#Nai I love you honey but What the Ever Loving Fuck are you doing

[sharp-tooths]

Me watching the og Trigun anime after starting trigun stampede 2 moths ago: oh gee those fucking cries sound so realistic and full of pain and hurt. You just dont get that kind of genuine quality very much in newer animes. I hope Stampede delivers the same quality

Me now, having just watched episode 11 and then rewatched it just to propperly process everything: SCREAMING AND CRYING THROWING UP KICKING MY LEGS SOBBING FUCKING BAWLING MY EYES OUT DYING VIOLENTLY SHAKING-

#trigun stampede #The og trigun anime got intense but stampede really hits a whole other level #ooh god #the manga is gonna wreck me just as bad isnt it #on one hand im actually thankful for once to have a whole week to just. process and internalize what the fuck just happened #but on the other hand i want vash to be ok so bad. i want him to get a nice hug and a couple boxes of donuts #and far the fuck away from his brother #Nai I love you honey but What the Ever Loving Fuck are you doing #Someone oughta shoot this guy #Episode 11 freaked me out so much #the body horror? yea ok i can deal with that #its disturbing but like i was expecting it to get worse on that front #the whole. Vash's situation? #im so uncomfortable and thoroughly disturbed #THE GIANT REM PLANT THOUGH #ALSO SOMEONE POINTED OUT WOLFWOOD DIDNT DISSAPEAR INTO THE GERANIUMS AND AND AND #THAT SCENE WHERE THEY MADE IT LOOK LIKE VASH HEARD HIM FROM HIS MINDSPACE?! #Im picking these things apart and rubbing my grimey bloody little hands all over them

[sombersafari]

Goody Nay Weryyyy

Dot: yall I have newsyy!!!

Yakko: ooh goody what is it?

Dot: i pwomised that i wouldn't tell you but im not so goody nay weryyyy!

Wakko: but dot, you always get us goody stuff in your updates. don't keep lying like a fucking liar

Yakko: oh god here comes the crying. ive been waiting for this

Wakko: aw shucks! that's so sweet of her!

Dot: oopsies! I forgot!! okay listen up! *claps to quietness* ok first off, i found a milk carton full of pineapples.

Wakko: yeehaw!!! that’s faboo!!!

Yakko: that doesn't count as news yknow

Dot: yes it does. *takes back milkbox* anyways, i put some cinnamon in the chocolate too

Wakko: why would you do that?

Dot: because it's my secret recipe for cookies and its also delicious and i love cinnamon

Yakko: ok... i guess thats pretty good?

Wakko: oh no wait you’re just being mean because we didn't get you any chocolate.

Yakko: yeah yeah whatever go back to eating all the cookie dough. i think you’re confusing love for cookies with friendship Imao

Dot: well whatever, at least i got a good one out of this whole fiasco

Wakko: you should still be grateful that you got cinnamon. you know those pineapples are only made by trees right? if it was made by humans, they'd taste gross

Dot: i can live with that!

Yakko: so what else did you find?

Dot: oh! and i also found some honey!! it’s sweet and really good! i couldn’t resist!!!! *claps*

Wakko: ughhhhhhh why did you have to be so nice??? i am going on a sugar high right now. i feel like i should eat everything in sight.

Yakko: now i know where this is going!

Dot: whaT NO! *putting down milkbox* you can’t take all my goods! i bought them fair and square!

Yakko: but i can’t just leave you defenseless!

Dot: *screaming* oh my god i just thought you were joking.

Wakko: haha sorry mate i’m not. *grabs honey*

Yakko: i will personally hunt you down and drag you through the trash and make you regret ever saying anything about these things.

Dot: oh shit i hope not then. i swear i will find you.

#animaniacs #yakko wakko and dot #animaniacs 1993 #animaniacs 2020 #animaniacs reboot #dot warner #wakko warner #yakko warner #chaotic thoughts #dreamily #fanfic #fantasy

[wavesbelow]

CHAPTER ONE - SWIMMING POOL

NOTES

Doesn’t it bother you how nothing’s ever perfect?

Mary Love Haricot says it would ruin the story if we got to meet Body, but I beg to differ. Nay, I demand to differ. It would have been perfect. I’ve always wanted perfect very, very much and when I glimpse it only to be told it was a trick of the light I go a little crazy. 

It’s a sin, you got it? I might use that word lightly every now and then, but here it is fucking appropriate. All those monsters and aliens and spirits and vampires and trolls and ETCETERA and she never brought back GG. ”Bringing a character back from the dead kills all stakes forever.” THEN MAYBE DON’T KILL OFF THE BEST CHARACTER BAR NONE!!

MLH is my savior. You’ll Never Know is my favorite book series, my favorite fiction, my favorite thing. I love Clara and Jamie and Ariel and all of the Tea Cupcakes. A masterclass in character work, so real you can touch them, yes yes, I agree. It’s just. They’re… sweet.

The BlueBerry Five are fucking degenerates.

It should have been them. I will write them.

…And I actually totally agree with MLH on the topic of resurrections, so here’s my fanfic about GG, my best girl, who was only ever mostly dead.

Also, I’m taking it to the seaside.

WAVES BELOW

CHAPTER ONE - SWIMMING POOL

I sit on the edge of a swimming pool, burning computer perched on my bare legs. You realize how close my electronic device is to the water. Freaks me out. I feel alive.

That’s a funny sentence if you know my situation.

When I dive into the water my sight is confused. I can see ripples from my body and I can see the complete stillness as I move nothing. I can’t make this post very long, the computer is losing form as I write, as I incessantly touch it with my fingertips.

To help this tome of a laptop last longer, I’ve practiced quick and light typing. At first I would consistently fail at getting all the letters into a word, too swift and airy for one of these keyboards. I learned. Now I believe I am the most ballet dance-ey of all the keyboard tappers. (I know we are many, we are all.)

The keys I get down all over are very old, the markings for all of the letters and all of the numbers have been worn down and away. Keys where remnants of markings remain, a comprehensive list:

-§

-^

-the down arrow (we never go down)

Wouldn’t it have been funny if just the one letter still had its marking? All markings gone from all keys, but the F key was pristine? That would’ve been appreciated by me. But alas, it is not so.

Maybe I should just write it in myself with a permanent marker, or put a little sticker. Whoa, hold your horses, honey, it’s gonna have to be the marker. Only the day before yesterday did I finally manage to push a pen about a centimeter to the left. My latest and greatest trick. One of very few tricks. It’s been a month. It’s great that this old HP is white and hence can accommodate my permanent marking aspirations. But it’s been over a month. I will put ’FF’ on my key. Find me, asshole.

One day I did nothing but draw in the sand. I drew a whole big castle. Then I looked at it with my specter eyes and saw double as I do. My intricate castle no footprint could touch, and the sand that could only, of course, be altered by forces not me. Forces such as you in your Ugg boot, AA. Right on my castle gate. It was a good castle gate, too. I’d drawn cute vertical lines to illustrate wooden boards.

It was good to see you. I hadn’t been expecting you. 

By then I needed to get away from the ocean. It angers me, what I’ve forgotten, but some things I don’t need to remember to know.

A swimming pool can’t see you. 

I will now explain that I was at least three steps ahead of them all. You should always be three steps ahead of them all. So, well done me! I’m not dead, I’m just not very corporeal. There was stabbing. I woke up on the beach a week later. No stab wounds, no life, and I could dive forever. 

My funeral had come and gone.

I don’t know how anyone would find this obsolete website or if it works at all, but if you do, look into who cried at my funeral and present your findings in a top ten-list from least to most water of the eye produced. My money’s on DD. Or LL. Y’all better have cried like motherfuckers.

I want FF and I want my mom and I want my BlueBerry Babies. This old computer is almost wholly translucent now. It’s getting hard to see. Sometimes I hope I’m not dead.

You’re not going to find this, are you?

GG is for Ghost Girl.

END NOTES

What’s fun? My rules:

-Canon compliant. I make no changes. I make more, and I puzzle. (Sounds hard :( sounds fun:))

-Different setting: seaside. 

-This is a weekly thing (Hold me. Accountable)

-I’m not Mary Love Haricot. I’m just some girl who can do what the fuck she wants. (This rule isn’t for me, it’s for you.)

And I will do what the fuck I want.

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: X

I will not ask you where you came from,

I will not ask and neither should you.

Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips,

We should just kiss like real people do.

Like Real People Do, Hozier

A/N: okay i know i say this every time but genuinely THIS IS MY FAVOURITE PART SO FAR!!!!! and my lil section of this story has come to an end!!! act one is done!!! and the beginning of act two aka part 11 will be coming on andrea’s blog!!!!! thank u guys so so much for all the love and support you’ve given us!!!! we truly cannot believe you guys have been so receptive and we love you all so so much 🦋 as always any and all feedback is deeply appreciated not just by andrea and I but by all content creators!!! seriously we do all of this for free while going to school and working full time and those little messages make our days so much better!!! so do reblogs!!! you should reblog the content you like!!!! leave a lil message in the tags!!! shoot us a message!! anything is truly madly deeply™️ appreciated 💌 thank you all once again for your support!!!! pls enjoy 🦋

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

word count: 37.9k

content/warnings: harry ignoring “bros before hoes” part 45684957, “FUCK FLORIDA!!! ALL MY HOMIES HATE FLORIDA!!!” - xander, fight scene (rap), jefferson x hamilton (friends to lovers), road head ahead?? uhhh yeah, i sure hope so!!!, MUSI 1113: history of classical music, prof. harry styles, sherlock and watson solve the biggest mystery yet, *edward cullen voice* and so the mosquito fell in love with the butterfly

“Are you going to stare at your phone all day, like a bloody tool, or are you actually going to join the conversation?”

Despite the baited question, Harry keeps his gaze on his device as he flicks through his notifications, opening one app after the other in quick repetition before closing the screen. “That depends.  Are you actually going to say something interesting?”

From the other side of his couch, Niall flicks up his middle finger with ease, his expression sour and unimpressed. “We are saying something interesting, you prick.  I want to get out of town next weekend, but no one—” The Irishman shoots a pointed look to Xander, who’s leaning across the kitchen island with an unbothered expression. “—can agree on where to go.”

“It’s not that I can’t agree, Niall. It’s that your ideas are stupid.” Xander shoots back in an exasperated tone, raising his Bloody Mary (with extra blood, hardly any Mary) to his scowling lips. “No one wants to go to fucking Florida.  It’s Florida.  Why the fuck would we go to Florida?”

“Because I’ve been alive for two hundred years—”

Adam clicks his tongue from the lounge seat by the window. “I’m not sure if ‘alive’ is the best description.”

“—and I’ve never been to Disney World!  I died from a fucking famine.  Am I not entitled— nay, am I not owed—” Niall straightens his posture on the couch as he addresses the whole of the room, a determined look set in his icy blue eyes that contrasts the dulled gaze of those watching him. “A warm churro, cold Dole Whip, and a set of over-priced Mickey ears?  Huh?”

“That still doesn’t answer the question of why we’d have to go to Florida to get that!” Xander exclaims, rounding the corner of the kitchen counter with his drink in hand.  He raises the glass to his lips, pausing halfway to point towards the wall of windows that’s currently letting in the midday Sunday sun. “We could drive a half hour to Disneyland, and get you the exact same thing!”

Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, Niall sucks in a deep breath through clenched teeth, as if he needs to calm himself down before doing something he regrets. “Xander,” He begins in a controlled voice, tight and tense and on the verge of snapping. “I suffered through starvation, fought in a world war, went through the Great Depression, and then fought in another fucking world war!  After all that, why would I settle for Disneyland, when we could easily make it to Disney World and back in three days?”

“You know…” Mitch says slowly, flopping down on the sofa between Niall and Harry, who’s already turned his attention back to his obsessive ritual of checking his notifications. “You can’t keep playing the ‘fought in a war’ card.  Harry fought in World War One, too, and I fought in the Revolutionary War.  And died in the Revolutionary War.  You do realize the majority of our group are veterans, right?”

Niall sighs in exasperation, clutching his beer in his fist to keep it from spilling as the older vampire beside him shifts on the couch. “I don’t play the ‘fought in a war’ card, Mitchell, I play the ‘fought in two wars’ card. And I think that card earns me the right to choose what we do next weekend.”

“And I think you folded those cards the moment you suggested Florida.” Wrinkling his nose, Xander finally enters the living room, and Harry risks a glance up from his phone to eye the dark-tinted liquid that laps at the edge of Xander’s glass with every step. “Why don’t we just go to Disneyland?  Or, better yet, why don’t we take a few extra days and go somewhere exciting?  I hear Greece is lovely this time of year; I wouldn’t mind trying some Mediterrean food for a week.”

“Florida is just as lovely—”

“That’s a lie, Florida is never lovely.”

“And Adam wants to go to Disney World, too!” Niall finishes triumphantly, taking a large swig of his half-empty beer before wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “So it’s two-to-one!”

“Two-to-two, actually.” Mitch interjects, pursing his lips at the childish grimace that overtakes Niall’s previously cheery expression. “I’m not too fond of alligators, and last time I heard from Sarah, she was in Italy.  It’d be nice to have a week with her in Greece.”

Niall rolls his eyes at the sudden tie, turning his gaze past his disappointing friend to his other almost-as-disappointing friend, tone growing firmer. “Alright, then, Harry, it’s up to you.  You’re our tie-breaking vote.”

Harry, however, had spent the better part of the last two minutes scrolling through the photos he and Y/N had taken on their date the day before, and doesn’t even glance up from his screen upon registering the utterance of his name. “Hm?  The vote on what?”

The frustrated Irishman lobs his bottle of beer at Harry’s head, his pitch powerful enough that it nearly collides with its target a millisecond later.  And would have collided, if Harry’s hand hadn’t shot up on a supernatural reflex to capture it perfectly within his grasp.

Keeping his eyes locked on his phone, Harry sighs at his friend’s antics. “Watch it, Ni, I don’t want to scrub beer stains out of my couch—”

“I wouldn’t have to resort to throwing bottles at your thick head if you could get it out of your girlfriend’s arse long enough to participate in our discussion!” The blue-eyed vampire shoots daggers at him, and the lightness of his irises shifts to a dark crimson as Harry’s gaze barely flickers to him. “Oh for fuck’s sake—” Bracing himself against Mitch’s lap, Niall launches over the couch and snatches Harry’s phone from his hands, scrambling back to his seat and stuffing it down his jeans pocket before Harry can react. “You’ll get this back after we finish talking, alright?  Now, where do you want to go next weekend?  Disney World or Greece?”

Although the urge to tackle Niall and fight for his phone twinges in Harry’s mind, he forces himself to stay seated, settling for just shooting a glare across the couch.  He’s certain that Mitch wouldn’t be appreciative of him and Niall biting at each other on top of him, just as certain he is of the fact that attacking Niall won’t exactly make him look mentally stable.  

Instead, Harry merely sucks in a deep breath, setting the beer bottle on the coffee table and dragging his jeweled hand through his hair before answering evenly. “First of all, she’s not my girlfriend.  And second of all… neither.  Y/N and I have plans next weekend.”

A collective groan runs through the room the moment the phrase falls from his lips, and Harry swallows down a smirk at the reaction he receives from his friends.  Only Mitch’s face remains free of irritation, and instead sits in a neutral expression that, from his years of friendship, Harry can tell is tinged with concern.

“You have plans with her every weekend.” Xander complains, taking a sip of his Bloody Mary as he sits down next to Adam on the lounge seat, pulling Harry’s attention from the eldest immortal. “How can you sit there and say she’s not your girlfriend when you’ve been ditching us for the last, like, three and a half months to spend time with her?”

That, in all honesty, is a fair question.  Harry knows that he’s been spending more and more time with Y/N in the last few weeks at the expense of his friends, and on some level, he does feel bad about it.  Except that when he actually thinks about it, he doesn’t feel that bad in the slightest. He has no reason to, given that he spends almost every weekday with his friends, so what’s the harm in saving his weekends for someone else?  

In fact, he rather enjoys bracketing off those days just to spend them with her, alone with no one else to bother them, where they can just bask in each other’s company. So no, he really doesn’t feel bad at all.

He has the sudden realization that, on top of having the sweetest, most addicting blood he’s ever had the good fortune of tasting in the last two hundred years, Y/N is just generally fun to be around. Due to this, Harry has unintentionally continued to grow closer and closer to the human girl with every second they spend together.  She’s witty, adventurous, and always down to try something new— both in public and in the bedroom.  And in the bedroom— a smile unknowingly creeps onto Harry’s face as he recalls the dinner he’d taken her to last month, and what they’d done after. 

He also recalls the morning that had followed, in which they had eaten breakfast on his couch together in nothing but their underwear, their bodies tangled against the sofa cushions as Y/N had fed him bites of French toast while he showed her the extensive collection of Polaroid pictures he’d taken the previous night before.  He vividly remembers the way she had squirmed at the images of her with her legs spread open for him, of her bare chest heaving and her back arching, and of the wetness dripping down her thighs and staining the sheets. And he especially remembers the way she’d hid her face away in his neck at the snapshot of his hand wrapped around her throat, as well as the picture of her suckling eagerly at his thumb while his array of rings had glinted under the flash of the camera. 

It had been so cute watching her eyes brim over with shyness, especially because she had been more than happy to shed her inherent timidness the night prior. He’d teased her about it, of course. How could he not? He’d laid there as she rested between his legs, pointing out every welt and bruise prominent on the photos, and then skimming his icy fingers over her actual body to find them. It had been a very intimate moment, given that they were reflecting on more than just the physical aspects of what they’d shared. It feels like their entire dynamic had shifted slightly, all due to the fact that the roughness and aftercare that had occurred between them were actions that required immense amounts of trust and communication. Harry felt closer to her in a way he hadn’t before, and if the softness behind Y/N’s eyes was any indication, she felt the exact same way. 

Their connection felt different now— purer, in a way, now that they’d seen one another in such an exposed fashion, but it still managed to stay within the boundaries Harry was intent on upholding. She’d given him a type of relief he hadn’t realized he’d missed so much, considering he hadn’t indulged in anything of that caliber in years due to certain doubts about his self-control. But somehow, he had managed to keep his supernatural strength and impulses at bay the whole way through, and he’d kept her safe and satisfied, as he promised he would. In return, she’d made him feel more in tune with himself than he had in a while. 

With all of those thoughts filtering through the vampire’s mind during their morning cuddle session, he had ducked down and kissed at the tip of her warm nose, sighing blissfully when she had returned the gesture onto the curve of his chin. Then, he’d begun pinching playfully at her sides, not being able to resist the urge to make her smile. He had burst into laughter when she herself had erupted into spontaneous giggles, thrashing against him while squeaking curses between gasps of his name, pleading with him to cut it out or she’d wind up falling off the sofa. It had been a wholesome pastime, up until he’d ended up sucking maple syrup off her fingers with that signature devious twinkle in his half-lidded eyes, and then she herself had ended up licking that same syrup off his abdomen. That had led to him tonguing it off the swell of her breasts, and then she had wound up lapping at something much more interesting than his stomach.

It’s only natural, though, considering that in the bedroom, Y/N is a refreshingly unstoppable force.  She matches his every push, pull, and thrust with ease, as if she knows his body by heart.  Maybe she does, Harry muses, considering that he undisputedly knows hers from every angle, like the stanzas of his favorite poem. And between all those things, is it really his fault he wants to spend as much time with her as he can?  Keeping her happy and content had worked well to sweeten her blood for him thus far, so why should he change his game plan now, when he’s so clearly in the lead?

Last weekend, for example, he and Y/N had driven the scenic route out to Malibu, where they spent the entire day lounging on beach towels and frolicking in the waves.  He’d enjoyed seeing her with saltwater hair, her soft skin encrusted with sand and warmed by the sun, almost as much as he’d enjoyed fiddling with the strings of her bikini and coating her body in sunscreen, because “protection from UV rays is a top priority, love.  Trust me.”  They’d packed a picnic lunch for themselves that consisted of homemade sandwiches, chips and salsa, and fruit skewers, which Y/N had hand-fed to Harry after she’d convinced him to let her bury him in the sand.  It had been irritating to shower the grit out from some unsavoury places, but worth it to see the smile on her face and hear her infectious giggles as she molded a sizable pair of sandcastle breasts onto his chest.  And doubly worth it after he took her home and fed on her sea-tinged blood.

Yesterday, as well, had been an example of how well Harry is doing with this arrangement the two of them have.  He’d picked her up in the early afternoon and taken her to the Museum of Contemporary Art, where they’d spent the rest of the day wandering the exhibits and debating the artistic merits of each piece.  Of course, their discussions were less educated and more humour based, as Harry tended to list every painting as reminding him of sex, while Y/N said that every sculpture she saw was a comment on capitalism, but it had made them laugh nonetheless.  And while the security guards standing by didn’t seem to think their overheard conversations were amusing— nor how they posed with the paintings, trying to mimic the various expressions depicted in the artwork— Harry could tell that Y/N was entertained. It was obvious in how sugary her blood had been after she’d fallen asleep hours later. And if Harry were a better artist, he would’ve created his own sculpture dedicated to the honey and lavender liquid that he’d become so tied to over these last few months, but it appears his position as a collector is what he was suited for— both for literal artwork and the metaphorical pieces he’d paint on Y/N’s body with his lips. 

It’s with all these events in mind that he turns to Xander casually as the man’s question echoes in his head once more. “How can you say she’s not your girlfriend?”

A clear and concise explanation slips from Harry’s tongue without a second thought. “I can say she’s not my girlfriend because it’s true.” Harry slicks a hand through his tousled curls again out of habit, so used to busying his fingers with fiddling on his phone that he has to find some sort of substitute. “Keeping her satisfied keeps her— and her blood— around.  And, yes, she’s a sweet girl, and a nice break from you lot—” He nods towards Niall specifically with a jerking motion and a raised brow. “But there…” He just barely hesitates before spitting the words out. “There aren’t any actual feelings there.”

“Oh really?” Niall challenges, his own brow kinking as he shifts on the couch, turning his body completely to face Harry at the expense of Mitch’s personal space. “So all those times I’ve heard the two of you shagging— all those times you’ve called her ‘a dream’ or ‘perfect’— there were no feelings in that?”

Xander wolf whistles at the comment as Adam barks out a laugh, and even Mitch allows himself a reserved smirk at the mention of Harry’s bedroom talk.  Harry, on the other hand, straightens his shoulders as a flush works up his spine and onto his cheeks, and instead commands his tone to be as cutting as possible when he forms his reply.

“I don’t think Y/N would be very appreciative to know you’re eavesdropping on us fucking like some type of perverted creep, so you might want to invest in a better pair of plugs before I rip your ears off and solve the problem myself.” Harry threatens lowly, eyes flashing bright red for just a moment before reverting back to their natural emerald hue. “And you can take what I say mid-fuck as a ready-made script, mate, since you have no clue how to sweet-talk a bird into making her cum.”

Niall’s hands reach up to cup his ears protectively due to the other monster’s violent warning, his brows furrowing into a pointed scowl. “Eat shit. It’s not like I have a choice but to listen, given that you two nearly bring the building down while—”

“You know,” Xander chimes in from the lounge seat, his voice taking on an accusatory tone as his eyes narrow at Harry. “I thought a constant supply of blood would mellow you out, but if anything, you’ve grown a bit more irritable.  Does this arrangement have an expiration date?”

“Xander…” Mitch begins, caution written into his quiet voice as his eyes flit from Harry to Xander and back again. “That’s not—”

Harry sharpens his voice into a blade as he slashes over Mitch, jaw growing taut as he spits out his retort. “I know a relationship lasting more than one night is a bit of a foreign concept to you, so I wouldn’t expect you to understand, but I really don’t think that’s any of your fucking business.”

“So you fuck the same person for a couple of months, and suddenly you’re a relationship expert?” Xander inquires with a humorless huff, his tone just as bitter as his eyes as he glares at Harry from across the room. “As if you haven’t had commitment issues since the nineteenth century?” Raising his drink to his lips, Xander takes a slow and calculated swig as Adam shifts in discomfort next to him, his eyes meeting Mitch’s with a nervous glance. “At least I can call shit what it is, while you just delude yourself for weeks on end, pretending that anything good can come out of your attachment to an insignificant human—”

“If I were you,” Harry says through gritted teeth, his fingers curling over the edge of his couch to hold himself in place. “I’d choose your next words very carefully, Xanny.”

“Or what?  Are you gonna dig into your Fifty Shades chest and spank me?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?  What, are you just upset you never got the full treatment?”

A hot flush crawls up Xander’s neck as his jaw clenches. “I never said I wanted it.”

“The jealousy written all over your face suggests otherwise.” 

“Alright!” Adam’s voice barks, swiftly slicing through the tension in the air, his eyes glowing crimson as he commands everyone’s attention from the two quarrelling vampires back onto himself. “That’s enough.  You’re both being ridiculous. Harry, you can’t be upset with us for trying to understand what you’re doing, mate.  We’re just curious, that’s all.  But Xander—” The youngest vampire’s snickering is cut off when his name is called sternly. “That doesn’t give you the right to ridicule him for it.  Harry knows what he’s doing— he’s a full-grown adult— and he wouldn’t do anything that would put himself, or any of us, into any sort of jeopardy.” With a long sigh, Adam’s gaze slides over the two creatures with a look of parental finality. “Are we good?”

Despite the annoyance still woven around each of Harry’s limbs, he forces himself to nod as he settles back into his couch, inhaling a deep breath through his nose.  Beside him, Mitch nudges the back of his hand against Harry’s arm, as if in encouragement, and the motion reminds him just exactly who it is that he’s talking to.  These are his friends— of course they have concerns about him.  Although they might voice those concerns in unusual ways (like sticking their noses into his intimate life), the meaning behind their words comes from a place of affection.

“Alright.” Adam says again, relief flooding across his face as he turns his attention to the rest of the room. “Now, we still need to decide what we’re doing next weekend.  Personally, I think a three day trip to Disney World would be a lot easier than Greece; I say we save that for next month, so we have more time to plan it and actually make the trip worthwhile.”

Xander, still a little irritated from his confrontation with Harry, huffs in response. “That’s all well and good, Adam, except you forgot that I refuse to step foot in that humid swamp-fest. Makes my face break out and my curls frizz up.”

“Jesus Christ, Xander.” Niall groans from the opposite end of the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose like before, nudging his large squared glasses up as he does so. “Can you just get that stick out of your arse long enough to—”

Whatever Niall is about to suggest Xander do seems to disappear from his mind as the Irishman suddenly cuts off his speech, his ears perking up as Harry’s phone begins to chime from his back pocket.  Although the sound is muffled from both the cushion and Niall’s trousers, the distinguishable opening motive of “Alexander Hamilton” playing can be heard by everyone, and it only takes one loop of Y/N’s signature ringtone for Harry to launch himself over the couch with his arms outstretched.

“Hey!” Mitch exclaims loudly, pressing himself into the cushions as Harry’s body writhes against his lap in his effort to extract the phone from Niall’s pants. “Jesus, watch your fucking feet!  You’re like Gumby!”

Harry, however, is only paying attention to Niall, who is fending off his attempts at snatching the device with one hand while holding the phone over the edge of the couch with the other. “Give it!” He snarls, eyes shading red as he watches an immature simper grow onto Niall’s face, his thumb poising over the answer button. “Don’t you fucking dare—”

“Shh!” Niall hisses at him, but his voice is lit with delight as he clicks on the green phone icon and raises the device to his ear, lowering his voice into a relaxed drawl. “Hi there, you’ve reached the Styles residence! Para español, por favor oprima el número uno. This is Niall speaking, what can I help you with today?”

“Oh—” Even through the tiny speaker, Harry’s highly tuned ears have no trouble picking out the gentle cadence of Y/N’s voice. “Hi, Niall!  It’s Y/N.”

“Y/N!” The younger immortal grins at Harry as he dodges his attempt at swiping for the device, setting his palm between Harry’s eyes and shoving him back roughly as he clambers up off the couch. He dashes across the living room to hide behind the lounge seat, sticking out his tongue and wagging it at his very peeved friend. “Lovely to hear your voice, darlin’!  How are you doing on this lovely Sunday afternoon?”

“I’m alright, thanks.” Harry hears her response as he pounces off the sofa, barreling across the room to chase after Niall. The shorter man is stealthy, and manages to duck and weave past Harry without a single issue, escaping under his left arm. He scrambles towards the glass stairs, holding back giggles as his opponent circles around the furniture to go after him, unhinged aggravation written all over his handsome features. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m just delightful.” Niall laughs airily, taking a sharp turn away from the staircase to confuse Harry’s impulses, snatching a throw pillow off the nearest couch and aiming it at the brunette’s head.  Like the beer bottle, Harry catches it easily, throwing it back at Niall’s stomach with a harder hand. Niall avoids it by a hair. “What can I do for you?”

“Uh, I just wanted to talk to Harry— I had a question for him.  But if he’s busy…”

“Yeah, he’s a little indisposed at the moment, I’m afraid.” Niall races into the kitchen, bracing himself against the marble island with that shit-eating grin still on his face, shuffling erratically from side to side to sike out the other creature across from him. “But I’d be happy to take a message from such a gorgeous girl as yourself.”

“Oh, um, that’s very kind of you—”

Harry rounds the corner of the marble island with a growl, snatching his phone from one hand and smacking Niall upside the head with the other. “Bloody prick.” He hisses over the other vampire’s snickers, eyes colder than his touch as he delivers another blow to Niall’s shoulder. “Fucking annoying, is what you are—”

“Niall?  Are you there?”

After heaving an exasperated sigh and sending one more glare to his friend, Harry raises his phone to his ear, doing his best to lighten the irritation in his voice. “Sorry, love. Niall just wants to be a bit of a bother today, it seems.” He sucks in a deep breath through his teeth as he turns away from the Irishman, wrapping his free arm around his middle as he leans his lower back against the island, crossing his ankles nonchalantly. He picks at a loose thread on his copper tartan trousers, voice coming out honeyed and delicate, as it always tends to get when he regards her. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He can hear the smile that spreads across Y/N’s face upon hearing from him, and the tone sends a flood of warmth through Harry’s chest. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, sweetheart, never.  I’m always free to talk to you.” Harry sends a cautious glimpse towards the living room, knowing that the four vampires sitting in his living room (Niall had slinked his way back to the couch now that his ridiculous charade had come to a close) are hanging onto his every word. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m good, just… I had a question, but if you’re busy—”

“No, not busy at all!  I’ve just been lounging around with the boys all morning. S’nothing serious.” Harry replies a bit too excitedly, straightening the hem of his fitted red and black striped t-shirt, which had gotten mussed during his tussle with Niall. “What d’you need?

Over the phone, he can hear Y/N clear her throat delicately, and a picture of her sitting on her couch in her living room plays across the front of his eyes, her thumb wedged between her lips as she chews on her nail, as she always does when she gets nervous. “Uh, well, I was also just relaxing this morning, and I was playing on my phone, and I kinda came upon this cute little bookstore called Verbatim Books. They have a bunch of really cool used books— and records, too, which I think you’d like— and they have this really neat, like, labyrinth layout—” Harry’s lips twitch as Y/N continues to ramble, “—and I’ve been looking for a replacement copy of Wuthering Heights because I dropped mine in the bathtub, remember?  And I wanted to get a new copy of Romeo and Juliet, as well—”

“Alright, slow down, pet.  Can barely understand you when you’re going a mile a minute.” Harry chuckles boyishly, absentmindedly carding a jeweled hand through the soft curls along the nape of his neck.  Just the sound of Y/N’s innocent dialect ringing in his ear manages to somehow soothe his entire body. “You want to go to this bookstore, is that it?  Because we can.” He flicks his eyes back over to his friends, who are already rolling their own in response. “Just give me an hour or two to finish up with the guys, and I’ll come pick you up—”

“Well, the thing is…” He pictures Y/N chewing on her thumb some more, timid uncertainty pouring into her usually clear irises. “Verbatim Books is in San Diego.”

“San Diego.” Harry repeats back to her, his free hand settling against the cold marble of the island behind him as he quirks an eyebrow in mild shock. “As in the San Diego that’s a two hour drive away?  That San Diego?”

Y/N’s anxious laugh tinkles through the receiver. “Yeah, that San Diego.  But if you have plans with your friends, I completely understand.  We can go a different day.”

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth wearingly, Harry glances at the digital clock blinking above his stovetop, reflecting back the time 12:53 P.M. “When do they close?”

“Five, I think?”

The vampire calculates the route to San Diego in his head, his sculpted brows creasing as the time frame appears in his mind. “If we left now, we’d probably get there between three and three-thirty.  Would an hour and a half be enough time for you to explore and find what you need?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, you are unbelievable,” Xander mutters from across the condo, but Harry pays him no attention other than raising a blue-lacquered middle finger to flip him off. 

“I mean, yeah, I think so, but—”

“Alright, darling, then just give me a few minutes to grab my things and kick everyone out.” Harry says firmly, pushing himself away from the counter to begin searching for his car keys. 

“No, Harry, it’s not so important that we have to go today, and I don’t want you to kick your friends out.  In fact…” Y/N’s voice becomes thoughtful as a new idea pops into her head, and she hesitates for a moment before suggesting it on the grounds of not wanting to come off as pushy. But in the end, her curiosity bests her. “Why don’t we save Verbatim for another day, and I could just come over and hang out with you and your friends?  I bought all the ingredients for this really yummy guacamole recipe I saw on Tasty the other day— we could do, like, an impromptu movie night or something.  I’ve been craving one of your margaritas all week.”

“Yeah, Harry!” Niall chimes in as Harry re-enters the living room, obviously ignoring his friend’s earlier threat against eavesdropping. “I could go for some guac and a marg— not blended, though. Tastes like shit that way.”

Harry stares at him in disgust as he snatches his keys from the coffee table. “You’re a fucking twat.” 

“What?”

“Oh— not you, babe!” Harry hurries to reassure her as Niall cackles in taunting satisfaction. “Sorry, I was talking to Niall.  No, it’s… it’s alright.  You want to go to this bookstore, and the boys were on their way out anyways—”

“Were you on your way out?” Adam asks Xander sarcastically, and Xander raises his half-full Bloody Mary as a negative response, making a mockingly sour face in return. “Okay, I thought so.  Neither was I.”

“—so it’s all fine.  I’ll leave in a few minutes, yeah?  Probably be at your place within fifteen?” Harry checks the time on his Rolex as he estimates his arrival. “Does that sound good?”

“I— sure.  Yeah, that works.” Y/N says slowly, her voice a little softer than it was a moment before. “I’ll see you when you get here, then.”

“Alright, doll.  See you soon.” Harry hangs up his phone with a tap of his finger, sliding the device into his back pocket as he turns to face his friends. “So that was Y/N—”

“Oh, really? I had no clue!” Xander deadpans, rising from the lounge seat and setting his condensation-covered glass on the coffee table, deliberately avoiding the coaster Harry always insists should be used. “See you later, Harry.”

Adam matches the motion, a smirk jolting across his scruffy cheeks as he stands from his seat and claps Harry over the shoulder as he passes by. “Have a nice drive, man.  We’ll do a movie night with Y/N another time.”

The promise plants a seed of unease inside Harry’s stomach, but he doesn’t allow it to show on his face, choosing to smile easily at Adam’s innocent comment instead. “Yeah.  Another time.”

“Yeah, have a nice drive, H.” Niall mutters as he passes him, his face set in a petty surrendered frown. “A nice, long drive.  Preferably off a very short cliff.”

“I would, Ni, but you’d miss me too much.” Harry grins at him jokingly, bumping the vampire’s shoulder with his own until his irritated expression softens into a slightly less irritated smile. 

It’s Mitch, however, who makes Harry pause the most as he goes to leave. He halts in the doorway of Harry’s flat with a somber look in his eyes, appraising his younger friend with a curious gaze, which settles into trepidation as he sighs reluctantly. “You okay, H?” He prods gently, the question heavy as it falls from his mouth.

While Adam’s words were lighthearted and Mitch’s are anything but, they still leave the same feeling of uncertainty curling through Harry’s belly.  And, like Adam’s words, Harry plasters the same reassuring smile across his features, doing his best to dampen his best friend’s concern. “‘M peachy keen, Mitchell.  Don’t need to worry about me.”

“Are you sure?”

Harry only hesitates for a split second before urging himself to respond. “AB positive.” 

///

If Y/N doesn’t say something to him, Harry is going to go absolutely insane.

It’s not that they haven’t had silence fall between them before, because they have.  They’ve had comfortable silences as they lay in bed at night, Y/N wrapped within Harry’s inked arms as her breaths align with his.  They’ve had quiet lapses in conversation during their usual breakfasts as they watch reruns of Y/N’s favorite crime show, or as they’ve wandered up and down the Santa Monica pier, or walked to and from casual dinners on warmer nights. Despite the lack of words flowing between them, Harry would always know what Y/N was thinking as he slipped his light denim jacket over her bare shoulders, capturing her hand within his own once more as he pulled her to the inside of the sidewalk so he could walk closer to the traffic.  Silence is nothing new to them, and has even been the host of some of Harry’s favourite moments between the two, given that being able to hold a comfortable pause with someone is such a beautifully rare occurrence. Silence has typically been his friend.

But the silences that linger in their past have never felt quite like this.

From the moment Harry pulled out of Y/N’s apartment building parking lot and into the busy traffic of L.A., the mortal girl had grown quiet, and seemingly immune to Harry’s inquiries about how her day had been since he’d dropped her off at her apartment the night before.  Although she first answered him with short snippets— no more than a few words long— by the time he’d peeled them out of the hustle and bustle of the city and onto the highway towards San Diego, even those answers had come to a faltering halt.  Instead, Y/N had propped her chin up on her hand, rested her elbow on the ledge of the car door, and turned her pensive gaze at the scenery whizzing by the window, which she watched with a contemplative crease between her brows.

And the infuriating thing is that he’d asked if something was bothering Y/N the moment she’d begun to clam up, and his question had only received a small jerk of her head and a barely audible, “No, H.  I’m fine.” No gentle caress of Harry’s hand against her leg or soft squeeze of her palm had granted Harry any more clarity on the subject.  

She’s allowed to have secrets, of course. Everyone does.  Harry himself certainly has his own fair share locked away in his chest, free from prying eyes and curious minds.  But the thing is, she hasn’t held any from him.  Any question Harry’s asked, she’s always provided an open and honest answer, even if there’s been a beat of hesitation before the words fall from her pretty lips.  But her answer today, of being fine, is so clearly the opposite of that, and her insistence on hiding it means that she doesn’t want Harry to know that she’s upset.  Which means— Harry’s hands tighten around the steering wheel as he rounds the curve of the road— that Harry’s part of the reason she’s upset.  He’s not sure how, or why, or what he’s done, but he’s done something.  Otherwise, Y/N wouldn’t be refusing to give him even a fraction of the warmth she’s usually so willing to gift him. 

Another sigh heaves from Harry’s chest as he lets one hand fall from the leather wheel onto his thigh, tracing the pattern of his plaid trousers absently.  He wants to ask again, just to see if her stubbornness has dwindled by the slightest degree.  And it easily could dwindle with just a breath of suggestion from Harry, but he refuses to do that, no matter how badly he may want to.  If Y/N is really mad at him for something, how can he convince her that she should forgive him if he’s using supernatural powers to make her admit what’s wrong.  Even more, how can he convince himself that he’s justified in earning her forgiveness?

Harry casts another concerned glance at Y/N before shifting in his seat to extract his phone from his trouser pocket.  With a quick swipe of his thumb, he unlocks it with ease, his eyes flicking from the road to the phone and back again as he opens Spotify. 

“You’re not supposed to text and drive, y’know.”

The sweet cadence of Y/N’s voice, despite its quiet tone, uplifts the corner of Harry’s lips and mills a gentle chuckle in his chest. “I’m not texting.  And I’m an excellent driver, sweetheart.” He glimpses at her from the corner of his eye before returning to his search through his playlists. “Got good reflexes.”

The human girl gives a hum of acknowledgement rather than another retort to his comment, and Harry’s newborn grin quickly melts into a frown as Y/N’s attention returns to the window.  Harry finds comfort in another sigh as he selects an album from his library, clicking the shuffle icon in the corner and tucking his phone back in his pocket. 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Music begins to roll out from the speakers that Harry installed in his car the year before, producing a hip-hop beat and the voice of Christopher Jackson as George Washington. “You could’ve been anywhere in the world tonight, but you’re here with us in New York City.  Are you ready for a cabinet meeting?”

Harry taps his fingers to the beat against the steering wheel as he steals a sly peek at Y/N.  Although she hasn’t turned to him again, he can see her eyebrows pricking up with curiosity as to what Harry’s doing. That’s all the encouragement Harry needs.

