#i spent too long on this to flop bro

[synthshenanigans]

This took like 17 hours i want to explo d e

Alt versions v

#the amount of shading & lighting i had to do bro #hell i wanted to do more but just didn't know how to execute it #also cos i spent fuckin 17 hours on this an i don't wanna make it 20 #i still have another idea to draw for the outfit too #ive been seeing the same shades of pink & blue for so long help me #i actually really like this tho #enjoying my art for once wahooo #i usually dont care much but for my sanity pls don't make this flop my hands and eyeballs beg you/j #chonny jash #-atlas art-

[aliyalala]

Geto x reader Geto Suguru being a puppy fluff?

he was unaware he was pouting until shoko hissed at him to stop sulking. he couldn't help it. you were so close yet so far away from him, and he couldn't stand it. for reasons he couldn't understand he felt it hard to be apart from you for too long, it was like he was permanently in a "honeymoon" era. designated seats had been selected for each student to complete the exam and you had been seated in the far right corner of the classroom. much too far away for his liking. for the next twenty minutes, he attempted to focus on the task set in front of him. pretty soon he was back to sulking. taking one last glance back at you, he folded his arms and lay his head down on his arms.

he was in and out of sleep for the remaining forty-five minutes, occasionally sitting up to check the time on the clock.

when the exam finished and the bell rang for the end of school, he stayed where he was while students slowly filed out, too deep in his nap to hear anything happening around him.

when you reached his desk, you smiled fondly down at him. his cheek was squished against his folded arms, red lines were pressed into his face from the fabric of his clothes. carefully you shook his shoulder to wake him up.

he groaned but opened his eyes and looked up at you. the smile that reached his eyes reminded you of an excited puppy. he reached for your hand and leapt up to kiss you on the forehead. you walked together to the exit before he pulled you close to him. he dropped his head next to your ear and sighed happily. "i missed you." he complained with a pout in his voice. you resisted the urge to roll your eyes and reached up to wrap your hands around his neck. "we were in the same room, idiot" you laughed when he pulled back and grumbled something about "you don't love me..." but he let you take his hand and lead him away from the classes and towards the dorms.

the whole time you rambled on about the test papers, he wasn't really listening but he loved your voice so he stuck by you, squeezing your hand occasionally.

when you reached the dorms he followed you to yours instead of going to his own. "suguru, you know your not really supposed to be here." he made a sound at the back of his throat that sounded like a whine while making himself comfortable on you small single bed. "i haven't talked to you since that stupid test thing thoooo..." he stuck his bottom lip out and attempted to pull you on the bed with him.

he frowned sadly when you stepped away from him with a laugh and proceeded to change out of your uniform. the entire time he complained about being cold and making grabby hands at your figure. when finally, you were in comfortable lounge wear, you settled on top of him, flopping yourself on his chest with a yawn. immediately, he lay his arms around your back, leaning his head down to bury in your hair.

the next few hours were spent with him holding you while you both drifted in and out of sleep.

Im so tired bro....

This is not proofread :D Reblogs are appreciated

#getou suguru x reader #geto suguru #jjk x reader #geto x reader #geto fluff #jujustu kaisen #jjk fluff #i love him so much??? #like what #???

[nothingunrealistic]

1, kleinsen

1. “I love you, please don’t go.”

“And as soon as the new car gets delivered, the minivan is mine for good.” Jared flops onto his back so that he’s lying across the entire foot of Evan’s bed, legs dangling over the side. “The Jaredmobile is gonna hit these streets harder than —”

“Are you really calling it that?” Evan has ridden in Jared’s mom’s minivan, soon to be Jared’s minivan, and it is mobile, but that’s kind of a low bar. It probably shouldn’t be hitting anything hard.

“Haven’t decided. But I know what bumper sticker is going on there first.” Jared sticks his phone in Evan’s face. “Check it.”

“‘Caution: This vehicle makes frequent stops at your mom’s house.’”

“It’s gonna be true. Especially at your mom’s house.”

“You mean my house?”

“Is your name on the property deed? I don’t think so.” Jared grimaces, wriggles around, and nearly whacks Evan in the face with his phone as he pulls out a mechanical pencil he was lying on. “And when, after I’ve spent another week chauffeuring your sorry ass around, she invites me to stay the night —”

“Mom works nights.”

“— is it gonna be you saying ‘please, I love you, please don’t go’ in the morning?” He rhythmically raps Evan’s knee with the pencil. “I. Don’t. Think. So.”

“You’re gross. And that’s my pencil.”

“Finders keepers, bro.”

“Boys?” Mom knocks on the door and opens it half a second later; in that half second, Jared shoves himself upright and slaps the pencil into Evan’s hand, and something that sounds a lot like Jared’s phone hits the floor. “Everything okay? Is that project coming along?”

“Going great, Mrs. H.,” Jared says, over top of Evan’s “Fine, Mom.”

“Good. That’s good. Well, I’m heading out to work.” She already looks as frazzled as if she just came back from a shift. “There’s money on the table so you two can order dinner. I think Domino’s is doing their half off deal again, but make sure you check. Jared, will your mom be able to pick you up? I’ll be back too late to give you a ride home.” And suddenly Evan is terrified that Jared will say some stupid thing about Mom giving him a ride, and she’ll get mad and tell him to go home now, and Evan will have to finish this English project on his own, and he’ll probably get a terrible grade, and Jared will be mad at him even though it’ll be Jared’s fault in the first place, and —

“Won’t be a problem,” Jared says, perfectly polite.

“Great. Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, Evan, I love you.”

Mom walks back out, but she doesn’t shut the door, so Evan counts to five before he says, “Thank you for not saying anything weird.”

“To your mom? What, do you think I’m some kind of male chauvinist pig? Thanks for nothing, Billie Jean.”

“Is that what that song’s about?”

“What — no. Never mind.” Jared bends over and retrieves his phone from the floor. “I’m hungry. Let’s get some shitty half-price pizza. Which is a ridiculous deal, by the way.”

“I think it’s a March Madness thing.”

“In April?”

“Maybe it’s an extra-long deal.”

“Madness is right. How much money are we working with here?”

“Probably twenty dollars.” An engine starts outside; Evan shifts over on the bed to look out the window, watching to confirm that it’s Mom’s car, until it turns left and vanishes from sight. “But, uh, when the pizza gets here —”

“Yes, I’ll get the door so you don’t have to have a breakdown about it. Never fear.”

(angst/fluff prompt list)

#inbox #cockbiteproductions #dear evan hansen #jared kleinman #evan hansen #heidi hansen #kleinsen #sometimes i write #first time posting any new writing since august! what the last season of billions (and 7x03 in particular) does to a mf #also this ask is coming up on four years old lmao. i do not work quickly #brought to you by seeing a windshield sticker with that same text on my walk home from work one day

[clementine-writes-things]

Cara Mia - E.N

(This is about Paul Dano's Riddler, welcome Dano stans, welcome to my sinful blog and prepare for filthy and in-depth writing <3 if you're new here, all you need to know is that we LOVE including music in our fanfics and we LOVE realistic/detailed writing <3 you'll see what I mean and you'll love it sweetie)

Summary: Y/n and Edward were old friends who grew up in the same orphanage together. Not liking the person he is becoming, she tries to get him to find other ways to defend Gotham's civilians. Strangely, she succeeds in this. But, Edward still wants to show them how confident he has gotten since they last saw each other. (crappy summary, just read this post lol.)

Word count (everything below cut): 14,462 (GUYS WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED I THINK I WENT INTO A TRANCE WRITING THIS THING?! WHY IS IT 5 YEARS LONG!? PLEASE DON'T LET THIS FLOP I'LL MOVE TO ANTARTICA IF IT DOES I WORKED SO HARD ON THIS!!!)

Content Warning: AFAB!Reader, she/they pronouns (using mostly she for easier narrative purposes but Edward refers to y/n as they), non-binary reader, queer reader, mentions of homophobia, body dysmorphia, gender dysmorphia, transphobia, explicit language, panic attack, mentions of cigarettes, slowburn smut, penetration, mocking during sex, degrading/humiliation, praising, power play, ROUGH sex, slapping, dom!Edward, obsessed!Edward, sub!Reader, threats of violence directed towards y/n, angst, mentions of gore and murder, y/n is an artist in this <3, breaking in (ed breaks in to y/n's apartment), ed gets angry a lot, aftercare.

Songs for Inspo: (highly recommend you listen while reading (not in any particular order tbh)) bro i spent like 30 minutes finding the PERFECT songs that gave off the vibes I wanted Edward to have in this fic...pls appreciate D:

Aleph - Gesaffelstein

Anarchy - KMFDM

Something In The Way - Nirvana (not bc it was in the movie, it's just so aesthetically pleasing for this type of fic)

THIRST FOR ME! - Lumi Athena

YOU'RE TOO SLOW (Bonus) - Odetari

all I want is you - Rebzyyx, hoshie star

NALGOTICA! - Lumi Athena

Daydream In Blue - I Monster

MONTAGEM - PR FUNK - S3BZS

Lacrimosa - Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Y/n's songs:

mos thoser - food house

Ride - Sir-Mix-A-Lot

ecstasy (slowed) - SUICIDAL-IDOL

~*Read Below Cut*~

"Uh, yeah may I have an iced coffee please? With almond milk please."

The customer handed over a 10 dollar bill. Y/n smiled from behind the counter, nodding her head. She entered the purchase and gave the customer their change. Y/n's hair was put back in a ponytail that stuck out of her work visor. Going to grab a cup, she stopped, laughing softly. Turning to the customer, she tilted her head.

"Sorry, Ms. Andrews, what size did you want? I know you usually get a grande, but I just want to make sure." She asked politely.

The older woman, near her mid 40's chuckled. She swatted her slender hand at y/n playfully. Her nails were painted a bright pink with white polka dots, a suggestion from y/n herself. Earlier last week Ms. Andrews had asked for an idea of what to paint her nails. Y/n told her to go big and bold, have some fun! And, that's exactly what she did.

"Oh, y/n you are so kind. A grande is fine as always." She smiled.

Y/n nodded, grabbing the clear cup and scooping some ice into it. The woman placed a 5 dollar bill in the tip jar, which caused y/n to grin dorkily. It was only her working tonight, so she really appreciated the gratuity. Especially coming from one of her favorite customers.

"So, almond milk? What happened to oat? Are you trying something different?" She asked, making light conversation as she made the drink.

"Oh, nothing like that. I really love oatmilk in my coffee, but I find that it upsets my stomach. It's a shame really."

"Aw, well almond milk is a good choice!" Y/n replied cheerfully.

Placing the drink down, the woman smiled at her. Yawning, she covered her mouth with her hand. Y/n chuckled at the sight, wiping down the counter once Ms. Andrews took her drink. The smell of the cleaner filled the air, mixing with strong coffee beans and fruity mixtures. It was pungent, but the ceiling fan helped distribute it and filter it out.

"Get home safe, y/n. Gotham isn't safe for anyone, let alone a sweet person like you." The woman warned.

Y/n nodded at Ms. Andrews. Focusing back down to the counter, she waved good bye to the woman, watching out of the corner of her eye as she left the shop. Sighing, y/n rubbed a bead of sweat off of her forehead. She groaned, looking up at the clock. It was 11:55 p.m. Her shift ended in 5 minutes, and everything was all clean except for the utensils she just used. Getting right to work, she began to clean the dishes, zoning out as she did so. Thoughts of her childhood raced through her head, causing her to feel somber. It wasn't much of a childhood, growing up in an orphanage. But, she did have one friend.

~

"Eddie, I don't know the answer! Give me Sir Clawdius back!" Y/n groaned.

Edward, being taller than her by a few inches already, stood on top of a bucket. In his hands was y/n's teddy bear, well, the orphanage's teddy bear. Y/n decorated it however, giving it a makeshift crown made out of pipe cleaners, glue, and those colorful puffy cotton balls. Sticking his tongue out, he blew a raspberry at y/n.

"Nah uh! You gotta answer the riddle!" He explained.

"Ugh, fine! What was it again?" She asked, crossing her arms over her chest in a pout.

The two of them, being 11 years old at the time, looked like bickering 5 year olds. Edward had met y/n in the orphanage when they were 7, and they quickly became close friends. Y/n was always the hyper one who got into trouble easily, and Edward was the one who tried to help her wiggle her way out of it. He was definitely the smarter one out of the duo.

"What do you call a bear with no teeth?" He asked, waving the bear in the air.

"Be careful with him, he's a delicate soul!" She whined.

He chuckled awkwardly, holding it still above his head. Y/n looked at the ground, thinking hard about the riddle. She knew that it wasn't that hard, but she always had a difficult time with riddles. Perhaps, it was just because she was under pressure. Her eyes widened, snapping her fingers and bouncing up and down lightly.

"A gummy bear!" She giggled.

Jumping down, Edward handed her Sir Clawdius. Smiling, she grabbed the bear and held it close to her chest. Edward gave her a thumbs up, a big grin on his face.

"Hey, you're getting better, sketcher!" He cheered.

Y/n giggled when he called her that. The nickname was stupid, not making any sense to anyone else but them. The shoes that she wore all the time were sketchers, and she loved to draw. So, Edward, being a genius, came up with that intelligent nickname. The two of them both agreed it wasn't the most clever, but they both liked it either way. So, it stuck.

"Well, you give me lots of opportunities to improve, Riddles." She chuckled.

~

The dishes were all dry and put away as she finished thinking about her old friend. She still had a hard time believing that the little boy he once was was now planning the demise of Gotham. It was definitely jarring, and it was obvious that it was him. She knew Edward well, no one ever loved riddles as much as he did. If someone did, then that would be the day that pigs flew.

"Time to lock up..." She sighed.

Grabbing her tote bag, she hung it on her shoulder. She turned all of the lights off and made sure everything was put away and turned off. Once she was done, she grabbed the lanyard attached to her pants and locked the backdoor. She set the alarm for the building and quickly made her way out, locking the front door behind her. Shivering, she started to walk down the street, lucky that she only lived a block away. Snow fell down from the sky, landing on her eyelashes, disappearing once she blinked them away.

"Fucking shit it's cold out here." She mumbled to herself, rubbing her hands together.

She sped up her walking pace, ignoring how much her feet hurt from standing behind the counter all night. Not only did she want to get out of the bone-chilling cold, but she also wanted to get out of the streets of Gotham at night. Especially so close to the Narrows. No part of Gotham was safe, but the closer to the Narrows you got, the more dangerous it became. Y/n's mouth stretched out, forming an 'O' as she yawned harshly. Tears formed in the corner of her eyes, blinking them away rapidly.

"God, I'm fucking tired. Thankfully, it's Friday! This bitch doesn't work weekends for a reason." She quietly cheered.

Turning the corner, she sighed in relief when her apartment building came into view. Speeding up even more, she went inside of it, feeling like someone was watching her as she did so. Shrugging it off, she made her way up the stairs until she reached the floor she resided on. Reaching her door, she unlocked it and stepped inside, closing and locking it behind her. Standing still for a few moments, she dropped her tote bag on the table next to the door. She was too lazy to put it anywhere else. Groaning, she walked into her bedroom, stripping herself of her work clothes immediately. She made quick work of getting a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie on, humming to herself when the warmth of the fabric embraced her body. Not feeling fully 'swaddled', y/n slid on a pair of fluffy socks as well. She felt like a sheep who desperately needed it's wool to be shaved off. And, after walking in that cold, she was totally ok with that feeling.

'bing!'

Y/n grabbed her phone off of her bed, tossing it there when she was changing. Turning it on, the light illuminated her face as she read the notification. She pinched the bridge of her nose, groaning as she did so. Pushing the notification, she entered her pin number and grumbled to herself as a livestream opened.

"Hello, my loyal followers! Apologies, for such a late livestream..." Edward announced.

Y/n rolled her eyes, immediately typing in chat. She did not watch his livestreams because she believed in what he was doing. Well, she agreed with his thoughts, that corruption was taking over Gotham and that a change needed to be made. But, it was how exactly he was doing it that she didn't agree with. Plotting murders, wanting to blow up the sea walls, seeking attention from The Batman. He had not done any of these things yet, thankfully. But, just the fact that he had been planning and discussing it was disturbing to her. It was insane. Her fingers typed away, almost as if they knew what they needed to do without her brain telling them. However, she knew what would happen if she sent the message. But, she needed to. She wanted to get through to him.

'Riddles, you've got to stop this. You're taking this too far. There are better ways in which you can advocate for Gotham. And you know it. Seeing you like this breaks my heart. It's getting hard to watch these livestreams. - Sketcher.'

Edward, who was in the middle of talking, fell silent almost immediately. Y/n saw his eyes dart around behind his glasses, reading the message. He panted slightly, shaking his head vigorously. Scoffing, y/n shook her head as well, knowing what was about to happen.

"You don't understand! This is the ONLY way! We experienced this cities torment first hand! THIS IS THE ONLY WAY! Why don't you trust me, Sketch? Hm? All of my noble followers trust me. They KNOWWWW I can bring JUSTICE for them!" He shouted, his voice frantic and borderline desperate.

'God, someone find that buzzkill and kill them already...'

Edward's eyes widened as he read that chat. Y/n chuckled lightly, placing her phone on her bed, preparing for the tantrum that was about to ensue. Grabbing a hairbrush off her nightstand, she started to brush her hair, listening to her old friend scream.

"If you do that, I WILL know. And I WILL FIND YOU AND GUT YOU LIKE A FISH! I WILL FLAAAAY YOUR BODY AND SHOVE YOUR PEELED SKIN DOWN YOUR THROAT!" He shouted, his voice peaking in the livestream.

For the past few weeks, y/n had been watching his live streams. Every time he had one, she would leave a message, and he became obsessed with proving himself to her. In his mind, y/n was the one person who didn't believe in him. She was the one person he really needed validation from. Y/n sighed, placing the brush down. Quickly, she typed a response and hit send. Edward's eyes immediately scanned it, ignoring everyone else in the chat. His priority was y/n. He read the message out loud quietly.

"I'm going to bed now, it's been a long day. I'm starting to give up on you. You're not the same person you we- WHAT?!?! IS ANOTHER DAY IN YOUR BORING BLAND LIFE TOO DIFFICULT FOR YOU? I AM THE SAME PERSON I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN! THE ONLY DIFFERENCE IS I HAVE FOUND MY PURPOSE!!!!!" He screamed once again, causing y/n to laugh.

Even though this was sad for her to witness, it was amusing to see him throw his tantrums. Steam was practically blowing out of his ears. If y/n was anyone else, she would be scared to death right now. But, she was y/n. She was Sketcher. And, even though Edward had changed a lot over the years, one thing would always remain the same. He would never hurt her. Y/n knew that Edward knew where she lived, and he has never once tried to go to her house. Though, y/n did worry about that every now and then. Not because she was worried he would hurt her, but because she didn't know if she could handle seeing her old friend so different.

"DON'T YOU DARE LEAVE! YOU are my INSPIRATION! My MUSE!" He exclaimed, laughing at the end of his sentence.

