#thinking how far vi have come within two years

[splashtailstar]

it always feels so weird when vi am happy for multiple days in a row without something specific happening to make ve feel happy. is this how people are supposed to feel normally???

[callsign-rogueone]

This is my reminder to you to Hydrate or Die-drate. The summer is hot in America, as someone in the medical field I have seen one too many people faint from lack of fluids.

On a stupid side to make you smile at a scenario while you drink a glass. After reading the bonus Xaden Scenes from FW; Garrick knew from the start that Xaden had a thing for Violet even back to the first time they sparred together. Very observant; do you think that he and a select few other Marked ones had a betting ring of if they would in the very least hook up? It made me laugh thinking about this at work cause like imagine:

Xaden and Violet first hook up, there is lightning everywhere; Garrick and Liam had to change the Armoire the next day, when they meet for the next dagger exchange a few of them exchange coins and Xaden is just like "Really guys? Couldn't do it when I wasn't looking and wouldn't know."

Or Alternatively where he just says "guys she's special to me." And Imogen sarcastically says "omg that's so surprising."

I’ve got my emotional support Starbucks cold cup on deck, not to worry 🫡 it’s an iridescent dark blue that reminds me of dragon scales. I have a matching red one too hehe

oh I believe they absolutely have a betting ring on that, and on several other things.

in my little au, I’m gonna have them use a devalued Tyrrish currency for betting and favors since cadets don’t get paid. the idea being that it’s like Monopoly money as far as Navarre is concerned, since they no longer accept it outside of Tyrrendor post-revolution. it only has value within the marked group because they agree that it does.

a little peek of that from an upcoming chapter:

“Tyrrish Krown,” he explains before Violet can ask. “A defunct currency that has no value against Navarrian coin. We just use them to settle bets and call in favors.”

“If it doesn’t have exchange value, then…”

“They bankrupted us. All we had left was our gold, and whatever they didn’t burn.”

so they’d use that as betting chips. anyway, I got off the trail and into the weeds here, back to the original question:

Garrick was absolutely on the side of “they’re gonna do it”. Liam too after he started spending more time with Vi / became her bodyguard. idk who would be on the opposite side. maybe Imogen, because she really didn’t want Vi in the group at first. she’d be extra pissed having to fork the money over to Garrick of all people.

Xaden would be deeply unamused. definitely like you said… “really. you had to do this in front of me.”

to which Garrick would come back with something like… “you are singlehandedly responsible for a lightning storm that we all had to witness.”

cue some brotherly bickering.

also I don’t remember who I saw post it first, but I agree with the theory that they just swapped the armoires — Xaden ended up with the broken one, since it was either that or having to ask the school for a new one… and he’s not going to explain the circumstances of it breaking to anyone else, no thank you. (and assuming that the wingleaders have specific rooms like college RAs… that means Dain ended up with it the year after, lmao)

Liam and Garrick were laughing about it the whole time. but they’d also constantly remind him for the rest of the year how much he owes them for making them haul a bigass cabinet up and down two flights of stairs.

the details of her window being repaired remain unclear. they’ve caused a fair amount of property damage with their love… 😅

[a-little-lostmoon]

(warning - HSR Belobog Arc Ending Spoilers)

I know they mention it a lot in canon but like… has anyone else ever really paused and thought about all the worlds we will have to leave behind as Trailblazers? Coming and going forever, only ever being able to truly call the Express ‘Home’ but even then, the words are heavy on the tongue.

Does anyone else think about how little time they really spend there? How many trails they’ve blazed before disappearing without a trace save for the changes they’ve since left in a domino effect. Belobog took a few days for the main quest alone — perhaps two weeks if you want to include the sub-quests and story quests. And then they never go back. 700 years they’d wait — Bronya said — and it wasn’t an exaggeration.

“Dan Heng how long can humans live for?”

“…Forever. But in those situations they wouldn’t be considered human anymore.”

It’s easy to forget that we may never see those people again in that world, as they are, as they’ve become, because we as the player can always teleport back with a few clicks of a button but the characters do not get the same liberties. They have left, to never return, lest they accidentally cause more calamity.

And few of Jarilo-VI have gotten to know them by name, as anything other than “the Outsiders” or, later, “the Trailblazers”. They’re not Nameless because they have no names, they are Nameless because in the grand scheme of things; no one will recognize them by name. Only by the paths they carve and set, by the view of their backs as they set off into the stars again.

Do you think about how quickly they accept the lost onto their ship — how quickly they accept the Nameless and allow them to stay with their own? Because they are all Nameless on the express. Wonderlusters, Lost ones, confused, fearful, grieving, lonely. They accepted the Trailblazer without a second thought, extending hands that were quickly grasped in return and have yet to be let go of. They are the Nameless, they are the trailblazers, they are the lost ones, and they are each other’s family. The Express is not ‘Home’ because none of them have that anymore, but they’ve found each other and in the wake of what they’ve lost or may not have never had, they’ve got each other. They’ve forged their own trail.

Trailblazers in their name and in how they love. Only another trailblazer can truly love a trailblazer. It’s why they gravitate so closely to one another. That small part of their souls resonating with one another and bringing them solace within the vastness of the universe. Pieces of their make-up so similar and lonely and lost that they can’t help but seek out others who are the same.

I don’t know where I’m going with this, honestly, but I’m absolutely enamored with the small feeling their presences makes me feel through the Trailblazer. Platonic, Romantic, or otherwise. Storgé — Is the word for familial love apparently but not found family, so I’m not quite sure it fits. Their impact as well in the universes, beyond their relationship on the Express. It’s all beautiful but always with a touch of melancholy when you sit back to think about it rather than just quickly passing through the planets and stars. It’s lovely, and I’m hard pressed to find a universe that makes me feel so small and important all at once.

Welt said something about feeling helpless when you first step foot on the planet and see for the first time everything that goes on there… and yet I find myself feeling more powerless when I look down from above rather than up from below.

In conclusion, Star Rail is lovely so far, I’m having a great time and will continue to brainrot about this and think too much abt it constantly for a good while <3

[iwriteasfotini]

Jegulus Excerpt

My second Jegulus day celebration post. Another excerpt from Book 3, written from James’ POV. It stands alone from the excerpt I shared yesterday from Chapter VI and is from Chapter XX. I did have to edit out a few spoilers but the gist of the scene is there. More budding Starchaser for your entertainment. 

The terrace [atop the astronomy tower] was seemingly deserted, but as soon as they shut the door at the top of the tower, Regulus materialized, as if by magic. Which James realized was probably the literal case. 

“Cripes Reg, did you learn to aparate?” said Sirius, rubbing his forehead in an effort to look casual, though James had seen him jump upon Regulus’ sudden apparition. 

“No you moron, you can’t aparate or disparate within Hogwarts grounds. The wards prevent it.”

“Oh, well I thought you might have mastered more advanced magic while the rest of us were plowing on with our assigned studies.”

James had to hold back a snort, as Sirius didn’t know how spot on the nose he actually was in his assessment of Regulus’ magical skills. Regulus only scowled at him. 

“I’m surprised you are making it through your basic studies Sirius, as apparently your ability to read is now questionable,” Regulus said, nodding to James. “I said to come alone.”

“I’m not an idiot. I wasn’t going to march up here for a cozy brotherly one-on-one. Who knew what I would be walking into,” snarked Sirius. 

“Of course, I should have remembered it takes two Gryffindors to match up against a single Slytherin.”

Sirius rolled his shoulders. “What do you want Reg?”

And as James watched, Regulus dropped some of his standoffish posture. “Look, I really was counting on talking to you alone,” he said in a far more pleasant tone.

 “James is more my brother than you are, whatever you have to say you can say in front of both of us or not say at all.”

James met Regulus’ eyes, and was surprised when the other boy glanced away quickly, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. Regulus gave his head a shake then said, “fine. Mother has told me you will be home with us this summer.”

“So.”

“So… I want to warn you, don’t do anything brash. She is out to get you. She’s furious over your antics this year. Says you are wasting your potential as a Dark wizard, not to mention generally mucking up whatever you are getting involved in.”

(removed a LARGE chunk of text due to spoilers)

“Can’t wait to spend my summer locked up in the house with you Reggie,” Sirius said loudly. “You are a ray of pure sunshine. No wonder mum and papa fawn over you, and play you like a tune. You are their little prissy parrot of a prince. Whatever they say goes right?”

Sirius was continuing his sarcastic soliloquy but James was watching Regulus. As they stood there, a foot apart, Regulus’ angry face shifted, and his heart rate picked up under James’ hand. It was positively thrumming against his palm. And for a second Regulus wasn’t an annoying Slytherin with a manipulation complex. He was a little kid full of secrets, who was probably as lonely as Lily. 

However, the moment had lasted too long, for Regulus huffed, and pushed James’ arm down with his dagger free hand. 

James wasn’t deterred, and tried to communicate a lot of things without saying a word. (Removed some spoilers)

But he didn’t think Regulus got any of those messages. And when Regulus went to turn towards the parapets James’ hand darted forward to grab Regulus’. Regulus’ hand was frigid in his. He squeezed it quickly, but Regulus didn’t rip his hand out of James’ like James had expected him to. Instead his mouth fell open in surprise and he glanced up from under his long wavy fringe. 

“And what’s with that stupid dagger anyway. You think you can pull a knife on me and suddenly I’m your puppet to manipulate. Cousin Bella must be so proud you are showing interest in her perturbed methods of persuasion,” Sirius was rambling on and on. And though only a minute or so had passed, James felt he had been staring at Regulus for an hour, the boy’s cool fingers sending chills up his arm.  

Before Sirius could witness the strange display taking place between his best friend and his brother however, Regulus pulled away from James and finished turning his back on them. Then he suddenly announced, “I’ve said what I wanted to say, I’m going.” He pointedly stepped far to the side, avoiding bumping into James as he strode to the tower door. Sirius gazed after him. But James only had eyes for the ledge of the parapet, where a small crystal replica of a Lily sat. When James reached out to pick it up, he found it was made of ice. 

“What are you doing over there,” hissed Sirius. “Let’s get out of here. What a waste of time, as always.”

James held the small flower in his palm, and water immediately began to pool as his warm skin melted the miniature ice sculpture. 

“What do you have?” Sirius was right behind him, but James closed his hand and squeezed. Water ran through his fingers and dripped onto the stone floor. 

“Nothing.”

“Then get the cloak out and let’s go,” Sirius said, exasperated. 

James pulled the cloak out and passed it to Sirius, who threw it over them. By the time they made it to the bottom of the astronomy stairwell, James’ clenched fist was empty, but a throbbing cold lingered. 

…

You can find more info on this series in my pinned post. Unfortunately, this is from Book 3, which is fully written but doesn’t have an announced posting date as of yet. But it’s coming to AO3, I promise! On Sunday I'm announcing the title, POV, and posting date for Book 2 in my Weekly Update.

[manias-wordcount]

A Moment Like This (Vi x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝟭𝟬 𝗼𝗳 𝗺𝘆 𝟭𝟮 𝗱𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗙𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗺𝗮𝘀 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟮 𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗴𝗲!  

𝗣𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗽𝘁: 𝗜𝗰𝗲𝘀𝗸𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗦/𝗼.

𝗦𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗜𝗻𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: 𝗗𝗼 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗞𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗜𝘁'𝘀 𝗖𝗵𝗿𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗺𝗮𝘀? 𝗯𝘆 𝗕𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗔𝗶𝗱

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

In all your years of fighting to survive. In all your years of fighting to live. To eat. To sleep with a roof over your head. To not get robbed blind. To not die- you don’t think you ever dreamed of having a moment like this.

 “Vi! Come here!

 You don’t think you have ever dreamed of having fun like this.

 The smile on your face feels so effortless. Hard to keep down. Hard to change. You imagine in this moment, you look like a young child. Carefree and innocent. Looking to explore a world they’re not quite ready for. But a world they’re going to travel and explore and discover nonetheless. And you can’t imagine the last time you felt yourself take on such an expression. You can’t imagine the last time you saw someone else feel this way. 

 But in a moment like this, you don’t think you can spare another thought towards strangers. Because as much as you want to. Because as much as you care. You just don’t know if you’ll ever get a moment, a feeling, a smile like this ever again.

 So for now…

 “I’m coming, cupcake. No need to rush me.”

 You’ll cherish it.

 “You’re so slow,” You complained with a soft laugh as she ice skated towards you. Vi doesn’t say anything to you at first- she only raises an eyebrow as she skates towards you with her hands in her pockets. Your smile grows wider, and the impatient side of you decides to push off on your skates and meet her halfway. Even though she’s moving significantly faster and more confident than you are.“How dare you! Making me wait like that!”

 This time, it’s Vi’s turn to smile at your show of faux-annoyance. The second you’re within her reach, her hands are pulling themselves out of her pockets and landing on your hips. The sudden movement catches you off guard as she tugs you closer. But like always, she’s there to catch you and to keep you upright.

 It was Vi’s idea to go ice skating. When she first proposed it to you, you thought she was out of her mind. You lived your entire life in the Undercity. No matter how cold winter may be in Piltover, your world was far too hot to ever see a lake freeze over. Or much less, a single drop of snow. But then she told you about a place that she found through Caitlyn. A place that was so pretty and so magical. A place that just didn’t exist in the Undercity. A place that couldn’t exist in the Undercity. 

 But magical doesn’t do all its justice when describing this place. You’ve never seen a frozen lake before, but you imagine this must have been the most beautiful one of all. A pale surface colored a light, light, light blue. At first glance, you would have thought it to be fragile. You would have thought it to be delicate. Yet when you stepped out on the ice with the skates that Vi gifted with you, there was nothing but the strength and the power of nature beneath you. Holding your weight and your happiness and your hope to enjoy moments like this in the future. 

 But the lake is far from the only thing that caught your eye. Surrounding the lake was a beautiful forest- hiding the two of you away from all signs of civilization. A giant thicket of trees and bushes, plants alike. They were all coated in a slight dusting of snow. A subtle reminder on top of the chill you feel in your bones about just how cold you were. Even so, the cold doesn’t stop you from admiring the gorgeous forest that shields you. Even so, the cold doesn’t stop you from enjoying the majestic ice beneath your skates that holds you.

 Even so, the cold doesn’t stop you from enjoying yourself. From enjoying her. From enjoying this.

 “Oh how horribly tragic,” She responds to your words with a sarcastic lilt of her own. She leans in close to your face, the corners of her lips quirked up in a knowing look that never fails to get you excited. She knows you too well. She knows that her hands on your body, even through your worn-out coat, is enough to get your heart racing. She knows that a single heated look into your eyes as she peers down at you is enough to get your mouth watering. And she knows that cute gestures like this- big or small- is enough to make you fall in love all over again. “Is there anything I could do to regain your favor? Anything at all, cupcake? Anything?”