“The issue on the table: Secretary Hamilton’s plan to assume state debt and establish a national bank.  Secretary Jefferson, you have the floor, sir.”

The vampire bites back a triumphant smirk as he turns his gaze back towards the road, feigning a lack of interest in Y/N’s response as he begins to rap along to the Hamilton score. “‘Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness’.  We fought for these ideals; we shouldn’t settle for less.  These are wise words, enterprising men quote ‘em,” He cocks his head to the side, allowing his grin to fully light up his face as he captures Y/N’s attention within his. “Don’t act surprised, you guys, ‘cause I wrote ‘em. OWWW!”

Although Y/N’s expression stays neutral, he can see a twitch in her cheek at his loud exclamation, and Harry begins to exaggerate his actions even more as he gestures towards her with twinkling emerald eyes. “But Hamilton forgets!  His plan would have the government assume state’s debts.  Now, place your bets as to who that benefits.” Harry taps his chin symbolically, feigning thought, and then points towards Y/N with dramatized realization. “The very seat of government where Hamilton sits.”

Keeping her own eyes locked on the road ahead of them, Y/N gives a quick yet defiant shake of her head, the corner of her lip raised just a fraction more than it was a moment before. “Not true!”

“Ooh, if the shoe fits, wear it.” Harry’s simper continues to grow with the warming attitude Y/N’s beginning to display, and he shakes his head in return and raises his free hand in a questioning manner as he continues to rap along. “If New York’s in debt, why should Virginia bear it?  Uh, our debts are paid, I’m afraid.” He lifts his fingers into his curls, running them through his roots and pretending to fluff the ends poshly for a haughty effect. “Don’t tax the South ‘cause we got it made in the shade.” Tapping a jeweled finger against the dashboard, Harry emphasizes the beats of his next line. “In Virginia, we plant seeds in the ground.  We create; you just wanna move our money around.  This financial plan is an outrageous demand, and it’s too many pages for any man to understand!” He pretends to flip the endless pages of an imaginary novel, and then snaps his wrist dismissively with a cocky smirk, deftly guiding the car around the curve of the road with his other hand. 

“Stand with me in the land of the free, and pray to God we never see Hamilton’s candidacy.  Look, when Britain taxed our tea, we got frisky—” Harry rolls his chest to the rhythm of the song, his dimples deepening in his cheeks as he reaches over towards Y/N and pinches at her side playfully, warmth erupting across his veins when she squeals in surprise. “Imagine what gon’ happen when you try to tax our whiskeyyyy.”

“Thank you, Secretary Jefferson.” Washington says through the speaker as Y/N smacks his hand away and purses her lips, appraising Harry with a raised brow. “Secretary Hamilton, your response.”

For a moment, Harry waits with bated breath, thinking that Y/N won’t rise to his challenge.  She’s too angry with him, for some reason he can’t fathom, and when she opens her mouth, he assumes she’s just going to tell him off for—

“Thomas, that was a real nice declaration.  Welcome to the present, we’re running a real nation.  Would you like to join us?  Or stay mellow doin’ whatever the hell it is you do in Monticello?” Y/N rolls with the music just as Harry had, his rainbow cardigan slipping from her shoulder as she gestures towards him with ridicule. “If we assume the debts the union gets a new line of credit, a financial diuretic.” She lists off each subject on her fingers, making a sour face at Harry. “How do you not get it?  If we’re aggressive and competitive, the union gets a boost—” She slaps her hand down against her thigh passionately, as if his side of the imaginary argument appalls her. “You’d rather give it a sedative?”

Harry barks out a laugh as Y/N’s expression grows more incredulous, mocking him in character as if they were really on a Broadway stage, and not his ‘67 Cadillac driving down a highway in California. 

“A civics lesson from a slaver.” She snorts, reaching across the seat and tapping her knuckles against Harry’s head with a light touch. “Hey neighbour, your debts are paid ‘cause you don’t pay for labour.” She mimics his voice, right down to the slight British tinge that had made it into his Virginian twang, throwing up her hands and shaking them in an overexaggerated motion as she quotes him. “‘We plant seeds in the South.  We create’— Yeah, keep ranting.  We know who’s really doing the planting.” 

One of Harry’s hands shoots up towards his mouth and forms a fist, which he presses against his lips in fake astonishment at her dig, joining the background vocalists in howling. “Ooooh!”

The mortal gestures towards him with renewed fervor in her eyes that barely hides the amusement lingering in her irises. “And that’s another thing, Mr. Age of Enlightenment.  Don’t lecture me about the war; you didn’t fight in it!”

Harry bites back the jesting retort of “No, but Mitch did.” that nearly rolls from his tongue.

The minimal restraint goes unnoticed by Y/N, who continues her scathing attack on Harry’s alter ego as she points over her shoulder with her thumb. “You think I’m frightened of you, man?  We almost died in the trench,” She pinches together her index finger and thumb and brings them to her mouth, and the ease at which the mimicry of a joint comes to her makes Harry wonder if she’s ever actually smoked one. “While you were off getting high with the French!  Thomas Jefferson, always hesitant with the President.  Reticent— there isn’t a plan he doesn’t jettison.  Madison, you’re mad as a hatter, son, take your medicine.  Damn, you’re in worse shape than the national debt is in!” Gesturing theatrically, Y/N lowers her voice, keeping her intensity as she points to Harry. “Sitting there useless as two shits.  Hey, turn around,” she makes a small twirling motion in the air with her forefinger, and then juts two digits upwards as if to stuff them somewhere, “bend over, I’ll show you where my shoe fits!”

Harry bursts into laughter with reckless abandon, wrapping his free hand around his stomach as he bends over the steering wheel.  Reaching towards the stereo dials, he turns down the volume, letting the rest of the track fade to background noise before turning his gaze back to Y/N. 

Just like him, the mortal girl is bent over with fits of  belly laughter, and the sound echoes around the Cadillac in the sweetest way.  Harry would take that over the Grammy-winning soundtrack any day. 

“That was good, love.  You’re a proper Broadway starlette, aren’t you?” Harry says between giggles, rubbing at his dimpled cheeks before settling his hands back on the steering wheel. “Didn’t realize you’d been holding out on me so much.”

“I wouldn’t call that holding out.” The mortal girl counters, fixing the slouching shoulder of Harry’s cardigan as she rests back into the passenger seat with a satisfied air. “You’ve heard me sing all the parts to ‘Non-Stop’ at once.”

“Well, yes, but…” Poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue, Harry shoots a cheeky grin at Y/N as he drums his fingers against the leather wheel. “This time you were actually good.”

An indignant scoff falls from Y/N’s mouth as she reaches across the car and smacks his arm.  Harry can sense that she puts a lot of her force behind it, but the action feels as forceful as a fly landing on his shoulder, and he fakes a jostling of his body as he pouts. “You can’t hit the driver!”

“Then don’t insult my Broadway-worthy performances!” She remarks, crossing her rainbow-clad arms over her chest with a defiant air. “I think I’m quite talented— ready to take over the role of Hamilton himself, even.”

The creature rubs over his arm in an attempt to feign soreness, but the simper that’s still dimpled across his face gives him away. “I’m not sure if I’d go that far, peach.  I think I’d give you a chorus role, at best.” He snickers as Y/N’s mouth drops down into a disgruntled frown. “If anyone would be playing Alexander Hamilton, it would be me.”

“Uh, I don’t fucking think so.” She shakes her head adamantly, her brows drawing together in petty disbelief. “They wouldn’t cast a fucking Red Coat in an American Revolution play.”

Harry wedges his plump lip between his teeth at the tauntingly insulting nickname as his mind flickers to Mitch once more.  He’d be amused, Harry thinks, at how this girl seems to so easily mimic the attitude of those who have known Harry for decades. 

“I can do a flawless American accent, love.” Harry’s emphasis on the consonants in his response only highlights his native tone of voice. “But that’s not why I’d be picked to be Hamilton over you. It’s because I just fit the role of the main character better.”

Y/N sputters in her seat for a moment, jaw dropping open at the assured statement. “Are you kidding?” She demands, pressing her palms flat on her thighs as she narrows her eyes. “Like, are you actually fucking kidding?”

“Not one bit.” With his voice dropped to a serious tone, Harry keeps his eyes locked on the road as he replies.

“That is the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard.  I can’t believe you really—” Y/N sucks in a deep breath through her nose, as if she needs to calm and center herself in order to form a coherent answer, and her playful eyes slowly drift shut. “I grew up in a small town, dated the same guy for five years, was left behind while he went to university, where he then cheated on me, and then I moved from the town I’d never left before all the way across the country to Los Angeles, California.” Opening her eyes once more, Y/N turns her determined gaze back to Harry, collapsing her hands in front of her for emphasis. “I literally followed the ‘smalltown girl moves to big city’ trope.  There are dozens of LifeTime movies that follow the exact same plot.  If that doesn’t say ‘main character,’ I don’t know what does.”

“Mm, I’ll tell you what does.” Harry counters, wagging a ringed finger at the human girl while keeping the rest wrapped securely around the steering wheel. “‘Following the life of a handsome, rich British bachelor with a mysterious past, a great fashion sense, and who happens to be very well endowed.’”

“Oh, please. That says ‘one of two love interests from a Hallmark Christmas movie,’ at best.”

The vampire gasps with faux offense, clutching a hand to his dormant chest as he flickers his eyes to the scoffing girl. “A love interest?  You think that’s all I’m entitled to?” He asks, brow furrowed as he clicks his tongue. “Did you miss the part where I said I had a mysterious past and a huge dick?  Girls would foam at the mouth for me.”

“No, believe me, I know all about those two things.” Y/N snorts, brushing back a loose strand from her eyes before she rolls them. “Unfortunately for you, those are all key characteristics of a protagonist’s love interest.”

A smug smirk overtakes Harry’s face as he flicks on his turn signal, glancing over his shoulder before passing a car that has been going a bit too slow for his liking. “Huh.  Well, I suppose as long as you know that I have those key characteristics— particularly that last one— then I guess I’ll settle. S’the most important of them all, I think.”

He expects his joke to receive a rolling laugh from the human girl, or a noise of acknowledgement at the very least, but all that echoes from her is an empty hum from the back of her throat.  When Harry glimpses her way again, he finds that she’s resumed her previous expression of quiet contemplation, brow creased in thought as she chews on her bottom lip. Concern begins to weigh heavy in Harry’s chest once more.

“Speaking of mysteries, though…” She fiddles with her fingers, twisting one of her rings around a digit the same way Harry does when he’s anxious, and if he were in a better frame of mind, he might take pleasure in the fact that she’s picked up one of his mannerisms. “There is something I’ve been wondering.  About you, I mean.”

From her closed off body language and sudden shift in mood, Harry knows that this has something to do with the guarded and upset expression she’d had when he’d first picked her up.  And, from her lead in, he knows that his assumptions were right: her unsettled demeanor has something to do with him.  Although the possibilities leave a feeling of unease in the pit of his belly, Harry’s curiosity and his need to satiate her wariness wins out, and he forces himself to nod and ask, “What is it, dove?”

Y/N opens her mouth, but no question falls out.  From the corner of his eye, Harry watches as she closes her mouth again, as if she’s decided against asking whatever it is that she wants to. Harry is just about to encourage her to make her inquiry when a surge of confidence suddenly overtakes her body, and she’s spitting it out in a quick and confused voice.

“Why haven’t you introduced me to your friends?”

Out of all the causes for her guarded demeanor, the topic of his friends had been the farthest from his mind.  The question catches Harry so off guard that he, for what feels like the first time, doesn’t have a quick response already formed on the tip of his tongue.  Instead, his own mouth falls open in surprise, and he casts a quick look at the girl from the edge of his emerald eyes before turning back to the road in front of him.

He knows the answer to her question, of course; it’s the same answer that he’s given to his friends every time they’ve asked him to invite Y/N to a bar trivia night, or a weekend barbecue, or a club outing.  And, truthfully, it’s a question that’s been floating more at the forefront of his mind for the last few weeks as he and Y/N have continued to spend time together, gradually becoming a constant in each other’s lives. However, he didn’t expect it to be at the forefront of her own, as well.  

And the answer, really, is quite simple: if Y/N were to spend time with Harry’s gang of friends, there would be a larger possibility of her realizing that there’s something off about all of them.  Like how they all have a specific jeweled accessory that they’re never without, or how none of them seem to ever grow weary, or how they all have the same cold skin and slight shadows around their eyes.  Surely her keen eyes would catch how, despite the copious amount of shots and number of pints they throw back, none of them seem to become inebriated as easily as normal people would, and they can walk out of a club with their heads held high, free of stumbling or exhaustion.  It’s with careful planning and—truthfully— sheer luck that Harry’s managed to present himself with a halfway-human appearance, and he has no doubt that it would be ten times harder to keep up that charade when the chances of her discovering what he is quintuple.

“Uh…” His brow furrows while searching for a valid response to give to the mortal beside him— one that would avoiding hurting her feelings, while still sounding believable. “I-I dunno, really.  I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

The quiet “oh,” that slips from Y/N’s downturned lips alerts Harry that, no matter what response she was expecting, that wasn’t the right one.  She tightens her cardigan-clad arms around her middle as she nods tightly, keeping her gaze fixed pointedly on the passenger window.

Harry rubs his bottom lip with his ringed index finger— another nervous tic of his— as he tries to remedy the tension that’s been brewing between them since she first stepped into the car. “I mean… this whole thing—” He gestures between the two of them, and although the urge to take her hand makes his fingers twitch, he returns his grasp to the steering wheel instead of allowing himself to try and extract her palm from the fabric it’s hidden beneath. “— has been between just the two of us, so I didn’t really think… it mattered.” He finishes lamely, knowing that his justification is just making things worse. “Does it need—?  I mean, did you want—?”

“Well, it’s just…” Y/N lifts and lowers her shoulder in one quick motion, the cardigan once again sliding down to reveal the strap of her tank top underneath and a path of smooth skin that Harry yearns to touch. “It’s kind of like a— I don’t know, a marker?  Like if something is going… well…” She spares him a quick glance before returning her gaze to the passing scenery. “You tell your friends.  I’ve, um, I’ve told mine about you— like, my friends back home, over the phone— and if they weren’t so far away, I know they’d want to meet you, so I guess I—”

“You’ve told your friends about me?” Harry cuts over her, the shock laden in his voice raising it from its usual low drawl. “What did you tell them?  What did they say?”

An anxious flush begins to creep up Y/N’s neck and onto her cheeks, and Harry suspects that it’s not from the warm wool of the cardigan. “I did, yeah.  A couple weeks ago.  They called and asked how I was doing, if I had made any interesting friends yet.  And, well— I’ve pretty much only got you right now, so I kind of had to say something.” She lets out a weak laugh, more air than anything substantial. “I just said that we, um, we were seeing each other, kind of.  Like, mostly we’re friends, and we hang out, and—”

“We do more than hang out.” A grimace tugs at Harry’s own lips at her simplified explanation of their complicated relationship, and he risks an elongated look at the girl beside him, trying desperately to read her expression with no success. 

“I know that, but— like, we’re not dating, right?  It’s not… that was the best explanation I could give.  I don’t think there’s a proper label for what we are— not that we need one.” Although Y/N’s laugh holds more substance this time, Harry can still detect an undercurrent of tension in the sound. “Either way, they said they wished they could meet you, so I was just wondering— your friends know about me, obviously.  We’ve met a few times quickly, but we’ve never, like, had a proper introduction, you know?  I met Xander and Niall in the hallway, and Mitch briefly when we were having a movie night at your place… you talk about Adam a lot, too, and I’ve never even seen him in person.” Turning her head towards Harry with slow hesitation, Y/N worries her bottom lip between her teeth, her expression so frighteningly open that it makes Harry’s stomach turn. “Do they not… do they not want to meet me?”

Despite the quiet and cautious cadence of Y/N’s voice, and the way it twists around Harry’s unbeating heart like a vice, the question draws a soft laugh from the vampire.  Shaking his head adamantly, Harry rakes a hand through his curls before it goes to tap against the steering wheel decisively. “No, sweetheart, that’s not it.  They’re actually quite eager to meet you. As of late, I haven’t been able get through five minutes without Niall asking about you.  He pries like a gossipy nan and s’been getting on my nerves, honestly.”

Relief spreads through Harry as the admission brings a gentle upturn to the corners of Y/N’s soft lips, but it’s short-lived as another thought pops into her mind, and her cautious tone returns at the realization that—

“So you don’t want to introduce me to them, then.” She states quietly, a clear degree of hurt present in both her tone and her eyes as she twists her body beneath her seatbelt to face him head on.  As certain as she is in her assumption, the cautious shadow that sweeps over Harry’s face serves as confirmation of her statement, and it creates a hollow pit in her belly that grows with each passing moment.

Y/N is aware that their relationship— or whatever it is, because they still haven’t put a title on it, and that’s a whole other complication that she can’t dive into right now— is about as far from normal dating as they can get.  She’d fucked Harry before she knew his last name, he’d told her to take him deeper before he’d even told her where he was from, and he’d asked her on a date two months after they’d met, mostly out of territorial jealousy; everything that they’ve done has been out of the traditional order.  But still, she thinks, picking at her nails as the strain between them becomes palpable in the worst way, there are certain things that you do when you’re interested in someone.  Certain milestones that indicate that a relationship is viable and can be sustained for an extended period of time.  Meeting someone’s friends usually comes around the two month mark, and by Y/N’s calculations, that means they’re nearly two months overdue.

Which is fine, Y/N tells herself, dropping her gaze from Harry’s stormy sea glass eyes as she chastises the self-pity coursing through her veins.  Everything about their relationship has been done out of order; why should meeting Harry’s friends be any different?

Except it is.  As much as she hates it, it just is, because it’s not even that she hasn’t met them.  It’s that Harry, with his guilt-ridden eyes and darkened demeanor, clearly doesn’t want her to.

“Y/N,” His gentle utterance of her name draws her from her thoughts more than his hand crawling across the leather seat does.  It’s not until his cool fingers weave through hers that her fidgeting stops, and she even notices that he’s moved. “It’s not that I don’t want you to meet them, I just—”

“It’s fine, Harry.” She insists softly, despite the tightness in her statement making it obvious that it’s very much not fine.  She pastes a thin smile onto her lips as she shakes her head, trying to appease him as best she can. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Harry squirms in the driver’s seat, tightening his hand around the steering wheel as he heaves a sigh through his nose.  Y/N might be saying that, but the look in her eyes tells a different story.  Does she really think that she can look at Harry with such a wide, wounded expression, and he won’t bend over backwards to make things right?  The thought, although scathing, rings true in Harry’s mind as he worries his cheek between his teeth.  Does she not know the lengths he’s willing to go to just to make her feel better?  For fuck’s sake, he’s making a four hour round trip just to take her to a bookstore in San fucking Diego.  Somehow, without Harry noticing it, this human has managed to influence him in ways he couldn’t possibly imagine anyone ever would again.  Is he supposed to believe that she’s unaware of that?

Shaking his head tersely at her previous reply, Harry squeezes her fingers in his own, clearing the newly formed lump from his throat. “Yes, I do.” He says firmly, looking at the girl from the corner of his eye. “I can tell where your mind is going, love, and I promise you, it’s not as bad as you think.”

“Oh, yeah?” Despite the hurt still splashed across her irises, there’s an echo of a challenge in her tone. “So you just hide all of your… hook-ups from your friends, then?”

“You know I don’t have hook-ups, Y/N.  There’s no one else, there’s just— there’s you.  I only have you.” Harry makes his words as plain as can be, without any joke or teasing to downplay the sincerity of what he’s saying— or attempting to say, because his throat feels so tight that he can barely choke out a single syllable. “And that’s why I haven’t introduced you yet.  I… I like what we have.  This—” He raises their clasped hands, bringing the back of her knuckles to his lips so he can plant a chaste kiss over her soft skin. “I like it.  We’ve spent these last few months in a bubble, just you and me, and it’s been…” A smile tugs at the corner of Harry’s lips, nervous and shy, but tinged with hope. “S’been amazing.  And I’m just… not ready to give that up yet. I…I don’t know how to word it, really.  I’m not good with, um—” With emotions, he thinks to himself. He’s not good with expressing any of this, but he forces himself to try. “It just feels like what we have is something I want to keep private, because it’s special. It’s kind of like when you were a kid and you got a new toy, yeah? And you didn’t want anyone to touch it because you liked it so much, you wanted to keep it all to yourself. It was something so personal, you didn’t want to share it…” 

Harry trails off to look over at Y/N anxiously, and then comes to a sudden realization of the unintentional mistake he’d made by using such a materialistic analogy. His voice comes out rushed and apologetic. “And I’m not saying you’re an object or anything! I just wanted to explain it better and that’s the first thing that popped into my head. Did that...make sense? It probably sounded a bit dense. Or very dense. I’m sorry.” Harry knows he’s babbling aimlessly now, and with a surrendered sigh, he lowers their hands to the seat, still keeping Y/N’s fingers locked tightly with his. “I don’t want to share you, petal.  That’s what it comes down to, really— just me being selfish.  I like having your attention all to myself.”

Y/N listens attentively to Harry’s explanation as a new wave of blood boils to her cheeks, warming every inch of her body.  As much as she still has her doubts— about his reasoning, about their whole arrangement— she wants to believe him.  She wants to believe him more than anything in the world.  

So do it, she tells herself, grazing her lip between her teeth as her gaze remains glued on Harry’s (ridiculously attractive) side profile.  Believe him.  He’s never given you reason not to.

“Okay.” She finds herself saying, and she decides that it’s her turn to raise Harry’s knuckles to her lips for a kiss.  His skin is cool against her mouth, as always, and she lingers against him before lowering their intertwined hands to her lap. “I get it.  I like what we have, too; I don’t want it to change.  Plus,” She can’t resist tacking on a dig, glancing at Harry with a sly look. “From the brief interactions we’ve had, I think Niall and I are pretty compatible, so I don’t blame you for wanting to keep us apart.”

Although Harry barks out a laugh, he barely manages to hide the flash of crimson that streaks through his eyes at the suggestion. “Please,” He shakes his head as he strokes his thumb over the back of Y/N’s knuckles in a possessive manner. “I’m not worried about Niall.  If I was going to be concerned about you leaving me for any of my friends, it would be Adam.” Y/N shoots him a curious look, and his dimples pop out of his cheeks as he elaborates. “Good sense of humour, attractive, and arguably the most sane out of all of us, present company included.  But he can’t perform in bed like I can, so I think that’s a solid deterring factor.  And I doubt he’d drop everything to drive you to a bookstore you found out about through— where did you say you heard about this place again?”

“Uh,” Y/N drops her gaze from Harry, turning her head straight back to the road as she shifts in her seat. “I, um, I saw it on TikTok.”

The vampire snorts obnoxiously, pulling his hand from Y/N’s to rake his fingers through his rouge curls. “Jesus Christ, of course you did.”

Y/N matches his scoffing with ease, crossing her arms over her chest with a defensive air. “Don’t give me that tone!  This is exactly why I didn’t tell you! You know, you can actually find a lot of valuable information on there—”

“Yeah, because filming yourself doing the Renegade is a really great use of your time.”

“I didn’t say— wait—” The mortal girl quirks an eyebrow as she regards him with disbelieving eyes. “How do you know about the Renegade?”

“There’s a reason we blocked the app from Niall’s phone.”

///

Much to Harry’s relief, the drive back to Los Angeles begins a lot smoother than the drive to San Diego had.  

The bookshop had been extremely similar to the antique store they’d been to a while back— it had the same rustic, messy aesthetic that gives a cozy, homey vibe, and it had sprouted a seed of nostalgia in Harry’s chest. They’d wandered around for a bit with their fingers intertwined, rarely breaking away from each other for too long for the sake of maintaining their buddy system. The pair had filtered through the extensive array of titles and knickknacks, walking under archways built out of novels and winding through tall shelves full of vintage collectibles. Y/N had entertained herself with grazing over the spines of all the different books they’d passed, her eyes glazed with a form of childlike wonder he’d grown so fond of seeing. And while Y/N had been losing herself in all the old treasures the shop had to offer, Harry had found himself losing his thoughts to her dreamy smile instead. 

Satisfied with her purchases of Wuthering Heights and Romeo and Juliet, as well as a used copy of Jane Eyre (“Look, Harry, it has little notes in it from the previous owner!  Isn’t that neat?”), Y/N had settled into the passenger seat with ease, a light smile on her face as she buckled her seatbelt.  Harry’s own mood is considerably brighter than it had been on the previous drive, but his shift in energy had only partially been caused by his purchase of a new Simon and Garfunkel album.  Truthfully, Harry thinks, as he watches Y/N thumb through her new second-hand annotated book (the irony of her affinity for literature written from Harry’s original time period is not lost to him), his attitude is merely a mirror of the girl next to him.  It’s much more difficult to be in a good mood when she’s in a sour one, but on the flip side, it’s nearly impossible to be grumpy when she’s showing such a sunny disposition.

Her inquiries from their drive to the bookstore are worrying him, of course.  He knows that he’ll have to introduce her to his friends eventually, especially if he wants to keep this agreement between the two of them up.  He also knows that it’ll be ten times harder to do so with Niall running his mouth, Xander making sly digs, and Mitch and Adam watching him with parental-like concern.  Perhaps it would be easier to just call this all off right now, before things continue to progress.  It would certainly be better for Y/N, he’s sure of it.  Y/N, who gets excited over annotations in her books.  Y/N, who sings along off-key to the radio even when she doesn’t know all the words.  Y/N, who innocently presses tender kisses to his throat in a manner that draws an obsolete warmth from every limb of his undead body, and who smiles at his stupid inappropriate jokes and returns them with her own, and who fits into his arms like she was made for the sole purpose of filling them perfectly.

Y/N, who is reaching between the two of them, intertwining their fingers together with a practiced motion, and—

“Thank you for taking me to the bookstore.” The human girl murmurs, her lips grazing the back of Harry’s knuckles as she speaks. “I really do appreciate it, although I’m sorry I pulled you away from your friends.”

Harry’s woes melt away as she pecks across his icy skin, and a grin begins to jolt his lips as he brings her hand to his own mouth. “Don’t be sorry.” He smears a kiss to the back before dropping their tangled palms to the seat between them, his thumb caressing over her velvety flesh. “You’re much better company than the four of them.  And much prettier.”

“You’re such a flirt.” Y/N rolls her eyes at the comment, but leans further towards Harry in her seat. “And a liar.  We both know that Mitch is prettier.”

“Mitch?” Harry’s emerald eyes widen in appalled surprise, the corner of his lips twitching once more in amusement. “Out of all of my friends, you think Mitch is the prettiest?  What about Xander?  He’s quite the vain one, don’t you think?”

Y/N shrugs one shoulder in a light manner. “I like Mitch’s hair.  The long style works for him.”

“Ah, it’s the hair.  That makes sense; it’s always the hair.” Nodding sagely, Harry allows his lips to pull into a full grin. “So you like it long, hm?  Suppose I should keep growing mine out, then?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sherlock.” Y/N shoots him a smirk that’s much more mischievous than his own. “I said the long hair worked for him, not you.  Who’s the vain one now?”

Despite the jesting tone of her voice, jealousy twinges in the back of Harry’s mind as his eyes darken from emerald to forest green.  He forces his lips to stay upturned as he offers a response that’s only half a joke. “Ouch, Watson.  S’not very nice, especially considering how I’ve driven you to San Diego and back today.  I think I deserve a bit of praise, don’t you?  Instead of you mocking me—”

“I’m not mocking!” Y/N’s protest is muffled around the entertainment in her voice, the rainbow cardigan once again slipping from her shoulder as she shakes with suppressed laughter. “Making one little comment isn’t mocking!  It would be mocking you if I acted like you do when you get in front of a mirror— you make this one specific face, like you’re trying to pull a Blue Steel, and—”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Harry huffs as he yanks his hand away from Y/N’s, swiping it through his loose ringlet before clamping it back around the steering wheel. “Ungrateful little wench, aren’t you?  I have half a mind to pull over right now and—”

“A wench?  I’m a wench?” Y/N’s laughter grows louder, filling the entire Cadillac with the unabashed sound that, despite his act, warms the pit of Harry’s stomach. “Alright then, Merlin. What, are you going to put me to work in a labour house?  Is that what a wench does these days?”

“First of all,” Harry quips, giving her a flat glimpse, “I’d be Arthur, not Merlin. Main character complex, remember?”

Y/N rolls her eyes grandly, proceeding to lower her head in a dramatic bow. “My apologies, sire. How could I forget?” 

“And second of all,” the vampire states slightly louder, talking over her sarcasm, “no, because apparently, all wenches do nowadays is just make fun of the men who volunteer to spend four hours in a car with them without so much as a ‘thank you.’”

The mortal girl’s upturned mouth drops open in amused disbelief. “What��?  I said thank you!  Literally three minutes ago!” 

“Did you?  I don’t recall.” Harry sighs airily as he smoothly guides the car around a bend in the road. “All I remember is you saying you think Mitch is sexier than I am.”

Snorting loudly, Y/N crosses her arms over her middle as she gives a small shake of her head. “Alright, I think that’s a bit of a stretch.  I just said he has nice hair.  And, while we’re on the topic—”

“Watch it.”

“— his mustache is cool, too.  It suits him.”

“You know, I could grow a mustache if I wanted to.” Harry can’t help the pout that plumps his lips, nor can he help the whine that creeps into his voice when Y/N giggles at the sight. “It’s true!  I could!  I just choose not to.  And, really, you should be thanking me for it, because it saves you from getting a carpet burn between your thighs.”

“So I should be thanking you for driving me today, for not growing facial hair…” Y/N ticks off the items on her fingers with a ridiculing gleam dancing through her eyes. “Anything else we need to add to the list?”

Harry tuts as he thinks, pursing his lips in consideration before letting out a sharp exhale as a sly smile carves his dimples into place. “That cardigan you’re wearing.  You could thank me for letting you borrow it— although ‘stealing’ might be a more accurate term.”

A miffed expression rises to Y/N’s face just as a flush does. “I didn’t steal it!  I’ve just been borrowing it, like you said.”

“Mmm.  Alright.” Harry hums in the back of his throat as he glances at the girl beside him, kinking a brow expectantly. “And when can I expect it back?”

“Fairly soon, actually.  It—” Y/N’s cheeks boil with more heat as she drops her attention to her lap, clearing her throat gently before continuing. “It, um, it doesn’t really smell like you anymore, so…”

Silence falls between the two as Y/N’s voice drifts off, leaving behind only the sound of Fleetwood Mac gently drifting through Harry’s speakers to cut through the thickening tension that fills the vehicle.  It’s only the faint sound of Y/N’s own shallow breaths that reminds Harry that he needs to fake his own, and he sucks in a deep gasp of air, his throat burning as her thick honey and lavender scent settles on the back of his tongue.

“Well,” He begins cautiously, gauging her reaction from the corner of his eye while keeping most of his gaze glued to the road. “You can always steal it again after I get it back, yeah?  It’ll be good as new.”

Harry nearly heaves an audible sigh of relief when he sees the edge of Y/N’s mouth twitch. “Not steal.  Borrow.” She corrects, her voice as tentative as his.

The heavy atmosphere in the car begins to dissipate as Harry rolls his eyes with fondness. “Agree to disagree, dove.”

Y/N lets out a sound of dissent as she rubs her palms down her legs, drumming her fingertips against her knees with finality. “Thank you for letting me borrow it, H.  And thank you for not growing a mustache.” She giggles out, throwing a coy smile his way before her expression grows more gentle. “And thank you for driving me today, although I’ve already said it.  I’ll have to think of a way to repay you.”

“Oh, I could think of a few.” Harry says with a suggestive smirk, thrumming his ringed fingers against the steering wheel. “How do you feel about spending the night?  We could order dinner from that Thai place you like, take a nice bath, and I could spend a few hours between your thighs while you make those sweet little noises I like so much.  Sounds relaxing, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” Y/N agrees, keeping her voice as light as she possibly can at the mention of Harry’s skilled tongue working her over. “But that doesn’t seem like much of a thank you on my behalf.  Shouldn’t I be the one giving you something?”

Harry casts a look at the mortal girl with a raised brow. “Shouldn’t I get to choose my own reward?”

The fact that he sees the action of eating her out as a reward makes Y/N’s tummy froth. She really doesn’t know how she got so lucky, truly. “You should, but I can think of something better.”

The creature licks his lips once at the promise of something more enjoyable than her taste on his tongue. “Well, I wouldn’t say no to a blowie in the bath.”

“Actually…” Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as she casts Harry a sideways look through her lashes, twisting her body beneath her seatbelt to angle towards him. “I was thinking of something more immediate.”

The question of what she means by that dies before it can make its way out of Harry’s mouth, stopped in its tracks the moment Y/N’s fingers travel across the leather seat between them.  She rests her palm on his thigh for a moment before beginning to massage the muscle beneath his trousers, her delicate fingertips just brushing over his inseam as her hand works its way higher.

A choked groan is all Harry can manage when her touch travels over his suddenly-growing bulge, and it takes all of his focus not to veer the car off the road. “Y/N,” He says, his accent low and thick with warning. “‘M driving, sweetheart.”

“I know.” Her voice thrums darker than normal as her palm presses flat against him, moving in a slow circle over the plaid fabric with insistence. “I didn’t ask you to stop, did I?  You can keep driving.”

The laugh that rolls from Harry’s lips is breathless and strained. “Yeah, except I can’t when you’re— fuck—” Y/N squeezes along his hardening shaft, and Harry tightens his hands around the steering wheel with nearly enough force to bend it. “‘M gonna crash this bloody car if you keep doing that.”

“No, you won’t.” The mortal girl smiles sweetly at him as her nimble fingers pop the button of his tartan slacks, grasping his zipper and tugging it down so slowly that it’s almost painful. “You can multitask, can’t you?”

“Not like— God—” Clenching his jaw, Harry casts a pained glance at Y/N, only allowing himself a moment of looking before forcing his attention back to the road.  What he sees in that moment, however, is a mischievous glint in her eyes that’s hidden beneath set determination, and the combination would send a shiver down his spine even without her soft hand creeping beneath his trousers. “This doesn’t feel like a reward, pet.  Feels like torture.”

Y/N shrugs lightly, continuing to rock against Harry over his boxers as her free hand reaches for her seat belt and clicks the release button. “Maybe it is.  Maybe I want to see if you can stay just as focused as I did when you made me cum on that ladder. Remember?  Right in the middle of that antique mall?”

Harry watches as her seat belt retracts, a flash of worry striking through his body. Before he can voice his concern for her safety, her hand is dipping beneath the waistband of his boxers. “Y/N,” He strains to get her name past his lips, his abdomen tightening as she grips him snuggly, and her palm feels like agony and salvation all at once. “If you make me cum in my pants with an hour left in our drive, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Or maybe…” Shifting across the seat, Y/N leans into Harry’s ear, her breath hot against his cool skin as she pumps him slowly and ignores the comment he’d moaned. “Maybe I just feel the way you did that day.  Maybe I want to tease you a bit.” She uses the precum that’s begun to steadily leak from his tip as lubricant, twisting her hand around his length to elicit a hiss from Harry’s clenched jaw. She takes the shell of his ear between her teeth, nibbling at it just to feel him writhe in response. “What was it you said to me, H?  When you slid your fingers inside me in that little music room?”

Harry offers no response other than the short puff of air that leaves his nostrils as he clenches the wheel harder beneath his palms.  He keeps his eyes locked on the road, knowing that if he looks down and sees Y/N working him beneath his slacks, he won’t be able to restrain himself from yanking the car to the side of the road and throwing her into the backseat.  And however wonderful that sounds— because it does sound incredibly wonderful, especially when Y/N swipes her thumb teasingly over his bubbling tip— he can’t let himself give into her.

Y/N, however, doesn’t seem to accept defeat so easily, and begins to drift her lips down Harry’s jaw and neck.  While the area had previously been a sensitive spot for Harry in the worst way, he’s repeatedly come to find that the sensitivity he feels when Y/N caresses him there to be an entirely new and pleasant sensation. 

“You said you wanted to have fun, remember?” She licks over the curve of his throat, her own breathing growing heavy when she feels Harry’s Adam’s apple bob beneath her tongue. “Now it’s my turn, don’t you think?”

“Thought—” Harry swallows thickly again, his hips unconsciously thrusting up slightly into Y/N’s hot palm. “Thought this was about thanking me, wasn’t it?  Not getting even.”

Y/N pulls away from his skin with a coquettish look in her wide eyes, her brows raised and lips parted into a small pout. “Are you saying that my mouth isn’t enough of a thank you?”

“Your—?  Oh, fucking hell—” Harry nearly swerves the car into the other lane of traffic when Y/N frees his length from his trousers, the cool temperature of the air-conditioned car sending a shudder down his spine.  The sensation only increases when Y/N dips her head down and extends her tongue to tease his cherry tip with the textured surface. “Y/N.”

“That’s what I thought.” The human girl says smugly, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips even when she wraps her mouth fully around his head and sucks gently, just enough to draw a breathless whimper from the man above her. 

With one hand still grasped tight around the steering wheel, Harry threads his other into Y/N’s hair, roughly tangling his fingers between her silky locks.  He doesn’t guide her head as he usually does, but the idea of being able to move her if he wants allows him to feel a semblance of control. 

Y/N clenches her thighs together as she bobs her head down further, heat pooling inside her belly as she feels Harry tug on her hair with the lightest pressure.  She trails the tip of her tongue down Harry’s expanse, following the prominent vein that pulses underneath her touch. “Do you still want me to stop, baby?” She asks softly, looking up at him through her lashes as she pumps him in a slow motion, batting her lashes sultrily. 

“No.” Harry whines the word as he presses his head back into the seat rest, his neck flexing as he forces his gaze to stay pinned on the road. “No, love, just— fuck, just keep going.” He grits his teeth when he feels her nose smudge along one of his fern tattoos, his next phrase coming out as a barely contained growl. “You’re down there already, so you might as well.”

Tucking her loose hair behind her ears, Y/N takes Harry back into her mouth, pushing herself further and further down his cock at a pace that’s nearly agonizing.  Harry twists his hand within her roots to create a makeshift ponytail, holding the locks out of her face so that she can focus better on the task at hand.  He feels the mortal girl smile around his length, her tender fingertips drawing a little heart along his exposed pelvis as a cheeky thank you. 

As the highway straightens out, Harry risks lifting his hand from the steering wheel for a quick moment, and his deft fingers quickly find the volume button of the stereo to lower it to a quiet lull.  He wants to hear every sound of Y/N’s throat opening up for him, and the muted noises she releases at the taste of him in her mouth.  

Of course, all of that is nearly overpowered by his own sounds of pleasure, and he struggles to keep himself quiet as he grips the wheel with renewed force. “Fuck, doll, look at you...I just…Christ.” The last word comes out as an elongated groan, his eyelids fluttering as her tongue massages down his extent in slow and even strokes. “Just like that, darling. God, you’re so good. Such a pretty mouth with such a filthy fucking tongue, hm?”

Harry throws a haphazard glance over his shoulder as another vehicle passes them, and a flash of territorial protection runs through him at the possibility of someone looking into the car and seeing Y/N touching him like this.  The sight of her acting like such a bold little minx is for his eyes only, and that thought combined with her slow, blissful motions pushes him to inch his foot towards the gas.  Harry wants to put a bit of distance between them and the other traffic on the highway, which will insert some much needed privacy into the situation. 

His acceleration, however, is interrupted by a particularly rough bump in the road, and his body jerks in his seat as they drive over it.  He hears the sound of Y/N gagging before he registers the searing sensation of his cock hitting the back of her throat, and he risks a peek downwards to see Y/N’s watery eyes blinking up at him in disorientation.

“Baby—” He tugs her head up from his lap, concern mingling with the pleasure in his voice as he evaluates her well-being.  Her expression is hazy from her ministrations, and she blinks tears from her irises, keeping one hand wrapped firmly around his length as the other wipes away the wetness at the corner of her eye. “‘M sorry.” Harry gulps thickly as he smooths his thumb over Y/N’s scalp, trying to soothe any discomfort he may have caused. “Are you alright?”

Y/N nods in a jerking motion as her mood darkens lustfully, and she swipes her thumb over the glistening tip of his cock before answering. “I’m fine, H.  Just caught off guard.  Don’t worry.” The rasp in her voice is evidence of her actions, and Harry hates how the sound goes straight to his throbbing length in her hand.  Undeterred by the harsh thrust that had choked her a few moments earlier, Y/N leans down once more to smear more sloppy kisses to the head of his prick, rubbing the slit against her bottom lip to elicit a cracked gasp from Harry’s lungs. “Just wanna make you feel good.”