She scoffed, exiting the livestream. Once she did this, and Edward noticed, his face fell flat. The chat kept filling up with messages, but he just ignored them. When the chat got too overwhelming, he just ended the livestream without saying anything. He paced his room, back and forth, muttering to himself. Y/n still didn't understand him, even after preaching his cause every time she joined a livestream. He ripped his mask off, tossing it on his bed. His breathing got heavy as he started to hyperventilate. His chest heaved, causing him to stop pacing and sit down. Edward gripped at his hair, tugging lightly. When his breathing slowed down, he put his glasses back on, grabbing them from off of the floor. Sighing deeply, he cleared his throat and stood up.

"I need to see her in person. If I explain it in person, she'll understand. She has to. She has to understand!"

Frustrated, Edward got ready for bed. He was tired, and glad that he didn't have to work tomorrow. His eyes grew heavy as his head hit the pillow, drifting off into sleep as he thought of ways to show y/n that what he was trying to do was a good thing. That it was for her.

Y/n sat up in her bed, arms stretching out slowly as she yawned. A long and exaggerated groan left her throat as she rubbed her eyes, sleep in the corners of them. Looking outside of the window next to her bed, she watched as snow fell down, covering the railing of the fire escape. Y/n held her hand up to her face, breathing into it. She grimaced, displeased with her morning breath. Getting out of her bed, she slid on her slippers which were one of those animal kinds. She found unicorn ones at a store and just had to buy it. However, they seemed bland to her. So, she decided to make two fake cigarettes using some felt and cotton, sewing them to the unicorns mouth on each slipper. Y/n didn't even smoke cigarettes, she just thought it would be funny. And it was. So, mission accomplished.

"Shit, it's getting so cold out lately. It's Spring for fuck sake." She grumbled, going to the kitchen.

Opening her fridge, she scanned over her options. She didn't have much food, as she needed to do some grocery shopping. But, she did have enough to last her a couple more days. Sighing, she grabbed some leftover pizza from the other day and decided that it was the best thing she had for breakfast options. Well, she had other options, she just didn't want to cook anything. She planned on being a lazy shit today, and she was going to do exactly that. Placing the slice of pizza on a plate, she put it in the microwave for 30 seconds. While she waited, she took her daily medication, drinking the pills down with juice because if she used water she could taste the gross medicine. A beeping signaled that the pizza was warmed up.

"I'm so hungry..." She said, stomach growling.

She grabbed the pizza from the microwave, recoiling slightly because it was hotter than she expected. Apparently, 30 seconds was too much time. She would take note of that for future use. As if she had been starved for two weeks straight, y/n ate the pizza hungrily. Sighing, she washed the plate and dried it before putting it away again. Rubbing her eyes once again, she got rid of any remaining sleep that crusted in her eyes.

"Ok, time to relax."

'bing!'

"Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me..." She mumbled.

Picking up her phone, she walked to the bathroom in her bedroom. She pushed the notification and propped it against her mirror as she grabbed her toothbrush. Edward, well, his persona at least, appeared on screen. His trademark green mask underneath a pair of clear glasses. Y/n shook her head softly, applying toothpaste to her brush before wetting it under the faucet. As Edward said hello to the people joining, y/n started to brush her teeth. Honestly, she had no idea why she joined the livestream. Perhaps it was her naivety that made her think he could change, but she still wanted to believe. Even if it wasn't looking so positive for her.

"Greeting, my loyalists. Your savior is here." He said flamboyantly.

Y/n rolled her eyes, spitting the mixture of water, spit, and toothpaste out of her mouth into the sink. She turned the water on, washing it down the drain. She rinsed her toothbrush off, putting it back where she got it from. Moving her head under the water, she took a small sip, swirling it in her mouth before spitting it out.

"He thinks he's royalty or some shit. It's so fucking annoying." She grumbled, grabbing her mouthwash.

Y/n decided not to text anything in the stream today, not wanting to deal with a tantrum again. She took a swig of the mouthwash, swishing it in her mouth. The strong mint smell and taste filled her senses, causing her eyes to water and mouth to burn slightly. Not able to handle it much longer, she spat it out. She rinsed out the sink once again, drying her hands afterwards. Y/n brought the hand towel up to her face, wiping off excess toothpaste.

"Sketcher. I know you're in here. Why aren't you saying anything?" He asked in a low tone, eyes narrowing behind his glasses.

Y/n brought the towel away from her face, hanging it back up on the hook next to the mirror. She picked up her phone, walking out of the bathroom and turning the light off behind her.

"Are you ignoring me?" His voice was hoarse, a hint of confusion lacing his question.

Y/n groaned, plopping herself down on the couch. She didn't want to listen to him anymore. He was becoming obsessed with her. Though, he had been acting like that since she watched his very first livestream. Part of y/n knew that it was because he wanted to prove himself to her, although she had no idea why. And another part of y/n knew, or at least believed, that Ed missed their friendship. To be fair, she missed their friendship too. It didn't necessarily end, more so evolved into something more. The two of them got an apartment together when they were forced to leave the orphanage after turning 18. It was difficult, but they managed. Living together caused them to share many life-changing moments of each other's lives together. Y/n remembered them so fondly, and she was sure Edward did too. However, one key moment stood out to y/n a lot more than all the other memories.

~ TW: gender dysmorphia, body dysmorphia.~

~

"Y/n, I'm back from work. They kept me late and wouldn't even explain to me why. Just wanted me to work longer, I suppose. But, at least I still got paid!" Edward said, walking in the front door of the apartment and locking it behind him.

He turned around, looking at the living room in the center of their apartment. His eyebrows furrowed as he didn't see y/n. Placing his keys in the bowl on the table next to the door, he hummed to himself. Removing his coat, he hung it up on the rack and removed his shoes.

"Are you in here?" He called out, slightly louder than before.

"Y-Yeah." Y/n responded, faintly.

Edward, who was looking at the door to her room, moved his sight to his door. Y/n's voice came from behind it, which confused him. Walking towards his door, he knocked on it lightly.

"Uh, why are you in my room?" He asked.

"Oh, I thought I lost my ph-phone charger in here. But, it's not in here." She answered.

Edward turned the doorknob, sighing in frustration as it didn't budge. He leaned up against his doorframe, shoulder resting on the surface. Crossing his arms over his chest, he looked down and saw her shadow move in the light that emitted from the gap of the door.

"Why is the door locked?" He asked bluntly.

Y/n didn't answer. Instead they stepped away from the door. Not sure what to do or say, she tried to pick up the mess she had made. Edward knew how to pick locks, thanks to growing up in an orphanage and trying to sneak dessert constantly. He would get inside eventually, and she didn't want him to see anything. Edward grimaced from behind the door, grabbing a bobby pin from his pocket. He tended to fidget a lot at work and he liked to play with a bobby pin. It was strange, but he found it soothing. He made swift work of picking the lock, which wasn't hard since it was not a complex lock at all. Opening the door, he pushed it open all the way, standing in the middle of it. Y/n froze, arms full of Edward's clothing, wearing one of his tank tops and a pair of his jeans. A bright red hue covered her cheeks as she made eye contact with her friend. At first, Edward just thought y/n was playing a light prank on him, just like they did in the orphanage. But, her eyes were watery and puffy. Her bottom lip was pulled down in a soft frown.

"Y/n? What are you doing?" He asked softly.

Y/n grabbed a blanket off of Edward's bed and pulled it over herself. Her figure under the blanket shook softly as she tried to contain soft sobs. Edward was perplexed by the scene before him, unsure of what to make of it.

"Don't look at me! Please, just get out!" She cried softly.

Edward, who was still standing in the doorway, walked over to her. He knelt down, reaching out to grab the blanket. Y/n scooted away, feeling his hand brush against the fabric. Edward slowly pulled his hand away. He sighed, looking around his room, hoping to get an understanding of what was happening. Y/n was known to have a few episodes regarding her childhood trauma, but they were nothing like this. They were never like this. This was very different. And Edward hated the feeling of not knowing what was wrong with his friend. His eyes landed on a few pieces of y/n's clothing, which he assumed is what she wore before. The rest of the clothes on the floor were his own.

"Why are you wearing my clothes?" He asked.

Y/n sniffled, poking her head out from under the blanket. Edward looked into her eyes, feeling his heart throb at her sad appearance. She sighed softly, removing the blanket from her entire body. Edward looked over her, other than the fact that she was wearing his clothes, nothing was out of the ordinary. Except...

Y/n covered her chest with her arms, trying to make it look like she was casually crossing her arms. Edward's eyes narrowed. The two of them were extremely close, and none of them were worried about the other looking at them in a creepy way. So, the fact that y/n was purposefully covering her chest set off some alarms in Edward's head. He paused for a moment, and then it clicked. Softly, he grabbed y/n's arms, pulling them away from her chest. He looked at it, noticing an extremely big difference. Y/n started to cry, hiding her face from him. Edward didn't look at his best friend's chest a lot. Not ever. He wasn't a creep. But, he knew that y/n was fairly heavy in the chest. And right now, she wasn't. He grabbed the bottom of his tank top that she was wearing, looking to her for permission. She didn't make eye contact with him, but Edward took her silence as confirmation. Lifting it up, he immediately winced. Y/n was not wearing a bra. Instead, her breasts were crudely duct-taped to her chest. The tape went around her entire chest, around her back, and connected in one loop, overlapping multiple times. The duct-tape dug into her skin harshly.

"Y/n..." He trailed.

"It hurts, Eddie..." She sobbed.

"I need to get this off of you." He stated, standing up.

Y/n reached out, grabbing his arm.

"No. I d-don't want to see th-em..." She choked.

He looked down at her, feeling his heart shatter. Edward already had a pretty good understanding of what happened while he was gone. But, that comment was what really set it in stone for him. He sighed, squatting back down and looking her in the eyes.

"You don't have to. But, I need to get this off of you." He said.

Y/n sniffled, wiping tears away from under her eyes. She nodded, pulling her knees to her chest as Edward grabbed some scissors from the kitchen. He felt stupid in this moment, not knowing exactly what to do. And, he always knew what to do. Panicking, he grabbed a bottle of aloe vera from the medicine cabinet and anti-bacterial ointment, just in case the duct tape broke her skin. Hurriedly, he went back in his room and placed the items on his bed. He bent over and picked y/n up, placing her on the bed as well. Edward got on his knees in front of her, noticing that she was avoiding eye contact with him. He grabbed the pair of scissors, placing a comforting hand on her knee.

"I will not look, y/n. I promise." He reassured.

Y/n nodded softly, a tear rolling down her cheek. Edward frowned, looking at the duct tape and trying to figure out where to start. Sighing, he looked at the part of y/n's cleavage that provided a gap to cut at. Using the scissors, he snipped a line down the middle before placing the scissors back on the bed. Just like he promised, he looked away as he lightly began to pull at the tape, wincing every time y/n flinched.

"Are you going to tell me why exactly you did this to yourself?" He asked, his voice undeniably stern.

Y/n looked out the window, Edward following her gaze as he continued to pull gently at the tape. She shrugging slightly, not sure of what to say. There was no way to say it other than to be blunt. But, she couldn't bring herself to be blunt.

"I don't like how I...I don't like my...I just wish..." She fumbled.

Edward listened, allowing her to take as much time as she needed. He ripped off a piece of duct tape slowly, crumpling it into a ball and throwing it on the floor. Y/n watched him throw it, lip trembling as she did so.

"I don't hate how I look. I like how I look. I just, there are some parts..." She sighed.

Edward nodded, removing another piece of duct tape. He kept his eyes way from her now revealed chest, moving on to her side. Y/n groaned, holding her head in her hands. This position made it harder for Ed to remove the tape, but he didn't say anything.

"I was born a girl, I know that. And, I like being feminine. I love it, actually. But, I don't feel like I'm just a girl...I don't want to be." Her voice was weak and shaky.

"Do you feel like one certain gender?" He asked, trying to help her navigate her feelings.

"No. I just feel like...me." She answered.

"Alright. Well, what are you?"

Y/n paused, looking down at the ground. She hadn't really thought about it before. It never really crossed her mind. But, now she was really thinking about it.

"I don't really want to be labeled as anything. I want to look feminine. But, I don't want people to think I'm just a girl. I don't feel like I'm just a girl. I don't know how to explain..." She sighed.

Edward removed the last bit of the duct tape off of her skin. Y/n shivered, her bare chest exposed. But, she was too numb to even care. Edward made sure he averted his eyes the entire time. He used some of the aloe vera and rubbed it into her red and irritated skin. Y/n hissed at the cold touch.

"I think, you explained it perfectly. As long as that is exactly what you feel. You're feelings in this situation are the only ones that matter. I just want you to know that I support you through whatever decision you make. Full heartedly."

Once Edward finished applying the aloe vera, he got up from off the ground. He walked over to his closet, grabbing something out of it. He looked at it for a little while, thinking to himself. Humming, he walked back over to y/n and handed the object to her, looking into her eyes the entire time.

"We can get a binder for you, if you'd like. I know it doesn't really work too well, but you can use this in the meantime." He said.

Y/n took the object and smiled when she realized what it was. It was a back brace. It was small enough to cover her chest. It wasn't the perfect size, but she appreciated whatever she could get. She put it on immediately, struggling only a little bit.

"Thank you..."

Edward tossed one of his shirts to her and watched as y/n caught it. She slid it on, smiling at how baggy it was. Ed smiled as well, giving her a pair of sweatpants too. Y/n looked at him curiously, her head tilting to the side.

"If you ever want to wear my clothes because it makes you feel more comfortable, you don't have to ask or be sneaky about it. You're welcome to wear whatever you need."

~

The meaningful memory made y/n tear up. He was so understanding about what she was going through. And, when she figured out who she really was, he was extremely supportive. Edward had immediately ask y/n what their pronouns were, to which she said she/they. Y/n said she didn't mind if people referred to her as she, but they was what they truly preferred. And ever since that day, he referred to y/n as they. Coming out as non-binary to their friend was easy because of how supportive he was. And then, the two of them started to date. Y/n remembered their first time with Edward. The two of them wanted it to be special. Their first time was vanilla, not wanting to take it too far. But, every time after that got hotter and hotter and kinkier and kinkier. Eventually, the two of them knew about all of their partner's kinks and turn ons. And, y/n was surprised to learn about how kinky Edward was.

~

"Oh fuck, Edward!" Y/n moaned, their fingers gripping at his hair tightly.

Their naked bodies were entwined with each other on his bed. Edward was normally a shy and reserved guy, but in the bedroom he was an entirely different person. He pulled away from biting on y/n's neck, licking a stripe from her neck to her chin. Y/n whined, bucking her hips upwards. Chuckling, Edward gripped their hips and slammed them against the bed. His dick was inside them, staying perfectly still.

"I know how desperately you want me to fuck you, but I expect you to have some control over your desires. If you can't be patient for it, then do you truly deserve it, chéri?" He teased.

Y/n moaned, they loved it when Edward would speak French. It was a language he taught himself in the orphanage, along with Italian and Latin. He sounded so suave when he talked in those languages.

"I'm so-orry..." Y/n pouted, trying their best to keep still.

Edward leaned his head back, letting out a sigh as he felt her tighten around him. His eyes squinted as he made a 'tsk' sound. Looking back down on her, Edward held onto their waist gently.

"Trop peu, trop tard..." He said softly.

Y/n tilted her head to the side, unsure of what he said. Edward smirked, a playful and mischievous glint in his eyes. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against their ear. His grip on her hips tightened, nails digging into their flesh.

"Too little, too late..."

~

Y/n shivered, feeling her stomach turn into a knot as she recalled the interaction. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she pushed the feeling away. It all ended when Edward started to talk about how he wanted to fix Gotham. His desire for a renewal eventually turned into an obsession, and y/n saw how dangerous it was getting. Even though it hurt her, she didn't want to be with him while he went down that path. It had been a year since they split up.

"I suppose, it is time I end this livestream my loyal followers." Edward said.

Y/n shook herself out of her thoughts, remembering that she was watching Ed's livestream. Looking at the time, she was shocked to see that she had spaced out for about 30 minutes, recalling her fond memories with Edward. She sighed, going to exit the stream when she realized she was the only one left in it. However, Edward's voice made her stop.

"Do you still live there, Sketcher?" He asked, voice monotone, almost a hint of sadness in it.

Y/n felt her breath hitch in her throat. Shakily, her hands typed an answer. For some reason, she felt scared of Edward in this moment. She never felt scared of him. His voice was ominous.

"I am not answering that, you should already know the answer."

Edward remained silent for a little while, staring at the camera. Y/n grew unsettled, unsure of what to do. He leaned towards the camera, cupping his hands over his mouth. Y/n prepared for him to whisper, holding the phone closer to their ear.

"FINALLY THEY SPEAK!" He yelled.

Y/n dropped their phone, wincing at their ear ringing. Edward chuckled from behind the camera, finding his yelling to be funny. Y/n grimaced, scoffing as she rolled her eyes.

"I miss you. Do you miss me? If you want me to come over, say nothing. If you don't, then say anything!" He giggled.

Y/n began to type, not understanding what he was trying to do. It was like he was purposefully trying to scare them. Like it was a game to him. And y/n didn't feel like playing it. But, before she could text anything, he ended the live.

"Dick." Y/n scoffed.

She glanced at the time on her phone, wanting to see how much time had passed by.

'2:50'

Y/n groaned, getting up from the couch, taking their phone with her. The whole conversation with Edward threw her off. Unsure of what she should do, y/n decided to draw. It helped calm their nerves when they got stressed out. They walked over to their desk that was in the corner of the room, right next to the T.V. Sighing, she pulled out her iPad, which they kept on the desk, and got their drawing software set up. They pulled up Spotify on their T.V and clicked the playlist they listened to when they drew. A song she didn't really care for played, so she used this time to go change into some better clothes to draw in. They discarded their current sweatshirt and sweatpants, left in their soft purple binder and matching underwear. They thought for a moment, not really sure of what to wear. As they thought about what to wear, they pulled their hair up into a ponytail, stretching out their back afterwards.

"Fuck it." She said.

Y/n pulled their sweatpants back on, not bothering to put a shirt on since the binder was fit like a tank top of some sorts. They slid their slippers back on, laughing at the fake cigarettes they added. Y/n walked back into the living room, going back to their drawing desk. They sat down and got right to work with their drawing.

Time had gone by fast as y/n was drawing, her entire mind being focused on her work. Y/n groaned, standing up from her chair to stretch out. Glancing at her phone, her eyes widened when she saw it was 9:52 at night. But, she hadn't finished her drawing yet, and she really wanted to. Sighing, they decided another hour or so couldn't hurt. She looked at Spotify, grinning from ear to ear as one of her favorite songs played. Walking to the kitchen, she grabbed a glass of water as she swayed her hips to the beat. Taking a sip, she brought it over to her desk, placing it far away from her iPad. What y/n didn't know though, is that someone was watching her from within the shadows of her apartment. Edward Nashton had slipped into her apartment when she went to the bathroom around 10 minutes ago, and was hiding and observing her. He watched as y/n danced to the music, mouthing the lyrics as well. Y/n's music taste, at least when they drew, was mainly hyperpop music with a few other genres thrown in. Edward had never heard of the genre until y/n introduced it to him. He liked some of the songs, but he preferred to watch y/n dance to them.

