#every day I wake up and thank god for letting me exist in a reality where visha exists

[randompumpkinkiddo]

She's just a girl, she's doing the best she can

#isekai quartet #youjo senki #the saga of tanya the evil #viktoriya ivanovna serebryakov #live laugh love visha #shes been reduced to a soggy cat now #shes my baby #i love her so fucking much #every day I wake up and thank god for letting me exist in a reality where visha exists #like holy shit #look at her #my girlfriend <3 #gahhhh #shes literally so pretty #i wish lesbians were real

[mignonricciardo]

august | dr3

chapter 5

happy august 31 <3 to celebrate, here is a chapter of august, my daniel ricciardo friends to lovers back to friends back to lovers full of mutual pining fic. enjoy, read the other chapters and let me know how you're feeling <3

warnings: 18+, smut themes, not a mention of sex being protected (5k words)

Day 8 of 19

An uncomfortable silence hangs in the house since the news broke. Daniel shared the news with Michael, and while he was supportive of his friend and the situation, I could feel the tension in the air and the strain on their friendship as they both admitted defeat. It was painful to watch — sagging shoulders and tired eyes. Both men were sulking, but what could I do beyond my own sadness? 

I throw myself into work, spending hours at the Greenhouse Cafe or down by the pool deck, finishing manuscripts and sending edits and brainstorming my own stories. It feels good to get back into the groove of my life before the trip — my life when Daniel isn’t around. It’s easier this way. To remember what reality is like, not whatever alternative universe exists at this house. Since our near kiss at the vineyard, I need every painful reminder of why it can’t happen. I let myself recall memories of too many run-ins over the years that have resulted in nothing but repressed longing and late night tears. Memories of France — the trip that finally broke whatever we were for years — surface in flashes that make my heart clench and stomach roll.

With memories of Daniel comes memories of Dad, and it feels like I’m back to where I was in the aftermath of his death. Thoughts spiraling into the what-ifs, images of what life could look like if he were still here. The thoughts consume me, sending me into a shaking mess as I tuck the manuscript away. My fingers click Elizabeth’s name, typing up the message with shaking hands. 

Can I talk to you about something?

The text bubble is quick to appear, and I nearly feel guilty at her response. 

Of course, Cal. Want to give me a call in a few? About to put the kids down for bed.

Tell them Aunt Cal says goodnight for me?

Felix says he misses you, and Amelia says goodnight, too. You alright?

Yeah, I just wanted to talk to you about something. Girl talk. Jack around?

At the pub with the boys to watch the game. No need to worry about him. 

Thank god. Call me when you’re ready.

Minutes pass slowly as lights dim in the house. From the pool deck, the golden lights from Daniel’s bedroom cast shadows dancing across the rippling water. A sense of relief floods me when it goes dark while a second wave of guilt swells in me knowing there’s no way to make him feel better about any of this. The swell of the bugs from the brush culminates, ebbing away into silence as they perform their nightly routine. Waves crash beyond the edge of the property. 

“Hey,” I answer the video call, smiling when Elizabeth’s face lights up the screen.

“Are you alright?” she says without hesitation, twisting the top of a bottle of red wine. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I look up to Daniel’s window one more time, waiting for light’s to flick back on. It remains dark against the gray-blue facade. “I just- I don’t know what’s going on, Lib.”

She pours a glass of red wine, settling on the large couch in the center of their living room, “Is it about Daniel?”

All I give is a weak nod. 

“Oh, babe. Talk to me about it.”

I start to tell her about everything. The return to the house, the coffee, the movie night, the bar, the waking up together, the vineyard, the feeling of being caught in between Daniel and Michael. It flows from me like an undammed river, and the ever-present listener, Elizabeth lets me tell everything without interruption or interjection. The breeze ruffles the pages of the manuscript next to me on the chair, and I pull the blanket around my shoulders tighter without interrupting my story. 

“We almost kissed, Lib,” I whisper, the shame crawling up my throat as she makes a face. 

“Cal,” her voice warns.

“I know,” I answer. “After all that time and work, and it was like I was willing to forget everything. I’m angry at him and myself.”

“Have you talked about it?” she asks, sipping from the wine glass. 

“The kiss? No, we’ve been pretty much avoiding each other since the vineyard. It’s been weird.” I groan as tears flood my eyes — angry drops slipping past my lashes. “I’m just so frustrated, Lib. Did I make a mistake saying yes to all of this?”

“I don’t know, Cal. I think only you can figure out that answer,” she answers gently. “In my opinion, no, I don’t think you’ve made a mistake. I think you need this trip to see him and catch up — remember what his friendship is like.”

Friendship. Is that what this was supposed to be? The word cuts me up and casts even more confusion. 

“Lib, can I tell you something and you promise you won’t kill me or tell Jack?” my voice shakes.

The memories of France rest on the tip of my tongue. I glance back up to Daniel’s room, curtains drawn and room dark, and a part of me begs for him to hear me. An overwhelming heaviness settles in my stomach, but Elizabeth brings me back to reality.

“Usually I’d make a pregnancy joke here, but I don’t think now's the time,” she grins, and I chuckle weakly at her attempt to calm me down. I’m grateful for it. She continues, “I promise I won’t kill you or tell your brother. I can’t promise I won’t want to punch you, though.”

I let out a groan, fighting the anxiety in my stomach at the thought of revealing anything, “There’s a lot you don’t know — that no one knows except us.”

“You and Daniel?” her brows are raised as she takes another sip of wine.

I nod my head, “Remember in 2018 when I stayed with him after Monaco? It was not as friends.”

So I begin, telling Elizabeth about the trip that changed everything. There are moments along the way, like Italy or our final summers at this house, that are shared. Whether Elizabeth is shocked or not, I can’t tell. She keeps a stoic face, once again being the perfect listener without any interruptions. Frustrated tears continue to well in my eyes as my throat burns. Confusion swallows up everything, and when I finally finish with whatever my mouth decided to tell, Elizabeth looks at me with a sense of pity in her eyes.

“Babe, you’ve kept that all to yourself for all these years?” I nod, and she continues, “Why? It’s clear keeping all of that in was affecting you.”

“We agreed a long time ago to never talk about it,” I say, realizing I’m breaking my most sacred promise — a promise I had honored for over a decade. “It was just easier this way. It never felt real if we didn’t talk about it, so it meant we could go on like this.”

“Do you feel better now?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I answer after a moment of hesitation, brutal honesty in my words. “I guess speaking it out loud makes it real.”

“You aren’t going to want to hear this, but you need to talk to him about it, Cal,” she says. “I know that’s not what you’ve ever done, the two of you, but it has to be affecting him, too, right?”

“He doesn’t act like it,” I whisper, throat burning as tears continue to make their way down my cheeks. “It’s like he can just turn it on and off. I can’t do that, Lib. I care too much.”

The admission nearly stops me in my tracks. I care too much. Is this as close as I’d ever get to admitting it? 

“Does he know how much this hurts you, Cal?” she asks.

I shake my head, “There’s no way he could. We don’t talk about it.”

“You need to,” she says, voice gentle. “Even if its just to yell at him for everything, then you can decide not to speak about it again. Either way, you need to talk to him. He’s the only other person who will get it, Cal.”

“Aunt Callie?” a small voice calls over the phone.

Elizabeth’s head spins around, and she smiles as one of her kids approaches. She asks if they want to talk, and Felix’s quiet voice says yes. There’s a shuffling as he climbs into his mother’s lap, and I can’t help the wide smile as his face fills the screen.

“Hey, buddy,” I say. 

“Why are you sad?” he says, eyes heavy with sleep. “You’re crying, Aunt Callie.”

“It’s been a long day, buddy,” I say, fighting back more tears at his quiet voice being so caring. “It’s better now that I’m talking to you.”

“I see you soon?” he asks, looking at Elizabeth and then back to the screen. 

I nod, “Very soon, Felix. I’m excited to see you. I miss you.”

He yawns, “Miss you, too. Uncle Daniel there?”

I nod my head, “He’s asleep right now, Felix. Like you should be.”

He rubs his eyes with tiny fists, “Woke up and heard Mummy say your name. Wanted to see Aunt Callie.”

The blond curls nearly reach his eyebrows, a reminder of how quickly he’s growing, and my heart swells, “Did you check on Amelia before you came down?”

“She was sleeping,” he nods gently, yawning again. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Mummy and Aunt Callie were talking,” Elizabeth says quietly to him, brushing his curls back from his forehead in a motherly fashion. “We were talking about when we’re going to see each other.”

“And Uncle Daniel, too?” he says, eyes fluttering shut. “We see everyone?”

Elizabeth nods, and I smile as his eyes remain shut, “Felix?”

He hums quietly, and I take the time to answer before he falls back asleep, “I love you. Thank you for checking on me.”

“Love you, Aunt Callie,” he murmurs. “Mummy, go back to bed?”

“Alright, come on,” she smiles gently, grunting as she lifts his tired frame against her hip. 

“I’ll let you go,” I say over the phone. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Cal,” she says, smiling as Felix echoes her statement. 

After the call hangs up, I lean back into the chair, sighing as the conversation weighs heavy on my mind. I wipe the remaining tears off my cheeks, letting my eyes stay shut as the chilled ocean breeze washes over me. It’d be a week before they’d arrive. I let myself relax into the poolside chair, falling into a sense of calm with the distant crashing waves. Half an hour passes as the shore falls into an ebbing sense of quiet, culminating with the symphony of the tide. 

“You coming in soon?”

His voice is gentle so as not to startle me, but my eyes fly open to see Daniel towering over me. He looks like he had been trying to sleep, sweatpants and ruffled hair with a hastily thrown on sweatshirt. There are dark circles beneath his eyes despite the soft, ever-present smile on his face. 

“Sorry, I didn’t want to make you jump, but I thought I would check. I saw the lights still on out here.”

“Yeah, I was just trying to get some work done,” I motion to the long forgotten manuscript on the chair next to me. 

“And work was making you cry?” he says quietly. I look to him with shock, but he motions to my eyes, “I’ve known you forever, Cal. I know what you look like after you’ve cried. What’s up?”

I shake my head, “Sorry if I kept you up. Go to bed, Daniel.”

My tone is sharper than I anticipate, but it doesn’t faze him as he moves the manuscript to the side so he can sit in the chair next to me. Long legs spread before him, and he sighs as he gets comfortable, adjusting his sweatshirt around his shoulders. He lets a silence linger before speaking.

“I couldn’t sleep. I have a lot on my mind, so I was going to come out here to read for a bit — get some fresh air — but then I saw you.”

He turns over the book in his hand, cracked spine indicating it was a loved book from the shelf in the living room. I watch as his fingers slide along the spine before he sets it next to the manuscript.

“Well, I’ll go in so you don’t have to be bothered,” I start, lifting myself from the chair.

His fingers wrap around my wrist, stopping me in my tracks, “That’s not what I meant, Apples.”

Damn that nickname. Our eyes meet, and something in his gaze makes tears tug at my lashes. Warm, brown depths suck me in, and they leave me defenseless. I shake his arm off mine, sucking in a deep breath to regain some sense of control. I stand from the chair, shaking my hands limply at my sides as I pace across the pool deck. I glance up to the house where Michael’s window is dark, taking a steadying breath before turning to Daniel. 

“Was it a bad idea for me to come here?” I ask.

The look in his eyes makes me almost regret the words falling from my mouth. He sits up, his elbows on his knees, and his brows draw together.

“What do you mean, Cal?” he looks genuinely confused — no sense of facade to his expression. 

“Daniel,” my voice shakes, teetering on the edge of silence. “After everything, was it a bad idea to jump into this?”

“Callie, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

His calm and gentle tone sends my blood boiling, and the tears start to fall down my cheeks out of frustration. Without another thought, my voice raises as I screech at him, “Bullshit you don’t know!”

My tone startles him, but when he sees my tears, he reaches for me, “Cal, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t touch me,” I fight him off weakly, shrugging off his looming embrace. “I’m angry right now, and I don’t need you to comfort me. I need you to stop pretending.”

I feel guilty. He looks tired, and with everything else going on, he doesn’t need my demands to pile on top of him, but I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending. He sighs as he settles on the pool chair, head hanging with his elbows on his knees. I watch his every move, body wound so tightly that I could flinch with the simplest of his movements, and my eyes burn with years of frustration bubbling up. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he sighs, avoiding my gaze. 

He looks tired, shoulders sagging, but I feel just as exhausted.

“Tell me it was all real,” I say. “Tell me I’m not crazy and all these things I remember actually happened.”

“What things?” he asks, and it sends something snapping in me.

“You know what!” I screech, voice foreign to my own ears as my frustration oozes. “I’m so fucking sick of this game, Daniel.”

He just looks at me, something swirling in his eyes as his lips part ever so slightly. Please, I want to beg. Just say it. Instead, we square off in silence. He stammers out my name, and I snatch the manuscript off the chair beside him, sure to avoid brushing his leg. 

“I shouldn’t have come,” I say, spinning away from him. “I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.”

Suddenly, his fingers wrap around my wrist, pulling me back toward him. I spin to face him in the process, and something familiar about the close stance floods my senses. I don’t know what compels Daniel to grab my face, but before I know it, his lips are crashing into mine as his hands cradle my jaw. My hands subconsciously find their way into his dark curls, weaving into the strands in a familiar dance. Before I’m processing what I’m doing, one of my hands slides from the back of his neck to rest on his jaw, and my lips part to welcome his familiar caress. He takes a step, and my leg follows backward until it hits the pool chair. The contact sends me spiraling back toward reality, and I break away from him as my chest heaves. We’re staring at each other, chests mimicking the other’s rapid rise and fall, and I barely trust my voice. 

“Daniel, we have to talk about everything.”

“There will be time for that,” he is breathless as his chest rises and falls with what he’s saying. “I owe it to you — I do — but right now, please just-”

“What, Daniel?” I start. “Please what? Pretend I want to do this again and forget what happened every time before? When you can’t even admit any of it? Please what?”

He hesitates, warm eyes following the curves of my face, “Just let me kiss you.”

The longing in his voice makes my heart splinter yet every part of my being screams no. One of his hands slides down my arm, tracing across the bones in the back of my hand before weaving our fingers together. My eyes look down to our clasped hands before casting back up to meet his eyes. As much as it pains me, I shake my head slowly.

“You don’t really want this, Dan,” my throat burns. “You’re hurt. This is what we do when we’re hurting. It’s always what we’ve done.”

“I do want this, Cal,” he whispers, eyes pleading with me. His fingers slide against mine, “I should’ve kissed you at the vineyard. I should’ve kissed you at that bar when I came to get you. I should’ve kissed you before you ever left to meet that dickhe-”

Despite every part of my brain screaming at me, I act in defiance as one of my hands hooks beneath his jaw, his beard rough beneath my fingers, and I press our lips together again. He reacts immediately, hand dropping away from mine and rising to slide along my jaw. The familiarity of his lips against my mine — tongues recalling a familiar dance — sends heat firing down my limbs. He inhales sharply through his nose, hands drifting toward my waist where cold fingers slide beneath my sweatshirt. 

“Daniel, I’m sorry,” I breathe, fingers weaving through the curls at the back of his head. “This can’t go too far.”

“Fuck, I know,” he groans quietly, fingers brushing across my skin concealed by the fleece sweatshirt. “I’m sorry. I’ve just missed you.”

The words hit me square in the chest, and warmth bubbles up and brings my voice to a squeak as his lips press gently to my jaw and neck. My head spins, full of the smell of his cologne and feeling of his lips against my skin, and it tips to the side to allow him access. One of my hands slides across his shoulder, gripping his bicep as his nose brushes against my neck. 

“I need to know we’ll talk,” I choke out, legs buckling as his knee slides between mine. “We need to talk about everything.”

“I owe it to you,” he whispers against my skin. All of my defenses crumble beneath his touch. 

“I missed you, too,” I whisper, gasping sharply as his cold hands press against my skin beneath the sweatshirt. “It hurt to think about it.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, lips still tracing old, familiar lines down my neck. “I’ve always been sorry.”

The chill of the breeze ushers in clouds beneath the cover of darkness, and the stretching black cracks open as gentle rain begins to fall. We’ve barely processed the cold drops falling on our faces, digging through the haze of whatever was happening between us, before the sky opens up and unleashes heavy rain. Our sweatshirts become soaked with rain, hair sticking to foreheads as we look at the other in a daze as our brains scramble to catch up. Chests are heaving and eyelids heavy, and we simply stare at one another as the rain ripples across the pool surface. I see the manuscript flutter behind Daniel, and I curse as I lunge for it, grabbing the soaked papers and pulling my rumpled sweatshirt over them in a futile attempt to save them. I spin around to a laughing Daniel — a true laugh that makes him look like he's 25 again. He doesn’t look so heavy, and his shoulders lift higher than they had since arriving at the house. He continues to laugh as he grabs my hand, pulling me through the pouring rain and across the soaked pool deck toward the house. We stumble into the house, leaving water droplets in our wake, and he continues his laughter, quieter now as Michael sleeps upstairs. He drops the wet book to the countertop, pages already swelling, and he reaches to peel his sweatshirt off.

“Daniel, what is so fun-”

I stumble to a halt, words failing, and my eyes watch as his bare torso is revealed. Biceps flex as he tugs the sweatshirt over his head, and he reaches a hand out to indicate he’s waiting for mine. I’m aware that I’m staring, eyes tracing new tattoos spreading across his skin, but I can’t tear my eyes away. I’m frozen — trying to recognize something that used to be so familiar. 

“I’m gonna put our stuff in the dryer,” he smiles softly. “Cal, you’re freezing. You need to get that stuff off.”

I nod, dazed as my eyes are stuck on the tattoos on his collarbones and spreading down his arm. My fingers tug at my sweatshirt, peeling the heavy fabric away from me, and something about his eyes on me spurs my confidence as I peel the cotton t-shirt away from my skin, too. I don’t hesitate to lose the t-shirt, a sense of comfort in Daniel’s presence, and I can feel the burn of his eyes on me as I tug the shirt over my head to hand to him. Goosebumps prickle across my skin as I stand before him, bra and sweatpants damp from the rain, and his eyes shamelessly stare at me. 

“You got more tattoos,” I whisper, unable to take the silence as his eyes watch me. “I didn’t know about them.”

He nods, still holding our sweatshirts and my shirt in his hands, “Picked up a couple since you’ve seen me like this.”

I don’t know what to say, so I remain quiet as I follow him into the laundry room. My eyes drink him in, tan skin stretched across taut muscle and adorned with black ink. His dark curls are wild from the rain. He tosses the soaking items into the washer, adding a full step to the promised routine, and his fingers clutch the elastic waistband of his pants before he tugs them down his legs. I can’t help the sharp inhale that passes through my lips as his sprawling thigh tattoo is revealed beneath sleek boxers, and he faces me seemingly unfazed despite hearing my gasp. 

“Do you want me to step out while you throw yours in?” he asks. 

My brain screams at me, but in an attempt to play it cool as my mind scrambles to catch up with everything, I shake my head. I peel the sweatpants off my legs, hyper aware I’m standing before Daniel in next to nothing, and pass them to him to toss into the washer. The water starts filling the basin with a gentle hiss.

“I thought we were just drying them?” my voice is unsteady as I take ragged breaths. 

He turns to me and I’m suddenly aware of how small the laundry room is with the minimal distance between us. My back is pressed against the edge of the wooden table, and our chests nearly brush with the deep breaths I’m heaving. 

“Figured I’d wash them while we’re at it,” he whispers, voice raspy as our eyes meet. “I have to kill some time before I throw them into the wash.”

I nod my head, humming since I don’t trust my voice. His fingers reach toward my face gently, warm digits brushing hair sticking to my forehead behind my ear. I take a steadying breath, stuck in whatever trance is surrounding us, and my fingers brush along the tattooed words on his collarbone.

“Tell me about them,” I whisper, feeling goosebumps rise in the wake of my touch. 

He tells me about some of his new tattoos, voice quiet and raspy as whatever space was left between us slowly closes. My fingers brush across his chest, tracing the ink from his shoulder to his bicep to his forearm as he talks about each new tattoo since I had seen him like this. He takes his time, sharing each story with detail and letting me trace the delicate lines. He tosses the small load of laundry into the dryer when it chimes, briefly breaking our trance before returning to stand in the closing space between us.

“The new one on your thigh,” I whisper, hand slowly reaching for the ink above his knee. The anchor is settled within his sprawling thigh tattoos, hidden unless you were already familiar with them. I notice the sharp inhale he takes as my finger brushes across his skin, “The anchor.”

He nods, throat bobbing as his eyes flutter shut, “It was for you. You’re always reminding me to stay grounded — it’s a reminder of home.”

Tears suddenly flood my eyes as I gasp, and my gaze tears from the ink on his thigh to his face where warm brown eyes meet mine. 

“You got this for me?” I whisper, voice low and breath fanning across his skin. 

He nods, eyes hood and a honeyed lilt to his voice, “Callie.”

My fingers stop tracing his skin, and my eyes search his for whatever he’s about to say. His hands twitch at his sides, “Did he touch you like I did?”

The first mention of my ex since I had told Daniel we had broken up. It catches me entirely off guard. 

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb on me, Cal,” he starts, voice strong and eyes dark. “Like in France. Did he touch you like that?”

“Daniel,” my voice trails off, brain forgetting how to do anything besides think of him — besides giving me flashbacks of his hands on my skin and his kiss from earlier. 

“Did he touch you like how I touched you? I have a feeling he didn’t even come close.”

Our chests are heaving between us, and no matter how much my brain screams at me for what I’m about to do, I’m powerless to fight it. 

“I need you to remind me how you touched me.”

That’s enough. Clashing lips and tongues as he lifts me onto the table behind me. The dryer drones away behind us, masking whatever noise is drifting from the laundry room toward the living room and kitchen. Daniel’s hands on my body, palms warm and rough as they slide across my skin, are familiar and warm me from the inside out. His hands press the softest parts of me into the hardest parts of him, and my thighs knock open and wrap loosely around his hips. The dance is familiar, our bodies remembering everything before our brains have time to find excuses as to which this should stop. His hand curls against my spine, pressing me into him and sending lightning through my body, and I gasp as his lips trace over the skin sensitive from his earlier ministrations. 

“We need to talk about this, Daniel,” I gasp, bra dropping to baskets full of laundry. “Fuck, we need to talk about this.”

His lips part against my skin, mumbling into my shoulder, “Fuck, I know.”

“Promise me I won’t regret this,” I whisper, fingers curling into his hair and tugging gently along his scalp. “If you can promise me that, we can talk later.”

“You won’t regret this,” he answers without missing a beat. “Callie, its you and me. You know how this is going to go. Do we ever regret it?”

In my heart, I know the answer, but the lust clouds my brain, and before I know it, I’ve got thighs wrapped around him. Any clothing has been abandoned into the baskets around us, and Daniel presses forward as our foreheads rest against each other. The steady hum of the dryer matches Daniel’s steady pulse beneath my fingers, and for the first time, I remove any expectations out of the situation. I simply let myself feel, finding freedom in getting lost in Daniel’s touch. The feel and scent of him, arms caging around my body as he lifts me ever so slightly from the table. It hits me all at once — voice hoarse as my eyes shut — and Daniel isn’t far behind, stilling within me as our chests heave. Any chill from the rain has vanished, and once we catch our breath, the dryer chimes quietly. Daniel pulls from me gently, whispering a gentle I know as I whine helplessly. Before I know it, he’s pulling his sweatshirt over my head, smelling of laundry detergent and faintly of him still, and I watch through hooded lids as he tugs the sweatpants up his legs.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers quietly, hands brushing hair from my face. 

“Tired, spent, incredible,” I answer. 

He chuckles quietly, “Let me take you to bed. We’ll talk tomorrow, Cal.”

He lifts me from the table, setting me down on uneasy legs, and nudges me forward gently. I barely trust my legs as I make my way up the stairs, but Daniel follows behind with large palms resting on my hips. He follows me toward my room, watching as I crawl into bed, and he pulls the blanket over my bare legs. As he goes to leave, I reach for his hand, catching his fingers with mine.

“Will you stay?” I ask quietly, embarrassed at the ask falling from my lips.

He thinks it over for a moment, unreadable look in his eyes, and the guilt burns deep in my stomach. He nods gently, hand squeezing mine before he crawls in next to me, sighing as he gets comfortable on the mattress. I hesitate to curl into his side, afraid of feeling clingy after everything that had just happened, but he rolls onto his side to face me. Our eyes meet, and for the first time this trip, the heaviness weighing around the corners is gone. He smiles as we lay there, grinning as we lay in silence. 

“How do we make sure Michael doesn’t find out about this?” I whisper.

“I’ll leave in the morning before he’s up,” Daniel whispers. “Don’t worry about it, Cal.”

I nod my head, but he doesn’t buy it. He pulls me closer to him, arms wrapping around me as I press into his chest. His steady breaths lull me into a near-sleep, eyes lidded and limbs heavy. 

“Cal?” he asks quietly, chest vibrating against my cheek. I hum quietly, an acknowledgement I’ve heard him. He continues quietly, words making my heart swell and warmth spread to my limbs, sending me drifting off, “I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.”