“You—You are.  God, you fucking are.” The praise falls easily from Harry’s raspberry lips as her mouth returns to its previous distraction, fully suckling on the leaking head as her hand continues to work him in a practiced manner. “Feels like a dream, sweetheart, t-the way you take me down your throat like that.”

The mortal girl keens at the validation, and uses it as fuel to push herself further down his shaft again.  She makes sure that she’s mindful of how deep she’s taking him, keeping her hand wrapped firmly around the base as a buffer in case they hit any more rough patches of road.  With that worry eased, she allows herself to focus on massaging his pulsing prick with her tongue, alternating movements with strong sucks to his sensitive tip. She twists her wrist at a rising pace, matching it to the tempo she’s established with her mouth, working him over messily and swimming in the strangled noises that pour out above her.

Y/N sniffles lightly, talking over Harry’s thick cock to the best of her ability, her voice garbled and raw. “You’re so fucking big, Harry. And so pretty, too.” She moves her hand lower down his expanse, carefully cupping his heavy balls and fondling them between her fingers, preening at the fractured grunt that filters from her lover’s taut throat. “And so full.”

“Please, baby…” The immortal’s quiet plea sends electricity coursing through every cell in her body, his grip on her hair tightening to the point where blots of color speckle her foggy vision. “Don’t stop. Just please don’t fucking stop.” 

“I want it.” She whispers around him, the warm breath of her words puffing down his prickling skin and sending goosebumps across his clammy thighs. “I want you to fill my mouth, Daddy. Want every last drop.”

The creature sucks in a rattling breath through the cracks of his teeth, waves of pleasure erupting along his cheeks and down the knobs of his spine, all because of how erotic her delicate voice sounds as it expresses such explicit confessions. “You’re fucking ruining me, dove.” 

The girl tugs at Harry’s balls gently, rolling them around her palm again as she gives a particularly harsh suck. He can’t stop the loud whine that tumbles down his tongue in response, his hips bucking upwards a tad in unrestrained need. “I want you to give it to me, H. Please? Want you so bad.” 

Harry throws his head further back against the headrest of his seat, his jaw dropping open in a silent moan as his heavy eyelids lull over his rolling irises, tears blearing his vision until he can barely make out the road in front of him. “Gonna—Gonna give it to you, pet. Gonna give you every last bit, all for my sweet girl.” 

Y/N hones her blurred sight above her onto Harry’s face, more warmth flooding the area between her thighs. He looks gorgeous as ever, with his prominent features slack in ecstasy, his clavicle cutting into the sweaty skin visible along the collar of his fitted tee, and with his unusually dark eyes framed by his long lashes. His chest is heaving wildly as he tries to keep his composure, his cross necklace glimmering in the sun with every rapid rise of his defined muscles. His sharp jaw is wound taut, the tendon along the structure ticking as he gazes at her drunkenly from above his sculpted cheekbones. His chestnut curls as matted along his temple and over the nape of his neck due to the heat of the moment, his thick brows are knitted together in pleasurable gripe, and his teeth-swollen lips are parted in aroused wonder at how skillfully she’s taking every last inch of him without any hesitation whatsoever. 

Y/N watches him intensely, drinking up every twitch of his expression and every soft groan he tries to stifle, her tongue lapping at him with more excitement than before. Harry locks eyes with her through his foggy haze, the corners of his flushed lips jolting upwards into a cocky open-mouthed smirk when he sees just how fucked he’s got her, despite the fact that he’s barely lifted a finger through the entire process. He slowly tongues over his chapped lips, glimpsing back up towards the highway for a split second to make sure he’s avoiding any other oncoming cars. He then returns his attention to the human, giving her head a playful tug and feeling the tip of his cock nudge along the roof of his mouth, resulting in a low hiss streaming past his condescending simper. “Why don’t you take a picture, princess? It’ll last you longer.” 

Y/N gives a quick squeeze to his balls, sly satisfaction weaving its way into her chest when she feels him jerk in response, a whined curse of, “Fuck me.” slipping through his defenses. “Maybe you should watch your tone while I’m down here.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at her challengingly, his palm grasping the back of her head with more intent and forcing her down, her nose smearing over his tummy as he hits the back of her throat deeper than before. He holds her there for a second, reveling in the way she constricts around him as soft gagging sounds bounce off the walls of his Cadillac. 

After a few seconds, he pulls her back up his cock to a more reasonable length, humming smugly as she shudders and coughs dryly, her eyes twinkling submissively. His voice comes out strained, but its dark and accented tenor holds its usual unyielding authority, as well as arrogant chiding. “And maybe you should learn not to talk back to me. Guess I’ll have to pull the paddle back out sooner than expected, huh?” 

A shiver coils down Y/N’s spine at the reference to that night. It happened a few weeks ago, but the memory is fresh in her mind as if it’s only been hours. It’s nearly impossible to forget, given everything Harry had put her through, and she often finds herself thinking back on it whenever she needs some relief and doesn’t have his company as help. 

The human murmurs her next sentence shyly, her watery eyes regarding him with a certain type of wistfulness that makes his balls ache. “Maybe you should.”

Harry lets out an airy chuckle at her eagerness, which slowly molds into a gravelly moan when she returns to dipping her head with faster, sloppier strokes. A few strands of hair have escaped the ponytail in his palm, and he takes great care in tucking them back behind her ears with his index finger, which then trails across her cheek affectionately. “Maybe I will. But right now, you just worry about finishing me off. Then, we’ll see if I’m feeling up to it some other time— if I feel like you deserve it.” 

Y/N nods her head obediently. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“‘Course, darling. Anything for my proper little slut. Especially when she’s taking me down her throat like such a good fucking girl.” 

Y/N’s only reply is a broken mewl, and she allows herself to become immersed back into the action of giving Harry the orgasm she so desperately wants to deliver.   

She can taste precum as it dribbles onto her tongue, a precursor to Harry’s impending climax, and the flavour makes her center throb.  She has half a mind to remove him from her mouth and beg him to pull over so that she can properly ride him, but she doesn’t doubt that doing so would add hours onto their travel time.  There’ll be time for all that once they’re back at his place, she reminds herself, pulling off of him just enough to lick her lips before lowering herself again.  Right now, there’s just one thing she wants above all else, and if the sounds Harry is making are any indication, she’s fairly close to getting it.

“So fucking close, angel.” Harry pants, his abdomen contracting over and over again as he struggles to keep the car moving at a steady and consistent pace. “Gonna make me cum, aren’t you?  Want Daddy to pump that pretty mouth full?”

Y/N hums around Harry as he yanks on her hair again, more for the sensation than to actually guide her.  Still, she pulls up from his prick with a pop, looking up at him with doe-like eyes as she replies. “Mhmm.” She hums again, giving him a particularly hard pump and delighting in the groan that rolls from his tongue. “Wanna taste you.”

“You— fuck, darling, that’s fucking it.” Harry’s words echo from his throat in a ragged gasp as he twists his jeweled fingers around her locks once more, straining his head back against the seat to keep himself from looking down again as she retakes him down her throat. “I’m gonna fucking— Oh my God, baby, please—”

Y/N digs the nails of her free hand into Harry’s pelvis, scraping over his plant tattoos as she feels his toned tummy tighten beneath her touch.  It only takes one more squeeze of her hand around his balls and one last determined suckle to draw his orgasm from him, and she lifts herself until just the head of his cock is in her mouth as he spills onto her tongue.  Her own eyes flutter shut as she whines at the salty taste, swallowing it down without a second thought.  She keeps her lips locked around him, wanting to capture every aftershock that spurts into her mouth, feeling ropes of cum splatter across her taste buds as Harry squirms against his seat, whining in encouragement.

She continues to milk him for everything he’s worth, repeatedly prodding the twitching vein protruding along his prick and scraping his sputtering head against the inside of her cheek, wanting to urge every last drop out of him. She only pulls away when the young man whimpers from above, shakily tugging on her hair to alert her that he’s crossing into more sensitive territory.

“Fucking shit…” He murmurs weakly, his breathing erratic as he eases off the gas pedal to reduce the car to a slower pace, rather than keeping the accelerated speed he’d fallen into as he came.  He combs his fingers through Y/N’s mussed locks as a faint, exhausted chuckle rolls from his lips, his thumb ducking down to collect a bit of the mess that had seeped out of the corner of her mouth. He pushes the digit past her swollen, colored lips, his breath catching as he watches her clean it off without a single hitch. “God, minx, I’m gonna need a little warning the next time you decide to do that. Thought I was gonna crash the car a few times.”

“You wouldn’t have.” Y/N reassures him quietly, looking up at him with a fond smile before turning her attention to his softening prick.  She licks up one stray bead of cum from his tip, delighting in the strangled sound the action draws from Harry. She then proceeds to carefully tuck him back inside his trousers, buttoning and zipping them up with ease.  She even takes care to tuck his red and black striped shirt back inside the waistband, but only after she presses a gentle kiss to his still-tensed abdomen, nuzzling her nose across his happy trail and feeling butterflies flutter in her belly when he lets out an appreciative mewl.

Harry inhales deeply as he watches her sit up from the corner of his eye, his hand slipping from her hair to his own to fix the disheveled curls. “No, I suppose not.  I have precious cargo.  Speaking of—” He reaches over Y/N’s body, and with one hand still on the wheel, fumbles to fasten her seatbelt back across her chest and lap. “Y’gotta keep this on if you ever do that again, alright?  S’not safe to have it off for so long.”

A fond smile tugs at Y/N’s lips as Harry sews his fingers over her thigh, squeezing lightly over her jeans before massaging the muscle.  She’s noticed that he’s grown more and more touchy and protective each time they’re intimate with each other, and it would be a lie to say she doesn’t enjoy it. “Yes, sir.”

Harry’s fingertips stutter over Y/N’s leg for just a moment, and the twitch of his sensitive cock beneath his slacks nearly causes Harry to swerve the car again. “Fuck, don’t say that right now.” He mumbles brokenly, his voice much more raw than he’d like it to be. “Don’t think my poor dick can handle it.”

Laughter bursts from Y/N’s chests, and the contagious sound draws a giggle from Harry’s own body as she settles her fingers over his, twisting them together in an instinctive motion. “Too sensitive?” She teases, lulling her head back against her seat rest while keeping her eyes focused on him, sweetening her voice down into a babying drawl. “You poor thing.”

A bright pink blush sears itself onto Harry’s cheeks as he clears his throat, tightening his hand around the wheel again to ground himself. “Yeah.  I only really like overstimulation when I’m the one administering it, not the one receiving it.  And you—” He squeezes her thigh as punctuation. “—are much too stimulating, especially when you’re looking at me like that.”

Another honeyed giggle falls from Y/N’s strawberry lips, and the corners of her eyes crinkle as her smile continues to grow. “I like seeing you like this.” She says decisively, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she reaches over and affectionately twirls one of his loose ringlets around her finger. “All flustered.  It’s cute.”

“Are you seriously calling me cute after deep-throating me while I drive?” Harry asks incredulously, a snort echoing from his throat as he shifts around in his seat.  He’s already uncomfortable in his trousers again, both from the wetness she’d left on him and the way her words are making him stiffen again. 

“Mm.” Y/N thrums in agreement as her free hand reaches for the stereo, dialing up the volume again so the sounds of The Kinks can be heard without strain. “I think you’re cute— very cute, actually.  Even moreso when you get all blushy. Am I not allowed to say that?”

Another layer of warmth soaks itself across Harry’s small ears and stinging nose, and he tries to play off his childish reaction with a casual scoff. He can’t deny the way the compliment makes him feel, though. It’s different from the praise she usually gives him, which tends to be sexual and in the heat of the moment. But this is much more intimate in such a sweet and tender manner, and he hasn’t received that type of innocent attention from someone in much too long. He likes it, he decides. Especially when it comes from Y/N.

She makes him weak, and though he’d normally seethe at the idea of anyone ever making him weak again, he comes to find that the softness she coaxes from him is something so different from the mainstream definition of that dangerous word. She makes him weak, yes, but not in a destructive sense. This girl— this simple mortal girl with bones made of glass and skin of fine velvet— makes him weak in the knees, and in the pit of his stomach, and in the cement walls he’d built around his phantom heart. She makes him vulnerable in new places that have been entirely foreign to him for the last twenty decades, if the glowing warmth surging through him is any indication. And for the first time in a while, he’s beginning to think that maybe— just maybe— that’s not such a terrible thing.

The vampire comes to the sudden epiphany that being weak for someone is unorthodox to him because it’s a human trait. Allowing yourself to form a deeper connection with someone— with a person completely the opposite of what you are— requires compassion and understanding. It requires willingness and empathy, as well as trust and pure intentions. It requires humanity. And that’s what Y/N is doing, Harry realizes. She’s taking that last wilted shred of humanity he possesses and is urging him to use it. Even though it’s not intentional on her behalf, and even though she has no idea of just how small that fragment of humanity is, it’s somehow miraculously working; just her being the caring soul she’s always been seems to be enough to awaken that part of him. 

Despite the fact that the immortal would normally laugh at such a stupidly cringey and cliche concept, there’s no denying that at this point in their little LifeTime movie crossover, it’s true. That’s why it feels so utterly weird— she’s bringing out a side of himself he hasn’t shown in literal centuries. She makes him feel the one sensation he didn’t think was possible for him to ever experience again: She makes him feel alive. 

Oh.

…Oh. 

Harry snaps himself out of his inner turmoil, sucking in a shaky breath and exhaling slowly, releasing all his consuming thoughts. Relying on his supernatural impulses to focus on any oncoming hazards, the creature allows himself the indulgence of shifting his hunter eyes onto Y/N for a lingering glance.  The sun is just beginning to set outside the car window, ducking over the cityscape and washing the distant buildings in mellow shades of soothing pinks, cozy oranges, and buttery yellows. The colors cast a golden light through the glass of his car, and it settles onto Y/N’s soft features like stardust, highlighting her flyaway hairs, the gentle slope of her plush lips, and the dreamy tinge in her captivating eyes.  

If Harry didn’t know any better, about both what she is and about not believing in such ridiculous tales, he’d think she was an angel.  Not that an angel would ever be seen with the likes of him.

“Y’can say that, petal.” He murmurs after a lengthy pause, reluctantly returning his attention to the long stretch of road in front of him, his palm still secured over Y/N’s denim-covered thigh.  If he focuses enough, he can feel her pulse through the fabric, and the steady thumping sends a strange prickling through his hand and into the rest of his body. “You can say whatever you’d like, and I’d listen.”

“Oh, is that so?” She pokes at him with a cheeky grin, using her nail to absentmindedly trace the blood red daylight crystals embedded into the eyes of his lionhead ring. “So you’re actually offering to listen for once, instead of making your cocky little comments?”

The edges of the vampire’s lips jolt with endearment. “Just this once, yeah.” 

Except it’s not just this once, Harry thinks to himself, adding on the words he will most likely never have the courage to speak aloud. I’d listen to anything and everything you have to say. No matter how small and insignificant it may be, or however random and useless you might think it is. I’d listen. For you, always.

Harry doesn’t express his private thoughts, but he pretends that he has, and he pretends that the smile Y/N is gifting him at the moment is her heartfelt response to his silent confessions. 

He adores it more than he should, and how could he not? It’s so blinding, he thinks it could very well burn him.

///

It’s not that Harry is nervous for tonight, because he’s not.  

Spending his Friday nights with Y/N has become as regular as clockwork, and Harry knows that it’s overdue in their routine for him to cook a dinner for her, given that she’d had the courtesy of doing it for him. He’s already picked up her favourite red wine to accompany the gnocchi recipe he’d sweet-talked Vincenzo into sharing with him (Gnocchi al Vostro Gusto— the one she’d enjoyed on their date at Bella Vita), as well as snagged all the ingredients for the lavender lemonade cocktail he planned to make her when she first arrived.  He’d even gone so far as to freeze a few petals from edible flowers into his cubed trays earlier in the day, just to up the ante on his already stunning presentation.  

He’s already set out shining dinner plates along his kitchen island, tidied and dusted his entire condo, and made each of his friends promise to leave him alone for the night.  He’s prepared everything that’s been within his power into sheer perfection; nothing could possibly go wrong.  So he’s not nervous, because everything is fine and because he never gets nervous. Being nervous is for morons, and he’s far from being one, so he just isn’t. It’s that simple. There’s absolutely no reason to be nervous. 

Except that he can’t manage to get his mahogany belt to lie properly against his waist (he’d searched in vain for his black Gucci belt with the logo buckle, but hadn’t been able to find it), the woven leather tail twisting repeatedly whenever Harry tries to tuck it beneath the rest of the belt.  And while the rational part of his mind knows that this doesn’t matter, and that he can just guide the tail into a loop along his olive trousers, the irrational part of his mind— which, unfortunately, just happens to be in control at this very moment— knows that tucking it in won’t look nearly as chic as folding it just right to lay the excess along the length of his thigh.

He’s already crafted the rest of his outfit so carefully, spending almost an hour deciding on the red and black patterned vest to pair with the trousers, and an additional forty-five minutes choosing which short-sleeved button up to layer beneath it.  He’d ended up picking a yellow top with indigo swatches along the collar, proceeding to tuck the shirt sleeves up along the sleeves of the knitted vest to give the fit a stylish flare. Harry thinks he looks good (although, to be fair, he always does), but he knows that if he turns his attention back to it for too long, he’d end up tearing it off and starting all over again.  However, judging by the clock that’s ticking from his bedside table, Harry knows that isn’t an option.  It’s 5:42 PM, and Y/N had said she’d be here by 6:00, and if Harry isn’t ready by the time her delicate knuckles rap against his front door, then she might just decide to turn on her heel and leave, and Harry won’t ever get the chance to ask her—

The creature stops short in his tracks, his fingers freezing over the leather of his belt that he’d just managed to settle into place.  He’s not asking her that, he reminds himself, loosening his limbs just enough to nervously twist his mother’s ring around his pinky.  He’s already decided that— and undecided it, and decided it again— after his road trip epiphany the previous weekend.  It doesn’t matter just how weak, or warm, or alive, or just plain human Y/N makes him feel.  He knows what this is, and has known since the beginning, and there’s just no way that he can bring himself to ask Y/N to be his—

Harry can’t even force himself to think of the word. 

He makes long strides towards his dresser, picking up the string of pearls lying on top of the varnished wood and fastening them around his icy neck.  What meaning could that word even hold for him, anyways?  He’s a vampire, and though Y/N makes him feel the complete opposite, there’s no way he could ever feel so human as to give into the notion of having a girlfriend.  A girlfriend leads to a fiancée, which leads to a wife, which leads to the expectation of a family, and Harry knows that none of those things are compatible with the immortal afterlife he lives now.  If Mitch, who is— by any accounts— ten times the man Harry could ever be, hasn’t even managed to lock Sarah— another vampire— into a solid relationship after three years, how could Harry delude himself into thinking that he could do that with a human?

And even if he, with all his commitment, abandonment, and trust issues aside, could have a relationship with a mortal— not any mortal, he reminds himself, but the only mortal that’s ever managed to capture a sliver of his genuine attention— that doesn’t mean he actually wants one.  Why would Harry ever want to be tied to one place, or one person?  Why would he ever want to have to phone someone before going somewhere, or have to check in on them when they’re doing the same?  Why would he want to deal with having to manage someone’s emotions, problems, and life?  He’s traveled the circumference of the world and back again, and seen more changes to society than any human could ever comprehend. He loves being reckless, and untethered, and not responsible for anyone other than himself. He enjoys being impulsive and not having to worry about his actions falling back on anyone else’s shoulders other than his own. It’s who he is— it’s who he’s been for a while now— and it’s who he had imagined he’d continue to be for another two centuries. 

It’s like that one country song that tormented his radio in the early 2000s— the one about life being like an endless road and about how people should enjoy it while it lasts. He believes the exact words are, “Life is a highway, I want to ride it all night long” or something of the sort. Horrendous song, but it held a pretty decent message. 

So with all of this taken into precise consideration, why would he, in his right mind, ever chain himself to one geographical location, and one single fleeting soul?

The answer floats to the forefront of Harry’s mind as he casts a glance towards his half-opened dresser drawer, where a pair of Y/N’s pastel blue sweatpants are folded neatly on top of his own pairs.  She’d left them there a few weeks ago, and while Harry had washed and dried them for her with the intention of giving them back, he’d decided it would be a better idea to keep them here in case Y/N ever ended up staying the night without planning to.  Just so she’d have something comfortable of her own to put on before falling asleep in Harry’s bed, on the side that he now keeps made up just for her.  

Why would Harry ever tie himself to one person?  Because that person is Y/N, and she’s not just a person.  She is— in every way except officially— Harry’s girl.

Harry can’t even bring himself to deny that fact as he fixes the collar of his shirt and strides out of his bedroom, dimming down the lights before making his way to the glass staircase.  Every issue he’d brought up, every fact that he’s tried to use to convince himself that he doesn’t want a relationship, can’t even be considered an issue when it comes to Y/N.  He already does all of those things— checking in on her to make sure she’s alright, letting her vent about her stress, listening to her problems with an attentive ear, holding her hand whenever they’re together, kissing her forehead while she lays against his chest, switching her to the inside of the sidewalk to ensure her safety, moving strands of hair out of her face so they don’t become a bother— and he does it all gladly.  He’s come to adore the soothing comfort he receives when he walks Y/N to her door after a date, or double checks the locks after she’s inevitably invited him inside.  He delights in calling her during her lunch breaks to inquire about how her day is going, and to remind her that “iced coffee isn’t a substitute for water, peach.  You’ll feel a lot better on your shift if you drink a glass, alright?”  And even when her voice is strained and laden with anxiety as she curls into his side after a particularly rough day, it still sounds like the most beautiful melody he’s ever heard, and the weight and warmth of her body against his own acts like a relaxant to Harry’s cold limbs.  

He rolls his shoulders now as he skips the last two stairs and lands squarely on his leather Gucci boots (they’re one of his favorites, and though they’re a simple black, they have a rainbow impression along the lip that he thinks is quite chic). He releases a long breath as he absentmindedly studies over his art wall, his eyes landing on the painting of a deconstructed sunflower. The abstract piece reminds him of the night Y/N had come over to his condo for the first time, and he begins to feel that annoying yet familiar knot between his shoulder blades that always seems to form when he’s away from her.  It’s something he hadn’t even noticed until a few days ago; how his body grows rigid and stiff whenever they’re separated, like he can’t allow himself to exhale until she’s beside him again.  He supposes it’s a strange vampire tendency— something carnal and territorial inside of him that thinks it’s his job to protect Y/N, the decadent and intoxicating center of his strange obsession, and when she’s not around, unease threads into his muscles until he can be sure his primary source of blood is alright. 

Or maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s something deeper inside him— some other reason to keep her out of any harm and an arm’s length away. However, he refuses to indulge that unsettling mystery right now. It’s too fucking complicated to dwell on.

Ambling into the kitchen, Harry begins to dig through his lower cupboards for the apron he hadn’t bothered to slip on when he was cooking earlier.  Pushing aside the white cover with the words “World’s Best (pancake) Tosser” stamped onto the front (it had been a gift from Niall, delivered with a sly grin and a cheeky comment about how the apron was too accurate to pass up), Harry selects the butcher’s apron printed with the phrase “Mr. Good Lookin’ is cookin’!” He slips the loop over his head and ties the straps behind his toned back with a quick motion, the edges of his lips quirking at the pompous joke. He knows Y/N will make a comment about it. 

He hadn’t bothered with the apron before when he’d been preparing the gnocchi simply because his loungewear isn’t necessarily that important, but now that he’s changed into something much nicer than the t-shirt and sweatpants he’d previously worn— and after he’d struggled with deciding on the outfit for so long— the last thing he wants to do is splash sauce onto himself as he navigates his kitchen.

Harry’s mind continues to race with nearly incomprehensible thoughts as he gathers the last of the ingredients needed to finish the meal, his nimble fingers easily peeling the skin from a clove of garlic before he begins to mince it with practiced skill.  Maybe that’s the cause of all his confusing feelings, he muses as he tosses a knob of butter into his preheated pan, scooping the garlic onto his knife and adding that to the mix as well.  Maybe that instinctual feeling to protect is the root of all his fantasies of a relationship.  He can’t possibly want— can’t actually believe that he’d...

Except he does.  

Sighing grimly as he snags a wooden spoon from a kitchen drawer, Harry nudges the cabinet shut with his hip before beginning to stir the sizzling concoction in his pan.  Somehow, against all odds— against all reason— he’s become attached to Y/N.  So attached that he’d spent an hour begging Vincenzo for this specific recipe when he could’ve so easily googled a different one and recreated it to near perfection.  So attached that he’d driven to three different liquor stores to find her favourite brand of red wine, which he’d set to chill in his fridge hours ago, because even though a cabernet sauvignon is supposed to be chilled for forty-five minutes at most, Y/N likes it icy cold.  So attached that he’d taken care to freeze individual flower petals into ice cubes, just so he could make her a cocktail flavoured with honey and lavender, the exact same way she is.  So attached that, for the first time in twenty decades, the concept of a relationship doesn’t draw a disgusted gag from his throat and doesn’t send a ghostly spike of pain to his neck.

“Doesn’t matter.” He mutters the words out loud to himself, as if speaking them audibly will reinforce their meaning.  Opening the fridge with a rough tug, Harry nabs the quart of cream he’d purchased earlier that day, bending the mouth of it open and pouring it smoothly into the saucepan and giving it a stir.  It doesn’t matter if he wants a relationship, because there’s no way that Y/N does.

A bitter laugh tears its way through his chest as he reaches for the bowl of gorgonzola cheese he’d shredded earlier, scattering the ingredient into the saucepan and slowly mixing it in.  He’s arrived at the same point he has all week when he’s had this argument with himself. The same fact that’s stopped him in his tracks each time he’s dared to think that— if he should ask— Y/N would say yes to him becoming a more permanent fixture in her life.  She’d say yes, he thinks.  Or he hopes, at least.  She’d say yes, until she wakes up in the middle of the night to Harry caged over her with crimson irises, terrifying shadows below his waterline, black veins webbing out from his eyes, and a blood-soaked mouth bared to reveal his dagger-like fangs. Then, she’d be gone.

Not gone, he amends in his head, the thought somber and acrid in his mind as he reduces the sauce to a simmer.  He’d have to go after her, of course, but not in the way a man usually goes after a woman.  Despite how they’d joked about it casually, Harry most definitely doesn’t belong in a LifeTime movie.  No, he’s from a much darker genre— less leading man, more malicious creature that lurks in the night— and the only thing he could do when he chases Y/N down would be to wipe all traces of himself from her mind entirely.  That’s the ending they’d be destined for if he let himself buy into his romantic delusions.  It’s better not to put a label on anything.  No labels keep a degree of separation between their two lives— at least, that’s what Harry tells himself.  And as much as it pains him, a degree of separation might be exactly what they need.

And yet, when Y/N knocks on his door two minutes later, just as he’s sprinkling various ground herbs into the sauce and setting it onto the back of the stovetop to wait until they’re ready to eat, Harry can’t help the giddy grin that immediately decorates his dimples. He hurries to untie his apron and tosses it onto the back of one of the chairs lined against his kitchen island, dragging a ringed hand through his purposefully tousled curls as he nearly super-speeds to the front door of his condo. He trips on his way there, spewing curses as he barely saves himself from face-planting the ground like an imbecile. He straightens himself out with a petty huff, slowing down slightly and being more mindful of every step he takes. His smile has already returned before he even yanks the door open.

Y/N— his Y/N, he allows himself to think affectionately— is dressed from head to toe in his own clothes.  Well, almost head to toe, he corrects, casting a sly glance at the way her black jeans hug the curve of her hips too perfectly to be his own pair.  But he recognizes the black and white speckled short-sleeve button up that’s french-tucked into the high-waisted denim, and shrewdly notes the addition of a Gucci belt looped around her waist— the very one he’d been searching for earlier.  She’s even styled the shirt the same way he does, with half the top buttons undone.  However— Harry licks his lips unconsciously as his eyes hover over her exposed chest— she’s paired the top with a delicate looking black lace bralette that catches his hungry gaze the moment he spots it.  Even the black ankle boots she’s wearing are reminiscent of his own fashion choices.

“Y’know,” Y/N’s amused voice cuts through his stupor, drawing his attention back from the obvious canvas of her body and up to her glittering eyes. “It’s not very gentlemanly of you to check out my tits before even saying hello.”

Harry’s mouth crooks sheepishly in response as he reaches out to her, looping his muscled arms around her waist and pulling her inside the condo and against his body with ease. “Hello.” He murmurs obediently, thumbing at her waist over the silky fabric as a teasing yet fond cadence sews its way into his voice. “So this is where my clothes keep disappearing to, hm?  I searched for that belt for an hour today.”

“Shouldn’t have left it at my apartment, then.” Y/N counters easily, curling her hands against Harry’s chest.  He can already feel her heat beginning to web through his entire being, warming him in a manner nothing has in the last two hundred years. “And you said tonight’s dress code was casual formal— which makes zero fucking sense, by the way— so I figured the best way to conform to that would be would be by wearing your own clothes.” A drop of hesitance begins to colour Y/N’s tone as she casts her gaze towards his own, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she tries to read between his teasing words for any hint of actual annoyance. “Is that… okay?”

“Perfectly okay, angel.” Harry soothes the worry lines that have formed between her eyes by stamping a kiss onto her forehead, allowing himself to linger for a moment to inhale her familiar scent of sugar and flowers.  It seems more powerful today than it usually is, almost bowling him over right there in the foyer, and he takes a step back to regain control of himself under the pretense of closing the door. “Honestly, I’m a little miffed that you look better in my clothes than I do.”

“‘Miffed’?” The mortal girl laughs as she reaches down to retrieve something from the ground, and it’s only then that Harry realizes that she’d had an overnight bag in her hand before he’d tugged her into his grasp and caused her to drop it.  “Who says ‘miffed’?  Are you a sixty-seven year old woman named Betty?” 

Although he allows a chuckle at her incredulous question, Harry’s attention has focused in on the bag inches away from her outstretched hand.  Cursing himself for being too wrapped up in her appearance to notice the item she’d been toting, Harry quickly fetches it from the ground before she can, carrying it further into his apartment before setting it down on one of the island chairs, as if the small distance could make up for the initial lack of manners he’d displayed. 

“No, I’m not.  I’m just British.” He should bring the bag up to his bedroom, he thinks, just so Y/N doesn’t have to wonder where her clothes are when she’s fraught with exhaustion later. But that would mean having to leave her side, and the grip her fragrance has on his senses right now won’t allow him to do so. 

“Oh, yeah! I almost forgot.” Y/N lilts with an exaggerated air, another giggle rising from her petal-like lips as she leans against the marble countertop on her elbow, propping her chin up in one hand and resting the other on top of the stone.  She regards him with all the affection that he doesn’t deserve, and yet always seems to crave, and it takes all of Harry’s willpower to not grasp her chin in his hand and sift their lips together just to taste her laughter. “Along with ‘pip pip’ and ‘cheerio,’ right?”

“Yes, those phrases are definitely at the top of my vocab list.  You’ve heard me say them a million times.” Harry rolls his eyes playfully, shaking himself from his distracted thoughts as he steps back behind the counter to effectively put a little bit of much needed space between him and the mortal girl.  His restless hands are already outstretched to his bar shelves before he even asks, “D’you want a drink, darling?”

Y/N watches with innocent curiosity as Harry sets two lowball glasses down on the counter before reaching into his cupboard for a jar of honey, which he spoons onto an awaiting plate.  He rims the glasses in the syrup before dipping them into sugar, sparking confusion in Y/N as she tries to decipher what cocktail Harry is making her.  Her befuddlement only grows as he extracts a bottle of clear liquid that she assumes is vodka and a purple concoction that she can’t identify. “What are you making?”

“Lavender lemonade.” Harry answers swiftly, reaching into a drawer for the small double-ended measuring cup tool that Y/N still can’t remember the name of, as well as his crystal cocktail shaker.  Y/N observes with wide eyes as he fills the shaker with ice and vodka before picking up the mysterious liquid. “This is lavender syrup.  Not homemade, unfortunately, but I do buy it from a little organic grocer I know at the farmer’s market.  Adds a nice floral note to the drink, and mixes well with the lemonade.” He caps the container and shakes it expertly (the way his muscled arms ripple with effort doesn’t go unnoticed by her, as it never does) before setting it down on the counter and making his way to the fridge freezer. “S’where I get my honey, too.” He chances a look over his shoulder just in time to see Y/N dip her finger into the honey pooled on the plate and pop the digit into her mouth, and Harry has to force himself to tear his eyes away as she sucks lightly on her fingertip, her cheeks just barely hollowing. “Do you like it?”

“Mhmm,” Y/N hums around the digit as she keeps her eyes shamelessly glued to Harry’s ass while he bends down to open the cooled drawer, retrieving a tray of cubed ice and coming back over to add one large block into each lowball glass. “Are there flowers in there?” She asks in wonder after retracting her finger from her mouth with a pop, leaning over the table more to observe the decorative ice that has filled the cups.

“Mm.” Harry matches her hum with a more pleasured undertone, both from her noticing the small detail, and from the unobstructed view of her cleavage that her new position allows him.  He picks up the shaker and strains the light purple lavender and vodka mixture into the glasses, topping off each cocktail with a can of sparkling lemonade that he’d also retrieved from the fridge. “S’pretty, isn’t it?” He asks, stirring the drinks with a spoon before holding up one of the glasses to the light and handing it to Y/N. “My own creation.  You’re the first person to try it.”

Their fingers graze as Y/N accepts the glass from him, sparking electricity up her entire arm, and she can’t help the irreverent moan that thrums in the back of her throat as she brings the glass to her lips, tasting the honey and sugar first before the lavender coats her tongue. “This is so good, H.” She praises, licking a lingering dab of honey from her mouth between her words.  Twisting the glass in her hands as she regards the lilac drink, Y/N eyes him over the rim of the crystal, pupils blown wide. “I didn’t think honey and lavender could ever taste so good.”

“You know, I used to think that, too.” Harry’s mumbles knowingly as his own eyes drift a shade darker. He watches the human girl’s neck strain with her swallow, as if she knows he’s trying to keep his gaze away from there and she’s beckoning him back. “But it’s my favourite flavour combination now.  Can’t ever seem to get enough.”

The comment goes right over the mortal girl’s head, just as Harry knew it would.  His expectations of the cocktail in his hand are also met from his very first sip; although the concoction is delicious, it pales in comparison to the fragrance wafting across the island from Y/N.  He may as well be drinking water, honestly. But he knows he’ll end up repeating the recipe a few more times at the very least, just because Y/N tells him that it’s her favourite drink he’s ever made.

“You say that every time I make you a new drink, dove.” Harry can’t help but quip coyly at the repeated compliment, setting his crystal tumbler against the counter with a quiet thud. “Am I supposed to keep believing it?”

“Obviously. Especially when each drink keeps getting better and better.” Y/N licks a drip of honey from the rim, her tongue delicately capturing the sugar crystals before her lips settle back onto the edge to take another sip. “You would be an amazing bartender, but we’ve already talked about that before.”

“We have, yeah.” Harry smiles softly as he recalls the conversation they’d had weeks ago, where she had said his drinks were better than anything she’d had at a club, and he had responded by saying he doesn’t have the patience to be a bartender. That conversation feels as if it happened a lifetime ago, and considering how much closer they had become since, it quite literally could be. “But refresh my memory, will you? Why is it that I’d make such an amazing bartender?”

Y/N gives Harry a jokingly flat glance as a response to his smug tone, but decides to humor him, nonetheless. “Well, you obviously have the mixology skills, and I don’t doubt that the whole thing you have going—” She nods her head to him over the island with a teasing smirk. “—would get you endless tips.”

“My whole thing?” Harry repeats the phrase with an air of faux confusion. “What do you mean, my whole thing?”

He knows what she means, of course.  But he won’t deny himself an opportunity to hear Y/N feed his ego with sweet-spoken praise.

Y/N doesn’t buy his innocent act for a minute, but still indulges him, yet again.  She likes to see Harry preen under her compliments just as much as he likes to receive them. “You know…” She casts her eyes over his figure slowly, picking out every detail she can comment on as she wedges her bottom lip between her teeth. “Your whole look— the tattoos, the muscles, the dimples, the sparkling green eyes, the shiny curls… all of that would have any drunk customer draped over the bar for you.  And even if you couldn’t get by on looks alone, you’re absolutely charming.  To the point of ridiculousness, honestly, but,” Y/N eyes him suspiciously, and while her words are mostly in jest, she can’t deny that she’s seriously thought them at some point in time. “I’m not entirely convinced it’s genuine.  Although being able to fake that kind of attitude would serve you well in a crowded bar.”

Whatever Harry was expecting to hear among the praise, an accusation of dishonest behaviour wasn’t it.  His brow furrows deeply as his lips turn down into a displeased grimace, and he drums his ringed fingers over the marble countertop as he cocks his head to the side. “What d’you mean?” The question is earnest now, no longer a coquettish teasing remark, and the warmth the mortal girl had provided him with begins to subside as a flash of icy doubt digs shards through his chest. “Not genuine?  Does it seem like I’m faking it or something?”

Y/N teases her lips with her tongue, unable to stop the nervous tic as she hears the displeasure that clearly strains Harry’s tone.  Setting her own glass down on the counter, Y/N lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I just mean, like… I don’t know.  I don’t really think that now, but in the beginning…”

“What?” Harry prompts her with more intensity than he’d meant to, but he’s spent so much of this past week analyzing their every interaction while wrestling with his own thoughts that he’s already on edge; he needs to hear what Y/N had thought of him when they’d first met.  His own recollection of the memories has made him flinch multiple times, particularly the times when he’d thought that Y/N was as boringly ordinary as humans come. He can only imagine what her take on the situation is. “Did I— was I rude, or—?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” She hurriedly assures him, shaking her head hard enough that her loose locks bounce around her shoulders. “You weren’t rude at all— the opposite, actually.  I don’t know, it just seemed… like it was too good to be true, y’know?” Her voice grows impossibly softer as she traces her finger over the rim of her glass, her eyes dropping from Harry’s like it hurts her to hold them. “Like, there was no way that someone could be so attractive, so funny, so good in bed—” Harry can hear blood creep up the nape of her neck against her will, beginning to pour into her cheeks. “—and so charming.  Something had to be an act.”

Despite the urge Harry has to justify his actions, he knows there’s nothing he can say that could prove Y/N’s original perception of him wrong.  And, in all honesty, he has no right to.  As much as he’d like to argue the fact, and as much as he did genuinely come to enjoy being around her, Harry can’t deny that from the first moment he’d approached Y/N in that club, he’d dialed up his charm as he always did without a second thought.  He’d flattered her, flirted with her, done everything he could to convince her that she should take him home so he could indulge in the two things he’s always manipulated people for: sex and blood.  And when that worked, he did it again, and again, and again, until they’d fallen into the pattern they have now.  He’d never lied, of course, and he prides himself on that— every compliment he’d paid her had been rightly deserved.  But even that justification doesn’t stop the shame that’s twisting its way through his limbs and making his head heavy.  

She had thought something had to be an act, and she had been right.  Harry himself was an act, in every aspect of the term— stretching the truth about his past, opening himself up just enough to make her open herself in return, setting her up so that she’d become dependent on their relationship. And all so he could sink his teeth into her neck without a second thought.  

He can’t exactly pinpoint when all that had changed— singing “Non-Stop” in his kitchen?  The jealousy he’d felt when he spotted her on a date with that insipid idiot, Jacob?  Seeing her in that yellow sundress when he picked her up for their first date?— but the fact that it had changed doesn’t erase how it had started. It doesn’t erase the cruelty he’d hidden beneath his calculating words, intricately-placed caresses, and dirty promises.

“Harry.” He’d been so caught in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice Y/N had moved until she’s standing right in front of him, one of her velvet hands twisting into his own as the other tucks a loose curl back from his creased forehead. “I don’t think that now.  You know that, right?” Even after securing the ringlet, she keeps her palm pressed against his cheek, and Harry can’t help but lean into the burning heat her touch provides. “I just— I’d never met anyone like you.  There was no one like you where I grew up.  I didn’t think someone could be so…” Y/N worries her lip between her teeth again, and Harry wishes he had enough in him to smooth the bite mark with a touch as soft as her own. “I didn’t know you yet.  But I do now.”