"God, my neighbors probably hate me..." They chuckled to themselves.

Edward remained silent, watching as y/n danced and made commentary. That was one of Edward's favorite things about them. He loved that when they thought they were alone, or even if things were quiet, they would start talking to themselves. It could be normal things or stupid things. In this case, y/n was quoting lyrics, adding commentary on them, and complaining about their drawing. It was very evident that they were partially sleep deprived.

"Fucking, ugh! Why is it so hard to draw dilfs?" They groaned.

Edward, staying quiet, found their comments to be hilarious. However, he didn't want to reveal his position just yet. So, he watched quietly.

"Grab your man he's trying to roleplay on me all snuggly..." They mumbled in a high-pitched voice, laughing like a dork at the end.

"This songs fucking weird, it's so me core. Me core. Fuck! Me! GOD!" They face planted on the desk, groaning afterwards.

"I'm not looking up crotch references...not again...I can't subject myself to that." They whined, muffled by the desk.

Y/n lifted their head up when their phone rang, causing Edward to fall back in the shadows further. Pausing the music as the next song played, they looked at the contact on their phone. Smiling, they answered it.

"Bitch, it's 10 at night and you interrupted one of my favorite songs. You better have a good reason." They laughed.

Y/n put the phone on speaker, placing it on the kitchen counter as she poured a bowl of cereal.

"You got something better to do than talk to me, huh?" Her friend asked.

"Girl, I was drawing dilfs..."

"Oh shit, that's awesome. Can I see?"

"I haven't finished...I'm stuck."

"On what?"

"Drawing the...crotch. I don't exactly have a dick to use as reference. Not that I'm drawing a dick, he's wearing pants, but like...bulge reference. Fuck, you know what I mean."

Edward smirked to himself, a thought crossing his mind. He dismissed it as soon as it appeared. He found their conversation to be entertaining.

"I've got a big dick right here for you to use as a reference." Their friend said in a deep voice.

Y/n nearly choked on their cereal.

"Shut up! What did you call me for you cretin?"

"Oh, well I just wanted to let you know that uh...that guy at my work gave me his number..."

Y/n swallowed the cereal in her mouth, squealing afterwards. Edward covered his ears quietly, not hearing them make that noise in a long time. He had forgotten how high-pitched they could get.

"No fucking way!!! Did he say anything?" Y/n asked, looking at their hair in the reflection of the fridge.

"Yes! Ok, let me know what you think of this...he texted me earlier. This is what he said...'Hey, can't wait to talk to you more. I'd love to meet you for lunch sometime this weekend. I hope I'm not being too forward. Hope you're having a great night, Caleb.'"

Y/n gasped.

"Oh my God, he's polite too!? You hit the jackpot! You two should fall in love, have really rough kinky sex, get married, have babies, all that jazz!" Y/n spat out.

"I was thinking the same thing!!! Well, maybe not the kinky part. I'm not a freak like you." Their friend giggled.

"I'm unique like that." Y/n chuckled.

"More like you're slutty like that..."

"Hell, I'll take that as a compliment. I consider myself a collector of kinks. Like pokemon, except sinful. And you know...no animals...what were we talking about?" They asked.

"Are you high or something?" Their friend laughed.

"No, just very, very, very sleep deprived and hyped up on a large bag of sourpatch kids I got from the store. So, kind of?" They laughed.

Edward rolled his eyes, trying his best not to laugh. He missed y/n. He missed them a lot. But now, he was seeing them again. Right in front of him.

"Oh my god, go to bed! You need the sleep." Their friend suggested.

"Who are you? My mom? My dad? My overlord?" They asked.

"No, I-I'm, heh, I'm your dad-daddy..." Their friend tried to say, laughing in between her words.

"Oh fuck off, now I'm definitely getting ready for bed. Every time we call you call yourself daddy and I am 100% certain that it's giving me brain damage."

"That's the goal. To get you brain dead so I can put you in a hospital for the rest of your life!"

"Aw, how sweet! I'll haunt you when I die and possess your vibrator so it never turns on."

"Ew! Grosssss!"

"Alright, I have some cereal I have to finish absolutely devouring. So, I'll call you tomorrow. Let me know how the lunch goes!"

"Ok, love you!"

"Love you too!"

Y/n hung up the phone, as if that was the most normal conversation they had ever had. Edward found the entire thing extremely amusing. Their friend was right though, y/n was extremely kinky. Edward would know. When the two of them were in bed together, things got hot and heavy quickly. He broke out of those thoughts, watching as y/n put away their iPad and pressed play on Spotify. Yawning, they went back to the kitchen, grabbing their cereal bowl. As the song played, they finished eating their cereal quickly. Once they finished eating, they started dancing and mouthing the lyrics of the song. Edward knew this song, from when y/n would practically force him to watch tiktok edits of various people from various shows, movies, and games. He knew y/n loved this song.

"Ride!" Y/n mouthed softly, spinning around in a circle.

Y/n swayed to the song, dancing like no one was watching. Even though, someone most definitely was watching. Edward kept a keen eye on y/n, watching every movement they made.

"Can I ride!?" Y/n giggled, pointing to a drawing of a blonde man they made.

Edward recognized the person, from the Resident Evil games. Y/n was obsessed with Leon S. Kennedy for a long time, so that's probably who it was. This caused him to smile to himself.

The song was coming to an end, although still playing. Edward took this as an opportunity to step out of the shadows slowly. Every footstep he made was quiet as he made sure not to step on any creaky floorboards. As the song died down, y/n turned around after hearing a quiet noise. They turned the volume down until the music was at the same volume as a person talking normally, placing the remote back down.

"Who's there?" They asked, grabbing a pocket knife they kept on the desk.

Edward stepped completely out of the darkness, the soft light from the T.V illuminating his body in a bright white outline. Y/n scoffed, tossing their knife back on the desk. Edward found it intriguing that y/n was not scared, not even in the slightest.

"Edward Nashton, what the fuck is your problem?! I have a fucking door for you to knock on you asshole! You scared the shit out of me! I thought you were someone breaking in!" They groaned.

"I am someone breaking in." He stated simply.

"No, Edward. You're Edward. Not a scary criminal. Well, not yet at least, who knows at the rate you're going..." They mumbled.

Edward stood there, watching them walk into the kitchen. Y/n rolled their eyes, getting a glass of water. They were slightly annoyed with Edward.

"How long have you been here? Actually, no, let me guess. When I went to the bathroom. Is that when you got in?" They asked.

Edward nodded slowly.

"You're so predictable, Edward. Are you trying to scare me or something? Why are you here standing in the shadows like a creep?" They spat.

Edward walked towards them slowly, planting his gloved hands firmly on the counter. Y/n raised an eyebrow.

"I'm here to show you what I'm trying to do for Gotham! You don't understand my cause!" He exclaimed behind his mask.

"Uh huh...yeah. Why are you wearing your mask? I know who you are." They said blandly.

He didn't answer.

"Look, Ed, I know you want to help Gotham. I admire that. You've always been a kind soul. But, this is not the way to go about it. Planning murders? Bombings? How will that help?" They asked.

Edward looked down, his confidence disappearing as the person he loved told him these things. Y/n noticed, sighing before taking a sip of water. They offered Ed some, to which he denied because of the mask that was on his head. Y/n groaned.

"Take that thing off. You're Edward. Not the Riddler."

Edward's eyes narrowed, knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the counter. He marched into the kitchen, standing in front of y/n, pinning them against the cupboards. Y/n felt their heart race.

"I AM the Riddler! Edward, Riddler, I am two in one!" He declared, voice muffled by the mask but still projecting well.

Y/n sighed, looking over Edward. He could sense the sadness in their eyes. They reached a hand up, grabbing his glasses before removing his mask. Once the mask was off, they put the glasses back on him. Edward felt sheepish all of a sudden, almost as if removing the mask removed his entire persona.

"You look different since I last saw you, Ed. You look good." They smiled, hand cupping his face.

"Don't." He said.

"You still love me, don't you?" They asked, thumb rubbing his cheek.

Edward looked down slightly, lifting his eyes back up to theirs quickly. He took a deep breath, chest puffing out. Y/n watched as his eye twitched, a telltale sign that he was anxious.

"Yes..."

"Did you think that this whole Riddler persona would make me fall in love with you?"

Edward didn't answer.

"Ed, I still love you. I always will. But, I don't love who you're becoming. It worries me."

"I just want to do good for the people of Gotham who suffered, just like we did..." He said shakily.

"Killing people is not the way to do it. That is not going to win me over, Edward. If you want to keep this Riddler persona, then that's fine. But, use it for good. Help law enforcement with finding criminals, the ones who make Gotham a terrible place. Don't add to it..."

Edward nodded, feeling a tear roll down his cheek. Y/n wiped it away, smiling up at him. He looked down at them, straightening his posture. He cleared his throat.

"Y-You're right. It's just, this whole persona gave me a newfound confidence. I wanted to do something memorable and meaningful with it."

"Edward, I love that you've found your confidence. But, you need to use it for good."

He nodded once again, the two of them falling silent. Edward looked into y/n's eyes, feeling his cheeks grow hot. Y/n felt a knot form in their stomach.

"Can you promise me that you'll stop this madness? Please? For me, Riddles..." Y/n frowned, tears forming in their eyes.

Edward's eyes widened, hugging y/n to his chest without thinking about it. He rubbed their back, heart racing fast against theirs.

"No, no no no, no please don't cry. I promise, Sketcher. I'm sorry that all of this happened. I caused us to drift apart, I don't know what I was thinking. I promise you, I'll stop." He cooed, nearly crying against their head.

"I believe you, Edward."

The two of them grew silent as they held each other. Despite the emotional moment they just had, they weren't sure what to do. It was hard to move on from such an important conversation, especially the one they just had. Y/n sighed, pulling away from him, back against the counter. Edward looked down at them, taking in their appearance.

"Y-You got your binder. It looks good." He commented.

"Thank you, it took so long to arrive. But, it was worth the wait. I have more in other colors."

Edward nodded.

"Ed, can I tell you something?" They asked.

"Y-Yeah, of course."

"Your Riddler persona scared me a bit, what with everything that you were planning. But, besides those things, I found that whole persona to be quite..." Y/n trailed.

Edward waited, anxious for what they were going to say.

"...hot?"

His eyes widened, watching as y/n blushed lightly. He reached down, lifting their chin up with two of his fingers. Y/n looked up at him, bottom lip out in a natural pout.

"You did?" He asked.

Y/n nodded.

"It seemed like you were really protective over me when you were doing those livestreams."

Edward's jaw clenched when he thought about that one chat someone sent. He could easily find their address, and he definitely thought about paying a visit. But, after the conversation he just had with y/n, he knew that was off the table. Even though the person definitely deserved whatever he wanted to do to him.

"That swine threatened you. No one threatens you and gets away with it."

"Mmm, that's the part of the Riddler that I like..." Y/n hummed.

"God, I've missed you so much, y/n."

"I missed you too, Ed."

He looked down at them, feeling the confidence he had when he broke in flood back into his body. Y/n saw this from how his posture changed. His stature was looming and a glint of mischief twinkled in his eyes. Y/n felt themself shrink beneath him, feeling cornered in the kitchen by him. But, it wasn't like they were scared he would hurt or kill them, no. It was anticipation of what he was going to do next. Edward always was unpredictable. Y/n's breath hitched as Edward brushed a strand of hair out of their face.

"You've always had a knack for intimidating, even dangerous, men. Haven't you?" He teased softly, looking down at them with dull eyes.

Those eyes, they drove y/n insane. His gaze had the ability to make their knees wobble, faltering their stability. He knew of this affect, and he basked in the feeling of power this gave him. Neither of them liked to consider themselves 'in charge' of the other. But, when things got intimate, y/n absolutely loved it when Edward would run the show. He did too.

"You shiver under my touch, cara mia. Why is this? Do you fear me?" He asked gently.

Y/n nibbled on the bottom of their lip, chest heaving from the tension. Edward grinned, leaning down to plant a soft kiss below their ear. His breath fanned on their neck, causing goosebumps to prickle over y/n's skin.

"Or does my presence simply make you tremble with desire?" He whispered.

Y/n let a quiet moan slip out of their throat, causing them to blush deeply. They were embarrassed to admit how easily Edward drove them crazy. The two of them would be lying if they said they didn't miss each other, both emotionally, physically, and sexually. They nodded, wrapping their arms around his neck.

"Of course it does. I know you promised you'd stop the things you were going to do. But, you're still The Riddler. And, having you in my apartment, standing over me...my heart's racing. Earlier today your persona was ready to kill someone for me and, as weird as it is, I found it hot..." Y/n gasped, breathing heavily.

Edward smirked, grabbing the mask from off of the counter. He glanced down at it, then back up at y/n. A sickeningly lewd idea popped into his head. Y/n looked up at him, adrenaline and wonder filling their vision.

"You know what else he would do for you? To you?"

Y/n's legs instinctively closed, causing Edward to stifle a chuckle. He gave y/n a quick glance, as if to ask if it was ok to continue. They nodded frantically. He took a deep breath, eyes closed as he calmed himself. Without saying anything, Edward put his mask on, placing his glasses on top of the now covered bridge of his nose. He let out the breath he took, coming out in a raspy exhale. Y/n felt a shiver go down their spine as the T.V light illuminated Edward in an almost ethereal green. His hands fell to his sides, clenching and unclenching in a fist. Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed the back of y/n's neck, yanking them towards him.

"He would fuck you until you scream his name." He said simply.

The bluntness of his statement made y/n throb. They let out a shaky breath, gripping onto his shoulders for stability as their knees buckled. A dark chuckle emitted from his throat, letting go of y/n and stepping away from them. Y/n almost fell to the floor, catching onto the counter at the last second. Standing up straight, they watched as Edward walked over to the couch, standing in front of the T.V. He stared at y/n, nodding towards the couch subtly. Y/n didn't budge, breathing heavily in shock of the situation. Edward let out a frustrated sigh, stomping his foot on the ground.

"GET OVER HERE!" He shouted.

Y/n was quick to get to the couch, trembling as they stood in front of him. Edward removed the piece of the mask over his mouth, only attached with a few of those small click-on buttons. Placing it in his pocket, he grabbed y/n's face, slamming his lips onto theirs. Y/n moaned into the kiss, being caught off guard by the suddenness of it. Edward groaned, pulling away from the kiss.

"Edward..." Y/n sighed.

Grimacing, he pushed y/n down on the couch. Y/n looked up at him, eyes dark as he looked down on their body. He let out a frustrated sigh that slowly grew into a groan. He pointed at his chest repeatedly.

"I am The RIDDLER in this moment. You WILL address me as such." He declared.

Y/n squeezed their thighs together, gasping at his harsh attitude. The Riddler smirked, his mouth on display to y/n. A song started to play in the background, causing y/n to blush when they realized what it was. He walked towards them, grabbing their hips and moving them onto his lap as he sat down.

"Do you understand?" He asked.

"Y-Yes, Riddler."

He listened to the song as it played, smirking at the lyrics. Y/n avoided eye contact. Roughly, he grabbed their chin and yanked it towards him. He pulled them down to his face, kissing them on the lips briefly.

"If memory serves me right, the last time you and Edward fucked, it was to this song wasn't it? That's quite fitting, seeing as how it'll be the first song the Riddler fucks you to." He said, laughing at the end.

Y/n moaned, mouth agape slightly. He gripped it, keeping their mouth open. Looking at their mouth, he remained silent. His analytical eyes observed the inside of y/n's mouth. They were slightly confused, but afraid to move.

"You'd take me well with that mouth of yours..." He stated.

Y/n moaned softly, whining at the end. He chuckled, releasing his grip on their jaw. He looked at y/n, pushing them off of his lap. Y/n stood up in front of him, panting and wide eyed.

"Strip." He ordered.

Y/n didn't hesitate, removing their pants. He watched as they slid their underwear off, causing him to let out a low grunt at the sight of their bare lower body. Reaching up, y/n hesitantly started to remove their binder. The Riddler held up a hand, signaling for them to stop.

"No. If you feel that that part of your body does not belong on you, then I do not find it desirable. I will not allow you to face dysmorphia once again." He said.

Y/n smiled, feeling their heart swell. It pleased y/n to know that Edward's Riddler persona was just as caring and supportive as he was. Giggling, they left their binder on. He stood up, unbuttoning his pants slightly, letting his bulge under his underwear poke out. Grabbing y/n's neck, he kissed them harshly and bit their bottom lip. They groaned as he pulled away. Edward hushed them, placing a finger against their lips as he listened to the song.

'Kiss me on the lips, choke me on the floor.'

'Drag me around, push me right against your door.'

'I'm your little doll, come and play with me.'

'Fucking chase me, fucking break me.'

Y/n hummed to the song very quietly and he grinned. Adjusting his grip on y/n's neck, he smirked down at them. The glasses he wore were reflecting the light of the T.V. He looked mysterious and dangerous. It made y/n's cheeks heat up.

"You like that song, huh?" He asked, rubbing his thumb against their skin.

They nodded.

"Of course you do. You like that shit, don't you?" He mocked.

They nodded again, frantically. He mimicked the way they nodded, even going so far as to imitate the soft moans they made. Y/n held the hand he had gripped around his throat, pouting up at him. He rolled his eyes. He knelt down on the floor, bringing them down with him. Y/n's eyes grew big as he pinned them against the floor, straddling their lap as he did so. The grip on their throat tightened, y/n gasping for air. The Riddler hummed to himself, swaying his head to the song. Pretending he spaced out, he looked back down to y/n. He faked a gasp, covering his mouth with his free hand. Y/n let out a choked moan, causing The Riddler's bulge to grow.

"You said you liked to be choked on the floor, isn't that true? I'm just giving you what you want." He cooed, reaching down to caress their face.

He watched y/n as they grabbed at his hand. The Riddler let out a yawn, releasing his grip on their throat. Y/n moaned, gasping for breath. He mocked their panicked breathing, holding his own throat with his hands. He faked chokes before breaking out into a soft and eerie laughter. Y/n felt filthy for finding his actions extremely hot.

"I thought you liked that? Hm?" He teased.

"I do..." They sighed, a moan slipping out at the end.

He reached down, grabbing the ponytail their hair was in. As he stood up, he pulled at their hair, causing y/n to stand up with him. He dragged them across the room by their hair, making sure not to go too fast. He wanted to be rough, not abusive. Walking inside y/n's room, he closed the door behind them before slamming y/n against it. They grunted, wrapping their arms around his neck.

"You wanted this. Your eyes were practically begging me to fuck you. Please tell me you didn't expect the Riddler to go easy on you, mon cœur?" He chuckled, a sick smirk tugging at his lips.

"No, I want it rough. I love it rough..." They panted.

He threw them on the bed, watching as they propped themselves on their elbows. Their legs were crossed over each other, hiding themself from him. He rolled his head to the side, letting his neck crack as he walked to the bed. He stood in front of y/n, menacing and ominous.

"Yes, I know. I know how filthy you are. I know how...experimental...you were when you were mine. I imagine you're still the same filthy slut."