 She moves impossibly closer into your space, and you find your head tilting up out of pure instinct alone. She’s only a hair away from your lips, so close to closing the distance yet she refuses to move forward. And so you’re stuck with the feeling of her warm breath against your lips teasing you. Toying with you. Tempting you into wanting more, more, more. More of something only she can give you. More of something only she can provide you with. More of her in general. So you take it. 

 You take what’s yours. Your happiness. Your excitement. Your moment.

 “I can…think of a few things I might want.” You drawl out, ready to keep playing the game. 

 “A few things?” She asks you, but you know the question isn’t real. You know she knows what you want. You know that because you know she wants it too. But where’s the joy in moving fast? Where’s the joy in getting right to the point? Where’s the joy in skating straight lines when you have a whole world, a whole lake that’s frozen over for you to enjoy? “And…what might those few things be?”

 Where’s the joy in choosing not to seize the day? The one-time opportunity? The chance of a lifetime? 

 “Hmmm…wouldn’t you like to know, lover girl?”

 Where’s the letting a moment like this pass you by?

[jbk405]

Like I said last night, my read of season 2 of Arcane so far is that they're trying to fit two (or even three) season's worth of content into these nine episodes. I could be wrong, but that's how it comes across.

What I'm guessing was the original plan was for the first episode to actually be spread across the first three (Act 1). They would spend time introducing the three members of the Enforcer Team so that we-the-audience would understand why Caitlyn is drafting them into her personal strike force. This would in turn give the show time to actually introduce them to us (I still can't get past the fact that they literally still haven't even named two of them yet). We'd see them display some unique skills -- any skills -- and also perhaps show some area of unique bravery or honesty.

These episodes would also give time to show Caitlyn buckling under the grief of losing her mother as an ongoing crushing weight instead of a single breakdown. Vi, seeing Caitlyn falling apart and also seeing her try to "soldier on", could grow to accept joining the Enforcers with the rationale that she's supporting Caitlyn in her time of need. Maybe also with having conversations with the other three people where they talk about 'reforming from within' and 'showing that not all Zaunites are bad' or something else along those lines.

So, at the end of Act 1 we have the scene where Caitlyn stomps into the council chambers and 'takes charge' with her team, and instead of wondering 'Who the hell are these people with her and why the hell is Vi an Enforcer now?' we think 'Ah yes, she's going to Kick Ass and Take Names with this badass crew!"

And then we get to the second three episodes (Act 2) and we see that it's not quite working out that way. We can still have the one year timeskip here, and we see that the Enforcer Team is now jaded and cynical. After a year without any real obvious gains, no end (Because these things never end at the barrel of a gun), they're getting violent with civilians in the Undercity and they're using the Gray as chemical warfare. The bubbly Junior Officer who was going to be the cute team sidekick is instead twitchy and trigger-happy, and the other two are...something (We don't know anything about them so I can't guess what kind of angle the show would have gone with). In essence, they're just another crew of Enforcers kicking around the inhabitants of Zaun.

Hence why Vi has the conversation with Caitlyn where she explicitly discusses how everybody is changing, and she begs Caitlyn to stay herself.

Here they would show Caitlyn unraveling most of all. Over the course of these three episodes we see her obsession with Jinx growing and growing. We see at least one operation where they almost catch her, before she gets away (And the Enforcers know she was there, unlike that sequence where she hid in the Gray and they never realized what was going on). She comes very close to crossing 'the line' several times, and always only just stops herself. So when they manage to corner Jinx in the fight with Sevika, to see her get away again, apparently with Vi's "help", it's the climax to an arc we've been following all along of Caitlyn becoming consumed by her hatred instead of just being fueled by it.

This would have let them lay the groundwork for Caitlyn turning on Vi in a moment of anger, instead of it really coming out of nowhere and just being stupid.

The final three episodes of the season (Act 3) are less clearly divided based on what we've already gotten, but I imagine it would have showed Ambessa's manipulations to set the stage for her coup. Perhaps with Caitlyn being installed as the dictator of Piltover in the final episode to set up season three.

Everything that we've gotten so far in the actual Act 2 probably would have been saved for season three, combined with what's still upcoming in Act 3. Although maybe with some of the Viktor stuff still happening now, spread out here-and-there.

In addition to better pacing and groundwork for these stories, spreading this out would have also given them time to actually show Mel Medarda, who has tragically been sidelined for much of the season. We could also follow whatever adventure Jayce, Ekko, and Heimerdinger are on, instead of presumably having the info backfilled in the upcoming last three episodes.

It really feels like that's what they wanted to do, and are just cutting out all the setup for each plotline so that they can squeeze it into the episode count they have.

[nickiehausen]

Kenta v. Mitsuharu Misawa (ROH Glory By Honor VI) 11/3/07

Mitsuharu Misawa’s in-ring brilliance simply cannot be understated. Widely regarded as one of the greatest of all time, with a case to be made that he’s the greatest of all time, his countless classic matches against career rivals like Toshiaki Kawada and Kenta Kobashi are the stuff of legend. His stints in All Japan Pro Wrestling and Pro Wrestling NOAH are perhaps some of the greatest runs any wrestler has had in any promotion; the same cannot be said for his brief time in Ring Of Honor. Two matches in the fall of 2007, had in a span of two days, known less so for their excellence and more so for their historical significance.

With that being said, time for a bit of background information. This match against Kenta was only Misawa’s second in Ring of Honor, the first having taken place the day prior at Night 1 of Glory By Honor VI. Before then, he hadn’t wrestled in the United States since a WLW show in 2004. The fact he was even coming to ROH was a pretty big deal. He came into the match in the midst of a third reign as GHC Heavyweight champion, and was right on the heels of crossing a full year with the belt. His opponent, Kenta, wasn’t exactly new to ROH. He had wrestled sixteen prior matches for the promotion, his first having come against Low Ki in 2005. He had unsuccessfully challenged for the ROH World title on two separate occasions in the past, but that night, his focus was on Misawa’s title.

If the quality of a match was judged solely by atmosphere, then this would be a 5-star classic. Even watching it back years later, you can tell just how amped the crowd is to just be able to see Misawa perform in Ring of Honor. It’s a spectacle to behold, hearing the crowd erupt into “This is awesome” chants only three minutes into the match. There’s true historical significance in seeing Misawa compete in an ROH ring, and that creates an unmatched energy within the audience. It’s rare to see crowds this excited just to see a match, the most recent example I can think of being Bryan Danielson v. Kenny Omega from the first AEW Dynamite Grand Slam event back in 2021. Even ignoring the actual in-ring action, the excitement of the crowd alone is tremendously captivating to hear, and for me, that makes the match a whole lot better. 

The match itself isn’t bad by any standards, but it can be a bit sluggish at times. It goes without saying that Mitsuharu Misawa was far beyond his prime by 2007. The quality of his wrestling hadn’t taken a hit, but the same couldn’t be said for his athleticism. He was forty-four years old by this point, and lacked much of the same agility he had possessed a decade prior. Simply put: he’s slower and can’t do as much, and that causes the match to, at times, hobble along. Kenta was only twenty-six at the time, and he wrestled at a far more accelerated pace, his movements and mannerisms more swift than those of the aging Ace. This creates a juxtaposition of sorts. Misawa is still able to pull out some impressive spots, though, including a dive to the outside that goes off without a hitch.

Good wrestling held back by physical restraints but elevated by a phenomenal crowd makes this match hard to judge. If I allow myself to sit back and simply enjoy the spectacle this match is, it’s very good. Though, is it fair to judge a match by its atmosphere and not its true quality? I’m not sure, but it should be noted the audience can have a sizable impact on the quality of a match.  I’ve seen many matches ruined by a crowd that's either completely dead or too busy throwing around beach balls and screaming stupid chants, so the importance of an active crowd can’t be understated. But even then, is that enough to carry a match? The short answer is no. However, does this match need to be carried by its crowd? Also no. It's still a good match, just that, if I were to make a list of Misawa's greatest matches, this wouldn't be in the top fifteen. That's less a bad thing and more an indication of his brilliance, to be fair.

All things considered, I enjoy this match. It’s flawed, sure, but it possesses great value just in terms of sheer significance and, in terms of actual in-ring quality, in no way is it anywhere remotely close to being bad. I’d personally say that their match in NOAH from 2004 is a bit better, but only by a little. 

⭐⭐⭐⭐ stars out of 5.

[jeanbie]

FIREFLOWERS ★ masterlist.

pairing: levi x reader

warnings: mentions of mafia violence | wc: 3k

note: set in korea because i always headcanon levi as half korean when i think of him personified. no explanation, just that. also im british thats why pongo sounds like a guy you'd meet in town. apologies, cant rip it from my vocab

⏤ “Good day?” you ask, pulling back from his neck with your arms still around him. Levi settles his hands just below your ribs and looks at you, sweetly pressing a kiss to your mouth. He doesn’t pull away too far, your hands threading in the hair above the back of his neck. “Better now.”

“So what? I want those files on my desk by tomorrow morning, or else you’ll be out of a job and two legs short. Do you understand me?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, something out of a habit he picked up from his father when he was younger. Presumably something was being said on the phone that he didn’t like, something that very few men in Levi’s line of work could say and get away with saying. With a long overdue sigh, Levi lifted his arm up to the door of the car and stared at the passing scenery, at how the city smudged into flickers of light, twinkling silvers and burnt oranges, the distant burst of colour from fireworks for somebody’s birthday.

The call doesn’t last for much longer; he said what he had to and threatened who he needed to, finally tossing his phone across the leather interior of the black Audi. From the front seat, Pongo glanced in the rearview mirror and raised his eyebrows. Of course, his real name wasn’t Pongo; it was something of a safety precaution, a hidden identity because once you’re in the Fireflower Mafia of Tokyo, you’re never really safe. Just like how Levi wasn’t the name he went by during work hours- to his members and his superiors, Levi Ackerman was simply VI. He didn't know what his colleagues called him in Tokyo, where he usually is on business. Today, he is in Seoul. Home.

“Busy day at work, sir?” Pongo asks. He was old, aged around the eyes with cobwebbed wrinkles strung across his skin. Levi admired Pongo’s excessive record of hard work, never missing a day of driving him around like some rich kid, which, in theory, he was. He’d worked for it, debatably, but he was still rich. Comfortable, with a few zeros in the bank for his own pleasure and for-

“Yes,” Levi replies tiredly, because now that he’s safe and private in the company of Pongo, he was now Levi, Pongo now Jimong. “It’s alright now, though.”

Jimong makes a noise of agreement through closed and thin lips. “Couldn’t agree more, sir!”

“Any plans for this new year?” Levi asks conversationally. He knows that his house is coming soon, just past these dense woods and near the private estate, filled with houses he owned secretly, inhabited by people who didn’t know any better. He liked it better that way, it was easier that way. Rival gangs never came looking in unsuspecting, rich people suburbs, which is why it works.

“Oh,” Jimong replies, awfully surprised that Levi’s bothered to ask. “Oh, yes, sir! Me and the wife are going to the Maldives. Can you quite believe it? Saved some money between the two of us, and we’re finally getting to go. A couple bloody years late, I may add. Ha. Yourself?”

Levi smiles in passing, listening but also vacant in his own headspace. Any lingering worries pressing down have suddenly vanished, somehow shifted away as the car rolls up in the driveway of a house near the end of the cul de sac, not directly in the centre of the curve but a little to the right, out of the way. Inconspicuous.

“That sounds lovely,” Levi replies honestly with a smile to match. He likes Jimong, likes that he’s happy and getting to do things he previously couldn’t have afforded doing. “As for me…I’ll be spending it quietly. With my family.”

Jimong likes that greatly. He looks at Levi like he would his son, a victim of The River Dragon’s crime within Seoul where he had attended University. Behind those thick frames that made his eyes bulge like a fish, he blinked once or twice and nodded, as if approving.

“That’s the way to go,” Jimong laughed. The car pauses, halts forward slightly and Levi reaches to grab his phone off the seat before it slides. Before stepping out, he slides his blazer back over his arms and smiles once more at Jimong. He doesn’t expect a payment, but Levi always gives extra, slipping a few notes into his hands as money for the Maldives. He pulls open the car door and steps out, turning back to close it when Jimong winds down the window with a fatherly look. “Congratulations, by the way.”

Levi bows his head as thanks. He pulls back from the car and steps up onto the pavement and Jimong begins to drive away, the window safely back up and his flat cap twisted forwards, like a disguise, a costume for a fancy dress party. Like always, Levi waits until Jimong’s a bit further down the vein of the road before heading inside, taking no chances. Across the street, a neighbour smiles at Levi, unfazed by the bitter December wind as they stand wrapped in a cardigan, a cigarette balancing between two fingers with their head tilted up towards the stars. Levi acknowledges them, politely, because he can’t afford to make enemies anymore, and he steps backwards onto the grass of his front lawn and towards his front door, a sunflower yellow as promised.

Inside, it smells like humbugs, the faint smell of baby powder from the back bathroom. It’s two in the morning, the clock tells him so, and as quietly as he can muster, Levi kicks off his shoes and steps into slippers laid out for him. The kitchen light is still on, but nobody is up; Levi doesn’t like when you wait up for him. He likes to get home and unwind in his own way, pouring a mug of coffee and sitting out on the back door step, enjoying the silence that the neighbourhood provides. From where the house is, Levi can see the lights of the city but hear no sounds- there are no party cries, or loud sirens, or gunshots. He likes it here, with the sound of cicadas and reckless night birds, the neighbour’s hot tub bubbling with quiet laughter and clinks of wine glasses. He does just that- pours himself a coffee into an obnoxious mug with Iron Man’s face on it, and takes it out onto the back step.

The door pushes open slightly, the breeze smuggling in and blowing out a candle you must have lit before going to bed. He'll scold you for that later. He steps out to glance up at the back bedrooms, pleased as always by the sight of closed curtains and the golden nightlight in the room above the kitchen. Levi has some time to sit and drink his coffee, crack the discomfort out of his bones, for about three minutes, until a loud cry resonates through the house. Levi pauses for a moment, as if debating on what to do. Rising to his feet, Levi reaches to pull the door back and locks it when it’s closed. The coffee is too cold to drink, he must have left it to cool for too long and he tips it down the sink, running the evidence away and putting the cup on the windowsill. He hasn’t got the time to wash it up, as he steps out of the kitchen and towards the staircase.

Climbing, Levi yawns, feeling the tiredness falling into place like pieces of a puzzle. It was probably the warmth of the house that did it, in contrast to the December bite outside. Once he’s ascended to the top, he walks briskly down the corridor and past the master bedroom, instead heading towards the room above the kitchen, decorated with bees and flowers and a little sign made out of cardboard letters spelling “SUNHEE”. He smiles to himself and pushes the door open gently.

