#i was halfway up a ladder when a scene came to me

[grogusmum]

Hechizado (part 1)

JAVI GUTIERREZ X OFC (It's Kelly ya'll, cuz birthday rights!)

WC: 2000

WARNINGS: LANGUAGE

N/A: For Kelly's birthday I gave her a coupon for a fic request and this is what she sent me-

Hazel my darling I have come up with the one-shot I would like to redeem with my birthday coupon (but I'm not trying to rush you, write at your pace 💙) "Javi G comes down to his olive trees, either to meet with the caretakers and check in or maybe he wants time away from the compound, and he saves a black cat that is stuck in one of the trees before bringing it back to his place and putting up lost cat posts online. But what he doesn't know is he saved a witch's (me) familiar so when she shows up to collect her wayward companion she gives him a luck amulet in return and unintentionally makes him fall for her."

Shockingly this has become a two-parter.

Happy Birthday, beloved Kelly Girl!!! @chaoticgeminate

Javi loves the smell of the olive trees, he loves the quiet. It's a perfect place to go to work out some bit of plot that's eluding him. He can talk out loud and no one hears or cares, so he can try out dialogue for flow and realism.

He was out walking one day, doing just that. He recognized it as the golden hour when many cinematographers and photographers get their best outdoor shots. He looked around imagining a scene, maybe the moment in an adventure where the shift of light tells everyone that he is about to rise up and answer the call or maybe it's a rom-com and it's the moment when the much ado is done and they are about to go from idiots to lovers... And then he hears it. Messing up the moment, as it wasn't a sweet little mew, not even an adorable creaky kitten sound. It was a yowl.

Javi looked around, following the “alley cat in heat” sound, until it was above him. When he looked it was a large black cat with jewel-bright blue eyes, and a collar to match. 

Well that helps, Javi thought seeing the collar. 

Then it hissed at him.

That is less helpful, Javi thought with a sigh.

He pulled out his cell and tapped the call button for his arborist.

The arborist came with her ladder and a sack. Ready to climb up, she was stopped by Javi.

"I will do it."

"Well okay, jeffe!" She handed the sack over and wished him luck with a pat on the shoulder and a pitying look.

Javi climbed the ladder murmuring softly, hoping for a calming tone. The cat growled, ears plastered to its head. 

"Come now, Belladona," He didn't know where the name came from it just came to him and seemed right considering the cat's ears perked suddenly. 

The feline looked as surprised as Javi. 

The intelligence in the animal's eyes caused Javi to make a huge misstep. He decided not to use the sack. He picked up the cat, murmuring to it calmly. He took a closer look at the cat's collar, it was encrusted with deep blue stones, not crystalline like sapphires, but an opaque stone with veins of white and yellow and flecks of black. While carrying the cat worked out at first, halfway down the ladder the cat panicked and climbed Javi like the tree it was just liberated from

Javis's yell caused every bird in the grove to take wing in their own panic.

Covered in bandages, Javi uploaded a cell phone photo of Belladona and typed up a found cat message. He posted it on various community apps. Looking across the living room to the softest chair, the cat sat looking as innocent as can be. Unnaturally innocent.  Not doing the aloof 'what did I do' cat face, it was sitting like a loaf with its front feet close together, eyes big and wide, ears forward and somehow wide too... like somehow, it was doing it on purpose. Then it fluttered its eyelashes... 

No, Javi thought, shaking his head, it blinked three times in quick succession. And that is not the same thing at all.

He closed his laptop with a snap and looked at the cat.

"Hungry?"

Kelly walked up the road of the little house she was staying in, calling her cat’s name while rattling a canaster of cat treats. 

It was a sweet whitewashed stucco house with blue shutters. Inside, it was all glazed terracotta tile and exposed beams. It was a house swap affair because she could never have afforded it. But opportunity fell into her lap, apparently, there was a Mallorcan gentleman who has been itching to play “cowboy in America”, she tried to explain that Deleware was not really the place for cowboys per say…but he saw the photo of her little homestead and no amount of explaining would deter him… so here she was. Of course, she had to pack away all evidence that he was staying at a witch's mini farm. He was very excited to learn from Kelly's neighbor Melinda,  who she was paying to make sure the chickens, goats, and horses didn’t die she while away, teach her guest all the ins and outs of taking care of a farm, horseback riding, and real country line dancing. (“Luckily country music is pretty popular ‘round here. Don’t you worry, he’ll get to ride and line dance, and no one will look twice at his cowboy boots,” Melinda had assured her. Kelly, in turn, told her she owed Melinda big time, and she agreed.)

But no sooner than Kelly unpacked, her familiar took off to parts unknown. Truly unknown since she had hardly seen much more than the house and the route to it, before that menace took off. 

Kelly rattled the treat container for looks mostly, as she called his name. (and cursed it - not officially) She stopped neighbors as they passed and was just starting to get really anxious when one of the neighbors, Marco, who she had spoken to a few homes back jogged over.

“Señora!” 

Kelly turned and he held up his phone.

“I took a look on our neighborhood app, to see if anyone had found your gato, uh cat.”

“Thank you- um gracias- so much…” she rolled her eyes at herself, "sorry. Muchas gracias”

“Not to worry,” he said,” you lost a Black cat, yes?”

“Yes, he’s on there?”

“Looks like it, take a look.”

Marco handed her his phone, and there he was, the shithead. 

All this time Kelly had held her necklace with a large lapis lazuli amulet, worrying it in her hand. Her familiar's collar carried the same stone. The witch had hoped this added connection would draw the two together, or at the very least bring good luck.  

Of course, she supposed it had, between the person who found him and this kind neighbor, she was very lucky. Kelly thanked Marco ten times over as he gave her all the details and followed his advice to download the app, they also exchanged numbers.  Now she just needed to call this Javi guy and see about retrieving the cat. 

She messaged Javi, and sent a photo of the pair of them so he knew she was legit, he sent a little video of the cat in question eating from a bowl. 

KELLY: That is definitely my shithead cat. I hope he wasn’t too much trouble

JAVI: Well, we had a little trouble coming down from a tree, but since then no trouble at all. We will be here whenever you can come by

Kelly: I will be coming over directly, thank you SO MUCH. See you soon

Kelly popped up the map app and put in the address, it was just a short walk really. So she let the GPS lead the way to… a huge compound of an estate. 

At the gate, she explained why she was there, and after a phone call up to the main house Kelly was allowed in. 

Javi met her on the walk up, and immediately Kelly was mortified by the sight of his bandages. Nor was she ready for his warm brown eyes, his honeyed curls, the broadness of his chest. Unconsciously, she worried the stone of the amulet, thinking about how sweet his smile was as he greeted her. When they reached each other he leaned down and she got her first kiss on each cheek greeting. Kelly knew it was customary, but she couldn’t help warming at the soft press of his pillowed lips. She gave her head a little shake. 

Javi chatted and asked questions about her visit to Mallorca as they strolled the length of the beautifully tiled loggia.

“I am so so sorry about all of this,” Kelly indicted his bandaged cheek, and arms.

Javi waved away the apology.

“Just in here, he has been very comfortable and apart from the unfortunate decent on the ladder- which was my fault entirely- he seems surprisingly at ease. I beg your pardon but I have been calling him Belladonna. I don’t really know why- it came to me and stuck. Do you know what I mean?” Javi explained as he opened the beautiful walnut doors. 

“Belladonna?” Kelly asked sounding more incredulous than she meant to be.

“I’m sorry.”

“No no, Javi,” she put a hand on his arm, and then pulled it away, with a muttered apology.

“Please do not apologize,” he looked into her blue-gray eyes. Kelly's thumb continued to massage the stone in her hand. 

“I’m not offended or anything! Oh no, on the contrary, I am just- his name is Nightshade!”

“I don’t under-”

“Belladonna is in the nightshade family- it’s also known as Deadly Nightshade!”

“OH!” Javi smiled, and the sun must have come from behind the one cloud in the sky, then he laughed thinking of the attack on the ladder “spooky! And appropriate!”

Kelly laughed, and still, she gazed at this man, until a meow made her jump and broke the spell.

“Ah, here you are you, little shithead,” Kelly said with affection.

Nightshade purred, though when he opened his eyes his expression was nothing short of haughty.

“Well, sir, you need to come back with me- you can’t adopt yourself into this man’s home!” Kelly gave him a stern look that Javi did not see.

Nightshade hopped off of the tufted ottoman leisurely, and began wrapping himself around his witch's legs, and then figure-eighting around her and Javi. Kelly looked down at him in surprise and picked him up. 

“He likes you,” she said shyly.

Javi petted the cat's head, smiling at Kelly. 

“Thank you for everything, Javi”, she continued, and as she was about to turn to go, her familiar scrambled out of Kelly's arms, causing her to drop the amulet, she was so flustered the witch didn't realize it and it went unnoticed.

Kelly gave the cat a look that put a stop to his shenanigans and he came to her. Javi was none the wiser and invited her to share a meal. 

“We really should be going, but thank you Javi. Perhaps another time,” she said hopefully.

“Another time, yes. For sure,” he smiled and Kelly wondered how on earth anyone was allowed to be so cute. 

He walked, arms swinging casually back to the gates and reminded her of the raincheck on dinner, and Kelly waved with a bright smile. Then she turned she looked down at Nightshade-

“What were you thinking?”

I was thinking I wanted to climb an olive tree and I got stuck. Down is much harder than up!

“You know what I mean,” Kelly shook her head. “No matchmaking, Yente!”

Nightshade gave a look with all the innocence of a newborn kitten.

I don't know what you mean

Javi made his way back up the drive and reentered the room where he had kept Nightshade, thinking about the events of the day. He couldn't help being disappointed by not having the lovely woman join him for dinner, though he could imagine it had been a long and stressful day for her. He would not take it personally. Suddenly he noticed something just peeking out from under the ottoman. He picked up a beautiful blue oval stone on its long silver chain.

It was warm and inviting in his hand. Javi had not seen Kelly with a necklace… so he put it on for safe keeping, it tucked nicely inside his shirt and pressed comfortingly in the hollow of his chest. As his thoughts lingered on the lovely blonde, suddenly he blushed, and looked wistfully at the door, as if willing her to walk back though it.

Part 2

thank you for reading! 💚

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#javi gutiérrez #javi g x ofc

[spikybanana]

@wolfstarmicrofic - prompt: nourished - Persephone/HoTS (yesterday's microfic) part 2 because it's entirely too easy to get me to do something. under the cut because it's sorta long. (and now cheekily on ao3)

“She was the goddess of spring, her spirits nourished the earth.” Peter, duly and begrudgingly cast as narrator #4, droned from centre stage. And as he read flatly from the script, Sirius wandered the side of the stage in a flowing dress and with a flower basket in his hands. “The flowers bloomed for her, the birds sang for her, and as it came to be, the winter winds wailed for her.”

Then, suddenly, Sirius paused in his steps, and turned to look, as though with love-struck wonder, straight at where Remus stood in the shadows. Sirius smiled, and for a moment, Remus’ heartbeat died in his chest before he remembered. It’s the damned script. Fucking hell, he thought, get a hold of yourself.

Peter had continued in the background. “And he— was the King of the shadows. The demure, silent creature who emerged only in the moonlight—”

When Remus’ side of the stage stayed empty, Peter sighed long-sufferingly, before repeating, dragging his words, “he was— the King— of the shadows—”

Oh shit. Only then did Remus remember to run on stage, very much un-demure and un-silent.

Sirius sniggered, and Mary poked her head out of the orchestral pit, halfway through a screaming match with Regulus about the overture arrangement, and shouted, “Remus Lupin! You missed your cue! Again!”

“Alright alright I’m sorry!” Remus said frustratedly, “I was distracted!”

Peter whipped the script down, spun to him, “oh really. Were you now?”

Remus was saved from answering by a loud crash that sounded from above them. Their moon had fallen off its hinges again, and was now hanging entirely by the safety wires from the bars on the ceiling.

“Sorry!” Frank called, running up the ladder, “I’m on it!”

Remus vaguely wondered, for the dozenth time this rehearsal, why in the underworld were they allowed to do any of this; while Mary groaned. “All of you are making me regret my entire life.”

-

Remus knew it was coming, at some point, but he was surprised nonetheless.

“Act one, scene five, line three hundred and ten…” Mary dropped the script and looked with narrowed eyes between Sirius and Remus, “Now you kiss.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Remus! Haven’t you read the script?”

“Well, I—”

Everyone was watching. Scattered around the stage and lounging in the empty front rows. James, leaning against the cardboard stump of a prop-tree, looked at him with a funny little smile.

Sirius was grinning at him too, and Remus numbly stepped forward towards Sirius’ outstretched hand.

“Oh, come here, sweetheart.” Sirius pulled him in, cradled his face, placed a thumb at the corner of his mouth, before pressing his lips over it.

As quickly as it started, Sirius dropped his hands and stepped back, still grinning, though a little shakily. “Is this okay?”

For long, long seconds, Remus couldn’t chase away the lingering pressure of a soft thumb, soft lips barely on his cheek. “Okay.” he barely voiced, still too stunned. Dammit, it hadn’t even been a real kiss! “Yeah. This is okay. This works.”

Behind Sirius, James had let out a noise halfway between a groan and a laugh, “Come on, Remus, boss—” which he’d taken to call Remus ever since he got dragged in to play Hermes (because Mary had shot down the idea of him playing Sirius’ on-stage mother), “why do you look so scared! At least try to look like you’re into it! You’d think it’s Persephone abducting Hades!”

Remus shot him a scathing look, and deigned not mention how at least James wasn’t playing Zeus. He would have grown five toes in the face of Goddess Lily Evans.

“Actually, you know what?” Mary said, still perched on the stool considering them, “Keep it like this. It’s cute.”

“I mean it’s not like we can’t change it—” Remus began protesting.

“No, no, no. Remus. Listen, we’re going to make sure you act as little as possible, okay? It’s going to be fine.” Mary said, as though convincing herself.

-

Turns out, it was going to be all fine, but it also wasn’t. Miraculously, the play came together, with its MDF trees and the LED-on-MDF moon, and MDF-on-wheels scene changes. But as for Remus, every scene remained laced with a throbbing kind of yearning, and guilt churned in his chest with every line that was supposedly said to Persephone but really said to Sirius.

Eventually, he just couldn’t keep it all in. On the night of the first show, a mere half hour before the lights were due to go down, Remus felt the air shrink and shrink in the tiny dressing room he shared with Sirius until it popped the secret right out of him. The words spilled out of him in a rush, even as horror was rising in him at the sight of Sirius wordlessly staring at him.

But then, Sirius was stepping swiftly forward, drawing him into an embrace. And Remus had another half second of panicking thinking this has gone horribly wrong, before he felt Sirius’ breathy laughs on his neck, “Me too, Remus. I am ‘stupidly, horrendously infatuated with you’, too.”

Remus’ stomach did something indescribable like it was both soaring and dropping underground. He drew a sharp breath in. Sirius smelt like the perfumed fake flowers he carried in his basket but even that was wonderful. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Sirius laughed softly, drawing back. “since forever, before you ask.”

“But I thought— there was no way you would— me?”

“Well you were the one who always looked so calm and nonchalant about everything, about all of this…”

“Me? Calm? Are you sure? You were the one who acts all chill, twirling around with a basket of wheat—”

“I thought I’ve been so obvious! I thought everyone could see it— I thought you did!”

“I— I just thought you were just such a good actor!”

“I thought you were such a good actor.”

“Okay. So we’re both shit actors.” Remus thought the dressing room definitely needed paddings on the walls, “But it’s fine. It’s working out.”

“Yeah. It is.” Sirius smirked, and leaned in to kiss him right on the mouth.

Just then, Marlene pounded on the door. “Got your mics!” She barged right in, giving the two of them no time at all to spring apart. Marlene took one look at them, blinked, dropped the mics on the table, and dug out her walkie-talkie. “Reporting code Wolfstar, guys. Everyone can calm the fuck down now.”

And from the the other end immediately came James’ very muffled, very excited shouts, “Oh thank the holy underworld fucking finally I mean I would say I told you so but even I was worried they’d not manage it—”

“What is going on?” Sirius with more amusement than confusion. Which Remus deeply admired.

Marlene simply shrugged. “Mics?”

And after that, they hadn’t managed to have a moment by themselves before the curtains rose. But Remus could tell it was different now, when every single glance shared with Sirius was a promise carefully held. The show went on splendidly. All through the first act, Frank’s ambitious lighting plan worked without a hitch. Only once did a microphone die, and only twice did someone forget their lines. But all of them were in their top form. No one stepped on the pomegranate, Remus hadn’t missed a single cue, and even the narrators didn’t sound bored. Remus felt electric, soaring off the crest of the waves of Regulus’ brilliant orchestration with Sirius in tow. At act one’s climax, when they were just about to reach towards each other for the kiss, time froze for a moment and Sirius’ smile curled just the bit differently, painted with a silent dare. Remus’ eyes widened.

And for the first time, instead of waiting for his summon, Remus strode forward in two long steps, held Sirius in his arms, and leaned in. Still clutching a pinch of doubt, he’d placed the kiss at the corner of Sirius’ mouth. But then, Sirius shifted and they were sharing a full-on kiss, fingers-in-hair and everything. The audience went wild, they were soon smiling too much, but their lips lingered on each other’s long after the curtains came down. They had about fifteen minutes before they were due on stage for act two, when Persephone had to be angry and homesick and Hades had to be depressed. But for now, they were SiriusandRemus and they had fifteen minutes.

Mary was on them, with crossed arms and the full MacDonald glare, when they were barely even off the stage. “Don’t you dare do anything during intermission.”

“Yeah okay we promise!” Remus said sheepishly, even as Sirius was already dragging him away.

“Pandora will personally kill you for ruining any of the costumes and I’m telling you,” Mary continued yelling after their retreating backs, “she might not look like much but she can be explosive and I swear to god Remus I’m expecting a letter of thanks and one of apology for psychological damage in the last month!”

Frank came to pat comfortingly on her shoulder. “Actors, am I right?”

Mary huffed. “They never figure out anything. Those idiots.”

“All’s well that ends well, no?”

“Oh, we’ll have to see.”

#wolfstar #microfic #wolfstar microfic #wolfstar not so micro fic #remus lupin #sirius black #marauders au #theatre au #mary macdonald #peter pettigrew #james potter #in which mary regrets some choices #but it all works out! #my writing

[talesfromthetraproom]

The Stage Techs Play Electrician for a Day, and Encounter the Wall That Eats All Things

Setting:

Concert Hall. 12 noon (the trouble apparently began before this, but I came in at 12 because my morning involved falling asleep in a computer science lecture and getting my toilet fixed).

Cast:

The student crew (Me)

The union crew (Grumpy, Twin, and Loud)

The supervisors (PM, LX, and Video)

Today's Tale Brought to You By:

A Highly Suspicious Amount of Silence

An Overengineered Game of Snakes and Ladders

The Prospect of Spiders

Really Bad Building Design (and No One is Surprised)

The object of the game: take these ethernet cables, and run them from one side of the audience to the other through the wall that separates the grand tier from the orchestra. Shouldn't be too difficult, right? Right? Wrong. When I arrived on the scene, Video, Loud, and Twin were already mostly defeated and staring at the wall like they might suddenly develop XRay vision.

Several Hours and a Multitude of Plan Bs later, we have the following collection of highlights (in no particular order):

Twin: "Quit telling me about the habitat preferences of venomous spiders when I have my hand shoved halfway up an electrical box!" Me: "I thought the warning both timely and necessary, excuuse me"

LX: [Shop Teacher], you have to understand that University students are complete idiots. Not you though, Wynn. Me (flipping him off over my shoulder): You still wouldn't trust me with a welder, to be fair. Shop Teacher: I would! LX: You shouldn't. She frequently threatens to murder people.

Video: "While I truly appreciate that PM found our missing conduits, is no one going to point out that he also ripped the entire cable box out of the wall? No? Just me? Is anyone thinking about how the cable box is gong back into the wall? No? Just me?"

Loud: "I suddenly feel the need to point out that I told you I could rip this box apart. At absolutely no point did I tell you that I could put it back together and I am in no way liable for what PM decides to do with that information."

Video: "Hey LX. Can we cut one of your network cables and use it as a guide wire?" LX: "That would be an incredibly expensive mistake." Video: "On the contrary I'm willing to bet it's about the least expensive mistake we've made today."

PM: "What's going on out here? Wynn said my presence was requested, and I believe she used the word 'shitshow' so it's gotta be serious." Loud: "Yeah. How mad would you be if we cut a slightly larger hole in this wall?"

LX: "Wynn, go turn off the footlights before PM blinds himself. They're the switch backstage that is labelled 'DO NOT TURN OFF'. Don't give me that look."

PM: "Hey Wynn you have little hands, come feel around behind this box and see if you can find the conduit." LX: "What, so we can now have two cables, a broken pull line, the retrieving snake, and Wynn's arm stuck in the wall???" PM (ignoring him): "Out of curiosity, when was your last tetanus shot?"

LX: "Oh Grumpy? Watch out for the fire alarm sensors up there, an evacuation is the last thing we need today. They're white and look like laser emitte-" *BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.* LX: "....yeah. Those ones." There are certain perks to being located directly across the street from the University Emergency Services building.

In the end and thanks to dumb luck, we did get the cable run all the way through the wall and out the other side. The concert hall, rather than being recording-ready for tomorrow, rather looks like a tornado went through the grand tier. LX got absolutely nothing done that he needed to do today. Half of the face plate screws went missing in the chaos. But I got away with only a few scrapes on my arms, and nobody encountered venomous spiders (though I'm not sure Twin will ever forgive me for that one). I think we all learned a few lessons, and gained a new level of respect for our fellow tradesmen.

#technical theatre #tales #stage techs being a force of chaos #I went home and studied for a cse exam after this #I'm so tired

[thedepthsoffandomminds]

The last of us - Broken together 11

You braced Joel as he lifted Ellie up to get the ladder. She started to manoeuvre it into place when something caught her eye and she ran off the ladder falling past you. Joel quickly stood up and you both scrambled up to chase after her. Ellie was calling back for you both as she giggled excitedly.

Finally catching up with her you saw what she did. A giraffe. He stayed back against the wall as Joel moved forward.

"don't scare it." Ellie whispered to him.

"I won't, come on come here." He replied snapping some twigs off the foliage on the building. He handed a bit to Ellie and she held it out to the animal who ate it gleefully. You slowly stepped forward and stroked its neck. Ellie giggled and something happened in Joel's chest. Like pieces of his heart being glued together with the sound of her laughter. He looked at the two of you. Seeing you there with Ellie he saw a future. Could he allow himself to want it.

The giraffe turned and walked slowly away. Ellie ran again rushing to see it once more. You followed her. Joel's hand slid into yours and squeezed. Only for a moment but that moment meant so much. The building was open at the top showing your destination. The giraffe had returned to her family as they moved through the beautiful scene. Ellie was leaning on the brick wall and Joel came up beside her.

"so is it everything you hoped for?" He asked.

"it's got its ups and downs, but you can't deny that view." She grinned. Joel's smile dropped.

"look I don't know exactly where this hospital is."

"yeah we'll find it." She reassured him.

"Sure, it's just- maybe there's nothing bad out but so far Theres always been somethin' bad out there."

"we're still here though." She as you moved to her other side.

"I know, I'm only saying there's risk. We don't have to do this. I want you to know that "

"what do you mean, what else are we supposed to do?" She asked.

"nothing, we just go back to Tommy's, forget about the whole damn thing."

Ellie looked back at you,

"after all we've been through? Everything I've done. It can't be for nothing." She blinked. You put a hand on her shoulder.

"it's always your choice, Ellie." You say.

"I know you both mean well, I know you want to protect me, You have. And then when we're done, we'll go wherever you want. Tommy's, sheep ranch, the moon. I'll-" she grabs your hand, "we'll follow you wherever you go." Joel smiled and nodded, his heart filling and breaking at the same time. "But there's not halfway with this, we finish what we started." They nod to each other, look over the wall once more. Ellie drops your hand and beckons you both to follow her. You reach for Joel's hand, surprised when he takes it and let's you lead him onward. You lean into him.

"she's right, and you're a good dad." You whisper before dropping his hand and catching up with Ellie.

'A good dad?' he thought to himself, 'nah, but I'll try to be, this time.'

You walked out of a tunnel into a sort of base. Several tents, now torn and withered with time housed old beds and equipment.

"was this a FEDRA thing?" Ellie asked.

"no. Army." You answered.

"they put these places up all around, the first few days after the outbreak, Emergency medical camps." Joel explained.

"obviously didn't last?" You added.

"they had me in one just like this." Joel said.

"with Sarah?" Ellie asked. You clenched at the name, Tommy had told you about Joel's daughter a few before.

"no she was gone already."

"oh." Ellie wished she hadn't asked. "So what was wrong with you?"

"it was for this." He pointed to the scar on his head.

"the guy who shot and missed, I figured that would have happened later." She said.

"no second day." Joel fell back a few steps.

"well gotta hand it to the army people they were better at stitching you up than I was." She laughed.

"it was me." Joel called to her, you blood froze.

"I was the guy who shot and missed." He took his rifle off his shoulder and sat on old concrete. Ellie came to perch next to him. You were stuck on your spot.

"There's no story," he looked between you both. "Sarah died and couldn't see the point any more. Simple as that. And I was scared neither, I was ready. I couldn't have been more ready. When I- when I went to pull the trigger, I flinched. Still don't know why. Any way the reason I'm telling you all this-"

"I know why you're telling me all this." Ellie interrupted.

"yeah I reckon you do." He nodded. A beat of silence.

"so time heals all wounds I guess." Ellie said.

'only the physical ones' you thought to yourself.

"it wasn't time that did it." Joel looked her in the eye. The meaning of his words sunk into her and she sighed. Joel reached a hand to you and you moved to him instinctively. The fingers in his other hand brushed against Ellie's. Quiet understanding passing through you all.

"well I'm glad that that didn't work out." She stated.

Joel nodded his agreement and wiped away the tears in his eyes. They felt as awkward as each other.

"we should probably get going." Ellie sighed. He agreed and you all began walking. "You know you two don't have to hide it, you can be all lovey dovey when I'm awake too ya know. Just no tongues." She called back to you with the cheeky grin you'd grown to love.

"alright kid. Eyes on the road." Joel laughed, his hand finding yours easily. The two of you caught up with her and Joel suggested it was time for shitty puns. Ellie wasted no time grabbing her book out of her bag. Walking along beside Joel. The three of you laughed happier than any of you had been for a long time.

Metal clanking behind you stopped the fun and you all turned in time to see the small bomb explode. Your instincts had taken over and you'd thrown your body in front of Joel and Ellie, sending you all to the ground. Joel looked up trying to get his bearings for a gun but to hit him.

[achillestiel]

Why do I always get the best ideas for fics when I'm at work and can't write?!?!

#i was halfway up a ladder when a scene came to me #personal

[ravens-words]

love, and other words (AO3)

"Maria, hey, now's not really-"

"Michael's hurt," she interrupted him, voice choked up.

3x12/13 Missing Scene

... 🌼🌼🌼 ...

"Maria, hey, now's not really-"

"Michael's hurt," she interrupted him, voice choked up.

"You're-" his voice cracked halfway through the word, so he cleared his throat, "you're with him?"

"Yeah."

He gathered his coat, his keys and all but ran to the elevator. "Maria, how bad is it?"

"I- I don't know."

"Okay," he soothed, trying not to let his own worry seep through the cracks, "okay, I'll be there in ten minutes."

"Hurry."

The doors opened, and he flew out, running to his car.

As he drove to the junkyard, well over the speed limit, all he could think was;

Hold on, Michael.

Please, hold on.

.

"Michael?!"

He ran towards Michael's trailer, calling both their names frantically.

"Maria? Micha-"

"Over here," she called out, voice tiny and far away.

The bunker, he thought, and changed directions immediately. He wasted no time in going down the ladder, then kneeled beside Michael.

Alex's hands automatically found their way to his face, and he stroked his cheeks gently. "Michael?" No response besides a pained moan. He turned to Maria. "What happened?"

"Jones stabbed him," she told him shakily, "he made me staple it."

Alex closed his eyes and let his forehead fall forward to rest gently on Michael's clammy one. "Michael? Baby, wake up," he muttered, dropping a kiss to his temple and lingering there.

Michael groaned, and Alex pulled back to look at his face.

His eyes fluttered open. Alex let out a relieved breath, and nearly choked on it.

"Alex?" Michael whispered, voice weak.

"I'm here. I'm here."

Michael slumped further into his arms, and Alex wrapped them tightly around him. "You're okay?"

Michael hummed, and tilted his chin up, expecting a kiss. Alex felt his lips twitch up into a helpless smile and bent down to oblige him.

He kept the kiss light and short, mindful of Maria, but pulling away took serious effort, especially when Michael chased his lips unconsciously.

"Come on," he addressed them both, "let's get out of here."

.

"Sanders," Michael gasped out, stopping abruptly a few feet away from the car, "where is he? Did he-"

"Michael," Alex cut him off, "what are you talking about?"

"Jones attacked Sanders," Michael told him desperately, naked fear painting every word.

Alex's heart squeezed in his chest. "Maybe Maria can-"

"No!" Michael shook his head fervently, "no, 0 take him."

Alex leaned away from him, eyebrows raised. "What's going on?"

"Please, just stay with him? Take care of him?"

Alex eyed him seriously. He wanted to refuse, but that same fear he'd seen a few minutes ago, when Michael remembered Sanders was hurt, was back on his face, and this time, the fear was for him.

"Okay," he said, even though leaving him was the last thing he wanted to do, even though he knew his place was by Michael's side. "Okay."

Michael exhaled roughly, and swayed forward to press a short, bruising kiss to his lips. "Thank you."

"Be safe."

He smiled, crooked and a bit cocky. "Always am."

Alex rolled his eyes, but then he smiled. "Call me when you can?"

"I will."

Michael was about to turn and walk over to where Maria was waiting for him, but Alex stopped him with a hand on his arm. He then used that grip to turn him back to face him, and hauled him into his arms in a too tight hug.

He heard Michael let out a sharp hiss, but then two shaking arms came up around him, and Alex let himself bask in the closeness.