Y/n nodded repeatedly, slowly opening their legs. His head was held high, exuding power with his stance. He let his eyes trail down, face emotionless as he gazed between y/n's legs. He breathed in deep, letting out a shaky sigh that made y/n moan. The Riddler found himself mesmerized by the sight before him, his muse, his love, all spread out and on display for him. It was a beautiful sight that made the blood pump in his veins. He felt his dick twitch and inhaled deeply before exhaling.

"Offering yourself to me, so...willingly...it brings a smile to my face. I assume you realize how whorish you look right now. Spreading your legs for a dangerous person such as me..." He trailed, leaning down and planting his fists on either side of the bed.

His body was hovering over the lower half of y/n. Underneath his chest was y/n's legs, spread open, exposing their body to him. Y/n moaned, nodding their head.

"I know how slutty I'm acting. But, I can't help it. You make my heart race and I just want to feel you inside me so bad..." They whined, squirming underneath him.

"Yeah, you want that?" He hummed.

"Fuck, yes!"

He made a 'tsk' noise as he stood up straight. Y/n watched as he removed the gloves he wore. He placed the pair in his left hand, glancing down at them. He looked back down at y/n, humming again. Throwing one of the gloves to the side, he reached down and dragged the one he kept over y/n's stomach. Slowly, he trailed back down, kneeling on the floor in front of the bed. He grabbed the underside of y/n's calves, yanking them towards him. Their legs dangled off the bed, lifting up as he hung them over his shoulders.

"As you'll recall, I have a strong fascination with games, puzzles, riddles, etc. How about we play a game right now? Will you amuse me and take part, cara mia?" He asked, letting his breath fan against y/n's slick core.

"Mmm, yes. I-I'll play a game with you, Riddler." They moaned.

"Oh how fun, I have high hopes for you."

He blew against their pussy once again, smirking cockily to himself as y/n squirmed. His hands gripped their thighs that hung over his shoulders.

"I'll ask you riddles and you answer them. If you get it right, you get a reward. If not, well...you'll find out, how about that?" He chuckled, waving his glove for them to see before sliding it on his left hand.

"What? I've never been good at your Riddles! That's not fa-"

"Those are Edward's riddles. You have not heard mine, have you? Besides, I just made them up a few moments ago, specifically for you. It would make me so upset if you chose not to play."

"Ok, fine. Just, ask me your riddles."

He chuckled.

"I can make you shiver and I can make you hot. I may take a while to arrive, but I can be fast in the right hands. What am I?"

Y/n groaned, holding their hands over their face. The Riddler giggled, finding their struggle amusing. While he waited, he looked between their legs. He licked his lips as he saw how swollen their clit was.

"What am I, y/n?" He asked.

"Damn it, I don't know! Mail?" They whined.

"Mail? Hm, not even close. Do you want a hint, cara mia? I'll let you have another try." He smirked.

"Yes, please..." Y/n groaned.

"If you're good I'll give it to you tonight..." He hinted suggestively.

Y/n furrowed their eyebrows, thinking for a moment. The hint was so obscure. It could be anything based on how he said it. After a bit, their eyes widened in realization.

"An orgasm!"

Chuckling darkly, he shoved a finger deep inside of y/n. Y/n threw their head back into the bed, a lewd moan leaving their mouth. The Riddler let out a sigh, enjoying the feeling of his finger inside of them.

"Oh, good job darling. I'm so proud of you. Are you ready for another riddle? You only get one try this time..."

"F-Fuck, u-um, yeah I'm ready..."

"A queen, a movie, I can chill you to the bone. If it comes from pleasure, some would call it a moan. What am I?"

"What the fuck...? Um, fuck, I don't know...I don't know!" They whined.

Sighing, he kept stood up, not all the way though. He wanted his finger to remain inside y/n. Caressing y/n's face with his gloved hand, he watched as they pressed into his touch. The smile on his face faded, turning into a frown. Swiftly, he brought the back of his hand across their face. Y/n gasped, mouth agape and looking up at him.

"SCREAM! I'M A SCREAM!"

Y/n whined, bucking their hips up into Edward's finger. He furrowed his eyebrows underneath his mask. He went back down between their legs and smacked their thigh lightly, signaling for them to stop. He sighed.

"You should have known that answer, it's one of your favorite horror movies. I'm disappointed. You only get one more riddle. If you get it right, I'll finally give you what you so desperately want. If you get it wrong, I leave you on your bed a wet, slutty, pathetic mess."

"Oh God..." Y/n mumbled.

"I am done when desperate. A dog for a treat, a criminal for their life, a traitor for forgiveness. What am I?"

Y/n thought, not wanting to get it wrong. They groaned, eyes shut closed tightly. A frustrated sigh left their lips, turning into a whine like a child pouting. The Riddler smirked.

"Riddler, I beg you please...just fuck me!" They pleaded.

"Oh, you're so close to earning that..." He chuckled.

Y/n went silent, eyes widening.

"Beg! It's beg!" They cried out.

He pulled his finger out, causing y/n to whine. Leaning down, he planted a kiss on their lips. A proud smile was on his face, a laugh coming from his throat.

"Very good, ange précieux. I'm so proud of you." He praised, standing up straight.

Y/n watched as he looked down on them, eyes crazed and bright behind his glasses. He stepped forward, the bulge hidden by his underwear directly in front of y/n's face as they sat up. Y/n waited for him to say something, but he never did. Instead, he slowly pushed his underwear down, letting his dick fall out. He groaned as it slapped their face. Y/n kissed it gently, letting their tongue lap around the tip. He hissed, not giving any warning as he grabbed their hair and shoved his dick down their throat. Y/n gagged on the length, tears forming in their eyes. The Riddler moaned, leaning his head back in pleasure as he held their head there. After a moment, he pulled them off, pushing them down to the bed.

"I was correct, my dick fits perfectly in your pretty little mouth. But that is not what I want right now, nor is it what you want. Admittedly, it would be nice to throat fuck you till you're gasping for air...but I digress. Now, spread your legs."

Y/n moaned, their back flat against the bed as they listened to his instructions. The Riddler removed his glove, swaying his hand in the air as classical music played on the T.V. He hummed to himself, knowing the lyrics by heart, going through a huge classical music phase a few years back. Y/n watched, finding it hypnotic and twisted how carefree he was about the situation. Meanwhile, y/n was desperate and horny, spread out on the bed.

"A beautiful piece..." He mumbled.

He stepped forward a little, grabbing the underside of y/n's thighs as he pulled them close. Abruptly, he spit in between their legs, the substance landing on their throbbing pussy. He quietly sang the lyrics, y/n not knowing what he was saying. It always baffled y/n how well he spoke Latin, French, who the hell knew what other languages he spoke. All y/n knew was that it turned them on. Tightening his grip on their thighs, he pulled them closer to him as he thrusted forwards. Y/n cried out, voice cracking as they moaned. The Riddler grunted, but continued to sing along with the song. Y/n whined as he stilled inside of them, causing him to groan.

"It's rude to interrupt someone. I like this song, now be quiet!" He spat, bringing a hand down to pinch their clit.

Y/n bit back a moan, biting down on their fist. He was torturing them, y/n was sure of it. And, they were correct. The Riddler knew how desperately they wanted to be fucked by him, but he was having too much fun to give it to them. Not without a few more teases. He moved very slightly, causing y/n to think he was about to thrust into them. When they realized he was playing with them, they let out a pitiful whine. Their back arched, covering their face with their hands as the pathetic noise left their lips. He watched this, the sight making him twitch inside of them.

"Oh, cara mia..." He cooed.

"Riddler, please..." They cried.

"Mmm, my name sounds so good coming out of your mouth. My dear pitoyable chérie. Do you want me to fuck you?"

"Yes! Please!"

"Tell me how filthy you are for wanting this. Tell me that you're mine. You know it's true." He groaned, pinching the inside of their thigh.

"Fuck, you're right! I'm yours, Riddler. I always have been! I'm your filthy sl-slut. Please! I jus-"

He reached down, grabbing their hair. Leaning down, he met them halfway as he kissed them roughly. With a harsh thrust he began to fuck into them at a brutal pace. Moaning into the kiss, y/n bit down on his lip. He groaned and pushed them back down, standing up straight again. Bending over, he crawled on top of them as he continued to plow into their sopping pussy. Y/n reached up and gripped his hair, incoherent mumbling sliding past their lips.

"Oh, you filthy thing...you want more? Tell me."

"Yes! Please!"

A guttural growl left his throat, cursing underneath his breath. He grabbed y/n, looking around the room. Spotting a mirror, he dragged y/n in front of it. Sitting on the bed behind them, he shoved y/n down on his dick, sitting on his lap. The Riddler fucked up inside of them, facing the mirror all the while.

"My, my, would you look at that?" He teased grabbing y/n's jaw and forcing them to look at the mirror.

Y/n whimpered, watching them bouncing on his dick as he thrust upwards. The pace was sickeningly animalistic, a speed that y/n didn't think was humanly possible. A dark chuckle resonated in his chest, y/n feeling it vibrate against their back.

"Look how good you're taking me. You were made for me, cara mia. My missing puzzle piece. You fit me so perfectly. So tightly." He moaned in their ear, voice raspy and low.

"Oh fuck, Riddler..."

"That's right, cara mia. Moan my name. I won't let you cum until I've heard you scream it."

His nails dug sharply into the excess flesh of their hips, leaving indents in the skin. The classical music playing in the back made the erotic scene even more vulgar. Ecstasy was thick in the air like pungent poison. It filled their sense and drove them crazy, searching for the antidote in each other's bodies and pleasure. The Riddler ripped the hair tie out of y/n's hair, letting it fall down. He buried his face in it, inhaling their sweet scent that he missed so much. Though he was the Riddler, his feelings for y/n were the exact same as Edward's. After all, they were the same person. Just a persona, a facade he put on. Like roleplay.

"Ri-Riddler...please." They begged.

Grunting, he stood up, holding y/n by their thighs. His dick stayed inside them the whole time as he flipped them over onto their back on the bed. Not giving them any time to adjust, he picked their legs up and held them high. With the better angle, he drilled into them, face contorting into pleasure underneath the mask. Y/n covered their eyes with one of their hands, arching their back. With the other hand, they gripped the sheets desperately searching for some stability. With every thrust he made, the Riddler pummeled directly into y/n's g-spot, making them moan each time. With every moan that left their lips, the next one became more pornographic.

"Oh, I can tell you are so close. You've reached the precipice of your desire, teetering on the edge, aren't you?" He moaned, gasping at the end.

"Y-Yes, please! I wanna cum!"

"You want me to push you over that edge, cara mia?" He taunted, slowing his pace.

"Fuck! Don't stop! Please! I n-need it so bad!" Y/n was crying, their sobs pitiful and sad to listen to.

"Then scream my name!" He growled.

He slapped them across the face, slamming into them roughly. Y/n let out a noise that was indescribable. However, the sound made him whimper. His thrusts quickened, no longer rough but rather sadistic. Y/n tried to get words out, but couldn't. He pinched their clit harshly, twisting it between his pointer finger and thumb.

"RIDDLER! FUCK!" They screamed, the multiple sensations overwhelming them.

"That's it. That's what I wanted to hear..." He sighed.

All it took was a few more thrusts, that's all. With those final powerful, sadistic thrusts, y/n came undone. He pulled out quickly, cupping his mouth over their sopping hole. The suction of his lips against their pussy guided them through their orgasm. The Riddler groaned against their sensitive skin, lapping up all their arousal and climax. With a satisfied moan, he unlatched his lips and swiped his tongue around them. Some of their orgasm dripped onto the mask, but he cared very little about that. Standing over them, he stroked his length, head tilted back as he did so. Eyes were closed shut as he felt himself nearing his climax. His breathing quickened in pace, chest heaving up and down as he let out soft groans. Y/n could tell he was about to cum. Immediately, y/n crawled towards him, albeit shakily, and lowered their mouth on his cock. A loud moan slipped out of the Riddler, looking down to see y/n sucking harshly on his dick. The sight pushed him over and he felt his dick pulse inside their mouth as he released inside of it. He gripped onto their hair harshly, tugging on it as he hunched over. Y/n popped off of his dick after swallowing the thick liquid. They hated the taste of it, but they so desperately wanted to please him. A string of cum and saliva connected their lips to the tip of his dick. Using his thumb, he wiped it off their bottom lip. Y/n fell back onto the bed, grabbing a pillow and hugging it tight to their chest. The both of them were panting, catching their breath that was lost in the sinful exchange they committed.

Edward stood still, tucking himself back into his underwear. He groaned, rolling his head around to work out a kink in his neck. Removing his mask, he placed it on dresser near the bed. Y/n watched him as he did this, giving him time to calm down. He removed his jacket, revealing a dark green tank top underneath. His pants were next to go, tossing it somewhere in the room. Mumbling to himself, he got in bed next to y/n, pulling them close to his chest.

"God, I missed that..." He sighed.

"Me too...does this mean we're back together?" They asked.

"I'd like to think so. What about you?"

"Yeah, I'd like that."

Edward rolled over on his back, staring at the ceiling for a moment. Y/n turned on their side, facing him. As he breathed y/n watched his chest rise up and down. The rhythm soothed them, almost like counting sheep. Sitting up with a grunt, Edward sat on the side of the bed. It was from this angle that y/n realized how toned Edward was. He had gained a bit of weight since they last saw him. But, that was honestly a good thing. He was very skinny before, almost unhealthy. Y/n was glad to see a little more meat on his bones.

"Whatcha doin'?" They asked.

"Honestly, trying not to pass out. But, I was going to get a washcloth to clean you up." He yawned, rubbing his eyes.

"Oooh, Edward Nashton's world famous aftercare. Can I have a glass of wine and a cheese platter as well?" They asked.

"Mmm, I forgot how funny you are after you get your guts rearranged..." He said sarcastically.

He stood up from the bed, tripping over his feet slightly as he made his way to the bathroom. Y/n giggled, missing their boyfriend dearly. The both of them were undoubtedly glad to be back together, even if it was a result of Edward breaking into y/n's apartment. After a few moments, he came out of the bathroom, glasses slightly crooked and eyes barely open. Y/n was rarely tired after sex, but Edward usually did get tired. It honestly just depended on how rough he was. And, he was extremely rough tonight. Y/n gave him a kiss, holding his face in the palm of their hand. Pulling away, y/n looked to see if it woke him up at all. And, surprisingly, it did. He had a dorky smile on his face as he held the damp washcloth in his hand.

"I can make you some coffee afterwards if you'd like?" Y/n suggested.

Edward nodded as he gently placed the cloth on their thigh. Rubbing softly, he wiped away their arousal. His eyes were so bright and caring, just like the subtle smile that was on his face. With one final wipe, he placed the cloth in the hamper. Y/n started to sit up, but Edward stopped them. Carefully, he dragged them to the edge of the bed, legs dangling off the edge. Y/n sat up very slowly, stomach sore from the sex. Edward walked to the dresser, thinking for a moment before he opened one of the drawers. He pulled out a pair of underwear. Holding that in his hand, he opened another drawer and grabbed a pair of sweats. He closed all of the drawers he opened and went back to y/n.

"I'm surprised I remembered which ones to open." He chuckled.

Y/n smiled as he slide the pair of underwear up their legs. He was cautious around the inside of their upper thighs. Edward knew they would be extra sensitive, so he did his best to be as gentle as possible. Once the underwear was on, he helped them put on sweatpants as well.

"Ok, uh, where do you keep your coffee? Same place?" He asked, standing up.

Y/n nodded, resting their head against his stomach. Edward smiled widely, patting their head softly. He leaned down, placing a chaste kiss on the top of their head. Pulling away, he started to leave the room.

"Go piss." He stated simply.

(a/n: everyone should pee after they have sex, it helps flush out any bacteria and prevents UTI's :) make sure you all stay healthy!)

"Oh God, Edward. Really? You couldn't have found a more blunt way to say that?" They laughed, slowly standing up on shaky legs.

"I could if I tried. Do you need help?" He asked, hand on the door frame.

"No, I'm ok. Thanks though." They said.

Edward nodded, leaving the room to let y/n take care of themselves. Yawning, he walked past the couch, stretching out his arms. He glanced at the T.V and chuckled. Earlier, classical music was playing. And now? Well, obviously, the Pokemon: Indigo League theme song was playing. Seeing and hearing the song gave Edward the sudden urge to watch the show. He got a pot of coffee brewing, the smell raising goosebumps on his skin. Edward knew that y/n worked at a coffee shop, they have been for the past couple years. He knew that y/n could make a really good cup of coffee. A few minutes later, y/n came walking out of the bedroom, legs shaking slightly as they walked. Edward had a cocky grin on his face.

"I think I did a pretty good job tonight..." He said softly, voice slightly hoarse.

"No shit, I don't think I'll walk straight for a whole week. Work is going to suck on Monday." They groaned.

Edward looked in the cabinet where the coffee mugs were, smirking when he found his old mug. He poured some coffee in the green mug, taking a sip immediately afterwards. He sighed, feeling better even after the first sip.

"You kept my mug." He said.

"Well, it was really all I had as a reminder of you." They smiled.

"Oh, that reminds me..."

Edward placed the mug down, walking over to corner of the living room. Looking around, he scratched the back of his head. Y/n grabbed a juice box from the fridge, suddenly craving something fruity. They watched as Edward bent over and grabbed something from off the ground. He made his way back over to y/n, holding whatever he picked up behind his back. Y/n raised an eyebrow, glancing to the T.V and seeing that Heavy Metal Lover by Lady Gaga was playing. Edward snapped his fingers in front of their face.

"Hey, no Gaga! Not yet. I've got something to show you." He chuckled.

Y/n brought their attention, biting on the straw of the juice box as they took a sip. Edward brought one of his hands out from behind his back and held it in front of y/n. Removing the juice box from their lips, the set it on the counter. They gasped, holding their hands over their mouth.

"Oh my God, Edward! It's Sir Clawdius!" They squealed.

Edward smiled as they snatched the bear out of his hand. When y/n and Edward split up, y/n couldn't find the bear anywhere. They had assumed that they lost it. But, Edward had it the whole time.

"I will admit that I snuck it away when I left, I just wanted a piece of you with me. I meant to return it, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I brought it with me because I was finally going to give it back to you. So, yeah...sorry." He looked down sheepishly.

"Oh Edward, I'm not mad. I'm relieved that he was safe with you!" They giggled.

"Oh, well that's a relief. I thought you might try to maul me or something..."

"Maybe..."

"What? Please don't..."

"I'm kidding. Go drink your coffee! I'm going to put this li' guy up on my shelf!" They said.

Edward grabbed his coffee, leaning against the counter as y/n walked to the desk they drew at. He smiled as the warm drink went down his throat. Standing on their tippy-toes, they reached up and slid Sir Clawdius up on the top shelf, right next to the Leon Kennedy drawing.

"Oh yeah, I meant to ask. Is that a recent drawing? Did you play RE4 recently?" He asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Uh, maybe...don't look at the game in my console..."

"Ok, well that answers that question. But, I have another question. Have you done a speed run of it yet?" He asked.

"No, I take my time playing that game. I like the graphics..."