The vampire inhales a shaking breath as if he needs it to live, lifting his own free hand to wrap over the palm Y/N rests against his cheek.  Weaving his fingers through hers, he drags her hand lower until her skin is secured over his lips, and he smudges a gentle kiss against her handprint.  There’s something so tender in her words— no one could ever accuse Y/N of being disingenuous.  But he needed to hear this, he thinks as he presses his mouth repeatedly to her palm, the throbbing of her pulse in her wrist catching against his cheek.  He needed to hear how she thinks she knows him.  It’ll serve as a reminder that he can’t allow himself to succumb to the weak thoughts he’d battled earlier in the day.  As much as Y/N assumes she knows him, there’s things that she’ll never understand— things he would never allow her to understand, because she doesn’t deserve such a terrifying burden— and how could he keep up that pretense while allowing her to call him her boyfriend?

“I know you do, sweetheart.” Harry mutters the words into her fragile skin, inhaling her intoxicating aroma deeply until his throat burns in agony.  It’s a small price to pay for what he’s put her through. “It’s alright.  I don’t blame you for doubting it.” The smirk he forces onto his face is nowhere near believable, but he manages to keep the strain out of his voice enough to sell it. “I’m pretty hard to believe, y’know?  Especially when you grew up with people like Cucumber Dick.”

Successfully diffusing the moment, Harry’s comment tugs an irritated groan from Y/N’s chest, and she takes a step back from him as her hand falls from his face, despite her other fingers still remaining tied with his own. “You can’t just keep calling him Cucumber Dick, alright?  He has a name!”

“Yeah, Bradley.” Harry says in distaste, his nose wrinkling as he shakes his head slowly. “S’honestly worse than Cucumber Dick.  I’m doing him a favour— a bit of charity work.”

Y/N hums in the back of her throat thoughtfully as she steps back around the kitchen island, Harry’s arm extending over the countertop as she tugs his hand along with hers. “Then don’t do me any favours like that, alright?  Can only imagine what you call me when I’m not here.”

A few names pop into Harry’s mind— dream, darling, angel, and countless others that he’s murmured to himself in the privacy of his condo— but they’re tainted by the memory of his friends confessing how they’ve talked about her when he hasn’t been around to hear it.  How they’ve compared her to different foods, used that to reference her, as if that’s all she is to him.  As if she isn’t the only person who has managed to make him feel something in over two lifetimes.

In the rational part of Harry’s mind— which, once again, is sadly not the part of his mind that’s ever in control— he knows that he can’t blame his friends for thinking that.  It’s his own fault for being so insistent on that fact over the last few months.  How many times had they questioned his motives behind his daily phone calls to her, or how often he found himself dropping everything just to spend some time with her?  How many times had he rolled his eyes at their assumptions that he wanted more from the mortal girl than he’d ever admitted?  How many times had he asserted that there was nothing more that she could offer him than her body and her blood?  They’d only listened to what he was saying, despite knowing that Harry’s reassurances were false.  Did any of them suspect that things had changed for him now?  Or did they still think that Harry’s only motivations behind his relationship with Y/N are primal?

Harry pushes the badgering thoughts from his head as best he can as he reaches for his apron that’s still lying over the back of the chair.  He can’t dwell on those thoughts now.  If the turmoil twisting inside of him hasn’t subsided by the end of the night, he’ll call Mitch once Y/N is fast asleep under the extra blanket he keeps on his bed just for her.  Although he doesn’t relish the thought of admitting he was wrong to the likes of Xander or Niall— he knows their teasing and taunting would never end— he can talk to Mitch about it without the worry of judgement.

“Why don’t you put a record on, petal?” Harry asks absentmindedly, nodding his head towards the record player set up in the corner of his living room as he slips his apron back over his head. “I just have to boil the gnocchi, and then—”

“Wait, wait wait,” Y/N cuts over him with an increasingly gleeful expression, rounding the edge of the island again to tug on the strap of Harry’s apron. “Mr. Good Lookin’ is cookin’?” She repeats, unable to bite back the giggles that are rising through her throat. “Please tell me you didn’t buy that for yourself.”

His troubling mindset disappears the moment laughter falls from her lips and echoes around the kitchen. “‘Course I did.  And why wouldn’t I?” Harry simpers as his deft fingers easily secure the ties behind his back in a neat bow. “I’m Mr. Good Lookin’, and I’m cookin’.  S’only the truth.”

“Your vanity is astounding.  Truly.” Y/N trails her finger from the strap of the apron to the pearls around Harry’s neck, stroking the silky stones with the lightest touch. “Like, borderline narcissistic.”

Snaking his arms around her waist, Harry easily pulls the mortal into his body, securing her against his chest just as he had done when she’d first arrived.  It’s comfortable for him to have her pressed against him like this.  The steady rising and falling of her chest and hummingbird beat of her heart against his own unmoving organ keeps him centered, like his own personal lifeline. 

“Is it so wrong to be confident in my appearance?” Harry quirks an eyebrow as his dimples pop from his cheeks, and he slides his hands from Y/N’s back to her ass, cupping and squeezing firmly in appreciation.  His smirk only grows as Y/N’s cheeks begin to boil from the suggestive contact. “How can you contradict me when it gets such a reaction from you?”

“I think that has less to do with your looks and more to do with where your hands are.” She quips dryly, and yet her nails dig into Harry’s exposed collar bones with the slightest of pressure, a surefire sign of just how much his touch affects her.

Harry leans forward as the girl’s breathing grows more erratic, and he nuzzles his nose along hers while keeping the smallest of spaces between their lips. “Either way, I’m getting what I want, aren’t I?”

To his immense pleasure, Y/N’s words are breathy and strained when she replies, a side effect of the shallow inhales her body draws against his. “Which is?” 

“You.  More specifically, you melting under my touch like you just can’t get enough of it.” Harry drags his lips across Y/N’s for no more than a second before continuing his path up her jaw, only stopping when he can feel the flushed shell of her ear beneath his mouth. “You should indulge your vanity a little more often, sweetheart.  S’quite fun, honestly.”

Y/N shivers beneath Harry’s touch, her eyelids fluttering as his cool breath rolls over her ear and down her neck.  Turning her head to the side, she locks her half-lidded gaze with his own before slotting their lips together to indulge in the lingering taste of honey and lavender that sits on his tongue. 

Despite his instinct to draw her closer while curving her body into his own, Harry separates their lips with a gentle nudge of his forehead against her own, his breathing growing just as erratic as Y/N’s.  Control, he reminds himself as heat prickles along his icy skin from the tender pads of Y/N’s hands.  This isn’t like their first meetings, when he could invite her over under a pretense and take her against the counter before they’d even finished their drinks.  This is different now.  She’s different now.

“Why don’t you go put a record on?” He says again, his voice noticeably deeper than it was when he first made the request. “And I’ll finish getting dinner ready. Sound alright?”

Y/N manages to nod without removing her forehead from his, but that seems to be the only movement she makes; her palms remain pressed firmly against Harry’s tattooed biceps, even after he reluctantly releases his hold on her body.  She can’t help it— it feels too good to be so close to the young man to allow herself to willingly walk away.  Something in his presence is so calming, so steady to her, even when he’s whispering obscenities in her ear.

But outweighing the need to be next to him is her desire to make him happy, and if he wants her to pick out a record… “Alright.” She nods once more as her hands slip from his skin, trailing down his forearms and grazing his wrists before falling to her sides. “Any record?”

Harry drags a ringed hand through his curls, his lithe fingers tugging on the locks before falling to his side in a loose fist. “Any record.” He confirms as he reaches for a kitchen drawer, tugging it open to extract a long metal spoon. “Anything you want to listen to.”

He watches as a serious expression paints itself over the human girl’s face, as if the task he’s given her is of the utmost importance.  She turns on her heel and marches out of the kitchen as if on a mission, and as Harry turns towards the now-boiling pot of water on his stove, he knows that his own face reflects a look of fondness.  It’s too easy to let his guard down with her, he thinks as he ladles his homemade gnocchi into the rolling water.  When she looks at him, there’s such an openness in her expression that he can’t help but allow himself to be seen.

But being seen doesn’t always feel so sweet, which Harry remembers the moment he hears Y/N’s melodic voice ring from the living room. 

“When did you get a piano?”

Harry’s hand freezes mid-scoop, the few gnocchi that had been dangling on the edge of his spoon falling into the boiling water.  A bit of the liquid splashes out and lands on his arm, but quickly fizzes to room temperature once it meets his freezing skin. 

“Uh—” He clears his throat as he tries to refocus on his task, but his actions are much more frantic than careful as he finishes filling the pot with gnocchi. “I’ve had it for a while, remember?  I mentioned it to you before.  At the antique mall.”

When his explanation receives no response, he gives his own frustrated sigh, and sets down the polished spoon to retrace Y/N’s steps out into the living room.  As he expected her to be the moment he heard her question, he finds her with a reverent hand tracing the edge of the matte black Steinway grand piano that’s occupied a space in nearly every home he’s had since he purchased it in the 1920s.  Seeing her nimble fingers drift over the hand-crafted edge brings back a hazy human memory to Harry’s mind— a flash of sharply manicured fingers and a strangely pale hand, adorned with an opal ring as they danced over the pianoforte in an opulent sitting room. The sound of tinkling laughter that rang like a bell, pitched almost high enough to make his ears ache, and a soft, hypnotizing voice slathered in the most delicate accent he’d ever heard. 

Harry has to blink a few times to bring himself back to the present.

“What was that, darling?” He hopes his voice isn’t nearly as strained as it feels when he refocuses his eyes on Y/N’s waiting gaze. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I said that you told me it was in storage.” She glides over the intricately carved music stand, the digit dancing across every twist and curve of the decorative panel. “Why did you bring it out?”

“Uh, I dunno, really.” An uncomfortable itch settles onto Harry’s skin, his stomach turning as Y/N takes a seat on the creaking piano bench set in front of the instrument. “I just, uh, figured it should be displayed somewhere, instead of gathering dust in a storage unit.  It’s a vintage Steinway, y’know?  Those need to be taken care of.”

In truth, the vintage instrument had rung Harry quite a high bill over the last few decades, not only in the price it cost to keep it in permanent storage, but in the services he’d had done to it once a year to keep it in its nearly pristine condition.  Despite keeping it out of sight to keep it out of his mind, he couldn’t seem to allow himself to let the instrument fall into disrepair, just in case he ever decided to display it again.  Or sell it, as he’d been leaning towards doing over the last few years— a genuine Steinway piano in condition as good as his had quite the high price tag.  But he’d never been able to force himself to part with it, as it looked too similar to the one he had originally learned to play on.  Even though those memories were tainted with the usual pain that came with thinking about his human life, it was still his life, and he ached to hold onto some part of it.  It’s why he had his mother’s ring, and his sister’s earring, and his father’s cross and pocket watch.  It’s why had a small wooden box hidden away under his bed with memorabilia from his first life.  As much as it hurt to remember— and it did, in ways he can’t possibly begin to describe— remembering seems better than the alternative.

“Well, if you want to show it off…” Y/N’s fingers are trailing down the fallboard now, inching their way towards the ivory keys with a daydream-like purpose. “You shouldn’t hide it away in the corner of the room.  It would look gorgeous in front of the windows, don’t you think?  A proper centerpiece.”

It would make a beautiful centerpiece, and he originally intended it to be so after the delivery company had dropped it off at his condo a few days before.  After bribing Adam and Niall with the offer to buy out their bar tabs for an entire month, the three of them had spent the afternoon rearranging the furniture in his living room to display the Steinway in the center of the room.  He’d thought that, knowing how excited Y/N had been to hear him play the piano in the antique store, she’d like to hear him play in his own home, on an instrument he knows like the back of his hand.  He’d even begun kicking around the idea of teaching her a few songs, but those musings had quickly turned sour as the instrument brought back more memories of his foggy human life.  In the end, he’d decided to restore his living room back to its original state with the addition of the Steinway thrust into the corner, where the ghosts of his past could plunk the keys quietly without drawing too much of his attention.  He’d done his best to ignore the instrument over the last couple of days, and in his hurricane of thoughts that had centered around Y/N, he’d nearly forgotten about its existence completely.

He can’t be mad that Y/N is asking about it; after all, he’d brought it out of storage with her specifically in mind.  But seeing the newfound object of his affections with her fingers poised over the keys brings back a rush of emotions he’d been repressing for the better part of two hundred years.

“It—” Harry clears his throat once more, trying to rid himself of the lump that is rising up like bile. “It took up too much space in the center of the room.  Wasn’t very cohesive.”

“That’s too bad.” The mortal girl’s words fall from her mouth in a murmur as her gaze remains locked on the keys, almost as if she’s in a trance.  Her finger begins to press down on the ivory with a slow and meticulous motion. “It seems like such a shame to—”

“Let’s— Let’s not get into that now, sweetheart.” Harry says hurriedly, his fingers catching her own before she can trigger the instrument to make a sound. “Dinner’s almost ready, and you—” He forces a grin onto his lips. “—still haven’t picked a record out.” Threading her fingers through his own, Harry gently tugs the human girl up from her seat on the piano bench. “Would you rather I do it instead?”

As he expected, Y/N wrinkles her nose with distaste as she rises to meet his emerald eyes. “No.” She scoffs as a quiet snort rises from her throat. “I don’t need to listen to some weird experimental 60s music while trying to eat dinner.”

While Harry would normally bite back at her dig, he just responds to her with a thin laugh and a smile without dimples. “Exactly.  So why don’t you pick something out,” He jerks his head over his shoulder to where his record player and vinyls sit neatly on a shelf lining the wall, ignoring the ghastly spike of pain that twinges his neck as he does so. “And I’ll plate dinner, yeah?”

“Alright.” She agrees, and Harry nearly breathes a sigh of relief before she finishes her phrase. “But you’ll play for me later tonight, won’t you?”

The phantom pain grows until it extends down Harry’s entire spine, filling every nerve in his body with a sense of anxiety and trepidation.  The last thing Harry wants to do is move his fingers over those weighted keys, and with the burning sensation now shooting through his fingers, making his hand twitch around Y/N’s, he’s not even sure he can.

But he is sure of one thing, and that’s the fact that he can’t ever seem to say no to Y/N.

“Yeah, dove.  Of course.” Keeping his voice even, Harry pulls her away from the extravagant instrument as inconspicuously as he can. “Later tonight.”

///

There are so many things that Harry has done over the last two centuries that have both angered and confused him.  

He’s held grudges against himself over the way he’s acted, the people he’s surrounded himself with, the people he’s allowed himself to trust, and the blatant disregard for human decency he’s allowed himself to succumb to.  In the last twenty decades, Harry has amassed enough vendettas for fifty lifetimes, let alone the one endless life he’s been given.  And yet, even with all of those missteps in mind, the fact that Harry ever looked at Y/N and deigned her an ordinary human might be one of the biggest mistakes he’s ever made. 

It’s so clear to him now— sitting across from her at his kitchen island, the few scented candles flickering between them doing almost nothing to cover her sugar and flower scent, her eyes reflecting back the burning flames and something else that Harry can’t quite put a finger on— that he’s not sure how he ever missed it.  How had he once leaned against the counter in her own kitchen, looked into those very same eyes, and managed to convince himself that it was only her blood that drew him to her?  How had he listened to her sweet and sensual voice murmur delicate phrases about her day and her emotions, and not realize that he was inching closer and closer in order to hang on every word, as if she had the supernatural ability to compel him as he did her?  How had he seen her in the smokiness of the club, with her fragile skin practically luminescent under the pulsing strobe lights, and thought that she was so utterly unmemorable and unnoticeable that he could easily take her home for one night without anyone wondering about her whereabouts?  How had he convinced himself that it would only be one night? 

There are so many things that Harry will always be angry about, will never forgive himself for, and his initial perception of Y/N is one of them. 

If he has any redeeming qualities, he thinks as he watches the mortal girl spear a bite of gnocchi onto her fork over the rim of his wine glass, it’s that he can, at the very least, admit when he’s wrong.  He can admit to himself that this girl— this self-assertive, stubborn, vivacious, kind-hearted mortal girl— is the most interesting and most intriguing human he’s ever met.  And as terrifying as that is, it’s also a little thrilling; it’s been so long since Harry has felt a pull to someone like this.  The sensation, while unfamiliar and something he’s severely out of practice with, is just as electrifying as he remembers, and now that he’s had a taste of it, he can’t stop chasing that high. 

It’s that undeniable pull which drive Harry to murmur an unauthentic apology about not having a dining table (he’d chosen a larger living room over a dining area when he moved in, and his friends just settled for eating at Niall’s when they wanted to sit down somewhere) because he’s secretly pleased that he has an excuse to sit next to Y/N.  It’s that pull that makes him hang on her every word about her day like she’s relaying the plot of a Greek tragedy, his facial expressions perfectly mimicking hers as she describes the customers she dealt with.  It’s that pull that sends his fingers forward of their own accord to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear as the soft melody of Hozier’s “Like Real People Do” floats between them like a comforting lullaby.  It’s that pull that, when she inquires about the entrée he’d prepared for them, causes him to proudly admit that he’d recreated the recipe from Bella Vita after wrestling it from Vincenzo.  It’s that pull that urges him to scoop up one of his own gnocchi and bring it to Y/N’s lips to feed her the first bite of the meal, his hand cupped delicately under the utensil to catch any sauce that might drip onto her shirt (which is really his shirt, and that fact alone delivers so much more pleasure than he ever would’ve thought possible).  

It’s that pull, that adrenaline rush, that indescribable sensation, but underneath it all, it’s her.  It’s always been her, since the moment they’d first met.  From the moment he first laid eyes on her.  How is it, Harry wonders, that his first sighting, enhanced by his supernatural senses, had managed to make him so blind?  How is it that he’d had this girl in front of him all along, and he’d managed to delude himself into thinking that he’d be able to stop himself from becoming vulnerable for her?  And maybe, he wonders slowly as he clears Y/N’s empty dinner plate from the marble island to the sink, he’s still deluding himself, because for some strange reason, being vulnerable for the mortal girl doesn’t seem to be as terrifying as he thought it would be.

The vampire suddenly recalls a specific day all those weeks back, when Y/N had stayed over and they’d taken their first bath together in his jacuzzi. He thinks about how he’d allowed himself to be vulnerable for just a fraction of a second, when he had admitted to her that she often caught him off guard. She had returned the sentiment, and he remembers the words he'd uttered to her amidst the warm steam and quiet splashing of the water. He had said that he found her influence on him— the influence they had on each other— to be scary, but exhilarating. And now, after spending so much time together and allowing himself to grow closer to her than he ever could’ve imagined, he’s come to find that his attraction to Y/N is no longer incredibly scary. Yes, there’s still a sliver of fear in him at the notion of opening himself up to her, but it’s only natural— there isn’t one person in existence who isn’t scared to strip themselves emotionally bare for someone else. However, his genuine excitement soothes his hesitations, and it startles him in a pleasant manner he can’t quite decipher.

Setting the dirty dishes into the sink to be dealt with later, Harry risks a glance at Y/N over his shoulder.  He watches as she wipes the corner of her mouth on a napkin before raising her stemmed glass to her lips, delicately draining the last of the crimson liquid before placing it back down with a clink.  When he catches her sparkling eyes, Y/N shoots him a smile that, even with only one corner of her lips lifted, manages to dazzle him from across the kitchen.  Harry can hear the fresh flush of blood that overtakes her cheeks, as if the wine itself is settling beneath her fragile skin.

Yes, vulnerability should petrify him.  Vulnerability means danger.  It means giving someone the ability to break you, and Harry knows this from firsthand experience.  Harry might be the only monster in the room, but in this moment, Y/N is the ominous threat. She’s the vague silhouette that hides in the shadows, the mysterious mass circling just beneath the waves, waiting for the right moment to strike.

But now that he’s dipped a toe in, Harry can’t stop himself from diving headfirst into those dangerous depths.

“D’you want another drink, love?” He asks, turning back around and leaning his hip against the marble counter as he cocks his head to the side in a questioning manner. “Some more wine before dessert?  Or another cocktail?”

Y/N glances at her multiple empty glasses in front of her, but shakes her head slowly. “No, I’ve had enough to drink.  But I’d love a cup of tea, H.  If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.  A cup of tea, coming right up.” Harry reaches for the sleek kettle that he keeps set on the backburner of his range, flicking on his tap with his other hand before settling the hollow object under the stream of water. “You know, I think this is the first time I’m actually making tea for you.  S’a real treat, isn’t it?” He flashes a toothy grin at the girl before placing the now-full kettle back onto the burner and twisting the knob to high. “A proper cup of tea made by a proper Brit.  Can’t get much better than that.”

Y/N rolls her eyes playfully as she circles her finger around the rim of the empty wine glass, her motions just starting to get heavy with the liquor. “It’s just some dried leaves and water, Harry.  Don’t get too full of yourself.” 

“I think you’re the one who’s usually full of me, aren’t you, pet?” Although his back is turned towards the stove, Harry can hear the effect his words have on the human girl by the small, nearly imperceptible gasp that leaves her lips. “‘M not sure you’re allowed to make that observation.”

Despite the choked feeling that’s welled up in her throat at his comment, Y/N quickly clears it out with a small cough, capturing Harry’s sea glass eyes with her own to stare him down stubbornly. “I’ll make any observations I want.” She says firmly, crossing her arms over her exposed chest in a mockingly angered pose.

A fond laugh rolls from Harry’s stained lips as he opens his cupboards and extracts two tea cups that are painted with vines of wisteria flowers.  He’d found them a few years back at the very same antique mall he’d brought Y/N to, included in a china tea set that he hadn’t been able to resist buying.  The hand painted violet flowers had caught his eye from the moment he’d glanced at the china cabinet they’d been locked inside, and he’d barely been able to tear himself away from the glass case to retrieve the key from an employee.  

He’d always had a soft spot for wisteria; there had been a wisteria tree outside of his childhood home, and he and Gemma used to collect the bunches of blooms and bring them inside for their mother.  That had been a long time ago, of course.  When they were children.  Harry can’t quite remember at what age they’d stopped digging through the garden for flowers— it might have been when Gemma turned eleven, which would’ve made him…. Seven?  Harry frowns at the uncertain memory as his grip tightens around the delicate china cups.  Yes, he reminds himself, he would’ve been seven.  His sister had been four years older than him, and it was around age eleven when she’d declared herself a lady, and said that it wasn’t ladylke to dig through a garden and walk around with dirt under one’s fingernails, and Honestly, Harry, you must wipe your feet before stepping into the house, or else you’ll track mud everywhere—

With trembling hands, Harry sets the wisteria tea cups down on the marble counter, flexing his fingers to get rid of their shakiness before reaching for the respective saucers.  It seems that Y/N’s ability to make him feel more human isn’t just resurfacing the manners and emotions he’d long suppressed, but the memories, too.  How long had it been since he’d heard his sister’s voice ring in his head as clearly as that?  How long had it been since he’d thought of the tiny foyer of his childhood home, which he’d tracked mud into countless times as his mother and, eventually, his sister clicked their tongues at him?  Is the tree still there, he wonders as his thoughts continue to spiral.  Or had it been cut down in the two hundred years since he’d last seen it, long after his family had all… 

Harry places the saucers carefully down against the marble before bracing himself against the edge for just a moment.  Barely thirty seconds have passed since Y/N’s retort, and although his enhanced mind had begun to spiral, it’s not too late for him to give a half-sane response.  

“I know you will, sweetheart.” He finally murmurs, hiding his face as he pulls open his fridge to extract the carton of oat milk he’d purchased last week.  Y/N, he’d come to learn over the last few months, prefers milk over cream in her tea, just like she prefers sugar over artificial sweeteners. 

Harry can feel the burn of her eyes into his back as he extracts a teaspoon from his kitchen drawer and the kettle begins to whistle.  Focusing and relishing in being the object of her attention, Harry removes the kettle from the heat, flicking the stove off before reaching for the canister that stores his tea bags.  In an effort to fully distract himself from the troubling thoughts of his past, he begins to hum the tune to the Hozier song that had been playing earlier, before the record had spun to stop just before they’d finished their entrees.  With the near murmur of the melody reverberating through his throat, he spends a moment debating on whether or not he should use the matching wisteria-adorned teapot that sits on the highest shelf of his cupboard, but quickly decides against it— it’s too formal for the occasion.  But tossing two separate tea bags into the two teacups, he finds as soon as he does it, doesn’t feel right either; after all, he’d told Y/N that he’d be making her a proper cup of tea.  That fact settles the manner in his (moreso than usual) changing mind, and within a few moments, he has the two teabags deposited into the teapot before pouring in the boiling water to steep the satchels of dried leaves.

Halfway through his preparation, his ears had perked up with the distinct sound of Y/N rising from her chair, which had been followed by the muted pattering of her feet against his hardwood floor.  Not bothering to ask where she’d been going, Harry had instead decided to wait for his suspicions to be confirmed.  Sure enough, just as he’s stirring the sugar and oat milk into Y/N’s cup of tea, he hears the quiet press of one of the keys of his piano.  C4, if his aural skills are still as tuned as they used to be.

Setting the two cups of tea onto their respective plates (Y/N’s with milk and sugar, and Harry’s plain), the vampire easily balances both cups of tea in his hands and makes it to the living room without spilling a single drop.

Just like before, Y/N seems entranced by the piano, plunking out different notes and letting them ring into the open air.  Harry can’t help but wince slightly as he approaches— as talented as Y/N seems to be at some things, music theory does not appear to be included.

“Christ, love, a tritone?” He protests, his voice hinging on a whine as he approaches the piano bench. “What, your fingers couldn’t make it a perfect fifth, hm?”

The answer to his teasing question comes in the form of Y/N’s entire body jumping as her fingers stutter over the keys, an audible gasp falling from her mouth while her hand clutches to her chest and her head turns to stare at Harry over her shoulder. “Jesus, you scared me!” She says breathlessly, her palm massaging over her the area where Harry can hear the rapid pulsing of her heart. “Have you always creeped around like that?”

A playful grin tugs at the immortal’s lips as he extends an arm out, handing the china saucer and cup to the human girl. “Only when I’m carrying boiling tea.  Scooch over, will you?” Nudging his way onto the newly unoccupied space of the bench, Harry nods his head towards the keys she had been previously playing. “Was that an original composition?”

“Beethoven, actually.  I’m surprised you didn’t recognize it.” Y/N blows gently over her tea with pursed lips before taking a small sip.  Harry knows that his sister would have condemned the action, along with the following slurp, by calling it unladylike, but the inelegant manner leaves a fond feeling buzzing through his body once more. 

Raising his own teacup to his lips, Harry chuckles quietly over the rim of the cup. “I wouldn’t have pegged it for the classical era, actually.  Sounded more atonal to me.” He takes a small sip of tea, the liquid scorching down his throat in the best way. “You said you took lessons when you were younger, didn’t you?  Do you remember anything?”

“Twinkle twinkle little star, maybe.” Y/N takes another small gulp before setting the cup back down on the saucer. “I was, like, eight.  Nursery rhymes were as far as I got.” Her gaze drops to the caramel coloured tea with a curious gaze; Harry had remembered exactly how she takes it, despite him only having seen her make a cup of tea once a few weeks ago. “But you, on the other hand… Mr. Good Lookin’...” Her lips jolt into a teasing grin as her eyes flicker to the side to capture his own. “You’re quite the musician, from what I remember.  And you promised to play me something.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Harry’s smile grows imperceivably tighter as he takes another drag of the boiling drink, his throat growing thicker with every swallow. “And you still want me to?”

Brow furrowing at his reluctance, Y/N cocks her head to the side in bewilderment. “Of course I do, H.  I loved listening to you play for me at the antique mall.”

Harry thinks back to that day, when he’d stuttered his way through a Chopin piece before his stumbling fingers had given up entirely. “I’m just a little out of practice, love.  It’ll be a bit messy.”

“I didn’t ask for perfection; I asked for you to play.” Her warm fingers find Harry’s upper arm, massaging the tattooed muscles just underneath the tucked sleeve of his shirt as she regards him with wide, curious eyes. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but if you’re nervous because you might mess up… Well, you heard me play.” Her light laugh rings through the cavity of the piano, reverberating off the highest strings in a way that only Harry’s immortal ears can pick up. “I won’t be able to tell the difference.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Despite his reservations, a half-hearted smile finds its way to Harry’s lips over the rim of his tea cup, which he sets down on the living room side table after taking one last sip.  

Flexing his ringed fingers, he repositions himself on the piano bench, moving more towards the center of the seat as Y/N moves down to the edge to give him full access to the piano.  For a brief moment, his hands hover over the ivory and ebony keys as he evaluates the repertoire he knows he can muddle his way through without too much trouble.  He’s already played a few Chopin pieces for the human girl, so that composer is out.  Liszt doesn’t seem to fit the mood, either, as his pieces are much too ornamented for their quiet living room ambience.  Debussy is out before Harry can even consider him; the last thing he wants to do is invoke any more memories of sitting at a piano with the much too familiar composer.  And Beethoven and Mozart seem too contrived for this setting, as well.

With a frown on his wine-stained lips, Harry spares one glance at Y/N, whose own eyes are glued to his floating fingers.  She reaches out with a tentative touch of her own, gliding them across Harry’s tensed knuckles with a pressure so soft that, if not for the heat of her skin, Harry might not feel it at all.  The cautiousness of the motion is not lost on him— it’s almost as if Y/N is worried that she’ll spook him out of playing, like any sudden movements could break him.  It reminds the creature of the awareness he has whenever he touches her; how he always carefully evaluates the amount of pressure he uses whenever he glides his fingers over her vulnerable skin. 

As if she were a butterfly, he thinks, not for the first time.  His butterfly.

Harry doesn’t remember making the conscious decision to start playing.  He doesn’t even recognize the piece that’s tentatively ringing from the piano until the repetition of the first motive, when Y/N emits a satisfied breath and her warm hand falls back to Harry’s thigh, rubbing gently over his olive trousers with that same delicate touch, almost as if he were a butterfly.

The creature’s fingers continue to glide over the ivory keys, his phrases growing smoother and more confident with every passing moment.  He pays careful attention to the dynamics of the piece, trying his best to recall the sheet music that he hadn’t looked at in decades, but it only takes about thirty seconds for him to realize that it’s easier to just let himself feel the music.  With Y/N’s hand continuing to dance over his thigh in time with the tune, Harry lets himself play around with the score, peppering in crescendos and decrescendos as he sees fit.  He draws out some of the minor phrases, hoping to wrench on his obsolete heartstrings the way he had when he first learned the piece in the early 20th century, and hovers his fingers over the bass notes as he uses the pedal to make them ring out into the living room.  

Halfway through the composition, Harry realizes that he’s breathing with the phrases, timing each inhale and exhale of his lungs with the musical lines.  It only takes him another two measures to realize that Y/N is doing the same, her body leaning into Harry’s as Harry leans into the instrument.  And that, he finds as his jeweled fingers slide over the keys, tugs on his heartstrings more than any melody ever could.

As he approaches the end of the piece, he softens his touch, his fingertips almost ghosting over the keys as he gently presses the final notes.  Harry keeps his foot hovered over the pedal, allowing the quiet cadence to fade to silence in its own time, and as it does, he can feel his body coming back into itself— which is strange, considering he hadn’t noticed the trance-like space he’d slipped into.

Y/N, however, must have noticed, because her voice is hushed and hesitant when she speaks again, waiting until the final notes have completely faded to silence, as if she’s afraid that she’s interrupting something. 

“That was so beautiful, H.” She praises, her hand still rubbing over his clothed thigh.  The motion would normally drive Harry mad, but for some reason, all it does to him in this moment is bring a strange lump to his throat. “What’s it called?”

In his unfamiliar haze, it takes Harry a moment to find his own voice. “Uh, Papillons.” He says through his thick accent, clearing his throat subtly as he lowers his hands to his lap.  He hadn’t even realized they were still lingering over the last notes. “It means—”

“Butterflies.” The mortal girl nods in recognition, a thoughtful look over her face as she taps a finger against his trousers, her tone slightly jesting as she murmurs her next sentence. “I know enough sixth grade French to understand that.  Is it a French piece, then?”

“No.” Harry jerks his head in the negative, only remembering to soften the agitated motion after it’s happened.  He raises his keen eyes to meet Y/N’s, a reminder of where he is.  And a reminder of who he’s with. “It’s the fifth movement in a suite by Robert Schumann— the “Polonaise,” in B-flat major.  S’one of my favourites.”

“I can see why.” Y/N murmurs, a fond smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “It was wonderful, really.  ‘Out of practice,’ my ass.”

Even with the residual anxiety still coursing through his veins, Harry manages to force out a chuckle at her teasing. “Trust me, I’m just as surprised as you are.  But Schumann has always been a favourite composer of mine—” Harry takes Y/N’s teacup from her, noting how her eyes had flickered to the ground, as if she was looking for a place to set it, and she sends him a thankful grin as he sets the cup next to his own on the end table. “—along with his wife.  They were both incredibly talented musicians.”

“His wife?” Intrigue threads through Y/N’s voice as she props up an elbow on the piano, resting her chin on her loose fist as she turns her body towards Harry. “She was a musician, too?”

Harry hums affirmatively as he cracks his knuckles, flexing his fingers in his lap to loosen them from the buzzing sensation that’s still prickling his skin. “She was, yeah.  They had a pretty passionate love story, y’know.  That’s why his music is so beautiful— he wrote it all for her.”

Y/N doesn’t miss the reminiscent tone that seeps into Harry’s voice, and she threads her fingers through his own as her eyes widen with a gentle plea. “Will you tell me about them?  Schumann and his wife?”

“I—” Hesitating at her request, Harry squeezes her hand tightly, half in affection, half in warning. “It doesn’t have much of a happy ending, darling.  A bit of a tragedy, that one.”

“I want to know.” The human girl nods her head stubbornly as her eyes flash with determination. “Just because it has a sad ending doesn’t mean it’s not worth knowing.” 

Harry pauses for a moment, allowing her words to fully sink into his mind and spark the beacon of hope that’s sat coldy in his head for so long. “I suppose that’s true.” 

He mulls over where to begin, thinking back to all the newspaper articles he’d read about a child prodigy in Germany in the 1820s, who was the daughter of—

“So the story really begins with Friederich Wieck.” Harry’s voice falls into a smooth cadence as he begins, thumbing over Y/N’s warm knuckles absentmindedly as he recalls the information. “He was a music teacher, most known for piano, but what he really wanted to be known for was raising a child prodigy.  He had a few children, but the one who filled that description was Clara, his second oldest.”

As Harry begins to spin the tale, Y/N can’t help but focus on his expression.  Although his eyes are set on their linked hands, she can tell that his gaze is far away, as if he’s seeing the scene play before his eyes as he tells it.  It’s fascinating, she thinks, seeing him focus so intently on something as niche as an old love story between musicians, but more than that, it’s new to her.  This is a new side of him that she hasn’t seen before— not cocky, or charming, or playful.  This side of him is intent, as if he wants to make sure that every word he speaks is the truth.  His expression is almost as interesting as the story itself.

“Clara’s parents, Friederich and Mariane, didn’t really get along very well, and Clara had a lot of trouble when she was young; she didn’t really speak until she was four.  But music always came easily to her, which made sense, considering her parents.” Harry’s free hand drifts back to the ivory keys, just resting over the lacquered surface. “Her mother was a musician, too— an accomplished singer.  But after her parents split when she was five, when Mariane had an affair with a family friend, Clara was left with her father.  And her father wanted to focus on her music career.  He gave her hour-long lessons every day, and made her practice for two hours on top of that.  She made her performance debut when she was just nine years old, in 1828, at the Gewandhaus in Leipzig.”

“Okay, wait.  Pause.” Y/N worries her bottom lip between her teeth as she waits for Harry’s faraway eyes to refocus on her confused expression. “What does playing in Leipzig at age nine have to do with a love story?”

An amused laugh slips from Harry’s lips at Y/N’s impatience. “I’m getting there, sweetheart.  A little bit of patience would be beneficial to you, I think.  And a little bit of trust in me, yeah?”

Although she huffs a little bit, Y/N relents, squeezing Harry’s hand in acknowledgement at the phrase he always seems to end up repeating: Trust me. She vaguely wonders why it’s so important to him. “Alright, fine.  Continue.”

“Thank you.” Harry swipes a hand through his tousled curls before settling it back down on the keys, running his fingertips over the smooth surface absentmindedly in the same rhythm he’s swiping over Y/N’s knuckles. “Okay, so… She played in Leipzig a few times that year, and once was at a private music party at someone’s house, where she met Robert Schumann.” At the mention of the name, Harry shoots Y/N an ‘I told you so’ look, which she meets with a roll of her eyes. “He was a gifted pianist, and was so inspired by Clara’s playing that he got permission from his mother to quit his law studies in order to study piano under Clara’s father, Friederich.  So in 1830, Robert moved into the Weick household as one of Friederich’s students, and—”

“Sorry, I— pause again.” Brow furrowed, Y/N’s eyes narrow in suspicion as she mulls over Harry’s words. “So— if Clara was, like, nine—”

“Eleven, actually.  It’s 1830 now, remember?”

“Alright, eleven.  If Clara was eleven… You said Robert quit law school to study music.” Y/N’s narrowed eyes widen as she regards Harry, as if asking him to contradict her suspicions. “How old was Robert?”

“Around twenty, I think.” Harry says casually, lifting his shoulder in a light shrug. “He was born in 1810, so— yeah.  He would’ve been twenty.”

“Twenty?” Y/N yanks her hand from Harry’s as she fully twists her body to face him, as if just hearing the horror in her voice isn’t enough. “He was twenty?  I thought this was a love story?”

“It is!  It’s just—”

“No, it’s not!  It’s gross!” Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Y/N shakes her head harshly, her loose hair spilling over her flushing cheeks. “A twenty year old shouldn’t—”

“He didn’t!  Nothing happened until they were older, love.” Harry captures Y/N’s hand within his own again, smoothing over her knuckles as he hurries to reassure her. “And it was the nineteenth century… a nine year age gap in a relationship wasn’t exactly uncommon.” For a brief moment, Harry wonders what Y/N would think if she knew just how much older he really was than her.  Would she react with the same horrified expression she had now?  Yank her hand from his again as she had just done?

“Yeah, well…” Y/N’s appearance is still bristled as she shoots Harry a condemning look. “There’s a difference between a nine year age gap and a child—”

“Nothing’s happened yet, sweetheart.” Harry bites back the involuntary laugh that bubbles through his chest at the indignant tone of her voice. “Now can I continue?  Or do you want to yell some more?”

Although her response is grumbled, the mortal girl mutters, “Fine.  Continue.” as Harry lifts her knuckles to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of her hand. 

“Thank you.” He lowers her hand back down to his thigh, smoothing it over his trousers before continuing where he’d left off. “So Robert studies under Clara’s father and stays with them for a year.  And although Clara and Robert were just friends, Friederich could tell that they were becoming close, which he didn’t like.  And before you say anything,” Harry watches as Y/N’s lips twitch into a frown. “It wasn’t because of Robert’s age.  Friederich didn’t want Clara to fall in love with anyone; he just wanted her to focus on her music.  He still wanted his child prodigy, you know?  So he began to take her on tours through Europe.  But by the time Clara was sixteen, it was clear that she and Robert had feelings for each other.  They wrote countless letters to each other, signed them ‘your special friend’... And when Clara turned eighteen, Robert asked Friederich for his permission to marry his daughter.  And Friederich said no, because that would ruin his plans for Clara’s music career.”

Despite her hesitation at the relationship, Y/N still mutters a quiet “Harsh.” at the story.

Harry’s hands return to the keys, but this time, they do more than hover.  He begins to press a few notes slowly, letting one ring out completely before moving to the other, and it takes Y/N a few moments to realize that he’s playing an actual melody, albeit a deconstructed one. 

“Because Clara wasn’t twenty-one yet, they needed her father’s permission to marry, so Robert took the case to court.  And it was…” His fingers stutter over the keys for a moment as his face twists up, remembering how the story had decorated the society pages of newspapers back then. “Messy.  Really messy.  But in the end, Robert won the case, and he and Clara were married.  And they wrote all this beautiful music together…” Harry’s left hand joins his right over the piano, moving with more intention now as he adds a quiet harmony to his slow melody line. “They weren’t good with words, but they were good with music.  That’s how they communicated with each other.  You can hear the love in everything they wrote, the devotion they had for each other.  Listen,” He says in a hushed voice, the melody of the music becoming unbearably sweet. “D’you hear it?”

“I do.” Y/N nods softly, her fingers massaging Harry’s thigh muscle as he continues to play.  It’s not a lie, either; there’s a sincerity in what Harry’s playing that twists within her chest.  

Or maybe, she thinks, her eyes trained in the profile of the man beside her, it’s just Harry. 

