually so awkward about it, “Come on, pet. I’d like to know if you’re planning your escape or something,” A bit of metal began to dangle in front of your face and you knew exactly what it was, “Honestly, (y/n), I really might have to put this collar on you if you’re going to be keeping secrets.”

“It sounds like you’re just looking for an excuse to put a collar on me, Karl,” You had gotten a bit bold, knowing that the line of how much you could get away with was quite a bit further back, “You can just admit that you’re into that.”

He chuckled a bit, resting the arm that he was holding the collar with on your shoulder and leaning into you just a little bit. You could feel his body heat radiating off of him. You always wondered how he was always so warm, living in this factory, surrounded by the cold metal walls, “I don’t know, pet, you haven’t been protesting quite as much. It seems like you may be coming around to the idea. Maybe you’re projecting a bit.”

He had set his chin on your shoulder by the end of his statement, his breath brushing against the shell of your ear. It had sent a shiver down your spine, and you could tell he felt it by the satisfied hum that passed his lips.

“You’re not arguing with me, kitten,” he purred as you failed to muster up a rebuttal, “Is that what you want? You want me to put the collar on you? Do I need to put my needy little pet in place?”

Fuck. You shifted a little, trying not to make the throbbing between your legs obviously. You were trying so hard to think of a comeback, but the teasing had been going on for so long that you were reaching your breaking point. You wanted him to fuck you so badly that it made you look stupid.

He grabbed your shoulder and turned you around to face him. It was so much harder to keep a poker face when you were looking into his eyes, when you could see that glint in them. The kind of glint that made you think he wanted to eat you alive. And you wanted him to.

“If you ask like a good girl, maybe I’ll give you what you want,” his voice came out so much smoother than usual. It intimidated you a bit, knowing that he was holding himself together so well. You knew that there was no way your voice was going to come out nearly as smooth.

“I’m not going to beg, Karl,” Your voice was shaking, but you tried to hold your cool. He always had fun when you talked back a little, and you were hoping that translated to this situation as well. And the wolf-like grin that grew on his face told you that you were right.

“We’ll see about that, kitten.”

- - - - -

You weren’t quite sure when the collar had appeared around your neck. Somewhere between the kitchen and Karl’s bedroom, though, it had snaked its way around your neck, even though his hands never seemed to leave your hips. You were a bit too occupied trying to keep up with his ravenous kisses.

His lips were latched onto your neck as he pushed you through the door to his room. You landed on his bed soon after with a slight bounce. You had been in his room before to clean, but the context was different now. The actual room itself was entirely irrelevant, as Karl climbed on top of you, throwing his hat and glasses to the side, not caring where they landed. All you could look at were his eyes, glowing bright yellow as he looked down at you.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten how much of a fucking brat you’re being,” he growled, looking down at you, “You’ve earned yourself quite the punishment.”

He sunk his teeth into your shoulder, biting just below the hickey that was already forming on your neck. He growled a bit as you squeaked in surprise, biting down a bit harder. You both felt when he broke the skin, and something told you that the mark he was leaving was entirely on purpose. He didn’t want anyone to doubt who you belonged to. His fingers dug into your skin, one hand holding your wrist above your head and the other digging into your side just above your hip. You had a feeling you would be covered in marks and bruises in the morning, and you were alright with that.

He pulled your clothes off quickly, throwing them to the side of the room. He wasn’t wasting any time, so you were pretty sure he had ripped through a seam or two on your dress. And he didn’t hesitate to rip your underwear completely in half.

He threw you around so much easier than you had expected. You knew that he was strong, you had just expected it to take at least a little bit of effort. You supposed that you shouldn’t have underestimated his inhuman strength, because in seconds he had flipped you, moving you so that you were on your hands and knees in front of him. You were entirely vulnerable in front of him, entirely bare as he remained fully clothed behind you.

It was weirdly hot, being at his mercy. He wasn’t a good person, and you knew that. In fact, there was still a feeling in your chest reminding you that he could kill you whenever he wanted. But that didn’t matter at that moment. The fear just made it better in some sick way. You knew you were insane, you had to be, but if insanity felt this good, you were going to accept it.

“Now, kitten, be good and stay quiet through your punishment, and maybe you’ll get a reward,” he stated, sliding his hands from the place they were resting on your waist to rest on your ass instead, “Do I make myself clear?”

You nodded in response, not trusting your voice as his hands slid further down, reaching the back of your thighs, one of his thumbs dangerously close to your pussy. His hands were callused, so as they slid across your skin, it created an interesting sensation. Your eyes almost rolled back into your head as his thumb brushed lightly against your clit, and you heard him chuckle a bit at your reaction. However, before you could enjoy yourself too much, he pulled his thumb away, sliding his hands back up to your ass.

There was a pause for a few moments, and you felt his eyes scanning your body. They always seemed to feel so much more intense than anyone else’s gaze ever could. Before you could get self-conscious, though, one of his hands raised from its place, only to come back down hard. The smacking sound echoed through the entire room, and you couldn’t hold back your yelp.

“Now, now, pet, I thought I said to keep quiet. I’ll let this slide once because you’re cute, but any more, and I’ll have to add some more punishment,” he cooed, grabbing the leash of the collar around your neck and pulling it towards him. He leaned forward until he could actually look at your face, seeing the tears prick at the corners of your eyes already, “I’d hate to break my toy right away, so try to behave.”

He didn’t give you a chance to respond before shoving your head down into the bed and resuming your punishment. You bit your lip, trying your best not to actually break the skin, as you did your best to stay quiet. You were a bit surprised by how much you enjoyed it. After the first few, the pain started to melt away, hidden behind a numb tingling that sent electricity shooting through your whole body. And it was pretty obvious to Heisenberg as well, when slick started to drip down the inside of your thighs.

You lost count before he stopped, but it couldn’t have been more than fifteen. He let out a satisfied hum as he looked at the handprints that were already starting to form, rubbing his hands gently over the forming bruises. You almost started purring as his hands continued to slide across your body.

“You’ve been such a good girl, kitten,” he praises as he moves your body, eventually making you stand in front of him as he sat on the edge of the bed, “Do you want your reward now?”

You nod, far too gone to even try to not look like a desperate fool. He looked proud of himself, seeing you so needy and bare in front of him. It was like a work of art. You had never seen so much admiration and need in his eyes. It wasn’t love. But it was need, and want, and possession.

“Ask nicely.”

You were too desperate to argue. You needed him more than you could remember needing anything, “Please, sir.”

You swore you saw the bulge in his pants twitch at the word “sir” and the glint in his eyes confirmed your suspicions. The grin he gave you showed his teeth, highlighting his fangs like a predatory animal about to lunge.

“Good girl,” He drew it out, shifting his body so that his legs were spread as far as they could be comfortably, before commanding, “Kneel.”

You do as you’re told almost by instinct. It was almost as though your body moved without your brain giving it permission. You had been entirely possessed by your lust. And it only got worse as his hands moved to unzip his pants, only removing enough of his clothing to free his cock.

“You want this, don’t you?” He looked almost amused as your eyes locked onto his cock. You were practically drooling over it. He almost laughed as you nodded, “Enjoy your treat, pet.”

He leaned back a bit, his weight being put on one of his hands, positioned a bit behind him on the bed. He looked so casual as you moved your hands to timidly take the place of his own, which had previously been holding his cock in place. He had to admit you looked adorable, needy and desperate as you kneeled between his legs. You were practically drooling for him.

You started out a bit slow, which surprised him a little. The little kitten licks and kisses felt good enough for him to close his eyes to savor it. However, from the smirk that had formed on your face by the time that he opened his eyes, he realized that you were planning on teasing. He wasn’t about to let that slide.

The hand that he had rested on the top of your head tightened its grip on your hair. “Watch it, kitten. Don’t be a tease,” He growled, pushing your head down a bit until about half of his cock was in your mouth.

With that, your willpower to hold back faded, and you took the rest of him into your mouth. The tip hit the back of your throat just a bit, making you hold back a gag. And as you looked up at him through your lashes and found him smirking down at you, you could tell that he saw it. You reveled in the soft groans that slipped past his lips when you finally got to work, swirling your tongue around as you bobbed your head. You moaned as he pulled your hair, the vibrations causing him to curse and pull your hair even more, “Fuck, kitten, you’re pretty good at that.”

You continued like that for a few more minutes, his grip on your hair getting tighter and tighter. The salty, bitter taste of precum started to hit the back of your throat, making it a bit harder not to gag. But the sounds that slipped from his mouth fueled you even more. You felt proud, hearing how much he was enjoying himself. You almost felt a bit disappointed as he pulled you off of him by your hair, causing you to whine loudly.

“Aw, don’t worry, kitten,” He says, patting your head, “We aren’t done yet. Why don’t you lay down and let me take care of you? You’ve been such a good girl.”

You do as you're told, without saying anything. As you had gotten into the mode you were in, playing the role of Heisenberg’s pet, talking seemed unnatural. It felt right to listen to his commands, obeying him like a dog. So you laid on your back, spread out and completely bare. And you couldn’t hold back the yelp as he grabbed your hips and yanked you roughly to the edge of the bed, so that as he kneeled in front of you, his face was entirely level with your pussy.

You saw that glint in his eyes again as his warm breath hit your already dripping core. You were getting reckless, trying to inch your way closer to speed up the process, only for his grip to tighten on your waist, holding you in place. He had an iron grip on you, and you were thankful for that as he licked a broad stripe up across your pussy before diving in, focusing almost all of his attention on your clit.

You were practically screaming his name as swirled his tongue around your clit with dexterity you didn’t think was even possible to possess. His hands were definitely leaving fingerprint-shaped bruises on your hips, but at least they were holding you in place as you involuntarily started to buck your hips and arch your back. You could feel the knot tightening in your abdomen, your hands ripping the sheets so hard you were a bit worried that you were going to tear them. He slid a finger into you, hitting at just the right angle to make you squeal. You honestly couldn’t think of a time that someone had made you come undone quite so fast, but you certainly weren’t complaining as the tangled nerves in the pit of your stomach finally seemed to snap.

Karl had to admire you as you came, your head thrown back and your legs shaking. Your skin was practically glimmering from the thin layer of sweat that was already clinging to it. He couldn’t help the pride that flooded into his chest as you started to come down from your high looking absolutely destroyed. He wasn’t done yet, but he was glad to see he had it in him to affect you this much.

He slowly stepped back, his eyes never leaving you as you laid on the bed, trying to catch your breath. He made sure to lock eyes with you as he slowly stripped the rest of his clothes off, layer by layer. By the time you recovered, he was finally taking off his necklaces, dropping them onto the pile he had made with the rest of his clothing. Despite his strength, he wasn’t exactly ripped. His arms were fairly muscular and defined, but he had a bit of squish around his stomach. His body was coated in a layer of body hair, the bits of silver shining in the dim light of the room you were in.

He was attractive in the rugged way that made it make sense that he smelled like metal and cigar smoke as he crawled on top of you, keeping pace as you inch yourself further up the bed. It was only once you had settled into place that he leaned down, kissing you feverishly. It escalated with every second, the hand that he wasn’t using to support his body weight roamed your body. It wasn’t long until his hand was moving your legs, angling your hips to make it easier for him to line himself up with your entrance.

He pulled away from the kiss just long enough to slowly push himself into you, watching your reaction as you slowly adjusted to his width and length. It didn’t take you long to adjust, though, and he could tell when you did. He started off slow. It surprised you how gentle he was being, but you didn’t mind at first. Before long, though, you were craving more. You wanted him to use your body.

“Please,” You whined, “Harder.”

He grinned a bit at your begging, recalling your declaration that you wouldn’t beg. He honestly couldn’t tell what part he enjoyed more, the win he had earned or seeing you beneath him, begging for him. Either way, he wasn’t going to deny you what you wanted.

So he leaned back, shifting his weight to his knees so that he could grab your ankles. He pinned your legs to your chest. As he slammed into you, much harder than before, you could tell just how much the angle had changed. Your eyes nearly rolled back into your head as he continued to thrust into you. Your moans got louder, and he started to groan a bit too, cursing under his breath as his thrusts got a bit uneven.

“Fuck, kitten,” he breathed into your ear as he leaned down, your legs on his shoulders. You could feel him twitching inside of you, getting close to his own ending, “You’re such a good girl.”

You couldn’t help yourself as your hands moved to scratch down his back, digging your nails in as deeply as you could. He responded by biting into the same place he had earlier, a bit of blood from before sticking to the corners of his mouth. With a few more rough thrusts, his teeth sinking a little bit deeper into your shoulder, he finished. And the two of you both started to relax.

After a few seconds of you both catching your breath, he pulled away, rolling to the side so that he could comfortably lay on his back next to you. It was an awkward few moments, both of you laying there in near silence, only for him to break it with, “We should probably get that bite cleaned up, huh? My bad, pet. I forget how fragile you are sometimes.”

And with that he got up, moving to gently take care of you. He cleaned up your bite mark, and helped you clean between your shaky legs with a damp washcloth. It was a whole new side of him as he helped clean you off, making sure that he hadn’t been hurt too badly. And after a few minutes, when you had been cleaned enough that you weren’t actively uncomfortable, he climbed back into bed and wordlessly pulled you into his chest.

(A/N: So... um. I'm sorry for this. This is my second smut ever and I needed to get a bit... self-indulgent so my brain would stfu.)

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: VI

“I think I’m catching feelings

And I don’t know if this is empathy I feel

Just hold on

Remember when you said this was the last time?”

Sex, Eden

A/N: okay this chapter has probably been my favourite to write so far because we are finally. finally!!!!!! getting to a lil smidgen of softness!!!!! and the softness will only continue like originally I had a different lyric in mind for this chapter (a hozier lyric to stay on brand) and decided that it was too soft so I stocked it away to use in the future when things get even sweeter and harry gets even dumber 😌 we really hope you guys enjoy this chapter!!! and please remember that feedback is truly, madly, deeply™ appreciated!!!! not just by us but by all content creators!!!!! and if you enjoy it, please reblog it!!!! spreading content keeps creators motivated!!!!! and so do messages about what you liked!!!! it lets us know what sort of vibe to add in later!!!! okay now that that’s out of the way!!!! let’s dive in 😼  

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

word count: 29.1k

content/warnings: a good healthy dose of denial and justification to deny feelings, the defamation of gherkin pickles, pet names (literally), a strong independent woman who don’t need no man, a (not quite) man who definitely needs a strong independent woman, brunch served with a side of emotional trauma, breaking promises, nsfw social distancing, and Harry once again ignoring the phrase “bros before hoes”

///

Harry knows he’s good at a lot of things.

He’s good at picking up on fashion trends and turning them into timeless styles, molding each piece to fit his own persona with ease.  He’s good at identifying the locational origins of wines within five seconds of the sweet liquid crossing over his tongue.  He’s good at mixing his own drinks as well, always managing to craft the perfect concoction that suits each drinker’s needs.  He’s good at creating gallery walls in his apartment, at charming anyone into giving him what he wants with a slip of his mouth, and at pissing off his friends until they’re threatening to stake him just to get a little peace and quiet.  Harry is good at chess, at reciting poetry from memory, and at painting his non-dominant hand’s fingernails without smudging any nail polish onto his icy skin.  Harry is fucking excellent at coaxing orgasms out from his lovers.  He knows that he’s good at a lot of things.

The issue, he realizes the day after he asks Y/N out on a real date, is that planning a real date is not one of those things.

This, Harry rationalizes to himself, is not his fault.  After all, the last time he’d been on a real date was during the Victorian era, and Harry is fairly certain that taking a chaperoned stroll around his beloved’s estate garden isn’t in fashion anymore.  And when the way all of those dates ended is taken into account, Harry doesn’t think his past experiences should be the marker for a good date, anyways.  

It’s this frustrating lack of knowledge that leads Harry to do what he always does when he doesn’t know the answer to something: he Googles it.

With the top of the line Macbook Harry had purchased a few months back with the money from a CEO of some candle company perched on his lap, Harry relaxes back onto his leather couch, kicking his brown boots up onto the matching footrest as he does so.  Once the search engine is open and the cursor is blinking in front of his face, however, the vampire pauses, his manicured fingernails perched over the keys.  What question could he possibly Google for his situation?

Harry twists his lion head ring around his cool finger as he thinks, his tongue tucked between his lips in concentration while potential queries run through his head.  Ideas for a first date with a girl you’ve been fucking for a month.  Things to do in L.A. with a mortal when you’re a two hundred year old vampire.  Places to take someone after drinking their blood.  A snort echoes from Harry’s throat as the last idea pops into his head.  Somehow, Harry isn’t confident in what results those questions will show him.

Tapping his black lacquered nails against the keys, Harry purses his lips as he loses himself in thought.  How had he even gotten himself into this position?  The reason he hasn’t planned a date in centuries is because he doesn’t date, and for good reason.  What use does a soulless vampire have for dating?  Mortals use romantic outings to open their hearts to one another, and Harry, in contrast, can’t open what he doesn’t have. 

Despite his wondering, however, he knows exactly how he got himself into this situation: he let himself get jealous of a fake-tanned, shaggy-haired idiot named Jacob, a name that Harry despises on principle alone.  It had been a perfectly fine name until that awful Meyer woman decided to make it one of the banes of Harry’s existence.  And while Harry doesn’t have a particularly forgiving nature, he had just finally begun to get over the association, but thanks to that hallway confrontation at the end of Y/N’s date with the obtusely orange fool, Harry is now reminded that he will forever hate the name with a burning passion.  And shaggy hair.  And fake tans. And while the irony of him, a vampire—with a middle name of Edward, for Christ’s sake—hating an insignificant mortal named Jacob, simply because he dared to make a pass at the object of Harry’s fascination, is not lost on him, all of that was pushed aside the moment Harry smelled the perfume his fascination wore for the mortal boy. 

Y/N never wears perfume for him. And though she had assured him that her dressing up had been for him, he can’t shake the fact that Jacob had gotten to experience it first. 

It’s not that Y/N needs to wear perfume for him.  In fact, if Harry���s being honest with himself, he likes that she doesn’t spritz artificial scents all over her body before letting him into her home and between her legs.  She has one of the sweetest natural scents Harry’s ever had the pleasure of inhaling, all lavender and honey and utterly intoxicating.  Of course, as all mortals are, Y/N is unaware of the mouth watering fragrance that drips from her skin, while Harry is all too aware of it at all times, but her obliviousness to her natural scent doesn’t change the fact that Harry would bathe in it if he could.  If it were possible, Harry would pump an entire room full of her personal cloud of lavender and honey, lay back on the floor, turn down the lights, spark a joint, and let himself get lost in the very thought of her.  That would be Harry’s personal definition of Nirvana.

But Y/N isn’t aware of her natural, skin sweetening aroma like Harry is, which means two things.  Firstly, that Y/N doesn’t feel the need to smear anything unnatural on her body to attract Harry; she knows she doesn’t need to go through all that trouble.  And that was fine with Harry, until he realized the second thing, which is that there potentially could be someone that Y/N would go to all that trouble for if he doesn’t keep her entertained and occupied.  She had told him her date with Jacob hadn’t been on her terms, and that she’d done it just to be courteous towards a co-worker, but that doesn’t sedate the truth: There will always be a maddening possibility that occasions could come into play in which Y/N will spray a choking cloud of gardenia and freesia over herself, all in the hopes of appealing a suitor.  The issue is that in those hypothetical cases, the suitor Y/N would be trying to impress wouldn’t be Harry.

Actually, that’s only the first issue. The second issue is that it could be another fraternity moron with an equally stupid name. 

After the vampire had come upon Y/N ending her date in front of her door, just minutes before their own rendezvous was scheduled, Harry had felt an initial burst of blind rage, and everything after is a blur.  He vaguely remembers trying to make Jacob uncomfortable and delighting in how he succeeded, until he saw the anger on Y/N’s sweet face.  He remembers a brief discussion about limits and honesty, and about how she was only interested in him, and that he shouldn’t waste his time stressing about her supposedly dormant dating life.  And, most importantly, he remembers asking Y/N to accompany him on a real date, one that would blow her date with the VeggieTales carrot out of the water.

Now, of course, he’s beginning to regret his impulsive decision, purely for the fact that he now has to figure out how to woo a mortal girl just enough to keep her away from creeps with horribly coiffed hair.

And yet, despite this regret…there’s something new curling inside his belly as he types the phrase date ideas for L.A. into the search bar, the blinking cursor reflecting in his eyes before he presses the enter key and millions of results pop up.  Ah, the joys of the internet, he thinks as he scours the results with inhuman speed.  It’ll take Harry a few different clicks to find the perfect activity for himself and Y/N, and his hyperfocus on the topic will stop him from over analyzing that new feeling twisting inside him.

It’s a win-win situation, if he can say so himself.

Harry’s halfway through the first disappointing article (somehow, he doesn’t think taking Y/N on a hike is very romantic) when the door to his condo opens and reveals Mitch in the frame, dressed in his usual casual attire, this time of blue jeans and a plaid shirt.  Harry has spent the last century trying to refine the older vampire’s taste in clothing, even going so far as to once donate the entirety of Mitch’s closet to a homeless shelter, but all his efforts have been in vain, as his friend still insists on wearing the standard (and boring) style for every decade they’ve lived through together.

“Hey,” Mitch greets from the end of the corridor with a nonchalant nod, shutting the door behind himself before sauntering further into the living room. “Thought we were meeting at the bar at eight?”

It takes Harry a moment to remember the agreement Mitch refers to, his brow creasing as his eyes flicker to the corner of his computer screen.  By the time he registers the numbers 8:41 shining back at him, the memory of agreeing to get drinks with Mitch after his evening gig has resurfaced. “Fuck, I’m sorry.  I lost track of time.”

“I thought so.” Mitch moves the decorative pillow next to Harry on the couch, taking a seat in his usual spot. His voice is slightly sarcastic as he gives Harry a knowing look. “That’s been happening a lot lately.  Lapses in your memory and such.”

“It's old age, I suppose.” Harry’s lips quirk up in amusement, although he knows that Mitch’s comment is pointed towards a subject they’re both acquainted with, courtesy of Harry’s absence on their annual Vegas trip about a week prior. “It’s finally getting to me.”

The long-haired immortal makes a vague sound of humorous acknowledgement, but offers no other response as he turns his gaze to the younger vampire. 

Harry watches as his friend’s expert eyes appraise his appearance, examining how the older vampire takes note of the messy state of Harry’s hair that indicates he’s been tugging on it in frustration, the redness of his lips, the way he’s curled over his open laptop.  Although he makes no further comment on Harry’s newfound tendencies, his brows furrow in confusion. “What are you doing?”

“I, uh—” The amusement is replaced by an unfamiliar feeling of nervousness that sweeps through Harry’s entire body. “I’m doing research.”

When he’s given no other explanation, Mitch prompts his younger friend. “On?”

“I...asked that girl from the club out on a date— Y/N. Like, I invited her on a proper one.” Harry elaborates, twisting his lionhead ring around his finger as he speaks. “But I don’t really know, like, what to do with her.  I’m a little out of touch with what a typical twenty-something woman wants to do on a real date.”

And this is another thing Harry is usually good at— being confident and sure of himself.  Normally, he speaks with ease and a nonchalant cadence to his words, lacking any worry about how he’ll be perceived.  Harry knows what he wants, and knows how to articulate it.  Right now, however, he feels the complete opposite.  There’s a tension aching its way through his muscles and settling into the pit of his stomach, curling around those organs that haven’t been truly needed in years, and the utterly bemused expression weaving its way onto Mitch’s face doesn’t help.

The quiet vampire cocks his head to the side upon receiving this news, propping one foot up onto Harry’s coffee table and addressing him with a mocking air. “Why are you taking her on an actual date? From what you’ve told me— which isn’t much, and that strains our best friend reputation, if I’m being honest— I thought you two had an...understanding?”

“We did.  We do.” Harry stumbles over his words as he half shuts the laptop, setting it down on the coffee table and giving Mitch’s foot a quick playful shove off the lacquered surface as he repositions himself. “But she went on a date with someone else, so I have to—”

“Are you jealous?” His friend cuts over him with an incredulous tone, and the disbelief sends a flare of something akin to shame through Harry’s body. “Because she had a date?”

“I’m not jealous.” With a firm voice, Harry manages to scoff at the very notion. “I may be a monster, but my eyes are red, not green. It’s just—”

“Well, technically, they are.”

The immortal ignores the shit-eating correction. “—occurred to me that our arrangement will end if Y/N starts seeing some mortal bloke. So, if she wants a relationship, then I can fabricate one for her.”

Although the excuse slips off his tongue easily enough, Harry refuses to meet Mitch’s eyes as he picks up his laptop and opens it again, clicking his way onto another article in the search results.  The older vampire’s stare feels as if it’s scorching his icy skin, and Harry can’t exactly say he enjoys the sensation, but it’s better than the alternative of admitting to Mitch—and to himself—that he may harbour the smallest trace of feelings for the human girl.

However, Mitch seems to buy the rushed explanation. “Fabricate a relationship?” He repeats, scratching the base of his chin slowly. “Doesn’t that seem a little...cruel?”

“It’s not.  It’s only for a bit, and once I’m done with her, I’ll probably just…” The words lodge in his throat for some unknown reason, but he forces them out. “I’ll probably just wipe myself from her mind, and she…” Harry’s sharp teeth tug on his plump bottom lip. “She won’t remember me.  It’ll be fine.”

Yes, Harry repeats to himself as he scrolls through all the results Google has to offer.  It’ll be fine.  It has to be fine, really, because what’s the alternative?  Harry’s kind aren’t exactly built for a long term commitment to anyone that’s less than immortal.  The kindest thing for him to do would be to let Y/N go now, without having to use compulsion at all.  It would be so simple, he thinks.  One small text, a few words along the lines of “it’s not working out, and we probably shouldn’t see each other again, I’m sorry. H.” would probably suffice.  And surely she’d be a little upset, but she’s mortal, and a mortal’s feelings never stay the same for long.  It would take her a few weeks, or maybe a month at most to get over the creature she’d begun a casual sexual relationship with.  Within a year, Harry and their short-lived friendship would be nothing but a small blip in her memory, and she’d be moved on to someone else.

Harry can see her future so clearly that he almost believes it’s shining through his laptop screen like an old film.  Y/N, going back out for the first time after Harry breaks things off.  Y/N, bumping into a handsome stranger with a bright smile and dull eyes.  Y/N, slumped over her kitchen table and fighting a hangover as the stranger hands her a cup of coffee.  Y/N and the stranger going for dinner.  Walking hand in hand.  Kissing goodnight at the door.  

Harry’s mind spins through scenarios faster and faster, racing through every possible future for Y/N before he can even take another breath.  Although some scenarios have different paths, different breakups, different faces, they always end at the very same place: Y/N in a white dress, walking down a flower strewn aisle, and taking the warm hand of someone who is not Harry.

If Harry needed to breathe, the wind would’ve been knocked out of him the moment he pictured those warm hands with blood pulsing beneath the skin lifting Y/N’s veil, cupping her flushed cheek, and sealing their lips to hers.  It’s a perfectly normal image.  A human pledging themselves to another human.  It’s natural, by human standards, as they seem to value monogamy over everything else.  The path Harry is seeing is the path Y/N was always meant to take.  So why does it make his icy blood curdle?

Mitch, who seems to be completely unaware of the wild road map his friend’s mind has just drawn, speaks out his concerns in a quiet but careful voice. “Are you sure you’re not getting too attached?” He asks, gauging Harry’s reaction to his question as if it’s a catastrophic statement. “You’ve been spending more and more time with her, you blew off the Vegas trip for the first time…” The older vampire gives a soft shrug of his shoulders. “If it were just for sex and blood, that would be one thing, but it’s almost like you’re getting…addicted to her.” 

Although the statement first brings a laugh to Harry's strawberry lips, the initial chuckle quickly fades away as the gravity of Mitch’s statement hits its recipient.  Certainly, he feels an indescribable draw to Y/N, but he knows, deep down, that any addiction he has to her is more so to her blood than anything else.  After all, what else could he possibly indulge?  The last time Harry let himself be addicted to a person, he ended up with a broken neck and newfound bloodlust.  He’s learned since then.  He’s not so naïve, or so foolish, as to let his emotions wander like that again. He knows better.

“There’s no addiction—I just like her blood more than others, that’s all.” Harry assures his friend, tapping his thumb against the band of his mother’s opal ring. “I know I’ve been a bit of a flake lately, but it’s just while I have her around.  I’ll get tired of her eventually; I always do.” He deliberately flashes his crimson eyes at his friend with a knowing smirk. “And then all it’ll take is a few choice words to take care of whatever lingering marks—metaphorical or otherwise— I’ve left on her, and it’ll all be done, and in the past. You know me, mate. Sometimes I like playing with my food.”

That last sentence makes his mouth go sour, almost as if his body is punishing him for uttering something so indifferently ruthless. Especially because deep down, there’s the smallest seed of doubt in his speech— the tiniest hint of uncertainty, telling him that the detachment he is playing up is not true. 

Harry forces it to be true. It has to be. Both for his sake, and Y/N’s. 

Mitch spends a long few minutes gazing into the blood red irises marching his stare, determined to find a crack in their façade. However, Harry’s good at hiding his feelings, given that he’s had decades of practice on how to keep a thick curtain draped over his innermost thoughts. He won’t let anyone see his weaknesses anymore, no matter how microscopic they might be. 

When the older monster’s search turns up empty, he repents with a long sigh, waving his hands free of the whole affair. “Whatever, Harry.  You seem to know what you’re doing.  Just be careful, alright?”

“I do know what I’m doing, thank you.” Harry elects to ignore the last statement Mitch tacked on, and instead flips his laptop around to show his friend his findings with a triumphant—albeit, forced—grin. “I’m doing brunch.  Google says girls Y/N’s age like brunch, and that the Persimmon Pantry in downtown L.A. has authentic crepes that are to die for.”

“Too bad you’re already dead.” The older vampire deadpans, pushing the laptop closed and raising himself from the couch into a standing position, tucking his hands into his jean pockets. “If you’re going to be dating a mortal, do we get to meet her?  Because I think Niall may need a bit of a heads up after the accidental run in that happened last time—”

“Do you usually meet my meals?” Harry counters easily as he sets his laptop aside, standing to escort Mitch to the door. “Don’t be sentimental, Mitch.  I’m certainly not.”

When Mitch’s eyes meet his own once again, there’s a degree of clarity running through them that nearly stops Harry in his tracks. “Aren’t you?” Mitch asks, voice neutral by careful control. 

Harry sucks in a quick breath out of habit, pasting a bright expression over his face in lieu of actually revealing his swirling insides. “Not since I learned my lesson.” He says easily, tapping two fingers over his dormant carotid artery with a sly smile. 

The casual act does the trick, and Mitch’s eyes roll in a familiar jesting fashion as he steps towards the door. “Right.  You’ve got it under control, then.”

“All under control.” The words slip off Harry’s dry tongue like honey, his sweet cadence filling the space between them. “Not to worry.”

///

Y/N thinks this may be the most out of control she’s ever felt her entire life.

A few weeks ago, she would’ve said that taking Harry home from the club was the most out of control she’s ever been.  And three months ago, dropping her whole life and moving to L.A. might have been the answer to that question.  And another three months from now, Y/N might get herself into the middle of a new entirely stupid act— which is completely probable, given her track record— and that’ll become the new marker for the most out of control thing she’s done.  But right now, at this moment, the most out of control thing she’s done is say yes to Harry asking her out to brunch.

When compared to everything else she’s done with Harry—and let Harry do to her—brunch may seem entirely harmless, but it’s the connotation behind it that scares her.  Harry is taking her on a date.  A real date.  A date to a brunch restaurant, at 11 A.M. on a Sunday, when it’ll be completely bright outside, and people will see them together.  A date with both of them in presentable situations, rather than being coated in sweat and completely dressed.  A date where Harry refrains from whispering the filthiest fucking shit Y/N has ever heard into her ear, although she wouldn’t put it past him trying to do that over a plate of avocado toast.

Harry is taking her on a date.  And last time Y/N checked, she wasn’t exactly good at those.

Her ex hadn’t really been the romantic type, to say the least.  Their dates typically revolved around their high school’s dance and athletic schedules.  Bradley took her to homecoming and to prom, and football games on Friday nights, where all her friends would meet them at a diner after their school— more often than not— lost.  He would take her on long drives where they got nowhere fast, with the two of them sitting in silence, and his music playing through the speakers.  She went over to his house once a week for dinner.  He’d take her to a movie every second Saturday.  And while it was all fine, none of it was very romantic. ‘Robotic’ is a more appropriate term.

And even with the fear of actual romance aside, Y/N has no idea what to discuss on a first date with someone.  She had already known a lot about her ex when they began going out, so there wasn’t a period of “getting to know you” that needed to happen.  The few first dates she’d had after him hadn’t been stellar, or even noteworthy.  If anything, they had been guides for what not to do on a first date.  And the funniest thing is that, while she’s fairly sure her last first date had been the catalyst for Harry asking her out, the actual date itself had been awful.  But if she’s right, and that was the factor that set Harry off, then maybe she should be grateful for all those awful dates from her past, because Harry, in contrast to all those horrible dates, is different in every conceivable way.

Harry is just different.  When she speaks, he listens.  When he looks at her, he really looks at her, and he sees her in a way she’s not sure she’s ever been seen before.  And, honestly, he has seen her in ways she’s never been seen before, and that’s exactly what Y/N is worried about.  How do you sip a mimosa with someone at the Persimmon Pantry after they’ve throat fucked you on your couch, or bent you over the kitchen counter, or handcuffed you to their bed?  How do you ask someone about their favourite movie when they’ve coaxed multiple orgasms from you over the phone as Sinister played from the TV screen?  How do you listen as someone tells you about their childhood dog when the last dog you were concerned about was the position they bent you into as they spread your—

Y/N clears her throat and shakes her head of the thought, reevaluating her heated complexion in the mirror that hangs on the back of her bedroom door. “Stop it.” She mutters to herself, attempting to give her reflection a stern look. “You’re not going to be able to make it through this if you’ve thrown the towel in before Harry’s even picked you up.”

And that’s another thing, Y/N thinks, as she opens her bedroom closet and begins searching through it for something acceptable to wear.  Harry insisted on picking her up, even though the restaurant he chose was a fifteen minute walk from her apartment.  She’d brought this up to him when he asked her to brunch over the phone (which is a whole other thing in and of itself— he only called her when he had his hand wrapped around his cock and needed her voice to finish himself off; wouldn’t a text have been sufficient?), but Harry had blown off her concern without a second thought.

“Part of taking you on a date is picking you up, Y/N.”

“Yeah, but the Persimmon Pantry is between our apartments.  Wouldn’t it make more sense to meet there?  Then you wouldn’t waste your time driving past it to get me.”

“I don’t consider anything involving you to be a waste of time.” Harry had answered immediately, his voice stern, but still allowing a vein of tenderness to run underneath it. “Is that your only concern, then?  Me picking you up?”

No, Y/N had thought.  It’s not my only concern, but how the fuck do I explain everything else?

“Yeah.” Y/N had answered tightly, her voice weak. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, it’s not a concern of mine, so don’t worry.  I’ll pick you up at 10:45 Sunday morning.” And then there had been a pause, full of baited breath and nerves, before Harry’s thick accent rang through her phone again. “I can’t wait to see you.”

Those parting words had sat in her stomach since, warm and cozy and inviting, keeping a soft, constant glow filtering in her veins until the end of the week came. 

Y/N glances at the blinking clock beside her bed.  It’s 10:17 now, a couple days after that conversation, which means she has less than half an hour to pick something to wear, style her hair that’s currently dripping wet from her shower, and throw on enough makeup to cover up the bags under her eyes that have been developing over the last few nights.  After becoming so used to sleeping with Harry next to her every weekend, Y/N is now finding that not having him in her bed, smoothing her hair and rubbing her cheek as she cuddles into his cool chest is prohibiting her from getting a good night’s sleep.