#daniel riccardo imagine #daniel ricciardo fic #formula one imagine #formula one fic #formula 1 fic #formula 1 imagine #daniel ricciardo #august

[yaggmurwrites]

betray me. | armin a.

pairing: armin arlert x reader -mentions of eren jaeger-

word count: 2k

warning: mentions of killing-knife

summary: this video ( dangerously yours) as armin arlert.

author's note: definitely not my best story. but i haven't written anything in a long time. i'm a little rusty. i hope you like it. enjoy!

*highly recommend listening "river waltz by lang lang" while reading!

"Oh I don't know if this is the effect of alcohol but I will tell you something very very important."

"Yes I'm listening."

"But it is very, very important."

The blonde man's smug look brought a smile to your face. His face was slightly red, which gave him a very innocent look. An innocence that almost makes you forget the truth.

"It is so important that it could cost me my life."

The man burst into laughter. But the smile on your face faded in an instant.

his life.

"As a result of your mission we will destroy Armin Arlert!"

no no no...

You came back to reality in an instant. You remembered the main purpose of being here.

You blamed alcohol too, for distracting the topic, trying to maintain your calm and professionalism.

"Oh dear, you drank too much tonight. Drop it. Let's g-"

Interrupting you, he repeated his words as if he did not hear you

" It could cost me my life."

You put on a serious expression and raise your voice a little bit so you can get the man's attention again.

"What do you mean when you say it could cost you your life?"

He looked at you with dull eyes. I'm not like a person you think. I have enemies, he faintly smiled. And if it gets to them, to him I guess they won't keep me alive.

" This will be the end of Armin Arlert baby. Thanks to you, we will achieve this. We will wipe that demon from this world, all we need is..."

Then shut up. Don't tell me anything. I'm a stranger, how can you trust me with something like that, you said.

"I love you..."

oh

" All we need is for you to fool him with love."

"... and you love me too. I have no stronger faith than love."

"Don't be ridiculous Eren. Don't try to teach me my job, you know I hate it. Why should I fall in love with that devil? My heart is full of you, and even if it wasn't, I'm too professional not to mix mission with love."

You're being ridiculous Armin. You're smart enough to know that love won't be that easy. You do not even know me. How long has it been since we met-

"5 days, 3 weeks, 7 years- they don't mean or change anything. I have known you since eternity. It's like I've lived my life to find you. I've looked for you in every woman I've been with. I'm ready to worship you. I can't believe I just said that- I don't even think there is a god but i am so, so ready to be your servant. I looked for traces of you everywhere I went. And finally i found you. Even by a silly coincidence, I finally found you. I see no choice but to trust you darling."

"I dont like you. I just killed some time. Besides, you wouldn't be able to see me next to you when you wake up tomorrow morning. Because I was going to leave and you would never ever see me again. Almost as if I never existed. We can still do this. Shut up and don't throw more words. Let's forget everything. Please let me leave. "

please

Let you? Oh, what are you trying to say my dear? Don't you understand that I love you, I wouldn't do anything to hurt you. If you don't want to be here, you can go. But I can't let you take your love with you.

Why don't you want to understand? I'm not the person you think i am. Please you need to listen to me. Fuck it, I dropped my guard for a while and I was that person but I'm not. You can't trust me.

Is it because of Eren Jaeger? Is it because you are his woman and he made you come here to-

There was no trace of the man's drunkenness. He was as sober as someone who didn't put a drop of alcohol in his mouth.

...end me?

"What? H- How?"

did he know? from the very beginning

I knew it all along, I knew it wasn't a coincidence that we had that stupid encounter. But i didn't care. And I don't care.

"And it didn't make any difference?"

No. It didn't make any difference. I trust you, determination flowed from his voice.

You didn't know what to do, how to feel. You didn't expect things to come here. Did the fact that you were thinking about these right now meant you were in love with him? But it was impossible not to fall in love with him. Even if you spend a short time together, he almost hypnotized you with his words. You didn't believe in love before. You never defined what you feel towards Eren as love. You liked him deeply. But it wasn't love. It was eternal trust. Conflict of interest but it wasn't love. What was love? Could this be love? Could you betray your mission, Eren, for love?

I will betray you, you couldn't hide the emotions in your voice anymore.

"If you betray me, you betray yourself first"

"Yes, yes I know."

That's why you should listen to me. You should know my secret. You should hear my part of the story, he took a deep breath and continued

Whether you trust me or not, I can send a team of people to destroy Eren at the end of this night.

Destroy him- No!

You weren't in love with Eren, but you had very great and strong feelings for him. In order not to let someone down, you don't have to be in love with them. Your trust in him was endless, so was his trust in you. You couldn't let him down. If what Armin said is true, you should have prevented it somehow.

"He made too many mistakes and his biggest mistake was sending you here. He knows me well enough to know that I will fall in love with you. But I guess he didn't know you that well because you fell in love with me too. How could he miss this?"

"Why should I fall in love with that devil? My heart is full of you..."

"If I betray you I betray myself. If I betray Eren, I betray our mission"

our memories...

"Our mision is very dearer to me."

Dearer than I, the man asked. You've never heard him so sincerely before. But how long have you known him anyway.

no. yes! no..

"No not dearer than you..."

He must have been pleased with the answer he get, as he suddenly became excited. He continued in a confident tone.

"Then will you let me defeat him...

defeat him

...by telling me his plans. That's the only way for me, I mean us- to defeat him. We can't both win, you see."

oh

"I am beginning to see..."

"You will help me, right my darling?"

"You think you're very smart, don't you? I see everything now. You will deceive me by telling me that you love me. You didn't see me as a threat from the beginning anyway. You made me fall in love with yourself. It must have been easy for you. I understand again why you are being called the devil. I was going to fall in love with you and I'll sell you my mission, and Eren?"

The man was taken aback by your sudden rise, obviously not expecting this. But he immediately removed the puzzled expression from his face. He was ready to use all the leverage he had.

" What are you talking about my dear? I thought we were on the same side here because love requires this."

" Fuck your love! Maybe that's why I hate love. Love doesn't need anything, do you understand? This is why I hate love. I can't suddenly give up everything for you. I don't have anyone or anything except Eren and this mission. I only have them, okay? If you take them from me, I'll have nothing left. I won't let you do it. You are not as smart as you think. Because you lost. Because I won't let you win. You forget how close love is to hate-"

You don't know what you're saying. Stop this bullshit baby, man took one step to hug you but you stopped him and took a step back.

" You never loved me! Never. I knew that deep in my heart. But I wanted to believe. Because I loved you, I admit. And you goddamn bastard! You sulked this feeling. You used it it."

" Stop acting like a child. We are not playing games here. We have serious issues."

"Yes. Yes we have, aren't we?"

After that you kept your silence for a moment. You calmed down hoping the man would approach you. Fooled by your game, he turned towards you and rested your head on his chest.

Without him noticing, you slowly brought the knife you hid in your dress to his neck.

Well.. I wasn't expecting that. Will you kill me, he let out a melodic chuckle. He didn't look like he was scared.

"Will you let me light one last cigarette? I won't try to escape or resist, I just want to smoke one more time then you can kill me."

He broke free from your grip before giving you the right to reply, almost as if he was mocking you. But he didn't try to escape as he promised he just sat on the couch and lit a cigarette.

Will you really going to kill me, he asked.

Yes. Yes I will, you replied annoyed by his ignorance.

You already know why I'm here. Give me what I want and leave Eren alone or I'll kill you, you continued.

" You won't do it. You can not do it to be more clear. You can't stab me with that knife. You can't kill me in such a brutal way. You can't do it because you love me. Isn't it true?"

No. No it's not true, you said almost shouting from anger.

He got up from his seat and began to shuffle through his books. You didn't understand what he was doing and you were confused. At the same time, he continued to talk.

"A frightened woman like you can't kill the man she loves like that, can she?"

You grasped the knife well, but you couldn't keep your hand straight because of anger.

He had taken something from the library, but it was not visible in the dim light. He slid close to you and nearly sank into you. In one hand he had things from the library. And with the other empty hand he grabbed your chin and aligned your eyes.

"Why are you still waiting, do you want me to beg you? I'm sorry darling, but I dont seem to be not in the mood for prayers tonight."

You do not believe that I will do it, that's why you act brave, you shouted as tears flowed from your eyes.

"You lied to me. You fooled me."

You fooled me too darling, he leaned and gave you a kiss.

You stabbed the knife in your hand into the stomach of the man in front of you. You didn't know if it would do fatal damage to him, but you did it anyway. Before the man lost his balance, he threw things from the library into your hands. Then he grabbed onto the chair to hold on and looked at his stomach. He had given you the documents you needed. You move forward without looking back. The last thing you heard as you left the room was "I love you."

the end seemed to be over in a hurry because from the beginning, i only set up the introduction and development part of the story in my head. i don't like killing my characters in such a simple way :) thank you for your time!

#aot #aotxreader #attack on titan #armin arlert #shingkei no kyojin #eren jaeger #arminxreader #eren jaeger x reader #erenxreader #snk armin

[moosemonstrous]

WIP Whenever/Last Line

Tagged by @swaps55, thank you! For once, I have something to share 😂 The Midnight Suns monstrosity that took over my brain.

Tagging @ulfrsmal and anyone else who wants to give me something to read, please, I'm starving.

“Funny,” Carol pours herself a cup of coffee, sniffs the contents, makes a face, and drinks it anyway. “I didn’t peg you for an early bird.”

Robbie shrugs. He’s spent most of his life waking up at the crack of dawn to get Gabe to school and himself to wherever he needed to be that day, and it's turned out to be a hard habit to break. Capitan Marvel doesn't need to know any of that, though.

He’s not used to having company before nine. Before the Avengers descended on the Abbey, he’d occasionally pass Caretaker on the way to the kitchen, but Blade kept strictly to second shift and the witches seemed allergic to schedules in general. The one time Nico arrived in time for something that could still be generously called breakfast, it was only because she’d stayed up all night researching a new spell.

“Someone’s gotta make the food,” he says. On day one, he’d made three extra portions of waffles, correctly assuming that Stark isn’t a breakfast person. He failed to account for the appetites of a half-alien super-soldier and a half-demon super-soldier. You live, you learn, you start tripling the batches . Caretaker had to magic the table up to seat more than three people at a time. “God knows you lot eat like you want to cause an egg shortage .”

“Wait till Steve gets here,” Carol snorts. “Were you a cook as a civilian?”

Robbie snorts, too, and doesn’t answer the question. He can feel her stare boring a hole in his back.

“I guess I thought you’d be magicking all your meals,” she says eventually.

“I don’t really do magic,” he admits. He plates up the first batch of pancakes and hands her the whole thing; she gives him an unimpressed look but doesn’t protest the amount.

Pancakes are good. Waffles, too. They’re simple, go with whatever you put on them and can be eaten four hours later when Blade eventually graces them with his presence. Robbie supposes any of the witches could indeed just magic them up every meal of the day, but after the is-it-vegan argument Nico and Illyana had last year, he occasionally needs to see where his food comes from to preserve what’s left of his sanity.

If Carol has a comeback, it dissolves into a yell as Strange puffs into existence in a seat next to her. This, also, is why Robbie needs to preserve what’s left of his sanity. “You don’t give yourself enough credit,” the Doctor says, using the distraction of having given his colleague a minor heart attack to steal one of her pancakes. “You picked up the basics just fine, if only--”

“Good morning, Doctor,” Robbie interrupts him. Strange thinks of magic like a complicated tool that can be learned by anyone with enough time and practice. Robbie thinks he’s already in enough trouble without knowing how to bend reality. It's a conversation they’ve had several times, since before Agatha’s death, and Strange’s inability to let things go is one of the reasons Illyana will one day put him on a Limbo time-out . “I’m happy to keep my skillset to what it is.”

Carol raises her eyebrow at him. “And what is it, exactly?”

“Battery and arson .”

#fanfic #midnight suns #robbie reyes #I wouldn't know what is the last line that will definitely remain in this WIP so have a bit from the middle

[because-she-goes]

sparks

warnings: smut, piv, mdni, dirty talk, swearing, praise kink, mutual aftercare. Enjoy!

notes: big thanks to @byyourside28 for the help w/ this and giving some pointers lol

March 7th, 2015

“Dearest Downey,

I should start by saying the following: My heart has longed for you every second since I have left you for this tour. It hasn’t stopped begging and pleading with me to be near you. My skin has been burning to touch yours again, to feel your lips against my own. I am truly lonely for the first time probably ever, only knowing loneliness in the juvenile sense up until now, I have come to understand that I can not possibly exist without you in my life, Nora. It is currently about 4pm in Rome and it is bitterly cold, rainy and windy. A perfect picture of my emotional state, drowning without you. Two teenagers across from me are currently making out in the rain, totally oblivious to the rest of the world. Oh how I wish I could have you near me and do the same. The sound of rain and thunder fills the space around me. I am freezing cold, your personality normally being like a space heater in my life - oozing joy and warmth until everyone around you is doing the same. My cigarette has now gone soggy in the ashtray in front of me, wine glass I was sipping from now dotted with raindrops. Nora, you are the only thing in my life I well and truly miss at the moment - I miss waking up to you getting dressed, handing me a mug of tea, kissing my forehead and whispering an “I love you, Handsome” before breezing out the door to get to your studio leaving me breathless. Sometimes I think you are supernatural or otherworldly, something beyond the human capability to love and care for others. I can’t wait for those mornings again, my love. The notion that I may have them for infinity is a dizzying idea and I can only pray to whatever angel brought you to me that the idea becomes a reality. See you soon, my love.

All my love,

Handsome.”

Nora cried as she read the letter. She had only been officially dating Matty for a few months, but they were inseparable. Always talking, texting, calling or sending little pictures of their days - this was the first time they had properly been apart. She had read and reread the letter dozens of times by now, but each time it made her well up with tears. She missed him terribly, but luckily the tour had come to an end and he was already on the flight back to her in New York. Her heart fluttered at the idea of having him in her apartment again, his smell filling the rooms, flannels hanging in her closet, shoes by the door. She couldn’t wait. Admittedly, she was going a bit stir crazy and had been running around all day buying wine he liked, ingredients for his favorite dinner, fresh sheets and blankets and also lots of candles for her dining table where she set up a romantic dinner for two once he arrived. This was her first big night to impress him as his girlfriend and she was buzzing.

Speaking of buzzing, her phone vibrated on the counter as she sipped some water hoping to calm her nerves.

“Let me up, Angel. - Handsome xx”

Her throat letting out a mix between a squeal and scream, she ran then calmly walked to her door - not wanting to seem too eager to hold him, kiss him, have him again. Her beautiful dress flowed behind her, the purple hue complimenting her skin and hair wonderfully. Within milliseconds of the door being cracked open, his face illuminated and his arms wrapped around her waist pulling her further into the apartment, door left open haphazardly.

“Missed you, Honey.” He breathlessly admitted into her done up hair. His spicy woodsy scent absorbing her senses. God, she missed this. He pressed a kiss to her temple before taking her face in his hands and stepping back a bit to admire her.

A sparkle in her eye, “Missed you too, Handsome.” She goes to quickly close the door, not wanting any onlookers. On her return to him, another kiss to her mouth, sweet yet desperate. They each were trying to communicate all the unsaid things, how much they needed each other, how if the other was to actually go away they would break down, how they were the other person’s half. His lips moved languidly against hers, tongue swirling around hers, teeth gnashing together as things became more intense and heated.

“Dinner first, love.” She reminded him of their plan, once they separated for air. She ushered him over to the table, getting him a glass of the Malbec she had on ice. Getting the roast chicken and vegetables out of the oven and plating it delicately for him, she felt her body being watched. His eyes tracking her every move in fondness, he couldn’t believe she was his, that he had actually done it and gotten her. A calm, content exhale left his lungs as she walked over to him with the plates of food.

It was the best roast dinner he had ever tasted, perfectly cooked. Chicken was savory and not dried out, and the vegetables were lovely and a bit sweet. “Honey glazed!” He remembers her comment about them when she had texted him what she planned to make a few days ago. God, he could eat her cooking for the rest of his life.

Once dinner had been eaten and her famous lemon cake served, they had found their way into the bedroom. He was laying in bed in his boxers and not much else, she however was getting ready in the en suite. He could see her reflection in the mirror from where he was, now able to fully take her in and how wonderful she looked even without makeup, after cooking for god knows how long and running errands all day. Her jawline sharp enough to cut glass, bright cinnamon eyes twinkled in the lights, cheeks flushed with a rosy-peach hue when she caught him staring at her. Closing the door, wanting to keep her surprise hidden. She slipped out of her dress and into the red silk bra and panties set her friend had helped her purchase a few weeks ago when he finally sent her the information about his flight home. The red bow resting between her cleavage, she straightened it nervously one last time before stepping out.

When he sees her, Matty’s heart drops to his stomach, his brain clears, and all the blood rushing down his body. “Oh fuck.” He mutters, jaw hanging open.

She was unreal—a dream.

“All for me, princess?” He asks as she stands at the foot of their bed. She pulls a knee up to the mattress and crawls up to her side of the bed, and she nods victoriously at his flabbergasted state.

The ‘M’ necklace he had gotten for her for Valentine's Day that year was hanging from her neck, the gold catching the soft mood lighting of their room. “Downey you are-“

“I know, trust me, I know.” She laughs next to him. “Before we start, I just want to clarify it to you. Matty, I want you. Forever and ever. This separation has only made me realize just how deeply I need you like a fire needs gasoline to ignite. Like the ocean needs the moon for the tides.” She confesses, still slightly nervous about revealing all of this to him.

He sighs, his head dropping back as her words overwhelm him like a wave. “Oh darling, I’ve felt that way every minute since I first looked into your eyes” The butterflies in her stomach were now running rampant.

“Fuck, Matty… I need you.” Her eyes are now as dark as his hair, lips flushed from nervously biting them.

“Downey, I’m yours.” He whispers, his voice thick with emotion, and his hand reaches up to cup her cheek and kisses her hungrily.

His hips followed and landed above hers, enveloping her. Her eyes close, wanting to freeze the moment and kiss him forever. Her skin was smooth and warm against his, the scent of her coffee and vanilla perfume surrounding him.

His hand finds her hip, and he shutters at the feel of the silk gliding against his touch. “Can I take these off of you, love?” His voice is delicate and sincere, yet full of hunger. He takes a moment to admire how his hand looks against the red silk, veins and knuckles creating rough angles against the smooth texture of the silk. His pale complexion creating a beautiful contrast against the deep red hue.

“Yes, Matty. Please take yours off too. Wanna feel you.” She whimpers under him, the heat growing with every waking moment between her thighs.

He takes off his boxers and then quickly works on the lingerie, whispering sweet nothings in her ear to reassure her that she is a goddess to him.

His hand moves to the apex of her thighs, feeling her eagerness. “So good for me, Angel. Always so ready.” He groans as his fingertips draw tight tiny circles on her clit. “Want me, Nor? I’ve been dreaming of this since I left.”

“Yes, Matt, please.” She begs, “W-Want you to fill m-me up so good!” Her hips came off the mattress as her back arches. He lines himself up with her and slowly makes his way in - eyes searching hers for any pain or discomfort, taking things at her pace. So he doesn’t overwhelm her.

“Oh fuck, I’ve missed you!” Matty moans as he bottoms out, feeling his hips meet her thighs. “Ready for me to move?”

“Matt, move for me, please. Need it. Need you.” She groans, feeling full as her hips grind against him, aching for any type of friction. He first moves cautiously, then once he sees the pleasure in her face grow, he throws all the caution to the wind.

Now, at a steady pace, Matty feels her clenching around him. His breath caught in his throat at the erotic sounds of their centers colliding.

“Feel so good, baby. So, fucking perfect. Like you were made for me, Nor.” He praises her sweetly as her eyes roll back and her hips buckle. His hand reaches between them and pinches her nipple with his thumb and forefinger—the way he knows she likes.

“Fuck, Handsome! God, you are gonna make me cum so quick if you keep at that.” She warns.

“Yeah, Nora? Gonna cum for me baby?” He taunts, “You sound so pretty talking so filthy. Love it.” He groans as his climax grows with each thrust. His stomach tightened with each whimper and moan that fell from her lips.

“Oh fuck, Matthew– I’m gonna fucking cum any second if you start with that cocky shit.” She moans. Her body was writhing in pleasure, her skin now covered with a thin layer of sweat. She said his name like it was a sacred hymn.

“Thats it, Nora! Cum for me, angel. Wanna feel you cum on me.” He said hers like it was gospel scripture.

“God, Yes! Feels so good Matthew!!” Her body shutters as her orgasm gripped him. She clenched around him as her walls tightened like a warm glove.

He closed his eyes, savoring each and every feeling he felt as his body reacted to hers. He lost himself within himself as her body became a part of his, physically and emotionally.

He rolls back onto his side, both panting next to each other and trying to catch their breaths. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Nora.” He whispers into the air, truth spilling out of him.

“Matthew, I’m never gonna love anyone else.” She replies, breath still shaky.

Once they’ve relaxed, he goes to the little mini fridge she keeps in the room and grabs water and granola bars. He hands her the snacks and gets a warm wet washcloth from the bathroom.

“Gotta clean you, baby okay? I’ll be quick, and then we can get you some nice warm pajamas.” She gives him a loving nod, this being her favorite part of spending nights with Matty. This caring side of him comes out after, suddenly, his demeanor goes from stiff and rough to soft and sweet.

He takes the cloth and cleans up any mess. He gently kisses her knee for reassurance and hands her a clean, cotton pair of white underwear. Her comfort and relaxation came first in his mind. He then gives her a pair of his sweatpants she likes, and an oversized tee shirt. He even goes as far as brushing her hair back into a loose bun, placing another kiss along her hairline. She munches sleepily on the granola and finishes the water bottle.

“Thank You, Handsome. Too sweet to me.” A yawn leaves her body. “And you’re okay? Want me to grab the essential oils you like?” Her eyes looked to his, sensing the shift in his brain chemistry that could happen to either of them.

“Yeah actually, that’d be lovely.” She sits up, leaning over to reach into her bedside table and fishes around for the small bottle. She placed some oil on her wrists, then delicately took his wrist and did the same. She kisses his hands as she does so.

“Goodnight, Matthew. Sweet dreams, it's good to have you finally home.” She whispers as her head hits the pillow, her eyes closing softly as her breaths even out.

“Couldn't agree more, Nora. Good to be home.” He says as he also falls asleep, arm resting over her waist. He sighs contentedly. He could die happy knowing he had Nora in his life, that he had been blessed by her presence.

#Spotify #drew’s writing :) #matty x nora #THEYRE BACK!! #matty healy #the 1975 #lol GOOD AFTERNOON EVERYONE #an encounter

[cruella-de-liv]

Come Morning Light, You and I’ll Be Safe & Sound

Summary: Steven didn’t agree to being Moon Knight. Every evening, as the sun goes down, his anxiety heightens and his mind races with the dangers that await him in the night. Luckily, Marc is there to calm his fears.

Pairing: Marc Spector x Steven Grant (platonic, brotherly, if you will)

Song: Safe & Sound - Taylor Swift, The Civil Wars

Word Count: 816

A/N: This is my first time writing for Marc, I absolutely loved Moon Knight. I did some research on how to write characters with DID, which I do not have myself, so obviously if anything is wrong/offensive, please let me know. Thanks in advance :) Also, I do not own this song, these characters, or the gif.

Marc = Red, Steven = Blue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Steven looked out the open window nervously as the sun began to dip below the horizon. He almost remembered a time when the night sky inspired a calmness and wonder in him, as opposed to the current knot in his stomach and lump in his throat. In the past couple of months, he discovered an alternate personality with whom he shares a body, a mercenary called Marc Spector. Well, actually he learned he was the alter and Marc was the host.. yeah, it’s been a rough go. On top of that, Marc serves as the avatar for the Egyptian God of the Moon, Khonshu, which involved many long, bloody nights, and painful mornings. And though they shared a body, Steven did not get much of a say in that choice. Given, it was either this or die, but remembering that never helped calm Steven’s racing mind.

How many had he killed? How much blood was on his hands that he didn’t even know about? And what if people were coming after him for the things Marc had done whilst he was in the back seat?

Steven almost missed the days when he didn’t know about Marc’s existence at all.

The sky was finally getting dark, and Steven and Marc both knew it was only a matter of time before Khonshu came calling on them. Steven felt his palms clam up, his heart pounding, and the air suddenly felt too thick to flow through his windpipe. He clumsily makes his way to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face before gripping both sides of the sink tightly to keep his balance. Lifting his head to the mirror and taking deep breaths to slow his heart, he makes eye contact with Marc in the reflection, his brows furrowed in their usual line, but with something different behind his eyes, something softer.

“You alright?” Marc asks, his gravelly voice almost sounding concerned, but Steven knew better. Or at least, he thought he did.

“Do I bloody look alright?” Steven snaps back, running his hands through his unruly hair and down over his face. Really, he felt like crying, he wanted to be held, but he was all alone in his flat. Well, physically alone.