“Didn’t you…” Y/N hesitates both in her words and her motions over Harry’s leg as a new thought tugs at her mind. “Didn’t you say the story had a sad ending?  That all seems good, isn’t it?  Clara and Robert got married, wrote music together…”

Harry’s fingers begin to slow down, returning to the reduced melody he’d been playing previously, as if weighed down by the knowledge he’s about to share. “Uh, yeah.  Robert had a lot of problems— mental health issues.  Later in their marriage, he became manic, had episodes where he saw angels and demons… and he was worried he’d hurt Clara.” Harry says quietly, risking a glance at the girl beside him, who’s watching him with such wide and trusting eyes that he almost can’t bear it.  Harry knows what it’s like to fear hurting the ones you care for. “He tried to kill himself, and when he was unsuccessful, he asked to be taken to an insane asylum.  And he never went home again.  He died there, just a few days after Clara was finally allowed to visit.  S’like…” Harry’s fingers pause over the piano once more. “S’like he was waiting for her.  Before going.”

Detecting the emotion in his voice, Y/N raises her hand from his thigh, smoothing back a few loose curls before gently setting her palm over the curve of his neck. “That is a bit of a tragic story, I’ll admit.  To have fought so hard for each other for so long… And then to lose all of it like that…”

“Yeah.” Harry clears the lump from his throat as subtly as he can.  He’s certainly no stranger to loss, to feeling helpless at being unable to save someone you love… He knows that pain all too well. 

As if she can sense the darkness in his mood, Y/N rubs a comforting hand across his shoulder and down his arm, drifting over his inked skin with a warm touch.  Her comment, however, is more lighthearted than her caring caress. 

“I still think the age gap is a little weird.  How do you go from writing letters about being ‘special friends’ to falling in love?”

Harry rises to her baited joke, doing his best to shake himself from his introspective thoughts as his fingers begin to drift over the keys once more.  He focuses on just his right hand now, playing out an absentminded yet tender tune as he speaks. “So if I started to call you my special friend, you wouldn’t like it?”

“God, no— that sounds awful.” Y/N scoffs, her own hand drifting to the ivory keys. “We’re sleeping together, not making mud pies in a kindergarten class.”

Harry’s laugh is more genuine as he begins to slow down his playing, plucking only single notes that Y/N echoes in the lower register of the piano. “Alright, fine.  Not special friends, then.”

“There’s just so many cooler historical ways to say we’re having sex, y’know?  None of that ‘special friend’ bullshit.” Y/N continues to match Harry’s notes as best she can, wincing every so often as she plays a dissonant key. “Like… ‘lover.’  That’s a good one.  Nice and simple.  Or—” Her eyes light up with mirth as the thought pops into her head. “Courtesan to the queen.  Not as simple, but it certainly rolls off the tongue.”

Harry quirks a brow at the suggestion. “And you’ll be the queen in question, I presume?”

“Of course.  Do you have a better idea?”

“‘Paramour’ is a neat little name, don’t you think?” Harry asks, his fingers pressing down a simple perfect fourth on the piano to punctuate his question. “Sounds pretty elegant.  Understated.”

“If you want understated…” Y/N matches the top note of Harry’s interval, already knowing she wouldn’t be able to match the actual notes without hurting both of their ears. “We could do what historians do when talking about ancient queer couples.  Say we’re just good friends.”

The creature hums in acknowledgment at the back of his throat. “We could, yeah.  Or we could be mistresses.   Is there a word for a male mistress?” Harry quirks an eyebrow as his lips pull into a quizzical frown. “A master?”

“Jesus Christ, never refer to yourself as a master again.” Y/N groans loudly, her fingers slipping from the keys as she feigns a shudder. “That just sounds creepy.  Even creepier than a special friend. How about…” She tries her best to stifle a wry grin as a more vulgar alternative pops into her head. “The Whore of Babylon?” 

“Fuck’s sake, what did I say about slut-shaming me?”

“I just thought it’d fit! It has a nice ring to it! But if it really irks you that much— Oh, wait—” She quirks her head to the side, a new wave of amusement lighting up her eyes as she thinks of her next step in their game. “What about ‘special advisor’?  You know, like we’re in a historical drama, and I have a kingdom to defend from oncoming war, and you’re my most trusted advisor, and when my husband is away with the army, you and I sneak off into my chambers…”

Although he giggles boyishly at the suggestion, Harry can’t ignore the twinge of jealousy that shoots up his spine at the mention of Y/N’s— albeit imaginary— husband.  He doesn’t like being referred to as her side relationship, even in an imaginary world of queens and wars.  Even then, he wants to be Y/N’s first choice. 

Because she’s his, he realizes, his fingers continuing to pluck out single ivory notes as a way to deal with the impending ball of tension that’s growing inside his abdomen.  Even in a game, in an imaginary world, in any way imaginable— Y/N is his first choice. 

He just— he wants her, in every sense of the word. And he knows all the reasons he shouldn’t— he knows how reckless it is to allow a human to get so close to him, how he’ll never truly be able to be honest with her, how he’ll always be using her for her blood, how he can’t give her the human relationship she deserves.  But he can’t stop from thinking about Robert and Clara, who fought for each other from the very beginning, who persevered through every challenge thrown their way, and who still only got sixteen years together before circumstance tore them apart. 

Harry is here. He is— for all intents and purposes— theoretically alive.  And the girl he wants more than anyone else is right next to him.  There’s no doubt in his mind that it’ll be difficult, but does he not owe it to those who ran out of time to try?  At the very least? Does he not owe it to himself to fight for the happiness he’s spent so long evading, all out of fear? 

He can manage that.  He can manage his cravings around Y/N enough to take only what he needs, and never anything more.  He can manage his double life and keep her from falling victim to the darkest corners of his mind. He can manage his strength enough to treat her as delicately as he’d treat a butterfly.  He can manage the most monstrous parts of himself.  He can do that for Y/N. 

But only if she wants him to. 

It’s that hesitation that brings a tremor to his hands as they pause over the keys, poised over the lacquered surface that he can barely tear his gaze from. “A special advisor sounds fun, yeah.  Or you could…” Harry clears his throat roughly, sweat pooling across his brow as he fiddles with the opal ring on his pinky.  He twists it back and forth around the digits, only managing to spare one look from the corner of his eye at Y/N’s quizzical face before dropping his stare back down to the piano. 

“Or you could, um… you could just… call me your…” Say it, the voice in his head practically yells. It’s just one word. It’s not that hard. “Boyfriend. You could just call me your boyfriend.”

A heavy pause fills the air in the large room, and Harry feels like he’s being suffocated. His voice grows fainter when he detects the sudden hitch in Y/N’s breath, but nothing else. He finds himself wanting to fill the empty space between them with something, or else he might pass out from the nerves. “If you… If you want, that is.  It would just keep it simple. Plain and simple.”

Plain and simple, Y/N thinks as her hands curl together in her lap, slotting between her thighs as if the pressure of her clamped legs can keep her from feeling how they shake.  It would keep it plain and simple.

But when has their relationship ever been simple?

It should’ve been simple, and the mortal girl knows this.  Two consenting adults, calling each other every once in a while for a bit of release— that’s simple.  That kind of relationship doesn’t have any pressure.  There’s no need to try and impress one another, or to meet any expectations.  That kind of relationship is no muss, no fuss, and no strings attached.  That was how they had started, and it had been simple.  It had been easy.  It had been uncomplicated. 

And it also hadn’t been that way for a long time.

Y/N’s known for a while now that the line between two friends having sex and being in a committed relationship has become increasingly blurred; that was all but confirmed when Harry nearly pitched a hissy fit when he saw her coming home from her date with Jacob.  But even with all of the dates, the gifts, the phone calls during her lunch breaks, the homemade dinners and drinks and desserts, even with all of that— Y/N never thought that they’d actually arrive at this moment.  This moment, in Harry’s apartment, their bodies pressed together on the small piano bench, his fingers fidgeting nervously as hers are pressed between her thighs, with the word boyfriend dangling over their heads like a sword.

She can’t pretend she hasn’t thought about it, because she has.  And she can’t pretend that her thinking about it doesn’t usually lead to her daydreaming about it, because it does.  It’s why she spends the majority of her downtime wrapped in Harry’s rainbow cardigan, and why she’d picked out his button down shirt to wear tonight.  It’s why she’s talked about him to her friends, why she’s begun to speak about him casually to her coworkers, instead of hiding in the storage closet when he calls her on her break.  Because even though they aren’t together— even though they’re friends in the least and seeing each other at the most— it had been nice to pretend that either of them were capable of being more.

Y/N is no stranger to heartbreak, and she’s spent long enough studying her own commitment issues to be able to recognize them in someone else.  Harry had pretty much told her in the beginning that relationships weren’t his thing, that he didn’t want to be defined by a label that could so easily be broken.  And Y/N, who hadn’t opened herself up since Bradley, had been inclined to agree.  Relationships are messy, and labels only bring expectations that would eventually not be met.  Seeing each other is easy.  Seeing each other is breezy.  Seeing each other leaves room for interpretation, for allowances, for excuses to be made if one of them suddenly changes their mind.  Seeing each other is plain and simple. 

Boyfriend.

The truth of the matter is that Y/N shouldn’t be so terrified of such a simple word.  In all forms and fashion, Harry practically already is her boyfriend— he literally calls her his girl during sex, for fuck’s sake. They do everything that a normal couple does, and have been doing it for a while now.  She’s fairly certain that calling Harry her boyfriend instead of the guy she’s seeing wouldn’t actually change their relationship that much.  But if she’s honest with herself, Y/N knows that it isn’t their present day situation that’s sending a cold sweat down her back.  Boyfriends, from her limited experience, lead to fiancés, which lead to husbands, which lead to children and a white picket fence in an unassuming suburb.  That was the exact life she’d come to L.A. to escape— how could she willingly fall back into it?

And then she hears Harry exhale shakily, his thumb fumbling with the opal ring on his pinky, and she knows exactly how she could willingly fall back into it.

This is Harry.  Harry, who tells her the stupidest jokes that can somehow still make her laugh.  Harry, who gives her all of his attention every moment that they’re together.  Harry, who listens to every story about rude customers without complaining once, hanging onto her every word as if what she says matters more than life itself.  Harry, who makes her believe that it does.  Harry, with entrancing emerald eyes, shining chestnut curls, intricately inked skin, and the most comforting arms she’s ever been held in.  This is Harry.  Not Bradley.  Bradley wanted the wife, the white picket fence, the house filled with children.  Harry— as far as she can tell— just wants her.  And she just wants him.

Plain and simple.

Y/N extracts one of her hands from between her legs, snaking it over Harry’s, where she captures one of his fiddling hands in her grasp.  Intertwining their fingers, Y/N fixes her gaze onto his opal ring as she hesitantly swipes her thumb over his cool knuckles.

“Yeah,” She whispers the word, as if speaking any louder could break whatever it is that’s brewing between them. “Yeah, that could work.  I’d really like that.”

The human girl watches from the corner of her eye as Harry’s lips, which he’d been gnawing on nervously while waiting for her response, slowly curl into a hesitant grin, as if he’s nervous to show how anxiously he’d been waiting for her to answer.  He keeps his sea glass eyes glued to their tangled hands, his own fingers contracting to test their grasp. 

Harry knows that it’s selfish of him to be so happy that the girl he cares for is entering into a relationship with a monster.  But seeing as how he’s the monster in question, he can’t make himself feel guilty for it.  All he feels is the elation that’s slowly spreading through his entire body, and the determination that’s chasing it.  He can do this.  He’s strong enough.  He can be strong enough for her. 

“Can I…” His voice is just as quiet as hers, nearly cracking at the end when he finally lifts his gaze to her heated cheeks, wide eyes, and stained lips. “Can I kiss you?”

A tender laugh falls from those stained lips as Y/N combs his curls back over his ear, dragging her thumb over the sharp lines of his jaw. “You do that all the time, so the answer is obviously yes, isn’t it?” She thumbs down the muscles in his neck, until her palm settles over the collar of his shirt to fist the fabric between her grip. “You don’t even need to ask anymore.”

“It never hurts to ask.  And this time…” Harry worries his bottom lip back between his teeth before he soothes the bite mark with his tongue. “It’s different.  We’re different.”

“Not too different.” Y/N leans forward until their noses nudge against each other, their mouths kept apart only by an inch.  She cards her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, twisting the locks around her digits in a way that’s so much softer than Harry thought possible. “Still us, yeah?”

The taste of honey and lavender is so thick on the back of Harry’s tongue that he’s almost choking on it, but he’s never felt less thirsty in his life.  He has this under control.  He can tame this.  He can.

“Yeah.” He inhales deeply through his mouth, as if he were relishing the bouquet without tasting the wine, and slots their lips together with ease. 

Although they’ve shared countless kisses over their months together, this might win the record for the gentlest that they’ve ever shared.  There’s no rush, no animalistic need to pull Y/N closer and tighter against his body.  There’s only her burning warmth, her silky skin, and her sugar and flower flavour washing out the black tea that had been lingering on his taste buds.  Harry has never felt closer to being human again than he has in this moment.  Right now, they’re not a predator and his prey; they’re simply two people who, against all odds, have managed to find each other.  And Harry is owed this happiness.  He knows he is. 

The rest of the night passes in a blissful haze of comfortable domesticity.  They eat dessert on Harry’s couch, feeding each other bites of raspberry sorbet in between giggles and banter.  It’s something they’ve done countless times before, but there’s something different about it now; maybe it’s the fact that Harry knows that Y/N isn’t going to push him away now.  She wants him.  She wants him.  She’s leaning into his touch every time he brushes his knuckles over her cheek, laughing at his poorly-timed jokes, gazing at him through her lashes in a way that stirs desire in the very pit of his belly.  They’re comfortable together, and for the first time, Harry is realizing just how wonderful that is.

It’s the only thing on his mind as they stand side by side in front of his double vanity in his en suite, his gaze tilted to the side to watch as Y/N removes her makeup with some wipes she’d packed in her overnight bag (Harry makes a mental note on the brand so that he can pick them up the next time he finds himself near the drug store).  He’s never had such casual comfort and ease with someone like this before; the last time he’d found himself in a relationship, it had been in a time where maids were required to help lace and unlace corsets and valets prepared him for bed.  There was never a chance to watch as someone he cares for ties their hair back in a loose ponytail before rubbing cleanser into their skin.  He never got to observe the quiet, intimate moments of someone’s bedtime routine.  In the early days of their relationship, Y/N had never had a chance to properly take her makeup off before Harry was tugging her into bed, her lipstick smeared across his face as much as hers.  This is his first time really witnessing that transition, and he likes it more than he thought he would.

There are, however, a few things that he knows Y/N likes before bed, and he gives her a moment of privacy to change into her pyjamas while he makes the quick trip to his kitchen to fill a tall glass with cold water.  He doesn’t need to grab an extra blanket this time— he’d already made sure to toss the knit afghan onto his bed before Y/N arrived, and he finds it draped over her body when he returns to his bedroom.

“You look cozy.” He comments with a fond smile, handing the mortal girl the glass of water as he pulls back the other half of the blankets.  He climbs underneath the covers, propping his elbow up on his pillow as he lies on his side to watch as she takes a sip of the drink. “Y’alright, love?  Need anything else?”

Y/N shakes her head as she sets the glass down on the bedside table and settles back into her pillows, stifling a yawn into the back of her hand.  She always gets sleepy after she has a few drinks, something she’d explained to Harry— much to his amusement— a few weeks prior, after a movie night at her house when he’d made his famous margaritas.  They’d been having a Harry Potter marathon, and they’d barely begun the second before her eyes had started to flutter closed. 

“I’m good, I think.” She tugs the blankets up to her chin, tilting her head to the side to find Harry already staring at her with a soft expression. “Actually…” Extending a hand to him, she lifts her covers off her body enough to indicate what she wants. “C’mere.”

A boyish giggle falls from the vampire’s strawberry lips, and he flicks off the lamp before crawling towards Y/N in the enveloping darkness.  He folds himself right into her side, opening his own arms for her to slide into, but is surprised when her hand finds his shoulder and tugs him closer to her.

Harry takes the hint and hesitantly settles himself onto her own body, allowing the mortal girl to rest his head along her collarbones, his ear finding a home just above her beating pulse.  One of her hands knots itself in his hair, delicately detangling his messy curls as the other finds a home on his naked shoulder blade, rubbing over his defined muscles with the hottest touch Harry has ever felt. 

It’s a vulnerable position, one that Harry hasn’t been in for decades.  And yet, instead of feeling the usual mix of fear and trepidation, all Harry can feel is comfort.  The combined sensation of Y/N playing with his hair and massaging his shoulder is more pleasurable than he ever could’ve assumed.  A month ago, that would have confused him.  But now… he exhales softly as Y/N’s nails lightly scratch along his scalp.  He can be vulnerable with her.  He trusts her.  And, to his extreme luck, she seems to trust him.

A few minutes pass with nothing said between the pair, the silence around them punctuated with only the sound of their breathing and Y/N’s lone heartbeat.  If Harry didn’t know better, he’d think that Y/N had fallen asleep, but his sharp senses know that’s not true; her pulse is still a few beats faster than it normally is, and her breathing hasn’t completely evened out yet.

Sure enough, Harry’s suspicions are confirmed when Y/N whispers into the darkness a moment later, as if she could hear him mentally assessing her body language. “Harry?” Her voice is gentle, halfway between a whisper and a murmur, as if she’s afraid to be any louder. “Are you awake?”

Harry bites back the smirk that threatens to overtake his lips. “Mhmm.” He hums, nuzzling his head further into Y/N’s caring touch. “Still awake.”

She matches his hum of acknowledgement, the pads of her fingers pressing deeper into the knots of his back. “I was wondering…” Her voice thickens with hesitation. “Would you, um, would you sing for me?”

Without completely lifting himself from her chest, Harry raises his eyes to meet her own, her fingers pausing their motions through his locks as he does so. “Sing?” He asks, taken off guard by the out-of-the-blue request. “Y’want me to sing?”

Although there’s a shadow of shyness across her face, Y/N nods slowly. “I heard you humming earlier today, while you were cooking, and it sounded nice, so I was just thinking about it…” She clears her throat nervously, and Harry can hear the wave of blood that rises to her cheeks. “But you don’t have to.  I know it’s late—”

“No, petal.” Harry hurries to ease her, a frown settling onto his face as he hears her breathing grow shallower with anxiety. “S’fine.  No need to get shy.” Harry is amazed at how smoothly the reassurance falls from his lips. “Yeah, I’ll sing for you.  Any requests?”

Despite him telling her not to be shy, Y/N just shrugs her shoulders in response to his question, her eyes locked on the ceiling above them as if she can’t bring herself to meet his gaze.  Harry plants a kiss along her clavicle before settling back into her plush chest, mentally running through the catalogue of songs he’d been humming earlier.  He should pick something soft, he thinks.  Something like a lullaby.

Y/N resumes her gentle combing through Harry’s locks, mostly to distract herself from his thoughtful silence.  She shouldn’t have asked him to sing something— he’d made it clear earlier that playing the piano for people was something that made him nervous.  They’d sung together playfully multiple times, and Y/N could tell that Harry has a pretty voice, but half-singing, half-rapping along to the Hamilton soundtrack is so different than singing to her in the darkness of his bedroom.  She shouldn’t have asked.  In fact, she should tell him to just forget it, and—

“I had a thought, dear, however scary, about that night, the bugs and the dirt.” Harry’s low vibrato echoes around the previously silent room, his voice no louder than a murmur.  Y/N can feel the vibrations of his vocal chords against her chest, a quiet hum that soothes her like nothing else ever has. “Why were you digging?  What did you bury, before those hands pulled me from the Earth?”

Harry clears his throat quietly between the stanzas, his own eyes drifting close.  He’s never been one for stage fright— he’s always been eager to show off his vocal skills, and there’d been a time when all he wanted was to sing on stage in a smoky speakeasy.  But this— singing in the quiet of his bedroom for an audience of one— is more intimate than he’s used to, and he knows if he catches Y/N’s observant gaze right now, he’ll lose his nerve.

“I will not ask you where you came from; I will not ask and neither should you.” Harry tunes his ear to the steady pulse of Y/N’s heart, using the rhythm as a makeshift metronome to keep his time.  To keep himself steady. “Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips; we should just kiss like real people do.”

Harry feels a spike of warmth against the top of his head, and it takes him a moment longer than normal to realize that it’s Y/N’s lips pressing against his hair.  As he continues to sing, she times her caresses of his ringlets with the beat of his words, which he keeps timed with the beat of her heart.  They’re in a cycle, he realizes as he quietly sings the second verse into her skin. She’s lined up with him as he lines up with her.  They’re locked together, steadying the other while relying on them to keep them steady in return.  For the first time in two hundred years, Harry feels truly in sync with someone.

“Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips,” Y/N’s mouth smudges against his temple once more as he nudges his nose along the base of her throat, allowing himself to press his own lips against the satin skin of her chest, just over her heart. He feels like he could stay in this moment forever, which means something given that he truly does have forever. He’d spend every second of the rest of eternity frozen in this instant, if the world allowed it. He’s content, and relaxed, and cradled in his duvet with the one other soul who has somehow managed to thaw the coldness from his stony heart. For the first time in too long, he feels like an actual person again. He isn’t bogged down by his carnal instincts, or by the fear of losing his composure, or by the fact that he doesn’t have a thumping rhythm behind his ribs. 

He doesn’t need all of that because he has Y/N, and she makes him feel more real than all of those aspects ever could. 

“We could just kiss like real people do.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #vampire!harry styles #vampire au #one direction fanfiction #one direction fic #one direction imagine #harry styles au #writing #ysijwa

[jaskierswolf]

A coffee shop au where Jaskier waxes lyrical about the hot white-haired customer at the other end of the shop to Lambert (who had been in the back when Geralt walked in) until Lamb declares that he should go say hi to his brother and waltzes up to Geralt with a shit-eating grin

The man with gorgeous moonlit hair was back. He was tapping furiously away at a laptop in the corner of the coffee shop and Jaskier was in heaven. He sighed wistfully as he passed the next customer their overpriced caffeine with equally overpriced caramel syrup. How could one man be so beautiful? It was like some god had looked into Jaskier’s heart to find his deepest darkest desires and created… this masterpiece of a human.

“Umm… excuse me?” Fingers clicked in front of his face.

He blinked and flashed a dazzlingly smile at the brunette who was holding the caramel latte for Trisha. “Yes, hello. Is everything alright?” He asked.

“No. You idiot. This is not what I ordered and who is Trisha?” The brunette snapped.

Jaskier blushed brightly and bit back a curse. He hadn’t been paying attention. He’d just handed over the cup to the next person in line. Whoops. “Ah. My deepest apologies, I’ll umm. I’ll fix that.”

“It’s Triss,” A woman with shiny curly hair and soft freckles sighed wearily “and that’s mine.”

“I didn’t drink it. Knock yourself out.” The brunette rolled her eyes as she passed the drink over. “They’ll be paying me at this rate.”

Jaskier picked up his next cup. The name ‘Cally’ was scrawled onto it with an order for a large cap with almond milk. “Cally?”

The woman pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned. “Calanthe. I even spelled it out.”

Jaskier smiled sheepishly and got on with the order. He risked a glance back at Moonshine in the corner and everything seemed a little bit brighter, even with Calanthe glaring down at him like he was going to bring about the end of the world.

“Jaskier! Stop mooning over the customers and make coffee,” Lambert growled from the till.

“Well stop spelling the names wrong and maybe I will!” He shot back with a wink. “And I can’t help it. He’s just so gorgeous.”

He couldn’t see Lambert’s face but he would have bet money that the redhead was rolling his eyes at him. “Just get on with it.”

“I’ve never seen hair that colour before.” Jaskier sighed “It’s like molten silver cascading down his back, like the moonbeams hitting the surface on the ocean in the middle of the night. Oh and eyes like the sweetest honey. I could get lost in those eyes until my dying breath, and did you hear his voice? God it’s better than sex!”

“You’re disgusting,” Calanthe muttered; disdain dripping from her voice as he passed her her drink.

“Oh I know,” He winked. She was a lost cause anyway so he might as well have fun with it.

“Time for my break,” Lambert announced as Essi came out of the break room tying her apron around her waist. “I should probably go and see my stupid brother. It would be rude not to.”

Jaskier scoffed. “When have you ever cared about not being rude?”

Lambert just flashed him a shit-eating grin and sauntered, nay strutted, across the room…

Jaskier’s jaw dropped at Lambert slid into the chair opposite Moonshine. Lambert’s brother shut his laptop with a glare. Jaskier wanted the ground to open up underneath him. There had to be some work to do in the stockroom. “Oh no. No no no,” He moaned as Lambert’s brother glanced over to the counter.

Jaskier gave an awkward wave, desperately trying not to stare at his golden eyes. Maybe he was a demon, the eye colour was so unusual and Jaskier was definitely being tempted, his thoughts were positively sinful. The next customer sighed loudly and he tore his eyes away from Mr Moonshine in the corner.

“Jask, go clear tables,” Essi snapped. “Maybe clear your head whilst you’re at it.”

Jaskier kissed her cheek and grabbed the tray. “I owe you one!”

“I’ll add it to the list.”

Jaskier trotted over to Lambert and his sexy brother’s table. “Got any rubbish?” He asked and waved the tray.

“I don’t think Lambert will fit in your tray.”

Jaskier laughed, probably a little too hard but sue him he was smitten. “Lambert never mentioned you were brothers….” He trailed off.

“Geralt.”

“I’m Jaskier,” He greeted and extended his hand. “It’s lovely to meet you at last. I mean. Not at last. I’ve not been stalking you I promise. You’re just… you’re very handsome.”

Geralt chuckled, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “We’re meeting our brother for drinks tonight at the pub. You should come.”

Jaskier felt like melting, honestly it was a miracle that he didn’t swoon into Geralt’s lap. Instead he gave Geralt his most charming smile and wink. “I will thanks. Lambert has my number if you want it. I have to get back to work.” Geralt just nodded and turned back to Lambert. Jaskier couldn’t stop the grin on his face as he strutted back to the counter. He’d fucking gone and done it. He’d got his mystery man’s number… almost and an invite to the pub. Points to Jaskier!

Of course he promptly crashed into a table and fell on his arse. “Fuck!” _____________

Tag list: @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @innocentcinnamonpun @marvagon @elliestormfound @geraskier-trashh @panerato @moonysourenza @artistsfuneral @victorieschild @hailhailsatan @wherethewordsare @havenoffandoms @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem @electricrituals @geralt-of-riviass @00qtee @kittynannygaming @stinastar @scribblesonmapleleaves @thecomfortofoldstorries @fontegagrilledcheese @anythinggoesfandoms @veritasrose @trickstermoose67

#the witcher #geraskier #coffee shop au #modern au #wolfie's witcher writing #Anonymous

[yeontanismypresident]

truth untold | jikook

a/n: uh hey guys i know this isn't what i normally post, but i did a roleplay with a friend (they're so talented holy fuck i'm in love bro) and decided to post it on here since it's already on ao3! they wrote for jimin and i wrote for jungkook. so, come cry with us and watch jikook be all lovey dovey after their rainy day fight hehe <33 thanks for being an amazing rp partner @eglantinian​ and s/o to my baby @minloop​ for making this awesome header love you bb <3

pairing: park jimin x jeon jungkook

word count: 11.1k (yikes good luck)

genre: angst, fluff, smut, idolverse

warning(s): unprotected sex (pls be safe babies), finger sucking/fucking (yes, it's a warning bc fuck i love it 🥵), oral sex, fingering, the authors falling in love, Feelings™, okay i think that’s it ghfjd

summary: I love you, I love you, I love you, and I didn't want to be forgiven. That's the hardest part. I looked at you, and I didn't want to be forgiven. Because loving you is not a sin.

But that's it.

I love you, Jimin. In spite of everything.

Park Jimin doesn't trust words.

Pretty ridiculous, given how much he loves being affirmed by it, but there's such a thing as "loving compliments'' but not allowing yourself to be deceived by it. There's also the fact that he's got a vendetta... against some words and how someone says it. Not to mention, words are highly fluid, able to empower or destroy when choreographed into perfection. Just like the twists and turns of chaînés or the smooth glide of a moonwalk. An emotion in motion rehearsed a-plenty with the intent to electrify.

To dazzle, to revive, to thunder people's spiritless lives.

Words.

That's it.

That's why he remains a stoic sceptic, pining and fawning over words, but never also completely trusting them until he's sure that the person speaking them does not intend to deceive him. It's very exhausting, but it's a struggle he puts up with in order to protect himself from getting hurt.

Honey, it is one of the sweetest things in the world, but only because they were a product of the labour of a thousand bees. Because while others may think he just readily wears his heart on his sleeve when he's acting like a mochi, they don't realise that it took years to get to the level of confidence he has today. Persistent and consistent labour, that's what it took to make himself appear effortless, not birth lottery.

Not ever.

Which was why he kept rewinding Jungkook's speech, nay, confession, in his head over and over again when they argued in the practice studio. He's practically memorised every word, the heartache and the love in the maknae's voice ringing clearly through the space between them. Jimin's stupid mind even etched in his memories the way Jungkook's brows furrowed in frustration when he shouted at him to "do what you want."

Or the way the tears fell from Jungkook's eyes when he slammed the door to his face, intent on leaving him there in the studio. Jimin wanted some time to himself while walking to their dorm — it was only 20 minutes away, anyway — because he doesn't trust himself alone with Jungkook. He'll end up ruffling Jungkook's dark hair before tugging it back so that he could tilt his head to face him and lose himself in the depths of his dark, dark gaze.

The sweetest eyes in the world, he'd once thought to himself when he first met the maknae. It was just. Just looking at him then, he already knew it was over for him. Jeon Jungkook wasn't just some band member of BTS to him. Neither was he just some cute boy that he can't help feeling fond of. Nor a younger brother he'd dote on endlessly. No, not at all. Once he looked at Jungkook and got to know him throughout the years, Jimin just knew.

One way or another, their lives will always be intertwined.

Serendipity.

He didn't expect it. And yet here he was, falling in love with him. Can't get him out of his head. Can't get him to be affectionate with him even as a joke. Can't get him to stop pushing him away in front of the camera. But still. Still, he kept trying because Jungkook....

Just now, his eyes, his voice... none of it ever held any intent to deceive him.

Not at all.

It's just that today, Jungkook really had to tell him everything he's wanted to hear from him. And while Jimin knew that Jungkook's words carried weight, he just couldn't help doubting it.

Especially when Jungkook's hands kept fidgeting.

And that's the thing — Jimin suddenly felt that he might be uncertain. That maybe he said those words sincerely, but why was he still being unsure? Like damn it, it's not like he was never afraid every time he made himself look like a fool whenever Jungkook kept dismissing him or denying his affection.

It drove him a little crazy.

But still, even now as he's walking outside and ignoring his phone — it's been vibrating ever since he left the studio, and truthfully, his legs feel a little numb already, but he left that place with his head held high, so if anyone's going to do the chasing, it won't be him, not again — Jungkook's words were a chorus he can't help himself from repeating over and over again.

It's just that I've never felt this much for anyone before. 

I don't know how to take it. One day, you were there, and I felt like nothing made sense until I met you. I love you, I love you, I love you, and I didn't want to be forgiven. That's the hardest part. I looked at you, and I didn't want to be forgiven. Because loving you is not a sin. Why does it have to be, just because people are uncomfortable? Why does it have to be, just because you're a man and I'm a man? Why does it have to be, just because I got afraid? I just kept overthinking everything, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you.

But I've been in love with you. Still do.

Fuck. I just said it all. But that's it. I love you, Jimin.

In spite of everything.

And then he just had to look afraid. It's not as if he's the only one.

He sighed, closing his eyes only to blink them open when a drop of rain fell on his cheeks.

His lips curled bitterly. He didn't need to cry at all.

The skies will do it for him.

How lucky.

Jungkook stands in the middle of the practice room, all alone with only cold silence surrounding him. There are silent tears falling from his eyes and gliding down his blushing cheeks. Where did everything go wrong? He was sure he saw the signs right. Sure, he had pushed Jimin away when he was just trying to show his affection, but what else was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to do when they had thousands of eyes on them, just waiting for one of them to make a mistake? It could have cost them their career. No matter how much he loves Jimin, he can’t won’t ruin the rest of the group’s careers.

He can’t help but feel embarrassed and hurt. How was he ever going to face Jimin after this? Would his Hyung make fun of him? Would he hate him? Avoid him? Jungkook really put his heart out there, did the one thing that has terrified him for years and he’s...shut down? Rejected? Was he wrong to assume Jimin had feelings for him too? Is this what heartbreak feels like? Like his heart was ripped out of his chest and stomped on a hundred times? Like someone tore it into a million pieces all the while laughing at him for being so idiotic? How long will he have to deal with this aching, sharp pain in his chest? Until he can get over Jimin? Will he ever get over him?

His head snaps to the opening door so fast there’s a loud pop throughout the room. Wincing, Jungkook rubs the back of his neck, praying that behind it is Jimin coming back to clear things up, to confess it was all just some sick joke he was playing on him. But it’s not him, and Jungkook doesn’t know how he should feel when he comes face to face with the confused one of Taehyung. He probably looks like a right mess with tears leaving a wet trail on his blotchy cheeks and falling off his chin, eyes bloodshot from how hard he’s crying.

“Jungkook-ah?” Taehyung hesitantly asked, slowly making his way towards the maknae, “Are you okay? What happened?” He places a comforting hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, the warm and kind gesture causing him to break even more.

Jungkook gasps for air. He can’t breathe and everything fucking hurts. What does he do? Should he call Jimin? Make sure he got home safe, or should he give him some space? The sound of thunder shakes him from his panicking, and he walks to the window to see dark clouds rolling in. Fuck. It’s about to rain and Jimin is walking back to the dorm. He’s going to get soaking wet and then he’s going to get sick. Jungkook is sure he’ll hate him even more if he does end up ill.

With his mind made up, he frantically grabs his phone. Opening up Jimin’s contact, he hits the call button, silently begging the other to answer. When he’s met with Jimin’s voicemail, he leaves a desperate message, telling him to call him back. He does this multiple times, each time feeling more and more hopeless.

Please pick up, Hyung.

Everywhere was grey.

The sky, previously golden touched with lilac at dawn, is ashen. The streets, once dazzling silver pavements in the moonlight, have returned to its original shape, a dull concrete in the day unlike the vision in his daydreams — mocking his stony reflection in the muddy puddles that have formed beneath his shoes as rain continued to fall quickly, wetting his cheeks. Jimin wanted to laugh, but the sound is trapped in his throat as his phone kept ringing in the background. It was supposed to be quiet. Yet even in this grey afternoon, his fingers couldn't help inching towards the source of the sound — a half-hearted wish to silence the chaos that was his heart.

Jimin took a deep breath, trying to gather himself. Well, more of trying to remember why he exploded in disbelief despite knowing the truth in Jungkook's words. It's just that after he made the decision to not be as affectionate to the maknae, that's when he suddenly tried to get close to him. It's like someone dropped a bucket of cold water on him, paralysing him. It made him feel like an afterthought — Jungkook's warmth towards him had come too late, the abrupt 180 of his efforts giving him a whiplash that when Jungkook finally said those words, he just saw red.

He ran a hand through his hair. He had overreacted.

Jimin is usually able to separate his emotions from his thoughts easily, enabling him to focus and see things clearly for what they were. It just so happened that everything about Jungkook affected him greatly, his control slipping every time their eyes met. Almost every time, that is. The thing is, Jimin had always prided himself with his willpower and resolve, but in that argument... he didn't care. He just lost it.

It's just that... when he saw Jungkook hesitate, he also got uncertain. Afraid. And Jimin hated being unsure, hated losing control, hated the bitter after-taste of regret.

And yet, leaving Jungkook in the studio, it was all he felt.

Regret.

He bit his lip, no longer stopping the tears from falling.

I was wrong, he thought, averting his gaze from the puddle beneath his shoes once he realised he had halted on his way to the apartment — the pause feeling like a thread was trying to pull him back, stopping him.

I was wrong, he repeated, breaking down as he took the phone from his pocket, the ringing never stopping.

Never hesitating.

Never afraid.

Not anymore.

Jimin wiped his cheeks, resting a hand on his face as he answered the call with a quiver in his voice.

"What is it?" he asked, trying to sound firm, but all he heard was the way he sounded so broken.

And all it took to keep him afloat was Jungkook's voice.

Jungkook is still muttering helplessly to himself, feet pounding against the wet pavement as he tries to find Jimin. He doesn’t know where the other is and there’s panic clutching at his heart and everything is just a gigantic mess. Did Jimin head towards the dorm? Or did he decide to go on a walk somewhere else? Somewhere Jungkook wouldn’t know about? Turning towards the opposite direction of their dorm, Jungkook sets a brisk pace, phone still to his ear as he waits for Jimin to answer his phone.

The rain is pouring now and Jungkook can hardly see what’s in front of him. There’s hardly anyone out, so no one can see the way he’s breaking down in the middle of the sidewalk. So caught up in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice that the constant ringing has stopped. Only when he hears Jimin’s broken voice coming through the phone does he react.

“Jimin, I am so sorry,” Jungkook sobs, feet frozen as he tries to stay standing. He refuses to break down even more when he's out in public.

All he wants to do is fall, fall into the older’s arms. To feel his comforting arms wrapped around him in a warm embrace. But would Jimin still want to hug him after this? Did he freak his Hyung out too much by confessing? Hurt him too much? Did he push him away for good? Jimin’s voice breaks his disheartening thoughts.

His throat tightened.

Jungkook was crying. Because of him. Fuck. Jimin's tears suddenly halted, his frustration towards himself rising — not realising that he was squeezing the phone unconsciously until his nails dug red half moons on his skin. He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he listened to the maknae's shaky breaths through the phone.

“I told you not to call me,” Jimin still tried to resist, his control slipping away yet again. Except… except he’s starting not to mind it once again.

Only for Jungkook. Only him.

Because loving you is not a sin, Jungkook's words filled his thoughts once again, breaking through every wall, every monument of fear he thought he built perfectly in spite of his trembling hands — afraid of anyone discovering his deepest fears, afraid of letting anyone in, afraid of no one trying at all.

I love you, Jimin. In spite of everything.  

He raised his eyes to the sky.

The rain ceased, and once again, the horizon burst with colours.

His lips trembled.

"W-where...," Jimin spoke more softly this time, hoping it would soothe Jungkook a little, hoping he'd understand, hoping he'd keep trying, "where are you?"

I want to see you.

“I told you not to call me.”

Jungkook feels as if the breath was stolen right from his lungs. He thought the older wouldn’t want him to call, but he was hoping he was wrong. He has no clue how he should respond to that. I’m so sorry, Hyung. Please, just tell me where you are. I promise to leave you alone, just let me know you’re safe.

“Hyung…” Jungkook whispers and he’s not sure whether or not Jimin can hear him. He’s afraid to speak up. He’s afraid his voice will crack and that he’ll appear even more pathetic than he already does.

He wants to give up.

If Jimin’s made it clear that he doesn’t feel the same, then why should he continue fighting for it? Why fight for something that isn't even there?

Jungkook glances up when he doesn’t feel the harsh, cold rain pelting on his skin anymore. It’s stopped raining and the clouds are slowly dispersing, leaving behind a blue sky with a vibrant rainbow. The sun is shining down on him, warming his shaking body, and his body releases its tension.

"Where are you?”

Where is he?

Jungkook looks around at the scenery surrounding him. He’s… where is he? He can feel the panic returning, tightening his chest and lungs until it feels like someone is stomping on his chest. His eyes are frantically moving around, trying to find something familiar, something that will tell him where he is. Where is he?

“I don’t know where I am!” Jungkook sobs, fingers shaking as he clutches his phone to his ear. Jimin’s voice slowly calming him down, grounding him to reality once again.

"Jungkook-ssi," he murmurs over and over again, hearing the panic in the maknae's voice. He almost burst into laughter, the shock of Jungkook's bewildered reply making his heart flutter despite his concern. But that would just set Jungkook off to even more panic, so he swallowed it, willing his mien to follow so that he wouldn’t laugh.

Fuck, he loves this boy so much.

"Jungkook-ssi, take a deep breath," Jimin said more firmly, trying to capture Jungkook's attention. He needed to focus, and as much as Jimin wanted to see him, they won't be able to do that if Jungkook can't calm down.

He looked around him — he's just a few blocks away from the dorm now, and it should be easy to pinpoint his location, but given the maknae's tendency to lose himself in the height of panic, he might as well be the one to go to where he was.

"Just — don't move. Stay where you are. I'll come get you," Jimin offered, trying to get a hold on the situation. When someone is panicking, you can't ground them with softness. You need to be assertive — turn off their impulsive urge to jump off the cliff with cool, solid, and sound facts.

Basically, logic the fear away.