I love you, he thought but didn't say. I love you more than anything.

He wanted to say the words, acutely aware of how uncertain their lives were at this point, and how there was a possibility that they might not make it through this night.

But then Michael pulled away, and he smiled at Alex, and it made him realize, with certainty, that when they said the words, it needed to be for them; because they were ready.

Not because they were forced by the circumstances.

He knew Michael loved him, and Michael knew Alex loved him back.

There would be time to say the actual words, but for now, that was enough.

#malex fic #malex #Michael Guerin #alex manes #ejwritesmalex

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: VII

Sunflower, my eyes

Want you more than a melody

Let me inside

Wish I could get to know you

Sunflower Vol. 6, Harry Styles

A/N: okay so this part was so much fun to write!! it originally was going to have four more scenes but uh. as we all know. i am very wordy. so the other scenes I have planned will have to be split into what will probably become two more parts and you guys will just have to deal with getting another two chapters 😌 but this part is really exciting because we are getting a lil bit of angst mixed in with harry’s general dumbassery!! love to see it love to hear it!! and please if you like what you are reading here!! reblog it!! leave reactions in the tags (we read every single one)!! send a message to andrea and i!! feedback and interaction is what keeps content creators motivated to keep cranking out nearly 30k every one to two weeks!! and that’s a general rule for all content creators not just us!! we do this for free so a lil love note is always appreciated 💌 alrighty now that that’s out of the way!! let’s dive in!!

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

word count: 26.6k

content/warnings: another good dose of denial, Fajita Friday with a side of blended margs, waking up on the wrong side of the coffin, brutal analysis of niall’s non-existent love life, ribeye!y/n x rotisseriechicken!harry, a horrible impersonation of Bob Barker, “are you there, God?  it’s me, harry,” degradation, the violation of worksafe laws through the improper use of a ladder, mild pain kink, alexa, play ‘kiss it better’ by rihanna, and the rise of kinkrry (dir. j.j. abrams)

As Harry climbs up the stairs to Y/N’s apartment the next Friday night with a bag containing tequila, orange liqueur, and limes clutched within his jeweled hand, there are two thoughts flickering through his mind.  

The first, which weighs more heavily on the vampire, is if Y/N prefers her margaritas blended or over ice, as Harry feels that tells a lot about a person, and it would be such a disappointment to realize now that Y/N isn’t a fan of the blended beverage.  The second, which should weigh more heavily on his mind if he had his priorities sorted out, is how Y/N had managed to convince him to let her cook dinner for the two of them.

In reality, it hadn’t actually taken much convincing on the mortal girl’s part at all.  When she messaged him on her lunch break earlier that day, asking what he was up to that night, Harry had sat up on his couch, drawing Niall and Xander’s attention to him in a confused manner. He’d stared at the message for only three seconds before opening his phone and pressing on her contact name.  The action had come so easily to him that he didn’t even think about hiding his eagerness to speak to her, and instead pressed his phone tight to his ear as the other line rang three times before she picked it up.

“Harry?” Her confused voice rang through his phone speaker, the sound of the bustling cafe apparent in the background. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, love. I just, uh…just wanted to talk to you, s’all.” Harry had replied, shushing the questions he could see hanging off of Niall and Xander’s lips. “How’s work today?  Busy?”

“As busy as it always is on a Friday afternoon.” Y/N answered with a sigh, and a small smile tugged at the corner of Harry’s lips as he heard a loud slurp through the phone, leading him to picture a stressed out Y/N sipping the last remnants of her iced latte. “But I’m over halfway through my shift, at least, so… it’s all downhill from here.  In a good way.”

Harry had nodded slowly, as if the mortal girl could see him through the phone. “I’m glad to hear that.”

His friends, however, seemed to be less glad to hear it, and paused the golf tournament that was playing on TV to stare at him with incredulous expressions on their faces. 

“Who are you talking to?” Niall had demanded, kicking his foot into Harry’s calf with more force than what was necessary. “We’re going to miss the first swing!”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Xander snickered to the Irishman next to him, a devious smirk lighting up his face. “It’s that human he’s been obsessed with for the last, like, two months.  His little plaything.”

Harry had stood up then, flipping the pair off with a pointed glare before turning towards the kitchen, intent on finding some peace and quiet where he could carry on his conversation without having to worry about Y/N overhearing something she shouldn’t.

“I don’t want to take up too much of your break,” He murmured, resting his elbows over the cool marble countertop of his kitchen island that was nearly the same temperature of his skin. “But calling you seemed easier than texting.  I’m free tonight—” He always kept his Friday nights free for her; had she not realized that by now? “So I was thinking I could be at your place around eight?  Or nine?  What works for you?”

And it was then that he had heard it, breaking through the cafe ambient noise that caught Harry’s inhuman ears, and the inquisitive whispering of Niall and Xander in the other room.  As clear as if it were really right in his ear, Harry had heard the sharp intake of breath, the slow exhale that followed, and the melodic voice that he’d become so familiar with, shaking ever so slightly.

“I was, um, actually thinking you could come over a bit earlier.” Y/N had replied, the tapping of her fingertips against her back room’s linoleum table reverberating around Harry’s head. “I got groceries yesterday, and I was going to make fajitas tonight, and I realized I had enough food for two people, and so if you don’t have anything else planned—”

Harry hadn’t meant to cut Y/N off— listening to her nervous rambling is one of his favourite things, and he’d never purposefully forfeit the opportunity to hear it (and that fondness aside, cutting off her speech would be rude)— but shock overtook his body and triggered the response before he could stop it. “You want to cook me dinner?”

“I—” The speaker crackled again, and Harry could practically picture the hesitation wrinkling across Y/N’s face, the caution in her tone a clear indication of how hard she was working to stay upright on the tense tightrope known as their relationship. “Yeah, I do.  I’m not a chef or anything, but my friends and I used to cook for each other all the time, and Fajita Fridays were one of my specialties, so—”

“I would absolutely love it if you cooked for me.” A slow grin had spread over Harry’s face, pulling the dimples from his cheeks in a way that he’d recently noticed only she could. “What time should I be over?  Do you want me to pick you up from work?”

“No, that’s fine.” Y/N had assured him quickly, the breathlessness in her voice leading Harry to picture the light rush of heat that was probably working its way over her cheeks. “You can come over around six, if that works for you…?”

Harry had checked the Rolex hanging off his wrist, which displayed the time of 2:33PM back to him. “Six is perfect.” He’d replied with an airy yet firm voice, nodding to himself once again. “Can I bring anything?  Is there anything you need me to pick up?”

“Oh, uh...no.  No, you don’t need to bring anything.  Just your appetite; I make a lot of fajitas.” The surprise that echoed in Y/N’s voice and the small laugh that followed had drawn an pleasurable ache from Harry’s dormant chest in a way he couldn’t explain. “Thank you for asking, though.  So… I’ll see you at six, then.”

“Sounds good, love.  I’m looking forward to it.” Harry had smiled again, despite no one being around to view it, and continued to smile even after he had hung up and made his way back to the living room, where his two friends had greeted him with an array of exaggerated vulgar motions and kissy faces.

He had waved them off, and though he’d glowered at them hotly and shrugged off their prodding questions, he couldn’t find it in himself to stifle the grin that the human girl’s offer had left behind on his cheeks.  She wanted to make him dinner. Just the two of them. It’d been so long since anyone had gone so out of their way for him like that, he hadn’t been able to help his giddy reaction.

As he reaches the final stair leading to Y/N’s floor of her building, a tired sigh falls from Harry’s pink lips.  He should’ve known better than to call her with his friend present, he thinks, as his footsteps echo around the empty hallway.  The moment he’d plopped back down on his couch, Niall and Xander had ignored his dismissive attitude and proceeded to continue to bombard him with a million questions about her, and a million more digs at his ego when he had later excused himself from their tournament to get ready for the dinner.  Although he’d normally be able to ignore their obsessive inquiries without so much as a second thought, he’d berated himself throughout his entire shower and get-ready routine, the harsh judgement ever-present in the back of his skull as he’d picked up his favourite ingredients for margaritas from the grocery store.  He should’ve known better.

It’s bad enough that he’s toying around with Y/N’s feelings just for his own selfish needs, but every time the topic of Y/N came up around his friends, it ended with the exact same question, just as it had earlier that day.

“So when do we get to meet her?  Like, officially meet her, and not just hear her moaning through your wall.” Niall had asked as he took a sip of his Guinness beer, layering a childish snicker on top of his curiosity.

“Yeah, I’d love to see the girl that domesticated you.  Always thought she’d be fictional, actually.” Xander’s laugh had matched Niall’s as the two of them watched Harry slip a fresh t-shirt over his head. 

A tightness had developed in Harry’s chest then, so tense that it had nearly stopped him from smoothing the shirt over his inked chest. “You don’t get to meet her.” He had replied curtly, shooting the two vampires a stern look. “She’s not something for you two to gawk at, she’s—”

Niall had interjected then, the mirth in his eyes refusing to bow despite Harry’s seething. “Your girlfriend?” 

Harry had stared witheringly at the Irish immortal. “No.  She’s not my girlfriend.  She’s just a friend I have an arrangement with.  An arrangement that will become much more complicated if she starts hanging out with other vampires and notices that there’s something… off about us.”

“Off?” Niall had questioned, grinning cheekily with a flash of his fangs, his blue irises dying blood red. “I have no idea what you’re referring to, mate.”

Pausing in front of Y/N’s front door, Harry takes a moment to swipe his hair back from his face, tousling his curls until they fall into just the right place.  His chestnut locks are beginning to get a little long again (they curl around his ears and tickle the nape of his neck now), but he can’t quite bring himself to cut them just yet; Y/N has a habit of reaching for them whenever he goes down on her, and the sensation of her tugging on his hair is too satisfying to let go of so easily.  As for the rest of his look, Harry has opted to keep it casual tonight, wearing a blue and pink flamingo patterned button down over his Chicago Cubs t-shirt, paired with a rust-coloured pair of corduroy pants and his white vans.  If their usual routine is any indication, then Harry will be staying the night, and he’s learned over the years that it’s much comfier to leave the next morning in loose clothes than trying to yank on a pair of tight leather pants in a stranger’s bedroom.  Not that Y/N is a stranger; in fact, he could probably get away with bringing an overnight bag now.  But there’s something so presumptuous in showing up to a dinner date with a bag, and in a shocking— though fleeting— change of heart, the last thing Harry wants is to seem presumptuous. 

Harry raises his jeweled knuckles and raps on Y/N’s door in a rhythmic pattern, straightening his back and leaning against the frame as he waits for the door to open. 

Even through the wooden barrier, Harry can hear the old music floating through the bluetooth speaker that he knows sits on Y/N’s kitchen counter, the sizzling of peppers and onions in a pan, and Y/N singing to herself softly under her breath, the latter of which pauses as soon as Harry knocks.  Instead, it’s replaced with the soft padding of bare feet against the laminate floor, the click of a lock, the removal of a door chain, and the turning of a knob as the door swings open. 

And then Harry sees Y/N, and the sight of her catches the breath that he doesn’t really need. It lodges in his lungs and at the back of his burning throat, causing an odd sensation to churn the pit of his tummy as a sudden wave of heat pours into his cheeks. 

If Harry’s pride wasn’t as steadfast as he likes to portray, he would openly admit that it truly is frightening how just one glance at her can make his entire nervous system flare. 

It’s obvious that Y/N’s been at work all day; her mascara is slightly smudged beneath her eyes, and the ponytail bouncing at the top of her head is loose, with wisps of hair falling out and framing her face.  Her clothing, however, has been changed from her usual work polo and jeans to a cotton bralette that clings to her chest and displays a strip of her stomach that makes Harry’s mouth water.  Her black leggings have mesh cutouts on the side, and while that detail would normally draw Harry’s eyes by default, it’s the multicolour patchwork cardigan hanging loosely off her shoulders that really catches Harry off guard.  Or, more specifically, it’s his multicolour patchwork cardigan that catches him off guard. 

“Hi.” Y/N smiles up at him warmly with the edges of her eyes crinkling, her hands grasping the side of the door tightly. “Six P.M. on the dot, Holmes.  I’m impressed.”

“Solving mysteries isn’t my only speciality.” Harry matches his grin to hers, his dimples making an appearance as his expression grows. “Although speaking of mysteries… I think I just solved the case of my missing cardigan.” With his free hand, Harry reaches forward and tweaks a button on the article of clothing, his fingers brushing against Y/N’s bare tummy when he pulls away. 

A wispy giggle falls from Y/N’s cheeks as she opens the door wider to invite Harry in. “Right, that case.  I was about to call you about it, actually.  We got a big break-through last night.”

“Did we?” Harry raises an eyebrow as he steps into her apartment, shifting the fabric tote bag in his right hand to his left as he squeezes into the narrow corridor beside her. “And what was the big break, exactly?” 

Y/N wraps her arms around Harry’s neck as he snakes his now free hand around her waist, clutching her close to his cool body. “Well, I was trying to go to sleep, and I was cold, so I went searching in my closet for an extra blanket, and found this tucked in the back from when you let me borrow it last weekend.” She explains lightly, twisting her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Case closed.  Elementary, my dear Holmes.”

“I thought that was my line?” Harry quirks an eyebrow as fond amusement dances through his emerald eyes, his cold palm giving one of her love handles a playful squeeze. “First you steal my cardigan, and now my catch phrase.  What’s next?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Y/N says with a shrug, her smile growing wider with every passing moment as she nudges his chin teasingly with the tip of her warm nose. “I could steal a kiss, I suppose?  That’s a very you thing to do.”

“Not quite.  Usually you’re the one trying to steal one, and I make you ask for it. Beg, even, if I’m feeling a bit meaner than usual.” Tilting his head to the side and shaking it slowly, Harry lets out a long sigh. “You’re losing your touch, Watson.”

“Tragic.” Y/N matches his sigh as she begins to untangle her hands from his hair, but when she tries to extract herself from Harry’s grasp, he just holds on tighter. 

“But for the sake of tradition…” Harry’s eyes fall to the mortal’s lips as he wets his own with his tongue. “How about a hello kiss?”

Despite the usual iciness of Harry’s touch, heat begins to blossom through Y/N’s chest as she tilts her head up to meet Harry’s mouth.  The kiss, unlike many they’ve shared before, is tender, and only lasts for a brief moment before Y/N settles back down on the balls of her feet. 

“Hi.” She whispers, her hands curling around the fabric clinging to Harry’s muscular shoulders. 

“Hi.” The vampire replies easily as he finally releases his grip on her waist, taking a step back from both Y/N and the bashful instance they’d found themselves in.

He allows her to lead him down the entrance hallway and into her living room, drifting behind her towards the kitchen and glimpsing over all the ingredients she has scattered around her counters.

“You look beautiful in my cardigan, by the way.” Harry throws out casually, admiring the way the article hangs off her figure in the most adorable oversized fashion. “If I didn’t make that clear enough before.  And,” the monster takes a sudden deep whiff for emphasis, “it smells delicious in here. Seems like Gordon Ramsey doesn’t have shit on you, huh?”

Although the initial compliment brings a flush of pleasure up Y/N’s spine, she chooses to focus on the latter half of Harry’s comment. “I’d like to think so, yeah.  Dinner is almost ready, if you want to take a seat at the table.  Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Actually…” Harry holds up the bag in his hand and bounces it jestingly, fully bringing it to Y/N’s attention for the first time. “I thought I’d make us margaritas to go with the fajitas.  Really commit to the theme, y’know?”

All of the previous drinks that Harry has made for her float through Y/N’s mind, and her mouth salivates at the thought of drinking another of his incredible creations. He really does have such a wise talent with liquor that she finds herself subconsciously wondering how that had come to be. “Of course; we can’t do Fajita Fridays halfway, now can we?”

“No, we can’t.” Harry agrees with a firm nod, setting the bag down on her small kitchen tabletop and unpacking the ingredients he’d toted with him. “Do you prefer your margaritas over ice or blended?”

The correct answer immediately rolls off the mortal’s tongue. “Blended— I’m not insane.” She states with a scoff, picking up her spatula to stir the pepper and onion mixture on the stove as she bobs her head towards the cabinet at the far end of the room. “The blender is just up in that cupboard there.”

The corners of Harry’s pink lips tug up at her response, and he nods to the girl as he drifts over and reaches for the cabinet she’d motioned to. “Gotcha.” He says, pushing back a few decorative serving platters before extracting the blender sitting on the back of the shelf. “Oh, this’ll do nicely.”

His comment is met with a quiet snort from Y/N, who glances at him from the corner of her eye as she turns her attention to the sautéing chicken in her skillet. “Oh, it will, will it?” She asks sarcastically, her lithe fingers adding pinches of seasoning to the dish. “Are you a blender connoisseur, then?”

“Of course I am, angel.  Y’have to be, to make a half decent margarita.” Setting the kitchen appliance in the counter, Harry studies it with a keen eye, running his fingers over the smooth glass and slightly worn buttons. “It has a little bit of wear and tear, but that’s to be expected; the rest of it seems to be in decent condition.” He unwraps the cord from the base of the blender, plugging it into the wall before pressing the pulse button a few times to make the machine roar to life. “Listen to that engine purr… A blender like this could bring a man to tears.”

“That’s good to know.” Y/N snorts again, shaking her head at Harry’s antics as he begins to prepare his ingredients. “If you need a knife for the limes, there’s one in the block there.  And ice is in the freezer—”

“That’s good to know.” Harry mimics her prior reply with a shit-eating grin on his face, his hand wrapped around a bottle of Don Julio he’d snagged from his bar shelves. “I was about to check the cabinet again.”

With a shake of her head, Y/N steps past Harry to open a cupboard and fetch a serving dish. “Alright, smartass.” She bumps her hip against Harry’s as she passes him, the motion sending a jolt of electricity across the vampire’s pelvic bones. “Keep it up and you’ll lose dessert privileges.”

Although she tries to step away, Harry twists a cool arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her back against his chest as he smudges a kiss over her pulse point. “‘M sorry.” He murmurs, keeping his voice low in an attempt to hide the smile brewing on his face. “I’ll be nicer, then.  I’d hate to lose dessert—it’s my favourite part.”

With his lips over her neck, Harry can feel the exact moment Y/N’s heart rate increases, his ears pricking with the now familiar and adored sound.  Her warm hand cups his over her belly, fingers tracing over the knuckles of his icy touch. 

“I know it is.” Y/N tilts her head to the left, trying to provide Harry with more access to her neck as his mouth continues to ghost over her skin. “So I’d hate to take it away.”

The human girl’s familiar and achingly sweet honey and lavender scent fills Harry’s nostrils as his nose brushes against her jaw.  When he refers to her as dessert, Y/N doesn’t know how genuinely Harry means it. “Alright.  I’ll behave.” He relents, but he squeezes her tummy tightly as his teeth graze her skin one last time before pulling away. “For now.”

When Y/N detangles from the cage that is Harry’s arm, she busies herself with cooking again, doing her best to hide the light sheen of sweat that is beading her forehead.  It’s almost embarrassing, really; despite only being here for five minutes, Harry’s already pulling reactions out of her that she didn’t even know she had.  If she doesn’t get a hold of herself soon, she’ll be on her knees for him before he’s had a bite of dinner. 

With that thought in mind, the mortal forces herself to focus on the tasks at hand, continuing her banter with Harry while making sure to keep the subject matter PG as she plates the food and Harry blends drinks for them.  Her tiny table, which she’s already set for two, is soon filled with dishes containing sautéed vegetables, chicken, and other various toppings, and Harry pours his margarita mix into two glasses before sitting across from her with a curious air. 

“So this is what you and your friends used to do back home, is it?” He asks, crossing his arms and resting them on the table as he regards Y/N with a tilted head. “Fajita Fridays?  Taco Tuesdays?  Meatloaf Mondays?”

“Meatloaf Mondays sound depressing.” Y/N shoots back with a scoff, her hand wrapping around her margarita glass and lifting it to her mouth to take a sip. “We weren’t that pathetic.”

Harry exhales a sharp but quiet breath from his nose once—the beginnings of a laugh— before offering a dry reply. “No, it doesn’t have a very nice ring to it, does it?” He says, watching eagerly as her eyes widen at the first taste of the drink rolls across her tongue. “Do you like it?”

Y/N clears her throat as she lowers her glass from her mouth. “It’s...strong.” Y/N replies slowly, taking another gulp and smacking her lips in an exaggerated fashion. “But yummy.  This is a repeat recipe, I think.” 

The praise warms the pit of Harry’s stomach as he raises his own glass, motioning to the girl before him before bringing the edge of the cup to his lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He murmurs, setting his drink back down after taking a sip and letting his eyes roam over the food before them. “So how did you and your friends do this?  Everyone would just reach in at once, or—?”

“Oh, well, we—we used to say grace first, actually.” Y/N admits after a moment, her eyes momentarily flickering to the gold cross dangling from Harry’s neck.  Although his usual cross earring is absent tonight, his pearls out of sight as well, and he’s only wearing his opal and lionhead rings, that familiar cross necklace is present as ever. “And then we’d move everything around the table clockwise from the person who actually led saying grace.” 

Despite Y/N previously mentioning that she’d been a regular church goer in her hometown, this new information sparks an interest in Harry’s mind. “Really?” He quirks an eyebrow as the human girl reaches for a warmed tortilla and begins to spoon her toppings inside. “But you don’t do that now?”

“Nope.” Her lips pop on the final consonant sound of the word. “Did you say grace growing up?” She asks curiously, nodding to the chain around Harry’s neck. “You always wear that cross, so I was just wondering…”

“Oh, uh—yeah. Yeah, we did.” A crease furrows the space between Harry’s brow as he selects his own tortilla, keeping his eyes glued to the food. “My father used to lead it every night.” Although he could leave the comment there and be done with the topic, more words of explanation spill from Harry’s mouth without him realizing how much he’s actually saying, his gaze remaining trained on the way he’s filling his tortilla, almost as if it’s a monumentally difficult task that requires his utmost attention. “I liked to listen to him say it.  My father had a very calming voice; he could be loud and boisterous when he wanted to, but at home, he always kept cool and collected.  It was comforting.”

Y/N notes the use of past tense when discussing Harry’s father, but doesn’t comment on it.  With the knowledge that his mother had passed away in her mind, she assumes the same has happened to his father, and the realization twists her heart in a new and aching manner. “You speak like that, you know.” She tries to steer the conversation into a lighter direction, registering the sadness in his emerald eyes when he discusses his family. “When you’re telling stories about your life.  Your voice is low and even, quieter than usual.  It sounds a bit like a…lullaby, I guess.  Or like— like an audiobook, like someone’s reading some old poetry, or—” Her cheeks flame beneath her skin as she drops her eyes to her plate. “Sorry.  That, um, that sounds strange.”

The outpouring confessions from the girl across from him brings an awed expression to Harry’s face.  He had always assumed his voice was more of a siren song than anything— capable of luring his victims into a false sense of security before he showed his true monstrous form.  But if the stuttering of Y/N’s heart and the brightness in her eyes is any indication, maybe that isn’t quite the case.  She described him as a lullaby, yes, but she didn’t sound betrayed at the thought of him spinning stories in order to keep her pliable under his grasp.  If anything, her words give the impression that she enjoys it.

“I’ve heard stranger.” Harry murmurs after a moment, his unusually bare forefinger rubbing over his lips pensively as he waits for Y/N to raise her head again. “Thank you.  That’s a compliment, really, saying that I sound like my dad used to.”

“Well, I mean, I’ve never heard your dad speak, so take it with a grain of salt—” Y/N forces out a laugh, despite her cheeks and neck still feeling uncomfortably flushed, “—but I imagine it’s similar.  After all, he raised you, didn’t he?”

Harry nods slowly, his mind so wrapped in his own memories that he doesn’t even think about the incriminating answer about to fall from his lips. “He did, yeah, but it’s been a while since I’ve been able to speak to him.” He admits, pinching his chin between his thumb and index finger as he lifts his left shoulder in an empty shrug. “Memories fade over time.  Things change.  People change.”

Although she can feel that they’re beginning to breach a more serious topic, Y/N doesn’t pull back like she did in the restaurant.  She rationalizes this action to herself as she sips her margarita and collects her thoughts, saying that it’s just because it’s easier to be honest in her apartment than a brunch restaurant. But the truth of the matter is that the longer she spends with Harry, the more Y/N wants to know him. Really know him, outside of their usual arrangement. 

“That’s true,” She agrees with hesitancy etched into her voice, keeping a measured glance on Harry’s body to read his reaction. “But you can’t have changed that much since you last saw him.  When…” Her words trail off when Harry locks his emerald eyes with hers, but she takes a deep breath and finishes her question in determination. “When did he pass away?  How old were you?”

In the immortal’s mind, the answer forms without any delay.  His father had been the first to go in his family; the combination of breathing in smoke from the forge and his age being four years his mother’s senior had stopped his heart before hers.  The news of his death reached Harry a few days after it had happened, and he had just made it back to Holmes Chapel in time to watch the funeral service from afar.  

Despite his appearance being frozen at twenty-six, as it always would be, Harry was nearly twenty-nine to the day of the funeral.  Gemma had been thirty-three by then, standing with their mother and a tall man by her side, who whispered what her brother hoped were reassuring words in her ear.  His sister's eyes had been nearly a perfect mirror of Harry’s, with the exception of a few crow’s feet beginning to show around them.  And his mother had been dressed in widower’s black, a veil pulled over her weeping face to allow her the bit of discretion that was expected in Victorian times.  Harry had been distressed when he saw the veil, despite expecting it to be there; he’d hoped he could get one more glimpse of her eyes before he had to leave that day.  He had entertained the idea of walking over, expressing his condolences, and compelling her to forget she’d seen her lost son, but the thought had twisted an ache into his chest that had nearly brought him to tears, and—

“I was twenty-one when he passed away.” Harry spits the sentence out, and the familiar lie burns his throat in an entirely foreign way than the thirst he’s used to. “He had lung cancer.” At least, that had been Harry’s assumption after he read up on the disease years after his father’s undetermined passing.  It made sense, given that all the grit and soot from the coal and metal grime had found its way into the air of the blacksmith’s shop, and after slaving away for years in order to keep food on the table, it had also eventually made its way into his father’s system… “It progressed quickly.” 

As he watches sympathy glaze itself over Y/N’s eyes, all he can think about is how undeserving he is of it.  Even though he’s compelled the mortal girl in front of him, gained her trust, been invited into her home, and is kindling a connection with her, all for the simple act of drinking her blood, Harry thinks that this might be the most monstrous thing he’s done yet— paint himself as a victim of circumstance, hiding all the wrong-doings he’s ever committed, and allowing Y/N and her softly-beating heart to feel sorry for him. 

The conversation moves to an lighter tone after that, which Harry does on purpose; the less he needs to tell her about his fabricated sob story, the better.  And, truth be told, he’d much rather hear about Y/N’s day-to-day life.  It’s been so long since he had human concerns, and when he did, his concerns certainly didn’t have anything to do with being betrayed by customers because the cafe wifi was down.  It’s almost amusing to him, listening to her rant about all these insignificant people, and he can’t help the way his dimples begin to peek out of his cheeks as she raises her voice at imaginary customers. 

“So I told him, in my most polite voice, that we were aware the wifi was down, and that we’d called the provider to let them know, and that they were sending someone as fast as they could to fix it. And do you know what he said to me?” Y/N widens her eyes in incredulous disbelief as she takes a bite of her fajita, chewing and swallowing quickly to continue with her story with more emphasis. “Do you know what he said?”

“No, I don’t.” Harry shakes his head in endearment, hiding the laugh forming on his rosy lips behind his margarita glass. “What did he say?”

“He said—” Y/N twists her face to mimic the customer’s expression, dropping her voice down five octaves lower as she speaks with a ridiculous tone. “‘Oh, well, can’t you just fix it?  You work here, don’t you?  What else do you get paid for?’ Can you believe that?” She states the last phrase in her normal voice, scoffing at the memory as she crosses her patchwork covered arms across her chest. “Like, I’m a waitress!  I don’t work at an internet company!  I’m trained to bring you water and sandwiches— which are more cucumber than anything with actual substance—  so it’s not my responsibility to figure out why you can’t load Candy Crush on your phone!”

A snicker finally breaks free from Harry’s throat as he watches Y/N angrily stuff a piece of chicken into her mouth. “Sounds like you had a rough day today.”

“That’s pretty average for me, honestly.” Y/N sighs again, rubbing her hand over her forehead as she polishes off the rest of her second margarita. “Ugh, it pissed me off.  I wanted to shove his phone right up his ass and ask if his wifi connection got better.” A small smile breaks out across Y/N’s lips in spite of herself as Harry stifles another giggle at her witty comment. “But I’ve talked about it enough.  How was your day?  What did you do?”

“I did a bit of work in the morning, nothing too noteworthy.” Harry replies, deliberately keeping his answer vague as he twists his lionhead ring around his finger. “And I was about to watch a golf tournament with Xander and Niall when you called.”

Harry thinks nothing of mentioning their names, but is surprised when Y/N’s brow cinch in thought. “Which ones are Xander and Niall?  Is one of them the long haired one?” She asks curiously, pulling her (his) cardigan off one shoulder as the tequila begins to course through her veins and heat her body. 

“The— no.  No, that’s Mitch.” Harry says slowly, cocking his head to the side in confusion. “How did you know that?”

Y/N feels a spike of embarrassment in her stomach, and shyly avoids Harry’s eyes as she answers. “There was a photo of you with a group of guys in your apartment, in the living room.” She mumbles, tapping her fingers against her newly cleaned plate. “One of them— I think he was next to you in the photo?— had long hair.  Another had blue eyes, glasses… and brown hair, I think?  I don’t really remember the rest…”

Harry hums in the back of his throat, quiet and low. “That was probably Niall.” He guesses, finishing his own margarita and setting the glass down gently. “If I’m thinking of the right picture, then Xander was the one standing next to him.”