Another concern, certainly, but not one she can deal with at this moment.  The best she can do is smear on some concealer and hope for the best, and with that in mind, Y/N turns her full attention to her evaluation of her closet.

“Brunch,” She murmurs to herself, slowly pushing her clothing apart to examine each article. “We’re going to brunch.  What do you wear to brunch?”

Brunch, she decides after a moment of consideration, is casual, but not sloppy casual, so jeans and a t-shirt are off the table.  It’s Sunday casual, like the outfits her mother would pick out for her to wear to Sunday afternoon teas with the other church women once she turned 15 and had to “start acting like a lady.”  Sunday casual, Y/N thinks, but maybe not those outfits.  The raised necklines and starched collars had made her neck itch the entire time, and she had picked at the hemlines of her dresses under tables until the seams began to unravel.  Sunday casual, but more of her actual style.  Sunday casual, but sluttier, maybe?  Could one describe Sunday casual as slutty?

Y/N groans as she takes a step back from her closet, clutching her towel to her chest with a tense hand.  Maybe she’s going about this the wrong way.  Maybe she should try to match Harry…? 

A sharp snort falls from Y/N’s mouth.  Yeah, like she could ever match Harry.  Harry, who is so obsessed with labels that even his handcuffs are embossed with the Gucci logo.  Harry, who is so attractive that it’s almost otherworldly.  Harry, who can make her tiny apartment look like a New York Fashion Week runway by simply walking down the corridor of her entrance.  Matching Harry is almost impossible.  She could show up in a full length gown, and Harry would still outshine her in a graphic t-shirt and flared jeans.

“Hey.” Y/N chastises herself lightly, catching her judgemental eye in her mirror once again. “Stop it.  Don’t be mean to yourself, just...just pick something to wear.  It shouldn’t be this hard.”

After returning to her closet search and trying on a few different combinations, Y/N finally settles on an outfit consisting of a pale yellow sundress with a sweetheart neckline and tea length skirt, but dresses it down with a denim jacket and a pair of cotton candy coloured vans.  It’s bright and fun, but still casual enough that it looks like she just threw it on.  

“Oh, this old thing?”  Y/N raises her eyebrows in mock surprise as she moves to her bathroom to begin to tackle her hair.  She keeps practicing the imaginary conversation in the mirror with herself, and while she knows she sounds insane, it oddly keeps her nerves in check. “Oh, I just pulled it out of my closet a few minutes before you got here.  Haven’t worn it in years.  Do you like it?” The mortal pauses as she reaches for her makeup, deciding to keep herself to a more natural look for the day. “Thank you, Harry, that’s so sweet.  You look nice, as well.”

She lightly fills her brows before sweeping some neutral eyeshadow over her lids, pausing her muttering to herself to concentrate on drawing her eyeliner as neatly as she likes.  Once she’s satisfied with that, she moves to mascara, adding a thin coat to her lashes and blotting off the makeup she smudges underneath her eye by mistake.  When that’s finished, the young woman takes a step back from the mirror, appraising her appearance.

It’s not awful, honestly.  She could do worse.  In fact, if it weren’t for the ball of anxiety currently twisting its way through Y/N’s stomach, she might even praise herself for the cute and casual look she’s managed to pull off.

“You look good.” She murmurs to her reflection as she reaches for her small silver hoops, slipping them through her lobes with a quick and practiced motion. “Good job.” With her eyes locked on her reflection, Y/N worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “Today is going to be fine.  Better than fine, actually.  And it would probably go better if you stopped talking to yourself, so maybe let’s get that in check before Harry gets here—?”

As if on cue, a now familiar knock on her front door causes the mortal’s mouth to snap shut, clamping off the rest of her third person monologue.  When she makes a quick pause to straighten her jacket and fetch her over-the-shoulder woven bag, Y/N impulsively decides to grab her favourite perfume bottle, giving her body a quick spritz before making her way to the door and opening it with breathless anticipation.

Harry, of course, looks fucking incredible.  Although his casual outfit consists of a black short sleeved button up shirt tucked into white slacks, Harry manages to work the whole number like a model.  His usual cross necklace, unique rings, and stately single cross earring adorn his body, drawing Y/N’s eyes to the glint of the metals as a pair of black sunglasses sit atop the man’s defined nose.  He meets Y/N’s eyes behind them, a grin beginning to paint itself over his cherry lips as his jeweled hand pushes the sunglasses from his face and into his chestnut locks, revealing his bright jade gaze full of genuine kindness. 

“Well, look at you. Proper model now, aren’t you, Miss Urban Outfitters?” Harry’s voice takes on a casual tone, but the flirty phrase sends a shiver of pleasure down Y/N’s spine. “You look so fucking good in yellow, love.  Why have I never seen you in yellow before?”

The shiver of pleasure reverberates throughout Y/N’s entire body. “Maybe because I’m usually naked when I’m around you?” She retorts quickly, reaching to the little hook next to her door to grab her keys. 

“Hm.  That’s true.” The pleased cadence in Harry’s voice catches Y/N’s ear over the click of the door lock. “Guess you go for the Victoria’s Secret look more often, hm? Though I’m not complaining. You look just as good in lace.” 

“Thanks. But not today, I guess.” Y/N says quietly as she pushes down the heat boiling her face, unable to bite her tongue before the words slip out. “We’re on a real date today.”

“Right you are, Watson.” Harry grins cheekily as he motions for the girl to walk past him, following closely with a guiding hand on the small of her back. “We’re on a real date.  It’s probably a little overdue, but you know what they say...better late than never, right?”

The moment she takes a step past him, it hits Harry.  Although her delectable signature scent of lavender and honey is still there, it’s faintly hidden behind the nearly overpowering scent of gardenia and freesia he smelled last time he was in her hallway, when that oafish buffoon had the audacity to try and seduce her.  And despite the fact that Harry prefers Y/N’s natural fragrance to any other scent on the planet, knowing that she took the time to spritz herself with perfume before greeting him brings a dimpled smile to his face.  Harry considers making a comment about it, but bites it back at the last moment.  The last thing he needs is to have to explain why he pays such particular attention to Y/N’s scent.

When the pair exit the apartment building, Harry takes the lead in front of Y/N, unlocking his flashy car with a click of the remote and opening the passenger door with ease.  He extends a hand, grasping the mortal girl’s hand in his own with care as he helps her into the car.  The click of the car door shutting comes a moment later than expected as Harry pauses to fix the hem of Y/N’s dress, making sure it’s free of the doorway before closing the door without clamping the light fabric.

Harry doesn’t even think twice before readjusting Y/N’s skirt, with the move coming as naturally to him as breathing once did, and merely notes the stuttering of Y/N’s heartbeat with a half hidden smug smile.  It’s not until he’s in the driver’s seat and stopped at a red light that he realizes what that stuttering rhythm is indicating.

Y/N is tense.  Even without his supernatural abilities that allow him to hear her heart, register her strained breathing, and feel the energy radiating from her body, Harry would be able to tell that some part of her feels...uncomfortable.  Nervous, even.  But for what?  What about Harry—aside from the obvious that the human is unaware of—could make her nervous?  After the countless hours in bed together, the lazy Saturday afternoons, the kitchen singalongs, Harry would think that Y/N would be as comfortable with him as he is with her.  After all she’d shown him when they have sex—

Huh.  Maybe that’s it, Harry thinks, giving the mortal a quick look from the corner of his eye.  The light ahead of them turns green, and Harry continues to ponder his realization as he presses on the gas.  If sex has become the norm for them, then maybe a date is outside of her comfort zone.  Or maybe, now that her brain isn’t fogged by the endorphins that roll through her veins whenever Harry coaxes an orgasm from her trembling body, Y/N is realizing how unnatural it feels to be around Harry.  

As much as Harry likes to pretend otherwise, humans aren’t dumb.  If they get too close to someone of Harry’s kind, some sharp-sighted mortals begin to sense that there’s something different about them.  Aside from the easy targets and quick decisions, part of the reason that picking up meals in clubs works so well for Harry and his friends is that a mortal’s senses are dulled in the flashing lights and inebriated atmosphere of a club.  If Y/N is beginning to sense that there’s something different about Harry, or if she’s beginning to feel uneasy about being around him, then she must be wondering why.  In Harry’s experience, mortals will relate their uncomfortable feelings about the supernatural into something they have more experience with to make sense of it all, and if that’s what Y/N is doing, then she’s probably attributing her newfound discomfort towards Harry trying to take advantage of her.  If he could read her mind, he might see a horrific scene playing out like an old movie: Harry buying her a meal, soaking her rational thinking in mimosas and other drinks spiked with God knows what, and then helping her back to his car, where he drives her back to his apartment, practically carrying her inebriated body through the door towards his bedroom…

The car takes a sharp right turn into the restaurant parking lot, and Harry guides it to a spot with his hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel.  The idea of Y/N thinking him capable of that, capable of hurting her like that...it takes Harry a moment to extract his clenched hands from the wheel.  If that was really what Y/N was thinking, then he could fix it.  All it would take to set her at ease would be a quick request, a repeated statement, and the girl’s breathing would even out, and everything could continue like he had planned.

“Y/N?” He begins, keeping his voice as smooth as silk as he sets the car into park and turns it off. “Look at me, please.”

And then she does.  And Harry forgets his plan within a moment.

There’s nervousness apparent in her eyes, yes, but no fear.  Although her lips are chewed red, they don’t tremble when she answers him with a quiet “yes?” Despite their close proximity, she keeps leaning closer to him, and whether she’s aware of the action or not, the constant inch of her hand closer to Harry’s softens the immortal more than he thought possible.  He can’t compel her to let down her guard when she already trusts him.

“I know that this is different for us.  Doing something like this.” Harry begins, keeping his eyes as sincere as possible without compelling the young woman in front of him, who is keeping her eyes on his emerald irises with steadfast attention. “But I want this to be a proper date, like...like what I should’ve probably taken you on a month ago.”

Warmth rises to Y/N’s cheeks at the confession. “So do I.  I like being around you, Harry.  A lot.  I’m just a little...nervous, I guess.”

Harry bites back a smile at how she sounds like she’s confessing something, as if her body language hasn’t been telling him that from the moment she got into his car. “I know.  So I think it would be best, just to prove that this is a real date, if we don’t have sex after we finish brunch.”

A choked sound falls from Y/N’s mouth, and Harry delights in watching her scramble for words before she manages to form a half indignant reply. “I didn’t say I was going to sleep with you!”

“You don’t have to say it, pet, because we both know you can’t keep your hands off me.  Exhibit A,” Harry nods at her hand, which is mere millimeters away from his thigh. “Being how you kept trying to grab onto me through the entire drive.”

Another gasp of indignation fills the car, and the emphasized outrage sets Harry at ease.  He’d rather Y/N be equal parts annoyed and—if the soft look hidden behind her eyes is any clue—endeared than have her equal parts nervous and anxious.  He’d take any anger directed at his expense if it meant she was at ease. 

“I wasn’t trying to grab you.” The mortal mutters under her breath, her eyes falling from his as the increase of her heart pricks Harry’s ears. “That’s just where my hand fell naturally.”

“Right.” Harry answers in a disbelieving voice, his smirk growing as Y/N rolls her eyes in response. “Well, either way…” He extends a jeweled hand and grips her chin between his thumb and forefinger, enjoying how her breath stutters as he turns her head to look at him. “What do you say?  No sex after our date?  Think we can behave ourselves?”

“I can.” Y/N answers, irritation laced through her voice to hide the desire settling between her words. “You, on the other hand...I doubt you’ll be able to keep it in your pants.”

A wry smile works it’s way over Harry’s lips, and the vampire wets them with his tongue as he uses his gentle grip on Y/N’s jaw to tilt her head forward. “I have wonderful self-control, darling.” He breathes the words, letting the scent of mint roll over Y/N’s face, and delights in the way it intoxicates her with every syllable.  Harry ghosts his lips over the curve of her jaw, smudging his kisses down her neck until he can feel her pulse thumping unevenly beneath his lips.  His mouth opens just slightly as he leaves a lingering kiss on the area, his tongue gliding carefully over her sweet-scented skin. 

Despite every instinct in his body telling him to sink his teeth into the beating pulse he feels and quench the thirst that burns in the back of his throat like a roaring fire, Harry manages to pull away. “See?” He murmurs softly, his cool breath still clouding Y/N’s every inhale. “Self control.”

While Harry is a master at withholding his desires, the effect his actions have on Y/N is apparent in her reply. “Good.” The mortal swallows thickly, her pulse fluttering again as Harry releases her chin and drags his fingers down her neck. “That’s good to know.  So no sex, then.”

“Right.” Harry grins triumphantly as Y/N attempts to collect herself.  The smug expression on Harry’s face lets her know that he’s completely aware of the impact he has on her, and it drives her insane to no end.  Although her conscience is urging her to play his game, and do her best to fluster him as he flusters her, the more rational part of her stops that thought in its tracks.  This is what she wanted, wasn’t it?  To open herself up again, to open herself up to Harry in a way she hasn’t before?  To prove that she can let someone know her without burrowing themselves between her thighs?

The latch of her car door brings her from her thoughts, and her head jerks to the right to see Harry with one hand on the door handle as he extends the other to her to help her from the car.  Y/N, still fumbling with her seatbelt, takes a moment to grasp his hand in return, too swept up in the fact that Harry remembers to open her door to ponder how he always reaches her side of the car so quickly. 

However, there are some new developments that don’t slip from her attention, like how Harry keeps her hand grasped firmly in his icy grip even after she’s out of the car, pausing only to click the lock on his keyring before walking with her towards the door.  Or how, despite his long legs, he never falls out of step with Y/N, making sure to keep his strides measured and even so as not to yank on her hand.  Or how, even though her hand is already half extended out of habit, Harry reaches the door of the restaurant first, opening it smoothly and stepping back, gently laying his hand on the small of Y/N’s back to guide her inside the restaurant.

“Uh, thanks.” The young woman murmurs to him, a tone of perplexity running beneath her words.  She’s not quite sure why all of this surprises her; hadn’t Harry already proved that, despite his harsh and suggestive exterior, there’s an undercurrent of manners instilled into him?  

Maybe, she thinks as she watches Harry step forward to the restaurant host, the surprise and confusion is due to the lack of manners she received from her ex.  Despite the “small town charm,” as her mother had called it, Bradley had lacked the ability to successfully perform any gallantry, and any attempts he made to do so had only annoyed Y/N.  Whenever he tried to do something that may fall into that category, like insisting on driving everywhere they went, or choosing where they’d go for dinner, Y/N never felt that the actions came from a place of protection or chivalry; on the contrary, Y/N felt like each action was taken on the basis that she herself was incapable of doing the same things Bradley did.  On the one occasion she’d brought it up to him, he had scoffed, and argued that he was just trying to be a nice guy, and why would she have a problem with him trying to help her, and if she was going to complain, then he wouldn’t—

An icy touch to the dip of her back jerks Y/N from her thoughts, both metaphorically and literally as her body spasms away from the touch.  Upon hearing the alarmed gasp that falls from her lips, Harry turns his head to the side, a look of concern painted over his face.

“Everything alright, darling?” He asks in a quiet voice, his hand retracting from her back with uncertainty. 

“Yeah, sorry, just—caught up in thought, I guess.” Y/N covers quickly, giving him an apologetic smile. “You just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

If the way the mortal shivers is any suggestion, Harry can guess what exactly about his touch took her by surprise. “I’m sorry.” He says sincerely, his fingers hovering a few millimeters above the fabric of her dress. “The, uh, the table I reserved is just on the patio around the corner.” Although he lays his hand on Y/N once again to guide her, Harry is careful to place his palm further up her spine, where the sensitive skin of her back is covered by her jean jacket in addition to the thin yellow sundress.  As much as he usually adores making her shiver, there’s something different about the action when he knows it’s because of his inhumanly cold touch, instead of his inhuman ability to pleasure her. 

The pair move in a line, following the hostess in a beeline through the busy restaurant and out onto the sunlit patio, where there are fewer occupied tables.  Stopping in front of a table partly shaded under an umbrella that’s away from the other diners, the hostess turns to the two of them, her eyes flickering over Harry once again.

“Is this table to your liking, Mr. Styles?” She asks, her voice sweet as sugar.  The stickiness of it grates against Y/N’s skin, but Harry gives no indication of finding it irritating.  In fact, he seems to give hardly any notice to the hostess at all, only half glancing at her before nodding his head. 

“Yes, it is, thank you.” He steps out to the side, grasping the back of the chair facing away from the sun and pulling it out.  It takes Y/N a moment and a half step already taken towards the opposite chair for her to realize that he’s pulling it out for her.

“Oh—” Face flushing with realization, Y/N steps back around Harry, settling down into the offered seat as he carefully pushes it in. “Uh, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Harry replies, pausing to be sure she’s comfortable before taking his own seat across from her.  The hostess, who had been watching his actions with a keen eye, gives another smile to the vampire.

“Alright, Paige will be your server today, but before I leave,” The hostess spares a short glimpse at Y/N before turning her full attention back to Harry. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

The creature is aware of the effect he has on mortals, and has been since he was first turned.  While he normally plays that to his advantage (and while that was, to be frank, part of the reason he was able to take Y/N home from the club the night he met her), the attention is beginning to grind against his nerves.  It’s easy enough for him to ignore a human, especially one he has no interest in whatsoever, but he can see the way Y/N notices the hostess’ preference for addressing Harry.  More specifically, Harry can see the way it bothers her, and it would be amusing if his jealousy over Y/N going on a date with someone else hadn’t been the catalyst to their date today.

“No, that’s alright.” Harry finally responds to the waitress, glancing at her just enough so as not to be rude. “Thank you.”

The hostess smiles at him again before nodding to Y/N and turning on her heel, marching back towards the kitchen, and it takes just a soft snort falling from Y/N’s lips to pull Harry’s attention completely back to her.

“What?” He quirks an eyebrow up at the noise, reaching for the menu in front of him and flipping it open slowly. “Something funny?”

Y/N gives a small shake of her head as she mimics Harry’s action, casting her eyes downwards towards the now revealed menu. “No, not at all.”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” The vampire reaches across the table to touch his date’s hand, flipping her arm carefully so he can lay two ringed fingers against the thin skin of her wrist, the fragile hummingbird flutter of her heart thumping beneath it. “And I’m too excellent at reading people to let it go.”

“Too stubborn, you mean?” Y/N corrects him as she raises her own brow, but much to Harry’s delight, she doesn’t pull back from his icy touch as she did earlier. 

Harry shrugs lightly, an unconcerned air tinting his attitude. “If that’s what you’d like to call it.  Either way, I’d like to know why you’re laughing at me.”

The mortal chews on the inside of her cheek, the action of her weighing her next words clearly written all over her face. “You seriously can’t tell me you don’t notice it.”

Cocking his head to the side, Harry gently yet consistently continues to stroke two fingers over Y/N’s velvety skin, the heat of her veins burning beneath his touch. “Notice what?”

Although she opens her mouth, Y/N’s reply is cut off by the clicking of high heels approaching their secluded corner, and it’s only a moment before a waitress (whom she assumes is Paige) is standing in front of their table.  Like her coworker before her, Paige gives a brief hello to Y/N before turning all of her attention to Harry, smiling brightly at him as she gives her opening spiel.

“Hi!  My name is Paige, and I’ll be your server today.  Can I get some drinks started for you?” She asks, her hands clasped tightly in front of her (Y/N always hates when servers don’t write down orders; she knows it looks impressive, but the attention it takes to remember exact specifications gives her secondhand anxiety) as she addresses Harry.  

The order is right at the tip of Harry’s tongue. “We’ll have two mimosas, please.  And two ice waters, as well.” He replies, smiling briefly at her as his fingers continue to glide over Y/N’s wrist.  The girl catches the way Paige’s eyes flicker to the movement, her (just barely) professional smile shifting for a fraction of a second before fixing itself, and while Y/N knows that it’s irrational, a small part of her can’t help but be pleased.

“Sounds good.  I’ll be right back with those.” She chimes giddily, her heels clicking against the ground once more as she walks away.

The moment she’s left, Harry has his full attention turned back to Y/N. “You didn’t answer my question.” He murmurs, his emerald eyes alight with curiosity. “Notice what?”

An exasperated sigh sounds from Y/N as she makes a face. “The way they stare at you.” She answers, jerking her head over her shoulder towards the restaurant door. “The hostess, the server—they were both practically undressing you with their eyes.  Are you telling me you didn’t notice that?”

Harry’s curious expression drops as he begins to shift in his seat, the stroking of his fingers over her wrist pausing for just one moment.  Ah, Y/N thinks.  Here it is.  A confession that, yes, Harry did notice it, and Harry (and his ego) loved the attention, and he—

“I noticed it, yeah.” He begins, a reluctant look painting itself onto his statuesque features as a finger on his free hand rubs over his lion head ring.

A glum feeling of satisfaction settles into Y/N’s stomach, and she pulls her hand back a few inches, completely removing it from Harry’s grasp. “I thought so—”

“But I didn’t see the point in mentioning it.” Harry continues, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’m here with you.  Why would a spare look from a hostess or a server be anything but inconsequential to me?”

Huh.

“I…” For once, Y/N is stunned into silence. “Well, I just thought—”

“Y/N.” Her name sounds like a melody when it falls from Harry’s mouth, and the sincerity layered in his voice makes her snap her eyes to his. “Do you truly think I would flirt with a waitress on a date I asked you on?  Does that sound like me?”

“Well, honestly…” Harry’s stare bores into hers, prickling Y/N’s skin with the new and nearly uncomfortable sensation of being seen. “I don’t want to think so, but considering how we met…”

“Ah.” Harry’s lips turn down into a small grimace, but quickly right themselves as he once again grasps her hand in his two large palms. “I won’t pretend that I’m not a bit of a—”

“Whore?”

Harry’s lip twitches in amusement again at the blatant tone of the girl’s voice. “Didn’t we just have a conversation about you slut-shaming me?”

The flush that overtakes Y/N’s face indicates that she remembers. “Yes, we did.  But I seem to recall you agreeing.  After you teased me for it, of course.”

“Of course.  We both know how much you love teasing.” Harry digs his nails ever so slightly into her wrist, not enough to hurt, but enough to pull a small gasp from her mouth as his grip begins to mimic the handcuffs that she had begged him to use on her. “But all that aside...I couldn’t give less of a fuck about what they think of me.  I’m here with you.  Despite most of my flaws, my mother raised me right.  I wouldn’t do that to you.”

The thunderous thumping of Y/N’s heart rings through Harry’s ears, a constant reminder of why he’s here.  Beneath her soft skin, beneath every telltale mark and scar, beneath her glittering eyes and silky lips, there’s the thing that keeps Harry alive.  Rushing through this girl’s arteries is the sustenance that Harry needs to survive, the sweetest liquid he’s ever consumed, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep it at his beck and call.  If being the gentleman of Y/N’s dreams is what will keep her available for him, then that’s what he’ll do.  The pounding of her heart is the beat that keeps him in time with the tune of his life.  It’s nothing more and nothing less. 

Still, Harry chooses his next words attentively, to bring back a joking manner to the conversation. “Someone must have done a number on you, huh?  Was everything not so charming in Smalltown, USA?  Did your parents split when you were a kid?”

And although Harry asks the questions with a smirk on his face, laughter in his voice, and mirth in his eyes, he doesn’t miss the way Y/N’s breath hitches in her chest, how her hand tenses beneath his, and how her eyes drop for a fraction of a second.  He’s touched a nerve, one that is obviously frayed and hurting, and the regret that instantly washes over him is tinged with the confusion of how he’s capable of feeling such an emotion so intensely. 

“Um—” While Y/N knew that she had to tell Harry about her disastrous dating history sooner or later, she had really hoped it would be later rather than sooner.  Is a discussion about one’s scumbag ex appropriate first date talk?  Can she bring it up now, or should she wait until they’ve finished their appetizers? 

“Alright, so I have two mimosas and two waters for you…” Paige’s return distracts Y/N from her dilemma for just a moment as the server sets down the four glasses in front of the respective recipients.  With her attention turned back to Harry, she takes a step back from the table. “Are you ready to order?”

Y/N’s eyes snap to the open menu in front of her, which had become the least of her concerns over the last few minutes. “Oh, I haven’t—”

“We’ll get two orders of the chorizo and goat cheese crepes, please.” Harry closes his menu before reaching for Y/N’s and repeating the motion, handing them back to Paige with a charming yet neutral smile. “And a side of hashbrowns, please, to share.”

Brow furrowing as the server scurries away without giving her a second glance, Y/N gapes at Harry, her voice wrought with confusion. “Why did you order for me?”

Harry raises his mimosa to his lips and takes a long sip, setting the condensation-covered glass back down on the table before replying. “You didn’t know what you wanted, and the crepes are delicious.  Did you want something else?” With a lick of his red lips, he glances over his shoulder. “I can call her back if—”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Y/N wraps her hand around the alcoholic drink, swirling her finger over the cold glass. “I can order for myself.  I’m a grown woman.  Do you think I’m not capable or something?”

Harry cocks his head to the side, appraising how the mortal’s expression is closing off with every passing moment.  This bothers her, he realizes.  The idea of him not thinking she’s capable of something bothers her, enough that she’s clenching her glass, and her normally clear eyes are swirling with anger more and more with every passing moment.

“I know you’re capable, Y/N.  I just thought that…” Shifting in his seat, Harry clears his throat as he gathers his words in his mind.  Wasn’t he supposed to be the one asking the questions? “It’s supposed to be polite.”

“In what century?” She replies, her mouth falling agape in surprise as her eyes widen. “Men used to order for women because women weren’t allowed to, right?  Because men made the decisions?  Holding open a door is one thing, but choosing for me—”

“Okay, maybe choosing for you was impolite.  I thought you were unsure on what to order, but I should’ve asked first.  I’m sorry.” Harry half mumbles the apology as an uncomfortable feeling of shame begins to buzz in his stomach. “But the ordering thing, that— men did that as a sign of respect, so women wouldn’t have to talk to someone they didn’t know.  I really didn’t mean anything by it, I swear.  My mum just taught me that it was polite, so I...it’s a habit.  I’m sorry.  I won’t do it again.”

He watches as Y/N chews her bottom lip, seemingly contemplating the authenticness of his apology.  Everything he had said was true, of course.  His mother did teach him that it was polite to order something for a date so she wouldn’t have to speak to someone she doesn’t know.  Of course, it was also true that the practice had died out a century ago, and most women now preferred to speak for themselves.  Harry can’t begrudge Y/N if she dislikes what he did; she’s proved time and time again that she can be rather independent.  However, Harry’s surprised at the disappointment he feels about her reaction.  If this is going to be a proper date, he’d like to hold it up to his standards of proper.

“Alright.” The mortal says after a moment, releasing her lip from her teeth and finally raising her mimosa to her mouth. “You’re forgiven.  But I think I’ve earned the right to compensation for your assumptions.”

“Compensation could be arranged, I suppose.” Harry leans forward with a sly grin, his fingers finding the delicate skin of Y/N’s wrist once more. “I feel like I’ve been fairly firm on the no sex thing, but I could pencil you in for some compensation tomorrow evening, if that works for you.”

Y/N swirls the liquid in her glass as she bites back a smirk. “I was thinking of something a little different than an orgasm, actually.”

“What could possibly be better than an orgasm given by me?” Harry questions, his free hand fingering the cross around his neck. “Didn’t you once compare them to a gift from God?”

“I don’t recall ever saying that, actually.” The mortal girl replies in a dry voice, setting her glass down with a decisive thunk. “I don’t want an orgasm—”

“Oh, that’s a bloody lie—”

“I want information.” Tapping her fingers against the table, Y/N stares Harry down with firm eyes. “Like where did you grow up that your mother taught you it was appropriate to speak for a woman?  Or why have you avoided any personal questions I’ve tried to ask over the last month?”

Harry retracts his hand from Y/N’s wrist as she voices her inquisition, settling his fingers on the rim of his mimosa to begin tracing the smooth glass. “To be fair, pet, you haven’t asked many personal questions.  You’ve been too busy bouncing on my cock, haven’t you?”

“Maybe, but I won’t be today, as per our agreement.” Y/N steeps her fingers together as she leans towards him, the comical sight of her posture forcing Harry to repress a snort. “And you brought up personal questions first, Holmes.  So you kind of screwed yourself, didn’t you?”

“I suppose I did.  I’ve gotten so used to you doing the screwing, Watson.  Guess I’m getting sloppy— although you seem to like that.” Harry can’t help but get in one last dig before conceding, taking a long gulp of his beverage before smacking his lips. “I’ll tell you what.” He says, pointing a jeweled finger at his date with his glass still wrapped tightly in his hand. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Pursing her lips, Y/N quirks up an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“Let’s play a little question game.” Harry sets down his glass as he elaborates, his signature smirk growing over his cherry lips. “We alternate questions back and forth, asking whatever we’ve wanted to know.  And the other person has to answer it honestly.”

Or as honestly as possible, Harry amends in his head.  For obvious reasons, he’ll have to fabricate the majority of his answers, but that’s nothing new to him.  Over the years, he’s had to create multiple spiels about his childhood, taking tiny pieces of truths and weaving them together with updated lies.  Spitting out a few standard stories about where he grew up and why he left London is small change compared to his burning desire to know more about Y/N’s past.  

The mortal chews on the inside of her cheek again, weighing her options in her head as she holds Harry’s questioning stare.  As much as she hates to discuss her life story, and as much as she’d been hoping to hide it from Harry, she knows that she has to be honest with him if she wants him to be honest with her.  As awkward as it may be, she’ll have to tell the stories sometime.

“Alright.” She relents after a moment, blowing out a harsh breath and lifting her mimosa to her lips. “But I get to ask the first question.  Ladies first, and all that.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Harry flashes a cheeky grin at her, his left eye dropping into a quick wink. “Start your inquisition, Watson.”

Harry’s been in this position millions of times, so he knows the types of questions that are about to tumble from Y/N’s pretty lips.  She’ll start off by asking where he grew up, and where he went to school, and how many siblings he has, before moving to things like why he moved to L.A., and how he made friends, and—

“What else did your mother teach you, besides manners?” Y/N asks suddenly, her tongue poking from the corner of her mouth to catch a stray drop of liquid on her bottom lip as she lowers her glass. “And what was the most important thing?” 

The nature of the question catches Harry so off guard that he doesn’t remember to quell the throb in his chest where his heart used to beat at the mention of his mother, and the old half healed wound flares with pain.  What had his mother taught him?  Harry ponders the question as Y/N’s curious eyes ponder him.  What hadn’t she taught him? 

“My mother taught me…many things.  Many good things.  She was a wonderful woman.” Harry begins honestly, albeit carefully, speaking in a measured voice as his eyes fall to her opal ring that sits upon his pinky. “She taught me how to read as a child, before I began school.  She taught me...she taught me how to cook a bit.  I’m not nearly as good as she was, but I’m passable.  And yes, she did teach me how to behave around women, how to be respectful.  But the most important thing…”

Y/N watches as Harry’s eyes bore into the ring on his finger, as if he’s staring into a crystal ball of the past to search for an answer.  Perhaps, in a way, he is. 

“The most important thing,” Harry repeats again, his eyes finally snapping away from the entrapment of the ring. “Was how to let someone know you appreciate them.  It’s easy, I think, to go about your day without telling someone you care for them.” Stroking his thumb over the band of the ring, Harry thinks back to the countless ways his mother had wordlessly shown Harry and his sister how much she adored them. “Little touches, or little favours, things like that— those go a long way.  They help someone feel less alone.  They can be the difference between a good day and a bad day.  She used to, um,” A lump suddenly develops in his throat, and Harry struggles to swallow it down as he voices a memory he hasn’t spoken aloud in over a century. “She used to comb her fingers through my hair when I was a little boy, whenever I was upset.  I’d come home from—“ Harry cuts himself off before he mentions his father’s blacksmith forge, where he was an apprentice. “—from school, and she would take one look at me and be able to see I was frustrated.  She always sat in this big chair in front of the fireplace, and she’d pat her lap, and I’d sit in front of her knees and lay my head on her leg, and she’d card her fingers through my hair as I told her every bad thing that happened that day.” Unconsciously, Harry raises his own hand to his chestnut curls, raking his fingers through them.  The motion doesn’t bring nearly as much comfort as it once did. “She always listened.  She never made me feel like my problems were silly.  She just listened.  It made me feel better.  Made me feel…” The vampire’s hand drifts from his hair to his lips, rubbing over them pensively. “Loved.”

The mortal girl’s eyes soften as she listens to the memories of the man in front of her, who begins to look younger and younger with every word that falls from his lips.  Although she’s surprised by the candor of his answer, it pleases her; she thought pulling truths from Harry would be like pulling teeth.  One note of his story, however, catches her attention with an ache. 

“You said...you said she was a wonderful woman.” Y/N murmurs, carefully gauging Harry’s reaction to the question. “Is she...not anymore?”

“I’m sure she would be, but she passed away a…a while ago.” Harry’s eyes shift to the ring again, the dainty band with its opal stone standing out from the rest of his chunky jewelry.  Y/N wonders if that’s because it once belonged to someone else. “She got sick, and couldn’t get better.”

With a careful but tender motion, Y/N slides her hand across the table and settles it on top of Harry’s, cupping his larger hand in her smaller grasp. “I’m so sorry.” The sincerity in her voice snags Harry’s attention, and the vampire looks up to find the mortal staring at him with understanding eyes. “I can’t imagine how awful that must have been for you.  You must miss her very much.”

It takes Harry a moment to clear the lump from his throat enough that he can choke out a response. “I-I do, yeah.  Every day.” He’s not sure if it’s his icy skin or the burn of Y/N’s touch, but he slowly pulls his hand from beneath her grasp, reaching for his glass of ice water instead.  He gulps down half the liquid, setting the cup down with a decisive thunk before pasting a strained smile onto his face. “But that’s enough of my sob story, don’t you think?  It’s my turn to ask a question.”

A small frown works its way over Y/N’s face as Harry pulls away, and she clasps her now empty hands together around the stem of her mimosa glass. “Fine.  What do you want to know?”

“The answer to my previous inquiry.” Harry’s emerald irises sweep over her figure, his tongue poking between his teeth as his simper becomes more genuine. “Someone must’ve really done a number on you if opening a door for you is a shock.  What’s the story there?”

Although she knew that this would be Harry’s first question, Y/N still bides her time by knocking back the rest of her mimosa in one swift gulp, wrinkling her nose at the lingering taste that catches in the back of her throat. “His name was Bradley.” She begins, tapping a fingernail against the delicate glass. “And he—”

“So sorry to cut you off, darling, but,” Harry raises a finger to pause her speech, his rings glinting in the L.A. sun. “Bradley?  You fucked someone named Bradley?”

“It was a small town!  It’s not like I had many options!” Y/N argues hotly, her eyes rolling harder than they ever have before. “Now are you going to be quiet and listen politely, or are you going to keep interrupting me before I can even begin?”

Harry laughs once, shaking his head with an amused air. “Sorry.  Continue.” Despite the teasing smirk still tugging at his lips, Harry raises a hand to the corner of his mouth, pretending to lock it shut with an imaginary key.  He even takes care to slide the invisible key into his shirt pocket, patting it with satisfaction once the deed is done. 

Y/N takes one more moment to glare at him, but Harry’s newfound silence continues, and so she does, as well. “His name was Bradley.  I met him through a mutual friend in our freshman year of high school.  I’d seen him around before, but we’d never talked, really.  And after he asked me to Homecoming, he just kind of…stuck.” The girl shrugs in a way of explanation. “Like, he started coming around more to my house, taking me out to movies.  And it was nice.  The attention, I mean.  There was no one else I was really interested in at school, and Bradley was cute, and he was friendly, and our families really liked each other.  It made sense.”