It's just that Jungkook disagreed, his voice breaking, trying to fight against himself, anyway. A taxi, he said, tumbling over his words, the desperation making Jimin curl his lips in fondness, I'll take a taxi. Or I don't know. Run. I'll run to you. But no, a taxi. A taxi would be best, I guess, I really don't know where I am.  

At last, Jimin lets out a chuckle.

"Jungkook," he whispers, his tone the softest it’s ever been, dropping the honorific, knowing that the maknae will realise what he meant.

He heard the shudder in Jungkook’s voice, the sound of his name from his lips stilling the maknae.

“Jungkook,” he repeated, his tone firmer, but nonetheless just as soft as he uttered it a few moments ago, “I’ll stay.”

He looked at the sky again, lips curling at the rainbow.

“I’ll wait for you,” he says, voice low and husky — a sound he only uses for Jungkook.

I miss you.

“I’ll wait for you.”

Jungkook’s mind is reeling.

Jimin will wait for him?

Does that mean….

He doesn’t waste any time trying to figure out what that means. He needs to get to Jimin as soon as possible.

As much as he wants to run to Jimin, run to him until he’s in his arms, he decides to take a taxi. If he ran then it would take him at most 20, maybe 30 minutes depending on if he got lost again. A taxi would get him to Jimin in around ten minutes. But would it be more meaningful if he ran to him? After all, who doesn’t want someone to run after them? Show them how much you’re willing to do for them?

“Don’t hang up,” Jungkook whispers, “Please don’t hang up, Jimin-Hyung.”

He wants Jimin to stay on the phone with him. Stay on the line and just talk to him, help him not have a panic attack again. He just wants to hear the voice of the man he’s in love with. Always wants to hear his sweet, warm voice. With Jimin’s reassurance, Jungkook’s shoulders slump and he waves a taxi down. Throughout the drive Jungkook holds his cell phone tightly, breathing gently as Jimin’s voice echoes through the speaker. The ride goes by quickly and before he knows it he’s rushing out of the taxi, throwing some money to the driver, and finally running towards Jimin.

He stops just a few feet away from Jimin, admiring the way the sun shines on him, casting a soft glow and making him look like a beautiful angel. Jungkook wants Jimin to be his angel.

His voice is timid, quiet among the growing crowd of people, “Hyung… ”

"Hyung...," Jungkook breathed, his lips trembling before him as they stared at each other across the street.

Jimin could only eye him with his heart in his throat, his cheeks flaming, his mind pensive and out of control all at once. He curled his fingers, restraining himself from simply bolting towards Jungkook — much like what the maknae was doing when he halted — their dark gazes holding onto each other's — everything missing from their previous conversation spilling in the silent moment between them, the truth untold about to break free.

He shivered — not in a bad way, but an uncomfortable sort of shiver tinged with the pleasure and bashfulness that emanated from having your feelings reciprocated way — at the twinkle in Jungkook's eyes, shining with the hint of previous tears. Jimin mentally cursed at himself for making Jungkook cry earlier, but he pushed it down for the meantime because his heart won't stop pounding as the maknae's lips started to curl the longer they stared at each other.

Ah, Jimin is so far gone in the world of Jungkook land, and he doesn't even feel one whit of guilt, just plain pleasure — pure, unadulterated happiness filling his every being, making him feel like he's floating as he returned the maknae's tender smile.

Slowly, Jimin pressed forward, step by step — feeling calmer as the thunder of his heart calmed down each step he got nearer to Jungkook. And once they were face to face, almost a breath away from each other, Jimin couldn't help it anymore. He just broke down, tears falling from his cheeks — he rubbed them away with the pads of his hands, shaking his head at Jungkook who tried to do it himself, but he can't let him do that — Jimin had to do it for himself so that Jungkook would know that he wasn't alone and that he wasn't the only one who cried.

Once he calmed down, he eyed Jungkook once more, just taking in the way his dark eyes softened towards him.

That's it, Jimin thought, biting his lips in total surrender — he engulfed the maknae in his arms tightly, like a slam dunk hug, the kind that he wanted to shout at the rooftops, screaming, this is the man I'm in love with, and he loves me, oh my god, he loves me back!  

Jimin sniffed as Jungkook's hands encircled his waist, so he leaned back just in time to catch the wide, bright, completely enamoured grin that the maknae was giving him. It was enough to weaken Jimin's legs a little, but thankfully, the maknae was holding him tightly. He took a deep breath, resting his forehead on Jungkook's before holding his face in his hands. He brushed his thumbs over Jungkook's cheeks, feeling the slight wetness from his previous tears.

Oh, my love, Jimin could only think, caressing Jungkook's face slowly, just feeling him and soothing him. Then he wrapped his arms around Jungkook's neck, pressing himself closer as much as possible — a silent way of asking forgiveness for how much he hurt Jungkook earlier.

He took a deep breath, resting his chin on top of Jungkook's shoulder before he lowered his head to the maknae's ear. Jimin bit his lower lip to stop himself from crying all over again just before he murmured, "Just... just let me love you, Jungkook."

And when Jungkook nodded against him, he hid his face in the crook of Jungkook's neck, letting the tears fall anyway.

After a while, Jimin let go of Jungkook, wiping his face as he gripped the bottom of the maknae's shirt.

"Let's go home, then?" Jimin asked, hiding his face for the meantime, willing his mien to cool while he searched for a taxi. They need to be alone now, but given how a crowd was forming around them, here isn't the best place to be — no matter how much they wore black hoodies to help hide their identities — two men hugging each other while crying is still an oddity in South Korea, no matter how much the country claimed they were progressive.

Jungkook understood quickly, though, only humming in agreement as his eyes scanned the streets before ducking his face a little when he saw some girls staring too intently.

"Let's go," Jimin repeated with a slight grin, and when Jungkook's hands travelled to his wrist so that they don't get separated in the street, his lips curled even more.

Once they get home, he's so going to kiss Jungkook until he's breathless.

Until Jungkook can only utter and remember one thing: him.

Jungkook’s grip on Jimin’s wrist is tight, his other hand clutching at the back of Jimin’s shirt, trying not to lose him in the crowd surrounding them. He can feel the eyes of many people on him, probably wondering why he’s so close to another man. But, he doesn’t care. All he cares about is getting back to their dorm so he can cuddle with Jimin. He just wants to be held by the older man, feel his arms embracing him. He’s always said that Jimin was the best person in BTS to give hugs (he promises he’s not being biased).

Once they’re in the taxi, Jungkook glances at the driver, making sure he’s not looking before he grabs Jimin’s hand, intertwining their fingers and giving a gentle squeeze. He’s staring out the window, trying and failing to hide the grin spreading across his face. His heart pounds frantically in his chest as Jimin squeezes his hand back. That has to be a good sign. There’s a rosy blush going from his cheeks down to his neck. God, he’s so in love with Jimin it hurts.

Does this mean Jimin loves him as well?

Jungkook hopes and wishes on every shooting star out there that he returns his feelings.

Why else would he tell you he’d wait for you?

Maybe because he’s your Hyung and would be responsible if something happened to you.

The maknae shakes his head, getting rid of those self-deprecating thoughts. He wouldn’t think like that. Refused to.

He’s just about to fall asleep, exhausted from the events that happened earlier. His head is resting against the window, but Jimin’s soft voice fills his ears, causing him to sluggishly lift it. With tired, half-lidded eyes, Jungkook watches Jimin pay the taxi driver. Before he knows it, his Hyung is gently helping him out of the car and leading him into the building. Inside the elevator, safe from any prying stares, Jungkook leans on Jimin and wraps his arms around his smaller body.

“Hyungie, I love you,” he mutters, half-awake and unaware of the words he’s uttering, or the reactions from the older. He’s still filled with so much guilt for hurting the man he’s in love with, “‘m so sorry for making you uncomfortable. I didn’ mean to.”

The rest of the ride up to their dorm is full of Jungkook spewing apology after apology with a few “I love you’s” added into the mix.

Warm.

Jungkook was so warm.

Jimin was trying to control himself, ignoring how his reflection on the elevator betrayed him with his flushed cheeks when the maknae's hands wrapped around his waist. If that wasn't enough, Jungkook just had to rest his cheek on top of his shoulder, basically embracing Jimin everywhere, though he guessed that the maknae was clueless over how much it greatly affected him.

If only that was all.

If only.

But no, Jungkook had to murmur "I'm sorry's" and "I love you's" near his ear. His ear. Was it possible to be this jealous of an organ that was attached to his body? Seriously, Jungkook's lips kept brushing against it every time he whispered, voice a little shaky from tears, but hot damn was it so low enough to make Park Jimin's eyes flutter close and moan a little.

He bit his lip, cursing how slow this damn elevator was, delaying his chance to thoroughly kiss Jeon Jungkook he'd stop crying — so he pressed on the number of their floor with an impatient grunt while his other hand traced comforting half-moons on Jungkook's arms. He wasn't about to be cock-blocked by a fucking levitating metal box, thank you.

Finally, they reached their floor with a ping that Jimin felt was mocking, but that was just his anxiety talking because he really, really wants to hold the maknae in his arms — surrounded by fluffy padding and soft blankets to park their bums to. Like, c'mon, they deserve it after that gruelling dance rehearsal for No More Dream, all right?

Once the doors opened, he ruffled Jungkook’s hair to wake him, but the maknae groaned his disagreement, so Jimin laughed before kissing his cheek.

That snapped Jungkook to attention, his form straightening against Jimin’s back before allowing himself to be pulled towards their apartment. Jimin bit his lip again — Jungkook’s response to him amused and turned him on at the same time, BUT they needed to sort things out in a safe space, so he casually scanned the apartment for any open cameras. Unfortunately, there were a lot, so Jimin kept walking towards their room, gripping the bottom of Jungkook’s shirt so he wouldn’t lose him.

He mentally sighed in relief when he found that the staff were merciful enough to leave the cameras in the bedroom off for the meantime. They must have turned it off since the rest of the members were out, but that was damn more than enough. Shit was exhausting.

Once he locked the door, he pivoted to check on the maknae, who already plopped himself on the bed with pillows while waiting for him. The sight made his lips curl fondly — Jungkook’s wavy hair was all messy from the practice and hysteria earlier, so it made the weary gaze he gave Jimin looked cuter.

He bit his lip again, his cheeks heating for the nth time when his eyes met Jungkook’s — a silent plea he interpreted as please, come be warm with me again.

Ah hell, he’s gone off to Jungkook land once again when there’s a whole Jungkook that was begging to be kissed in front of him.

He shook his head, willing himself away from the trance as he laid down beside Jungkook on the bed and laid his forehead on top of the maknae’s before closing his eyes for a bit — just taking him in, feeling the tenderness seep in between them.

When it felt right — Jimin didn't know how he knew, but he just knew when Jungkook reached out for his hand and laced their fingers between them — fine, he bloody knew because he was waiting for a sign that it was okay from the maknae, okay? — Jimin opened his eyes and held Jungkook’s gaze in place, eyes never straying anywhere else when he pressed his lips on top of Jungkook’s fingers.

The gesture drew a shaky breath from the maknae, and it curled his lips. If this was how Jungkook reacted with a simple peck on his hands, what more glorious sounds would he hear when he kisses him on the mouth?

Jimin drew closer to the maknae, rubbing his nose on Jungkook’s cheeks affectionately before lowering his voice when his lips were just a brush away from Jungkook’s lips.

“May I kiss you?” he whispered even when there was no one else in the room besides them.

The question made the maknae’s brows furrow, as if to say, Why do you still need to ask, Hyungie?  

Jimin smirked, cupping Jungkook’s face in his hands. “If we’re gonna do this,” he explained, caressing the maknae’s brow, “I want to know you’re okay with it. I don’t want it to be like before when it wasn’t clear, so I’m asking.”

When Jungkook nodded and looked at him expectantly, Jimin laughed a little, shaking his head. “No, I’m not asking just to kiss you. I’m asking because in case you didn’t hear what I said earlier properly, what I’m asking your permission for is…”

Jimin took a deep breath, playing with the ends of Jungkook’s dark hair on his forehead. He looked down for a bit, gathering the courage to repeat what he said earlier. Ah, why was something so precious and previously hidden in his heart that he managed to blurt out earlier so hard to say again? Was it because he felt braver in front of other people? That’s not fair to the both of them — not when it mattered more to let the truth be heard when it was just the two of them.

He almost couldn’t say it again, but Jungkook breathed his name without honorifics, and that was it. That was it. Jimin raised his eyes and held onto Jungkook’s warm gaze.

“Just let me…,” Jimin said shakily, tearing up a little, the words making him feel like he’s handing his heart to Jungkook — which he was, okay, it’s just. Ugh. Feelings. He took another deep breath. “Let me love you, Jungkook. I love you.”

“I love you,” he repeated, posing his mouth over Jungkook’s.

“In spite of everything,” he repeated the maknae’s words, lips crashing over Jungkook’s as his eyes closed with a flutter, his heart singing, the truth finally free.

He heard Jungkook gasp against his mouth when he deepened the kiss, his fingers carding through the waves of his dark hair.

Oh, my love, Jimin can only think again, breathing Jungkook in, lips yearning and burning, their hands slowly, tenderly reaching to pull each other close because space didn’t belong in the dictionary if it meant that all the years of pining wasn’t all for nothing.

Because right here, right now, with Jungkook’s lips tenderly caressing his in return, Jimin is finally free.

Jungkook’s breathing is shaky with each loving action Jimin performs. His fingers tingle where plump lips brush, and his cheeks heat up as Jimin’s button nose lightly rubs against it. He listens intently, wanting to hear everything the other has to say. He had the chance to pour out his heart earlier and now it’s Jimin’s turn. There’s a slight pang in his chest, his heart hurting at the insecure expression on the older man’s face. He knows it’s not easy to discuss feelings, god, does he know. So, he’s going to give his Hyung all the time he needs. This time, he’ll be patient, he’ll bite his tongue and refrain from interrupting.

His eyes flutter as Jimin’s fingers run through his hair. It’s calming and he can feel his tense muscles relaxing with each passing second. He wishes he could pause time. All he wants is to stay here in Jimin’s arms, being held in such a comforting way, away from the public eye, and away from everyone that will try and keep them apart. Opening his eyes, he notices his frustrated expression. Lifting a hand, he caresses Jimin’s cheek, thumb rubbing against the soft flesh.

“Jimin.”

It’s all Jungkook can whisper before Jimin’s lips are being planted on his own and his eyes are slipping shut. He shakily gasps into the kiss, lips moving rhythmically against the older’s.

It’s soft. So soft.

It has Jungkook feeling dizzy.

Has him feeling light. Like he’s floating on cloud nine.

It’s all he’s wanted, more than anything he’s wanted in his life, but he still wants more. He wants to feel Jimin’s body flush against his. He has the strong desire to tangle his fingers in Jimin’s hair. Tangle his legs with his best friend’s. So he does just that. He slides closer, one hand coming to rest on the back of Jimin’s neck, the other carding through his hair, fingers gently grabbing a fistful of locks. He angles his head to the right, following Jimin’s lead. His heart is beating so fast he’s afraid it’s going to jump right out of his chest, and when Jimin curls his hand against his chest, he hopes he can’t feel the fast pace. Hopes he can’t hear how hard it’s pounding.

Jungkook sighs, leaning forward to press Jimin against the bed, arms caging him in, both hands now running through his tresses. He rests between his best friend’s open legs, unconsciously grinding down when his thighs wrap around his waist and moaning at the sweet, delicious friction. Jungkook teasingly bites at Jimin’s bottom lip, tongue slipping inside when Jimin gasps. Breaking the kiss, Jungkook’s gaze zeros in on the thin string of spit connecting their kiss-swollen lips. His eyes trail all over the older man’s flushed face before gazing into Jimin’s eyes.

“I love you so much, Jimin.”

"I love you so much, Jimin," Jungkook's voice was full of tenderness that it made him choke up again, tearing up a little.

Such a sweet sound from an angel.

Ah..., he fell in love all over again. He doesn't even need to worry whether Jungkook will misinterpret his silence since he knew for sure that the way he was staring at the maknae was enough — he couldn't even look at anything else except him.

Jimin took a deep breath, appreciating the way Jungkook's lips were parted a little, his lower lip shining from the kiss they just shared. He could feel his cheeks heating up again, especially when Jungkook pressed himself between his legs, his weight sending a delicious shiver throughout his body. He bit his lip, raising his hips a little, just to see how the maknae would react.

A loud moan fell from Jungkook's lips, and it made him feel emboldened, tugging at the maknae's hair near his nape before he pressed an open-mouthed kiss on Jungkook's. The maknae shuddered, his fingers curling on the bottom of Jimin's shirt. Jimin bit on the maknae's bottom lip, making Jungkook roll his hips against him again.

The gesture made Jimin smirk, a mischievous plan forming in his mind when he saw how much Jungkook's eyes kept saying, I want more, Hyungie.

Jimin flipped them over, not losing one moment to sit just before the tip of Jungkook's bulge.

Slowly, he unzipped Jungkook's hoodie with his teeth, making sure to maintain eye contact until he reached the bottom with a loud smack of his lips. The gesture made Jungkook gasp audibly, the tent of his arousal swelling further as Jimin lifted the bottom of his shirt and caressed his abdominal muscles, dragging his nails a little before drawing little half-moons all over the maknae's stomach. Jimin smirked every time Jungkook could only utter his name with soft and frustrated sighs, his desire all too apparent for Jimin to see that he can't help leaving open-mouthed kisses too.

When he reached Jungkook's neck, he made sure to press his full lips on the spot — the soft pressure causing the maknae to cant below him with an alluring shiver, another moan falling from his lips as he stared at Jimin with half-lidded eyes, the swirls of his pupils growing darker when their eyes met.

"I love you, Jungkook," Jimin said softly, pressing a chaste kiss on the maknae's lips before dragging his lips on the younger's collar bones — punctuating every kiss with a small bite, another silent way he hoped Jungkook would understand to be —

I want to be with you for a long time, if you'll let me, so please, please, please be with me. Be with me, my angel, and I will give you all the best of me. I love you so much my heart glows when I'm with you, so please, let me love you.  

Fuck, he's tearing up again, so he blinked the tears away, caressing Jungkook's face once he finished worshipping the maknae's sculpted body just so he remembers that heaven is not a place, that home is not place, that love is not a place — that nothing matters, that everything is useless, that life is pointless if he can't be with him.

So please, let this be right.

Let him make things right.

Just for once.

Just for him.

"I love you," he swears it's the only refrain he can utter with his heart feeling like it'll unfurl wings anytime it's directed towards Jungkook. So he repeats it again, kissing Jungkook deeply once more, feeling their hearts pound at the same time as he laid on top of the maknae.

He could keep kissing Jungkook's soft lips forever, but he needs to breathe too, plus there was the really pressing situation down there — their arousal swelling against each other's, so he tugged at the maknae's waves when they paused their kisses, not yet opening his eyes as he rested his forehead on Jungkook's.

He just. Fuck.

It's, like, his mind has gone off to Jungkook land and wants to stay there forever with him because he kept falling in love with the maknae the more they kissed and pressed their bodies against each other. Just... just how much would he fall even more once their bodies united in one sweet rhapsody?

He took a deep breath.

Slowly, Jimin opened his eyes, gazing directly at Jungkook. He rubbed his nose against the maknae's cheeks again as he lowered his voice with a request.

"May I touch you now?" he murmured, his hands poised over the buckle of Jungkook's belt.

I really want to hold you.

Jungkook can’t stop gazing at Jimin with wide eyes as he pulls the zipper down with just his teeth. It was one of the hottest things he’s ever seen and he knows it’s going to be ingrained in the back of his mind forever. A gasp slips past his trembling lips, feeling his dick twitch as Jimin’s warm palms slide against his taut stomach. Nails dig into his tan skin and he hopes, god, he hopes they leave marks for him to stare at later when he’s all alone. So he can gently trace over them and feel the slight sting reminding him of who left them there.

“Hyungie,” Jungkook moans, eyes growing dark as Jimin places a soft, open-mouthed kiss on his neck. He wants him to leave pretty, red marks. He wants to have Jimin’s claim all over him. He needs everyone to know that they’re in love and don’t care about the opinions of others.

His heart skips a beat at Jimin’s words. I love you, Jungkook. This doesn’t feel real. How is it that there is a literal angel above him, peppering fond pecks on every visible inch of his skin? How is it that this man, this wonderful man, loves him? It all feels like a dream to him. A dream he never wants to wake up from. He wants to live in this moment for all of eternity.

”May I touch you now?”

Well, if Jungkook wasn’t fucked before, then he definitely is now. Who knew Jimin asking for his consent would be this sexy? He can feel his cock throbbing at the idea of finally being touched by Jimin. He’s dreamed of this ever since he discovered he was in love with the man and finally being able to experience it has him feeling so many emotions. Love. Excitement. Arousal. This was really happening, he was really going to be able to show Jimin how much he’s wanted this.

Licking his lips, he whispers against Jimin’s lips, “Please. Please touch me, Hyung.”

"Oh, is that so?" Jimin can't help tease, fiddling with the buckle of Jungkook's belt, flicking it open and close, casually dragging his nails over the bulge of the maknae's arousal, his smirk widening when Jungkook bit his lips in frustration — his pretty cheeks visibly flushed from all the foreplay.

He draws closer to the maknae, leaving soft pecks over Jungkook's cheeks until his lips met the maknae's ear. Breath hot and swirling with desire, Jimin licked his ear and bit it gently. "Tell me, then, my love," he murmured against Jungkook's lips, biting the maknae's lower lip when he said my love. "Tell me. I need words."

Jungkook let out a cry, suddenly placing his hands on Jimin's hips, grinding against him. Jimin chuckled a little before swatting it away, taking Jungkook's hands gently and holding it on top of the maknae's head. Jimin clucked his tongue, shaking his head at the maknae playfully. "You have to listen to your hyung, Jungkookie."

The maknae grunted, grinding against him again, but when Jimin didn't budge, Jungkook tried to caress Jimin's hands on top of him, thinking maybe being gentle was the way to go about it, but no, no, no. The moment Jungkook pressed himself between Jimin's legs, gentle was for kisses and their belated love confessions, not making love.

Tender was it.

Tender can be the red and the blue blossoms that mark their bodies when their nails and their teeth roughly drag over each other's skin, when their bodies cant towards each other's as they scream their names to oblivion, when their bodies shiver in the aftermath of the previously undelivered truth finally kissing the sun.

At least, this is what Jimin thinks, tracing Jungkook's lips with a finger, whispering, "Your mouth, my love, open it for me, please."

Jungkook's lips fell apart, eliciting a low growl from within Jimin's abdomen, the maknae's compliance turning him on so fucking much. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Jungkook's dark eyes were so, so dark that Jimin can't help biting his lower lip again.

Takes two to tango, after all, he thinks with a smirk, sinking a finger into Jungkook's open mouth, pressing the pad of his finger on the maknae's tongue before inserting another and pumping it rhythmically — his mind so gone that only the sensation of Jungkook receiving his fingers into his mouth without question kept him moving — that it was his idea to do this, that it was the taste of Jungkook's spit wrapping around his fingers, that it was all real, not a daydream he concocted each time he and Jungkook danced way too close for comfort on stage because every moment with Jungkook was just that electric.

Fuck, he thinks again, taking a deep breath as Jungkook stared at him like he wanted to eat him.

Jimin shivered as he drew his fingers away from the maknae's mouth — the moment all too real and too hot to the touch.

Fuck, he thinks again, his hold on Jungkook's hands above his head loosening, his pulse rising, his mind falling into another dimension of oblivion as the maknae growled and flipped their positions again, leaving Jimin to fall on the bed with a soft plop as Jungkook aggressively kissed him over and over again as they rolled their hips against each other in unison.

He bit Jungkook's lower lip, tugging the maknae's zipper open and dragging the maknae's cock out, pumping it quickly between them as their lips crashed on each other's, never letting go. When Jungkook gasped against his mouth, Jimin squeezed his cock again, enjoying it swell in his hands as they kissed each other again and again — the concept of time and space confining and expanding to several infinities with every caress.

Oh my love, Jimin could only think, tearing up again, even as he can't help smiling against Jungkook's lips when he laced their free hands together.

The universe has moved for us, and I'm so happy that you love me too.

My love.

The pet name has Jungkook tearing up. That’s the only thing he wants in this cruel, twisted world. To be Jimin’s love. The thought of being the only one for Jimin makes him want to cry, to sob out how much he loves him and how much he would do for him. How he would go to the ends of the Earth for him. How he would run a thousand miles just to reach his hyung whenever he needed him. He doesn’t want to cry because of this. Only when Jimin finally breaks him down in the most pleasurable ways does he want to cry. So instead he grips his hyung’s hips and grinds up against him, his dick getting the much needed friction he’s been craving. He can’t stop the gasp that falls from his trembling lips. Who knew he would have a hyung kink?

Jungkook whines, lips parting and tongue sticking out. The need to please his hyung makes the action come easily to him. He needs to be a good boy for his Jimin-Hyung. The strong desire to make Jimin proud builds inside him. He doesn’t want to make him regret this. Jungkook gazes into Jimin’s eyes, his eyes pleading with him, pleading him to do something.

Hyungie.

The moment Jimin adds another finger and thrusts them in and out of his mouth he’s a goner. His lips wrap around the digits, tongue licking in between them, and his eyes flutter shut as he suckles on them. There’s drool leaking from the corners of his mouth and Jungkook’s body is feeling hot, hot, hot. Everything about this moment was perfect to him. The way Jimin held his wrists in a bruising grip to prevent him from breaking free. The way Jimin felt on top of him, controlling the situation and playing Jungkook like a puppet. Jungkook opens his eyes, staring at Jimin with half-lidded eyes when the fingers are removed. He focuses on the string of saliva connecting his kiss-swollen lips and Jimin’s wet digits. Everything was perfect.

Jungkook notices Jimin’s hold on his wrists slowly loosening and starts to count, eyes still locked with Jimin’s, unadulterated lust in his gaze.

One…

Two…

Three…!

Once he hits three, Jungkook is flipping them over with a low growl. His lips smash against Jimin’s, passionately placing kiss after kiss on his mouth, hips grinding down to give them both friction. Jungkook breathlessly gasps, cock throbbing in Jimin’s hand. He cants his hips up, moaning as his cock slides in and out of Jimin’s grasp. Eyes shut, mouth parting, he frantically reaches for Jimin’s unoccupied hand and locks their fingers together.

Don’t let go, hyung, please don’t let go. Just hold me.

Love me.

Oh my love, I am made anew with you.  

This is what Jimin thinks, removing Jungkook's clothes with trembling fingers as the maknae pressed his naked arousal against the tent in his pants. Fuck, he's just so damn good, he shivers with so much want and need, and everything else could just fade away, he is utterly, completely, irrevocably a goner for one Jeon Jungkook.

He holds onto Jungkook's shoulder before reversing their positions once again, his every being filled with just one intent — loving every inch of Jeon Jungkook for all the universe.

And so he does, taking his top off, reveling in the way Jungkook seemingly marked his skin like a painting, his dark gaze tracing through every inch of his body as he wet his lips like he desperately wanted to dazzle his abdomen and his chest with every languid roll of his tongue.

Just like that, Jimin feels every dream of his come true.

His mind is gone, gone, gone, it's all just Jungkook — his euphoria.

"My love," he breathes again, eyeing the maknae through the curl of his lashes as they slowly removed each other's pants, their fingers caressing each other's all throughout, never wanting to be apart even for a second, never wanting to be uncertain once again, never wanting to lose each other again.

Once they were fully bare in front of each other, Jimin took a deep breath, taking in the sight of Jungkook laid out before him.

Could he still sleep again? Could he still dream again? Could he still close his eyes again?

Would all that still matter when right here, right now were beyond his wildest dreams?

He's tearing up again, his heart so full yet so light with the way Jungkook stared at him with so much love.

"I love you so much," Jimin falls, resting his forehead on Jungkook's, before kissing the maknae's brows. "So much," he kissed Jungkook's eyelids when it closed, "my heart glows," another kiss on his nose before caressing the maknae's face just so he could kiss him fully and deeply on the mouth, "when I'm with you."

His tears fell freely when Jungkook's hands found its way on his back, tracing comforting swirls, every shape a reciprocation of Jimin's love for him. So he kisses the maknae's tears away when he tasted the salt of his tears afterwards. And just. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The stars are in the sky, and they are flying, their hearts soaring to the vibrant horizon.

This isn't a dream, Jimin breathes, kissing the maknae's taut stomach until he reaches Jungkook's cock. So he grinds his bare arousal against it, the delicious shiver in their bodies just syncing as they both moaned aloud. Jungkook reaches for his hands, lacing their fingers together, not wanting to let go.

Jimin drew another shaky breath before sliding down a little, only a little at least just before the swell of Jungkook's dick, so that he could prepare to take all of it in his aching mouth. He wants it all — the bad and the good, the worst and the best, everything that is just Jungkook.

Just him. That would be enough.

And so he takes Jungkook's cock in his mouth, running his tongue along the length inside his mouth just to hear the maknae growl in pent up desire — let it all out, my love, Jimin thinks, eyes closing as he savours the feeling of Jungkook's alluring shivers with his ministrations. He dragged his teeth a little, testing to see whether Jungkook liked it or not, and was rewarded with a chorus of fuck, I'm so in love with you's, so he smirked and bobbed his head on his cock again and again until Jungkook tugged at his hair in frustration just to say I want you, Jimin, I want you, I want you, I want you.

His eyes darkened with pleasure when he opened his eyes and met Jungkook's gaze, the desire so fucking contagious he could just swim in the depths of those eyes forever, no kidding. So when Jungkook rolled his hips, grinding against his mouth, Jimin let him fuck his throat raw to oblivion.

Jimin let out a loud gasp once Jungkook came in his mouth, swallowing all his cum before fingering and licking all the salty remnants on his full lips. Jungkook was still trembling beneath him, so Jimin caressed his face and his hair, soothing him as much as he could.

"We did the annual physical just last month," Jimin muttered, languidly caressing Jungkook's parted legs before him, "and we're both clean, right?"

Jungkook could only nod, his eyes still closed from the aftermath. Unconsciously, he opened his legs more when Jimin's hands drew nearer his cock again. Jimin bit his lips when he saw how Jungkook's cock swelled up again, his arousal just so big and so full and begging to be loved again.

"Perfect," Jimin murmurs with a low growl, posturing his fingers right before the entrance of Jungkook's perfect ass. He took a deep breath, and eyed Jungkook so he'd do the same before he slid one finger in to let the maknae get used to his touch. When a moan fell from Jungkook's lips, he slid his finger further before inserting another, widening the opening a little more and pumping it, trying to loosen the tightness in Jungkook's ass.

When he slid the third finger in, Jungkook grabbed his shoulder, his voice shaky as he drew a breath and bit his lips. Jimin, Jimin, Jimin, was all the maknae could utter so Jimin pumped all three fingers further, settling within the maknae's ass deliciously.

"I want to hold you now," Jimin whispers, his forehead resting on Jungkook's as he posed his own cock in front of the maknae's ass. "So just... just let me love you, Jungkook."

And when Jungkook replied with, Love me, Jimin, love me. Because I love you, too —

Jimin forgot to breathe.

He slid his cock slowly, deeply within Jungkook's ass, his mind empty, his heart full.

The world is so different from yesterday, and now we're becoming a we.

Jimin tears up again, their bodies colliding in that sweet, sweet rhapsody.  

We love each other, oh my god, we love each other.

I'm so happy.

Jungkook's hips jump, his dick twitching. Fuck. The feeling of Jimin's teeth lightly scraping his cock followed by his hot tongue has him wanting more, more, more. He wants Jimin to hurt him in just the right way until he's begging him to stop. He throws his head back against the pillow, hands reaching down to pull Jimin's hair, mouthing falling open only to repeat a mantra of Jimin's name over and over.

The maknae lets out a cry, grinding into Jimin's mouth as his best friend swallows around his thick length. His hands are tugging and tugging at Jimin's hair, tears blurring his vision before slowly cascading down his flushed cheeks. He fucks Jimin's face in deep, steady thrusts, and when he glances down, he can see Jimin's throat bulge where his cock is repeatedly sliding in and out. It pushes him over the edge fast. His back arches and he screams as his orgasm hits him hard. Jimin, Jimin, hyungie.

Jungkook's mind goes blank and he's letting out a loud moan at the feeling of Jimin pushing one finger inside of him. It feels amazing. It feels so much better than when he does it. Especially when he adds two more fingers inside him, scissoring them to prepare him for Jimin's cock. It's such an addicting feeling that he never wants this to end.

Before he knows it, Jimin is leaning over him, sweaty forehead against sweaty forehead.

So just... just let me love you, Jungkook.

Jungkook frantically nods, hands wrapping around the older's neck, holding onto him tightly, “Love me, Jimin, love me. Because I love you, too—”

He cuts himself off with a loud, breathless gasp because Jimin is finally, finally, pushing into him. He's connecting them in the most intimate way and it has him tearing up because goddamnit he's so in love and they're finally one. He lays there with his eyes closed and sighs over and over, just taking in the sensation of Jimin making him feel so full.

"Okay," Jungkook whispers as he opens his eyes to gaze lovingly at the other, "I'm ready. You can move."

Jimin could scarcely breathe when Jungkook gazed at him with those dark, dark eyes, the swirls of it clouded with pleasure and love — his eyes seemingly repeating his earlier words, ...I looked at you, and I didn't want to be forgiven. Because loving you is not a sin... I love you, Jimin. I love you, in spite of everything.  

Angel eyes.

Eyes I'd fall in love with over and over again , Jimin catches himself thinking as his lips fell apart with emotions he can't even — didn't even — need to have words anymore, the assurance from Jungkook's words — Love me, Jimin, love me. Because I love you too — breaking him apart and making him feel whole at the same time.

You can move, the words fell so softly from the maknae's lips that Jimin almost came from just that, but he controlled himself, willing his mien to cool and adjusting his cock deep within Jungkook before pressing a kiss on his forehead.

Their hands intertwined, Jimin began to move, thrusting and pumping as deeply as he could, letting Jungkook feel every inch of his love within him. A shaky moan fell from his lips when Jungkook panted against him, pressing a kiss on his throat as they held onto each other's hands tightly — a gesture he felt was one of Jungkook's ways of assuring him that it was all right, that they wanted it both, that they don't have to be alone ever again.

He didn't even realise that his eyes have closed as they thrusted against each other, their bodies uniting so sweetly, so feverishly, so lovingly that Jimin could only see an explosion of colours when his lids fell and Jungkook cried against him. The sound made Jimin blink his eyes open, worry suddenly filling his heart when he saw that tears were falling from the maknae's eyes.

Jimin paused, caressing Jungkook's face, pressing his full lips everywhere — his eyelids, his brows, his cheeks — to take the maknae's tears away. "Don't cry, Jungkook," he murmured against the maknae's lips, "don't cry, my love."

When Jungkook only cupped his face in return, Jimin couldn't help crying too — the maknae pressed his lips against his, wiping all his fears away. The gesture caught him off guard, making him laugh as their tears mingled with each other's when they bumped on each other's noses afterwards.

Oh, my love, Jimin can't help thinking again when Jungkook laughed with him — the sound of it making him laugh and cry harder just like the maknae as they moved again within each other's depths, making love in the darkness of the room.

Ah, even the darkness was so beautiful — the shadows of their bodies moving and pressing against each other in a united rhythm, spreading their warmth all over the bed beneath the glow of dusk falling, sun and moon filling the skies in a chiaroscuro of colours — their love for each other silent, but loud, loud, loud in spite of everything.

"Hey, stay by my side and laugh," Jimin murmurs once they came together, his voice hoarse as they moaned and screamed together, the high from the unity of their fall filling them both with warmth.

"Live happily with me," he continues, kissing Jungkook's eyelids, not yet parting from the maknae's depths. "We'll make it work."

He just doesn't want to let go anymore.

"So stay with me," he whispers, kissing Jungkook's forehead. "I'll be with you, every step of the way."

Because a future without you is a world without colour.

"So will you still be with me, my love?"

Tears gather in his eyes as they tangle their fingers together. As one. His head is thrown back, messy hair fanned out on the pillow. Dreamy sighs slipping past his kiss-bitten lips at the feeling of Jimin’s mouth barely grazing his neck. He tightens his hold on Jimin’s hands, praying he understands what holding onto each other means. I’m never leaving you, hyung. Not again. Never. You’re mine and I’m yours. Only yours. Forever.

Jungkook gazes at Jimin through blurry vision, taking in how beautiful and angelic he is in their moment of love. His eyes are closed, mouth parted with small sighs and moans being released in the air, cheeks flushed with the exertion of their activities. Of them making love. A lone tear trickles down his cheek at the thought of them making love. It’s what they’re doing, and Jungkook still can’t fathom how lucky he is to be able to love and be loved by Jimin.

Love. It’s such a crazy thing, but he’s so grateful he has the chance to experience it. With his best friend at that. What more could he ask for? It’s such an overwhelming thought, and he’s hit with so many feelings that he can’t help but to finally let the tears fall from his eyes and make their way down his cheeks.

He opens his eyes, gaze connecting with Jimin’s, and he leans into the comforting touch as he repeatedly whispers I’m okay. Jungkook just cries harder at the soft gesture and the feeling of pecks being lightly placed all over his face. God, he’s so, so, so in love and he doesn’t know how to handle it. So he returns the gesture and swipes his thumb under Jimin’s eyes, wiping away the droplets of liquid before placing a chaste kiss on his chin, giggling when their noses bump against each other.

And he’s so happy, so happy, that they can still find humor and laugh in this moment. With each pump of Jimin’s hips, Jungkook could feel himself climb higher and higher to his orgasm. With each thrust, he could feel his head getting fuzzy and his body rising in temperature. With each laugh and kiss they shared, he could feel himself falling even more in love with his hyung.

Jungkook’s release hits him hard, and he clutches onto Jimin, pulling him even closer as he cries out Jimin’s name over and over again, their hearts beating in sync. His breathing slows down, but he keeps his eyes closed. He’s so tired and all he wants now is to sleep in Jimin’s arms. It’s one of the only places where he feels completely safe and protected. He sighs once again when Jimin kisses his eyelids. He feels so tranquil lying here in his lover’s embrace and hearing his sweet, sweet promises.

So will you still be with me, my love?

The maknae slowly opens his eyes to stare at Jimin with unadulterated love and adoration, tenderly kissing him and whispering against his lips, “Always.”

Always, Jungkook breathed against his lips —

And oh, oh, Jimin was crying again — how wonderful was it to love and be loved in return. His Jungkook, his sweet, sweet Jungkook. He... he really said that — the one answer he previously never thought of having when he earlier thought —

I want to be with you for a long time, if you'll let me, so please, please, please be with me. Be with me, my angel, and I will give you all the best of me. I love you so much my heart glows when I'm with you, so please, let me love you.  

Always — it is now the only refrain that exists in his heart.

Always — it is now the only word that his soul wants to know, wants to share with Jungkook.

Always — it is now the only light he seeks in this previously monochrome world.

A word filled with so much radiance, so much promise, so much euphoria.

"Ah, my love," Jimin murmurs against the maknae's lips, cupping his face, kissing him over and over again.

"You are me," his breath staggers as Jungkook kisses him back and whispers, his voice in the same quiet and tender tone, "I am you."

Park Jimin doesn't trust words.

But when it came to him, Jungkook never lied.

His eyes, his voice, his touch.

And if it's with him — if it's with him — Jimin will never fear anything ever again.

Because that's what they'll be. That's what they'll do. And that's who they’ve always been.

Never hesitating.

Never stopping.

Never afraid.

No longer.

Because one way or another, their lives were always meant to be intertwined.

Fate. Destiny. Serendipity.

Always.