Y/N pictures the faces in her mind’s eye, imagining the two brunette boys in the clothing from the photo, slumped next to Harry on the couch of his stunning condo, knocking back pints of beer and plates of nachos as they watch golf on TV.  It seems strange to picture Harry doing something so… normal.  She forgets, sometimes, that he’s a regular twenty-six year old man.  In her head, when she thinks of Harry, regular is the last word that comes to her mind— even when he’s sitting across from her in a casual outfit, doing something as simple as eating dinner while he asks her about her day, Y/N struggles to remember that this man is just that: a man.  

Maybe, she ponders, as Harry stands up with the explanation of making more margaritas falling off his lips, it’s because she’s only ever really been alone with him.  With the exception of the club where they met, and his friends interrupting their weekend a few weeks prior (her cheeks flame at the recalling of the embarrassing memory), Y/N has only ever seen Harry in her own context.  

As the blender whirs to life behind her, the human twists in her chair to catch a glimpse of the object of her thoughts.  Even beneath his opaque shirt, she can see the muscles of Harry’s back flexing as he bends down to slice a lime, squeezing the juice into the top of the blender while holding his jeweled hand underneath to catch any seeds.  When Harry is around her, he’s charming, cocky, self-assured, and— on the extremely rare occasion— vulnerable.  What’s he like around his friends?  

Just as cocky, Y/N is sure; she can’t picture Harry letting go of his signature smirk so easily.  But does anything else about him shift when exposed to different company?  Is there different vocabulary that slips from his mouth?  What about his tone of voice?  Does that change, too, like Y/N’s used to when she was around Bradley, or when she’s with customers?  He mentioned earlier that he’d been watching golf, and that was the last sport she'd ever think he’d have an affinity for, let alone one he’d enjoy enough to make a day out of watching tournaments.  What other personality traits and pastimes is he keeping from her?  If she were to be a fly on the wall while he was with his friends, would she see someone completely unrecognizable in his Gucci boots and translucent shirts?

The sudden lack of noise from the blender snaps Y/N from her thoughts, and Harry detaches the pitcher and carries it to the table, filling her empty glass with a smile. 

“There you are, miss.” He winks at her quickly before filling his own cup and standing back from the table with a grin, his free hand folded behind his back as he straightens his posture. “Now,” He begins, his accent slipping into a more posh tongue as he bows his head lightly. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

Despite her worries, a soft laugh rolls from Y/N at his impersonation of a server. “Yeah, actually.” She drops her voice lower again, plastering an angry expression onto her face as she reaches into her cardigan pocket and retrieves her phone. “Your wifi is down.  What kind of restaurant doesn’t have wifi?  Can’t you fix this?”

A loud snort echoes from Harry’s mouth as he sets the blender back down on the counter before sliding back into his seat across from her. “Sorry, love,” He laughs, his regular accent back in its place. “That’s a bit above my paygrade.  I can, however, offer you some compensation.”

Wrapping her fingers around the icy margarita glass, Y/N leans forward, resting her chin on her free hand as she appraises Harry with a kinked brow. “Is that so?” She replies in her regular voice as well, her interest piqued. “What kind of compensation?”

“It’s part of our Friday Night Special,” Harry slides his hand across the table and pushes the baggy rainbow sleeve of Y/N’s cardigan down her arm in order to brush his cool fingers up and down her bare skin. “And it features bottomless margaritas paired with cunnilingus from our most handsome waiter.”

A fluttering warmth begins to knot itself around Y/N’s core, but she does her best to keep her composure as she straightens her spine and glances around the apartment. “Sounds intriguing.  So where’s the handsome waiter?”

Harry’s pillowy lips plunk down into an exaggerated frown as he presses a hand to his chest, his other hand continuing to stroke over Y/N’s forearm. “Ouch, Watson.  That hurt.  Might need you to kiss it better.”

“Oh yeah?” Y/N challenges, lifting her drink to her lips and sipping it slowly. “Where exactly does it hurt?”

Instead of answering her query, Harry simply stands from his chair and rounds the table to stop in front of Y/N, extending his hand to her.  She lays her fingers inside his cool grasp, allowing him to pull her from her seat.  He’s closer than she realized, she thinks, as her chest brushes with his and the intoxicating scent of his cologne fills her senses, only getting stronger as Harry nudges her nose with his own, his lips just barely gliding over her own. The copper specks around his pupils glitz under the muted lighting, electric from the alcohol, from the sensation of her close proximity, and from the ever-present intention of getting between her legs.

When Harry finally speaks, his thick cadence washes over her just as much as his tequila-scented breath, his free-hand tugging suggestively at the waistband of her leggings. “If we go to your bedroom, then I can show you.”

“Mm, is that so?” The girl gives in to his gesture, stepping forward as the vampire begins treading backwards towards their new— though entirely familiar— destination. “You’re gonna show me, then?”

“I most certainly am.” The boy keeps their bodies close, making sure that his lips continue to just barely graze hers as he moves, teasing her nerves into a frenzy. “I plan on showing you over, and over, and over…”

Y/N can’t bring herself to resist the offer.  She’s only human, after all.

///

The next morning, Harry wakes up tangled in Y/N’s sheets to two surprises: the sheets on Y/N’s side of the bed are cold and bare, and that Harry is actually waking up.  

Although he remembers falling back onto the scattered sheets the night before (after coaxing three orgasms out of Y/N and her coaxing two from him in return), he doesn’t remember drifting off into the sleep he so rarely needs, and because of that, Harry feels disoriented and groggy in a way he hasn’t in a long time.  He does his best to blink the haze from his usually sharp eyes, knuckling at them with his cool fingers as he attempts to get his bearings.

His sleep-fogged mind struggles to recall what had happened after Y/N had fallen asleep.  She’d drifted off easily and quickly, her sweat-soaked body tucked into Harry’s with her head resting in the crook of his neck.  That noted detail sticks out in his memory because it had made Harry pause before biting her.  She’d been so comfortable next to him, and in such an inconvenient position that Harry didn’t want to shift her to drink. After debating with himself for a few moments, he’d eventually decided on an alternative and had lifted her fragile wrist to his lips.

Even half awake, Harry’s lips quirk up at the hazy memory.  He recalls the feeling of her hummingbird pulse thrumming beneath her delicate skin, practically vibrating against his lips as he stamped a kiss over her vein before biting down.  Her blood had a weaker flow there, but that was alright; he’d just sucked a little harder to coax the liquid from her body, feeling his mouth overflow with her welcomed taste as well as with the supernatural chemicals that inject into her system and dull any pain his feeding might cause. He’d been careful to gauge his consumption by the strength of her heartbeat, and when he’d finished, he’d sealed the wound with a bit of his own blood, as usual. He’d made sure Y/N was healed and settled back in his arms before relaxing into the pillows to listen to her breathing, the soft pillows and her radiating body heat feeling more soothing than usual. Somewhere between counting the movement of her lungs and the sun rising, Harry had fallen unconscious.

It’s strange, being up after Y/N.  Harry has grown used to rising before her and making breakfast, or even just coffee, and there’s something disorienting about being in her bed alone, without her inherent warmth and soft skin, and only the ghost of her sugary scent left behind.  He briefly wonders if this is how she feels when she wakes up to cold sheets and no one beside her (although Harry suspects the lack of his frozen body would make the bed a more comfortable temperature), and thinks that maybe he should begin to lay in bed with her a little longer; if he’s going to fake a relationship with her, it should be a relationship where her partner wants to be around her, and isn’t awake before the sun.

And that’s another thing.  The golden orange light of the rising L.A. sun is just beginning to stream through the closed curtains, so what time is it?  It can’t be any later than seven— on a Saturday, no less— and at such an early hour, Harry would expect Y/N to still be dreamily dozing in bed.  What had drawn her away from her comfortable position in Harry’s arms?

As the sun continues to rise, the light begins to streak onto Y/N’s empty side of the bed and, instinctually, Harry begins to reach for the beam, craving the warmth she took with her when she abandoned the sheets.  Instead of the expected touch of heat, however, Harry is jarred by a burning sensation ripping across his icy flesh.

The vampire yanks his hand back in a flash, his face screwing in silent pain as he bites back a yell of anguish, but the damage has already been done.  The tips of his fingers are puckered with red blisters, which throb as he flexes his hand in the safety of the shadows. Harry digs his sharp teeth into his lip harder, forcing himself to inhale slowly through his nose and exhale shakily through his mouth.

It takes a few moments for him to collect himself, breathing deeply with his eyes closed as he does so, and as he counts his own breaths like he’d counted Y/N’s the night before, what should’ve been an obvious thought enters his mind: why had he burned?  He’s wearing his lionhead ring, which has eyes made of those precious crystals that protect his inhuman skin from sunlight, and as long as he’s wearing it, the sun shouldn’t be able to…

Harry’s sight snaps completely open as he jerks forward in bed, his head throbbing from the sudden movement.  When he’d first awoken, he’d attributed his grogginess and dry eyes to sleeping for the first time in weeks, but as Harry’s jade gaze settles upon his uninjured hand, he realizes the truth.  That disorienting feeling isn’t from sleep, but from the sunlight that had begun to seep through the curtains and affect his body, bouncing off the glossy walls of Y/N’s room and reflecting off her picture frames and furniture.  What would normally not be an issue suddenly becomes the bane of his existence, and what usually isn’t able to affect his body immediately does, obvious in the agonizing sweltering writhing through every single one of his dormant arteries. And all because his lionhead ring is missing from its rightful place.

Granted, Harry hadn’t worn most of his rings to Y/N’s apartment the night before, seeing as how they planned to spend the night in, but he’d kept his mother’s opal and the lionhead securely on his middle finger and pinky, just as he always did.  The former brings him memories of his mother, and helps him keep a piece of her— and who he once was— with him in this strange modern time.  The latter had been a rebirth gift from a family he’d rather forget, and if it didn’t keep him from flambéing himself every time he stepped into the sun, he wouldn’t wear it at all. In all honesty, he probably would’ve chucked into Hell, if he could. 

But the reality of his afterlife is that Harry needs that ring.  So why is it missing from his hand?

Cradling his blistered digits to his bare chest, the wounded vampire tosses back the covers, careful to avoid the streaks of sunshine beginning to light up the small room.  His icy chest soothes the burn in his fingers, which are taking longer to heal than Harry would’ve thought, but if the grating itch of his dry eyes is any indication, the effects of the sun aren’t just limited to direct physical harm, but are also stopping his body from healing itself as quickly as usual.

Harry presses his good hand to his dizzy head and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, planting his feet onto the ground as firmly as he can to center himself, refusing to cripple under the extraneous circumstances. He fishes his grey boxers from their signature spot on Y/N’s floor, slipping them on slowly as even the smallest of movements seems to strain his muscles beyond reason. As the elastic band snaps around his hips, another frightening possibility seizes his body: his mother’s ring could also be gone. He yanks his hand away from his head, and it takes his eyes a moment to focus on the opal ring.  At least he can breathe a sigh of relief about one thing— if his mother’s ring had disappeared, Harry’s not quite sure what he would’ve done.  

And that thought brings his spinning mind back to the present.  His lionhead ring is gone, and he can’t so much as step into sunlight without undergoing intense, insurmountable pain, so how is he going to find it?

Another groan falls from Harry’s mouth as he rests his forehead in his palm, propping his elbow against his knee so he can shield his eyes from the sunlight by hiding in between his legs.  Daylight talismans are extremely rare; he can’t exactly waltz into the nearest Wal-Mart and pick one up.  The crystals that give vampires such cherished immunity all date back to the medieval era, when vampires were considered mythical legends instead of just plain myths, and what few of the crystals are left are hidden deep within old ruins in the remote wilderness of Europe.  If Harry hadn’t been given his shortly after he was turned, he’s not sure he would have been lucky enough to own one.  He remembers Niall telling him how he had to search every night for months before he found a crystal hidden inside a ruin in Wales, and Xander had once recounted the story of stealing his from the vampire that turned him.  Even Mitch had struggled with the crystals before; although his ring had originally been a gift from the vampire that transformed him, he had to crack the crystal in half and set it into a new ring for Sarah when she had met her untimely demise. 

Vampires have been known to beg, lie, cheat, and steal in order to get their hands on a daylight crystal, so if someone managed to sneak in and take Harry’s lionhead ring while he and Y/N were sleeping, then Harry is going to have a fucking hell of a time trying to get it back. 

As the thought enters Harry’s dazed mind, a chill runs down his back, crawling across his spine and down his tailbone in an unsettling shiver as he slowly turns back to Y/N’s empty side of the bed.  If someone— if another creature just like him, who would be the only other person capable of recognizing such a treasure— got into the apartment and took his ring, and found an unconscious mortal girl with the sweetest honey and lavender liquid pulsing through her veins, then…

The sheets and curtains of the room blow in a breeze as Harry jets off the bed, forgetting to control his inhuman speed as he throws the sliding door open and stumbles into the hallway.  More sunlight streams through the windows of the living room, and it’s taking all of Harry’s dulled concentration to avoid the beams as he staggers towards the kitchen.

It’s not until the immortal smells Y/N’s familiar fragrance and hears the beating of her heart, in tune with her quiet humming, that the fear Harry hadn’t realized had tightened his chest flows out of him in one fell swoop.  He does his best to force even breaths in and out of his lungs, watching as Y/N raises her coffee mug to her lips and blows on the hot liquid before taking a small sip.

She’s dressed in his multicoloured patchwork cardigan again, buttoned up to provide her with warmth and modesty, but it slips down her bare shoulder in a way that allows Harry to see she’s wearing nothing underneath it.  Although the cardigan pools around her silky thighs— which are marked with bruises from the night before— Harry can see the tiniest peak of her panties beneath the fabric, and if he were in a better frame of mind, he might’ve noticed how they’re not the pair she wore last night (that pair had been ripped right down the middle in his frantic attempt to get them off).  However, Harry’s eyes quickly settle on Y/N’s hands, which, after she sets down her coffee cup, pick up Harry’s lionhead ring and begin turning it around in her fingers.

When he sees the ring in her delicate grasp, a wave of sheer rage begins to rumble through Harry’s chest, and it takes every fiber of his undead being to keep it at bay as he approaches the mortal girl. “Y/N,” Harry rasps lowly, voice heavy with the exhaustion that his newfound vulnerability has stacked onto his shoulders. He stands in the one spot of shadow near the kitchen counter, trying hard not to glower. “What are you doing?”

When Y/N turns her head to look at him, her sleepy face smiles softly, eyes nearly as bright as the infuriating sun. Maybe that’s why, Harry thinks, it feels like it burns.

“Morning,” She says quietly, her own voice just as sleepy as Harry’s as she picks up a grey cloth from the table and begins to run it over the ring with precision and care. “How did you sleep?”

It’s a simple, innocent question, and Harry knows that, but his mind can’t think in simple and innocent terms right now.  As the light filling the room begins to pound his head even more, Harry’s thoughts revert back to his most instinctual behavior— rough carnal impulse. “What are you doing?” He asks again, his voice lower than before.  He sounds dangerous, and he means to.  How could she possibly think that taking something from him without his permission is fine?

“I’m polishing your ring.” Y/N keeps that good-natured smile on her face as she replies, but Harry can see the smallest waver in it as she begins to sense his distorted energy from across the room. “It was tarnished, and I have a polishing cloth, so I thought I’d—”

“Give it back.” Harry doesn’t mean to snarl the phrase, but he can’t stop himself from doing it as he thrusts out his hand expectantly; it’s taking all his concentration to keep himself from baring his teeth and letting his eyes bleed red. 

Y/N doesn’t fight him on it, and drops the ring carefully into his awaiting hand without letting her warm skin meet his.  She watches with confused eyes as Harry slips the newly shined lionhead ring onto his finger, a breath of relief sighing from his red lips the moment the metal meets his skin. He finishes twisting it into its designated spot, and he feels like he can actually breathe again.

The human girl waits a moment for an explanation from Harry, some spoken word or action to justify the hostility rolling off of him as he clutches the jeweled hand to his chest.  As the moments pass, however, Harry offers no explanation, or anything at all as he takes deep and measured inhales through his nose, as if he’s trying to relax. 

“I’m sorry.” Y/N offers the words quietly, turning in her chair to properly face him with sincere eyes. “I just noticed that it was more tarnished than your other jewelry, and I thought I could—”

“You can’t take my rings from me.” Harry answers in a harsh voice, his face reflecting about as much warmth as stone on a winter’s day. “I thought I’d lost it.  You can’t do that.”

“I’m sorry.” Y/N repeats the phrase again, gentler this time as she wraps her hands around her steaming mug.  She had guessed that the opal ring was his mother’s, but like Harry’s ruby ring and initial rings, she’d deduced this lionhead decal was more for decoration than anything.  If it was something important, one would figure that he’d take better care of it.  But it seems she’s not as adept at reading Harry as she’d like to think, because his explosive reaction had been totally unexpected.  For the first time since she met him, Y/N feels uneasy in his presence.  Had she really offended him that much?

The truth of the situation, unbeknownst to her, is that Harry’s reaction is no more purposefully malicious than Y/N’s intentions. Although the ring is back on his finger, and the crystals are beginning to protect him again, Harry’s thoughts are still muddied as he glances around the apartment, carefully surveying the circumstance like the top predator he pretends not to be.  There’s still a throbbing in his skull, and his eyes remain painfully dry, despite the fact that his healing has kicked in and mended his blistered fingertips.  In this moment, Harry feels weaker than he has in centuries; if someone were to attack right now, he wouldn’t be able to react quickly enough to protect himself. How could his aching head afford him any clear plan of attack?  How could his burning eyes show him every approaching danger?  How did he let himself become so relaxed— so stupidly lax— that he didn’t notice a mere human slipping off his most precious and needed object as he slept soundly in her bed?

“I really am sorry, Harry.” Rising from her chair with her quiet speech, Y/N steps towards him, hand outstretched to touch his inked forearm. “I didn’t know—”

Her hot fingertips against Harry’s frozen skin jar the vampire, triggering his fight or flight instincts as he tenses beneath her touch. “No—” He wrenches his arm away hurriedly, the searing graze reminding him of the sunlight that had harmed him just seconds ago, his wild eyes meeting Y/N’s in a feral frenzy. 

Although her chest barely moves, Harry can hear the stuttering breath that the girl sucks in through her teeth, her eyes widening at the severity of his actions. “I’m sorry.” She whispers the phrase again, her fingers jerking back from Harry’s arm in shock. “I…”

The more time passes, the more Harry regains control of himself, and as Harry melds his shattered composure back together, he can see the fear beginning to stain its way onto Y/N’s face.  The uneven beating of her heart pricks his ears, as does the scuff of the floor beneath her bare feet as she takes a step back from him.  When that uncertain fear reaches her irises, Harry is suddenly flashed back to their first date, when he’d been worried that she might be scared of being alone with him, and how delighted he’d been when he realized that wasn’t the case.  And now, as a sick feeling begins to settle in his stomach, he knows he’s blown it. 

Inhaling deeply through his nose, Harry urges himself to relax. 

“No, I’m sorry.” He softens his voice as much as he can muster in order to apologize, rubbing his charred eyes with one hand, hoping they’re still the canopy green Y/N is familiar with. “M’just half asleep still, and I was worried that— I’m sorry.” Harry extends his ringed hand in invitation, desperately craving the warmth of Y/N’s touch now that he’s leveled out, but not wanting to take it unwillingly. He wants her to feel safe enough to give it to him. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

There’s a moment of hesitation that flickers in her eyes, but it quickly passes as the mortal lays her hand within his. “You didn’t scare me.” She reassures him, but Harry can hear the falseness of her response immediately, and that guarded demeanor only intensifies the nausea rattling inside him.

Is she lying to save his feelings, he wonders, or to make herself look tougher?  No matter which may be the truth, Harry hates that she has to feel the need to lie.  He’d been upset, yes, but he should know better.  And he should know that she doesn’t know better.  She thought she’d been doing something nice for him; she has no idea about the torturous results his ring protects him from.  And she doesn’t know because Harry refuses to tell her— because he refuses to subject her to that perverted knowledge.  This is his own doing. 

“I did. I did frighten you, and I was rude, and I’m truly sorry.” Harry sighs heavily, dragging his fingers through his sleep-tousled curls. “My ring is just— it’s very important to me, and I don’t really like to take it off, so maybe just—just ask next time, yeah?” He murmurs the words in a soothing tone, his thumb sweeping over her knuckles in a poor attempt to make up for the way he’d berated her. “I know you didn’t have any bad intentions, and I’m not angry with you for taking it, but it just scared me when I woke up and it was gone.” 

“I’m sorry.” Y/N repeats yet again, and although Harry can feel her melting into his touch, there’s still a hint of uncertainty lingering beneath her words. 

Harry forces a grin on his chapped lips, which he wets with his tongue before speaking again. “S’alright, dove.  No harm, no foul.  And no more apologies, yeah?” He brushes a finger over her cheek, trying his best to put on a lighthearted front for the girl. “It was rather tarnished, actually— needed a good cleaning.” 

A shy smile finally creeps its way onto Y/N’s face, and Harry has to stop himself from breathing an audible sigh of content at both the gesture and the lack of prying about why that ring was dirtier than the rest (the answer to said question is just as simple as it is complicated: it reminds Harry of someone he’d rather forget, and if he didn’t need it, he’d drown it in the deepest ocean he could find— keeping it clean is the least of his concerns).

“How about breakfast, hm?  It’s early, but we could make some pancakes, or—” Harry glances at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall, reading the time with surprise before his gaze travels back to Y/N with a confused look. “It’s not even seven yet.  What time did you get up?”

“Around 6:15?  6:30?” She lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug, and Harry’s cardigan slips down her arm with the motion. “I don’t really remember.”

With his other hand still squeezing her own, Harry rugs the sleeve of the cardigan back up her shoulder, smoothing it over her morning-cooled skin. “It’s a Saturday, darling.  What were you doing up so early?”

Despite her heartbeat having not quite returned to its usual tempo, Y/N nuzzles into Harry’s touch as he pulls her closer to him. “Couldn’t really sleep, I guess.” Tucking her face into his neck for a moment, Y/N indulges a penetrating inhale, enjoying the remnants of his mahogany and vanilla cologne before stepping back and past Harry to the cabinet.  

Standing on her tiptoes, Y/N opens the door and retrieves a pink flowered mug before sliding down the counter to her coffee maker. “Want some coffee?” She asks, touching the glass of the carafe lightly to make sure it’s still warm. “There’s butter in the fridge, I think, if you want to make your disgusting drink.”

Ignoring the dig at his beverage of choice— which Harry has explained to her, multiple times, has many health benefits (not that he needs them) and just tastes better than coffee with cream— the vampire leans his hip against the counter, crossing his arms over his bare chest as his brow furrows over his darkening eyes. 

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” He questions, his attention glued to Y/N’s actions as she seems to deliberately avoid his gaze.  He analyzes the dark circles under her eyes, apparent even from just her side profile, and a spark of concern ignites his chest.  Could this be his fault?  Is drinking her blood beginning to take a physical toll on her body?  His blood has been healing her bite marks, but what about her iron levels?  Is her circulation being affected?  Mitch has told him multiple times that drinking from humans is okay once or twice a week, as long as there’s a grace period in between feeding, but Mitch has also never had the same human for as long as Harry has had Y/N.  Have the weeks they’ve spent together begun to unravel her?

When Y/N simply shrugs in response to his question, and offers no other words of explanation, a tired sigh falls from Harry’s lips as he steps towards her, taking the now-filled coffee mug from her hands and setting it down on the counter.  He wraps his arms around Y/N’s shoulders, hugging the girl into his chest for a moment to get a gauge on her body’s response.  Her heartbeat stutters, yes, but that’s a usual response to being wrapped inside Harry’s embrace, and it returns to normal after a few beats.  Her body feels just as warm as it usually does, and her chest is rising and falling just as it should be.  Nudging his face into her hair, he breathes in deeply, filling his lungs with her fragrance.  No, nothing smells out of place, and her blood had tasted as delicious and as strong as ever last night.  If she’s having trouble sleeping, the cause isn’t anything tangible. 

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Harry mumbles the words into her hair before lifting his head up, extracting the girl from his arms just enough so that he can see her face. “If something is bothering you and keeping you up, then you can wake me up, too.”

Y/N worries her pillowy bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes become entranced by Harry’s rosemary gaze. “I know I could, but I didn’t want to.  You—” She swallows hard in an attempt to clear the thickness from her throat as her cheeks begin to burn. “You were sleeping, and I never see you sleep.” Y/N’s voice retreats into a sheepish tone at the admittance, her eyes falling from Harry’s stare to the floor between them. “You always fall asleep after me, and you’re always awake before me.  You need rest, too, H.”

While Harry would normally laugh at that simple phrase— at the fact that Y/N doesn’t know how wrong she is— Harry’s dimples remain dormant as he focuses on the concern in her voice. “I—” His voice catches in his throat, and he has to clear it before he can say anything else. “I sleep just fine.  Better, in fact, when I’m with you.” He confesses, his thumbs brushing over the exposed skin of Y/N’s neck. 

And after Y/N has extracted herself from his grip to take a sip of her coffee, after she teasingly groans while watching Harry drop a pat of butter into his own steaming mug, after he begins to crack eggs into a pan as Y/N starts to lay bacon on a baking sheet, after all that, Harry finally realizes what lodged in his throat. It dawns on him just as Y/N slips a pink apron over his bare, faintly hickey-bruised chest to protect him from splatters of grease, giggling to herself as he poses with his hand on his hip and makes a vulgar joke about how this looks like the setup to a cheesy porno. 

The vampire comes to the realization that Y/N takes notice of him. 

She notices when he doesn’t sleep.  She notices his exposed skin that could potentially be burned while cooking.  She notices the expressions on his face, reads the tone of his voice, knows when to press a matter and when to leave it be.  And she’s concerned.  She’s concerned about not seeing him sleep.  She’s concerned about him accidentally getting hurt.  She’s concerned about the swings in his moods, the shortness of his answers.  And while Harry knows her real concerns should be about allowing herself to be in such close proximity to someone— something— like him, he can’t help but feel a warmth in his chest at the thought of her worrying about him. 

As much as Harry likes to pretend otherwise, he knows he’s not easy to be around sometimes.  He can be vain, self-centered, self-serving, and inconsiderate.  He can be selfish, dishonest, and manipulative.  His mood can teeter at the drop of a hat, and he changes his mind like the weather on the best of days.  And on his worst of days, sometimes Harry wonders if anyone could care for him, or even stand to be around him, if it wasn’t a necessity. 

Although he’d never admit it, when Harry reflects on his friendships, he can feel a degree of insecurity in the threads that tie him to his crew.  He’s fairly certain that if he and Mitch met under different circumstances— circumstances when both of them were human— they would likely still be friends.  Maybe not as close as they are today, but friends, at the very least.  When it comes to Niall, Xander, and Adam, however… he’s not so sure.  Yes, he cares for them more than he’ll ever care for anyone again, and his loyalty to them is unwavering, but on his worst days, Harry can’t help but wonder if they would be friends if their connection hadn’t been forged on the basis of what they are, and understanding something that no one else can.  If being vampires hadn’t placed them in each other’s lives and sealed them in a bond of venom and blood, would they even have given the others a second thought?  Would any of them have wanted Harry in their lives?  Harry wants to think yes, but it’s not a question of what he wants; the truth is, Harry is uncertain. 

But when Y/N sits across from him with a smear of ketchup on her bottom lip, smiling softly at Harry as he wipes it off with his thumb, and he can’t stop himself from smiling back, he realizes something that’s never occurred to him before.  He’s able to be cared for by someone who is drawn to him for all the reasons humans are normally drawn to each other, and not because they have a mutual understanding of what it’s like to be an other.

Of course, he knows there’s a certain degree of falsity in that; part of his charm and addictive qualities come from what he is, and Y/N, like any other mortal, isn’t immune to that.  But instead of allowing herself to be driven away by the usual uneasiness that pairs with being so close to a vampire for so long, Y/N is leaning closer to him, laughing as he cracks a bad joke, kissing him over their breakfast, and showing evidence that she— against all odds— wants to know him.  And the thought sends a fluttering below Harry’s ribs. 

He wishes, just for a moment, that he could be capable of feeling the same. He wishes he could have the decency to give this girl the proper relationship she wants, or even the decency to break her heart quickly before she gets too attached to someone incapable of seeing her as anything more than a takeout meal.  He wishes he could get to know her— truly get to know her, without any ulterior motives.

But Harry is vain, self-centered, self-serving, and inconsiderate.  He’s selfish, dishonest, and manipulative.  And he has his fangs too deep in this mortal to let her go. 

///

“Are you sure I can’t pick you up?” Harry slides his phone between his ear and his shoulder in order to snag his keychain from his pocket, fumbling for the right key before inserting it into his locked door. “I can just drop my groceries off and then swing by your cafe, love.  It’s no trouble.”

“No, really, it’s fine, H.” Y/N insists from the other end of the line, her voice nearly drowned out from the roar of L.A. traffic around her. “I already left work, and I’m nearly home.  I’ll be over at your place within, like, forty-five minutes, I think?  I just have to change out of my uniform.”

With his front door now unlocked, Harry grabs his phone from its perch on his shoulder before pushing open the door with his hand full of groceries, stepping inside his apartment and nudging the door shut with his foot. “I know, but it’s a long walk to my place, isn’t it?”

“It’s, like, twenty minutes— practically nothing.  And besides, I have to stop at the post office and mail a letter to my parents.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth quirks up as he rounds the corner to his kitchen, setting his grocery bags on the island before leaning his hip against the kitchen counter, his now free hand braced against the cool marble. “You still send your parents letters?  Can’t you just call them?” He asks, tapping a ringed finger against the stone.

“If you knew my parents, you’d send letters, too.” Y/N sighs into the speaker, and Harry’s inhuman ears can hear the jangling of her keys in her hand.  He can picture her searching for them like she did the night they met, digging into her purse until she’s elbow deep, her tongue tucked between her teeth in concentration.

Despite the distinctive sound of a lock turning, Harry can’t stop himself from asking about her well-being. He’s so used to doing it with his other friends, it slips out on impulse. “Are you home now?  Made it alright?”

There’s a hint of exasperated amusement in Y/N’s voice when she responds. “Yes, I managed to walk home all by myself.  Didn’t even get murdered.” There’s another thud, and Harry imagines her shutting her door, pushing her weight against it to lock it properly. “I’m pretty good at taking care of myself, you know.  I have good instincts.” 