As she speaks, a crease works its way between Harry’s perfectly sculpted brows.  Most mortal romances, he’s come to find, are rather dull, but this one seems more boring than others, and he can’t stop himself from raising his jeweled hand in the air as if he were in one of the classes Y/N mentioned, waiting for the teacher to call on him for an answer. 

When Y/N notices the hand, an exasperated sigh falls from her mouth, but she leans across the table and retrieves the imaginary key from Harry’s shirt pocket, her warm fingers leaving pinpricks of fire across his chest.  A small smile tugs at the corner of Harry’s lips as those warm fingers touch the lifted spot, mimicking an unlocking motion before she sits back in her seat. “Yes?”

Harry rests a bent elbow on the table, propping his chin up on his fist as he leans forward. “I have a question.” He begins innocently, watching as Y/N narrows her eyes at his sudden polite intrigue.

“Yes?” She repeats again, wariness written into her tone as she evaluated the suspicious air of Harry’s behaviour. 

“I was just wondering how big Bradley’s dick is.” Harry’s grin grows to wicked proportions as Y/N’s mouth falls open in shock. “Because, honestly, he doesn’t seem to have that much going for him, and I’ve been wracking my brain to figure out why you dated him, and the only answer I can come up with is—“

“That his dick must be huge?”

“That he’s well endowed, yes.” Harry finishes smugly, tapping a finger against his chin. “I’m curious.  Are we talking about a carrot?  A cucumber?  A zucchini?” Lip twitching again, Harry stifles a laugh as Y/N’s face hardens with exasperation. “A stalk of celery?  I suppose the length could be a selling point, but if there’s not enough girth to fill you—”

“His dick wasn’t the reason I dated him.” Y/N replies flatly, a deadpan stare meeting Harry’s mirth filled eyes. “Although, since you’re curious…it was the size of a cucumber, but not an English cucumber.  More of a garden variety.  Not incredibly girthy, but good for a beginner.”

“A beginner?” Intrigue sparks at the pit of Harry’s belly (along with what he thinks is jealousy, but he’ll wait to dissect that at a later date) as the vampire leans forward more. “This bloke was your first?”

“We were together for years, so—” Y/N cuts herself off with a shake of her head, twisting a lock of her hair around her finger nervously. “No, wait, that’s another question!  You don’t get another question if I didn’t!”

“But you haven’t finished answering my first question—”

“I would if you’d stop interrupting!” Silencing Harry with a stern look, Y/N holds up her left hand, pinching two of her fingers together. “Do I need to pretend to lock your mouth again like I would a seven year old, or can you sit and listen like an adult for five minutes?  What happened to that old fashioned chivalry from earlier?”

Harry lets out a defeated sigh, sitting back in his chair with proper posture.  He takes a moment to adjust himself, straightening his back, fixing the fall of his shirt, adjusting his cross, planting his feet on the ground of the patio, and finishing off the show by rolling out his shoulders before squaring them. “Alright, I’m sorry.  I’m ready to listen.  Please continue.”

The young woman inhales deeply, testing Harry’s rapt attention as she takes her time sipping her ice water.  When she sets the glass down and finds that Harry has stayed perfectly still, his irises glued to her, she continues. 

“So Bradley and I got together our freshman year, and stayed together for the rest of high school.  It was comfortable.  His mom liked me, and my parents liked him.  He came to church with us—” Y/N notes that Harry’s eyebrow lifts a quarter of an inch, but only for a moment before dropping back down into its neutral state. “—and he and I went out once or twice a week.  He was…nice.  But he didn’t do the stuff that you do, the…etiquette stuff.” She taps an index finger against the table, thinking back to all the movie and diner dates that have blurred together in her mind. “Well, he’d try, I suppose, but not in the way you do.  Whenever he did something that was supposed to be chivalrous or gallant, it felt like he was doing it because he thought I was incapable.  And when I brought it up, he got mad.” Y/N lifts one shoulder in a shy shrug as she smiles apologetically at Harry. “That’s why I didn’t understand you ordering for me.  I know you didn’t mean it in the way he did, I can tell that, but it just kind of…reminded me of him.  It left a bad taste in my mouth; he left a bad taste in my mouth, I guess.”

A beat of silence falls between them, and the intense way that Harry is looking at her is prickling the hair on the back of Y/N’s neck. 

“I get that.” The brunette speaks after a moment, voice low and accent thick. “Being haunted by someone.  Even after they’re gone, even after time passes…something can remind you of them, and it can be enough to bring you to your knees.”

Although Harry’s eyes are locked on hers, Y/N has the distinct feeling that he’s seeing someone else in her place.  Before she can ask what he means, however, he’s blinked himself out of the self-imposed trance. 

“So what was the final straw?” Harry clears his throat quietly as his mind comes back to the present. “Between you and Cucumber Dick?”

A tiny giggle escapes Y/N’s mouth despite her far from humorous answer. “Well—”

The telltale clicking of heels interrupts the unspoken thought, and within a moment, Paige is standing next to their table once again, a tray balanced on her hand with precision as she offers another one of her smiles to Harry. “Here you go—two orders of the chorizo and goat cheese crepes, and a side of hash browns.” The server sets the first plate down in front of Harry, but he quickly lifts it again and sets it down carefully in front of Y/N before accepting the second dish.  He repeats the motions with the hash browns, sliding them to the middle of the table and within Y/N’s reach. 

“Thank you.” Harry speaks with a kind tone, but offers no other comment to the girl, who’s allowed her eyes to slide to the dark ink that decorates Harry’s arms. 

“Of course.” Paige stutters, giving no pretense of paying attention to Y/N. “Could I get you anything else?”

Harry glances at Y/N’s empty mimosa glass, raising an eyebrow in question. “Would you like another drink?” He asks her slowly, his voice unsure.  Normally, he’d just order a second one for her without a thought, but now that he knows how she feels about him ordering for her, he’ll have to work on beating back that particular bit of Victorian etiquette. 

“I would, yes.” Y/N replies with a smile as she touches the stem of her empty glass. “Thank you.”

A strained smile flickers over Paige’s lips. “No problem.  I’ll be right back.”

Harry nods in satisfaction as he watches the server retreat. “There.  We have a few more minutes.  Keep talking.”

“Ah ah ah.” Y/N picks up her fork and sticks it into the hash browns, pulling away a crispy bite for herself. “I think I get to ask a question now, especially since you’ve crammed a few different inquiries into your last turn.”

“And here I was, thinking you loved when I crammed things into—”

“Harry.”

A teasing smile breaks across the vampire’s face, more genuine than Harry thought possible. “Fine.” He relents, cutting the corner off his crepes and popping the savory bite into his mouth. “What else would you like to know?”

Where to begin?  Y/N considers his question pensively as she takes a bite of her own crepe, her expression raising in surprise when she finds that she enjoys Harry’s entrée choice.  The smokiness and spice of the chorizo is undercut by the tangy saltiness of the cheese, all wrapped together with a few garnishes in the perfectly cooked crepe.  Savoring the bite as she chews, Y/N begins to run through the list of questions in her head. 

She could ask more about his family, but if the aching sadness that had radiated off of him at the mention of his mother was any hint, any answers Harry could give on that topic may be off tone for a first date.  And while inquiring about what he said before, about being haunted by someone seems promising, it may also be a bit too much.  As much as she dislikes talking about her personal life, she gets the feeling that Harry absolutely abhors it, and while she was surprised about him asking her on a date, she’s been even more surprised to find herself enjoying it.  The last thing she needs is to fuck that all up by interrogating him about an ex. 

With those two possibilities pushed aside, only one burning question is left on the tip of Y/N’s tongue, and she hurriedly swallows her mouthful of crepe before letting it fall. “Alright, I’ve got it.” Cocking her head to the side, Y/N points her fork at the man in an accusatory manner. “Did you ask me out on this date just because you were jealous I was out with Jacob?  Was that the only reason?  Because you saw me with him, and you didn’t like it?”

Harry wraps his ringed hand around his water glass, the metal of his jewelry clinking against the surface as he pulls a face.  Even if he wanted to be honest with Y/N about this, Harry isn’t quite sure what the honest answer would be.

“I’ll admit, I was a little…bothered by it.” Reluctance is threaded through every word that Harry manages to spit out. “Moreso by your taste in men than anything else— Jacob wasn’t exactly up to par.”

“It wasn’t like I chose him myself.” Y/N retorts, pulling a grape from the bunch of side fruit on her plate and popping it into her mouth. “Was that really all that bothered you?  That he wasn’t up to par?”

Tapping his fingers against the wooden table, Harry takes a moment to ponder the question. “No.” He says finally, deciding to continue his honesty streak. “No, that wasn’t all that bothered me.  You’re right, I didn’t like seeing you with him, but it wasn’t because of him.  Not entirely, anyways.  I can’t imagine I would’ve liked seeing you with anyone.”

A light flush works its way over the mortal’s cheeks, and Harry can hear the stuttered thumping of her heart. “Why?” She asks in a half whisper, her teeth worrying her bottom lip unconsciously. “Why is that?”

Harry muses the various answers he could give as Paige brings them refills on their mimosas.  It’s not like he can tell her that he wants to keep her available for snacking whenever he gets a little thirsty.  Well, he could, but then he’d have to wipe her mind, and he’s not particularly inclined to do that at the moment.  And, if he’s being honest with himself…he’s not entirely sure that’s the truth anymore.  Is sheer convenience the reason behind his terrible reaction to Y/N seeing someone else?  Or is that reaction linked to the way he felt when she opened her door to him that morning, and the sight of her all dolled up for him hit him like a truck?

Either way, none of those answers are suitable to confess in the moment, so Harry merely gives a dimpled grin. “That’s another question, darling.  We’re not very good at limiting ourselves, are we?”

“I suppose not, no.” Y/N smiles sheepishly as she takes a sip of her fresh mimosa, her eyes watching Harry over the rim of the glass. “Your turn, then.  What else do you want to know?”

What else would he like to know?  Harry thinks, taking another bite of chorizo as he mulls over the question.  Now that the floodgates have opened, now that he has the opportunity, now that he has the ability to ask, Harry wants to know everything.  He wants to know what makes Y/N tick, what her pet peeves are, and if she prefers mornings or nights.  He wants to know what her favourite school subject was, if she was ever in her school’s plays, or on any of the sports teams.  He wants to know her favourite flavour of ice cream, what TV shows she binge watches when she wants to distract herself, and if she’s really read all those books that line the floor to ceiling shelf in her room.  He wants to know her, he realizes.  She’s more fascinating than he ever thought possible, and her blood is more addicting than he knew.  He wants to know every aspect that molded her into the person sitting before him.  And one of those aspects is—

“Why did things end between you and Bradley?” He finally asks, his voice low and cautious. “Was it mutual, or...?”

Despite the time Harry took to think of his question, Y/N knew exactly what it was going to be, and she has her answer ready to go the moment the words roll from Harry’s pillowy lips. “He was cheating on me.” She admits with a sigh, her eyes glued to her mimosa glass as she swirls the orange liquid within it. “He went away for university, and I stayed home.  I guess he met someone at school.” Allowing her eyes to flick up to Harry for a moment, Y/N finds the man staring at her blankly with a harsh crease between his brows. “I kind of thought it was going to end, honestly.  He began to get more and more distant...we’d talk less over Skype or the phone...but I didn’t think he’d…” She trails off for a moment, thinking back to the day she found out. “Well.  He did.  I found out from his roommate, and the next day, he and I were through.  And almost five years of memories, time together, shared moments...all of that was just gone.”

Although it’s been years since things ended, and Y/N has moved on in tenfold, she can’t help the way her voice aches at the end of her explanation, which acts as proof of how the raw wound had healed in a way that wasn’t quite right.  No matter how much time passes, no matter how many people she’s been with, no matter how little she cares for Bradley now...nothing will change the fact that he hurt her.  Nothing will mend the jagged scar he created.  Sure, it may fade with time, but it’ll never disappear completely.  And as much as Y/N hates that Bradley still has an effect on her after all this time, she can’t change it.  She’s tried.

“That…” Harry’s cool hand wrapping around her own drags her back to the present, and she lifts her eyes to find the man staring at her with the most tender expression she’s ever seen his sculpted face wear. “That’s awful, Y/N.  I’m so sorry you went through that.”

“It’s—it’s fine.  Really.” Y/N half mumbles the words, distracted by the small circles Harry’s thumb is rubbing against the bone of her wrist.

Chestnut curls swaying, Harry adamantly shakes his head, the crease between his brows deepening with each passing moment. “Don’t.  It’s not fine.  You don’t have to make excuses for someone who hurt you.”

“I’m not making an excuse, I just—”

“Did he hurt you?” Harry’s jade irises fixate on her own with determination. “Yes or no?”

Once Y/N locks her eyes with Harry, she can’t look away.  His gaze nears hypnotic the more she looks. “Yes.  He hurt me.”

“Then he doesn’t deserve you making excuses for him.” The vampire squeezes her hand to emphasize his answer.  Although he’s not compelling her to understand him, Harry looks at her with an unfamiliar sincerity that he hopes makes the depth of his words resonate within her. “You may be fine now, or you may not be, but the situation itself wasn’t fine.  Don’t use your healing as an excuse for his behaviour.  You shouldn’t have had to heal yourself in the first place.”

The gravity of his words rings in Y/N’s ears, and the girl gapes at him for a moment, her mouth half open in shock, before the realization of what he’s saying hits her.  The way he’s staring at her…it’s nearly uncomfortable, the way he sees her.  She almost can’t bear it.  How does he know to say exactly what she needs to hear, even if she doesn’t know she needs to hear it?  Since the first night they slept together, when he reassured her that she could relax and let loose, Harry has been honest and reassuring.  And although Y/N has greatly appreciated that trait in the bedroom, when she’s been at her most vulnerable in a physical aspect…her eyes lock with Harry’s once more, finding them still as steadfast as ever.  This may be the most vulnerable she’s been emotionally in a long time.  And the idea of that, for once, doesn’t completely terrify her. 

The questions get more and more personal from there.  Although there’s a few lighthearted inquiries sprinkled in to ease the tension (“What was the name of your first pet?” “It was a cat named Mr. Snuffleupagus.  I named him after the Sesame Street character.  What’s your earliest childhood memory?” “My sister nearly drowning me in a lake.  She thought I would float.”), the majority of questions asked are things that neither person ever thought they would admit to someone else.  

Those questions range from vaguely prying (“How old were you when you lost your virginity?” “Seventeen.  It was with—” “Bradley and his beginner penis, right.” “Alright, smart ass, who did you lose yours to?” “My first girlfriend.”) to diving deep into memories, stories, and opinions that neither have so much as breathed to themselves in the dark of the night, let alone someone else.

Despite the plan having been to leave after brunch, the pair find themselves engrossed in their conversation, drinking mimosa after mimosa as the late morning bleeds into early afternoon, and they continue to discover each other. 

As Y/N takes a sip of her fourth beverage, Harry regards her with curious eyes, which are focused on picking apart every moment of her body to dissect and devour in his head when he’s alone that night. “So you said pretty much everyone from your hometown marries their high school sweetheart.” He asks slowly, rubbing a jeweled finger over his ice-swollen lips. “But you didn’t, obviously.”

“No, I did not.” Y/N says in agreement, a tipsy snort sounding from the back of her throat as she raises her fluted glass in a toast. “Thank fuck, honestly.  Could you imagine me as a wife right now?  And a mother?  With children?”

Finger tapping against his lip, a cheeky grin tugs at the very corner of his mouth. “No, I couldn’t, frankly.” Harry’s dimples wink at her as he answers. “But what I’d like to know is…do you believe in it?  Marriage, I mean?  Because you said your parents had rough patches, and you thought they mostly stayed together just to stay together, and you and Gherkin Pickle didn’t last—”

“I’m sorry, Gherkin Pickle—?”

“So what I want to know is…” With his thumb and knuckle still grazing his chin, Harry points his finger at the girl across the table. “Marriage.  Do you think there’s value in it?  Do you think someone can be monogamous for their entire life?  Do you want to get married someday?”

The alcohol is beginning to soak into Y/N’s brain, making her bolder with every thump of her heart in her chest.  She leans across the table to ghost her fingers over Harry’s knuckles, continuing to glide them over his cool skin until she reaches his statement rings. “Why?” She asks, a smirk twinkling its way onto her face. “Are you asking?”

“Not quite yet, no.” Harry can feel the alcohol beginning to buzz through his stagnant veins, and he’ll later blame his flirtatious response on the pleasant feeling. “Although you in that dress has me half considering it.”

“Only half considering it?” Y/N clicks her tongue in feigned disappointment, swirling the tip of her index finger over the opal ring that sits upon Harry’s pinkie. “That’s a bit disheartening.  I’ll have to up my game, huh?”

The sight of Y/N’s lithe finger tracing his mother’s ring sends a shock through Harry’s buzzing body.  He can’t quite tell if it’s the witty banter that she matches perfectly and with ease, the lighthearted smile that lifts her soft lips, the gentle pulse he can feel reverberating through her fingertip, or the cleavage that’s just barely slipping out of her dress as she leans over, but Harry can’t tear his eyes away from the mortal girl, not for one second.  He doesn’t want to miss a single moment of her like this.  How it’s all for him. 

“You know, I’m starting to regret my earlier proposal.” He murmurs quietly, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue as he watches the mortal take a long sip of her mimosa. “How much begging would it take to convince you to follow me to the bathroom right now for a little fun?”

Despite the warmth pooling between her thighs at the offer, Y/N shakes her head. “Too much begging.” She replies, setting her glass back down on the table with a soft clink.  She can already tell there’s a good chance that she’ll go back on the agreement they made, but she wants to make him sweat first.  As much as it tortures her, she knows it tortures him more.  And he’s certainly done his fair share of torturing.  Now it’s her turn. “But speaking of proposals…”

To his credit, Harry doesn’t push the subject of bathroom quickies again. “Right.” He pauses with his glass half raised to his lips. “Marriage.  Thoughts?”

Harry’s attention is rapt as his eyes drift to the mortal’s lips, which pucker slightly as her lightly inebriated mind thinks through the question.  Not for the first time, he wishes he had the ability to take a look inside her head and see how her thoughts form before she voices them. 

“I think…” She fixes her fork against her plate with a clink, her voice light but thoughtful as she forms her response. “I do think there’s value in marriage, but not inherently.  It’s not valuable just because it exists; I think it becomes valuable based on the work you put into it.  My parents, for example…” Her finger begins to circle Harry’s icy knuckle absentmindedly. “My parents didn’t put much work in, so I don’t think their marriage has that much value in comparison to what it could have if they tried.  But if two people put effort in, and strive to be the best partner they can be…I think there’s tremendous value in that.”

Harry responds with a low hum in the back of his throat. “That stands to reason.” He wishes he could take her hand in his own, but the sensation of her warm fingers tracing his skin is too wonderful to pull away. “What about monogamy?  Do you think it’s realistic?”

“I suppose my answer is the same.” Y/N shrugs lightly as her soft skin catches on the corner of Harry’s H ring. “It’s different for everyone, but I do think it can be realistic.  What’s not realistic is the idea that it’s easy.  People change over time, right?  Sometimes someone can change into someone completely different.  You have to expect that, and be flexible with it.”

For the first time since the beginning of their date, an uncomfortably negative feeling buzzes in the pit of Harry’s belly.  Of course Y/N thinks people change—she’s mortal.  But Harry, on the other hand… Harry is forever frozen at twenty-six.  Harry is static.  Harry is stagnant.  However Y/N will change, Harry cannot match it.  Ever. 

That realization helps him identify the uncomfortable feeling as his eyes fall on the girl’s finger tracing his rings.  It’s longing, he discovers, unable to look away from the way her fingernail scratches his immortal skin without so much as leaving a pinkening mark.  Harry will never change again, while Y/N has a whole life of it ahead of her.  Millions of possibilities that lead to millions of more possibilities, always shifting, never staying the same from one moment to the next. 

“As for your last question…” Y/N’s familiar cadence pulls Harry from his thoughts. “I’m not sure.  I wouldn’t completely rule out marriage, but it’s not an active goal of mine.  It all depends on finding someone I think I could grow with and still love at the end of every day.  And despite how simple that sounds,” The short laugh that leaves her mouth is wistful, but hides a tinge of bitterness. “It’s surprisingly hard to find.”

“It is, yeah.” Harry agrees, finishing the remnants of his mimosa with one fell swoop. “Incredibly hard.” His gaze sweeps to Y/N’s glass, which has about one more gulp of liquid left in it.  With the hand not within her grasp, he reaches across the table, picking up the glass and lifting it to her lips. “May I, pet?”

He can hear the way her heartbeat stutters in her chest, and feel the heat radiating off her cheeks as she nods slowly.  Harry places the glass between her lips, carefully tilting it back until the drink runs out of the crystal and into her awaiting mouth.  A small droplet streaks from the corner of Y/N’s mouth, and Harry is sure to catch it on his finger after setting the glass down. 

Y/N knows that Harry is doing his best to fluster her, and while it’s working, she knows that she can play the game just as well as he can.  Keeping her eyes on his like a challenge, she grasps the hand touching the corner of her mouth, guiding his finger beyond her lips with a firm grip.  The sweetness of the orange juice and champagne concoction swells across her tongue, but that’s nothing compared to the sweetness of watching Harry’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly. 

Pulling his finger from her mouth with a quiet pop, Y/N sets his hand back down on the table, squeezing it once before releasing both of his hands and resting her elbows on the table.  She steeples her fingers together, setting her chin on the makeshift rest as she regards Harry’s darkening eyes. 

“Thanks.” She murmurs, tilting her head to the side lazily as Harry shifts in his chair. “Didn’t realize I missed a drop.  That was a sharp catch, Holmes.”

Harry can’t help but flex his finger as his gaze drops to the digit, catching how a light sheen of saliva covers his skin.  Heat floods between his thighs, making him regret his choice of fashionable linen pants over standard jeans.  “Thank you, Watson.” He matches her banter, albeit with a slightly strained voice. “Shall we order another drink, now that we’ve both finished?”

The question hangs in the air between them like an invitation, open ended and carefully calculated.  Y/N leans forward again, unlocking one of her hands to run a finger over the dark ink staining Harry’s exposed forearm. “I think we should grab the check, actually.” She wets her lips with a swipe of her tongue as she feels Harry’s muscle tense under her touch. “I think I’ve had enough to drink.  Have you?”

All the moisture in Harry’s mouth disappears, his throat burning as the mortal girl’s scent envelops him with every move.  His eyes flicker to her neck, where the thumping of her heart is practically visible underneath her fragile skin.  With his inhuman eyes, he can just make out the ghost of a bruise he sucked into her neck a few nights before.  

Has he had enough to drink?  No.  He’ll never get enough.  But that’s not what Y/N means by the innocuous question. 

“I’ve had my fill, yeah.” Jerking his head in agreement, Harry motions towards the window, where he knows Paige has been analyzing every move between them.  Her displeasure at the close interactions between Harry and Y/N is nearly palpable as she makes her way back to their table, and Harry wonders if Y/N can also sense it, as she seems to be more perceptive than the average human.  When he turns his attention back to her, however, his brow creases in confusion. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, watching as Y/N shifts through her woven bag and extracts her wallet. 

“Grabbing my wallet?” Her expression is just as confused as his own when she replies. “To pay?”

“To—?  No.  Put that away.” Harry says sternly, using the same dominant tone he adopts in the bedroom (only half on purpose). “This is a date.  I’m paying.”

“This isn’t the 18th century, H.  We can split the bill.” Y/N begins to roll her eyes as she opens her wallet, reaching for the debit card stamped neatly with her name.

“I’m well aware it’s not the 18th century, love.” Lip twitching from the wry irony, Harry gently places his hand on her own and closes her wallet. “But it’s a date— our first one, at that— and I’d like to pay for you.  It’s just manners.” 

Although he can feel the grip on her wallet loosening, there’s still a degree of hesitancy apparent in Y/N’s eyes. “Harry—”

“And I don’t mean that in a chauvinistic way, and I don’t mean to imply that you’re incapable of paying.” He swipes his thumb over her knuckle once, letting his physical touch reinforce his words. “I asked you out, yeah?  So I think it’s only fair that I pay.”

Harry’s eyes flicker to Y/N’s pillowy lips as she worries them between her teeth, her resolve getting weaker and weaker with every passing moment.  It only takes three more beats of her heart for her to give a small nod, and Harry, satisfied that she’s agreed, reaches for his wallet to pay the bill.

Despite the temptation to short change Paige on the tip for her disregard for his date, Harry still leaves a sizable tip, saying goodbye to the server with a polite— and only polite— smile.  Once she has her back turned, however, Harry flashes his most genuine grin at Y/N as he scoots his chair away from the table to stand.

Y/N’s hands grip the sides of her chair to match Harry’s motion, but she freezes once she sees the man step towards her.  Within a moment, his jeweled hands are wrapped around the back of her chair, carefully pulling it out before offering her a hand to help her stand.

“Is this going to be a thing now?” Y/N asks, nodding to their clasped hands as she pulls her bag over her shoulder. “Pulling out chairs, opening doors—”

Placing his hand on the small of her back once again, Harry scoffs. “It’s always been a thing,” He argues, guiding her to the patio door and through the restaurant. “You’ve just been dating pricks, apparently.”

Despite his answer, however, even Harry can’t deny that the urge to resurrect his Victorian etiquette is as strange as it is sudden.  And, truth be told, there is something deeply pleasing in the light flush of blood he can hear work its way over Y/N’s cheeks when he opens the door of the restaurant for her, opens the car door, takes her hand to help her in, and shuts the door carefully before making his way to the driver’s side.  

It’s easy to spend the short drive back to her building with his hand entwined with hers, their fingers woven together as Harry’s thumb moves over her knuckles.  Y/N’s skin, like usual, is so warm, almost as if she’s made from sunshine herself.  At this point, Harry wouldn’t be surprised to learn that; her blood could certainly pass for being made from stardust. 

It’s all too soon that Harry is pulling into a parking spot in front of Y/N’s building and turning the key in the ignition, his favourite car smoothly powering down in one fell swoop.  Once the sound of the engine dies down, his eyes refocus on the girl next to him. 

Y/N, in comparison, is just as focused on Harry as Harry is on her.  She knows that it’s time to let go of his hand, time to climb out of the car, time to return to her apartment alone.  Time to fall out of the fantasy that has been this afternoon.  Despite knowing all of this, however, she stays glued to the seat, her eyes locked with Harry’s emerald irises in a soft battle. 

Harry is well aware of the predicament he’s found himself in.  While he was the one to establish the no sex rule in an attempt to keep Y/N comfortable, it’s becoming harder and harder to stick to it with every passing moment.  If he was smart, he’d bid the girl goodbye here, allow her to walk herself into her building, thereby erasing any possibility of him charming her into allowing him inside her apartment.  Then, once he was safely back home, he could draw himself a hot bath, scent it with lavender epsom salts, close his eyes to picture the way Y/N looks with laughter in her eyes, the sun spilling across her cheeks, her dress’ neckline falling dangerously low, and tug himself to a tension-relieving climax. 

However, Harry has never been known for his intelligence. Not as much as he’s been known for his recklessness.

Before he can second guess his most likely terrible decisions, Harry is out of the car and opening Y/N’s door.  He’s helping her out.  He’s guiding her into her building, and climbing up the stairs of her fifth floor walk up with her hand locked in his.  And now he’s standing in front of her apartment door, with Y/N shyly looking at him as she bites her fucking lip, completely unaware of the rampage raging inside the vampire before her. 

And the most infuriating, frustrating thing about the entire situation is the way Y/N is looking at him, like she can barely hold his gaze, but can’t force herself to look away.  Harry can feel the waves of need and uncertainty radiating from her, hear the thumping of her heart in her chest.  The last time she looked at him like this, like she’s unsure of where they stand, was the first night they met.  Harry remembers how she fumbled with her keys, nervously invited him in, and then let him use her in a way that literally drove him to his most primal state.  He remembers the euphoria of sinking his teeth into her neck, tasting her ridiculously sweet blood for the first time as his orgasm rolled over him, wave after wave of intense pleasure blurring together as his eyes burned crimson, the lewd sounds of their bodies moving together, the desperate whines that echoed from her throat...

“Thank you for lunch.” Y/N’s sweet voice interrupts his walk down memory lane, and with good timing— five more seconds, and Harry would have been pushing her against her front door to rut her dress up and slip inside her. “And the drinks.  I had a really nice time.”

Clearing his throat, Harry pushes the indecent thoughts from his head as best he can.  He can take care of this later, he tells himself.  He just has to be a gentleman for a few more minutes, and then he can go home, and be as depraved as he needs to be. “I did, as well.” The vampire squeezes her hand in preparation of letting go of it. “A really lovely time, actually.  I’d like to do it again.”

The way Y/N’s eyes widen ever so slightly as her breath just barely hitches, both of which would be imperceivable to human senses, makes Harry bite back a laugh. “I would too.” A more reassured smile rolls over her face as she leads his hand to her waist, setting it just over her hip and squeezing his fingers around her love handles. 

Even after everything Harry has done to her, all the ways he’s seen her, felt her, made her feel— even after all that— his hand on her hip over her dress still sends a shiver down her spine. “I don’t want you to go…” She confesses in a quiet voice, rubbing her thumb over his icy knuckles. “It feels strange, not having you come inside…”

“I know.” A sigh escapes Harry’s lips as he leans down, brushing his forehead over hers as he murmurs his response, his voice dangerously low. “But if I come inside, I know what I’ll do.  And I promised that I would behave myself today.”

“I don’t mind breaking promises.” Y/N wisps, closing her eyes as Harry’s breath, tinged with orange from the mimosa and mint from the candy the restaurant gave them with the bill, rolls over her in a delicious wave. 

Nudging his nose against her own, Harry shakes his head with the smallest of motions, his fingertips digging further into Y/N’s love handles. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” His lips ghost over hers, barely even brushing before he pulls away again. “One of us needs to have some self control.”

Y/N wedges her free hand between their bodies, resting it over Harry’s chest with her fingers curled along the unbuttoned edge of his shirt. “If you insist.” Her fingernails dig just the slightest bit into Harry’s sturdy chest, savouring the way she feels his body tense beneath her. “If you want to be boring, then that’s fine.”

Harry laughs quietly at the small attempt to tease his ego, and although his instinct tells him to prove her wrong, he just nods his head. “Am I too boring to receive a goodbye kiss?” He brushes a loose hair back from her forehead before cradling her warm cheek, guiding his thumb over her cheekbone in a repeated action. “Haven’t kissed you in hours.  Feels wrong.”

Butterflies burst into flight in Y/N’s stomach at the innocent request coupled with the sweet explanation.  They’ve done everything in the wrong order, she thinks, as she allows Harry to smudge small pecks along her chin and cheeks.  The very first night they met, she allowed him to use her in any way he wanted, and he allowed her the same luxury.  They’ve spent the last month exploring each other’s bodies, getting to know every nook and cranny, every preference.  They’ve grown accustomed to how the other moves in their sleep, how they wake up in the morning, if they shower at sunrise or sunset.  And now, after all that, they’ve finally had what has probably been the best first date in the history of first dates, and this man, who has already coaxed countless orgasms from her shivering body, who has learned all of her likes and dislikes, is asking for a goodbye kiss like a nervous teenager walking his crush home from biology class.

How could she refuse him?

The answer is simple: she can’t.  In fact, she’s not sure she could refuse Harry anything he asked of her.  And maybe that would be worrisome— it probably should be worrisome— if the idea of giving Harry whatever he wanted didn’t bring a wave of warmth to Y/N’s belly that travels from her center to the very tips of her fingers.

“No,” She wraps the loose fabric of his shirt around her fingers, clutching him as close as she possibly can. “You’re not too boring, H.  You’re never boring.” Y/N sucks in a breath as she feels Harry’s teeth graze over her jaw, marking her ever so slightly as her lover makes his way back to her lips fervently. 

He smudges a kiss at the corner of her lips, pulling a strained whimper from her as she waits for him to kiss her properly. 

“Ask me.” He whispers, grazing his fingers over her cheekbone again and again. “Ask me to kiss you.  I want to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

The request is so innocent compared to everything else Harry has ever asked her to do, and his voice lacks the dominant command it usually carries over her, but Y/N feels just as weak as she would if he ordered her to get on her knees. “Harry…” Her voice floats through the miniscule space between them, so quiet that it’s barely audible over their laboured breathing, but Harry still thinks it sounds like a song. “Please kiss me.  Kiss me goodbye.”

A groan reverberates in the back of Harry’s throat, and the tiny molecule of composure that he has left in him slips away as he glides his lips over her own silky pair, his fingers threading into her hair on instinct.  Although he does his best to restrain himself, it becomes more difficult with every passing moment, and becomes damn near impossible when he hears the way Y/N whines at the sensation of their lips brushing together with more and more force.

Despite his best efforts, Harry soon finds his hands moving of their own accord as his palm travels from Y/N’s hip towards her ass, ruffling her dress as he grips her and thrusts a leg between her own.  He backs the mortal up into her door, her back hitting the wood with a delicate thud, and the groan she releases worries him for a split second before he feels her grind against his thigh situated between her legs.

Harry knows that the pretense of this just being a goodbye kiss went out the window the moment he touched her, and although she’s responding in kind, he has to live up to his word.  He has to.  He swore that he wouldn’t fuck her today, and as much as he wants to, as much as it seems that she wants to— and if the red hot heat burning his thigh is any hint, she very much wants to— he has to regain some self control.  Despite all his shortcomings, or how his thirst for her blood outweighs any other desire he has for her, he has to remain a gentleman.  Even if it means peeling himself away from the beautiful girl who is scratching at his chest, moaning into his mouth, grinding against his thigh, and speaking between ragged gasps—

“Fuck the promise.” She groans into his ear, her teeth grazing over his lobe with more pressure than Harry thought her capable. “Please, H.  I know what we said, but I need you.” 

Harry curses under his breath at the sensation, his eyes rolling back into his head for a split second, and he knows that if he doesn’t distance himself, he’ll succumb to her begging. “I can’t, darling.  I can’t.” He chokes out the words between pants, bumping his forehead against Y/N’s as he struggles to catch a breath that he’s forgotten he doesn’t need.  It’s funny, he manages to think, how he teased Y/N for not keeping her hands off him earlier, when he’s the one who can’t bear to be away from her touch now. “I want to— Christ, I want to— but I’m trying to behave.”

“Behaving is stupid.” Y/N mutters, smudging her lips across Harry’s stubbled jaw and down his neck, leaving small marks in her wake. “What happened to giving into desires?”

Good fucking question.

Harry squeezes his eyes shut tightly, a choked laugh escaping his heaving chest. “That was when we were just fucking.  Now we’re…”

Y/N regards the man with hooded eyes, a flutter of hope shining through the desire that’s settled in her chest.  What exactly are they?  They’re not dating, she knows that for certain.  But they’re not exactly just fuck buddies anymore. “We’re what?” She prompts after Harry trails off. 

“We’re…” Harry struggles to form a coherent thought, too entranced by the feeling of Y/N in his arms to think straight.  Sucking in a deep breath, the fragrant scent of the girl’s arousal burning his throat, Harry forces himself to take the smallest step back from her, although his hands stay locked around her hip and her cheek. “We’re saying goodbye.”

A defeated sigh falls from Y/N’s swollen lips, but she nods gently at the man before her, brushing her thumb over his exposed collar bones with great care. “Alright.” She mumbles, disappointment laced through her voice. “Goodbye.”

The glum tone brings a small smile to Harry’s cherry lips. “It’s just for a little while, love.  Not forever.” Harry teases her as he swipes his thumb over her flushed cheek. “Couldn’t stay away from you that long.” 