#jimin x jungkook #jungkook x jimin #park jimin #jeon jungkook #jeon jeongguk #park jimin x jeon jungkook #park jimin x jeon jeongguk #jimin oneshot #jimin imagines #jimin imagine #jimin oneshots #jungkook imagines #jungkook imagine #jungkook oneshot #jungkook oneshots #jeongguk imagines #jeongguk imagine #jeongguk oneshot #jeongguk oneshots #jikook #jikook fic #jimin fic #jimin fics #jungkook fic #jungkook fics #jeongguk fics #jeongguk fic #jimin x jungkook fic #jimin x jeongguk #the authors fell in love a lot during this lol

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #441

“all alone, he turns to stone while holding his breath after death  /  terrified of what’s inside, to save his life he crawls like a worm from a bird”

Have you ever watched a movie in class/school that made you cry? Yep, a few. What’s the earliest you could go to bed at night and feel okay about? If I'm having a really bad day, I can tolerate as early as 7:00. :x What is you favorite type of lunch meat? Honey ham, probably. What time of the year do you dislike the most? Summer is disgusting. It's too hot, too humid, too many bugs, and I just hate it. Do you put ketchup on your scrambled eggs? No, that sounds gross. What is your favorite color to wear? b l a c k Are you an overachiever? Oh, hunny. What physical feature do you wish you had (i.e. freckles, curly hair)? Maybe uhhhh big eyes. What fictional character (i.e. Bambi, Scarlette O'hara) would you marry? Darkiplier bc he is merely a misunderstood soft boi. How long have you gone without shaving (girls- legs, armpits; boys- faces)? Legs: It's been nearly a year. Pits: not that long, considering I shave them every time I get in the shower. What is the meanest thing you have ever said to someone else? I'm sure it would be something in one of the letters I sent Jason. Or Dad. Idk. Did you ever go through a phase where you wrote bad poetry? The phase never ended lmao. What is your favorite thing about your life? My loved ones. Save all the animals that die during road kill or save 1 human from a fire? Sorry, but I'm picking the animals. Have you ever painted a picture of somebody? Yes. How many real bfs/gfs have you had? Two. Did you enjoy your past relationships? Yes. Except for when I was with Tyler. Name a comedy that you like. White Chicks. Could you wait until marriage for sex? Yeah. What’s the best Nirvana song? I'm not sure, really... Maybe "Drain You?" What was the last thing that impressed you? No clue. When was the last time you were in a pet store? Several months ago when I went in to get more rats for Venus. What nationality is your last name? Irish. What’s your favorite kind of chips and dip? Plain, rippled Lays in French onion dip. Who was the last boy that you saw cry? I don't know, actually. It may have been Sara's dad, which was years ago. Does your mom know you do surveys? I mean no, it's not like it's come up in conversation. Have you ever had a serious injury? When I was a kid, there was this one time I was running down the road with my friend, and I tripped; I was a fast runner, so I skinned the everliving FUCK out of my knees to the point there was even pus. I was SOBBING, and it took weeks to heal; I had the scars for years. What was the last thing you achieved? Losing weight at the gymmmm. Staying dedicated to going. Would you enjoy being famous? No. I couldn't take all the eyes on me and even ONE person's negative judgment. What’s under your bed? A big box of my art supplies. Do you enjoy travelling? Yeah. I wish I could do it more. Have you ever belonged to a club? If so, what was it? No. When was the last time you drank strawberry milk? Not since I first tried it at elementary school. It was absolutely disgusting. Have you ever managed to collect all the fast food toys in a set? I doubt it. Do you have a clock in your room? No. Did you have a good driver’s ED teacher? No. If I'd listened to him while driving, I could've gotten myself killed while merging onto the highway. People are assholes and didn't want to move over. Which of Britney Spears’ songs is your favorite? Probably "Freakshow." Does mind over matter work for you? Not usually, no. Are you paranoid? Oh yes. What is the best thing about winter? Everything!!! Literally the only BAD thing about winter is the dry skin/lips. I love the cold, Christmas and all that comes with it, the decor, hot chocolate, snow, getting all cuddly... Everything. :') Have you ever been truly in love? Absolutely. Are you currently planning a trip? No. A trip to Illinois is just a wish right now. How many plants are in your home? None, I think? What is your favorite possession? Excluding my pets (because I don't like calling them "possessions"), probably my laptop. Have you ever felt like you were too nice and way too often overlooked? I have before, yes. What movies have tripped you out? Off the top of my head, the only entertainment media in general that has ever truly "tripped me out" was the first time I played the Silent Hill game. The movie didn't affect me to that level because I already understood the concept. When I watched Jason play it for the first time, I was SO confused and just blown away by the concept that I did loads of research and just thinking about it all. That franchise is just cool as shit, okay. Did you rollerblade as a kid? Do you still rollerblade? I LOVED rollerblading. I haven't done it in years, though. Would you ever settle into a relationship that wasn’t right for you? Do you know friends who are in relationships just so they have someone to sleep with at night? NO. I will NOT settle. Being genuinely in love with my partner is too important to me for me to ever do so. I don't know if any of my friends are in that situation. Would you take a dirty picture of yourself for someone you are dating? With my current body? FUCK no. If I was happy with my body, the answer is still probably no. I'm too self-conscious and awkward with that kind of stuff, and besides, I really don't think I want a picture like that to exist of myself to avoid potential trouble. Do you use earplugs or a sleeping mask when you sleep? No. What summertime treats do you love? We have this local slushy place that is FUCKING BOMB. It may sound basic, but they have SUCH a vast variety of flavors and goodies you can top it with that it's truly just so amazing. How picky are you when it comes to choosing who to kiss or not kiss? I am VERY picky. I have to be really interested in you. Save for how things were with Tyler... I just felt like I was supposed to. What do you hate most about moving? I. Hate. The process. Of moving. It is just so, so stressful to me. I have a very hard time confronting big tasks, and that's exactly what packing and unpacking entails. Do you feel that having sex anywhere but a bed is more exciting? Not necessarily. Do you drink 5 hour energy drinks or any other kinds of energy drinks? No. Has anyone ever whistled at you? I don't think so. Do you like scarves? No. Is your father homophobic? Possibly. I don't actually know. I honestly don't think he took Sara's and my relationship seriously, so that may be a sign. Do you take gummy vitamins? The only vitamin I take now is vitamin D, which isn't a gummy. Have you ever applied make-up on a guy, for any reason at all? Ha, yeah. I gave Jason a makeover once. Who would you like to meet before you die? MARK. I am so determined, alsdjfkaj;wek;rj. I just want to hug him and say thank you and ugly-cry. If your dream was to be a model, and a big opportunity came up, but you had to be nude, would you take it? No. Even if I had the body of a model. What’s the most ridiculous conspiracy theory you’ve ever heard of? The fuckin' flat earth theory, probably. If Heaven and Hell exists, where you going when you die? Well, considering I have an, uh, very negative opinion of the Christian god... Who is the person that you are afraid of losing, above everyone else? My mom. The day she passes is a day I am inexplicably horrified of. What is one thing that pisses you off pretty much everyday? My life. If there anyone you know that you feel should consider therapy? My mom really could use it. Do you like any of the songs on Twilight, or the actual movie/saga itself? I love "Supermassive Black Hole" by Muse, but idk if it was actually written for the movie. How old was the first person you kissed? He was 18 when we first kissed. Will you be a strict parent one day? I never want to be a parent. If I hypothetically became one, I don't think I'd be strict, necessarily, but very protective. Last person to stand up for you? Probably Mom, idk. Have you been to a baby shower? Yeah, a few. Who were you with the last time you went to the movie theater? My dad. What’s your favorite high school memory? Just... a lot with Jason. Do you like relationships, or do you prefer to be single? I prefer being in a (healthy) relationship, but I won't get into one just for the sake of having one. What is one adventurous thing you’d be willing to do? Hmmm... scuba-dive, maybe? What subject at school did you absolutely hate? Math. Italian food or Chinese food? Italian. I don't really like (most) Chinese food. Do you like to make flash cards when you study? I rarely did that. Has anyone ever told you that you’re a good singer? Yes, somehow. Do you ever watch TED talks, live or online? No. I dare you to write the name of a person you strongly dislike. Ashley. What do you think about Marilyn Manson? He's one of my favorite musical artists, but he's a disgusting dick personally. Biggest trouble you’ve ever gotten into at school? Nothing, really. I was a very well-behaved kid. Do you own one of those “professional” DSLR cameras? Yeah, I have a Canon. Does it bother you when you see a 6th grader with a bunch of gadgets? No. Did you buy yearbooks every year in high school, or did you not bother? Not every year, but most. Do you have Restless Legs Syndrome? No. Jalapeños: yay or nay? I loooove them. Did you ever play Minecraft? Nah. My niece is getting into it. Did you ever have a Club Penguin account? Were you a member? I did have one. I wasn't one of those premium members or anything like that; I just had a basic account. Do you know anyone that seems to not have any common sense? Bitch me. It's extremely embarrassing. I 100% got it from my dad. What do you think is the biggest injustice that was ever done to you? The manner through which Jason broke up with me. It left me traumatized. What type of person angers you the most? Abusive people that think only they matter and have no consideration for how their actions affect other people. If you could change your appearance, how would you alter it? I'd lose a shitload of weight, for one. My teeth would be whiter, my eyes bigger and bluer, I'd want my hair colored/able to hold color far better, I'd lighten and lessen my body hair, make my skin clearer, thin my eyebrows... I'd change a lot. What are your feelings on feminism? MANDATORY. Absolutely necessary in a misogynistic society. However, I do believe some people take it way too far to a point it is anti-man and puts women on a holy pedestal. It is about equality. Describe your first relationship? Perfect, until it wasn't. Describe your last relationship? Wonderful and healthy, but distance and our health were issues at the time. Can you honestly say that you always practice safe sex? My history with sex is confusing and complicated and I really don't know. Why do you think your most favorite film touches you so deeply? Thinking about it... it's probably because of how Simba runs from his problems and bad memories, but returns to confront them and is victorious. That's how I want to be. What do you want people you meet for the first time to think about you? That I'm nice and clearly sincerely cared about them and their feelings. Do you feel protective over someone? My sisters, nieces and nephews, Sara... What perfume/cologne do you wear? It's called "Blush." Where did your vehicle come from? I don't have my own, but Mom's came from a girl at the dance studio. She ran into a deer, and the front got fucked up, but the sweetheart paid to fix it up to being operable so Mom had her own car. The front bumper is kept intact with zip ties and duct tape, but hey... it works and has for many, many years now, lol. What was the color of the bridesmaid dresses of the last wedding you went to? Ummmm... I actually don't remember. What is your favorite way to eat chicken? As tenders, probably. It is your birthday. You hope the cake is: Red velvet. This year for my bday, our controlling-as-fuck family friend bought me my birthday cake without consulting ANYBODY, and I was so fucking annoyed. It was a very kind gesture, yes, but um, can I have a say, please? What do you wear to bed? Usually men's pj pants and a tank top. What were you doing at 8pm last night? Sleeping, actually. I was extremely tired and went to bed early.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''the bird and the worm'' by the used

[rorygoldstein]

oneshot // part one.

It had literally been the most perfect Christmas for Rory, spending every hour he could with his boyfriend for neither of them knew when they’d be able to see each other for this long again. But, of course, they had to go back to living their separate lives, Rory stuck behind the walls of the castle and Liam back to the Quidditch field, living the life that Rory wanted. Their goodbyes were hard. They both knew they would be, the hangover from celebrating his eighteenth Birthday the night before not making things any better, but Rory was leaving with a few presents that would make the transition just that little bit easier. 

They hugged, Rory pressed a few sloppy kisses all around Liam’s face and before he could be tempted to say those three words, the boy apparated on the spot to the front door of his Grandparents’ house. Just standing in front of the place brought back the nerves he felt when he first arrived here six months ago, except this time he didn’t have a heavily depressed and hungover mom with him. It was just him. And although his Grandparents hated him, they had promised to financially support him through Hogwarts. That was entirely the only reason he was here, to collect his money and go. A Birthday present might have been nice too, but he was kidding himself if he thought he’d get one of those.

After a few moments of standing still, Rory finally knocked on the door and looked to his feet as he waited, hearing footsteps approach. He looked up as the door opened with a straight face, but upon seeing who was behind it, his face immediately dropped.

“Mom.” 

“Oh, Rory darling!” The woman exclaimed, quickly rushing forward to envelop him in a hug but he just as quickly stepped away from her so she couldn’t touch him. Had she forgotten what their last interaction had been like? Because he sure as hell hadn’t. But based on the confused look on her face, it certainly seemed like it. “Come in, sweetheart. Come on,” she smiled, almost sickeningly sweetly. He hated hearing that word come out of her mouth, and he wasn’t buying this facade of hers, but he wasn’t leaving without his money.

Rory walked through the halls of the house, following her to the reception room and dropping his bags down on the floor. The minute the door closed, he began to bombard her with questions.

“What the fuck are you doing here, mom? I thought you were meant to be in rehab? Quit that too, did you? You are just–... insufferable. I can’t believe you dropped out of something that was trying to help you, but of course you did. Why the hell would you want to get help if–” 

“RORY GOLDSTEIN,” the woman bellowed over the top of him, cutting the boy off. “Sit your ass down and we are going to be civil about this. Like adults. Because you are now an adult,” she said in a softer tone of voice. She hadn’t forgotten his birthday then. Rory moved to sit down on the nearest chair with a scowl on his face. 

“Okay. That’s better,” Heather said calmly. “So, I suppose you’ve got a lot of questions. And I will answer all of them, I swear–... I’ve not been telling you the truth all these years, and I need to tell you now, for my own sanity.”

“For your sanity, but not mine? Glad to see rehab hasn’t changed you at all, Heather.” Rory rarely called his mom by her name, but when he did, she knew he was mad.

“Rory,” she said sternly before taking a breath. “I got discharged from rehab a month ago, I’ve been living here ever since. I made a lot of progress and my counsellor said he was happy for me to leave.” Rory simply stared at her with a scowl still on his face, but internally he was a little thankful that it had worked. “I’ve got a lot of apologising to do.” Rory nodded and let her speak, wondering just how much she was willing to apologise for.

“So. I need to apologise for how I treated you when you told me you were–..” she hesitated on the word.

“Gay?” He said, furrowing his brows at her. Was she that homophobic she couldn’t even say the word?

“Yes... gay. I shouldn’t have done the things I did, Rory. I was just a bit shocked, that’s all.” Rory’s mood lifted a little at that, he’d actually gotten an apology. But of course, he’d spoken, or rather thought, too soon. “I don’t support your decision, but I love you so I’m going to put up with it.”

The boy sat there and just stared at her. He was furious, and he wanted to scream and shout at her, cast a spell on her even. But he couldn’t. He had to stay civil if he wanted to get his money and leave, even if what she said was completely unforgivable and made his heart break just that little bit more.

“It’s not a decision, Heather. I did not choose to be gay. No one chooses to be gay.”

Heather paused for a moment, “Right... anyway, what I did was awful and I’m sorry.”

Rory shook his head, of course she’d try to change the topic. She was definitely her father’s daughter, homophobic enough to not even want to talk about it.

“I’m also sorry I was drunk all the time around you, honey. I just–... there’s a lot that has happened in my life that you don’t know about and it’s–.. well it’s hard, having all that in your head and not being able to tell anyone about this big part of your life,” she said nervously, as if building up to something. Rory thought he knew everything there was to know about his mom, they’d talked pretty freely about her past relationships and how she came to have him.

“I’m just going to come out and say it because I don’t know how else to do this,” she said, steadying herself.

“Rory. You have sisters. Twin sisters.”

Rory just sat there, staring blankly at her, unable to process the information, which Heather mistakenly took as an invitation to keep going.

“I fell in love with a man and we fell pregnant. I was so happy, probably the happiest I’ve ever been,” she smiled reminiscently. “As soon as I had the twins, I phoned my family to tell them the good news... but by the time I got back to the hospital room Philip had... taken them,” her breath caught as she spoke. “Taken my babies. And all he left he was an envelope of cash and a note saying to leave, to never try to find them.”

Rory was still just sat there in shock, letting the story wash over him. 

“So that’s how I ended up in America and having you, my precious boy who I love more than life itself. That’s why I acted the way I did, all these years. I know that doesn’t justify some of the things I said or did to you, honey. I know. But now you know the whole story. ” 

Rory’s head was whirring and he felt physically sick. This was– this was... too much. He couldn’t cope with it. She was his mom. Only his. He was an only child, the most important person in her life. 

“Rory... say something,” his mom said softly after a few moments of painful silence, but the volume wasn’t enough to snap him out of his trance. “Rory,” she said a bit louder, but her patience with his antics was running thin. “RORY.” That finally did it.

But instead of Rory saying anything, he turned his head, stood up and blinked at her a couple of times, exhaling deeply. He wanted to do.. something. But he felt so numb, so void of emotion that he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to talk, he didn’t want to think, he just wanted to get out. So that’s what he did, quickly moving to the hallway to grab the bags he’d dropped, dashing to the door. On the mantelpiece he saw his Grandpa’s wallet, and he didn’t even hesitate to grab it and shove it into his pocket. That was the reason he’d came here in the first place, after all. 

The boy could hear his mom chasing after him, crying out that she was sorry and that he deserved better, but Rory did not give a shit about her apologies any more. He did deserve better, better than a fucking alcoholic who physically abused her son when he came out. Better than someone who was still not willing to accept him, better than someone who had lied to his face for his entire life. Rory deserved better, and he knew he did.

Rory opened the door and took one last look back at her. He could have said some last words, anything that would insult her, for her to look back on as the last thing her son would ever say to her. But he didn’t. He wanted her to suffer, not knowing what was going on in his mind, just like he’d suffered because of her. And with one last blank stare, he slammed the door and stormed back to the direction of Hogwarts. He could feel his phone buzzing in his pocket but he turned it off without even looking at who it was contacting him, not that he needed to. He wanted to, nay, needed to be alone, to comprehend this colossal fucking thing that had just been dropped. It was all far too much. 

But then, Rory realised something. He remembered something he could do, something he’d been wanting to do for years but never had the opportunity to do. It was almost perfect timing, something to distract him even slightly from delving into this mess of a situation. So as soon as he got to the gates, the Slytherin headed to the greenhouses to cut off a mandrake leaf, for he was finally ready to start the process of becoming an animagus.

#oneshot #sdhqclosed #sdhqmisc #tw homophobia #tw depression #tw alcoholism #tw abuse

[kchuarts]

Flowers in Blood

A/N: I am SO sorry for the late update. I've been in a funk and blegh. Well, 2 months later here we are and I'm updating!

 Summary: Love hurts 

Warnings: none really that I can think of 

Taglist: @lucywrites02​, @shiningloki​

Chapter 19: Cyclamen

SMACK!

Abbadon hit the floor after being struck by her brother, tears in her eyes. “He was one of your men!! Why do you have to take it out on me!?” 

“He was one of the finest I had!! He did not waste time and kept his promises, unlike YOU.” Daniel pointed a finger at his younger sister and grabbed her by her throat. “Travis being killed is a greater loss to me than losing you as Wolfsbane’s leader!! He was not soft nor did he hesitate to go through with murder!!” He shoved Abbadon to the ground and breathed heavily, staring at her with such malice in his gaze. Truth be told, Daniel never felt any true love for his sister and only used her as a pawn in his games. He knew that one day she would do exactly as she has done and try to escape the family business of crime. “In addition, he didn’t have a snivelling brat that I had to lock up-” 

“YOU LEAVE MY SON OUT OF THIS!!” Abbadon stood to her full height, teeth bared and fists clenched. “Nikolai has nothing to do with your vile follower’s death! The only one who is at fault here, is you.” She snarled. “Maybe if you were not such a piss poor crime lord, none of your lackies would be dead!” 

“So you think you are better suited for the job then, dear sister?” Daniel growled, snapping his fingers. At the sound of the snap, four of his bodyguards came in with their guns pointed at Abbadon. “If I remember correctly, you wanted no part of this. All you wanted to do was run away with that silly dream of yours. It is not my fault at all here, I did nothing wrong! It was their piss poor decision to be vulnerable.” 

The honey brown eyed woman knew what Daniel was trying to do and his gaslighting tactics would not work on her. She had grown up with this form of abuse and had become a master at detecting it. “Say what you want, Daniel. You know deep down it is your fault because you cannot process it through that thick bloody skull of yours.” Abbadon pursed her lips tightly as the barrel of a gun was held beneath her head. “Do it. Kill me and see how far it gets you.” She did not fear death. 

For a moment, Daniel considered blowing her head off but raised his hand for his men to stand down. A sick smirk spread across his face and he clicked his tongue, “Would you want little Nikolai to suffer? Knowing his mother chose death instead of him? Such cowardice… Perhaps I can raise a little soldier out of-” 

WHACK!!

Abbadon’s fist connected to her brother’s face and almost immediately she was tackled to the ground. “I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE MY SON OUT OF THIS YOU EVIL FUCKER!!” She screamed, struggling against the men holding her down. 

The leader of Belladonna wiped his now bloodied lip and chuckled to himself. “The anger of a mother never gets old. Take her away back to her cell. I no longer want to see this traitor for the time being.” He paused and then looked at Abbadon with a smile. “Oh and if she tries anything, make sure that little Nikolai learns a lesson of when his mother decides to be a bitch.” 

“My, my.” Another woman’s voice enters the room. She giggles at Abbadon and motions the bodyguards to stop for a moment. Her long purple nails sink into the auburn haired woman’s jaw as she forces her to look into her black, cat like eyes. “Abbadon, you look positively dreadful. Then again, you’ve always been hideous in my eyes.” The Korean woman gave Abbadon a toothy grin before letting her go, but not before slashing her nails across her cheek. She continued to laugh as Abbadon cried out in pain from the unprovoked attack and made her way over to Daniel. “I hope that you have made yourself comfortable my dear leader.” She purred, wiping her now bloodied nails on a handkerchief before offering her hand to Daniel. 

Swiftly, Belladonna’s leader took her hand and placed a chaste kiss on the back of it before releasing it. “I can assure you that I much enjoy Seoul more than I do Tokyo. Thank you, Churihyang.” 

Daphne’s leader, Dea “Churihyang” Park, had become Daniel’s most favored branch due to his partial favor to Korea and Dea’s tenacity. He enjoyed having her as an ally. While she was certainly lazy in some aspects, she never failed to impress. “Excellent! My dear leader I have much to show you~ I’ve got new women that I need you to inspect.” Dea smiled wickedly, giving a chesire like expression and led Daniel into the den of The Tigress. 

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

What felt like days had finally come to an end once Jonathan and Katie had reached a nearby city. There was no possible way they would be able to make it back to Tokyo as they hadn’t the faintest idea of where they were exactly. In the meantime, they stopped by the local clinic and had Katie assessed for any sort of damages. 

“Sate, hidoku sonshō shita mono wa nani mo nai yōdesu.” A female doctor nodded, smiling at Katie. “Tadashi, seikō suru mae ni sukunakutomo 2-shūkan matsu koto o o susume shimasu. Anata wa mada kanzen ni chiyu shite imasen.” She added. 

The brunette nodded and inwardly sighed at the fact she couldn’t have sex for around two whole weeks. “Arigatou. Kanarazu adobaisu sa sete itadakimasu.” She tried to hide her disappointment from the news. It wasn’t the end of the world but she wanted Pine to claim her again and make her forget that whole experience. 

Jonathan looked over at the clock on the wall of the waiting room and chewed the inside of his cheek. “Could really go for a smoke right now.” He muttered under his breath. 

“Ja, arigatou! Sayonara!!” Katie came out of the office and looked at Jonathan with a pout. “We have to wait two weeks.” She whined. 

“Oh come on, it’s not like it’s the worst thing in the world to wait.” Pine took her hand in his own, lacing his fingers into hers and walking out of the clinic. “Right now I could use your help in finding a place to buy cigarettes.” He peered around, his hunger for nicotine needing to be sated. 

Katie scoffed at him and giggled, “I can wait two weeks for sex but you can’t wait for more than a minute for those gross cigarettes of yours.” 

Jonathan rolled his eyes, pulling her along in search of some smokes. 

Once they had found some cigarettes, Katie and Jonathan returned to the hotel they were staying at. “Oh my god it feels so nice to wear pants again.” Katie fell back against the bed and laughed as she heard Jonathan sigh loudly at her comment. 

“You’ve been saying that ever since we got new clothes. It’s getting a bit annoying.” He stared out from the balcony, cigarette between his lips. 

“I know, but I’m just telling the truth.” Katie rolled over to the side Jonathan slept on and propped herself up on her elbows. She couldn’t stop herself from staring at what a nice ass her boyfriend had. In truth, he had a nice everything. The only thing she could do without was that nasty smoking habit of his. “Can I suck you off?” She asked abruptly 

Jonathan inhaled quickly and began to cough violently, turning around and patting his chest. “I beg your pardon?” He got a control of his coughing and looked at her bewildered. 

Katie’s cheeks turned red and she gave a coy smile, “Can I give you head? It’s not fair that you have to wait for me-” 

“No.” 

“No?” Katie was taken aback. 

“No.” Jonathan confirmed and put the cigarette out in the ashtray, walking in and sitting in the chair next to the bed, facing her. “You don’t have to do anything to please me. Just you being alive is more than enough satisfaction for me. I want you to remember this; you don’t owe anyone anything.” His face fell into a serious expression. 

Katie thought about it for a moment and realized that she was using an old habit of hers when she was with Travis. He had always told her that it wasn’t fair for him whenever she got something she wanted, and that she owed him more than her own worth. “Oh…” She sat up, biting her lip and feeling the urge to cry come on. “But Travis-” 

“But Travis what, Kate!? He’s dead!!” Pine snapped at her and immediately regretted doing so as he saw her eyes glittering with tears. His face softened and he shook his head, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that- but Kate, please realize that he cannot hurt you anymore and that he is gone. You are free.” He tried to take her hand but she pulled it away. 

“He is still here though!! You don’t get it!! I see him in my dreams and I hear his voice tormenting me every single fucking day! You helped quiet his voice for a while but his voice… It’s so loud.” She grabbed her head, covering her ears. 

Jonathan sat there and inhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. “Katie I think we need a break.” He let the words fly out of his mouth without abandon. 

“What?” She looked up, her eyes wide.” 

Pine growled out of frustration and stood up. “You just can't let him go! You’ve been so hyperfocused on him this entire time and while I believe you love me, you still have an unhealthy attachment to a dead man. You’re acting like a child- because you are one!! I should have never-” 

“Never what?! Don’t fucking finish that sentence!! Don’t you dare!!” Katie sobbed, her mind racing a mile a minute. He was breaking up with her when she needed him most. “You know what? Nevermind.” She got up quickly, her lip quivering. “If you really think that low of me, then why did you decide to want something with me? You’re still playing games, Jonathan Pine. I-I’m done. My heart cannot take anymore of this shit.” Her voice cracked a little and she stormed out, exiting the hotel. Tears ran down her face as she made her way over to the Shinkansen and took the first train back to Tokyo. 

Jonathan didn’t even try to chase after her this time and just sat there, staring at the ground. He ran his hands over his face and began to cry in broken sobs. Not only was he angry at Katie for her sudden actions and potentially putting herself in danger, but he was angry at himself. She needed him and he fucked up bad. He could only hope that she would return to the rental, pack her things, and fly back to the USA. That’s what he originally wanted after all, he didn’t truly love her did he? Who was he to talk when Sophie’s death also plagued his mind, each day and night. 

By the time Jonathan had gotten back to the rental, all of Katie’s things were gone. It hurt his heart to have the place so empty. Sure, they had a hell of a time and not exactly pleasant but he missed the sound of Katie’s voice. “It’s for the best.” He sighed, running his hands through his hair and sitting down in a chair, thinking what to do next. 

“Is it?” 

Pine got up quickly, pulling out his gun that he now carried on him. “Roper! I know you’re here!” He growled, looking around the house and finding Richard making himself at home in the kitchen. 

“Tea?” Roper held up the kettle but put it down as he heard Jonathan load the gun, making it ready to go. “Alright, don’t then.” He muttered and pulled a gun of his own out. “You know it’s ironic that here we are in Japan where guns are heavily restricted-” 

“ENOUGH!! Why are you here!?” Jonathan’s hands started to become clammy. 

Roper looked around, raising his eyebrows “Your little vixen is gone is she? Oh dear, hopefully she’s somewhere safe. Masayuki is dead so you don’t have to worry about him… Also, nice job killing Travis-” 

The look in Jonathan’s eyes was one of intent and he wasn’t about to play around anymore. 

“Fine, fine. No small talk either. I just thought I would stop by since I was in the neighborhood. Check in on my old friend Andrew Birch.” He gave a toothy smile, now walking in a circle as Pine still held his gun up. Roper was not one to back down either as his gun was also aimed at the other man. “I’m here to tell you that you’re not done. If you haven’t figured it out already, we both have a common enemy; Daniel.” 

“What’s he to you? I thought all of you crime lords were the same, don’t you have some sort of alliance going on?” Jonathan felt a bead of sweat roll down his face as he concentrated, watching Roper carefully for any sudden moves. 

“All that time under my wing and you didn’t bother to learn that we don’t form alliances? Pish Posh, Andy! I expected better from you. Even Corky knew better and he was inebriated half of the fucking time!” Roper’s smile faded and he raised his gun a little higher, still walking a circle of questionable predicaments. “No. He is nothing more than a nuisance in the scheme. His work is so sloppy and I can tell he’s stopped with being all fancy and putting flowers on the crime scenes. He messes everything up and someone has to put an end to the short-tempered bastard.” Roper shrugged. 

“Then why come here? Why come to me, knowing that I want nothing more than to put a bullet in your skull?” Jonathan hissed, narrowing his eyes. 

“I’m here to tell you that the Japanese police force is after Todd Redwood and Kit Redwood. They are warranted for arrest and will be sentenced accordingly for all the crimes they committed. I know I said I wouldn’t help you anymore, but this little game is just too fun! If I were you, Andrew Birch, Jonathan Pine, Jack Lindon, Thomas Quince, Todd Redwood… I’d run.” 

Jonathan swallowed hard, “How long until they reach us?” 

“Twenty minutes. Pack your bags and I’ll get you out of here and on the way to Seoul. I know that Miss O’Connor is already there and by herself. If you still have any care for her in the world, I suggest you hurry. The Tigress has a fondness for women with green eyes.” Roper watched as Jonathan made a run for it to grab his belongings. 

It only took five minutes for Pine to grab his things and hop into Richard’s car, speeding off toward the airport. Thankfully, Richard owned his own private transportation so Pine wouldn’t have to worry about being caught… Until he did. 

Richard whipped his head around, hearing police sirens blaring as he drove like a maniac. “We’ve got company!! Do me a favor and blow some tires.” He focused on the road. Several more police cars came into view, speeding toward them. 

Pine nodded, pressing the window button and leaning out of the car. He aimed his gun at the wheels and shot at them. Jonathan sincerely hoped that he wouldn’t hurt anyone or cause a giant mess. Unfortunately, one of the police cars flipped over, causing two more to crash into it at full speed. Jonathan felt sick and hurled out of the window at the fact he had killed innocent officers just trying to do their job. 

“A pig is a pig! Get over it!” Roper rolled his eyes. 

“Th-Those were innocent men!! They have families!! I-I killed them-” Jonathan felt sick again and threw up a second time out of the window. 

Richard groaned loudly, hitting the gas and finally out running the officers to cease Pine’s antics. “Come off it. You’ve killed a man or two plenty of times before and now you’re getting upset over it? You’ve grown soft!” He slaps Pine’s back, making sure he didn’t have anything left in his stomach to vomit. 

Jonathan coughs and rests his head against the headrest of his seat, closing his eyes. When he closed them, all he saw was Katie. It had only been a day since he last saw her but it was killing him. 

“So, we’ve got around five hours at the rate I’m driving. Why don’t you tell me what happened between you and your little lass.” Richard prodded. 

“No.” Jonathan growled. 

“Suit yourself. I completely understand the lack of trust and I would do the same exact thing.” 

True to his word, Roper and Pine reached the airport in five hours. Jonathan stepped out of the car and stumbled a bit. He shot Roper a glare when he heard him snort in amusement. 

“Not even a thank you? After all I’ve done-” Richard began to speak. 

“You haven’t done me any favors yet. Until you’re six feet under ground, then you will have done me a favor.” Jonathan huffed, opening up the trunk and pulling his belongings out. He quickly made his way to the plane and didn’t even look back. All he wanted was for Katie to be safe, he understood why she was mad at him. He could only hope that she understood his frustrations in turn. 

Once Jonathan had boarded the plane, Roper pulled his phone out and got into his car. “He’s on his way now. I don’t know where lassie is over your neck of the woods, but she shouldn’t be too hard to find. Remember, don’t grab him until you have her.” 

Katie paced back and forth, biting her nails as she began to panic. She had gotten herself into a big mess trying to do this on her own. First of all, she didn’t even know where to start or who to ask. All she knew was that Daphne needed to be taken down and arrested, not killed. She was so tired of all the death around her, all the frustration. Travis’s death seemed to impact her more than she thought as the moment of him falling replayed over and over. “Cam…” She broke down into tears, falling to her knees and holding her face in her hands. “Cameron I wish you were here!! I don’t know what to do anymore!!” She continued to sob, curling into a fetal position. “I’m so lost and, and Travis is dead and Jonathan hates me-” She stopped for a moment, her mood suddenly turning angry. “That stupid son of a bitch!!” She stood up, punching the hotel pillow over and over. “I hate you!! I hate you! I hate you, Pine!! You fucking asshole!!” her sobs became more intense as she then grabbed the pillow and hugged it. Katie unleashed a heart wrenching scream into the pillow so as to not draw any attention to her room. That was the last thing she needed. 

The brunette gasped as she came up for air but let out another ugly sob. “I still love you!! I still love you Jonathan!” She couldn’t deny herself. Katie knew it wouldn’t take a day for her to get over Travis and that it would take time, but she needed Pine’s love and help. “I’m so stupid!! I’m so fucking stupid!!” She buried her face back into her pillow and screamed again. 

Katie sobbed for around three hours until she could cry no more, eventually passing out for the evening. Her last conscious thoughts were of being in Jonathan’s arms, where she felt the safest. 

The door to Katie’s room clicked open, yet it did not wake her up. Jonathan walked in, sighing and knowing that this was a horrible idea. He saw Katie laying on the bed, tightly clutching a pillow with tear stains on her cheeks. Carefully, he moved her into a more comfortable position and pulled the blankets over her. When he walked in, Pine noticed a couch and decided he would take up that for the night. He figured that she wouldn’t even want to be near him at all since their fight yesterday. Jonathan made himself as comfortable as he could on the couch and found some difficulty trying to fall asleep. He hoped that he would wake up before her as he finally fell asleep. Pine did not know what would happen if she woke first. 

#flowers in blood #spies in love #the night manager #the night manager canon divergence #jonathan pine #jonathan pine x ofc #tom hiddleston #my writing #fanfic #writing

[mysticalcrusadeobject]

An entirely objective rewiew of episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker

Legend: red is bad (or rather: dumb shit I can't ignore), blue is objective good, black is neutral and orange is random shit I love (aka subjective good).

Okay, the exposition following the title crawl just makes me feel like I've somehow missed a movie, or two. All of this happened in the span of, what? A couple months? A year? We aren't told.

I was going to ask why Kylo Ren was even looking for Palpatine in the first place, but you know what? I don't really care. I won't complain about Ben in this movie.

Palpatine can see the future, right? That's the only way this makes sense. I mean, he's telling Kylo to "kill the girl" (and presumably become Emperor of the Galaxy?) but... why? Later, he'll want Rey to kill him and become Empress, but then he'll just want to kill her, too. Is Palpatine an idiot, or is he just insane?

"She's not who you think she is." Honey, she's not who the screenwriters thought she'd be.

I genuinely love the Finn/Poe/Chewy/Rey dinamic in this movie. They don't feel like friends yet (which they shouldn't), but there's still a camaraderie and genuine caring for one another there. It's great.

"How do we thank you?" - "Win the war."

Rey is a badass, as per usual. Also, I love how Kylo's just fucking with her here. That girl could cut him in half.

"Somehow Palpatine returned." The 'somehow' is a key word there.

Oh, good, Rose is a non-character now.

While I adore the actors' chemistry, Rey doesn't really need this big of a party to come with her. Chewy's the co-pilot, so his presence is justified, then Finn could come as well and use the blasters, Poe too, because him and Finn didn't get enough screentime in the last movie, but the droids? No. Have them stay with Leia. We don't need C-3PO explaining everything to us, thank you very much.

Oh, yeah. That reminds me.

C-3PO.

They're foreshadowing C-3PO and Leia's deaths so hard here.

The mother-daughter dinamic between Leia and Rey is good. That's all.

That mask was left in pieces. Is it even possible to fix at this point?

Oh, cool, the Knights of Ren exist. For about three minutes of screentime.

The humor in this movie works pretty well for me. Hux's assurance that Kylo looks, in fact, great, is gold.

The New Guy.

"Serving another master?" - "No." Um, yeah? Yeah, you are. What is your plan, Kylo Ren? Because, to me, it see that y- Oh, yeah, I've promised to leave him be. Shit.

A simple conversation would have made this movie so much shorter and so, so much better. "Oh, hey, Rey. Where you off to?" - "Yo, Ben. Oh, you know, looking for Palpatine so that I can kill him." - "Oh, cool. That was my plan, too. Wanna come with?" - "Sure." - "He's your grandfather, btw." - "Cool. Wanna rule the Galaxy?" - "Sure.

Rey's over here casually cutting ships into pieces.

Also, I love how people complain that Rey is OP in this scene, while Kylo just strolls away from a burning husk of a ship, unscathed.

"The inscription that was on the dagger is in your memory?" Yeah, that's how computers works, Poe.

Also, I love how no one cares about shat C-3PO thinks/wants. These characters and this script dislike him as much as I do.

The No-Thank-You droid is adorable.

"You were a spice runner?" - "Were you a Stormtrooper?"

Babu Frik. Baby Yoda ain't got nothing on this guy.

Daisy Ridley is sooo so good in this movie.

"Does she do that to us?"

"I pushed you in the desert-" Baby, you struggled in the desert.

The directing of this scene is so good!

"I'm the spy." (I love it 'cause it makes me laugh. Hux is such a petty little shit that he'll join the Resistance just to see Kylo lose. I appreciate that."

Rey being a Palpatine bothers me about as much as the CGI Carrie Fisher, which is to say: a little bit.

"People keep telling me they know me; I'm afraid no-one does" with Kylo Ren's leitmotif playing in the background. *chef's kiss*

That blade is the most plastic-looking thing I've ever seen. (The Wayfinder)

"Babu Frik! He's one of my oldest friends." Alright, 3PO, that was pretty funny.

I have literally nothing to say about the next fifteen minutes, or so. I feel bad for these actors. Daisy Ridley and Adam Driver have gorgeous chemistry, and though they're trying their damndest, you can kind of tell that they're weary of these movies by now.

Two words: Harrison fucking Ford.

This scene.

"I know what I have to do, but I don't know if I have the strength to do it."

Good job, honey. Now you have no weapon for the final battle. Takes after Anakin, this one.

Every ship is a Star Destroyer.

"A Jedi's weapon deserves more respect."

The reverse Kylo Ren leitmotif that's within Rey's theme playing while Rey is wondering why everyone trusts her despite her being a Palpatine is kind of cute.

As I watch the Resistance/First Order battle unfold, I can't help but wonder why they can't just- sign a peace treaty. How long has this war been going on for? Surely, they must've gotten bored of fighting.

Oh, but I do love the design of Palpatine's throne.

"I never wanted you dead. I wanted you here." I feel like you don't really know what you want, sir.

I love how confused Rey looks while Palpatine talks about how much she apparently hates him.

Ben's just been chillin' for the past 20-ish minutes. I like the redeemed theme they've made for him, though.

Why are the Knights of Ren here? They should be loyal to their Master, no? Also, Ben, honey, you have the Force. You've used it in the first movie to stop a blaster shot mid-air. Surely, levitating six people way up in the air, then letting them fall into the chasm below can't be much more difficult.

This battle. Also, I love how the Knights back the fuck up when Rey sends Ben the saber.

And now he wants to be the Emperor. WHAT DO YOU WANT?!

Ow. That's- that's a broken spine right there. Good thing our dude's indestructable.

I realize I'm quoting Sideways here, but seriously, why don't they play the Force Theme when Rey communicates with every Jedi ever?

The final scene between Ben and Rey (minus the kiss - y'all know how I feel about shoehorned romance). It's still so, so beautiful. This scene is more beautiful than this movie - nay, this franchise - deserves.

Oh, is the Stormtrooper lady Lando's daughter? That's... You know what, actually? I don't care.

The ending is so damned strange. She just returned to Jakku, disposes of Leia's and the Skywalker lightsabers (rude!), steals BB-8 and just- nothing.

I do like her new lightsaber, though. It suits her.

Yeah, there's one Skywalker missing next to Luke and Leia. I guess that Rey just didn't give a shit about him, huh? Oh, well.

This movie is odd to me. Many people hate it, some like it, but I'm in this in-betweeny stage. I like it more than The Last Jedi, but only because I don't observe these two movies as agregates, but more as collections of good and bad scenes (since they both feel scrapped together), and thus, RoS just has more elements which I like, though it's objectively the worst movie of this trilogy. Rey is the best she's ever been, Ben Solo is *chef's kiss*, Poe is awesome, Finn is... there (the underdevelopment of this character is still the worst thing they've done), but he does have some good moments, some of the side characters are pretty great (the long helmet lady and Babu Frik come to mind immediately), the music is always a highlight and... yeah.