If she’s allowed him to get this close to her, Harry thinks, then her instincts aren’t exactly the caliber she imagines them to be, but he bites his tongue to stop himself from correcting her. “I’m sure you do, darling.” He murmurs the reply as he opens his fridge to begin stocking it with the items he’d purchased earlier. “Oh, by the way, make sure you’re wearing comfortable shoes, yeah?  We’re going to be doing a bit of walking later.”

“Right.  And you’re not telling me where we’re going because…?”

“Because surprises are fun.”

When Y/N huffs in response, Harry pictures the girl with a scowl on her face, her arms crossed tightly over her tummy as she gives him an endearing glare. “Not when you’re the one who’s being surprised.” 

Still, despite her protests, Harry hears the rustling of clothing as she pulls off her work polo, followed by the clanking of her belt, the snap of a button, and the familiar rustle of her jeans being peeled off her legs. “You just worry about undressing yourself, alright?  It must be difficult, since you’ve grown so used to me doing it for you.”

“Uh huh.  I’m hanging up now.” Y/N deadpans into the phone, but Harry can tell there’s a lingering smile underneath her flat words. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Alright, doll.  See you soon.” Harry sets a carton of eggs in the fridge before closing it, hanging up the call and slipping his phone back into his black slacks.  

It takes Harry a few more minutes to put the rest of his groceries away in his pantry.  He made sure to stock up on all the ingredients needed to make pancakes at the grocery store, as well as picking up a carton of the fancy pomegranate juice that Y/N had mentioned she was fond of.  In fact, as he was wandering the aisles of his local Whole Foods, he’d found himself seeking out the snacks that he’d seen in her cupboards.  He knows that humans need to eat much more often than vampires do, and seeing as how all the activities Y/N engages in at his condo are rather exhausting and energy-burning, he thought she’d need proper fuel.

After he folds the reusable cloth tote bags he’d brought to the grocery store and puts them back in the pantry, Harry climbs up his glass stairs to his bedroom.  He takes a moment to evaluate his appearance in the full length mirror hanging on the back of his door, sweeping over every detail with a careful eye.  His outfit is alright for what he has planned, he decides; his black slacks and scuffed white vans are comfortable, but more importantly, his white t-shirt embossed with a Hollywood Bowl print that clings to the muscles of his inked arms and broad chest, which Harry knows Y/N will enjoy.  His curls, however, need a bit of tending to, and Harry slinks into his bathroom to add a bit more product to his chestnut locks, getting rid of the little frizz that had developed in the L.A. heat in order to fix his curl pattern.  

As for his jewelry, he leaves on his usual rings: his gold initial pieces, his mother’s opal, his ruby, an engraved band, and his lionhead ring, which shines under the bathroom lights thanks to Y/N’s careful efforts the week before.  Once those are secure, he fastens his pearl necklace around his neck, and fixes the clasp of his cross before slipping a plain gold hoop into his pierced ear.  Once he’s satisfied with his accessories, Harry spritzes his favourite cologne across his body, giving his appearance one more look over as he leaves his bathroom and passes the full length mirror in his bedroom again.  

The Rolex on his wrist tells him that Y/N is due over any moment, and he’s just making sure his Gucci wallet is securely tucked in his trouser pocket when Harry’s ears prick up at the sound of two pairs of feet stomping into his condo downstairs.  It only takes him a moment more to identify the intruders based on their step patterns, and a frown tugs at the corner of his mouth as he checks the time again before sauntering down the stairs.

“And just what do you two,” Harry calls to his unexpected friends as he rounds the corner of the stairs, his eyebrow quirked in question as he steps down from the last platform, “think you’re doing here?”

“We wanted some change in scenery.” Niall quips sarcastically, emerging from the end of the entrance corridor with his hands in his pockets, shoulders shrugging casually. “And I told Xander you might be shirtless, which got him to tag along. But you’re not, much to his disappointment. Though I do think the way you’re about to burst out of that tee suffices. Isn’t that right, Xanny?” 

“That’s not true!” Xander snaps hotly, his cheeks blazing and glare electric as Niall cackles boyishly, stepping around him and towards the kitchen, like he always does when he walks into Harry’s apartment. The tanned man glowers at the other vampire as he makes a beeline for Harry’s refrigerator, slowly pinning his gaze back onto the owner of the condo. He clears his throat awkwardly before offering a solid explanation for their sudden visit. “Adam cancelled on pub trivia night, so we thought you might be available instead.”

Harry shakes his head with a sigh as he makes his way into the kitchen, as well— mostly to make sure Niall doesn’t reach for any of the expensive liquors he has arranged on his bar shelves; they took too long to collect for him to just allow a single person to down one bottle like a shot— and leans both elbows against the marble island. “Sorry, mate.  I’ve got a date with Y/N.”

“So bring her.” Niall pipes up from the fridge, a stolen bottle of Harry’s favourite beer already in his hand. Harry doesn’t complain— it’s a better substitute than his forty year aged scotch. “She went to uni, didn’t she?  She must be smart.”

“I’ve got better things planned for us than pub trivia with two obnoxious knobheads.” Harry retorts, his lips tugging into a smirk at Niall’s responding eyeroll. “That’s not very romantic, is it?  Taking her on a double date with you two?”

“And that’s not very nice, H. I’m offended you wouldn’t go on a double date with Xander and I.” The Irishman sniffles with fake sincerity, biting the bottle cap off his beer despite knowing that Harry keeps a bottle opener in the kitchen drawer to his right. 

Xander watches the spectacle with distaste, his nose wrinkling as Niall spits the cap from his mouth into his hand. “And I’m offended you’d think I’d date someone who does that.”

“It’s not like you have standards.”

“Hey!”

“But then again, no one sets a bar the way I do.”

“The only bar you set for me was potential alcoholism.” Xander mutters spitefully.

“I’d make a great boyfriend.” Niall interrupts with airy confidence, ignoring his friends bickering and taking a deep swig of his beverage, smacking his lips appreciatively. “But humans are too fragile to keep around for long, and most vampires are fucking psychotic. Unfortunately.”

“What about Charlotte?” Harry suggests nonchalantly, hooking his index finger into the cabinet beneath him and fishing for a coaster. He shuts the drawer and skims the item across the top of the counter towards Niall, just in case the man wants to put his glass container down. This is real marble, after all. “She seems pretty tame.” 

Niall glances at the coaster, but doesn’t make any conscious effort to set his drink down. Harry should’ve known; Niall isn’t one to put a pint down until it’s empty, but the possibility is there, nonetheless. It’s not his fault he likes taking care of his home. 

Niall sighs through his nose dismissively, following it with a light rattle of his head. “Charlotte’s too...smart. She’s a bit out of my league, and I feel like she’d get bored of me easily. Also, how would you know if she’s tame or not? You rarely hang out whenever she’s around.” 

“That’s because she hates me.” Harry states flatly, as if it should be obvious. And it should, considering the young woman had not held back on expressing her strong dislike towards the curly brunette. Harry has thick skin and words never hurt him, but Charlotte has a surprisingly vicious vocabulary; if he hadn’t been amused by her anger, she would have come pretty close to genuinely chipping his ego. 

Niall chortles softly. “Well, I mean, you can’t really blame her, can you? You’re kind of a prick.”

“A proper asshole, actually.” Xander chimes in, drumming his digits against the table’s surface and giving Harry a bright, innocent smile. 

The immortal momentarily casts his eyes towards the ceiling in mild annoyance. “Yeah, well, that’s just the way I am. If her and Miss Billy Ray Cyrus can’t handle some dark humor and dirty banter, that’s not my problem. Everyone else seems to like me just fine.” 

“That’s debatable.” Xander corrects. 

“You’re just mad I fucked you once and decided that was enough.” 

“Anywho,” Niall interferes, waving around his beer in order to catch his friends’ attention and prevent a catastrophic World War V, he proceeeds to swivel the topic back onto himself, “like I said, I’d make a great partner. I’m funny, I’ve got a whole shelf full of PS4 games, I like to think my oral skills are pretty decent, and—”

“Have you ever made a girl wet her sheets?” Harry prods with entertained curiosity, cocking an eyebrow questioningly.

Niall pauses mid-sentence with his drink perched to his lips, eyes flitting around thoughtfully as he shovels through cluttered memories of drunken one night stands and fleeting relationships. He relents with a sheepish scoff, shoulders sagging. “...No.”

“Then you’re not as skilled as you think.” Harry remarks passively, titling his head to the side with finality. “And I’m willing to bet Mitch’s next stock of O negative that eighty percent of your hookups probably faked it.” 

“Oi, bet, then.” Niall snorts, grinning around the spout of his beverage as he finishes his sip. He wiggles his brows playfully, squaring his shoulders proudly. “You can’t fake a leg-shake, darling.” 

“A leg-shake?” Harry inquires carefully, pursing his lips to keep from sputtering into pompous laughter. “You mean like this?” He then proceeds to dramatically buckle his right leg, immediately debunking Niall’s ridiculous theory. “Just like that?” 

The Irish bloke’s face drops into a scorned scowl as Xander and Harry break into a round of mocking giggles. He draws into himself with childish pettiness, narrowing his eyes pointedly. “Piss off.”

“Unless she couldn’t walk right afterwards, you didn’t really do what you think you did, Ni.” 

“It seemed pretty real to me!” The blue-eyed boy rebuttals sharply, cheeks tinging bright pink in embarrassment. 

“That’s the point.” 

“This is precisely why I’d never entertain a relationship with you, even as a joke.” Xander pipes up towards Niall, smirking cruelly at his friend’s bruised ego. “I like my orgasms to be real, and I’m not willing to put up an act to spare your fragile masculinity.” 

“Your dick’s probably small, anyways.” 

“Bigger than yours.”

“Is that a challenge? I’ll pull it out right now, I don’t give a fuck.”

“Well,” Harry cuts in loudly, not necessarily keen on watching two grown men compare penis sizes in the middle of his home, “it seems you two have some issues to work out, so the double date is a moot point, anyways.” His jade eyes flicker to his watch again; Y/N should nearly be here, and he doesn’t want these two goons present when she arrives— especially not with their balls out. That wouldn’t be a decent introduction, despite being an unforgettable one. “So I’ll talk to you two later, then.  Thanks for stopping by.”

“Hold up, I practically just cracked my beer.” Niall whines in return, holding up the chilled bottle in protest, leaning his backside against the marble countertop with a decisive motion. “Y’can’t kick us out yet.”

Harry laughs once, the noise sounding more strained than he would like. “Seeing as how I didn’t invite you over, I think I can.” He retorts, tapping a jeweled finger against the table. 

“The blood bag isn’t even here yet,” Xander reasons as he pulls out a chair from the kitchen island, taking a seat and making himself at home as if Harry hadn’t just told him to get the fuck out. “So what's the rush?”

The hair on the back of Harry’s neck prickles at the crude nickname, and the older vampire shoots daggers at the younger as he pushes himself off the marble counter. “There isn’t one, except I think hearing herself be referred to as ‘the blood bag’ may make her a little suspicious, don’t you?”

“We’ve referred to her as worse.” Xander shrugs offhandedly, kicking his feet up onto the bar stool next to him.

Harry’s brows furrow as he pushes Xander’s shoes off his furniture, dusting the leather cushion off. “Referred to her as what?  And when?”

Although Xander lifts one shoulder again as a vague answer, Niall smacks his lips loudly once again as he swallows the rest of the beer, and answers in a matter-of-fact tone. “In Vegas, after you ditched us to get your dick wet.  I think Xander called her a fuckable slab of kobe beef, and—”

“I said ribeye, actually.  Nice flavour, but a little chewy.” Xander corrects the Irishman, but has the decency to look halfway embarrassed when he catches Harry’s stony glare. “And it’s not like we’re wrong, right?  That’s all humans are.”

Niall gives an affirmative nod as he sets his empty bottle down on the marble counter, completely ignoring the coaster Harry had slid to him. “Don’t take it personally, H.  Xanny refers to his own dates as McDonald’s Happy Meal Twinks— at least a ribeye steak is expensive.”

“I’m not taking it personally.” Harry mutters the words in a low voice as his jaw twitches, tensing under the sunlight streaming through his floor-to-ceiling windows. “But comments like these are why you pricks need to get out of here before she shows up, or else I’ll be feeding from one of you tonight.”

A beat of silence falls between the three vampires as the palpable tension flowing off of Harry thickens the room.  Xander and Niall glance between each other and Harry, hardly able to hold the latter’s eyes, before Niall offers a small comment.

“I don’t think Xander would mind that, really—”

“Out.” Harry points a jeweled finger at the entrance corridor with a firm motion. “Both of you.  Go bother Mitch.”

He can see the disappointment and frustration that lingers on Niall and Xander’s faces, but neither of them fight him as they rise from their perches in the kitchen and walk dejectedly to the front door.  Harry briefly entertains the idea of walking them out, but decides against it; there’s a strange buzzing sensation rising through his ribs, and he’s not quite sure what he’ll say as he bids his friends— he has to remind himself that, yes, they’re his friends— goodbye.  It’s safer, he thinks, if he stays where he is and cleans up the mess that they managed to leave behind in their short visit. 

He comes to regret that decision, however, approximately three milliseconds after he hears the front door creak open, and a familiar but unexpected voice echos down the entrance hallway.

“Oh— hi.  Sorry, I may have the wrong apartment…?”

Harry freezes with Niall’s empty beer bottle clutched in his hand, his grip contracting so hard that he hears the thick glass begin to splinter.

“No, no, this is Harry’s apartment.  We were just leaving.” The grin on Niall’s face is audible underneath his Irish accent. “You must be Y/N.”

“I am, yeah.” Harry can hear the tiny thread of surprise at him recognizing her in the human’s words, and the even tinier thread of pleasure that undercuts it.  “And you must be...Niall, I think?  And Xander?”

Niall’s smug reply grates against Harry’s frozen skin, even from down the corridor. “Harry’s told you about us, huh?  Only good things, I hope.”

“Oh, I—”

Harry forces his legs to move with inhuman speed, the beer bottle not even having hit the marble counter by the time Harry appears at Niall and Xander’s shoulders. “Hi, darling.” He says through a strained smile, digging his stony fingers into the back of the two vampire’s arms, an unspoken warning of behave. “Y’made it alright, then?”

When Y/N shines a warm— albeit, slightly confused— smile in his direction, Harry wishes that he’d been faster in shooing his friends out the door, because the action nearly knocks the unrequired breath from his chest.  

She’d dressed in comfortable and casual clothes, as per his suggestion, and is standing just outside the doorway in light washed denim overalls, with a black and white striped t-shirt layered underneath, and her familiar cotton candy pink vans on her feet.  But the detail that digs its way to the forefront of his mind— more so than her satin lips, her heated cheeks that are appled with her smile, and the tousled locks that are pulled back from her face in a low ponytail— is the shining silver cross pendant that hangs on a chain around her smooth neck.

It’s a new addition that Harry has never seen before, and while he knows he shouldn’t be surprised— after all, she’d told him how she grew up in a religious town, how she’d attended church, how she used to say grace before dinner with her friends— the jewelry still piques his curiosity.

“I did, yeah.  It’s really not that long of a walk, H.” Y/N replies, flicking her eyes between Harry and his two friends, who are still watching her every move as if she’s a specimen to be observed. “Sorry, am I interrupting…?”

The Irishman with glasses— Niall, Y/N reminds herself— opens his mouth to respond, but Harry quickly cuts him off as he pushes past his mates to take Y/N’s hand and step outside the apartment, fetching his keys and yellow sunglasses from the small side table by the door in one smooth motion.

“Not interrupting anything, doll.  Niall and Xander were just on their way out.” Although Harry is smiling at her throughout the comment, the mortal can’t help but feel like the last phrase was aimed at the pair still lingering in the doorway.

“We were just stopping by to see if we could steal Harry for a last minute trivia game, but he said he was already booked.” Niall answers with an accepting shrug, glancing at Xander next to him, who’s still yet to say anything to Y/N, though he is carrying an unreadable empty expression as he gives the girl a calculating once-over. “Apparently, whatever he’s got planned for you two is more interesting than a few beers and watching Xander struggle to remember all the battles in World War I—”

“That’s not fair,” The brunette finally chimes in, breaking his attention away from her body to meet the blue-eyed boy’s gaze. Y/N is surprised to hear an American accent fall from his lips. “I’m the only one who wasn’t there, so how would I know—?”

“And you two are already arguing,” Harry cuts over his friends’ bickering, shooting them an annoyed glance as he wraps a cool arm around her waist, cautioning them to watch what they’re saying. “Which will only get worse once you get alcohol in your hands, and that is why I’m not going to subject Y/N to a headache-inducing night of torture.” 

Y/N looks up at Harry with innocent interest swirling in her eyes. “I don’t know, H, it could be fun.” She worries her bottom lip between her teeth as a crease forms between Harry’s brows. “Don’t you think?”

Niall catches Harry’s eye, taking advantage of Y/N’s distraction to cheekily flash him his crimson irises for a split second, voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm that only he can detect. “Yeah, Harry. Don’t you think?”

Jaw tensing, Harry bends down to brush his lips over Y/N’s ear, dampening his irritation down into a smooth and silky tone. “Don’t try to spare their feelings, love.  I’ve got something fun planned for us, I promise.” His teeth graze against Y/N’s skin, and he nearly drags his lips down towards her neck until he remembers her stuttering heartbeat can be heard by the other vampires in their presence.

The two creatures gawk at the image before them, utterly baffled at Harry’s unusual tenderness. It’s very out of character for him, that much is obvious. In all the decades Niall and Xander have been acquainted with the Victorian era immortal, neither have ever seen him be so gentle and touchy with another soul, let alone a human. It feels as if they’re looking at some type of warped parallel universe version of the normally stand-offish young man. 

Xander is the first to clear his throat, throwing Harry an annoyed grimace before pulling Niall out from the condo’s entryway. “We’ll see you later then, Harry.  C’mon, Ni.”

The Irishman offers a quick goodbye, gifting the strange girl a frail wave and a parting smile before being half-dragged down the hallway by Xander. Niall wrenches himself free and shoves Xander’s shoulder playfully as they round the corner to the elevator, their quiet voices— no doubt spinning juvenile gossip— fading out of earshot.  The look in Xander’s eyes had been concerning, Harry thinks, but nothing he needs to worry about right now.  If anything, he wants to forget that encounter as quickly as possible, and needs Y/N to forget it, too.

“So,” he pastes an easygoing grin onto his face as he locks his front door, turning to the mortal with a giddy twinkle in his forest green eyes. “Shall we be off, then?”

There’s a lingering look of confusion reflecting back at him, but Y/N doesn’t press the odd encounter as Harry intertwines his icy fingers with her own warm digits. 

“Alright.” She agrees, raising a questioning eyebrow back at him. “And just where are we going?”

///

“The Los Angeles Antique Mall.” Harry announces proudly when he opens Y/N’s door, extending a ringed hand to help her out of his low-riding car. “Twenty thousand square feet of vintage collectables, artwork, furniture, and anything else you could possibly want.”

Y/N stares up at the massive building in front of them, observing the worn wood facade and the collection of what seems to be (half faded) stained rocking chairs adorning the wraparound porch.  There’s also an impressive amount of wrought iron planters with various greenery scattered between the furniture, with groups of people milling between them as they enter and exit the giant mall. 

“You brought me antiquing?” She asks, an bemused look in her eye as she turns to Harry for an explanation. 

Wrapping his large grasp around her smaller one, Harry nods enthusiastically as he begins to lead her towards the door. “Yeah.  It’s fun, actually.  I’m always up for a bit of a treasure hunt, and I thought, since you’re still furnishing your apartment…”

“You know, now that you mention it… I could use some new curtains for my living room.  Maybe a nice side table.” Y/N allows, stepping over the wooden stairs to the door as Harry tugs her along. “But I’m surprised you like antiquing.  Doesn’t really seem like your thing, if I’m honest.”

A mischievous glint flits through Harry’s jade eyes as he treats her to a grin that’s all teeth. “I’m actually quite fond of antiques, truth be told.  I’ve got a good eye for vintage collectables.  And…” He lazily tugs on the handle of the door to open it, stepping to the side to allow Y/N to walk through first. “Maybe we’ll find a nice painting to replace that god awful tapestry in your bedroom.”

A scoff of indignation falls from Y/N’s mouth as she turns on her heel to punch Harry’s sturdy upper arm, nearly getting too distracted by the ropes of muscle beneath his tight sleeve to give a response. “I like that tapestry!  And, seeing as how you’re either sleeping or fucking me when you’re in said room, I’m a little offended that my tapestry is the thing you focus the most on.”

Harry bites his bottom lip between his teeth.  If only she knew how much time he actually spends staring at it. 

“Well, there’s certainly other things I focus on…” He replies with a casual air, slipping his hand into the back pocket of Y/N’s overalls to cup her ass suggestively, guiding her along the aisles of antiques. “But nothing ruins a post-orgasm glow like poor interior design, sweetheart. S’a bit of a buzzkill, y’know?”

“So is being patronized.” Y/N deadpans, extracting Harry’s hand from her back pocket as a hot flash begins to creep up her spine. “You keep mocking my interior design choices, and your orgasms are going to get a lot less frequent.”

The vampire belly laughs as he throws an arm around her shoulders, the action as natural to him as breathing once was. “I don’t believe that for one fucking second.” He replies gleefully, smudging an open mouthed kiss to Y/N’s temple. 

“You don’t, huh?” The human girl raises an eyebrow, cocking her head to scan the towering racks of oddities all around them. “I wonder if we can find you a vintage fleshlight here?”

“Already got one, doll,” Harry rolls his eyes as he brushes his cool fingers along Y/N’s exposed collarbone, his eyes catching the cross pendant again and brimming with curiosity. “And it’s just the tip of the iceberg that is my toy chest, y’know that—” 

Y/N feels Harry’s arm suddenly tense around her, his muscles contracting as his touch jolts away from her collarbones, his hand flexing beneath the open skylights of the building. “Everything okay?” Y/N asks, all her teasing fading away, replaced with concern as she pauses her steps toward the shelves. 

“I—” Harry flexes his fingers again, slowly removing his arm from her shoulder to examine his hand.  The tips of his fingers are a bright red, crimson burns contrasting against his pink skin, and although it only takes a few moments for the marks to fade, the uneasy feeling bubbling in Harry’s stomach lasts. “Yeah.  My, uh, my hand just cramped.  But it’s fine now, I think.”

Who the fuck, he wonders as he cautiously slings his arm back around Y/N’s shoulders, wears a cross made of, not silver as Harry originally suspected, but polished iron?  

Iron jewelry had fallen out of fashion a century ago, and Harry had never been more thankful than when it did, given how his flesh scorches at merely brushing the metal. When he took his family’s trinkets as a way to remember them before he had to leave, Harry had snuck into his father’s forge in the dead of the night to dip the jewelry in gold that he’d stolen from a local merchant who cheated poor peasants out of their valuables.  It had been a tedious task, and rather dangerous due to the threat of being caught, but it had also been necessary; if he hadn’t taken the risk, he wouldn’t have his sister’s cross earring, or his father’s matching cross necklace.  His dad’s pocket watch, luckily, had been made of silver, and didn’t need a golden bath, but everything else had to be encased to protect Harry’s skin.  

Iron jewelry had been a deterrent to him in the years to come after he was turned; it wasn’t uncommon for him to find a pretty young girl from a village and sneak her away for a night of fun, only to discover an iron chain dangling from her neck when he leaned in to take a bite.  It wasn’t a permanent problem, of course, as there were plenty of other soft places he could sink his teeth into, but it had been an annoyance then, and it still annoys him now. 

Harry does his best to push the irritation to the back of his mind, he really does.  He shows Y/N around the twisting maze of antiques, and does his best to showcase one of his favourite hideaways in L.A.  He points to anything and everything that could interest her, and doesn’t hesitate when she asks him to reach something heavy perched on a high shelf, even if she just wants to examine it out of curiosity.  Harry pulls out typewriters, vintage cameras, tarnished cigarette lighters, and a pastel yellow bicycle with an attached wicker basket from 1941, presenting all of the objects with the enthusiasm of a showcase model on The Price is Right, spouting falsified information about each product in the best impression of Bob Barker he can pull off (“This ancient, rusted bicycle— once owned by the Queen of England herself— can be all yours for just one easy payment of $8.99! Taxes and shipping not included.”). 

And although all of that incites multiple tinkling laughs from Y/N, and lights a glimmer in her eye, and compels her to walk closer and closer to Harry until she lets him sneak his palm back into the backside pocket of her overalls, the mystery of her necklace still eats at the far end of his brain. And it’s that insipid, insistent pest of a thought that causes Harry to readjust his grip on the framed Monet print he’d spotted in the racks (Y/N had tried to deny how much she liked it in order to thwart Harry’s triumphant smirk, but she still asked him to grab it for her with a grumble) and spare another glance to the innocent looking cross resting atop her clavicle. 

“That’s a pretty little piece.” Harry slips into a nonchalant tone with ease, nodding towards the necklace as he navigates the two of them around a corner. “Why have I never seen you wear it before?”

Y/N brushes her fingertips over the iron cross with a gentle motion.  Her fingers don’t scorch with a mere graze of the metal, Harry notes scathingly.  Not that he expected it from someone like Y/N. 

“Because I don’t wear it often.” She replies, lifting one shoulder without a second thought. “It was my grandmother’s— not, like, originally, but she’d owned it, and gave it to my mom, who gave it to me, so I guess it counts as a family heirloom, huh?”

“Guess so.” The vampire murmurs in agreement, prickles of wonder still coasting against his skin. “So what made you drag it out today?” Did you subconsciously realize that your neck needs protection when I’m near? Harry tacks on in his head, his brow furrowing at the troubling thought. 

And at that question, Y/N’s eyes drop to the floor, as if her bubblegum pink vans need an audience for every step they take. “Uh, I was just a little homesick, that’s all.” She mumbles the reply, her shoulders sagging as a dark shadow passes through her usually dazzling eyes. 

Homesickness.  The one human feeling that Harry can still relate to. “I’m sorry to hear that, darling.” He removes his hand from her back pocket to wind it around her shoulders again, mindful of the jewelry in question. “Did anything in particular happen, or…?”

Y/N lifts her shoulders once again as she tucks her hands into her pockets, her posture closing off more and more with every passing moment. “Not really.  I don’t know, I— normally I’m fine, but when I addressed my letter to my parents today, it took me a moment to remember my ZIP code.  It’s the same ZIP code I’ve had all my life, but… I nearly forgot it.” She glances at Harry from the corner of her eye, and Harry realizes that dark shadow is guilt.  She feels guilty. “I’ve been in L.A. for less than six months, and almost forgot my parent’s ZIP code.  I didn’t think that could ever happen.”

Harry hums low in his throat, a noise of understanding and finality.  It’s homesickness, that’s all.  That’s explainable, and understandable, and should be enough information to silence the gnawing irritation in his chest. 

And yet...

“Do you believe in God?” The question escapes from Harry’s mouth before he can even think to censor it, his own eyes widening on his behalf as his grip on the Monet print nearly releases from the surprise. 

“What?” Y/N stops in her tracks, although she nearly stumbles forward when Harry’s sturdy arm catches behind her shoulders as her eyes boggle at him. “I don’t— what does God have to do with antiquing?”

If Harry didn’t have to worry about digging himself out of the whole he created, he’d laugh at the incredulous expression on his lover’s face. “I was just curious, s’all.” He struggles to keep his voice casual, steadying his feet against the wooden floor in an effort to ground himself mentally. “I know you were raised with religion, but you don’t really go to church here— not that church equals a belief, but—”

“Um, I don’t…” Y/N extends her arm to let her fingers graze over the shelf of old lunch boxes next to them, feeling each dip of every embossed cartoon character. “I don’t know.  I don’t really believe in, like, a concept of God— at least, not the one I was raised with.  But I believe in…” She trails off as she attempts to gather her thoughts, chewing on her bottom lip absentmindedly as she searches for the right words. “Something.  I don’t really know if it’s a deity, or an energy, or just coincidence, but… I think there’s something out there that guides us.”

“So you believe in souls.” Harry’s mouth presses into a flat line, his jaw clenching for just a moment as he grits his teeth and then reiterates her previous point. “The thing that allows us to be guided, that is.” 

Or allows her to be guided, Harry thinks bitterly, casting his eyes towards their path ahead of them to avoid Y/N’s prying gaze. That’s really the only reason he’d brought up this entire religion conversation— the only reason he ever brings it up: he wants to know if she believes in souls, because in order to be guided by whatever higher power supposedly exists, one needs a soul.  And Harry’s fairly certain his was stolen from him in 1837. 

“I suppose.” Y/N allows, tracing the embossed lettering of a vintage Wonder Woman lunch box. “A soul, an energy, an aura— they’re all kind of the same thing to me.  The thing that keeps your heart beating.  I don’t think it needs to be tied to a religion; there’s so many different religions, but everyone has a heartbeat, you know?”

Harry nearly laughs out loud at the irony, but manages to stifle the sound into a non-committal hum. “Does your something include heaven and hell, or is that too based in Christianity?” He asks, half out of curiosity and half out of necessity. “If someone were to lose their soul…” He knows he sounds insane asking the question, but it bubbles out of him before he can choke it back. “Would you think them damned?”

The mortal girl stares at him blankly for a moment, her mouth just barely open as she considers his words.  He shouldn’t have asked, and he knows that— he knew it the moment the first question fell from his lips.  But the more they discussed the topic, the more it nagged at him.  Y/N, with all her good nature, her listening skills, and her soft heart, are most certainly bound for whatever good lies in store when a soul actually leaves a body.  Harry, on the other hand… If the monster’s conscience were to ever leave this Earth, he knows it’s not for the metaphorical pearly white gates. And for some reason, that notion bothers him more right now than it has in the last twenty decades.

“Um…” A nervous laugh echoes from Y/N’s mouth, the smile curling the edges of her lips not quite reaching her eyes. “Okay, this topic is way too serious for me to discuss sober.  Can I take a rain check on the damnation questions?  I’m getting Sunday school flashbacks, and living through that once was bad enough.”