“It’s okay, you’re okay, just breathe,” Marc’s attempts at being soothing make Steven laugh bitterly. Marc was shocked. He had never heard Steven like this before.

“Really? You’re going to tell me ‘it’s okay’ and I’m supposed to just step back and let you go on a killing spree with my hands, just like that, yeah? On behalf of that stupid old bird, no less…” Steven felt the anger from his lack of control in his own life bubbling inside him, spilling out in the form of hot tears. “And I’m supposed to just hope I wake up in my bed in the morning, not knowing if I am ever really safe-”

“Hey, you’re safe. I keep us safe, remember?” Marc interrupted, mouth pressed into a deep frown. He hadn’t realized Steven was so afraid of his … extracurricular activities. He figured, he took care of the bad stuff, Steven took care of the good stuff, and that was that. In reality, Marc’s shadows were killing Steven’s light, and it was taking it’s toll on him. It was clear in the way Steven was talking to Marc now.

After a few beats of silence, Steven finally whispers, “I just don’t know how much longer I can do this.” He glances to the open window again, moonlight now streaming through the curtains. Marc sighs, he wishes he had been able to keep this part of their life hidden from Steven, even if it did bond them in the long run.

“Unfortunately, we don’t really have a choice, buddy,” Marc said sadly, though Steven didn’t know if it was for him or for himself. A gust of wind alerted them to the arrival of Khonshu, and for a second the relief of the cool breeze on Steven’s damp skin made him forget about what happens next. He looked back towards the mirror, and Marc was surprised to see an emptiness in Steven’s eyes as he prepared to step back and let Marc take over for the night. But there was fear there, too.

“Hey, I’ve got us,” Marc says gently but firmly, locking eyes intensely with Steven to make sure his message gets across. “Just close your eyes. Come morning light, you and I will be safe and sound. I promise.”

Steven takes a long, slow breath, nodding so minutely Marc almost didn’t notice. Steven finally gives into the familiar sensation of Marc taking control of the body. They share one last long look in the mirror, neither able to accurately decode the others thoughts, before Marc shrugs on the Moon Knight suit and leaves the bathroom, mentally preparing for another night as Khonshu’s fist of vengeance.

#marc spector imagine #marc spector #steven grant #steven grant imagine #moon knight #moon knight imagine #jake lockley #Spotify #mr knight

[alharringtonfan]

Pretentious Cesark poem

It all comes and goes

Things go so fast in a moment mom won’t be there.

Father is long gone. The dog was ran over. Mark is all I have left.

Memories are temporary, there’s no use enjoying

What in a moment will be forgotten. It is so easy to neglect

What doesn’t involve him in any other way.

Maybe in the future, I’ll regret this decision.

But I just know that in the present,

I don’t have to worry about the next day.

Why are humans here if they can’t enjoy life

For more than a few decades at a time?

What even is time when I’ve got eternity

Heaving and stretching just before my eyes?

What even is eternity when I can’t see it,

If it all comes and goes in a sorrowful goodbye?

Take care. I’ll see you again, in another reality

Maybe on Sunday. Tomorrow. What God allows.

I’ll miss you, even if it leads to nothing.

I’ll cry for your body, even if I try forgetting it exists.

Besides the part where we all die, 

Everything is fine. This isn’t some unexpected twist.

It was all planned from the very start.

Let’s pick this up from where we left us at

Right before the signal. Kiss me at nine.

At ten, let me know if I’ll see you again.

Before we even do it, just know

That you were the greatest gift of my entire life.

Thank you for even giving the time of the day.

The chance of waking up every morning by your side.

I have to go, I fear if I stay I won’t ever want to leave.

Smile a little. I don’t want to see you cry.

When I look at you, all I see is destiny.

You’re divine. You’re the purest, ardent light.

I want to have you despite the consequences.

I have to get you. Christ, Mark. You’re so precious.

Let's put aside mistrust, and get to our happy forever.

If this love ruins us, then at least we’ll be together.

…

You’ll no longer be scared of your own shadow

By giving yourself and your wants to the inevitable.

To the unconfirmed. Hoping it can save with prayer.

That it can snatch you from a dead, abandoned nowhere.

And bring humanity to where eternity is a promise.

To where the otiose infinity is but an inconvenience.

You can't walk a mile without worrying

If in the middle of the road you'll falter.

You're so afraid of sin that you kill yourself

Before commiting. It's better to die a saint

Then to live knowing that from judgment

There’s no escaping. Your fate is sealed.

Is this second-guessing really living?

But I just can’t understand

Why you pretend to abide by these rules that you frankly don’t believe.

Some mere words, from a book

Of truth, to an encasing future.

So near that if I blink, I’m sure the years leading to it will feel like

Nothing at all. Everything is pointless either way.

There's no use fighting what will happen.

What only matters is when it’ll all end.

But I can kiss all your worries away.

I will make you comfortable in your final days.

I’ll mourn for you, I’ll bring you back from the dead

Over and over again. Let our love last forever.

It doesn't matter if we weren't meant to be.

I promise that with me you can be glad.

My love for you is consummate in every way.

Of a genuine skill, of the highest power, to my greatest capacity.

Shown raw, as it is. That’s how I want my love to be.

It’s tough and it hurts. It can bite and mark down.

But that’s just the strength of it.

My love is all Mark’s. My care is exclusively his.

My passion kills for him, feels pain for him. It can end the world for him.

I’ll slaughter every single one who denies such truth.

This world will be a void of darkness

An explosion in every molecule. A hell on Earth in every step.

If we ever get denied our happiness.

So, let go of your morals just for me.

Cease to believe in Him and trust only me.

Indulge in your pleasure, be selfish for once.

Lay in bed. You don't even have to move.

I can lead this dance of two.

Let me do this work alone.

Just come to my arms and live up to this romance,

I’ll take care of you.

…

Yet it’ll be worthless.

If I tell him he’s worth the world,

That in me he can trust

At the highest hour,

It’ll mean less than verses.

His face would form into one of disgust,

He feels pity, and I can see that in how he sours.

His voice would falter. He’d get silent, and then:

“Cesar, I’m not who you think I am.”

…

I can’t keep this cycle anymore.

Of gaining, losing. Falling back, apart, and so forth.

I can’t handle loving so hard, but only temporarily.

There's nothing worth it for you in here.

You have no one else aside from me.

Things don’t have to get so complicated.

Just rely on what I can provide,

I promise you'll be free.

You don’t want anyone to get hurt.

You just want this world to be at peace,

You want to stop what you can’t control

When you hide from your problems they don’t exist.

Death sounds preferable to pressure

But you suffer and stand on your feet.

You desire the endless unknown,

Even when there’s no going back from it

But I’ll fix it all in a second.

The world would be peaceful again

There would be no longer pain.

You’d no longer be tempted to leave

This place you like so much, yet fears.

You can stay here as long as you want,

Just give me one more thing.

Your heart.

And the courage to listen me say

That I’ll always love you. And reply

That you also feel the same way.

Tell me I was justified

In killing so many people

That none of this was in vain, 

That what I did was right.

So much pain had to have a point.

And if you do, 

I'll give you a ring.

And nothing but God could tear us apart.

…

It all comes and goes either way.

So it doesn’t matter what we make of our lives.

It’s all going to end one day,

So why worry if what we do is right?

No matter what the future brings,

Despite what happens tonight,

Remember to pack up your things.

I’ll see you on the other side.

#poem #this one was tough to make #now onto the jonah poem!

[ragnvdnir]

OH OHHH UHM UHM CAN I HAVE THOMA WITH ‘ would you care to dance? ’

warnings: none atm

note: pretty sure this is not included in the prompt list but imma do it bc its thoma. and idk what i did and why it turned out like this. the finish product is too far from the request lmao

THOMA has loved you for god knows how long. You are made for each other; a match made in heaven. Love always finds its way for you and him. Being there for each other since you were in diapers to hitting puberty and at last, finally having the courage to confess and date and here you are, being the happiest newlyweds.

He was singing along as a song plays in the background while he chops ingredients to cook. The whistle of the kettle took him back to reality and he walked toward the kitchen to turn off the stove. At the same time, the door opened and you walked in, taking off your shoes and hanging your scarf and coat on the rack, looking exhausted. Thoma looked behind him and he saw you walking toward him like a zombie.

“Welcome home, my sweetest love!” He greeted you with his enchanting smile while opening his arms for you to run to. Your heart cried out of joy at the sight of Thoma. You gave him a tired smile and embraced him tightly, letting out a sigh of relief.

“A very long day?” He asked. You only nodded and rest your head on his shoulders. He planted a kiss on your forehead and cares your hair lovingly. You stayed like that for a minute until the song in the background changes into something sweet and slow, perfect for a dance.

Thoma looked down at you with a sheepish smile pasted on his face “Would you care to dance?” He whispered. You glanced at him, fond.

“It's my honor to dance with you,” You took his hands.

“And it is happiness to dance with the most beautiful person in every lifetime.” He took your hand before giving them a sweet gentle kiss and guided you into the middle of the living room where taroumaru is found sitting in one of the chairs.

Ineffable, that's how to describe your state right now. Thoma is too great to be described and expressed in words. He is everything. He made you feel like you were the happiest person alive. He took you to ecstasy that you thought never existed. He loves you, you love him. That is enough— maybe even too much— to have in your little life.

Nevertheless, he never fails to pray to gods every waking moment to thank them for letting him feel your love, for letting him breathe beside you, for letting him live another day to care for you, for letting him feel this, for... everything.

“It still feels unreal to me that we are already married.” He started as you two swayed in the living room. You looked up at him and pecked his lips— which let me tell you, caught him off guard.

“Likewise, how can I marry such a perfect man.” You sighed. Thoma only giggled at you and pull you to him closer.

It was silent after that, just two people deeply in love with each other dancing. The song came to an end but the soft swaying continues.

“Hey, my love?” He stared at you.

“Yes?”

“Can I marry you again?” You looked at him confused but only laughed.

“What do you mean? We just got married two weeks ago though?” You smiled at him as you played with the tail of his hair.

“Yeah, I know, but, I just want to marry you over and over again.” The moment his green eyes locked with yours, your heart skipped a beat. You are sure that your legs is about to give up if you are not holding unto him. This man... really.

You wanted to cry, not because you are sad, but because you are loved like that that this man wants to marry you for eternity. Thoma, why are you doing this to me.

Not knowing how to respond to his love once again, you just kissed him. He smiled and return your affection.

“Thoma, we are not rich to get married again and again.” You tilt your head on the side as you anticipated his answer.

“Well, we don't have to be rich! We don't even need a money or people! We can just get married by ourselves here and taroumaru as the witness!” He giggled at the idea and rubs your wedding ring.

“We can just get married again with paper rings like how I proposed to you! well, uh, even if you deserve jewels and not just a piece of paper but anyway, what do you think? Isn't nice to get married every day?” Thoma beamed at you. You asked yourself how do you still survive from all of his (sweet) shenanigans.

The mention of how he proposed to you brought back memories that you would always remember. It was a sudden decision for him and you that he didn't even prepared a ring, so he used the receipt of your groceries to form it into a ring.

Thoma was a simple man, and you love him dearly, and the thought of marrying him again sounds like another serotonin booster. Well, he is your own dosage of serotonin after all. His radiance is enough for you to keep loving and living.

“Let's get married again then, for evermore.”

side note: get a man who will want to marry you again and again. get a man who is thoma to be exact, mwah mwah!

©kazu-topia, 2022. do not copy or translate my works, thank you!

#idolteyvat #—ein's writing🖋️ #—request🌟 #interwoven fates #thoma x reader #thoma x y/n #thoma x you #thoma imagines #genshin thoma #genshin impact thoma #thoma fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin scenarios #thoma scenarios

[goldenkirstein]

i've been on fire, dreaming of you

or alternatively, when both you and jean thought you lost each other

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

anonymous requested: hello there! I love your stuff. if requests are open, may I request a canonverse post-rumbling jean x fem reader where y/n is wounded + passed out from exhaution after the rumbling and wakes up warm and safe, with jean tending to her wounds. Y/n is shocked bc she remembers how she almost lost Jean (she didn't get turned into a titan, maybe she isn't Eldian?) and she just shoots straight up to embrace Jean without realizing the intensity of her wounds. Jean gets extra worried so he has to gently guide her back to lying down on the bed because she has a fever and her injuries aren't all better yet 🥺👉👈 maybe they cuddle afterwards until she falls asleep or smth aaaaaa 🥺 pairing: jean x fem! reader wc: 2.7k+ tags: angst to fluff, cursing, female reader, mentions of death, blood and violence, hints of blasphemy (?), mentions of injuries, aot manga spoilers.

a/n: sorry this took so long, (i was shadowbanned) i changed up the request a teensy bit but otherwise i hope you enjoy !!

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Hot, burning, searing pain is the last thing you remembered before your vision went black.

That and the sight of the man you loved transforming into the one thing you feared the most.

Whether it was the heartache or the open wounds on your body that made you lose consciousness, you don’t know.

Truthfully, you were angry at Jean.

It was a whispered confession on the Azumabito airship. You and Jean sat in the corner, Captain Levi and Pieck in front of you, eyes cast away. The rest sat in silence, reeling from the situation that had played out on the ground below, quietly preparing themselves for the hell that awaited them at Fort Slava.

Jean’s hands were trembling; you would expect that after years of seeing your comrades die at the hands of humans and titans alike, you would get used to the death.

This wasn’t that, though; this was a different fear and anxiousness. Jean’s hands were clammy and his face pale; you could gauge that from one look at the man next to you, whatever worries were bubbling inside him were the accumulation of all the events from the past couple of days.

Jean was a collected man most times; as commanding officer, he didn’t have a choice but to be stoic and calm in the face of danger. But when that facade began to crumble, you would be there to ground him, remind him of why he was fighting. You knew that if you locked eyes at that moment, Jean would be able to see right through the front you were putting up, see the fear etched into your irises as you all were hurtling towards your deaths. So instead, you made the executive decision to swallow that panic and be that rock he needed, offering him your hand.

You took hold of his hand, staring ahead, and squeezed it three times, a reminder for both him and you that at least you still had each other. You could feel his eyes on you after you performed the simple gesture, but you continued to look ahead, focusing on the clouds, knowing that a couple of meters below, havoc was being wreaked by those mindless titan drones.

He said it so faintly, so lightly that you barely heard it past the sounds of the engine reverberating around the metal cabin.

“I’ll love you now and forever, even when I’m a pile of burnt bones.”

It’s like he knew. It was his way of saying goodbye to you. And you ignored him.

You clenched your jaw and pretended that you didn’t hear, pushed it to the back of your mind because this was no place for hushed confessions of love and, even more so, goodbyes. You were sure as hell were not letting Jean say goodbye to you. There would be no reason to, not if you had it your way. The both of you were bound together, and goodbyes were never to be uttered between the both of you.

Even when I’m a pile of burnt bones.

Is that what remains of him now? The muscle, sinew, and skin that pieced Jean together all reduced to ash and soot? The body that you had spent hours tracing, memorizing every detail of scattered in the wind. You would never feel the weight of his body on yours again, be able to graze your fingers over the scars littered on his torso, feel the way his heart would beat against your hands.

Jean Kirstein would only exist in your mind from now on.

He had left you alone with nothing but his memory, but even then, it was plagued by the image of a senseless titan taking the shape of Jean.

You wished to go back and tell him to shut up, never to utter those words again. Tell him to get those foolish notions out of his head, slap your hands over his mouth, silencing him, so that you could continue to live in your deluded reality that both of you would make it out alive. Tell him that he was selfish, of leaving you here to endure this torment by yourself.

Would that stop the scathing agony you were feeling?

Maybe this was hell you were in, you thought. That you were being punished for ignoring him, that you were the foolish one. Perhaps you should’ve held him tight to you, found a way to fold himself into you, so you wouldn’t have to suffer alone. Were you angry at Jean, or was that resentment directed at yourself?

The pain spread from your chest to your arms, down your legs, coursing through your veins.

You should have looked at him, told him that you were just as scared; maybe that could have changed his fate. If only you repeated those words back to him. He would still be here now.

I’ll love you now and forever.

I love him. I love him. I love him.

Bring him back to me.

The silent prayer came from the depths of your heart; whether God or who knows what would hear it, you didn’t know, but the thought of having to live with this ache was enough for you to continue repeating the mantra in your head.

--

Jean looked at your unconscious form that laid next to his seat. If it wasn’t for the gentle rising and falling of your chest, he could have sworn you were dead.

The thought sent a chill down his spine.

Jean had made peace with the fact that he would die when he transformed into a titan. Seeing you, like this, however, barely grasping onto your own life, made his body ache; he was okay with dying, but the thought of having to live without you was a fate worse than death.

He reached over to grab your hand and rubbed his thumb over the back of your palm before grasping it and squeezing it three times. He let go of it, placing it back gently over the top of your torso.

It was time to change your bandages and clean your wounds. Jean was a strong man; he had seen firsthand what a titan could do to one’s body, but his hands quivered as they unwrapped the bloodied bandages from your thigh. One singular thought overcame his mind.

Was he the reason that you were injured this badly? Did he hurt you?

Jean had spent many nights tending to your injuries, his hands careful when it came to you. However, the cuts and gashes he would tenderly patch up would always be inflicted by other humans or titans. Never did he think that his hands would be capable of hurting you. Jean was disgusted with himself as he stared straight ahead at his hands, now covered in blood.

The worst part of this, Jean thought, was that he couldn’t even remember if he was responsible for this, or maybe, that was a blessing. Recalling the situation would drive him into madness. The man winced at the thought of his arms tearing up your body.

He reached over to the tiny side table holding the medical supplies, grabbing the antiseptic solution. Dabbing it on a cloth, he attentively cleaned the wound, instinctively checking for your reaction. You would always make a fuss when he would apply it, but Jean averted his eyes once he realized that there was no reaction from your comatose form.

Usually, he would scold you when you would pull back from his hands when he tended to your wounds, but now any response would be better than having to tolerate the silence in the tiny room.

Jean got up to clean his hands in the basin, warm water turning red once he dipped his hands in. This was his punishment; he would have to suffer the consequences of his actions. The both of you were alive; Jean knew that he should be grateful, get on his hands and knees and thank the gods above. However, why should he be thankful? It was cruel. The both of you were not alive by the grace of God; this wasn’t mercifulness or benevolence.

What good is living if you have to sit and watch the one you love the most deteriorate in front of your eyes.

“You need to sleep; this isn’t healthy.” Connie was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. Although he was speaking to Jean, his eyes were transfixed on you.

Jean didn’t need to look at himself to know how terrible he looked. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his face pale and gaunt. He spent his days and nights in your room, never wanting to miss the moment when you would wake up.

If. If you woke up, not when. Even that was not guaranteed.

“I’m not leaving her side, Connie.” Jean dried his hands on the cloth next to the basin. He turned his head to look at his friend, whose eyes were now staring back into his.

Connie understood the situation; he wanted you to wake up as well, but it pained him to see Jean suffer like this, “Spending your days sitting next to her waiting for her to wake up won’t help her, Jean.”

“You don’t think I fucking know that?” Jean slammed his hand down on the basin, hair falling in front of his face. Connie’s eyes widened at his friend’s action; to say that Jean was frustrated would be an understatement.

“You got your mom back, Annie got to see her dad, even those damn kids found each other. I got her back, but it’s my fault she’s like this.” Jean gritted his teeth, lip quivering.

Connie’s heart sank; he had seen Jean at his worst, but this was almost unbearable to witness. He made his way over to the hunched-over man and squeezed his shoulder.

“It’s not your fault Jean. This is difficult, believe me, I know, but you can’t be blaming yourself.” Connie’s eyes flickered your form, and he clenched his jaw.

Jean shifted his head, sullen eyes peering at your face through strands of hair; the man shook his head as a sob escaped his lips, “I need her to wake up Connie. I can’t live without her; I don’t know how to.”

--

You felt a gentle breeze on your face and an odd pressure around your ribs. Laying still for a moment, you waited for the pressure to subside, but instead, it made its way down to your thigh. You tried to open your eyes, but it was as if they were glued shut; there was no strength left in your body.

How many days had it been? Where were you?

Questions circled amidst your clouded mind as you lay immobile. You realized that the pressure you were feeling on your body was the weight of someone’s hands. How badly were you injured?

Memories flooded into your mind as you became aware of the situation you were in currently. Someone had rescued you at Fort Slava, and you were being treated at a medical facility by nurses. No, not nurses; the hands felt oddly familiar. They were careful and precise in their movements but carried tenderness as well.

You tried to take a deep breath in, to gather strength to move any one of your limbs, but paused immediately as the pain in your ribs was far too great. Shallow breaths would suffice for the time being. You began to focus on moving your fingers, channelling whatever energy you had left to at least get them to move.

The sheets underneath your fingers were soft as you gently moved your digits along the fabric. The hands on your thigh briefly paused before continuing their movements. You waited a minute before moving again, this time lifting your hand.

You couldn’t feel the hands on your body anymore.

Whoever had been treating your wounds whispered your name. It was a man, but you weren’t able to recognize their voice as everything was still groggy.

The man sharply inhaled, his voice shaking as he said your name once again.

You mustered the strength to open your eyes; your eyelids were heavy and hard to fight to keep open. The room was blurry and far too bright for your liking, but you continued to blink, and soon, the details surrounding you came into focus. The figure was still, waiting for your next move; you lolled your head to the side to get a better look at him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He slowly came into focus; he was holding your hand between his and planting kisses on the back of your palm.

Why was he apologizing? Who was he?

Your heartbeat quickened as his voice became more apparent; this had to be some sick nightmare. You slowly sat up and reached out to him to cement the fact that this couldn’t be real. Your hand made contact with his knee; he was warm, he was alive.

Tears were running down your cheeks as your eyes scanned up his frame until landing on his face. Jean stared back at you, eyes wide, your hand still held in his.

Your face contorted as you took in the sight in front of you; you were so sure you had lost him, and yet here he was. Sitting up fully, you used your free hand to grip on to his white button-down and pull him into you with whatever remaining strength you had. Jean dropped your hand, and you swiftly wrapped both of your arms around him, eyes fluttering shut to take in his presence.

A pile of burnt bones.

It wasn’t a dream; you could feel his heartbeat against your body, feel his hair against your cheek. You sobbed into the crook of his neck, ignoring the immense pain you were feeling, scared that if you let him go, he would scatter in the wind.

“Jean, I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry, I should’ve told you-” Your voice was scratchy and hoarse, still weak from the slumber which had woken from a few minutes ago.

He brought a hand up to rest against your head, “I’m the one who’s sorry; why are you apologizing?” Jean pulled away from you, causing you to wince.

You furrowed your brows in confusion; he gently laid you back down on the bed before continuing, “I hurt you when I transformed into a titan; I’m the one who’s responsible-” Jean paused, his eyes landing on the gauze on your upper leg.

He wasn’t making any sense to you; shaking your head, you frowned at him, “What do you mean? I saw you transform before I passed out; I got injured by the rubble falling from the fort.”

“I should be apologizing, not you. When we were in the airship, you told me you loved me, and I ignored you, Jean, and then I thought you died and lost you. I’m terrible-” You looked up at him through teary eyes; Jean wiped your tears before kissing your cheeks.

“All this time, I was scared that I had almost killed you, and here you thought that I was dead.” He whispered, hands caressing your cheek.

“You’re not dead right; if I close my eyes, you’ll still be here?” You brought your hand up to hold his, letting out a shaky breath.

“No, my love, I’m not dead, and I’m not going anywhere.” Jean pressed a light kiss to your forehead. You cautiously sat up before moving over slightly to make room for him on the small bed.

“Can you lie here with me? Don’t wanna let go of you yet.” He nodded his head before getting up from his seat to lie next to you.

You placed your head on his chest, eyes fluttering shut. Your hand traced the buttons on his shirt, slowly getting lulled to sleep by the sound of his steady heartbeat.

Jean’s fingers skimmed your side; overwhelming happiness filled his chest; he was relieved that you were alright and that he hadn’t been the one at fault for your current state. He felt you press a kiss where his heart was, and his lips curled into a smile.

“You know why I said what I said on the airship?”

“Hmm, why?” Your ears piqued in interest.

“Because I knew that even if I died, I’d find you again, somehow somewhere.”

You let out a sigh, silently thanking whoever it was that answered your prayers.

I love him and you brought him back to me.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed this !! any feedback is appreciated !! i tried something a little different than how i usually write, so please don't be shy to tell me if you liked it or not and what could be improved !!

also i apologize for not being active these past couple of days, my tumblr went haywire and i was shadowbanned, its all fixed now but again super sorry !!

taglist: @c0urtn3y, @depressedbisexual, @dai-tsukki-desu, @clean-soap, @nevcrmxre, @conniesspringersgf, @glittrkink

click here to join my taglist

As always, please leave a like/reblog if you enjoyed this, I appreciate it lots <33

#jean kirstein x reader #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschtein #jean kirstein #attack on titan #aot #aot x reader #aot fluff #jean kirschtein imagine #jean kirstein fanfiction #jean kirstein fluff #jean kirstein imagine #jean kirschtein x you #jean x y/n #snk #snk x reader #snk imagines #jean kirstein x you #jean kirschtein x y/n #jean kirstein x y/n #attack on titan x reader #my writing #jean kirstein angst #jean angst #jean fluff #jean kirschtein angst #jean kirschtein fluff #aot angst #snk angst #connie springer

[jiminrings]

i think stem!koo would compare himself with the other guy and start questioning if that’s more oc’s type and if he’s just the outlier. maybe even tries mimicking the other guy to see oc’s reaction… like if oc was talking to hobi and guk saw and then when they meet up a few day later oc’s like???? why are you blonde?

cold senior!y/n x stem major!koo masterlist :D

besides hoseok having the divine ability to throw pretty cool parties, it turns out he’s actually pretty cool too — too bad jungkook doesn’t know how to handle his jealousy at all.

