#Also if anyone is wondering Why she doesn’t start the water or pour the bubble bath before shrinking
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A Little Self Care
#mighty draws#g/t#giant/tiny#gt#g/t art#GT Art#giant tiny#giant tiny art#shrunk#shrink#shrinking#g/t comic#I’m really proud of this#I’ve had the thumbnails done for a while but I finally decided to sit down and finish it this past weekend#Also if anyone is wondering Why she doesn’t start the water or pour the bubble bath before shrinking#like dude#what’s the fun in that?#I’d also like to thank my friend Sal for the inspiration#we were talking one day and they said the Mario kart dlc bathroom reminded them of me#then I was like hell yeah#I 100% want my g/t aesthetic to be tiny relaxing in a giant bathroom
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Line without a Hook || E. Jaeger & J. Kirstein
➳ Jean Kirsten x Fem Reader x Eren Jaeger
Word count: 4,517
Warnings: angst, fluff, unrequited love, cursing
➳ note: this is based off the song Line Without a Hook by Ricky Montgomery! I’ve been thinking this for a long time and I’m super excited by how it came out! Also big thanks to @reddriot for betaing!
➳ Synopsis: is love really worth it? Let me say, it’s not always worth it.
You can hold my hand if no one’s home.
Do you like it when I’m away?
☽✧ ✦ ✧☾
It starts out simple really. A boy and a girl. Childhood friends, to be precise. Those two are inseparable. Nothing can tear the friends apart, besides their parents, of course. Like two peas in a pod.
Jean says he knows you like the back of his hand. He truly means that. He knows your favorite boy bands from when you were younger, how many terrible phases you’ve gone through, favorite foods, and places. If he wrote a novel about the things you told him, he would be a renowned author.
Since kindergarten to now, in the middle of your junior year, you and Jean have been side by side. You told him everything. From random vents and gossiping about the rude girls in your class to how horrible your period cramps were— even though Jean hated hearing about the last, he stuck through it for you.
Only you.
The pavement that followed the street your house was on is memorable. Jean can recall the amount of times you’ve had races, chalk scribbles covering the grey that would be washed away by the angry neighbors.
He listens to you as you talk about a kid getting in trouble in your Calculus class, watches how lively your motions are as you speak. Jean can’t help but smile when a laugh slips past your lips and you glance at him. There’s an unknown sparkle in his eyes, one filled with love.
You haven’t changed one bit, he thinks as he faces back forward, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. His mind begins to wander as you both continue down the pavement, part of your routine when school ends.
Your houses are right next to each other. You’ve been with him since you were in diapers. He was there when your first tooth came out, congratulating you, and you were there for him when he finally learned to ride his bike with two wheels instead of three.
The bubbly lovable five-year-old back then is the same as you are now.
☽✧ ✦ ✧☾
Oh all my emotions
Feel like explosions when you are around
A sigh of disappointment leaves Jean’s lips when he listens to Connie talk about something he has learned over the weekend (something completely stupid— he just doesn’t care). Currently, the students are at lunch, the cafeteria full with loud shouts and random noises.
“Connie, shut up,” Sasha groans, placing her water bottle on the table, wiping her crumbs off. “No one cares that you finally figured out how to stick a spoon to your nose.”
“What do you mean?! You were the one who showed me!”
The brunette gasps and looks over his way, cream cheeks tinted with an adorable shade of pink, pointing a finger at him. The bickering between the two commence as Jean listens, slightly amused.
As much as he indulges in their argument, he can't help but wonder where you are.
It’s not like you to skip lunch, especially without at least letting him know. Did you stay behind to talk to a friend? A teacher? Maybe you went to the bathroom.
But it’s at least 15 minutes in.
“Sasha,” he speaks up, slicking back his hair. The sound of her name catches her attention, making her look at him. “Have you seen Y/N?”
“Y/N?” she asks in a whisper before her lips curl in a grin, already knowing why he asked. “Do you miss her?”
“Just answer my goddamn question!”
“Wait, what’s going on?” Connie asks, looking between his friends before stopping his gaze on Jean. “Why do you need Y/N?”
“Oh, you know! He lik-”
“Shut up!” Jean shouts, catching the attention of nearby students, his face heating up as his cheeks turn a darker pigment. “Just answer me!”
“If you must know,” she taunts him, twirling a strand of hair from her loose ponytail. “I saw her talking to someone in the hallway. Must be important, she’s been there for quite some time. Might want to be her knight in shining armor and saving her, huh?” she cocks her head to the side, staring at one of the windows in the room, watching as the branches of trees sway from the harsh winds.
The atmosphere outside was cold, breezes rushing down on anyone who was not inside. The sun was hidden by the thick grey blankets filled with rainwater, waiting to shower the world. The temperature recently has been dropping, mid 50’s at least. The weather was a shock, to say the least.
“I didn’t know Jean likes her!”
“What do you mean?!” Sasha gasps, turning her body to face her small-minded friend. “It’s only obvious! You must be really stupid then!”
“Well, how could you tell?!”
Before Jean has a chance to interrupt Sasha, she begins to rant. He prefers to stay silent, clasping his hands together in his lap as he lowers his head, finding interest in the marbled tiles of the floor his feet rest on.
The words that slip past Sasha’s lips reach his ear and out the other.
It’s easy to tell, Connie. Have you noticed the way he looks at her? Can’t you see the love in his eyes? The way he will actually go out of his way to help her with anything? Here you guys are, two close friends, I thought you would have known about his crush. I’m surprised you didn’t catch on every time he ditched plans with us to go hang out with her. He’s whipped, and you’re too stupid to know it.
His cheeks turn a shade of pink as his eyes squeeze shut, her words replaying in his head like a broken record player. Each sentence is like a knife stabbing away at his brain, causing the slightest ache to form in his frontal region.
She’s right. Anything she just said five minutes ago, is completely and utterly correct.
He can still hear her talking about it to Connie, but he can only focus on three sentences that stick to him like glue.
Have you noticed the way he looks at her? Can’t you see the love in his eyes? The way he will actually go out of his way to help her with anything?
Memories of him helping you in any possible way come to mind. He can’t recall how many times he has entered class two minutes late because you had so much to carry.
He stares at you like you’re the only thing worth looking at. It reminds him of those cliche animated movies with hearts in the character's eyes. He’s blinded by his love for you, that he never noticed any signs that you don’t feel the same way about him. His heart races miles per hour when you’re around. Sometimes he worries for himself that maybe, his heart might explode within him.
“Anyway, lunch has about 20 minutes left...where is she?” Connie mutters, scratching the top of his head.
“I don’t know, but,” Sasha grows quiet, listening to the ongoing thunder from the outside. The lights flicker for a second, a couple of yelps emitting from other students, slightly afraid that the power might go off while school is in session. “The storm is almost here.”
“Y/N!” Connie suddenly yells, pointing in the direction of the door, your body jogging closer to the table. “Where have you been?!”
“Sorry!” you laugh, out of breath as you drop your things on the bench, taking a seat beside Jean. “I got caught up in a conversation with someone! I guess I lost track of time for a bit.”
“I messaged you like four times,” Jean mutters, glancing over at you before looking at the table, playing with the plastic straw that he used to drink out of.
“You did?” you ask, pulling your phone out from your pocket, lips puckering when indeed he did so. “I’m sorry, Jean. I didn’t even feel my phone vibrate.”
“Oh, whatever, who cares! Eat! Or I’ll eat your food!” Sasha yells, pointing a finger at you, a smile gracing her features.
You laugh along with her as you converse with your peers, the conversation you had replaying in the back of your mind. Jean chooses not to intervene, instead would rather listen.
The roaring thunder plays in the background, everyone paying no mind to it. What he doesn’t know is that the storm is much closer than Jean could have thought.
☽✧ ✦ ✧☾
Listen close, it’s a no
The wind is a pounding on my back
And I found hope in a heart attack
Oh at last, it is past
Now I’ve got it, and you can’t have it
Another evening, another study session, another day of bottling up his feelings until he can no longer hold them inside.
The storm made its way to shore, raining pouring down and even some hail; not what anyone was expecting.
Jean mindlessly flips through the pages of his English book, not even paying attention to the words as he checks how many pages are in chapter five.
“This seems pointless,” he adds with a sigh, tossing the book on your bed along with his highlighter he uses to annotate with. “I should just find a summary online or something, I don’t want to read this.”
“And why is that?” you ask, looking up from your book, placing the hardcover against your thighs. “Is it boring to you?”
“No,” he mutters, rolling onto his back. “It’s stupid. This love crap.”
“Well...it is a romance story, the teacher told us when we got the book. But why do you think it’s dumb?”
“He writes letters for her, and in the end, she ends up rejecting him. I don’t think that’s romantic.”
“And? It’s beautiful on his part,” you close your eyes as you stretch your arms over your head, letting out a grunt. “It’s the fact that he wrote to her every day. It’s like he poured his soul into every word. The words he uses are..literally everything. It makes me swoon over him, and he’s not real. Makes me wonder if someone would do that for me.”
Jean’s head perks up at your words, one of his eyebrows raised in curiosity when he notices the bashful look on your face, eyes averted to the comforter on your bed. “Why do you have that dopey look on your face?”
“Huh?!” your eyes are blown open as you look over at him. “What are you talking about?!”
“I’m talking about that, idiot,” he points at your face, watching your eyes cross faintly to stare at his finger. “You’re acting about that guy in the book.”
The patter of the rain is the only noise that fills the void called silence in your room. His warm eyes don’t leave your face at all, waiting for your answer. You’ve been acting weird ever since you were late to lunch this past week.
He watches your mouth open as if you’ll say something but close it right away, like you were concealing anything you had to hide.
“...well? Y/N? Are you there?”
“Yeah!” you cough into your elbow, running a hand down your face. “I-- you can’t tell anyone.”
“You know I never tell anyone what we talk about.”
You’re silent, a bit too quiet than usual. You fiddle with your fingers before blurting the words that have been eating away at you.
Jean’s heart stops for a moment, eyes wide in shock when he processes it. His blood runs cold as he’s unable to move, frozen like a statue. The signals in his brain begged him to respond, but he couldn’t. He could hear the faintest sound of bells ringing in his ears; all noise surrounding him was now drowned out by his thoughts.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
“You like someone?” he asks in a whisper, barely audible to your ears, but you heard as you nod shyly, biting down on your lip. “Well... who is it?”
“That’s...I can’t say it.”
“Why can’t you?”
“I’m afraid to say it out loud because I don’t want to ruin my friendship with him.”
Friendship? That could be anyone at this point.
I have to figure out who, he thinks as he draws random patterns into the sheets. “Well, tell me about him then. Is he in our grade?” he asks.
“Yeah, he is. He’s in four of my classes.”
Jean was in four of your classes. Math, English, Foreign Language, and Science.
“That’s it?”
You huff, rolling your eyes. “Can I finish before you interrupt? Thank you.”
You pause momentarily before speaking again.
“He’s stubborn. I’ve noticed that his demeanor changes when it depends on who he is with. He seems like a hardass and looks like he doesn’t want to be bothered, but he seems like a total softie when he’s with people he loves. Not to mention he’s hot...and tall. He’s blunt and straight to the point. He doesn’t bullshit at all. He’s really sweet as well, to me. He always goes out of his way to make sure I’m okay and how my day was. He just..he seems to care for me, and I feel the same way about him.”
Jean takes every word you say into consideration. He’s stubborn, it seems that he doesn’t like to be around people he doesn’t know but loves those he does know. He knows he’s hot. Practically every day he looks at himself in the mirror and thinks about how good he looks.
He’s blunt and straight to the point. He doesn’t bullshit at all. He’s really sweet as well, to me. He always goes out of his way to make sure I’m okay and how my day was. He just..he really seems to care for me, and I feel the same way about him.
Jean can feel his doubt and worry turn into happiness and confidence as you keep on ranting, to which he’s not fully paying attention anymore. He knows it's him. It has always been him.
No one else.
Jean likes you.
And you like Jean, that’s all there is to it.
“Do you want to tell him?”
“Yeah...” you trail off, scratching the nape of your neck. “I want to tell him on Friday after school. Do you think he’ll like me back?”
“I think he would. How could he not? He would be a total idiot to reject you.”
You hum at his reassurance, placing your hand on his, squeezing gently.
“Thanks, Jean.”
☽✧ ✦ ✧☾
Darling when I’m fast asleep
I've seen this person watching me
Saying, “Is it worth it? Is it worth it?”
Tell me, is it worth it?
Friday comes, and Jean can hardly wait for school to end. He’s not paying attention, his eyes constantly staring from the whiteboard in the front to the clock that tauntingly ticks slower than usual.
He bites down on the pink end of his pencil in anticipation, tapping his foot repeatedly on the floor, the noise resonating through the classroom.
Maybe I should just keep my eyes off the clock, he thinks, lowering his head back to the worksheet their teacher gave the class.
Econ class was a drag. He could care less about the differences in macro and microeconomics, the same with Communism and Capitalism. It’s just a bunch of words that don’t make sense to his brain.
This was one of the classes he didn’t have with you, the last class.
Instead of doing his worksheet (luckily, the teacher said it would be for homework if it wasn’t finished), Jean proceeded to think about ways he could tell you his feelings.
He could be old fashioned, tell you how much he adores you and how happy you make him feel when you’re around. How his heart can be heard from the outside of his body, how his hands got warm and clammy, maybe sweaty when he became too nervous.
Or
He could ask you out on a date. Take you somewhere, one of the places you’ve told him in the past that would make a great date for you. He smiles when he thinks about taking you downtown at night, looking at the soft lights that would brighten the streets; loving the sparkle in your orbs as you look around in awe.
He hums, pleased with himself when he figures out what he’ll do, scratching the back of his ear.
He wonders if you’re thinking the same thing.
-
You glance at your table partner, looking at his piece of paper before looking down at yours, displeased how his is able to look better than yours. You pick up your eraser, gently wiping the shadings away from your drawing, careful not to crease your paper.
“It’s not that hard you know, you just don’t know how to shade.”
“I know how to shade, Eren,” you reply with a huff, placing your eraser back down. “It’s just...this is a bit harder than usual.”
“All you have to do is follow the markings,” he presses the edge of his drawing pencil against the reference photo both of you are using, tracing the shape of it. “You could honestly just copy the photo, I doubt this woman would even notice.”
You chuckle at his choice of words, shifting in your seat to get comfortable. “I don’t think she would anyway. She just stares at it and calls it an A. I bet for our expressive project, she wouldn’t notice if we copied each other.”
He shakes his head with a smile, the loose strands of his hair swaying with his head movement. “No, she wouldn’t,” he rolls the sleeves of his hoodie to his elbows, grabbing his pencil again. “Then again, we are working on it with each other.”
“Speaking of that, what should we do?”
“Up to you, Y/N. I don’t mind. I’m just trying to pass this stupid class anyway.”
You relish in the silence between you as you gaze at him from your peripheral. You take notice how his hair frames his face effortlessly to the dip in his nose. It’s perfect how it forms to his cupid’s bow to his lips; not too big nor too small either. Just right.
You clear your throat, scratching at the nape of your neck. “Why not do...stages of love?”
That catches his interest.
“Stages of love?” he asks, moving in his chair to face you, a hand propping his head up. “Elaborate?”
“Like you know...how we gain a crush on someone. We like how they make us feel, and soon we think about them some more. Maybe make little scenarios in our head. Then we gain the crush and want to be around them. You know what I mean, right?”
He’s silent, hues that represent the blue of rivers, boring into your own. At first, you think he hates your idea, but then the corner of his lips curls into his infamous grin. “Yeah, I like that. Did you have anything else in mind?”
“Maybe...rejection?”
“Rejection?” he repeats, a bit shocked at how romantic your words were, to something filled with sadness. “And why would you want to do rejection?”
“W-Well,” you stutter, unsure how you should put it. “Everyone always talks about the good in love but never the bad. And I think it could be done good, you know?”
He hums, scratching away at his chin before nodding. “Yeah, alright. That sounds oddly specific, but I like it. We can honestly get started soon, that way, we can finish faster and not worry about it.”
His smile throws you for a loop, your face heating up as you pick up your pencil, trying to distract yourself.
“Say, Y/N?”
“Yes, Eren?” you reply a bit too quickly, cursing yourself out internally for sounding too desperate.
“Can we talk?” his cheeks are a shade of pink, his eyes averted as he plays with one of the strings of his hood, reminding you how a child would distract themselves. The tips of his shoe nudge against yours, barely kicking gently.
“Aren’t we talking right now?”
“No, I mean after school.”
☽✧ ✦ ✧☾
And in my eyes, there is a tiny dancer
Watching over me, he’s singing,
Jean storms out of his Econ class with a grin, hands gripping onto the straps of his backpack as he looks down one end of the hallway before going down the other direction. The art room was three classes down his. Usually, Jean will wait right there by the door for you since you take ages to finally leave the classroom.
When Jean finally reaches the room, he sees that the doors are locked, and the lights inside are off.
Huh, that’s weird, you’re always one of the last to leave, nor are you ever this early.
He stands there for a few more seconds, peering in through the small glass, and sees nothing before taking a step back and quickly continues to walk down the hall. His legs are quicker, going down the two flights of stairs.
His eyes frantically search for the yellow shirt you wore, unable to find you anywhere.
“Sasha!” he calls out once he reaches the end of the stairs, running towards the girl and their friend, who was at the lockers, pulling things she needed to take home for the weekend.
The brunette looks over her shoulder, stopping her conversation with Connie as she shuts her locker. “Yeah, Jean?”
He pants, leaning on his knees before letting out a deep breath and standing straight up. “Have you seen Y/N?”
She ponders for a while before shaking her head, looking over at Connie, who shakes his head, shrugging. “We haven’t seen her since Art class.”
“You didn’t see where she went at all?”
The events before class ending play in her mind before she gasps, snapping her fingers, pointing up at Jean. “Yeah, I know where she went!”
“...are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to guess?!”
She mocks him for a second before pulling her phone out. “I could have seen her leave with Eren. I think they went to the bench in the back. You know the one I’m talking about?”
He’s taken aback for a moment before shaking his head, retaining the information. “Alright, thanks.”
Why would you even be with Eren right now? You never meet with him after-
“Are we still on for this weekend?!” Connie yells when Jean is making his way down the corridor.
“Yeah, we are!” Jean's voice travels through the air, reaching both of his friends, hands clammy as they’re shoved in the front pocket of his pants.
The walk to the back courtyard was tiresome. His feet seemed to drag behind him, an aching feeling forming in his gut. Thoughts pounded against his skull repeatedly, trying to force him to stop. He wants to stop, but he has to go.
He has to tell you he loves you.
He can’t help but smile when you describe the boy you like this week. In his mind and most certainly his heart, he was the king of the world sitting on his high horse as he screamed in victory, letting the whole world know that the person he likes, feels the same way about him.
The fresh air from the outside meets his nostrils as he deeply inhales, allowing it to enter his body before exiting. The sun is the first thing he meets with as he exits the building, bringing a hand up to shield his eyes away from the harsh light. He mutters something under his breath as he looks around for a second.
“She’s a,
She’s a lady and I’m just a boy”
His honey orbs finally stop on a bench where you and Eren are seated, that’s not too far away, but his body is hidden from your view. He lets out a sigh of relief, leaves crunching underneath his feet as he walks, not taking long strides, rather walking slow to rethink what he’ll say.
“Y/N, I’ve liked you for a long...no,” he mutters, stopping in his tracks as he looks down at the green grass and leaves, kicking away at them. “I’ve loved- no, that sounds a bit aggressive, goddammit,” he groans, tugging at the roots of his hairs. “Why is this so fucking hard?!” he growls underneath his breath, leaning against the brick wall.
He never was anything else but honest with you. How could he say it?
What if this ruins your relationship?
...what if you liked Eren?
His breath hitches in his throat when realization dawns on him. His lips part, a soft exhale releasing from within him. His fingers curl around nothing, as if he was holding the air’s hand. The tips of his fingers shake, his whole body stiffening as he stares hard at nothing.
How could he be so stupid?
It all made sense now. How you stayed behind during lunch that one time without saying anything; in the back of his mind that day, he knew that someone had to be a boy, maybe a girl. Even then, you would always let him know.
Jean should have known from the beginning that you only saw him as a brother.
His chest aches as his vision goes blurry, biting down on the inside of his lip to the point where he can taste the bitter metallic on his tongue. He squeezes his eyes shut before opening, wishing he hadn’t at that moment.
He’s singing
“She’s a, she’s a lady and I am just a line without a hook.”
His heart breaks, stomach-dropping when he sees Eren’s hand brings you closer to his body, lips pressed up against yours; your hand placed on his cheek, cradling his face. Even from where he stands, he can sense the urgency in the kiss, how your bodies move together as one, how your fingers grip onto him like he’ll leave any moment.
His lower lip quivers for a second, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, clearing his throat. Jean cranes his neck upward, looking at the sky, muttering the words, “Why him?” over and over like a mantra, no other words coming to mind.
When he closes his eyes, all he can see is you. Not Eren, just you. Those moments where you laugh, cry, or stay silent, those are the moments that flash in his head.
Did he do something to you? Was it something he said?
Did you ever like him at all?
“It’s pointless,” he whispers, pushing himself off the brick wall, immediately making a beeline for the doors. He swallows harshly, legs moving faster than ever, wanting to get out of this hell hole called reality.
Like every day, you’ll walk down the same pavement you’ve been walking on for years.
Only this time, he’s walking alone.
Oh, and if I could take it all back
I swear that I would pull you from the tide.
☽✧ ✦ ✧☾
taglist: @sleepysnk @jaegerbomb20 @reddriot @kkiimmberly @kingtamakimurder @tamasoft @byougen @spike-this-ass @crimsonbows-and-arrows @squidonmywall @thicmitten (message me to be apart of it!)
#eren x reader#eren jaeger x reader#eren yeager x reader#jean x reader#jean kirstein x reader#aot#snk#aot x reader#snk x reader#attack on titan x reader#shingeki no kyojin x reader#aot imagines#snk imagines#attack on titan imagines#shingeki no kyojin imagines#eren imagines#eren jaeger imagines#jean imagines#jean kirstein imagines
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you’re someone i just want around: V
“I must admit, I thought I’d like to make you mine
As I went about my business through the warning signs
End up meeting in the hallway every single time
And there’s nothing we can do about it.”
— Only Angel, Harry Styles
A/N: this chapter...it was probably my fav to write, so far!!! i just adore these two clueless morons so much like i just can’t shut up about them. quite a bit happens in this part and it’s all to build that slow burn, friends to lovers shit we all know and love baYBEEEEE!!! and also The Crew make an appearance because hello we love to see it, we truly do 😌😌😌 especially the man, the myth, the legend, Mitch Rowland and honestly?? this is HIS chapter fuck vampirerry!!! but yeah i hope y’all like what’s in store for the Dynamic Duo this time around and remember that feedback is truly, madly, deeply™ appreciated! and if you enjoy it, please reblog it! spreading content keep creators motivated! without further delay, let’s dive in 😼
harry’s condo : ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist : ysijwa playlist
word count: 34k
content/warnings: witty banter, some nice fluff, jacuzzi sex, more fluff, a very testing phone call, some face f*cking, a soft shower, rough degradation, the return of The Handcuffs, an unexpected visit from The Three Stooges, more cheeky banter because that’s their brand, and the reveal of jealous asshole Harry
///
Y/N giddly accepts Harry’s offer to stay the weekend and the vampire can confidently say it’s one of the best he’s had in the last decade.
He’d startled even himself when the suggestion had risen abruptly from his mouth, leaving him blinking blankly as a result. He rarely allows anyone to spend more than a day in his condo— his friends being the only exception— because he’s grown to like the quiet solitude that comes with living on his own. He very solemnly has people over whom he hasn’t known for at least a few years, and that rule is reinforced on stricter grounds when it comes to humans. Especially when the only true connection they could possibly carry to him is through the area between their legs.
But Harry has become strangely fond of Y/N in the last four weeks— fond enough to freely refer to her as a friend and endeared enough to bypass the fact that she’s mortal. She just looks so unbelievably cute padding around his apartment barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of crumpled, sunflower-doodled panties and his Nike olive green jumper, her hair a mangled mess with traces of his cologne smeared across the bruised skin of her neck. Admittedly, it’s a sight he wants to see more often, which is a stab at his ego because he’s never been one to dwell on sentimentality— not for a while. It’s a bit cliche and gross, in his opinion, but when it comes to this one particular girl...well, maybe it’s not too bad. Indulging some soft pastimes can't do much damage, especially when it aids his plan to keep her interested until he himself grows bored.
It can only do good, which is probably what had spurred him into asking her to extend her stay. For once, he found himself not craving his usual silent seclusion. Not when that self-imposed isolation could be filled with her loud laughter, warm lips, and sweet moans instead.
And much to his satisfaction, Harry gets just that.
For the next two days, the creature gets all of his needs and wants attended to, both recreational and intimate. Y/N seems to enjoy it thoroughly, as well, walking— or rather waddling, really, thanks to some of their raunchier activities— around his flat happily, constantly clad in a pair of his boxers and one of his graphic tees. He gets off on it— it’s hard not to, especially with the way she fits his clothes so effortlessly, almost as if she was made to fill them. Or the way the scent of his shampoo is combed through every strand of her hair, his smell slathered all over her as if she’s unconsciously trying to mark herself as his. Or the way new love bites cover the ones his blood had nearly faded, which she dotes shamelessly by pushing all her hair behind her shoulders so Harry can get a perfect view of every welt he’s left behind on her throat. Or the way she unapologetically giggles at all his jokes and crude humor, and how she paddles his witty banter right back at him with that clever gleam in her irises.