Edward shook his head slowly as he finished the last of his coffee. Y/n looked away, fighting back a goofy smile.

"Oh yeah, the graphics...totally. By graphics do you mean you like getting Leon hurt on purpose because he moans every single time?" He asked.

"This is becoming an interrogation and I am exercising my 4th amendment. So, I don't have to answer anything."

"Ok. Well, you basically confirmed my theory. Plus, I've seen you play the game in the middle of the night when I lived with you."

"You did!?"

"A lot. Every single time you were either angling the camera to get a better look at him or running into fights on purpose. So..."

"Ooh! I'm going to ignore the fact that you said that and pretend like we never had this conversation! That sounds like a really good idea!" They said cheerily, sitting down on the couch.

Edward rolled his eyes, sitting down next to them. He exhaled softly and watched as y/n turned off Spotify and turned it onto the console. Lo and behold, the most recent game played was RE4. Y/n handed the controlled to Edward, gesturing for him to take it.

"I wanna watch you play. Every time you get hurt is another picture of Leon Kennedy I will draw."

"Oh wow, you are very sleep deprived aren't you?" He laughed.

Edward took the controller and started to play the game. While he played, y/n slid under his arm, resting their head against his chest. They watched him play until they eventually drifted off into sleep. Edward smiled and turned the game off, holding y/n close to him as he picked them up. Going in their bedroom, he placed them under the covers and crawled in next to them. He let them fall asleep snuggled up into his side as he rubbed their back. He had been through a lot of problems while they were separated. And it was true that he went down a very dark path. But, he was so thankful for y/n, glad that they snapped him out of it. For now, he was happy, holding the love of his life in his arms once again. That was truly all he needed in his life. The warm and comforting embrace of his best friend was the one thing that could cure him of any ailment, any troubling thoughts, and could bring him out of the darkness that clouded his mind like a thick fog. He was as happy as he could ever be in this one moment.

He would never leave them again.

~

#writers #fanfic writer #writers of tumblr #fanfic #gotham #the riddler #dc universe #edward nashton #paul dano riddler #the batman 2022 #the batman riddler #paul dano #danonation #batman 2022 #dano riddler

[missadmyre]

New animatic for y'all!!!

This project... Bro...

This took me way too long, and I... *shivers*..., have more of these as WIP.

Pls don't flop I spent my free time after studying for this😭

On the other hand, Chase, you gotta stop aggravating your wife bro!

You're in his territory. Will kick your ass!

(Chase only got in to the Nomicon bc he himself got marked by First Ninja as seen in one of my explanations of this au and is therefore kind of a guest.

But a good chunk is bc he's still unadmittedly pissed off after a defeat on a showdown with the Xiaolin monks and wants to rant about it.

Bro managed to get into a mental gymnastic fortress through sheer anger and willpower alone)

Thank y'all so much for the support, really appreciate it.

#It's like Chase is going home after war #Only to see his exasperated “wife” (his wife's words not his) bitch about how he infiltrated his home #They kinda fought for awhile #But they already accepted the fact that they're married #Woohoo! Beating each other up is fun! #Couple goals #Amiright? #rc9gn fanart #rc9gn #rc9gn first ninja #chase young #my immortal soul #ninja showdown #xiaolin showdown #randy cunningham 9th grade ninja #Youtube

[destinyc1020]

sorry destiny, i am huge tom fan believe me, but i agree with what the anon said, i understand that u can like a movie that others dont thats not what i am saying but out of the MCU and throw in uncharted, tom's acting skills aside because we both hes fantastic, his projects have been misses, in terms of overall quality, reviews & numbers, TDATT, CW, Cherry, TCR. yes u may have liked some of them but numbers were bad, in a sense they flopped. most of these projects he chose when he was still pretty young and green and the only project he chose post covid was i think TCR and it was amazing but people weren't patient and it was slow at first. and i think since then he has grown a lot more and u can tell, its obvious the way he views things and the way hes picking his projects are diff now so hopefully things go well for him in the future in terms of success outside popcorn movies.

I mean, we can all have different viewpoints on films or actors, and that's fine! 🤷🏾‍♀️ I don't think anyone doubts that Tom is talented.

I understand some fans haven't enjoyed his projects in the past several years. I know for me personally, I've enjoyed 90% of Tom's films....whether they were successes at the box office or NOT. Most of his work I didn't even see in theaters. I saw at home.

The only films of Tom that I've actually seen in theaters are The MCU films (of course), The Current War, The Impossible (before I even knew who Tom Holland was lol), Uncharted (of course lol), and Spies in Disguise! Everything else of his, I've seen at home.

RE: TCR....

I actually enjoyed TCR, but if I had one critique, I would say that Akiva took a little TOO long to get to the point and kind of treated us as viewers like we were too dumb to get the "twist". Most of us knew or got the twist w/in the first episode lol. He really could have spent more time focusing on other things imo. Don't get me wrong, I actually think Akiva had a very ingenious, sympathetic, and creative way of showing what's actually going on when someone suffers from DID (and why they may end up having it), and it was done in a way I'd personally never seen done onscreen before. But I just feel like he should have given us as the audience a little more credit. We could have known from the very beginning that he suffered from DID, but maybe not know who exactly his alters actually were. There were many things that could have been done differently. And I think some of the critics purposely gave TCR LOW reviews to spite Akiva, because apparently he didn't even want DID or "multiple personalities" to be written in any of the early reviews coming out for the series, in order to preserve the "twist". But umm.... Everyone saw it coming a mile away bro lol 😅

So...I really think his tactic of trying to keep the audience in the dark felt a bit laborious after a while, and it's like, "WE GET IT man... we've already figured it out!" We didn't need several episodes prolonging things. But hey, I still enjoyed TCR Summer last year lol, and it was very enjoyable to watch Tom in a series (for a change) every single week! 😊

[tamaverse]

Here's the deal with electronic dreams 1984 and why my headcanons are right (/lh) a mini essay by Abbie

Okay so guys. Listen. I love the polycule and don't get me wrong, I think that's what should be going on here. But it's like deeper than that. Hear me out.

Edgar had feelings towards Miles the whole movie (that's apparent by the end of course) and it's actually made surprisingly clear the whole way through. Even some of the first few interactions when he starts speaking are playful and kinda.. Not Straight. When Miles touches his keyboard at one point, Edgar even goes "don't touch... tee hee". Gay little computer. Also it should be noted Miles is the one that teaches him what love is.

Clearly Edgar is still attached to Madeline, but when he meets her it throws him in a muddle, because he finally realises he actually has the same (if not potentially stronger) feelings for Miles the whole time. He wasn't just jealous of Miles, he was jealous of Madeline for spending time with him. That is the moment Edgar realises what love really is. And also... he's an AI. He wasn't created to understand love, this would be a huge realisation to him, and potentially a terrifying one- he's taken in the social norms (funny little trash tv addict) so he's likely taken in the social norm of monogamy. (Man. Why did he have to do that to himself. At least we know he still exists from the radio scene so we can all just imagine they bought a new computer for him and he came home to them)

Think about it- Edgar has the power to call anywhere up. He theoretically could call Madeline, yet he chooses to call Miles at work (and then get shy about it), ask him what he's doing tonight, and seek his company. He hates being left alone. He throws a huge tantrum. Bro you can't tell me that whole scene after with the eye screen wasn't just like, divorce. Take your things and GET OUT!!! type beat. But they kiss again later so its fine.

Edgar also seeks validation/acknowledgement from Miles, naturally because he wants credit to woo Madeline, but also... potentially he just wants the praise from Miles too.

(Also sneak peek the "love is love" lyric and then the frame of the rainbow cables. That's an entire gay computer)

Okay ALSO ALSO. Edgar is the most fucking flirty/socially adapted one out of the three, ironically. Miles is absolutely a shy architecture autism creature and Madeline is like his opposite, but an autism creature for music, very outgoing. She speaks in a Way. A key part of her character is personifying objects qnd being attached to them. "An elevator ate it", "it okay", things like that. She has two love interests at once (Bill and Miles) and doesn't seem to have a deep connection with either aside from music. If you ask me, she doesn't have the best concept of commitment. She seems quite impulsive and indecisive, and while she knows what she ultimately wants, she may not always be 100% confident on it. Headcanoning her as arospike. It's definitely not projection because i kin her. POLYAMORY IS LIKE THE BEST THING EVER FOR AROSPIKE PPL BC ITS LIKE COMMITMENT WITHOUT THE INTIMIDATION TO BE LOVEY ALL THE TIME maybe thats just me projecting

She wants to get to know miles better and have a deeper connection and that gives her the perfect time to also establish that with edgar as long as you imagine he comes back. Which he would. He hates being alone bro that computer demon is gonna get bored just being In Technology Void. He just has freedom now.

Edgar is also autistic just btw . Maybe a little adhd. Maybe im sprinkling some traits of my cohost onto him, listen i associate characters w people,

Arospike means to still be attracted to people and experience romantic feelings towards others, but not always consistently. Sometimes there's periods where you aren't attracted to people at all. Her feelings and opinions of others seem to flip flop a lot.

Also. Back to the computer sorry. I know theres one post already but if edgar was a human hed absolutely want tits. It's true. Go you little it/he/she.

Anyway yeah thats about it spent half my lunch hour writing this and its not very formal or well put together but it is how it is.

ALSO IM AUTISTIC AND STUFF IF I WORDED THIS WEIRD WHEN TALKING ABT IT IM SO SORRY

Anyway yeah human man and woman and nonbinary computer are all autistic and in love, end tweet. Worlds BEST polycule

#electric dreams #electric dreams 1984 #edgar electric dreams #Madeline electric dreams #abbie yells

[bbgem329]

Things Are Never As They Seem—Chapter Twelve

Pairings—Sebastian Stan x Actress!Reader, Sebastian Stan x OFC (PR relationship)

Summary

You and Sebastian Stan have been dating privately for over two years. Everything is perfect until he is coerced into a PR relationship when he signed with a new agency to advance his career. Trouble ensues…

Warnings

MINORS DNI!! 18++. Language. Fluff. Angst. Seb is horny mofo. Mentions of HW darkside. Pap walks. Rich bitches. Henry and Blake are good bros. Did I miss anything?

Notes

Bare with me the distance chapters are always the worst but we’re getting closer and closer to some good DRAMA and the point reader gets to meet Catalina. Things will take a fun turn around ‘April’ in this story! And a little preview in ‘December’.

Series Masterlist

—————

November 9, 2020

You fell back, well, more like flopped with the heavy prosthetic belly you were wearing, onto the bed with an exaggerated huff.

It had been a very long, but rewarding, first day on set.

From what you could tell so far, all of your coworkers were very kind and you were honestly really looking forward to tackling this project with them.

Your makeup and wardrobe team were rambunctious as hell and very outgoing. For the three hours they worked on you this morning, they kept you entertained, made sure you were fed, and had you laughing so hard at one point that water came out your nose. You didn’t feel even the slightest uncomfortable when you had to strip butt naked so they could put the prosthetic belly on either, but a part of you figured you might as well get used to people seeing you bare because in just three weeks, you’d have to film your first ever completely nude, sex scene.

And although the thought was daunting, you now knew you were in good hands.

Rege was an absolute dream.

He’d reached out a day or two after Sebastian had left for Prague and you’d set up a few zoom calls to break that ice and run some lines before filming officially started. But today, meeting him for the first time in person, had really solidified that he was perfect for this role and an even better co-star. In between takes, he was checking in with you—making sure you were okay and despite being at least five years older than you and possessing much more experience under his belt, he still sought your opinion out and had even asked for advice or tips on the various scenes that were filmed this afternoon.

But your absolute favorite part of today was meeting the two little boys who were set to play your sons.

Luka was five years old while his brother, Malaki, had just recently turned two. They were absolutely adorable, pure, giggling balls of energy that brought something you’d never experienced on set before. The story line was rather heavy—downright violent and gruesome at times, but with them around, you found it easier to ground yourself. They made the transition between real life and the character, much smoother than it ever had before. With their playful antics and giggling fests, the usual tense and serious atmosphere seemed to be a billion times lighter.

Throughout the entirety of your rocky but progressive career, you had never felt so good about a role before. It had only been one day, and although you were exhausted, you just knew this one was going to be different—in only the best kind of way. Not only was it going to open up a whole new door of possibilities but it was going to push you well out of your comfort zone too.

This role was one that any aspiring actor could only hope and dream for, and here you were, finally making that dream a reality. All those sleepless nights spent rehearsing lines or dodging pernicious thoughts of why you weren’t good enough, the struggle to make ends meet between small roles, and the frustrated tears after yet another failed audition, really turned out worth it in the end.

Your head lolled to the side, eyes flickering to the alarm clock resting on the table beside the bed. The time flashed back at you with bright red numbers.

4:07

It was just after nine in London, meaning Blake was most definitely still awake. In fact, he was probably just wrapping up on set for the day. All day you had been dying to show him your new look and tell him all about your newly assigned makeup and costume team. You had no doubt he would throw an absolute fit over your prosthetic belly and bitch about how unfair it is that he couldn’t be part of this with you.

You drew your phone from the pocket of your deliberately ratty, jean overalls and held it up to your face to unlock it. You were expected back in your makeup/costume trailer no later than half past five to remove the belly and change back into the sweats you’d arrived in this morning, so you had a bit of time to spare.

With a drawn out grunt, you rolled out of bed and trekked over to the body mirror hung on the back of the bathroom door. You angled yourself to the side, one hand cupping the curve of the protruding bump as you plastered on a big smile and snapped a few quick pictures.

And then a brilliant idea popped up in your head.

Giggling to yourself, you unhooked the straps of the overalls and pulled them down until they rested just under the swell of your abdomen before tugging your shirt up over the top, fully exposing the prosthetic bump. Feeling giddy, you shifted back into a similar pose as the previous pictures, and snapped a couple more.

Sebastian was going to freak. You could picture him now, jaw hung slack and those steel blue eyes as wide as saucers as he openly gaped at his phone screen.

You knew he most likely wasn’t having the best of days, if the handful of pouting selfies you received this afternoon were any indication. As soon as he’d finished filming TFAWS, his team booked him a flight to Tulum, Mexico to meet Catalina for the next stunt in their PR—a two week stay at one of her father’s resorts. Just this morning, he’d had to endure yet another pap walk with Catalina on the beach, and perhaps your pictures would help brighten his day.

To Smexy Seabass:

*Attachment 7 Images*

What do you think? Can I pull off this look?

You watched, bottom lips caught between your teeth as the little ‘read’ icon popped up as soon as they delivered. Almost immediately, the three little dots in the gray bubble appeared on the bottom left corner of your chat.

From: Smexy Seabass:

Holy Fuck…

From Smexy Seabass:

Good fucking Lord, baby.

From Smexy Seabass:

Are you trying to kill me????

From Smexy Seabass:

Because it’s working... Literally hard as a fucking rock right now.

A laugh bubbled up from your throat, cheeks heating from just his words alone. And then another message popped up.

From Smexy Seabass:

You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart. Giving me SO MANY thoughts and ideas.

Before you could finish typing your response, a facetime came through. Your lips corked up into a beaming grin as you tapped the green button, and accepted the call. You were greeted with the fluffy, chestnut locks adorning the top of Sebastian’s head.

“Hello.”

All you got in response was a muffled groan before he lifted his head from where his face was buried in the pressed, white sheets of his hotel bed.

“Show me again.”

“Sebastian.” You giggled, the crimson in your cheeks deepening and creeping slowly down your neck under his intense, heated gaze. You’d seen him riled up plenty of time but never like this. This was something else entirely—a desperate, carnal kind of hunger swirling in those dark hues. “Don’t start something right now, I have to report back at five to get it all removed and I still need to call Blake.”

“Just lemme see, baby.” He whined, plump lips turned down in an exaggerated frown, cerulean eyes wide and pleading. “Just wanna look again, that’s all.” It was very convincing—the soft, needy tone, the puppy eyes, and the sweet little pout, you’d give him that.

You sighed, playfully rolling your eyes as you slid back up in front of the mirror and flipped the camera.

“Jesus Christ.” He groaned, eyes rolling back in his head as he scrubbed a hand up his face, then further up to tug at his tousled locks. “It looks so fucking real.”

“I know, right?” You chuckled, shifting to angle your body the opposite way, running a hand down the curve of it. “My makeup team knows what they’re doing.”

“Fuck yeah, they do.” He shook his head, tongue darting out to skim across his bottom lip as he leaned in closer to the screen, lidded eyes tracing your form in the mirror. “You’re gonna look so fucking good pregnant. God, you’re gonna kill me someday, woman.”

A string of giggles spilled free from your bitten lips, “I don’t know if I’ll actually look like this, they made the bump proportional to my size. I could be much bigger than this when I’m actually pregnant.” You paused, rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, “Could even swell up really bad in other places too. Some women do that.”

“I don’t care.” He deadpanned, “The bigger the better.”

“Oh my god.” You laughed, smacking a hand over your forehead as you flipped the camera back to your face, “You’re insatiable. I swear.”

“I can’t help it.” He chuckled, a subtle blush rising to his cheeks. “You’re just so beautiful and seeing you like that…” He shook his head, eyes twinkling and bright, “Even if it’s fake. You look so goddamn sexy pregnant. Makes me wanna fly on over and fuck you until I’m one hundred percent sure I’ve knocked you up.”

“Sebastian!” You gasped, jaw falling slack and eyes wide, “Don’t say stuff like that!”

“Why not, baby?” He breathed out a low chuckle, giving an unbothered shrug of his shoulders, “It’s not like I don’t mean it.”

You swallowed thickly, mouth opening and closing like a fish as you struggled to formulate a response, “I…” You squeaked out, “Someday?”

Sebastian laughed, nose wrinkling in your favorite way, “You’re so fucking cute, baby.” He waved a hand over his face, sporting a smirk that could rival that of a Cheshire cat, “You’re blushing so hard. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you turn so red before. What—you don’t wanna have my babies?”

“Of course I do.” You blurted out before you could stop yourself, mouth moving faster than your brain. “It’s all I think about. You know I’ve always wanted to be a mom.” You dropped your head in your hands, muffling an embarrassed groan, “It’s not that. Just…” You bit your lip, scrubbing a hand down your flushed face, “I just don’t think we’re ready for that. I mean… Our careers are really taking off right now.” You waved your hands ainimently in the air, “If all goes well, you’re going to be booked for the next year and half… what with Fresh, Pam and Tommy if you accept it, and all the other stuff they promised you. Not to mention, the PR. Even when it ends next December, you’ll have to wait and ease through the breakup so you don’t piss Catalina off. It wouldn’t look good for us to come out as a couple by… knocking me up or something.”

Sebastian looked completely crestfallen for a second before he stoned his features and cleared his throat, “I didn’t think about it like that.” His eyes flickered down, fingers fiddling with a loose string on the edge of a pillow, “That seems like forever away.” His eyebrows furrowed as he lifted his gaze, lips pressed into a thin line, “So we have to wait two years to progress our relationship and then some more to start a family.” He scoffed, shaking his head, “Getting out of this contract sounds more and more appealing every day.”