Harry wills a smile onto his own face, but the expression is more apologetic than anything as he grips Y/N’s hand in his to tow her down an aisle of antique kitchen equipment. “Yeah, of course. Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you with such heavy questions. I guess I just wanted to get to know my partner in justice a bit more.” 

Y/N takes it in good stride, just as she usually does, her smile relaxing the moment she sees Harry’s dimples peek out from his cheeks. “Don’t worry about it, Sherlock.  I’d expect nothing less from such an established detective.”

As the pair pass under another skylight, Y/N’s cross glints at Harry as if to mock him. 

///

Y/N isn’t lost.

To the untrained eye, the mindless path she takes through the towering and twisting rows of the antique mall may seem like the wandering of someone who has no recollection of where they came from, nor where they’re going, but Y/N is adamant that she isn’t lost.  She isn’t, because when she split from Harry to take a trip to the washroom, he’d warned her not to get lost in the internal maze of the mall.  And Y/N, with a glare in her eyes and a scathing remark on her lips, had assured him that she, a grown woman, would be able to find her way back after she was done, and “Honestly, H, just wander a bit.  I’ll be able to find you easily.”

So Y/N isn’t lost, because she refuses to prove Harry right.  He’s already a cocky asshole with a huge ego, and she couldn’t bear seeing that ego enlarge as a triumphant smirk paints over his face the moment she calls him on his cellphone, admits defeat, and asks him to come find her.  She’ll do a lot of things for that man, but that isn’t one of them.

With that in mind, she turns down a corridor of the labyrinth of collectables, trying to find any discernible items that she could use to pinpoint her location in the labyrinth.  The yellow bicycle, maybe, or one of the vintage cameras Harry had pretended to photograph her with, or even the strange five foot carving of Bugs Bunny that she and Harry had agreed is probably possessed by a demon.  A haunted Bugs Bunny could lead her to her destination— or kill her, truthfully, but either option seems preferable over the solidifying future of having to call Harry.

After another five minutes of aimless ambling, Y/N retrieves her phone from her pocket, a grimace crawling its way onto her face as she opens her contacts to click on Harry’s name.  Her finger hovers just over the phone icon, mere millimetres from humiliation, when a few out of place piano notes float by her ears and catch her attention.

Y/N tucks her phone back into her overall pocket as her curiosity takes over, urging her ears to strain towards the distant melody, as well as for her legs to follow. It’s not long before Y/N is walking with purpose again, albeit a different purpose than before.  As the music gets louder, Y/N begins to pick out more details— how the piano notes that prick her ears are slightly out of tune, how the player begins and stops and begins again, dragging out different phrases, speeding through others with no clear intention.  The minor key of the piece makes Y/N feel like she’s walking into a memory as she wades through the shelves of long-forgotten belongings, old photographs of deceased people in Victorian fashions watching while the young woman falls back in time.

The music grows louder as Y/N reaches a dark corridor with wood paneling lining the walls, and a painted sign saying “Music Room” beckons her down the passageway.  She follows with slow steps, and while she knows that maybe leaving the main mall area and losing her way down here isn’t a smart idea, the music that’s beginning to grow impossibly sweet pulls her forward.  Y/N rounds the corner to find the oak doors to the music room swung open, and when she lays her eyes on the figure sitting at the mahogany ground piano, she recognizes the silhouette of Harry’s back and shoulders immediately.

Y/N’s gaze falls from his flexing shoulder blades to his inked hands, the jewels on his rings catching the low light of the room as his lithe fingers dance over the dusty ivory keys.  He coaxes a melody from the instrument without any difficulty, as if the music had been simmering beneath his skin for ages.  Maybe it has, Y/N thinks, as she watches from the doorway with quiet wonder, and although she plans on silently observing for as long as she can, Harry only completes a few more phrases before the music drifts to a halt.

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d find me.” He murmurs, clearing his throat of the rasp that had settled in his vocal chords as he played. “Thought I’d be getting a scared phone call any moment now.”

The human girl steps into the room slowly, gliding around to the cut out of the piano and leaning across the lacquered wood. “I wasn’t scared.  And I would’ve found you sooner if you’d stayed put. I said wander a bit, not all the way across the building.” She retorts jokingly, trailing a finger along the smooth edge of the piano. All of the sarcasm in her voice melts right out, replaced by intrigue. “I didn’t know you played piano.”

“I, uh, I don’t.  Not much anymore, anyways.” Harry runs his digits between the keys again, using only enough pressure to dust the top of the ivory covers. “I wasn’t sure I’d remember how, honestly, but this…” He lifts an index finger to brush the dust off the gold embossed brand name. “It looks like the one I learned on, so…”

Y/N takes a seat on the wooden bench next to Harry, her shoulder bumping against his as she leans in to smudge a kiss across his cheek. “It sounded beautiful.” She assures him, noting the hesitation in his explanation. “What’s that piece called?”

“It’s one of Chopin’s Nocturnes, in C-Sharp Minor.” Harry curves his fingers over the keys, as if he’s about to begin again, but then relaxes the digits as he exhales harshly. “I don’t play it as well as— as the person who taught me.”

There seems to be a hidden story beneath those words, but Y/N doesn’t press it; if Harry wants to tell her, then he’ll tell her.  If not… Well, she’d rather not drag a sour memory from him in the middle of an antique mall.  Instead, she drags her fingers over his thigh, rubbing just above his knee in a comforting manner. 

“How long have you been playing?” She asks softly, tracing over a black lacquered key with her free hand.  When she pulls away, her finger is coated in dust, and she wonders how long it’s been since the piano has been touched by someone else.

The corner of Harry’s lips twitch, as if her question is particularly humorous. “A while.” He answers simply, and he tilts his head to the side to press his face against the top of Y/N’s head, inhaling the scent of her favourite shampoo. 

“A while?” Y/N repeats the vague answer to prompt further explanation, but when she gets none, she switches to another inquiry. “Can you play me something?”

The moment she utters the question, Harry shakes his head adamantly. “No, I— no.  I’m not that good, love, and I don’t really play for people.”

Surprise colors Y/N’s voice when she replies, lifting her head from Harry’s shoulder to look him in the eye. “This isn’t the time for false modesty, H.” She says, tapping two fingers against his knee as punctuation. “Since when have you been humble?”

A bark of a laugh escapes Harry’s chest in spite of himself, and he curls his fingers over Y/N’s to move her hand further up his thigh. “I’m not modest!  Don’t insult me like that, darling.  S’not nice.”

“Prove it, then.” Y/N massages over Harry’s inner thigh as she issues the challenge, baiting the vampire’s ego with ease. “Play me something.  Show off a little bit.”

Harry squeezes Y/N’s hand once as a quiet groan twists his lips into a pout. “You’re getting pretty good at manipulating me, y’know that?” He mutters, poising his lacquered fingertips back over the instrument. “Fine.  Do you want something sad or happy?”

Y/N ponders the question as she leans her head back onto Harry’s shoulder, her lips finding the edge of his jaw and pecking his cool skin for just a moment. “Both.”

“Both.” Harry repeats with a snort, shaking his head in exasperation as his hands drift to a new position on the keys. “Indecisive little thing, aren’t you?”

The mortal girl lifts her shoulders in a noncommittal shrug, scratching her nails along the fabric of Harry’s pants. “Just play me something.  Please?”

It’s the simplest request with the most complicated implication, but Harry can’t find a good reason to refuse it. 

“This is, um, another Chopin piece.” He feels clumsy in his explanation, struggling to remember the details that he’d once memorized in an effort to seem impressive. “Another Nocturne, in E-flat this time.”

Harry’s fingers begin to dance over the keys, and Y/N listens in amazement as a melody that is both happy and sad begins to spiral out from the body of the piano, wrapping her inside the warmth of the music.  

Not every phrase is even— the more Harry plays, it seems, the more the music phrases, bending and shaping itself around his elegant fingers, rolling with his every movement.  As the music begins to get sadder, however, Y/N notices the change in Harry’s face, and how each phrase begins to get choppier as his fingers stumble their way over the keys. 

Y/N smudges another kiss against Harry’s jaw when his fingers trip up again, squeezing his knee with reassurance. “Keep going.” She murmurs, rubbing his leg lightly as the music stutters again. “It’s nice.”

“I—” The music halts with a jerk of Harry’s hands, which he retracts from the keys as if the ivory burns him. “I don’t remember the rest.” He mumbles, laying his stubbled cheek against the top of Y/N’s head. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.  I really liked it.” Y/N trails her own fingers over the keys, pressing a few of the lacquered notes with idle interest.  The melody she spins out isn’t nearly as nice as the one Harry played, and she laughs at her own expense. “I’m not nearly as good.  I took a few lessons as a kid, but begged my mom to let me quit.  I wish I’d stuck with it.”

“That wasn’t too bad.” Harry’s dimples wink at her as he smiles boyishly, nodding to the keys with false reassurance. “That little tune sounded a lot like Mozart.”

“Uh huh.” The mortal girl rolls her eyes at the lie, bracing her palms against the polished wooden bench before rising from her seat. “Despite that praise, I don’t think I’ll be adding this piano to my shopping cart.” 

“Hm.  Too bad.” Her lover trails his fingers after her, reaching for her hand and intertwining her grasp with his. “It could make a pretty addition to your apartment, I think.”

“It would take up my entire apartment, more like it.” Y/N scoffs as she raps the fingers of her free hand against the side of the piano. “I don’t even think I could fit this in my living room.  Your apartment, however…” She raises an eyebrow as a grin works its way over her face. “You could fit it easily.  You should buy it.”

Harry rolls his eyes as he lets her hand fall from his palm, touching the keys one last time before shutting the cover over the keyboard. “I’m not buying the piano.”

“Why not?” Eyes widening in surprise, Y/N leans onto the instrument, gesturing with her arms the same way Harry did earlier as she shifts her voice to mimic Bob Barker. “It’s made of genuine mahogany, was once played by Beethoven himself, and can be yours, for the low, low price of—” She reaches around the side of the instrument to grab the tag tied around the leg. “Eight hundred and—holy shit, are you kidding me?”

Harry hums in response as he rises from the bench, shrugging his shoulders before crossing his arms around his tummy. “That’s actually a fairly good price for a used piano, you know.” 

Y/N blinks at him, her mouth opening and closing as she struggles to find words. “I— okay, yeah.  Sure.  So you should get it, then, if you consider that a ‘fairly good price’.” 

“I could,” Harry agrees, his muscles flexing beneath his tight t-shirt as he reaches to pick up the painting leaning against the instrument. “But I won’t.”

Her brow wrinkling in confusion, Y/N watches as Harry begins to examine the other objects in the room, turning his attention to the book-lined shelves and antique lamps. “Why?” 

The man sighs as he fingers the tassels hanging from a— in Y/N’s humble opinion— particularly ugly lamp. “Because I already have one—”

“You do?”

“—but it’s been in storage ever since I got to L.A. And while I usually love things in excess… alcohol, statement jewelry, orgasms—” He flashes a toothy grin at Y/N. “I don’t think overly-heavy instruments fall into any of those categories.”

“Why is it in storage?” Y/N asks, bemusement laced through her voice.  Before Harry began to stumble through the piece, there was a look on his face that Y/N hasn’t seen very often; a serene air swirled through his eyes, hiding something beneath it that Y/N couldn’t quite make out.  And she wants to. 

“Because I don’t have any interest in playing anymore.  Honestly, darling, I haven’t thought about it in years.” Harry laughs in a nonchalant manner, moving from the antique lamp to the creaking rocking chair in the corner. “Y’can have it, if you like.  Probably do you more good than me.”

Y/N rolls her eyes at the deflection, turning her attention away from the topic at hand. “I’m good.” She responds dryly, drifting over to the floor to ceiling bookshelf bolted to the wall. 

Her eyes trail over the exposed spines of the books, reading over the variety of titles with piqued interest.  The amount of genres she sees is countless, ranging from trashy paperback romance novels to timeless classics embossed in gold.  The farther up Y/N glances, the older the books appear, and she gets more and more curious as she glides her fingers over the rippled covers of the books within her reach.

While the novels climb up the height of the bookshelf to the ceiling, Y/N can only manage to reach halfway up the length she needs to, even while stretching on her tiptoes.  She settles down on the balls of her feet with a pout playing on her lips, her attention turning to the wheeled ladder that runs along bars bolted to the bottom of the shelving unit.  It looks rather old— like everything in the antique mall— and Y/N isn’t quite sure it’ll support her weight, despite her test of gripping a rung and pushing on it.

“Harry, c’mere,” She calls over her shoulder, hands gripping the sides of the dusty ladder as she balances a foot on the bottom rung.

Upon her beckoning, Harry saunters over, the painted print she’d selected still grasped in his ringed hand. “Yeah?” He asks, raising an eyebrow in question. “What is it?”

“Can you help me climb up the ladder?” Y/N nods her head towards the far-reaching shelves, biting her bottom lip with pleading eyes. “I want to see what’s on the top shelves.”

Harry’s gaze follows Y/N’s gesture towards the top of the library wall, a look of trepidation flickering through his eyes. “Is that really necessary?”

“Yes,” Y/N answers curtly, lifting her other foot onto the bottom rung before moving from her original step to the next. “And it’ll be a lot easier if you help me.”

Despite his protests, Harry sets down the framed print and complies with the request, grasping Y/N around her waist with firm hands as she scurries up the rickety ladder.  She can feel his fingertips pressing into her love handles over the denim, and it would be a lie to say she doesn’t enjoy it, but she refocuses her attention onto reading over the embossed titles that she couldn’t see from below.

“Y’know, on second thought… take all the time you need, dove.” Harry calls from below her, the smirk evident in his voice as he squeezes her hips once with a laugh. “I’ve got quite the view from here.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N releases one hand from the ladder to tug a novel off the shelf, examining the half exposed cover before sliding it back into its place. “I bet you do.” She retorts, wiggling her hips just enough to tease him without losing her precarious balance on the ladder.

Although the motion is meant to be a joke, Harry can’t stop the flash of genuine fear that ignites in his chest.  Humans are fragile, he knows, and a fall from the height that Y/N has climbed to could sprain her wrist, or injure her back, or crack open her skull like an egg, or—

“Careful there, Watson.” Harry attempts to disguise the worry in his voice behind a lighthearted joke as his grip on the human girl strengthens. “Wouldn’t want an accident to happen, now, would we?”

“That’s why I’ve got you, Holmes.” A tinkling laugh falls from her lips as she risks a glance over her shoulder at him, her eyes alight with amusement, before turning her attention back to the old novels. “You wouldn’t let anything happen to me, would you?”

There’s a nervous truth hidden underneath her words, and Harry knows it, but that doesn’t stop it from making his skin itch as the casual phrase sinks into his body.  In all his years, however, Harry’s gotten quite good at hiding his emotions, and this is no different.  

Instead of giving a sincere answer, Harry hardens his reply of “F’course I wouldn’t, pet.  Y’can never be too careful.” by letting one jeweled hand drift from Y/N’s hip to her backside, cupping it gently to support her, and taking delight in the way he can feel her body tense beneath his new touch.

It takes Y/N a moment to find her breath again, and when she does, all she can muster is a hum in the back of her throat. “Mhmm.” She sighs, trying her best to refocus on the books lining the shelves in front of her as she climbs higher. “Is that why your hand is grabbing my ass, you pervert?”

“Y’know, that seems to be your favourite nickname for me.” Harry’s smirk deepens as he contracts his hand, squeezing her fleshy backside after she takes another step higher. “I wonder why that is?”

“I wonder.” The flat response echoes from Y/N’s mouth as she pulls another book from the shelf to examine it before replacing it a moment later. “Maybe— and this is just a suggestion, so take it with a grain of salt, but— maybe if you didn’t act like a pervert, you’d get a nicer nickname.”

Although Y/N’s retorts are droll and to the point, Harry can hear the way her heartbeat begins to stutter each time he massages her, and it’s that fluttering rhythm that encourages him to grasp the sides of the ladder with both hands and pull himself up a couple rungs. 

“A nicer nickname, huh?” He breathes in her ear, pressing his chest to her back both to be close to her and to give her more support on the ladder. “Like ‘slut’?” Harry stifles the groan that nearly rolls from his throat when he feels Y/N stiffen. “That’s one of your favourites, isn’t it?”

“I—” Swallowing down the sudden lump in her throat, Y/N grips the sides of the ladder tight between her hands, her skin stretching over her tense knuckles as Harry’s breath begins to hit her neck. “Maybe. I...I suppose.”

Harry laughs quietly as he takes another step up the ladder, keeping himself braced against Y/N as he begins to smear kisses along the side of her neck, mindful of the iron cross that still hangs there. “You suppose?” He repeats, his tone slightly mocking when he hears the mortal shudder. “What about your other favourites?  Y’like when I call you my pretty little plaything, don’t you?”

The honey and lavender fragrance wafting over Harry intensifies as Y/N’s blood pumps faster and faster, the only sound emerging from the human girl being a quiet whimper from the back of her throat.

“There’s another one, though… another nickname…” Letting his teeth gently graze her earlobe, Harry whispers directly in Y/N’s ear, keeping his voice low and throaty as he does so. “It’s on the tip of my tongue, baby...” He suckles sloppily along her pulsing neck, delighting in the taste of her sweet skin in his mouth. “Remind me what it is?”

Already, Y/N’s breathing has grown ragged, and he waits a moment for the aroused girl to form a response, encouraging her with every nip of his teeth.  Just when Harry is about to ask again, she manages to choke out a reply.

“Whore.” She whispers, the embarrassment in her voice overpowered by the lust running through her veins. “I like it when you call me your whore.”

“That’s my good girl.” A satisfied smile tugs at the edge of Harry’s lips as he stamps a gentle kiss to Y/N’s jaw. “That’s another one, too.  My good girl.  And because you’re my good girl…” Harry snakes his right hand from the rung of the ladder to the buttons of Y/N’s overalls, deftly undoing the side snaps and gradually slipping his hand into the space between the denim and her clammy skin. “You’re going to keep looking for your books while I have some fun.”

Y/N lets out a broken gasp as Harry’s fingertips graze over her cotton panties, and her grip on the railing slackens as a rush of heat falls between her legs. 

“Careful, baby.” Harry cautions her, his left hand wrapping around hers and resetting her grasp on the ladder. “Can’t have any fun if you let go, hm?”

“We—” She twists her head to the side, straining to look over her shoulder and towards the entrance as Harry’s digits dance over the dampening spot on her panties. “Someone could walk in, Harry—”

Of course someone could, Harry thinks, but exhibitionism is so much easier to indulge when one has inhuman hearing that can detect the pounding of an approaching heart from fifty feet away.  He doesn’t disclose this information to Y/N, however, for a number of reasons, and instead chooses to scrape his teeth along the shell of her ear once more, his ruby lips soothing the marks instantly. 

“You let me worry about that, alright?” He murmurs lowly, sliding Y/N’s cotton panties to the side and dragging his index and middle finger through her dripping folds, enjoying how she shivers against his chest. “You just focus on finding the book you want and being a good little whore for me, princess.  Let me take care of the rest.”

When Y/N reflects on this moment in bed tonight, her clammy palms twisting around the sheets as she inhabits the memory of Harry’s mint-scented breath swirling around her as he massages two fingers around her throbbing clit with a teasing touch, one specific detail will stick out to her.  She won’t focus on how her heart is pounding so hard that she feels her chest might burst, or how her fingers shake as she reaches for another book on the shelf, per Harry’s quiet but intent instructions.  The thing that Y/N will remember in wonder and— on some level, self consciously— is how quickly the anxiety that spikes through her veins at the possibility of someone walking in and finding the two of them in such a compromising position bleeds into a high like no other.

Y/N likes to entertain the idea that she’s fairly adventurous, and has been open to a lot of things, especially since meeting Harry, but this— allowing him to finger her in a music room at an antique mall, where any customer or employee could discover them— is something so outside of her character that Y/N can’t think straight.  When Harry first slips his long middle finger inside her slick center, the girl nearly collapses, and Harry’s broad chest braced behind her is the only thing that keeps her upright on the ladder.

“Y’like that, doll?” Harry’s hot breath rolls over her neck as he purrs the words, adjusting his grip on the side of the ladder as his other hand skillfully toys with the human in slow and deep strokes. “Filthy little thing, you are, letting me play with you like this.”

The sinful remark draws a mewling moan from Y/N’s mouth as her head dips back onto Harry’s sturdy shoulder, her hands dropping all pretense of searching for a book and clutching the ladder like she normally clutches her sheets, or the headboard of whoever’s bed Harry has tossed her onto. “H-Harry…” She whimpers, her eyelashes fluttering as he circles his thumb around her clit. “Fuck…”

“You pretend to be so sweet, but you and I know the truth, don’t we?” The vampire sponges another kiss along her throat as he delights in the wet sounds his fingers make, which easily become drowned out by the quiet noises of bliss leaving his lover’s mouth. “You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

Y/N nods fervently as she allows her weight to fall back against Harry’s sturdy chest, trusting him to support her as he thrusts another finger inside her. “Anything, H, I—” The desperate proclamation is cut off as Harry curls his digits, bumping against the spot in the pit of her tummy that sets her entire nervous system on fire. “Shit, right there, baby, right there…”

Harry’s smug voice rings in her ear as he slows his stride, dragging his fingers in and out of her hot core at a pace that’s nearly criminal. “Y’don’t need to tell me, I know.” He pushes himself forward again, flushing Y/N between his chest and the ladder with just enough room to continue his activities. “I know what you like, how you like it, where you like it… Know my girl so well.”

As Y/N adjusts to the newly close proximity, the bulge in Harry’s slacks grows more apparent, rubbing against her backside over and over with each plunge of Harry’s fingers.  She lets out a strangled whine at the feeling, carving her teeth into her bottom lip in an effort to keep herself quiet. 

“You feel me, don’t you, minx?” Harry moans into her ear, catching his teeth along the shell before dragging them down her jaw to settle his lips just above her throbbing pulse point. “You feel what you’re doing to me?  How just a single whimper from those pretty lips, and one touch of your soaked cunt makes my cock ache?”

Despite her best efforts, a ragged sob breaks through Y/N’s self-imposed gag order, and her chest heaves within Harry’s tight embrace as her head lolls to the side. “I-I want it.” She pleads, her half-lidded eyes struggling to find Harry’s emerald irises in her haze. 

Those sea glass eyes, darker than she’s ever seen them, widen with fake surprise as his mouth curls into a smirk.  When Harry replies, his normally soothing dulcet voice is filled with insincere mocking. “Oh, you want it, do you?  You want me to fuck you in here?” Dropping his voice to its usual low resonance, Harry growls the next phrase in the human’s ear. “I know you want it, you fucking slut.  But you can’t have it right now.  So if I’m going to let you cum—” The conditional phrase pulls a sound of protest from her throat. “—then you’re going to have to do it around my fingers.” 

The begging girl cries out against his neck as her walls clench around his touch, the stifled pants that she gasps into Harry’s ear urging him to speed up.  Instead of giving her what she wants, Harry curls his fingers inside her, pressing deeper into that spongy spot to elicit another broken whine from her.  When he receives it, however, it’s accompanied by an unexpected blinding burn. 

The iron cross that hangs so delicately around Y/N’s fragile throat has slung to the side in her writhing pleasure, finding its way from her flushed collarbones to the base of Harry’s icy neck.  The vampire grinds his teeth as he feels the brand begin to form, choking back the sound of agony that fights its way out of his mouth.  His left hand clenches around the ladder, his knuckles stretching white as the waxed wood nearly splinters under his palm, while his right hand stutters its pace inside his lover, prodding harshly at her G-spot as a single grunt makes it past the cracks of his teeth.

Harry knows he needs to remove the cross from his skin, but he has no way of doing so without alerting Y/N to his discomfort.  If he lets go of the rung, both of them will tumble off, and Y/N has made it obvious how much she trusts him to keep her safe; that option is hardly an option, Harry thinks, struggling to keep his mind present as he fights through the pain.  The other option— the only one, really— is to retract his fingers from between the mortal’s thighs, feign some excuse as to why, and do his best to keep her from noticing the cross-shaped burn mark on his neck that will surely disappear within a few moments of the iron being removed.  It’ll be jarring, he knows, to pull Y/N from the subspace he can tell she’s beginning to slip into, and Harry hates it, but there’s nothing to be done.  His hand contracts inside her, desperately massaging her walls one last time before he retreats to—

The sharp action drags a mangled whine from Y/N’s throat, the sound more shattered than anything Harry has ever heard from her before, and it pulls Harry’s attention from the charring sensation of the cross branding his skin to the overwhelmed girl in his arms.  As Y/N lets her entire body fall against Harry’s chest, her eyes completely shut as she gives into the pleasure bubbling in her tummy, a realization dawns on Harry, searing him nearly as much as the metal on his inhuman flesh: he can’t let go of her.  He’s in too deep— literally, obvious in the way she tightens around his fingers— and if he were to stop now, Y/N would go into a sensitive daze that he can’t deal with in a public space.  If he lets go of her now, he’ll lose the connection he’s spent the last two months making. She might get over it, given that it’s just an orgasm, but subconsciously, there’s a possibility she could resent him for it. Especially in the extremely delicate phase she’s in at the moment. 

He knows it sounds stupid, but he can’t risk that.  He just can’t.  He’ll take burning agony over that any day. 

When Harry reflects on this moment in bed tonight, his jeweled fingers carefully combing through Y/N’s knotted locks as she shifts in his arms, the bite mark on her neck freshly faded to a light bruise, her chest rising and falling gently with quiet breaths, one specific detail will stick out to him.  He won’t focus on the blinding pleasure of Y/N grinding against his hardened bulge, her body moving of its own accord as she gives in completely to the sensations Harry pulls from her.  He won’t focus on the explicit moans that show she’s given up on attempting to quiet, her voice reverberating in Harry’s mouth as he inhales every desperate breath she exhales.  When Harry reflects on this moment, the thing he’ll remember the most is how the second he accepted his fate— that he’d have to bear the pain in order to keep Y/N happy, and he feels like there’s probably some deeper subliminal message hidden beneath that realization, though he refuses to indulge it— the mortal girl tilts her head to the side and begins to kiss Harry’s neck, soothing the scorched mark with her silky tongue. 

The relief is so sweet that Harry nearly cries out a fractured mewl, letting his head fall forward into Y/N’s shoulder to hide his desperate expression.  She continues to whimper into his skin, smudging kiss after kiss on his marked neck as if she knows how badly he needs it.  Even as her orgasm begins to rise in her belly, consuming her every thought, she continues to suck bruises onto his jugular, dragging her tongue over his cool skin repeatedly after every action.  Although the iron still stings, the sensation of Y/N’s textured tongue swiping over it turns the pain to pleasure, and it’s not long before Harry has himself centered once again, refocused on the task at hand. 

He speeds up the movement of his fingers, focusing on curling them inside her as his thumb rubs quick circles over her throbbing clit.  The sounds bouncing around the room are so lewd that Harry almost wishes someone would walk in, even if only to see how good Harry is capable of making his lover feel. 

“Y’can cum for me, baby.  Cum all over my hand.” He mutters in her ear, his teeth scraping against her fragile skin in desperation. “I know you have it in you.  Show me how good you are.”

Y/N feverishly grinds against his hand, all of her senses overwhelmed by the immortal as she licks across his neck. “So—so close, Harry—I—”

“I know, I know you are.” The vampire soothes her in a tone more gentle than he thought possible, palming her soaking cunt with as much pressure as he thinks she can stand. “Let go for me.  I’ve got you.”

The reassurance is the final thing Y/N needs to fall apart, and once she knows that she can, it happens with an intensity that shocks even her.  When the coil inside her belly snaps, a guttural moan tears from her mouth, and she grasps the pole in front of her as tightly as she can while collapsing back into Harry’s chest. 

“Fuck, there we go, yeah? Shhh, keep it down for me, angel. Don’t wanna have to stop until you beg me to.” 

Her grip on the ladder does nothing to support her, but as Harry’s hushed words ring in her mind, she knows she doesn’t have to worry about that.  Harry’s arms and chest are strong enough to do it for her, allowing her to sink into her pleasure as much as she needs to. 

When Y/N slumps in his arms, her neck finally shifts enough that her cross falls back into its designated position between her collarbones, providing Harry with relief from the scorching pain he’d been beginning to adjust to.  He can feel his skin begin to heal itself the moment the iron leaves it, and with that small fear tamped down, the creature can turn all his attention to the girl in his arms. 

He slowly and carefully retracts his hand from her panties, shushing the weak squeak that rolls from her lips at the motion. “Good girl.” He mumbles into her ear, kissing her temple softly as her breathing begins to regulate itself. “Shh, you’re alright.  Y’did so well for me, darling.”

The comforting praise comes easily to him, and as he continues to hold Y/N as she regains her previous headspace, Harry begins to wonder just how far he’d be able to push her before she reaches her limits.  How far into subspace can she go before she hits the point of no return?  Could Harry successfully guide her there and lead her back?  Could she ever trust him enough to submit fully to his every request, taking solace in the knowledge that he can take care of her as well as— or better, even— she can take care of herself?  Harry wants to think yes, but he can’t dwell on the idea any longer; Y/N’s beginning to shift against him again, and he’ll never be able to earn that wholehearted trust if he doesn’t tend to her now. 

Lifting his hand to his own lips, Harry wraps his tongue around his drenched fingers, lapping at the sweet wetness that coats them down to his rings.  He hums in appreciation, stippling another tender kiss to Y/N’s neck when he retracts his fingers from his mouth. 

“Taste so sweet, y’know that?” He whispers, the question half a test to see how aware Y/N is as her head begins to clear. “C’mere, I want you to taste.”

Y/N lazily tilts her head to the side, a small smile playing on her lips as they meet Harry’s for a slow kiss.  Trailing his fingers down her side, Harry skillfully buttons the side of her overalls again, adjusting the fabric to lie comfortable against her skin.

“How are you feeling, hm?” He murmurs, rubbing his large hand soothingly over her belly as her breathing begins to regulate again. “How was that?”

“I feel…” Y/N struggles to make sense of her swimming head, resting it against Harry’s shoulder as she tries to form a coherent response. “Good.”