He gets off on the way Y/N cuddles into him on the couch while they’re watching some mindless Food Network series, her body heat expelling the stiff coldness from his limbs. The way she kisses tenderly along the underside of his jaw, forefinger tracing over his Adam’s Apple teasingly, a smile spreading against his skin when she feels it bob heavily. The way she’ll sneak her hand between his thighs and palm him over his briefs, taking the shell of his ear between her teeth and hissing lowly when his cock twitches against her fingers, her voice soft as silk but heavy with dirty intentions. “Want to make you feel good again, H. Can I?”
The human girl is a blessing, while simultaneously being a walking, talking sin, and the monster’s never been more willing to damn himself to Hell. And he would gladly do it, if he wasn’t already living it in the form of blood-driven eternity.
It’s an eventful weekend, that’s for sure, and despite the fact that they share an abundance of memorable moments, there are a few that Harry deems especially unforgettable.
The jacuzzi sex sits at the top of that list.
Y/N had practically squealed when she’d laid eyes on the glorified tub in his bathroom, pacing over to it excitedly and leaning down to run her fingers over the control panel along the rim. Her voice had come out whispered, full of child-like wonder. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Harry had walked over to stand beside her, his icy digits pressing on top of her warm own, finagling the buttons into his preferred settings. Hot water begins to shoot out of all the polished jets one by one, slowly filling the pool and covering the dark marble wrap-around ledge used as seating. The vampire quickly fetches the bag of lavender Epsom salts he keeps close by, scooping a couple handfuls into the frothing hot tub, along with pouring in a decent amount of jasmine bubble bath.
His lips jolt when he catches Y/N eyeing the jacuzzi in awe, her hands clasped to her chest in delight as she teeters back and forth ever so slightly on her heels. The water shuts off once it reaches the appropriate level, leaving behind a thick, luxurious sheet of suds that smells of sugary florals and clean linen. The second the jets retract, Harry doesn’t even have time to make a comment before Y/N begins stripping down hurriedly, obviously restless to take on this new experience.
Harry spontaneously jerks to the side out of habit, averting his sight to allow her some privacy. His tone is soft and amused. “Clean towels are in the hamper along the other side of the tub.” He signals blindly towards where he knows the basket is situated. “Call me back in when you need help with the shower knobs. And don’t—”
The immortal spots something streak across his peripheral vision, cocking his head a bit just in time to see her flower-print panties toss onto the tiled floor. He rolls his eyes playfully, scoffing to himself at the innocence of the article. It matches her persona perfectly.
He hears a splash crack through the air behind him, meaning that Y/N has submerged herself in the water and that it is now safe for him to turn around without threatening her decency. However, he doesn’t think she’d mind if he did and he finds himself wondering why he’d looked away in the first place. The answer comes to him simply: it was a residual mannerism from the era he was raised in. His default Victorian etiquette can be so fucking annoying sometimes.
He spins around on his socked heels, lean arms folding casually across his broad chest, naked tattoos glinting under the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom. He slinks his head to the side, entertained at the view he finds. Y/N is sitting amidst the blanket of pink bubbles, covered up to her shoulders as she cups soap into her palms, blowing at it and watching the suds float across the air before popping. The adorable smile that breaks across her face makes Harry’s stomach flutter.
The vampire steps forward to catch her attention, leaning a hip against the edge of the tub and pursing his lips to hide an adoring grin. The corners of his mouth betray him as soon as Y/N looks up at him, hair slicked back with water and bubbles, matted to the sides of her neck and across her jaw as she beams up at him.
“Your place is literally an adult playground.” The human states wistfully, her arms floating across the surface of the bath as she drifts closer to him, creating more suds. “You’re gonna have to get me kicked out tomorrow ‘cause I’m not leaving on my own.”
Harry snorts, ducking down and wiping some soap off the tips of her eyelashes. “I don’t think security detail was part of the lease, so I might have to do it myself.”
“I can easily take you.” Y/N remarks jokingly, waving a hand dismissively. “Better make some space, I’m moving in next week.”
“I’d say I would start clearing out my storage room for you,” Harry leans forward, ghosting his lips over hers and thumbing over the curve of her chin, batting his lashes sultrily, “but I think we both know you’d end up in my bed either way. Best leave it as is.”
“Yeah,” Y/N momentarily glimpses down at his mouth, eyes glitzing with the slightest bit of hunger, “I think it's best if we just split the bed.”
“Oh, we’ll definitely split the bed— split it right down the middle.” Harry grips her jaw firmly and locks her into a wet, sloppy kiss for a few elongated heartbeats, tugging at her bottom lip and biting it jestingly before pulling back.
Y/N chases after him, craving more of his taste, but the boy draws back fully and pats at her cheek with smug finality. Her begrudging pout makes him release a boyish giggle. “Anyways, as I was saying before, my last rule: Don’t pee in the tub. Cleaning it is a bitch and that’s the last thing I want to deal with.”
The mortal laughs airily, nodding her head in confirmation that she understands. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”
“Thank you.” Her friend huffs, shoulders slumping dramatically in relief. Harry takes on a theatrical ominous edge, quirking his brows warningly. “Didn’t end well for the last person who did.”
“Is that so?” Y/N inquires daringly, lowering herself deeper into the water until it covers her chin. “What happened? Did you have to take on the role of executioner again?”
Harry thinks back to that instance, shaking his head in amusement at the memory. It had been Niall— anything that has to do with testing his patience almost always leads to Niall— and to make a long story short, the Irish bloke had ended up having to regrow an ear. But he can’t necessarily confess that supernatural event to Y/N, no matter how funny it is, so he just shrugs offhandedly and gives her a dark look full of faux mystery, voice adopting the same affect. “I’ve already said too much.”
The young woman casts her eyes up to the ceiling humorously. “Moron.”
“Watch it, love.” Harry tuts, narrowing his eyes at her pointedly in an attempt to suppress the smirk that is about to stem from his next comment. “I’m not the one with the degradation kink here.”
Y/N scrunches her face at him mockingly, trying to hide the way his quip had made her heart hiccup. She mimics his accent, sticking up her middle finger from beneath a mountain of rosy bubbles. “Piss off.”
“Gladly.” Harry bites back cheekily in an American accent. He leans down, retrieving his Nike sweater and her underwear from the rumpled pile on the ground, his intentions set on taking them across the hall to the laundry room with the rest of her clothes. That way, her stuff will be nice and clean for when she needs it again Sunday night. “Just call if you need me, yeah?”
Harry gets about three feet towards the door before Y/N’s soft voice halts him, piping up as gentle and timid as usual. “Wait…”
The vampire glances over his shoulder, eyebrows poised in question as he absentmindedly flips his jumper inside-out in anticipation for the wash.
Y/N swims across the extent of the jacuzzi until she’s right in front of where he’d stopped, resting her forearms along the rim and plopping her chin atop her folded hands. She gazes up at Harry through her lashes and he can see the manner in which she shifts her footing beneath the small waves, almost as preparing to stand up from the water. “Don’t go.”
Harry’s eyes go half-lidded in a flat expression as he hangs his sweatshirt over the inside of his elbow. “Didn’t you literally just tell me to piss off five seconds ago?”
“I changed my mind.”
“Well, that’s just too bad. You already hurt my feelings. No take-backs.”
“Idiot.”
“Try again.”
“What’s that one insult British people say? Oh, yeah! Knobhead.”
“You’re really not helping your case here.”
Y/N sighs in exasperation, using her palms to boost herself up until she’s standing fully inside the hot tub. Water cascades down her shoulders and out of her sopping hair, following the curves of her bare torso and trickling across her jaw. She teeters forward until her face is only a few inches away from Harry’s, lulling her head to the side expectantly with a certain slyness swirling around her pupils. She chews on her lower lip as she gives him a suggestive once-over. “How about now? Does this help my case?”
Harry keeps his eyes pinned to her own, refusing to submit to temptation. He knows exactly what she’s trying to do, and he doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction of allowing it to work. Not yet, at least. He wants her to beg for it.
The creature twists towards her entirely, irises bright with the excitement of a new challenge. Even with the slight elevation the jacuzzi provides, Harry still towers over Y/N at least a good four inches. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough that she has to tilt her chin up to maintain direct eye contact. The tip of his cold nose brushes over hers, eyebrows shrugging tauntingly. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that, darling.”
Y/N reaches forward without breaking their stares, taking the clothes from Harry’s grasp and haphazardly chucking them onto the towel hamper. Now with his arms free, the immortal props his hands onto his hips, his biceps and shoulders flexing with the motions. He’s peacocking to try and intimate her, and in any other circumstance, it would probably work, but Y/N knows she has the upper-hand at the moment; she’s naked and wet and docile, and with the way Harry’s handsome features are hardening in determination, she can tell she’s whittling him down. All it would take is one well-coordinated touch here, a lingering stroke there, and maybe a gentle caress of her lips down the valley of his pectorals…
Y/N goes for something better. She reaches upwards to intertwine her fingers around the nape of Harry’s neck, tugging him closer until their chests meld together, the heat from the water radiating off her waxy skin and sinking into his freezing own. His breathing catches as soon as he feels her pert nipples press into his chest and even though he’s keeping his sight trained on her face, he can just barely see the curves of her breasts less than a foot below. Their close proximity is making them swell upwards, urging him to give in and have his way with her however he wants. And fuck, does he want to. But he’s not going to let her bait him that easily— who would he be if he allowed this human girl to toy with him in such a fashion? Harry never lets anyone puppet him— not anymore, not ever again— and especially not when it comes to sex, which is one of his most skilled domains. He certainly isn’t going to let her win.
Harry grabs Y/N’s wrists from where they are perched around his neck, giving her a hard look that lets her know who’s in charge of the situation. He brings her hands up before her face, flipping them over so she gets a proper view of the faint bruising that lines her flesh, leftover from the previous evening’s restraints. When he speaks, it’s low and throaty with a condescending undercurrent. “Remember what happened last time you acted like a brat?”
Images flash by the forefront of Y/N’s mind like a film on fast-forward, recalling the night to which Harry is referring. The young man had tied her to her headboard and fingered her until she was left a teary mess, refusing to let her orgasm each time she got close. Then, he had tossed the girl onto her tummy and rammed into her from behind until her aged bedframe had nearly splintered. If she focuses intently enough, she can still feel the satisfying ache he had left behind, which had haunted her for days afterwards.
The mortal swallows heavily, nodding her head a tad.
Harry raises an eyebrow with an awaiting air. “Remember what I said about using your words?”
Y/N bobs her head again quickly. After a moment, she realizes her repeated mistake, clearing her throat softly in order to fix it. “Yes.”
“Good.” The vampire drops her hands, coasting his palms up her neck to cup either sides of her jaw, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones almost tenderly. “Now let me ask you again. Do you remember what happened last time you acted like a little brat?”
“Y-Yes.”
“Do you want a repeat of that?”
“No, I—” Y/N pauses in hindsight, retracting her previous statement. “Well, actually…”
Harry’s ruby lips string into a coy smirk at her response, well acquainted with where her thoughts are leading. He presses their foreheads together, the damp stickiness of her warm flesh sending a shiver toppling down his spine. “Let me guess. You want a repeat of the part where I shoved your face into a pillow and fucked you until you squirted all over me?”
He can feel blood surge into her cheeks beneath his fingertips as a result of his vulgar words. “Yes, please.”
Harry gnaws along the inside of his cheek as he recalls that event. He can practically feel her gushing around his cock all over again, her walls tightening around him as her whole body trembled in his grasp, her shattered whimpers stinging his ears as he continued to slam into her until she’d completely drenched both of their thighs. His eyelids fall shut in dreamy recollection and an image skims by of his initial rings marked across her ass; it nearly sends his knees out from under him. “Fuck, that was so hot, wasn’t it?”
“So fucking hot.” Y/N sighs shakily, lashes fluttering as his warm breath washes across her tingling mouth. “Harry, I just...I just want to ride you so fucking bad right now.”
“Yeah? Is that what you want?” Harry touches over her quivering bottom lip, somehow managing to feel her pulse. It’s battering so hard, he could probably sense it through any spot on her body, at this point. “You want me to sit in there with you just so you can bounce on my cock, baby?”
“Please…” Y/N sounds as if she’s on the verge of crying, all of her desperate need translating into her wrecked voice. Her next phrase is something she doesn’t think she’s ever spoken before, but the intensity of the moment just feels so right to test it out, and Harry feels like the right person to test it with. After another heavy gulp and a lick at her dry lips, she chimes up once again, bashful and pliant. “Please, Daddy?”
The sound of a sharp inhale echoes off the marble and porcelain walls of the bathroom, stemming from Harry’s garbled throat. It feels like the temperature in the atmosphere has gone up twenty degrees, invisible flames lapping across the muscles of his taut back and across the tendons of his tight shoulders. His entire body seems to go into shock, lungs stuttering and stomach hollowing out. His lashes snap shut without a heartbeat to spare, webs of black veins materializing over the whites of his eyes as a reaction to Y/N’s brazen comment.
He has been indulging fantasies of her calling him that specific name for weeks now, but had never asked out of respect for her boundaries. He figured that if she had an affinity for it, it would eventually make its way out of her mouth during one of their sessions, and he had been willing to be patient enough to wait. It had paid off, it seems.
Harry releases his grip on the girl’s face, reaching down to messily shove his black briefs down his clammy thighs, eyes flickering open now that he has forced some control into his demeanor. He sets his intent on her expression, the jade of his irises bleeding lust as he catches her gawking at him. Y/N gazes down at where he’s occupied, her lips parting slightly with starved awe as his underwear falls away to pool at his feet, revealing the part of him she has grown so addicted to in the last month. It looks so pretty, with a neatly trimmed pubic area, thick girth, and pleasurable length. She never knew cocks could be appealing, considering she always found their appearance so odd and irrelevant. That is, until Harry. It appears she thought a lot of sexual things irrelevant until Harry.
He kicks away his clothes, nudging at her boiling cheeks with his nose to garner attention, his tone low and inexplicably strained. “Say it again.”
Y/N’s fingers curl into loose fists against his heaving chest as she gathers her bearings, shuddering with a difficult exhale. She says it a bit louder this time, but still inherently weak, almost as if she’s scared their shadows might overhear. “Please, Daddy?”
Harry’s brows furrow with puncurting desire, a broken groan stirring deep in his lungs. “God, that sounds so good coming from your mouth. Been wanting to hear you say it for ages now.”
“Really?”
He nods fervently, nose bumping hers with every movement and he takes this chance to peek down at her naked figure, swallowing thickly at how incredible her breasts look flushed to his pecs. “Think about it constantly. Always wondered what it would take to get it out of you.”
“I wish you’d just told me.” The human mumbles, tracing his cupid’s bow with the crest of her own. “I’ve been wanting to say it for a while now.”
Harry chuckles lightly, humming in amusement as he snakes a strong arm around the dip of her spine, drawing her closer as much as possible. He just wants to feel every inch of her wet, velvety skin. “Well, now you can say it all you want. Over and over and over, while I make your knees shake and your back arch.”
Y/N sputters out a bundle of feathery giggles, looping her arms around his neck and carding her fingers into his shiny curls, pulling his lips down to meet hers in a restless kiss full of quiet whines and snippets of laughter. She talks into his mouth, starting to pant as the pace becomes more passionate, full of eager tongues and nipping teeth. “Now will you please get in and let me fuck you?”
Harry mounts one knee onto the edge of the hot tub, his free hand jutting down against the marble for reinforcement as the other keeps her trapped against his body. “Yeah...Yeah, I think I will.”
He crawls into the heated water, submerging up to his waist due to his height. Once he’s balanced himself within the pool, the palm pressed to the brim slips away, replacing the cold stone with the simmering skin of Y/N’s jaw once again. He tangles his fingers into her hair as he nurses her face to the side, deepening their prolonged kiss, and the whimper she pours into his mouth makes every cell in his body throb with longing. Y/N’s hands ride down his lean stomach and over his pelvic bones, fingers twitching the closer she gets to his cock. She stops right before she reaches his base, wracked with the slightest bit of shy hesitation.
“Go ahead, doll.” Harry murmurs softly, hips bucking forward once against the pads of her digits. “I want you to touch me.”
Y/N’s palm disappears below the mounds of bubbles, cupping over his cock and giving it a rough grope. Harry gasps brokenly against her lips at the sensation, the corners of his mouth ticking upwards into a blissful simper when her breathing throttles just a smidge. Y/N gradually begins to work him below the gentle waves of the water, eyes rolling back when she feels him harden in her hold. She’ll never get used to how erotic it is having Harry shatter under her influence.
“I think it's funny,” she begins, voice delicate and humorous, contradicting the insistent actions she’s partaking below, “how you were threatening me with orgasm denial two minutes ago and now you’re being all nice.”
The vampire thrusts slightly against her strokes, tiny noises escaping his taut throat as a familiar boiling begins to simmer in his veins. His tone is detached and pinched with the effort of maintaining composure. “S’hardly a fair point, considering you caught me off guard with that pet name.”
“Is that so?” The girl inquires playfully, giving the tip of his cock a hard squeeze and scoffing against his mouth when he releases a tight grunt.
“Mm. You always…” Harry draws back from her intoxicating mouth, looking down at her over the crests of his tinted cheekbones to admire the faint imprint of his teeth along her swollen lips. His mind feels like it’s been pumped with syrup, thoughts swishing around lazily, his emotions still somewhat exposed from the mishap that had occurred during their breakfast serenade. It had been over two hours ago, but the wound was still fresh in his subconscious, causing small pinpricks of anxiety to stain his otherwise carefree personality. He feels as if his chest had been cut open with a scalpel, his insides had been rearranged out of order, and the gash had been resewn brutishly; he feels disarrayed and defiled. And because of some simple human girl who’s as fragile and insipidly transparent as glass.
The immortal’s voice comes out as a whisper, carrying the weight of his confused, raw state. “You always catch me off guard.”
Y/N blinks up at him innocently, gnawing on her bottom lip at his sweet compliment, her heart somersaulting within her ribcage. “You catch me off guard, too. Always keep me on my toes, which is something I was never really used to.”
“Do you...” Harry forces down the lump in his throat, allowing himself to be vulnerable for the sake of seeking an answer. Though their problems are vastly different— she’s referring to her small-town, conservative mentality, whereas he’s shouldering two hundred years worth of emotional trauma— he’s more than happy to absorb any advice she could possibly offer. He needs to know how to shut this off; he hates feeling so unsure of himself. It’s like he’s wading through a forest blindfolded, disoriented and uncalibrated with no sense of direction or purpose. He hasn’t felt this helpless since… “Do you hate it?”
The mortal’s eyes fall shut, lashes dusting the apples of her cheeks in a way that Harry deems almost ethereal. She shakes her head lightly in his grasp, a hazy smile adorning her face. “Do I hate that you take me out of my comfort zone? I don’t think I do, actually. I like it. I like that every moment we spend together is something new. I was so used to following the status quo and retracing other’s steps, I never noticed how boring it all was. But you’re never boring. You make everything fun and adventurous, and it’s just so...”
Y/N laughs a tad, trying to come up with a word she can’t quite place, too distracted in how her friend’s thumbs are caressing her jaw. The hand she has below the water has stopped its motions all together, her focus placed solely on the young man’s beautiful features. The copper specks in his eyes glitter in the white light of the bathroom, looking like polished amber gems. “Uhm...It’s...It’s so—”
“Scary...but exhilarating.” Harry finishes her sentence, a quivering sigh coaxing out of his tight chest. He feels like he’s going to vomit.
Y/N bobs her head in agreement, hands drifting to wrap around his dainty wrists, giving them a soft squeeze as if to reassure herself that he’s real. “Yeah, that’s it. It’s...exciting, kind of.”
The creature swallows heavily and releases her face, peeling his eyes away from Y/N’s for fear of letting her see him so defenseless, brows creasing in burning unsettlement. Instead, he lends his attention to outlining the speckling of white strewn into the dark marble of the bathroom wall, using that distraction to calm the raging in his belly. Out of the edge of his vision, he can see Y/N’s face fall, the grip she has on his wrists loosening. A spike of pain shoots through his unbeating heart— similar to what he had endured earlier— at the sadness behind her gesture, but he stifles it with stubborn spite. This isn’t him. It hasn’t been for decades now, and he’d grown to like it as so. In his experience, attachment leads to suffering, and suffering leads to misery. And with all of the centuries he has ahead of him, misery is the last companion he needs.
Harry clears his throat emptily, slashing through the tension that had suspended in the air between them. He glimpses down at her, undoing the knot between his eyebrows and putting as much playful ease into his irises as he can muster, urging the corners of his lips into his signature smirk. “I guess we just excite each other, then. Though that’s become pretty obvious by now, I think.”
Y/N purses her mouth to hide the immature grin his innuendo is attempting to weed out, all awkwardness dissipating from her aura. “I guess we do.”
The monster ducks down to flirt his lips over the human’s, arms tying around her lower back and hiking her upwards. Y/N yelps in surprise, instinctively clamping her legs around his waist and giggling as he lugs her from side to side jokingly, pretending he’s about to drop her into the pool. “Why don’t we go back to exciting one another, hm?”
Y/N’s nose rubs across the bridge of Harry’s and she gasps lightly when she feels the head of his cock prod at her entrance, dipping in a bit to tease her, spreading her open just enough to wheedle a soft hiss. She shivers in his arms despite the heat wafting up from the warm water, a very different type of warmth pouring into the area between her legs. The girl clings to the sides of the English boy’s neck, spinning a damp curl around her forefinger— he’d gotten his hair wet when he’d splashed into the jacuzzi, and the manner in which his ringlets are gluing across his flexing neck and sharp jaw is doing her in.
She gives a small nod, eyes flickering down to his tempting lips and back up at his devious gaze. “Yeah, alright.”
In Harry’s expert opinion, it’s safe to say they definitely excite each other. It’s pretty evident in the way their bodies mold perfectly, satisfying their own desires while simultaneously fulfilling the other’s. The vampire ends up sitting on top of the ledge that circles the inside wall of the pool, his head hanging over the edge with his mouth parted in an open grin, filthy moans and needy whines pouring from his tongue freely as Y/N rocks onto his slick cock. The girl balances herself on her knees, backside crashing down against his thighs in harsh slams full of reckless urgency— she needs this more than she’d ever care to admit. Her nails dig into Harry’s strong shoulders for stability, head thrown back in sheer bliss as her chest bounces with every thrust, the trench of her tummy rippling with contented heat. He just makes her feel so fucking full.
“God, y-you’re so big.” Y/N mewls, swinging her hips in small circles that draw an array of fractured sounds of pleasure from Harry’s taut throat. “You stretch me out so fucking good, Har.”
Harry’s hands tighten into fists against the glossy plastic of the jacuzzi, arms slung casually over the sides of the tub in a relaxed posture. He doesn’t want to bother with taking control at this particular moment; he’s too busy reveling in the ecstasy Y/N is pounding into his system. He jolts with every rough dip of her hips, the corners of his raw lips winking his dimples awake as he looks up at her through barely-cracked eyes, the weight of his mounting orgasm heavy on his lashes. “Love that cock, don’t you? Can tell by the way you always kiss it right before you take it down your throat.”
Y/N grapples onto her friend's neck blindly, one palm grasping the center of his jugular as the other cradles his defined jaw, her thumb smearing across his lips as a result of her choppy movements. Harry cranes his head forward a bit to get a better view, pressing a gentle kiss to the pad of her finger as an appreciative thrum rumbles against the hand she has covering his Adam’s Apple. “You look so beautiful when you fuck me all desperate like that.”
Y/N whimpers as she swivels against his lap eagerly, driving herself towards a climax that she knows will leave her utterly ruined. Harry glances down to where their centers meet below the water, worrying his lower lip between his teeth as he peers through the violently sloshing waves and frothy suds, watching Y/N glide over him easily now that she’d gotten used to his size. He leans forward, slowly planting a trail of suckling kisses up the center of his friend’s tummy and over the valley of her chest, looking upwards through his long lashes and smiling lewdly into her flesh every time her walls squeeze at the action. She’s so snug around him, he’s convinced no one could ever fit him this well.
His words come out as a raspy growl. “You’re such a tight little thing. Never get tired of that perfect cunt. S’like you were made to take me this deep.”
Y/N collapses forward, her grip shooting up to trade his face with his drenched curls. She sponges her mouth messily over his, gasping onto his tongue as the motions of the water batter against her sensitive clit. Her brows cinch with hunger, tone pleading. “Touch me. Please? Want— Want your hands on me while I ride you.”
Harry shakes his head tauntingly, licking across her top lip and teething at the crescent above it. “I don’t think so, angel. I like seeing you do all the work, for once. You look so good using me to get yourself off.”
The girl fists at his hair almost cruelly, her sanity gradually slipping. “But I...I like it when you use me, too.”
“Trust me, I’m well aware.” The vampire muses arrogantly, spreading his meaty thighs wider so that her strokes have a more profound impact. His position works as intended, seen in how Y/N slows for a second when she sinks down to the hilt, a breathy, “Fuck, that’s so deep.” scraping past the cracks of her gritted teeth.
Harry bucks upward symbolically, signaling for her to regain her rhythm; one look at his dominantly smug expression has her abiding instantly. He lays his head against his bare shoulder, studying every clench of her belly and every heave of her breasts, etching this picture into his extensive list of memories. His voice flows out as thick and silky as molasses. “I just can’t get enough of watching you make yourself cum around my cock.”