The room smells new, and faintly like piss, the disinfectant smell of marshmallow from a candle lit above her dresser. Levi wants to scold the idea of another candle, but he knows it’s safe- it’s one of those pretend-candles safe for babies to smell, because he helped buy it, picked out the scent, and knows that there's no flame. In the crib, tangled with blankets, Sunhee Ackerman wails for attention, her little feet smacking the air violently. Levi wastes no time moving to her crib and peering inside. From the bulge underneath her bum, it’s evident she’s soiled herself, like all babies do, and cried to herself out of pity.

Levi coos, seeing her face all squishy and cute in the crib. She looks like him, in the best way, with the round and narrow nose but eyes like her Mommy, rounder and attentive, almost having the nerve to look like Eren. She fists the blanket with fury, angry that she’s pooped in her sleep! Levi smiles.

“Oh, little girl, what are you like, hm?” he asks, in an elevated voice reserved for babies only. You liked to tease him about that, whenever he held her in the hospital and spoke to her in pouts. “Ah, let Daddy help you out of this mess, okay? Okay, it’s okay, don’t cry, baby, it’s okay. Daddy’s here, Daddy’s got you.”

He carefully collects her from the blankets and hoists her into the air. Now that Dad’s home, she’s not crying as much, just staring at him with sniffles and wide eyes filled with tears. He wants to yell with adoration, but he knows you’re sleeping in the room next door, exhausted from work throughout the day. He respects that, and knows that it’s harder for you, especially since you only gave birth a few weeks ago. She’s just passed one month.

Levi holds her so that he doesn’t make the mess worse, with one hand grabbing the mat used for nappy changing and tossing it onto the floor, and it sinks flat ready for Sunhee to lie on. A part of him wants to be nervous, because as of this moment, you’ve always been on poop duty, because babies poop several times a day, he’s horrified to discover. For some strange reason, he had never thought about that, not even when you sat him down with a nervous expression and told him that you were expecting. Regardless, he does his damn best, because he’s Levi Ackerman for crying out loud, and he’s not going to let a nappy get the best of him. With wipes and baby powder on the scene, Levi cleans around the mess, discarding the nappy and replacing it with a clean one that Sunhee gargles at, her legs kicking wildly just to get a kick out of her Dad’s frustration.

“Just a while longer, angry girl,” Levi huffs quietly. “You’re so fussy... I don’t know how Mom does this…”

Eventually he gets the hang of it, changing the nappy within minutes and when Sunhee is finally clean, she curls into herself cutely and kicks her feet again. Levi suspects that she’s happy, thanking him for cleaning her, and he picks her up to balance on his hip as he carries the nappy secured in a little bag to the dustbin outside. Sunhee likes to be carried around the house, even at night when it’s scary. She stares at Levi’s face the entire time, her mouth hanging open like a little Pikachu. He makes sure to lock the door, and wash his hands, and then carries his daughter back upstairs to her bedroom.

Levi holds her for a while, because around work and unexpected phone calls, Levi feels as though he doesn’t have a lot of time alone with her. She whimpers, stuffing her face into Levi’s neck as he rocks her slightly, his arms wrapped around her and holding her up underneath her butt. As soft as silk, Levi finds his voice and whispers to her, pausing when he hears the faint ambience of the Finding Nemo soundtrack playing on a little monitor next to her crib, noise so that she doesn't get scared being alone.

“Daddy missed you,” he tells her quietly, his lips to her crown. “Mm, yes he did. He did. He missed you so much. Daddy wanted to spend all day with you and Mommy, but he had to go to work.”

Sunhee, of course, says nothing. Perhaps she is sleeping, buried into his neck, most likely drooling on his Alexander McQueen blazer. Course, he can’t complain. He longs for moments like this, flickers of domesticity that he misses out on when he’s busy at work. He could tell Sunhee everything, because she can’t understand what he’s saying anyway, not just yet. But, he wants to keep her as far away from his work as he possibly can. He tried to with you, too, but one photograph proved that it was no longer possible. The gang only got a glimpse of your hair, short and blonde at the time, and since then, you had dyed it dark, grown it out, wearing your own costume for the public.

Levi rocks her for a little bit longer, making the most of every moment when he looks over his shoulder as arms snake around his waist. From there, he sees your face, sleepy, pushed in between his shoulder blades. He can just about make out your hair, see the baby blue stripes of your bed shirt.

“Hi, baby.”

He hears you move behind him and press a kiss on his blazer. He hums quietly, pushing back into your arms as if returning the hug. “Hi, yourself. What’you doing up? It’s late.”

“Heard her,” you reply around a yawn. “Heard you come up and get her. Got impatient, I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Levi says quietly. “Is she sleeping?”

You move to look at Sunhee, humming with confirmation. “Like a rock.”

“Hm, good,” Levi answers, holding her for one moment longer before returning her back to her crib. He sets her down like a delicate thing, because she is delicate, and tiny and light like a bag of sugar, and gently puts the blanket over her feet, because he read somewhere that if your feet got cold then so would you. The windows are shut and the soundtrack loops once more, that strong smell of urine gone with the replacement of a cleansing spray he found on the dresser. Then he turns back to you, inviting you into a hug that you accept. With one face out his neck another is added, as you circle your arms around Levi’s neck. He’s warm, and smells faintly like whisky and fire. Nothing unusual, if anything better than the smell of sweat or blood.

“Good day?” you ask, pulling back from his neck with your arms still around him. Levi settles his hands just below your ribs and looks at you, sweetly pressing a kiss to your mouth. He doesn’t pull away too far, your hands threading in the hair above the back of his neck.

“Better now,” Levi admits quietly. “Come on, let’s get to bed.”

You lead the way, slowly dragging your weight to the bed and sinking down on the sheets as Levi b-lines to the bathroom. He looks at himself for a long moment in the mirror, rubbing at his face and brushing his teeth. Levi doesn’t stare for too long, he doesn’t like vanity or the way he looks after a day of work. Back inside the bedroom, you’ve settled underneath the white sheets, waiting for him to join you. He does so, after dressing slowly and when he gets into bed, you shuffle close to him, inhaling his warmth. Levi likes to be held, and knows you do too. It’s little luxuries like this that he thinks other people take for granted. Lately, these moments and words shared in whispers are the only moments he gets alone with you. Gradually, he learned to live life in gasps, taking what he could when he could.

“You look tired, baby. Try and get some sleep,” you murmur, kissing his chest as you cuddle into his skin. Levi grunts as if you’ve said something funny.

“Wanna talk to you,” he insists. “How was your day, good?”

“Mm,” you yawn. “Tell you about it in the morning. You’ll be here, won’t you?”

“Yeah. It’s my day off, I’ll get Jean to wear my shoes for the day,” Levi promises. “Can finally spend some time with you and the little one.”

A hum is breathed into his chest and he looks down, noticing that you’re not looking back at him and your eyes are closed, your cheek smushed against his cotton tee. “That’s good then.”

He thinks you’ve drifted off, as you say nothing else for a few moments. Levi stares intently in the darkness, making shapes out of the little dots when you stir once more.

“I love you,” you mutter. “You’re a good man.”

That’s usually what he needs at night, the reassurance that what he’s done throughout the day was worth it.

“Thank you. I love you too.”

Finally, when you’ve drifted off in his arms and the faint sound of snores meet his eyes, Levi pulls you closer, as if it were even possible. It’s here that he realises what he has now, and how easy it is for him to lose it. The way he holds you tighter now isn’t out of love but instead fear, fear that one day, his bad mistakes may come back to bite him in the ass, hurting the people he loves most.

He realises what he has and how he’ll do anything and everything to prevent himself from losing it, no matter what it takes.

[ladyartemesia]

The Kiss

◐ PART VIII of THE ALPHA ◐

◐ Series Masterlist ◐

◐ Part I ◐ Part II ◐ Part III ◐ Part IV ◐ Part V ◐ Part VI ◐ Part VII ◐

Pairing: Alpha Werewolf Jimin x Omega Reader

Rating: Hard Mature 18+ (for this installment)

Warnings: this one is a little darker, descriptions of violence, ABO sexual dynamics including discussion of scenting, marking, mating, and claiming, strong sexual innuendo, discussion of violence relating to ritual combat, possessive behavior, injuries and discussion of injuries, lots of people have, use and are threatened by knives, kidnapping and drugging, its not as bad as it sounds, but it is definitely a bit darker…

Word Count: 4250

Author’s Note: I said it before but it bears repeating...You have no idea what your support has meant to me. Truly your asks and your messages and comments…they made me so happy. You made me believe that people wouldn’t forget about this story. I am so grateful you were able to wait. As many of you know I faced a medical emergency recently and you were all so lovely. The best followers on this site and I MEAN that. As always, my angels @ppersonna @xjoonchildx and  @untaemedqueen​  were (and continue to be) the best betas and the best friends anyone could ask for. My thanks to ALL of you for helping me bring this story to life! I don’t know what I would do without your daily encouragement and your daily support. You guys are the heartbeat of this story. It wouldn’t be here without you.

——◐——

Two Years Ago 

——◐——

Centuries ago the moon goddess stumbled across her human soulmate while he was sleeping. Struck by his beauty, but reluctant to reveal her identity, the goddess began to visit him in his dreams where she could hide her true form and appear before him as a mortal woman. 

In the world of dreams their love flourished and from that blessed union the packs were born…

The wolf nations celebrated this sacred romance every ten years during the Festival of the Lover’s Moon…

The day of the festival was spent eating and drinking and dancing at large parties, but when the sun went down… well—

That’s when things got really interesting. 

On the night of Lover’s Moon the young unmated wolves of the pack were permitted to commemorate this legendary love story in a decidedly scandalous manner. 

The unmated men assumed the role of the goddess’s sleeping lover—they were blindfolded (to represent slumber) and led into a large sectioned off area of the dark forest to ‘wait and dream.’

Unmated she-wolves over the age of maturity (eighteen) took herbal scent suppressors and ventured out into that very same forest in order to anonymously ‘visit�� the young men ‘in their dreams’...

The rules for what exactly that meant were pretty fast and loose which was why Min Yoongi was thanking the goddess and every other deity he could think of that Yunli was still seventeen. 

“But I will be eighteen in two days! Please can’t I just—“

“No. Absolutely not under any circumstances ever.”

“But Yoonji is going!”

“Ji-ah is nearly nineteen and has never been interested in any of the snotty little man-pups of our pack.” He snorted. “She’s probably going out just so she can shove a bunch of them in the lake.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Yunli mumbled irritably. 

Kim Taehyung yawned idly and snuggled into the cozy little pallet he prepared at the base of his favorite tree. The blindfold he and all the other unmated ‘lovers’  wore was made from witchcloth and could not be removed while the sun was down—so he had snuck into the forest earlier to set everything up. 

Now all he had to do was wait until—

“H-Hi Taehyung.”

Oh sh—

“Uh. Hello...Miss.”

Taehyung didn’t recognize the owner of that voice, but he knew for sure who it wasn’t. 

“I was hoping to find you tonight.”

This is not good. 

“Well I’m—I’m flattered… naturally but—”

She touched his hand and he squeaked. 

“I was thinking you and I might get to know each other a little bet—eep!”

The sharp point of a custom blade pressed directly into the unfortunate young beta girl’s pulse point. 

“Are you lost, puppy?”

A heavy cloak obscured the newcomer’s features, but there was no mistaking her meaning. 

Taehyung bit his lip to keep from snorting as the poor she-wolf scrambled away. 

“Ji-ah,” he tsked with feigned disapproval, “that wasn’t very nice.”

Min Yoonji grinned as she sheathed her wicked looking dagger and slid languidly into his arms. 

“You don’t like nice girls, Kim Taehyung.”

“I like you,” he whispered breathlessly against her lips. “Nice or not—it doesn't matter to me…” His hands slid greedily over her soft curves—pulling her closer till he felt the beat of her heart against his own. “I’ll like anything as long as it’s you.” 

This was the stupidest idea in the history of stupid ideas. 

Jimin huffed as he struggled to find a comfortable position against the giant boulder he’d chosen as his perch.

Why did I let Taehyung talk me into this?

He could be at home—in bed—comfortably sleeping off the all-day feast he’d indulged in. 

Instead he was out in the middle of the forest sitting blindfolded on a rock in the off chance that one of the she-wolves was out looking for him. 

Not bloody likely. 

Not when prime targets like Namjoon, Hoseok, Jungkook—and countless others—were scattered throughout the woods. 

“Park Jimin?”

Every hair on Jimin’s body stood on end. 

It was a soft whisper—the speaker clearly didn’t want her voice to be recognized, yet something about the sound sent a curious frisson of interest down his spine. 

He gulped. 

“Yes… that’s me. But if you’re looking for Hoseok he’s just a little deeper in. You probably caught his scent downwind so—”

“I’m not looking for Hoseok.”

Jimin licked his lips and the sight of it sparked a odd curl of heat in the pit of your belly. 

“I don’t know where anyone else is…”

“That’s quite alright.” A muted shuffle of movement reached his ears as you settled down beside him. “I was looking for you.” 

“Oh…” He rubbed the back of his neck idly. “Are you sure?”

Laughter like fairy bells whispered through the air and Jimin felt his heart clench.

Don’t get your hopes up. 

“Who are you?”

You were silent for a long time and then—

“I am someone who owes you a debt. One I have never been able to repay.”

Jimin’s head tilted curiously as he considered your words. 

“I’m sorry, miss… you must be mistaken. There isn’t—“

“You don’t remember.” 

It was a statement—not a question. Your voice was nearer now. He could feel the warmth of your body close to his—though not quite touching. “It was your wolf that saved me. But you had not gone through the Change yet.”

Familiar shame spiked sharply in his chest.

“I’m seven years past the Change...Why have you never mentioned this before?”

“Circumstances prevented me from doing so.” 

There was a cold finality to your pronouncement—which of course did nothing but further inflame his curiosity. 

“Then why come to me now?”

“I’ve come to repay you.”

Jimin’s mouth dropped open. 

Were you trying to—?!

“Oh—no please that-that’s not necessary—I could never take advantage of—”

You giggled again.  

“I am not offering my body, Park Jimin.”

Jimin breathed a heavy sigh of relief then shook his head with a wry chuckle. 

“Well considering the circumstances I can hardly be blamed for assuming you might be. And honestly most men would jump at the chance to—”

“You...are not most men.” 

Jimin’s eyes narrowed beneath his blindfold. 

“Little she-wolf—I may not be wrestling bears for fun or bare knuckle boxing in the town square, but I am still an alpha.”

The weight of his command poured over your body as he spoke the last word. There was no order or intent—he had simply given you a taste of his power. 

Aside from your direct blood relatives, no alpha had ever dared unleash their compel in your presence—therefore you were utterly unprepared for the effect it had on you—

Utterly unprepared for the strange surge of want so potent and profound that it stole the breath from your body. 

It was primal—invigorating—

Sensual.

You and your wolf may not have been entirely connected yet, but she was suddenly quite vocal about her desire to fully bask in Park Jimin’s attention.