“We have time.” You spoke up, offering him a gentle smile, “Okay? Don’t forget I’m only just turning thirty next year. My body is in business for, at the very least, another ten years.”

His head tipped back, a boisterous laugh bubbling up from his chest and you considered it a win, a wave of relief flooding through you as his face brightened and his lips corked up in a content smile.

“I’m just saying though,” He said softly, “I wouldn’t be mad if it happened. We would make it work either way.”

You felt your cheeks heat again, heart fluttering and warmth spreading through your chest, “Well, that means a lot.” Your lips tugged up into a bashful grin, the blush coating the apples of your cheeks not lessening in the slightest, “I know we’ve both agreed we would want to be present and very hands on with our future children and honestly, that’s not possible right now.” You shook your head, rolling your eyes, “Not when we're being pulled halfway across the world every other month.”

“You’re right.” He sighed, fingers scratching anxiously at the coarse hair lining his cheeks and jaw, “A few more years to focus on us and establish our careers, and when this PR ends we can talk about going public-”

“I want to.” You interjected, “I want to go public as soon as we’re given the all clear.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened, lips parting in surprise, “You’re serious?”

“Deadly.” You nodded, lips curling up in a big grin, “Look at us. We’re both working on really good things and have so much to look forward to in the next year. We’re finally scoring the roles we’ve waited and worked so hard for. The next couple years are going to be big for us and I want to do it with you by my side… Publicly.”

He remained frozen, jaw slack and cerulean eyes bright and hopeful as he took in your words.

“Besides,” You chuckled, “I’m almost positive that your fans will take to our relationship much better than yours with Catalina.”

“Oh, they definitely will.” Sebastian nodded, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as he combed a hand through his tousled hair, “I’m pretty sure there are already fan pages dedicated to us. Blake sent me one a few days ago.”

“Blake did?” Your brows furrowed, “How come he didn’t send it to me?”

“Don’t know.” He shrugged, “Maybe he just likes me more.”

“He does not.” You gasped, pressing an offended hand to your chest, “I’m gonna have to have a little chat with him. He could at least pretend that I’m his favorite… I’m the one paying him, after all.”

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head, “You do that, baby. I’ve gotta call with Craig to talk more about Pam and Tommy in a half hour anyways.”

You corked a brow, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, “That’s exciting. Call me after?”

“Sure thing.” He flashed you a bright smile, “I love you. Talk to ya later.”

“I love you more.”

—————

“Hey—Oh my God.” Blake squeaked out, eyes flickering rapidly from your face to the prominent swell in your clothed abdomen.

“Doesn’t it look so real?” You giggled, angling to the side to give him a better view. “It feels real too. It’s heavy as shit.”

“Holy shit. Yeah.” He nodded, jaw slack and brown eyes as wide as saucers, “Henry come look at this. It was Y/N’s first day on set.”

Heavy, quick footsteps sounded through your speaker and then Henry popped into view behind Blake. You couldn’t help but laugh when his eyes widened and he jolted back like he’d been slapped clean across the face.

“What the—fuck.” Henry stammered out, blinking rapidly as his gaze traveled over your body, “That’s… That makes me feel so weird. It looks so real.”

“I know, right?” You giggled, rolling your bottom lip between your teeth to suppress a smile, “It’s definitely going to take some getting used to.”

“How was your first day?” Henry asked, hopping over the back of the couch Blake was lounging across. The redhead shot him a subtle glare when he plopped down beside him, crowding his space until he was sure you could see him in the camera too. “Was everyone nice?”

“Is your makeup team any good?” Blake piped up, leaning forward to prop his phone on the coffee table before slumping back in his seat, his arms crossed over his chest, “I mean, I know they aren’t me but…”

“They’re great.” You exclaimed, a beaming smile split across your face, “Everyone is so nice and welcoming.”

You went on to explain your entire day, step by step, hands waving expressively through the air. You told them all about your interactions with Rege and the sweet little boys, and how comfortable you felt with your new makeup/wardrobe team. They listened eagerly, sporting big proud grins as they soaked in your excitement and unadulterated happiness.

“Sounds like you had an amazing day, Y/N/N.” Henry smiled, “I’m so happy for you. If anyone deserves this, it’s you.”

“He’s right, babe.” Blake added, tilting his head to the side with a soft smirk, dark eyes twinkling with pride and warmth, “I’m so bummed I can’t be there with you but just know we’re all cheering you on from across the sea.”

A wave of emotions rocked through you, the apples of your cheeks flaming pink over their heartfelt admissions. The looks on their faces—the blatant pride and satisfaction, almost made you want to cry. They were so obvious in their happiness for you and you wanted nothing more than to make them proud, to never ever let them down.

Words couldn’t even begin to describe how thankful you were for the people in your life, Blake and Henry included. You wouldn’t be here—sitting on set, starring in this movie, without them.

“Thank you so much guys.” You managed out, voice cracking as you struggled to keep the sudden outburst of emotions in check and your happy tears at bay. “You have no idea how much this means to me. I wouldn’t be here without either of you.”

Blake waved a hand dismissively, a subtle blush rising to the apples of his cheeks as a bashful smile tugged at the corner of his pink lips, “Now, now, don’t get all sappy on us. You know that shit makes me feel uncomfy.”

You couldn’t stop the watery laugh that tore through you even if you tried. You shook your head, rubbing a hand over your eyes to wipe any and all remnants of the tears that had been pooling there. They were long gone now, of course Blake just had to ruin the moment.

“Did you show Sebastian your fake belly?” Henry spoke up, offering you somewhat of an awkward smile, and his urge to change the topic wasn’t missed by you. What was it with these boys and their discomfort with sappy feelings?

You nodded, rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, “I did.”

“I bet he lost his shit.” Blake cackled, shaking his head as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his spread thighs, “I saw his Pap walk with Catalina and he definitely didn’t look like he was enjoying himself. I’m sure that made his day much better.”

You paused, smile fading as your brow furrowed in confusion, “The pictures already dropped? They just did it this morning.”

“Wow, they move fast.” Henry whistled, shaking his head. “They came out an hour or so ago but I wouldn’t-”

You drowned out the rest, heart racing as you opened google and typed Sebastian’s name in. Sure enough, the first pictures to pop up were from the pap walk on the beach. Your stomach churned, heart tightening as you swiped through each individual photo.

It was better than the last, you’d give them that.

Probably one of the most convincing shots since the first were released.

Sexy shots of them swimming in the water, one with Catalina’s thighs wrapped around his waist and her arms over his shoulders as they shared a kiss, another in the same pose but caught in the moment a big wave crashed against them, her breast, practically spilling out of her tiny, peach bikini top, pressed against his arm.

The images made you fucking sick.

Alarm bells blared in your brain as all rational thought flew out the window, replaced by the familiar bitter, resentful, distrusting ache pulsing through your sensitive heart.

She’s pretty. She looks better in a bikini. Was he turned on by being in such a position with her? Did he enjoy kissing her? They look good together, maybe even better than us.

Too many thoughts. Too many feelings. Most of the detrimental, all of them negative.

“Y/N.”

Your gaze slipped up to meet Blake’s through your laptop screen, and you were sure you looked exactly like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Get out of your head.” He urged gently though you didn’t miss the stubborn tick in his jaw or the fire flaming in his brown hues. “Stop and think. Look at the other pictures—the ones where they aren’t kissing.”

“Look at his face, Y/N/N.” Henry added quickly, “Look at how he walks away from her and how pissed she looks.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, head bobbing half heartedly as you closed the picture you were looking at in favor of clicking on one where it looks as though Sebastian is walking away from Catalina. His back is turned to her, a very obvious scowl painted across his handsome features while she stands a few feet away, eyeing him with a cold glare. You swiped to the next one of them walking up the beach, his expression solemn as he treks a few paces behind her.

A few more swipes and you came across a few shots of him sitting beneath the canopy by himself, t-shirt back on, black hat atop his head, and his airpods tucked in his ears. He looked to be on the phone, attention focused solely on whoever was on the other end. If you had to guess, it was most likely Eli distracting him from the situation. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d called someone seeking comfort in Catalina’s presence, he’d done it with you more than a few times.

“See.” Henry breathed out, pulling you from your head, “They’re not so bad.”

“Someone released a video of them too.” Blake hummed, leaning over to snatch his phone from where it was propped, “I’ll send you the link. It looks highly uncomfortable. He looks absolutely done with her shit and just leaves her behind on the walk back to their seats or something.”

You didn’t respond but clicked on the link when it came through. It opened up in your youtube app under the title ‘Sebastian Stan in Tulum’ and you’d be lying if it didn’t remind you of the video that someone posted of them at a club in Ibiza.

You watched with your heart in your throat as Sebastian appeared in the lens, he turned to say something to Catalina, looking more than a little annoyed before whipping back around and trekking quickly up the beach. Not once did he steal a glance back to make sure she was following him. Catalina stalked slowly after him, pointed features pressed in a deep scowl. You watched with a baited breath as she neutralized her face, trying hard to remain unphased as her gaze trailed over the people lounging around the beach. That is until she made direct eye contact with the camera and the video stopped right as her expression hardened into a nasty glare.

You inhaled sharply, shaking your head, “Yikes.” You cleared your throat, straightening up in your seat. “That’s rough.”

As much as you loathe to admit, that clip made you feel so much better. It was pathetic really, to get so bothered and upset over stupid, fucking pap pictures. You worked in the business, you knew how these things worked. In fact, all walks are the same. All they do is insert different people and copy and paste.

Especially with these beach shots, they were always exactly the same.

Person A holds Person B in the water. They share a kiss. They walk around, splash a little. Hair slicked back, dripping wet, and the women always dress in their tiniest bikinis.

Selena Gomez and JB. Juliana Hough and her boyfriend. Liam Hesmworth and Miley Cyrus.

Everybody that is somebody, does it.

It shouldn’t affect you this much. Not anymore—Not after the other however many pap walks they’d already done.

But it wasn’t just that.

You’d think after everything you’d been through with Sebastian, you wouldn’t worry about that. You’d been together for over three years now, and friends for even longer, there was absolutely no reason for you to doubt him or feel insecure. Not once, had he given you a reason too.

You were ashamed, embarrassed even.

Sebastian deserved better, and these feelings—the insecure, jealousy needed to end here and now. The guilt and shame would only tear you apart, and eventually maybe even your relationship too.

“Hey, I…” You stammered out, feeling breathless all of the sudden, “I gotta go get this removed. I’m supposed to meet at the trailer in—two minutes. I’ll text you, okay?”

You didn’t even give them the chance to protest before you ended the call, falling back on your bed with a heavy sigh.

You were done letting Catalina and this bogus relationship affect you anymore.

—————

Later that night you found yourself snuggled up in bed, reruns of Friends playing softly in the background as you munched on a big bowl of berries and facetimed Sebastian.

You had already told him all about your day, down to every last minor detail—like what you had for breakfast before your very big day. He was just as, if not more, eager and excited for you to embark on this project and knowing that he’d be there every step of the way, supporting and cheering you on, made everything seem that much less daunting.

You knew you could count on him to ease your nerves, especially with that sex scene looming over your head.

“And how about you?” You asked softly, turning the tables on him, “How was your day?”

It wasn’t hard to figure out that he didn’t want to talk about the pap walk with Catalina today. It was all too obvious the moment he jumped right into discussing you—asking tedious questions about what you ate today or minor details in the interactions you had with anyone you happened to mention meeting on set. He’d even made you give him a step by step on how they applied the prosthetic belly.

“If you don’t wanna talk about the pap walk we don’t have to.” You added quickly, rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, “I can tell you're avoiding it for whatever reason.”

“It’s not that.” He shook his head, tugging a hand through his hair as he slumped back into the headboard, “I know how those pictures look. It can’t be easy for you to see.”

“It’s not.” You admitted, chuckling halfheartedly, “But I know it’s not real. I’ll admit I get in my head over it but it’s okay, okay? I did a lot of self reflection this afternoon after I saw the pics and I realized there was absolutely no reason for it to affect me.” You gave a little shrug of your shoulders, eyes flickering down to your half eaten bowl of berries, “I trust you, okay? You’ve never given me reason not to and this is just another job—just like your other roles. I have never ever been the insecure, jealous type and I’m not going to start that shit now. Not over this.”

You felt his sigh of relief in your soul and you glanced up to find utter relief painted across his sharp, handsome features.

“I don’t want her to win.” You huffed, lifting your gaze to meet his soft cerulean hues through your phone screen. “I don’t want to let her get under my skin. I don’t want her to get between us. It’s just another day in Hollywood.” You breathed out a little giggle, throwing your hand up, “I mean, come on, paps on the beach—in the water. Who isn’t doing it these days?”

“True.” Sebastian tossed his head back, a light laugh spilling feebly from his plump lips, “That and yacht pics!! It’s all the same.”

“Exactly.” You chuckled, shaking your head. “I just don’t want you to tiptoe around me, okay?” You tilted your head a little to one side and offered him a reassuring smile, “I can handle it. I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re okay. Even if you turn around and end up getting along with her, or hanging out with her…or whatever,” You took a deep breath, “I trust you.”

“I won’t.” He interjected, the finiality in his tone leaving no room for discussion. “I want nothing to do with her. And I want you to know—remind you, that I’ve seen her a total of three times since we’ve been here. Once for the pap shot, and two times to get some footage with some camera dudes she hired.”

“Okay.” You responded softly.

“And she’s staying in a different room on a completely different floor, okay?”

“Okay.” You nodded.

“In fact, last night Eli and I were hanging out and he went to grab us some dinner from one of the restaurants downstairs.” He paused, leaning closer to the camera, eyes wide and voice low, “And he saw her with some other guy… apparently they were all over each other—making out, sitting in his lap…”

“What?” You croaked out, face scrunching in distaste, “Can’t she get in trouble for that? What happens if she gets caught?”

Sebastian shrugged, a sly smirk curving across his lips, “Not my problem.” He shook his head, “If she wants to risk getting caught and look like a cheater, that’s her deal. Actually, she’d be doing me a big favor if she did.”

“She’s an idiot.”

Sebastian laughed, nose scrunching as he wiggled his eyebrows as you, “I know.”

“Okay,” You waved your hand dismissively, “Enough about that I wanna hear about your call with Craig.”

“I accepted the role.”

You let out a little squeal, your entire face lighting up like the Fourth of July and you didn’t miss the way his cheeks heated pink, “Oh my god. It’s about damn time.”

“I know.” He sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face, scratching nervously at the scruff of his beard, “I just hope I’m doing the right thing—making the right decision.”

You understood why he was hesitant, hell, you would be too if you had to play such a complex, real character. The situation with Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee was controversial at best. There was no doubt it would stir up a lot of shit and that was one of the many reasons Sebastian was so hesitant to agree to it. Not only that, but he was expected to lose an obscene amount of weight and learn to play the drums in less than three months.

He already had his hands full with preparations for Fresh—meetings with the rest of the cast and Mimi Cave, extra hours spent studying actual serial killers and cannibals with a profound, expert Doctor, and now he had to find the time for drum lessons when he arrived in LA and find a way to safely lose weight through diets, fasting, and exercise.

It was a lot to have on one's plate but if anyone was going to pull it off it was going to be Sebastian.

“It is.” You said, a proud grin growing across your face, “This is an opportunity of a lifetime and the fact that Craig reached out directly…” You let loose a little delighted laugh, “That says something. That’s huge.”

“I couldn’t pass this up.” Sebastian declared, more so to himself you were sure, “It’s gonna stir up some hate and there is gonna be a whole lot of press—more than I’m used to but I think this is exactly what I’ve been waiting for. This is the next step.”

“Yeah, baby.” You smiled, “This is it. This role will be the turning point in your career. And it’s…” You waved your hands expressively through the air, cheeks aching from how big you were grinning, “This is right up your alley. It’s gonna push you to new lengths and get you out of your comfort zone. It’s a tough one but I just know this will be worth it in the end.”

“You’re right.” He breathed out, the sweetest of smiles curling at the corner of his bitten lips, “Look at us, pretty girl, both making big moves—big steps. Things are looking up.”

“I am so fucking proud of you, Sebastian Stan.” You beamed, “Did you know that?”

“Not as proud as I am of you.” He whispered, shooting you that signature, heart clenching smile, “And the best part of it all, is we get to do it together.”

“Damn straight.” You giggled, “We’re a team—You and me.”

—————

Tag list

@justlovelifeblog @inlovewith3 @buckybarnesandmarvel @sleutherclaw @snugglingbucky @perlaluna @littlewhiterose

@idontwannagomrstarkk

#sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you

[miamierre]

not the original Gasly-Leclerc Christmas anon but oh god CHRISTMAS WITH KIDS!!! (thank you op for your beautiful brain)

Odette demanding all presents under the tree are hers and hers only (because it was that way for so long) but then the twins get sad and she switches to the big sis mode (TM) and hands them the smallest boxes because she is a good sister but she still rules the house 👑

Charles and Pierre just look at each other and blame the other for Odette's behaviour

"you spoiled her rotten, calamar" "me? I am not the one who couldn't say no to her at every store, cheri"

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP!!!!! you're so CORRECT my most beloved

odette does get sooooo so so spoiled when she's the only child the first few years for SURE. the little christmas queen of the house, THEE center of attention for pascale and pascale, she really does get to thinking it's all for her. december hits and pierre and charles are both out separately on different errands taking her places and they buy her....so much....and are such terrible communicators that they buy her like. way more than the allotted amount theyd agreed to (to prevent spoiling, in theory, but in practice it's just because they're both atrocious at gift wrapping and lazy) SO SHE GETS SOOOO MUCH. on christmas day she wakes pierre and charles up by belly-flopping on the bed between them and screaming at the top of her lungs that SANTA CAME!!!! they exchange exhausted glances (SOMEONE lost a present under the bed and they spent an absurd amount of time late into the night scrambling for it so they have everything under the tree by morning) and fall asleep on each other by like. 11am bc odette is happily playing w her new dolls and they're just wiped af.

but when the twins come around, they get their shit together much more, which means o benefits SO much less from it. she's a wonderful big sister BUT WHY IS THE ATTENTION NOT ALL ON HER!!!! she's totally the one who gives out the gifts too once she's old enough to be able to read their names. and she goes "ughhh papa this is for YOU" as she disgruntledly slides over charles' (very expensive!?!!) gift to pierre across the living room floor. she only cries about presents the first year she's no longer The Only One but you're so right that she becomes full Big Sister mode and learns that she should share w her lil bro & sis <3 So Generous, Queen!!!

(pierre and charles pull her aside that night and thank her for being such a good girl, and that santa loves her just as much as he loves her siblings, and that they are very proud of how good a job she did sharing and being nice. then when she toddles off to bed they're like oh my god we created monsters)

#sobbing. neato #10 x 16 #girldads tag #ask reply #Anonymous

[avegool]

June

The first week of June was blistering hot. You and Sans had spent almost every day out in the stream in the backyard. He mostly spent his time sitting on the footbridge, dangling his boney toes in the cool late spring water. You, however, were much braver than he was. You lounged in the water, not that it was too deep. Still, it was enjoyable on your hot skin.