“I j-just want you to fuck me.” Y/N is nearly sobbing, her fingertips carving into his scalp as she kisses over his colored cheeks and tinged nose, trying to swindle him into giving her what she wants. “I’ll do anything you want. Promise.”
“Always so willing, aren’t you?” Harry chuckles darkly, groaning lightly when she suddenly tenses around his length. He can feel his nails breaking the skin of his palms as his fists contract. “You want me to make you scream, is that it? Want Daddy to pound you until you can’t stand anymore?”
Hearing him refer to himself that way sends electricity coursing down her spine. “Want it so bad.”
The creature reaches up with his index finger and brushes a sopping strand of hair out of Y/N’s face, tucking it behind her ear and tracing down her cheekbone admiringly. After a few seconds of thought, he appraises her with a decision, licking across his top teeth and pressing his tongue along the inside of his cheek teasingly. “Let’s make a deal, then. How about you get yourself right on the edge for me, and then I’ll flip you around and finish you off. Sound fair?”
Y/N doesn’t need to be told twice. She regains her previous stride with more fervor and speed, hellbent on pushing herself to the seam of climax so she can let Harry take the reins. The young man watches her with sinful intent tainting the emerald of his irises, the golden smudges around his pupils glinting blood red for a single heartbeat. He decides he’ll lend his expertise just once, extending his arm and fiddling with the settings on the control panel of the hot tub, preparing a surprise he knows his guest will thoroughly enjoy.
When the jets suddenly rumble to life, Y/N’s jumps in shock, the loud sound startling her clouded brain. But then two concentrated streams of water hit her right between her legs and she nearly faints as newfound bliss erupts through every fiber of her being. The insistent spray toys with her clit in a fashion that is indescribable, revving her closer to release as the overwhelming sensation pairs with the rapture Harry’s cock is hammering into her. She won’t last long, and he knows it.
The monster eyes her reaction attentively, his forefinger lulling upwards across the water-proof screen of the controls, raising the intensity of the jets. The fragmented moan that betrays the human goes right to his core. He then slides his finger back down, reducing the powerful force to softer bursts. Y/N whines in protest against his mouth, begging him to set it higher like before. And Harry does, giving her exactly what she craves with one easy swoop. Y/N’s forehead falls against his jaw, her shallow breaths puffing down his collarbones and heating his icy skin.
“Shit, that’s so—so— fuck!”
Harry continues to play with the settings, teasing her with waves of strong geysers and gentle trickles. Soon enough, he’s perched behind her, her back sticky against his wet chest as she holds herself up on her knees against the marble seat, hands clamped around the metal railing that runs the circumference of the pool. The pole helps her brace his unforgiving pace, her entire body jerking forward with every ram of his hips as small hiccups of pleasure float across the fogged air of the bathroom. Harry takes the shell of her ear between his teeth, biting down with no remorse as Y/N pushes back to meet his adamant thrusts, his coral-lacquered digits sifting between her own around the polished metal. She gets a bleary glimpse of the cross tattoo inked onto his hand as she can’t help but snort softly at the irony.
“Is something funny, love?” Harry’s deep baritone causes chills to wring down her arms.
“Your cross tattoo,” Y/N chokes out, a soft grunt interrupting her sentence as the head of the boy’s prick nudges the pit of her abdomen, “it’s just so ironic.”
It is ironic. Harry had gotten it for that sole purpose— to mock the fact that he was deceased. He didn’t get to have a tombstone, so this is the next best thing: a symbolic one, of sorts, sketched into his skin for the rest of his undead life. A bit morbid, but he quite fancies dark humor, given what he is.
However, he knows Y/N finds it ironic for much different, much unholier reasons.
“You wanna know what’s really ironic?” Harry quips, bottoming out harshly and cooing into the back of her neck when the mortal’s shoulders give a spasm in response. His tone is a mocking whisper. “That such an innocent-looking thing like you loves the idea of being my shameless little whore.”
Y/N’s cheeks boil at his explicit comment, a delicate whimper striking her vocal chords. One of Harry’s hands leaves its post on top of hers, tangling into her wet locks and giving her hair a ruthless yank. He guides her head into the nook between his shoulder and neck, spitting his next words out against the thundering pulse in her temple.
“You’re nothing but Daddy’s little filthy fucking slut. Isn’t that right, baby?”
Y/N nods frantically in his authoritative grasp, struggling to swallow due to the combination of his unyielding tempo and erotic statements.
Harry twists her hair around his knuckles, drawing a broken mewl from her raw lips as his teeth skim along the top of her cheekbone. “Words. Now.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Say it.”
“I’m...I’m your filthy little slut.”
Harry scoffs in entertained disbelief at how willing she is to submit to him, pecking a kiss to the corner of her eye and tasting a salty tear across his tongue. He redirects her head forward, grinning into the side of her scalp. “You should see the way you smile when you say it.”
Y/N can’t help it. It just feels so right with him— she feels oddly safe, knowing that what they share is something neither of them will ever give to anyone else. Their arrangement is one of a kind; they fit each other so flawlessly, nobody could ever possibly come close. And she doesn’t want anyone to try— doesn’t want anyone attempting to replace him. Harry just fills the gap perfectly, and she wouldn’t dream of letting another man do what he does to her. Not when she has Harry near, willing to mumble as many graphic promises into her ear as she wants, all while he fucks a sweltering throb into the area between her thighs.
The human girl finds herself wishing this could last an eternity. Little does she know that if it wasn’t for her mortal ignorance and Harry’s better judgement, it very well could.
///
Later in the day, Harry vaguely recalls how the week prior he had made a passing joke to Y/N about how her sexual drive matches that of a rabbit. What happens in the evening makes him stand by that comment.
They order in Chinese for dinner, and Y/N insists on eating out on the balcony, wanting to get a perfect view of the sun setting over the city skyline. She has never experienced the phenomenon from such a pristine view.
Harry allows it, but only after parenting her into putting on a jacket to avoid catching a cold, sending her back into the condo in search of one as he sets out their meal atop the multicolored glass table outside. Humans are so sensitive, and the last thing he needs is his booty call nearly dying from a case of the sniffles.
She comes back out clad in his patchwork cardigan, wrapping it around her body snugly as she sits with her legs crossed on the patio chair, fitting her box of takeout into the hole created by her thighs. The fluffy knitwork had been the first coat she had found hanging in his humongous closet, and she’d thrown it on without a second thought, too caught up in the excitement of getting to see such a picturesque sight in real life. It’s warm and smells of Harry’s vanilla tobacco cologne, along with hints of other scents, like his chamomile and mandarin shampoo and spiced deodorant. She’d been more than happy to inhabit it.
Harry isn’t sure why, but seeing her sitting across from him on his balcony in a pair of his maroon plaid Calvin Klein boxers, his Keith Harrington Safe Sex t-shirt, and blanketed within his oversized rainbow cardigan, all while her hair falls across her face and tickles her jaw… It makes a fond smile buckle his cheeks, though he manages to tame it quickly.
They chat casually as they eat, sharing silly stories and experiences as they pick at their stir-fry, taking periodic sips of the cranberry juice Harry keeps stocked in his fridge. He doesn’t know the science behind it— though he highly doubts there’s any valid scientific explanation behind the magic that runs through his supernatural veins— but he’s come to find that cranberries help curb his cravings. It’s why he always has a liter on hand.
Y/N informs Harry on how her work week had gone, and about how one of her friends back home had gotten engaged recently. She says it all seems so surreal and that she doubts the girl will actually go through with it, which makes the monster burst into laughter, much to her confusion. Harry thinks that this is probably the first time he’s ever seen Y/N be so blatantly pessimistic; it’s strangely comical. Just hearing her opinion on the situation is enough to send anyone into a cackle fit, especially when she says it with such a straight face. “Yeah, I just don’t think she’ll do it. She says she loves him, but she always used to complain about his foot fetish, and I’m pretty sure she’d go insane if she had to put up with that for the rest of her life.”
Harry wards off another bundle of giggles, pursing his twitching lips and bobbing his head once in understanding, using his chopsticks to pop a piece of fried duck into his mouth. “That’s a valid reason to abandon anyone at the altar, if I’ve ever seen one.”
“I know, right? She told me he likes sucking whipped cream off her toes and, like, not to kinkshame, because I obviously have my own weird shit going on—”
“Yeah, I can attest to that.” Harry shrugs his eyebrows suggestively, picking a small chunk of broccoli off his utensil and smirking as he chews slowly. “Decently weird, actually.”
Y/N gifts him a deadpan expression, shoving a piece of veggie dumpling into her mouth and choosing to ignore his dig. “Anyways, I feel like that one is just on a whole other level. Like...what the fuck?”
Harry shares an anecdote about his own friends, as well, feeling that if he doesn’t open up at least a smidge, she'll start becoming suspicious. He recounts the time when he and Mitch had snuck into a Fleetwood Mac concert and met Stevie Nicks, though he’s careful enough not to tell her the date the event had occurred. He just lets her deduce it was one of their more recent tours, when in reality, it had been back in the eighties. The other detail Harry leaves off is the fact that he had tried to seduce Stevie, emphasis being on “tried.” It hadn’t stuck, unfortunately, and what had made the experience even more mortifying is that his idol had taken an interest in Mitch instead. Harry’s ego has yet to recover from that blow; first, because Mitch had the sheer gall to reject the celebrity on the grounds that he wasn’t looking to get involved in any public scandals, and secondly because his best friend refuses to ever let him live it down. “Hey, remember when we met Stevie Nicks and she wanted to fuck me instead of you? Good times, man.”
When the sun finally begins to dip over the horizon, their conversation dies off, replaced by the serene sounds of distant traffic and a light wind picking up as the temperature begins to drop for the night. Y/N stares at the sky in childish wonder as the bright blue starts to darken, streaking with mellow oranges, pastel purples, and buttery yellows, the colors painting across the clouds and giving the bustling city a timeless quality that can only be truly appreciated firsthand. A small, dreamy smile spreads across Y/N’s lips as the gorgeous canvas reflects off the glossy surface of her irises, her legs drawn up to her chest with her arms hugging her knees. She gazes wistfully over the place she has now grown to call home, taking in all it has to offer for the first time in two months, feeling oddly at ease despite the fact that she usually feels lonely wandering its streets.
The mixture of drunken hues casts a hazy glow across her skin and hair, dim stars beginning to twinkle in space as the moon makes its debut. Y/N delights herself with watching the scene unfold, surveying the endless stretch of sky and soaking in its natural beauty. And as Y/N stares across Los Angeles during one of its most breath-taking moments, Harry finds himself staring at her instead.
Once darkness has soaked across the skyscrapers and roads of California for the night, Y/N and Harry turn in, as well. They end up splayed across Harry’s leather couch, entertaining a new episode of Sugar Rush on the ninety-inch flat screen mounted on his glass wall; it’s simply in order to take up the last couple of hours left before bed. By some inexplicable miracle, the vampire had managed to actually fall asleep last night after he and his visitor had finished their regularly scheduled activities. He doubts he’ll be that lucky tonight, but he has no choice but to play the part for the sake of keeping up appearances.
Maybe if the universe is feeling exceptionally generous, the human will fall asleep while they’re watching TV and Harry can just carry her up to his room without having to put on an act. It’s a favorable alternative to having to fake sleep until she gives into fatigue; lying awake with his eyes closed for an hour would make him feel as stupid as Niall’s golfing addiction.
However, it appears that for the time being, Y/N has other plans to bring forward some tried and true exhaustion.
There’s nothing particularly sexual about the fashion in which their bodies are pressed together at the moment, given that it’s a pretty innocent snuggling position. Harry is slumped against the backrest of the sofa with his feet propped on his coffee table, comfy in a pair of black jogging shorts and a vintage Rolling Stones tee. Y/N is nestled into his torso beside him, her head burrowed into his chest with his arm slung nonchalantly across her shoulders and down her back, legs intertwined with his. She had done it out of instinct and Harry doesn’t really have an issue with the gesture; she’s warm and soft and the soothing action of her socked foot running up and down his calf helps him unwind from the day’s events. He likes this, he decides. She smells like him— with her usual scent of honey and lavender permeating through— and she’s decked out in his clothes, aimlessly doodling figures onto his tummy as they enjoy the baking show in comfortable silence. It’s strangely mellow.
Y/N is the one who instigates, as usual. Humans are so horny, it’s ridiculous. But he benefits from this specific mortal’s libido, so he’s not complaining.
It starts with her drifting upwards from where she’d been tracing over his butterfly tattoo, her warm fingers stroking over the prominent structure of his clavicle, her eyes flickering up to gauge his reaction. Harry doesn’t move an inch, face maintaining a curtain of calm indifference. He figures she’s just extra touchy, as she normally is. Then the pads of her digits skim across the side of his throat and an impulsive flare of panic pricks the back of his skull, but it quickly dissolves, as it tends to do now around her. She’s the only person in the last two centuries who has managed to touch him there without inciting a rampage.
Y/N coasts across the nape of his neck, twirling a baby curl around her forefinger distractedly, giving it a small tug in the manner she knows he likes. Harry’s body tightens for a split second and she bites into her lower lip to muffle a mischievous grin. She stretches up, dusting a lingering peck to the curve right behind his ear, running her nose across the shell tenderly. The vampire shifts slightly in his seat, the feathery sensation beginning to weigh at the pit of his stomach. She’s teasing him, and it’s working.
The mortal flushes her puckered mouth fully to the side of his jugular, rubbing the ridges of her skin over one of the veins chiseling into existence, right over the area where a heartbeat used to lie. Harry’s hand balls into a fist against the dip of her spine, itching to grip onto something to keep his cool. Preferably, her throat.
When Y/N finally speaks, the hot breath of her words makes his cock twitch against his thigh. “Wanna kiss a bit?”
Harry cranes his head to look at her, eyebrows jumping up in amusement. “You wanna make-out? What are we, fourteen?”
The girl gives him an impassive pout and glances indicatively towards the armrest of the couch, where they had sat the evening prior while admiring his art wall. “You didn’t have a problem with it last night.”
Harry presses his lips together into a playful simper. She makes a valid point. “Well, I was horny last night. Wasn’t in my right mind.”
Y/N rolls her eyes at his juvenile answer.
“And you’re not now?” She prods softly, her gaze slinking down to his spread thighs, almost as if to check if he’s hard. Harry snorts as her action and she bats her lashes up at him with fake innocence, muscling down the sly smirk threatening to emerge across her face.
“Not really, but maybe I could be…” The creature glimpses at her colored mouth for a heartbeat, reaching a hand up and pushing his air-dried ringlets back from his forehead, lips twitching coyly. “Persuaded.”
Y/N leans forward, buttoning their mouths for a fleeting moment. She pulls back a tad, ghosting the crescent of her top lip over his to try and compel him. “Please?”
“Mm,” Harry licks at the corner of his mouth, eyes half-lidded tauntingly, “I don’t think that was enough. Show some team spirit, will you?”
The girl gifts him another kiss, this one longer and more intense, a palm making its way to cup his jaw. “Please, H?”
He’s begun to pant lightly, hand flattening across the small of her back as if to guide her somewhere. He blinks down at her smugly, gnawing into his cheek. “You’re not quite there. Maybe a little more.”
It turns out one more kiss is enough to convince his metaphorical meter. Y/N ends up perched in his lap, both of his large hands groping at her ass as she clutches the back of his neck, their lips sewn together in a filthy kiss full of gentle whines and impatient tongues. It’s going pretty great, and Harry thinks that Y/N is probably one of the most fun people he’s ever had the pleasure of kissing. Her mouth is as sweet as the sugary scent she always dotes, she ebbs and flows to his movements seamlessly, and the enthusiasm she carries makes every nerve in his body fizzle. The noises she makes are incredibly satisfying, as well. All her needy mewls and delicate whimpers string right down to his groin.
After a few minutes of dry humping and jesting bites placed on overzealous lips, Harry boosts himself up from his relaxed position, feet knocking off the coffee table as an arm snakes around her hips. He sits forward, extending his free hand and waving it around blindly, too occupied to willingly break their embrace. He refuses to pull away, especially when she’s gluing such dirty moans to the roof of his mouth. His palm swings across the air stubbornly until it finally slaps down against the marble surface he’d been searching for, his grip tightening around its rim for confirmation. He proceeds to scoot the counter forward, intent on laying Y/N out on top so he can get on his knees against his furry carpet, get his boxers down her velvety legs, and get his head bobbing between her quivering thighs.
Harry’s plan is about to pan out ideally until a high-pitched shriek cuts through the tense ambiance of the room.
Y/N cracks their kiss, gasping and heaving as her head whizzes from side to side, looking for the origin of the annoying trill that had interrupted their playtime. “What—What is that?”
The vampire glances over his back towards where the ruckus is stemming, the insistent chime grating his heightened ears. He spots the culprit immediately, releasing an irritated groan as a result: his phone.
From his spot on the edge of the couch, Mitch’s contact picture blazes across the screen. Harry loves that photo of his best friend— the way his emotionless expression and skinny middle finger are directed towards the camera makes it a wonderful shot— but he really wishes he didn’t have to see it right now. He has other more pressing matters. Literal pressing matters, if the tent in his mesh shorts is any indication.
“Just ignore it.” Harry murmurs, turning back to slam their lips together once again. Y/N obliges without a second thought, happily re-engaging her previous activity of smudging her cupid’s bow across her friend’s as he stretches her out across the table
Ignoring it works the first time. And the second. But by the third call, Harry has no choice but to break away with an exasperated grunt, his brittle patience forcing him to handle the blaring ringtone.
He slides his thumb across the screen roughly, bringing it to his ear as he slumps back into the couch cushions, holding up a finger towards Y/N apologetically and mouthing a quick, “It’ll be just a second.”
His guest nods in understanding, letting her head fall back against the cold marble and distracting herself by counting all of the lightbulbs situated at the peaks of the chandeliers above.
Harry turns his focus to the person on the other end of the phone line, voice snipped with aggravated anger. “What?!”
“Whoa, okay… That’s no way to talk to the elderly. Take it down a notch, Grumpy. Didn’t Snow White teach you any manners?”
The monster takes a deep breath to keep his rage in check, gritting out his words through bared teeth. “I’m fucking busy right now. What do you want?”
“Oh, well, I’m so sorry to be a bother, My Lord. I just wanted to check up on you and make sure you have all your stuff packed for tomorrow. Y’know, like the good friend I am.”
Harry blinks blankly, all indignation flooding out of his system, replaced by utter confusion. “You wanted to check if I’m...? For what? Why would I need to pack?”
There’s a pause on Mitch’s end, as if the man is waiting for Harry to come to the conclusion himself, static filling the speaker. When it’s obvious the younger vampire is clueless, his best friend elaborates slowly. “For the trip. The Vegas trip. The one we take every year around the same time. The one that we all agreed we’d roadtrip in your car tomorrow.”
Harry’s eyes widen in realization, his entire face paling. Fuck.
“The trip.” He mumbles, the fingers of his free hand coming up to rub at his temples worriedly as his mistake dawns on him. “God, I completely forgot about it.”
“You can’t be serious.” Mitch deadpans, a long sigh following his comment. “Harry, you’re the one that booked the hotel this time. How could you possibly forget?”
“I…” Harry glances over at Y/N as guilt weighs into his demeanor. The girl meets his gaze, smiling sweetly and waving, completely unaware of the horrific ordeal he’s gotten himself into by inviting her over. “I got caught up with something.”
A humorless snort crackles through the stereo of his phone, Mitch’s voice tinged with irked disbelief. “Yeah, that’s what you’ve been saying for the last four weeks now every time you bail on us. I just figured you’d get your head out of your ass for this one, but I suppose I spoke too soon.”
Harry drags his palm down his face, gripping his chin in thought. “I’m sorry. Genuinely. I didn’t mean to let it slip, I’ve just been so occupied during the last couple of weekends that—”
“That you forgot about our yearly trip. How nice. Just perfect.”
“Mitch, I know I fucked up, alright? But what if—”
The immortal’s solution gets cut short when out of his peripheral vision, he sees Y/N climb off the coffee table and onto the carpet below. Harry’s words lodge in his throat as he watches the girl crawl on all fours across the ground towards him, a cheeky smile ticking the corners of her lips as her irises glimmer schemingly. Shit.
“‘What if’ what?”
“What if...Uhm…” Harry finds himself struggling to keep his end of the conversation going, the reason being that Y/N has now reached the edge of the sofa where he resides. She sits back onto her heels, walking her fingers teasingly across his knees and grasping them with her palms, parting them open widely. “I…”
“For fuck’s sake, H, what are you trying to say?” Mitch snaps; even through the distance, he can feel its bite.
Y/N nuzzles herself between Harry’s opened legs, a hand riding up one of his thick thigh as she sponges wet kisses to his kneecap, grinning into his skin when her fingers duck under the material of his shorts. His cadence comes out strained with the effort of keeping up an unfazed front. “What if I— what if we switch the reservations?”
“How do you mean?”
The human’s fingers travel up the length of his inner thigh, sneaking below his cotton briefs and giving the tip of his semi-hard cock a gentle caress. Harry writhes in his seat, watching with bated breath as Y/N draws her forearm back out from beneath his clothes, her middle finger covered in a bead of precum— a result of all the grinding they’d done while kissing. She locks eyes with him and pushes the digit past her swollen lips, sucking off the small droplet while her lashes flutter in pleasure. She moans softly, his familiar saltiness always so welcomed. Her next whisper is sultry and needy. “You taste so fucking good.”
Harry swallows down a groan and his voice suffers the consequences, coming out shaky and high. “Like...Like what if we switch out the n-names. I could call the hotel and put the rooms under your info instead.”
Mitch is quiet for a second, mulling over his friend’s offer. The instance is long enough for Harry to reach forward and snatch Y/N’s wrist, giving it a dominant squeeze as a scolding grimace dips the ends of his lips and furrows his brows. He mouths his words slowly with an ominous hue, making sure she interprets the message. “That’s enough.”
Y/N twists herself free of his hold, eyes gleaming in challenge. She talks softly as to not be heard through the phone, but she might as well be screaming thanks to Harry’s supernatural hearing abilities. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you really not going, then?”
The gentle tone of Mitch’s question snaps Harry back into reality. He feels bad for flaking on his crew, but he doesn’t really have a choice at this point. Y/N is already here per his request, and kicking her out would be extremely dickish, even by his standards. “I’m booked the rest of the weekend, mate. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
Y/N proceeds to grab onto the elastic band of Harry’s shorts, pulling the front down to expose the clothed bulge that lies beneath. A soiled patch has formed over the material of his underwear, and he can see her irises twinkle in satisfaction, which causes the faint burning in his veins to intensify. The girl palms him through the fabric, preening at the low, tight grunt that escapes Harry’s flexing throat. A shiver pin-balls down his spine and he tries to grab at her forearm to wrench it away from between his legs, but Y/N is determined to work him into a mess, simply groping him more intently and giggling lightly when his hips thrash in response.
“Alright, I guess that settles it. I’ll just tell the group we’re taking Niall’s car instead, and that Adam and I will take turns driving. Just get the lodging handled, will you?”
“‘Course, I got it, don’t worry.” Harry chokes out, reaching a hand towards Y/N’s hair in a desperate attempt to get a hold of her, but she ducks to evade him. She tugs down his final layer of protection, her mouth immediately finding its way to his large cock and giving it one long lap from base to tip, staring up at him mockingly from beneath heavy lashes. She grasps it in both of her palms, gifting it a few quick pumps and spitting over the head sloppily, rubbing the slit across her bottom lip as she quirks her brows at him in a dare.
The vampire fails to ward off the fracture in his composure this time. “Christ, you’re such a fucking sl—”
He stops himself before he finishes the graphic statement, remembering that everything he says is being directly broadcast to someone else on the other end of his phone. Someone who’s oblivious to the filth currently taking place on Harry’s side of the call. “I’m on it, yeah? I’ll talk to you later.”
“Wait.”
Harry is at the verge of tearing his hair out, his tone teetering at the cusp of sanity. “Yeah?”
“Would you mind telling me why you’re not going? I feel like everyone at least deserves an explanation, especially since you’re dipping on the plans literally the day before.”
The young man quickly clears his throat, forcing himself to keep control as he watches the mortal stick her entire tongue out to run his cock up and down its expanse. “I’ll—I’ll explain when you come back.”
The textured surface sends zaps of lightning surging through every crevice of Harry’s body, but he somehow enables restraint, as weak as it may be. He silently warns Y/N once again about her actions, carding his fingers into her hair and digging the pads into her scalp. “Stop.”
“Also, why are you breathing so hard? What are you even up to right now?”
The human ignores his command, blowing over the leaking hole of his prick and giving it a playful kiss.
“I’m— fuck— I’m...I’m on the treadmill.”
Mitch goes quiet for a heartbeat. “You don’t have a treadmill.”
Y/N tosses her hair over her shoulder, leaning down to rest her cheek along Harry’s inner thigh, giving him the perfect angle to view what she’s about to do. She presses her head forward, slipping his entire cock down her throat and gagging when it hits a sensitive spot in the back, her nails raking down his twitching tummy. She keeps him there for an elongated moment, allowing her walls to tighten around his length just how he likes it, toying with his swollen balls and moaning quietly around his prick. He can feel the vibrations burrow into the marrow of his bones.
“I told you to stop.” He doesn’t even bother mouthing his words this time, mood dark and cautious. He can hear Mitch exclaim in confusion through his speaker, but it’s the last thing on his mind right now.