“would you hate me?”

there’s no morning like today, really

no morning like today because all three of you woke up before 10 am

setting alarms when there are no classes is the equivalent of setting yourself up and you will not subject yourself to that!! — you wake up at like 12 pm max

yoongi would typically wake up at 4 in the morning, groggily realize that it’s iNDEED 4 in the morning, and go back to sleep — he wakes up seven hours later <3

jin’s sleeping pattern (or as what he calls un-blinking hours) fluctuates so oftenly and is therefore non-existent — he wakes up only when you wake him up!!

the three of you just started coming out of your rooms one-by-one and were in a daze looking at each other :|

no morning like today because now that the three of you woke up practically at the same exact time for an unknown reason, you asked if you can have jungkook come over for breakfast and they agreed

“do you guys mind if i invite jungkook for breakfast?”

“nah. go ahead.”

“it’s alright i understand i-?? what did you just say?”

jungkook also feels like there’s definitely something in the air this morning and it’s not weed lol

jin greeted him and yoongi nodded at him??? it felt as weird yet gratifying as a nickelodeon show crossover

all of you are immersed in casual and playful chatter in a somehow haze!! seokjin’s on autopilot preparing four (!!) bowls and yoongi’s getting the family (!!) cutlery instead of the disposable visitor ones

which is why the moment you ask a seemingly-loaded question, everyone just immediately snappeD out of it and was brought back to reality

“would you hate me?”

“never.” (jungkook fervently shakes his head no that his neck felt like it was unscrewed at one point)

“i would gaslight everyone and everything for you.” (yoongi snickers with his hands across his chest, actually thinking that he could also gaslight anything for you even if it’s an inanimate object)

“depends.” (jin carelessly shrugs as he tries to convince himself that you wouldn’t commit arson to his dream shared house with you and yoongi)

...

well they really didn’t let you finish ://

“thank you, but i didn’t mean it that way,” you snicker in thought at each of their answers, giving jungkook a grateful pat on his knee

yoongi almost scowls at that but he, along with jin, catches your incessant gaze

oh the question is meant for the two of them???

“would you hate me if i convince the two of you to split with me the cost of a canvas painting?”

a what

since wHEN are you into canvas paintings???

the two of them have their mouths slightly ajar and even jungkook’s joining in because even if he’s nOt included in this conversation, he’s also surprised???

“like an old abstract painting?” jin grimaces and therefore breaks the silence, blindly folding in his fluffy pancake mix to look at your reaction

“god, no,” you shudder already at the thought of an old painting with asbestos you can’t gauge the meaning of being hung at the large empty wall, “it’s for our dorm.”

.... oh?

they aren’t really against chipping in for an item that only yOU would benefit from, but it’s kinda exciting to think that all three of you are involved

“how big is this painting that you’re talking about?”

yoongi asks in deep thought, already thinking about nails and screws (which probably aren’t allowed) and the backup heavy-duty mounting tape

he’s curious already!!!! screw him!!!

“really?” your eyes considerably widen, looking at the teo of them, both shrugging at each other and that’s already your seal of approval!!! see!! you didn’t even have to plead :D

“A1 — that’s what the guy said. i found him on instagram!!”

yoongi narrows his eyes at you unironically, tch-ing at what you just said

“i don’t speak in barbecue sauce, y/n.”

.,.,.,...,. pls

jin snorts extra loudly because yoongi’s completely serious and not kidding at all when he only knows A1 as a goddamn brand of sauce instead of an actual measurement

“A1 means 23x33 inches in sizing, dumbass.”

the guy at the receiving end of chuckles only nods with newfound knowledge, already mapping it out

“what’s it about? i-i can chip in too if you’d like!!”

jungkook interjects sincerely, raising his hand out of classroom habit to which he sheepishly brings down

“it’s okay, koo. you don’t need to,” you reply back sincerely and effectively shut out the egging that yoongi and jin are giving him, something along the lines of “hey jungkook!! what if you pay for it whole, hm? you can come over for breakfast next time if you do.”

jungkook was really about to steal your phone and enter his card information in a sECOND if only you didn’t stop him

“the painting is to die for, y’know?” you hype it up as much as you could, holding jungkook’s hands in place so he can stop reaching for his wallet

:D

“it’s a painting of a sheep on a field, with the mountains behind it, that says atleast we’re under the same sky!!”

it’s pretty much safe to say that jin and yoongs were ready to lay down their money right then and there

neither of you can put a finger on it but it just tOUCHES your heart!! it’s a piece that pops up in your mind every now and then and feels like a fond memory while at it

“...and sent! quick too — he already gave me the payment confirmation.”

that’s nice!! not even five minutes after you sent your proof of payment and he already acknowledged it

the fact that it’s already paid for now aND is probably gonna get delivered within a matter of days is exciting, really

“i think i’d toss and turn in bed until that painting arrives,” yoongi yawns in admission, going into town with the powdered sugar on his pancakes that you physically had to stop him

“i’d save that painting first when there’s a fire,” jin snickers but it’s not that well-received, getting a pointed glare in return from yoongi, “fine. i’ll save y/n first and then the painting.”

this is your happy place :-)

your three favorite boys in the whole entire world in the sAME room!! and they’re not arguing!! there’s now dwelling in the past!!

just mediocre tolerance from yoongi and jin’s side, then half-giddiness and half-nervousness from jungkook’s side

“when it arrives, i’ll take a picture of the three of you and get it printed!”

kook offers and it earns him a ruffle on his hair, surprisingly from jin, that makes him almost chOke on the most delicious pancakes he’s ever tasted

“thank you, koo.”

jungkook’s getting used to this, actually

normally he’d expect a kiss on his cheek for his wonderful offer!! or maybe a hand on his thigh!! but he’s slowly starting to realize that you’re not always a physically affectionate lover

he’s admittedly the clingier out of the two of you but it’s okay!! right!!!!!!! it is :D

he’s sitting beside you right now on the couch anyway!! he’ll take that

yoongi, however, will nOT take it because that’s his spot and jungkook’s taking it away from him >:( he’s only noticed now out of the twenty minutes the four of you have been sitting here

he’s sneakily scraping off the powdered sugar from his pancakes and to the edge of his plate, ready to spill it on jungkook so he’d have an excuse of pushing him to the bathroom and take his spot beside you

just one more scrape and-

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCKKKKKKKKKKKK-!!!!!!

literally everyone jolts with the abrupt knocking on your door and it even panics you a little

“w-who’s that?” jungkook fidgets on his seat and raises his feet on the cushions (no one can scold him bc everyone is also preoccupied) and his hand grips on your forearm out of instinct

“are you expecting anyone?” you ask jin because this may just be namjoon who’s rushing to get inside because students might see him

“no one,” he shakes his head and turns to yoongi, “this yours?”

yoongi shakes his head, his hand still clutching at his chest, “didn’t even order anything online these past two weeks.”

this is okay!! robbers don’t knock on the door, right? :-)

you make the initiative to stand up but you get tugged almost immediately by the three of them, shrugging them off as calmly as you could

“i’ll just see, alright?”

you peep on the keyhole and you relax immediately, just seeing a delivery guy with a huge package

you open the door and jungkook sputters of why the hell you would, about to skid towards you when-

“hoseok?”

is that-

is that jung hoseok??

jung hoseok as in your junior, the one who’s notoriously known for throwing the coolest parties ever?? to which he gets even the seal of approval from his seniors??

the same hoseok who threw the party wherein jungkook was ditched by jimin and you needed to walk him home? the one who threw the party wherein tae slipped outside and you needed to take him to the hospital??

tHAT hoseok????

he’s kinda cool for all of that actually

“Y/N???”

he’s just as surprised as you are, mouth actually dropping agape

the both of you are so surprised that neither of you seem to acknowledge the mammoth of a package that he’s holding

...

....

“oh my god, you’re the one who ordered my painting!!!”

hoseok actually leaps to hug you and it’s a miracle that you’re not knocked over with his sheer force, giddily jumping up and down as if embracing you is not enough

he pulls off before you could even poke at him, instead holding you by your shoulders and jostling you lightly now

jungkook’s watching the whole thing unfold and he’s still quite stuck on the couch, head tilting in confusion

why.... is hoseok.... hugging you.....

why........ are you letting him..... hug you

“oh my god!!! you’re the one!!!!! i-i thought no one would buy from me because i’m a small business and i don’t have a lot of works right now and my style is different but — yoongi!!!!”

hoseok attaches to yoongi next and the older guy just chuckles, patting him on the back

they’re not really close and no one really hugs their senior like that, most especially yoongi, but here they are

“let me guess, you’re one of the three who bought it, right?? y/n messaged me saying that she has two friends chipping in and asked me that if i could, add in some freebies!! and i did!!!”

man,, hoseok is quick

“we didn’t know you’re the one who made it,” you admit which gets a lot of nodding from both parties

“i didn’t know either that you guys were the one who bought it!” hoseok exclaims and turns his head to jin, “mr. kim!!! thank you so much!! you complete the trio, right?”

you and yoongi are bAFFLED at hoseok hugging seokjin, or rather mr. kim, aka an official of student affairs

what’s even more baffling is that jin doesn’t look surprised at all

“you two — i- uhm? i don’t-...”

“... hoseok’s my plug. our plug, actually.”

:O

hoseok doesn’t even look the least bit fazed, even nodding and laughing as he raises his hand

“i’m a business major!!”

ok wait maybe that does explain everything

jungkook’s so lost looking at the scene in front of him and frankly, he doesn’t know if he’s still included at this point

he’s frazzled when hoseok’s eyes slightly widen at the sight of him but later grin at him, looking back at you to wiggle his eyebrows

“and jungkook, is a stem major.”

it seems like no one but jungkook is surprised at hoseok’s sudden barging presence in the dorm

no one is batting an eye when he invites himself to stay and plop on the couch

“here, you can have mine.”

jungkook helplessly looks at you when you offer yOUR plate (that has one whole pancake left) to hoseok and leave him be

no one’s questioning him because after all, the three of you are busy unwrapping the package while he continues to explain

“what was i saying again? oh right!! i panicked when i saw the money transferred to my account because even if we were chatting, at first i was a littlE hesitant because like, bogus buyers amirite??” he speaks through a mouthful of pancakes, “and then you paid!! and i saw the address and tHEN i was really excited and like panicked? i didn’t want to get it shipped when you’re this near because that’s expensive!! and i wanted to thank the three of you personally!!”

“— which is why i sprinted all the way here!!”

that explains hoseok’s breathless and sweaty state, the whole tale of him bumping into the dean at one point and almost stomping on a pigeon making everyone entertained

everyone besides jungkook.

is it just him or is everyone’s eye twitching right now

is this his dorm? no. but does he feel like hoseok’s intruding, regardless if he lives in here or in the perspective of a fellow visitor? yes.

apparently, nONE out of the three of you seem to think so

because it’s all so good!! hoseok probably lives in your dorm too because why else would you give up your breakfast for him??

the three of you are actively fawning over the painting and jungkook’s just sO sure that it’s giving hoseok the biggest ego boost of his life ://

they just share a class or two, they aren’t really close anyways

hoseok’s the type to be intimidating and popular at the same time but surprisingly, he’s friendly in a way

ok maybe jungkook’s just getting a little over in his head rn

if he leaves, then it’s also hoseok’s time to leave!!!

he’s already practicing the words in his head

“come on hoseok, they’re the furthest thing away from being done at fawning. let’s walk together back to the dorms.”

he’s about to say it when-

“anyone have a headband i can borrow?”

hoseok asks aloud and effectively catches everyone’s attention, making you stand up in agreement

what the fuck is actually happening

jungkook watches you hand one of the headbands you wear during your games to hoseok, a guy you barely know, like it’s no big deal?????

that headband smells like your hair!!! the hair that he loves to bury his nose into and plays with!!!

that’s yours and you’re giving it to hIM?

jungkook’s stomach actually drops even if he just finished eating minutes ago, ina daze looking at hoseok putting it on his blonde hair

he doesn’t know what’s stemming from his heart nor what his tummy’s telling him, but jungkook doesn’t like it at all.

“i’m going home,” kook murmurs behind you who’s instructing yoongi and jin to level the painting some more, snaking his arm around your waist

“really? oh, okay. text me when you get home.”

you only sweetly smile at him and jungkook’s actually awaiting the offer of you walking him home, but it doesn’t come

that’s okay!

“bye. love you.”

he softly says yet it’s enough for everyone to hear, his hand still secured snugly on your waist

jungkook’s about to go for a kiss on your cheek because he’s sURE that both yoongi and jin would scowl at him if he took it any further, but he catches hoseok at the corner of his eye and it’s all out the door

he unexpectedly presses a chaste kiss on your lips and playfully drags out the mwah! at the end, much to the daggers your friends send him

that’s enough!! hoseok already saw — you’re taken by him. jungkook doesn’t need to worry now that hoseok knows :)

...

....

...... he may have spoken too soon

he’s already established that you’re taken by him, that’s great! even hoseok teases him when they see each other the next day

was that an ego boost? yes

what wasn’t an ego boost is seeing hoseok talking to him and parading the halls with your headband on!!

that’s yOUR headband!!! not his!!! what happened to merely borrowing it?

did he just happen to steal it from you, or did you just let him steal it from you?

:(

jungkook positively thinks that’s the end of this whole heart-clenching

hoseok has your headband but jungkook has you. it’s clear who’s actually winning in life

but god is jungkook wrong again

he texted you in the same morning on what you were doing since you had your classes cancelled for today with no professors coming in

going to brunch with hobi instead of sleeping all day. jin’s in the office and yoongi’s out on grocery duty. have fun w your classes :)

Hobi???

Uhm I literally just passed him in the halls two minutes ago

really? lmao that means he’s skipping class then

no because hold on

hoseok’s sKIPPING class to go to brunch with you?

you’re going to brunch with him???

HOBI?????

jungkook uncomfortably tucks his phone back into his pocket as class starts, chewing at his bottom lip

do you want him to skip classes so he could go to brunch with you?

better yet, is hoseok better than him because it’s no problem for him to skip classes??

now that he thinks about it, jungkook hasn't skipped even a single day of classes ever since freshman year

he used to take pride on his attendance but now he uh kinda wants a blank mark on his card actually

he could go to lengths of skipping classes if you asked him to!! he can!! of course he'll do that for you

but you don't ask him to and it's obvious that you only learned now how hoseok's able to meet you in the first place, but the reason behind it didn't seem to faze you

in fact, it looks like you're even amused

jungkook has to physically shake his head to get rid of his thoughts but that doesn't do anything

he's still thinking about you and hoseok during class.

he's trying not to dwell on it but it's difficult when he's always reminded of it

every time he comes over, the painting is GLARING at him and that's the reason jungkook just keeps his eyes on you for literally the whole time that he's there

your phone sometimes dings and it's a tiktok notification of hoseok sending you one

everything he does, hoseok and his outrageously blonde hair just seems to follow him

you had cat fur on the sleeve of your hoodie because you pet the campus cat awhile ago and jungkook was about to shriek because even that reminded him of the guy

all he's done this week is become bothered and frustrated to the point that even jimin, oftenly the most clueless and easy-going guy in the room, noticed it

"trouble in paradise?"

jimin's cool voice is the first thing that snaps him out of his anti-hoseok tirade in his mind, his eyes landing on his roommate lazily

it's actually jimin's red hair that makes jungkook look twice because when he saw him in the morning, he was still blonde

....,.,. blonde....?

"jimin?"

"hmm? am i right? is it rEALLY trouble in-"

"remember that time you ditched me in hoseok's party? or that time i made your paper because you forgot and you were hung-over and then you ended up getting an A?"

jimin's head tilts at jungkook's enumeration, blinking owlishly at him

".... yeah?"

"good," jungkook nods in acknwoledgement at jimin's recall, "because i think i'm gonna cash in the favors that you owe me."

:O

it's pouring

it hasn't rained in so long and it's raining sO hard that you might have to look for a candle later on

it was on the news anyway that it was gonna rain this hard but no one really expected that it'd be this hard!!

nonetheless, jungkook soothed your worries and said he'd come over because the two of you haven't seen each other in like three days

maybe it's just you but something feels off with jungkook

oddly, he's gotten a little bit more attached to you yet weirdly distant at the same time

for some reason, he asks a lot more questions too

just yesterday, he sent you a screenshot of a white polo, asked if it looked good, and proceeded to immediately purchase it once you said it looked nice

just because you don't frequently comment on what you notice, doesn't exactly mEAN you don't care about it

jungkook's a big boy!! an adult!! if he wants to say something to you, then he says it

he always has the words in his head, that much you know

but yOU, however.,.,.,

you really don't have the words right now

because as soon as you open the door, your eyes land on your boyfriend

your boyfriend in his usual hoodie who's been growing out his hair and is looking very much blonde and different

“you’re blonde?”

you rhetorically ask in shock and you're clueless to the fact that you look like a fish out of water, your hands unconsciously darting out to his chest

“hmm, you like it?”

jungkook hums and tries to keep the giddiness he feels at bay just seeing you look gobsmacked, your hands moving from his collarbones to his neck and finally, to his hair

you offer no answer because you find yourself kissing jungkook before you could even let him in and close the door

he mewls in satisfaction when you kiss him deeper and cup his cheeks, his hands finding no hesitance in pushing your bodies closer by the waist

"my handsome boy," you mumble at one point in the kiss, eternally grateful that the two of you are the only one in the dorm right now

jungkook preens at your attention, mumbling to your lips before he makes the move to kiss you determinedly

“you like me better than hoseok?”

in a single second, he doesn't feel you kissing back at all

he's so confused as he pulls away, dark brows, in contrast to his blonde hair, knitted in confusion

“quit it.”

there's no actual edge to your tone but you feel like it, an incoming realization starting to dawn on you

jungkook's oblivious to your boiling irritation, clueless to how the dots are connecting in your mind and how you're not sure on how to tackle them

“what did i do? i was just asking you if you like me better than him.”

he says nonchalantly and it's the tone that irks you — as if his seemingly harmless question didn't reveal what he really wanted to get at

“i’m with you, jungkook. has that not been established enough yet?”

your voice is still calm yet you trudge away from him, your boyfriend quick on his heels to trail behind you

“i mean you did kiss me on the mouth just now,” jungkook points out as if you weren't aware. “because i’m blonde just like hoseok.”

“oh my god."

it was just a strong hunch at first but hearing it first-hand from jungkook accelerates your sentiment for what he did even faster, your eyes rolling to the back of your head that rubs him the wrong way

he runs his hand through his hair out of habit, reminding you even more that it's bleached and blonde yet for all the wrong intentions

“is asking you so wrong? why are you getting defensive?”

you snicker at his inquiry, hands across your chest that just challenges him to do the same

“what’s wrong is that you dyed your hair blonde for no other reason besides the fact that hoseok is!”

now that jungkook hears it from you, his eyes narrow

“can’t i just be inspired?” he snaps, “can’t i be inspired to look this way because you look at him in that way?”

what?

wHAT????

“what way, jungkook?”

seemingly caught in a blindspot, he tries to backtrack

“i-i’m not-“

you're having none of it and to be honest, you're not even sure if it just pure anger that you're feeling at the moment

“you spent hours in a salon, is that it?" you prod him and that makes jungkook avoid your eyes, huffing under his breath, "got jimin to help you out?" that actually hits a nerve on him and makes his eyes zero in on you with much annoyance, "what did you go through just because you’re so inspired?”

“you look at hoseok like you’re in love with him!”

“i’m not in love with hoseok, jungkook!" you articulate every word but even that seems to anger jungkook further, "why would you even think of that?”

“because you’re only supposed to look at me that way. y-you’re not supposed to go to brunch with a guy alone when you just met him. you’re not supposed to lend him your headbands when he can just buy them! you’re not supposed to do the things you’d do with me with other guys!”

“he’s my friend. just like yoongi and jin are. i can do these things with them but that doesn’t mean i love you any less.”

jungkook rolls his eyes and even your profession of love doesn't budge him at all

“there you are with your guy friends again.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

you feel him treading to dangerous territory but you stand your ground regardless, your voice shaking when you add

“yoongi and jin came into my life way before you did, jungkook.”

it was to simply remind him but he feels as if it's out of spite, looking at you pointedly before patronizingly chuckling

“i know. i can never win with you, that’s it, right? just because you’re older than me by a year and you have friends that want to beat me up — you always win!”

his voice raises by the end of his sentence and it's his words that make you grind your teeth together and your nostrils flare, lip dangerously close to trembling

“i’m sorry if i’m jealous and i don’t know what to do because this is the first time i’ve become a boyfriend, alright?"

jungkook throws his head back and gestures to you, shaking his head while he's so close to crying because of his pent-up insecurity

“i’m sorry that i don’t know what to do and you always do because you probably had like ten boyfriends before me, right?? i’m so inexperienced and new to you that you can’t even stand me and-“

..

there's pin-drop silence in the room.

jungkook only realizes his words belatedly and the weight that they carry, eyes in a stand-still on you who looks the furthest thing from being appeased at him

you're actually hurt.

“how dare you, jungkook.”

your fists are balled to the point that the tips of your fingers feel numb from the pause in circulation, but oddly enough, jungkook feels the most remorseful when he sees your figure deflate and therefore relax

“don’t come home, it’s pouring. or go back to your dorm, whatever. i don’t care.”

he's planted by his feet but he realizes to move when you're walking out of your own dorm, prying away his hand from your elbow

“you can sleep in my room. i’m sleeping out tonight.”

.

.

.

part two

as always, lmk what you think!! i love answering asks :D what do you want to see from the lunchbox lovers next? send them here <3

#stem koo #stem koo misc. #jungkook angst #jungkook imagine #jungkook oneshot #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #jungkook oneshots #jungkook fanfic #jungkook au #jungkook college au #jungkook scenarios

[tokoyamisstuff]

Tender Ch. 1 - Loki x Mute! Reader

Summary: Even though Loki doesn’t understand why the new member of the Avengers should be kind to him of all people, he doesn’t want you to stop either.

Warnings: Loki being depressed, the Avengers being kinda mean, mentions of Torture and Death

Words: ~2100

[Story Masterlist] [All of my Works]

All eyes were on him again.

As soon as Loki would step inside, the previously lively room would fall completely silent. Well, it’s not like he wasn’t used to being the involuntary kill-joy...

Usually, the God of Mischief craved attention, may it be positive or negative - most of the time being the latter. But lately, after months of having all those distrustful and hostile glares piercing holes into him, he’d rather wish for the ground to swallow him whole.

“Umm, so...I gotta go.” Natasha was the first one to flee the unpleasant atmosphere, not even putting the energy into mutter anything else than a cheap excuse on her way out. Clint wordlessly followed her close after, but not without shooting the Odinson one last, spiteful look.

Loki on the other hand was picking on his hands, a nervous habit he had inherited from his mother. As much as he tried to avoid meeting their eyes, the tensioned aura they were emitting making him feel close to breaking down completely - but he would never give them the satisfaction to witness this, he swore to himself.

And yet: Maybe he should just leave. Disappear, forever.

Although he’d never admit, Loki had grown very tired of his life following this stirr path, unable to diverge into a new direction. Everything he did would ultimately bring death and destruction upon mankind, inflicting fear in the hearts of all people.

His whole existence was based on being condemned to fail - just for others to reach their ‘glorius purpose’.

“Great” Tony scoffed. “Now they’re gone. Well done, prince of nothing.” Steve cut his friend off, clearing his throat very exaggeratedly.

The god still hadn’t moved from the doorframe of the conference room, while all others were already sitting on the oval-shaped table. He didn’t got what all that fuss was about. If Steve didn’t insist him to attend this emergency meeting, he’d just have gone about his usual business and avoided everyone as good as he could.

“C’mon, brother” Thor sighed, well knowing that if his brother was to stay in the team, it would ultimatively drive a wedge between them. All that pressure in the air was straining for everyone, including himself. 

Tony on the other hand was pretty chill about everything, aside of being passive-aggressive. This was probably due to their similar coping styles.

Even though his near-death-experience back when he stopped the Chitauri was still eating on his mental health, he’d prefer glossing over it with stupid jokes and overly confident behaviour. “No sassy remark today, Reindeer Games?”

Stark was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed as he rose an eyebrow on the god, who only muttered a hoarse “No...not today.”

Yeah, it was kind of his style to break the unsettling silence through puny comments or self-glorifying speeches, to distract from his own insecurity.

But right now, he was just so damn tired.