The breathless flush turns into a pleased warmth as Y/N struggles to hide the smile threatening to break across her expression.  Taking the change in mood as a hint, Harry ducks his head, pressing his lips against hers with an earnest softness for just a moment before stepping back and releasing the mortal girl from his grasp.

“Goodbye.” He murmurs again, his belly aching at the thought of leaving Y/N alone for the rest of the day.  It really does feel unnatural, he’s surprised to find.  Has he really gotten that used to being around her?

It’s a strange process, leaving Harry at the door.  After she finally says goodbye again, shuts the door, locks it tightly, and slips on the chain, Y/N finds herself touching the wood, her palm pressed flat against the surface as if she can feel Harry on the other side.  It takes her a moment to walk away from it, the buzz of the mimosas and their first date streaming through her veins.

Checking her phone for the first time, Y/N is surprised to find that it’s nearly 4pm— had they really been in the restaurant for almost five hours?  No wonder the server had been giving her a dirty look; they’d spent so long just talking and sipping drinks, ordering no other food, and not giving up their table.  She’d probably be glaring too.

Admittedly, there is a slight rumble in Y/N’s stomach, as they ate over four hours ago, but she ignores it as she takes a seat on the couch to untie her pink vans, tossing them into the corner before slipping off her jean jacket.  She tosses that over the couch too, running her hands through her mussed hair.  She’s not quite sure what she’ll do with the rest of her day now that she’s alone.  She could indulge some reading, or answer some messages from relatives, or maybe even—

A pounding on the door disrupts her thoughts, jerking her eyes from the book on her coffee table to her front door.  With her brow furrowed in confusion, Y/N rises from the couch and walks to the door, gliding the chain free and turning the lock before swinging the door open.

Braced in the doorway with shining eyes, ruddy cheeks, and a heaving chest as if he’s run all the way back up to her apartment, is Harry.  He takes a moment to compose himself, swiping his tongue over his lips as she takes in her more relaxed appearance.

“I couldn’t go.” He confesses, answering the question on the tip of Y/N’s tongue before she even has the chance to speak it. “I made it down to my car, and then—”

Y/N grabs him by the front of his shirt and yanks him into her apartment, slamming the door behind them before reaching for Harry again.  His hands are already outstretched to receive her, having grown used to their intimacy routine, and she’s pleased when he automatically rests his palms on her lower back and her neck as she wedges her lips between his once again.

“I don’t want you to go.” Y/N gasps the words against his mouth, barely peeling herself back from him to utter the sentence. “I need you so fucking bad, H, please—”

With great difficulty, Harry attempts to think straight, but it gets harder when Y/N bucks her hips and— well, it gets harder. “I meant what I said, Y/N.  I did, I—I made a promise, and I have to—”

“What do I have to do?” Y/N demands, tangling her fingers in Harry’s chestnut curls and forcing him to look her in the eye. “I fucking need something, Harry, and you’re the only one who can fix it.”

Christ.  Harry’s had his suspicions, but now he’s convinced that this girl has some direct line to all his weaknesses, because she knows exactly how to stroke his ego like no one else has before.  She presses every one of his buttons every time.  She’s allowed him to handcuff her, take her in every position, manhandle her, slap her around, and she still begs him for more.  Is there anything that she hasn’t done better than anyone else?

And that’s when it hits him.  The perfect loophole.

Harry is so excited at the possibility of relief that he nearly whimpers, just barely managing to bite back the sound at the last second as he smooths his fingers over his lover’s wild hair. “What about when I’m not here, pet?” He goads her softly, a glint shining in the corner of his darkening eyes. “What do you do then?”

“I…” Although confusion is present in Y/N’s voice, she answers him promptly— she’s gotten used to obeying his sexual requests over the course of the month. “I call you.  And you...you tell me what to do, usually.”

“Tell you what?” Harry hungrily prompts her again, tugging on her hair with the lightest of touches.  Like before, he wants to hear her say it. “What do I tell you to do?”

“You tell me how to—how to touch myself.” The mortal girl stammers, shyness creeping into her tone despite having begged for Harry mere moments earlier. “And then I do.”

“You do.  You behave so well for me.” Keeping his voice as smooth and sensual as possible— which isn’t hard for him, if he’s honest— Harry twirls a lock of Y/N’s hair around his finger, wrapping it around the length as his fingertip brushes over her lip. “I tell you what to do, and you do it.  And you moan for me, and send me the prettiest pictures.” He presses harder against her lip, dragging her mouth open as a whimper escapes. “And I always think: what would it be like to see that in person?”

Although the effect of the mimosas has faded by now, Y/N’s head is swimming in a cloud of Harry’s cologne and her own lust, and she struggles to understand the double meaning in his words. “What—what do you mean?  You’ve seen me in bed—”

The innocent confusion in her voice tantalizes Harry in the best way. “When I’m touching you.  But that’s not what I want.” He murmurs, grinding his hips back into her own. “I know how to get around my promise.”

He watches as the realization dawns on Y/N’s face, her heart stuttering as warmth floods through her body. “Y-you mean—?  You want to see me…?”

“I want to see you touch yourself.” Harry finishes her thought as his eyes darken, and he licks his lips at the image of Y/N laid out on her bed, legs spread wide, showing off just for him.  Only for him. “Will you let me?”

And there it is.  That wave of warmth and desire spreads through Y/N’s tummy, begging her to say yes to any request that falls from Harry’s mouth.  The urge is so strong that she nearly begins to strip, her fingers edging to the hem of her dress, before she manages to form a clear thought of pause. “Are you sure you want to see me…?” She dances around the word for a second time. “Like, I—I don’t know if it’s very sexy, or—”

“Is that a fucking joke?” Harry laughs incredulously, his thumb swiping over the edge of Y/N’s jaw.  He could leave so many pretty marks… “Of course it’ll be sexy.  Christ, love, it’s fucking you.”

The statement that Harry makes is so sure, so confident, that it nearly sends Y/N reeling.  The human’s eyelids flutter as he begins to pepper kisses along her cheekbones and down her jaw, his tongue swiping over her sensitive skin every few moments. 

“Anything you do is sexy.” He whispers the words against her skin, his voice low and accent thick enough that it seems to fill the entire hallway. “Literally anything… How you lick your lips after taking a drink, how you get in and out of my car so delicately… It’s all so fucking erotic.” Y/N shivers when a breath of cool air hits the damp skin of her neck as Harry laughs lightly. “I’ve got a bloody hard-on nearly every moment of the day.”

Hearing the confession that tumbled from Harry’s cool lips, Y/N thinks, is the verbal equivalent of doing three shots of tequila and chasing with a vodka soda.  The words wash over her as easily as Harry’s cologne does whenever she gets close to him, and her fingers tug on his brunette locks with need. “Really?  Even today?”

“Are you kidding?  Especially today.  Look at what you’re wearing…” His icy fingers skim down her neck before tracing over the cleavage that the neckline of her yellow dress leaves exposed. “Every time you leaned over to take a bite of food, I nearly came in my trousers.”

Despite the desire curling itself around Y/N’s core, she can’t help but giggle at the mental image. “That would’ve been a sight.” She scratches her nails lightly against Harry’s scalp, the motion surprisingly tender for their topic of conversation. “Would’ve had to ask Paige for another napkin.”

“It would’ve been properly humiliating, yeah.” Harry agrees easily, unconcerned with the thought as his lips follow the path led by his fingers. “But it would’ve been worth it.”

While the pair’s position is rather incriminating— Y/N’s hands in Harry’s hair, Harry clutching her as close as possible, his lips travelling over any exposed skin he can find— there’s an air of careful consideration floating around them.  As much as Harry wants to see the girl in his arms pleasure herself, he wants it to be her decision.  Anything less wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying. 

“Y’don’t have to do it just for me, Y/N.” The vampire takes the slightest step back to give her some room to breathe without his close proximity to cloud her judgement. “But if it’s my reaction you’re worried about…” Harry untangles one of her hands from his hair, ghosting it down his body before cautiously laying it over his white linen trousers, where his bulge is growing more prominent by the second. “You have nothing to be worried about.”

A desperate whine nearly escapes Y/N’s mouth, but she manages to bite it back at the last moment.  She wants him.  As nervous as she is to have him watch her touch herself, she’s more turned on than anything.  When she sends Harry explicit texts and photos that are most certainly not safe for work, part of the thrill is the reaction she gets from him.  A dirty photo is only as sexy as the other person’s reception of it.  To see Harry’s reactions in person… it would be a lie to say she’s not into the idea. 

But it would also be a lie to say that she doesn’t want something in return. 

“Alright.  You can watch me.” Y/N relents with a sigh, and she takes a moment to enjoy the triumphant look in Harry’s eyes before tacking on her addendum. “On one condition.”

“Anything.” 

Y/N squeezes her hand over his bulge, making the slightest stroking motion upwards towards his belly as a low groan rolls from Harry’s mouth. “I get to watch you touch yourself, too.”

There’s not even a moment of hesitation. “Done.” Harry seals his lips over hers firmly the moment the word exits his mouth, grinding against her hand as he backs her into the wall.  Her back hits the panel with a quiet thud, but Y/N is too busy twisting her fingers around the button of Harry’s pants to notice. 

“Ah ah ah.” Harry tuts as his jeweled hand grabs her wrist, pulling it away from his hardening cock while making sure not to use too much strength on her fragile joint. “You don’t get to do that, pet.  You’ll only be undressing yourself tonight.  It’s only fair.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve to talk about fair.” Y/N huffs her reply, but doesn’t pull her wrist from her lover’s grip. “You’re the one who made the stupid rule in the first place!”

Clicking his tongue, Harry takes another step back from the young woman while keeping his other hand floating over her hip. “And you agreed.” He reminds her as the corner of his lip tugs up. “So I think it’s best you behave, don’t you?”

Although the statement turns her legs to jelly, Y/N doesn’t let it show, and instead steels her resolve as best she can. “I’m behaving.” She mutters, crossing her free hand underneath the arm in Harry’s grip. 

“That’s a matter of opinion, isn’t it?” Harry swipes his thumb over the delicate bones of her wrist, feeling her pulse stutter beneath his touch.  The vampire swallows the venom that spills into his mouth at the thumping rhythm.  He’ll have time for that later. 

Chest heaving, Y/N wets her dry lips as best she can despite the lack of moisture in her mouth. “So where are we…?” She trails off as she glances down the hallway of her apartment. “The living room is probably best, position wise…one of us can be on the couch, and the other on a chair.”

“That’s true…” Harry nods his head, but a frown settles over his pillowy lips. “But it’s not very comfortable for you.  You usually lie down when you get off, don’t you?” Like every other technically intimate question Harry has ever asked her, it’s spoken with a tone of efficiency and casual observance, simply to find the best approach for any situation. 

And, like every other technically intimate question Harry has ever asked her, it sends a shock of warmth into her panties. 

“I-I do, yeah.” Y/N stutters her response, clearing her throat before adding onto the short statement. “I’m usually in bed.”

Harry nods expectantly, like her reply is just a confirmation for him. “We’ll go to your bedroom, then.” He says decisively, his grip on her wrist loosening. “You can lie down, get comfortable.  I’ll stand.”

Leading the mortal to her bedroom, Harry slides open the door, guiding her inside before shutting it with a firm click.  When he turns back around to look at her, she’s looking at him expectantly, her fingers twisting around each other as she stares at him with wide eyes.  She trusts him, he realizes, not for the first time.  She really does trust him. 

Although the anticipation is written clearly across her pretty features, Harry knows she needs a small prompt to begin. “How are you usually dressed when you do this alone?” He asks quietly, his own fingers working over the buttons on his shirt smoothly. “Completely bare?  Fully clothed?  Underwear only?” One of his dimples makes an appearance as he smiles with half his mouth. “Wearing only that sweater of mine that you’ve pretty much stolen?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, that sweater’s too warm.” Y/N replies with an eye roll, tugging off the jean jacket covering her smooth shoulders. “I, um…it depends.  If it’s just quick, then usually I’m clothed, but if I’m taking my time, then I’ll just, um, I’ll be in my underwear.  Sometimes just my bra.”

Harry’s fingers finish with his last button, and he leaves his open shirt draped over his tall frame. “We’ll be taking our time, angel.  So just get as comfortable as you usually would.”

Y/N nods her head in a jerking manner, sucking in a deep breath through her parted lips in an attempt to calm the heave that threatens her chest.  The erotic tension in the air could be cut with a knife as she tosses her jacket to the side and works her fingers over the zipper of her dress, which catches for a moment and puts up a struggle as she fights to undo it.  Once she wins the battle, she tugs the yellow dress down her shoulders, letting it pool around her ankles before stepping out of it and tossing it to the side.  Her bra and panties aren’t matching, with the former being a delicate baby pink lace, while the latter are lavender cotton, but she doesn’t let herself focus on that detail.  Instead, her fingers hover for a moment at the waist of her panties, hooking in the elastic before she changes her mind at the last minute and decides to keep them on.  For now, at least. 

Harry watches the entire ritual with starved eyes.  He wants Y/N to start before he does, so she can get into a natural rhythm herself, but he can’t resist palming himself over his trousers like she did a moment ago, despite his icy touch not being nearly as satisfying as hers. 

Y/N, however, has different plans, regarding him with heavy lashes as she takes a step back towards her bed. “Your turn.” She murmurs, sitting on the edge of the bed and curling her fingers around her ruffled comforter. 

“All in due time.” Harry assures her with a wry smile, ghosting his fingers along his inked abdomen. “Get comfortable, baby.  Pretend I’m not here.”

“Like that’s possible.” The mortal girl mutters under her breath, unaware that Harry’s supernatural hearing can pick it up as if she were shouting in his ear.  Nevertheless, she does as he says, scooting back on the bed until her shoulders reach her pillows.  She lays back on the soft cushions, shifting around until the padding feels comfortable beneath her back.  She lays there for a moment, her arms folded neatly over her bare stomach as she licks her lips expectantly. “Now?”

“Now…” Harry flicks open the button of his trousers. “Do whatever you like to do.  Whatever feels good.”

It takes Y/N another moment to work up the courage to actually do something.  The trick, she realizes, is closing her eyes.  If she so much as catches a glimpse of Harry watching her, her entire body tenses, and she can’t even manage to move a finger over her stomach.  With her eyes closed, however, she can imagine that Harry isn’t there, and she’s just in her room, with his only influence being in her mind as she touches herself.  It may not make much sense, when she could just use the real image of him to fuel her thoughts, but Harry’s presence is so dominating that pretending he’s not there seems to be the only solution.

And so, when her eyes are shut tightly enough that she can’t see the man, but loose enough that she’s comfortable, Y/N begins to touch herself lightly, her fingers tracing over the dips of her stomach with the smallest amount of contact she can manage.

Her touch moves over her skin like a flutter, its only purpose to warm herself up and ease herself into being watched, and while the small brushes against her own skin would normally have no effect on her, in this moment, with Harry standing by her bed, the action feels more erotic than she ever would’ve thought possible.  She slowly glides her hands up to the pink lace of her bra, tracing her finger along the edge of the cup before sliding over the lace to the hardening peaks of her nipples.  She’s more sensitive than she thought, and Y/N’s breath hitches for a moment as she brushes against one nub, tweaking it once more with her finger before repeating the motion on her other breast.  When a quiet but harsh exhale sounds from Harry’s direction, the human girl amuses the idea of removing her bra to give more visual stimulus, but quickly decides against it.  Harry said he wanted to see what she does to herself, she thinks, keeping her eyes closed as she massages her breasts once more.  He didn’t ask her to perform a strip tease for him.

And, in truth, a strip tease is the farthest thing that Harry wants in this moment.  Any girl can take off her clothes and touch herself to put on a show for a voyeur.  If Harry really wanted to watch that, he could easily find countless porn videos depicting the real thing.  But the sight of Y/N gliding her fingers over the soft lace of her bra, tracing unseen roadmaps over the mountains and valleys of her chest and abdomen, parting her lips just slightly as she twists her nipple once more… that’s what Harry wants.  Despite the countless erotic activities Harry has engaged with Y/N, this may be the most intimate, even without touching her.  Maybe that’s why, he muses, only half in the thought as he slowly tugs down the zipper on his trousers, doing his best to make no noise so as not to startle the girl in front of him.  She’s letting him see what she does to herself when no one is around, when she just wants to make herself feel good.  It’s a selfish act, in the best way.  And it’s making Harry’s cock throb like never before.

Y/N’s hands have reached the edge of her panties now, and with her legs spread wide open, Harry can see the dampened spot staining the lavender cotton a shade darker.  Her scent wafts over him as she moves, slipping her hand beneath the fabric, and Harry’s own eyelids flutter as she fills every one of his senses.  There’s a small part of his more instinctual mind cursing him for thinking of this— for establishing an activity where he can see her, smell her, but not touch her.  However, there’s a larger part of his mind thanking him for this.  For the opportunity to bask in Y/N’s own sensuality and pleasure.

The dampness that greets Y/N’s fingers as she slides into her panties isn’t a surprise, but still provides relief.  For a brief moment, the girl had been worried that she’d be too nervous about the situation to let herself enjoy it, but as she teasingly circles her index finger around her clit, she knows that enjoying it won’t be a problem.  Although she misses Harry’s cool touch, the feeling of his rings sliding over her clammy skin, and although it may seem untrue when Harry is in bed with her, no one knows Y/N’s body like she does.  No one can instantly know what feels good and what doesn’t, what needs to be touched with more force, what needs to be gently caressed with a feather light pressure.  Y/N alone is the keeper of those secrets, and although she’s begun to whisper those unspoken tokens to Harry in the dead of the night as he lays between her thighs, she alone knows the real truths.

She continues to circle her clit for a few moments, gradually applying more and more pressure as her free hand clutches her bare thigh, her fingertips digging into her squishy flesh.  It doesn’t take long, however, for Y/N to need more, and she allows her fingers to run over her entrance a few times before dipping her index finger into her hot core. 

While the sound that leaves her mouth is quiet and could potentially go unnoticed, it’s the loud groan from Harry that snaps the human’s eyes open, and the sight in front of her that stops her movements in their tracks.  With her index finger still half inside her, and her grip on her thigh tightening, Y/N gapes at him unabashedly, because Harry looks like a fucking god. 

Her eyes sweep over him methodically, committing every inch of his appearance to memory so as not to ever forget what he looks like when pleasuring himself.  His chestnut curls are tinged with sweat, just beginning to plaster to his damp forehead and neck.  His jade eyes are darkening by the second, while his strawberry lips are parted and dry, despite him swiping his tongue over them every minute or so.  His toned chest is bare, displaying his dark ink for Y/N’s viewing, heaving with every movement of his tattooed arm.  And lower… Y/N moans again as she clutches her leg tighter, nearly enough to bruise.  Harry hasn’t completely removed his pants, but he’s pushed them down low enough that he’s freed his cock, which stands tall and proud and angrily red at the tip that pokes through the tight fist he has wrapped around the length.  Despite the tension in his body, however, Harry flicks his wrist lazily, teasing himself as much as Y/N did earlier, and she wonders if he does it for the same reason she did.  To give their lover something to look at. 

With her eyes locked with Harry’s, Y/N pushed her middle finger inside herself, whimpering at how the extra digit stretches her out.  She curves her fingers as they move in and out of her at a leisurely pace, focused more on reaching deeper than reaching a quick speed.  While her hand busies itself inside her panties, she slides the other from her thigh back up to her breast, gripping and massaging it as her lashes flicker. 

“Look at you.” Harry utters with a groan, breaking the silence between them as he thumbs over the leaking head of his cock. “Christ, you look so fucking filthy.” His eyes shift from hers for just a moment, glueing themselves to the shadows of motion he can see beneath her underwear. “Does that feel good, angel?”

A high pitched whine falls from Y/N’s mouth as she presses the pads of her fingers against the spongy spot inside her, setting off a wave of bliss inside her belly. “Yeah.  Feels—feels really good, Harry.” His name leaves her lips in a breathy mewl as she tweaks her nipple over her bra, throwing her head back against her pillow. 

The newly exposed skin of her neck beckons Harry.  It’s completely covered with a thin veil of sweat, with the heat radiating from her throbbing pulse seemingly reaching towards him at the end of the bed.  He takes a half step forward without realizing it, only catching his action when his knees bump the edge of the mattress. “Fuck—” He closes his reddening eyes to collect himself as his hand quickens its pace around his prick, only opening them again when he’s sure he’s under control. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“I think I have a bit of an idea.” She mutters in reply, stroking small circles over her clit with her thumb. “It’s not like you can hide it.”

“But you’re hiding.” The vampire replies in a strained voice, tightening his fist around his cock as he nods to the girl’s covered core. “Take those off for me, pet.  Please.”

Y/N withdraws her fingers from her dripping center, her skin shining in the light of her bedroom as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of the panties. “Wait—” she says suddenly, pausing her obedient motion. “Wait, I—”

The moment his foggy mind registers the word, Harry’s palm stills over his length, and although he doesn’t let go completely, he forces his body to calm down as he appraises the human. “What?” He questions, concern laced into his thick accent. “What’s wrong?”

Sitting up on her elbows, Y/N raises her head from her pillow as she scoots closer to her bedroom wall, stopping once her heated skin grazes the tapestry. “I want you next to me.” Her eyes are pleading as the words fall from her mouth, quiet and desperate. “I promise I’ll stick to the rule— I won’t touch you. I just want you to be comfortable, too, and… and I like it when you’re close.  Please?”

The idea of refusing her doesn’t even enter Harry’s mind.  Within seconds, faster than a mortal ever would, Harry has stripped off his trousers, leaving himself in just his dark blue boxers that are still half rugged down.  He crawls onto the bed quickly, only letting his knee brush against Y/N’s leg before situating himself six inches away from her.  Even with the distance between them, he can still feel an electric energy radiating off of her as her fragrance becomes thicker and all encompassing, making his head swim in the intoxicating honey and lavender perfume. 

“M’here.” Harry murmurs the assurance softly, his fingers aching to reach out and touch her.  Surely that’s not against the rules?  After all, caressing someone’s cheek, and only for a moment, isn’t necessarily sexual.  With that rationalization in his mind, his jeweled fingers brush against the young woman’s flushed cheek, grazing upwards to push a loose strand of hair from her eyes. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Y/N whispers back to him, her hands now resting on her tummy as she stares longingly at the figure next to her in bed.  She wonders if the comforting touch is allowed, but decides not to question it.  Questioning it may make it stop, and that’s the last thing she wants.  Instead, Y/N simply places her hand over Harry’s, interlocking their fingers together and bringing his hand to her mouth to smudge a soft kiss over the back of his icy knuckles. 

Harry can feel the pulsing of her heart through her lips, and it takes all of his inhuman strength to pull his hand from hers as carefully as he can. “I think you made me a deal, didn’t you?” He asks, disguising the want in his voice behind a teasing tone. “You said that if I got up here next to you, you’d…” Harry clicks his tongue as he nods at her cotton panties. “Hm?”

Despite the small laugh that escapes her, Y/N rolls her eyes. “You’ve got a one track mind, I swear.” She hooks her fingers into the edge of her panties, lifting her bum off the bed to tug them down her legs and toss to the side. “Happy?”

Harry licks his lips as he watches the girl’s hands drift back to her bare thighs, gliding over the silky skin with small strokes. “Very much so, yeah.” He replies, pushing his own hair back from his face before trailing his fingers back down his stomach.  He wraps his right hand back around his leaking cock, stroking it once as he glances at Y/N again. “Keep going, dove.  Don’t stop on my account.”

It’s like they’re back at the beginning,Y/N thinks, as she dips her index and middle fingers back into her wetness before she circles them around her clit.  With Harry next to her, his presence so very there, Y/N has to close her eyes again to compel herself to relax.  It takes a few moments of massaging her clit and focusing on keeping her breathing steady before she can open her eyes again and allow her gaze to slide back onto Harry. 

The vampire, as expected, looks like an erotic renaissance painting.  His hand is moving faster over his cock now, which is bubbling precum with every few strokes.  His hips buck into his hand every so often, searching for more and more friction as he chases his high.  Like herself, Harry has his eyes closed for much of his movements, but when he does open them, they’re pinned to her form and how she touches herself, like she’s his own personal show.  And, in a way, she is.  And she likes that.

It’s not long before Y/N needs more stimulation, and she thrusts her two fingers back inside herself as her other hand begins to rub over her clit.  The dual sensation sends a hoarse moan falling from her lips, her tummy contracting with the wave of ecstasy that she knows is getting closer, but it’s the feeling of Harry’s lips on her temple that has her breath stuttering. 

His slightly chapped lips move over her skin in slow and sensual movements, opening and closing as he speaks against her. “That’s it, darling.  You’re so close, I can tell.” He sucks in a long breath while bucking his hips into his fist, a whining moan echoing from his throat and into her ear. “Fuck, you’ve got me wrecked…”

Curling her fingers inside, Y/N prods against her G-spot with fervent desire, leaning her head closer and closer to Harry’s mouth as she does so. “I’m gonna cum, Harry, I—” Her words cut off with a broken whine as her spongy walls clench around her fingers. 

“Wish I could touch you.” Harry mutters the dirty confession in her ear, his lips still meeting every inch of skin they can find. “Wish I could make my pretty girl cum…” His brow furrows at the whimper that escapes Y/N at those words. “But at least I know you can—Christ—” He swipes his thumb over his tip again as his other hand moves to his balls, massaging over them with a gentle touch. “—can take care of yourself when I’m not here.”

When Harry’s lips find her neck, suckling at the sensitive spot where it meets her jaw, Y/N moans again, louder than before as she bucks her hips into her hand. “Fuck, Harry—” The way she sobs his name is music to his ears. “Can—can I cum?  Please?” The question rolls off her tongue without prompt, sounding as natural as breathing to the girl. Harry’s not even sure she registers that she’s asked, but the question for permission goes straight to his throbbing cock. 

“Yeah, baby. Cum for me.” He drags his teeth over her fragile skin, aching to bite down but restraining himself from giving in.  Instead, he redirects his reaction to his hand, speeding up his strokes until he feels his balls tighten. “Cum for Daddy.” The way he feels her heart stutter at his words feeds his ego like nothing else, and he brings one hand up from his abdomen to rest on her throat, stretching his fingers to grip her chin and direct her face towards his. “Show Daddy how good you’re making yourself feel.” He demands, his lips ghosting over her own as they both work themselves towards the edge.  His voice sounds less himself and more like a growl with every passing moment. “Cum.”

It’s the final harsh demand that pushes Y/N to thrust her fingers into herself faster, matching her motions over her clit to the new speed.  It only takes a few more moments for the tight ball of pleasure inside her belly to burst, the waves of her orgasm washing over her repeatedly as her walls pulse around her fingers. “Daddy—” The name falls from her mouth and into Harry’s freely.  Her only thoughts are of him as her climax consumes her; only his emerald eyes and cherry lips, only his brunette curls and inked skin, only his calloused hands and thick cock.  He’s all she can think about.  Has there ever been anyone else? “Please, Daddy…”

Harry watches with hungry eyes as the human’s body spasms through her release, the movements of her hands shuddering as the pleasure becomes too great to move. “That’s it, sweetheart.  Good girl.” He grunts the praise through clenched teeth as his own orgasm nears, his hand twisting around his cock more and more. “Prettiest little slut in the world, y’know that?”

Y/N releases a whine of acknowledgement, her chest heaving as she comes down from her high and withdraws her fingers from her core.  Resting her hands on her clenching belly, she turns her heavy lidded gaze towards Harry, watching him eagerly as he works himself. “Your turn.” She murmurs, her lips finding the edge of his sharp jaw and giving it a teasing bit. “You’re gonna cum, aren’t you?  All over your stomach?”

“If—fuck—if that’s where you want it, baby.” Harry groans loudly as his stomach clenches, the butterfly flexing beneath his strained movements. “You want to watch me cum?  Hm?”

“Mhmm.” Y/N hums the agreement against his skin, clasping her hands together to stop herself from reaching for Harry’s cock. “You’re usually inside me when you cum, so I’ve never seen it.  I want to see it.”

“God, I—” Harry reaches over with his free hand and grasps Y/N’s warm palm, dragging it up to his hair and tangling her fingers in his dark locks.  It’s a poor substitute for the craving he has to feel her touch over his cock, but the sensation of her tugging on his hair and scratching her nails against his scalp manages to provide the contact relief he desires. “Fuck, right there—” Harry’s abdomen contracts once more as he works himself over the edge and begins to shoot thick ropes of cum all over his tattooed tummy. 

Y/N continues to work her lips over his jaw, whispering anything and everything into his ear to continue to stimulate him through his orgasm. “Looks so pretty, H.” She utters once his cock has finally stopped spurting and he releases it from his grip. “You’re so pretty…”

A breathless laugh leaves Harry’s mouth as he shifts in the bed, wiping his damp hand against his indigo boxers before pulling them back over his shaking hips and exposed cock. “You’re one to talk.” He murmurs, twisting his head to the side to press a kiss to Y/N’s sweaty forehead. “You don’t happen to have a wash cloth handy, do you?”

“I have tissues in my bedside table.” Y/N points to the object in question, and Harry reaches over and tugs open the drawer to retrieve the box of Kleenex.  Pulling a few squares from the box, he makes quick work of the cleanup, doing just enough to save him from the trouble of a sticky stomach. 

“I could’ve done that, you know.  Cleaned you up.” Y/N watches as the vampire stands to dispose of the used tissues, and reaches for her discarded panties to tug them back over her still shaky legs. “You know I like it.”

“I know, but if you did, then I would’ve broken the no sex rule right then and there.” Harry chuckles lightly as he climbs back onto the bed, wanting to reclaim his close proximity to Y/N as soon as possible. “And we’d already come so far.” 

When he opens his arms, Y/N doesn’t hesitate to nuzzle into his cool chest, resting her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder with a sigh. “I suppose that’s true.”

Harry lets his jeweled fingers trace down her back, drawing random shapes on the damp skin as her breathing begins to even out. “Did you like it?” He asks curiously, a seed of worry planted within the words. “Having someone watch you?”

“I liked having you watch me.” Y/N clarifies her answer as if it were the most natural and easily explainable thing in the world. “Did you like watching?”

Harry giggles again, almost incredulous as he nods his head at the damp spot on his boxers, a symptom of the copious amounts of precum that had leaked from him. “I think the answer to that is pretty obvious, Watson.  I’m surprised someone as distinguished as yourself has to ask.” 

“Asking questions is never a bad thing, Holmes.  I’m surprised someone as distinguished as yourself doesn’t know that.” The girl counters, delighting in the small laugh that shakes Harry’s shoulders.  A laugh falls from her lips as well, followed quickly by a yawn that she unsuccessfully tries to stifle. 

“Tired?” Harry murmurs, his fingers still keeping a steady pace against her back. “It’s only the late afternoon— not exactly late enough for bedtime, is it?”

Y/N sighs into his musky skin, relaxing completely against Harry’s body. “Not exactly, no.  But I think a little post-orgasm nap may be in order.” She raises her head from the crook of Harry’s neck, looking at him with soft eyes. “Will you stay?”

If Harry’s heart could beat, the tender question would make his rhythm irregular, and the knowledge of that fact dries out the venom that had been flowing freely through Harry’s mouth. “Wow.” He tries to disguise the reaction with a laugh. “Our first date, and you’re already asking me to sleep over?  What kind of man do you think I am?”

“Shut up.” The mortal nudges her forehead against his shoulder in a playful manner. “I’m serious.  Will you?  I sleep a lot better when you’re here.” 

The confession falls from her lips as easily as a sigh, but her words lock Harry’s chest in a tight chain, restricting his every breath.  And yet… the pressure is comforting, like a hug from someone you haven’t seen in years and you’ve sorely missed. 

“Alright, yeah.” He whispers gently, caressing Y/N’s mussed hair without tugging on any tangles. “I’ll stay.  We can order some dinner later, if you want.”

Y/N’s voice is already far away when she replies. “That sounds nice.” She whispers, her eyes fluttering closed as her full weight falls against Harry.  Within a few minutes, her breathing has leveled completely in time with her steady heart beat, which thunders against Harry’s own silent chest. 

The vampire sighs as he shifts on the bed, keeping Y/N locked in place against his body as he does so.  How did he end up here, in her bed, staring at that fucking tapestry again?  How did he end up agreeing to stay over, to grab dinner with her after she sleeps?  How does he know that, if she asks again, he’ll stay over tonight as well, even if it means lying still in bed and counting her heart beats until the sun rises through her curtains? 

And why does that sound so appealing?

Carefully, so as not to wake her, Harry shifts Y/N onto her own pillow, removing her from his chest with gentle movements.  Once he’s arranged her in a comfortable position and made sure that she’s still asleep, he cages himself over her, brushing her hair back from her face and inhaling deeply.  This is why, he thinks.  This is why he’s agreed to all of these dates, to holding her as she sleeps, to spending night after night in this tiny human apartment.  Her blood. 

Harry nudges his nose along the length of her throat, breathing in her fragrance as if it were the bouquet of a fine wine.  Her signature honey and lavender scent is as prominent as ever, only amplified by the orgasm-triggered endorphins that are still swimming through her veins.  Letting his lips drag over her fragile skin, Harry smudges kisses along the base of her throat with a light touch, searching for the most tender part that he’s come to adore.  When he reaches the mark just above her carotid artery, he presses a firmer kiss to the skin, admiring how the mortal’s breath floats from her lips in her sleep.  Still, he pauses for a moment to make sure that the sound is just that, a symptom of sleep, and once his suspicions are confirmed, Harry sinks his teeth into Y/N’s satin skin. 

As usual, the relief is instantaneous.  The warm blood that flows into his mouth quells the dry, burning ache in the back of his throat like nothing else, and Harry clutches the girl closer to him as he drinks more and more.  She’s just as sweet as she smells, and there’s that familiar depth of flavour to her that Harry can never quite place a finger on.  Perhaps he could if he spent more time analyzing it, but it’s never too long before he loses himself in her taste, and all rational thought goes out the window completely.  In the reflection of her mirror, Harry can see that his eyes are blood red and black-veined, and that he looks every bit the monster that he actually is.  If Y/N were to wake up right now and see him like this—pale skin, black veins, mouth stained red with her blood—she’d probably scream in horror, and do her best to shove the supernatural creature away.  She would be thoroughly repulsed, Harry is sure.  And, honestly, he couldn’t blame her.  He remembers the first time he saw the red of a vampire’s eyes, and the terror that had seized his entire body like an icy dip in the English Channel.  It would only be a natural response. 

Harry had come to terms with what he is a very long time ago, and though it took a lot of trial and error, a lot of sleepless nights doused with self-loathing and denial, and a plethora of blurry memories full of strangers’ veins bulging under soft skin and glassy eyes dulled by compulsion, he is in a place in his eternal life where his identity doesn’t phase his peace of mind anymore. He hadn’t become a monster willingly, and he certainly doesn’t enjoy having to do the unspeakable acts required for his survival— not consciously, anyways. 

From an instinct-driven perspective, he does enjoy the taste of blood, but it’s only because his supernatural carnal impulses demand it. Ethically, he isn’t proud of his affinity, but it’s not like he has any say in the matter. This isn’t his fault— he was forced to become what he is— and that moral claim is what has kept him tethered to his last few shreds of humanity for the past twenty decades. He’s not doing this to Y/N out of malicious intent, he’s doing it because he has no other choice. Therefore, he assures himself that the traces of guilt tightening his chest at the moment are completely misled and invalid. He hasn’t felt guilt much before— not for years— and he refuses to let it plague him once again. This is just the way things are. This is just the way things have to be. 

So why does he feel so fucking shitty right now?