Y/N’s watery eyes dance with a devious gleam as she grins around his girth, removing him just enough so she can breath properly, rubbing his bubbling tip along the inside of her silky cheek. Her phrase is muffled, but it’s clear enough to completely shatter him. “Make me, Daddy.”
Harry’s features harden. He’s done playing games.
He directs his attention to the microphone, voice calm and collected to the point where it’s frightening, all the tension and instability crumbling to ash. His brows crease dangerously, accent thicker than she’s ever heard it. “I have to go.”
“Harry—”
“I’ll text you after I fix the booking.”
The device beeps and the call ends, the phone falling face-down onto the couch.
The vampire roughly jerks Y/N back by her hair, sitting forward until their noses brush, his cold touch sending a prickling across her cheeks and ears. He addresses her with the same type of undisturbed patience he’d shown his friend, aura teeming with quiet power.
“Get up. Now.”
Y/N ends up with her back pressed into the couch cushions, Harry suspended above her with his knees on either sides of her hips, his cock ramming down her throat harshly as he guides her head with his knuckles twisted into her roots. He’s thrusting forward to meet her mouth, the emerald around his pupils electric with a type of carnal dominance that makes heat pour into her belly. She’s gazing up at him with water streaming freely out of her eyes and spit dripping down her chin, her hands fisting at the leather of the sofa as he fucks her face unrelentingly.
“You think that little stunt was cute? You think teasing me like that was fun?” He growls as he peers down at her, ramming past her raw lips with no remorse, swimming in the damp choking sounds that bounce back from the furniture in the room. “Open wider. Wider.”
She obeys.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To have me down your throat while you gag around it until you can barely breath? To choke on it while you take that heavy load and swallow every drop?”
Y/N bobs her head feverishly, unable to form any coherent sentences due to his violent pace.
The grip Harry has on the crown of her head tightens, his other hand cupping the back of her skull to push her deeper down his shaft, her nose smearing over his happy trail as his heavy balls bump against her slobbery chin. “Take that fucking cock, then. Take every inch like the filthy fucking brat you are.”
Y/N’s blurry eyes lull shut, the edges of her stinging mouth curving upwards as he hits every single one of her desires with a skill only he possesses. She doesn’t know why— or if it’s even healthy, at this point— but she’s never felt more pleasure than when she’s at Harry’s disposal. She just loves seeing him come undone for her.
“God, you like that, don’t you? Like being my little plaything?” The grin dimpling Harry’s cheeks is so utterly erotic and sinful, Y/N feels like she’s damning her soul just by glimpsing at it. He delicately thumbs tears off her cheekbones, contradicting his other much less tame motions. “Baby just wants to feel Daddy cum down her throat, doesn’t she?”
Stars begin spotting the girl’s vision, her mind vignetting as a fulfilling ache settles into her jugular. She nods her head drunkenly, coughing dryly as her lungs rattle with shallow inhales.
Harry gives an exceptionally hard stroke, holding her in place and feeling her constrict around him, her nails digging into the aged leather of his sofa. He takes a pause, broad chest heaving as his head falls back to hang between his shoulder blades, the golden light of his chandeliers reflecting off the red shade inking his irises. His climax begins to tip into his blood. “Say it. Be a good girl and say, ‘please cum for me, Daddy.’”
Y/N’s voice floats out raspy and trembling as she ogles up at the monster wishfully, her ability to speak absolutely frayed from the exertion she’s been put through. Her sentence is barely comprehensible given her full mouth, but watching her try is what gets Harry off. “P-Please cum for me, Daddy.”
Thick ribbons of warmth suddenly erupt down her throat, coaxing a series of garbled moans to pour from Harry’s chest. His whole body tightens as an orgasm floods his system, the muscles of his back drawing taut, his defined biceps jolting, and his lean abdomen clenching in ecstasy. His fern tattoos ripple over his tanned skin as he gives a few more deep strokes for good measure, milking himself to completion and drinking up the tiny noises of sensitivity Y/N makes. He finishes dishing the punishment she’d earned, delivering burst after burst of cum just as he’d promised, feeling her flex around his slick cock as she eagerly swallows every spurt.
“Every last bit, baby. All of it. Christ, that’s my fucking girl. ”
The boy cranes his neck forward again, taking in her disheveled appearance and humming in needy appreciation. Her hair is a disaster from all of his tugging, her eyes are puffy and red, and her lips are flushed and plump. There’s trails of dried tears tracing her cheeks and across her jaw, the collar of her borrowed shirt is soggy with spit, and he can just barely make out the damp patch she’s stained into his boxers along the insides of her thighs. She’s fiddling with her fingers across her lap, continuously shifting around in her seat and clamping her legs together, and Harry comes to the realization that she’s trying to ride the seam of his briefs in order to get a spoonful of relief.
In his sexually demented opinion, she’s looks like a proper angel.
Harry gradually withdraws himself from her mouth, watching with empty content as she sputters into a coughing fit and gulps down air as if she hasn’t had it for weeks. She wipes at the lower half of her face messily with the back of her hand, staring up at him all moony and soft, feeling her cheeks boil at his conceited simper. The vampire carefully tucks his drenched prick back into his clothes, crouching down to her level and lilting his head to the side, tucking a strand of tangled hair behind her heated ear. The pads of his digits streak down the front of her neck and perch at the hollow between her collarbones, her pulse thundering beneath her sweaty flesh. He taps at the center of her throat for significance, tone fond and almost caring. “Is it sore?”
Y/N struggles to get saliva down, rattling her head in agreement since her vocal chords are refusing to work.
Harry folds the hem of his tee over his fingers, reaching forward to help clean up anything leftover across her chin and jaw. Y/N eyes him with a form of detached admiration, enamored with the way he tends to her so gently now that the session has come to a close.
“You like it, though, right?”
The young woman doesn’t even try to mask the fact that she indeed does, nodding her head once again.
“That’s good to hear, pet.” Harry drops his shirt back over his belly, giving her a chaste peck to the nose. Despite the ever-present coldness of his touch, the action sparks a warm glow that surges from the tips of her ears to the heels of her feet. “Want to make sure I wasn’t being too rough.”
He stands up onto his knees, dismounting the sofa and combing a few rouge curls out of his eyes, nudging at her socked foot jestingly with his. Y/N kicks him in return as she busies herself with combing out the knots from her mussed locks, attempting to distract herself from the gnawing running along the inside of her stomach. She needs to get it sedated, but she’s too timid to ask the vampire outright, which she knows is ironic given what they’d just done.
Harry sits down along the marble counter of the coffee table with his forearms propped along his knees, toying with his lionhead daylight ring (it’s the only one he wears at home, out of necessity) as he watches her tend to the mess he’d created. He smiles to himself in satisfied amusement— she always looks so pretty freshly face-fucked.
The monster then notices how the human is still rubbing her thighs together, reminding him that she had been left unattended. He decides that he should do what any gentleman would and provide assistance to the issue; it’s only fair, according to the unspoken laws of their little mutual arrangement. He hooks his fingers along the rim of the table beneath him, dragging it forward until his knees meet the edge of the couch, knocking hers open slightly. He leans back onto his palms as she gives him a curious glance, the olive tone around his pupils glittering with hunger while his fingers tap knowingly along the surface below.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Harry’s eyebrows kink upward. “Can’t a man look in his own home?”
“Of course he can, but just not at me. Staring’s rude. Especially when I’m covered in spit and bodily fluids.”
The boy gives an exaggerated pout, pairing it with a set of puppy dog eyes and a honeyed drawl. “But you look so cute covered in my bodily fluids.”
Y/N stares at him flatly. “Wow. I’m so flattered. I’ll file that compliment right under the one where you said I look adorable with jizz all over my eyelashes.”
“Well, you do! And that was a great compliment, if you think about it. It’s unique and creative— very avant-garde of me.”
“You need brain cells in order to be avant-garde.”
“Just shut up and get on your hands and knees.”
///
Harry drinks from Y/N that night.
He knows Mitch would scold him for it, considering the quota for draft beverages from mortal taps is strictly once a week, per his orders. But the creature just can’t help himself. She smells so sweet, and her neck looks so tempting when her head is turned to the side in sleep; even in the dark, he can see her veins pumping beneath the taut skin. He justifies it by telling himself that any vampire would give into weakness if they were in his place, and it’s not like he’s some uncultured, unhinged newborn who lacks basic control. He’s spent decades refining his impulses and taming his animalistic instincts to the point where he can walk through a butcher shop and not even bat an eye. He’s more than capable of double-dipping without threatening her life.
However, Harry will admit that he does make some embarrassing sounds while he’s fang-deep in her carotid artery. He can’t be expected to withhold them, especially not with how good she tastes. Y/N’s blood reminds him of so many things that he can’t ever quite place its flavor. Sometimes it reminds him of green grapes and champagne, and others it dawns on him in the form of peaches and cream. There’s instances where she doesn’t even fall into the usual spectrum of taste, but rather reminds him of sensations instead of tangible objects. Sometimes she tastes the way the first breath of spring feels— light and soothing, with hints of fresh florals and dewy mornings. Other times, she tastes like strawberries on a summer evening— warm, tangy, and nostalgic. At the risk of sounding like a brain-dead junky, drinking from Y/N is a magical experience that he wishes could last forever; Harry has never found it more difficult to pull back from someone’s throat than when he has to recede from hers.
After the immortal has had his fill, he pricks his finger along one of his fangs and smears a drop of his blood onto Y/N’s tongue, watching the two gaping holes on her neck heal instantaneously and leave behind a faint bruise that will likely be gone by morning. He spends the rest of the night twirling stands of her hair around his fingers and counting her heartbeats, vaguely wondering what it feels like to have one. It’s been so long since he’s carried a pulse, he’s forgotten what it’s like to have it thumping in his chest. All he has left is a phantom organ and not a day goes by where he doesn’t miss its steady rhythm.
The second the first beam of sunlight filters in through the crack in Harry’s window shades, he’s up on his feet pacing around the kitchen, going through his daily morning routine of preparing breakfast with a lively soundtrack to keep him company. That is, until his actual companion awakens; then he happily replaces his playlist with her groggy voice and tired eyes.
Harry has chosen to prepare parfaits as their first meal of the day, scooping vanilla yogurt into two marbled bowls and setting out an abundant array of toppings, smiling to himself at the way Y/N’s eyes light up the room. She fills her platter to the brim with blueberries, chunks of banana, diced peaches, and crushed walnuts, while Harry loads his with tons of raspberries, slices of mango, scoops of granola, and plenty of honey. He runs into some trouble halfway through squeezing out the last ingredient, proceeding to shake it vigorously to try and get rid of the clump blocking the spout. The bottle refuses to cooperate and Harry turns it towards his face to get a better look at the problem, winking one eye shut to focus better on the cap. He gives it another testing squeeze and much to his luck, the jammed portion squirts loose and he ends up with syrup dripping down his face.
Y/N doesn’t even attempt to stifle her amusement, nearly choking on a spoonful of yogurt as laughter takes over her entire body. The vampire stands rigidly beside her, glaring at the teddy bear-shaped container with so much hatred, she thinks it might melt. When the human finally manages to tame her giggles, she reaches up and uses her index finger to collect honey right off Harry’s cheek, sticking the digit into her mouth and sucking it off with a loud pop.
Her friend gives her a deadpan scowl, to which she simply shrugs her brows playfully while gifting him a bright grin. “Now you know what it feels to have a sticky liquid shot into your eye. Doesn’t feel too good, does it?”
“Fuck off.”
“You look pretty, though. Does that make it better?”
“I will literally pour my yogurt onto your hair.”
“Karma’s a bitch, Winnie the Pooh.”
Harry ends up having to shower in order to successfully get rid of the gooey substance, though it’s hardly a hassle given that Y/N gladly joins him. It doesn’t turn too sexual, surprisingly enough.
The duo stand under the shower panel covered in suds, steam floating around their naked bodies as water pelts down on top of them, matting hair to their necks and jaws. Harry doesn’t know why, but he likes the fact that they’re now comfortable enough to be nude around each other outside of their usual dynamic. It’s fulfilling, for some odd reason.
The girl helps the creature scrub off the honey with some facial cleanser, rubbing at his flushed cheeks with her thumbs and fighting off an endeared giggle when he scrunches his nose in annoyance. His voice comes out as a childish whine. “That hurts.”
“Stop being such a baby.” She huffs, going in along his cheekbones and rolling her eyes when he grumbles. “Lean down.”
Harry abides, ducking down so she can get a better angle, casually coasting his hands onto her hips to keep her from losing her footing to the slippery floor. Y/N leans forward onto the tips of her toes, squinting at him through the foggy air as she continues to wash off the syrup, wanting to make sure she isn’t missing a single spot. Harry watches her quietly with his sopping curls sticking to his forehead and along the nape of his neck, lips twitching fondly at how hellbent she is on getting the mess off. Her brows are creased in concentration and her tongue is peeking out of her mouth; he has to restrain the impulse to surge forward and kiss her.
Once Y/N is satisfied with her work, she falls back onto her heels, washing any remnants away under the stream and pushing her drenched strands out of her face. “All done. Try not to do it again.”
“I make no promises.” Harry tuts as he joins her beneath the water, bare chest a mere inch from hers as he quirks his brows coyly. “It got you naked, so I’ll probably do it again.”
“I won’t help next time.”
“Then I’ll just rub my face against yours and get it all over you. Won’t have much of a choice, then.”
“You’re a literal child.”
Y/N grabs the bottle of chamomile shampoo from the shelf carved into the polished stone wall of the shower, uncapping it and pouring a glob into the palm of her hand. She sets the container back down and beckons Harry forward with the forefinger of her free hand. The vampire drifts towards her once again and wraps his arms across the dip of her back, lightly swaying her from side to side as she begins working the shampoo into his roots, the pads of her fingers massaging his scalp in slow circles. The groan that betrays him is pitiful.
Y/N pretends not to hear it, continuing to work a lather into his curls as the boy trails his fingers up and down the center of her spine, the feathery sensation causing her to shiver despite the hot temperature of the water. Harry leans down to nestle his face into the crook of his friend’s neck, laying his head along her shoulder and cradling her to his body as she combs her fingers through his locks. He can’t remember the last time he took a shower with someone just for the sake of it, with no ulterior motive other than to bask in each other’s presence. It’s nice.
Harry begins sponging his lips across the curve of Y/N’s throat, feeling her tense momentarily before relaxing back into his grasp, the pads of her digits scratching at his scalp.
“God, that feels so good.” Harry mumbles, tone so garbled in bliss, it’s barely understandable.
The mortal slowly coaxes him back under the direct line of the shower, thoroughly rinsing the bubbles out of his hair and making sure to carefully wash any leftover shampoo out of his lashes. She then ties her arms around his broad shoulders, gently running her nails up and down the expanse of his muscular back, feeling the tendons unknot under her guidance. Y/N cranes her head to the side and flushes her lips to Harry’s temple, the pattering of the water camouflaging the fact that the area lacks a pulse. She sighs softly in innocent pleasure, the warm air sending a delightful bristling down the young man’s neck and drawing another drunken whimper from his lungs. This all feels therapeutic, almost. Neither had realized how much they missed domesticity until now.
The human suddenly snorts humorously, talking against Harry’s waxy skin. “I’m surprised you haven’t tried to make a move yet.”
Harry rattles his head sleepily, the ridges of his mouth tickling her jugular as he does so. His voice is distant and tender, but his words send a pang of electricity to her core. “I’ll fuck you afterwards. Just wanna enjoy this right now.”
Y/N lets her eyes lull shut, allowing the sheets of hot water to numb her mind the same way it had his, a certain type of mellowness soaking into her bones. Her tone comes out as soothed and detached as her lover’s, all her attention funneled into how incredible his hard body feels pressed to hers in such an intimate fashion, his strong arms clinging to her like a lifeline. “I’m not complaining.”
Even in his distracted state, Harry still somehow manages to wriggle in a smug quip. “Of course you’re not. I give you nothing to complain about.”
“Dickhead.”
Y/N gives his ringlets a spiteful tug, which he responds to with an airy chuckle and a cheeky smack across her ass. The girl jumps slightly with a small gasp and a handful of select curses, which only causes him to cackle even further. “You love that shit, don’t you?”
“Go back to keeping your mouth shut.”
“Mm. S’what I thought.”
Harry keeps his sensual promise, as he always does.
As soon as they exit the shower, he immediately wanders into the bedroom, the only towel in his possession being the one he’s using to shake out his damp curls. Y/N dries off her body patiently as she stands in front of the clouded mirror, rubbing the linen over her softened skin. She handles her hair second, patting and scrunching the water out as she thinks on what Harry could possibly be doing that is taking him so long. She doubts he’s getting dressed, if his earlier intentions are any indication, and he seemed like he had a plan in motion when he’d walked out, so there must be a method to his prolonged absence.
When the monster pads back into the bathroom, he is just as bare as when he’d left, the towel he’d used on his locks crumpled in his large hands. He chucks it into the linen hamper beside the jacuzzi, sauntering up behind Y/N and she has to force herself not to use the mirror to ogle below his waist. She folds her towel neatly onto the counter, reaching forward and wiping the last bit of condensation off the glass so she can get a proper view of Harry’s face. Maybe it’ll help her deduce what he’s plotting.
The boy presses up against her backside, pushing her forward until her hips are wedged between his torso and the edge of the bathroom counter, moving all her stringy hair onto one shoulder with the back of his hand. Harry locks eyes with her through the mirror, speckling a few sloppy kisses along the back of her neck and grinning into her flesh when a shiver coils down her spine. He looks so fucking good with his damp ringlets glued along his sharp jaw, his jade eyes glossy with lascivious intentions, and his cheeks and chest still colored from the hot water, tattoos looking as alluring as ever. He nuzzles the tip of his nose across the shell of her ear, taking the lobe between his teeth and tugging teasingly, the warm air of his low, dominant tone causing her flinch in anticipation.
“Arms behind your back.”
Y/N obeys without a hitch, bringing her hands together atop the alcove at the bottom of her spine. She feels the unmistakable sensation of cold metal looping around her wrists, tightening with soft clicks and pinching at her skin. The cuffs sift into the designated setting and Harry gives them a quick yank to check for security, tying the excess chain link around his knuckles and pulling down harshly. Y/N’s body contorts to his influence, her arms straightening out as her back arches, chest swelling forward while her hips remain perched to the tabletop, held in place by his own. She can feel the head of his cock dab against the back of her thighs, his irises darkening as he surveys her bust with a type of barely-contained desire that sends heat flooding into her abdomen.
Harry ducks his head further down to glue more kisses along the slope of her shoulder, nipping periodically and leaving behind a neat row of love bites that he’ll admire in detail later. The words he murmurs against her skin deliver a sweltering simmer in their wake. “Do you want it rough?”
Y/N swallows thickly, nodding her head several times and whispering a bashful, “Yes.”
“‘Yes’ what?”
The human licks at her lips tentatively, squeaking a tad when gives the metal hoops an expectant tug, urging a reply. “Yes, sir.”
Harry’s lashes flutter shut for a second, the corners of his lips twitching in arrogant satisfaction. “You’ve got the filthiest tongue, but you know how to make it say the sweetest things, don’t you, baby?”
“Only for you.”
“No one else?”
“No one else.”
The vampire’s eyes open slowly, head tilting to the side to assess her with sly amusement. “You wanna know how I can tell that’s the truth?”
Y/N’s joints are starting to ache due to the position he’s fixed her in, but she doesn’t mind the burn. It feeds into the appeal. “H-How?”
Harry leans forward, brushing his wet lips up her jaw, the tip of his cock spreading her open just a smidge. “Because every time I fuck you, you’re always so bloody tight. Means I’m the only one stretching out that snug little cunt.”
A broken whine escapes Y/N’s sore throat— courtesy of what had occurred the night prior— and she squirms in the brunette’s grip, trying to shimmy her way further down his length. She’s anxious to feel him fill her. “Deeper.”
“Pardon?”
“Go deeper. Want it all.”
Harry raises an eyebrow in impressed curiosity. “You want it all in one go? Don’t want me to prep you first?”
She shakes her head stubbornly, pushing back against him and succeeding in sinking an inch or so. Harry’s entire face hardens as she clenches around the head of his prick, attempting to ride down further to sedate her desperate need. He twists his fist tighter around the chain, his other hand coming up to grip her throat, forearm pressed between her breasts as he gets a decent hold to prepare for what’s to come.
“If it gets to be too much,” Harry dabs a gentle kiss onto her cheek; it’s to communicate the importance of the message amidst the tense atmosphere, “you know to tell me, right?”
“Mmhm.”
“Alright. Ready?”
“Always.”
Y/N nearly passes out. Even though she’s grown accustomed to Harry’s size and girth, it somehow never fails to shock her into a state of unexpected rapture. He just fits so well inside her— hits every nook and crevice like he was meant to touch every single one. That, combined with his unrelinquishing thrusts and sinful dirty talk...It’s enough to render anyone helpless. It’s certainly enough to have her shaking and screaming against his chest, and it’s definitely more than enough to drive her towards an orgasm that she knows will blow out her legs for at least the rest of the day.
Harry fucks into her just how she’d requested— rough and vehement. He presses her bare back to his chest by using the hold he has around her throat, her head falling backwards onto his shoulder as he pounds into her belly from behind. His other hand is braided into the chain between the cuffs, controlling how her body seizes up and gives way. She’s standing on the tips of her toes, legs spread open as much as her weak knees will support, scraggly breaths stuttering from her nose and mouth as shattered noises of ecstasy decorate the space the fading steam has left behind. Her hips are ramming forward against the rim of the counter, the marble knocking against her pubic bone to the point where she knows bruises will develop later on. She doesn’t mind it; she loves seeing the memories Harry brands onto her, whether that be in the form of hickies across her thighs, fingerprints over her waist, or his rings fanned out across the swell of her ass. She’ll take anything he’s willing to give.
The vampire is dismantling just as quickly as she is, obvious in the fractured growls and soft grunts he’s puffing against the side of her face. His pink-polished nails dig into her jugular, fingers twitching as her heartbeat hammers against his palm, sending vibration down his whole nervous system. His cock is slicking into her easily and it’s obvious the anticipation of what he had said during their bath had gotten to her; he can feel how wet she is with every stroke. It’s dripping down her quivering thighs and smearing all over his tiger head tattoo, damp slaps resonating from where her backside hits against his tinted pelvis.
Harry stares down hazily at where he’s spreading her open, taking his bottom lip between his teeth as tiny mewls itch along the back of his raw throat, her own sounds playing across his ears with each buck of his thighs. They float through the heavy air like a lullaby and he can confidently say he’d listen to her moans forever, if time allowed.
“I think it’s funny,” Harry starts with a comedic edge to his strained voice, mimicking the introduction Y/N had used the day before when they’d been in the jacuzzi, “that you’re always so willing to let me use you however I want. That you literally beg me to take you this hard. It’s almost pitiful, really, that you never had anyone fuck you right before I came along.”
The girl squirms in his arms, her hands flat against his abdomen, nails carving into his flesh. Her sentences come out cracked and almost pained. “I-I wish I’d met you sooner.”
“Yeah, I bet you do.” Harry grits against the shell of her ear, smirking when she worries her lower lip beneath her top teeth, trying to keep a tab on what he knows is probably an embarrassingly loud keen. “I bet you wish you’d had me back home, huh? Spent all your time fucking around with those vanilla small-town boys, never had a real man treat you the way you wanted. Bet you didn’t even like those pricks, did you, darling?”
Y/N shakes her head vigorously in response. “They were so boring. You’re so much better.”
She’s working his praise kink like a charm.
“Poor thing.” Harry scoffs sympathetically, running his grasp upwards until his thumb and forefinger rope around her jaw. He maneuvers her head into place, forcing her to look at herself in the mirror, hissing his words lowly. “Eyes up. See how pretty you look taking every last bit of that cock? And the way your tummy’s bulging? That’s how you know the sex is good— that’s how it’s supposed to look.”
Y/N gazes upon the image her friend is referring, her exhales hiccuping in her chest at the way an obvious bump rises in her belly every time he thrusts inside. Not only that, but Harry just looks incredible, as well, with his heavily inked arm flushed between her breasts, the art flexing to life as he yanks her down against his lap by her neck. She can see the sweat beading his hairline, his freshly-washed ringlets jumping to his movements as he groans into her scalp.
Y/N’s lips part in a silent moan and the immortal takes this chance to shove his first two fingers into her mouth, weighing them against her tongue and instructing her with a clear, deep accent. “Suck.”
She does so obediently, her cheeks hollowing as she gasps around the digits, swiveling to match his tempo. Between her glistening body, the needy expression painted across her appearance as she conforms to his every demand, and the way her walls are clinging to him like a vice as she eagerly licks and suckles at him…
Harry loses it.
“Fucking hell.” The monster unclamps the hand he has around her jugular and Y/N drops back down onto her heels, ankles quaking now that she has to carry her own weight. His palm finds refuge along the back of her skull instead, proceeding to shove her head down towards the counter, pulling at the cuffs to finagle her into a folded position. “Bend over.”
Y/N does as told, a small, “mm!” plucking at her vocal chords as Harry pushes her cheek down against the cold marble situated between his two sinks. He pins her head to the surface and she casts her attention upwards to try and get a peek of him through the glass. His eyes look unnaturally dark, though she can’t quite place the shade given her limited view.