A wicked grin played over his lips as he leaned in closer and you could almost feel the soft brush of his lips against your cheek. 

“Did you think I would not desire the touch of a beautiful woman in the moonlight?” he whispered. 

Please touch me, Alpha. 

Your eyes widened. 

Dear goddess. Your inner wolf was turning out to be a shameless hussy. 

“You might desire it, but you are far too  honorable to accept it as payment for a debt.”

Jimin drew back warily. 

You were correct of course. After all he had refused you when he believed that was your intent but—

“How could you know that?”

Evade. Evade now. 

“Well... how could you know I was beautiful? You’re blindfolded.”

He shrugged and your wolf took careful note of the way it made all the pretty muscles in his back and shoulders ripple. 

He will give us such strong—

Oh boy. 

He will do no such thing. Please calm down. 

“Not everything must be seen with your eyes.”

Is that how you found me? All those years ago...

Questions churned chaotically beneath your consciousness but you dared not give voice to them. 

Focus.

“I must repay this debt. Ask for what you want and—if it is in my power—I swear it will be yours.”

Jimin smiled again, but this time it was somehow softer. For a moment he looked almost…

Sad. 

“I’m afraid that the only thing I have ever wanted is not within your power to give...and I dare not ask you or anyone else for it.”

For her. 

He sighed and drew even farther away from you—in fact it seemed like he was preparing to leave. 

No. 

Your hand reached out almost of it's its own accord and wrapped tightly around his wrist. The contact sent a shock of searing heat through his veins and he froze. 

“Please alpha. It is not acceptable for someone like me—” a leader, a Luna, “—to owe another my life and offer nothing in return. You must let me pay my debt.”

Omega, his wolf growled, sweet perfect omega. 

Suppressors may have hidden your scent, but the siren song of an omega pleading prettily in his ear was unmistakable—irresistible…

“What if all I want is your name?”

You sighed deeply. 

“I cannot give you that. My name is… not mine to offer.”

Jimin laughed. 

“A woman I cannot remember with a name I cannot know and whose face I cannot see.” He shook his head. “Perhaps you are just a figment of my imagination.”

It was hard to explain what happened next...For whatever reason his words cut you deeply and you were overcome with the desire—no need—to refute them somehow. 

“I’m real enough,” you whispered, bringing his hand to your cheek. 

Jimin was genuinely beginning to wonder if you were a witch as well as a she-wolf. Being close to you was intoxicating and the urge to draw you in was steadily overpowering every other thought.

“Could I ask you for a kiss, then?”

“You—...You saved my life and all you want... is a kiss?”

The air grew heavier as the strange magnetic pull between you swelled to a silent inescapable crescendo. 

“In Seoul I often searched for someone who could ease my loneliness, yet each time I walked away emptier than before.” His thumb brushed gently over your lips and your eyes fluttered shut. “I have never had a kiss that meant anything to me.”

But yours might. 

It was unclear who moved first, whether he pulled you to him or you surged forward but when your bodies aligned and your lips met his for the first time it was as if you had never been separate from one another. 

As if you had always been deeply—intimately —together. 

The indescribable feel of him lit over your senses like a struck match. It was an ignition in the purest sense of the word— a fiery visceral awakening fueled by a consuming flood of desire. 

Yes, Alpha. 

He might never see your face or hear your name, but Jimin knew he would remember the taste of you for the rest of his life. It was hot and bright like liquid sunshine— a pure relentless light flowing through him where there was once only darkness. 

A soft needy moan rose up from your chest and he growled in primal satisfaction as you melted against him. 

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt of their own accord, desperately trying to bring him closer until he wrapped his arms around you in a heated embrace. 

“Please,” he begged breathlessly against your mouth. “Please tell me who you are.”

The words crashed over you like a bucket of ice —dousing the hazy pleasure of his kiss with a cold bite of reality. Suddenly you were wrenching yourself away from him and your wolf whimpered in misery at the loss of his touch. 

“I can’t,” you whispered. 

And then you were gone. 

“Did someone hurt you?”

You looked up to find Jin taking in your tears with cold fury. 

Twin knives were already gleaming dangerously in his hands and he appeared ready to filet whichever bastard was foolish enough to make you cry. 

“No,” you sniffed—well aware of how pitiful you were at the moment—crying in the corner of your cousin’s kitchen. “I got myself into this mess without any help—as usual.”

Jin sighed and slid down next to you. 

“Tell me.”

“Something happened that I…I didn’t intend.”

“Oh I knew that already. The Luna isn’t supposed to be running around on the night of Lover’s Moon in a forest full of blind horny wolves—“

You snorted and shook your head. 

“You’re absolutely right. I should have stayed away.”

Jin’s eyes narrowed and he wondered if perhaps you had caught Kim Namjoon with another omega. Nothing would be official until after the Change of course, but your bond with him was basically a foregone conclusion at this point. 

“You went looking for someone...didn’t you.”

You nodded miserably—all but confirming his fears. He made a mental note to push Namjoon in the swamp at the next available opportunity. 

“You know... the stories say that a Luna is powerfully drawn to her mate under the Lover’s Moon—that her wolf can sense him even before the Change.”  He reached over and gently began to brush the tears from your eyes. “So it’s not surprising that you sought him out, but it’s not really fair to hold whatever it is you saw against him. There is no relationship between you yet and…” he chuckled, “kisses beneath festival moonlight don’t really mean anything anyways.”

It was clear that Jin had somehow gotten the entirely wrong impression, but perhaps that was for the best. 

No one knew of your connection to Jimin and no one had seen what passed between you. 

Still…

Something about his assessment stung you. 

“You really believe that? ...That a kiss exchanged tonight means nothing?”

“I do.” Jin spoke with conviction. “There’s ancient magic at play in those woods. You can’t always trust what you see—or what you feel.”

“Oh I...I didn’t know…”

After a moment you laid your head against his shoulder and let the last of your tears run silently down your cheek. 

“Jin-ah have you ever wanted something you knew you couldn’t have?”

“Yes.” He sighed heavily and pulled you in to snuggle a bit closer. “When I was younger I dreamed of having a mate just like everyone else…”

The words were so softly spoken—almost wistful. Your heart splintered just hearing them. 

“But… she could be out there—your mate.”

Jin shook his head. 

“When is the last time you heard of a female alpha?”

Fresh tears welled up in your eyes. 

“Jin…”

“Hey,” he whispered, “don’t waste your crying on me. I’ve long since come to terms with who and what I am.”

“You’re not sad anymore?”

“Well… maybe sometimes I am… but I had to accept that people like us are not like everyone else. Our destinies were written long before we were born.”

“And you believe you’re destined to be alone?”

“Wolves in a pack are never really alone.”

“Yes...but they can be lonely,” you whispered thinking back to Jimin’s words. 

For a moment Jin’s eyes were the saddest you had ever seen them. 

“Well...I suppose they can.”  Then he chuckled and gave your nose an affectionate little tap. “But you don’t need to worry about that. When the time comes Namjoon will take his place at your side and the two of you will build a wonderful life together... Isn’t that what you want?”

Isn’t it?

Your treacherous thoughts drifted back to the boy in the moonlight—to the way your body sang when he touched you and the strange insatiable desire to know him and be known by him in return.

“Please...Tell me who you are.”

A heavy ache settled in your heart. 

You were the Luna of the mountain nations. A true born moon princess. 

You could never be the woman who kissed Park Jimin underneath the stars. 

You were not like everybody else. 

“...Yes. That is what I want.”

��—◐——

Now 

——◐——

Jimin’s heart pounded as he tore through the dark paths of the wood with Taehyung, Yoongi, and Jungkook close behind. 

He had never led an attack—had never been trained to command wolves in battle. 

It was his first true test of leadership and he hadn’t even been a leader for twenty-four hours. 

Yet the fears and anxieties that might have normally clouded his mind were notably absent. 

There was only you.

Ironically Jimin owed Namjoon yet another debt—this time for explaining what exactly someone like him was capable of. 

The alpha Jin captured had given up their plan and position after being exposed to Jimin’s unique gifting, so he had a concrete target in his mind… He suspected however, that your captors had taken precautions after leaving some of their men behind. They had shifted their camp. 

But it wouldn’t be enough to save them. 

Jimin didn’t need your location to find you. 

He spent years refusing to look at you, and even then he always knew exactly where you were. He could sense you in any crowd—hear your voice in a thousand.

Once it had tormented him cruelly to be so aware of you. 

Now it was the only thing keeping him sane. 

He followed the connection between his heart and yours like a lifeline and it guided him as surely as the stars. 

The alphas followed him without question. 

If any of them harbored lingering doubts before, they were firmly laid to rest after what they saw at the cottage. No ordinary wolf could do what he had done. 

The Alpha would bring back their Luna and retribution would be swift indeed. 

The drugs in your system kept swinging you in and out of lucidity like a nightmarish pendulum. You tried to shift after the initial nausea faded, but whatever they gave you kept your wolf caged beneath your skin. 

Jimin

The longing you felt for your mate was the only thing tethering you to reality. You could almost hear him echoing in the far corners of your mind—  

I’m coming Omega—hold on. 

I’ll find you. 

Part of you recognized that his voice was likely nothing more than the wistful creation of your drug-addled mind, still you clung to it like the last shred of hope while the minutes (or hours) flew past.

Chaos clouded your thoughts even in clearer moments as many unavoidable concerns forced their way through the haze. 

Jin was at the house with you when they broke in. You had no way of knowing if he survived. 

The men who took you were crass and irreverent. Their eyes followed your form with too much interest and too little respect. 

It was starting to get cold and (due to you nearly dismembering a high council member and needing to be compelled unconscious) you were still wearing a thin white ceremonial dress which offered very little protection from the elements. 

You wondered idly if your idiot captors would let you freeze to death before they accomplished whatever it was they took you for. They clearly needed you for something or you would have been long dead by now. 

None of them struck you as particularly brilliant planners so the mastermind must be somewhere else... 

Frankly the entire situation was as puzzling as it was troubling. Iron Claw had always gotten along well with your pack. 

Technically they were (almost) what the human governments called a vassal state. The presence of a Luna determined the dominant pack in a region and the Luna of the mountain nations had been born into Silver Fang—your pack—for the last thousand years or so. 

Why would they challenge us now? 

The birth of a Luna indicated that the goddess had chosen that pack to lead. Their willingness—not only to kidnap you—but to go against the dominant pack by doing so was alarming to say the least. 

A sudden explosion of movement and sound interrupted your contemplation. Motion erupted all around you—boots pounding on the ground, men falling into their wolf forms, knives being drawn… 

You lifted your head—straining forward to see the source of the commotion—and nearly collapsed in relief when you finally did. 

Alpha

Your mate stood at the edge of the camp flanked by two enormous black wolves. 

A deadly looking jingum sword gleamed dangerously in his right hand. You recognized it immediately as your great-grandfather’s combat blade—the thousand year-old weapon of the Silver Fang Alphas. 

Relief flooded your chest all over again at the sight of it. Only Jin could have given him that sword—which meant he was still alive. 

The black wolves—Yoongi and Jungkook—snarled viciously but made no move to attack. 

Your captors were still scrambling into some sort of combat formation when Jimin finally spoke. 

“You have violated our sacred laws, trespassed in sovereign pack lands, kidnapped a Luna under the protection of our goddess, abducted the mate of the Silver Fang Alpha, and risked open war between our peoples.” He took a single step forward. “Surrender now and I will be merciful.”

The biggest of your captors—a man you recognized as the de facto leader—spat viciously on the ground. 

“You are not my Alpha,” he growled.

A cold—almost cruel—smile twisted over Jimin’s lips.

“Very well.”

Then he dropped to one knee and a massive grey wolf—Taehyung—leapt over his head and tore out the defiant leader’s throat before he even hit the ground. 

Your mouth dropped open. 

Bangtan formation.

Yoongi and Jungkook lunged forward in opposite directions, tackling their targets to the forest floor in a bloody clash of teeth and claws. 

One of the larger Iron Claw alphas half-shifted and charged Jimin but his arm shot out lightning fast, catching his attacker by the throat to send him flying through the air into a tree. 

The next several minutes could only be described as terrifyingly beautiful.

It was immediately clear that Jimin had been holding back when he fought Namjoon. 

He dispatched his opponents with such elegant savagery it was almost art.

You were so mesmerized watching Jimin sensually sword dance his way through a dozen alphas nearly twice his size that you almost missed Taehyung’s wolf rushing over with a dagger clenched between his teeth. 

Luna are you okay? 

You grinned and held up your rope-bound wrists. 

“I’ll be better once you pass me that knife.”

Taehyung nodded once and dropped the blade at your feet before tackling another wolf that was tearing towards the two of you. 

You sawed through the ties around your ankle first then twisted your arms to try and slice through the restraints on your wrist. 

The Iron Claw wolves were clearly no match for Jimin and his alphas. 

Jungkook and Yoongi chased after the few who were trying to run while Taehyung half-shifted to subdue the handful of wolves left alive as prisoners. Only Jimin continued to fight as the last three of your captors still standing took turns being slammed into the dirt by his strikes. 

He was clearly capable of dispatching them, but you were fairly convinced that you would die if you had to stay away from him for another second. The ropes, however, were surprisingly thick and the angle you were cutting them at wasn’t the best. If only—

You were almost free when you saw it. 

One of your captors had pulled a hunting javelin from their supply wagon. He must have hid himself at the onset of the fight, but now he was comfortably concealed by the shadows—and taking aim at Jimin. 

Your heart dropped into your stomach. 

The attacker appeared to handle the weapon with familiarity. He was too far back—too well hidden—Jimin would never see him in time—

The last cord around your wrist snapped and you were on your feet, pushing through the combined haze of fury and sedatives to charge the wolf who dared attack your mate. 

By the time he saw you it was far too late. 

Under the effects of the drug your aim was a little skewed but you weren’t Kim Seokjin’s cousin for nothing. 

One clean flick of your wrist and the dagger shot through the air, burying itself between the brute’s shoulder blades—all the way to the hilt. 

His body fell to the ground just as Jimin sent the last of your captors careening into a pile of previously defeated foes. 

For a moment all was quiet. 

Then your eyes locked across the distance and everything around you sharpened to a single whispered word. 

“Jimin.”

He had run non-stop for miles and torn apart a dozen wolves to get to your side—no amount of space between you now was tolerable. 

The sword clattered to the forest floor as he moved toward you—desperate to feel you—to wrap himself around you and know that you were safe. 

What happened next was as natural as breathing.

You opened to him and he lifted you into his arms, taking your lips in a hot unrepentant kiss. 

Fire exploded across your senses, burning away everything but the touch and taste of him. Every part of you was at once fiercely and gloriously alive. Desperate moans passed between you as he licked into your mouth—a dark primal promise of the pleasure he would take between your thighs. 