Pushing the discomforting dwellings to the back of his mind, Harry continues to drink from Y/N, using his final remaining strains of functioning thought to monitor the human’s heart beat and breaths.  When his thirst is satiated enough, and before either one of those human traits begins to falter, Harry releases his bite on Y/N’s neck, licking over the wound with relish to temporarily seal it.  He turns to check his reflection in the mirror again, and finds that, yes, his suspicions are confirmed.  Although he’s managed to keep himself halfway presentable, there’s still a trickle of blood flowing from the corner of his mouth, and his lips are stained a dark merlot colour from the sweet substance.  Harry swipes his tongue along his mouth, cleaning up any evidence of his late afternoon snack, before bringing his index finger to his mouth and pricking the tip on one of his fangs.  Then, while carefully holding the girl’s jaw open with his other hand, Harry slips his finger into her mouth. It’s practically a ritual by now. 

It takes only a few seconds for the bite mark on her neck to heal completely, leaving behind only a faint purple bruise in its place.  If Y/N were to see it tomorrow, she’d assume it was a half-healed hickey, and wouldn’t bat an eye at it.  She’d have no idea that the real cause of it was—

“Harry…” His name falls from her lips with a quiet stutter, her brow furrowing as if troubled by something the vampire can’t see. “Harry…”

“Y/N?” He whispers in reply, his limbs sealing over with ice as he freezes in place as if he were a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Everything alright, love?”

“Harry…” The human utters his name once more as a frown begins to tug at her pillowy lips, and it takes another moment of her shifting in the bed for Harry to realize that she’s still asleep, and the murmuring of his name is merely a symptom of her dreaming of him. 

Oh.  She’s dreaming of him. 

There’s a spark of something in his chest—happiness?  Excitement?— but it’s quickly extinguished by the realization that, if Y/N is dreaming of him, her body language is making it clear that the dream isn’t a pleasant one. 

Harry releases a frustrated sigh as he sinks back down into the sheets.  That’s to be expected, really.  After all, he did just feed from her; if she’s having a bad dream about him, it would only be logical. 

Still, the sight of her shifting in bed with a distressed look on her face pulls an equally distressed look from the immortal, and he only hesitates for a moment before carefully maneuvering the girl back onto his chest, positioning her so that he can easily rub her warm back with his cool hands.  

“You’re alright.” He murmurs softly into her ear, his voice low and melodic despite no one being around to hear it. “You’re fine, sweetheart. I’m here, hm? Go back to sleep.”

It takes a few more minutes of back rubbing, whispering, and a handful of strategically placed forehead kisses, but Y/N’s face finally relaxes as she falls back into a deep, untroubled slumber against Harry’s chest.  As her breathing evens out again, Harry breathes a gentle exhale of relief.  That was a close call.  The next time he feeds, he’ll have to make sure she’s truly unconscious, and has been so for a while.  Her bad dream, whatever it was, had probably been caused by him digging into her prematurely.  Next time, he’ll wait until the dead of night, when she’s deep in REM sleep.  She’ll be more comfortable then. 

Which reminds him— he has plans he has to cancel tonight, and the sleeping girl on his chest mixed with his phone being in his trouser pocket on the floor make a difficult combo to surpass. 

Despite the testing task, Harry manages to retrieve his phone from his discarded linen pants after a few minutes of awkward stretching, some light grunting, and a few curse words, but he manages to do it without waking Y/N up (she moves a couple of times, but a few soft words and tender hushing Harry’s behalf sends her right back into her dreams).  With one hand still wrapped around her back, Harry manages to type out a quick message to Niall. 

Won’t be able to make it tonight— something came up with Y/N.  Have fun at the bar. 

Harry references her by name, knowing that Mitch had probably already blabbed to their entire friend group about the date he’d had, and about how a human girl had recently become the target of his fascination. Juicy gossip is indisputably one of the aspects that keeps eternity from growing stale, and the vampire’s crew believe that to be so more than anyone. There’s not a single doubt in his mind they’d eaten every word up, and that he’d probably get drilled on it later.

He keeps his phone clutched in his hand, waiting for a (sure to be ridiculing) reply from Niall that comes a few minutes later. 

The girl from last time? Jesus, again?  Weren’t you meeting her for brunch?

A small smirk tugs at the corner of Harry’s lip. I did meet her for brunch.  And then I met her back at her apartment, and I’ll probably be meeting her again later after we get some dinner.  Don’t wait up.

After that text, Harry drops his phone on the bedside table, expecting Niall to just leave him on read in a fit of annoyance.  He’s surprised, however, to hear the quiet vibration of his phone a moment later, and picks it up to skim the message with pressing curiosity. 

You’re a fucking incubus, you know that?

The smirk on Harry’s swollen lips suddenly drops.  

While it’s not the first time he’s been called an incubus, it is the first time the label has ever bothered him. Why is that?  It’s not like it’s untrue; he frequently seduces various people, many of them being women, in order to sleep with them and drink their blood. That’s what an incubus does.  The label shouldn’t pester him.  In fact, it should boost his ego. 

But the title being applied to his relationship with Y/N… that gives him pause. It reminds him of a certain person— a certain disgrace, if he’s being pettily honest— who he had sworn never to think about again, out of respect for his sanity and emotional stability. It reminds him of how when he himself was mortal, he was under similar circumstances to what Y/N is under right now— he was a human blood bag to a vampire who took pleasure in his body. 

This is different, Harry tells himself.  I’m not going to ruin her life. She’s not going to end up like me. And we have an understanding, which I never got to have. This isn’t the same. I’m...I’m not the same.

In his steadfast opinion, the immortal isn’t an incubus when it comes to Y/N and it’s that simple, point blank. Saying he is… that sets the implication that he could be doing this with anyone, and that’s just not true.  Even though he’s keeping Y/N around as a convenient fuck with delicious blood, he wouldn’t go to this much trouble for anyone else; no one else is worth it.  No one else has her honey and lavender scent, or contagious laugh, or can match him so easily in banter without flinching or blinking an eye.  And though he’s too attached to his own pride— to the inherent coldness and indifference he’d worked so hard to build over the last two centuries— to let her know, he’ll admit that there’s no one else like her. There’s no one who’s company he enjoys quite the same. 

Harry doesn’t indulge Niall with a response, simply closing his phone and setting it back on the bedside table.  His friend can think what he wants, Harry decides, returning his attention to tracing figures on Y/N’s back.  Harry knows what this really is.  He knows, and it’s not some evil plan to permanently damage her. It’s just a simple loose relationship between two people who float an inch above the friendzone. That’s all. 

Friends, just slightly more. 

[myhauntedsalem]

13 True Horror Stories from the Psychiatric Ward that Will Give You the Creeps

Death, illness and tragedy have long been part of the history of insane asylums, and for as long as they have existed, so too have the scary stories associated with them. From haunted hospitals to sadistic doctors and nurses, psychiatric wards have been the inspiration for many of our favorite horror movies and books. Yet, the true stories told by the psych ward workers below far surpass any horrors that we might have seen at the cinema or read in a book.

Without further ado, here are thirteen of some of the creepiest psych ward stories on the internet that have been shared by health care professionals.

1. Holding her own Eyes

My mom told me this story from her time at a neuropsychiatric ward while she was in grad school. She was making her routine room checks and happened upon the most horrific scene I’ve ever heard.

This was during the night shift, and generally, all the patients’ bedroom doors should be closed. So my mom turned a corner and noticed an open door. She saw a staff member’s legs on the floor, halfway out the doorway.

When she looked into the room, she saw the patient, a woman with a severe postpartum psychiatric disorder, who had just gouged both of her own eyes out with her bare hands. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding her eyes in her hands.

The first staff member to witness the scene, who was now lying face down on the floor, had a heart attack when he first witnessed the woman while he was making his rounds.

My mom screamed for help and frantically tried to perform CPR on the staff member. All the while, the woman just sat rather calmly, holding her own eyes.

2. The Saw

I work as a psychotherapist in a hospital system. My definition of creepy is probably quite a bit different from other medical professionals.

The one that got to me the most was a patient who came to us after attempting suicide by sawing both his arms off at the forearm with a table saw. His arms were reattached, fairly successfully too, with only limited impairments in mobility. All I could think was how bad it would have to be to live in his head that sawing his arms off seemed better than that.

He has since completed suicide.

3. Jane?

We had a young lady in our custody with quite a few issues. We’ll call her Jane. Jane’s first night at our facility staff doing a bed check found Jane in a puddle of blood. Turns out Jane had been slicing the skin around her shin with her finger nails and was pulling her skin up her leg, essentially de-gloving her calf.

Jane also had a ritual she performed every night before bed. While in her room she would run between walls in her room touching them in a crucifix pattern. After doing this for a few hours she would sit on her bed and go to sleep. This particular night Jane was frantic in her pace, practically running between walls. Our night staff observed the entire interaction and reported Jane screaming late into the night. When the staff went to check on Jane she reported Jane standing in the doorway smiling. The staff asked what was wrong and Jane replied, “what makes you think you are speaking to Jane?”

4. The Vampire

My mom worked in mental institutions in her younger years (and actually worked at a large, well-known asylum before it was shut down.)

There was one woman there that thought she was a vampire of sorts. She was only allowed out one hour a day, and they had to use safety precautions. She had already attacked and killed at least one hospital worker before these were enacted.

When my Mom asked about her, it was revealed that she had killed at least two of her children, wounded another as well as her husband because she had some sort of physical condition called Porphyria, which apparently made her crave blood.

By the time that they discovered there was something physically wrong with her, she already had lost her mind from guilt and grief.

5. The Spitter

I’m not a psychologist but my friend is. She told me about a patient of hers who was HIV positive and a paranoid schizophrenic. He thought that the nurses who worked at the hospital he was in were trying to kill him, so he would frequently bite his tongue, and spit HIV positive blood into their faces/mouths. When they had to come into contact with him, they were required to wear full masks and gloves.

6. The Only One

I once knew a woman who had spent part of her residency at a psychiatric hospital for people with severe mental conditions. Apparently, the grounds had a lovely, enclosed greenhouse. One day, one of their schizophrenic patients was sitting on a bench, smoking a cigarette, as a heron frantically flew around. It had found its way in and, not being able to escape, it was smashing into the large panes of glass. The man just sat there watching.

Finally, my counselor asked him if the bird was bothering him and he kind of sighed and said, “Thank god, I thought I was the only one seeing that.”

7. Family Photographs

My sister is the director of a psychiatric hospital. There was recently a lady there who would cut her arms, legs and torso open and place photographs of her family under her skin.

8. Under the Bed

Once, a fellow female patient told me she found writings under her bed. They were just old, small wooden bed frames with hard mattresses that would make all kinds of noises when you rolled over, but I still wondered what exactly she was doing lying under her bed to find these writings.

When she first told me, I thought it was a joke. But sure enough, one day during group we managed to sneak away, and she showed me. Indeed, there were stories written under her bed. After that, we had everyone check under their own beds, and there was more writing under every single bed.

They were stories of patients who had stayed here before, or ways they were planning on killing themselves, or who the good and bad nurses were. It creeped me out.

9. Time of Death

Well, my mother was a nurse that specialized in geriatrics, and she worked for several hospice hospitals for many years. She often described situations at her work with several of the patients. She would say that each person tends to have a very similar “checklist” that they follow right before death. This checklist often ended in a very similar way.

They would get caught talking to someone that wasn’t there. When asked who they (otherwise lucid people) were talking to, they would describe an individual who was already dead. When asked what they were talking about, they would say that their relative wanted to know if they were ready to move on. A pretty common response would be, “Yeah, he/she said that she will take me tomorrow at 3:00.” Well, it would often happen that they would die at the exact time their relatives quoted.

10. The Test Subject

I had an hour-long conversion with a delusional guy who was confined to a mental health facility, and who was probably smarter than I am. Lots of these folks believe that somebody – often the CIA – is either beaming thoughts into their heads, or has implanted a microchip in their brains for this purpose. This guy was offering a very thoughtful argument as to why such claims should not be so quickly dismissed.

“It’s precisely because such delusions are so common that mental patients make the best test subjects,” he said. There he was, confined and protected, constantly observed, his health and behavior documented, and there is zero chance that anyone would ever take his concerns seriously. How else would you test and improve such technology? Does the government not have a strong motivation and a plausible ability to create such a device?

“You can see I’m not irrational,” the man said. “I’m just straight-up telling you that they are doing this to me. I know just how unbelievable it sounds, and yet, here I am.”

11. The Boy who Loved Knives

As a tech in psych years ago, there was a 7-year-old kid sent to the floor because the mom didn’t know what to do with him. Sadly, common thing to happen, even if the kids don’t have psych issues. Anyway, the mom was shaking and crying, and they had to take the kid into another room. She was genuinely afraid of her own son. She had suspected something was wrong when she kept finding mutilated animals in the backyard, but never heard or saw coyotes or anything around. The neighbors smaller pets started disappearing. The boy had an obsession with knives, hiding them around the house. Denying anything when the mom confronted him. Then when the two started getting into arguments, he would get really violent and hit her, push her down and kick her, threaten to kill her. On multiple occasions she woke up in the middle of the night with him standing beside her bed, staring her in the face. She put extra locks on her bedroom door to feel safe while she slept. The last straw was when she lifted up his mattress and found 50+ knives of all shapes and sizes under there. So she brought him to us.

I remember talking to him, treating him like he was just any other kid that came through. He seemed remarkably normal, until you spoke directly to him. He had this way of looking right through you, or maybe like he didn’t see you at all while you were speaking.

He would respond like a robot, like he was just saying words because that’s what we wanted to hear. And he would always put on this creepy, dead-looking smile. Like all mouth and no eye involvement in the smile. Especially when he would get away with something, like taking another kid’s markers and they couldn’t figure it out. Still gives me chills laying here thinking about him.

I believe I met a 7-year-old psychopath.

12. The New Mom

I was a pharmacy technician at a hospital with a psych ward for some time. We would have to go around with a cart and dispense the patients’ medications, and being a 5’2″ girl, a security guard or male nurse would accompany me, just as a precaution. I never had any real issues other than the occasional death grip onto my arm or manic outbursts, but there was one boy who was entirely different.

His chart said he was nine and he had pale skin, dark hair, and huge bright, green eyes. He always greeted me in the most polite way, asked how I was doing, and always found something different to compliment me on every time. He was extremely well-spoken and mature for his age, so I began looking forward to seeing him, as normal small talk is definitely cherished in that setting. If he saw me outside of his room in the halls, he made sure to say hello and always called me “Miss Jones” or “ma’am.”

One day, a couple of our female nurses saw me pause to chat with him in the hallway, and waved me over to ask if I was out of my mind. Apparently, when he was in kindergarten, he grew an intense attachment to his young female teacher.

This escalated to the point of him calling her “Mom” and leaving notes for her about how he wished he were her son. He had a normal home-life with both parents, and the teacher tried to explain to him that she couldn’t be his mom because that would hurt his real mother’s feelings, and that she already had that job covered.

So, he went home and, killed his own mother in her sleep by cutting her throat, so his teacher could be his mom. The female staff had a general rule of not interacting with him excessively to prevent any kind of attachment from forming.

13. Bugs

Nothing I can say can possibly describe the year I worked in Psychiatric Intensive Care. Creepy isn’t the thing that comes to mind when I think back on it…more heartbreaking and horrifying. But creepiness was a part of it. Especially evening and night shifts, naturally.

There is always something disturbing about watching someone while they hallucinate. You can tell it is 100% real to them, and something about that makes you believe it, on some level. A lot of stories end with, “and of course, I had to look over my shoulder to make sure”. You see the emotions it brings out.

There was a woman that came in and sat down across the table from me for her admission interview. She had bandages all over her arms and scotch tape over her mouth and ears. She looked very uncomfortable and wouldn’t really sit still. When the nurse would ask her a question, she would peel the corner of the tape back and answer, then stick the tape back on really fast.

We eventually found out that she saw and felt bugs crawling all over her, and they were trying to get inside her body. The tape was to keep the bugs out. The bandages were because some bugs got in and she had to dig them out. She couldn’t sit still because she felt the bugs all over her even while we sat and talked. The worst part was, she had some idea that it was her mind playing tricks on her. Can you imagine going through your life, feeling like someone is continuously dumping buckets of cockroaches on your head, feeling like they’re all over you and getting inside of you to the point that you’re digging chunks out of your flesh in a panic, all while knowing intellectually that none of it is real?

[7-wonders]

Circling the Drain

Summary: It's a race against time...wait, why do people say that? It's not a race against some outside force, it's a race against a crazed back-from-the-dead mafioso with a vengeance.

Word Count: 3454

A/N: I tried something a little different for this chapter in terms of formatting, mainly because there was so much I wanted to fit in different POVS. Uhhhhh let me know your thoughts and like, comments and reblogs make my world go round. ALSO that second gif is exactly how I imagine a certain scene (you'll know it when you read it).

Warnings: Very torture heavy chapter. Blood, torture methods, guns, knives, kidnappings, talk of death. You should probably go pet some puppies or kittens after you read this.

Previous chapters of Memento Mori: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11

Duncan

It’s difficult to know how much time has passed since Duncan was last outside of this small concrete room. There’s no windows to let light in, no clocks to denote the hour, and no sort of schedule that he can catch on to. Although, even if there were a schedule, he would be too delirious from sleep deprivation to realize that there was one. The only thing that Duncan can count on is the unending torture at the hands of his uncle.

All of the crisis training in the world wouldn’t have prepared him for the physical and mental torture that he’s been put through. Though he doesn’t know it, it’s been almost seventy-two hours of this absolute hell, of Bill beating him black and blue, taunting him, slowly ripping out fingernails one by one (somehow, he still has six, though one of the six is just barely hanging on), refusing to let him sleep, and tasing him back to consciousness whenever he tries to close his eyes. This most recent time, the throbbing of his head had begged him enough to where he finally closed his eyes, only to be jolted up with a rush of electricity running through his body and seizing his muscles.

“You still think you’re getting out of it that easy, huh? That you can fall asleep and bide your time until you’re ‘rescued?’” Bill chuckles. “No, it’s not that easy.”

“Just kill me already, if that’s what you’re planning on,” Duncan says through clenched teeth, glaring up at Bill through the one eye that’s not completely swollen shut.

“Is that what you want? You want me to kill you?” His obviously-fake concern would enough to make bile rise in Duncan’s throat, if he had actually had anything left in his stomach.

“You want me to beg for it, don’t you?”

“I guess I underestimated you. Turns out you do have some sort of critical thinking skills.”

Duncan defiantly turns his head, refusing to give Bill what he wants. Realizing this, Bill begins to walk towards the door. As he does, going to flick off the single light bulb in this place, Duncan’s chest tightens in anticipation of the claustrophobia he’ll surely begin to feel (most likely a side-effect of what he’s gone through, considering he’s never been scared of dark spaces before) and he scrambles to stall him. “So why are you keeping me alive?”

Bill stops for a moment before slowly turning around. “I already told you.”

“No, I know that you want revenge. But what’s your plan? Why waste your time? Surely you’ll at least give me the honor of knowing what I’m dying for?”

His jaw clenches, not pleased with that last question, but he doesn’t hit Duncan. Yet. “I’m taking back what’s mine, and then some.”

“And you think Mom’s going to be okay with that?”

“Your poor mother is going to be more than okay with that when she finds out that the Coven killed her only child.”

Slowly, it dawns on Duncan. “You’re the one that’s been killing people in the Coven’s style and leaving them in our territory?”

“Of course I am!” Bill holds his arms out as if to say ‘tah-dah!’ “Cordelia Goode would never be so bold as to do that! But after I kill you, drain you of your blood, cut your tongue out, dump you in the Potomac, and reappear into society, people won’t care about that little fact. Especially after I reveal that it was the Coven that prompted me to fake my own death and go into hiding for years.”

“How long were you planning this?”

“About a year before you stabbed me, when I realized that you were far too…” he grits his teeth, “charismatic to not end up with the family business eventually. That’s why I always made sure that the police and paramedics were well-paid, just in case the day ever came that I needed them to lie on my behalf.”

“You have it all planned then, so why not just do it and kill me now?”

“Well, there are a couple of minor issues I still need to work out.” Bill glances at Duncan slyly. “Such as what to do with that girlfriend of yours.”

In a flash, Duncan sees red. He lunges, forgetting the fact that he’s chained to the radiator and can only go so far until his ankle is jerked violently and he falls back to the ground. “You leave her alone, she’s done nothing wrong!”

“You’re right, she hasn’t, but (Y/N) knows too much.”

Duncan’s heart skips a beat when he realizes that Bill (predictably) knows more than he should.

“I’m thinking a suicide? It’s very believable, what with the grieving girlfriend and all.” Bill steps forward and, ever so slowly, places his foot on one of Duncan’s hands. “Maybe she slits her wrists in the bath? It’s very easy to overpower someone when they’re vulnerable. Or perhaps she overdoses? That’s not my preferred method, though, far too much room for someone to survive an overdose. Tell me, Duncan, how would you prefer that she die?” With each possible method, Bill continues to lay more pressure on Duncan’s hand until Duncan is moaning in pain.

“Don’t...hurt her,” Duncan pants.

Bill finally removes his foot, giving Duncan a moment to breathe before he stomps on his hand, digging the toe of his shoe in until Duncan is screaming and Bill is sure his hand is broken. “I think she’ll jump into the Potomac with a weight tied around her ankle. The poeticism--her drowning in the same river that your body will be found in--is something that’s just too good to pass up.”

“I’ll kill you. I swear to God, I’ll kill you again and make sure that it sticks this time.” Tears are streaming down Duncan’s face, though whether that’s from the physical or emotional agony he’s in, he can’t be sure.

“We’ll see about that, won’t we?” Bill smiles, walking to the light switch and flicking it off. “I’ll be back in a bit, and then our final act can finally begin.”

This time, Duncan doesn’t stop him before he leaves, barely letting the door close before his willpower crumbles and he begins to sob. Cradling his injured hand, he has to force himself to look at the now-mangled fingers. He gasps, attempting to straighten them out, but they refuse to even twitch in response. It’s now that Duncan realizes that the true torture is waiting. His mind and body shattered, he now has to be at the mercy of Bill Shepherd before he can finally die. He’s never wished for death before, but now, he feels a pang in his heart for every one of his victims that have had to wait, broken and bruised, for Duncan to kill them.

You

“Does this location have any significance to you?” Cordelia asks Annette, pointing to an address hastily written down on a scrap of paper. The address corresponds to a building, fairly nondescript, but obviously holding some sort of significance.

“No, it doesn’t.” Annette shakes her head.

“That’s because this is the location of the first school that I opened here in D.C. Bastard’s really going all in on trying to frame me for everything he’s done.”

(Y/N), who had previously been dozing off on Langdon’s lap (Langdon had already made her swear not to tell anybody or else he would kill her in her dreams like Freddy Kreuger), sits straight up at this moment. “What makes you think he’s there?” she asks.

“This car.” Cordelia pulls another paper out from the folder she had brought with her, this one a picture of a Mercedes E-Class. “It’s been back and forth from Umbra to the old school numerous times in the past two days. License plates are registered back to Umbra.”

“So it’s definitely Bill, then.”

“I’m not typically a betting woman, but I would put money on this. Surveillance indicates that this car has been parked in front of the Goode Academy for six straight hours now.”

(Y/N) doesn’t know much about hostage situations, but she has to assume that Bill being where Duncan is held captive for an extended amount of time means nothing good.

“We need to move now, then,” Annette says. There’s no question behind her voice; she’s going to get her son.

“Yes. Your team?”

“Myself, Langdon, and (Y/N).”

Cordelia glances warily at (Y/N). “Do you have combat experience?”

“Duncan trained me to fight, and also did some weapons training with me,” (Y/N) says.

“That’s good enough.” (Y/N) tries not to be offended. “I have myself, Madison, Misty, and Mallory.”

“We’re going?” Mallory, a brunette wearing a gold headband, says.

“I need my best girls, and you three have proven yourselves.”

“Alright then, let’s go.” Annette grabs a key from around her neck and unlocks what you thought to be a closet door, opening it to reveal a weapons cache large enough to rival a small government’s. “Stock up.”

“Which gun are you most comfortable with?” Langdon asks (Y/N), the two standing side-by-side after everybody else has had their turn.

“Uh, I don’t really know the names. It’s a handgun, and it’s black.”

“Probably a Springfield, then.” Langdon hands (Y/N) a gun that looks similar to ones that she’s handled before. “It’s already loaded.”

“Thanks.” She glances at Langdon after holstering her own weapon, watching as he selects numerous guns of different sizes. “What if we’re too late?”

“We won’t be.”

“But you heard what Cordelia said. Bill’s been there for six straight hours now. He could have--”

“You’re right, he could have,” Langdon interrupts. “But we can’t go in there assuming that the worst outcome has come true. We have to have hope. If nothing else, there’s always hope.”

“I have hope.”

“Good, because I do, too.” Langdon grabs a knife from the weapons closet, twirling the tip of the blade on his index finger. “Now let’s go get Duncan back.”

Duncan

Bill stands before Duncan, twirling the tip of a knife on his index finger. “I’ve held onto this for six years now. Do you recognize it?”

Of course Duncan recognizes the knife that he stabbed his uncle with. In his dreams, he can still feel the cool leather handle gripped tightly in his palm.

“It’s something of a treasure to me, although it certainly didn’t seem like it at first. I’ve come to recognize the significance of holding the thing that almost killed me, and I like to keep it as a reminder.” Bill holds the knife out to Duncan, knowing he’s too weak to fight him for it. “See that on the blade? Why don’t you read it for me?”

Cursive lettering is engraved on the blade, though it was not there when the knife had been in Duncan’s possession. “Memento mori,” Duncan mutters, trying to remember his Latin lessons from high school.

“It was an extremely popular phrase during the medieval period, specifically when it came to funerals. ‘Remember you must die.’ It’s a warning, a reminder. That’s what this knife has become to me, a reminder of the inevitability of death. It also reminds me that I’ve survived death before, and I’ll surely survive it again.”

“Quite the sense of humor,” Duncan remarks dryly.

Bill shrugs, bending down to Duncan’s level. “A little gauche, perhaps, but I enjoy the significance of the phrase.”

Duncan’s about to ask him what the point of this is when Bill shows him by shoving the knife into his abdomen. Duncan grunts in pain, gritting his teeth and glaring at him. “Of course you’re going to stab me just like I stabbed you.”

“Do you know how I managed to survive?” Bill asks.

“I’ve tried not to think about it much.”

“I survived,” Bill continues, “because you were too stupid to realize that you needed to pull the knife out. What do all of the medical professionals say when training civilians on dealing with stabbings? ‘Don’t remove the weapon.’ That’s the only thing keeping them from bleeding out, and it’s what kept me from bleeding out.”

“I had assumed I severed your abdominal aorta, what with all the blood.”

“Exactly, ‘assumed.’” Bill digs the knife around to watch the way that Duncan tries not to scream before pulling it out and watching as blood begins to pour out of the wound. For every beat of Duncan’s frantic heart, trying to pump blood to the source of the injury in an attempt to clot it, more blood pulses out. “Never assume things, my boy.”

Though his head is starting to spin, Duncan finds just enough rage to spit at Bill. “Go to hell.”

“From the looks of it, you’ll be there long before me,” he says almost gleefully before pulling out a gun and shooting him in the thigh. This time, Duncan openly screams. “Just wanted to make sure you actually die, if the stabbing wasn’t enough.” Bill’s extremely nonchalant, as if he’s discussing the nuances of the Nationals rather than talking about murder.

Bill grabs a key and unlocks the chain from around Duncan’s leg, knowing that he won’t have the strength to escape. “I’ll be back in half an hour to check on you.”

“Fuck you,” Duncan responds, but Bill’s already gone.

Duncan moans in pain as he stares at his wounds, feeling the stickiness of blood beginning to pool under him. Lifting a shaky hand, he presses it to his abdomen to try and slow the bleeding. As he swallows deeply, realizing that he very likely is going to die shortly, he thinks about a number of things, mainly regrets.

He wishes that he had realized earlier that his mom was just as much Bill’s victim as he was.

He wishes that he appreciated Michael more for the brother he had been to him.

He wishes that he had told (Y/N) that he loved her more often.

But most especially, Duncan wishes that he had just put a bullet in Bill’s head that night instead of stabbing him. Then, he wouldn’t be feeling this intense cold begin to settle in his bones as he’s forced to slowly die on the concrete floor of a basement. Facing the Grim Reaper head-on is not nearly as dramatic as he thought it would be.

You

Watching the Coven, Langdon, and Annette taking out the defectors is not nearly as dramatic as (Y/N) thought it would be. Wisely, they had requested that she stay behind until the perimeter was secured. It’s much quieter, and a lot less bloody; as it turns out, members of organized crime do have consciences, and chose to subdue those not directly a threat. After Langdon finishes tying those who had remained loyal to Bill together, Cordelia motions for (Y/N) to follow the group into the old school.

The proud sign that once declared this building the Goode Academy now lies in the dirt of the overgrown lawn. The doors are open, solely because the rusted hinges make it impossible for them to remain closed against a gentle breeze. The further that they make it inside, the more frantic (Y/N) is. She knows that they’re close to Duncan, she just doesn’t know what state they’ll find Duncan in. Before they can make it too far with Cordelia as their guide, Bill appears. Instead of holding a machine gun, which is kind of what (Y/N) had expected, he has a concerned look on his face.

“Annette, thank god you’re here! I know this must be confusing to you, but when I heard that Duncan was missing, I knew that I needed to save him from the bitches that had sent me into hiding years ago.”

Confusion blankets (Y/N)’s mind as she tries to figure out what’s going on, but Annette doesn’t feel the same. “Cut the shit, Bill. I know what you’ve been doing.”

Bill laughs. “You’re going to let Cordelia Goode manipulate you into believing her, after she tried to kill me?”

“You’re an idiot. You think I don’t smell the blood in the air?” Annette laughs viciously, a verbal slap in the face. “Where’s my son?”

Like a switch was flipped, the worry on Bill’s face falls into contempt. “You’ve always been too emotional for your own good, Annette.”

“‘Family over everything,’” Annette quotes. “Remember that? What happened to that?”

“That died the day that that--that mistake came back from boarding school and decided that our business, the empire we built from the ground up, was his birthright.”

“You never were good at sharing, were you?”

The siblings stare at each other for a moment before Bill sighs. “You could have just been complicit, but no. Guess I’ll have to think on the fly, then.” He pulls out a gun and cocks the hammer back.

Before he can fire, Madison and Mallory appear from behind him, having snuck into the back. Madison knocks the gun out of his hand, the weapon firing into the ceiling, as Mallory socks him in the face and drives him to his knees. Both women force his hands behind him, holding him still as Cordelia walks up to him.

“The door to the basement is in the kitchen, hidden behind the left wall of the pantry,” Cordelia says to the group.

(Y/N)’s off, moving as fast as she can while maneuvering through the unfamiliar house. “Wait, you can’t do this. Annette, you aren’t really going to let the Coven, of all people, do this to me?” Bill pleads.

“I can actually, and I will. After all,” Annette turns to Cordelia, “we have a deal.”

In the kitchen, (Y/N) throws open the pantry door, pushing and shoving and pulling at the left wall before it finally opens to reveal a set of stairs.

“Girls?” Annette calls just before she reaches the door. “Make it painful.”

(Y/N) runs down the stairs, hands scrambling along the wall until she comes across a light switch. Flicking it on, her eyes look around the room until she sees a lifeless figure on the floor that’s surrounded by a pool of blood. A cry is ripped from her chest as she falls to her knees beside Duncan, hands hovering above him as she tries to figure out what to do first.

He’s pale, scarily so, and he’s breathing so shallowly that she can’t tell he’s breathing at first. Somehow, with all the blood, he’s still breathing. All (Y/N) can focus on is the fact that he’s still alive (later, she’ll wonder how she didn’t even flinch at all of the injuries and the blood, oh, the blood) as she rips her shirt off and presses it firmly against the wound on his stomach, calling his name over and over again in increasing levels of desperation.

From behind her, she can hear Annette scream and yell for Langdon to call an ambulance. She can feel the presence of somebody next to her as they catalogue where Duncan’s hurt, but she can’t bring herself to look away from Duncan’s face. His perfect face, that she’s kissed over and over a thousand times and has taken immense pleasure in watching a blush rise to the surface. His perfect face that she’s now slapping to try and get him to at least show some sort of response.

“You don’t get to die like this,” she tells him, hoping that he’ll somehow manage to hear her. “You said that you didn’t want to be the reason I suffered, but look at you now, making me suffer. Don’t keep me suffering like this!”

Slowly, and just barely, his eyes crack open just enough that (Y/N) can see a hint of blue. His lips move, saying something without audible sound, and she brings her head down to his to try and catch what he’s saying.

“An angel.” She finally makes out what his reverent whisper is over the wail of the incoming ambulances, and laughs brokenly as her head falls onto his chest in relief.

//

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[tsumuniri]

━━━ Atsumu Miya is a free-loader. Living inside his twin brother's home as if it was his, he would bring home girls and annoy Osamu most of the time. Y/N L/N is quite the opposite apparently because she's a virgin loser. Being the popular anonymous BL mangaka known as Yamazaki, she stays in the homey abode of her parents and watches boys from afar for references (not for admiration sadly).

Now what will happen if fate decided to tie these two idiots together and made them live across each other in one apartment?

。m.list ❯❯ prev┃next

ONE ━━ THE TWIN BROTHER’S DECISION

"SO THAT'S THE TEA?"

You nodded dejectedly and raised the Tuna Mayo Onigiri in the direction of your mouth. You bit into the delicious rice snack, humming in delight as the saucy and sweet flavors of tuna cheered you up just for a slight bit. "They said that a girl my age shouldn't be living with her parents and should finally get a guy instead of drawing an imaginary one. You know that they're old school, Mai." You said, mouth full of rice bits and tuna.

The female ran her fingers through her short bright red hair. "Well, you are 25 now, and you haven't got a boyfriend since middle school," She propped her elbow on top of the round wooden table, resting her chin on her palm. "But they should've told you beforehand, right? How are you supposed to look for a residence in a short span of time?" She asked and watched you devour the onigiri meal with such ease. Her black-colored eyes held an uncertain expression as Mai was concerned for her colleague and friend.

After hearing the unfortunate news directly from your loving parents, your mind had to process the sudden information for two solid minutes. The first person you thought of to call is your closest friend, Mai, your roommate back at art school and a mangaka in the shounen industry. Although the two genres have completely different backgrounds, you two are stuck together like peas in a pod through the grace and glory of fawning over 2d men.

Ain't that great?

"They said I could stay back for two weeks until I could find a place to move in. I still have nine days to move out. And as for the residence part..."

You rummaged through the leather bag slung over your shoulder and took out a creased brochure of a newly built apartment based in the heart of east Osaka with its breathtaking cherry blossom conifers and pious shrines. The leaflet's minimalistic design delineated the idiosyncratic architectural structure of the tall building on the front page. Anybody could tell that this jointly owned establishment may settle for tenants with stable incomes.

For someone who changed the BL archives with her plot-driven works, Y/N could provide the fees to rent a homey room on the clabber-plastered apartment complex.

Mai shifted on her seat and studied the brochure on the table with interest— crossing her legs and leaning her torso forward to get a full view of the given pamphlet. "The building does seem promising. You could even check out your works in the Manga Shops at the city." She remarked as her eyes skimmed through the brochure, taking note of the facilities and rooms for the future tenants.

"Right? I already checked the place out yesterday, and coincidentally, the studio office is close by," The H/C-haired female pushed back the tiny strands of baby hair tickling her forehead as it was annoying her smooth skin. "They even allow pets. The apartment buildings I visited mostly don't allow pets, and the others who do, they have weird-ass tenants whom I don't really wanna be neighbors with." She ended, scratching the back of her neck.