Harry sighs with relief, smearing a quick kiss to her cheek as he grins. “Good.  That’s good.” 

With his right hand still wrapped around her middle, he carefully lowers himself and Y/N from the ladder, keeping a tight grip on the girl until he knows her feet are planted firmly on the ground. 

As the afterglow of her climax begins to fade, a heated flush begins to crawl up Y/N’s spine to settle on the apples of her cheeks. “I, um—” The corners of her lips tug upwards with a bashful tone, and she twists around in Harry’s arms to shyly meet his canopy green eyes. “I can’t believe I did that.” 

“You didn’t do anything.  It takes two to tango, pet.  And, honestly…” Harry flashes a boyish simper at her as he yanks her closer to him by her hips. “I think I did most of the work.” 

“That’s true.” A breathless laugh stutters from Y/N’s chest as she curls her hands around Harry’s bulging biceps, steadying herself from the after effects of her orgasm, which are turning her legs to jelly. “I could, um…” She flicks her eyes from the door to the prominent bulge in Harry’s black slacks before capturing his gaze in hers again. “Return the favour?”

Harry snorts as he gives a quick shake of his head, his teeth catching on his bottom lip while he runs his hands down the back of her rumpled shirt. “Not here, baby.  How about we wait until we’re back at my place for you to show me how my sweet girl sucks cock, hm?”

“So it’s alright for you to distract me from my book search to finger me in a public area,” Y/N fakes indignation to distract herself from the ache that’s starting to pulse in her core again at Harry’s proposal. “But the moment I want to suck you off, you say ‘not here’?  What kind of double standard is that?”

Lips twitching in amusement, Harry stifles a laugh as he turns the girl in his arms, pressing her back to his chest once again before wrapping his arms back around her waist. “You’re right.  I distracted you from your book search. How rude of me.” He coos, nodding up to the shelf as he grazes his teeth against her pulse. “Think I see a pretty copy of Sense and Sensibility up there.  Y’think you can reach it, or do you need me to do it, sweetheart?” 

The shuddering of Y/N’s heartbeat contrasts with her heated reply. “I can reach it just fine if you behave yourself.” She shoots back, smacking the hand that’s beginning to wander towards her center again. “Or is that too difficult for you?” 

“It’s extremely difficult when I’m near you.” The reply, while truthful, sends a quiver down Harry’s spine, and he presses a chaste kiss to the human girl’s shoulder before releasing her from his grasp. “I’ll get the book.”

Y/N tugs the hair tie from her locks, shaking them out before pulling them back again in a neat manner. “You know, I never thought I was one for antiquing, but today was fun.” 

“Well, it doesn’t usually involve getting finger-fucked on a ladder,” Harry states bluntly, glancing over his shoulder with a dimpled smile on his face. “So I’m not really sure if today can be the marker for an average antiquing session.”

Y/N’s face boils at the brazen comment, and she tucks a strand of loose hair that she’d missed behind her ear as she swallows hard. “No.” She replies with a soft and timid laugh, shaking her head gently. “I suppose that’s true.” 

Harry hums in reply as he snags the old copy of the Jane Austen novel from the top shelf, climbing down the ladder effortlessly and landing back on the ground with a soft thud. “But I’m glad you had fun.” Harry steps towards Y/N with a satisfied air, gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger as a teasing smile plays on his ruby lips. “And I’m even more glad we found a replacement for that terrible tapestry of yours.”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she smacks Harry’s hand from her chin before snatching the novel from his hands. “Stop being mean to Amanda!  You’ll hurt her feelings.”

A snort boasts from Harry’s throat as he recalls the day she had told him what she’d named the piece hanging from her wall, and he bends down to scoop up the Monet print while shaking his head impassively, clutching it in one hand as he snakes the other around Y/N’s waist once again. “Well, I hope Amanda doesn’t have feelings, because I’m going to burn her.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Oh yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not, because I’m going to hang her over your bed, just so you can stare at her while you fall asleep each night.” 

Harry groans loudly as he guides his lover from the music room and back to the open space of the antique mall. “Please.  If anything is going over my bed, it’s a mirror, not a college freshman’s poor excuse of an attempt at interior design.” 

Y/N wrinkles her nose at the comment, shaking her head at the crude suggestion. “A mirror?  That better be a joke.”

“It was, but now that I’m thinking about it…”

“You’re disgustingly conceited.” 

“Oh please, you lo—” Harry catches himself just before the word love rolls off his lips.  Though he’s said it before when referring to certain aspects of their sex life (like how he loves the way her mouth feels, or how she loves the way he stretches her out), it just seems oddly repulsive to say at this very moment. Too intimate, almost.

Therefore, the creature bites back the offensive phrase and tugs her closer by the waist, covering up his sudden hesitation with his signature smirk. “You like that idea, don’t you, dove?”

Y/N keeps her face neutral as they pass by an older couple examining a grandfather clock. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Sure you don’t.” Harry laughs sharply, nuzzling his face into the top of Y/N’s hair and pressing a casual kiss to the crown of her head. “Need I remind you that your request for my interior design skills is what started this whole thing?”

“And if you had suggested I mount a mirror over my bed, this whole thing would’ve been over before it even had a chance to start.”

“You say that now, but if you were to see the way my cock looks while it slams into your—”

“Harry!” Y/N hisses, blood rushing to her cheeks as he guides her around a corner stacked with porcelain dolls. 

“Fine. No mirror.” Harry relents, a disappointed sigh falling from his lips as he palms Y/N’s waist closer to himself. “But the tapestry needs to be burned.”

“No.”

“Thrown away.”

“No.”

“Folded up and tucked under the bed?”

“Possibly.  And that’s as good an ending as you’ll get.” 

That night, after Harry has satisfied his craving for both Y/N and the sweet liquid that pumps through her veins, and has settled in for his usual nightly routine of rhythmically caressing her back to lull her into a deep slumber, and as he counts the breaths the mortal sighs between nightfall and sunrise while her soft snoring sings a lullaby to his ears, he can’t help but think that…

That yes, this really is as good an ending as he’ll ever get. 

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

[thewildwaffle]

Humans are Weird - Birthdays

Another prompt from a lovely user on ao3

When humans throw a party, they don’t mess around. Or well, they do, that’s like half the point of their parties most of the time. What they don’t mess around with is the planning, preparation, and all-out general excitement and energy that goes into their parties. Scarsels, they'd only gotten halfway through the setup and decorating for Human Dana’s party and it seemed like it would be almost as much fun as the party itself! The special occasion this time was to commemorate the anniversary of Human Dana’s birth. When Peterrias was first told about the party plans, he'd been a bit blown away by just how much of everything there was. His people celebrated the anniversary of their hatching day, sure, but it was usually more of a happy acknowledgment of the day itself and of the life lived to that point rather than a formal festivity. Excited to be a part of such an important Earth culture custom, he had volunteered to help get things set up. There was a lot more that went into a human birthday party than he realized. At first, he'd gone with Human Jackson to help make the refreshments and treats that would be available to guests. He'd spent a little bit of time cutting up fresh vegetables that were edible for everyone on the crew to eat and arrange them on a colorful platter. That didn’t take long to do, but by the time he had it done, all the food preparation tasks that involved working with “safe” ingredients had already been taken. Not wanting to be in the way of preparations there, Peterias had wandered back to the main rec hall where the party decorations were at that point well underway. The humans had requisitioned party supplies the last time they’d stopped in a port with a half-decent market. Earth wares, as popular as they’ve become, were pretty easy to find, even very specific items like balloons, streamers, and a large pack of funny-looking conical hats.

Garubi sefra and human Jieun were setting up the streamers now. They twisted the thin strips of colorful paper into beautiful, swirling, drapes that swept from one side of the room to the other. He paused to take in the sight for a moment. There was something familiar about it all, but he couldn’t figure out why. Anyway, it was a lovely scene. Humans really did go all out. Or maybe this was just a good outlet for them to vent any pent-up creativity and partying they’d been holding in for the past few partecs aboard the ship. He suspected a combination of both. “Is there anything I can do to help here,” he approached the decorators. Human Jieun was having to climb up and down a step ladder to reach high enough to place the streamers. Peterias was one of the few crewmates aboard that stood taller than humans. That with his long arms and great reach, this seemed like the perfect job for him. With a little explanation, a few hijinks that went on while figuring out how to not get the tape to stick to him, he had the entire hall “decked out” as Jieun declared. There was still about half a roll of the decorative paper leftover. He watched it as he bounced it in his hand, smiling as it dawned on him why it looked so familiar to him. It looked just like a popular candy he enjoyed when he was a young hatchling. Wouldn’t it just be like humans to use pretty sweets as decorations? He had to admit, it was kind of a fun idea to multitask like that. Making sure no one was watching, he snuck a tentative nibble at the paper. It was absolutely disgusting. Definitely not a sweet ribbon! Oh, by the stars, it was so bitter! “Did you just try eating the crepe paper?” Jieun clapped a hand on Peterias’ shoulder as he came up from behind. “I’d guess from your face that it wasn’t very good!” “Pleah! Pleh… I… uh, you… you saw that?” He figured Jieun’s laughter was enough affirmation. “To be fair,” Garubi came to Peterias’ aide, “when I first saw the streamers, I thought they looked like large rolls of sweet ribbon as well.” Jieun’s smile remained as large as ever. “Yeah, but you didn’t try eating it!” Garubi took the remainder of the streamer roll from Peterias and went to put it away. “Not when you were looking,” Peterias heard the sefra mutter quietly before he got too far. Even though the room was already looking very festive, humans do not mess around when it comes to throwing parties. He helped Jieun and a few others set up some games and activities for the party. Once again, many hands might light work and the only thing left to do, so Jieun said, was blow up a few more balloons. “Thanks for helping set up though, I really do appreciate it. Dana’s going to love this! She has no idea we’ve got this planned, I can’t wait to see the look on her face!” “Glad to be included in such an important celebration of life,” Peterias closed his eyes and nodded to return for Jieun’s smile. “I am also very excited about the party. If I may ask, do you know how many years Dana is marking today?” “Uh, well, she’s turning thirty-seven in Earth years. I’d have to do the math to convert that to galactic standardized. I know doing that would make it a fraction of some sort.” Peterias tilted his head trying to recall what he knew about Earth. Their day cycles fell into an average length among inhabited homeworlds. The way they divided their days was a little funny but close enough that many humans had no problem converting to galactic standardized times. Years though, years seemed a little long to him, though he couldn’t remember the conversion rate right at the moment. Still, even if they weren’t too far off of GS time, thirty-seven was quite the number! He hadn’t realized Dana was a senior citizen! “That’s amazing,” Peterias’ voice was excited but respectful. “Do you think she’ll stay on the crew much longer then?” “Uh, yeah, I mean I don’t know what she’s planning, but I’d think so. I mean, why wouldn’t she?” “Well,” Peterias wasn’t completely sure how best to say this without sounding offensive or rude. He’d heard humans could be touchy about their ages later on in life. “Won’t she… won’t she want to retire soon?” Half of Jieun’s face scrunched up to make a funny expression. “Retire? Why would she want to do that?” “Um, well, you know… as most species age, they find this line of work to start becoming… uh, well a bit too demanding on… uh… elderly bodies?” Jieun stared at him without saying anything that Peterias started worrying that he had broken some human taboo about talking about getting old. “Dude. Dana’s turning thirty-seven, not eighty-seven. And even if she was, I still don’t think she’d retire. Have you seen her on duty? That lady loves blasting asteroids.” Jieun chuckled as if recalling a memory as he grabbed a rubber balloon and began forcing air into it through his mouth. As Peterias watched the blue shape grow in size, something Jieun said finally clicked. “Wait, eighty-seven? Do humans live that long?!” Jieun removed the balloon from his lips and tied the end so the air wouldn’t escape. “Well, I mean, with proper diet and exercise, a bit of good luck and good genes, yeah. I mean nowadays, it’s not too crazy to see people living and even being fairly active into their hundreds.” “What?!” Jieun had to be joking. Humans loved playing practical jokes. He kept waiting for his crewmate’s face to break into a wide grin and laugh at his attempt to “pull his leg” as the human saying went. As the tiks went by though, Jieun didn’t back down from his bold statement and instead started blowing up another balloon. “Oh,” Peterias shook his head. “Oh how silly of me. I forgot about the year ratio. Earth must circumnavigate it’s star fairly quickly. There for a bit, I thought you were saying humans could live for over 100 galactic standard years.” Jieun opened his mouth and let the half-filled balloon propel itself around the room wildly. “Uh, yeah, we can. Easily. I think the ratio is like, uh just a little over two-thirds of an Earth year for every galactic standardized year. Something like that? If we’re talking SG years, 130 is around the average life expectancy. 180’s getting up there. I think the oldest living human right now is pushing 195 SG years or something like that.” Shivers ran down Peterias’ whole body. He felt the proto-feathers along his spine rise up. He felt like he was frozen in place as his brain used 100% of its capacity to try to process what he’d just been told. There was no way. He’d have known about this before, right? Of all the rumors that flew around about humans, this would have been one of them, right? He kept waiting for a punchline, for Jieun’s nonchalant facade to drop and for him to start laughing at the hilarious joke he’d been trying to get Peterias to believe. But it didn’t happen. He wasn’t joking. Instead, Jieun held out his hand. “Let me see, I guess that would make Dana....” His fingers went up and down as he calculated, “Oh, a little over sixty I guess. In SG, that is.” He then went to retrieve the balloon he’d let escape before and proceeded to blow it up again, tying it off this time. Peterias just stood there, still frozen. He watched the human continue to put the final touches of decorations around the room. How old was Jieun? He saw human Jackson enter the room, being helped by several other crewmates as they carried in platters of prepared party snacks. How old was he? How old were any of the other human crewmates aboard the ship? How much had they seen and how much life had they lived even before they stepped aboard the ship? He was finally pulled out of his frozen state as everyone scrambled to hiding spots. Realizing he was still standing in the middle of the room, Garubi came up behind him and led him to a spot where he could crouch behind a chair. “Come on, they said part of the celebration is to jump out and surprise the birthday celebrant when they arrive at their party.” Peterias allowed themselves to be pulled along and even made sure to tuck their tail in closely so as to hide better behind the chair. It was futile, he was too large, but thinking on that right now seemed beyond his capabilities. Dana was indeed surprised when she arrived. She screamed, out of shock at first, then in delight. There was a lot of laughter, music, and talking, and a surprising amount of very bad, off-key singing to a very repetitive song. It felt almost like visiting a harvest festival back home, so happy and celebratory! Except unlike the festivals, this was for one person. Before, it might have seemed a bit excessive, even by human standards. Now he realized that with this celebration of life, there was a lot of life to celebrate. The planning and preparation that had gone into the party was well worth the effort. Peterias hadn’t had as much fun in some time. It wasn’t any one particular game they played or amusing story that was told that made it so much fun. It was more just, how happy everyone was. The humans, especially Dana, just seemed to radiate a warm happy energy that was particularly infectious. Peterias smiled as he watched Jackson get animated as he recounted an adventure he’d had as a youth on Earth. It was, of course, a story about him doing something dangerous and how he got out of it, and he had several delighted crewmates hanging onto every word. Peterias, chuckled as a thought came to him while watching the scene. Humans live such long lives. He’d had no idea. He supposed that some, after hearing Jackson’s story and knowing what ridiculous antics humans got into on the regular, might postulate that humans live so long because death itself is hesitant to claim them. As he looked around the room though, he caught eyes with human Dana who smiled that strange warm, and slightly scary way that humans do. She held up her hands together to form a shape that he’d been told was a symbol of love and mouthed the words “thank you” to him. Peterias nodded and smiled back. His mind started wandering again. Somewhere in his brain, the new information of human’s life spans was being put together with other tales and warnings he’d ever heard about them like puzzle pieces. That’s why everyone’s always worried about offending humans. They have such long lives that they could hold grudges for what would be lifetimes for other races. That’s why they’re so good at multitasking or will often come onto crews with multiple advanced skills. They have plenty of time to hone their talents. That’s why they can be so forgetful at times. They have a lot of life stored in their memories. There was a large collection of gasps and laughter from the crowd around Jackson as he finished up his story. Soon, Dana took over as the next storyteller about one of her own fool-hardy enterprises she’d had once. It wasn’t quite as much of an adventurous tale as Jackson’s had been, but it was a good story and she told it well. Peterias smiled as he listened in. He was glad humans lived so long, for a lot of reasons. Maybe those who half-joked when they said that death was afraid to claim humans were right. They certainly were a handful in the realm of life, they’d probably continue to be a handful in the realm beyond. In any case, whatever the reason may be, he was glad he’d have his friends around for a long time.

#humans are weird #humans are space orcs #humans live a long time #space #aliens #writeblr #ao3 #prompt #original writing #birthday #sci-fi

[sugdenlovesdingle]

Robron week Christmas special

Day 3: decorating the tree/switching on the lights

Emmerdale village Christmas market (AO3)

A/N: yes this is a day late but we’re ignoring that. My day 4 fic is about halfway done so hopefully i will get that one done in time!

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“Alright the lights are in, now it’s time for the rest.” Robert said, hands on his hips, surveying his handiwork.

It was a few weeks to Christmas and every available surface of the living room was covered in boxes with decorations.

Chas had had a big clear out and given them a few boxes of baubles that seemed older than life itself, and Diane had divided all of the Christmas decorations she’d had stored away in her house between Robert and Vic when she’d moved.

Though Robert had a feeling he and Aaron still had gotten the majority of it.

“Dad! I want to put the star on!” Seb announced.

“Let’s do the rest first. The star goes on last.” Aaron told him and handed him some brightly coloured tinsel to distract him. “While daddy goes to find a ladder to reach the top.” He mumbled, looking at Robert.

They’d let the kids pick the tree and Seb, with the help of Isaac, had picked the biggest one he could find and it just barely fit in the house.

Aaron wasn’t sure if the star would actually fit.

“Oh my god, I didn’t know this still existed.” Robert said suddenly, carefully lifting an ornament out of one of the boxes from Diane’s house.

“What is it?” Seb asked, craning his neck to see what his dad was holding.

“I made this when I was about your age.” Robert sat down on the back of the sofa and showed Seb the ornament. “It’s supposed to be an angel but the wings always came off.” He dug around the box some more to find the missing wings. “My dad, your granddad, tried to fix it with superglue every year but we’d always find the wings on the floor sooner or later.”

“Can you fix it now?”

“I don’t think so, it’s so old. And we don’t have any supplies here.”

“Dad has tools at work.” Seb reasoned. “And Isaac’s dad has tools.”

“What is it made of?” Aaron asked. “I can go grab something from the garage.”

Robert shook his head.

“It’s bread dough. With some kind of varnish to preserve it. I made it at school. It’ll probably crumble if you try to do anything to it.”

“Well then we can give it a special place on the tree, right Seb?” Aaron asked, getting up from the floor where Ruby was playing with the characters from the nativity scene Chas had given them.

Seb nodded and Robert handed him the angel.

“Go on then. You pick a good spot.”

Aaron climbed over boxes of decorations to get to his husband.

“You ok?” he asked, putting an arm around his waist.

“Yeah. I made that for my mum. I was gutted the first time the wings came off.” He smiled to himself. “My dad really tried every trick in the book to get them back on but somehow they never did.”

“I can go see if Cain has some glue at the garage. If it works on car tires, it should work on that.” Aaron offered again.

“No, it’s ok. I like it like this. Brings back good memories from when it was just me and my parents. Before everything.”

“Dad who is this?” Seb asked, holding up a bauble with a picture in it.

“I don’t know, let me see.” Aaron held out his hand and Seb handed him the ornament. “Oh god I forgot about this. We’re not putting this on the tree. I’ll give it back to nana tomorrow.” He tried to shove it back in a nearby box but Robert grabbed it from his hands.

“Oh my god this is the cutest!” he said excitedly, making Aaron roll his eyes at the theatrics. “We should put this in a special place where we can always see it, Seb.”

“But it’s just a baby…”

“That baby is your dad.” Robert grinned, looking at his husband. “Your nana showed me that picture before our first Christmas together. I got her that bauble to put it in as a Christmas present.”

“Yeah which is why we should give it back to her.” Aaron told them. “We’re not putting my baby pictures on our tree.”

“Why not? You were a cute baby. And we can put Seb and Ruby on there too.” Robert suggested. “We can have a look at the Christmas market next weekend to see if they have any of these picture frame ornaments.” He handed Seb the ornament. “You find a good spot for it.”

“Rob…” Aaron sighed.

“What? It’ll be nice. A new tradition of our own.”

Aaron gave him an unimpressed grunt.

“I’m so asking Vic to find that picture of you wearing nothing but that superman cape to put in yours.” He vowed and Robert laughed and kissed Aaron’s cheek before climbing back over the boxes to help Seb reach one of the higher branches.

Aaron pulled a face at his husband and then scooped his daughter up off the floor.

“Your daddy is being silly again, Rubes.” He said and tickled her to make her laugh while watching Seb and Robert work their magic on the tree and humming along to the Christmas playlist that had been playing on loop all afternoon.

After a while Ruby got restless and Aaron helped her put some tinsel on the tree and lifted her up to reach the highest branches.

“But I get to put the star on top, right dad?” Seb asked, making sure he hadn’t forgotten.

“Yeah of course mate.” Aaron told him. “But we have three stars now so just pick the one you like best and your dad will help you put it on.” He said and winked at Robert.

Seb dug through the boxes, ignoring his father urging him to be careful with the old ornaments.

“There’s going to be nothing but shards left in those boxes by the time he’s done with them.” Aaron sighed, sharing a look with Robert over Seb’s head.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, interrupting their afternoon of Christmas delight.

“I’ll get it.” Robert said, making his way over to the door. “Oh hi Charles.”

“Hello all. I was just coming to drop off this month’s rent.” He handed Robert an envelope.

“Oh. Thanks. But you didn’t have to pay in cash. You can just transfer it like you always do.”

“I know, but I wanted to talk to you gents about something.”

“You’re not moving out are you? It’s going to be a pain finding new tenants for the place.”

“No, no don’t worry. I’m perfectly happy here. I’m not going anywhere. Though I’m not sure how long Ethan will want to live with his dad…” he trailed off but then put a smile on his face again. “I’m doing a raffle in the church to raise money for charity and I was wondering if you wanted to buy some tickets. There are all kinds of prizes up for grabs.”

“Yeah? For the kids?”

“Not just for the kids. David donated a bottle of champagne, Mandy a treatment of your choice in the salon, we’ve got a cocktail mixing workshop for 5 people in Hotten, gift cards to various shops in Hotten, a free lesson of your choosing at the Hop. There is something for everyone.” Charles told him. “And the big prize is getting to switch on the village lights at the Christmas market next weekend.”

“The village lights? Isn’t everyone doing their own thing?” Aaron asked.

Charles smiled, knowing he’d caught their attention.

“Ethan’s boyfriend is a lighting technician and he’s designed this whole display for the village. They’re going to put it all up over the next few days and then on Saturday you can see the result.”

“And he’s doing all that for free?”

“Yeah, for the church, for charity.” Charles explained. “It’s the season of giving, so we’re giving back to the Hotten branch of a charity that helps LGBTQ+ youth in the area. They have a shelter and a crisis hotline but also organise all kinds of events where they can meet other queer kids. Brian volunteers with them and he and Ethan came up with the raffle idea together.”

“That sounds pretty good, doesn’t it Rob? We should buy a few tickets.”

That Saturday the village was buzzing with excitement over the market and the raffle. Seb and Isaac were absolutely obsessed with the action figures from one of their favourite cartoons, while Ruby was content just looking around from her place in her father’s arms.

By the time it was getting dark, Charles took his place on the little stage that had been built in front of the village hall and welcomed everyone to the village.

“And now it’s time to announce the winners of the raffle! Get your tickets ready, everyone!”

Jimmy and Nicola won the champagne, much to Robert’s disappointment, Mandy won a treatment at her own salon, and David won a set of gift vouchers for a few shops in Hotten.  

When Ethan won the cocktail mixing workshop, Nicola jokingly yelled that the raffle was rigged, making the crowd laugh.

“And now, for the grand prize… the lights!” Charles started and hit the button on the laptop connected to a big screen behind him and the numbers started to roll. “And the winner is… number 537!”

“That’s us!” Robert yelled, holding up the ticket.

“Congrats! Come on up here.”

The four of them made their way to the stage, Seb running ahead, and took their place next to Charles.

“Oh it’s going to be a family effort.” He said as Ethan’s boyfriend Brian set up the big red button for them to push to turn the lights on.

He gave them the thumbs up and stepped aside.

“Ok gentlemen, whenever you’re ready.”

“Ok, we’ll do it on three ok?” Robert said. “I’ll count to three and then we push the button.”

Seb nodded dutifully and Aaron agreed too. He shifted Ruby in his arms so she could help too.

“Ok… hands on the button… One… two…”

He didn’t get to three because Ruby had suddenly decided to slam her little hand down on the button and apparently the almost two year old was stronger than expected because around them the entire village lit up.

Seb pouted for a second but was soon distracted by the lights and everyone ooh-ing and aww-ing.

Robert and Aaron looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“You really are your father’s daughter aren’t you sweetheart? Always wanting to be the centre of attention.” Aaron said, pressing a kiss to Ruby’s head. “I’m proud of you.”

#robron #robron fic #rwxmas #aaron dingle #robert sugden #my writing

[itsallyscorner]

Ooo I finally got a Tom request for you! This one’s more fluff since you’ve already written a smut so~

Tom stumbles into a library and falls for reader that works there and tries passing off as a regular guy just so he can watch her from afar whether it’s cataloging books or reading to kids.(libraries were the original bookstores so they’re superior)

I’ve seen you’ve read my smut for Tommy! It’s one of my favorite ones that I’ve written😏Thank you love for the support and request, I appreciate it! Happy reading❤️

💌.

Sequel: Through Your Words

From Afar

warnings: none. Some spelling errors?

(Gif from Pinterest)

(I love him sm, ugh. He’s so cute in glasses🥺)

The brisk winds of New York City blew harshly against his cheeks as he walked towards the book store. The faster he walked the closer he saw the book shaped sign and baby blue store front that he had been visiting for the past few weeks. When he approached the door, he took his hand out from his warm pocket and pulled it open. He felt a wave of hot air embrace him as he entered the store. The sudden change in temperature caused his glasses to fog up, obscuring his vision. He didn’t actually need the glasses, but it helped him get around the city without being noticed every few minutes.

He wiped his glasses with his sleeves and slid them back to rest on the bridge of his nose. He took in the warmth of the cozy book store, sniffling as his body adjusted to the heat. He had stumbled upon the unique store when he first came to New York. It had been snowing when he first arrived and he was looking for a place to get some nice hot coffee. There wasn’t a single Starbucks near his hotel and the closest thing to coffee was a small cafe just a few blocks away from him. He ended up visiting the cafe, later discovering that it had a library hidden in the back. After days of hanging out at the cafe and reading some books, he had become familiar with the staff there. Especially you. Although he’s never spoken a word to you. Instead he’s only seen you from afar, exchanging glances and shy smiles at each other.

He approached the counter and was greeted by Marco, the barista of the cafe/library.

“Hey man, you gettin’ your usual?” Marco asked as he reached for one of the festive cups near the register. Tom pursed his lips as he looked at the menu.

“D’ya know what, I think I’ll have a hot chocolate today.” Tom smiled as he took his wallet out. Marco nodded and scribbled the order onto the cup.

“Anything else?” Tom shook his head and handed Marco a $10 bill. He shoved his wallet back into his pocket, scanning the store for a place to sit.

“Keep the change, mate.” Tom told Marco waving a hand at him.

“I’ll bring your drink to you.” Tom nodded thankfully and found a table towards the back. The smell of books brought him peace and comfort as the low hum of music surrounded the store. He took a seat debating on whether or not he should go through the library or read his script. He decided to read the script, remembering that he should go over his lines for the scenes they were going to shoot tomorrow.

Pulling the script out his backpack, a smell of vanilla and a hint of fruit breezed past him. He looked up to see that you had walked past him. A small smile made its way onto his lips as he watched you interact with some of the customers. Your bright eyes were accompanied with a kind smile as you conversed with an older lady. You were dressed in a knitted sweater, some jeans, and brown boots that went up to your knees. You settled into the seat across from the old lady which was a few feet away from him. You were wearing something so simple, but he thought you looked absolutely stunning. Tom found himself being more focused on you than his script.

Suddenly a steaming cup was placed down on the table, startling him. He looked up to see Marco smirking at him as he followed his line of sight. Tom quietly thanked him as his hands gripped onto the warm cup.

“Ya know, she’s single.” Marco whispered before walking away from Tom’s table. Tom blushed furiously as Marco turned back to him with a shit eating grin. He’s been caught staring at you. Tom rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment as he forced his focus onto his script. He barely looked up, only looking at his script and cup.

An hour had passed and he was halfway through his lines. His cup was almost empty, only a few sips of hot chocolate left. Tom sighed, taking his glasses off and rubbing his tired eyes. He put the glasses back on and looked around. Outside, the sun had started to go down and there were different people in the store. He suddenly heard a laugh, a sweet sound, like a melody. His eyes followed the sound, only to see you laughing with one of your coworkers. The two of you were organizing books at the back. Your eyes averted from your friend, connecting with Tom’s brown eyes. A strand of hair fell from your face and Tom couldn’t help but feel tempted to tuck it back behind your ear. You shyly smiled at him with a small nod towards his direction. Tom felt the butterflies erupt in his stomach, making him feel breathless. He smiled back at you, his fingers fiddling with the highlighter in his hands. You were the first to turn away, returning to your task at hand.

At that moment, Tom felt pity for himself. You were just a few feet away from him looking as beautiful as ever. But there he was glued to his seat, only admiring you from afar. He was too scared to approach you, you just seemed too good to be true. His leg bounced nervously as he continued to sneak glances at you. His script was long forgotten, the hot chocolate now cold. He wanted to approach you but he was too nervous to go up to you. Suddenly an idea popped into his head.

Tom looked around, trying to discreetly wave down Marco. The man was busy wiping down the counters until he saw Tom flailing his hand at him. He threw the rag into the sink and approached the British man.