“Alpha,” you whimpered, too delirious with want to manage anything else. 

Suddenly Jimin’s eyes shot open. His hands flew to cup your face, searching it with a mixture of realization and disbelief.

“You… It was you.”

If you are already on the taglist, then I will automatically tag you for the next part! If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know.

Please tell me what you thought of this update! I am really excited to hear your thoughts! Feedback really does fuel my writing and hearing from you means a lot to me! On days that its hard to write, I go back and I read your lovely words and it makes me want to keep going! I cannot overstate its value in my heart! Seriously this story keeps going because you guys have been so supportive and wonderful. You have no idea how much just a few word can brighten my world and fire up my muse. 

[owlofthenight117]

Battle of the Marshmallows

A field is split down the middle, a giant fire roaring towards the sky as two figures face off. On one side, the field is a crisp golden, and on the other, the field is blackened, cracks of flame dancing across the surface, and embers glowing softly. Dressed in Mark VI armor, metal feathers decorating the pieces, Owl strands. Instead of the normal helmet, a winged owl-shaped helmet adorned her head. Her armor is black with ‘cracks’ running through it, glowing like embers. The other- Nerd- is dressed in black jeans, an old grey hoodie, combat boots and Grecian style armor protecting her arms and legs. A corset-like chest-piece protects her upper torso. Blood red hair tied up in battle braids gave an intimidating look.

“And thus it begins! Sharpen thy tools and make fast the trenches!!” Nerd yells. Owl looks towards her, picking up the onyx sword that was stabbed into the dirt beside her.

“Choose thy weapon fiend! You shall not win this fight! We have Master Chief and Kelly on our side!” Owl shouts, pointing her sword at Nerd.

“I have the power of the Chaos goblin and adorable innocence!! Thou canst never hope to defeat me!!! Golden ‘mellows shall prevail!!!!!” Nerd yells back, pacing back along the gap in the field separated by the raging fire.

“Thou think thou hath innocence? Thoust art a coward! Thou say nay to completing thy roasting of thine ‘mellow!”

“Thou art the coward!! Thou disrespecteth the ancient paths, spewing lies to those that follow you in this path of destruction! Have you no soul???”

“Tis true yond i has't nay soul! t wast taken from me many years ago at which hour battling the most wondrous dragon of the n'rth! i doth not spew lies, i only speaketh the sooth! t is thee who is't is on the wrong path! we m'rely seeketh to free thee from the ancient chains yond bindeth thee! breaketh free of the lies and joineth us mine own cousin!” Owl shouts, a figure comes up beside her, dressed in forest green armor with Violet highlights.

“How dare thee call thyne fellow creator a coward! That alone is such an act of cowardice! Take yourself and thou’s distasteful marshmallows away!” Danica-118 shouts to Nerd, who almost seems taken aback by her words.

“Do not confuse cowardice with defending my honor child!! They struck the first blow, laid the grounds, antagonize this battle... and thou have fallen just as far.... go back to the shadow of thine burnt mellows and ponder thy path…” Nerd says ominously. Both groups look at one another, stare each other down as the fire rages higher until they cannot see one another.

———-

Danica-118 quickly gets to work digging her own tunnels and planting burnt marshmallow explosive under the enemy base and trenches, chipping away at the surrounding dirt, she misses the burnt sugar that lands on her radio transmitter and corrupts the feed. Above the ground flashes of light appear- warp portals- bringing in Toasted and Burnt ones alike.

———-

Into the flickering firelight of the Burnt Ones camp steps Cameron-409, white armor smeared black with soot to resemble the superior marshmallow. "Stealth op is a no-go Chief." he reports, "The Bird was spotted among Toasted ranks, I'd be had as soon as I got within a hundred yards." Kelly claps him on the shoulder in consolation, before walking up to scout the perimeter. Cameron sits by the fire as Samriah stands up from where she sat by the fire, metal leg catching on the firelight. She nods, looking towards Cameron, “We knew this was a possibility. The Bird can see, but she can’t catch Kelly. Wolf knows the ground. Sam’s still in no man’s land.” She grabs a rifle, offering it to Cameron. “What’s our plan?”

———-

In the ranks of the Toasted, Nerd, X and Linda begin running their simulations of their meticulous strategy. "Our best bet is to snipe them from the trees, X and I are the best here, which gives us a distinct advantage." Linda comments, and Nerd looks towards her, firelight catching on Nerd’s gold dusted armor as she walks around the table they planned on.

"But they have Kelly and John, that's two more Spartans than we have... no offense Linda." Nerd mumbled as she looked down at the plan. A voice comes out of the shadows and they all look around, Linda quickly pulling her sniper off her back and pointing around at the possible foe.

"Hey kids, got room for two more??"

———-

Underground, Danica-118 continues to set charges, her armor getting smeared in melted sugar and mud, taps her coms and tries hailing out to the Burnt group, “I’ve managed to dig the tunnels and set the charges, but I can hear what sounds like digging. I either set them off now and dig upwards and try to not get caught, or try to get back and risk getting caught anyways. Your call Chief.”

———-

Nerd, Linda, and X look up to see a camouflaged Spartan land gracefully on the ground, her feet barely making a sound, she wore mark V armor; it was sage green with burnt orange on the gauntlets and knees, "Dove, get out from behind the tree... your not exactly sneaky" the unknown Spartan said. ‘Dove’ dropped out from behind the tree.

"I was invisible until you gave me away..." Dove grumbled, poking the female Spartans side playfully. "Meanie."

"Glad you could make it Eagle..." Linda greeted, relaxing slightly. Eagle nodded, and stood near their ‘war table’.

"I came as soon as I heard what was happening... I wouldn't miss the chance to gang up on John." Eagle said and Dove nodded. She glanced over to the map, ready to give input.

———-

At Burnt base Wolf pops up seemingly out of nowhere looking to be covered in dirt. She was short, only about 5 foot, and had a mohawk style hair with bright green eyes. She wore Spec Op armor that was redesigned for a human, the deep grey color contrasted with her eyes, making them seem brighter as she stepped into the light of the fires, "I was scooping around their perimeter looking for any weak spots, while their defenses may be very tight I think I managed to find a slight opening we might be able to use to our advantage." She said, Samriah looked up at Wolf, calculating the options in her head.

“What’s the opening?” She tapped at the dirt with a charred stick, glancing at Chief. “Any word from Danica?” She questioned, and received a slight shake of the head from the Chief. Samriah let out a breath, “How are our defenses looking? Toasted ranks may be small, but if they have the Bird…” Samriah trailed off. Wolf drew a crude drawing of the toasted base sketching it out in charcoal on the war table.

"The defenses on the north, east and west sides are highly reinforced with dirt and hardened, sticky marshmallow, but they got a little sloppy on the south wall. A mile or so down the south side there's a small crack about an inch from the ground up the wall. If we could get an explosive in there we might be able to make a hole." Wolf then realizes she hasn't seen Danica in a while and turns towards the group.

"Didn't Danica say she was gonna go set some charges near the toasted base? It's been almost an hour and she isn't back yet. Do you think she's okay?”

———-

Danica takes a breath attempting to remain calm as she attempts to make contact with the Burnt Ones again.

“Chief? Samriah? Wolf? This is Danica-118 do you read me? I have set the charges. I repeat I have set the charges. There’s the sound of digging getting closer, either I set them off now and dig upwards and try to avoid getting caught or I crawl back and risk getting caught anyways.” No response. Danica shakes her head as she notices it’s been an hour that she’s been gone. “Well since coms don’t want to work, I guess it’s up to me… please let my luck hold out…” she mumbled to herself. Danica starts to crawl back to the Burnt Ones bunker as quietly as possible and pokes her head out from the entry of the tunnel and looks at everyone. “I guess coms don’t work underground. They’re starting to dig tunnels of their own. It won’t be long til the charges are found”

———-

As Eagle surveys the perimeter, she can hear what sounds like scraping and smiles, "Have fun running back to base... it's a long walk home." She says to herself, she radios Linda, reporting her findings.

"Eagle says that they have tunnels, which more than likely means they have charges of some kind." Linda began, watching as Dove placed another golden toasted grenade.

"Then that means we have to force their hand.... destroy their tunnels before they can take advantage of them." Nerd stated, drawing a line across the projection.

Eagle returned from her perimeter scans, walking over to their war table she joined the others, "I'll make an insertion here..." Eagle said, pointing at what appeared to be a random patch of ground. "My thermal scanners indicate one of the charges is there... a flash grenade will be hot enough to detonate and send a chain reaction, causing the tunnels to collapse."

———-

At Burnt base Samriah frowned at Wolf's comment, but spoke “Danica is smart. She knows what she’s doing.” Samraih leaned over Wolf’s drawing she tapped the south side where the crack was. “Good thinking. If we-“ she was cut off as the radio crackled “This- Danica- charges- set- caught.” The feed was distorted and Samriah pulled up a screen. “Danica, this is Samriah. Do you read?” The radio crackled and went silent. She looked at Wolf, “Wolf, see if you can find an explosive for the hole. Something small. Remote detonation.” Samriah turned towards Cameron, “Cameron, check our defenses, If they have Linda there, and they made a mistake, we probably have one too.” She turned to Chief, who seemed to be deep in thought, “Chief, see if you can get ahold of Sam. I don’t want him getting caught in the cross fire if this gets messy.” Still looking towards him she asked “Cortana, do we have a head count for the Toasted? If they are starting to warp in others…” she hesitated, “This could go very badly. Very quickly.”

"You got it boss," Wolf said and saluted Samriah. She put on a midnight black cloak, changing in appearance as she did so. In her place was now a wolf with midnight black fur. She had one black and white eye and the other was gold. Three scars ran down her face, marring the otherwise fluid coloration. It will be easier to sniff any type of explosive no matter the size in this form. She says mostly to herself before disappearing into the shadows. The radio crackles and all the team can hear is the sound of explosions and rubble falling, Samriah looks grim.

“It has begun.” She says, and gets to work.

———-

As the Toasted prepare for another confrontation, Dove sighs heavily.

"We're gonna get our butts kicked if we don't get some more help... I mean, we have an equal number of Spartans... but extra people? Not many..."

Nerd thinks for a moment before she and Dove glance at each other wickedly.

"Perhaps...." Nerd remarks, picking up her phone, "All we need, is a little.... divine intervention..."

———-

On the field, a woman with scarlet hair sat perched in a tree. She wore light black and bluer armor, maximizing flexibility and mobility. She was a pyrokinetic, and went by Catherine, she found herself in a nice sniper position tucked in one of the trees, with a whole bag of marshmallows. One by one she lights them on fire because that’s what miss pyro does best. This is a free for all for her. No loyalties. Everyone is a target. Catherine purposely aims for Fred because he stole her chocolate that was supposed to go on her s’mores. The night is lit up with fires and chaos as the Toasted and the Burnt collide into battle.

———-

"Eagle..." Nerd called out, and the female Spartan nodded, grabbing the detonator and hovering her thumb over the button.

"Detonating in 3, 2, 1.... ADIOS!!!" Eagle shouted, pressing the button as the world lit up in explosions of flying marshmallows and dirt.

“YOU ALL BETTER TAKE COVER” Cathriene yells as she rains the mini fruit flavored marshmallows down on everyone. As Cathrine unleashed her onslaught on minis mellows, the Toasted were covered by a rather mystical and divine field of protection.

"It took you three long enough..." Dove pointed at the goddesses, Divine Intervention shooting her a somewhat irate glare. Waving her hand a cannon ball of burnt mellows dissolved into flakes of shimmering gold.

"Two actually... Destiny decided the opposing side fit better..." Fate pointed out, as from across the field a smokey figure hurled another ball of burnt marshmallows at Fate, who sighed and snapped, the ball of fire stopping in its tracks to plummet to the ground.

———-

As the battle rages a shadowy figure stalks through the night barely making a sound as if she has become one with the shadows. Her head darts up as an explosion flashes in the field, coloring the sky with fire and destruction. Dismissing it she continues looking for anything to help her team. She stays away from the Toasted base, but keeps close enough to to keep it in sight. The onyx colored wolf sniffs around on the ground, looking for any type of explosive that she could use to help, she finds nothing and lets out a low growl to herself. Damn those toasted guys sure know how to clean up after them… She says to herself, as she is about to turn back, an explosion shakes the earth. It throws Wolf to the grounds and her ears ring, chunks of earth and stone pelt the ground. Darkness descends on her vision, turning everything into blackness.

———-

Danica crawled through the tunnel system, with more urgency now as the ground shook above her, the battle had begun “Now or never…” she told herself, and set off all of the charges. She was only halfway through the tunnel system, and was buried in the rubble. Armor-locked she was frozen, hoping her luck held out and someone from Burnt found her. Behind her, half of Toasted base was covered in burnt marshmallow, walls either cracked or destroyed, anyone still left in the base was covered in burnt marshmallow. Danica’s radio crackled as she heard Samriah come through distorted, “Dan- this i- Sam- read?”

———-

Wolf’s eyes shot open, she shakely stands, dust and debris falling off her coat, now dusted in white ash and soot. Shaking herself off, pieces of earth and rock fell off her. She sniffs the air and perks up, the distinct smell of explosives and the sharp small of pine, a person. She trots off in the direction of the smell, getting closer to Toasted base. As she nears the base she slows walking over about a few feet carefully still sniffing the air and keeping a lookout for any traps that might be placed. As she gets closer the smell gets stronger until the earth seems to break open, revealing a long tunnel underneath the ground. Wolf starts to dig, large paws making quick work of the torn-up soil, she carefully digs around armed but not set off devices, picking them up carefully and setting them aside for later use. After a few minutes of digging her paws hit something hard. She leans forwards and gives it a tentative sniff, metal and pine. Danica! Wolf starts digging with renewed vigor as the Spartan is slowly uncovered. Once Wolf has most of the rubble cleared her form shifts, turning back into her human form as she reaches for Danica. The Spartan’s armor is locked but with a quick command into a tablet she was able to unlock the Spartans armor.

Master list (Includes all previous parts)

@embarrassedauthornerd @117s-girl @starchaser-the-prophet @lialacleaf @xback1021 @alpha-wo1f2 @valkyrie231

[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. 

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

I’ve been thinking about one piece of dialogue Violet has when you’re walking back to Ericson, right before the bridge: “I've always wanted a basketball hoop.”

One of the issues I’ve always had with Violet’s writing throughout the whole season is that it never feels like she has anything to call her own. So much of her story revolves around Minerva and Clementine, which would be fine if I also felt like I got to know her more than I do. 

Like... aside from survival, what gets Violet out of bed every morning?  What does she like? We always hear about things she doesn’t like, but what does Violet do that is hers? I mean within the text of the story, not headcanons. Aside from her romantic relationships, there really isn’t something so tied to her character, if that makes sense. Something that’s in a more positive light.... though I guess her relationships aren’t always that positive.