The vampire makes sure the chain link is secured around his knuckles, proceeding to use the toy to bounce Y/N against his cock. He yanks her towards his torso until she thunks wetly against his base, using his hips to push her forward harshly and pulling out until his tip is barely grazing her entrance. He repeats this action over and over, weak whimpers spilling shamelessly from his plump ruby lips as he keeps her face fastened down, maintaining some form of consistent stability. Every fiber of his being sparks with bliss as he watches her jerk against the counter, back caving forward and causing her naked chest to bulge against the stone panel. One of these days, she’s going to drive him mental. He swears it.
“There’s a good girl, minx.” Harry’s head tips backwards, bobbing back and forth as his sticky chest heaves with the exertion of keeping him tethered to reality. “Take it just like that, yeah? God, you should see the way you’re so snug around me. Love that cock, don’t you? Say it. Tell me you love it.”
Y/N’s fingers curl into loose fists against the dip of her spine, nails digging into her palms. “I love your cock, Harry. I love it so much. Don’t stop, please don’t fucking— oh!” He prods over her g-spot and she shudders below him. “Shit, keep going! Right there, right there, right there— oh my God!”
“Right here? Is that what’s gonna make my dirty little whore cum?” Harry grinds his teeth, ignoring the rouge curls falling into his furrowed brows, jabbing the spongy area with continuous plunges. “More? Look at how you’re shaking, baby. And you’re just so fucking wet. Absolutely soaked and... and fuck, that’s my sweet girl.”
The boy keeps delivering every plea she chokes out, his climax beginning to froth at the trench of his stomach and along the underside of his balls. A familiar glow starts to pour into his dormant veins. “I’m almost there, dove. Gonna fill you up until it runs down your thighs.”
“Y-You’re so good, I can’t fucking— I’m gonna—”
“Beg for it. Beg for Daddy, princess.”
Y/N does so with no remorse, confessing to him how much she wants his load, telling him that she needs to feel him spill inside her all warm and thick and heavy. A dark, open-mouthed smirk adorns Harry’s features as he fucks a throbbing ache between her thighs, feeling his mind completely slip. He may be damned with eternal life, but in this instant, the immortal feels like he touches heaven.
Then, that moment of pure euphoria is stripped away by the sound of his front door clicking open.
Harry’s eyes snap awake, all his motions coming to an abrupt halt. He shushes a protesting Y/N quietly, tuning his heightened hearing to make sure he hadn’t imagined the sound.
But no, it’s very much real. It’s followed by the noise of the lock clanking back into its hole, and then three pairs of footsteps begin echoing down the hallway that leads to his living room. He recognizes every single one and unhinged rage suddenly flares around his pupils, potent and bright red. If Y/N wasn’t in such a compromisable position, he wouldn’t have gotten away with that slip-up.
“Christ, you’ve got to be fucking shitting me.”
Harry carefully withdraws himself from between the mortal’s legs, wincing a bit at the loss of suction and feeling a spoonful of guilt stem from the disappointed whine Y/N sobs. His swollen, leaking cock sways lightly as he takes a cautious step back, testing to see if he’s capable of moving without face-planting the ground. His mind is misty and he’s obviously drenched in the pungent scent of sex, but other than that, he reckons he can manage just fine. Especially with the newfound anger coursing through his nerves— a direct result of the unexpected trio of intruders chatting nonchalantly on the floor below.
Harry stumbles towards the exit of the bathroom, knees wobbly and head spinning, an unsatisfied gnawing toiling in his groin. He needs to get that taken care of as soon as possible, but he can’t until he gets rid of the three morons milling around his foyer. He snatches his cherry blossom silk robe from the hook on the wall, wrapping it around himself tightly and making sure to cover all his assets to prevent any mishaps.
He glances up at a pouting Y/N as he ties off the ribbon around his waist, walking back and helping her onto her unstable feet, cooing apologetically. “Just give me a minute, sweetheart. I heard some visitors come in downstairs ‘cause, apparently, they don’t understand the concept of privacy. This is the last time I’m trusting anyone with an extra key.”
The girl leans back against one of the sinks, blinking up at him emptily as he thumbs over her chin in comfort. Her voice is hardly audible, raw with exhaustion. “How...How did you know they were here? I didn’t hear them come in...”
Harry pauses for a moment, clearing his throat awkwardly and pecking her on the nose to insert a distraction. He throws some humor into the mix as well, wanting to steer the conversation to safe grounds, opting for using a bit of compulsion to get the job done. His pupils dilate as his sentences swim around her head in a soothing voice, heavy with persuasion. “I heard the door slam shut. I guess you were a little too busy screaming my name to notice.”
Y/N’s pupils expand to match his, her face going slack as the supernatural magic sews into her thoughts and molds her perspective to his story. Her lashes flutter in mild confusion, brows cinching as her brain recalibrates itself. The creases in her forehead dissolve as all of her doubt melts away, the corners of her plump lips quirking at his snarky remark. “I guess so.”
“Can’t blame you, though.” Harry taps at her bottom lip cheekily, shrugging his brows. “I was giving it to you pretty good.”
“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.” Y/N rolls her foggy eyes, but she can’t hide the way her heartbeat spikes— not from him. Then, her face suddenly wracks with embarrassment, eyes shattering with humiliated realization. “Oh my God, that means they probably heard everything…”
Oh, they definitely heard everything, Harry thinks. They’ve got nothing better to do other than pry.
He nurses her downcast face with his cold palm, one shoulder rising and falling casually to show it’s no big deal. “Don’t worry about it, hm? I’m gonna go kick them out, anyways, so you won’t have to deal with it.”
The pet name and his kind gesture eases her woes a bit, but not much. “Still. I’m never showing my face in public ever again.”
Now it’s the vampire’s turn to roll his eyes at her theatrics. “Just stay here, yeah? It’ll only take a second, and then…” Her friend gives her naked body a suggestive once-over, licking at the corner of his mouth. “Then we can finish what we started.”
Y/N kicks at his ankle, jokingly chastising him for his wandering gaze as she fiddles with her fingers within the handcuffs. “Just go.”
The moment Harry’s bare feet step off the last rung of his staircase, he begins spewing venom at the three imbeciles standing around at the mouth of his entrance corridor.
“Are you fucking dense?” He stomps up towards the group of young men with balled fists and bristling irises, all his spite trained on Mitch. “I told you I was busy! That suggests that you should’ve stayed away for the weekend! It meant, ‘leave me alone,’ not ‘come to my flat unannounced.’”
“Yeah, we know you’re busy.” Niall boasts with a loud scoff, shaking his head as an afterthought. “I think the whole building knows, at this point.”
The Irish bloke grabs Xander, who catches onto what the man is doing and happily takes a part in the action. He bends over while Niall grasps onto his shoulders and begins to mimic thrusting, arching his back forward and shaking his ass. He sucks one of his fingers into his mouth, moaning profusely to add authenticity to their vulgar reenactment. “Oh, Harry! Right there, don’t stop!”
Niall drops his voice a few octaves for symbolism, putting on a shitty British accent as he bucks against Xander’s backside. “Yeah, baby, you like that? Like it right there? Tell me how much you love that cock.”
Harry’s jaw clenches as he tries to ignore them, refusing to give rise to their taunting. The two boys break into a puddle of giggles at his expense, nudging each other triumphantly and eventually dying down. Harry isn’t normally the type of person to daydream about violence— why would anyone partake in something so barbaric when dismantling an enemy psychologically is so much better?— but he finds himself fantasizing about tearing Niall and Xander’s hands off and using them as ping-pong paddles.
Mitch shifts his body towards his best friend, arms crossed loosely with an expression of sheer amusement painted across his bearded face, seeming undisturbed by Harry’s rampage and deadly grimace. “It’s nice to see you, too, H.”
The younger vampire takes a measured inhale, swallowing down the urge to rip the older man’s mustache clean off. He directs his next sentence at all of them, glaring intently as his voice comes out flat and harsh. “Get out.”
Niall raises his palms in peaceful surrender, proceeding to use an index finger to signal hastily between his impromptu porno co-star and himself. “Don’t look at us, this was Mitch's idea. We just came along.”
“None of you should have come at all.” Harry spits, tightening his lean arms over his chest, biceps rippling under the thin silk of his elegant robe. “What do you want?”
A soft giggle suddenly bursts from Xander and he momentarily slaps his hand over his mouth to muddle it, but his eyes continue to dance with mirth. “Sorry, I just can’t take you seriously in that.” He juts his chin towards Harry’s pajamas. “I think my grandmother had one just like it.”
“Yeah, I stole this from her place right after I pissed on her grave.” The brunette snaps with an exaggerated smile, feeling a flare of evil satisfaction at the way Xander’s grin immediately plops. Niall snorts loudly and tries to cover it up, but it fails and he is left having to brace the brunt of the other boy’s contempt.
Harry turns back to face Mitch while the other two immortals bicker, now aware that he is the mastermind behind this entire coup. “What are you even doing here? Shouldn’t you have left for Vegas already?”
“Yeah, we should have.” He answers pointedly with a soft, dejected sigh. Harry has to keep himself from casting his gaze away in guilt.
The annual trip had been a tradition he and Mitch had started in the nineties, just them two. As their group had expanded, so had the attendant list, and now it was something special their whole clique did together to put some extra excitement— something stable to look forward to— into the endless years they had ahead. No one had missed out on the trip in the last thirty years, especially not willingly, and no one ever thought Harry— the co-founder of the event— would be the one to break that streak. He can tell Mitch is upset.
“I’m sorry.” Harry mumbles, squeezing at the inside of his elbows and putting as much genuine emotion into his demeanor as possible. “It just slipped my mind and I made another commitment that I can’t bail on. But it won’t happen again, I promise. Betsy swear.”
Mitch’s downturned lips jolt slightly at the mention of his old bayonet. He had kept the weapon after the American Revolution had ended, as a tribute to the old life he was leaving behind after he transitioned, naming it fondly after his mother. With all of that history taken into appeal, it’s no wonder the item means a lot to him. That is exactly why the two best friends had developed a dynamic around it.
They would tie an oath to the object in order to ensure it would be kept, and if the promise was broken, the other would get to stab the traitor with it. The game had been something Mitch and Harry had conjured up decades ago while under the influence of some very strong psychedelics, but it had stuck, for some reason. It’s simply a playful inside joke, and though it’s a tad gruesome, it’s hardly an issue considering they both self-heal quickly. Any damage inflicted is equivalent to that of a rubber band snapping against their skin, so in the end, no harm, no foul. At its core, it’s just a vampire’s version of a pinky swear, hence the term, “Betsy swear.” Harry had thought about getting it patented, at one point.
The jade-eyed boy feels a weight lift off his shoulders as Mitch indulges one of his signature quiet chuckles. “Alright, fine. Betsy swear, then. The reason we’re here is ‘cause I wanted to check up on you before we left, and ‘cause I wanted to make sure you switched the reservation. You never got back to me about it.”
“Oh, my bad. I got it done, though. Everything should check out.” Harry reassures, waving away his visitor’s doubt. He’d tended to the job last night after Y/N fell asleep and he meant to send a confirmation text, but forgot when the mortal had begun to stir randomly. He’d had to put away his phone and pretend to be unconscious for a few minutes until her agitation melted away, resulting in the deed going undone, courtesy of the mild panic that had dulled his memory. “Why didn’t you just text me about it?”
Mitch gives him a deadpan look, pursing his lips to fight off an entertained grin. “Oh, I did. Multiple times, actually. But I reckon you were too busy with the treadmill to notice.”
The older creature’s reference works as intended, an irritating flush crawling up Harry’s neck and pouring into his ears, garnering a fit of cackles on his companion’s behalf.
“Fuck off.” Harry grumbles as he shoves Mitch’s shoulder, but the insult is hard to take seriously when he’s wrestling a smirk of his own.
“Is it the girl from the club?” The lanky man inquires curiously, tilting his head to the side with an impressed air. “It’s been, what, four weeks now? That’s a record, I think. You’ve never kept one around that long.”
“What can I say, the sex is good.” Harry shrugs easily, tucking a couple of rebellious curls away from his eyes, which gleam crimson red as a supporting factor to his next comment. “And the blood is even better.”
Mitch rolls his irises playfully. “Alright, Casanova, pipe down.” He glances over his friend’s rumpled appearance, taking in the slightly damp skin, wild hair, and the plethora of faded hickies peeking through the boy’s robe, littering his chest and collarbones. “She’s got you on a tight leash, I see.”
“It’s only fair, considering she spends most of that time in my handcuffs. Quid pro quo and all that.” Harry quips back, bursting into laughter when Mitch gags dramatically.
“You know you could’ve just brought her along, right?” Mitch suggests, tucking his hands into his pockets. “We each have our own rooms, remember? No one would get in the way of your little late night jogs. Though I can’t say the same for the other hotel guests. She’s not necessarily subtle.”
Harry presses his tongue along the inside of his cheek coyly. “It’s not my fault I’m good in bed. It’s a curse, really. Could never get away with dressing room sex.”
He contemplates Mitch's offer for a second. He thinks it could be a fun time, but then he recalls that the trip to Vegas is a week-long party, which Y/N can’t indulge because she works a regular nine-to-five. Plus, a human in a car full of vampires sounds like the introduction to an ominous joke. Something is bound to slip, especially because no one in the crew is used to having humans around outside of meal hours. He doesn’t want the responsibility of constantly having to wipe her brain.
Aside from that, most of the vampires that mill around Vegas aren’t as cultured as Harry’s friends. They lack restraint, a conscience, and fear of consequences, given that the city’s crazy reputation provides the perfect cover for all those dangerous behaviors. That makes them deadly predators to someone as trusting and unsuspecting as Y/N, and having to continuously protect her would be too much of a hassle. It’s supposed to be a vacation; the last thing he needs is for it to turn into an episode of Shark Week. It’s best to stay put.
Harry shakes his head after a minute, clearing his throat. “But I think I’m good. Bringing along a human isn’t worth all the trouble she might cause. Thank you, though.”
Mitch bobs his head in understanding, well aware of the problems Harry is alluding to. “You have a point.” He pauses for a second in thought, shaking his head at the idea of having to deal with the insanity that surrounds their Vegas siblings. “I guess I’ll just see you next week, then, yeah? Better get going.”
The younger vampire mirrors his nod, opening his arms for a hug, which Mitch gladly takes. He’s not one for affection, that much is clear, but he makes certain exceptions here and there, and of course his friends file under that category. And every now and then, Y/N does too.
“See you next week.” He pulls away from the embrace with a hard pat to Mitch’s shoulder, smiling softly. “Send tons of pictures, okay? And videos of Niall getting shitfaced. I need new blackmail content.”
“Will do.” Mitch squeezes his best friend’s shoulders tightly, beaming at him in return. He then cranes towards his two fellow guests, whistling to gain their attention from the passionate conversation they seem to be having about Harry’s robe. “Time to head out, Bonnie and Clyde.”
“Who’s who?” Niall questions childishly, raising an eyebrow. “Because I think I should be Clyde. Xander has Bonnie vibes.”
“No I don’t!”
“Yes, you do.” The Irish boy reasons, cocking his head knowingly. “You seem like the type who would cheat on a murderer with another criminal from the same jail. You’ve got a knack for drama, like most women.”
Xander crosses his arms stubbornly. “No, I don’t.”
“You do, actually.” Harry butts in, eyes twinkling slyly as the group starts to wander towards the exit. He decides to get revenge for the teasing from earlier. “You moan just like one, too.”
Xander blushes bright red, diving into the shadow of the corridor to avoid any more ridicule. “I’m leaving.”
“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out!”
The other vampires laugh as they follow behind Harry’s ex-fling, waving their final goodbyes. As soon as the front door echoes shut, the immortal turns on his heel and heads back towards the glass stairs, beginning to undo the silk ribbon knotted around his hips.
He’s got his own partner in crime to attend to.
///
That night, Y/N and Harry end up bidding each other farewell in the corridor of his condo.
That seems to be a common theme in their relationship, he’s come to find. It’s usually the entrance to her own apartment instead of his, but the motif is there, nonetheless: They always end up meeting in a hallway, every single time.
“Thanks for having me over.” Y/N murmurs in her signature gentle dialect, smiling delicately as she skids the toe of her sneaker against the ground of the carpet outside his door, trying to keep the butterflies in her tummy tame. It was an incredible two days— maybe the best weekend she’s ever had, if she’s being honest. “I had a lot of fun.”
Harry leans his bare shoulder against his threshold, clad in nothing but a pair of royal blue boxers and black ankle socks, freely showing off the collection of love bites and scratches Y/N had so kindly finished gifting him a few hours ago. She’d gone wild the second he’d unlocked the metal cuffs and he’s more than happy with the results.
The stains speckle his broad chest and the expanse of his taut neck, dark and obvious beneath the complex’s buttery lighting. Bruises trace down his stomach and across his ribs, a neat row of four hickies centered vertically between his two fern inkings. They disappear suggestively under the elastic band of his underwear and she can feel flashes of heat layer across her cheeks, her mind recalling all the filthy sounds he’d made when she had created them.
The human peels away from the artwork that is Harry’s marked torso, glancing around nervously at the fact that some stranger might see the fruit of their actions. The vampire’s lips twitch at her concern; it baffles him how she can be such a devil in between the sheets, but such a shy, reserved angel in every other aspect. It’s cute.
Harry reaches forward and takes her warm fingers into his larger hand, thumbing over her knuckles appreciatively as his irises glitter smugly amidst his lashes, a smirk stringing his pillowy mouth. “We always have a lot of fun.”
Y/N squeezes his palm playfully, gnawing into her cheek and humming in agreement. “That, we do.”
A moment of comfortable silence suspends the air between them, the only sound being the faint footsteps of people on the levels above and below, alongside the light skidding of the elevator as it delivers patrons to their destinations. Harry is the first to speak up again.
“What was your favorite part?”
Y/N blinks up at him blankly, slightly startled at the random question, but moreso at being put on the spot.
“Oh, uh…” She laughs shakily, struggling to recall everything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours. There had been so much bare skin and desperate tongues involved, she can hardly pick through her memories without her ears prickling. “I think...I think the shower was my favorite. It was nice and relaxing. Helped me unwind.”
Harry nods in recognition, turning through the pages in his mind and skimming through the instance she’s referring. “It was pretty nice, yeah. You look good in a soap beard.”
Y/N scoffs at his joking compliment. “Thanks. I’ll grow it out more often. Just for you.”
The young man reaches up and grips over his chest in fake passion, face contorted into a wistful expression. “That’s all I ask.”
The pair break into childish giggles and the sensation of Harry rubbing across the top of her hand is starting to make her head fuzzy. “What about yours? What was your favorite?”
Harry mulls over his own topic for a few seconds, lips puckering in thought as his eyes narrow pensively. The comically adorable picture makes Y/N’s heart skip.
“I think…” Harry lists his gaze downwards back onto his patiently-awaiting friend, lips spreading into his patented dazzling smile. “I think it was probably the Hamilton reenactment.”
Y/N brows jump, mood slightly unconvinced. “Really?”
The vampire nods confidently, his own eyebrows inching upwards, voice amused. “Why is that so hard to believe?”
Y/N shrugs offhandedly, glimpsing down at where the ridges of his thumb are delivering soothing shots of bliss into her veins. “You’re just so...y’know...you… so I guess I just expected you’d have a preference for the more…” She chooses her next words carefully, not wanting to be so brazen with the risk of someone overhearing, “...intimate parts of the weekend.”
“Wow, okay. Just call me a whore to my face, then. That’s fine.”
Y/N throws her free hand upwards in a fist, slugging Harry on the shoulder with appalled shock overtaking her features. His boyish chuckles echo off the walls of the building as she whips her head around to make sure no one had witnessed his dirty bluntness. “You know what I mean!”
“Yeah.” He purposefully raises his voice, nearly shouting the following sentence just to get on her nerves. “You’re slut-shaming me!”
Y/N surges forward, trying to clamp her hand over his mouth and save herself the embarrassment. “Harry, shut up!”
He easily fights her off, his supernatural strength beating hers tenfold. She ends up wrapped in his embrace, flushed against his hard chest as he sticks his tongue out at her mockingly. He drops his tone back down to normal, his two front teeth digging into his lower lip to keep more laughter from bubbling over. “That’s not nice. You should stop conforming to society’s outdated ‘sex is taboo’ narrative.”
“I wasn’t—” Y/N starts insistently, but then she realizes she’s become almost as loud as him so she forces her voice to taper into an alarmed hiss instead. “I wasn’t slut-shaming you! I was simply expressing—”
“You just see me as a toy, don’t you?” The creature cuts her off, lips dipping downwards into a glorified frown. He proceeds to bat his lashes and sniffle, packing as many theatrics as possible into his mopey act. “I have feelings, y’know? My big dick and cunnilingus skills aren’t my only redeeming qualities! You should be ashamed of yourself for objectifying me like that.”
Y/N presses her lips together to ward off an immature grin, rattling her head to get herself under control. She gives him a stern look, warning him to cut it out. “Stop being a child.”
“Stop using me for sex and making derogatory assumptions about my promiscuity.”
“Oh, hop of it! You use me right back. It’s mutual.”
“Which is why the slut-shaming is such a paradox.”
“For fuck’s sake, I wasn’t fucking— You know what? You can’t even pin me on the objectification part because you do it to me all the time!”
“Oh, is that so?” Harry prods with a humorous tilt of his head, squeezing at her love handles and swimming in the way she wriggles around. “Elaborate.”
“When you slapped my ass in the shower. Or when you put your hand under my shirt to play with my chest while we watch TV.” Y/N debates, poking at the thorax of his butterfly tattoo. “Very objectifying, if you ask me.”
“Mm, not quite, darling.” The vampire shakes his head and draws her closer, ducking down to flirt the tip of his nose along the slope of hers. “There’s a difference.”
“Oh, yeah?” She digs her nails into his pectorals, discreetly savoring the strong muscles. “What is it?”
Harry glimpses down at where she’s carving indents into his flesh, enjoying the minute pain more than he should. He drifts his mouth closer towards her ear, inhaling the scent of his shampoo wafting from her silky strands of hair. “The difference is that you’re usually begging me to do all those things.”
Y/N’s teeth grind in begrudging defeat, her spine giving a surrendered shiver at his crude point. “Whatever.”
Harry releases her body, haughty victory written all over his posture. “I rest my case.”
Y/N’s pride blazes, a threat falling from her tongue sharply, but it holds no true intentions. “Maybe I should just stop asking you to, then.”
“You won’t.” The boy sighs airily, tapping his bare foot against the ground without a care in the world. “You like me too much.”
“Even if I like you, I’d have enough dignity to stop seeing you if I wanted.” Y/N huffs, making a face at him to emphasize her stance. “It’s this little thing called ‘willpower.’”
“Yeah, well, we both know you and your willpower are gonna end up texting my number Friday night, asking me to come over for some more interior design advice.” Harry snarkily dismisses, presenting a scenario where he’s holding an invisible phone in his hands, pretending to tap out a message. His voice comes out high-pitched, mimicking her own. “Hey, one of the rungs on my headboard came loose. Can you come help me fix it?”
Y/N stares at him with eyes half-lidded in pettiness. “I don’t sound like that.”
“You’re right. You’re a tad more nasally.”
“Asshole.”
“I’m just calling it like I see it, love.”
Y/N socks him on the shoulder again as retribution, though it barely has an impact.
After a couple heartbeats full of vengeful silence, Y/N chimes up with a jesting tone, though the manner in which she’s picking at her nails tells Harry she’s slightly anxious. “Hypothetically speaking, if I were to send out a text inviting you to come over Friday...would you?”
A lopsided simper pops the immortal’s dimples awake. He shifts on his feet, crossing his ankles nonchalantly. “Hypothetically speaking, I think I could very well make it.”
Y/N chews on her lower lip as the apples of her cheeks jolt. “Ok, well...Let’s say— once again, hypothetically— that I should be home by eight that day. Would that work for you?”
Harry cocks his head from side to side as if churning the offer around his mind. “I think that, hypothetically, that fits right into my schedule.”
The human’s belly flops in giddy excitement. “Great. It’s booked, then. Hypothetically speaking, of course.”
“Of course.” Harry agrees, the reply accompanied by a teasing furrow of his sculpted brows and a curt nod.
Y/N clasps her hands in front of her thighs with finality, giving him a bright smile. “Alright, then. I’ll see you next week.”
“Next week.” Harry confirms with a cheeky wink, running his tongue along his top teeth to keep from bursting into giggles. “Hypothetically.”
“Hypothetically.” Y/N states with a slight bow of her head, tucking one hand into the back pocket of her dark jeans as she takes a step back from the front door with a small wave. She turns on her heel to face the elevator at the other end of the hall, her foot lifting to take the first step towards the exit.
“Wait.”
The mortal looks back towards her friend, eyebrows poised in question.
Harry scratches at the nape of his neck, smiling softly. “I could really go for a goodbye kiss. Not-so-hypothetically.”
Y/N blinks at him in wonder. He’s never asked for one before.
The awkward aura that quickly fills the space between them becomes suffocating. He considers the option of telling her he was just joking to spare himself the humiliation, but he doesn’t get the chance. Y/N lurches forward, teetering onto the tips of her toes and buttoning her lips to his. The spontaneous action makes him swallow his words.
He fumbles to cup her jaw, kissing her back with just as much fervor and feeling the coldness of his skin fizzle away under her inherent warmth. The gesture isn’t sexual or desperate, but simply sweet and fulfilling. He enjoys it, though it’s not surprising given that he enjoys her lips touching him in any and every way imaginable. He’s not exactly sure why he’d made this particular request— it’s very out of character for him, in every sense of the phrase— but he deduces it’s likely because he wants one more thing to cling onto until he gets to feel her mouth again. It’s not uncommon to want a little something extra to get through the tougher nights, so it’s truly not that big of an occurrence. It’s only reasonable.