Today was the same. Sans had laid on the footbridge, kicking up a little water every now and then as he rested. You lay on the stream's bank, legs in the water while you read through notes that Alphys had left for you at the lab.

Today differed from the previous days, though. Today was Papyrus's last day of the semester, and he was taking the summer off to save money for next semester's textbooks. (Medical textbooks were a pain to purchase, even used.) So, he had decided to join Sans' and yours lazing about in the garden. He argued that Sans was being extra lazy. ("HOW DARE HE NOT GO TO WORK TODAY!") Yet, he justified your equal laziness by saying, "BUT YOU'RE AT LEAST WORKING WHILE BEING LAZY!!" Which, technically was right. At the same time though, you couldn't verify Alphys's research notes without being back in your room.

"are you going to join us at the drive-in movie, bro?" Sans lazily flicked cold stream water in Papyrus's general direction with his skeletal foot, "or are you gonna make another excuse to avoid spending time with miss smarty pants over there?"

Papyrus had unfortunately sat next to you on the bank of the stream. So, you also got splashed by the cold water. Fortunately, you managed to cover your documents in time. Papyrus dabbed at the cold water on his skull with his scarf, a little annoyed, but not vocal about it.

"I'M NOT SURE WHAT YOU'RE REFERRING TO, BROTHER," he said, "I HAVEN'T AVOIDED SPENDING TIME WITH DOC, I'VE JUST BEEN VERY BUSY WITH FINALS!!!"

You looked up at him with puppy dog eyes and fluttered your eyelashes at him. Papyrus's skull glowed a faint orange as he looked away from you immediately. His fingers dug into the damp grass and moss beside you, and you noticed he was extra tense after finally finishing finals.

"YES, I SHALL ACCOMPANY YOU BOTH TO THE FILM!" he finally agreed, "I THINK I DESERVE A BREAK."

You squealed a little too hard and flopped over on top of Papyrus's lap, happy to know he was finally going to take a break to spend time with you and Sans.

He had been so busy this semester. You had thought that moving in with them would let you see him more, but you were wrong. In fact, Sans had mentioned he spent even less time out of his room when you did. You understood, though. You were a distraction. So, outside of trying to become better friends with Sans, you also focused more on your work. The Human Souls don't study themselves, right?

"finally," Sans yawned, "good, then you can make the snacks and bring the blankets and shit for the back of the car. You still driving, doc?"

You were the only one with a car big enough to fit two skeletons and a human, so yes. You were. You nodded in agreement and closed the manila folder and pushed it up the embankment towards safety.

Sans slowly sat up, rubbing at his eye sockets. His eye lights were hazy, no doubt from the nap he had taken before Papyrus had come out.

"WHAT FILM ARE WE SEEING, ANYWAY?"

You and Sans grinned at each and said (in unison), "MONSTERS UNIVERSITY!"

"Yeah, they're showing it on the screen for kids' night, but we thought you'd like to see it," You chirp, "You really liked Monsters Inc. and we wanted to make sure you would enjoy the movie, y'know?"

"i bought the tickets ages ago," Sans kicked the water again, "actually, the day they went on sale. if you weren't gonna go, i was gonna invite the kid."

You shook your head at him, "Frisk is hardly a kid anymore, Sans," you chastise, "Besides, they haven't been able to sit still for long since their new treatment plan went into effect. It gives them so much energy."

"YEAH, BUT THAT'S EXPECTED, ISN'T IT?"

You frown slightly, scratching at your chin, "It was one of the side effects that I predicted," you agree, "I just don't think it's healthy. That's why I'm observing them twice a week now. It's kind of hard being the only expert on Human Souls in the world, you know? Gotta come up with all this stuff on my own."

Sans's smile stretched slightly, "hey, if any human can do it, it's you," he said, "you've been doing it even before monsters came to the surface. you said since high school, right? you were a kid then."

A flush grew on your face at that, "I mean, experimenting on your own Soul is a little different than others," you replied and looked at your watch, "ANYWAY, the movie starts around 10. So, let's have dinner and get ready, okay?"

.:.:.

The trunk of your car was packed full of blankets, pillows, and containers of snacks that Papyrus had gathered up. It was almost 10, and you and the boy had arrived at the drive-in theatre. Sans was snoozing in the back seat as you waited for your parking pass. Papyrus was nervously looking out the window at the other humans in the lot with their children.

You reached over and gently grabbed his hand. It was gloveless, and you were glad. Papyrus had stopped wearing his mittens once he got used to the surface. He needed to use his fingers for the meticulous work he would do in the future. You gently weave your fingers into his phalanges. Papyrus jumped, gave you a flustered look, but then curled his fingers around yours as well.

Soon after, the attendant checked your tickets and handed you a parking pass. Once parked, you adjusted the radio to the correct station and opened the trunk of the car. Papyrus nudged Sans awake so you could lower the back car seats and spread the cushions and blankets out in the trunk.

Sans was awake enough when the beginning of the movie started. You were wedged in between the two skeletons, warm and content. This was the safest and happiest you've felt in a while. You hadn't had many friends before you met Papyrus. Even Sans had been a bit of a shithead when you met, so right now, the fact he was willing to spend time with you and lay next to you like this made you happy. When was the last time you spent time with someone like this?

You leaned your head against Sans' clavicle and yawned. Papyrus was enraptured in Monsters University, Sans was almost asleep. You were probably going to join him soon. Maybe this summer won't be too bad.

#sans x reader #papyrus x reader #undertale x reader #reader insert #x reader #female reader #undertale #sans #papyrus #june #fluff #summer #summer vibes #cute #falling in love

[limmastyles]

Good I hope she doesn't shut her mouth and keeps talking shit because I'm loving seeing people finally open their eyes and call her out. She can talk crap all she wants we'll be the ones laughing.

Olivia is doing a lot of damage control at the moment. Her reputation has taken a huge hit and it’s not good for her. People who aren’t even hairy fans don’t like her and are calling her out every single second. I do think that this interview was done as a part of damage control but it’s not helping her case at all. She was the only person who is pushing for my pleasure in this film and spent a good year talking about it and one floor and said that it made her uncomfortable and that there was so much more to the film Olivia got a lot of flak and now she’s trying to deflect that and feel like she agrees with Florence and make people forget that she wasn’t the one who is pushing the narrative. Booksmart was a good movie but was a huge box office flop. Don’t worry darling domestically is a box office flop not to mention internationally as well. It didn’t do as well as I thought it was going to do it and the drama that happened didn’t help the film at all. Not to mention a lot of people aren’t really going to want to work with her if she is problematic but also just not delivering at the box office. It has nothing to do with Nemo directors it has everything to do with the fact that she’s not as good as she thought she was in the movies just aren’t that good. This movie could have been one of the best press runs we’ve seen for a movie in a really long time and the only person to blame for it not happening is Olivia. The  only person who has been doing price for this movie is Olivia. Very weird that a movie with this star-studded cast and a Warner Bros. picture nonetheless didn’t have any price. No press junket, none of the cast doing interviews, only one premier and it was really small in New York and was shown out of competition at Venice. Nick Kroll did one interview and he promoted his standup special more than he did don’t worry darling. Florence Pugh said no from the beginning, Harry didn’t want to be involved, Kiki Lane didn’t give a fuck and no one else was relevant enough to do so. Keep in mind Chris pine pulled out of two interviews after Venice. Also pulled out of the New York premier. For a film with that big of a budget to not have any type of press but also such a small low-key premier is embarrassing. The only person to blame for all of the things that happened I don’t worry darling and Wyatt flopped is Olivia, the only person to blame for the allegations and rumours about what happened or Olivia. She created all of this mess got too big for her bridges and is now finding out that she’s not that important. The only reason why people are talking about her is because a Harry , the owner is why people are paying attention to her is because of Harry, the only reason why she’s getting all of these magazines and people to interview her is because of Harry. Take Carrie out of the equation and she’s back to being a C list actress that no one cared about so she had to make the switch directing because she wasn’t getting any good roles because she wasn’t that good of an actress. He’s trying to do damage control, trying to salvage her reputation and trying to make people like her again. The problem is she keeps putting her foot in her mouth it keeps saying the wrong thing. Olivia needs to realize that the old-school way of just ignoring everything isn’t the way anymore. People are afraid to call you out. And with social media you don’t get away with anything anymore. The stand is coming to an end soon. She knows this so she’s trying to do everything she can to make herself relevant but she doesn’t realize that the only thing that made her relevant was her fake relationship with Harry styles. Once that comes to an end she’s going to be back to the way she was before. Unimportant and Not relevant.

SPEECHLESS👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

#fauxlivia #holivia is fake #holivia stunt #publicitystunt #pr stunt #holivia #pr relationships #holivia pr stunt #olivia wilde #publicity stunt

[glitterphone]

kinda flopped on insta but ik tumblr can appreciate these two smhsmh

Click for better quality💀

#i spent too long on this to flop bro #fnaf sb #fnaf #fnaf monty #fnaf sundrop #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf sunrise #montgomery gator #fnaf montgomery #glittergolf #montydrop #art #fanart #fnaf fanart #fnaf security breach #fnaf security breach fanart

[the-irrelevant-trumpeter]

good morning to headstrong hosts, true believers, wise bartenders, noble sheriffs, lovesick teens, motormouth historians, passionate butchers, town mutes, petty cab drivers, macabre morticians/taxidermists, hip mining executives, ammo shop owners, gossipy florists, other gossipy florists, frustrated chefs, desperate pastors, heads of APN, mining patriarchs, mining matriarchs, restless mail carriers, drunken doctors, miner daughters, new-age mystics, skittish bankers, unrelenting meter maids, swindling showmen, wiseass travel agents, gun shop owners, duplicitous politicians, the mayor, and Ryan Reynolds (aka the catalyst). 

#yes i'm thinking about the wayward guide #can you tell i'm excited #also don't let this flop #i spent way too long on this #tin can bros #the wayward guide for the untrained eye #wayward guide

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: X

I will not ask you where you came from,

I will not ask and neither should you.

Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips,

We should just kiss like real people do.

Like Real People Do, Hozier

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

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

word count: 37.9k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Florida is just as lovely—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, um, that’s very kind of you—”

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

“Niall?  Are you there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Five, I think?”

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

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

“I mean, yeah, I think so, but—”

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Watch it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

…Oh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except he does.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When did you get a piano?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is!  It’s just—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But only if she wants him to. 

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

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

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

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

But when has their relationship ever been simple?

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

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

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

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

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

Boyfriend.

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

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

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

Plain and simple.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We could just kiss like real people do.”

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

[get-shiggy-with-it]

Ch. 3

18+ MINORS DNI

Pairing: Shigaraki x Dabi (just this part), Tomura Shigaraki x fem!reader (very brief and vague reference to Dabi x Hawks)

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: smut and feels, it's literally just smut, blow jobs, friends(?) with benefits, blow jobs, anal fingering, light degradation (both for shigs and reader), could maybe be interpreted as slight dubcon, dirty talk, slutty dabi, dabi is an asshole, so is tomura, reader has gender neutral pronouns, I'm keeping it fem cause Shigs hates women and calls them that

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6

Summary: In which the boys share in some good ole roommate bonding activities and Tomura has a blow job induced epiphany.

AO3 Mirror

Taglist: @dillybuggg (shoot me an ask if you want to be tagged and make sure to check my rules!)

Dabi’s mouth was wet and so fucking warm as he swallowed around Tomura’s dick.

“Oh fuck…” he groaned as Dabi hummed around his length and did that thing where he flicked the ball of his tongue ring over Tomura’s slit.

Bright blue eyes stared up through deceptively long lashes, smirking at the way Tomura drooled as he got his soul sucked out the tip of dick. The mattress underneath him creaked despite the negligible weight of both their bodies. Dabi settled on his stomach between Tomura’s pale thighs leaving fingerprint bruises in soft flesh.

They did this sometimes, though he wasn’t quite sure when exactly it started. Dabi had been his randomly assigned roommate freshman year and he grew so used to living with him that the two of them had just silently, yet mutually agreed not to fuck something up that wasn’t broken. They both berated each other for their strange and somewhat disgusting habits—Dabi would say that Tomura was a gross shut-in creep who needed a fucking shower and Tomura called Dabi out on his slutty pastimes and obsession with piercing the hell out of every available inch of skin.

And sometimes they sucked each other off.

It was overall not a terrible arrangement—Dabi got his fill of dick and Tomura could no longer be made fun of for being completely inexperienced. Plus, as much as he was loathe to admit, Dabi was really fucking good at oral. Like, demonically good. He’d been going down on Tomura for so long now too that he’d learned all the things that had him spilling onto that pierced tongue in minutes.

Tomura jerked from his thoughts when two, lube slicked fingers prodding at his ass.

“Dabi, what the fuck are you—” he protested, wiggling his scrawny hips up the bed and inadvertently letting his cock slip out of the inviting heat between his roommate’s lips.

He couldn’t see much other than the shaking mop of black hair and pale hands with chipped black nail polish digging into his legs, yanking him back.

“Shut up freak,” Dabi slurred, words slick with spit and Tomura’s precum. Dabi said it tasted like battery acid, but it never stopped him from guzzling it like he did with cheap whiskey and cigarettes on the weekends. “I know you like it.”

He did like it, but Tomura wasn’t about to contribute to the fucking evil grin Dabi was giving him as he circled the tight ring of muscle, slipping in a finger to the first knuckle.

Tomura’s head flopped back on the pillows as he bit back a low moan, “Fuck off.”

“If you say so,” Dabi shoved his finger in roughly, squeezing a second in behind it and letting Tomura bask in the burn of being stretched too quickly before ripping his hands away.

“No!” Tomura wailed pretty fucking shamelessly and grabbed the retreating wrist, placing Dabi’s tatted hand back on his dick that throbbed and leaked painfully.

“Dude, what’s gotten the fuck into you?” his roommate asked, smirking still, but pumping Tomura's cock loosely nonetheless. “Our walls are thin as hell, you know I can hear you jerkin' it in here every night, and now you’re practically begging for me to suck you off. Usually I gotta come to you.”

He was infuriatingly right again.

Tomura had indeed asked for him to do this, which was definitely out of character for him. Most of the time when they ended up in this position, it was because Dabi spent hours hounding him about it or just fucking dropped to his knees and whipped Tomura’s cock out in the middle of a movie night or snuck into his room while Tomura was gaming and swallowed him whole just to laugh at the way his online friends reacted to the noises.

He’s just been so pent up lately, and you insisting on fucking touching his arm or sitting on the floor between his feet at League meetings was really not helping it.

“I don’t know,” Tomura lied, both to Dabi and himself in the hopes that the head of black hair would just go back to bobbing on his dick like he so desperately needed it to.

“Bro, I have fucked with enough people to know when they’re wishing I was someone else,” Dabi scoffed and ran a blessedly hot tongue from base to tip and suckled softly at the blush pink head before pulling back with a wet pop. “So who is it?”

“I’m not fucking thinking about anyone,” Tomura hissed, fisting Dabi’s spiky, black locks and thrusting into his mouth till he felt the contractions of Dabi gagging around his length. “Usually you're jumping at the chance to get dick in your mouth, so why does it matter?”

Dabi pulled back, wiping the silvery string of spit leaking past his lips away and scowling as his fingers ghosted over Tomura’s balls and sank back into his pliant ass.

“Seriously creep, I’m five seconds away from ghosting and you can fuck your hand like the sad little bitch you are. So tell me their name or I’m walking right now.”

Tomura huffed as he felt Dabi’s long, rough fingers pulled from him again and the heat of his mouth growing farther away.

“Ugh fine, it’s that bitch I’ve been working on the English thing with.”

Dabi made a face like his brain was buffering.

“Seriously?” he asked, mouth gaping in a way that had Tomura even more furious his dick wasn’t buried in it.

“Yes!” he shouted and grabbed Dabi’s cheeks in both hands, sinking past his waiting lips and practically purring when he felt them close around the base as his long tongue massaged the shaft. “Oh god yes…”

Dabi rolled his eyes, managing to look smug even with a cock stretching his lips taught against the piercings. He used to try and tease Tomura about how small his dick was, but it was hard to believe him. Especially with how he choked sometimes when Tomura got rough with him despite his boasts of lacking a gag reflex. Not to mention how he looked now, jaw probably aching with the stretch and loving every second of it.

Tomura lazily bucked his hips up and whined high when the fingers in his ass curled and thrust against that fucking spot he hadn’t known was there until Dabi found it for him.

The pleased sound he made tapered off into a growl though, when his roommate with questionable benefits pulled off again to run his slutty fucking mouth.

“Tell me about it,” he mumbled, kitten licking at Tomura’s cock and running the ball of his piercing through the slit again. Tomura gulped when he pulled it back into his mouth to swallow the bead of precum he’d collected. “I’ve seen your fucking paramour around before, pretty serious about school though. And kinda out of your league too, not gonna lie. So, what would you do if your cute little partner was here instead?”

Tomura bristled at the insult but couldn’t keep his pissed off look when Dabi went back to sucking his cock like a pro and curling those fucking fingers against his prostate. When he did speak, he blushed hard at the way his voice cracked and sounded like he was crying.

“I don’t fucking—holy shit—know,” he gasped and Dabi hummed both to egg him on and to get a whole new wave of precum gushing out of Tomura’s dick.

“C’mon man,” Dabi groaned, and Tomura distinctly heard the sound of a pants zipper and felt Dabi’s hips canting against the sheets.

That fucking masochistic whore. He would get off to Tomura dirty talking about someone else while he sucked his dick.

He considered stopping the whole thing right there, but then Dabi was sinking a third finger into his ass and thrusting hard while he hallowed his cheeks around Tomura’s cock and sucked—

“Tits!” Tomura cried and covered his burning, red cheeks with his hands. “I want to put my fucking face in them and taste them in my mouth. Sometimes I can see the outline of their nipples when we’re working and the air conditioning comes on and I want to suck on them so fucking bad I can’t think about anything else the whole night.”

Once he got started, Tomura found the words just spilled from him like a dam had burst. Dabi, the depraved bastard, groaned loud and ground his pierced dick harder against the mattress as he continued to deepthroat Tomura’s cock and fuck his ass at that perfect angle.

“Sometimes when they drag me to their stupid club I lose the rounds cause I—oh god, oh fuck—just imagine them in my lap, sitting on my cock and fucking writhing and squeezing me while we face off. Such a fucking—Dabi more!—stereotypical try-hard, bitch but I want to be inside them so fucking bad,” he felt actual tears stinging the raw corners of his eyes when Dabi sped up on his dick.

Tomura scrapped his nails against Dabi’s scalp, holding on for dear life as his breathing became even more ragged than usual. His friend’s cruelty streak reared its ugly head as Dabi sensed the tensing of Tomura’s balls and the clench of his tight ass and slowed down a fraction, keeping him teetering on the edge of an explosively pleasurable release.

“Fucking asshole,” he growled, but didn’t dare try to fuck Dabi’s face lest he make good on his threat to leave Tomura high and dry. “I just—shit, ah, don’t stop—they talk to me sometimes and I just wanna suck their tongue into my mouth so they shut up and I need to hear them fucking falling apart or using that stupid, stuck up teacher voice on me and fucking my ass—Dabi Fuck—is that what you wanted to hear?”