I get that when the twins died, Violet shut down a little bit and turned everyone away, but do they ever make a point to be like “Violet used to enjoy doing this, but when the twins died, she stopped and hasn’t picked it up since.” because for the life of me, I can’t think of anything. 

Everyone memeified the chicken nugget thing but that doesn’t add much to her character. She makes Clementine a pin, but admits that artsy stuff isn’t her thing. I get that’s supposed to make you feel special because she likes you enough to do something she doesn’t like for you, but again, art isn’t her thing. If you say that she likes stars and that’s her thing, that’s not exactly true since it was Clementine who knows about constellations and Violet admits that she knows nothing about that stuff, so they’ll just make it up. I guess you could make the argument that she took an interest in it because of Clementine, and that’s fair, but that’s the thing.... why does Violet’s romance scene take place up on the bell tower in the first place? 

Like.... okay, Louis has his romance scene in the music room, right? That makes perfect sense with his character. It’s where we first meet him, and music is so interwoven with his character that it holds together his backstory of why he broke up his parents marriage, his coping mechanism, how the others view him, and how losing his tongue is even more tragic since he won’t ever be able to sing again. So having him and Clementine tune the piano, carving their initials into the piano, him naming a song he wrote after her, it’s all romantic and it makes so much sense. They didn’t do it just because they thought it would be romantic. 

The thing I struggle with the Violet scene is that I feel like if I asked the devs why they chose the bell tower and how it ties into her character, they would say “well, it’s romantic under the stars.” like.... they’re only doing it for the sake of romance without thinking about anything else? because when doing that scene we get the terrible mini-game [sorry, but I reeeeally don’t like the mini-game hahaha]  and it feels like we’re wasting a little too much time because I’m not learning anything about Violet through it, but we’re also not talking about anything important. The most I learn is that if I remain silent, then Violet will say that Minerva reminds her of the fish constellation: “Bright, pretty, good with other people. Always moving, tons of energy.”

Which, by they way, Clementine’s face when she says that? Oof. 

By the end of the mini-game, Violet finally says something about how she didn’t mean to talk so much, and how how she’s watched people leave before and all that.... stuff that I already know about her, and it’s not that it isn’t important for her to admit that she wants us here and she can’t imagine what it would be like if we weren’t now, because it is.... I guess I just want everything to tie together better?

Okay, when we first see Violet, she’s laying up on a high wall and you could link that to the bell tower [high places], but she never mentions it or how she goes up there when she needs the quiet until that very moment. And the more I think about it, I’m like..... why didn’t they give her something? 

Violet’s supposed to be this character who needs to warm up to you, who has shut everyone out for a year, she’s not a people person and has a hard time relating to others, she snarky and can come off as aggressive, she knows how to fight, she was in a romantic relationship with Minerva, she’s close with Tenn, she’s got a strained relationship with Brody and hates Marlon and...... like okay, this is going to sound harsh and I don’t like it either, but sometimes if feels like the writers neglected parts of her character for the sake of focusing on her relationships with Minerva and Clementine, that when you take them away, there isn’t a lot left... as if Violet’s only important or special if she’s in some sort of relationship with Clementine and I don’t like that. 

Characters, like people, should be more than just their sexuality and relationships. If Violet and Louis are supposed to be important characters in the game, they need to stand on their own outside of Clementine. 

You guys know me, you know every time I play I romance and save Louis, but in doing that, I learn pretty much nothing about Violet and that’s dumb. At least when you romance and save Violet, you know about Louis and his tie to music. The most I tie Vi to is Minnie and aggression because she and I spend two episodes butting heads about most things until she’s captured, and then she yells and attacks me in the cells and what was the plan here writers??

I get that they don’t wanna info dump about these characters and they want to leave things for when you play the different routes but that doesn’t change the fact that you didn’t give Violet anything to call her own because even when I played her route, it still didn’t feel like I got to know her and everything was done because you thought just having a queer option smothered in romance that doesn’t have to make sense was enough.

Are my ramblings making sense yet? I dunno!

This leads me to this piece of dialogue you get when Clementine says silent when Violet asks her what her favorite part of her house was: “I've always wanted a basketball hoop.”

Now stick with me a little longer and hear me out........ why wasn’t basketball Violet’s thing? I know this is a bit of a throwaway line that a lot of players probably didn’t even get, but think of the possibilities of extra layers to Violet’s character?

Instead of hanging out on top of a wall when we first see her, Violet’s off dribbling a basketball and shooting hoops when she spots you and Tenn goes to her, and she stops to stare you down as she holds the ball against her hip, or she continues to dribble but now she’s watching Clementine. A little intimidating, but enough to peak your curiosity about the girl shooting hoops. 

When Louis says he used to love baseball and Violet says baseball sucks, it’s because this is an inside joke they have about baseball vs basketball.

“Basketball/baseball sucks.”

“YOU suck.”

“Not as much as baseball/basketball.”

Instead of going up to the bell tower, Clementine and Violet shoot hoops together while talking about how Violet’s feeling about the situation, let her get some of those thoughts about Minerva out so they’re not weighing down on her, and then segway into her talking about how she’s glad Clem is here and let the romance/friendship play out. Hell, you could either do this in a gym or outside if you still want them under the stars. 

As far as this tying into her backstory, maybe her grandparents had a basketball hoop at their place, and after church her grandma would grab fast food and they’d go home where she and her grandpa would play while grandma watched. 

Then when you don’t save her, Violet becoming blind has a whole other layer to it because now she can’t fucking see to shoot hoops, something she genuinely enjoyed and can’t anymore. 

This would also compliment Louis and his tie to music. Violet’s more active, aggressive, sporty whereas Louis is musical, artsy and calmer. 

I dunno, what do you guys think?

[wesimpforxiao]

Say My Name and I’ll Be There: 9.3

Childe elected to ignore your groan of pain when he yanked you to your feet.  "No hard feelings, comrade."

"I-I'm gonna kill you," you breathed.  "I'll kill you and that damned witch if it's the last thing I do."  A cold hand pressed to your side while the harbinger threw your other arm over his shoulder to escort you inside.

"I suppose I'll have to train you then if that's your goal."

He wasn't joking; the two of you would remain at a stalemate until your strength grew.  He taught you--what you assumed was--almost everything he knew, though for you to reap the full benefits of his knowledge would take years of training.  Despite this he pushed you over and over again, every day, after the wound he gave you closed.  He didn't give you the courtesy of healing completely before initiating fights with you.  He didn't go easy on you either--but it's not like you would've wanted him to in the first place.  At least your sparring sessions gave you an outlet to take out your frustrations on.

You didn't count the days that passed.  You didn't call for Xiao.  You didn't rely on him to save you when all is said and done.  It was time to rescue yourself; if you overran the palace on your own, then other nations wouldn't need to get involved on your behalf.  If the palace fell, no one except you would be held responsible.  You were okay with that.  If it meant Xiao, Aether and Zhongli would be excluded from the wrath of the cryo archon, then your struggles were more than worth it.

Yet with every passing day, more and more Fatui agents were injected with the serums that contained your blood--and survived.  The only thing that made their successful adaptation possible was the sealing of your and Xiao's bond.  With that thought in mind, you were growing increasingly impatient.  You were the one that insisted upon training for most of the day, not Childe.  You were the one looking for a fight.

"Why're you doing this?"  You asked one day while your hand absently trailed down to the fresh scar on your side where he had impaled you.

"Doing what?"

"Training me.  Isn't it a stupid move to train someone how to fight when they're intent on killing you?  If I was you, I would've just let me bleed out in the snow back then."

"If I didn't train you, I would be missing out on one of the best fights of my life."

"Is that supposed to flatter me?"

"It's the truth.  Where else am I supposed to find a worthy opponent?  At my current power level, I'd have more luck with creating one."  Childe conjured his bow and twirled it in his hand, seemingly debating something that was on his mind.  "With your improved skills, I think we'd be able to take the other harbingers."

You froze.  "What?  Why would you say that?  Whatever happened to your undying loyalty?"

"My loyalty for the Tsaritsa and my respect for my coworkers are two entirely different matters.  What I really care about is fighting.  It's been so long since I've had an exhilarating battle, even after Aether showed up.  I would give anything to feel that thrilled again.  And that, dear ojou-chan, is where you come in."

"I'm not fighting you for the thrills.  I will kill you, I'll make sure of it."  It's insulting that he'd even look at your anger as a type of entertainment!  The nerve of this guy--

"Well until then I think we could stir up quite the trouble, you and I, don't you think?"  His eyes finally left his weapon and locked onto you.

"...What exactly are you implying, Tartaglia?"  Narrowed suspicious pupils returned his mischievous ones.

He didn't answer, instead leaving you with an ominous smirk and returning to the palace walls.  Why should you trust a word that fell from his mouth after the Lantern Rite stunt he pulled?  Maybe a small part of you wanted to believe he had some inkling of good in him, but you forced that wishful thinking down into the depths of your soul.  Childe betrayed you so many times; it was in his nature to do so.  He would never be done deceiving you either.  You were sure of it despite the doubts that weighed on your mind.

.........................

"Bow before Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa."  La Signora crossed her arms over her chest when you just glared at the dark throne that sat beneath the shadows.

"I think not."

The clicking of the harbinger's heels echoed in the silent room as everyone held their breaths.  No one dared stand up to the cryo archon; it was unthinkable, even considered treason to question her actions.  This would be the first meeting with the god since you formed a contract with her.  And yet despite your quivering knees, you didn't remove your disrespectful glare from the throne.

"I wasn't asking."  Fingers gripped your chin and forced you to look Signora in the face at an uncomfortably close distance.  "You know the drill.  Bow."

A beat of silence hung heavily in the air and then an awkward cough came from one of the Fatui advisors to your far right.  You didn't blink.  "Did I stutter?"

Signora's lips curled into a half-amused smirk before her fingers let go of your chin and were replaced by a palm slapping you instead.  Her nails broke skin, but your expression never changed even when the stinging pain rang through your ear.  "Have you forgotten who you serve?"

"She's not my god."

"Maybe not the one you worship, but I am the one you serve," the Tsaritsa leaned forward from her place on the throne and gestured for the Fair Lady to return to her side.  "Tell me, why did you request to see me?"

A quick glance was sent Childe's away as if to check yourself.  You had decided it best to at least try the peaceful way out before throwing yourself into a suicide mission.  If worse came to worse, at least you'd be able to put your new knowledge to the test.  "I'm no longer working for you."  The archon's silence urged you to continue.  "You don't need me here anymore.  You got what you wanted.  I'm going to return to Liyue."

"Is that so?"

"I will leave regardless of your answer."

"And you think I'd just let you walk out of here after all I've done for you?"  The temperature dropped, but it displayed an emotion that you couldn't put your finger on.  "I gifted you your vision, spared your life and that of your friends, and you insult me in return?"

What is this feeling of dread in my stomach?  Your fists tightened and you took a deep breath to steady your nerves.  "The trials are over now that Dottore's injections work.  That was our deal, was it not?  You want to break our contract?  I thought you were more credible than that," you tested.

"I know what you've been thinking," the archon's thin lips formed a sinister grin.  "I know you're plotting to cause an uproar, and I am telling you now that you will fail.  Heed my words, Mezzetin, you are and always will be under my control."

"Wh-What did you just say...?"  Your heartbeat drummed loudly in your ears and you knees felt like they would give out beneath you.  This...This happened before.  When did she say that?  Where did I hear these words from?  Cold, desolate eyes watched you carefully as the room spun beneath your feet.  "Stay...away..."

"You work for me, not the other way around.  If you leave now, I'll give the order to kill those friends of yours.  You're not done until I say you're done."

"You wouldn't--!"  Bile burned the back of your throat, and a shaky hand covered your mouth in case you suddenly couldn't hold it in.  "You...you..."  An unsettling realization came to light.

"Do you understand the position you're in, Mezzetin?"

"It was...You gave me those nightmares!  Those were all you?"

"You don't think I'm oblivious to your desires, do you? You will always be under my control."

"If you dare touch him I'll--!"  Hundreds of shards manifested behind you and simultaneously shot at the throne.  The more that shattered against the seat and back wall, the more that manifested and replaced them.  

The ones that barreled nearest to the Tsaritsa diverted their path and shattered against the back wall like they had a mind of their own.  Signora used her catalyst to redirect the remaining shards to you.  Luckily none of them landed a strike on your skin, but a charged arrow of Childe's landed before your feet and you slipped on the forming ice.  His hydro blade was immediately at your throat, along with Signora hovering over you with an annoyed look on her face.  The three of you were surrounded by Fatui officers in an instant; despite their capabilities, they were slower than the harbingers.

"If she makes a move, kill her," the archon calmly ordered, completely unbothered by the commotion.

Signora had her men drag you away to the all-too familiar exit that led to the cells beneath the palace.  They forced your head forward so you didn't see the Tsaritsa recline back in her seat and into the shadows.

The archon swiped her finger across her pale cheekbone and warily inspected the fresh blood that had run down the side of her face.  I missed one?  One of your shards did manage to hit her.  Such a measly attack shouldn't have injured me, she thought as she stared at her fingers in awe and concern.  While your power had grown to a certain extent thanks to Childe's training, it was by no means anywhere near equivalent to his--much less equivalent to a god's.  Your strikes, while powerful, shouldn't have been able to hurt the cryo archon.  Yet here she was, staring at the blood you drew from her.

She recalled the wild look in your eyes when you decided to attack her.  Such a beautiful, pitiful sight that held an immeasurable lack of sanity and rational thought.  Your rage was feral, but just like a wild animal, so was your fear of being caged.  She could see it in your stance;  you were all bark and little bite.  The soft interior within her hardened heart actually admired your bravery...only a little, though.  If she were to achieve her goals, that flame of admiration would quickly be extinguished since it had no place in such a cruel world.

Her thumb smoothed over her bloodied fingers while she thought quietly to herself.  It shouldn't have been possible to harm her.  Not on your own, not even with your vision.  It was then that it dawned on her the true meaning of your bond with Morax's sole-surviving warrior adeptus.

So this is the power of the Vigilant Yaksha.

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | Righting Wrongs (Yuen, 1986)

This review contains spoilers.

I’m used to how Hong Kong’s distinct historical and political subtext worms its way into its movies, even seemingly lightweight ones. Something like Police Story provides an obvious example, moving from a cheerful action comedy (full of breathtaking, death-defying action sequences) to something angrier, where the hero has been left to fend for himself by the institutions he once served but has lost faith in (but still with breathtaking, death-defying action sequences). But even then, that movie has its share of levity throughout, and ends on a note that I certainly wouldn’t call bleak. Perhaps it’s on me for not looking too much into this movie beforehand, but I was struck by how bleak this is. Within the first few minutes, an entire family is killed in order to sink the case against a pair of mobsters. Dismayed, the prosecutor decides to take the law into his own hands. But while in Police Story, the hero taking the law into his own hands got results and saved the day, the same thing here maybe does take down the criminal mastermind, but gets a lot of other people killed along the way.