Of this planet and it’s people, as well as the humiliating circumstances he had to dwell in. The fact that he was a prisoner at the Stark Tower, amongst his worst enemies. Being forced by his brother to keep up this meaningless act, as if he’d ever be seen as a team member or ally - when in reality, he was but a slave to the people he once ought to reign.

Just like back on Asgard: Never one of them, never belonging. No way to break free - for his true self was something to be loathed.

However, first and foremost the one thing he was especially tired of was himself, for he couldn’t get out of his own skin. Not only could he never be considered a hero, let alone be redeemed.

After all the atrocities he had commited due to Thanos’ torture and the tesseract’s influence,  now that he woke up from that naive dream of power stilling the emptiness in his dark heart, there was nothing left for him - other than to be haunted by his crimes until the mercy of death would overcome him.

“Well” Steve began, slamming his palms on the desk to attract everyone’s attention. “As you all know, we are welcoming a new team member today.”

“They all know?” Of course they wouldn’t let him in on such sensitive information. Not that he minded either way - one Avenger more or less, it didn’t matter how many people hated him in here.

“Please, come on in.”

Loki cleared the entrance when he heared Tony’s words, turning around in anticipation of another dull creature like the Hulk to torment him - but his calm demeanour dropped completely at this unusual sight:

“Y-You?!”

That was simply not possible! The last time he had seen you was almost a year ago, and you were on the brink of death at that!

“For everyone that doesn’t know yet: Her name is Y/N Y/L/N. She is one of the victims HYDRA experimented on, and they succeeded in forming an artificial mutant.”

Steve went on and on explaining about your powers, but Loki’s head had already turned on autopilot, the only thing he could concentrate on being how the hell you of all people ended up here.

All these months, he was desperately trying to get any information about you, all of his hints ultimately leading him to dead ends - and in the end, tragically believing in your imminent death.

The memories were still painfully vivid in his mind: It was his first mission together with the Avengers, at a HYDRA hideout with most likely no civil survivors.

Actually, he had planned to make his escape right when the others engaged in a fight, wandering the hallways of what resembled a torture chamber rather than a laboratory.

On the walls were several instructions, about a serum that might cause a human to mutate if they were exposed to unbearable stress - pain being the most effective method, apparently.

Yet instead of finding anything useful for his personal gain, he found you: A  beautiful woman, yet emaciated and lying in a puddle of her own blood. At first he thought you to be dead just like the others - but as soon as your faint whimpers drang to his ears, he burst the cell you were trapped in open, rushing to your side immediately.

“Shh...” the god scooped you up from the cold stone floor, wrapping his cloak around your broken body. “Everything is alright now. Your savior is here.”

Loki gasped as he felt your hand stroking his cheekbone, even through all your pain and weakness wanting to bid your hero this due respect.

“Hel...you humans are such fragile creatures...” Loki muttered under his breath, cursing his own lack of talent when it came to casting healing spells. “Hang in there, look at me!”

Your eyes were teary and bloodshot, yet not less fit to bring across a message no words ever could: Incredible gratitude, and admiration.

He could tell you were close to passing out when your hand left his face, falling limp to the side. But he held you firmly in his arms, not once stopping to utter sweet words of encouragement as he made his way to the ship, leading you into safety.

“Your world in the balance, and you bargain for one man?”

Those were the words he once directed at Black Widow - but only now he understood her attempts.

Saving one person could never make up for all the lives he had destroyed - and yet he knew that for you, it would mean the world none the less.

In one way or another, with your life at his mercy, he began to finally grasp the preciousness of life, and doing everything in one’s might to protect it.

“Reindeer Games” Tony tapped on his shoulders, making Loki wake from his pondering. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t scare her away on the first day already.”

Oh.

Just now he was noticing his own grim expression, having towered over your much smaller form this whole time with furrowed brows.

“My apologies” was his firm response, but you only shook your head, trying to tell him it was not a big deal.

So this was what you looked like when you’re not imprisoned, he realized when he took in your physique.

Much to his pleasure, all of your wounds had seemingly healed, and you finally gained some much needed weight. Like this, you looked so much more healthier - and most definetly even more bewitching than he remembered you.

If people had let him know, would he have visited your sickbed, aiding you towards health again? Who knows...

Yet somehow, he dwelled in the thought of you being able to lead a happy life now that you were free - which made your decision to seek out the Avengers in wish for more battles even harder for him to accept.

“You are incredibly strong, Lady Y/N” Loki spoke firmly, everyone else rolling their eyes at his usual exaggeration - but you knew he meant every word. “Be sure of my eternal respect.” 

The God of Lies’ eyes widened in excitement when you directed a warm smile at him, knowing for sure that this one was genuine. It wasn’t like those fake smirks the other Avengers gave him out of politeness, or the mocking laughs when they were making fun of or excluding him.

No - that one was just pure affection. And it left him in awe.

“Thank you for saving me back then” you signed, just for Loki shooting you a puzzled look.

“What, I thought the all-tongue knows every language?” Tony yelled, as inconsiderate as always. Thor was quick to explain on his brother’s stead, him still being deeply invested with you. “Every spoken one, yes. ASL is not one of our fortes.”

Usually, Loki had always been a quick thinker. But right now he was to bewildered by your appearance that thinking straight was out of the question.  

What language were they speaking of? And why have you not been saying anything up until now? Maybe his presence was making you uncomfortable, after all? Should he leave on your behalf?

To make it easier for him to understand, you rolled down your turtleneck, revealing the unsighty scar that covered your whole throat.

There were not many people bold enough to come close to the God of Mischief without warning, yet suddenly you simply took his hand and slowly led it to your neck.

How could you be so naive and offer someone like him such a vital spot?! He’ll never get the human philosophy...

And yet, the flabbergasted god hesistantly let his hand run over the scar, while you opened your mouth to no avail - for 11 months already, no tone would leave your vocal cords.

“I’m incredibly sorry...” Loki whispered with a sorrowful tone, while the others just stared in disbelief. “If only I was able to heal this wound back then...”

What a puny god he was...and an even more pathetic wanna-be-hero at that...

He would try to take a few steps back, but you took a hold of his hand, squeezing it with both of yours, that cheerful smile not faltering in the slightest.

“Please, don’t be sad. I’m only alive thanks to you!” Bucky, whose cousin was mute as well, translated what you were signing for Loki. His tone sounded quite irritated, not fitting those meaningful words. “I only wanted to join the Avengers because I want to be just like you. You’re my idol!”

Those words touched him deeply, igniting a flame inside of him he thought long to be defunct. Was it hope?

Of course it was not nearly enough to pull him out of that deep, dark hole he felt trapped in for as long as he could remember - yet somehow, he now felt that it was not impossible to escape.

While the others were cringing at your declaration, making jokes about ‘choosing wrong idols’ or would plainly not believe Loki to have a positive effect on anyone, the two of you would just stare at each other in silent admiration.

Shyly, you signed yet another word for him - and this time, Loki would know what you mean from pure intuition. 

He smiled.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Loki was able to smile again, just thanks to your heartwarming welcome. And he was still blissfully unaware about what effect you could have on him, if he was brave enough to let you close.

One thing was sure: You literally had him wrapped around his finger from the very start.

#Loki #Loki x Reader #Loki x You #Loki Odinson #Loki Laufeyson #Loki Friggason #Oneshot #Self Insert #Marvel #Disney #Fluff #Fem! Reader #God of Mischief #Loki / Reader

[forlovvers]

[ little things in a relationship ]

warning(s): brief mention of blood

MARK !

earbuds! i’d say airpods, but he’s never had em </3. once when riding home on the bus, he noticed you were bored (seeing as you left your phone at home) and offered his other earbud. “y/n,” he whispered, tapping your shoulder. you turned to him, turning your head to look at him. in mark’s hand, was his left earbud. you smile gratefully and take the earbud. you placed it into your ear and started to bop your head slowly to whatever song was playing. and because mark’s music taste is immaculate, he’s introduced you to new artists and songs. now when traveling places or just doing daily things, you both share earbuds.

RENJUN !

late night talks! it doesn’t matter what you’re talking about, you could talk with him forever. it didn’t matter how deep you went. whether you’d be talking about if mermaids exist or a more serious topic, like mental health. renjun takes all the things you say into account to remember later, just in case you’d want to talk about it again. often, he comes home late from work and that’s where the habit started. it was just supposed to be a one or two night thing, but now you look forward to the late hours of night. both of your sleep schedules are horribly messed up but he doesn’t seem to mind and you don’t either.

JENO !

jackets! jackets, hoodies, sweaters, literally anything to stop you from being cold. on a date to the boardwalk, he noticed the goosebumps that traveled up your arms. the wind was blowing rather cold that specific day. “jeno, can we get cotton candy next–” you were abruptly cut off when he placed his jacket around your shoulders. “yeah, let’s get cotton candy.” although he tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal, the pink that dusted his cheeks say differently. now, even in nice weather he brings a jacket with him. he defends himself by saying “i don’t want you to catch a cold, then i’ll catch a cold.” like, okay mr lee jeno 🤨.

HAECHAN !

drives! ever since haechan received his driver’s license, he’s been asking and taking you on drives ever since. it doesn’t matter the time of day, as long as you come with him. at first you found it cute, now it’s getting a little questionable. like randomly, in the dead of night he’d wake you up and be like “ayo y/n, wanna go on a drive or something?” every time he asks now, you try to act annoyed, but in reality you really aren’t. when you do go with him (which is almost always) he’s a little reckless and you’re honestly scared you’re going to get a ticket but in the end he’s safe. although you act annoyed, you actually enjoy the drives with him, you savor these moments in time.

JAEMIN !

bandaids! you’re so clumsy, jaemin now carries bandaids with him everywhere. at this point, he’s debating on carrying a whole first–aid kit with him because of how easily you get hurt. he’s always scolding you like, “y/n i swear to god if trip on these stairs,” or “you should tie your shoelaces so you don’t fall.” once he had to drag you and your bruised cheek and bloody knee to the nearest pharmacy to get an actual first–aid kit and then to a public bathroom. he propped you up on the counter, ripping opening the alcohol wipes. “you should be falling for me not for some rocks.”

CHENLE !

keychains! whenever you and chenle travel without each other, you always make sure to bring back a keychain for the other. it doesn’t have to be expensive, it just has to memorable. it all started when he brought you back one from his trip to japan. “y/nnn…” he drawled out. you lifted your head away from your phone to meet gaze with him. “guess what i got.” he smiled slyly. you shrugged. “i don’t know.” he sat himself beside you. “well you ran out of guesses, i got you a keychain!” he pulled out a cute little keychain of cinnamaroll. you gasp, a grin plastering your face. “really?” he nods, handing it to you. “thank you.” you wrap your arms around him. now both of you have a zipper dedicated to the keychains.

JISUNG !

hands! hands? yes, hands. jisung likes your hands. whether your hands are roaming through his hair and playing with it or just doing whatever to be honest. when he’s bored, he likes to play with your fingers, practically as a habit at this point. he likes to rub circles on your thumb or draw imaginary things onto your palm. when holding hands with you, he usually swings both of your hands back and forth, sending butterflies to erupt in your stomach. the warmth of your hands just bring a sense comfort to him.

a/n: the paragraphs weren’t supposed to be this long but i got carried away 😕😕

#fanfic #haechan #imagines #nct dream #kpop #chenle #fiction #jaemin #jeno #jisung #renjun #mark #donghyuck #nct #nct127 #wayv #nct imagines #nct fluff

[sunflowerdarlingx]

Fred Weasley - “Fred doesn’t date” 3

H everyone, I hope you’re all okay! 

PART ONE 

PART TWO 

Thank you all for the kind comments on the previous parts of this imaine. I post these chapters before I go to sleep and waking up to all your lovely comments and messages really give me the best start to the day.

This is the final part to this series. I’ve had a lot more interaction with people from this story so if anyone would like to request a piece please let me know :)

I hope you all liked the ending, it’s a bit longer than I thought but hopefully its what you all wanted x  

Female Reader.

Warnings: None

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

Fred felt his chest get tight, the sound of her voice alone made his heart ache. He felt the overwhelming need to cry again, tears threatening to spill whilst a lump formed in his throat. Fuck she can’t see me like this.  

His body urged him to look at her, he sucked a deep breath in and turned his head to look at her, shit she looks so fucking cute. She was stood in a pair of shorts and one of Fred’s hoodies with a blanket wrapped around her loosely. Her hair was messy, and her glasses were resting a little low on her nose before she pushed them up.  

His eyes trailed down her body, he felt a small sense of pride seeing her in his hoodie, like he had some sort of claim on her when she wore it. Take that perfect Diggory, she likes my clothes better. I wonder if she wears it when she’s with him?  

Fred hadn’t realised how long he’d been staring for, “I..if not I’ll just go, sorry Freddie, for interrupting” Y/N turned on her heels, tears blurring her vision before he made a noise. A sort of squeak left his mouth before he cleared his throat “it’s okay, you can join me”, his hand patted the spot next to him.  

She patted her hand on the grass to make sure it wasn’t wet before sitting beside Fred. The sat in silence for a bit before Y/N decide to speak, “I’m sorry Freddie, I’m not really sure what I’ve done but I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. I don’t like seeing you upset… especially if I’m the one who caused it” her voice broke and Fred looked down at her, even sitting down he still towered over her slightly.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder “don’t worry about it” a fake smile took over his face. He wanted to tell her how much he wanted her, he really did but she was with Diggory now.  

“W..what did I do Freddie?” Her voice was a hushed whisper as she leaned her head on his shoulder. Fred looked down at her, internally battling himself about what he should say. He wanted to tell her, he hoped she would change her mind, but if he told her, would she leave him? She had become one of his closest friends, the thought of not having her in his life at all was a thought he wanted to have.  

Fuck it.  

“I em…I saw you and Diggory, outside the kitchens”, that statement alone filled his body with anger as it replayed in his head, Diggory making her laugh, touching her, kissing her. His body tensed beside her, he removed his arm from her shoulders, his jaw clenched and he averted his gaze back up to the sky, sending the moon a deadly glare.  

“Oh…that was nothing” Y/N noticed the shift in Fred, she couldn’t help but admire him in that moment, the way the moon reflected on his skin, the way his jaw tensed and honestly she thought he looked sexy.

Fred averted his gaze back to her and watched her closely, the way her eyes skimmed his body, “didn’t look like nothing to me” his voice was cold.

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, shocked at his tone, “it didn’t mean anything Freddie” she placed her and on his shoulder, “it just sort of happened”.

“Well I heard you were very cosy behind me at dinner so it must have meant something” he shrugged her hand off his shoulder. He usually loved having her touch him but he was angry, so fucking angry.  

He wondered what had happened once he left, for all he knows the exact same hands that were touching him had been all over Diggory. That then lead to him thinking about Diggory having his hands all over Y/N, touching her and holding her all the ways that Fred wished he could have done.  

Y/N was close to getting up and leaving, she was hurt by Fred’s words, why did he hate Cedric so much? So what if they kissed? Then realisation hit, “Freddie, are you jealous?”, his head shot down to face her.  

“No, I don’t get jealous” he stated. Shifting slightly, his eyes were dark as they stared into hers, his jaw still tense.

“Yes you are” she chuckled lightly “you’re jealous because Cedric kissed me”.

Fred groaned, his chest heaved slightly whilst the moment replayed in his head again “ugh don’t remind me, you shouldn’t have kissed him”  

“Why?” her perfect doe eye looked up at him through her glasses, batting her eyelashes as innocence filled her eyes.

“Don’t act like you don’t know” he grunted and looked back up to the sky.  

“Well Freddie I don’t know, why shouldn’t I kiss Cedric?”

“Cause you should be kissing me Y/N, not Cedric! For the last god knows how many weeks we’ve spend so much time together, a lot more than you and perfect Diggory have and you still chose him! We’ve been on dates down to Hogsmeade, spent nights cuddled up sleeping in the common room and even talked about spending Christmas together! Like what on earth went through that pretty little head of yours when you decided to kiss him? Is he really that much better than me?” Fred’s whole body had turned to Y/N, his eyes pleading with her for some sort of explanation as to why she chose Diggory.

She smiled slightly “Freddie, did you ever actually state that those were dates or ever ask me to go on a date with you?”

His eyes widened “no, I thought it was fairly obvious what they were” he huffed.  

She turned to the side and sat up on her knees, “how many girls have you taken on dates from school?”.

The question shocked Fred, why was she asking about other girls?  

“None, I don’t date girls”  

“So, why did you think I would just assume they were dates?”, Y/N was confused, she never really thought Fred would like her like that, obviously what she was told today gave her a hint but she never knew what to think about the dates, she could only hope they meant as much to Fred as they did her.

Fred couldn’t come up with an answer, he sat with his mouth open and closing like a fish out of water for a minute and a half, “it wasn’t obvious?”.Y/N shook her head no. “Well what did you thunk they were?” he was so curious as to how she never figured out they were dates.  

“Well I… I mean I thought we were just hanging out. I kinda hoped they were dates but you don’t exactly have the reputation for dating do you Freddie? I kinda just always thought I was like Angelina or Katie or Alicia. I always wanted to ask but I was scared, I didn’t want to lose you as a friend”  

Fred couldn’t believe what he was hearing, was his reputation really that bad? I mean just because everyone knew he didn’t date didn’t mean he never dated anyone. “Oh” was all that left his mouth.  

“Yeah, oh” Y/N chuckled as she watched Fred’s brows knit together as his thoughts took over.  

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Fred decided to speak “so, say if you knew they were like… official dates, would you have kissed Diggory?”  

“Of course I wouldn’t have” she shook her head quickly.

“Would you have kissed me instead?” A cheeky grin took over Fred’s face.

“If I knew they were dates I would have kissed you the first night we came out here” she giggled and Fred couldn’t help but grin.  

“So what’s going on with you and Diggory then?” Even saying his name pissed Fred off.

“Nothing, he kissed me and then sat with me at dinner out of the blue, I’d hardly call that dating”.  

“What about me and you? Are we…you know…dating? Just since we’ve agreed that we have been on plenty of dates” he emphasised plenty as he chuckled at her.  

“Well that’s up to you Freddie, I thought you didn’t date” she teased, poking his chest.  

“I don’t date, unless I know the girl is right for me and someone I can see a future with so…”

“You see a future with me?” She interrupted him mid sentence.  

“Of course I do, the second I laid my eyes on you, I knew you were special. You literally took my breath away that day on the train, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone as beautiful as you. And these last few weeks…months, have only shown me how well we work together. Seeing you every morning in the hall just makes me feel so.. so good, and then when we are alone it’s like no one else exists. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, I’ve had my guard up for so long, sticking with people I know and am comfortable around and then you came along and the walls I’d built up crumbled. I’ve told you things that not even George knows. I just can’t explain it, I think that if I lost you now I’d be lost.”  

A few tears slipped down Y/N’s cheek whilst Fred spoke. He looked back up at the stars and wrapped his arm around her waist beside him.  

“Of course I can see a future with you, I picture it all the time. We’d have our own little house out in the country and a massive garden where the kids could play quidditch or some muggle sport that you’d get them into and we’d have a good space for outside summer parties like what we have at the burrow. Our kids would each have their own room so they didn’t have to share like George and I and they’d be little pranksters like me but just as smart and talented as you. oh and we’d have a dog, mum never let me have one …”

“We’d have kids?” Y/N’s soft voice brought Fred back to reality.  

He looked down at her “of course we would” he smiled “and we’d have a big wedding, like what Bill and Fleur are planning but we’d have to wait a bit after school before all that started”  

“Wow…you’ve really thought all this through Freddie” she giggled “so now that I know all about the future that you have planned for us,  what do we do now?”

Fred gave her a puzzled look raising his eyebrows whilst he raked his brain for an answer. “Uh….”

Y/N laughed “shouldn’t you ask me something?”

“Oh yeah right, I forgot. Would you like to go on a a date with me?”.  

Y/N frowned slightly, Fred’s eyes widened “what did I do something wrong?”  

“No..it’s just… never mind. I’d love to go on a date with you” She smiled up to him, cuddling into his side. As much as she would have loved the official title of being his she would wait as long as it took.

He pulled her blanket away from her and wrapped it around him. “Oi Freddie that’s mine, give it back” she giggled as she tried to pull the blanket back from him. Fred stretched his arm and held the blanket away from her, she got on her knees and leaned over Fred trying to get it. She placed her knees at either side of his thighs as she tried to reach over.  

She finally gave up and rested in his lap, “Freddie it’s cold” she pouted. Fred’s breath caught in his throat as he looked down at the position they were in. His eyes looked at her lips, then her eyes and then her lips again. God he wanted to kiss her, he wanted to see how it felt.  

Y/N leaned forward and placed her lips on Fred, he was surprised that she initiated the kiss but quickly responded, his hands dropped her blanket and went to her hips and pulled her closer to him, making sure his hands didn’t sit to low. His tongue glided across her bottom lip asking for entrance which she gladly excepted, their lips moving in perfect harmony.  

Y/N couldn’t help but think about how right this felt, Cedric was nothing compared to Fred, as cliché as it sounds she saw fireworks and butterflies fluttered in her stomach.  

Fred had never had a kiss this good, in all honesty he never really kissed the girls he had sex with, it just made the encounter far to intimate for him. But kissing Y/N felt amazing, he loved being so close to her. He pulled back and rested his forehead against hers “I hope you know you’re mine now”, Y/N nodded eagerly before pulling him close for another kiss.  

They spent the rest of the night cuddled up under the stars watching as the sun came out. They walked hand in hand to the castle and sat at the Gryffindor table for breakfast. George was the first to come down and see them sat together “ah no more tears over Y/N then Freddie, did you finally convince her to give you a chance?” he poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice.  

“Yes Georgie he did” George choked on his juice slightly before grinning like the Cheshire Cat.  

“Finally! It’s taken you both long enough, sorry for the glares yesterday Y/N, they were mainly at Diggory, I just don’t like seeing Fred upset”.  

Y/N just shrugged before smiling at George “It’s okay Georgie, I don’t like seeing him upset either” she laughed and took a bite of the strawberry she was eating.

The rest of Fred’s friends came down, congratulating the two for finally getting together. Ginny came and sat with them, a big grin on her face. “All worked out in the end then ay Freddie” she teased as she ruffled his hair, “you made the right choice Y/N, perfect diggory is nothing compared to our Freddie”.  

Fred rolled his eyes as Y/N chuckled “you’re right about that”. They ate their breakfast in peace, Fred noticed Cedric come in and pulled Y/N close for a passionate kiss, all of his friends whooping and cheering making sure everyone’s eyes were drawn to them. They both pulled away, Y/N blushing and burying her head in Fred’s chest.  

Ron came over just as they were leaving “here’s the letter to mum gin, just Fred and George left to say if they’re taking anyone home for Christmas” he handed the parchment to George who lazily scribbled Lee’s name down with a little message before handing it to Fred.  

“Do you still want to come?” he looked down to Y/N whilst everyone else engaged in conversation, “If you want me to come I’m there” she smiled up at him and watched him scribble on the parchment.  

Hi mum,

I hope you and dad are good, I miss you both.  

I’m going to take my girlfriend home for Christmas, her name is Y/N Y/L/N, give her a sweater that would fit me please – she keeps stealing mine!

See you soon.  

Love, Freddie x  

He handed the letter back to Ginny before pulling Y/N away from the table, “time for our first date as official boyfriend and Girlfriend” he smirked before leading her to one of the secret passages to Hogsmeade.  

-

Having his girlfriend at the burrow for Christmas was everything Fred wanted and more. He never realised how much he had missed out on. They spent their days cuddled up on the couch watching old films whilst drinking hot chocolate, or out in the snow sledding or building snowmen. Every night was filled with more movies, games and of course Y/N reading muggle tales to Fred as they cuddled in front of the fire (although some of those tales were interrupted by mr Weasley who was so fascinated by the things muggles came up with in their stories).  

It was Christmas Eve and all of the family were heading up to their rooms, Fred tugged Y/N over to the front door and slid her jacket over her shoulders before securing her hat to her head and tying her scarf loosely around her neck. “Get on your boots cutie, I’ve got a surprise”. As Y/N got on her wellies, Mrs Weasley came over with a basket in hand.

“Everything you asked for Freddie” she popped it on the floor, “good night dearie, Freddie is so lucky to have found you” she wrapped her arms around Y/N, she did the same to Fred after he was ready. Walking over to the stairs she stopped and turned on her heels “remember when you get back to go to your separate rooms, I’m not ready to be a grandmother just yet” with a wink she made her way up the stairs.  

“She’s honestly something else” Fred chuckled taking Y/N’s hand in his and leading her out to the garden.  

“I think she’s great”  

Fred used his wand to conjure up a seating area for the two of them and a little fire in front of them. In the basket was blankets, two mugs, a flask of hot chocolate and some marshmallows.  

“Freddie this looks great” Y/N couldn’t help but smile at Fred, she was so lucky to have him.  

He grabbed her wrist and looked at her watch, “five minutes to go” he wrapped a blanket around them both before getting the hot chocolate for them.  

He wrapped an arm around them as they watched the stars “they look so much prettier here than they do at school” Y/N looked up at Fred who was already watching her.