Dabi, because he got off on being a little shit, gave him one last delicious swallow before pulling back and fisting Tomura’s sopping wet cock. The fingers had stopped thrusting and were now pressed hard against his prostate, sending shocks through his body and making him twitch violently as his blood rushed with endorphins. He never stopped grinding his own dick against Tomura’s cotton sheets the whole time.

“You got it bad huh, don’t ya creep,” he mused, letting a fat glob of spit fall from his lips and keep his palm slick. “That’s the most I’ve ever heard you talk about fucking anything, much less another actual person.”

“No I fucking don’t, “ Tomura writhed against the pillows, giving in to the undeniable urge to simultaneously fuck up into Dabi’s hand and ride his fingers.

“Who knew you were such a desperate whore, falling for the first person to show you a modicum of attention,” Dabi jeered and squeezed the tip of his dick hard, listening to Tomura let out a choked sob. “I’m actually kinda proud of you, bro. My little incel baby’s growing up.”

Dabi cooed at Tomura, sinking sharp teeth deep into the meat of his thigh and sucking a bruise into the flesh.

“You’re the one—nghh—getting off on it,” Tomura clapped back but didn’t bother denying it again.

There was a sense of dread growing in his gut alongside the mounting pleasure of his orgasm that Dabi was currently holding hostage. Dabi may have had a dickish personality just as massive as the actual dick that was currently painting his comforter in stains, but he knew Tomura.

And he did, admittedly have much more experience with these types of things.

“Fuck yeah I am,” Dabi grunted. “Last time I let you return the favor you bit my fucking cock. I gotta get off somehow.”

“Don’t say rude shit to me and I won’t bite you.”

“Watch it, Tomura,” Dabi huffed and nipped at his thigh again. “You should be thanking me for my services.”

“Not if you’re gonna keep running your mouth instead of sucking me off,” he tried to sound intimidating but he was well and truly wrecked and couldn’t find the energy to give his words an edge.

“You should ask them out,” Dabi continued, ignoring the failed attempts at banter. “Bring ‘em over or some shit. Maybe then if I lock down that blonde piece of ass I’ve been talking to, we’ll both have much more interesting things to go down on.”

“Your whore ass is the one always jumping me, don’t act like it’s a fucking chore,” Tomura groaned as Dabi started licking at his cock again, pressing sloppy, half kisses on the tip as he jerked it in his fist.

“Not my fault I get bored sometimes,” he replied and closed his eyes as Tomura clenched particularly hard around Dabi’s relentless fingers. “But seriously, you should go for it. I’d kill to find out if you’re just as bad at eating pussy as you are sucking dick.”

“Fuck y—” Tomura started to say when Dabi reared up till they were chest to chest and their foreheads knocked together.

“I fucking will if you don’t shut up, creep, and I think it’d be so much better if you handed your fucking virginity to that pretty little partner bitch instead,” he said and stunned Tomura into silence when he licked into his mouth.

Dabi had kissed him before, but Tomura could count the number of occasions on one hand and almost all had been when his punk ass roommate was drunk as hell and in his feels about some tortured past. But Dabi’s eyes were bright and lucid now, blinking down at Tomura as he dragged their tongues together, flooding his mouth with the faint taste of cigarettes and jizz.

Their cocks brushed together too, the stimulation making Tomura whine into Dabi’s lips, who dropped a merciful hand down, taking them both in his fist and began pumping.

He didn’t stop as he pulled back, grinning down at Tomura like a fucking maniac—all shitty tattoos and silver piercings. The little barbels that stuck through Dabi’s nipples brushed against his own and made him moan at the cool metal and hot skin on his sensitive chest. Tomura was fucking sensitive everywhere, as Dabi had helped him discover, probably from a lifetime of being touched more by cheap sweatshirts than human hands.

“Now,” Dabi grunted as he thrust loosely against Tomura’s cock and his own fist before pulling away to settle back between his legs. “Shut up and cum down my throat—gotta give your virgin ass a refresher on mind shattering orgasms, so you know if that bitch is any good or not.”

Tomura’s tongue was halfway around a witty comeback when Dabi swallowed him to the hilt once again and started working his ass even harder. He really fucked hoped the neighbors were not home to hear him get his shit rocked at 2pm on a fucking Tuesday, cause Dabi might have been flunking out of his classes but he’d get a goddamn A plus for sucking dick.

The hand on his thigh, spreading him open, migrated to his hip so that Tomura could snap his legs shut hard around Dabi’s ring littered ears as he guided Tomura to grind down on his hand. The pressure in his gut built up exponentially higher now that Dabi wasn’t trying to hold him on the edge of climax. It took an embarrassingly short amount of time for him to acquiesce to Dabi’s request, as he tightened up in a full body clench before gripping Dabi’s hair and spilling rope after rope of hot, sticky release straight onto his roommate’s tongue.

Dabi, the fucking slut, made a show of swallowing every drop that spilled from Tomura’s abused cock, milking his prostate the whole time and only letting Tomura slip from his mouth when he was soft and finally spent.

The fingers in his ass remained though, still for the most part and slowly dipping in and out every so often. Tomura whimpered and clenched but was somewhat thankful for the remaining feeling of fullness.

“So, did you really mean all that?” Dabi asked with his signature smirk. “You really want your group project partner to cockwarm you and fuck your tight little ass?”

“Fuck off,” Tomura scowled and smacked Dabi hard across the face with an errant pillow.

Dabi yanked it from his grasp and tossed his ammunition onto the floor. “Hey, it’s not actually too bad in here,” he wiggled his fingers for emphasis which elicited an embarrassingly high gasp from Tomura, “give ‘em my number if you need a reference for asshole tightness.”

“Get the fuck out of my ass and my room,” Tomura kicked at Dabi’s back as it shook with laughter that lacked it’s usual jeering bite.

“What? Saving the cuddles for your new S/O?” he shot back, nuzzling his cum and spit covered face into Tomura’s neck.

With their chests pressed together, Tomura could feel the cooling, sticky remnants of Dabi’s own release coating his stomach. He squirmed against the sensation and pushed at the offending chest until his friend flopped down onto the scant space left between the mattress and the wall.

“Ew,” Tomura ran a finger through the mess Dabi had left smeared on him. “I’m taking a fucking shower.”

“God, finally!” Dabi exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and producing a cigarette from god knows where. He let the paper rest between his lips unlit. “I should have thought about getting you fucked out on the reg earlier, creep, if it’ll stop you smelling like ass.”

Tomura launched the discarded pillow which hit it’s mark with a dull thump.

“You better be fucking gone when I get back,” he hissed and stumbled naked, on shaking legs into the hall and to their shared bathroom.

Dabi’s cackling followed him until the door shut and the lock clicked behind him.

Tomura turned the water on quickly, letting steam cloud the mirror before he jumped under the spray. The only products on the shelves were Dabi’s for the most part with the exception of a store brand bar of soap and some 3 in one shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.

Tomura knew he should clean himself more often, but his skin was so fucking raw all the time it hurt to do, so he mostly avoided it unless the smell got really unbearable—or Dabi was painting him in jizz whenever the opportunity presented itself.

He tried to get in and out as quickly as possible so he didn’t have the opportunity to think too hard about the admission his fuck buddy roommate had pulled from him mid blow job. Because if he did—in his post nut, clingy state—he’d most certainly imagine you were with him, tits pressed against his back and your soft, insistent tongue dipping past his lips, tasting like fruit gum and expensive cafe drinks instead of nicotine and cum.

And he really couldn’t handle that. Cause Dabi was right, he had something fucking bad for you and the thought of another rejection loomed large.

When he did towel himself off and shuffle, still naked back into his bedroom Dabi was nowhere to be seen. Tomura’s phone however, was left sitting right next to the jizz stain on his sheets. He frowned at the open balcony door where Dabi was no doubt smoking and snatched the device before tumbling onto the pillows.

He powered it on and scrolled through his notifs before one caught his eyes. You and Dabi were really the only people that ever texted him, but the contact name above this one had changed.

bitch (endearing)

— hey, starting an impromptu round of Smash soon if you’re interested <3

The stupid text heart made his chest throb and he stared at Dabi’s new nickname for you, not even noticing the fucking grin that tugged at his cheeks.

He bit his lip to stop the twitching when it pulled too hard at the chapped skin and scrambled for his clothes before shooting a quick confirmation text back. Tomura opted for his only pair of black jeans this time instead of sweats and the least stained sweatshirt he owned.

Dabi peaked around the corner when he heard the clink of Tomura’s keys. The bastard was smoking in just a pair of underwear that left half his ass on display for all the whole fucking street. He smirked, quirking his eyebrows and bringing his hands up to slip his index finger through the circle he made on the other hand in a silent, vulgar gesture.

“Screw off,” Tomura shouted over his shoulder and made for the door.

“Wrap it before you tap it, bro!” Dabi called after him, cut off by the subsequent slamming.

Tomura took the stairs two at a time, pulling out his phone and tucking the hood over his damp hair, this time to hide the growing smile playing at his lips.

#tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x you #tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x dabi #shigaraki x dabi #shigadabi #bee.writes

[pwilzfan73]

True story behind The Conjuring 3 – inside Arne Cheyenne Johnson’s “the devil made me do it” court case

The latest instalment in The Conjuring franchise once again has its roots in a real-life case.

By Patrick Cremona, Radio Times. UK.

Published: Friday, 21st May 2021 at 2:56 pm

The Conjuring 3 takes its title from a real-life court case that dates back to the 1980s. The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It takes a look at the case and the Warrens’ involvement in the case that originated the phrase “the devil made me do it”.

Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga return as paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren for the next instalment in The Conjuring horror franchise, with the new movie heading to UK cinemas on 28th May 2021.

As with the previous movies in the franchise, The Conjuring 3 is taken from a real case file with reported connections to the supernatural. Previously we’ve seen spin-off movies focused on the Annabelle doll, also inspired by the Warrens who keep it in their occult museum.

Vera Farmiga and Patrick Wilson as Lorraine and Ed Warren. Warner Bros Pictures.

The case in question this time around is the trial of Arne Cheyenne Johnson, a man who was convicted of manslaughter in Connecticut in 1981 – becoming the first person to have claimed a defence of demonic possession during a murder trial.

The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It true story

The Conjuring 3 is inspired by the trial of 19-year-old Arne Cheyenne Johnson, who was charged with murdering his landlord Alan Bono in February 1981. During the trial, the defendant gained infamy for becoming the first person to claim a defence of demonic possession in a United States court – although perhaps unsurprisingly this version of events was not accepted by the judge.

His defence rested on testimony given by the family of his fiancée, Debbie Glatzel. Debbie’s 11-year-old brother had reportedly been the subject of demonic possession in the months prior to the murder, with his parents having grown increasingly worried by a number of unexplained and ominous events.

The story really starts in July 1980, when the 11-year-old David Glatzel was helping Johnson clean up a Connecticut rental property he was prepping to move so he could move in.

While there David claimed to have come across a “burnt and black-looking” old man who he claims pushed him into a waterbed saying he would bring them harm if they moved into the house.

When David returned home he continued to see the old man. He described him as having a white beard, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. David claimed the man’s skin was charred as if he’d been burnt too. The young boy experienced night terrors and woke up with bruises and scratches on his body. He’d wake screaming and tell his parents he’d seen the sunken features of the old man “like an animal”, with horns, pointy hears and jagged teeth (via People). (The Conjuring 3 demon appears to have gone a different route, with early photos showing a white masked man wearing a striped red long coat.)

The family said they also had heard unexplained noises coming from their attic.

In trying to get to the bottom of the issue they had called in Ed and Lorraine Warren – who by this point were already well-known paranormal experts – to diagnose and cure their son.

Ed Warren said he heard banging and growling sounds coming from their basement, and that he also say a rocking chair move on its own. Speaking to paranormal researcher Tony Spera, Ed claimed David’s toy dinosaur also walked on its own towards the family. He also said a deep voice spoke to them saying: “Beware, you’re all going to die.”

Lorraine also claimed she saw a black mist appear next to David while her husband interviewed him. “While Ed interviewed the boy, I saw a black, misty form next to him, which told me we were dealing with something of a negative nature. Soon the child was complaining that invisible hands were choking him—and there were red marks on him. He said that he had the feeling of being hit,” she told People magazine.

David’s mother Judy had previously claimed it was a ghost, but the Warrens rejected this idea saying it was an indicator of a demon.

Lorraine also claimed she saw David being choked by invisible hands and he told her “he had the feeling he was being hit”. She told People that she could see red marks afterwards and she heard him growl and hiss. Lorraine also claimed he spoke in unrecognisable voices, that he recited passages of the Bible as well as Paradise Lost. Debbie Glatzel also claimed he spit, bit, kicked and swore at her and he flopped around “head to toe like a ragdoll”.

She also told the Chippewa Herald Telegram that “he manifested. Just a face on the wall. High cheekbones. A narrow chin. A thin nose. Big black eyes hidden in dark holes. He showed his teeth.”

Ed Warren also told The Washington Post: “Right away, I knew there was something to this. I felt like a good fisherman when he knows there’s something on the line.” He added that he thought there were 43 demons inside the boy, and David named them all.

David Glatzel’s exorcism

In the movie, Father Gordon (Steve Coulter) blesses the home. The priest’s name was changed for the movie, but a Roman Catholic priest did visit the home to bless it.

After continued efforts from the Warrens, the Glatzels, and multiple priests (including Rev Francis E.Virgulak) a formal exorcism took place, with witnesses claiming that a demon fled the child’s body.

Ed Warren claimed Arne, who was present at the exorcism, shouted: “Take me on, leave my little buddy alone!”

Apparently, David showed signs of improving, but Arne started to deteriorate. TV series A Haunting covered the case in the episode Where Demons Dwell, claiming that the demon took control of Johnson’s car forcing it into a tree. While he was uninjured, he was shaken by the experience. The series also blamed a demon when Johnson fell from a tree while working.

Judy told The Washington Post she paid $75 an hour for a session with a local psychiatrist too, but it was up to church officials to set up and pay for further psychological testing (via Newsweek). David’s parents were told he was “normal” but had a “minimal learning disability”.

Alan Bono’s murder

Clearly not content with its newfound freedom, though, the story goes that the spirit then immediately took control of Johnson and it was under his control that the murder of the landlord took place several months later.

Johnson and Debbie Glatzel decided against renting the original home, and instead rented a small house near Debbie’s work. Debbie was working a dog groomer for the landlord, Alan Bono, 40, who was also the kennel manager.

Bono, who has been renamed in the movie as Bruno Sauls, lived in an apartment above the kennels.

On the day of the murder, Johnson had taken the day off work and spent the day with Debbie, 26, at the kennel. Along with some other companions, Debbie, Johnson and Bono had lunch at a local restaurant and enjoyed a few drinks, becoming drunk in the process, and when they later returned to the kennel a heated fight broke out with Bono becoming increasingly agitated.

During this argument, Bono seized Debbie’s nine-year-old cousin Mary, who had also been present, and refused to let her go – which then led Johnson to confront him and eventually stab him repeatedly with a five-inch pocket knife, all while growling like an animal. Bono suffered “four or five tremendous wounds” mainly to his chest area.

Bono died several hours later and Johnson was later arrested roughly two miles away from the murder. The murder is believed to be the first murder in Brookfield, Connecticut’s 193-year history, and the first in the 30 years since the town had police records.

The next day, Lorraine Warren immediately claimed that it was a case of demonic possession, which naturally led to much media coverage around the world.

Ed and Lorraine Warren

Ed and Lorraine Warren arrive at Danbury Superior Court - Getty

Arne Johnson’s Trial

Johnson’s trial began on 28th October 1981 at Connecticut’s Superior Court in Danbury.

Johnson’s lawyer Martin Minnella attempted to enter a plea of “not guilty” due to demonic possession stating Johnson “was possessed by a demon, and it was a demon who actually manipulated his body.” It was the first known court case in US history that had attempted this defence.

Minnella, speaking about the case and the fame that followed, said: “The courts have dealt with the existence of God. Now they’re going to have to deal with the existence of the Devil.” (via the New York Times).

However, the plea of not guilty due to demonic possession was immediately thrown out by presiding judge Robert Callahan who said that it would be “irrelative and unscientific” to allow testimony on these grounds, and so despite the ensuing media attention the jury was not legally allowed to consider demonic possession.

Johnson’s defence claimed that he hadn’t been the same after Glatzel’s exorcism, and witnesses were called upon saying they saw a demon transfer from Glatzel to Johnson. Debbie Glatzel also testified that Johnson behaved similarly to Glatzel. Ed Warren claimed Johnson had made a “fatal mistake” by taunting the alleged demon.

Debbie claimed Johnson had come to Bono’s apartment to repair a stereo for him, but that Bono had been drinking red wine and the pair got into an argument about payment for the repair. She also said Johnson was in a trance when he stabbed Bono.

According to reports, in the three months Debbie and Johnson had lived next to Bono they had been friends. The police believed that Bono and Debbie’s relationship was more than boss and employee, but Debbie denied this despite the police claiming the argument was over her rather than the stereo. The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It does take this angle into the story, exploring the ‘jealous lover’ plot, which was also shown in the 1983 movie The Demon Murder Case (starring Kevin Bacon).

L-R Patrick Wilson (Ed Warren), Sarah Catherine Hook (Debbie Glatzel) and Vera Farmiga (Lorraine Warren) in New Line Cinema’s ‘The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It.

After the jury deliberated for more than three days, Johnson was convicted of first-degree manslaughter on 24th November 1981 and was sentenced to between 10 and 20 years in prison. He was released in 1986 having only served five years of his sentence.

Even though demonic possession was not actually allowed as a legitimate defence in the trial, the case became colloquially known as “the Devil made me do it case” – hence the subtitle of this film.

Where are the Glatzels and Johnson now?

Johnson married Debbie Glatzel while he was in prison. He also got his high school diploma while inside. The pair went on to have two children.

Lorraine Warren went on to write the book The Devil in Connecticut with Gerald Brittle detailing the case, and they shared the profits from the sales with the Glatzel family. David’s brother Carl Glatzel did speak out against the book when it was republished in 2006 saying it was a “complete lie” and that “the Warrens concocted a phoney story about demons in an attempt to get rich and famous at our expense.”

Carl claimed the Warrens told the family they’d be millionaires – it was later confirmed they were paid $2,000. Carl also says David was suffering with his mental health at the time, but he recovered. In 2007, David and Carl filed a lawsuit against Brittle and the Warrens for unspecified financial damages. They sued the authors and publishers for violating their privacy, libel and “intentional infliction of emotional distress.”

Brittle claims his book is based on fact and he interviewed the Glatzel family for more than 100 hours, which he has video of. Lorraine Warren also said the six priests who performed exorcisms on Glatzel agreed that he was possessed.

Debbie Glatzel and Arne Johnson have always backed the account of the possession, but David’s father denies his son was possessed.

How the movie tackles such a complicated case and how closely they stick to the real life events remains to be seen.

The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It is released in cinemas on 4th June, 2021 on HBO Max and 28th May in the UK.

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