I watched the Hong Kong cut and one of the alternate endings (my copy, freshly arrived in the mail from 88 Films, includes a few other cuts that I understand have different endings). Both of them end with the hero dead. The Hong Kong cut maybe leaves a bit of room for ambiguity, with the hero’s body floating in the water after he dives out of a plane right as it crashes, but the alternate ending ends with a grim punchline, with a group of partiers on a nearby boat choosing to ignore the corpse so that it doesn’t ruin their fun. I think I prefer the former, in part because I wanted to believe that the hero survived, but also because it ends things right at the peak of a crescendo. The latter drives the themes home, but allows things to come back down. Or to use punctuation, it’s an exclamation mark versus a period or ellipses. I guess I’m like Elaine Benes in that I’d opt for the former.

The hero is played by Yuen Biao, who I’d previously known mostly as a supporting player in the movies of his better known friends and co-stars Jackie Chan and Sammo Hung. (The three of them make up my most watched actors this year, according to my Letterboxd stats.) In those other movies, he usually had an offbeat, likable presence, bouncing off Jackie and Sammo to hit a different set of comedic notes. (My favourite is probably his role in Dragons Forever, where he navigates his political and philosophical confusion and tension between capitalism and communism through his treatment of his pets.) Disappointment might be the wrong word, but I was definitely caught a little off guard by how seriously he plays things here. He’s effective in the role, and it’s the right tone for the surrounding film, but I did miss the quirkiness of his other roles. To the extent that there is levity here, it’s provided by the dynamic between a slobbish cop played by director Corey Yuen and his doting father played by Wu Ma, but like I alluded to earlier, nobody here gets a happy ending.

But while this is certainly a grim movie, it’s far from a joyless one, in that it’s directed with a constant forward momentum and packed full of top notch action sequences. I don’t know what I can say about the action here that would meaningfully differ from anything I’ve said about other classic Hong Kong action movies. I need to get better at discussing technical matters; the two touches that stood out to me were the uses of undercranking and body doubles, which are less offensive here than usual because of how relentlessly the action hurtles ahead. But one is simultaneously in awe and likely wincing as they see one  crackling, fast paced, painful-looking action scene after another, whether it’s Biao taking down a group of assassins (which include a Mick Jagger lookalike and a gunman with an accordion), trying to avoid getting flattened in a cramped garage while the villains try to play bumper cars, Cynthia Rothrock and Karen Shepard going (wo)mano a (wo)mano (this apparently was notable for casting non-Chinese actresses in a Hong Kong movie in a non-gimmicky way), or Biao chasing after a plane on foot in the breathtaking (and death-defying) finale.

[space-blue]

I’ll stop asking in multiples one day. For the fandom list. 1, 5, 10

Ehehe thanks for asking, multiple is fun! From these!

What OTPs in your fandom(s) do you just not get?

Since I'm pretty deep in the aroace waters, I generally don't really have OTPs and also don't really give a fuck what people like. I've shipped some really stupid stuff just for fun, and most of the time I can come up with a scenario that makes me "buy" any coupling.

What happens more often is that a pairing in canon will be baffling to me. Fanfic has the time to expend on a relationship, make it earned or believable. Also fanfic can tweak canon, so yeah. I can get behind pretty much any OTP in fandom if it's presented conclusively. I still have like, one Notp (Thrawn x Pryce), but it's not that I don't get it, just that I dislike it enough to block it from my dash and avoid all fics.

THIS BEING SAID. I cannot understand how canon is trying to sell us Cait x Vi. Sorry guys! Please don't take me to the pillory.

Cait is a 1% hyper privileged and a cop. Vi is a victim of a violent and abusive system, who lost her parents to cops lethal violence and also 5 to 10 years of her youth to cop abuse of power. She and Cait are so diametrically opposed, I cannot believe any normal and sane human being in Vi's position would fall for Cait within two days, no matter how cute or nice she is (and she's not very nice for a large part of it, and insanely naive the entire time).

I just feel like their entire "romance" was rushed at the cost of Vi's entire character integrity. I spent hours assimilating she knows, as a child, how downtrodden she is, how broken the system is, how much more suffering is in stock for them, and then boom, she suffers the worst possible fate short of death, and she falls for the first cute cop she meets? Please... Then she rats out her sister to the entire COUNCIL? Who are you and why are you haunting Vi's body?

So yeah, basically set out to write Fathers and Daughters specifically to fix Vi, because she's the lynchpin characters of this show, and she was done crazy disservice to hurry her into an unconfirmed 2 days romance with Cait.

Absolutely no shade here on Caitvi shippers. I'm very happy the main ship of the fandom is F/F, it's a breath of fresh air compared to so many others. Like I said, I'm certain a lot of fics out there actively fix their relationship by addressing my concern, deepening their relationship, stretching canon over more time, etc. I'm sure I could love those fics too. It's what is in canon that leaves me (；⌣̀_⌣́)

5. Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?

Nah. I'm an old dysfunctional granny. I follow like 5 people and I'm liberal with my block button. If stuff gets heated over some ship I disconnect from that discourse and don't think about it.

Like I said above, I'm not really that concerned with shipping. Even if I read or write it, I tend to focus on platonic dynamics, found family, and if I ship, it's usually centric to one character. Sure I'll read Silco/anyone or Obi-Wan/Anyone.

So fandom would need to ruin Obi-Wan himself (fear), etc. Which I'm happy to report has never happened yet.

10. Most disliked arc? Why?

Siiiiiiiigh. I'm a Clone Wars fan. Why would you ask me that... I'll have to make a list!! x'D

In all seriousness, most of the Padmé & kiddie politics arcs, droid arcs, Jar Jar arcs (except his epic Windu team up one that was awesome lol)... But the arcs that grate me the most are the flawed ones that have amazing potential but never end up finished.

Umbara?? What happens to Tup???? How do the clones deal with trauma?? How does Anakin feel about his men being put through the grinder with a fallen Jedi? Does it not strain his relationship to Palps?

The Slavery arc. That was so fucked honestly, 14 yo Ahsoka hanging out in a fucking cage in the sun, getting grim promises from her future "owner", a grown ass man with a grudge... Like... There should have been far more repercussions to that. Where is the arc where they heal? Where is the arc where Obi-Wan deals with the after effect of the horrors he witnessed and endured?

Yes, it's a kid's show. But you are showing kids 10+ people being sent falling to their death for kilometers for one man to MAKE A POINT, so some "processing trauma" stuff can't exactly be deemed too dark.

And holy shit let's not forget Deception arc. I love it. Bane/Hardeen my grubby beloveds!! BUT—

WHERE IS THE AFTERMATH!! Obi-Wan CHOSE not to warn Anakin. He played dead, burnt all of his social bridges. It's insane that the show gives them a tiny aborted conversation and that this is never revisited again.

It's also a shame because it's a missed opportunity to spend more time looking at the bridge in confidence between Obi and Anakin. And yes, it's a kid's show. That could be addressed during another exciting mission.

I just feel like the show shies away from its own consequences a lot.

[xadoheandterra]

Series: The Heir, The Reader, and Clay

Title: Run It Again Fandom: Assassin’s Creed Characters: Desmond Miles, Kadar Al-Sayf, Al Mualim, Altair Ibn La’Ahad Pairings: Altair/Malik Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV | XVI | XVII | XVIII Enabler: @kingbob2-0 @claire-the-dyke-dragon Tags: Time Travel, Big Brother Kadar, Desmond Raised By Others, De-Aged Desmond, OC’s Galore, Dad Malik Summary: They hadn’t found an answer yet, and Layla was impatient despite the promise of the Grey being timeless in its nature. She didn’t want to have to search for an answer that might never come–so she made another suggestion. Why not just change it? Why not counter the Isu influence on the Pieces of Eden where it counted, and counter what Juno inevitably did to the Eye in the Grand Temple?

It was all the push that Desmond needed to let himself be just that bit more selfish. So selfish he chose to be, and there was one moment where the Isu’s hold on the Pieces of Eden had a profound effect–the Levantine Brotherhood. Altair Ibn La’Ahad. Al Mualim. There was just one problem–Desmond was eight, a child, and didn’t remember dying.

Layla at least had his back, even if she was just a bit fashionably late.

 Malik looked through the supplies as the Novices' unhitched the cart from the horse with single focus. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed since he last checked over everything; really the action made him feel somewhat useful considering his numerous blunders in attempting to ride horseback with one arm. His own Novices' had to assist him more than once and that stung his pride like no other. Now, outside Jerusalem and away from Masyaf, Malik wasn't certain as to what he was even doing.

Running a Bureau was a lot; to be perfectly honest Malik had no clue how to handle affairs as the Bureau Leader. He didn't know the first thing about balancing a legitimate front job to balancing the information network to balancing the Assassins themselves. He'd never been trained to do such, and even the crash course in Leadership that Kareem had given him the last two days before Al Mualim decided his journey to begin left Malik feeling woefully underprepared. About the only think Malik felt comfortable with was that at least he wouldn't have to purchase the property that would be used for the Bureau himself; everything on that front had already been handled years before. Until now the Brotherhood had little need of the place aside from a spare safehouse within Jerusalem.

Now it would be the active Bureau--and Malik dreaded the need to send out feelers into the city to find the state of Kadar's informants. Al Mualim had little hope that any survived, not with over a month of no contact, and Malik had little hope to believe otherwise himself. Why else would the Novices keep silent if they were indeed alive? Better that they be dead; whatever else the reason for the quiet Malik didn't dare want to know. No, better that they be dead and the silence a result of that--but he would still need to organize his own Novices to comb through the city and none of his set of four were decent at hiding within the crowd. Not enough to send into the city by themselves, not in the state it was in.

They would dread the drills, but Malik needed to work them to the bone so that he could make sure the Bureau ran to the best of its ability. Subpar Novices would not stand for long; they already dreaded the rest of Malik's lessons, what is one more groaned complaint to a list of them? Malik shook his head and stepped away from the cart; he needed to still his thoughts and focus on the matter at hand. Calmly he waved over the oldest of his Novices and looked the boy over--Jawad by far had the most honed skills of his Brothers and would thus be acting as his primary Apprentice.

"Ensure the cart reaches the property safely," Malik said. "I will be taking Kalid, Makhi, and Nasir to the market with me to replenish our perishables." Unspoken was that they would also be training to hide in the crowded streets at the same time, which the three boys clearly understood given the faint groans that reached Malik's ears. He fought back the urge to grin at their apparent misery.

"Yes Master," Jawad ducked his head and Malik turned and decided not to waste time. He gestured to his Novices and started through the gates into the city.

The first market was the target market for this trip, partly because Malik didn't want to have to wander far through Jerusalem and partly because he also wanted to make the Novices work harder to impress him. Not only did they have to blend with the crowds but they had to do so while carrying the groceries that Malik purchased for them. He had four additional mouths to feed and while Masyaf and the Brotherhood had given him a decent starting stipend, Malik also knew he'd need to be frugal enough to make it last.

Malik wanted to smack his face at half of the attempts from Kalid, Makhi, and Nasir to blend with the crowd. They were painfully obvious, and oftentimes Malik had to tell stall owners a story about how his nephews were trying to be clever and hide from him, as if he weren't aware that they were shadowing his every move. The lack of his left arm certainly helped the credibility of the nephews who wanted to help, but also didn't want to upset their Uncle--and really, Malik would say, at least it kept them out of trouble.

The last of Malik's purchases he loaded into Kalid's arms with a stern glance, and then a sharp gesture for the boy to hurry off with the purchases. Kalid ducked his head and disappeared into the crowd and Malik quietly thanked the merchant before he turned to make his own way through the streets, now without his Novices to shadow his steps. Malik didn't quite relax without his shadows, if only because he would have to give them a stern talking to once he made his way to the Bureau. Jerusalem also was not a kind city--the Templars had turned it into a den of their ilk and Malik was not unaware of their presence. He could see them clearly even here, in their armored forms as they stalked the streets.

Malik ducked his head as he walked, let his feet pull him in whichever direction they wanted; he thought to Kadar and Desmond and when he last left them, hopeful that they would make it to the city--hopeful that the Rafiq of the Bureau would have the skill necessary to see to Kadar's needs until Malik could return. He did return, but now he knew the cruelties that awaited his brother--awaited Desmond who had been a child. Malik cursed his own choice to leave them behind--he should have accompanied them to the city and screw the fucking treasure. He should have stayed with Kadar--he should have--

"Ow--you fucking little piece of shit--"

In the middle of the road was a guard--not a Templar, at least not by the armor, but definitely one of Majd Addin's men--and in his arms was a familiar head of dark curls and gleaming, golden eyes. The guard was shaking out a hand, indents of teeth among it, while the boy--Desmond--struggled against the tight grip of his tunic. The clothes were heavily worn and utterly filthy, and his face was streaked with a bit of dirt or dust, but it was wholly and undoubtedly Desmond. Malik felt like he was dreaming; he had to be dreaming. The Bureau Rafiq was dead and Al Mualim told him that all of the Novices were reported to have perished as well--that the Informants had been potentially routed out--and Malik trusted the information because why would Al Mualim lie? He doubted Kadar would've lived without intervention--without help--and he'd sent the boys to their doomed. Malik came to terms with that--he had.

There were weights attached to his eyes; Malik could feel the way they burned, how his cheeks hurt with the pain of it. His chest was too tight and too loose and he wasn't even sure of his footing. Malik stood there like a fool, dumbfounded and still, and just watched as the guard's grip on the boy loosened. He watched Desmond wriggle and writhe his way out of the guards grip--watched how those eyes seemed to be pinned to him wide and terrified and hopeful. Malik only came back to himself, only able to feel himself, when that smaller body flung itself against his chest, arms wrapped tight around his middle. He stumbled back a step, then raised his right arm and wrapped it around the boy and breathed.

"Desmond?" the words that came from Malik were wrung out, faint, and barely there. Desmond squeezed him back, tight, and Malik could feel a growing patch of wet against his robes. "Oh, child," Malik breathed, bent over to press his face into Desmond's hair, hand pressed against the back of Desmond's head--he still felt faint, like a bit of this was unreal.

The guard had to reassert himself, break through the faint illusory feeling that surrounded Malik and draw him back into the harshness of reality with a sharp, "Sir! Let go of the thief!"

Malik stilled. He pulled away slightly, watched how Desmond whined at the motion and carefully, cautiously shifted the boy so that he was pressed into Malik's side under Malik's arm to allow him the chance to watch the guard with a suddenly blank, suddenly focused intent. He could have sworn the fool called this sweet boy a thief. While Malik was certain Desmond had done some unsavory things to survive--the world wasn't kind to children left alone with no coin to their name and no one to care for them, Malik knew--he would never have named the child something as simple as a thief.