"Soooooo, that's the apartment you're planning to move in."

You nodded your head, "I prepared the papers and told my parents about it. Maybe you can help me move my things out?" You suggested to your friend as your leg overlapped with the other, biting into another piece of onigiri from the porcelain plate.

Tilting her head to the side, Mai let out a light scoff from the BL mangaka's proposition as she gestured her hand downwards. "I'm offended, Y/N! Of course, I'll help you." She expressed her whimsical disbelief through her words. "I thought we were best of friends." The young lady teased.

"After all those collab fan arts of the Akatsuki, why wouldn't we be at this point?" You joked; however, the shinobi anime reference wasn't technically a gag as you both had a history of fangirling over the smexy criminal organization— even if you both had a peculiar taste in men. "By the way, why did you choose this place? Isn't this sort of far away from your workplace?" You questioned the red-haired female, a bit curious on why she decided to meet up with you in this Onigiri Restaurant.

Mai's lips turned up into a smirk as she motioned her finger for you to move closer. "My assistants and I decided to eat here after a hard day's work. By the time we were all seated, our eyes got blessed when the restaurant's owner catered to our table!" She whispered with excitement dipped on her tongue.

"Oh boy, if you had seen him, you would've gotten the inspiration to make a character from his well-sculpted face."

You raised a brow and let out a snortle, "We went here because a hot owner caught your attention? I should've gone with you then." You played along and couldn't help but laugh at your friend's reason for dining out a distance away from her studio office.

Like middle schoolers, you both giggled as Mai continued her story of the dashing Onigiri restaurant owner with her witty play of words. You never had any interest in dating; however, you still bid no mind to your friend's fawning over pretty men who would unlikely pay attention to either of them.

"That owner you're talking about might not visit his restaurant, Mai."

"I know, silly! But I do wonder what that work of art does outside his work."

Osamu is a very patient man. May it be through his responsibility of running an Onigiri business, or may it be just a simple waiting in line at the subway station of Tokyo, the male wouldn't lose his temper nor be frustrated over such trivial things.

But when his exhausted figure slugged inside the comforts of his home and found the living room all trashed with empty bottles of energy drinks and bags of chips, Osamu was finally at his breaking point.

"Atsumu, you mother-fucker... COME DOWNSTAIRS THIS INSTANT!" He burst out, calling out his twin brother's name as he began picking up the trashes scattered throughout his coffee table and his lawson couch. His ears caught the sound of loud footsteps thumping on the wooden-tiled floor as he could immediately tell that it was a certain someone who came down the stairs.

A bed of ruffled blonde hair popped out of the stairway as a certain setter casually jumps into the scene of the untidy crime, walking towards the other twin with open arms.

"Welcome home, Samu! Did your staff make a mistake in the newly-opened shop back at Shinjuku? You look a bit frustrated right now-"

Atsumu stopped himself once he noticed his twin brother standing over the mess he forgot to clean up. His arms dropped to the side while his chocolate eyes shifted over to Osamu's annoyed expression, "Okay. This time, I absolutely forgot to clean up." The male tried to explain himself.

The quiet one of the two shook his head in disapproval, sighing out and pinching the bridge of his nose to calm his fiery nerves. "I found this apartment, Tsumu. I think it's best for the both of us if you could finally get your own place." He stated, hearing the slight choke coming from his brother's throat.

"WHAT?! What made you think that this would be the best for the both of us, Samu?" Atsumu protested, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion as to why his brother would suggest that sort of idea.

Osamu raised his hand and lifted three of his fingers to his twin's eye level. "First, you sometimes disrupt my sleep whenever you'd bring your flings at home," He stated and didn't bother to let the other speak their mind about the issue at hand as he continued his statement of reasons. "Second, you'd sometimes forget to do your lists of chores and often lie that you didn't do them because you were tired from training." He paused for a moment, thinking of a third reason until it clicked in the back of his mind.

"Lastly, you're a 23 professional athlete, who makes a lot of money than what I usually make, and yet, you're living with your twin brother."

Atsumu stared at Osamu as he crossed his arms, "So? You'll kick me out if I don't move out of your place?" He derided, his voice mostly holding a hint of teasing as he knew his brother wouldn't act so rashly over those reasons.

Oh, was the male so wrong.

"Yes, Tsumu. I'm kicking you out."

[tinyboxxtink]

“Warrior”

Awwwwww SHIT. She cannot be stopped, folks. 

So I thought about making this an Epilogue to “Helpless”, but I MIGHT turn it into a sequel, if that’s something you guys want. I have so many ideas!!! 

Anyway, here is a “Helpless” SEQUEL ONE SHOT as of now. 

TBH I love it so much. I was listening to the song and I just couldn’t get this idea out of my head. OH RIGHT, if you haven’t heard Demi Lovato’s “Warrior”, listen to it now. And/or as you read this. I listened to it the entire time I wrote it. Hell I’m still listening to it. LOL.

“Please, Liv?” 

Barba was begging his best friend, on his knees in his own office. 

“This is ridiculous, Rafa. You’re a grown man. Stop begging,” 

“Then promise you’ll do it,” 

“I..wha...WHY do you need me to take your girlfriend out?”

“Look she just went through a traumatic event--” 

“Um it was pretty traumatic for me too, if you couldn’t tell,” 

“Right. I know...Liv, you know I love you,” He put a hand on her shoulder. “But she ALSO lost the one person in the world that she’s had for most of her life. She has no one now,” 

“She has you, obviously,” 

“Well yeah sure she has me, but I--I can’t be her whole world. She needs friends. And she doesn’t meet anyone because she had to quit her job at Fazzoli’s. So she’s just been my Personal Assistant for the past month until she can find something else, and she’s just…. around, ALL the time,” He explained the past month of your lives.

“Sounds like you’re getting sick of your little hustler,”  Liv chuckled. 

“DON’T, call her that.” Rafael warned her. 

“Why? It’s what she did,” Liv scoffed.

“Olivia...look,” Rafael rubbed his temples. “You are my best friend in the entire world, and I love you. But you have GOT to let this little...grudge against Y/N go,” 

“Grudge? What-- She--” Olivia protested, but Rafael cut her off.

“Whatever happened, it’s in the past. We’re putting it behind us, and so should you,” 

“Whatever….” Olivia rolled her eyes.

“If you want to keep being my best friend,” 

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a plea, once again,” He took her hand. “If you truly love me, you will help me help her,”  He gave her those puppy dog eyes, the ones she could never resist, even if she wanted to. 

“Oh that is DIRTY, Barba,” She pushed him away with her hand over his face. 

“Again though, I don’t know what you want me to do. She obviously doesn’t think we’re going to be friends, and all of my friends are your friends-- also, they’re all adults,”

 “She’s an adult,”

“....Sure she is,”

“OLIVIA,”

“Okay okay, I just...Oh you know what, I could ask Lucy if her and her friends want to come,” She picked up her phone and flipped through it.

“See? You’re brilliant,” Rafael smiled.

“Whoa there counselor, I’m not sure how excited she is going to be to drag her friends out with her BOSS, her friends and your pet---girlfriend,”  She quickly corrected herself, but Barba heard it anyway. 

“You’re unbelievable,” He sighed. 

“Look I said I would ask her, I didn’t say it would be happy about it,”

“Alright, alright,” He nodded. “Thank you, Liv,”  he gave her a small hug then she turned to walk out. 

“Don’t make me regret this,” She eyed him. Just then, you came up behind her in the doorway.

 “Regret what?” 

 “Uh...my lunch plans, Rafael suggested a place I haven’t tried,” Olivia pushed her hair behind her ears nervously, looking everywhere around you but your eyes. Classic lying tells, but you really didn’t want to deal with her stuff right now so you left it alone.

“Oh, well have fun detective!” You gave her a cheery smile as she walked out of the office. You handed Rafael one of the two coffees you had brought in.

“Fuel for my baby,” You smiled, kissing him on the cheek. You could see the screaming behind his eyes when he smiled back at you. 

“...What?” you raised an eyebrow.

“What, what?” he asked, acting oblivious.

“Rafael, you know I know something is off,” 

“Wha… no, not--” he started but you gave him a knowing look. “You said you weren’t going to do that anymore, Y/N,” he was suddenly stern, referring to using your ‘superpower’. 

“And I told you, I can’t turn it off!” You reminded him, you had said it in your very first conversation. 

“Okay but you can...y’know pretend you don’t see things,” he pointed out.

“Or, you could just tell me why your eyes are screaming for help right now,” you crossed your arms.

“Wha--that--Good lord,” He sighed, taking a swig of his coffee. 

“I’m around too much, aren’t I?” You finally stated the obvious, tired of ignoring it anymore.

“No! No no no…” He put a hand to your face. Overly repetitive denial, meant yes. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I don’t have anywhere else to be,” You bit your lip and looked down at the floor. You hated being this helpless, relying on him for everything. Ever since he had left the hospital, you’d moved in with him and took care of him while his shoulder healed. And then when he went back to work, you told him you had to quit working at Fazzoli’s because it was just too hard to go there every day after everything that had transpired there. You really had tried, but you just kept having flashbacks or panic attacks that Arianna would come walking through the door and take you away again. 

Rafael was totally understanding, as usual. He told you that you could be his Assistant for the time being, which really just meant you followed him around all day like a puppy. And he was paying you with his salary, so he was basically just giving you money. You hated it; you were used to being completely independent-- sort of. 

Sure Arianna ‘protected’ you, but it wasn’t like you were a baby bird. You had been through so many horrific things in your short life, all on your own. You knew how to survive in the mean streets of NYC, making your own money. You were like a bulldog, and now you were a lap dog. 

“Hey,” Rafael picked your head up back to face him. “I know. I’m not blaming you for anything,” 

“But you are sick of me,” 

“I just...I think you need more people in your life, that’s all,” he stroked your hair.

“Yeah, I know,” you shrugged.

He was right, but you weren’t used to having more than one person looking out for you, or vice versa. You didn’t really know what it was like to have a normal friend, and your serious trust issues really didn’t help the situation. Rafael had tried to get you to go to therapy to work through your “issues”, but you didn’t trust your therapist, which made the whole thing moot. 

“...Wait, so what were you actually talking about with Liv?” 

“She told you, I was--” 

“Can we not do this again,” You rolled your eyes. 

“....Alright fair enough,” He sighed, giving up. “I asked Olivia if she knew of any girls that might want to ‘hang out’ with you,” 

“Oh my god, Rafa!” You were humiliated. 

“God now I’m like that weird kid in class who eats paste, and her parents have to to talk to the teacher who makes the other kids be her friend,” 

“....That’s a weirdly specific scenario,” he raised an eyebrow.

“...Yeah, well-- not my first time,” You shrugged sadly.

“Aw honey,” He half laughed, taking your into his arms and kissing your forehead. “I would’ve been your friend, no matter what you ate,” 

“Yeah well considering you were probably in high school when I was in elementary, I doubt it,” You smirked.

“Ooof, below the belt,” He put both hands over his crotch with a pained expression.

“I’m sorry,” you stuck your tongue out with a smile. “But you kinda deserve it, trying to beg people to be my friend,” 

“I didn’t BEG…” He started, but saw that look in your eyes. “Okay but it worked,” He came clean. 

“Oh Olivia and I are gonna have a girls night? Are we gonna braid each other’s hair and talk about boys we like? OH WAIT,” You made sarcastic gestures. “We like the same boy!” You rolled your eyes. 

“I mean, I can’t blame you. He’s pretty awesome,” He smirked.

“And so not full of himself,” You pulled on his collar towards you.

“Not at all,” He kept smirking, as he placed his lips over yours. 

Just then Barba’s phone vibrated-- a text from Liv. 

 “KARAOKE NIGHT. TONIGHT. 8PM,” 

 “Uh….well, I guess you might be right?” He showed his phone. It vibrated again, another text came in as your were reading it.

 “LUCY AND FRIENDS, YOU BETTER BE THERE TOO. I’M NOT A BABYSITTER,” 

 “Well, she is just lovely,” you handed it back to him with a roll of your eyes. 

“Hey, at least she’s trying,” he texted a reply to Liv.

 “Can you try as well? Please?”  He asked you while looking at you with the same puppy dog eyes, Liv wasn’t the only one who couldn’t resist them.

“Fine…” you sighed, and he rewarded you with a kiss.

“I need something to wear,” You batted your eyes, to which he rolled his own and pulled out his credit card. 

“See? I’m leaving you alone, it’s working already!” You giggled, walking out of the office to go shopping.

------

That night, you and Rafael showed up to a place called TOP5.. It was a fun, trendy hipster  restaurant. There were several booths, some tables, even a few couches for people to chill. And in front of everything was a huge stage, with a piano next to it. But there was also a DJ, spinning records. 

Rafael noticed Olivia waving to him; he lead you to a giant half booth half table where Olivia, Rollins, Fin, Carisi, and four young girls you had never met before sat with drinks in their hands. 

“How did you get these guys out?” Rafael gestured to the squad.

“I asked them nicely,” She smiled.

“Yeah, if ‘nice’ means  it was either this or catching up on paperwork all night,” Fin rolled his eyes. 

“This is Lucy, my nanny,” Olivia pointed the young girl next to her, who gave a small wave. 

“And these are my friends Riley, Lexi and Brianne,” Lucy pointed to each of her friends, who also did a wave as they heard their name. 

“Rafael Barba,”  he nodded to the girls. “And this is my--”

“Y/N,” You interjected, introducing yourself. You were determined NOT to just be “Rafael’s Girlfriend” anymore. 

“So we were looking through some songs, I don’t think anyone’s brave enough to go up there though,” Lexi informed you, gesturing to a huge black binder in front of her and her friends.

“More like not drunk enough,” Lucy laughed.

“Hey we can fix that!” Brianne giggled, calling for shots from the bar.

“Great idea Barba, it’s like we’re chaperoning,” Amanda whispered to Rafael, who rolled his eyes and nodded to a waiter for a scotch. 

“May I?” You asked Riley, sliding the book in front of you. You flipped through a binder, until a song stood out to you. It was like it was screaming to you from the page.

You had heard so many “therapeutic” mantras over the past month, people trying help you get over your trauma. Talk it out, they said. You need to get it out. 

Well, this was one way. 

You excused yourself and walked up to the DJ, whispered something to which he nodded, and went to the mic. 

“Alright alright, looks like we have our first vict--I mean, superstar!” He joked. You seriously thought about punching him in the face for using “victim” as a joke, but you knew that was the trauma talking. And you were to fix that, not indulge it.

 The music started, and you just let the words spill out:

This is a story that I have never told

I gotta get this off my chest to let it go

I need to take back the light inside you stole

You're a criminal

And you steal like you're a pro

All the pain and the truth

I wear like a battle wound

So ashamed, so confused

I was broken and bruised

Thoughts of you and Arianna’s life together ran through your mind like a movie montage as you sang. The words were so scary accurate.

Now I'm a warrior

Now I've got thicker skin

I'm a warrior

I'm stronger than I've ever been

And my armor, is made of steel, you can't get in

I'm a warrior

And you can never hurt me again

 That first chorus felt like you were letting out a huge breath you had been holding in for God knows how long. You wanted Olivia, Rafel, the squad...EVERYONE to know, that you weren’t this helpless little lamb they had seen for the past month.

 Out of the ashes, burning like a fire

You can save your apologies

You're nothing but a liar

I've got shame, I've got scars

But I will never show

I'm a survivor

In more ways than you know

'Cause all the pain and the truth

I wear like a battle wound

So ashamed, so confused

I'm not broken and bruised

 Now the flashbacks of the real trauma you had been through came pulsing through your mind. Horrors that still kept you up at night; you’d have night terrors sometimes but had hidden them from Rafael so far. He didn’t need to know just how fucked up you truly were. None of it mattered now anyway, you were a survivor. And you had the scars to prove it.

 'Cause now I'm a warrior

Now I've got thicker skin

I'm a warrior

I'm stronger than I've ever been

And my armor, is made of steel, you can't get in

I'm a warrior

And you can never hurt me

 There's a part of me I can't get back

A little girl grew up too fast

All it took was once, I'll never be the same

Now I'm taking back my life today

Nothing left that you can say

'Cause you were never gonna take the blame anyway

 You thought of everything Arianna had taken from you. Sure your childhood was shit, but you were fairly young when she convinced you to run away with her. You could have stayed in your small town, found a decent job. Lived a normal life, with normal friends. But she sucked you into your life of crime and deceit, all while telling you it was perfectly fine, and that she loved you. But it was all bullshit, all of it. You saw that now. And now if she ever came back into your life and tried to convince you of anything, you wouldn’t fall back into her lies.

You took a breath before the last chorus, suddenly feeling your face getting wet. You realized you had started crying while you were singing, but for some reason you weren’t ashamed of it. It actually made you feel stronger, like letting your tears wash the pain and shame from yourself.

 Now I'm a warrior

I've got thicker skin

Now I'm a warrior

I'm stronger than I've ever been

And my armor, is made of steel, you can't get in

I'm a warrior

And you can never hurt me again

You finished the song in a whisper as your head dropped to looking at the floor. You were exhausted from the mental journey that song had taken you on. You had never felt so...free. Before you could even look up, the room erupted in applause. 

You lifted your head to see everyone in the room giving you a standing ovation...even Olivia, who you could swear had tears in her eyes. 

You gave a sheepish smile and a curtsy, quickly getting off the stage and returning to your booth, where not a face was dry. 

“...Aww, guys...,” You didn’t know what to say; you had never been that open and vulnerable to ANYONE before, and here you had gone and ripped your soul open in front of a group of strangers.

“That was--” 

Olivia came around and hugged you, a genuine hug. It lasted uncomfortably long, so you had to break it with a confused smile. 

“I’m sorry I judged you,” She apologized, and you saw the absolute sincerity and guilt written all over her face.

“It’s fine, if I were you I would’ve judged me too,” you gave her an understanding smile.

She nodded, giving Rafael an apologetic look as well, to which he took her hand and pulled her into a hug. 

“So, who’s next?!” You smiled, pushing the binder to the middle of the table. Protests and laughs began at the table, bickering about who was drunk enough to follow you. 

Rafael leaned over to you, whispering in your ear over the noise of the crowd.

“You’re the bravest warrior I know, Y/N” He wiped tears from his eyes, kissing your cheek.

“Yes. Yes, I am,” you smiled, wiping the rest of his tears as you kissed him. 

And for the first time maybe ever, you believed it.

[thischickwritessometimes]

MYSME RBB

Hey!! I joined my first ever collab this year for the Mystic Messenger fandom! It was totally awesome, and I lucked out and got someone super cool as my artist. Shout out to @thedum1, who was my partner for this. Go check out their amazing art that goes along with my writing, and give them some love. Without further ado, here’s the fic!

(You can also find this on ao3!)

Saeyoung decided that he’d been sitting in one place for far too long. His back was screaming in agony, his eyes were trying desperately to make the computer screen focus, and his head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton. All of those combined to make him feel miserable, like he was going to explode if he sat there for even one more minute. 

He shut down his workstation, making sure that his work remained where it was, the computer encoded carefully to make sure that no one could get into it and change things. Of course, if someone was going to get in, they’d have to break through the security in his house, which wasn’t likely to happen. He’d just figured out the best password for his front gate, after all. As Saeyoung idly considered his password (and other possible future ones), he slid on his shoes and grabbed his jacket. 

He stopped in the kitchen to grab a package of Honey Buddha Chips and then was off, heading into town on some form of a quest. The destination isn’t important, he tells himself, just the experience. He just needed some fresh air, a sight that wasn’t his computer screen (or, more recently, the wall slightly above and behind his computer), and perhaps a reminder that there were other humans in the world outside of himself and Vanderwood.

He hummed to himself as he walked, enjoying the sun on his skin and the sounds of birds and people talking. Couples were walking just about everywhere in the park, each chatting and laughing happily. Some younger kids were running around chasing each other. A dog sprinted past Saeyoung, chasing a stick that had just been thrown. 

The dog reminded him of Elly. She always was willing to run around his feet happily as he played with her in Jumin’s apartment. He missed the white cat. It’d been far too long since he last saw her, and he mentally decided to schedule a time to break through his friend’s security to see the fluffy Persian again.

As he walked along, a flyer for a pet shop caught his eye. It was advertising a day to come play with the animals, both cats and dogs alike. As he stopped to read it more thoroughly, Saeyoung realized that if he headed to the shop right now he could get in at least an hour and a half with the cats (and maybe some dogs too). Now armed and ready with a plan of action, he set off with a purpose, striding quickly to the pet store.

As he neared it, he noticed that not many people were lingering around. Saeyoung realized that this must be one of the less popular pet shops and was sad to see that, especially because it looked very charming and quaint. As he pushed open the door, a bell above his head let out a quiet sound to alert an employee that someone had arrived.

Sure enough, a slightly frazzled-looking young man appeared. His hair was shaggy and black, long enough that it was falling into his eyes just slightly. The eyes in question were a stunning blue-green that Saeyoung wouldn’t mind looking into for a while. He tried to shake off that thought. He was here for cute cats, not cute people.

“How can I help you?” The guy asked, a small smile on his face. 

“I’m here to play with the cats. I saw a flyer saying that you guys had free time for that?”

“Oh, of course! Right this way. I think there’s only one other person in there, so it shouldn’t be that much of a crowd. Feel free to use any of the toys out. And don’t worry, the only one that scratches is our resident sourpuss, Yoshi.” The employee opened the door carefully and Saeyoung peered in, amazed at all the cats running around or napping. 

There was one girl sitting happily in the middle of the room, surrounded by cats. She had a dark skin tone and was wearing a pink skirt and what Saeyoung was pretty sure was a halter top. (How he knew that? Well, let’s just say that he had been considering one for cosplay for a long time.) When she turned to look at him, he spotted glasses and heterochromatic eyes. One brown, the other a bright blue. 

She’s cute, was his first thought. It only amplified when he realized that her hair had a piece sticking up that looked to be meticulously formed into a heart like you would see on a lovesick anime girl. Her dedication spoke volumes and he knew that he would probably end up liking this girl if they talked. 

He shook his head slightly. No, he couldn’t be thinking about that. Not today! He was here for cute cats, not cute girls or cute boys. His mind was set firmly on petting all the adorable creatures. 

So he walked past the girl, giving her a faint smile. She returned it with a glowing one that practically lit up her entire face, and Saeyoung had to hide how his heart pattered at the sight. He focused his eyes on a particularly cute orange cat that was napping peacefully in a ray of sunlight.

As he reached out to pet it carefully, the cat responded by purring softly, like this was everything it could have dreamed of. However, after a while it tired of his antics and scratched softly at his hand in warning. He chuckled and pulled his hand away, letting the feline relax by itself. His eyes scanned the room for another willing friend and they snagged on a little black and white kitten.

It was pawing at a toy, obviously bored. Saeyoung crawled over carefully and picked up the toy, which appeared to be a feather on a string. He bounced it around, and the kitten started to paw at it. It got into the game, eventually leaping at it until it tired itself out. 

Saeyoung made a “pspsps” noise, trying to attract the kitten to him. Its ears perked up and it headed over to his lap, where he petted it softly. The cat seemed like just the perfect companion, and if he could adopt a cat right now he would definitely consider this little guy as the one.

There was a quiet intake of breath over his shoulder, and Saeyoung looked back to see the girl gazing fondly at the kitten. As soon as she noticed his gaze, she colored, blushing slightly. “Ah! Sorry to bother you!”

“Oh, it’s not an issue,” he said, giving her a smile. “He’s a cute one, isn’t he?” He gestured to the kitten that had made itself comfortable in his lap. 

“Yes, he really is. I must admit, I may have been looking at him the entire time… but I got a little nervous he wouldn’t like me.” She looked away, seemingly embarrassed. 

“Well,” Saeyoung said, an idea coming to mind. “Let’s test that out, shall we?” With that, he scooped up the feline and plopped him directly in her lap. The cat seemed stunned at first, and Saeyoung worried that he would hiss and claw at the abrupt change. Instead, the cat sniffed at the girl and then settled in again, seemingly unconcerned by what had just happened. 

“Oh,” the girl said, smiling. “He’s lovely.” Her hands went to softly pet him. 

After a few minutes, she looked up. The cat was happily asleep in her lap, purring softly. She spoke again, her voice quiet so as to not disturb the kitten. “I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Jasmine, but you can call me Jas. It’s good to meet you…”

She trailed off, searching for a name. Saeyoung smiled at her before giving her his fake name. “I’m Luciel. It’s good to meet you as well, Jas. It seems like you’ve got a way with cats, huh?”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” she said with a laugh. “I do love them though. Cats are some of the best animals, in my opinion.”

“You have a top-tier opinion then. I’m inclined to agree!”

“So I take it you’re a cat enthusiast as well, Luciel?”

“Yep,” he said, popping the ‘p’. “I have a friend who has a gorgeous cat and that’s kind of what kickstarted my love for them.”

“Have you ever considered getting one?” She cocked her head, but her hands never left the black and white kitten.

“I’d be lying if I said no. But my job is kind of crazy, and I can honestly say that I don’t think a cat would be good for me right now. Someday soon, hopefully. What about you?”

“I actually came here today hoping to adopt. I’ve been looking for a while but I never found one that I really loved. Well, until today. But I’m still not completely sure…”

“Well the little guy loves you, I can tell that much. And if I’m wrong, which is not very likely, let me tell you, he’s the kind of cat that will always be able to find a new home.” Saeyoung stretched and winked at her.

“Well in that case… I guess I’ll need a name for him, huh?” She looked down with a smile. “Got any good ones?” Jasmine’s heterochromatic eyes twinkled with a hidden glee when Saeyoung’s face lit up. 

“Oh boy, do I! I’ve been saving up all sorts of names for this. Okay, there are the classics, like Fluffy, Batdude, Charles. Oh, and you can’t forget Toast!” His rambling list of (admittedly awful) cat names went on for a long time, leaving Jas halfway to tears with laughter as he continued. When he finally drew his list to a close, both of them had laughed so hard that the kitten had woken up and the employee had poked his head in to make sure that nothing bad was going on.

“Okay, okay,” Saeyoung said once he’d calmed down slightly, “any names catch your fancy?”

“I mean Fuzzbucket was a pretty good idea, but I think I decided on Tama.”

Saeyoung and Jas looked down at the same time to inspect the cat. The black and white kitten released a soft mewl and butted his head at Jas’ hand to request more pets. The two scheming partners in crime looked at each other and smiled. 

“Tama is perfect.” They both said at the same time, then blushed and looked away. Saeyoung swore that when he looked at her cradling the tiny cat next to her chest she seemed to glow with happiness.

Soon enough the time to play with cats was over and the employee was putting the animals back in their cages and thanking them for coming to play with the cats. Jas told him about her interest in adopting Tama, and the employee got her the forms she would need to sign before she could take the kitten home. Saeyoung stayed with her as she filled the forms out, the both of them laughing and chatting the entire time. When all was said and done, Jas hoisted the carrier that held Tama up and exited the building, Saeyoung holding the door for her.

Jas scanned the street, then took a deep breath in, steeling her nerves. “I had a really good time today, Luciel. I was wondering if you’d like to do it again some...time?” She turned around to see the man gone. Her brows furrowed as she swiveled her head to see where he’d gone. “Luciel?”

Saeyoung, who had darted behind a pillar beside the pet store, let out a quiet sigh of disappointment. He gritted his teeth together when he heard Jas whisper sadly to Tama that “he must not have wanted to talk anymore, huh?” 

He leaned his head against the pillar and stayed there until he heard the quiet clip-clop of her shoes walking away. Then he tore himself away from the pillar and walked towards home, hands shoved into his pockets, knowing that he would always remember the girl from the pet shop.

The sounds of music coming from a radio fill the kitchen. A black and white cat races around its owners’ feet as they try to dance. Laughter and pure contentment fill the air as the redhead twirls around the girl with one blue eye and one brown one. 

Years ago, when I was younger, I kinda liked a girl I knew. 

“Do you remember when we first met?” Jas asked, her skirt swinging wildly as Saeyoung spun her enthusiastically.

“How could I forget? That pet shop must be the most magical place on this Earth to me.”

She was mine, and we were sweethearts. That was then, but then it’s true.

“I was so upset when you disappeared, you know. I thought you’d gotten sick of me.”

“I was just as upset, trust me. But I thought I had to, because of the agency. And with Rika and the RFA… it just wasn’t a good time.” Saeyoung shook his head, but then pulled Jas closer to him as they waltzed across the floor.

I’m in love with a fairytale, even though it hurts. Cause I don’t care if I lose my mind, I’m already cursed.

“And then I showed up at Rika’s apartment a few weeks later. Crazy how fate works like that, huh?”

“Oh trust me, I was incredibly surprised to see you appear on the CCTV feed. If my life had a playlist of all the moments where I nearly fell out of my chair, that would definitely be on the top ten list.” 

“I was just as shocked as you were, trust me! I had told myself that I would never see you again, but then there you were!” Jas shook her head. “I had half-convinced myself you were some figment of my imagination.”

Every day we started fighting, but every night we fell in love. No one else could make me sadder, but no one else could lift me high above.

“I feel bad that I tried to push you away while we were both in the apartment. It was hard for me because you were the thing that made me happy and also frustrated me to no end. After all, I was sure I would hurt you.” 

“I wanted to punch you so much, I hope you know. I was at my wit’s end when you finally opened up a little bit!”

“But I did, and look at where we ended up. I opened up, got my brother back, and I got the privilege of having you in my life as my girlfriend and now fiancee.”

“I’m glad that it all worked out because there’s no one else I’d rather spend the rest of my days with.”

“The same goes to you, Jas.”

“I love you, Saeyoung Choi. Bad cat names and all.” Jas said as the music started to slowly die down.

“And I love you, Jasmine Luna, no matter how much time you spend in the bathroom doing your hair.” Saeyoung responded, dipping Jas as she let out a quiet squeal.

The two laughed and continued dancing late into the night, Tama observing from his perch high above.

I’m in love with a fairytale, even though it hurts. Cause I don’t care if I lose my mind, I’m already cursed.

And there’s the fic!! Reminder to check out the awesome @thedum1 for their amazing art!!

[sebastianshaw]

Hey there @vvithteeth! So, this isn’t EXACTLY what you asked for the readlist to focus on, but I think it’s worth checking out all the same for a general sense of Emma’s history leading up to her current character!

 EVIL 80s EMMA She’s not good reference for who Emma is NOW, but a good look at what she used to be, and what she’s overcome. I think looking at Emma when she was at her worst, helps one appreciate her at her best. If you see what she had to rise above in herself, you understand the self that she’s fighting back, you have a better appreciation for the kinds of things she’s tempted towards---and the kinds of things she no longer does.  X-Men (1st series) #129-131 is her introduction, as she tries to recruit Kitty Pryde to her school before Xavier does. One of the most chilling moments, for me personally, is when she threatens to destroy Storm’s mind so that she will be “human only in physical form” And then Jean drops a house on her, which is why she’s not involved in the Dark Phoenix saga, as she was still recovering.  Emma continues trying to get Kitty and other kids into her clutches in  Uncanny X-Men (1st series) #180 and  New Mutants (1st series) #15-17, but in New Mutants (1st series) #38-40 she finally manages it by exploiting their current fucked-up state and having her student Empath use his powers to manipulate Magneto.  But when the kids decide to return to Xavier’s school, Emma allows them to do so without a fight, and just tells them that they’ll always have a place with her if they need it. Which seems nice, but then her thought balloons reveal that this is just so the kids won’t believe it when Magneto tells them she’s evil. Firestar #1-4: Whoa mama, Emma is at max abusive here. See, she desires to eliminate Selene, and to this end she trains a young mutant she names Firestar. She does so by manipulating the girl, isolating her, convincing her that she NEEDS Emma to help her control her powers or else she’s dangerous to others, and even KILLS HER PET HORSE. Emma is someone who says “I love children. Teaching is my life.” and she MEANS IT, she has a genuine call to teach and her love for her students is her driving force, but here we see how she USED to treat her students. Then put her against who she is now, it’s a huge contrast. Honestly, I don’t know why SOME WRITERS want to erase her growth by pretending she was Actually Good All Along but yeah, here’s Bad Emma. This is who she fights. This is what she has risen above.  EMMA’S BACKSTORY ISSUES Emma’s history is. . . kind of multiple choice. She tells one version in Generation X #24, but this doesn’t fit at all with the Emma Frost miniseries that came out from 2003 -2004, which also doesn’t exactly fit with “X-Men Origins: Emma Frost” single-issue backstory. I personally would read the “X-Men Origins” one and at least the beginning of the miniseries, specifically the parts that deal with her home life. The reason is that both of these show how unhealthy Emma’s home was growing up, and how that made her who she is. When I saw I think Emma is “wired” to be a villain, I don’t mean I think she was born like that, but as in, I think her environment trained her to become like that. It’s kind of like how a lot of personality disorders aren’t something a person is born with, but come from being in a shitty environment where certain behaviors will help you survive better, and then even once that situation is over, you can’t get rid of those behaviors because it’s how your brain is wired now. That’s how I read Emma---she came out of this toxic, duplicitous environment of manipulation and abuse where she and her siblings were set against each other, and that’s now her default for how she interacts with the world, even though she was originally just a sweet little nerd who only wanted to be a teacher. The “Origins” one features a generic Shitty Abuser Shaw and isn’t as good as the more drawn-out miniseries, as it focuses more on physical abuse (like her father suddenly slapping her) to get a point across that her family is toxic, rather than the more drawn-out miniseries, which I think works better for explaining Emma’s specific brand of. . .Emma-ness. But the bit where her mother tells her that her father is hardest on her because he likes her most of all, is really important I think, since that reflects her relationship later with the Hellions, which is also shown in this. Because Emma is cruel to the Hellions, even though she loves them, and in fact because she loved them. Her love for them and her agony over their deaths is what drives her to join the X-Men in the first place.  As for which origin story is true. . .I think the miniseries one is probably MOST true, as it’s the only one that Emma herself isn’t telling as a story. But as the friend who helped me assemble this list puts it, “ Think of any origin story of Emma's as "a sort of fairy tale, a parable," where it's the theme that matters, not the precise events or timeline “ 90s EMMA Emma spent most of the 90s teaching Generation X. I don’t remember a lot of stuff for specifically what I’m talking about with her, but here are a couple issues that strike me as significant. Uncanny X-Men (1st series) #311-314: In  Uncanny X-Men (1st series) #281-284, the Hellions were killed and Emma Frost was left in a coma, her body taken care of by the X-Men. This is when she wakes up, takes over Iceman’s body, and goes on a rampage thinking she’s the prisoner of the X-Men. When she finds out what happened to her Hellions, she collapses in despair and turns herself over to the X-Men. This is her turning point. This is when we found out Emma Frost had a soul. That she LOVED the Hellions. That they were not just tools. And there’s this one line in the yellow narrative boxes that really sticks out: “As the Hellfire Club’s White Queen, she spent the better part of her life traversing from one mind to another, violating the very essence of anyone she so chose. Losing herself in the memories of others. Altering, at times, the opinions of those who opposed her. This time is different. This time it is about survival. This time. . .it’s for the children.” The words are echoed when she agrees to join Krakoa's Quiet Council, after Charles and Erik tell her their plan and convince her it might just work. "One more time, then. For the children." Emma’s true love, in my opinion, isn’t Scott. Nor is it Namor. It’s teaching.  Emma becomes the teacher to Generation X, as mentioned, and in Generation X (1st series) #18-19, during the Onslaught crisis, she’s so terrified of losing them like she did the Hellions, that she snapped, took the kids to a safehouse in Canada, and put them under her telepathic control for their own safety. This is an Emma who has learned that abusing her students isn’t the right way, but still doesn’t respect their autonomy or consent even as she’s desperately trying to protect them, and has to learn from Monet (who is. . . .actually not Monet) that this isn’t the right way to do it either. Emma did not grow up with adult models who showed her how to love and care for a child, she has to figure it out herself, and it’s a rocky journey at times, even though she has the best of intentions. I think this is a good issue to show an Emma who is in the process of evolving. She’s getting better, but she still hasn’t got it “right” yet.  CURRENT-ERA EMMA Emma really becomes the Emma we know with Grant Morrison’s New X-Men in the early 2000s. This is where she starts affecting a British accent, calling everyone darling, and the delightfully witty Queen of Mean while also still a devoted teacher with trauma over losing her students. She always was witty and a little mean, but Morrison takes these traits up to 11 and gives Emma the foundation of what a lot of writers would build upon. It’s also when she begins her telepathic affair/seduction of Scott, which is a more than slightly problematic dynamic, as I’ve discussed. Also, this is when she got her now-famous diamond form.  We get a lot of lovely Emma nastiness in this series. New X-Men #128-139 all have lots of great moments for her where she’s just WICKED yet still on the side of the angels, and New X-Men Annual 2001 starts us off.  However, character-wise, I think what really comes out here is Emma going from blaming her past actions on substances (she tells Scott in the New X-Men Annual 2001 that she just probably out of her mind on drink and drugs all those times she was doing bad things) to being forced to face her past and herself for the first time when confronted by Jean & the Phoenix in New X-Men #139. It’s the first time we get a look at what Emma’s family and home life was like, as well as the first time she’s established as having a brother, but more than that is the emotion that gets brought in. This is also when Morrison decided to retcon the Hellfire Club as a strip joint (which I hate and also shows up in Emma’s “Origins” story) but that’s neither here nor there. The point is, Jean makes Emma face all her flaws and pain and nasty, most vulnerable parts of herself.  Emma is left mentally broken...then one page later, physically, shattered by a diamond bullet that we later find out was fired by none other than Esme, the Stepford Cuckoo whom Emma later says reminded her most of herself. There is definitely poetic symbolism there. As my friend put it “This cycle of her students dying and Emma losing it and trying again but never facing the roots of her issues goes on and on until her roots literally kill her, and Jean of all people resurrects her. Jean, who saw right through Emma, saw something there worth saving, and literally and metaphorically put her back together again.” The next place I’d go is Astonishing X-Men, which is the first time Emma and Kitty work together. Kitty HATES Emma at this point, because, as she points out, Emma is the villain in her origin story. And Emma KNOWS this. That’s why she WANTS Kitty there. She knew that Kitty would keep an eye on her, wouldn’t trust her, and that’s what Emma WANTS, because Emma doesn’t trust HERSELF. So this shows that Emma KNOWS her moral compass is a very flawed one, and that she WANTS to be better so consciously that she’s getting someone she knows doesn’t like or trust her to be around because she knows she’ll watch her like a HAWK. This also means Emma is admitting she can fail, and giving some control to someone else.  There’s. . . so much that happens from here. Utopia. Phoenix Five. The Terrigen Mists shit. Secret Empire. I feel like there are probably great Emma readlists out there that include these, but honestly I just kinda zoned out through a lot of it. These are some additional read lists for her I found: https://lornahs.tumblr.com/post/87230882649/where-to-start-reading-emma-frost-lets-start  https://www.reddit.com/r/comicbooks/comments/2bwwok/emma_frost_reading/  It’s definitely a LOT and I wish you the best of luck tackling it! Also, I wouldn’t feel you have to read EVERYTHING, or incorporate everything into your depiction. Pick and choose what you feel works best for your version!