Y/N breaks their exchange, eyes glassy and so beautifully clear as she pecks his chin one last time in a polite farewell. “Text me if you need me...And especially if you need me.”
Harry gulps thickly at the suggestive statement, nodding numbly as her body heat slips away. “Will do. Thanks. And thanks for the kiss. Needed it to tide me over until Friday.”
“My pleasure. See you later, Holmes.”
Harry waits patiently until Y/N’s figure disappears behind the gilded doors of the fancy elevator, watching the closed slates of metal glint coldly under the blurry lighting of the condominium’s corridor. He walks back into his apartment, shutting the door gently and slouching into the plush cushions of his leather sofa with a detached sigh. He gazes up at his extravagant chandeliers, once again left in the empty solitude he’d grown so fond of in his extensive lifetime. There’s not a single sound or motion invading his seclusion, not a hair out of place or a wrinkle in his rug, and everything is so still and quiet, it’s almost deafening. But despite every aspect being as it should, he can’t shake the sensation that something is off. Something is wrong. Something’s missing.
And for the first time in years, he finds himself feeling more lonely than alone.
///
It only takes Harry about an hour of uneventful isolation to realize he’s made a grave mistake.
He should have gone on the trip.
Despite the fact that the vampire lives alone, he very rarely spends any time without seeing his friends. Since they all reside in the same building, it’s fairly easy for him to find some entertainment whenever boredom strikes. He’ll either go up a floor to Mitch’s place to watch a movie or mess around with his collection of vintage guitars, or he’ll go a level below to visit Adam and talk about any new art exhibits opening up around the area. He could visit Niall three floors above to play some FIFA on his gaming console and share porn recommendations, or even take the elevator to the twelfth floor to bother Xander and talk some shit while they do each other’s nails. And if Harry’s feeling extra needy for attention, he could always just invite them all over to his place so the group could go out for some Thai food at the restaurant down the street, or go see a movie at the cinema, or take a ride to their favorite local bar.
No matter the circumstances, his friends are always readily available for him when he needs them, so he very solemnly spends his days alone. That is, until now.
The entire crew had left for the Vegas trip and— as a result of his own irresponsibility and immature hormones— had left him all by himself for the next seven days. He would never admit it aloud to spare himself the ridicule of being overly sappy, but he misses the group. He misses Mitch’s soft voice and quiet wittiness, and he misses Adam’s cheeky banter and random fun facts, and he misses Niall’s inappropriate jokes and boisterous laughter, and he even misses Xander’s annoying digs and childish pettiness. He didn’t know how much he took it all for granted until it was gone.
For the rest of the week, Harry is practically miserable. The guys don’t text him much, which can be expected since the whole point of the holiday is to enjoy every second of it; there would be no point in traveling four hours just to sit in their hotel and message him. He talks to Y/N a bit, but she is also occupied most of the time with work, given that she had to take on a few extra shifts on behalf of her co-workers. The earliest she goes in is six A.M., the latest she comes out is nine P.M., and by then, Harry reckons she’s probably falling asleep in the entrance corridor of her home. He understands her exhaustion and therefore doesn’t expect her to humor him; it wouldn’t be fair.
With everyone in his life busy and with his flat feeling colder and emptier than ever, it’s a miracle he doesn’t go mad within its walls. He goes out a handful of times to do some grocery shopping, for a run around a nearby park, and to take a walk along his favorite mall, but that’s it, really. He doesn’t go out to eat simply because he thinks it would be embarrassing having to sit alone at a restaurant; it’s pitiful and sad and he’s not going to subject himself to that. The most stimulating social interaction he has that week is a tie between a bit of flirting with a Target cashier, some suggestive gazing exchanged with a Starbucks barista, and a couple of cheeky caresses from a Gucci store employee taken while measuring his waist for a custom order. None of it satisfies him the way it normally does, though, and he can’t place why.
By the time Friday evening rolls around, Harry is a hair short from letting his regular case of stir-crazy slip into a full-on psychotic break. That’s why he ends up at Y/N’s complex earlier than the agreed-upon hour, stepping out of his Cadillac with twenty minutes left to spare and with a certain desperation eating away at the back of his skull.
The creature casually jogs up the worn steps to her floor, the only sound being the heels of his maroon velvet boots clicking against the cement ground. He whistles softly to the vague tune of a new pop song that had been playing on the radio— Wet Ass something?— as he tucks his phone into his pocket and brushes a few traces of lint off his freshly-ironed button-up.
His outfit for tonight is nothing too spectacular, but it isn’t too lazy, either. It’s a long-sleeve black silk shirt with glass buttons and a pair of large swallows embroidered along either sides of his chest, the threads dyed royal and pastel blue, cherry red, and creamy yellow. The top is cuffed up his elbows and unbuttoned down to his butterfly tattoo, showing off his naturally tanned skin and matching swallow inkings, the cross on his delicate chain centered between his pecs and twinkling under the flickering lights. He’d coupled the loose blouse with some black skinny jeans, a dark leather belt, a small golden hoop earring, and his trusty collection of rings and necklaces. In his opinion, it’s a proper look for a planned-out booty call. Formal, but easy to rip off. Especially in a blind hurry.
Harry figures that he’ll check to see if Y/N is home, just to cover the bases. If she isn’t, he’ll tred back down the stairs and wait for her in his car. If she is, then that’s all the better; there’s no damage in starting a bit earlier than scheduled. It makes for a better recoup period between rounds.
The immortal turns the corner into the familiar hallway where Y/N’s flat is located, one of his hands already forming into a loose fist with the intention of knocking on her door. He makes it about five paces before he’s slapped with an image that causes him to stop cold in his tracks, his whistling coming to an abrupt halt.
Harry blinks repeatedly and lowers the frame of his pink Gucci sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, wanting to make sure the scene before him isn’t a figment of his imagination. Much to his displeasure, it isn’t.
About three meters ahead, situated right in front of her door with her back facing towards him, is Y/N. That isn’t the odd aspect of the picture, though. What’s odd is that her usual grimy work attire is missing, which he had expected to see given that he knows she always goes to the cafe on Fridays. Instead, she is clad in the pastel blue floral sundress she had worn for him all those weeks back, when they had slept together for the second time. And instead of wearing her scuffed up Vans, she is wearing a pair of pretty tan sandals. And instead of having her hair up in a frizzy ponytail, it’s down and fanned around her shoulders in a glossy sheen of tousled curls. And she’s wearing perfume— the same one she had worn the night they met. He can smell it from here and it makes his brows furrow in confusion. She never wears perfume to work; she says it’s forbidden since it can make customers nauseous.
But aside from all of those unorthodox details, there is one specific factor above all that throws Harry for the biggest loop he’s encountered in the last five weeks of knowing her.
Y/N isn’t alone. She’s accompanied by another man.
Harry gives the stranger a calculating once-over, taking in every aspect of the boy’s appearance. He has to keep himself from sputtering into laughter. This has to be some type of fucking joke.
The bloke is fit, he’ll give him that, at least. He’s handsome and somewhat muscular, but in a manner that is painfully cliche and utterly boring. He has sandy blonde hair that falls across his forehead in a shaggy sideways bang, eyes the color of a Malibu beach, and generally soft features with the exception of decent cheekbones. He’s wearing a dull orange polo, khaki pants, Levi sneakers, and an annoyingly giant watch on his wrist that gives the impression he’s trying to show off. Harry nearly vomits in his mouth.
Who the fuck would wear a polo willingly? And how brain dead does he have to be to think khakis are still in style? His fashion sense is obviously stunted. It appears his brain is stuck in his middle school phase, when the Justin Bieber haircut and douchey brands were all the rave amongst snotty pre-teens. Also, his watch is an embarrassment. Harry doesn’t know what the guy is attempting— and failing— to show off, considering the accessory is chunky and ugly and not even Versace or Rolex. It’s a disgrace.
As if the forced posh demeanor isn’t enough, the imbecile actually has the guts to have a fake tan. The vampire isn’t surprised, unfortunately, given that eighty percent of all Los Angeles residents think it’s acceptable to dip-dye themselves into a carrot. He faintly wonders if the man’s balls are colored, as well, or if his ass and sack are as pale as his personality probably is. That would be quite the comedic sight either way. Creamsicles for the win, he supposes.
Harry may not be alarmed by the blonde boy’s get-up, but he is disgusted. Thoroughly disgusted. Horrifically disgusted. What is Y/N doing with this moron?
According to what he’s gathered from her personality and the pillow talks they often share, she hates the California stereotype almost as much as he does, if not more. She hates the fake tans and bleached hair and lack of conscience. She hates the outdated teenage brands, cringey jewelry, and fraternity member aesthetic. She especially hates the fact that some of these people don’t understand the basic principles of boundaries. And the thing is, this dude-bro of a man definitely ticks all of those boxes— especially with how close he’s standing next to her, looming above her frame with one arm extended against the surface of her door, trying to look nonchalant and cool as he drawls on about whatever topic they’re discussing.
He’s practically the poster child for everything the girl despises, from the straightened hair to the alter boy church pants to the stupid forest tattoo on his forearm. So what in the flying fuck is she doing entertaining him? What is she doing standing outside her apartment with this trashy, bacon strip-looking, youth leader knock-off, 2012 Bieber impersonator of a human?
It has to be a joke. It just has to. There’s no other valid explanation, except maybe a plea of insanity.
Harry doesn’t realize he’s scowling until the stranger makes eye contact with him. The boy’s face breaks into an expression of unsettled discomfort at the way the vampire is peering at him over his sunglasses, allowing his end of the conversation to falter to dust. Y/N’s brows cinch at the occurrence, her attention peeling away to follow where her date’s had wandered.
The second her gaze locks with Harry’s intense own, she feels her heart drop to her stomach. Fuck.
Let it be known Y/N didn’t want this. She didn’t want to go on a date with Jacob. In fact, she didn’t know who Jacob was until halfway through this week and she honestly wishes it had stayed that way. She wishes she hadn’t picked up Melissa’s shift with Isabel, she wishes she hadn’t offered to wait that extra table in the back out of the kindness in her heart, and she wishes she hadn’t caught the attention of the customer inhabiting it.
As it turns out, the young man was Isabel’s cousin. He had come to pick her up since the girl’s car had been stuck at the shop for the last few days, and he had arrived a bit earlier than intended, deciding to sit at the back table to wait out the final ten minutes of his relative’s shift. Y/N had simply assumed that he was a regular customer, so she had gone to give him the usual trained introduction in order to follow the golden rule of customer service: Don’t keep a guest waiting.
Jacob had explained the situation to Y/N, to which she responded with a light laugh and an instinctive apology. She had told him she’d go fetch Isabel for him and bid the boy goodbye. In her rational opinion, she had thought that would be it— a simple crossing of two paths that would likely never cross again— but evidently, the visitor had a very different idea.
The human’s shift had continued as planned and everything had been going great until Isabel ducked into the kitchen right before leaving, dancing her way across the room and poking her coworker playfully in the tummy. Apparently, from what Isabel had giddily told her, Jacob had taken an interest in Y/N. It was a bit ridiculous, if you asked her, considering they’d only talked for a total of about thirty seconds before parting routes. But Y/N hadn’t voiced that opinion; she didn’t want to come off as rude.
Jacob had asked his cousin to set them up on a date and that is why Isabel had gone into the back before leaving. Y/N’s immediate impulse had been to decline. She wasn’t interested in seeing anyone at the moment. Other than Harry, of course. He handled all her needs just fine and they got on so well, she’d be crazy to replace him with some random guy she barely knew. She had gone to express this to Isabel in a gentler manner with an apologetic tone, but the words had ended up lodging in her throat. The girl had stared at Y/N with so much excitement, she’d immediately felt a wave of guilt erupt into her chest.
She found it difficult to refuse, given that turning down the offer might come off as bitchy and insensitive. Here Isabel was, trying to innocently play match-maker on behalf of someone she cared about, buzzing with glee and smiling at her so big, her cheeks probably hurt. The last thing Y/N wanted was to upset her by basically telling her that Jacob wasn’t up to par with her standards. Rejecting him could be something her acquaintance took personally and Y/N didn’t want to have to deal with drama in the workplace, especially not with someone whose shifts often mirror her own.
Y/N had reluctantly agreed to the invitation, her only request being that she had to be home by seven thirty. That would give her enough time to prepare for Harry’s visit.
Her compliance had landed her where she is now, standing in front of her apartment door with a boy she has no interest in.
It had been a terrible date, though Jacob took no notice of that. He spent the entire dinner talking about himself, going on and on about his college years, and about how he works at a popular surf shop and could probably get her discounted lessons, and about how he doesn’t think he could survive without his Jeep. How he plays guitar and wants to be a famous actor, how he doesn’t understand why people dislike fake tanning, and how his dad owns a country club in South Carolina. How he loves sports, how he thinks museums are dumb, and how he likes girls who are willing to cook for him after they hookup. How he loves going clubbing and that he misses his ex.
Y/N had nearly groaned out loud at the last two.
It was cruel and unusual torture, in all honestly, and Y/N is just glad it’s over. She’d fulfilled her role— she’d even been nice enough to dress up, to at least finge interest— and could now go free, never having to hear another word about surfboard wax or college football ever again. If only he’d fucking leave.
Jacob had insisted on walking her to the door, which would be sweet if she hadn’t developed a burning hatred for him in the last hour. It came off as annoying and pushy instead, but she allowed it on the grounds of maintaining a polite front.
She shouldn’t have allowed it. As soon as they’d gotten to her door, he’d started talking all over again and Y/N had no choice but to stand there and listen. She couldn’t go anywhere, given that this is her place and she’s expecting someone. She figured she’d give him until seven fifty and then make up an excuse about having to go to the bathroom in order to get him to piss off. That plan had crumbled when Harry had shown up twenty minutes early.
The look of inflamed shock that poses Harry’s handsome features makes her stomach curdle.
She hadn’t meant for him to see this. She’d only gone on the date to spare herself some petty trouble with a coworker. Nothing was bound to come of it, other than a free meal and a guilt-free conscience. It didn’t mean anything and she had no intention of letting it get in between what she and Harry have going. But from an outside perspective, she knows it looks much different.
The agreement they have isn’t exclusive by any means, but over the last five weeks, the pair have grown pretty comfortable with one another and had given connotations that they weren’t kindling other possible relationships. There’s a type of silent agreement between them that if they were to seek out other people, they would share that information with each other on the grounds of courtesy, friendship, and respect. But Y/N hadn’t said a word to spare him the baseless stress and now he’d run into her smack in the middle of what appears to be a very compromising situation; things aren’t looking good at all. It looks like she’s losing interest in Harry and couldn’t be bothered to tell him. It looks like she’s out for a replacement. It looks like she doesn’t care about their connection at all.
This is bad. This is really bad.
Y/N’s voice comes out as a shrill shriek of surprise, her body turning abruptly to fully face his rigid own. “Harry! Uh— hi!”
Harry blinks at her emptily for a moment and she can practically see the gears turning in his head. She can’t read his mind or his expression, but she reckons he’s probably trying to decide if he should follow through on their rendezvous or if he should just leave and never talk to her again. The idea of him choosing the latter makes her mouth go sour.
The vampire’s emerald irises flit back and forth between his friend and the unknown man behind her, trying to interpret the tone and texture of the circumstance. She’s obviously on a date, if her appearance is any indication, and it’s obviously coming to a close right now, exactly when he’s scheduled to arrive.
That’s the determining factor that helps him decide his next move.
Y/N had invited Harry over last Sunday, meaning that she had made their commitment first. This date had to have come into play later in the week, and she had purposefully planned it around their agreed hour in order to give him her undivided attention when the time came. If she had gone out with this guy and then rushed back home to get to him, that must mean she doesn’t plan on indulging another meeting with the stranger. She hadn’t cancelled his visit, either, so that also suggests she isn’t truly interested in this bloke. That makes sense...right?
But that still begs the question: Why had she gone out with him in the first place?
He knows he isn’t owed an explanation, but he also knows that Y/N isn’t the type of person who would just blindside him like this. She isn’t soulless— she’s sweet and caring and generous, so she would never drop him without any warning or consideration for his feelings. She’d never abandon him without telling him why. She’d never do anything that might run a chance of hurting him.
The immortal is more than aware he doesn’t have the right to be upset about it, either. Their arrangement is loose and open on both ends and he likes it that way. He likes that their relationship isn’t weighed down by commitment and monogamy; it gives him a sense of freedom and independence he’s known to thrive off of. It lets him be himself without playing her emotions, and without causing a ruckus in the plans she has for her new life. And he gets the same in return— he gets to have his needs attended without sacrificing his core beliefs. Their friends with benefits trope rides along the wings of an official bond, only giving them what they want and nothing they don’t, which is how it was meant to be. How it should be.
So why does seeing her with someone else make him feel sick to his stomach?
Harry shakes off the ball of contempt writhing in his chest, clearing the tightness from his throat and molding his expression into a facade of calm indifference. Jealousy is for idiots.
The vampire fully wraps his perched fingers around the rim of his sunglasses, removing them from the arch of his nose and tucking the shades along the collar of his shirt. He forces his feet to do their job, his lanky legs lurching forward and falling into a casual stride as he walks towards the two humans awaiting a response.
Harry comes to a stop beside the mortals, clasping his bejeweled hands behind his back and plastering a dazzling grin across his cheeks. He regards his friend with a slight bow of his head, voice airy and carefree as ever. “Hey, Y/N.”
She almost faints in relief. Thank God he’s not mad.
Y/N returns his smile, shoulders visibly relaxing. “It’s nice to see you.”
“S’nice to see you, too. Always such a…” He pauses, licking at the corner of his lips suggestively, giving her a knowing once-over that only she can interpret, “pleasure.”
The girl ignores the heat that immediately floods her cheeks. Of course he’s doing this in front of Jacob. Of course he’s peacocking. “Likewise.”
Harry trains his attention onto the young man before him, pursing his lips into a polite smile. As polite as he can muster, anyways. “And who’s this?”
Y/N blinks herself back into the present, quickly glancing away from Harry’s sharp jaw, though it doesn’t go unnoticed. He feels his ego swell a smidge.
“This is Jacob.” The human comments easily, signaling to him with an upturned palm. “He’s Isabel’s cousin. You remember Isabel, right? You met her at the club.”
“I don’t think I do, actually.” Harry murmurs, glimpsing up towards the ceiling to suggest he’s wracking his thoughts. He has a very vague recollection of the two girls he’d momentarily encountered the day he’d first met Y/N, but it’s hazy and unimportant.
He looks back down at her with sparkling irises, rosy lips twitching with amusement at his next words, knowing they’re going to have a favorable impact. “I guess I was just too distracted by you to pay much attention to anyone else.”
He can hear more blood rush into her face and the ecstasy it brings him is immeasurable. He cranes his sight back onto Jacob, who has the slightest crease in his brows at Harry’s compliment. Good. That’s exactly what he wanted.
The monster unclamps his hands and juts one out stiffly towards the mortal. “M’Harry. Good to meet you, mate.”
Jacob returns the gesture, grasping Harry’s hand firmly in a way the vampire knows is to try and establish dominance. It tickles him when humans try to be tough, especially because Harry could tear his arm right out of its socket as easily as he could lift a sheet of paper. The creature tightens his grip to match the man’s, purposefully putting a tad more strength in to make a silent point. He has to withhold the urge to crunch the boy’s fingers to dust.
They both release from the exchange and a wave of dark satisfaction trickles into Harry’s bones when he sees Jacob curl and stretch his digits in mild pain.
Y/N watches the whole scene with a breath trapped in her lungs. This feels surreal.
The blonde clears his throat softly, mouth jilting into an empty smile and it’s obvious he’s only doing it just to keep things civil. “Good to meet you, too. I take it you’re British?”
“Pure-bred.” Harry remarks proudly, shrugging his shoulders offhandedly as if it’s no big deal. His gaze slinks towards Y/N for a second, tongue pushing along the inside of his cheek smugly. “It works wonders with the ladies.”
A flicker of spite stains the blue in Jacob’s eyes and the vampire feels like his soul is ascending. This is fun.
“I can only imagine.” His opponent responds, voice somewhat strained as he directs his next question to the two friends. “So how do you know each other?”
Harry opens his mouth to make an arrogant comment along the lines of, “A club. A few drinks. Some amazing sex. Y’know, the usual.” but Y/N knows him well enough that she anticipates it, speaking over him loudly before he can even get a syllable out.
“We met at a club and hit it off really well. Been friends ever since.”
The immortal has to keep himself from adding something snarky to the end of her summary. He only does it because he can see a sharp warning flash across Y/N’s eyes. It’s wordless, but stern nonetheless: Don’t.
Harry swallows down his dig and feels it burn a hole in his stomach. Why is she protecting his feelings?
In all honesty, Y/N is only doing it out of kindness and nothing else. As annoying as Jacob may be, he doesn’t deserve to be embarrassed simply because Harry wants to feed his pride. It may be funny, but it’s pretty immature.
“Right.” Harry sighs happily, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “Friends. Good friends. Close friends. Intimate friends.”
Y/N presses her lips into a straight line to keep herself in check. He’s trying to work her over and, unfortunately, he’s succeeding.
“That’s nice.” Jacob nods casually, the innuendo luckily going right over his head.
“Yeah, it is.” Harry states, eyes glinting mischievously as he quickly studies the man once again. He can’t help himself, he truly can’t. Not when this terribly-styled buffoon makes it so fucking easy. “I like your tan, by the way.”
The human looks down at his arms for significance, eyes brightening. “Thank you! I got it done at that new place in—”
“Yeah, it’s pretty neat. Looks almost real.”
Jacob blinks blankly at the backhanded compliment. “Oh—?”
“I mean, it’s got a few streaks here and there and your left arm looks a little more orange, but I think—”
“Anyways!” Y/N swiftly cuts in, interrupting her friend’s judgmental spiel and directing her attention towards her date. “Harry and I were actually planning on going to see a movie, which is why I had to be home by seven-thirty— we do it every Friday. And the movie starts at eight and traffic’s a bitch, so that’s why I was in such a hurry to get home.”
Jacob nods slowly, giving her a sweet, understanding smile that makes Harry’s supernatural blood boil. “I see. Well, I—”
The vampire interrupts him once again, condescension flaring in his chest and dancing across the specks of amber surrounding his pupils. “Yeah, Y/N and I go to the theater every Friday. Recently, we’ve been going to the movies every single day of the weekend. And most times, we see several movies a night.”
Y/N’s jaw clenches at Harry’s barely-veiled insinuation. She tries to talk over him, but he beats her to the punch.
“Y’know what I’m talking about, right, Y/N?” He nudges her side playfully with his elbow, ignoring the way her eyes tell him to cut it out. “Remember that time we saw three movies in one night? Or the one that had the jacuzzi in it?”
The girl glimpses over at Jacob, who looks utterly confused and uncomfortable. “Harry—”
“Or what about that crime film, yeah? The one with the handcuffs.” He pinches at her love handle teasingly, reveling in how her entire torso tenses under his touch. “The one where they grabbed the criminal and slammed them up against the mirror? You have to remember that one. It’s hard to forget.”
“Okay, I think that’s enough talk about—”
“Oh, c’mon, dove.” Harry slings an arm around her shoulders nonchalantly, squeezing her into his body and feeling Jacob’s glare pierce the side of his face. He stares intently into Y/N’s irises, dimples winking awake at the needy desperation gradually inking its way into their reflection. His tone comes out soft but heavy with authoritative suggestion— the kind he always uses in bed. “Tell me you remember.”
Y/N gulps quietly, mumbling her words begrudgingly. “Yeah, I...I remember.”
A coy hum runs along the back of the vampire’s throat as he licks across his top teeth slyly. “I think that was your favorite one, wasn’t it? You seemed to have really enjoyed it. Like, properly enjoyed it. Loved every single second, if I recall correctly.”
The human forces herself to cast her intent elsewhere, ears simmering and breathing stuttering ever so slightly. Her sight lands back onto a very frazzled Jacob, who is looking at the pair as if they’d sprouted horns, shifting unsurely across his feet. The expression of innocent befuddlement on his face makes guilt twist into her heart.
The mortal roughly shrugs off Harry’s arm, stepping forward and placing a palm on Jacob’s wrist, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you so much for the date. It was...nice.”
Harry’s fists clench at his sides, though the action goes unnoticed.
The human boy nods giddily at Y/N, glancing down to where she’s touching him so tenderly. “‘Course! I had a great time, too.”
“Make sure to tell Isabel that. Maybe it’ll get her to do some sweeping on my behalf.” The girl jokes, giggling softly right along with the stranger.
Harry can feel his nails threatening to break into his skin.
“We really have to get going, though, so I guess I’ll see you around?” Y/N prods, gifting her date one last beautiful smile to ease the awkwardness that had settled into the atmosphere, courtesy of Harry’s antics.
“Sure!” Jacob bobs his head in agreement, pulling out his phone and swaying it symbolically. “You have my number, just text me whenever.”
“Sounds good.”
Once the young man’s footsteps have faded down the complex’s staircase, Y/N swivels around on her heel to face Harry, arms falling across her chest in an irritated fashion. Her face pinches with annoyance as he leans casually against her door, his own arms folding over his strong chest with his fingers tapping along the inside of his elbows, attitude depicting not a single care in the world.