"What did you say?" Malik said--and perhaps he still didn't quite register the reality of it.

(they were dead; Al Mualim said there had been no survivors, no letters, no contact so they were dead; all of them were just gone and Malik failed--he failedfailedfailedfailedfailedfailed--)

"That is a thief you have, I would be careful if I were you," the guard said, words meant to warn and be reassuring at the same time, but to Malik they rang sour.

"I have no fear of this child," Malik said, words carefully measured, "for this is my son you are calling a thief." The guard seemed to pause, to take in Malik's clearly richly cared for clothes and lack of a single arm and the way Malik cradled Desmond close. He also saw the way the guard's gaze focused on the lone sword that rested at Malik's hip, the way Malik wore it open and casually as if he could use it. Malik waited for the man to try. "So you see sir, surely you are mistaken in calling a mere boy--one whom I have been unjustly separated from--a thief."

"I--" the guard faltered for a moment, glanced between Desmond and Malik, then raised his hands and stepped away. "I must have made a mistake."

"As I thought," Malik said, tone just on the edge of cruel. "You should run along now, before you make another mistake." When the guard seemed ready to hesitate Malik took a step forward--already shifted to press Desmond behind him and to reach for his sword. The guard quickly seemed to realize the threat implied, the way Malik's face was left to be utterly blank and unemotive in a way that Malik had been told was utterly terrifying, and quickly left without any fuss.

Malik eased; the marble like coldness to his appearance edged away and he looked down to Desmond who peered up at him with wide golden eyes that quickly faded into honey and with barely a thought Malik dropped to his knees and tugged the child into a tighter grip. He whispered, "You're alive," with a choked off breath.

Desmond wrapped his arms around the upper part of Malik's chest and squeezed tight as he buried his face into Malik's shoulder. Malik shifted his grip slightly so that he could reach up and reassure himself that this was Desmond--the same curly haired texture of Altair, the same angle to their nose, the same scar across his lips--and it burned with sudden intensity, the reminder that Desmond looked near Altair's clone at this age and Altair--Altair was dead. Malik squeezed the boy tighter and let himself be comforted with the fact that at least this brilliant child still lived. He nearly missed Desmond's mumbled and half sniffled comment into his shoulder.

"You came back," Desmond said, almost as if he couldn't believe it himself.

Reluctantly Malik pulled away, and Desmond followed suit and looked up at him with tear-filled honey eyes and Malik felt his heart break. "Oh child," Malik said, reached up and began to wipe the tears with the sleeve of his over robe.  "I am sorry it took me so long."

Desmond quickly buried himself back into Malik's chest, curled his head down so that he wasn't getting tears on Malik's collar. He said a quiet, "Kadar thought it might'a been your arm." Malik looked to his left, followed Desmond's gaze to the tied off sleeve and watched the way Desmond's fingers twitched and tried to reach out to touch--but quickly thought better of it.

"I would have lost more if not for you," Malik said as he came to an abrupt decision. He shifted Desmond to his right side and manipulated the boys arms so that they wrapped around his neck before he hoisted the eight year old onto his him with one arm and a show of his own strength. Desmond wasn't light by any means, he was a growing child for certain, but he was mostly limbs and childish muscle--thin with a runner's build much like Altair, and certainly far more compact. Lifting a child his age and size wasn't necessarily easy, but it was doable.

Desmond let out faint sound of surprise to be suddenly pressed into Malik's hip, and for a moment Malik had to adjust his balance even further--he was already a little off from the change to having half-an-arm on his left side, to now carrying a child on his right his first few steps were far more fumbling than he ever wanted to admit, but the change and adjustment came easily after he gave himself a second to get used to it.

"Your quick thinking," Malik said as he shifted and adjusted Desmond, only the faintest strain in his voice, "and the splint you put on my arm saved everything above the elbow. My injury was--far more than what it appeared."

"So Kadar was right," Desmond said, and there was that churl of childishness in his tone that Malik could remember from his own childhood--the one Kadar would affect when he thought Malik was going to be an ass about something, and Malik couldn't help the way his lips twitched at the thought.

"Yes," Malik did say eventually, "Kadar was right. Where is he, Desmond?"

Desmond tilted his head and Malik shifted his feet wider apart to compensate the sudden shift. He couldn't see what Desmond was doing, but given the way Desmond moved Malik had a feeling it involved that second sight of his. Then Desmond raised an arm and gestured in a rough direction and said, with the slightest bit of a fought back yawn, "Tha'way. There's a church 'n some brothers--novices?" Desmond fumbled over the word, for a second as he leaned his head down on Malik's shoulder. "Ka--dar called them novices and they look like brothers."

Malik could feel rather than see Desmond raise a hand to rub at his eyes as he continued, "An' Jamal is mean. She called you a demon; but Kadar likes Hakim an' I think Hakim knows Kadar but they were all talking about somethin' and Kadar was taking his top off so I just--" Desmond made a half motion, like a shrug, and yawned for real this time. "There was somethin' important and I hadta--hadta find it but its gone now. Found you instead."

"Yes, you did," Malik said softly, lightly jostled Desmond so that he was higher onto his hip, and then asked, "Stay awake for a little while longer, Desmond. I need you to direct me." He would unpack all of the things Desmond told him later. Hakim at least sounded familiar; a Novice in Kadar's age group which meant--Malik fought back the grimace and buried the thought abruptly because no was not the time; it meant nothing.

Desmond yawned out a drawn, "Oooookay," and began to direct Malik sleepily to the Church.

"Where is Desmond?"

It had taken a while, but Kadar realized that Desmond was simply not there. He knew Desmond had followed him into the Church because he'd felt Desmond at his back--but then he recognized Hakim and Hakim started to ask him questions and when Kadar answered truthfully about the wound in his abdomen and that Malik had to continue to Masyaf without him because of it--Kadar couldn't remember where Desmond was after that. He looked from Hakim to Jamal, to Alem, and then over to Numair and Omar who glanced at each other in mild confusion.

"Whose Desmond?" Omar asked and Kadar wanted to curse because--he had introduced Desmond, hadn't he? He glanced to Hakim who had a frown to his face.

"The kid, right?" Hakim said, then looked to Jamal. "Did you see where he went, Jamal?"

Jamal scuffed one boot into the dirt and shrugged in a way that meant he really hadn't been paying attention to Desmond and Kadar wanted to shove his blade into the idiot's face he felt so frustrated. He had trusted these fellow Novices; he followed and allowed Hakim to cajole him out of his tunic and to look over his wound not only because he knew Hakim had the training but because he expected the others to keep an eye on Desmond. Desmond whom was attached to Kadar's hip normally--whom Malik had entrusted him with the care of and--if Altair ever heard that Kadar had lost his son Kadar was as good as dead.

With a groan Kadar buried his hands into his hair and pulled. It would be hell trying to find Desmond because the boy was good at hiding and sneaking around. His second sight aided him with those skills and Kadar knew Desmond had learned to be sneaky because of his 'teachers' whomever they were--certainly not any of Masyaf's Brothers and certainly not Altair because Kadar doubted Altair would stomach his own son with scars the likes that Kadar had seen this past month.

"It shouldn't be too hard to find him," Hakim said calmly, hand on Kadar's shoulder. He was already gesturing for Omar and Numair to go out and search when Kadar shook his head.

"You do not understand, Hakim," Kadar said, voice pleading and horrified in equal measure. He looked to Hakim and something in his face had Hakim pause and freeze with wide eyes. "Desmond is skilled. If he does not want to be found he is not found." Kadar breathed slow and even; he wanted to hyperventilate, he could feel it come upon him. "He is very much like his father and if that man ever finds out he is lost...."

Hakim seemed to not want to ask, but everyone had gathered around now so hesitantly Hakim said, "His father?" because Hakim had to have seen it. To Kadar it was as clear as day but then Kadar frequently worked under Altair. Plenty of his Brothers had claimed him blessed for having Altair and Malik as his Field Masters, but Kadar disagreed because Malik would work him twice as hard and nothing pleased Altair, really. Place both of them together and Kadar was lucky if he got any training between their bickering.

"He is clearly Ibn-La'Ahad," Kadar said.

"The Eagle?!" Alem squeaked, and at his side Jamal jumped and glanced around with a hissed, "He is worse than the Demon!"

"Stop calling Malik a demon," Kadar said half-heartedly with a narrowed stare at Jamal who stuck his tongue out in response and Kadar wanted to groan. Hakim squeezed his shoulder in comfort and then gestured to Numair and Omar and both boys nodded short and quick and vanished out the doors to the Church.

"We will find him, Kadar," Hakim said calmly. "He might be good at hiding, but Numair and Omar are good at tracking. Any place he has gone two they will find him."

"But Hakim--" Kadar started, and then stopped when he heard a familiar shout of surprise, followed quickly by twin groans of pain. Kadar turned and ran toward the entrance of the Church with little thought except that he needed to move now. He already had a blade in his hand but came to a short stop when he saw--

"--were the two of you even thinking!?" Malik snapped. He wasn't even looking at Numair and Omar, instead carefully checking over Desmond who was on the ground with his face scrunched up in what Kadar recognized familiarly as pain. "I should have both of your heads for such a foolish action!" Quieter Malik asked, "How does this feel?" and lightly pressed upon Desmond's leg. Desmond's face pinched but otherwise he didn't say anything. "It does not feel broken, Desmond. Can you stand?"

Carefully Desmond got to his feet and Malik watched him; watched the way he set his leg down and assured that Desmond wasn't severely injured Malik rounded on Omar and Numair who both went tense with wide eyes, hands on their heads in a familiar motion. Kadar had had one of Malik's sharp smacks to the head himself from training, often with a practice blade in hand. Given the very real blade at Malik's side Kadar bet both boys had gotten the dull end of the weapon to the top of their heads. They were lucky.

"If I had not recognized you, you would have found your necks separated from your heads! Have you been taught nothing? You do not attack an unknown with such little preparation if you want to live!" Malik looked each of them over in turn and Kadar--Kadar felt his breath still because this was undoubtedly his brother and yet something was wrong. Malik was gesturing with his right arm as he spoke, but his left was so far still at his side and Kadar hadn't got a good look at it but something was wrong.

"Malik?" Kadar asked, eyes wide, and Malik stilled in his black robes--why were they black? Where was the Assassin white?--and then turned and his face lightened.

"Kadar," Malik breathed, as if he couldn't believe it was really Kadar and that--that hurt. As he turned Kadar finally got a good look to Malik's left and--and his arm--Kadar felt like he couldn't breath. His brother lived for the Brotherhood; he had given everything to being the best he could possibly be. He had matched Altair rank for rank over the years, behind only for a short while in each moment. He took the failings of their father and honed it to a patience that was practically inhuman. Took the whispers that swordsmanship was growing outdated for the Brotherhood and crafted himself into a blade-smith so talented that he had earned the epithet demon.

Before Kadar could so much as say anything further Malik was already across the room and had him wrapped tight with one arm, cheek pressed against Kadar's head as he said quietly so only his brother could hear, "I thought I lost you."

"I'm alive," Kadar replied, and wrapped himself tight around Malik and let himself be grounded in the fact that his brother was here. "I'm alive." Malik pulled back, looked Kadar over and Kadar flushed with sudden shame because here he was in stolen peasants clothes and not his Assassin white and Novice greys and surely Malik would berate him for the lack of his uniform--but Malik smiled, ran his thumb under Kadar's eye.

"I am proud of you," Malik said, and then whirled around on the other Novices with a stern glare and a narrowed eyed gaze as he looked them each over and Kadar knew he found them lacking. "As for the rest of you! Have you no shame? Your Rafiq is dead and you hide away in an abandoned Church, as if nothing were wrong?"

Jamal scuffed his booted feet against the ground and said petulantly, "We sent a messenger bird."

"Really?" Malik looked them each over, and Kadar felt his gut clench in worry. "A wonder we never received one."

Hakim stepped forward, the oldest of the group and their de facto leader, and quickly ducked his head. "Forgive us, Dai," Hakim said and Kadar felt his breath hitch because Dai--and he recognized the pattern along the hem of the robes, and the specific, unique embroidery that took up a corner of the black in bright Assassin white--Malik was a Dai. "We had not found another messenger bird to send, to make sure Masyaf received the first."

"You should have been attempting contact at least once a week," Malik berated sharply. "Maybe then we would have known to send someone to Jerusalem sooner. As it stands I now have to make sure our information network is not in shambles and I need to find a place for you," he gestured to the five Novices that surrounded him, "in my Bureau alongside my four Novices."

Hakim looked surprised as he said a quick, "You are running the Apothecary?"

Kadar snorted and Malik lightly tapped him on the head for doing so even as he replied, "Malik, an apothecary?" with little regard for how it sounded. Hakim narrowed his eyes in Kadar's direction and Kadar narrowed his back--just because his brother was Dai now did not mean Kadar would treat him any differently if he didn't have to. Malik hadn't said anything about the insolent and near insulting tone, so Kadar considered he probably wouldn't push Kadar to 'respect the rank' unless it was around some busybody gossip.

"Kadar is right," Malik said, rather stiffly even as he shifted away from his brother and back to Desmond, who seemed hesitant to move around the group of Novices. "Come here, child," Malik spoke softly to Desmond and Kadar couldn't help the way his mouth fell open in the casual manner to which Malik picked Desmond up and settled him on his hip. With Desmond settled and blinking rather tiredly at the group Malik turned back to address them, "I am a cartographer first and a scribe second, so my shop reflects these skills. Besides," here Malik grimaced, "the Templars are well aware of our apothecary now. To run another would be the height of foolishness."

Various softly spoken responses of, "Yes Dai," surrounded from the Novices and Malik nodded sharply in turn to each of them.

"Good. Now then, gather your supplies and follow me." Malik eyed each of them and then stressed, "Discretely. I take it you each have at least some knowledge of how to be the blade in the crowd?" Kadar didn't miss the way Malik looked specifically at Jamal--Desmond must've talked about him, and he couldn't help the grimace that crossed his face while Jamal seemed surprised to be under scrutiny. Malik waited until Jamal quickly nodded his head, and then looked back to the group. "Good. I expect you to not be followed, even as you follow me. If I spot you then you will be on stocking duty for a week. Understood?"

"Yes, Dai," came from the group. When Malik's gaze dropped to Kadar with a raised brow, foot not tapping from sheer practice, Kadar quickly uttered a, "Yes Dai!" that Malik clearly waited from. Appeased Malik turned on heel, hefted Desmond up a bit higher, and began to stalk off.

"Your brother is terrifying," Jamal said brightly as he darted past Kadar and back into the Church with Hakim, Alem, Numair, and Omar to gather up the supplies. Kadar didn't have anything to say to that; somehow, despite having a child on his hip, Malik still held that sharp air of command and abject disappointment in all of your choices. Kadar didn't know why he ever missed it.