[fmdrorinarchive]

━━━━━━  𝖆 𝖓𝖊𝖜 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗 𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖆𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖘… 💋 〈  Below the cut is an intro for Michelle Chae of Chroma // Please 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖕𝖔𝖘𝖙 to plot, and thanks for reading !!  〉

𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖋-𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖉𝖚𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓.

Hi again, friends !! This is Boone ( 19+ / MDT / HE & HIM ) and you may recognize me as the typist behind Vive’s maknae, Yoo Rioh. I’ve decided to bring in another muse! Like Rioh, Michelle’s just starting out in her career and I can’t wait to see her grow. ♡ To find out more, please read onwards !! I can’t wait until she gets to meet all of your muses !! Oh, here are a few trigger warnings to look out for if you continue to read: mentions of drug addiction and parental abandonment; mentions of slut-shaming and misogyny.

𝖖𝖚𝖎𝖈𝖐 𝖋𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖘.

MICHELLE RORIN CHAE,  b. 19990620

BORN & RAISED IN VALLEY GLEN, CA

FORMER COMPETITIVE FIGURE SKATER

BC ENT / CHROMA & CHROMA EMBER

SUB VOCALIST, SUB RAPPER, VISUAL

𝖋𝖚𝖗𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖎𝖓𝖋𝖔.

RESEMBLES KIM MINJEONG ( WINTER ) OF ÆSPA

SHE STANDS AT A MODERATE 163 CM ( 5 FT, 3 IN )

CISGENDER FEMALE, USES SHE / HER PRONOUNS

GEMINI CANCER CUSP, YEAR OF EARTH RABBIT

HETEROFLEXIBLE, KINSEY SCALE #2, CURIOUS

𝖉𝖊𝖊𝖕 𝖉𝖎𝖛𝖊.

TRAJECTORY /  Michelle was born in Valley Glen, CA to David and Heesun Chae—the owners of a struggling restaurant in their neck of the woods. As a kid, she trained to become a figure skater, but when her father bailed on her and her mother because of a drug addiction, she couldn’t afford the expenses for coaching, etc. so she retired from it for now.  /  Instead of being able to truly enjoy her youth, she had to pick-up after school jobs in order to help her mom with bills, and for awhile, her only source of comfort was spent with guys that showed her affection. Her relationships with boys grossly gave her the title of a “whore” to her peers, so she sadly didn’t have many friends to lean on in high school.  /  Originally traveled to Korea to earn a nursing degree from SNU, but got scouted by BCE on her first day—prompting her to drop out of school to focus primarily on training. This enraged her mother as the plan was for her to become a nurse so they no longer had to worry about money.  /  After only a few months of training, she’s selected to debut as a member of Chroma. OTHER FACTS /  Not mentioned in her biography is the fact that she grew up in a fairly religious family. Mom and dad were raised Christian, so they raised their daughter the same. She was never into church, though. She always felt as though she was being judged harshly by the others in attendance. Hell, she even thought that of her mother quite often. Her style was never as pristine as her mom would’ve liked and no one understood her interests in the occult, in anime, in video games, and so forth. By the time she was eighteen, she stopped showing up to service altogether—which her mom didn’t like, but respected nevertheless.  /  She still likes to skate in her spare time... but she doesn’t really have any nowadays. You’d think that she’d be in the dance line due to her past in performance, but since she stopped skating, she’s lost a lot of her flexibility and power. She hopes to improve though!  /  She’s never had many close female friends, so she looks forward to hopefully bonding with her members as they grow closer. This is something she wants to change about herself a lot. INSPIRATION /  For Michelle, I pulled a lot of inspiration from a few different characters from television series, mainly Cassie Howard from Euphoria; Manuella “Manny” Santos from Degrassi: The Next Generation; Tessa Campanelli from Degrassi JH / High; and Britney Orton from We Are Who We Are, among others!

𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖞.

01.  On the surface, Michelle’s reasonably pleasant to be around. She has a deep interest in people, especially those she’s close to, so if you’re a friend of her’s, she genuinely wants to know all about you and deeply cares about how you’re feeling / doing. Some might perceive this high level of intrigue as romantic, and she’s... not ever really going to confirm or deny those types of feelings. She’s a huuuge believer in love and doesn’t want to end up like her parents, but also has no idea what she’s doing when it comes down to it. She didn’t have the best example to look up to, so you know. 02.  Michelle’s really talkative, and she’s witty, and she knows how to charm the pants off of most people, and while that’s loud and present in her character, she also has many faults. For one, her emotions are really strong and her mood is easily affected by others and events that occur in day-to-day life, so she has a tendency of being moody. That, and she also isn’t the best “rule follower” either. Does she care that there’s a dating ban in place for she and Chroma? Absolutely not. Did she experiment with drugs and alcohol in high school when they were forbidden to her? Yes. She’s not the best at making decisions, but she believes that taking risks shape better people... even if that belief’s a little skewed. 03.  Some people say that she might be a little too “sweet” for her own good sometimes and she’s prone to getting her heart stomped on, but she’s not all that innocent. While she’s a huge believer in love, she’s not exactly good at it. She enters in and out of relationships all the time, and she loves the honeymoon phase, but whenever it starts to get too “real,” she gets nervous and bails. Abandonment issues FTW? A very strong possibility. 04.  She’s also empathic to a fault on occasion. It’s easy for her to pick up on the emotions of others and it’s hard for her not to carry them on her shoulders. She’s had a difficult time learning that boundary for herself, and well, at this point, she doesn’t even realize that it’s a thing. Mother taught her how to be kind and nurturing towards loved ones, but she can take it to a degree that isn’t healthy for anyone—especially if love / romance is involved. 05.  Her chattiness can sometimes land her in trouble, but that’s because she has a hard time filtering what she says. Her mind runs a mile a minute and her speaking patterns are similar, so sadly, she can’t control what comes out of her mouth sometimes... pray for her.

𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉-𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘.

01.  If I were to make any sort of “claim” on what I imagine her voice sounding like, it’d be a lot like J from STAYC, maybe with a little mix of fromis_9′s Seoyeon. There’s a delicate husk there, and it’s a little lower than the others, but it’s extremely recognizable and unique. That is her biggest asset as a singer and rapper. She’s not had enough time to truly make drastic improvements to either skill given her short stint as a trainee, but she’s working really hard to get better and doesn’t want to be seen as just a pretty face forever. 02.  Dance-wise, she’s actually pretty strong—just nowhere near as trained as Chroma’s dance line. Due to her extensive background in figure skating ( and a little bit of ballet ), she’s got a really natural gracefulness to all of her moves; a fluidity that allows for strong body rolls, etc. Additionally, she focuses on clarity and sharpness, angles, as that’s what she’s most familiar with. Michelle also has great control of her hip-area and often adds variations to moves using her hips. If I were to select a reference, I’d say Oh My Girl’s Arin and TWICE’s Mina. Some of her faults are that her movements are often too light and soft, so whenever power is needed, she lacks strength there. She also has a tendency of making choreography look a little “sensual” without necessarily intending to. 03.  Loooves when people call her Mish or Chelle/Shell. Honestly, she adores nicknames—both giving and receiving them. She’s also a heavy user of pet names in conversation, but tries her best to stop if people are uncomfortable with it. 04.  Michelle’s typically not afraid of making her affections known, even early on. She’s the type that’ll definitely hit on you if she thinks you’re handsome / attractive, and goes with the flow if the person responds positively. If she gets really cozy with you, she can come off as clingy in the beginning, but that typically subsides with time. That’s applicable to both her friendships and her romantic relationships. 05.  Her public image is similar to that of Alice in Wonderland and Snow White—beauties with fair skin and wide eyes; imaginative and curious; trapped in purity and sweetness; soft, feminine, and delicate—but with a slight “edge” because of her rapping and quick wit. It’s hard for her to keep up with it all the time—especially when she’s a bit different personally—and she’s barely starting in her career. She hopes it evolves over time. 06.  She’s decided to go by her Korean name as an idol because it made the most sense, to be honest. Though, a few other stage names tossed around were: Chelle, Wooah, Hayan, Rozy, and Baekseol. In the end, she’s happy she’s just Rorin or Michelle to everyone.

𝖕𝖑𝖔𝖙-𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖘.

This section will be updated when her plots page is complete. Please look forward to it !! I’m getting it done as fast as I can. In the meantime, I’m happy to brainstorm and look over your muses’ plots pages too !! ♡

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Fulton Reed

(Not my gif)(requested by anonymous)

- You had been walking home from school when a few boys came up to you and began to harass you. Soon enough they began to corner you and you became increasingly uncomfortable. While you were searching for a way out of the situation a deep voice called out and scared them away. It was then that you saw him: your brooding knight in shining armor.

- Now if you saw Fulton under any other circumstance then you’d probably be at least slightly scared of him. There’s a ton of rumors surrounding him and his appearance in general is intimidating but he had just, in your eyes, saved your life and now you were transformed into a clingy young girl with a borderline savior complex.

- Fulton isn’t the most social being in the world so he gives you a once over and walks away without another word. But you were just rescued goddamnit and he’s all cool and mysterious and you want to talk to him and say thank you (and not walk alone) so you follow.

- He doesn’t notice you at first because you’re just trying to catch up with legs that are at least a little smaller than his but then you accidentally kick something and sends out a loud sound. He whips his head around while you internally wince and try to give him a smile. He just stares at you so you begin to try to explain yourself and why you’re borderline stalking him through the streets.

- He can’t help but find it cute seeing you ramble and the whole situation is kind of amusing to him so once you’ve finished talking he nods his head at you to follow him. You do most of the talking so much so that you think he’s probably not even listening but when you stop for a while he’ll look over at you and you’ll know that he’s paying attention.

- It’s when you mention hockey that he really perks up so you just keep on that subject for a while. You don’t get any verbal responses but he seems to like the topic and you keep that in mind for the next time you see him.

- He walks you all the way home before he disappears from sight into some random alley by your house. It’s weirdly endearing.

- You don’t see him for a while so you’re pleasantly surprised when he shows up at hockey practice. You make the effort to approach him and try to start up a conversation but you have just about the same amount of luck as your first meeting. You wonder if he just doesn’t like you but it’s soon made obvious that that isn’t the case.

- For example: he’ll always practice near you or take the seat next to yours even if there’s more than one seat left open around you. He takes to walking you home and lingering nearby whenever you do something. He just…never really talks? And it bothers the hell out of you because he’ll talk with the other ducks perfectly fine but when it comes to you he’s a mute.

- Connie figures it out before you. While you’re out on the ice together she brings it up when she sees him watching you from the stands. You kind of scoff at the idea of him having a crush on you but then again…it would make sense wouldn’t it. Why else would he be so attached to you yet too shy to talk? So you test the theory.

- Towards the end of practice you finish up what you’re doing and go to the bench where you sit next to him. Slowly you inch your hand closer to his until you carefully slide it underneath his and interlock your fingers. You don’t look at him but from the corner of your eye you can see him look at you. He doesn’t say anything but you feel him grip back and the two of you silently hold hands for the rest of practice.

- After practice was over you left for the locker room and changed before you came out to find Fulton waiting to walk you home. He said just as much as he usually did but after half a block of walking he reached over and held your hand.

- The same thing happened for the next week; holding hands while you walked home and whenever you were on the bench together. It was sort of like your own little secret that no one else but you knew about, your first secret romance.

- Finally one day when you got to your house he paused and cleared his throat nervously before asking if you’d like to hang out. Well actually he said~ “Well I was just wondering if um, you’d like to hang out sometime, anytime, ya know…with me, alone....”

- That was probably the most he’s ever said to you in one sitting; you were impressed. You smiled and agreed and the next day the two of you went to a pizza shop together before practice. He was adorably shy with you at first but he warmed up. He finally talked to you and you fell for him even more than you already had.

- Connie wanted all the details once you got to the skating rink and you indulged her while the two of you giggled. At the end of practice Fulton asked if you would want to go out again, you agreed; he asked if you wanted to be his girlfriend, you laughed and once again agreed. You’ve never seen him smile so big.

- Your first kiss is a week after you start dating. The two of you were practicing in his usual spot and you had just narrowly dodged one of his shots. He’d quickly went over to check on you but once he’d finished giving you a once over he kept his hands on your face and leaned in to kiss you.

- He has very kissable lips and you take advantage.

- He lifts you into the air a lot, you have to be ready to wrap your legs around his waist so that you don’t fall. He thinks it’s funny/cute when you shriek at and lightly hit him for it.

- Making each other mixtapes.

- Sharing headphones.

- My god if you ever wore a band shirt around him he’d lose his mind.

- Holding hands while you roller skate.

- Having your own handshake.

- Yanking his bandana off just to mess with him a little. He bashfully forgives you once you compliment his hair.

- Playing with and fixing his hair. It depends on the day as to whether you mess it up or make it better.

- Fulton is a gentle giant for the most part but he’s very protective of the ducks which includes you. You remember that scene with Tammy getting thrown down? That’s him with you whenever someone does anything to you in the rink.

- No one even thinks about messing with you anymore. They’re too afraid.

- Practicing together, you keep watch for any passing cars or people whenever he takes a shot.

- Ice cream dates.

- Helping with the ducks revenge plans.

- Making sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble cough cough the zamboni incident cough cough.

- Bribing him with kisses when you really want him to do something.

- He keeps his arm around your shoulder a lot; you’re the perfect height for an arm rest.

- Lets be honest, he can be pretty jealous when he wants to be and he’s not afraid to get in someone’s face.

- When Portman first came to the group part of Fultons initial disdain for him was because he called you babe. They later hashed it out but before they became friends Fulton would glare and drag you away from him whenever he got close.

- Dean and you get close once they do become friends. You probably don’t really like him at first but he grows on you.

- Honestly I feel like Dean rubbed off on him a little in a subtle way. Like he rarely called you pet names and then all of a sudden he started to call you babe; not that you mind.

- Getting a lot of compliments and flirty pick up lines. He likes to say that he’s making up for when you first met.

- Piggyback rides.

- Tight hugs, especially after big wins and other victories.

- Resting against each other when you’re tired especially towards the end of practice or after a big game.

- Checking on each other whenever you take a tumble or get thrown down.

- Sometimes you just lay out on the ice together and pretend to be corpses. It’s very therapeutic

- You and Connie get together and talk about your boys. Both Fulton and Guy are slightly scared of what goes on during your hangouts.

- Just get used to having your dates crashed by the gang because it’s going to happen a lot.

- Portman is often the third wheel to a lot of your hang outs.

- You always stick up for him when someone tries to start rumors.

- Nose and forehead kisses.

- Using him for his body warmth when the weather gets really cold. You just crawl into his jacket and bury your face in his chest.

- Stealing his jackets and old shirts.

- If you’re clingy then just know that you’re his ideal girlfriend. He loves all the affection. Someone give this boy a hug.

- Even so he isn’t very big on Pda; it’s uncomfortable for him. He much prefers to be affectionate in private although he doesn’t mind the tame stuff in public like hand holding or hugging.

- Helping each other study.

- Comparing hand sizes, it usually ends with him lacing your fingers together.

- His face immediately brightens when he sees you.

- Pulling him into a kiss by his scarf.

- You’re used to working through your issues as teammates so you rarely fight with each other. Even when you do you never hold a grudge and you’re able to work things out pretty easily.

- Spending your summers together.

- Always looking out for each other especially during games.

- Fultons a ride or die. He’s always there for you and will always be there for you, no matter what.

[purplesurveys]

1277

Who are you most nervous about introducing potential significant others to?  Ooooh moving forward, probably Angela hahahaha I have no idea how I’d break it to her if ever I do start seeing somebody again. She’s well aware of all the shit that I let slide so she might get intense with the scrutineering.

What is the most exciting thing about your life right now?  Just the fact that I feel on top of the world these days. My days of being depressed and picking at my insecurities seem to be far behind me and the change has looked to be apparent coming from friends who’ve told me I seem happier, louder these days.

What was the most important non-academic thing you learned in high school?  To not be scared to fight harder for the things you believe in or what make up your identity, coming from having to hide a same-sex relationship during that period. That feeling of being constricted and having to hide to stay on some conservative seniors’ good graces really pissed me off so high school was really crucial in letting me discover just how much I’d be willing to fight and test the waters to be able to live as me.

Have you ever had a job that deeply affected your personal life? How so and do you still work there?  Hmm no, not really. If anything my job is one of the things that helped make me a lot livelier and happier.

Do you have a “one who got away”?  It felt that way at the start when my view was still skewed, but it didn’t take long until I realized she was not a loss at all.

If you were in a superhero movie, would you be the hero or the villain? Hero.

If you found a mouse in your house, would you be frightened?  Mice or rats are the literal worst fucking thing I could see in my house. I definitely see myself making a big deal out of it lmao, especially rats.

Have you ever tried to perform magic tricks?  Nobody ever taught me, so no.

Can you do more with a yo-yo than just "go up and down"? Nah, which kinda makes me feel ashamed because considering it was a Filipino who invented the modern yo-yo, I feel like it should be my responsibility to know a few tricks LOL.

What is one form of technology that you wouldn't be able to live without?  Instant messenger.

Did you get an allowance, growing up? Why or why not?  Starting high school. Before that I was living in our family’s duplex, so my grandma could make packed meals for all of us – not to mention the fact that my parents were also still on their way to establishing themselves at their respective workplaces so we weren’t all that well-off yet. 

When we moved into our own place, we started with my mom making our meals but eventually it just proved to be time-consuming and a lot of work considering she also had a job to go to. With that and the fact that both my parents at that point already got a couple of promotions, we switched to allowance.

Would you rather go to a water park or an amusement park? Why?  Amusement parks though I would only probably head to the safer rides and food stalls with all the deep-fried offerings haha. I cannot handle more intense rides. On the other hand, water parks have always sounded nasty to me.

What is one instrument you wouldn't mind learning how to play?  Piano.

What's the longest amount of time you've had to wait in line for something?  The stupid LTO, because you can never count on government agencies to be efficient. Technically my whole time in there took a couple of stages, but all in all I spent eight hours there.

What is something that you would like to learn more about?  Korean. I just graduated from my Basic Korean 1 class but I already have plans to enroll in the following course, since I seemed to do well and I want to keep the momentum going.

What is something that one of your family member collects?  Mom has a large collection of chef-themed figurines and other sorts of trinkets like a chef timer, shot glasses, etc - but mostly the figurines - that she has displayed in a glass case. I should keep that in mind for when I start Christmas shopping, actually...she hasn’t updated that collection in a long time. Thanks for the idea!

Have you ever moved to a new school before? If so, how did it feel?  No, not in the middle of the same period since I went to the same school from kinder to high school for 14 years. I only “moved” when I started college. Like I’ve said in previous surveys, it felt freeing to finally not under be the hands of an environment ran by...well, Catholics. It was a culture shock to see rallies everywhere, to find out I could wear short shorts or even go to school naked if I wanted to, and to see boys in my class (I went to an all-girls), but it was all the good kind of shock.

Have you ever legitimately forgotten to do homework?  Always, because I never wrote them down.

Do you enjoy autumn leaves or spring flowers more? Why?  I experience neither season.

Depending on where you live, why might a day of school get canceled? Typhoon.

If you could meet any fictional character from a book, who would it be? Melanie Hamilton from Gone with the World.

What are some common places that people tour when they come to your city?  I rarely see foreigners here since my area isn’t particularly known for tourism; most go to the island provinces like Cebu, Aklan, Palawan, etc. If I had to recommend spots here, I’d tell them to go for Pinto and maybe the rooftop bars that offer a view of Manila’s skyline. 

What's one food that you did not enjoy as a child, but do as an adult?  Chicken curry, which I used to dread.

Would you rather have a mermaid tail, a fairy's wings or a unicorn's horn? I guess the wings just because I feel like it’s the only practical one.

What is an animal that you'd like to have as a pet but it's not allowed?  I don’t think that way about animals I can’t keep as pets anyway.

What are some things that you do to make the world a better place?  I always clean up at restaurants (my mom doesn’t understand why I do it because “the servers are here for a reason, Robyn”) but I always see the relief on their faces when they see I’ve stacked up the plates and cups so I don’t see a reason to stop doing it. I keep the door open for people who happen to enter/exit a building the same time as me, share dog adoption posts, don’t make a fuss about or towards a shop staff who messes up...things like that. I hope it’s able to help, even if just in a small way.

Has the last person you had sex with ever had sex with someone besides you?  I don’t know. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has already.

What’s your favorite store at your mall?  We have several malls within the vicinity but I like frequenting NCAT.

Have you ever done a workout DVD?  No but my mom is fond of those.

Who usually takes out the trash in your family?  Either of my parents.

What song are you currently obsessed with?  My Universe is soooooo good. It’s Coldplay’s classic sound but they somehow managed to perfectly blend in BTS’ style as well, so I love how it turned out.

When you go fishing, do you make someone else get the fish off the hook?  I've never gone fishing.

Do you take any prescription meds?  Nope.

What happens if you don’t take them?  Who was the last person you dreamt about?  My dad.

Do you prefer your tea sweetened or unsweetened?  Sweetened, though I don’t usually actively look for iced tea. I’d have it if it was served, but I don’t typically order it for myself.

How often do you honk your horn?  As long as I am annoyed, which gives my mom a mini heart attack every time because she insists I just let people have their way to avoid getting into fights. Sometimes when she’s driving and someone’s being stupid on the road I lurch forward to do the honking for her and it pisses her off soooooooooo much but it also gets the job done so *shrug*

Do you have any children? If so, names and ages? I don’t.

Have your parents ever witnessed you doing something inappropriate? What?  TMI but I almost got caught doing the m-word once but my reflexes were at lightning speed that day so when my door opened I was able to fix myself up and appear as though nothing was happening lol. My mom also saw a hickey on me once but I was able to veer the conversation away when she started inquiring.

Did you get babysat a lot as a kid?  No, I did the babysitting.

If you were the principal of a school, what would you do differently? Actually deal with teachers who mistreat or make issues towards their students. I had several teachers I know didn’t like me but I could never do anything about it because there was no way in hell the school was going to take my side.

Are you doing anything fun tomorrow?  Continued from yesterday. If I took this question yesterday to refer to today I would’ve answered yes because we actually have a really fun PR stunt scheduled for execution today, wherein we get to sponsor someone’s whole wedding from food to flowers to the host and fillm crew :D :D But tomorrow is just Monday so the real answer to this is no.

What is something you'd like to receive as a housewarming gift?  I dunno the usual housewarming gifts, but I would appreciate anything practical, or anything that you’ll need at the least expected times, like batteries or even like Sticky Tack.

How old were you when you first experienced the effects of puberty?  Oooh I was an early bird – I was 9 when I could first tell my first period was on its way; it came a month after I turned 10.

What is your least favorite holiday, and why?  I don’t dislike any holiday because they all mean a day off work lol.

What were some outdoor games you played as a child?  We usually played piko (hopscotch), our local version of freeze tag that we dubbed “Ice ice water” for whatever reason, and a garter game that we call 10-20. Dodgeball was a favorite during recess and lunch, too.

Did you accompany your parents on "Take Your Child to Work" Day? That’s not observed here, but my mom did use to take me and my siblings to her first workplace. Are cemeteries peaceful to you, or do they freak you out?  They’re actually more interesting to me than anything else. I like learning about the different lives of many different people, even if I only technically know them by their birthday and date of death. Sometimes the inscriptions would be more detailed and tell more about their life, sometimes I’d come across babies who only lived a few days...and it’s just interesting to have those glimpses into life.

Which ancient civilization would you be interested in learning more about?  Filipino, because Western colonization destroyed proof of most of it. 

Do you have better long-term memory or short-term memory?  Long.

What was the last situation that made you cry? Describe.  I cried this morning. Nothing bad or heavy, I just found myself thinking again about my mental state last year.

Which forest animal would you be most afraid to encounter?  Anything that wouldn’t hesitate to tear my limbs apart.

Do you believe in anything supernatural? (ie: spirits, etc)  No.

Has anyone close to you ever gone to war?  No. The closest link I have to the military, other than my dead great-grandfather, is Angela’s uncle who’s like a general or like a colonel or something, idk titles.

Have you ever experienced altitude sickness?  Yeah, occasionally. Pressure in the ear is a bigger nuisance to me, though.

Is there anything, any event, you wish you could remember more clearly?  The last time I saw my grandfather. My only clear memory of him that day was stepping out of the house to leave (my mom and I were visiting) and him sending me off with the message to always be kind and good. If I had known I would never see him again, I never would’ve left.

Have you ever rubbed anyone’s feet?  Hmm no, not that I can recall.

If you had to get advice from someone of the opposite sex, who would you go to?  I’d go to Hans for certain advice, but not for every single situation. He’s the only person that comes to mind.

What was the last new food/drink that you tried?  So last Wednesday I finally got to try this Instagram-based doughnut shop that I’ve been eyeing since August and it turned out to be even MUCH BETTER THAN EXPECTEDDDDDD. Like yeah their photos were always mouthwatering but I didn’t expect it to taste as good as it looks, since most pretty food I’ve encountered usually end up just tasting meh. Anywho, I got two orders of their sampler box and they served me their specialty bacon doughnut, signature brown butter, and a bunch of their chocolate and peanut butter variants and I loved every single fucking thing.

Have you had a good day today or was yesterday better?  Oh it’s hard to tell, it’s only 9:05 AM. Both days might be uneventful, though.

Have you ever played Sudoku?  I don’t actually get how to play it hahaha. I feel like I’m too stupid for sudoku.

Do you ever take surveys for money?  I tried it last year when applying for jobs was still a bitch for me, but the thing is most of those surveys look for employed participants so there was rarely ever a survey that fit me anyway.

Do you like Barbie or Bratz better?  Bratz.

Do you prefer purple or green grapes?  I don’t like grapes.

Who was the last person that made you laugh?  Idk, probs one of the boys since I was watching videos of them earlier today.

Where does your best friend live?  A nearby city.

Who did you last confide in?  Angela.

Does your car have an alarm?  Sure.

Where was your mom born?  Somewhere in Metro Manila.

What can always make you feel better no matter what?  My dogs.

What is something you’ll never eat again? Why?  I don’t think there is anything. I feel like I’m always bound to retry things and that I would be open to doing so, even fruits. One thing I’m firm about never drinking again, though, is coconut water. Get that SHIT away from me.

What is currently happening that is scaring you?  I’m not feeling scared these days.

Have you ever found a stranger’s note somewhere? If so, what did it say?  Probably. But nothing sticks out.

[myhauntedsalem]

13 True Horror Stories from the Psychiatric Ward that Will Give You the Creeps

Death, illness and tragedy have long been part of the history of insane asylums, and for as long as they have existed, so too have the scary stories associated with them. From haunted hospitals to sadistic doctors and nurses, psychiatric wards have been the inspiration for many of our favorite horror movies and books. Yet, the true stories told by the psych ward workers below far surpass any horrors that we might have seen at the cinema or read in a book.

Without further ado, here are thirteen of some of the creepiest psych ward stories on the internet that have been shared by health care professionals.

1. HOLDING HER OWN EYES

My mom told me this story from her time at a neuropsychiatric ward while she was in grad school. She was making her routine room checks and happened upon the most horrific scene I’ve ever heard.

This was during the night shift, and generally, all the patients’ bedroom doors should be closed. So my mom turned a corner and noticed an open door. She saw a staff member’s legs on the floor, halfway out the doorway.

When she looked into the room, she saw the patient, a woman with a severe postpartum psychiatric disorder, who had just gouged both of her own eyes out with her bare hands. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding her eyes in her hands.

The first staff member to witness the scene, who was now lying face down on the floor, had a heart attack when he first witnessed the woman while he was making his rounds.

My mom screamed for help and frantically tried to perform CPR on the staff member. All the while, the woman just sat rather calmly, holding her own eyes.

2. THE SAW

I work as a psychotherapist in a hospital system. My definition of creepy is probably quite a bit different from other medical professionals.

The one that got to me the most was a patient who came to us after attempting suicide by sawing both his arms off at the forearm with a table saw. His arms were reattached, fairly successfully too, with only limited impairments in mobility. All I could think was how bad it would have to be to live in his head that sawing his arms off seemed better than that.

He has since completed suicide.

3. JANE?

We had a young lady in our custody with quite a few issues. We’ll call her Jane. Jane’s first night at our facility staff doing a bed check found Jane in a puddle of blood. Turns out Jane had been slicing the skin around her shin with her finger nails and was pulling her skin up her leg, essentially de-gloving her calf.

Jane also had a ritual she performed every night before bed. While in her room she would run between walls in her room touching them in a crucifix pattern. After doing this for a few hours she would sit on her bed and go to sleep. This particular night Jane was frantic in her pace, practically running between walls. Our night staff observed the entire interaction and reported Jane screaming late into the night. When the staff went to check on Jane she reported Jane standing in the doorway smiling. The staff asked what was wrong and Jane replied, “what makes you think you are speaking to Jane?”

4. THE VAMPIRE

My mom worked in mental institutions in her younger years (and actually worked at a large, well-known asylum before it was shut down.)

There was one woman there that thought she was a vampire of sorts. She was only allowed out one hour a day, and they had to use safety precautions. She had already attacked and killed at least one hospital worker before these were enacted.

When my Mom asked about her, it was revealed that she had killed at least two of her children, wounded another as well as her husband because she had some sort of physical condition called Porphyria, which apparently made her crave blood.

By the time that they discovered there was something physically wrong with her, she already had lost her mind from guilt and grief.

5. THE SPITTER

I’m not a psychologist but my friend is. She told me about a patient of hers who was HIV positive and a paranoid schizophrenic. He thought that the nurses who worked at the hospital he was in were trying to kill him, so he would frequently bite his tongue, and spit HIV positive blood into their faces/mouths. When they had to come into contact with him, they were required to wear full masks and gloves.

6. THE ONLY ONE

I once knew a woman who had spent part of her residency at a psychiatric hospital for people with severe mental conditions. Apparently, the grounds had a lovely, enclosed greenhouse. One day, one of their schizophrenic patients was sitting on a bench, smoking a cigarette, as a heron frantically flew around. It had found its way in and, not being able to escape, it was smashing into the large panes of glass. The man just sat there watching.

Finally, my counselor asked him if the bird was bothering him and he kind of sighed and said, “Thank god, I thought I was the only one seeing that.”

7. FAMILY PHOTOGRAPHS

My sister is the director of a psychiatric hospital. There was recently a lady there who would cut her arms, legs and torso open and place photographs of her family under her skin.

8. UNDER THE BED

Once, a fellow female patient told me she found writings under her bed. They were just old, small wooden bed frames with hard mattresses that would make all kinds of noises when you rolled over, but I still wondered what exactly she was doing lying under her bed to find these writings.

When she first told me, I thought it was a joke. But sure enough, one day during group we managed to sneak away, and she showed me. Indeed, there were stories written under her bed. After that, we had everyone check under their own beds, and there was more writing under every single bed.

They were stories of patients who had stayed here before, or ways they were planning on killing themselves, or who the good and bad nurses were. It creeped me out.

9. TIME OF DEATH

Well, my mother was a nurse that specialized in geriatrics, and she worked for several hospice hospitals for many years. She often described situations at her work with several of the patients. She would say that each person tends to have a very similar “checklist” that they follow right before death. This checklist often ended in a very similar way. They would get caught talking to someone that wasn’t there. When asked who they (otherwise lucid people) were talking to, they would describe an individual who was already dead. When asked what they were talking about, they would say that their relative wanted to know if they were ready to move on. A pretty common response would be, “Yeah, he/she said that she will take me tomorrow at 3:00.” Well, it would often happen that they would die at the exact time their relatives quoted.

10. THE TEST SUBJECT

I had an hour-long conversion with a delusional guy who was confined to a mental health facility, and who was probably smarter than I am. Lots of these folks believe that somebody – often the CIA – is either beaming thoughts into their heads, or has implanted a microchip in their brains for this purpose. This guy was offering a very thoughtful argument as to why such claims should not be so quickly dismissed.

“It’s precisely because such delusions are so common that mental patients make the best test subjects,” he said. There he was, confined and protected, constantly observed, his health and behavior documented, and there is zero chance that anyone would ever take his concerns seriously. How else would you test and improve such technology? Does the government not have a strong motivation and a plausible ability to create such a device?

“You can see I’m not irrational,” the man said. “I’m just straight-up telling you that they are doing this to me. I know just how unbelievable it sounds, and yet, here I am.”