“What’s up? Refill? Or have you finally mustered the balls to ask (y/n) out?” Marco questioned him nonchalantly. Tom’s head snapped at the barista.

“H-how? Wait, her name’s (y/n)?” Tom’s voice trailed off as he paired the name with your face. (Y/n). The named rolled off his tongue so naturally.

“Yeah. How can I help you?”

Tom leaned in closer to Marco keeping his tone low, “Has she been reading any books lately? Like anything in the library?”

Marco took a minute to think to himself, “Ummm, she mentioned something about rereading The Great Gatsby.”

“Great, uhm. Where can I find that?” Tom asked eagerly.

Marco waved him off and patted his shoulder, “I’ll get it for you.”

Marco returned a few minutes later with the book. The book was aged but still in good condition.

Curiously, Marco asked, “What are you gonna do?”

Pulling out post it notes from his bag and a pen, he opened the book to the first page.

“I’m going to leave a note for her.” He muttered, “For (y/n), I mean.” He quickly elaborated to Marco.

He stuck the post it note to the page and thought of something to write.

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it. If you want, I could give it to her. Just hand it to me when you leave.” Marco offered beginning to walk back to the counter.

“That would be great, thanks man.” Tom sent him a grateful smile and looked down at the book. He racked his brain for something nice to say that would set a good impression on you, but instead he went with the first thing he thought when he would see you.

“I think you look very beautiful today :) — Tom xx” were the words he scribbled onto the post it note. He closed the book, looking down at it nervously. Would you think the note was creepy? Would you cringe? Maybe you would appreciate it? Would you find it cute? Many questions formed in his head making him second guess his decision of leaving the note for you. But then he finally mustered the courage to just give it to you and hope for the best.

Packing his things, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and threw his cup away. He quickly looked around and saw you standing on a ladder. You were still sorting books, but now your hair was pulled up into a ponytail. With one more glance at you he took the book and approached Marco.

Marco looked at him expectantly. Tom double checked to see if the note was still in the book.

“You good?”

“Yup, I think I am.” Tom sighed finally giving the book to Marco.

“I’ll give it to her as soon as she’s done over there.” Marco motioned to you placing the book in his large apron pocket.

“Thanks, Marco. I appreciate it.” Tom smiled at him. Marco shrugged as if it were no big deal.

“No problem man, you have a good night.” Marco waved at Tom as his hands pushed on the door. Tom was about to leave but heard Marco call out to him again.

“I better be seeing you tomorrow. She’ll read the note by then.” Marco pointed at him.

“I’ll be here.” Tom confirmed before leaving the store with one more wave at Marco.

As he walked through the blanket of snow a smile was on his face the entire time. When he got back to his hotel, he laid in bed wondering if you have read the note already. He found himself anticipating the upcoming day. He couldn’t wait to visit the cafe after set or during his lunch. Maybe by tomorrow he’ll stop admiring you from afar and finally talk to you, who knows?

#ally’s requests #marvel #mcu #avengers #Tom Holland #Tom Holland x reader #Tom Holland imagine #tom holland one shot #Tom Holland Drabble #tom holland fanfiction #Tom Holland fluff #tom holland headcanon #tom stanley holland #Peter Parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #spiderman

[thelastspeecher]

Smallville the twins' first time flying

For reference, the first scene happens when Stan and Ford are teens, and the second one when they are adults. Minor explanation at the end of the post. Enjoy. :)

——————————————————————————————

              Ford and Fiddleford sat in the loft of the McGucket Farm barn.

              “This is…nice,” Ford managed. He could feel his face reddening from the close proximity to his longtime crush. With a careful side glance, he saw that Fiddleford was turning pink himself. Fiddleford cleared his throat.

              “Yes. It- it is,” Fiddleford said quietly. He cleared his throat. “So, you, uh, you wanted to tell me somethin’?”

              “Yes, I did.” Ford swallowed. “F, I- I am…incredibly fond of you.” He forced himself to look at Fiddleford. Fiddleford stared at him, his blue eyes wide behind his omnipresent reading glasses. “Fond in- in a romantic way.”

              “O-oh.” Fiddleford’s blush darkened. He managed a small smile. “Well, it’s a good thing I feel the same way, then.” Fiddleford’s hand reached for Ford’s. Their fingers intertwined. Ford’s heart began to race. He swallowed again.

              “But that’s- that’s not the only thing I need to tell you.”

              “Hmm?”

              “I- I’m not from around here.”

              “I know that. Yer from New Jersey.”

              “Yes, but…” Ford took a deep breath. He let go of Fiddleford’s hand and stood. “I think it’s best if I show you.” Fiddleford opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Ford stepped off the edge of the loft.

              “Stanford!” Fiddleford scrambled over. He stared down in horror, but Ford wasn’t on the floor of the barn. A finger tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up. Ford floated in front of him. Fiddleford’s jaw dropped. “Yer- yer-” He sat back. “Yer one of them folks what got turned superhuman by the meteor rocks.”

              “No, I’m not.” Ford sat down next to Fiddleford again. “I was born like this.”

              “Really?”

              “Yes.” Ford closed his eyes, trying to find the right words. “Mom, she knew something was special about me the moment she found me.”

              “Found you?” Fiddleford parroted. Ford nodded.

              “I mean, she did find me in a spaceship.”

              “A- what?!” Ford kept his eyes closed. “Stanford, are ya tellin’ me that yer an- an alien?”

              “Yes, I am,” Ford whispered. Fiddleford was silent for a moment.

              “Hmm.” Ford finally opened his eyes. Fiddleford smiled at him. “Well, after all the stuff I’ve seen in Smallville, you bein’ an alien ain’t too much of a shock, I guess. You’ve always been a mite odd.” He took ahold of Ford’s hand again. “But so am I.” Ford flushed.

              “I’m at a loss for words, honestly,” he said softly. “In a million years, I never would have imagined that you’d take this so well.” Fiddleford chuckled.

              “Then maybe ya don’t know me like ya think ya do.”

              “Maybe not.” Ford squeezed Fiddleford’s hand. “Would you…care to join me?”

              “Join you where?” Fiddleford asked. Ford smiled.

              “In the sky.”

              “Yer invitin’ me to fly with ya?” Fiddleford gasped. Ford’s smile broadened. “Is that even a question ya need to ask?” Ford and Fiddleford went to step off the loft and-

-----

              “Whoa, Ford!”

              Ford fell back to his bunk. He rolled onto one side to glare at the person in the doorway who had interrupted him.

              “Stanley, I was having an excellent dream, why did you wake me?” he demanded. It was the middle of the night, but with his eyesight, he could identify just about anyone in the dark.

              “I got up to get a drink of water and when I came back, you were floating,” Stan said.

              “I wasn’t just dreaming that?” Ford whispered. Stan walked over to the bunk bed and climbed halfway up the ladder.

              “What were you dreaming about?”

              “That I was flying with-” Ford clamped his mouth shut. Stan raised an eyebrow.

              “With who?”

              “Whom, and I’m not telling. You’ll just make fun of me.”

              “Oh, it was one of those dreams,” Stan said wisely. Ford reddened.

              “Get your mind out of the gutter.” He cleared his throat. “Why are we focusing on my dream?” he asked, desperately hoping to change topics. “We can fly!”

              “Uh, maybe you can,” Stan said. He climbed back down the ladder and sat on his bunk. “Me? I’ll keep my feet where they belong. On the ground.” Ford leaned over to look at his twin.

              “But this is part of our heritage as extraterrestrials!”

              “Heritage, shmeritage,” Stan scoffed. “I don’t wanna be a Stan-colored splatter on the pavement, okay?”

              “Really? You’re still letting your fear of heights control you? If anything, this is proof you shouldn’t be afraid,” Ford argued. “You’ll never hit the ground. Your instincts will kick in.”

              “For all we know, it skipped me. I mean, why would I have a…respect for heights if I could fly?”

              “I just discovered we have it,” Ford said, growing frustrated. He frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe your phobia is the reason you haven’t shown the ability quite yet.”

              “You’re just making me more convinced I’m not gonna try to do it.” Stan looked up at Ford. “You can. I’ll even watch. But me? Nuh-uh.”

              “Stanley…”

              “Save your breath, Sixer. I’ve decided. Stan Kent is never gonna fly.”

-----

              At the sound of footsteps, Stan turned. He’d heard Angie coming from a mile away, of course, but for all she knew, he couldn’t. After all, she still thought he was human.

              “Hey,” he said softly. Angie walked up to him, smiling wryly.

              “Hey yourself.”

              “You look gorgeous.”

              “Well, I did just come from a black-tie event that you-” She prodded him in the chest playfully. “-were s’pposed to accompany me to. Or did ya forget that, as reporters, we’re actually s’pposed to report on things every once in a while?”

              “Something came up,” Stan said. Angie cocked her head.

              “Somethin’ always does with you.”

              “But you haven’t left me yet.”

              “Mm, don’t tempt me, Smallville,” Angie teased. She stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Now, I believe you owe me a dance.”

              “There’s no music playing.”

              “So?”

              “Fair enough,” Stan said, smiling. They fell into a slow dance, coming together through muscle memory. Stan held Angie close, resting his chin on the top of her head. She chuckled. Her eyes widened as she took a step, but found only air. Sensing the stumble, Stan held her tighter. “You all right?”

              “Uh, yeah, just tripped.” Angie looked down. Her eyes widened further. “Y’know what? To keep that from happenin’ again, I’ll just step on yer toes, okay?”

              “Huh?”

              “Let me pretend to be slightly taller, darlin’,” Angie said smoothly. Stan rolled his eyes.

              “Fine,” he said. Angie lightly stepped onto his feet. “Better?”

              “Yes. Say, do ya still have that fear of heights?” His eyes closed, Stan frowned.

              “It’s a respect, Angie. And…yeah, I do. Why?”

              “Oh.” Angie rested her head against Stan’s chest. “No reason.”

              The two continued to sway to music only they could hear, their feet hovering a few inches above the ground.

——————————————————————————————

Okay, this was actually an excellent request to get. Idk your familiarity with Smallville, but I know most of my followers don't know much about it, so let me explain. The showrunners had a "no tights, no flights" rule, where Clark wouldn't fly or put on his costume until the end of the show. This meant that, over the course of the show, there were many times where Clark briefly flew, but it didn't really stick. I decided to select a couple of those instances and use them for this prompt.

#Smallville AU #Stanford Pines #Fiddleford McGucket #Stanley Pines #Angie McGucket #Fiddauthor #Stangie #my writing #ficlet #ask #iconicanemone #huh the format also is not keeping my double-space between sentences.....hmm #anyways I really liked this prompt so thank you <3 #Smallville Stans AU

[libraryofloveletters]

Soulmates In This Life & Another

Evan Buckley x Eddie Diaz

Warnings: typical 911 level graphics, blood and injures, hospitals, mentions of praying, love confessions 

Category: angst with some fluff at the end

Word Count: 3.7k

Author’s Note: part 2 to my buddie fic!! this can be read as a standalone but for some backstory, read Just Friends // typical 911 level of graphics but a shitter description of the scene cause I’m not a firefighter and I’m lazy

----

“It was fine.” The three words would be the beginning of the downfall of their friendship in the upcoming weeks. 

A few weeks have passed since the kiss. 

They were fine, as they normally were.

Buck still regularly stopped in by the Diaz residence to see his two favourite boys and hang out with them. Eddie still had Buck babysit or drop Chris off at Buck’s place when he needed to go out or if Chris just wanted to spend the day with him- but with each day came a bit more distance. The random drop bys slowed, Eddie stopped asking Buck to babysit, and eventually, they stopped seeing each other outside of work altogether. 

Work was a completely different story. They still sat next to each other, they still talked but it wasn't the same. Eddie spent less and less time with Buck- Buck also taking the hint, kept his distance from Eddie, not wanting to upset him further. In the field, they worked together seamlessly- nonverbal exchanges, handing each other what they needed and assisting each other without question but all of that stopped the moment the truck pulled back into the station. 

Once again, station 118 had found themselves on a 24 hour shift and again, Buck is the only one still awake. He stood by the railing, looking down at the trucks parked in the station, counting the steps on the ladders as he waited for the coffee maker to be done. He thought he was by himself until he heard some tumbling in the kitchen, he turned to see Hen- halfway into the fridge looking for something. She stood, a bottle of water in her hand when she smiled at Buck. 

“Why are you moping ?” she took a sip of her water, sitting on the stool by the counter.

“I’m not moping” he says, walking back over when the coffee maker beeps.

“Okay, so why has Eddie been moping around then ?” 

“Are you trying to reverse psychology me ?” he gives her a ‘are you serious’ look.

“Would you know if I was using reverse psychology on you?” she questions the man in front of her. 

“Obviously” he trails off, she chuckles and shakes her head. “You and Eddie have been off the last few weeks, the moping around, the distance between the two of you- it’s awkward. What's going on?” she looks up at the blonde man who’s sipping on his coffee. Buck sighed- he wanted so much to confide in someone, to tell them about the kiss- about how he was in love with Eddie. 

Except, he always confided in Eddie, it was hard to turn to someone else. 

He could always go to Maddie, she would never judge him - or Bobby and Athena, they would give him advice. He knew he could turn to Hen, she’d know what to say and she’d probably tell him to follow his heart and tell Eddie how he felt. 

Buck chuckled to himself at the thought of telling Eddie that he was in love with him. Hen’s brow raised, looking at Buck in confusion. It was a bit strange that he was laughing by himself at.. nothing ? But then again, it was Buck so she didn’t think much into it. 

“Do you want to talk or?” she says, breaking his train of thought. 

“I uh- We, Eddie and I-” he paused, unsure where to go from there. 

“Evan, spit it out” 

“Did you just call me Evan ?” his mouth hung open slightly and she breathed a laugh. “Yeah, that’s not the point right now.” 

“We kissed.” Buck blurts out before he loses the courage to tell her. 

“Finally” Hen huffs, smiling at him. 

“Wait, you’re not surprised ?” 

“Buck, you’ve been drooling over Eddie since your first shift with him. I’m just surprised it didn’t happen sooner.” 

“Huh” was all the man said before walking off. 

“Yeah, good talk” Hen mumbled before turning her attention back to the book she had with her. 

--- 

40 minutes. 

That’s how long it had been since they last heard from Buck.  

He had run back into the building, even after Bobby had given him strict instructions not too but it was Buck- he never gave up. 

Eddie’s heart pounded in his chest as he stood helplessly behind the truck. Bobby radioed over for Buck, the static from the radio seemed echoed although the street was busy and full of people. It took all of Eddie not to run in there and look for Buck himself- actually he almost did, finding his way to a backdoor that was still structurally sound but Hen found him and reminded him that Christopher was waiting for his dad to come home and that Buck was more than capable of getting himself out. 

There he stood, Chimney and Hen beside him as Bobby radioed again. “Buckley, do you copy ?” Bobby waited for an answer but was met with static once again. 

The ground beneath them rumbled, Bobby looked at his team before turning to face the building. Just as the other 3 turned, they saw the entire building collapse. A 42 story hotel had been reduced to a pile of rubble. The team braced themselves as the building came down, hoping that it would come down as it once stood, in one straight pile. 

They all hoped that Buck has pulled a stupid stunt and jumped over to the next building. 

Eddie couldn’t bare the thought of losing Buck. He was the first to run towards the pile of rubble, pulling whatever he could pull and shouting for Buck. There were at least 4 other stations there, everyone started moving through, trying to find safe pathways to start the search for survivors. 

Survivor. 

That’s what Buck was to him- that, amongst other things. 

Eddie had made his way through a pile in the corner, a yellow piece of something caught his eye. He wasn't sure what it was but something in him made him think about Buck. He tugged until he got the piece out and it was a piece of Buck’s- or another firefighter’s turnout jacket. He stood there, hunched over, his hand on his chest, trying to steady his heart as all the possibilities ran through his head. 

Buck was stuck under all of this. Buck would die if they didn’t find him soon. Who was he to say that Buck was even alive? 

He pushed the heart wrenching thoughts from his mind. 

Buck is alive. Buck is alive. Buck is alive. 

Those 3 words were the only thing getting him through this. He needed to find Buck. 

Buck needed to be alive. 

Buck is alive. 

“Buck’s alive” he barely heard his radio over the chaos around him. Chimney’s voice ringing through the radio once more, Eddie let out a sigh as he heard the news this time. 

“Buck’s alive.” 

Eddie dropped everything, he didn’t mean too but Buck needed him- he needed Buck. He found the 118, Bobby stood outside of the ambulance. His hand comes up to hold Eddie back as he ran towards the ambulance. 

“Cap, move. I need to see him” “Eddie, Eddie! Hey, give them some space.” Bobby’s hand was against Eddie’s chest. His hand wrapped around Bobby’s wrist, trying to push him away to get to past him but Bobby was stronger than he looked. 

“Eddie, Buck needs all the attention he can get right now. Give them a minute to work, okay ?” 

Chimney jumps out the back of the ambulance, shutting one of the doors. “We're heading out now,” he shouts, making his way to the driver’s seat.  Eddie looks at Bobby, his head slightly tilted, his eyes silently pleading to let him go with them. Bobby reopened the door that Chim closed and nodded towards the inside. Eddie gives his captain a nod before getting in. Bobby shut the doors and hit the back as Chim pulled off. 

Eddie’s eyes trailed over Buck’s body, assessing his injuries. There was a large gash on his side that was currently covered by gauzes and he was in and out of consciousness due to the concussion he had. That was only externally, he had no idea what was going on inside- there were so many things that could be happening to Buck right now and they had no way of being completely sure until they reached the hospital. 

Hen could see the worry on Eddie’s face. Eddie was one to hold himself together but when it came to those he loved- he wore his heart on his sleeve. 

“He’s going to be okay.” She tells him- she isn't sure if those words are true but Eddie desperately needed something to cling too. 

“He's going to be okay.” Eddie repeats her words - he too, knows that those words might not be true but he tries to convince himself either way. 

The ambulance bounced as it hit a pothole. Chimney shouting a sorry from the front. The gauzes that were once taped to Buck’s side had loosened from the amount of blood that had soaked through and the pothole was the cherry on top. 

“Eddie, you’re gonna have to put pressure on it” Hen tells him, turning to reach a medical glove. By the time she turns back, Eddie’s hand is pressed to Buck’s side, his other hand holding Buck’s that laid by his side. 

Hen watched the man sitting across from her, the way his brows furrowed each time he glanced at the monitor, how his eyes glimmered with hope when Buck almost regained consciousness. Through all of the emotions, not once did Eddie’s hand shift from Buck’s side- not even an inch. 

When they arrived, Eddie and Hen moved along with the stretcher, following it inside as Hen told the nurses what his last vitals were and what injuries she has assessed so far. Eddie’s hand pressed to his friend’s side still, he silently mumbled a prayer- one he hadn’t said in a long time, hoping that his friend would pull through because he couldn't bare to lose some else. 

The nurse assured him that she was able to take him over for him, her hand ready to replace Eddie’s, yet he still walked with the stretcher. The nurse followed behind him, looking back at Hen. 

The stretcher halted in front of the OR doors, Eddie couldn't follow them in there and he knew that. “Come on,” Hen’s hand rested gently on his shoulder. 

Eddie’s heart was beating relentlessly in his chest, the fear of something happening to Buck if he leaves him was setting in but he also knew that if he didn’t step by that Buck could die right there, feet away from the OR. 

He glanced at the nurse, she nodded- her silent way of assure him once more that she’s ready when he’s ready. “Okay” he mumbles, carefully moving his hand as the nurse’s hand replaces his. 

He watched as they rolled him through the doors, he could still feel Hen’s hand on his shoulder. He walked with her back to the waiting room, Bobby and Chimney in there, Maddie too. 

All eyes were on Eddie, his hand stained red from being on Buck’s side. He hadn’t noticed until the red liquid fell from his fingertips and made little red droplets on the white floors. He walked away quietly, feeling the eyes on him until he stepped into the bathroom. 

Peeling off his turnout gear, he stepped out of it, leaving it on the floor for the moment being. The sleeve of his uniform button up was covered in blood, it had dripped down his arm. 

Discarding the shirt with his turnout gear, he stood in front of the sink, the cold water turning red as it went down the drain. He took a look at himself in the mirror. 

Parts of his face covered with dust and soot, a little drop of red on his cheek from when the gauze came loose in the ambulance, he wiped off the blood and returned to the waiting room, his gear and shirt hung on the chair beside him. He had on his regular LAFD t-shirt under all of that. 

Maddie took a seat beside him, her hand reaching for his. He didn’t say anything, he let her hold it. They both cared deeply about Buck in their own way. 

“He’s going to be okay” He tells Maddie- repeating the words Hen had told him during the ride over, he could see that she needed something to hold onto.

“He’s going to be okay” Maddie gave Eddie’s hand a small squeeze. She had been in the same waiting room countless times with the team but each time felt like the first and it didn’t get less scary either. 

--- 

Hours have gone by and only once has the doctor sent a nurse by with an update. 

“He's stable as of now.” 

As of now. 

The 3 words ringing in Eddie’s head. He knew how these things went, nothing was certain but for Buck’s sake, he hoped it was. His leg bounced, his eyes fixed on the poster about teens against drugs on the wall. 

The waiting room was almost empty, most of the team had gotten up to stretch their legs or get coffee. Bobby had stepped out to call Athena, giving her an update on Buck. Chimney and Maddie went to get some air and coffee, Hen had also stepped out for the moment, to call Karen he assumed. 

Bobby stepped back into the waiting room, Eddie still staring at the poster on the wall. He took a seat beside him. “You okay ?” he asks him quietly, not wanting to startle him- though not much scared him. 

“Yeah, fine. Did you get an update yet?” 

“No,” Bobby sighs, “Athena says she’ll be on her way with coffee and breakfast when she drops the kids off” 

Eddie hums. An announcement broke his thought, he only heard the last part- “cart to OR 3″ and his brain filled in the rest. The panic that just settled was starting to build again. Bobby noticed how Eddie’s entire demeanour changed after the announcement, his body shifted in his chair, his chest raising and falling faster than it was moments ago. 

“OR 6″ Bobby says, Eddie’s brows furrow. “What ?” 

“Buck’s in OR 6″ 

Eddie sighs. Bobby looks over at the man sitting beside him- sure they were all worried about him but no one was more worried than Eddie. 

“Eddie, can I ask you something ?” 

“Yeah, of course” 

“What's going on with you and Buck ?” 

The question hit him like a ton of bricks. Things had been less than normal between the two men, the distance after the kiss putting a strain on all the relationships in their lives. Eddie had to explain to Chris why Buck wasn't around as much and things were just awkward. 

The thought of losing Buck before he could make things right made his heart ache in the worst possible way. 

Bobby could see the way his question made Eddie stop and think. He resisted the urge to laugh but he let Eddie take a moment to figure it out. Bobby had seen the bond the two men formed since their first shift together- as long as you had eyes, you’d be able to see it too. 

From the way they looked at each other to the way they spoke about each other with glowing affection, it was hard to miss the feelings between them. 

The only person that seemed to be oblivious to this was Eddie. 

“Nothing’s going on with us” Eddie finally answers him. Bobby sighs, shaking his head. 

“Eddie, you know I don’t lecture you because I never felt the need too but I feel like I should now.” a slight frown on Eddie’s face from Bobby’s words. Bobby shifted in his seat, now facing Eddie. 

“Everyone seems to see it except you. That look you had when you saw the hotel come down- I've seen it before, on those who were waiting for someone they love to walk out but they didn’t. Why do you think you were the first to go running towards it ? Because you love him.” 

“We all love him Cap, we couldn’t just leave him there” Eddie tells him, he was unsure as to why he brought upon the fact that he loves him- they all did. 

“I understand that, but you love him.” the emphasis on the word love still didn’t connect the dots for Eddie- Bobby noticed the confusion on the man’s face. “Look at what's right in front of you, the most obvious answer is usually the right one.” he pats his shoulder before leaving Eddie to his thoughts. 

Bobby stepped out, Athena coming his way. He smiled at his wife as she approached him, his arm now over her shoulder. She leaned into his side when she saw Eddie in the waiting room. “Is he okay ?” she looks up at her husband for an answer, he hums. “Eddie’s about to realize that he's in love-” a loud ‘oh my god’ came from the waiting room, interrupting Bobby’s sentence. “Yup, there it is” 

“There’s what? I’m going to need some context here.” Athena says, still looking at the man in the waiting room. 

“He’s realized he’s in love with Buck” Bobby chuckles, “about time.” 

--- 

The sun was coming up, the curtains slightly opened in his room. Eddie had spent the night in his room, the chair in there was far too small for him as he kept drifting in and out of sleep. 

He had called Carla, letting her know that he wasn’t coming home that night. Maddie offered to stay but she deserved a proper night’s sleep in an actual bed. He promised to call her if anything changed. 

Buck stirred in his sleep, groaning as he turned. Eddie was half asleep and hadn’t noticed until he heard Buck groan. Sitting up straight, he saw Buck rolling back onto his back, “did you roll onto your side? Let me see” Eddie gets up, walking to the bedside. 

“What are you doing here?” his throat dry, a whisper was all he could manage. 

“Didn’t want you to wake up to an empty room. I spent everyone home to get some rest. Maddie said she’d be back as soon as visiting hours start.” Eddie tells him as he lifts the side of the gown to check if Buck had pulled a stitch when he rolled onto his side. Buck stayed still, feeling Eddie’s hand gently touch his side in a few spots, his fingers dragging across the edge of the gauze that was taped over what he was sure was stitches. 

“Chris ?” he asks, looking at his friend. “Home, with Carla”

“Eddie,” Buck’s hand reached for Eddie’s. 

“Buck?” his brows furrows- the typical Diaz look. Buck smiled at his expression.

“Why are you really here?” 

“I told you, I didn’t want you waking up to an empty room.” Eddie says once more, trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince Buck. 

The blonde scoffed, that was bullshit and they both knew it. “If you’re going to lie, be better at it.” 

Eddie smiled, thinking back to their kiss in the locker room. Buck had said those same words to him just moments before. Eddie's hand comes up to Buck’s face, cupping it. Eddie leans down, his eyes locking with Buck’s. The warmth Buck radiated was the only thing that filled Eddie’s head.

Things were different this time, he was completely and utterly ready to devote himself to Buck, no questions asked. 

Buck could tell him to stop and Eddie could pull away at any moment but neither did. 

Buck took in the moment, the way Eddie’s brown eyes glimmered as the sunlight hit them, the way his hand held his face like it was made to be there. His lips finally met his, the world stopped spinning and everything melted away. It was just the two of them, as it always was - but it was different. They were so different but they were made for each other.  

When Buck finally pulled away, he looked up at Eddie. The expression on his face was nothing but love- happy, relaxed, not a worry in the world. Little did Buck know but he was mirroring the exact same expression back to Eddie. 

Buck’s brows furrowed for a moment, the reality starting to flood in. Eddie could see the change in Buck. 

“What’s wrong ?” he asks him, sitting at the edge of his bed, his hand holding Buck’s. 

“Ana, is she,” he trailed off. It hurt his heart to bring it up but he couldn't knowingly get into something with Eddie if he was still with Ana because it was wrong to both himself and to her but also because it would kill him to lose Eddie to her. 

“I- uh, I ended things weeks ago” he fidgeted with his fingers, not looking up at Buck. “It didn’t seem right to lead her on when I knew I wasn’t in love with her.” 

“So are you saying what I think you’re saying ?” Buck asked, a small smile on his face. 

“What am I saying Evan ?” Eddie bit back a smile, looking at the blonde man on the bed. 

“That you’re in love with me Edmundo” 

“Ew don’t call me that” his face twisted into a look of disgust. Buck let out a loud laugh, before telling him “don’t call me Evan then.” 

The men bickered back and forth, laughing and prodding each other for the next few minutes. The room filled with laughter and love, so much so that it hurt their faces from how much they were smiling. 

“You know,”  Eddie’s hand rested on top of Buck’s, “I really do love you” 

Buck smiles, “I love you too.” 

--- 

Taglist: @dralexreid​ @mrs-dr-reid​ @ickletheficklepickle​ @yelenabelous​ 

#buddie #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #buddie fanfiction #evan buckley #eddie diaz #eddie x buck #buck x eddie #911 #9-1-1 #evan buck buckley #edmundo diaz

[neakco]

When I Found You Bonus

Original Story Here or on Ao3

Ao3

What happens after Tim hacks into Marinette's phone.

As always I have no beta and wrote this within an hour.

Marinette woke up feeling both drained and refreshed. Glancing at her phone she remembered the conversation with Tim.

“Tikki, he wouldn’t really steal a helicopter for me would he?”

Tikki flew over with her phone, “I think you should read this.”

Marinette stopped getting ready for school and timidly took the device. She unlocked it carefully and saw 3 unread messages from Tim.

'It occurs to me how tedious it will be to pack your luggage to school so maybe just leave it on your balcony. Covered in case of rain.'

'Jason can’t drive. Something about running out of shark repellent and too many teeth. On plan B now.'

'Plans B – F didn’t pan out so I am on plan G. The Gremlin says he will except your eternal thanks in the form of proper pastries and that you would know what that meant.'

Marinette dropped her phone as she started tossing everything she could into a small suitcase. “Tikki, he was serious!”

Tikki, the traitor, just giggled at her and passed over her toiletries.

Marinette ran downstairs to inform her parents that she was being kidnapped by Tim after school by helicopter and to say her goodbyes. They were surprised but happy she was going to be with people they trusted and out of Paris so she could feel properly. All they asked was that she let them know when she arrives safely.

She packed a box with all the Wayne family's favourite pastries then an entire extra box just for Damien. She then made sure everything was stored in an easy to grab place on her balcony in a sealed plastic bag before running to school. She made it moments before the bell and sat quickly. She was then assaulted with gossip from Alya and remembered very suddenly why Tim was picking her up, it was going to be a very long day.

Despite the fake smile Marinette had plastered on her face she would say that the day had gone okay. The lunch Akuma wasn’t too difficult and the day had continued to be nice and sunny. Everyone was discussing what they planned to do for the break and someone, she thinks it was Max, asked about her plans.

“I'm going to spend some time out of town with a friend and their family.” She smiled, maybe Dick would stop by and teach her some new tricks.