He crosses his ankles easily, brows quirking at the way she’s blatantly glaring at him. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that people whose names start with a letter ‘J’ are bound to ruin your life?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Harry!” Y/N snaps, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling as her glossed lips dip into an aggravated grimace. “Are you serious right now?”
He tilts his head curiously, stifling a simper. “What’s wrong, love?”
“What’s wrong?” She retorts with a humorless laugh, astonished at his ability to act so purposefully dense. “You’re a fucking dick, that’s what’s wrong.”
The vampire sputters into a round of boyish cackling, his entire body shaking against the surface below him as his eyes crinkle shut in mirth. Y/N would be further infuriated if it wasn’t so damn cute.
Harry’s laughter slowly dies down and once he has himself composed, his shoulders rise and fall once dismissively. “I was just fucking around. I didn’t think much of it.”
“You didn’t think—?” Y/N chokes out in indignation, stomping over to him and poking him straight in the chest, right over his butterfly tattoo. Her perfume makes his mind swim in the best way imaginable. “You didn’t think for a second, in that big head of yours, that talking about our sex life in front of my date was overstepping?”
Hearing Y/N officially refer to Jacob as her date makes Harry’s mood drop somberly. He tries to push it down and keep up a comical edge, but it’s harder than he’d care to admit. His accent comes out small and almost fragile, much to her surprise. “Well, I didn’t know you were on a date. Maybe if you had told me, I wouldn’t have come.”
His words sting for some unknown reason.
The mortal draws closer to him until he’s hovering above her, arms dropping down to her sides to fiddle with the hem of her dress as she tilts her chin upwards to get a better look at his stoney face. All anger melts right out of her voice, replaced by her usual delicate cadence. “Well, I...I didn’t think you’d care, really.”
“I don’t.” He replies a little too quickly, a small pang of regret pricking his chest when her face immediately falls. “I mean...I mean it as in, like...I’m not keeping tabs on you or anything. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to limit you.”
Y/N looks back up at him from under her lashes, tone unreadable. “I didn’t think you were. Limiting me, that is. You don’t...limit me.”
Harry nods his head sharply in relieved confirmation, coughing a bit. His throat feels drier than usual and he knows it’s not for a blood-driven reason. “Okay, good. I just wanted to make sure you knew.”
“I do.”
“Alright.”
A charged silence befalls the ambiance between them and the vampire comes to the conclusion that getting his neck snapped was less painful than having this conversation. At least that was quick, whereas this is grueling and horribly uncomfortable, ridden with anxiety and too many elongated pauses. They are walking on extremely thin eggshells around one another, which is something they’ve never had to do before. They have always been on the same wavelength about their relationship and not once has such a nerve-inducing instance come to pass. Now a wrench has been thrown into their metaphorical mechanism and the nuts and bolts are dismantling by the handfuls, leaving them barren and closed-off more than ever. He can feel this situation straining their friendship and he hates it more than he hates those stupid tapestries she fancies.
“If you knew you were gonna be busy,” Harry starts carefully, gluing his attention to a random stain on the cement ground as he scuffs the heel of his boot against her dirty welcome mat, “why didn’t you just text me and cancel?”
Y/N takes a shaky inhale, focusing on tracing the faded cursive letters on her rug. “I...I still wanted you to come.”
Harry’s foot halts its motions, gaze jumping to her for a thoughtful second, brows knotting with mild confusion at her confession. If she still wants him in her bed, why was she indulging someone else? “You wanted me to come?...Why?”
“Because Fridays are our days.”
The corners of his mouth twitch. Our days. Their days. Theirs.
The brunette clears his throat to try and saw away at the tension, shifting against the door as the subject delves into heavier territory. He’s never been one to stutter— he’s much too confident in himself to ever have that issue— but it seems to have become a new development whenever Y/N is around. “If...If you want— uhm...If you want to see other people, you obviously don’t need my permission or anything. But I’d like a little heads-up, just so I know where we stand.”
Y/N releases a curt sigh of exasperation and somehow, Harry can tell it’s not aimed towards him. It’s aimed towards herself.
She fidgets with the tips of her fingers, talking to the floor but directing her message towards her friend. “It’s not what you think, H.”
Harry pins his intent back onto her face, intrigue fully peaked. “What do you mean?”
Y/N takes another trembling breath, releasing it through her nose as a tired exhale. She can feel him looming over her, waiting for an appropriate response with his lips set into a detached line, his ever-present aroma of vanilla and tobacco muddling her thoughts. “I...I mean the date. It wasn’t truly a real date, per se.”
The vampire’s eyes bore into her relentlessly as he clings onto every syllable she speaks. He’s clutching to a form of hope that he deems absolutely humiliating. “How so?”
Y/N picks at the chipping lavender polish on her nails and he finds it adorable how the color of the lacquer matches one of the main notes in her scent.
She speaks up softly and honestly, and he thinks he detects a shred of guilt to her explanation. “Isabel was the one who set it up. Her cousin came into the cafe and when he saw me, he asked her to get me to go on a date with him. I have no actual interest in Jacob, but I said yes just to be nice. I didn’t wanna upset Isabel by making her think her cousin wasn’t good enough for me or something. That’s the only reason I went.”
Harry slowly twists his lionhead daylight ring around his middle finger, simultaneously thumbing over the opal on his pinky. The stone is cold to the touch, but not nearly as cold as his skin.
He reiterates her story slowly, wanting to make sure he interpreted correctly. “So...you only went on the date because you felt bad? You don't actually like him?”
Y/N’s hands plop down against her thighs as she tilts her head back up to look at him, her tone and eyes completely deadpan. “Well, when you say it like that, it makes me sound kind of mean.”
Harry snorts softly, mouth buckling into his signature crooked smirk. “It’s pretty cruel, to be honest— giving that poor bloke hope like that. Very malicious of you.”
Y/N kicks at his ankle jokingly, her lips toying with a grin. “Shut up.”
“You should be careful. Something tells me his ego bruises easily.”
“Oh, is that so? What makes you say that?”
The vampire sucks at his teeth, tapping his chin in faux thought as he shrugs his brows tauntingly. “Oh, I don’t know. Probably the overly-tight shirt and fraternity ring. Seems to me like he’s trying to make up for something he lacks. Probably in the intimacy department.”
Y/N chews along her cheek to keep from bursting into giggles. “You are cruel.”
“I prefer the term ‘brutally honest.’ Sounds classier.”
“Right. Because you’re all about class.”
“Heyyyy!” Harry whines in exaggerated insult, face contorting with dramatic offense. “I’m a classy guy! I have the English accent and fancy chandeliers to prove it!”
“Right. Super classy.”
“I’m a proper gentleman.” The monster huffs with begrudging finality, irises glitzing deviously. “That is, until you beg me to behave otherwise.”
“Fuck off.”
He looks down at her over the crests of his sharp cheekbones as she gazes up at him with a humorously flat expression, feeling all the pent-up stress from the previous events dissolve away into nothing. Harry reaches forward, taking a single curled strand of her hair and moving it behind her shoulder to get a better look at her face. The gesture makes Y/N’s heartbeat hiccup. Especially when that same forefinger ends up poised below her chin, his thumb distractedly caressing across her jaw.
The creature’s next sentence comes out low and almost vulnerable. “So it meant nothing, then? Are you sure? Because I don’t want to get in the way of your dating life if you—”
“It meant nothing.” Y/N confirms, bobbing her head once insistently. She cradles her cheek into his icy palm, keeping their eyes locked as she gives it a gentle kiss, her insides fluttering when Harry’s breathing hitches. “I’m not gonna be seeing him again anytime soon. Or ever, probably. And that’s why I didn’t mention it to you— because I knew it wouldn’t change anything between us. You’re the only person I’m interested in right now.”
“Truly?”
“Truly.”
The young man swallows thickly, leaning down to smudge his nose across the girl’s and the action erupts a certain flood of warmth so powerful, it could very well kickstart the dead organ below his ribs. His voice is tumbling down his numb tongue before he can think to stop it. “I’ve been thinking about you all week.”
Y/N’s fingers stretch upwards to wrap around his wrist securely, almost as if to tether him and eliminate the chance of his touch slipping away. Her whisper is trembly and raw. “You have?”
Harry knows he’s allowing this to wade into dangerously grey waters, but he can’t find it in himself to care, at the moment. “Yeah. Couldn’t get you out of my head. Couldn’t stop thinking about how good you felt last time.”
The mortal teeters onto the tips of her toes, flirting her mouth over her friend’s, a prickling sensation stemming from where their cupid’s bows brush. She glimpses at him amidst her lashes, glassy eyes reflecting his need right back at him. “Tell me more. Please?”
The breath of Harry’s words is hot against her mouth, his eyes lulling closed as he recalls all of the memories from the last few days. “I just couldn’t shake it. You were just so tight and warm and the way you were pushing back against my thrusts...the way you were shaking and whimpering...the way you flipped around and slammed your mouth to mine because you wanted me to moan onto your tongue….It was so fucking filthy, I just— I couldn’t—”
His control begins to shatter and the immortal can feel desperation leak through the cracks webbing across his composure. Y/N isn’t helping any, considering she’s started suckling lightly at his bottom lip, her free hand coming up to toy with the curls at the nape of his neck.
“Keep going.”
Harry gulps heavily before continuing. “I touched myself while fantasying about you. Lost count of how many times, honestly. But I came so hard every single one. It was pretty easy to lose myself like that, just sitting there thinking about everything we do. Thinking about how pretty you look with my cock in your mouth, taking it down your throat like such a good fucking girl. How nice your arse feels in my hands, especially when you ask me to spank it. How snug you are when you sink over me, stretching around it like it’s made just for you. How the little noises you make sound so fucking perfect— like a song, really. And...and how good you taste between your thighs. S’like honey. Just so fucking sweet.”
There’s a pause as Harry’s words sink into the air, his dirty confessions pulling passion taut into existence between the two lovers. They’re all over each other in less than a heartbeat.
Y/N begins to fumble with the small purse she has strung across her body, frantically fishing for her keys as Harry delights himself with sponging his lips across the slope of her jaw, grinning into her skin at the little curses escaping her throat. He absolutely adores how whipped she gets for him.
The human manages to retrieve her key, jamming it into the lock blindly as her eyes blur with tears of sheer need, stemming from the tiny shots of bliss Harry is instilling through the sloppy pecks he’s trailing down her jugular. She hastily turns the knob, bumping her full weight into the door and nearly fainting in relief when it swings open. She turns sharply to face him, roping her arms around his strong shoulders and pulling him into her, shuddering at how incredible it feels to have his strong torso flushed to hers so intimately. Harry allows himself to be yanked forward into her apartment, giggling softly when she crashes their mouths together messily, harshly tugging him past the threshold.
The vampire’s lean arms wrap around her waist as the young woman maneuvers their connected bodies into the narrow hallway of her flat, one of her hands waving around wildly until it succeeds in shoving the door shut. Y/N slams Harry up against the closest wall, feverishly fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt and nearly ripping them out of their designated holes. Her hands quiver as she races down the seams, her eyes tinging darker when Harry leans his head back against the panel and smirks down at her smugly.
He gnaws on his bottom lip, his half-lidded gaze mocking her hysteria as his voice comes out deep and melodic as always, slathered with self-assured arrogance. “You’re so cute when you’re this eager to fuck me.”
Y/N pants against his twitching lips, tearing his top down his broad figure and shamelessly groping at his swollen biceps. “Just shut up and kiss me.”
Harry abides, lulling his tongue along her upper lip and thrumming deeply when her digits trickle down his abdomen. He coos into her mouth as she begins fiddling with his belt buckle. “What, no interior design emergency this time? You’re losing your touch, darling.”
The girl pulls the leather strap off his pants in a frenzy, scoffing at his stupid quip and breaking their kiss to speckle her mouth down his bare chest, feeling it stutter below her influence. “I got some new chairs for my dining table. Wanna take a look?”
The boy’s fingers card into her roots as she descends down his stomach with wet pecks, his eyes rolling closed with a strained grunt. She bites along his fern inkings and his hips buck forward in response, his grip on her hair tightening when she palms over the outline of his clothed cock. “You know I’m always a sucker for some good dining chairs.”
As it turns out, Y/N had actually gotten some new chairs, much to Harry’s surprise.
They’re nice, in his opinion. They seem sturdy enough, with metal backrests and legs that are covered in tarnished gold paint that gives a pleasing rustic look. But in the end, Harry doesn’t really much care for the details of the furniture. All he cares about is if they’ll manage to withstand Y/N’s weight as he shoves her onto her knees atop the chair and bends her over the back. Or if they’ll stay put as he pounds into her from behind with a fist in her hair and his letter rings marking across her backside. That’s all that truly matters.
Despite having done this countless of times before, this particular instance feels different. Both of them can tell, but Y/N feels it more prevalently. Specifically, in the bottom of her stomach and in the pain sweltering across her ass.
Harry’s just…rougher. He’s still himself, so he makes sure she’s okay with everything he does before doing it, but when he gets the green light, he doesn’t let it go to waste. His grip on her roots is harsh, with his nails digging into her scalp as he jerks her head back to bring her in for a kiss, her spine arching into a semi-circle. The position is difficult given the amount of flexibility required, but Y/N powers through. She quite likes it, actually— it gives him a deeper range of depth, somehow. She can feel him touching the trench of her tummy and she refuses to do anything that might make that stop.
The kiss is upside down, but the vampire doesn’t let that deter him. It’s still dirty and heedless, with lots of biting and overzealous tongues, broken whines and fractured pleas. Y/N freely moans into his mouth, gasping and mewling to his every thrust with a certain type of helplessness that flogs the flames blistering Harry’s dormant veins. He loves that he makes her feel helpless, especially because she makes him feel the exact same way.
His stride is fast and deep and unapologetic— vengeful, almost, and they both know why. Even though Y/N had told the creature that the date had been nothing but a selfless chore, he can’t seem to let it go as easily as she had. He finds himself wanting to prove to her that he’s better than that insipid stranger. That he can give her everything she wants without a single issue. That he can deliver everything she needs with expert skill and relentless force, just as she prefers. That he can make her entire body tremble in overstimulation and make every fiber of her being tingle with sheer pleasure, just by gifting her a few adamant snaps of his hips and by muttering a couple filthy promises onto her unfeeling tongue.
“Bet he wouldn’t be able to make you feel like this, huh, pet?” Harry growls against her swollen lips, plunging his thick length into her and nudging at that sweet spot that makes her toes curl. “Bet he wouldn’t know how to handle you— how to handle that tight cunt and that sharp tongue. Could never take care of you the way I do, isn’t that right, baby?”
Y/N rattles her head in her friend’s grasp, releasing fragmented noises of bliss as he hikes her dress further up her ass and gives it another brutal spank. She can feel his rings imprinting across her sweaty skin and she strives off it more than she should.
Her voice comes out garbled and weak. “N-No one can make me feel as good as you.”
“Damn straight.” Harry grits out, breaking their prolonged kiss to rest his chin against her damp forehead, looking down at her from over his sharp, tinted cheekbones. “Nobody can fuck you into a begging mess like I can. Whose pretty cunt is this, angel? Who’s the only one who gets to call you their little slut?”
The electricity crackling around his pupils is borderlining on unhinged, but she adores it. The fact that she can drive him to the brink like that feeds the affinity she has to win his praise. “It’s yours, Harry. Just yours— it’s always just you. You’re the only one. Nobody e-else— fuck, oh my God!”
“You got all dolled up for him, though. Why’s that’s, hm?” Harry’s hold releases from her hair and fumbles down to her throat, the pads of his fingers leaving bruises across her jugular as he grunts lowly with every hellbent ram. “If you didn’t care, why’d you get all pretty, then? Why’d you wear perfume? And why’d you wear that dress— my dress?”
Y/N’s lashes flutter as he refers to her outfit, which is the same one she’d had on the day they had officially established their loose arrangement. Hearing him call it his— hearing him claim it as his own with so much dominant confidence— makes the pit of her belly froth. It is his. Sure, she’d worn it for the sake of looking presentable, but it was only to satisfy the basic rules of what a date entails. In truth, under the excuse of inherent kindness, she’d worn it because she knew Harry would see it afterwards. Because she knew he liked it. Because she wanted to please him.
The girl communicates that to him now in the form of a feathery mumble, staring up at his angered eyes with a moony, innocent aura. “I wore it f-for you.”
The intense jealousy present in Harry’s clenched jaw and furrowed brows dissipates, replaced by soft awe at her wispy affirmation. He pants as he absorbs the real meaning behind her entire appearance, feeling sparks ignite in his heaving chest. “You...You did it for me?”
Y/N struggles to swallow in his rough grip, nodding a bit as her fingers tighten around the edge of the chair. “I know you like it and, well…I like making you happy.”
Harry’s lips part in astonished wonder, though he’s not so sure why her admission had caught him off guard. She’s told him plenty of times that she likes giving him what he wants, but this just feels slightly more personal than anything else she’s ever uttered during an orgasmic stupor. It’s tipping along one of the lines they had sworn not to cross.
The vampire hadn’t even realized his strokes had tapered to a halt, and apparently neither had she. They’re both too busy looking into each other’s eyes with expressions that neither can decipher. The tense pause only lasts maybe three seconds at most, but it feels like they manage to fit an eternity of uncertain silence within that short time frame.
Harry cuts through the moment by clearing his throat, intent on changing the subject into something much lighter that will allow them to return to their previous activity. However, the words that rasp out of his raw lips are ones he hadn’t consciously consented to. They come from a sincere nature he’d suppressed for so long, he didn’t think it was possible for it to ever resurface again. “I like making you happy, too.”
Y/N blinks up at him with her usual doe-like air, the corners of her lips twitching fondly at his requited compliment. “I guess we just like making each other happy, then, don’t we?”
The monster has never been more thankful for her witty personality. It gives him the opportunity to stuff his emotions back into the box they belong, allowing him to regain his typical composure and return her banter without a hitch. He bursts into a round of wheezy giggles, tapping at the hollow of her throat playfully. “I guess so. We’ll add that to the list of things we do to each other, right under ‘excite.’”
The rest of the session goes as usual, thankfully. Some more degrading names are exchanged, positions are switched, hickies are stained on fleshy thighs and damp shoulders, and Harry’s array of rings paint an art piece across Y/N’s backside that he thinks is worthy of the Louvre. His initials are signed on it and everything.
The pair end up splayed across her trusty old couch, catching their breaths from the heavy exertion they’d just put each other through. Y/N is still in her dress, though it’s rumpled, damp, and the thin straps are hanging off her shoulders limply. Harry is bare, as he always is after sex, per his raunchy preference. However, Y/N had made him cover himself with a blanket in order to keep at least a shred of decency between them. Plus, she’d said she didn’t want his “limp dick brushing against my dress while we cuddle.”
And that’s what they’re doing now— snuggling on her couch with the human pressed up against the vampire’s side, his arm slung around her shoulders casually as she doodles random shapes across the colored skin of his tummy. She has one leg hooked across his covered hips, which he’s more than happy to allow because he thoroughly enjoys rubbing his palm up and down the back of her thigh; it’s soothing and warm. Y/N entertains herself with nuzzling her head against the crook of his neck, sighing contentedly as he props his chin atop her temple and pets at her frizzy hair with gentle strokes. It’s a nice moment, full of slowly steadying breaths and the hum of the air vent at the other end of the room.
Harry is the first to break the tranquil atmosphere.
“I give the chairs a ten out of ten. IKEA really outsold.”
Y/N slaps her hand down against his naked chest, sputtering into a wave of loud laughter that is unbelievably contagious. “I’m happy you like them ‘cause, uh...they were on clearance. Can’t return them.”
“You lucked out then, didn’t you? Kudos to your ability to pick out decent furniture.” Harry twirls a strand of her tangled locks around his index finger, giving it a playful tug as a grin dimples his flushed cheeks. “Except for when it comes to wall decor.”
“It’s not my fault you're a stuck-up asshole.”
“And it’s not my fault you have a knack for cringey drapery depicting ClipArt images.”
“I’m going to strangle you with one of my tapestries, I really am.”
“Be my guest. At least I won’t have to look at them ever again.” The immortal squeezes her thigh jestingly, his smile widening when she squirms and giggles. “I can’t tell you how many times we’ve been fucking and I accidentally glanced at it and almost went soft.”
“But you didn’t.” She reasons, flicking at one of his nipples in revenge and feeling proud when he hisses softly.
“But I could have.”
“But you didn’t.”
“But I could have.” Harry insists stubbornly, reaching up to push a few wet curls out of his tired eyes. “Have you ever had someone go soft inside you? It’s pretty gross. Highly discourage it.”
“Just close your eyes, then.” Y/N states with finality, pinching at his belly button and cackling in satisfaction when he writhes. “You’re real shitty at solving problems, y’know that? You could never be Sherlock.”
Harry goes quiet for a second and his friend almost looks up to check if he’s alright; he’s too petty to ever back out of anything. But sure enough, his voice comes out a second later, flat and unyielding. “Take down the glorified curtains or I’m never eating you out again.”
“I’ll take down my glorified curtains the day you take down that Stevie Nicks poster on your wall.”
“I refuse to take down Stevie!”
“And I refuse to take down Amanda!”
“You named it?!”
The lovers chat and bicker childishly for a while longer, talking about anything and everything that will keep them entertained. Harry explains to Y/N how his friends had gone on a trip this week (though he makes sure to omit the fact that he had willingly bailed in order to spend time with her) and he’d been alone most of the time. She responds to his story with an incredulous yelp, telling him that he should’ve come over if he wanted some company. She says she would have been more than happy to hang out with him, but he knows she’d been so busy the entire week with work, she probably would have fallen asleep within ten minutes of him arriving. It’s the thought that counts, though, so he thanks her for the belated support, either way.
Y/N talks about a weird customer that had come in and ordered a sandwich with nothing but cucumbers and cheddar cheese on French bread, which she had later recreated to taste-test herself out of curiosity. She can confirm it was abhorrent and the way her nose crinkles with disgust makes Harry snort in endearment. She also tells him about how horribly the date with Jacob had gone, simply because she can tell he’s itching to ask. She recounts everything the young man boasted about, from the annoying college stories to his stupid opinion about clubs. She informs him that she’d never had a more terrible experience in her life and that she wishes she could get that hour of her life back.
Harry can’t help the way his face lights up at how utterly repulsed she sounds. He knew it. He fucking knew she would never insert herself into a romantic situation with such a comedic punchline of a human being. Hearing her confirm his suspicions is almost as pleasurable as what she can do with her mouth. Almost.
The vampire finds himself lost in his thoughts, thinking about how much better the whole event would have gone if it had been him instead. How he would have picked her up from her flat by actually getting out of the car and knocking on her door, rather than just sending her a text to come down. How he would have helped her into his car like a proper gentleman, and how he would’ve aided her back out when the time came. How he would enter the restaurant with his palm resting at the dip of her back, guiding the girl towards their seats and pulling out a chair for her. How they’d make conversation as easily as they always do, and how he’d have her laughing between mouthfuls of food, and how he’d expertly flirt her into a fidgety puddle. How he’d reach over the table to get a bit of sauce off the corner of her mouth with a cloth napkin, and how she’d thank him with that shy smile he’d grown to admire. How he’d wave off her suggestion to split the bill, paying it all himself and smirking as she scolds him for it because she likes being hard-headed and independent. How much fun she would actually have, and how she would probably be willing to go out on a second date.
Harry’s comment topples out of his mouth before he can rethink it.
“I bet I could take you out on a better date.”
Y/N’s head snaps upwards to meet his gaze, eyebrows jumping in utter shock. She hadn’t been expecting that from him at all. Ever.
She talks between airy spurts of glee. “That was random.”
Harry doesn’t return the gesture. In fact, his lips don’t even jolt in the slightest. He simply just stares down at her with seriousness decorating his features, long lashes blinking blankly. He doesn’t know what overcame him to make such a bizarre, uncalled for claim, but he can’t take it back now. And he’s not so sure he wants to, honestly. He knows there’s truth to his belief— he could definitely do a better job of wooing her than that Jesse McCartney wannabe. It’s not like it’s hard.
Aside from that, seeing Y/N out with another man had reminded Harry that their little alliance isn’t anything solid— it’s not bulletproof, and he really shouldn’t be taking it for granted. He’d been so cocky and self-assured about himself and what he has to offer, he’d forgotten that there is always the possibility that Y/N might grow tired of him. It may be a microscopic possibility, but it exists, nonetheless. If he wants to keep her interested, he has to up his game a bit, or she might decide that he isn’t worth keeping around. If he wishes to maintain this favorable arrangement where he gets his intimate tendencies tailored and his supernatural necessities sufficed, he needs to give her a more fulfilling reason to stay.
Good sex is a very convincing factor, sure, but there might come a time in her life when she wants more than just a no-strings-attached affair. There may come a time when she’ll mature out of this stage and seek something sturdier and safe and anchored. There may come a time when she wants a real relationship, and if he doesn’t keep her occupied, that could be sooner rather than later. And it could be with someone else. He doesn’t want this convenience taken away from him— doesn’t want to lose the thing they have going, which keeps him out of annoying clubs, out of random people’s beds, and gives him the best blood he’s tasted in the last twenty decades. It’s too comfortable and satisfying to let go. He has to keep her hooked somehow, and if taking her on a date can assure that this flawless dream remains intact, then he’ll gladly do it.
Harry licks his lips slowly, measuring out his next words with immense precision. “I’m being serious. I can definitely do better.”