11. THE BOY WHO LOVED KNIVES

As a tech in psych years ago, there was a 7-year-old kid sent to the floor because the mom didn’t know what to do with him. Sadly, common thing to happen, even if the kids don’t have psych issues. Anyway, the mom was shaking and crying, and they had to take the kid into another room. She was genuinely afraid of her own son. She had suspected something was wrong when she kept finding mutilated animals in the backyard, but never heard or saw coyotes or anything around. The neighbors smaller pets started disappearing. The boy had an obsession with knives, hiding them around the house. Denying anything when the mom confronted him. Then when the two started getting into arguments, he would get really violent and hit her, push her down and kick her, threaten to kill her. On multiple occasions she woke up in the middle of the night with him standing beside her bed, staring her in the face. She put extra locks on her bedroom door to feel safe while she slept. The last straw was when she lifted up his mattress and found 50+ knives of all shapes and sizes under there. So she brought him to us.

I remember talking to him, treating him like he was just any other kid that came through. He seemed remarkably normal, until you spoke directly to him. He had this way of looking right through you, or maybe like he didn’t see you at all while you were speaking.

He would respond like a robot, like he was just saying words because that’s what we wanted to hear. And he would always put on this creepy, dead-looking smile. Like all mouth and no eye involvement in the smile. Especially when he would get away with something, like taking another kid’s markers and they couldn’t figure it out. Still gives me chills laying here thinking about him.

I believe I met a 7-year-old psychopath.

12. THE NEW MOM

I was a pharmacy technician at a hospital with a psych ward for some time. We would have to go around with a cart and dispense the patients’ medications, and being a 5’2″ girl, a security guard or male nurse would accompany me, just as a precaution. I never had any real issues other than the occasional death grip onto my arm or manic outbursts, but there was one boy who was entirely different.

His chart said he was nine and he had pale skin, dark hair, and huge bright, green eyes. He always greeted me in the most polite way, asked how I was doing, and always found something different to compliment me on every time. He was extremely well-spoken and mature for his age, so I began looking forward to seeing him, as normal small talk is definitely cherished in that setting. If he saw me outside of his room in the halls, he made sure to say hello and always called me “Miss Jones” or “ma’am.”

One day, a couple of our female nurses saw me pause to chat with him in the hallway, and waved me over to ask if I was out of my mind. Apparently, when he was in kindergarten, he grew an intense attachment to his young female teacher.

This escalated to the point of him calling her “Mom” and leaving notes for her about how he wished he were her son. He had a normal home-life with both parents, and the teacher tried to explain to him that she couldn’t be his mom because that would hurt his real mother’s feelings, and that she already had that job covered.

So, he went home and, killed his own mother in her sleep by cutting her throat, so his teacher could be his mom. The female staff had a general rule of not interacting with him excessively to prevent any kind of attachment from forming.

13. BUGS

Nothing I can say can possibly describe the year I worked in Psychiatric Intensive Care. Creepy isn’t the thing that comes to mind when I think back on it…more heartbreaking and horrifying. But creepiness was a part of it. Especially evening and night shifts, naturally.

There is always something disturbing about watching someone while they hallucinate. You can tell it is 100% real to them, and something about that makes you believe it, on some level. A lot of stories end with, “and of course, I had to look over my shoulder to make sure”. You see the emotions it brings out.

There was a woman that came in and sat down across the table from me for her admission interview. She had bandages all over her arms and scotch tape over her mouth and ears. She looked very uncomfortable and wouldn’t really sit still. When the nurse would ask her a question, she would peel the corner of the tape back and answer, then stick the tape back on really fast.

We eventually found out that she saw and felt bugs crawling all over her, and they were trying to get inside her body. The tape was to keep the bugs out. The bandages were because some bugs got in and she had to dig them out. She couldn’t sit still because she felt the bugs all over her even while we sat and talked. The worst part was, she had some idea that it was her mind playing tricks on her. Can you imagine going through your life, feeling like someone is continuously dumping buckets of cockroaches on your head, feeling like they’re all over you and getting inside of you to the point that you’re digging chunks out of your flesh in a panic, all while knowing intellectually that none of it is real?

[silyabeeodess]

FusionFall Headcanons: Mandy

Despite her own agenda, Mandy has never been one to simply let evil run rampant.  Earth is still her home, and any danger someone like Fuse poses to it is just as much a threat to herself.  With a steely determination matched only by her wit, she’ll make certain that Planet Fusion’s days are numbered.  

Several episodes/movies of GAOBAM like “Billy and Mandy’s Big Boogey Adventure” highlight Mandy’s ultimate goal for world domination and just how dangerously close she can get to it--a trait that carries over in FusionFall through her plans to create an army of her own during Mojo Jojo’s guide missions.  The main reasons she stops other villains rather than helps them is because she wants to be the main one in control with any sort of takeover done on her terms.  Meanwhile, episodes like “Scary Poppins”  would indicate that Mandy already has a large amount of power/influence in at least Endsville, but chooses not to use it as much as she could. Given that there’s little holding her back in this scenario, she might be weighing all of the potential risks such as the large number of heroes that would stand against her and that she personally may lack the strength to maintain her control were she to gain it.  Basically, she’s taking smaller steps that would fly under most people’s notice and bidding her time for the right moment to act.

Nevertheless, as villainous as Mandy can be, she has acted out of seemingly selfless desires before, her friendship with Billy being the most obvious.  True, Billy would make a decent pawn for her, but she’s also had to clean up a lot of his messes and has been shown to genuinely care for his well-being.  It was her plan that saved his pet hamster, Mr. Snuggles, when the two first met Grim.  She gives advice to Jeff the Spider and treats him well.  Even thought she’s not a fan of Christmas and didn’t believe in Santa until she saw him, her first plan was to go after the Head Vampire to save him and the holiday.  She even tried being kind to Mindy when she first moved to Endsville out of sympathy--before ultimately getting annoyed and telling her to shut up.  This fits her status as more of an antihero than true villain.      

Three traits Mandy seems to value most are intelligence, loyalty, and honesty:

She has respect for those who can match her wits even if they’re not always on her side.  We see this a small bit in “The Cracks of Fuse” when, after the player destroys her Hypnotic Charm, she compliments them before warning them that they “won’t be so lucky” in the future.  

She takes betrayal very seriously and it has been shown to hurt her deeply, as it did with Pandora in “Pandora’s Lunch Box.”  Her reactions to it seem to depend on the relationship the traitor has with her and their reasoning beyond the betrayal.  Mandy genuinely saw Pandora as a friend and hated being used, even if the result would’ve been convenient for her, so she had no issue locking Pandora away.  She threatened to destroy Billy in the GAOBAM/KND crossover special when he stood against her.  Meanwhile, the player in “The Cracks of Fuse” has more of a working relationship with Mandy and betrays her by Dexter’s orders in order to save people.  The closer you are to her and the more deep the betrayal, the worse she’ll retaliate.  If you stick by her side, she shows gratitude if only in passing comments.  This would also align with her deep love for her dog, Saliva, an animal known for its loyalty. 

As for honesty, don’t get me wrong, Mandy isn’t above deceiving others to get what she wants.  At the same time though, she often makes her intentions very clear.  If she hates someone, she hates them openly.  She makes her goals and boundaries known to all.  Furthermore, she’ll respect an agreement if she makes one--such as giving the player a reward at the end of “The Cracks of Fuse” despite her anger toward them.  Her hatred toward Mindy may also partially stem from this, given the latter’s behavior as a stereotypical popular girl/bully with a “fake” personality.    

Other than what I’ve said above, this bullet is pretty much based entirely on my own speculations and investment in a certain trope in a lot of current webcomics, so take with it what you will.  Even as an infant, Mandy has been shown to rarely, if ever, smile with a dark outlook on life. She’s also extremely intelligent for her age.  Fitting her personality and the supernatural themes in GAOBAM, I headcanon that Mandy might be an individual who reincarnated with her memories--likely on a subconscious level--from a terrible, previous life rather than moved on to the afterlife.  It’s probably the most extreme claim I could make for her and you all who’ve been following these posts know that I rarely come up with them without some canon basis, but it’s one that I just can’t easily shake the longer the idea sits in my mind.  She’s cynical of the world because she recognizes it as an awful place with awful people--and never would’ve had an infant’s naivety if she somehow already possessed early knowledge about the harsh realities in life.  As a result, she wants to be in a position of power at all times so she doesn’t become anyone’s victim.  She keeps her distance from others, yet cares about loyalty so much, because at some point in that past-life she would have already faced a cruel betrayal. This would feed into an insecurity/unwillingness to form real attachments, along with feelings of superiority.  Even if she would despise personally having an overly nice, happy-go-lucky nature, she doesn’t actively go after individuals who are themselves that way like Jeff: This fits a respect of genuine kindness/innocence while also recognizing it as a potential danger in a cruel world.  She would be more optimistic as a very young child, but with tempered expectations because of being given a second chance at life. However, her worst feelings would still continue to sink in as she grew and recognized everyday annoyances/evils others her age wouldn’t pay much attention to. Billy would only be able to draw so closely to her due to reaching out to her when they were so little and never giving up on that friendship, forcing her to accept him in her life.  Think of a more ambitious Six from Little Nightmares.  

Outside of the Mojo guide missions, most of Mandy’s own depict her as being an extremely effective Fusion Fighter if seemingly a little detached. There’s a strict approach to the way she directs the player, and she doesn’t let distractions or her own desires get in the way of her immediate work.  Due to the amount of knowledge she has on both Fuse and supernatural artifacts for these missions, one of her main roles in the war is likely research.

Her time spent with Grim already allowed her to learn a lot about the supernatural; however, she has also studied under/with Hex some since arriving at Devil’s Bluff.  At first, he admired her ambition and interest in magic. Once he realized how much of a threat and potential rival she could be though, Hex started being more careful with what he told her, treating her with caution.  Mandy is aware of this, and as such will try gathering information he would keep secret from her through other people. As of now, she’s unable to summon magic herself without the help of others or the use of objects despite the vast amount of knowledge she’s gathered.

The mission “Hands Off” hints that Mandy didn’t join the nano project solely to help with the war effort, as she slips up by referring to her allies as “slaves” when explaining the decrease/lack of nanos would make them weak.  Extending this to her nanos themselves, it’s likely she joined the with the intention of using them as a sort of personal army once the war is over.  Since they would think and act like her, she imagined the only thing she’d have to worry about is some of them possibly sharing her ambitions and trying to usurp her, and that she could easily outsmart the small doubles should the need arise.  Others would align with her goals and know they’d be in good standing if they followed her commands.  However, she didn’t count on just how much their IE Donor’s influence would also affect their creation.  Her plans haven’t really changed, but any Mandy nano with a strong bond to their IE Donor is a lost cause to her.    

[lindberghtm]

          *  .  desirée lindbergh was spotted in the fashion district adorning prada platform chelsea boots , with some airpod pros on . they’re most likely listening to you know i'm no good by amy winehouse . you may know them as @desi or as that aisha potter  lookalike . their twenty first birthday just passed . while living in the upper east side  , they’ve gained a bit of a reputation . they’re known to be duplicitous but on the other hand reliable . wonder if they’ll be the next person to hit the headlines . ( cis female / she/her + c / 21+ / she/her )   .  

         hey  !!!!!!  i  was  planning  on  coming  thru  with  a  cool  intro  to  establish  myself  as  a ~ cool ~  person , but  covid  has  absolutely  ✨ decimated  ✨  my  social  skills  so  ,,,,,,,  this  is  what  im  left  with  .  anywho  hi  i’m  c  (  short  for  clown  tbfh  )  ,  im  21+  ,  from  the  rainy  ole’  pnw  ,  &  i  use  she / her  pronouns  .  i  was  in  wealthy  like  , , , ,  AGES  ago  &  tbh  i’ve  been  missing  it  real  bad  lately  so  here  i  am  with  a  brand  new  bitch  , , , , ,  ms  .  desi  lindbergh  🖤  i  just  finished  reading  the  girl  with  the  dragon  tattoo  so  you’ll  find  elements  from  that  novel  in  my  biography  like  the  names  ,  & the  general  ‘ company  comes  first ‘  &  ‘  no  one  gets  a  divorce  in  this  family ’  attitudes  .  but  hennyway  here’s  a  pinterest  board  ,  &  my  discord  is  𝐌 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁#1264  (  the  best  tiktok  song  imo  )  .  my  bio  is  rambly  but  there  are  stats  at  the  top  ,  personality  &  wanted  connections  (  inc  .  this  sideblog  w  wanted  plots  )  at  the  bottom  !  xoxo

*  .  stats  .

full  name : desirée  ‘ desi ’  charlotte  lindbergh - montenegro

age : twenty - two

gender : cis  female

pronouns : she / her  

pob ; current  home : london  ,  england  ;  current  residence  in  tribeca  .

family : henrik  lindbergh  (  80  ,  deceased  ,  ceo  of  lindbergh  corporation  )  ;  miriam  montenegro  (  46  ,  lives  in  the  upper  east  side & london  ,  supermodel  turned  vindictive  widow  )  ;  no  siblings  or  pets  .

birthday : september  2  ,  1998  ;  virgo  sun  ,  taurus  moon  ,  cancer  rising .

career : heiress / model / daddy’s credit card swiper  .

drinking / drugs / smoking :  yes / no / occasionally .  

physical : aisha  potter  fc ,  dark  brown  mid - length  hair  ,  dark  brown  eyes  ,  no  tattoos  ,  two  ear  lobe  piercings  in  each  ear  ,  5 ′ 6 ″ .

*  .  character biography .

1998  : miriam  montenegro  ,  an  english  model  coming  from  a  humble  background  ,  made  it  big  when  she  was  scouted  for  runway  shows  ,  eventually  making  her  way  to  being  a  household  name  .  by  the  age  of  twenty  five  ,  she’d  found  love  (  or  ,  financial  comfort  ,  rather  )  with  the  fifty  nine  year  old  henrik  lindbergh  ,  a  swedish  business  magnate  whose  involvement  in  global  industrialization  spanned  far  wider  than  the  european  economy  .  the  relationship  took  the  world  by  surprise  ,  miriam’s  friends  being  far  more  involved  in  pop  culture  than  an  aged  man  .  while  she  claims  it  was  love  ,  the  world  had  already  made  up  its  mind  on  her  motive  —  money  .

the  pair  got  married  six  months  after  they  initially  became  involved  , & desi  was  born  a  year  after  .  her  father  ,  the  product  of  the  ‘  silent  generation  ‘  ,  was  of  the  impression  that  children  should  be  seen  ,  not  heard  ,  an  outdated  idea  that  her  mother  was  comfortable  abiding  by  .  desirée  ,  by  association  ,  quickly  became  accustomed  to  the  spotlight  ,  the  interest  in  the  uncommon  relationship  between  miriam & henrik  only  growing  after  the  birth  of  their  sole  child  .  desi  grew  up  a  prop  ,  a  toy  for  her  mother  to  dress  up  in  matching  outfits & parade  on  the  global  stage  ,  before  stepping  behind  closed  doors  &  forgetting  about  the  child  entirely  .  this  led  to  desi  being  raised  almost  exclusively  by  nannies  ,  her  mother  more  interested  in  savouring  the  last  of  her  youth & her  father  too  busy  with  his  international  duties  .    originally  based  in  london  ,  the  family  moved  to  new  york  when  desirée  was  starting  her  schooling  to  be  closer  to  the  hustle & bustle  of  american  life  .

2017  : desirée  is  graduating  high  school  a  year  early  after  having  been  sent  to  institut  auf  dem  rosenberg  ,  a  swiss  private  school  that  prides  itself  on  being  highly  exclusive∫ˆ  highly  expensive  .  the  name  was  a  selling  point  for  her  father  ,  but  more  importantly  she  would  be  safe & out  of  the  way  on  another  continent  while  her  parents  bickered  ceaselessly  .  desirée  found  herself  to  be  nothing  special  at  rosenberg  ,  her  identity  having  been  formed  on  the  idea  that  public  exposure  equated  to  popularity  ;  without  the  constant  public  eye  while  at  school  ,  desi  found  a  freedom & lightness  she  hadn’t  before  experienced  .  she  could  be  real  , & have  real  friends  , & not  be  putting  on  a  fake  smile  to  allude  an  air  of  comfort  .  most  of  all  ,  she  could  get  away  from  her  spiteful  mother  ,  who  ,  once  desi  hit  puberty  ,  saw  her  as  a  threat  to  her  own  beauty  ,  success  , & public  popularity  .  being  sent  to  private  school  was  the  best  thing  to  happen  to  desi & her  mother’s  relationship  .

after  graduating  ,  desirée  moved  back  to  new  york  city  ,  moving  back  into  the  expansive  upper  east  side  apartment  , & being  sure  to  move  into  a  room  on  the opposite side  of  the  home  from  her  parents  .  being  thrust  back  into  the  spotlight  ,  a  ‘  homecoming  ‘  of  sorts  that  her  mother  capitalized  on  ,  desi  fell  into  a  depression  .  she  feared  leaving  the  house  ,  she  feared  that  people  would  only  want  to  be  her  friend  in  order  to  access  the  family’s  wealth  (  a  seed  of  an  idea  planted  in  her  father  at  the  age  of  twelve  ,  when  she  was  told  there  was  to  be  no  dating  unless  their  family’s  net  worth  was  over  500  million  )  .  soon  enough  ,  though  ,  desi  made  the  choice  to  get  in  contact  with  her  mother’s  rival  modeling  agency  ,  inquiring  about  the  possibility  about  modeling  .  they  ,  of  course  ,  welcomed  the  legacy  with  open  arms  ;  her  mother  ,  however  ,  decided  that  this  deceipt  would  not  be  tolerated  under  her  roof  , & kicked  desi  out  as  soon  as  she’d  heard  .  desi  called  her  father  crying  ,  explaining  the  situation  over  the  phone  ,  who  immediately  created  a  separate  bank  account  of  her  own  for  desi  ,  secretly  hidden  away  in  an  overseas  bank  to  avoid  her  mother  finding  out  .  the  account  held  far  more  than  desirée  needed  ,  but  it  was  her  father  who  enabled  her  to  get  back  on  her  feet  ,  find  her  own  home  , & start  a  career  for  herself  .  

2020 : desirée  hardly  speaks  to  her  mother  ,  though  they  keep  up  the  public  illusion  that  they  are  as  close  as  a  mother  -  daughter  duo  can  be  .  her  father  though  ,  now  80  years  old  ,  was  actually  close  with  desi  ,  the  two  catching  up  daily & him  celebrating  her  accomplishments  she  believed  were  self  -  earned  .  in  october  ,  though  ,  she  received  a  phone  call  from  her  father’s  attorney  ,  mr.  berger  ,  who  informed  her  that  henrik  was  in  the  hospital  in  critical  condition  after  a  heart  attack  .  she  flew  to  stockholm  ,  where  her  father  had  been  taking  care  of  business  items  , & realized  that  it  was  time  to  say  her  goodbyes  .  her  father & her  played  chess  ,  talked  about  her  childhood  , & reconciled  on  any  old  issues  .  he  passed  away  three  days  after  she’d  arrived  .  seeming  as  if  he’d  been  able  to  tell  something  horrible  was  coming  ,  henrik  had  updated  his  will  a  matter  of  weeks  before  the  heart  attack  ,  naming  desiree  as  the  sole  inheritor  of  all  his  assets & belongings  .  except  ,  of  course  ,  her  mother  ,  who  inherited  a  whopping  five  dollars  from ��her  husband  .  this  was  ,  mr  .  berger  explained  to  desi  ,  so  that  miriam  could  not  claim  that  she  had  accidentally  been  left  out  , & was  entitled  to  more  of  his  estate  .  

if  this  wasn’t  enough  ,  the  press  soon  released  that  interntional  business  mogul  henrik  lindbergh  had  passed  away  , & the  companies  he  owned  were  now  owned  by  a  twenty  one  year  old  model  who  had  never  truly  worked  one  day  in  her  life  .  to  make  matters  worse  ,  her  mother  quickly  played  the  victim  ,  launching  a  multitude  of  lawsuits  against  her  own  daughter  for  defamation & coercing  her  father  to  leave  her  mother  out  of  it  .  berger  quickly  chose  desirée’s  side  ,  though  he  couldn’t  become  her  personal  attorney  out  of  conflict  of  interest  with  the  executing  of  the  will  .  as  the  accounts  lie  in  limbo  during  the  legal  battle  ,  desi  is  relying  solely  on  the  secret  account  her  father  made  her  in  switzerland  ;  if  her  mother  knew  ,  she  would  try  to  go  after  it  ,  as  well  .  

2021 :  desirée  has  layed  low  over  the  last  few  months  ,  her  mother  continuing  her  public  display  of  heartache  as  the  widow  .  desi  can  be  said  to  be  two  -  faced  due  to  her  sweet  disposition  one  day & her  cold  attitude  the  next  .  in  reality  ,  she  is  normally  kind & thoughtful  ,  giving  the  benefit  of  the  doubt  to  those  two  wrong  her  ,  but  lately  she  has  become  more  withdrawn  ,  secretive  , & volatile  .  she  was  recently  photographed  in  a  restaurant  ,  crying  on  the  phone  with  her  head  in  her  hand  ,  something  she  would  never  normally  allow  to  happen  .  overall  ,  though  ,  she  doesn't  want  to  speak  publicly  about  the  legal  battle  because  she  considers  it  a  delicate  matter  &  wants  to  take  the  high  road  .  because  of  this  ,  she  puts  on  a  face  that  she's  happy  ,  has  done  her  mourning  ,  &  intentionally  does  things  to  make  it  seem  like  life  is  normal  ,  like  making  appearances  at  events  about  new  york  city  &  being  spotted  hanging  out  with  friends  .  only  a  very  small  handful  in  her  inner  circle  notice  the  immense  stress  she's  under  because  she's  good  at  managing  it  ,  &  doesn't  want  to  be  pitied  .

*  .  personality  .

personality  wise  ,  she  is  quite  bubbly  ,  thoughtful  ,  dependable  ,  observant  ,  calm  , &  chooses  her  words  carefully  .  on  the  other  hand  ,  she  can  be  very  hot  &  cold  ,  self - isolating  ,  two  -  faced  , & tells  blatant  lies  when  she  ought  not  to  ,  &  denies  vehemently  when  others  call  her  on  her  bs  .  she’s  the  type  to  remember  someone  saying  they  like  something  ,  in  passing  ,  then  suddenly  she  shows  up  with  that  exact  thing  when  she  sees  them  next  .  her  love  language  is  definitely  gifts  &  acts  of  service  .  considers  herself  a  good  advice  giver  but  won’t  take  any  advice  others  give  her  .  kind  of  an  air  head  ,  in  that  she  can  get  so  wrapped  up  in  her  own  world  that  she  forgets  that  others  aren’t  just  npc’s  in  her  life  sfjklsd  .  can  get  overwhelmed  easily  ,  &  retracts  back  into  herself  &  isolates  in  her  apartment  for  days  on  end  ,  pampering  herself  with  huge  shopping  sprees  ,  overpriced  face  masks  ,  &  too  much  champagne  .  her  way  to  deal  with  problems  is  to  pretend  they’re  not  there  until  eventually  they  go  away  🤡

the  world  knows  the  bulk  of  the  lindbergh  -  montenegro  affair  ,  as  its  known  in  the  media  ,  thanks  to  her  mother  taking  interviews  left  & right  to  allude  to  her  being  snubbed  by  her  own  daughter  .  desi  pretends  that  it  does  not  bother  her  ,  that  justice  will  be  served  & that  legality  will  prevail  over  her  mother’s  cries  ,  but  the  weight  of  the  affair  is  taking  a  toll  on  her  .  

*  .  wanted  plots  .  

click  here  for  sideblog  with  wanted  plots  !

best  friend / ride  or  die  :  someone  desi’s  been  friends  with  for  YEARS  ,  knows  all  her  family’s  bs  ,  prob  has  called  her  mother  a  b*tch  to  her  face  dflkjsdkl  .  literally  the  nicole  to  her  paris  ,  the  lorelai  to  her  rory  .  

squad  :  a  group  of  friends  who  go  clubbing  every  saturday  &  get  brunch  &  gossip  the  next  morning  ,  have  shady  nicknames  in  their  gc  ,  have  designated ‘ roles ’  in  the  friend  group  (  mom  friend  ,  the  cr*ckhead  ,  the  wingperson  ,  etc  .  ) ,  go  on  trips  together  ,  have  the  wildest  birthday  parties  ,  etc  .  please  !!  

first  love  :  this  would’ve  been  in  their  teens  ,  a  summer  fling  that  she  fell  hard  for  &  who  her  father  didn’t  approve  of  bc  he’s  business - minded  first  .  they  tried  to  do  long  distance  when  she  went  back  to  school  in  the  fall  ,  but  it  didn’t  work  out  &  now  they’re  either  on  good  terms  &  have  sweet  memories  of  that  time  ,  or  one  is  still  kinda  salty  how  things  ended  .

bad  influence  :  encourages  desi  to  get  the  stick  out  of  her  *ss  ,  &  when  she  hangs  out  with  them  ,  they  tend  to  go  overboard  on  whatever  the  entertainment  of  the  night  may  be  . 

friends  to  lovers / slow - burn  romance  :  they’re  friends  first  ,  but  there’s  been  undeniable  romantic  tension  between  the  two  of  them  (  imagine  pope  towards  kiara  in  obx  )  ,  &  their  friends  can pick  up  on  it  .  they’ve  never  acted  on  it  , worried  of  ruining  the  friendship  ,  but  they’re  always  a  lil  disappointed  when  the  other  goes  home  with  or  gets  involved  with  someone  else  ,  but  are  ultimately  there  to  pick  up  the  pieces  afterwards  .

enemies  /  mutual  dislike  :  maybe  someone  whose  family  her  father  screwed  in  business  ,  their  parents  could  have  been  friends  before  desi’s  mom  turned  on  them  somehow  ,  they  think  desi  thinks  she’s  queen  of  the  world  ,  etc . let’s  plan  it  out  hehe

cheating  :  oop  !  i  love  the  angst  ,  so  gimme  someone  who  either  a  )  cheated  on  desi  ,  or  b  )  they  think  she  cheated  on  them  due  to  some  tabloid  article  ,  rumor  around  town  she  was  seen  with  someone  ,  etc .  their  relationship  was  prob  rocky  as  fuck  ,  toxic  ,  &  lacked  trust  &  communication  .  just  a  total  shit  show  tbh  .

that’s  all  i  can  think  of  now  dskljfkl  please  feel  free  to  reach  out  over  tumblr  msgs  or  on  discord  !  

[fizzingwizard]

Yay it’s my favorite time of the week! Digimon Adventure:! Can’t believe we’re already at episode 16! This week somewhat recapped the mission we’ve been on for... 14 episdoes now x’D and I realized I forgot all kinds of shit. It’s so funny, when I was ten and watching Digimon Adventure I could remember everything, but now that I’m sadly an adult I can’t keep track of these high paced children’s shows!

(Supposedly they spoon feed kids stories so they can understand it more easily... but I gotta say I think I’m the one that needs the help, bahahaha)

ALSO... apparently there was an earthquake this morning! It was too north of me so I didn’t feel it (I was... also sleeping >-> so...) But it was right when the show started airing so the info came scrolling across the screen. At first it said

“Just in case, be careful of tsunami”

and like just three min or so later

“There is no need to worry about a tsunami due to this earthquake”

Phew! Also, Digimon causes earthquakes! Hide yo wife hide yo kids! Is that meme still current?? Does it matter???? I’m a millennial, boomers hate me, gen Z hates me, at least let me have my memes! XD

OK enough goofing off, on to what really matters, freaking Digimon man! This episode gave me tons of Taichi spam. Mmm my favorite kind of spam! But it also gave me avocado cheeseburger spam too!

So although I completely forgot about it, I was pretty excited for this ep when they allegedly return to the real world! Last week’s preview made it pretty obvious it was going to be either a fake reality or the evil Digimon had taken over the real world much more deeply than we realized. Fake reality made the most sense. But they tried to trip us up anyway! The opening shots are clear references to the famous episode 21 of 99 Adventure, although given that was the best animated episode of the entire show, this one just doesn’t do it justice.

He’s not sweating, the sun isn’t as intense... it just makes Fizz nostalgic

Finding them suddenly home, the kids are all pretty bewildered at first. Predictably, Mimi is the first to recover. What motivates her?

AVOCADO CHEESEBURGER! AVOCADO CHEESEBURGER!

From Burger Jack’s bahahahaha

Mimi starts excitedly listing all the things she wants to do now that they’re home. Aside from eat delicious burgers, she wants to take a shower, change clothes...

I’m like “Oh, so these kids HAVE been feeling the effects of how much traveling they’ve been doing!”

Seriously though why didn’t anyone comment on it before now?? In 99 Adventure most of the kids couldn’t shut up about the lack of basic necessities and creature comforts. It was really easy to feel how much they were struggling! Everyone in this series is so darn serious all the time. Sora even brought that big bag of emergency supplies but we only rarely see it get used.

Taichi and Koushirou are a little more wary, though they come across as mainly confused.

Mimi wants to go eat burgers right off, but Taichi convinces her they should go home first. “Oh yeah, I have parents” - Mimi, probably.

They get on a train. The Digimon are very cute. They finally notice that no one’s paying attention to them. It took 0.3 seconds for Tokyoites in ep 21 of 99 Adventure to start freaking out over Koromon, so this was a big clue if you somehow missed that there’s something not right.

On the other hand, for a world that is presumably an illusion created by some Digimon, it sure is, er...

... accurate in surprising ways, bahahaha

(no seriously did we NEED bikini girls?? did we NEED them? I know it’s everywhere on every train for all kinds of proucts but did we NEED them here)

(the TEEN 17 in particular is killing me)

Some gratuitous Taichi spam

Mimi lives in the affluent Shibuya area now so the kids split up to continue on home. I love Taichi called her ‘ojousama.’

Taichi wonders if Yamato and the others got home okay too. Koushirou wonders if whatever was causing the blackout has really been defeated. (Mimi’s theory is “Sora-san and the others must have done something about it!” Which I just liked because by naming her she identifies Sora as the one she feels closest to awww)

They won’t say it, but the truth is these two are kinda disappointed... lol

However they won’t be disappointed for long... because this midnight train really isn’t going anywhere. *wink* see what i did there

Mimi’s walk home has also turned into a labyrinth. Which is totally normal for Toyko subways really. Mimi gets so tired from walking that she starts hallucinating that Palmon’s head is in fact an avocado.

Girl you got a problem but no judging. I got the same problem.

AVOCADO BURGER!! Think of it in your heart and it will appear!

Now that’s not creepy at all.

Several episodes ago we learned that Mimi has never seen The Mummy. Apparently she’s never seen any horror movies at all, because she still approaches the counter to order her freaking burger even after seeing the cashier’s shadowy clearly evil visage.

YOU GET WHAT YOU PAY FOR LITTLE GIRL

On finally realizing that this train can’t go anywhere but Shibuya, Taichi and Koushirou get off and reunite with Mimi, who has learned nothing and continues talking to people. The only possible result of this is...

... creepy eyes appearing and trying to EAT her

Mimi: “Taichi-san!!”

she could ask her partner for protection but Taichi’s around and he’s everyone’s big brother so

The cause of all this mischief turns out to be this creepy dude! He’s kind of cute!

Also rather larger and more solid than I anticipated!

Of course this nightmare won’t end so easily.

You know you’re in for it when the walls are covered in glowing red eyes. That uh, shoot laser beams at you.

Cyclops: Not lasers! Concussive optic rays!

It turns out there wasn’t just one creepy dude, there were many. I’ve found my Halloween costume!

Our heroes finally figure out that this world is not their real world when they come across these tetris people.

For someone who’s never watched a single scary movie, Mimi does an impressive white-girl-in-a-horror-flick face.

I know she’s not white I’m saying she’s good at impressions she should become a comedienne

Now that we know the blackout in Japan is still ongoing and causing all sorts of issues, we get our usual peek into what’s going on for the people of Tokyo. We get to see Hikari! She’s cool as a cucumber. Her mom’s freaking out and packing a suitcase. Her mom says “Hikari go get ready!” Hikari just says “Oh I’m ready anytime!”

Hikari: I’m not worried about anything, big brother’s taking care of it!

Awww we get to see Miko! And that looks like a cat carrier <3 Mom’s not leaving their furry friend behind in the dark while they evacuate to grandpa’s place in Ibaraki...

... She is apparently cool with leaving behind her only son though! X’D

The letter reads “Taichi, we’re going to Grandpa’s place in Ibaraki. Call me when you get home.” The arrow says “Address.”

Ibaraki is a bit over an hour from Tokyo (I used to live there!) so not too far and very easy to get to by train. Still... there’s a huge power outage, I can only assume Mom’s reason here really is evacuation and not just “seems like a great time to go on a visit!” but she doesn’t know where one of her kids is and she’s just like “eh no worries he’ll figure out his way home!” Does she KNOW her son is 11? Japanese kids use trains very independently but again, POWER OUTAGE. ONE HOUR+ AWAY.

I’m remembering episode 1 when Taichi was acting like such a Dad and his mom was totally on board. Apparently that is going to be a Thing in their family. Taichi is the kid in Home Alone. Scratch that, he’s like the pets in Homeward Bound X’D

Mimi is understandably disappointed that she doesn’t get to shower... I mean see her parents... I mean, eat a freaking avocado cheeseburger

But Palmon knows how to make her feel better. “We’ll come back here someday and eat avocado cheeseburgers together.”

Mimi: “Heck YEAH I’m psyched!! AVOCADO CHEESEBURGER!”

this show understands the only true way to a woman’s heart is through food.

Our heroes are surrounded by Homunculus from FMA.

They merge together forming the aptly named EYESMON!!! lmao

Look at freaking long Greymon’s cyborg arm is. Whut.

AtlurKabuterimon gets hit by a train buhaahaha. Somehow this was way funnier to me than Lilymon getting hit by a plane or buildings falling on MetalGreymon.

The kids are outnumbered when look who appears!

The three of them sitting on Zudomon is the cutest thing ever also I JUST NOTICED ZUDOMON’S DOLPHIN PATCH WHAT THE HECK HAS THAT ALWAYS BEEN THERE!??!?!?!!?

So this was the reunion ep after all! I’m a little disappointed just because I wanted something more dramatic.

What Fizz, illusion magic and homunculi plus exploding Shibuya isn’t dramatic enough for you?

I mean EMOTIONALLY dramatic. Like, someone should hug.

Oh well. This is the face Taichi makes when he sees Yamato. D’aww. I guess i’ll be satisfied with this.

Yamato gets them started on a plan and they all fight as a group!! But Koushirou’s realized that this Digimon, whatever it is, is what’s causing the blackout. They can’t properly defeat it...

... and it’s already the night of the third day. Soon their 72 hour window will be up. Then Ariel will turn back into a Mermaid and the Sea Witch wins :’<

We end with an ominous digivolution! Next week....

Orochimon!!! I love multi headed monsters.

More Taiyama action!!! Lookin a bit beat up but still cool!

OK so in sum this episode was pretty fun. I still feel like the writers for this season just don’t dig in deep enough to really make things come alive. They’re so concerned with battles that they miss moments for fun character interactions etc. And in the end, the whole of this episode can be recapped simply as “They discover the world they’re in is an illusion and they fight the bad guy.” However, we got a lot of fun with Mimi in particular, and though we didn’t get the kind of Taishiro teamwork my heart yearns for, at least we saw them sticking together and hashing things out.

I really do hope this show dials up the character relationships a bit soon though. We keep getting tidbits so it’s not like they don’t have things planned. It’s just a matter of execution. Anyway I’m happy to have the whole group (well as many as we’ve got so far) together again!