“You look just as pretty here as you do at school” he kissed her forehead. The clock struck midnight and suddenly fireworks started going off.  

Red ones, green ones, white ones, ones in the shape of Santa, ones in the shape of snowmen, Y/N couldn’t look away from them, they were beautiful. Suddenly the fireworks made two figures, they showed two people that Y/N recognised very clearly, it was her and Fred sat in two chairs, the scene sort of reminded her of the times they spent in the library. Next showed the two of them near a circle of blue, this reminded her of all the times they’d spent at the black lake.  

Finally the fireworks showed them kissing and “merry Christmas Y/N” was spelt above them, with “I love you” underneath.  

Y/N gasped as she looked over at Fred, a few tears had escaped her eyes and Fred softly wiped his thumb across her cheek, smiling down at her. “Do you really?” She asked in disbelief.  

“I love you” he placed a kiss to her lips, slow and gentle before pulling back. Y/N was practically grinning from ear to ear “I love you too Freddie”. They sat outside a little longer continuously saying those three special words to each other. They made their way back inside, sitting on the couch for a cuddle before bed. “Merry Christmas Freddie” Y/N yawned and cuddled into his chest.  

“Merry Christmas cutie” he kissed her forehead, his eyes shut.

They woke up the next morning to Mrs Weasley standing above them “I said separate rooms” she said sternly before breaking out into a smile “merry Christmas you two” she kissed both of their foreheads before going into the kitchen.  

Fred and Y/N were the first ones up, when they joined her in the kitchen they both apologies only to be waved off my Molly.

Soon it was time for presents, everyone received a jumper from Mrs Weasley and she followed Fred’s instructions, ensuring the jumper with Y/N’s initial was the same size as Fred’s.

Fred and Y/N left opening each other’s presents until last. Y/N got Fred a new beater for quidditch, some sweeties from honeydukes and a big teddy in the shape of a dog, “I know how much you’ve always wanted one” she winked. Fred grinned from ear to ear as he showed off his new bat to George.

It was now Y/N’s turn, there was a small box on the floor with her name on it, she carefully took off the wrapping paper and opened the box to reveal the most beautiful bracelet she had ever seen, there was a W charm attached with a broom and a star either side. “Oh Freddie I love it, thank you so much!” she practically flew into Fred’s arms giving him a big cuddle and a kiss.

“I love you” he whispered into her ear.  

“I love you too”  

Tagged

@jenniweaslee @britishspidey @parkeroffline @westyywifee @gloryekaterina @pineapplesandpinas @manuosorioh @itsbebeyyy @nojamsonmytoast @blackqueens01 @mahvelous @supermassiveblackhope @justmesadgirl @fandomlovver

#Fred weasley imagine #Fred weasley smut #Fred weasley x reader

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: VII

Sunflower, my eyes

Want you more than a melody

Let me inside

Wish I could get to know you

Sunflower Vol. 6, Harry Styles

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

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

word count: 26.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because surprises are fun.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not like you have standards.”

“Hey!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s debatable.” Xander corrects. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s the point.” 

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

“Your dick’s probably small, anyways.” 

“Bigger than yours.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

Y/N isn’t lost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, you’re not.”

“Oh yes, I am.”

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

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

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

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

“You’re disgustingly conceited.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“Thrown away.”

“No.”

“Folded up and tucked under the bed?”

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

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

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

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

[kiribaku-queen]

The Blood King and his Queen [6]

Pairing: Bakugou x reader

Romance, Angst, Drama

Word count: 2.2K

Summary:  From being a mere servant girl to marrying the scariest prince in existence, your world changed right before your eyes. Exchanging places with the princess, you knew, wasn’t going to be easy. But could you have found love on the way? Or was it never meant to be?

A/N: I really need to stop writing so late at night... I finish writing sometimes at 2 or 3 in the morning but I have to wake up at 5:30!! God, why do I do that to myself?! But its all worth it because I love reading your comments and seeing your likes and shares <3

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You waved your arms in the air, signaling to his men where you were. How worried and concerned they looked couldn’t be explained with words. It was like they didn’t even look at him as their prince. They viewed him more as a close family member than their future king.

Everyone crowded around Bakugou wanting to be the one to help him up. But ultimately, it was Kirishima and Sero who supported him, one on each side as they helped sling his arms over their shoulders. Bakugou growled in pain every time he moved or took a step. Your eyebrows furrowed in concern and you couldn’t take your eyes off him. You deeply wanted to help him, but what more could you do? Sure, you helped stop the bleeding a little bit but surely there was something else you could do. You wanted to be the one he leaned on. You didn’t want to feel useless. And it was frustrating because you knew you could be of more help. You didn’t want to look like a princess who didn’t know how to do anything.

Mina happened to glance over at you while you mentally criticized yourself. Your hands were balled up in fists in front of you, your pouty lips were quivering, and you couldn’t take your eyes off the wounded prince. Mina’s eyes softened. She came up to you, took your hands in hers, and gave you a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry about that drama queen. He’s going to be fine. He can handle a small cut like that. He’s not called the infamous Blood Prince for nothing,” Mina assured you, making you feel a little bit better but no doubt, still worried.

You all stopped to rest about that ambush. No one else was hurt and nothing had been taken, just a few broken carriages but that’s all. One soldier was setting up a fire to heat up some drinks, two of them were looking at a map and depicting which route was safest to cross, and another was tending to Bakugou’s wounds. Thankfully, there was a whole cart of medicine. They applied medicine skillfully to his cut. This must happen a lot that they know exactly what to do without a doctor. You could only watch as you sit next to him, your eyes never leaving his cut. As his soldier was about to cover his wound back up, you held your hand out to stop him.

“May I?” you offered. The soldier was taken aback at the request, not expecting you to offer your assistance but gladly let you after seeing your determined face.

“As you wish, princess,” he backed off to leave the rest to you. You took hold of the bandages and began to wrap them around his torso.

“You let me know if it starts to hurt again,” you demanded as you finished wrapping him up.

“I’ll be fine,” he grumbled. You didn’t like his answer so you tightened your knot a little too tight for his liking and he winced in pain.

“I’m serious,” you pouted. Bakugou could laugh at your reaction but decided against it.

“Is her highness upset with me?” he questioned and you couldn’t hold back your thoughts.

“How could you get hurt like that?” you exploded. “You had me so worried. What if you had gotten killed? What would I have done then? You shouldn’t let yourself get distracted, especially not because of me.” You were scolding him but Bakugou’s lips turned into a deep frown. He grabbed you by the wrists, making you face him.

“Surely her highness isn’t saying that she is not of importance?” his deep voice whispered, raising one eyebrow in curiosity. Having his face so close to yours made you flustered.

“Well…” you tried to say but couldn’t finish.

“To me, you are the most important person here. I would battle a hundred swordmen and lose all my limbs if it means that you are safe,” he said, seriously. Your lips parted in surprise by his sudden confession. When Bakugou snapped back to his senses, he was the one to become flustered this time.

“B-Because you are the future queen… o-of course,” he tried brushing off, looking away like it was nothing. Any feeling of happiness that you had slowly turned into disappointment. Of course, he was only protecting you because he thinks you are the princess, his future bride. If it was you, you were sure he wouldn’t be saying these things. But you tried to not let it get to you.

“Bakugou, princess!” you heard Sero’s voice behind you. You both turned to see Sero running towards you with two cups in his hands, careful not to spill its contents. “Freshly made. Drink it before it gets too cold.” He squatted, carefully giving you both a cup.

“Thank you,” you gave Sero a smile.

“Ah, also,” Sero stopped to pull out a map from his back pocket. “Kirishima was looking at the map again and if we go through this route, we can probably avoid any more bandits.” He said while showing Bakugou the new route.

“Can we still make it there in two days time?” Bakugou asked.

“Yes sir,” Sero said confidently.

“Good man. We’ll leave in 10,” Bakugou gave Sero a nod of approval. When he left, Bakugou attempted to get up from his position. He held onto the tree for support and grunted in pain as he started to stand.

“What are you doing?” you questioned, puzzled on what he was doing. Instinctively, you grabbed hold onto his arm to help support him.

“Leaving. I have to make sure everything is intact,” he said and still tried to stand tall. You pushed him back down and shoved the cup back in his hands.

“At least finish this. I’ll go do it for you,” you say. Before Bakugou had the chance to refuse your offer, you were already on your feet, running to the group of soldiers. Bakugou watched while you were frantically making sure that you had all the supplies and checking everything like he would. Although, being a rookie, you were bad at your job. The soldiers laughed, making you feel embarrassed yet welcomed by them. They told you everything you needed to check so that next time, you could do it yourself. With a smirk, Bakugou watched in amusement.

You traveled on the new route Kirishima had set for you all. But because it wasn’t the normal road they took, it was a bumpy ride with the ground being uneven. You thought you would be fine continuing on, but you became a little jumpy due to the recent events that just happened. Every snap of a twig or rustle of the bushes, you turned your head to make sure that no other bandits were sneaking up on you.

“Scared, princess?” Bakugou whispered in your ear. You huffed and crossed your arms.

“No,” you denied.

“Like I said, I’ll protect you no matter the cost,” he reminded you. He was loud enough for his other soldiers to hear. Mina gushed over his comment while the others had their mouths wide open. Bakugou? The Blood Prince? Saying these romantic remarks to a woman? Now this was a new sight to see. Kirishima, on the other hand, was smiling softly at the new couple. He couldn’t wait to see your relationship bloom into something beautiful.

Being that the road you were on was so uneven, you had to hold on tight so that you didn’t fall off the horse. At one point, the horse became scared, lifting on his hind legs. You gasped out loud and closed your eyes to brace yourself for a fall. But Bakugou had swooped his arm around your waist and stabilized both of you to stay on the horse.

“See, gotcha,” the prince teased. You covered your face so he couldn’t see how flushed your face was. Bakugou chuckled because he knew. He could tell you were flustered and that’s the exact reaction he wanted to get out of you.

As promised, in two days time, you made it to your next destination. What you saw wasn’t a lively town, filled with vibrant colors and a chorus of people. There were no food stands that sold a variety of foods and desserts. No whiff of saliva-inducing smells. No entertainment on the street for you to enjoy.

You saw a poor village; with run-down houses and starving people all over the streets. The atmosphere turned sad, like a gray cloud was constantly over this place. The life out of this town was completely sucked out. The image was so heartbreaking that you could break down in tears this very instant.

“Bakugou,” your voice cracked.

“I know,” he said, just as sad and disappointed you were, probably even more. “This is the other side of the kingdom that no one gets to see. Most of this kingdom is living in poverty. Everyone knows of the more lavish side, but in reality, what you are currently seeing is most of my kingdom. There are two completely different worlds here but no one, not my brothers not the kind, is doing anything about it. I don’t even know how to fix it.” He explained. You reached a certain, open area and Bakugou got off, so did every soldier. They began unloading all their supplies. You could see a line starting to form not far from you guys.

“And this is the only way I can think of to help,” he said, offering his hand to you. You took it, hoping off the horse.

“How often do you do this?” you ask, still in shock with what you were seeing.

“Every month or so? I try as often as I can,” he replied as he also started unpacking the crates from the cart. Food, medicine, spare clothes, they had it all. The realization hit you. So that’s why they packed so many things in the beginning. It was for his people. His men were almost done setting up, getting ready to pass out rations to his people. But you were standing to the side awkwardly.

No. There was no doubt in your mind that you wanted to help him. You moved to stand next to Bakugou, proactively helping to pass out food rations.

“You don’t have to do this, you know. Aren’t you embarrassed as a princess?” Bakugou asked without sparing you a glance.

“Never. I want to help,” you said as confidently as you could, giving him eyes of determination. Bakugou finally looked at you, his heart skipping a beat again. He coughed, beating on his chest a few times.

You smiled at everyone who came in line, welcoming them without a single judgment. You looked down the line and all his soldiers were doing the same thing. They do this so often that the people recognize them and are laughing and having a good time. For living in such poor conditions, their spirits weren’t down.

After every single person had gotten their rations, you thought the work was over. Oh, how you were wrong. Once that was over with, his men started carrying out more things from the crates. This time, it was wood. They were going to help repair some homes. You were going to find Bakugou but immediately turned around when he took his cape and you saw him completely shirtless.

“You can sit this one out princess. This’ll get a little messy,” he advised. But you shook your head, still facing away from him.

“No, I want to help!” you were still determined. He chuckled at you.

“If you want to help, you’re gonna have to face the other way,” he pointed out. You took a deep breath and had the courage to face him. But only, your stare was straight down at the floor instead of him. How could you? With him being shirtless and all. Was that even necessary?

Bakugou took an axe and started chopping some wood. Your job was to bring the chopped wood to his soldiers who were the ones building the houses.

You eventually got tired bringing the wood back and forth, so you took a seat next to Bakugou who was nonstop chopping wood. The sweat was glistening his body in a godly matter. You couldn’t take your eyes away from his chest, that was heaving up and down. And then add some sweat? Phew, it made you feel hot.

“How long as this been going on?” you started a conversation.

“Ha?” he turned to you, not expecting you say anything so he was a tad out of it. “Ah, all my life.” He said. He decided that he’ll take a break too. He put down the axe and sat down next to you.

“If my father didn’t lie, these people probably wouldn’t be living like this,” he commented.

“Your father lied?” you asked curiously. Bakugou couldn’t believe that he was actually saying this, but he felt comfortable enough with you that he did.

“When he became King, he promised that he would protect every life in his kingdom. But look at all these people. They are suffering and dying because they are not getting the help that they need. And my father is neglecting them! He is a liar who couldn’t commit to a promise!” Bakugou started getting heated up. “That’s why I hate liars. I’ll ruin anyone who lies to me.”

And when he said that, your heart physically dropped.

A/N: Can I just say, you're gonna LOVE the next chapter. I literally just know it because I LOVE IT!

Also, does anyone else just read these chapters and think of it as an anime? No? Just me? Honestly, if I'm the only one that does this I'm gonna feel like such an idiot.

If you want to be added to the taglist, please comment or DM me and I'll gladly add you!!!

Tagged: @superblyspeedydragon @melasnchz-things @animexholic @bkgwrites @sam-i-am-1025 @apexqueenie @katsukibabe @germfart3 @tspice283 @angie-1306 @bakugous-trauma @bakugousmrs @random-fandom-girl-24 @monetfatalia @triviajeongin @readingslumpfanfic @softredrobin

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bnha bakugou #bakugou imagine #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha imagine #bakugou angst #bakugou romance #bakugou fluff #bnha art #bakugou drama

[ppersonna]

i’ll float away - myg | m

they show you how to swim, then they throw you in the deep end. what if I don’t float?  - float, the neighborhood.

↳ summary- years after the breakup, yoongi, a successful award-winning rapper with an unhealthy addiction, finds your wedding invite on Facebook.

↳ rating- explicit/18+

↳ word count- 12.6k

↳ pairing- yoongi x reader

↳ genre- idol!au, postbreakup!au, very heavy angst, smut, fluff

↳ warnings- discussions of drugs and death, penetrative sex, oral sex (m/f receiving), creampie, dirty talk, min yoongi being a mental health king

↳ a.n- hi everyone! some of you may recognize this fic.  this fic is my baby. i went through and edited it a little more and put all the chapters together to make it a one shot.  i think it flows better that way!  i hope you enjoy this.  this fic means so so so much to me and while it’s heavy, i hope you enjoy the ride it will take you on.  this fic got me back into writing and i will forever be thankful for that.

↳ this fic contains adult content, such as drug use, discussions of suicide, accidental overdose, discussions of drugs and addictions.  while this is not romanticized, or idolized, it is discussed.  please take care of yourself and proceed with caution.  18+ | discretion is advised.

‘We cordially invite you to the wedding of…’

Min Yoongi felt numb.

Yoongi always felt numb, but this felt different, wrong.  Like he was falling and had no ledge to grip.

It felt as if the world had stopped on its axis, and at any moment, gravity would turn off and he would just float, float away to nothingness.

There was no sound. Everything existed in silence.

His fingers couldn’t move. Eyes were glued to his phone screen where he stared at the wedding invite on fucking Facebook.

He wasn’t even sure why he was seeing it, considering you had blocked him on nearly every form of social media. Likely it was from your family, someone that still kept him around despite a million reasons not to.

It felt like centuries before Yoongi noticed his heartbeat again. And when it did, it hurt. It threatened to break his ribs, tear through muscle and sinew, erupt from the skin to go, get away, run run run from this.

The numbness was gone. Now all he felt was the pain.

Yoongi felt like his every cell, every fiber, was burning. Perhaps, they were mourning.

Perhaps, they were dying.

Water dripped onto his phone and it took him a few stunted breaths to realize the water was coming from him, pouring from his eyes like open wounds.

The numb silence surrounding him left him, and now he was too alert, too aware.  The sounds hit him like a tidal wave.

His body was reacting years before his brain could catch up. He could hear himself crying, choking on his sobs, and at first, it didn’t register as his own voice wailing your name.

And then emotion erupted and smashed into his psyche, nothing standing in his way to protect him.

He was heartbroken.

He had felt nothing in years, refused to face the sorrowful demons lurking around him. It was easier to hide, to run. It terrified him to think of what would happen if he allowed himself a chance to feel again. He didn’t think he would make it out alive.

Alive.

Was he? Had he been living since that day?  He wasn’t sure. He breathed, ate, drank, fucked, but he wasn’t positive he was alive at all.

Living? Sure. Existing? Yes. But alive, he couldn’t determine.

Now that he could feel every ounce of pain, his body accepted it tenfold. His throat felt angry and raw. He must be screaming—he thought. His fingers pricked with pins and needles as if they hadn’t moved an inch since the day he last touched you, refusing to believe you were gone. His arms wrapped around his own chest as his body wracked with sobs.

Yoongi hadn’t cried in years.  He hadn’t allowed himself to cry, hadn’t given permission to his mind to even think about it. Surely, once he started, he was confident he would never stop.

His mind reeled. He was only half aware of where he was, what he was doing. It wasn’t until he felt his legs moving, feet shuffling to his nightstand, that he realized what was happening.

He didn’t want to feel. His mind, in an effort to protect, to avoid, was doing the only thing Yoongi knew to do.

He grabbed the bottle of Oxy’s, poured out a handful and contemplated swallowing them.

He didn’t think he wanted to die. To be frank, he felt he was already living in purgatory. He just wanted it to stop, to end, to retreat into nothingness and stop fucking crying.

Swallowing them wouldn’t do. He would fall asleep, and likely stop breathing. Too much. He couldn’t die. He knew in his mind he would feel too guilty to die. He didn’t want death; he merely wanted respite, sanctuary.

He could continue surviving as long as his nerves dulled and frayed, mind sticky and hazy. Exist. Don’t feel.

With skilled hands and tools, Yoongi crushed some pills into a fine powder and sat on his bed to arrange the drug into 4 lines.

He always felt better this way.

He would add a line of coke had his situation been different. It was his go-to, enough to keep himself present, to do what he needed to get through the day while still feeling dissolved.  Sing, dance, record, smile for the cameras, sign for the screaming girls, plaster on that boyish smile, repeat.

He just wanted to sleep.

His body worked on auto-pilot. Yoongi was sure he was still heaving with sobs.  He could feel his chest shaking, and his hands were unsteady.

You were getting married.

One bump. Inhale. Hold it. Don’t think. Breathe.

Someone else was holding you, smiling as bright as your future. Handsome. Kind. Family man.

Alive.

Second bump. Inhale. Don’t let it go. Breathe.

He imagined your hands on someone else’s body, your voice crying out in throes of passion in someone else’s ear. Whispering someone else’s name as you succumbed to your climax.

Third bump, then straight to the fourth without stopping. It burned as it passed through his nostrils, straight to his bloodstream.

Children, a home and a dog. Family dinner. Movies, laughter. All of them without him. An outsider staring in through the window, wondering what it could feel like to be within; wondered what it was like to get what he wanted.

Yoongi leaned back on his bed, feeling the slow, syrupy wave wash over him.

‘Please, take it away’ he pleaded silently as if the drug were his doctor, his therapist. It was, in many ways. ‘I’m not strong enough.’

His eyes drooped and felt like lead. He was tired. So tired. He could feel his sobs slow, before ending in quiet little whimpers and sighs. His breathing mellowed, and he felt his chest deflate for what felt like hours before his lungs pulled in harshly more air.

He ached but felt as if someone had pulled a blanket over him, over his tortured heart and crumbling brain. No more thinking, just sleep. Can’t feel, can’t cry, don’t want to face it.  

Sleep.

Warmth.

Warmth surrounded him. It felt as if he were napping in the shady grass during summer. Warm and comforting.

You were there, in the meadow of his imagination. You were walking to him, a white dress and pretty flowers. Yoongi felt his heart tug at every artery in his body, as if begging him to stop, heel, resist, don’t go.

“Yoongi,” You called across the valley. Your dulcet voice rang through his head as if you spoke directly to his mind.

“Where are you?” You asked.

In a blink, you were in front of him. Your eyes were searching for him, even though he stood inches away.

He opened his mouth to beckon you, but no words came out. He was desperate to call out to you, embrace you. He strained to move his hand. He wanted to touch your cheek, feel real and alive again. His body would not respond.

“Yoongi, go!” You pleaded, eyes filling with tears, still seeking the male. “You can’t be here!”

His body stung, wincing at your words and aching at your distress.

“Yoongi, you need to wake up!”

The warmth faded.

It felt as if something had ripped his comfort blanket from him, exposing his body to the harsh chill of reality.

He could sense he was in a bed, and the lights were bright, so bright. He tried to open his eyes and groaned as the halogen pierced through his skull.

“Yoongi?! Oh my god, he’s waking up!” Distressed voices were too loud all around him, and he felt pokes and prods and beeping of machines.

“Ow-… loud.” His voice was rough as if he hadn’t used it in days.

Yoongi felt more acutely aware of his body as he struggled to wake up. He was so nauseated, stomach churning ferociously, even though he hadn’t eaten since… how long? He wasn’t sure. He wanted to vomit.

He wanted to sleep.

He lifted his eyes again and peered through the harsh lighting. His best friend Hoseok stood over him, along with Namjoon, his manager, and Jimin, his assistant.

Hoseok had tears in his eyes, and the sight made Yoongi wince with grief. Hobi hadn’t cried since high school when he got cut from the dance team. Something awful must have happened.

“Hobi…,” he murmured, coughing to clear his throat. “What happened? What’s going on?”

Adjusted to the light, Yoongi finally glanced at his surroundings and took stock of his environment.

He was in a hospital; he was the patient. An IV was stuck in the crook of his arm, his skin ghostly pale, enormous bags of saline attached overhead. He felt faint.

How had this happened? Did he hurt himself at practice? Was there a car accident? Yoongi could remember driving home from the dance studio but felt foggy about anything else. He didn’t even know what day it was.

His friends blanched at Yoongi’s questioning, side-eying each other.  Who would have to be the one to tell him?

Hoseok’s eyes flooded with tears again as he looked at the rapper and spoke. “Yoongi… you-… you OD’d.”

The words hit him like an oncoming train.

Overdose.  

It had never happened to him before.

He nearly died.

He had, unfortunately, been in the game long enough to watch it happen to others. Some were lucky to make it out okay, most weren’t.

It all flashed painfully in his mind as it all flooded back.

You. Marriage. OxyContin.

Inhale. Don’t breathe. Don’t feel.

“Oh, my god.”

Hoseok let out a soft sob. “Jimin found you in your bed.  Thank god you keep Narcan.”

Yoongi turned to glance at the gentle, pink-haired boy who had already done so much for him. Yoongi felt wrecked, utterly guilty for putting him in such a situation. How many times had Yoongi had to force a needle into a friend’s thigh, watch as their pinpoint pupils widened and lungs gasped for air as their synapses released?  Too many. Each time kept him awake all night and petrified for months. He regularly kept the overdose reversal drug on him, in the studio, in his home.

“Jimin,” he croaked, his own eyes filling with tears. “I’m s-so fucking sorry.”

Jimin couldn’t hold back the tears in his eyes anymore. “It’s okay, Yoongs.” Jimin’s voice was quiet, trembling.

Yoongi felt the tears slip down his cheeks at his best friends and team. He had put so much on them. So much.

“You saved my life, Jimin.” Yoongi’s quiet voice made the assistant cry more.

“You’d do it for me.” He whispered through tears as he pushed forward and fell into Yoongi’s chest, holding the rapper close. “Let’s just… get better, y-yeah?”

The rapper’s heart seized up.

Better.

What was better?  Surely, Jimin meant rehab. Sobriety. Meetings and sponsors.

To Yoongi, it meant feeling. It screamed hurting. It oozed heartbreak.

When Yoongi had been introduced to drugs at the beginning of his rap career, it had been fun and sexy. They used coke at the hottest parties, weed at all the clubs, acid at the raves. Yoongi sampled each like a buffet, found out which made him feel lightheaded and loose, which made him dizzy, which made him ache.

The drugs led to the girls. So many women begging for him. The cloudy haze of his mind found it hard to resist, even knowing you were still his, still waiting for him as you and he promised with thin silver bands symbolizing your shared devotion and dedication.