As for the negatives, Palpatine is right up there. His plan is stupid. That's all I'm gonna say about that. Other than that and the demolition of Rose Tico, everything else are nitpicks for me. This movie could have been great only if they'd scrapped this story entirely and either:

a) made an entirely new movie and utilized some of the original concepts they had, or

b) made at least two new movies with the ideas presented here.

Overall, I've enjoyed this movie. It's one of those movies which I can watch after a long day of studying to relax my brain a bit, one that is supposed to be thought about as much as the scriptwriters have done - which is to say, a bit.

#sw #star wars episode ix #rise of skywalker

[crystalsexarch]

Sway - E

“You're quite talkative for a pillow."

"And you, quite alluring for a blanket."

-

Explicit. Ambiguous female WoL. Has a tail. Haurchefant and the Warrior of Light spend a lazy morning working very hard.

Also on AO3.

Part of the 2020 FFXIV Writing Challenge

Haurchefant was lying on his bed with his arms cradling his head, a muted smile on his face, and not a shred of clothes on his body. Upon his chest was a freshly showered Warrior of Light. “You’re not cold?” she said. From her lilting tail, to her tiny hands folded at his collarbone, she oozed comfort. The picture of relaxation and love, but for a sinister glint in her eye.

"Hmm?" he said. "I'm content where I am."

"That's not what I asked."

"And where you are." Like he was stretching, he spread out his arms before setting them at her hips. Fingers traced vertebrae, pink scars, tough constellations lined out on her skin. "Now that you've got me like this, I'm not eager to move."

"You're quite talkative for a pillow."

"And you, quite alluring for a blanket."

She smiled and closed her eyes. Banter aside, he was hard and had been for quite some time. Her hips sat a full length above his, meaning she felt every few seconds the bob of his arousal at her bottom. She knew it wasn’t something they had to address—that was the beauty of it—but they had time to kill and every right to spend it holding each other and whispering of warmth. Or fucking.

She eased back a few ilms so his erection was flat against her slit instead.

"Oh?" he said with an instinctive press of his nails into her skin. "Has my love given me a sign to read? Some manner of signal?"

A breathy laugh. "Do you consider yourself literate?"

He slipped his hands up her back and set one at her neck, the other at her chin, which he tilted higher. Had to make sure she could see the affection in his gray eyes. When he knew she was looking, he blinked like a happy cat. "I do."

All was thumping hearts and early birds roosting near his quarters at Camp Dragonhead. Bits of sunlight had danced into the room, but it landed on the back of the Warrior’s head. Somehow, in her shadow he still had sparkles in his eyes, and that’s what she watched before committing to turning the page. “Very well.”

She wrapped her arms around him and set about kissing his lips, his cheeks, his nose. When she rose for his head, he opened his eyes to see a wall of breasts before his face. Quite pleased with the development, he set about kissing them.

Cooing, she adjusted. "I like that…"

He alternated his focus from her left to her right, now bringing his tongue into the mix. Gentle as he always was with it between her legs, he brought more a graceless vigor to her nipple, sucking first, biting second, tongue teasing the tip all the time. His large, careful hands wrapped around her ribs, rubbing.

She felt worshiped already. What would his chosen god think of her? "It's a shame you can't do that and...and have at me at the same time."

"Mm?" With a tiny pop, he removed his lips from her silk-soft skin. "I'm surprised, my darling. By now you ought to know not to underestimate me." In preparation for what she knew would be an ambitious maneuver, he wiggled his hips beneath her.

"No, no," she scolded. "No amount of contortion will change the fact that you're nigh three heads taller than I."

“Ah, but that inherently means I’ve more length to work with.” He started eyeing her underside with the look of an eager engineer.

She reared back in laughter. “Insufferable.”

“Work with me?” He scooted back on the bed, bringing her with him. “If I place myself here—”

“Your poor back, in that position.”

“Then set you—” He grabbed her hips and lifted.

“Oh!”

“Here…” They were both sitting nearly upright, but she was on her knees with her arms on his shoulders. If she relaxed her thighs, she’d land right on his dick.

Before letting nature take its course, she had to laugh a little. “This hardly seems like a sustainable solution.”

“Consider it a starting point.” Without breaking eye contact, he cupped her breast with his index finger and thumb. Again, his hardness was knocking at her door. “So shall we? Start?”

They started. Haurchefant spent the first few minutes blinking up at the Warrior with his pretty lashes. While she rode him slowly, he doted on each of her breasts obediently. In the end, she lacked the stamina to maintain her position and opted instead to collapse upon his chest and focus on fastness. Whenever she took the lead, there was always a certain point at which she couldn’t lead—she just did what came naturally. And that happened to be something faster than what he had in mind.

“Ah ah ah—” He squeezed her hips harder and straightened his back, grinning through his teeth.

She had no choice but to stop moving, but she didn’t stop panting. “Too much?”

“It feels...quite nice, my love. Perhaps too nice.” He wiped a bead of sweat from her brow with his thumb. “Unless you've committed to a hastened finale.”

She swept her hand across his pale abdomen, muscled but soft. “Hm? Would you prefer to set the pace, then?”

“I have no qualms about doing so.”

“Well, can you roll me over without—”

Gripping her body tight, he rolled her over, making sure they never came apart. They landed at an odd angle a quarter of the way off the bed. Chuckling proudly, Haurchefant embraced the circumstances and placed one leg on the floor to make good on his promise. He certainly didn’t slow down. On the contrary, he was driving so fast she started to wonder whether his earlier complaints had been a ploy to get on top of her. She wasn’t going to call him out, certainly not when she was seeing stars.

“Does it please you, Warrior?” he said.

“It...it does. Rather, you do.”

He lapped up that validation with a hearty sigh, all the while keeping up his business, whether he was looking toward the heavens or down to her heavenesque eyes. She couldn’t wait for him to come inside her. More that morning than most nights, the idea lit an aggressive craving in her gut. Blasphemous, she thought with her mouth wide open, that his seed would make her feel holy and chosen. She’d have let him fuck her in the Basilica, right in front of Halone Herself if he promised not to pull out.

Grunting, he started drawing farther back before each crest. Then came a thought she’d be embarrassed to think of later—the thought that the rhythm of his balls pressing at her center was nearly enough to send her over. Just enough contact in just the right places. Blushing, she pressed the side of her face into the pillow.

“Everything all right?” Dark and husky, his voice at her neck, his pace unyielding.

“Yes,” she said. No other thoughts made it out.

The left corner of his lips ticked up. “Having trouble making words?”

“Can still...get my point across…”

“Tell me.”

Oh, how she had wanted to tease him. But she couldn’t. Not with sincerity falling from his mouth into hers. “Love you...want you more than anything.”

He groaned.

The next moment she felt her climax coiling at her core, tightening around him. “Harder,” she managed to cry. Ever pleasure-loyal, he struck her true, breathing hard with his lips tucked in.

It felt good. It felt damn good. But he kept his composure.

"Haurchefant," she said, arching her back so far she was nearly crooning into the headboard.

"Yes my love?" A loving sound, not a lusty one. Desire weighed his eyelids down. He squeezed her thigh with one hand, pinched a nipple with the other, drove himself deep and held the position long enough to feel the ebbing of her pleasure. The warmth of each pulse seduced him closer to climax, but what he really wanted was to please her time and time again—to hear his own name whittled down to something so delicate and small, something that could hardly balance at the tip of her tongue before dripping out like honey.

"Haurchefant," she said again, this time with her eyes open.

“Yes?” Whispered and severe.

“Give it to me.” She wrapped her legs around his waist and held.

“Yes,” he said, this time at her command. And it wasn’t long after that when he finished inside her, fulfilling a prophecy of her design. A knight of her church. Was this the tithe she would have chosen?

_

 No longer feeling freshly showered, the Warrior waited in bed for Haurchefant to return with coffee. He’d done his best to clean her up before kissing her forehead and dressing himself in loose clothes to pick something up from the kitchen. A little bird at the window caught her attention. Its yellow eyes peered in like it was looking for something. She couldn’t help but smile at the creature, and thought she might chance a closer look.

She slipped her legs off the bed and stretched her arms high. Haurchefant was coming up the stairs and she didn’t want him to scare the creature off. She tiptoed over to the door and cracked it open with a warning finger at her lips. He cocked his head and entered the room again with caution, two warm cups in his hands.

“Look,” she said, pointing at the window. “Stay quiet so I can get closer.”

“Happily,” he said. But no sooner than her third step did he issue a poorly stifled laugh. The bird went flying with a whistle.

“What!” She clenched her fists and turned around accusingly.

“Forgive me,” he said, setting the cups on the nightstand and leaning on the bed to catch his breath. “Your gait is...most unsteady, you see.”

She blushed. It wasn’t the answer she had expected. Crossing her arms, she pouted. “Well thankfully the only straight line I must walk is the one that leads to you.”

“Nay, not even that.” Beaming, he kneeled before her. “For I shall ever be here to carry you.”

#ffxivwrite2020 #ffxiv fanfic #ff14 fanfic #haurchefant #mywriting

[orihara-infobroker]

Hobbies and Criticism

I sat on this when it happened, and again yesterday but it’s something I do want to speak about because I’ve seen it happen often enough that it merits discussion. There are a few separate elements here and I will try to be cohesive in stringing them together.

It’s long so it’s going under a cut... Sorrynotsorry XD

On Unsolicited Criticism

Fan art and fan fiction are, fundamentally, hobbies. I am not addressing commissions here. I am talking about artists who create their art out of their own desire to make something based on whatever inspired them. Some people love sharing that art with the world. Some people don’t. They are not doing so because they are being paid for their work but because they want to create something out of personal love for it. Those who share it with the world are not obligated to. It is a gift. A gift, by virtue of the internet, that you are not required to accept or like - certainly I don’t like every fanfiction written about my fave pair. In fact I don’t like most of them. It is still a gift, however and the mannerly thing to do when you come across a gift that isn’t to your liking, is to simply pass on it. It’s very easy to do on the internet. Hit the back button. Scroll past it. Block the artist if you find their art repulsive. The fundamental rule of mature fandom behavior on the internet. Curate your own experience.

Further to this, when a person offers up a gift, it isn’t your place to critique them, unsolicited. You aren’t doing anyone a good turn by pointing out where they are fucking up. You may think you are somehow contributing to fandom by “helping” a struggling artist to improve their works by providing unsolicited criticism but you aren’t. In fact, from what I have seen and heard from artists, it’s usually the opposite. Many fan artists aren’t professionals. Some might be, more so I’ve noticed in the graphic art sphere than in the writer sphere, but most aren’t. Many fan artists are beginners. Many fan artists are students of their art. Many are learning as they are doing. Most importantly, many are doing this for fun, as a hobby, and aren’t aiming to become professionals. 

Many fan artists who are either learning as they go or just doing this for fun when they have time are more than aware that they aren’t professionals. They know that they aren’t the best. They usually have an idea of where their weaknesses are. Sharing their art often takes a great deal of courage for them because they know they are offering something up that isn’t perfect but they love it enough to share it in the hopes that other people will love it too. Coming into their space after they’ve shared a work of love and pointing out all the things that are wrong with it is more likely to cause a new writer or artist to recoil and give up than it is to cause them to double down and try to get better. This isn’t theoretical for me. I’ve heard former artists and writers say that they gave up because all they ever heard was how bad they were. Again, not people who wanted to be professionals. People who just wanted to create things for fun. Who had that fun stripped away from them by strangers who thought it acceptable to enter their space and shit on their work.

When a child is learning to do something we do not take the picture they drew of their stick people families and smiley suns and tell them “Honey, the sun doesn’t have a face. People aren’t sticks. That’s not how to draw hair.”

We do not do that because it is not productive. It is hurtful. We know this and yet fans seem to think it’s “helpful” and acceptable to do this to other adults. Assuming the artists are adults, which is a fallacy. Many are teens as well. Under the assumption that adults aren’t going to burst into tears because you pointed out their failings, you shovel your criticisms over them without stopping to consider that maybe, just maybe, they will because they know they aren’t that perfect. They know they can’t draw hands. They know that their grammar isn’t the best. But they’re trying and they’re creating and they just want to share their ideas. They want to share their love with people who love the thing too. 

They didn’t ask for criticism. They provided a gift and had someone take a shit on it. This is not kind and helpful and certainly I would not be inclined to continue to provide gifts to anyone who treated me in such a way. Unsolicited criticism does not improve artists, it drives them away.

On Solicited Criticism and Being Constructive

I’m going to talk from a writer’s perspective here because I am a writer and I don’t entirely understand artists methods because I never took any sort of art classes. I still think the overall theme of this applies to artists as well, especially when discussing the purpose of criticism and the method of delivery.

Many artists and writers do want to improve and would appreciate genuine criticism of their works. This is a double-edged sword, of course because in my experience we aren’t taught how to take criticism as a flaw in our skill without feeling like it is a flaw in ourselves. We associate our worth very strongly with our ability to do things and as such, addressing our flaws can become a very emotional battle.

When an artist solicits for constructive criticism, they aren’t asking you to point out everything that is wrong with their work. That isn’t what criticism in this situation is meant to be. They are asking for explanations on why things don’t work. They are asking for guidance on how to improve. If you cannot provide that kind of feedback, don’t give the criticism in the first place. 

As a writer I do wonder if I am perhaps more attuned to the way words work than the average reader. As such, I try to give people the benefit of the doubt when it comes to word choices and I want to talk about that a bit as it relates to online conversations around criticism. We give tone to certain words. A single word’s meaning might not be negative but how we use it in day-to-day conversation can very much instill a level of emotional subtext to that word that translates into how people write and read that word. 

When giving feedback to a person, it’s easy to make a checklist of all the things they got wrong. In some cases, this can be acceptable, such as with basic grammar mistakes. If you’re asking me to proofread your work for grammar, I’m just going to red pen it and note the corrections in the margins because this is simply the mechanics of writing and I know plenty of native English speakers who don’t understand the full complexities of the language. I speak about English (which is the literal worst language in existence) because it’s my native tongue but this can apply to any language.

However, when you begin to delve into deeper things like characterization, themes, plot and so on, this becomes significantly less straightforward. When you add a writer’s voice (or an artist’s vision) into the mix, it gets very messy.

The one thing that should never change when giving criticism is tone. One should not be cruel or harsh in delivering criticism. One should be kind and understanding. The artist is opening themselves up and asking for help which is difficult enough on its own. The response should be patient and helpful. Take care to choose your words to support and uplift the artist, not to tear them down. For every criticism you offer, you should also try to offer a solution or a guideline for the artist. If the criticism is about how the pacing of the story is too slow, making the story drag, then explain what makes it feel slow and why that is a negative thing. Offer suggestions on what might improve the pacing. 

Ex. I noticed that in this chapter it felt like nothing was really happening to further the plot and that left me feeling bored. Perhaps you could improve the pacing of this chapter by including some reference to how this affects the greater plot? Or add something to the end of the chapter to bring us back around to where the plot is headed?

As many “beta readers” are also not professionals, it’s understandable that maybe you don’t know how to offer constructive criticism. Maybe you just have a feeling that something doesn’t look or read write but you don’t know linguistics well enough to identify the why behind it. That’s ok too, as long as you convey that honestly and kindly.

Ex. When I was reading this part of the chapter it didn’t feel like it flowed very well but I’m not sure why. If you have another editor, maybe ask them for their opinion on it?

Because sometimes when we are reading something our own internal biases will create problems where there are none, or catch problems without knowing why they are problems. This is especially useful if you’re being asked for your opinion on whether or not someone is handling a sensitive topic well (race, sex, sexual orientation etc.). 

When it comes to the writer’s voice, this is where criticism is very difficult. If an author loves their purple prose (overly flowery descriptions of everything) and it bothers you as a reader, you’re probably not their audience and criticizing them for it isn’t actually helpful. It’s fine to ask them if they mean to write in that manner, or ask if it serves a specific purpose to them but if their response is that it is the way they enjoy writing, then it is not a topic that is open for criticism.

Conclusion

Artists - Nay, People grow by learning from their mistakes but they need support in understanding what those mistakes are and how to improve them. They do not grow by constantly being told to “get better”. Respect those who are gifting you with their art. Give them the respect they deserve for being kind and brave enough to post their creations. If they don’t want criticism, respect that boundary. If they do want criticism, give it in a kind and helpful way.

Lastly, and especially because this is what bothered me the most about the incident that caused me to write this:

Artists grow by doing. They cannot get better without doing and making mistakes and doing more and making more mistakes. This is the literal process of learning a skill. Do not ever tell an artist to stop creating because they aren’t good enough. It doesn’t make you ‘helpful’. It makes you a giant fucking douchebag.

#writer things #or artist things #fandom observations #constructive criticism #what it is and what it isn't #just really needed to put this out there #cause I really hate watching artists and writers #getting shit on in the name of constructive criticism #and the entitlement that some fans show #thinking they have the right to determine #what is good and what is bad in fandom art #ps I hate the term beta reader #like there's a word for this already #so why'd you go and steal an tech term? #what's wrong with editor?

[mindofkaylee]

say something nice about your mutuals! :)

oh my god there's so many! im only gonna do the ones i talk to the most but just know that i love every single one of you guys!!❤️❤️

@cartierpm my princess, my baby, my honey bunches. i love her to the fucking moon and back 3000 and would not trade her for the fucking world. she's always there when i need her no matter and i love her a lot

@cncopmhoe this bitch is my favorite hoe and i love her so fuckin much it's insane. our conversations are the most random things ever and i swear we switch topics faster than chris moves on to a new hook up 😂

@heavenlypm my lil boo thing and personal hype woman whenever i actually post on snap. i love you to much for my ice cold heart to handle. thank you for always being there for me when i need and boosting my confidence

@mindofposiedon nay baby! my love bug! your style is fucking amazing and so is your hair. you are literally so gorgeous and funny it's unbelievable. god really said "this is it, she's the fucking one" when she made you

@ariamsz this bitch get in my damn nerves with how much she be teasing me 🙄 nah but fr she sends me the most random youtube videos all the time and the most random videos on insta all the time and that basically our friendship. oh she also called me a good girl 🥰

@pm-whipped my favorite texan who loves her tequila and margaritas as much as i love her. the most precious human being in the world and i love her smile so much it melts my heart everytime i see it🥺❣️❣️

@peachymara cara bear, my sweet lil angel baby! i love you so much and hope college life is treating you well and i hope that you're having an amazing time in oklahoma even though it's cold as shit here right now. you're a literal angel sent from heaven and i hope you stay warm this winter

@fallinallinhonoret i always get so excited when i see you on my dash or that you've tagged me in something because seeing your bright energy makes my day durrah and i hope you have a wonderful day

@afterglowcnco my baby girl always hyping up my hair! you're so so so sweet and your writing is amazing and your words of encouragement mean the absolute world to me

@darkrosekuwonu keri my love!! you are also an angel on earth and i love you soooo much. despite what you may think in that pretty little head your writing is fucking amazing and i read them alll the time! your positivity is astoundingly big and i love that about you

@gonetaelong genny baby! you are my mf sister and id do anything for you. when you're happy im happy. you're such a cutie pie and you're literally so fuckin nice i can't believe it

if i didn't put you in here then message me so we can talk more and get to know each other a little more! even if we don't talk all that much i still love every single one of you guys more than my little heart can take @whymyeyeslikethat @temperaryheart @theprettywaybby @yungarreagas @undeadspazzattack @inlovehoodx @anninhiliation @snowgodessy @dairyfarmer @ghostporter @heartachecth @zionlonglegs @zaustins @bbyspiceofficial @brattykuwonu @nightsonights @moonlight-mara

#mutual love

[eldritchsurveys]

477.

So what's up with everyone dying again? If you don't know, so far this year we've lost Peter Steele, Ronnie James Dio, and Paul Gray. [RIP] <3 >> (This survey is from 2010.) Ooof, I remember when Pete Steele died, because it was literally 4 months after I finally saw Type O in concert and met him. It’s like I squeezed in right at the end. If I’d missed that show for some reason and then he died I would have been so fucking pissed, man...

How do you take your coffee or tea? >> I take my tea plain or with a little honey.

Name one band you absolutely can not stand. >> *shrug*

Thumb rings: Yay or nay? >> I like to wear rings on my thumb sometimes.

Tell me the truth: Are you even a little bit racist? >> I mean, probably, because of socialised prejudices. But I wouldn’t treat someone badly just because of some stupid shit that pops up in my head that I learned from some jackass in childhood or whatever.

Ever been to a REAL metal show? >> I don’t think I’ve been to a metal show at all (lot of hard rock and shit, but no metal). I keep missing out on them.

Are you allergic to nickel? >> Not that I know of.

Do you listen to songs more for the lyrics or the sound? >> I listen to songs for the sound first and foremost. The Mountain Goats have great lyrics, but I don’t like the way the music sounds, so I don’t listen to them.

Everyone knows Alice In Wonderland; So which char. can you relate to most? >> I don’t relate to any of the characters.

Going on any road trips soon? :3 >> No.

Have you ever cut your own hair and been satisfied with the outcome? >> Yeah, I do that all the time. It’s extremely hard to fuck up a buzzcut.

How do you express yourself? >> Er...

Is it just me, or is blue eyeliner fucking weird? o.o >> It’s kind of weird, I guess, in the sense that most people don’t wear blue eyeliner. But it being weird isn’t inherently a bad thing.

Why did you talk to the last person you talked to? >> Because they exist?

Are you easily excited? >> No, it’s really difficult for me to feel excited for some reason. That wasn’t always the case, so something must have happened in recent memory to suppress my ability to feel excited.

What or who can always make you happy, no matter what? >> ---

What is one thing you've always wanted to do? >> *shrug*

Do you like harmonicas? >> No.

Do you multitask well? >> No.

Mayonaise: love it or hate it? >> I’m not fond of it as a sandwich spread, but it’s fine in recipes.

When was the last time you couldn't stop smiling? :3 >> I... don’t know. Oh, wait, I caught myself grinning like a lovesick fool while watching Hannibal yesterday. Because that’s just the kind of bastard I am.

What's the weirdest object you own? >> I don’t own anything I consider weird.

Do you like the taste of blood? >> Meh.

Would you rather drink from a can, a plastic bottle, or a glass bottle? >> A glass bottle.

Do you like making up nicknames for people? >> I don’t do that.

If you could have one wish, what would you wish for? >> ---

What sounds can you hear right now? >> My typing, distant traffic, a plane.

Are there any names you can't stand? >> Yeah.

Leather or lace? ;D >> I think wearing both looks real badass.

When was the last time you felt like you were on top of the world? >> I don’t know.

What was the last compliment you recieved? >> I don’t remember.

Would you consider yourself a child at heart? :3 >> No.

Did you know Gary Coleman died?? I literally just found out. O.O >> I was aware.

Have you ever heard of God Dethroned? >> They sound vaguely familiar.

Is there anyone you wish you could talk to right now? >> No.

Anything bugging you at the moment? >> No.

Do you like making signs for people? :3 >> Signs??? Is this referencing that thing that we used to do on MySpace and VF where we’d write someone’s username on a piece of paper with like hearts and shit and then take a photo of ourselves holding it? I think the last time I did that was like... 2012.

When was the last time you had an epiphany? >> I don’t remember.

Do you have any odd talents? >> No.

Do you get jealous easily? >> No.

What are your views on society today? >> I don’t have any “views on society”. 

Are you totally jonesing for a smoothie, like I am right now? D: >> Nope.

What do you usually like in your smoothies, anyway? >> I like berry smoothies.

Do you take sex seriously, or are you just 'Ehh, whatever' about it? >> I take it seriously in the sense that I wouldn’t have it with anyone (and if I ever did change my mind on that, it’d be because that person went above and beyond my expectations for the average human and I was attracted to them on a level that I generally don’t experience except Inworld), and I take safe sex practices and the issue of consent seriously.

What do you do when you have a headache? >> I don’t do anything, usually. Drink some water and wait until it goes away. If it doesn’t after a few hours and it’s really messing with my ability to function, then I’ll take a naproxen.

System Of A Down: yay or nay? >> Yay.

Don't you hate it when people get all up in your grill? o.o >> I very much hate it when people are in my personal space without my explicit permission. I mean I fucking hate it. It takes a monumental effort not to punch people when they get too close to me, which sucks because I’m sure most people don’t mean to be invasive (they’re just... not as sensitive to it as me), but that’s just how strong my aversion is.

Isn't cracking your back the best feeling ever? <3 >> I guess.

Do you do better with taking or giving commands? >> Giving.

Is there something else you should be doing right now? >> Nah. But I guess now that this is over I’ll get up and do bio stuff and maybe think about eating.

#surveys #survey #random survey

[xanthicantag]

alright bro im gonna do all the ask so. U Know You're Doin Em Too

Hot read more since there’s so maaaaaany

1. if you were to have Hanahaki disease, what flowers would you cough up?

I feel like this is entirely based on who i’m feeling the one sided love for? (I googled  Hanahaki disease and i’m all about that shit no doubt there)  But like, maybe daffodils? 

2. if someone were to catch Hanahaki disease for you, what flowers would they cough up?

Uh Roses motherfucker, you’re welcome

3. if you were any historic trope, what would you be? (i.e., the knight, the town baker, the witch of the forest, etd.)

Ok so like on the one hand I love lances, so fucking much, so I’m like big into Knights for that and like protecting people (and/or a beautiful prince cause like, you know), but I also really love the idea of just being like, a traveling fighter of some kind, leading a troupe of loveable idiots or being in a troupe as a loveable idiot.  I want to be Iron Bull is what I’m trying to say I guess????? or like, Krem? who knows

4. tell us about your ideal battle outfit.

Ok so I’m torn again.  Cause protection and ease of movement are super important, so like a breastplate and some kind of back protection, maybe a shield?  or maybe a sick gauntlet arm like Ike from Fire Emblem cause he knows what’s up, and then some minor leg armor to keep the front of my thighs and calves safe and like a shield since those fuck am I right??  On the other hand: If you look like a Thot, the enemy is distracted and an easy target.  I’m talking chainmail crop top, plate armor booty shorts, stupid looking heel shoes(?) for maximum thot energy, and of course a whip, either that i use or just have for the thot energy.

5. what would you be a god/goddess of and what would people sacrifice to you?

I think like, a minor deity that helps people make small to mediumish choices (i.e. talk the left or right path, call or don’t call this person), and then like, a cute little charm that people just kinda crush or burn before asking about the choice feels good, feels organic.

6. name five iconic quotes that make you feel things.

Now, I don’t know a lot of quote to be honest, but here’s some paraphrased stuff:

“Now that larping exists dnd is like, not the least cool thing to do”- Travis McElroy

“Yeah I have a pickle allergy, what about it *Pickle eating sounds*” -Me, often

“I fucked your dad” -Me during a quiplash game?  And often yeah I’ll admit this

I don’t remember what’s said, but the scene in the Count of Monte Cristo where he just shows off all his sick skills to be like “Yeah I’ll murder the fuck out of your homeboy if he tries to step up to me”.

“All Magicians are inherently inclined to kill” -That unraveled about Megaman robots who get sentience

7. scythe, battle axe, broad sword, spear or trident?

Ok so like, Scythe for formal occasions/when I want to just look good cause I think their a sexy as hell weapon, at me if you want to be I know I’m right.  Battle Axes are cool and like, really useful during a siege since you can easily bust stuff down with it and it lets you cut spears in half so you look dope as hell, like, Hector of Ostia if you’re out there, yes you’re correct.   Broad Swords are like, just in general really good, you can use it in a duel, a battle, a coronation, magic rituals if you’re really feeling fancy, the list is just endless, a real classic all purpose weapon.  Spears are for fucking losers, fuck you if you use a spear sword fight me like a fucking real fighter or get out of here none of this reach bullshit.  Tridents are like spears but just, inherently sexier?  You know?  Like 1 point is stupid and boring, but 3?  that’s some good shit.  But really fuck all these weapons whips are lances are where it’s at yes feel free to at me again.

8. what combination of natural scents would you use as perfume?

Now this i have like, actually no idea for, but like, just tons of flowers.  I just take like a fistful of flowers and rub them on my face.  

9. ancient scrolls or leather-bound books?

Oh you know I’m about that leather-bound book life!  Fuck A scroll, that is just a piece of paper that is going to tear and be illegible in like 5 years.  A nice bound book though?  *Chefs kiss*

10. describe yourself as if you were a storm.

A summer rain.  It comes in quickly and is gone by the turn of the hour.  A brief respite during the dry season, and gone before it can become a disaster. 

11. what type of flower (other than a rose) would you offer someone you were trying to court?

First of all op, get the fuck off my back Roses or nothing.  Secondly a big sunflower.

12. honey in milk or cinnamon in tea?

Um, neither??????????????????

13. cabin in the woods, apartment in the city or mansion in the suburbs?

Honestly an apartment in the city would be nice but like, living in the woods is the prime chance to be a local mystery.

14. curtains of beads or lace?

Probably lace?  Do beads block light?

15. vocal or instrumental music?

I am a big fan of instrumental

16. describe your ideal fantasy outfit

Step one, big cape, it doesn’t touch the ground while on my shoulders but goes about mid calf.  Step two, leather armor, it’s light and easy to move in, and provides good protection.  Step three, Mask, nothing like flashy, just a plain black mask, preferably a full mask if i’ve got some magic to see with not my eyes, other wise like a typical masquerade mask

17. of all the fantasy races to ever exist, which one would you be?

Fuck.  This is so hard.  I want to be, so many.  No you know what, fuck it.  I wanna be a Dragonborn Tiefling hybrid, I’m talking cool horns, I’m talking sweet tail, you already know I can spit literal fire out of my face.  Fucking try and get at me I dare you.

18. hard candy, fruit preserves or spice cake?

I love hard candy to just suck on, but my teeth do not.

19. show us an a picture of your ideal crown.

if you don’t think this crown fucks, get out of my face

20. tying your hair up using ribbon, yay or nay?

I’ve had my hair long enough for that like once, and I don’t really like tying my hair up tbh

21. an evening in the forest with elves, a night in the caves with vampires or a morning in the garden with fae?

Um.  Bold of you to say I’m not hitting up all these parties???  Like def vampires first since the elven party is advertised to go for like 5 hours, but we all know it goes on for like 4 months and I can’t party that long as a mortal you know.  And like you hit the fae up last since you literally are gonna be stuck there the rest of your life after one (1) round of truth or dare

22. tell us, in detail, about a curse a witch would put on you.

Like, in all honesty the biggest thing a witch could do to me via curse would just be to make my right arm like full unusable.  Not gone or broken.  Just like, it’s slow, I can’t always get it to fully hold onto something so it drops everything, there’s always a small feeling of discomfort, not pain just a minor annoyance, in the knuckles of the hand.

23. talking with sylphs or singing with nymphs?

I get kicked out of the nymph singing area after four seconds of

24. mint, rosemary, basil or sage?

I fucking go wild for the smell of basil don’t even try me

25. favorite childhood story? (doesn’t have to be a fairy tale)

I remembered Inkheart recently and like, I honestly really liked that book

26. tell us about an experience you’ve had that seemed unreal or supernatural. (doesn’t have to be scary)

Sophomore year of college, I realized that all the people around me were people I actually enjoyed spending time with, and it just felt so weird to be there after all the just nonsense that had happened up till then

27. would you rather have poison or healing ointment in your traveling pack?

healing duh?  You think I’d ever remember i have the poison one? nope not me!

28. tell us three sayings that you live by.

Try and be a little nicer, unless they really don’t deserve it.  Walk away sometimes.  Eat food and don’t think about it.

29. vials or mason jars?

Oh get me those vials baby!

30. describe your ideal masquerade ball outfit (mask included).

OH HELL YES.  Get me that suit, it’s a sweet dark red with rose colored vest underneath, the jacket and pants have flower vines on them that 100% connect to a big ass rose on the back of the jacket.  The mask is more or less this guy:

31. splashing around in a river with mermaids or flying through the sky with harpies?

I can literally swim any day so let’s fly

32. what would you end up in the dungeon for?

Ok i didn’t understand this one at first so I’m keeping my initial reply below and the real one is: You know I beat some like high ranking knight or minor noble in a duel to humiliate them and no i didn’t think it through so here i am lol.

3 things: A talking magic weapon (Probably a sword but i’m down for other options).  A certain someone is going in and I’m not letting him go in without someone to keep him safe.  There’s dragon eggs that work like the Eragon dragon eggs and I am already waist deep in dead enemies getting one of those babies.

33. if you were a fairy, what color would your wings be?

Take a wild fucking guess

34. if you could have any magical item, what would it be?

God this is so hard, but I think a magic flower that when you pluck one if its petals you can undo a recent event, up to like ten minutes or so.

35. what song would the bards sing about you when you passed by?

I’ll say the Death of Me by Meg Myers

36. would you rather be a pirate or a king/queen?

God that’s hard,  Like yeah pirates are cool but i’d love to be royalty and just get to do good shit for the people and also not have scurvy.

37. would you spend more time in the field of flowers, the tavern, the docks or the marketplace?

Hmmm, I think the Tavern as like the number 1, and then a tie for docks and field, and the marketplace in last since i hate crowded areas i need to buy things in

38. would you have a painting of yourself?

Only if I ever ride a dragon and then have a painting to immortalize the moment, and only if the dragon helps me paint it

39. what skill are you famous for?

I mean, people know I sword fight, fight fight, and program, so like, those?  and I guess my sick dnd skills

40. if you could live any fairy tale, which one would you?

Fuck if I can think of one!

41. stained glass windows or fairy lights?

Ok Stained glass windows literally slap so like, you already know

#romanarcadia

[suburban-satan]

shit my friends say

So I made a list of all the wild shit my friends say, started in January 2018 and still going. It's one year old I guess? Well, enjoy what I have so far!

2018 -d a d d y w i s e -well there’s chains on the ground so that must mean this was a kinky sex dungeon -GORSH MICKEY NOT MY G SPOT -I can wait until I turn 40 so I can troll Japanese Girls on roblox -what if we all looked like mike wizowski but our heads were the same size as they are now -I wanna give pot to a bird -I take pills without water -daddies cummie wummies are the best cummie wummies -enjoy your nonexistent stomach acid -cum glaze -I hope you choke on MY meat -who hasn’t been on pornhub -(wipes tears away and starts belting despacito) -MY GAY IS BEING TRIGGERED -that omelet looks delouse -is semen a liquid or solid -iTs nOt aQuaNauTs yOu uNculTurEd fOoK -vaginas are scary -what is menstruation -you should change your name to pussy something -my gay has been activated -“have you ever owned a vibrator?” “No” “would you like to rent one” -“do you like glazed or cream filled” -wHaT dOeS cUm sOuNd LiKe -he is on too much fertilizer -sometimes cum is hot I know from experience -if you jerked off at the speed of sound would your dick be on fire -I don’t have a sonic fetish -can your dick ignite because of the heat of your cock -aren’t dicks like cannons -who the fuck draws a glowing peepee on a skeleton -honey Freddy freaker is dancing in the living room -does penis smell like garlic -she don’t swallow in this household -*downloading garrison nudes* -don’t you realize that tentacle porn is just using octopus arms as a dildo -frickle my nipples -Minecraft porn consists of the male genitalia replaced with a stick -OOPSIE WOOPSIE!! Uwu We make a fucky wucky!! A wittle fucko boingo! The code monkeys at our headquarters are working VEWY HAWD to fix this! -“I’m big for an asian” -cockilicous -“His anal glands need milking” -fready flipper -FREADY FAPPER -daddy better make me choke -does Freddy freaker have a mutated alien dick -sonic breaks the sound barrier by beating his meat -the sun looks like it’s gon vore you -bootyhole exploration -is megalovania sex music -i like to drink cock -cum is just genital snot -penis musk -Shid piz and farbt -Bull + shit = sis it don’t add up -Hey don’t tell me at least once in your life you haven’t thought about being gently caressed across the genitalia by the kraken -I swallow boba like i swallow cum -I wuv fungus kun, the way he waps a awond my tosie wosies so tight! He’s gibing me a huggie!!!! Fungus kun gibes my tosies a new color too!!!! Wat a good fungus kun make my doki doki go “ UAU” heeheehee -eating banana with the banana peel -orang juce -father I want cheddar -don’t you just look at someone and think about how long their neck is -breathing is just boneless vaping -get outta here juuling criminal -yall ever succ a dick for juul pods -unironically drawing miss piggy -“Jack don’t let go 😱🤭🤭, jack sweetie 😐👀 if you let go 🙊🙈 you’re weave 🙀🙀 gone 😇😘💅” -I've been watching spooky movies for 5 hour -omg it’s daddy sans undertaker!!! -bröther -I ate my sister -are you'd's't've kidding me? -oh youtube please don't show me the shrek movies rn -My brother is calling me out on the family group chat for eating a bowl of peanut butter -Hamilton is best girl -get outta here you fuckin loyalist -what doesn’t cum have -drink flex seal and you won’t have to worry about a marriage -I feel water. -“Superfood or supergross? Is Sperm good?” -coochie hands gucci bands -just imagine trying to cast a spell and then you get disturbed by a banjo -toto africa is sex music now and everytime they say rain it’s just cum -y'all ever burp in your mouth and exhale it through your nose like a vaper -how dare them make my green senpai an honorable member of society -If you didn’t search big boobs video on google at least once are you really a Gen Z kid????? -laugh pussies -i’m watching the history of japan on pornhub -we have the same name because we are secretly the same person -what if you eat your phone and it’s all in your tummy -why would you ever think i’m not serious all the time you silly dragon but we’re both (my name) so we can be the silly dragon together -why would you wash your face before you go to bed when your tears wash it off for you *wooshing noises* -I want to drive a bus because I like busses -my shoe broke -why does everyone talk about the drugs i’m eating -i’m going to break her because she’s talking about smoking cocaine and I don’t like drugs -(stage whisper) metal heads live among us but we don’t know because they look like normal people -oh bye mr music teacher -the pussy? designer. cucci, if you will. -DID I HEAR S A N S P O R N -"i'm about to nay nay on your dead fucking corpse" -alert alert the toes are coming -you got a fucking problem with my 𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐛𝐬? -imagine using an oven for something designed for a microwave this post was made by the doesnt have much motivation gang -Please take my Minnesotan snow Wait that sounds like Minnesotan cocaine -when you funny scream -"dating the Bill of Rights for fun" is now exactly how I'm going to describe my hyperfixations -the penguin  from fruit loops is a twink (bitch its a toucan) -if white cheese exists is there black cheese -What’s rosum opossum -whale cum -dicko mode -(GETTIN SOME CHRISTMAS SPIRIT UP IN THAT PUSS) -pennies more like penis amirite -It’s Sunday don’t forget to squeeze cheese on the cat -the grinch is dr seuss’s fursona -everyone is gangster until the trees start speaking vietnamese -big chungus is my dad -“if the apocalypse happened what would you do” “eat bees” -I'm tired as fuck but I gotta wait until it's 4:20 to go to bed -mom: you need to be reasonable and wait two hours before having another brownie me, stuffing my mouth full of brownie: br o w n y s -This honey in whole foods is in fucking comic sans -it's more likely that I'll guess someone is gay before I remember the existence of women -im gonna say it again for the people in the back:

i eat bees -Thanos penis, it's actually called a thenis -yort -uwu its the mowst thorstiewst time of the yeaw uwu -It is I Teh gromc -The gronk is here to say eat all the dish soap in the house -the grinch but he's wearing crocs the entire time -answer my question or else i will establish sans porn -You make him doki doki uwaaaaa!!!! -birdbox but all the bird sounds are replaced by cardi b noises -THE GROMPK IS TOO POWERFUL -consume ocean sauce -square up in judge judys court -half consumes ocean sauce -ice juce -frick stick -you guys wanna read undertale fanfiction     -2019- -it might be 2019 but thats not gonna stop me from terrorizing my family's groupchat -(pineapple voice) first date idea: digest eachother -Wait dennys will arrest you for doing illegal things?? -pls purify me -my toes are very succulent today -two succs having flex two succs having sex my muscles my muscles involuntarily checks -f u r r y , N a s h . -Perfect for all occasions! Spill something on your nice shirt, give a messy blowjob, and sphagetti!!! -Do you want cum on your nice shirt??? -it would be nice if i had cum on my shirt -cocc succ machine -I KNOW TONGUE JUTSU -I feel like i’m in a meat prison -hi you obese elephant -plant porn is just flowey porn -We all love the out of the box 4am messages we get -YOU LIKE SNAS PEEPEE

#shit my friends say #shitpost #please help me #sans #I guess??? #theres a lot of sans sorry #too many about peepee #enjoy #please dont be offended #bees #thanos #so sorry