“You never mentioned having friends outside of town before, are you sure you aren’t just making that up?” Lila's harsh voice cut in from the back.

Marinette bit her tongue. She wouldn’t give in. She wouldn’t rise to the bait. She ignored the voices of her classmates as some berated her for lying while others said it was okay if she didn’t have any plans. Rose straight told her that she could come with her and Juleka if she wanted. Marinette just quietly shook her head as she packed up. She could hear the sounds of an approaching helicopter and since Chloe had left a day early she doubted it could be for anyone else.

The rest of the class had started to pick up on the noise and rushed outside. Sure enough there was a Wayne helicopter descending to the courtyard. Marinette slowly made her way forward as a head popped out.

She watched Tim look around carefully before spotting her and grinning widely. The crowd was getting worse though and she was stuck near one of the railings. She didn’t really want to vault it but it looked like she was going to have to. At least until Tim spotted her predicament and tossed down a ladder.

He dramatically slide halfway down while dressed in what appeared to be superboy pajama bottoms and a ladybug shirt and looked down at her. “Get on loser, we're going shopping.”

Marinette laughed as she grabbed the ladder and started climbing much to the surprise of her classmates. She would probably have some texts to answer later, but that was a problem for future Marinette. Current Marinette finished climbing the ladder and looked at Tim. “Mean Girls?”

He shrugged, “I haven’t had any coffee yet.”

She looked around the surprisingly spacious helicopter and spotted her luggage. She walked over and fished out a thermos that she passed over. “Thankfully I planned for that.”

Tim grabbed her in a hug and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Definitely the best friend ever.”

“I'm not the one that flew a helicopter overseas because my friend was sad.”

“That would be me. Where are my pastries?” Damian’s voice came from the cockpit.

She couldn’t help it, she started laughing as she freed herself from Tim and went to grab the box she had prepped for Damien.

“Nice to see you too, how did you get away with not switching when you arrived?” she passed him the box and Damian handed her his license.

She looked it over and saw that it stated he was currently 16. Handing it back she walked back to Tim. “Did you forge the license?”

Tim laughed as he drank his coffee, “Nah, the license is real. The gremlin faked his age when he took the test and never told anyone.”

“Drake, when father asks, you kidnapped me so I wouldn’t turn in your petty theft. Same to you DC.”

Marinette had to stifle her laugh since it was obvious Damien was threatening them with a mouth full of croissant. “Noted. You have my word Wayne.

“I already agreed to taking all the blame Gremlin.”

The brothers dissolved into a verbal argument and Marinette sat back comfortably. She smiled at Tikki, “I think this will be a fun week.”

“I think so too.”

Thank you to the comments that inspired me to add this bonus crack scene. I rarely ever add to my oneshots, so enjoy the power of comments.

Taglist: @novemberandmay

#maribat #platonic timari #best friend

[writing-by-candlelight]

Hargreeves Mansion Layout: Third Floor & Fire Escapes

I’m so sorry that its been so long! My dog ate my charging cable and all my pics were on my laptop :(

Anyway. See parts 1 & 2 for 1st and 2nd floors! Part 4 (basement) coming soon!

The third floor of the Hargreeves mansion is my favorite, and also the one we see the least. So here we go!

Here’s my overview of both parts of the house with the courtyard in the middle.

But lets go into more detail. Starting with the half of the house for ‘normal’ life.

So the only rooms we really see of this floor are Five’s room and the small section of the attic I’ve marked. We know that there’s more to the attic since we see it through the archway (why its separated I have no clue) but that’s all we’re shown. We never enter it. We also see from the high up shots that there is a sort of rooftop terrace and such, this is most likely on a floor above the third floor but as I have no idea what to do with all that extra room, I’ve decided that it makes more sense for it to be all on one level.

Lets start with Five’s room.

Fives room is the one we see the most on this floor. Its weirdly bigger than the others by a good bit. Only Klaus’ room is equal in size or bigger but that’s because it used to be 2 rooms.

We don’t know if Five has always written his math on the walls like a mad man, or if it was a learned apocalypse behavior since it was unlikely paper could survive the fiery blast. I can see him doing it when he was young, just like Klaus did in his room when he scribbled what the ghosts were saying in black marker on his walls.

Five’s room is untouched from when he disappeared, and its sort of childish for the old man we know him to be. Which is sad to me.

This is the only view we get of the 3rd floor hallway. In my layout I’ve moved the stairs since the way they had them doesn’t make sense (please film in one location this is very frustrating). For me the stairs come up horizontally between the two rooms since they turn halfway up, even though I did mark the whole hallway as the stairs on my drawing like an idiot.

Fun fact (and something I only noticed upon rewatch): In the flashback scene with the mission alarm, the stairs are on the left, and their across from a few of the children’s rooms. This makes sense with where the stairs are in the above shot (the right wall). But in the sequence where we actually see Vanya walk through the house and up to Five’s room, the stairs are in a semicircular room with several doors and on the opposite wall, which doesn’t work with the house in any way.

The door on the left of the hall is obviously Five’s room since we enter it so much, but we never see what’s in the room on the right. I must assume it’s Bens room since it doesn’t make sense for it to be anywhere else. This is either a crazy coincidence, or a hint to Reginald’s Monocle being able to see the future like in the comics. Because what sequence of events could ever lead to the two children who die/dissapear to share a whole floor alone and separate from the rest?

Anyway.

This is the other room we see on this floor, the Attic. We only see it three times. In the above scene with Allison, when Klaus gets tied up to get sober, and when Luther is staring at the moon.

The door on the left is the one out into the hall, and the archway is the only view we get into the rest of the attic. If you squint you can see a door in that part of the attic, I think that this is the greenhouse entrance, but more on that later.

Outside of the Attic is a small balcony type section that is, from context clues, a fire escape landing.

I think the only way this makes sense as a functional fire escape, especially on the third floor, is if there are stairs going downward on the left side. This also makes sense with the location of Five’s bedroom window and its fire escape a few feet to the left.

Looking at the show and rewatching season one episode three - where Five climbs down the fire escape - this is what I came up with:

Sorry that its messy, its just a quick sketch I did, unlike the other pictures. 

So in the scene we see Five crawl out of his window, go down a staircase, turn left, walk across the landing in front of Diego’s window, and climb down a ladder.

Looking at my layout of the first two floors, the room that Five passes, and Ben is sitting in front of, is Diego’s room. And that’s where I’ve placed the staircase (that’s what the diagonal lines are - stairs). I’ve done the same for the attic since that’s the only way it works.  I have one long landing for the second floor, and while I don’t think that’s how fire escapes work, I’m keeping it. Then there’s ladders down to the bottom on both sides for equal escape opportunities, and then there’s windows for Grace’s rooms.

Oh, and Klaus’ dumpster.

You can ignore the diagonal lines around the top two windows, that’s just me signifying where the roof is. And I wrote down and crossed out Vanya’s name on purpose since it used to be her room.

Fun fact: if Five is crossing passed Diego’s window... And Ben is sitting in front of Diego’s window... And we look at the size of the landing... Five is walking through Ben.

Maybe not a fun fact in hindsight.

Moving on.

The rest of this floor is a rooftop terrace area. 

There are two entrances to the roof. 

The first is the one we see in the show. Its the greenhouse entrance we see in the scene where Allison and Luther get caught in the fort. I’m assuming that the room we see beyond Hargreeves is the attic, so I’ve drawn it as such. We can see from the above picture that there is cobblestone around the greenhouse, so I’ve added a door out from the greenhouse into the courtyard.

The second entrance is one I added since I didn’t think that the only entrance should be through a greenhouse. I’ve added a small striped box in the attic, which signifies a small staircase of 3 steps or so to the roof.

Also here on the roof is an observatory and a small open air courtyard through an archway with a gazebo (or what kind of looks like one).

Behind the Gazebo, in the front of the house, is what looks to be another room but I had no idea what to put there. Any thoughts?

Moving on to the training half of the house.

This should go faster since its all headcanon. Please ignore the paint stains and the dotted lines, those are only for me to see the 3 sections of the house where walls have been knocked down.

So the blue striped box is still the staircase from the race scene flashback that goes through this entire section of the house. Through the doors to the left is (finally) the library. In my mind there are no shelves against any wall besides the top one. and both side walls are made entirely of glass with shelves in the middle of the room. I forgot to draw in the bathroom door but its right next to the library one, no door to the bathroom inside the library.

Then on the bottom, through the library, there is a hallway giving access to 3 rooms. One is Hargreeves’ lab, for experiments and the like. Then there is his invention lab, for machines and creating training devices. Then there is his file room. Its large since he seems to be immortal until killed or injured severely enough. And it had records of all his purchases, inventions, alias’, diaries, notes, and the academy records from being bought. Mothers names, places of origin, price, and such. Then to the right we have the Memorabilia Hall. This is where Hargreeves kept all the souvenirs from the supervillain level villains. Things like laser guns, alien tech, robots, bio weapons, etc etc etc.

Then there’s the Helipad and bridge to the other half of the house. This is the only other entrance besides the ground floor one. You may have noticed that I did not add a door to the Helipad. This was on purpose. Wherever in the house the children may be, they would need to run to the locker room to change and then run upstairs to the Helipad. I feel Hargreeves wouldn’t like them going up there for no reason so that’s why you would have to go through the whole house to reach it. Inconvenient. But probably extra training in his mind.

That’s it! I’ll be back with part 4! The Basement!

#The Umbrella Academy #luther hargreeves #allison hargreeves #diego hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #reginald hargreeves

[btsmosphere]

How to Win at Christmas in 7 Easy Steps | KSJ

~summary:

How to win at Christmas... and maybe meet someone along the way. The story of how Jin ended up crawling through your hedge dressed as santa on Christmas eve. And how you were totally not heading to his house for the very same reason.

Jin x reader

~word count: 2.6k

~neighbour au, idiots to lovers, humour, crack, getting together

Rating: pg

Warnings: general chaos and gardening shears

~a/n: thank you to an anon for this idea for the ‘kim seokjin’ bingo square! (my requests are no longer open) I had a lot of fun with this one!

Step 1: pick your battles

Jin stared out of the window.

How dare she?

His neighbour across the street was currently on a ladder, fastening the end of a large string of lights to her house.

Previously, he had thought she was quite cute whenever he passed her in the roads.

But he would have to push that aside, given she was to be his nemesis now.

This was war.

The declaration was loud and clear, staring him in the face outside his window. If he wasn’t so intent on despising it, he might have admitted that the lights looked very good. There were fairy lights around the windows of the house, and hanging from the roof like glittery icicles.

Even the wreath on the red front door had little lights glimmering from within the foliage.

The final straw was really the series of colourful stars forming a stripe across the middle of the house. Other than those, he would say his decorations were roughly the same as these new arrivals.

Which was why it was very clearly a direct attack.

Step 2: make the first move

Looking between the Christmas lights on the shelf in front of him, Jin wondered if he was reading too far into it.

He was sure the stars on the left were the exact ones you had on the front of your house. Would that be too obvious? Settling for the ones on the right, although they were slightly smaller, he walked further into the store, looking for something that would really make his house stand out.

Half an hour later, a large wire Christmas tree could be seen walking across his front lawn, emitting several curses as it went.

Eventually, Jin managed to place it in such a way that it nestled among the plants in his garden without squashing any, and he hurried to switch it on.

Standing back, he admired his work with hands on hips. Perhaps he wasn’t very subtle, looking between your house and his, but he liked what he saw. That would show you. Stars bedecked his front porch in a very pleasing way, and now he had a Christmas tree lighting up his lawn.

What could be better?

A nagging hum nudged at Jin until his eyes cracked open, cursing as he found his room still dark. Legs still tangled in his sheets, he flipped himself over in order to peek out of his window.

The early morning light made him squint, but the moment his eyes were adjusted, he swore out loud.

As it turns out, the source of the humming sound was an inflation device, pumping air into a massive snowman on your lawn. It did look slightly like a melting marshmallow, but as it grew it grinned maliciously up at him, stick arms wobbling tauntingly.

He just gaped, dumbfounded, wishing he had thought of that.

Looking in panic down at his own decorations, he was alarmed to note that his Christmas tree would only look nice at night. Now that daylight slowly seeped into the sky, it looked more and more dull.

“Oh shut up,” he scowled down at the snowman’s growing grin.

A smart move on your part, he thought bitterly. Show off.

Step 3: make another move when your first one fails

Jin would settle for nothing less than a real showstopper.

He had gone to another shop this time, a little further out of town, but, most importantly, bigger. And therefore it would contain Christmassy treasures you could only dream of, little miss look-at-me-I-have-a-snowman.

He bypassed garlands, trees and wreaths, ignored the ‘Santa, stop here!’ signs and those weird window stickers he would never understand. Maybe he had been too optimistic about finding his Christmas holy grail in this place.

But then he turned the corner.

He had just entered a treasure trove. He had the surreal sensation that he was being bathed in a golden glow from the splendour before him.

Now this was more like it!

Everything in this section was large enough to fill his car, a life-size moving Santa beckoning at him from one side while a fake reindeer scuffed its hoof on the ground, mechanical whinny uttering from its mouth.

Walking further in, he identified the golden glow as coming from a large nativity scene. Rather disappointing, if you asked him.

But it couldn’t be helped, so he quickly came to terms with this and found himself not long afterwards debating between a full size sleigh and an igloo.

Chewing his lip, he rotated, assessing both of the items, which were on opposing shelves. The igloo would look very wintery alongside the white lights on his house and the tree in the garden… but maybe not quite Christmassy enough. A sleigh, on the other hand, was unmistakeably festive-

-and being stolen right in front of his nose.

He was rather taken aback to find a woman already halfway up the aisle with the box under her arm when he turned around. A strangled yelp escaped him as he realised it was the last in stock, and he had just been robbed.

Hearing him, the woman turned around.

It was you.

“Oh, hi Jin!” you exclaimed, grin taking over your face. Meanwhile, he just sputtered, mouth hanging open in outrage.

“Um, your lights look really good!” you spoke again, quirking an eyebrow at his silence.

The cheek of it!! He could not believe you had the audacity to speak about decorations in front of him like this.

“Thank you,” he spoke curtly, “yes, they do.”

“Okay,” you laughed lightly, “I better be going. See you around.”

Grumbling to himself, he spun back around forcefully, coming face to face with the igloo he would have to settle for.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” he hissed at said igloo, “you are gonna be the most glorious, majestic igloo this side of Seoul, or else! We’ll see who’s laughing in the end.”

In the end, admittedly, it was actually the shop assistants laughing at the man who seemed to have punched above his weight in Christmas props.

Staggering out of the door, he finally dumped his haul into the back of his car and took a breather leaning against the door. His house had better look spectacular after this.

Step 4: implement step 3

Jin would like to describe himself as modest. Among many other great things.

But even a modest man such as himself had to admit, his decorations looked pretty darn good.

Since fate had so cruelly stripped him of Santa’s sleigh, he had gone all out with the igloo. It stood proud and strong in the middle of his front lawn with presents stacked up at the entrance and a couple of little polar bear cubs just outside.

They even had little hats on.

He was sure the fearsome army he had created would scare you into submission. After all, no more items had appeared over at your place yet.

You probably bought that sleigh just to spite him. Classic sabotage tactic.

Shaking his head, he turned to go inside for a well-deserved cup of hot chocolate.

Step 5: contemplate defeat

When Jin opened his curtains the next morning, he almost fell over in shock.

At first, he thought it had snowed.

But he was mistaken, unless a snow cloud had in fact visited and snowed very specifically on your house.

When the hell had you found the time to do that? Or the ladder to do that? Your roof, as well as the tops of your windows and porch, were dusted in white. And the more he looked, the more he saw. You had even sprinkled some on your wreath!

Worst of all, that damned sleigh sat smugly in front of it, the cherry on the cake.

Begrudgingly, he was impressed. He should take a leaf out of your book when it came to intimidation tactics. Because they had certainly succeeded on him.

How on earth had you accomplished all that?

He sat down heavily in his kitchen, deliberately leaving the curtains closed for now. He leaned heavily on his elbow as he stirred a mug of tea, thoroughly fed up.

What was this feeling?

He had never met his match before. The smug satisfaction of victory had been rudely swiped from his fingertips by you.

But while he stewed in his disappointment all day, it seemed you had been busy. A knock on the door later heralded your arrival with a steaming plate of mince pies.

Oh, so you had to be better at baking too, huh?

“Oh. Hello,” he greeted as he stood in the doorway. His hand still gripped the door in his surprise.

“Hi,” you smiled, “would you like any of these? Maybe you already have some since you’re the only other one on this street with any Christmas spirit, but I thought I’d stop by and offer-“

“Yes. I would like to try some,” Jin cut you off, jutting out his chin. Then, realising himself, his eyebrows drew together and he uttered a sheepish, “thank you.”

Even your laughter sounded like Christmas, tinkling like bells as you followed behind him.

Once he had brewed tea for both of you, he completely forgot his intention to spit your baking back out in a dramatic display of disgust. His disappointment in himself only grew when he found himself reaching out for his third one, only then remembering that he was supposed to be opposed to your insufferable ability to do Christmas better than him.

It was only when it started to grow dark that the two of you realised the time you had wasted just talking. And only a small part of Jin offered to pop over with Christmas baking of his own purely to prove he could do it better than you.

A weighted breath left him as he shut the door behind him.

This would not do. He had to stay true to his ulterior motive, for goodness’ sake!

Across the road, your lights flicked on and he made another unfortunate discovery. Those weird window stickers might have been a good investment after all.

Silhouetted by the warm light of your house, a row of houses stood along the windowsill, dark blobs of snowflakes floated on the glass above them.

Tomorrow, he would completely coat his house in lights and wipe that smug, arrogant, gorgeous smile off your face.

Step 6: make a last ditch effort

By the time Christmas was only a few days away, your little competition had become quite obvious.

Your road lay in darkness, a few lone strings of lights flickering on the odd house… and then the vision was assaulted by two houses opposite each other: yours and Jin’s.

However, Jin only looked out with satisfaction. The plants around his lawn were lined with glittering lights, and more still were piled on the igloo that had become his centrepiece. Even the polar bear cubs had been ensnared in the cheery twine.

As he watched from his window, a family walked along, two kids clutching their mum’s hand. The abundance of light helped greatly by illuminating their smiles as they gazed at the lights on display. But to Jin’s dismay, they turned to your house first, pointing at all the things decorating it and jumping up and down in excitement.

Just a passing glance was thrown at his, before they were on their way.

His hands curled into fists. This simply wasn’t good enough – he had to win at Christmas. He always did! Who were you to threaten the reigning Christmas champion, Kim Seokjin?

There was a chance this was a questionable idea.

Just a small chance.

A little, teeny-weeny, itty-bitty chance.

However, this thought only crossed Jin’s mind as the twigs in the hedge he was currently crawling through nearly ripped his santa hat off his head.

Clutching it tightly to the top of his head, he shuffled a bit further.

It was a strange sight, from your end. As you stepped quietly across your back garden, a movement caught your eye. Freezing where you stood, you had to bite back laughter as Santa himself clambered inelegantly to his feet at the other side of your garden, emerging from below the hedge that divided your house from next door.

Just as he bent down to brush dirt from his red fuzzy trousers, you spotted what he was holding.

You were certain you hadn’t asked for a pair of gardening shears for Christmas.

Then Santa’s head raised, and your suspicions were confirmed. Eyes meeting yours, you could see the thought of I fucked up flit across Jin’s face. Very quickly.

“Um, err- merry Christmas!” he cried in a gruff voice, throwing his arms out.

And then very hurriedly tucking them behind his back as he remembered what he was holding.

“It’s not Christmas yet,” you pointed out.

“Well, um,” he glanced at his watch. It was still Christmas eve for a few hours yet, “I wanted to get to you early! You’re right at the top of the nice list… Hold on! What’s that!”

Following his gaze, you quickly chucked your own pair of shears behind a tree.

“What are you talking about?” you smiled sweetly.

“Were you going to sabotage my Christmas lights?” he cried, cocking his hips to the side and placing a hand on them, still clutching his shears.

An eyebrow raised indignantly. You just laughed.

“Clearly you thought of that first.”

“Yes, that’s right, I did!” he exclaimed, pointing the shears towards you and tilting his head as he berated you, “so don’t you go stealing my idea- why are you laughing?!“

Trying desperately to calm down, you put a hand over your mouth to little effect.

“Why don’t we just go inside?” you giggled.

“I’m sorry?”

“Come inside,” you repeated, “it’s Christmas eve, and I could do with someone as festive as you.”

“Is all this not festive enough for you, Miss Christmas?” he challenged, gesturing towards the glow emanating from the front of your house.

“Miss Christmas? You’re literally dressed as Father Christmas,” you appraised.

“Good point,” he shrugged.

Smirking, you opened the door and waited for him to follow you inside.

“So you… you knew I was trying to one-up you?” he asked as you got two mugs out.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed.

“I’ve never known anyone who can decorate like you,” he sighed, “what’s your secret?”

“Like I would tell you that,” you chuckled.

“So cruel,” he lamented, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye, “what can I ever do to make you tell me?”

“Go out with me,” you laughed.

Nearly choking on air, Jin stared at your back as you continued making drinks as if you had said nothing.

“What?” he gaped.

“I said, go out with me,” you explained, finally turning around, “on a date. I like you.”

Blinking rapidly, he swallowed against the fluttering in his chest.

“Can’t say no to that,” he stuttered, “can’t have you teaming up with anyone else, now, can I?”

“I’m not normally so competitive,” you laughed, the bells tinkling once again.

“So why-“ Jin frowned, but he cut himself off, eyes widening, “wait- was this- have you been… flirting with me?”

“No,” you replied, “I’ve been winning.”

“Yah! I definitely won! What are you talking about?!”

Step 7: maybe accept love as a consolation prize

Thanks for reading! Please reblog x

Taglist (message me to be added): @aianloveseven​ @preciouschimine​

Masterlist here

#thebtswritersclub #purplearmynet #btsholidaybingo #kim seokjin x reader #jin x reader #bangtanuniversity #jin imagine #jin scenario #kim seokjin fluff #jin fluff #kim seokjin crack #kim seokjin neighbour au #jin crack #kim seokjin imagine #kim seokjin idiots to lovers #jin humour #kim seokjin enemies to lovers #kim seokjin humour #jin christmas #seokjin x reader

[calligraphist-artemisia]

Field of Flowers

Written for the Kidge Spring Event! 

Prompt 7: Daffodil | Unequaled Love, New Beginnings

Summary: It was just another normal day for Youtuber Katie "Pidge" Holt. She and her boyfriend were going to spend a few hours recording some stuff in Minecraft for their channels and then probably wrangle their friends into a few rounds of Among Us. Except Keith has a question designed to derail all of those plans. 

Also posted on AO3 under the username Kishirokitsune

❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀

Pidge settled in at her desk and took a look around to make sure there was nothing odd in the background of her webcam. There was only her cat, Tesla, who was relaxing in his carpeted tree, which was sure to thrill her viewers. On the desk in front of her were two monitors, one which displayed all of her recording details, as well as the service she and her boyfriend were using to communicate while they played. The bigger monitor was showing the main screen of Minecraft.

She put on her headphones and adjusted her mic. “Keith, can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you. Everything all set up?” he asked.

Pidge glanced up at her webcam as she nodded. “Yup! I'm just going to put you on mute to run through my intro and then we can get started. You can hop in if you want and I'll join once I'm ready.”

“Sounds good. I'll see you in a few.”

She quickly muted the audio for his channel and gave it a few seconds to make sure she couldn't hear him as he loaded up their game. Then she sat up straight and began recording. “Hey, everyone! I'm TechOwl and today we'll be jumping back into Minecraft with the always handsome KHawkins. As always, there will be a link to his channel in the description and I encourage you to check out his stuff as well.”

Pidge hit join and easily found their usual world, typing in the password so she could join. She waited to unmute until the world had loaded in and caught Keith in mid-sentence when she did.

“...tower and arming it with bows and arrows, so I'll need to expand the chicken farm. Pidge will probably – hi, Pidge – probably help with harvesting flint,” Keith said.

“I'll see what I can gather up while I'm mining,” Pidge said as she opened her inventory to try and remember where she left off. She had a whole row of iron pickaxes and plenty of wood and coal, so she had probably come up to drop off everything in the vault beneath their house and to grab some food. “Actually, let me see what's in the Vault first.”

“You're back at the house?”

“Yeah, I think I was getting food. My bar's pretty low,” Pidge responded. She directed her character through the trapdoor in the corner and rode the ladder down 25 blocks to a room she'd carved out during their first few videos together. Double chests lined the walls and also had signs to go along with them. She went to the section for stones and took a peek into the box labeled 'gravel'. “We only have a stack of it. I'll go find more once I get some food. There's probably a vein of it somewhere in my tunnels that I haven't bothered collecting yet.”

“It'll be a while before I need it, so there's no real rush,” Keith told her. “I still have to build the watchtower and I won't get to that until I'm finished with the gardens.”

Pidge frowned as she went back up the ladder to get into the food chest in their house. “I thought we had way more gravel than that. Have you used any?”

“I used a few stacks of that and the sand to make some concrete a while back,” Keith said.

Pidge guessed that meant they were nearly out of sand as well. It was a bit of a venture to get to the desert biome where she'd harvested most of it, but that could wait for a while. “Anything else I can mine for you, oh-masterful-builder-of-the-world-above?”

“No, I think that's about it,” Keith responded, his tone light. “I thank you for your service, oh-lady-of-the-deep-earth.”

Pidge snorted with amusement as she grabbed a stack of food and ate until her hunger bar was full. She kept a few cooked pork chops in her inventory and put the rest back before turning to go back down into the complex labyrinth of her mine. She got halfway down the ladder before she swore and turned to go back up and fetch more wood, filling up the empty slots in her inventory so she could drop off the extras into the Vault. She kept one full stack of 64 wood blocks on her and then ventured through the double doors leading into the mine.

Pidge spent the next hour combing over her tunnels and collecting any gravel she came across using the iron shovels she specifically built for that purpose. She also collected a decent number of chunks of flint and took all of it back up to the surface with her once she was through.

All the while, she and Keith carried on a conversation for the sake of entertaining their audiences – their banter was often something that was most talked about between their fanbases, with numerous jokes gaining meme-like status. Their friends were fond of quoting those memes back at them whenever they played games together.

“Hey, where do you want all of this gravel and flint?” Pidge asked once she was back in the house. Once again, she had to pause to grab a snack from their food chest as she started taking hunger damage.

“Gravel can stay down there. I have a double chest at the bottom of the watchtower. The flint... yeah, go ahead and bring the flint up to me. I'm at the top. You should look over the edge and check out the garden from up here too. I'll stand on the side you should look over,” Keith said, sounding as though he was leaning away from his microphone. “Hang on, I've gotta run and get something. Go ahead and come up.”

“On my way,” Pidge responded.

She left the house and then looked up, spotting the watchtower immediately. It was a massive wooden structure that stretched high into the sky, though it didn't look like it was all the way up to the build height. She stopped at the base to drop off the stacks of gravel and then hopped on the ladder and rode it all the way to the top. It was there that she found Keith's character standing motionless to one side.

“I'll just drop these off here first,” Pidge said, cracking open the single chest that was next to the ladder. She dropped off the 24 flints and then backed out of the inventory so she could enjoy the sky-high view of the gardens that Keith had spent several sessions working on.

She hopped up on the side where he was standing and looked down. She could see the food garden off to one side, stretching down along the plot of land they took the time to flatten out. To the left of them was a field of flowers and as she looked at them, she realized they spelled something out.

“Wait...” she breathed as her mind caught up with what she was seeing.

Spelled out with red flowers was the question: “Will you marry me?”

Pidge tugged off her headphones and turned in her chair, ready to run downstairs and confront her boyfriend, but he was already there in her office, waiting for her with that soft smile on his face. “Keith?”

He walked into the room and knelt down in front of her, taking her hand with his own. “I've been in love with you from the first day we met. I didn't know it at the time. It took a few people pointing it out to me. Or, well, a lot of people,” he chuckled, “but eventually I figured it out. I never thought I would have the opportunity to find such happiness in my life and it's thanks to you that I have. I can't imagine spending the rest of my life without you in it.”

Pidge hiccuped as she tried to breathe in, reaching up to cover her mouth even as tears of happiness began to spill from her eyes. “Keith...”

Keith cracked open a tiny black box and held it out for Pidge to see the slender silver ring inside. It was inset with three green jewels – not the traditional diamond, but she'd never been fond of those anyway. “Katie Holt, will you marry me?”

She nodded, swallowing thickly so she could try and get the words out. “Yes! Yes, I will.” She slid out of her chair with a breathless laugh and into his arms, unable to wait until he could slip the ring onto her finger. She pressed a kiss to his cheek and then another and another until Keith was shaking from laughter and had to ask if she even wanted the ring.

Pidge pulled away from him, a great big smile on her face as she held out her hand in response, allowing him to put the ring on her finger. And then she dove right back in, kissing him with all that she had to make up for her lack of words.

❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀

Bonus Scene

“Coran! Coran, you have to come see this!” Allura shouted in excitement.

She could hear him running down the hall from his office, where he was working on editing their newest video together, and was soon striding over to her side while asking if everything was alright. Allura responded with a smile and by hitting play on what she had been watching.

“...-ver the edge and check out the garden from up here too. I'll stand on the side you should look over,” Keith's voice came through the speakers.

Allura eagerly watched Coran and knew the exact moment when Keith's proposal was revealed by the way Coran suddenly squealed in delight. She glanced back at the screen in time to watch it fade away from the flowers and then fade back in with a photo of Pidge and Keith, who were smiling at the camera. Pidge held up her left hand so a beautiful ring could be seen. It was also accompanied by the words: “She said yes!”

“How exciting!” Coran said, grinning broadly. “We must do something to celebrate! Dinner, perhaps? I'll call Hunk and begin preparations!”

Before Allura could agree or disagree with his idea, Coran was gone. She laughed softly and took out her phone to send out a warning to the rest of the group so they wouldn't be too blindsided.

It was certainly an event worth celebrating.

#voltron #kidge #kidgemas #kidge spring event 2021 #fanfiction #youtuber au