Therefore, drugs led to regret.

He left you. Days before your wedding. He exposed all of his misdeeds, his infidelity, his vices. He had promised you after he was famous, rich, well known that he would come back to you, start a family with you.

Instead, he turned away and left.

It was easier to avoid it all and leave; he rationalized. Seeing your heartbreak had been his undoing.

After the breakup, Yoongi self-medicated daily. He stuck with opiates and cocaine, finding it just the right combination to get him pleasantly numb from the guilt and loss of you while giving him the euphoric high he needed as a rising star rapper.

He had tried to keep it to himself as long as he could. Hoseok knew about the recreational use but hadn’t realized the extent of the problem until he found Yoongi too high to function, slumped in a chair in the recording studio.

Hoseok told Namjoon, his manager, who interrogated Yoongi’s assistant, Jimin. None had known quite how far Yoongi had spiraled down. And none had an idea to pull him out.

Yoongi didn’t want to go to rehab. He didn’t want the forced positivity. Group therapy. Social workers discussing ‘goals’ and ‘treatment plans’. He would risk his reputation. He was now a top-earning Grammy-winning artist. He was fucking Agust D. He couldn’t be just another celebrity who ended up in rehab. It would ruin everything he built.  He could do it himself, fix his problems alone as he always had.

“Yeah.” Yoongi croaked to his assistant. “I’ll get better.” His smile was weak, and probably unconvincing to the three men who knew him best.

As Namjoon opened his mouth to speak, a knock sounded at the door of his room. Yoongi’s brow furrowed in confusion. He did not know who it could be, the three people he interacted with most already present. His accountant? Wouldn’t seem likely. A fan? Definitely unlikely, Jimin and Namjoon had likely taken major strides to ensure his privacy and ask the hospital to provide security. Was it… you? Yoongi stopped breathing at the thought.

Namjoon strode to the door and opened it a crack, peering out. Yoongi couldn’t see who the manager was whispering too, but moments later watched as the door swung open.

It wasn’t you. He felt relief. He wouldn’t have been able to look at you. But the guest was only slightly better.  

Your mother.

The matronly woman’s eyes were full of tears. Yoongi’s mother had been your mother’s best friend from childhood, to the very day Yoongi’s mother passed away from breast cancer. Yoongi had been 17, void of any motherly contact at such an impressionable age.

Your mother had stepped in, no doubt or worry in her mind about caring for the teen. He was already such good friends with you and she even encouraged and supported the underlying feelings the two had for each other. Yoongi became family and nearly a son-in-law.  

Even after the breakup, after breaking your heart and leaving you at the altar, your mom still kept in contact with him. She still reached out, celebrated his achievements and ensured he was well. She was the picture of forgiveness and compassion.

Yoongi crumbled at the sight of her, suddenly feeling like a teenager again, and sobbed as she moved forward quickly to embrace him.  Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jimin stepped outside to allow privacy and Yoongi clung to the only mother figure he had.

“I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry.” He bawled. 

He didn’t know exactly what he was apologizing for. For hurting you? For avoiding her and the entire realm of anything concerning you? For almost killing himself? Maybe a mix of it all.  

His chest hurt, god it hurt so bad. It felt as if all ribs snapped from the crushing weight of his sorrow and guilt.  

Her hand smoothed his hair, mint-colored now, and held his face to her neck and cried with him.

“Shh,” She soothed. “It’s okay, little lion.”

Yoongi cried harder at the childhood nickname from his deceased mother that followed him to adulthood with the woman holding him.

Yoongi couldn’t stop crying. It wouldn’t end. It felt like an endless river, a torrential storm that never passed. He felt raw, ripped from the inside out.

“You’re alive, Yoongi.” She whispered and kissed his forehead. “You’re still here.  I love you.”

He wasn’t sure what he had done in a past life to deserve this kindness and unconditional love. Yoongi knew he didn’t deserve it, especially not from the mother of the girl he loved and broke completely. Not from the woman who he promised to make a grandmother, only to turn away and leave destruction in his wake.

“She’s getting married,” He choked out, the pain in his chest overwhelming him at his own words, so consuming he felt devoid of air. He gasped, struggling to breathe at all.  “T-that should be me.”

She sensed this and squeezed her eyes tighter, hugging the boy closer to her as sobs wrecked his tired, thin body.

“I know, love.” She whispered. “I know.”  She had no words to quell the heartbreak, just as she had many years ago when you laid across her lap, crying over the boy you loved completely.  Words wouldn’t fix the wounds.  She could only provide comfort; a band-aid on a bullet hole.

Yoongi allowed himself to sob, fully cry until he felt he might pass out. She held him, rocked him like a child, whispered words of comfort as his breathing eventually slowed and even out. His sobs turned to sniffles, and though he stopped crying, his eyes remained glassy and broken.

He had stopped crying; he noticed.  The tears had stopped flowing, the thick pleas escaping his throat dried. But he hadn’t stopped the hurt. It felt as though the hurt was a gaping, infected, open sore that would never heal. He could hide it from the world, cover it up for none to see, but he couldn’t ignore the sting or the pain with every breath.

Yoongi steeled himself to look into the eyes of his comforter, preparing himself for the look of pity or disappointment in her look.

He bit back another cry as he only found compassion, comfort and unconditional love in her gaze. He didn’t deserve her.

“Please, don’t tell her,” he pleaded. “I can’t…,” he gulped. “I can’t let her know about this.”

She grimaced.  “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” She sighed, stroking her fingers through his mint colored hair. “She wanted to come to see you, too.”  Yoongi groaned and felt his heart clench. “I told her it wasn’t the best idea.” She murmured.  Yoongi was suddenly comforted and struck by how very much he did not deserve the grace of this woman.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “She thought I was clean. That was the last thing I told her.”

He recalled the last time you two had spoken when he promised to get clean. Instead, he had left and spent the next few years in a haze.

“I think you should talk to her,” she admitted. “Not now. Not until you feel better, but she was distraught at the news.”

The idea of seeing you again plowed through him like a freight train.

“Sure,” he whispered. He couldn’t understand why you’d be concerned. You had swung choice words at him as he left, insults he deserved. “Maybe.”

Yoongi spent more time with his mother figure, comforting him and whispering sweet revelations and promises to keep in touch before his doctor interrupted and encouraged Yoongi to get rest without distraction.

Soon enough, he was alone again. Stuck in the too bright, too white, sterile room he had landed himself in because of his grief.

His attention diverted between the discomfort of his withdrawal and the gaping wound of having to see you again.

Even if he made it out sober, withdrawal free, he wasn’t sure he would make it out for long.

He tried to stay away, stay clean. He managed for a few weeks, immersing himself in writing an album and using his creative expression to medicate his wounds.  And it worked.

Until it didn’t.

It started with the marijuana. He couldn’t resist the way it helped soothe everything. Not just the pain, but the world around him. He could sink into his bed, write away his feelings and worries, and relish in the sensation of absolutely nothing.

That lasted for a few weeks. He’d try to smoke every day, but the darkness continued to creep up, wrapping around his throat like a vice.

He demanded his schedule to get busier, to get tighter, despite the warnings from Namjoon. He insisted on shows, award dinners, radio interviews, everything. If he was busy, he wouldn’t think about you. He could survive another day if you weren’t the first thing on his mind.

That’s when the cocaine started again.

It helped him muster the energy he needed to plaster on Agust D, rapper extraordinaire. He could sing, rap, dance, wink at the girls, sign the scantily clad flesh, throw back a shot of vodka and charm the press.

A few lines of coke every few hours pushed him forward, and towards his end.

But he was handling it. Wasn’t he? Wasn’t he working, being successful, making money?  He was rich. He was famous. He was beloved.  He was shining.

Did it even fucking matter?

The shine made his shadow darker. It made his fall from grace longer, more painful.

It didn’t fucking matter.

Yoongi found himself at the corner of the park, the same one you two had grown up playing in. It was in the center of the neighborhood you two lived.  It was where he first chased you around the swings, laughed with you over comics at the picnic table, and fucked you for the first time in the parking lot in the backseat of his car.

He couldn’t stop the memories rolling over him like a boulder, crushing his lungs and threatening to snap his bones into nothing more than dust.

It stunted his breath. He felt as if pulling in a full intake of air was impossible.

He finally sucked up his faux courage and scheduled a time to meet you here at this park. The park that held such significance to both of you.

If he thought it was hard to breathe at the memories of the park, it was even worse when you walked towards him, and planted your feet in front of him.

There was nothing. Stillness. Absolute silence as you both felt as if the barometric pressure dropped around your vicinity. A vacuum. Nothing but you two, and so much hurt it was palpable.

“Y-You’re getting married-..” Yoongi broke the silence, voice dry and quiet. He wanted to say more, but couldn’t. He couldn’t look anywhere but his feet.  Didn’t want to see a ring around your finger that wasn’t from him.

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. “Yeah, I am.”

Yoongi couldn’t look at you, couldn’t look you in your eyes.  It was too much. Too painful. Those eyes used to look at him with so much love, so much pride. He couldn’t bear to see what you held in them now.

“Great, that is great,” his voice was flat.  “Happy for you.  I hope it goes well.”

You cringed and turned your face up to stare at the mint-haired boy. The man of your dreams. The one who took so much and left you with nothing.

“Hoseok told me what happened.”

Yoongi closed his eyes, as if blocking out the words.  Fuck. Of course. You and Hoseok were still close; it was bound to happen.

His world now was so dark, so ugly. Yoongi couldn’t bear ruining you any more. You had been the iron rod and lamplight that led him through the darkness. You were his lifeline. Without you, all stability, all light, gone.

“Yeah,” was all he could muster, flickering up to look at you. You were staring back, eyes full of unshed tears.

Yoongi inhaled sharply, feeling each tear from your eyes as a knife to his chest. He hadn’t seen your eyes in so long. Staring at you was like leaving a hand on a burning stove.

“Are you still using?” You asked. Your words weren’t callous or cruel. You asked to gather information, to determine an opinion, not to pass judgement. Yoongi knew you meant no harm and found himself powerless to lie to you, anyway.

“Just…,” he let out a puff of air anxiously.  “Yeah, sort of. Weed and some coke, I guess. Nothing else.” He rubbed his neck anxiously.

Your lips set in a line, and your eyes flicked back down, sadness washing over your features. He could feel it rolling off of you in waves, lumps building in his throat.

“I miss you,” He admitted, words tumbling out before he could catch himself. “So fucking much.  I know this isn’t fair, and I know that I fucked up. I just miss you more than anything else in the world.”

At first, you laughed.  Yoongi felt as if someone had punched him.

Then you cried. Yoongi felt as if he had been shot, point blank in the chest.

“You’re right, Yoongi. It isn’t fair,” You walked closer to him, a mix of grief and anger. “You ruined my fucking life.”

You pushed against his shoulder. “You left me at the fucking altar.  You cheated on me.” The tears came faster down your cheeks. “Then, you almost fucking died. And my mom won’t stop crying. And I can’t stop crying, I fucking cry my eyes out because my wedding is in 2 months and I realize I will never get over you.”

Yoongi felt another shot, execution style, to the head. He couldn’t speak and watched your anger, accepting the jabs to his chest.

“I thought I was happy, Yoongi. I really thought I would get the wedding and life I wanted so badly, and you took it away from me. Twice!” You were sobbing, pushed even closer against him. “You almost fucking dying made me realize I don’t want that life with him.  I want it with you, you fucking inconsiderate asshole!”

Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to speak. Any elation he might have had about hearing your revelation was quickly quelled by the fire of your anguish.  

“And, now you’re still using and there’s no way I could even think about seeing you high. I love you so much and it fucking hurts me knowing you do that to yourself, accepting no sort of fucking help. You can’t do it all yourself, Min Yoongi, no matter how fucking great you think you are!”

He couldn’t reply. He had no words, nothing of value to add. You were right. He couldn’t find a single argument. Your body pressed so close to him and his body ached. It yearned to close the distance and feel your shape against his, slotting together so easily as you always had. It was magnetic. He could almost weep at how badly he needed to hold you, to feel you, to touch you again.

You watched him, unable to stop the flow of tears you promised you would never shed for him again. “Look at me.” You asked quietly.

Yoongi’s own red-rimmed eyes lifted to yours. He looked so broken. So raw. He was crying, years of built up sorrow pouring down his pale cheeks.

You closed the distance and pushed together your bodies, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your face against his neck. He smelled as he always did. Dove shampoo, Old Spice, laundry detergent. You knew Yoongi nearly down to his DNA.

You lifted your face level to his and pressed a kiss to his lips. He felt no heat in the kiss, no desire.

It felt final, resolute.

“Goodbye, Yoongi.” You whispered, pressing your forehead to his.

And you turned. And you left.

And another piece of Yoongi’s broken heart slipped away with you.

Yoongi avoided any semblance of routine. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t feel anything but ache. He saw you in everything he did.

He tried to stay away from the drugs.  He sincerely did. He knew the risks. He knew he had nearly died.

But he could not bear to take the pain anymore. He could not continue fighting his very breath, forcing himself to breathe even though it hurt too much.

He was still standing on the outside of your world, so far away from you. It was so cold. He didn’t remember what warmth was. He didn’t think he deserved to remember, either.

It was easy to score a baggie of smack.  Yoongi had plenty of money and connections. But Yoongi had never done heroin intravenously. He had smoked it with his old dealer, the first man he ever had to revive with Narcan. IV use scared him. But it was what he could get a hold of, and what he needed.

Tie off. Fill up. Inject. Hold it. Breathe. Don’t feel. Release.

It washed over him quickly, the same fuzzy warmth that started at his toes and slithered up to his head. It felt headier than snorting it, less of a slow rush, more of an instant dive into warmth. Comfort.

The knot in his stomach loosened. Yoongi relaxed against his pillows and inhaled deeply before exhaling. He could breathe again.

He was so sleepy. So tired. He could sleep again without the torment of his dreams. He could live again without feeling his shattered heart. No hurt. Only comfort.

His only love.

He wasn’t sure how long he slept for. He didn’t dream. He couldn’t recall if five minutes had passed or five days. His head pounded him back to reality as he woke, and he realized it was dark outside his bedroom.

His phone was still on his bedside table. He checked it and groaned. It was the next day, next evening really. He had slept over 24 hours. He felt like shit.

The nausea and the chills came soon after. He felt as if he was burning. He couldn’t stop puking, even with minimal content in his stomach to begin with. Sips of water would come back up. His fever got worse. He became so drenched in sweat he stripped his clothes and sat in a bath, hoping to sweat the fever out. It chilled him to the bone.  He was so hot, and so fucking cold at the same time.

Yoongi cried as he held himself in the tub. He was alone. He was withdrawing. He wanted more, god he wanted to sleep and feel good again, didn’t want the sickness or the grief. It was so much. So fucking much.

His fingers danced along his phone, dialing your number out of habit, out of a need to hear you.

“Why are you calling me, Yoongi?” Your voice, flat, asked through the phone.

Yoongi croaked. His voice was hoarse due to disuse for over a day. “I fucked up, baby.”

Your heart clenched at the sound of the pet name. It had been so long. God, you had missed it so much. You missed him. You fucking hated him for it.

“Are you okay?” You asked, concern edging out the anger at his call.

“No,” he sighed, shivering and holding his knees to his chest. “I sh-shot up.”

He could not stop the whimper leaving his mouth. “I’m withdrawing. I w-want to keep using it, but I can’t!” Yoongi sobbed, openly weeping at the physical and emotional pain. “I’ll fucking die again. I don’t want to die. I love you.”

Tears poured down your face, heartbroken at his words and actions.

“Yoongi, where are you?”

Yoongi quickly replied. “I’m at home, in the bathtub. The front door is locked,” He whispered.  “I don’t think I can stand.”

“I still uh… have my key.” You admitted. Yoongi felt his heart clench, unsure of what to make of that idea.

Yoongi remained in the bathtub, holding himself and shivering violently when you arrived on scene. Your heart, already so broken, shattered at the impact of seeing the love of your life and the cause of your heartbreak, suffering.

“Fuck,” you whispered, quickly grabbing towels and kneeling by the tub at his side. “Yoongs, let’s get you dry, okay? Can you stand with me?” You grasped his clammy arms and allowed him to use your weight to balance himself on shaky legs.

You were so gentle. So compassionate. Yoongi felt his resolve breaking, wanting nothing but to wrap you up and never let you go again, tell your future husband to fuck off and allow the rapper to take his rightful place.

With your help, Yoongi stood and allowed himself to be dried. He normally would have felt the stirrings of arousal at such an intimate gesture, but all he felt now was unbridled affection and overpowering guilt.

You led Yoongi to his bed, settling him on the soft surface while you moved to dig through his drawers for clothes.

“Don’t make me go to the hospital,” he pleaded softly.  You stole a look back at him, at his words.  

“Yoongi, you need to see someone.  You’re not okay.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m… I’ll be okay.  I’ve gone through the worst of it already.” He rubbed at his sweaty forehead. “Will you just stay with me? I’m so cold.” He shivered.

You glanced at the man on the bed.  He was thin, so sickly thin.  While he had always maintained a lean physique, it looked as if the rapper hadn’t eaten in weeks.  His skin was sallow, paper white with bruises on his arms and legs that seemed onyx against his alabaster skin.

You weren’t sure you could argue with him, but he definitely appeared less ill for wear now that he was out of the bath and dry.

“Yoongs,…” you breathed, dropping the clothing in your hands. “Let me hold you.”  All reservations were held back. The anger dissipated. You couldn’t fight the need to help him, to nurture and hold him.

You moved to tear your thick jacket off your frame and toe out of your shoes before making towards the bed.  Together, you took hands and slid gently in between his sheets.  Yoongi’s body was trembling.  He didn’t know if it was from the withdrawal or his proximity to you.

You pulled the blanket up and over your bodies, pressing yours against his thin body. His skin was freezing, forcing out a shiver of your own.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, forehead leaning to press against yours. You didn’t reply, not sure you’d be able to form words.

You laid in a long, comfortable silence as your warm hands rubbed along Yoongi’s arms and back, willing the blood vessels in his body to expand and return his heat. His breathing was even now, but occasionally let out a groan.  He couldn’t tell if it was a groan of pain, or of pleasure. Your hands on his skin felt like heaven and hell, wrapped in one.  

Everything he loved and lost in one package.

Bringing him to life and sentencing him to death.

“I love you,” his voice was shaky, quiet.  

You nodded, tears now easily slipping past your cheeks. “I love you too.”  There was no use denying it. It was clear in the way you ran to him, in the way you held him tightly, as if he would disappear without you pressed up against him.

His lips found yours easily, as if magnetized.  The kiss was slow, gentle.  You felt your own tears slide down your cheeks and meet his own.  Yoongi couldn’t help them, couldn’t help the simultaneous ache and burn of your touch again.

His hand slid to rest on your hip, underneath your shirt, pulling you even closer.  The kiss deepened, tongues swirling in each other’s mouth, searching for each other in the only place you knew.

It didn’t take long for your shirt to come off, and Yoongi’s hands to slide down your hips to push at your jeans.  This wasn’t passionate or steamy.  It was broken, desperately seeking comfort in the solace of each other.  

Once your clothing laid strewn across the floor, Yoongi wrapped his thin arms around your waist, pulling you as close to him as he could.  He could feel your breasts press up against his chest and was positive you could feel his hardness pressing into your thighs.  

He didn’t want to fuck you.  He wanted to love you, to feel you again. He wanted to hide inside you. He wanted the security that being buried deep within you once gave him.  He wanted to feel alive, feel you. It seemed he could no longer separate the difference.

His tears wouldn’t stop flowing, neither would yours.  

There was no foreplay, no teasing or edging.  Yoongi laid you back against the pillows and kissed at your tears, eyes boring into yours to seek consent.  You nodded, opening up your legs as a response. You needed to feel him too, fill the ache inside of you that widened each day without him. Yoongi lined himself up and slid into the familiar, inviting heat.

You muffled a cry, thrilled at the feeling of him filling you completely.  You missed him.  You loved him.  You hated him. You never felt more complete.  The thought made you cry more, both in pleasure and in sorrow.  The man bringing you so much pleasure had wrought so much sadness and pain.

Yoongi kept a slow pace, uncaring about orgasms or getting off.  His desire to be within you was void of sensuality at this point.  Yoongi only wanted to be within you, to feel safe, to feel anything again.  He felt alive.  

Alive.

His thrusting moved quicker as your lips met and danced together, pouring out emotion through unspoken gestures. He didn’t have the words, couldn’t tell you every single thought ran through his brain.  He hoped he could convey them to you here, in each roll of his hips.

Yoongi felt his release quickly approaching, unsure of how to proceed. He wasn’t sure what the moral code for cumming inside your ex fiancé was. He groaned as he kissed you.

“I love you, I’m close.  Where…?” He hoped you would understand his broken question.

You sighed with relief, feeling yours coming quickly too. While there had been no fire, no passion, the unadulterated emotion coursing between the two of you was enough to bring you close to completion.

“Inside me, please,” you sniffed, gasping at the tendrils of orgasm beginning to wrap around you.

Yoongi pressed his face against your neck, leaving salty kisses as he felt your channel pulse around him in completion, triggering his own end. He momentarily thrilled at his cum coating your cunt again, but the thought quickly left him.  Not that kind of night, nor that kind of fucking. Your moans were quiet, and he merely breathed a soft sigh into your neck.

It only took a moment for the reality of it all to hit you.

You had just fucked your ex. Who was in the middle of a withdrawal. While you were engaged to another man.  Who you had no desire to ever see again.

Fuck.

Yoongi pulled himself out of you, but pressed you close against him. Despite the agony in his head and his stomach from the pain of withdrawing, he felt secure again. He felt, for a minute, like he was finally on the inside of his dream, no longer looking in from the outside.

It was quickly wrenched away as you slithered out from under him, your tears quickening.

“I need to go,” you murmured. “I can’t believe I-we…,” you shook your head as you pulled your clothes on quickly. “I’m engaged.”

Yoongi winced and sat up as he watched you. “Yeah,” he felt his own tears slip down his cheeks. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re always sorry, Yoongi,” you snapped. It felt like a dagger to his heart.

He was. Always so sorry. He rarely felt anything other than sorry.

You felt guilty at the look that crossed his features.  Fuck.  

“I’ll-… I’ll call Hoseok to come check on you. Okay?”

Yoongi remained solid and didn’t move, only tracked you with his eyes as you shoved yourself into your coat and cried as you put on your shoes.

“Goodbye, Yoongi,” you whispered. He wondered if it was the last time he’d see you.

The door closed; all that was left of his weak heart left with you.

Fuck.

Sorry. Always so sorry.

Yoongi mulled that phrase through his mind since you left.

He was sure at this point sorrow and grief fueled his body alone.

He stopped caring, only subsisted on weed and whatever cans of food he found in his kitchen, or what Jimin would leave out for him.  He stopped caring. The minuscule amount of care inside him evaporated.

He felt like he was wandering an empty, dark pathway with no light. No end in sight.

He hid from the world, stopped all the press conferences, the interviews, the shows. He dropped out of a three-month tour of Europe, one that would have brought him significant money and status. He wasn’t sure he could even perform anymore, drugs or not.

The tabloids started running about him then, too. Tales of drug addiction, of his deep and dark secrets he tried to keep away. They spun false tales of illicit sex, arrests, gang connections, violence. His career was on the precipice of crumbling around him.

He shined, he burned bright and fast.  

Now, he was ashes on the ground.

He burned through his money, ate nothing but packaged ramen and beer, and cried himself to sleep at night.

His life was fucking pathetic.

Namjoon avoided him, only talking to him about business-related concerns and the press. Jimin remained steadfast and loyal, constantly checking in, but only looked at him with pity and sadness.  Hoseok refused to spend time with him, citing his concerns about watching his best friend die in front of him.

Losing everything eventually broke him.

He stayed up all night, every night, so drugged out his mind, and cried. He looked at old pictures of you and him, of his best friends, memories of a time much easier and happier.

He had lost all of it.

For something that was going to fucking kill him.

He let you get away. He lost his friends. All for trying to be rich and famous. And that was quickly slipping through his fingers too.

It was time to stop. It was time to stop fucking around.

It was time to end it all.

With one last jab of the needle, Yoongi slid away.

Far, far away.

Rehab wasn’t as bad as Yoongi had painted it out to be.

There were group meetings, individual therapy, social workers and their treatment goals.  There was crying.  There was pain, so much it felt overwhelming. There were the withdrawals, likely the worst aspect of it all. The nausea, the fever, the stomach churning.  He wanted so badly to end it, just use one more time to stop being sick.

But there he found healing. He found each time he cried, a piece of his heart built back up, sturdier this time.  Each dry heave of sickness brought him one step closer to never feeling it again.

He found camaraderie.  He found wellness. He found his muse and his passion again.

He met new friends, Taehyung and Jungkook, both fellow opioid addicts. Through them, they formed a bond of sobriety and perseverance. They held each other accountable and held each other close through their subsequent relapses and returns to rehab.

Yoongi started working out, started putting weight back on in places it was meant to be: his cheeks, his arms and thighs, around his ribs. Jungkook was a personal trainer and guided him through personalized workouts and a nutrition plan. Yoongi found peace in each 60 minute cardio or weight-lifting session with his new best friend.  He realized he could pour out all his pent-up emotions through his sweat, his hard work.

Taehyung was an artist, a phenomenally gifted and talented man. Yoongi felt inspired by him. Yoongi wrote and wrote. He wrote songs, poems, stories, rap lines. He found that what he couldn’t release physically through his training, he could release through his gift of creative writing.

Yoongi released his album from rehab, with the help of Namjoon. He merely titled it ‘goodbye’. Taehyung’s creative muse helped him finish the lyrics to all his songs. Yoongi felt cathartic, releasing his last record, an ode to Agust D and a goodbye to the live fast, die young lifestyle he no longer wished to partake of.

Yoongi’s therapist, Kim Seokjin, likely made the biggest impact on him.  Yoongi learned about love, actual love. Loving yourself, respecting yourself, allowing yourself to feel the entire scope and range of emotions.

It was amid a therapy session with Jin that Yoongi decided he wanted to be a therapist.

Yoongi stepped out of the spotlight, out of the lifestyle of the rich and famous, and Yoongi returned to school in the fall for his Master’s in Social Work, with Jungkook at his side working towards a degree in exercise science and Taehyung working towards a Master’s in Fine Arts.  

Yoongi followed the Narcotics Anonymous guidelines to a T.  He admitted to himself his faults, his addiction.  He attended all meetings, called his sponsor regularly and in emergency situations where the need to use was so overpowering he felt he might give in.  He apologized to Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jimin. It was important to him to mend those relationships. He felt it was important to right the wrongs he brought upon them over the last five years.

He apologized to your mother.  He visited her weekly, checking in on her and surprising her with her favorite foods and flowers.  She bought 6 copies of his newest album, and together they wept over the lyrics, the intricately weaved storyline, and the stunning change the boy made.

She attended his graduation, too. She cried when Yoongi slid the tassel on his cap to the right, to the left. Yoongi felt a rush that drugs never compared to as he shook the hand of the president of his university and held that thick roll of paper.

He had accomplished something. He had done something; he had worked through incredible odds stacked against him and achieved it. No longer was Yoongi content with watching his life slip by in a haze.

Yoongi became a therapist, a social worker. The same people he thought would drag him down and ruin his career and reputation were the same people who lifted him out of his darkest place.

Min Yoongi, social worker.

He liked that better than Agust D, dead rapper, anyway.

Yoongi was leaving work, a group home for adolescent men suffering from addiction, when he ran into you.

His horn-rimmed glasses framed his face and newly bleached blonde hair fell around his forehead.

His heart stuttered at the sight of you. It all came rushing back.

Pain. Sadness. Drugs. Addiction.

You smiled at him, surprised to see him looking so healthy.  You had heard all about his progress from your mother, eagerness and pride in her voice. But seeing him was as if walking into another dimension.  He looked fit, strong, healthy, intelligent. Frankly, he looked sexy.

“Hi,” you meekly croaked, a blush floating to your cheeks at the thought of finding your ex so dashing.

“Hi,” he replied, a soft smile filling his lips as he practiced his mindfulness to allow the self-sabotaging thoughts to work themselves out, replaced with hopeful and insightful ones.  Min Yoongi wasn’t afraid to feel anymore.

He wanted to talk to you. He wanted to ask you out. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to fuck you.

He felt mildly guilty about wanting to fuck another man’s wife, but shook the thought away. He would settle for talking. You may have been his ex fiancé, but you were also his childhood best friend. He craved to just settle back into that role, alone.

“Do-…” he faltered for a moment, then swallowed harshly and summoned courage. “Do you wanna grab a coffee with me? I was just headed to get one.” He pulled his backpack tighter to his back, unable to part with the bag that guided him through school and into a real-life job.

You nodded, finding it hard to speak. “Yes.”

Yoongi couldn’t stop staring at you. You looked so beautiful, so different while still so similar. Your hair was longer, healthier. Your clothes fit well to your body, accentuating your curves and sliding down elegantly and conservatively. Your eyes glistened with something. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was desire.

“I heard you’re a therapist now,” you murmured as you clutched the hot matcha latte in your hands, sitting across the tiny wood table from the ex-rapper.

Yoongi blushed and nodded. “Yeah, I am.” You didn’t miss the way his voice sounded so confident, so proud.  “I work at a group home for young men with substance abuse addictions.” He smiled, poised and content. The pride clear on his face had never been there when he was a musician.  

You couldn’t help the hard beat of your heart. “Wow,” you sighed. “That’s incredible, Yoongs. Mom said she’s proud of you,” you gulped.  “I’m proud of you, too.”

Yoongi took a moment to nod graciously, feeling a swell within him.  You were proud.  Of him.

“How’s errr…” he faltered, not remembering the name of your fiancé, or husband now, he supposed. “Your husband?”

You blanched at the words. “Oh, we, umm, didn’t get married. It didn’t work out.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

You looked at the blonde boy, a smile reappearing on your features.

“It’s okay.  It was for the best,” you surmised. “Everything happens for a reason.”

Yoongi caught the look you sent and smiled. “You’re right.”

You two fell into easy conversation.  He told you all about his new best friends from rehab, Jungkook and Taehyung, and how seamlessly they fit into the friendships he already had.  He discussed stories of their escapades in graduate school and how Namjoon, his manager, quickly fell in love with Seokjin, his therapist, and how Yoongi had played matchmaker for the couple. He discussed concepts he learned in therapy, in school, and now in his practice as a therapist.

You were enthralled and captivated. You were so unabashedly in love with Yoongi and realized you had never stopped.

“Care if I walk you home?” He asked, standing suddenly as he finished his chai, holding out his hand.

Your heart leaped, and you nodded, chugging down the rest of your drink and slipping your hand into his.  He felt warm, strong. So much different from the pale, thin, clammy man you slept with years ago as he suffered through withdrawal.  

This wasn’t the Yoongi of your childhood, who wanted to be famous. This wasn’t the Yoongi who broke your heart, who wanted to hide away in his substances.  This was a culmination of all the Yoongi’s he had been and became. A strong, broken, healed, confident, loving man.

“I would love that.”

This was the Yoongi you were meant to be with. The man who you loved more than life itself.

Yoongi had courted you again since that initial coffee date. He sent flowers to your workplace, asked you out to lunch, kept things simple, proper and conservative.  Yoongi was in this now, for the long haul, and wanted to prove his devotion to you.

While in rehab, they had forced Yoongi to face the fact that everything he did in relation to you was self-sabotaging, self-deprecating; a self-defeating prophecy. Facing that was his greatest struggle through his entire treatment process. He fought against it, even relapsed a few times because of it, and refused to accept that as a possibility.

Yoongi, with the help of Seokjin and his new friends, found that a world that didn’t revolve around you was finally a world he could live in, possibly thrive in. While you could exist in his world, making you his sole singular reason for breathing was dangerous. In that mindset, being without you meant dying.

Yoongi had finally lived for himself.  Not for the money, the fame., the status, the reputation, or even you.  Yoongi loved himself, as he was.  Broken and healing.  Addicted and sober.  Yoongi lived for Min Yoongi, alone.

When he started seeing you again, he reached out to Seokjin. He was terrified that diving back in to you would be his undoing. Seokjin, in all his wisdom, spoke words of comfort.

“She is not your entire world, Yoongi. You are your entire world,” he spoke gently through the phone. “She can be part of your world, an enormous part of your world, but she cannot be the entirety.  Life does not stop without her. Life is better with her, but does not end without her.”

Yoongi had been so obsessed with the idea of never having you, that he lost you.  He stopped loving himself, stopped caring about anything but you and the pain he caused you.

“You hurt her, yes. But, it appears she is ready to forgive you now. Are you ready to forgive yourself and allow yourself to be vulnerable?” He asked the blonde boy.

Yoongi rolled the idea through his mind. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“You are allowed to love and be loved by who you want, Yoongi, but do not make your entire existence rely on that. Loving yourself will extend into all other relationships. And do not allow yourself to be consumed with the mistakes you made a long time ago. Focus on what you can do today. Living in the past causes us the most pain.  Do not run from the pain, allow it to sit within you and give yourself permission to hurt, and then move through it.”

Yoongi allowed it all. Every emotion, every feeling. He cried.  Jesus, he cried so much.  He remembered that he used to think if he started crying he would never stop.

It was true, mostly.

But what Yoongi didn’t know was that within all the crying, all the pain, was a high unmatched by any substance that could be snorted or injected or smoked.  

Yoongi no longer hid himself from feeling the darkness, but he allowed himself to remain in it until the light came back. And it came back ten thousand times stronger.

Yoongi felt encouraged to continue seeing you and progressed in his career and treatment. He took you on dinner dates, movie dates, picnics and theme parks.  The only reservation was the lack of physical intimacy.  He would hold your hand, kiss you, rub your back, but he always left your apartment without lingering. He wanted you to get to know him again, all of him, before he took that step. He wanted to do this right.

It was at the most recent date where things changed. It was a relaxing picnic in the park, the two of you laid in the soft sun-warmed grass, your head resting on his chest.

Yoongi felt content at the feeling of holding you against him. He thought of the dream he had when he was overdosing, nearly dying. Being so warm in the valley and meadows of his imagination, brain synapses firing off as his body shut down. You had been there, pretty white dress, telling him to go back, to wake up.

He admitted this to you, spoke out what he had told no one before. While he knows Jimin, with the help of Narcan, saved you, his subconscious attributed his revival to you.

“I’m in love with you, Yoongi,” you admitted, gently and easily with tears clouding your eyes, as you both watched the clouds roll by.  

Neither of you had uttered those words since you held him in your arms and within you as he came down from his high so long ago.

Yoongi let the words soak over him. If he thought drugs had been like a warm blanket wrapping him up, this was like an absolute inferno of satisfaction and comfort.

The arm he wrapped around your shoulder pulled you close.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

Yoongi pressed you up against his wall, lips crashing into yours as his hands desperately sought the skin of your waist.  

After the picnic, Yoongi suggested taking you back to his place for a movie. The charged energy in his car on the way there spoke volumes, knowing you wouldn’t be watching a movie by a long shot. A giddy grin lit up your features.

“God, I missed this,” he mumbled against your lips as his hands lifted your white sundress you bought specifically for the date with your ex-fiancé, now-boyfriend.

You moaned an affirmative reply, gasping as his hands rolled over your breasts, encased in creamy satin.

“I missed you,” he mumbled over your lips, hands tugging down the cups of your bra to rub against hardened nipples. “You’re so pretty, so warm.”

You couldn’t hold back any sound, gasping and keening at his touch. You were soaked, absolutely dripping, from his ministrations against your neck and breasts.  You missed him too. Your short-lived engagement had ended without a wedding, for the second time in your life, and you pined after the boy who stole and broke your heart completely.

Yoongi pulled away from you, using the separation to tug the dress up and over your head and to gaze at you. Your breasts were haphazardly pulled out of the bra, your panties becoming slick against your core. Yoongi was sure he had never felt a pleasure this strong in any high.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured.  Your cheeks heated, you couldn’t help it.  Hearing him speak so gently, so lovingly, after so long and after so much pain flooded your senses pleasantly. His words wrapped around you like cashmere, warming and smoothing every inch of you.

“I need you, Yoongi,” you whispered, hand reaching towards his erection tenting his jeans. “Want to please you.”

Yoongi hissed at the feeling of your hand against his length. He nearly came right then. He hadn’t slept with anyone since your last time, the most heartbreaking sex he had ever had. 

The feeling of you both crying as he entered you kept him turned off of it for over a year. And now you were back, pliant in his arms, and most of all, happy. He never wanted to see your anguished grief during sex again, or ever, if he could help it.

Your eyes looked so determined to please him, how could Yoongi say no?  He nodded and leaned forward to kiss you, before switching positions and resting his back against the wall.

You thrilled at the switch and quickly dropped to your knees.  Being on your knees in front of Yoongi was so familiar, so comforting and so incredibly hot. He looked so good.  You could tell he had been working out. Muscles shone through his skin, and detailed lines appeared at his obliques and hip flexors. He was mouth watering.  You missed him.

You loved him.

You made quick work of his jeans, unbuttoning the black denim and pushing down the zip and sliding the tight pants down and off his legs. He stood in his tight underwear and shirt, eyes so full of love and grace, staring down at you. He couldn’t believe it was happening again, and on such better terms.

Yoongi knew he had so much to make up to you, so much trust to build and apologies to promise you daily. Yoongi was grateful you were giving him that chance again.

Within moments, Yoongi’s boxers laid on the floor next to his jeans and his thick, heavy cock laid hot in your delicate hand.

Yoongi nearly cried at the sensation. Not only had it been long since any stimulation, it had been so long since he had been with you. The fact it was you again after all this time held the most significance to him.

Your eyes flicked between Yoongi’s thick and delicious cock, and his own face.  No longer was the selfish, uncaring man present from so long ago.  No longer was the drugged out, sorrowful, too thin addict in front of you.  

As you pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock and swirled your tongue around the tip, you felt amazed that you now had the confident, lovely, compassionate Yoongi you were in love with.

Yoongi groaned out loud, uncaring if Jungkook or Taehyung heard from their respective rooms in his shared apartment.  

“Oh fuck, baby,” he whined, sucking air in through his teeth harshly. “So good.”

A smile danced upon your features as you stroked each vein and ridge of his cock with your tongue, flicking at the space he liked most.  The resulting gasp encouraged you more. With a quick, deep breath, you lowered your mouth and fully encompassed his length in the hollow of your throat.  

Yoongi nearly screamed, pleasure coursing through his veins as you allowed him to fuck your throat, a mix of gentle and rough. Your moans spurred him on and the visage of you with your lips wrapped around his cock and saliva streaming down the sides of your mouth nearly forced his undoing.

“Shit, C-Christ, baby,” he gasped. “I’m gonna cum if you keep that up… fuck.” He grabbed at your hair to gently pull your mouth away from him.

You pouted for a split second, already missing the luscious heat and weight of his hard cock gagging you. The pout was quickly wiped away as he wrapped his arms around your waist and carried you to the bed, unable to stop the giggles escaping.

“My turn then,” he grinned as he pushed you down to lie on the pillows. He quickly disrobed you of your bra, tits now fully on display.  He sucked one into his mouth, tongue swirling over the bud, while his other hand pinched and tugged at the opposite. He remembered how much you enjoyed the pain of nipple stimulation. The thought made you wetter.

“Yoongi, holy shit,” you cried, dazzled at the pain in your nipples as he bit down gently at the one in his mouth. “Yes!”

Yoongi couldn’t help the smirk on his face as he switched hands and nipples, sucking the other harshly now and twisting at the wet and red nub he released.

“So good, princess,” he cooed. “So good for me.”

His mouth moved south, kisses burning up your skin as he trailed. He suckled at skin here and there, leaving delicious marks on your abdomen and thighs. You loved being marked by him, even more so now.

Yoongi groaned as he pulled your satin panties down your legs. Your cunt was slick and sticking to the fabric. His mouth watered at the sight.

“My sweet, you’re so wet for me. All from sucking my cock?” He murmured, teasing you by kissing at your thighs. “My dirty little princess.”

You mewled in response, aching to feel him where you needed it most.  Words escaped you, unable to speak except in moans and sighs.

Yoongi looked up at you, watched your cheeks turn pink, your nipples hard and moistened from his mouth, marks of him all down your body.   His cock throbbed, and he rubbed himself against the bed once to relieve some tension. He could hold himself back for now, but he knew as time passed he would be absolutely aching to plunge into your depths.

“I missed this cunt,” he pressed a kiss to the mound. “I’m sure you taste just as perfect as you always have.  I’m drooling for you, baby.”

“P-please, Yoongi, I need you,” you begged, squeezing your eyes closed in desperation. “So wet.”

“I love hearing you say please, little princess.  So sweet.” He kissed the outside of your lips, between your thighs. He loved teasing you, getting you absolutely fucked out before he even touched you.

“Please, oh god Yoongi! I need you so badly!” You were desperate now, nearly tearing up at the ache in your pussy.

“I can’t resist you when you put it like that,” he teased, before finally descending on your cunt. His mouth swirled around, sucking on your clit. You gasped your satisfaction at his touch, finally satisfying that burning desire.

Yoongi took his time, ensured pleasure at each twist and flick of his tongue.  He fucked into your cunt with his tongue, groaning at the sweet taste of your channel. His mouth suckled at your clit, transitioning between harsh sucks, and tongue flicks. As he flicked up against your bundle of nerves, he slid two fingers into your pussy, hissing at the tightness.

“So tight, my sweet,” he whispered. “Can’t wait to feel you on my cock.”  

You groaned in reply, nodding quickly.  Your fingers tugged at your nipples, relishing in the painful stimulation there and hot mouth coaxing an orgasm out of you.

“Close, Yoongi!” You gasped, unable to complete a sentence. “Right there! So close!”

His fingers thrusted faster, slipping a third to stretch you out. His tongue fired rapidly against your clit, suckling and swirling as he went.  

“Yes, baby, cum for me. Cum on my fingers, my love.” He encouraged, panting with excitement, to watch your undoing.

It only took Yoongi’s salacious words and skilled mouth and fingers toying a few more moments for the orgasm to completely take over.  It rolled over you like an avalanche. You screamed in delight, gasping as you felt your channel grip his fingers and milk them as if it were his cock.

Yoongi believed he was watching heaven, itself.  You looked divine, radiant. The feeling of your convulsions around his fingers made him whine, cock head oozing pre-cum and begging to be stuffed inside your heat.

“Fuck, my love. You came so good, you did so well for me,” he praised. “I love this cunt. I love watching you scream for me.”

Your breath was heavy, chest heaving with exertion. Every nerve, every synapse felt alive, alight with ecstasy.

“I’m going to fuck you, my sweet. I will fuck you and love you, all fucking night.” He sucked at the wetness on his fingers as he pulled out of you, before he kissed back up your body to your lips. The kiss was hot and messy, all teeth and no grace or finesse.

“Please, Yoongi, I need to feel your cock,” you gasped.

Yoongi could not delay any longer. His cock felt as if it might implode if it wasn’t buried into you. He pulled your legs up to his shoulders and gazed at your open slit.

“Mine,” he whispered as he lined himself up and allowed your pussy to swallow his length.

There were no words, no accurate description or way to describe how being inside you again felt. He couldn’t put into words the feeling of your slick heat hugging his cock close, your body heaving with ecstasy, your mouth crying his name in joy and pleasure. Yoongi would go through hell a million times over again to feel this again, to feel the physical and emotional love and pleasure he felt here.  

You were his, again.  He could work to make it right.

Yoongi started a slow pace, transfixed at the vision of you taking his cock so well. Your gasps and whines encouraged him.

“You were made for me,” he whispered as he quickened. “This tight little pussy was made for me, to love and to fuck and to ruin.” His words left his mouth without thought, acting on instinct alone. “You’re all mine. Only mine.”

You clutched at his arms, lifting your hips to meet his harsh thrusts. “Yes, baby, yours!” Your voice was five octaves higher. “All yours!”

Yoongi turned feral, his dominating internal narrative spewing from his lips. His cock thrusted into you quick and fast.

“That’s right, my love.  All fucking mine. Gonna fuck you so good every fucking day,” he promised through gritted teeth. His thumb ran down to the apex of your thighs and rubbed at your clit. “Gonna fuck all my cum into you, baby.  You’re mine.”

He continued his ministrations and your pussy felt like the definition of pleasure, itself.  Sparks felt as if they erupted from your coupling. You cried his name, gasping at his possessive promises.

“Gonna marry you, baby,” he intoned. “Gonna make you my wife.”  He felt his end coming close, your shattered cries and impossibly tight cunt bringing him soaring to the edge.

“Gonna fill you with my cum, gonna make you nice and fucking pregnant with our children,” the idea thrilled both of you. “My fucking perfect wife all swollen with our children.”

You agreed loudly. “Yes! Fuck me! Fuck, I want your baby!”

“That’s right, my little love.  Your greedy cunt takes me so well. I know you want all my cum, wanna be nice and full for me.”

The end was nigh, you could feel the burning in your stomach blaze higher and higher. You begged him for more, harder, deeper, which he was more than happy to oblige.

“Fuck, babe, I’m gonna cum, gonna coat your tight little pussy.”  

It only took a few more rough poundings before Yoongi crushed your lips together.  Your orgasm washed over you with the power of the sun.  Your eyes nearly rolled back into their sockets, gasping for air against his lips as your body convulsed.  You moaned loudly as your walls pulsed around him, as if begging him to give you more and more.

Yoongi closed his eyes and soaked in the feeling, biting your bottom lip as he spilled into you, moaning your name with each pulse. The feeling of emptying himself into you rivaled the highest emotion he had ever felt. It felt like the ultimate expression of his love, his devotion.

He held you close as you both breathed heavily, allowing the afterglow of intense orgasm to bathe you in serenity. He carefully slid his cock from within you, groaning at the sight of a slow drip of seed following out your lips.

“I love you,” he murmured, leaning to kiss your lips tenderly this time. “I meant what I said. I want you to be mine again, forever.”

Tears sparked at your eyes, feeling more full, more loved, more warm than you had ever felt before.

“I love you, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi held you in his arms as he showered you, kissed your body in the warm water, dried you gently with soft towels, and pulled you close in his bed.  You melted against his body perfectly, two puzzle pieces who had been trying to force themselves into the wrong spot, finally coming together.

‘We cordially invite you to the wedding of…’

Min Yoongi felt anxious.

His stomach flipped. His palms were sweaty. His breathing was faster.

A warm hand landed on his back as the ex-rapper stared at himself in the mirror.

“You did it,” a gentle voice spoke. Yoongi looked at the male through the mirror.

“Jimin,” he breathed, feeling a bit of his anxiousness float away with his friend’s words.

Jimin smiled, pink lips puffy and sweet as always.

Yoongi felt his heart clench slightly.  Jimin was the one who saved his life, who stuck a needle in his thigh and revived him when Yoongi was on the verge of death. He choked up at the idea that being here wouldn’t have been possible without the pink-haired boy.

He gazed at his trusted friend, no longer an assistant but a constant companion in the tight group of 7.  He wanted to tell Jimin so much, thank him for saving his life, for pressuring him to check into rehab, for feeding him when he was too drugged out to care.  

Yoongi didn’t need to say anything.  Jimin understood at the tears pricking Yoongi’s eyes.  Jimin’s cheeks turned pink, and he nodded slowly.

“You deserve this and more, Min Yoongi,” his voice was full of such care and sincerity. “I may have revived you, but you saved your own life. I just gave you the spark to continue it.”

Yoongi had started his adult life as an addict, as an award-winning musical artist with platinum albums and money, status, reputation.  Grief had consumed Yoongi, along with regret, sorrow, loneliness.

Yoongi fought back, pushed against the odds.

Yoongi was beginning a fresh life—as a recovering addict, a therapist, a best friend, a husband.

He smiled at himself in the mirror as his groomsmen surrounded him and joined in the moment of happiness. It was peaceful. It was joyful.  Yoongi smiled at each of the 6 men who affected him.  

Hoseok, from childhood who allowed him to face the ugly fact that he was killing himself.  Namjoon, his nurturing manager, who protected him at all costs and stood by his side through each dirt-dredging tabloid. Taehyung, his creative muse, his inspiration. Jungkook, his reason for health and wellness, his comedic relief.  Seokjin, the therapist that changed his life and course of his future. Jimin, the man who saved his life, who accepted and expected nothing in return except Yoongi’s sobriety and happiness.

Together, the men walked out of the dressing room and orderly into the reception hall.

Yoongi took his place at the altar, the very one he left you at, and inhaled a breath.

The piano played gently, a soft and light version of the traditional song. It sounded ethereal. Yoongi felt as if he was flying.

The large, oak double doors swung open and the parade of flower girls and bridesmaids walked down the aisle to stand opposite the groomsmen.

Yoongi stopped breathing as the music played louder, more intently, more beautiful.

You appeared.

You looked like an angel.

Your mother flanked you to give you away. You both looked more beautiful than he could have ever recalled.

Yoongi couldn’t stifle the tears that poured out of his eyes. He couldn’t pull his gaze from anywhere but you.

There you were. Walking towards him, as if a dream. The loveliest of dreams. Wrapped in silk and chiffon and lace, delicate pearls around your neck.

Yoongi would endure it all again, feel every ounce, to have this moment.

It was complete as you stood next to him, hands clasped in each other, tears sliding down each other’s face.

At the word of the pastor, Yoongi leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, sealing you as husband and wife, finally.  

Yoongi was on the inside of your orbit now, basking in the warmth he had desired before on the outside.  Yoongi simmered in the sweet, gentle glow of you and your encompassing love.  

Now, Yoongi knew what it felt like to be the one on the inside of your world, instead of looking in from the darkness. Yoongi knew it now, and knew, with all his heart, that he deserved to remember it for the rest of his long, healthy life.

Yoongi was living.

Yoongi was finally, truly,

alive.

© ppersonna - 2020 - do not repost on any site, or translate without express permission from author.

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