A million emotions funnel into Y/N’s eyes at once and he can only pick out a select few: confusion, astonishment, fear, denial, and slight unease. There is the chance that the monster may be interpreting all of the human’s feelings incorrectly because, truth be told, he isn’t the best at gauging or handling sentiments. However, there is one he knows he’s not misjudging— it’s the most evident one of all: Excitement.
“Think about it for a second, yeah?” Harry starts, shifting in his seat to get a better look at her, raising his eyebrows decisively. “I’ve already gotten in your pants. That means I have no ulterior motive, right?”
Y/N’s own brows kink a smidge. “I...I guess.”
Her friend continues his speech. “Because of that, it means I won’t rush the date, I won’t expect anything from you, and we already get on pretty well, as it is. It’d be a proper good time— a genuine good time.”
The girl’s eyes flicker around different points of his face, trying to make sure he’s not pulling some type of cruel prank. Her tone comes out hesitant and slow. “That makes sense, I suppose.”
Harry squeezes the back of her thigh reassuringly. “It’s all in mathematics, love; everything adds up. It’s truly an ideal situation, if you ask me. Practically utopian.”
Y/N takes a deep breath, letting it out shakily. This is all so sudden and unexpected, she feels like Harry might burst into laughter any minute and reveal it’s all just a big joke. It’s just not them. It’s out of bound— it scribbles outside the box drawn around their whole dynamic. They were never meant to date, they were just meant to sleep together; they were meant to provide each other with the satisfaction that comes from a real relationship, without all the trials and tribulations. Harry asking her on a date blurs those sacred boundaries in a way she’s not sure she’s ready to face. It could mess everything up. It could not only ruin the fun little arrangement they have going, but it could potentially destroy their entire friendship. Harry is the only person she’s truly connected with since she moved to Los Angeles and risking that bond on an impulsive decision...That’s something she doesn’t think she can afford to do. She can’t survive her new life on her own. This is just too dangerous. Way too dangerous.
But then again...it’s not like she hasn’t thought about it before. She will admit, there have been instances where she’s pictured her and Harry becoming more than just warm bodies to each other. The two days she spent over at his house the weekend prior had solidified those fantasies and made them more frequent. They just click so well, she knows for a fact they’d make a great team. It’d be like dating a best friend, in a way. They fit one another in a manner she didn’t think was possible, and despite the fact they’ve only been acquainted for just over a month and a half, it feels like they’ve been friends for years. She feels like these types of connections are rare to create and she finds herself wishing it could develop into more.
But could it really be worth the potential grievance?
Y/N tunes back into reality, gazing up at Harry with reluctant eyes. She’s surprised to find his are full of confident clarity, as if he’s already sold on the idea and had begun planning their outing. He’s simply awaiting her response at this point, thumbing over her knee gently while tucking her hair behind her ear, lips poised into that lopsided simper that makes her heart skip and her nerves glitch. How could she possibly find it in herself to say no to him?
The mortal clears her throat lightly, gnawing into her cheek as she speaks her next words with airy humor. “So is that your official way of asking me out? ‘Cause if so, that’s not enough. You’re gonna have to do better, love.”
Harry hesitates for a split second, but it’s so fast, his friend doesn’t even take notice. He prays he doesn’t grow to regret this decision.
The boy nods, pursing his mouth into a small smile.
“I’m sorry, I don't think I heard you? Must be the AC.”
Harry rolls his eyes grandly at the stolen joke, which is identical to one he had made two weeks ago when he’d come over for their usual adult pastime and had brought a special toy in tow.
His mood comes out theatrical, accent heavily exaggerated. “Dear fair maiden, would you be so kind as to do me the impeccable honor of allowing me to bask in your presence by attending a luncheon with me, preferably sometime in the near future? Thank you so much for your consideration. Sincerely signed...” The creature takes a pause, proceeding to sing his next words to the tune of a song they are both familiar with, given their interest in the Hamilton play. “Your Obedient Servant, H dot Styles.”
Y/N explodes into a series of giggles, shaking her head as she reaches up to peck at his grinning lips.
“It would be my pleasure.”
#harry styles x reader#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x you#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fic#harry styles smut#smut#harry styles series#vampire!harry#harry styles one shot#harry styles imagine#vampire!au#harry styles#1d fanfiction#harry styles dirty one shot#1d fic#one direction fanfiction#one direction smut#one direction fic#1d smut#ysijwa#harry styles dirty imagine#harry styles dirty fanfiction#harry styles blurbs#harry x y/n#harry x you#harry x reader#harry styles au#vampire au
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Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Prove Me Wrong
Summary: She can trust you, even if she doesn’t know it yet.
Warning: 18+ Mental Health, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Violence, Smut
Chapter 2
******
Coffee. You use to drink it every morning but that became a bad combination with the wave of emotions you took on. In which you switched to tea. It doesn’t have the exact same effect as the coffee did but it worked perfectly in it’s own way.
Pouring the hot water on the teabag causes a swirl of transparent brown to fill the mug. The steam that rises warms your hand and you release a sigh.
Being distracted means you get startled when dishes start clattering behind you. You jump, spinning around to see who came into the kitchen without you noticing. Only to instantly relax when you see Steve and Rhodey.
“Hey guys.” You smile and wave.
Both men give you a smile and say good morning.
A small conversation breaks out about some threat over in San Diego. Not knowing anything about it, and it being none of your business, you just fix your tea and a bagel while they chat. And when they’re done Steve is more than willing to get his session started.
Your last session with the man ended with him heartbreakingly sad. The topic of Peggy arising and being addressed.
He’d admitted to you that he considered going back. After Thanos, when he had the stones, he considered staying in the past to be with her.
When you asked why he didn’t, he told you a number of things. Two important ones making the decision for him. One, when he found her, she was on a date with a man who would later become her husband. And two, despite his regrets over the past, he had things waiting for him in the future/present.
He had built friendships with Tony, Natasha, and Sam. And he had Bucky, his best friend since the beginning of time, or at least Steve’s time.
During this session you ask him how it felt to move on, not just from his second chance with Peggy but even before that, when he woke up from being frozen.
He’d started to tell you how hard it was and how he still doesn’t think he has. But he’s interrupted when his phone rings.
Much to your dismays, he has a mission he’s been called on and has to leave.
Before he walks out you stop him,“ you want some happy?” You seriously ask with a joking smile.
That’s how you’d described your powers to him, after he didn’t get the broader description the second time. You told him that you could take away his hurt and pain and give him happy.
Steve shakes his head,“ I’m good actually. Thanks though.”
Usually, with the busy schedules and occupied minds of the team, you have to go in search for your next patient. With Bucky you don’t. In fact you find him waiting just down the hall when you step outside your office.
Even though he wasn’t eager to be sharing his memories and feelings with you, he always made it a point to show up. You appreciated it.
You wave him over and he’s quick to walk down the hall. Bucky steps in behind you and sits on the couch as you shut the door. Despite the comfortability of the furniture he sits up straight, hands rubbing his knees.
When he glances up at you, you smile comfortingly. You sit in your chair, crossing your ankles as you hold on to your fresh cup of tea.
Like always, the super soldier remains nervously silent. It was a few sessions ago that you came to understand why. He isn’t nervous because of you, it’s the idea that he should know what he’s feeling and felt.
The man hasn’t processed an emotion properly in decades only to just recently be introduced to the concept of explaining his emotions. Plus the added anxiety of letting it all in.
Knowing he won’t be the first to speak you ask him,“ you want anything to eat or drink?”
He’s quick to shake his head. Then looks directly in your eyes, for the first time today,“ do you, um, have any cracker jacks?”
“I do actually, they’re in the cabinet to the left of the mini fridge.”
After he’s gotten two boxes, he turns away, before grabbing a bottle of water and then going to sit.
If it weren’t for Steve you wouldn’t have had any. The man said it reminded him of the “good old days,” getting cracker jacks when he went to see baseball games. Steve usually eats his with a Coke.
“Me and Steve use to buy a bunch of these and sneak them into baseball games. They were always cheaper at stores than the stadium.”
A fond, nostalgic, smirk plays on his lips and you smile as well.
“Are you also a Dodgers fan? Steve spent our whole first session talking about them.”
When he chuckles you feel good about yourself and focus on his answer.
He nods,“ yeah, I like the Dodgers, but I think the Cubs are better. I used to like the Yankees simply out of loyalty to New York.”
“Do you not like the Yankees anymore?”
A sigh falls from his lips,“ no. They’re not the same. Then again, nothing else is either.” Before you can ask anything else he continues.“ I didn’t really know how to feel about missing decades of time. For a while I just pushed it aside, especially since I didn’t remember anything.”
His long pause makes you a little anxious. He’d started to open up without much from you and you didn’t want that to stop, you couldn’t help if he chose not to continue.
You ask,“ what changed?”
“Steve.” It’s a quick answer. Obviously he’s given this particular topic some thought.“ After my memories started to come back I realized I wasn’t alone in being so out of place. Steve missed just as much time as me and after I got better, after Thanos, it was nice to have someone to remember with.”
Throughout the session you let him do most of the talking. Every so often he starts to shut down so you prompt him with an easy to answer question that seems to guide him into opening up even further.
By the time it ends, you’re incredibly happy with the progress. Seeing Bucky’s troubled and stressed expression drives you to asking him if he’d like you to take it away.
He was hesitant at first, you know it’s because of his experience with mind altering tricks. You assure him that it’s nothing like that. You don’t take his memories or thoughts away, essentially you pull everything he has to be happy about to the forefront.
Your powers aren’t permanent on anyone but it helps.
The man accepts and while he doesn’t leave with a bubbly smile on his face like Peter does, you can see that his eyes are lighter.
“Thanks for the chat Doc.” He smirks playfully when he mentions your title.“ And thanks for being patient with me.”
You shrug,“ thanks for letting me.”
After he’s left, you sit back down and finish off your tea.
According to you schedule, your next patient should be Natasha, but that hasn’t been a thing for months.
You can’t help but wonder if it was something you’d done that made her not want to even try. Thinking about it, you’d done nothing but be kind to the woman, offering your help at first but then just telling her you would only listen if that’s what she wanted. Each attempt at reaching out failed miserably with the woman’s emotionless denial.
One long glance at her name written in your notebook lit something in you and you knew you couldn’t just give up on her.
******
Natasha moves her body effortlessly.
She uses attack combinations and take down moves that at, one point she thought was too hard to execute, without even thinking.
Which is good. If she, even for a second, allowed too many of her thoughts to break through she’d never stop. She’d become distracted and give her opponent too big a shot to take her down.
If she focuses on anything but doing these moves perfectly she’d fail and she can’t have that.
Yet another groan from the person underneath her causes a smirk to form on her lips.
“Jesus Nat, we’re sparring you’re not trying to kill me.”
She lets his wrist go and rolls off his back before offering him a hand.“ I think your retirement is setting in Barton.” She teases.
Rolling his eyes, he rubs his wrist,“ what? I’m in the best shape of my life.” The man mockingly pulls a karate pose.
Natasha laughs, making Clint smile widely.
With him knowing her so well, it’s good to see the woman happy. Still he hears the heaviness in the laugh and knows that there may always be something holding her back from being genuinely, completely happy.
Part of him wonders if talking about everything would help her. He knows it helps him and he doesn’t miss the light air that’s seemed to encompass his other teammates lately.
Clint formed a greater appreciation for you over that fact. It was about time the team took a shot at healing themselves instead of ignoring their issues to fix the world’s.
He wasn’t pleased, and still isn’t, to see his best friend so opposed to the help. Natasha is strong but she’s still human and holding everything in the way she does isn’t healthy.
“Alright,” with yet another groan, he steps off the mats,“ I need to get home or I won’t have a good spot for movie night.”
He salutes to Natasha’s wave, figuring the woman is going to be in the gym for a while.
The door almost slams into him with the force that it’s thrown open. Stepping back, he just barely avoids getting hurt.
You stand on the other side, your determined expression slipping to one of shock when you realized you might’ve hit him.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t know you were right there, are you okay?” You rush out.
Chuckling, he nods,“ all good, didn’t even graze me. What’s got you in such a rush?”
As if remembering why you’re there, you go back to being determined.“ Is Miss Romanoff in here?”
“Uh, yeah, she’s over on the mats.”
Nodding with a smile, you march past him further into the gym.
Clint presses himself against the wall with every intent to listen in, whether Natasha knows he’s there or not.
The woman is already looking at you when you step into view, trained eyes watching your every move as you approach. An eyebrow quirking in question when you stop at the edge of the mats.
“You didn’t show to our session Miss Romanoff.”
She’d never heard someone’s tone be equally as warm as it is accusatory.
She makes no effort to reply.
Moving forward, you step on to the mat, her eyes flickering to your shoe covered feet, then back up to your eyes to see how close you are now. Far enough away to not be overstepping any boundaries but close enough for her to see the fire in your eyes.
Admittedly Natasha is fascinated with seeing the emotion in your eyes. Ever since you got here she’d seen nothing but your perky, optimistic, “everything is going to be alright” attitude. Like this, she feels as though she’s seeing a new, slightly intriguing side to you.
“I know exactly what game you’re playing Natasha,” the way you say her name nearly makes her shiver. She’s not intimidated, but she could be.“ I’m sure you sized me up and categorized me as a certain type of person the second I got here but I can tell you now you were wrong.”
Her head tilts in the slightest, amusement flickering through her eyes.
You continue,“ I am not going to accept you giving up on yourself.” That right there erases the amusement. Her expression hardens.“ I don’t know anything about you but the fact that you actively avoiding coming to see me is very telling.”
For the first time, since maybe your third day here, Natasha speaks to you. And you’d be lying if you said her voice isn’t as sexy as it is scary.
“Whatever you think you’ve figured out, you haven’t. And this power move that you’re trying to pull isn’t going to work.” Despite her control over her words you feel the emotions pouring from her statement.
The agitation radiates off her and sets your powers alight, almost enough to make you back off. Until you feel it. The smallest, microscopic, bit of fear. It’s buried behind her annoyance with you, and a mountain of other things, but you feel it.
“This isn’t a power move Miss Romanoff. This is me letting you know I’m not giving up on you. I don’t know what it’ll take to get you to come to your sessions but I’m going to try everything I can until it happens.” She’s glaring now but that fear hasn’t left.“ Tony gave me your very detailed file,” she stiffens,“ but I didn’t read it.” Que her surprise.
Her frown this time is a mix of curiosity and annoyance.
“When you come to see me I want you to be comfortable. I don’t want you to think I see you as whoever is on those papers. You will simply be Natasha Romanoff and I will accept whatever you’re willing to give.” You smile softly at the woman and step away.“ I’ll schedule you to come see me on Friday’s, that day is free for me so I will have more than enough time to chat. And you can try avoiding but I will come find you.”
Not leaving even an inch of room to argue, you turn and leave, giving Clint a little goodbye on the way.
It’s quiet for a moment. Natasha and Clint both processing what just happened. Clint gets it first and steps around the corner to look at his best friend.
“I didn’t want to push you into seeing her but after that,” he puffs out some air,“ I think it would be really good for you to go see her. She obviously cares, if that whole thing was to go based off of. She just wants to help, at least let her try.”
With one final smile, he leaves.
Standing on the mats, Natasha thinks.
You were right. She did categorize you as the type of person who would just accept that she wasn’t coming. And if what you just did was any evidence, she was wrong.
******
taglist: @username23345 @muffliat-o @nat-km-mh
#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff x reader#black widow#black widow x reader#marvel#marvel x reader#mcu#mcu x reader#prove me wrong#reader insert
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switchblade faith // spencer reid - chapter 4
summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.
word count: 3.5k
masterlist
there's a place between the bank of a river and the actual water where the soil is soft. it's more like silt, leftover grains of earth not yet swept away. they're extremely delicate, made up of minerals and rock.
I love the earth. I love feeling it under my feet and the way it gives into my fingertips when they push through the surface. I love when I can sense the twisted roots of every plant. they reach for moisture, thin tendrils. there's something very pure about all of it.
which is why seeing the faceless corpse of a woman splayed out on the banks causes my stomach to wrench.
I guess it isn't the only reason, but it certainly doesn't help.
"the edges of these cuts are smooth, not torn," Rossi straightens up from his spot by her body. I don't know how he can get so close. when he waits for me to say something, my lips purse.
"so he must have used a sharp instrument to remove her face." I cross my arms over my chest. the water in her lungs makes me wonder how much pain she was in, how much it hurts to drown. unimaginable.
the slightly blue undertones to her skin imprint themselves in my mind, and my only thought is that I'm glad her eyes aren't open; I get nauseous when they are. instead of dwelling on the gaunt nature of her body, I speak to one of the crime scene experts about the time of death. his voice is barely audible over the rush of water against stones.
we spend about half an hour exploring the site, although something about this place in particular puts me off. I keep edging towards the sides of the river.
"we should meet Aaron back at the station. ready to go, kiddo?" Rossi catches my attention, beginning to make the short hike up the incline. he walks carefully to avoid sullying what I'm sure are expensive shoes, his face contorted with mild disgust. the nickname makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.
"sure." I turn to scramble behind him, my gaze catching on the scene. jewel-toned leaves heavy with rain, tipping to spill weighted drops in a slow, drowsy fall. and it's now filled with police officers and crime scene experts hauling this poor woman's body to somewhere not so public.
what a world.
we get in the car and Rossi turns the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life. I sit with my hands folded neatly in my lap; I'm rigid, though grateful, when working with Rossi. it's something I still need to get used to.
"you okay, there?" he asks as we turn out into the street. my eyes turn away from the locust swarm of cop cars that are parked by the crime scene and I take a deep breath.
"yes, why?"
"you're not usually this quiet."
"really?" I deflect. I've never been particularly chatty at times like this. my mind usually gets sucked into what I'm seeing, memorizing every detail against my will for replay later that night.
"I'm a profiler, too, Clea. and a much more seasoned one than you," he glances my way with raised eyebrows. his features are softer than the photos I've seen before this. even the lecture I attended painted him in a different light. I forget how old he is. but his eyes return to the road while he sighs. "I know when something is wrong."
"nothing in particular," I shift in my seat a little. although I'm sure he gives great advice, I'm not ready to share with anyone the dreams that I've been having. "just still getting settled in, I think."
he must notice that I'm lying; I've never been quite good at it, even in front of non-profilers. but Rossi senses the discomfort that I'm trying to hide and nods.
"well, if it helps, I'm going to be having a wine tasting at my mansion once we get back to Quantico. the whole team is invited."
my words get knotted up in my throat as I think on this. "wine tasting?"
"yes. I've got plenty to spare." there's a slight archness to his tone. I smile.
"to be honest, I really don't think I've got the skill set for that," my limbs relax a little. "my experience is pretty limited."
"and you think the others know a lot?" he waves his hand dismissively. we both laugh.
"okay, then." I nod. "thanks, Rossi."
"Prego!" the sudden Italian interjection makes me roll my eyes playfully.
...
our case doesn't take nearly as much time as I expected. with the unsub's narcissism and general lack of intelligence, we catch him rather quickly and are home before the end of the week. there's a collective gratitude for this fact on the plane ride home which takes the form of lively card games and plenty of friendly trash-talking. we also enthusiastically discuss getting together in the evening.
the wine-tasting event that has been so praised by the team turns out to really be just an excuse for everyone to get drunk while draining Rossi's liquor supply. I've had about three different types of alcohol and, beyond the color, I have no idea what kind.
Penelope is pouring more chardonnay in her glass when she offers some to me. I nod, watch the lovely liquid fill up.
"I'd like to make a toast." Rossi announces, much to the feigned chagrin of Prentiss and Hotch. they roll their eyes while the Italian raises a scotch glass into the air. we're in the kitchen, standing around the counter while bantering about our personal lives and past cases.
"keep it short, Dave. I have to head out, soon." Hotch reminds. Rossi gives him a look, but then turns his eyes to me with a paternal affection.
"to Clea," he says, the rest of the team breaking into smiles. "and her hopefully very long career on the team-- if she can stand us."
there's a chuckle that rolls through the group, but then we all clink glasses. even Reid, who has been downing sparkling cider at an alarming rate, taps his flute against mine. I smile at him, at everyone who is now flooding me with questions. I get a happy, bubbly feeling while I drink. Penelope drops her head on my shoulder and mumbles something that I can't quite understand. JJ talks to Spencer about something, his eyes drifting between the contents of his cup and the clock on the wall. he's distracted by something.
"you okay there?" Emily leans against the counter next to me. she's following my line of sight until it lands on JJ and the boy genius. I nod.
"yeah. just thinking."
"about?"
"how it would feel to be this rich." I send her a smirk. she snorts.
"I would love to know."
"how often do you guys have these things?" I peer around at the guests. everyone seems to be accustomed to the behemoth household that Rossi keeps, except for me. and all of it is so clean, too.
"here? only a few times a year. Rossi doesn't like having people over." she says the last part with a laugh, nursing her drink. I cross my arms.
"fair enough."
"I think people are gonna be heading home, soon, though." she checks her watch. I remember how almost everyone here is bound somehow to someone else, a family or significant other or someone who misses them. I'm not tired at all.
"what about you?"
"I have date night plans with Sergio." she grins.
"I didn't know you have a boyfriend." I raise my eyebrows at this knowledge. Emily seems like the type of person to play the field; her settling down with one person is surprising by itself.
"Sergio is my cat," she tells me. "much more cleanly."
"even better." I laugh. we discuss the merits of owning a pet over dating people until JJ decides that she needs to get back to her family. Hotch is heading out, too, and the steady departure stream of guests begins to form. it's not very late and I'd much rather do something else than go home and watch TV, so I survey the room.
"hey, Reid." I find myself standing beside him while he puts on his coat. it's got elbow patches and there's a scarf that he wraps around his neck to accompany it. he peeks at me curiously.
"yes?"
"would you wanna get a coffee or something?" I grab my jacket off the hanger. before he can say no and shy away from my offer, I explain. "I'm just not in the mood to get home right now."
"uh," his eyes dart down to his shoes, then back up at me. "sure. yeah, that would be... fun."
"awesome." I beam. ever since we hung out in that museum in Boston, I've been thinking about how to get to Spencer. maybe it's just because he's been the slowest to warm up to me, but I'm getting more and more curious about him. that moment when he did something playful-- there has to be more of that. and we obviously have some things in common. it might be nice to have a friend like that, someone with whom I can go to art exhibits.
we all thank Rossi for a lovely evening and I'm about to ask if Spencer wants to Uber somewhere when he starts walking purposefully toward a gorgeous yellow car. it's old-- like, 1950's refurbished, old-- and well cared for.
"whoa." I say as he opens the passenger side door for me in a surprisingly courteous move. I slide inside and breathe in the delicious scent of leather and something crisp and sharp. I wait until he gets in on the other side to ask my questions. "is this yours?"
"yes, actually. I got it about a year ago and I don't drive it very often." he runs slender fingers over the wheel, touching it with a quiet admiration. I turn to him in the dark, the glow from his own headlights casting pale shadows over his face as he starts the thing up. it rumbles to life in a charming, old-timey way.
the sounds of the engine defuse the silence between us as we drive into the city. Spencer almost forgets I'm there, the muscles in his wrists and arms relaxing as he handles the steering wheel. I, on the other hand, am painfully aware of his presence.
every time we make a turn, every time his lips part, I start to think he's going to say something. but he never does, and there appears to be no inclination whatsoever. I wonder if I should ask him some random question to get him rambling, but the nervous energy he usually radiates has softened to something more muted.
it's entertaining when he speaks. I think it's also a guard against vulnerability; at least, that's why I speak so much when I'm anxious. I take his silence as a compliment.
finally, he manages to maneuver his way into a parking spot. I glance around the street, not recognizing the place.
"what is this?" I ask curiously. his hand wraps around the stick shift and parks, turns off the vehicle.
"I come here on the weekends." he glances briefly at me before climbing out of the car. I get out and watch him come around to my side. he's only wearing a cardigan over his button-up, which looks surprisingly cozy.
"so, what kind do you usually get?" I ask. we start to walk down the sidewalk, passing streetlamps and small individual trees that are just beginning to go barren with autumn. the restaurants around here are still full of people.
"coffee? black, usually."
"with five or six sugars." I recall, and he turns to me. there's a dimple in his cheek that tells me he's amused by my memory.
"what about you?"
"I like an iced caramel macchiato, or just a latte." I muse. he pulls open the door to a cute corner place with a steaming mug on the logo. it must be exclusive to the neighborhood.
inside, bookshelves are crammed with used titles and people getting a late-night caffeine fix. most of them are glued to laptop screens or flipping through books. it smells warm and delicious.
"do you know what you want?" he asks, drawing me from my observations. I realize that I've been looking everywhere but at the actual menu. it's drawn in curvy chalk.
"yes." I step forward and the barista behind the register smiles at me. I order my favorite drink and am about to ask my co-worker what he wants, but Spencer cuts me off by ordering and then paying for me. I raise my eyebrows as he hands over the crumpled dollar bills, pleasantly surprised.
when we go to wait for our drinks, he shoves his hands in his pockets and doesn't say anything.
"that's not fair." I frown.
"what's not fair?" his voice is distracted.
"I invited you-- I should have paid for both of us."
"it's okay." he gives me a tight-lipped smile. I find myself taking a step close and poking his arm.
"you're so polite."
"thank you." he doesn't know what to do with this information and it partly amuses me.
"so, I know you're from Nevada, but that's pretty much all of my Spencer Reid knowledge." I oh-so-gracefully segue into the topic. our coffees show up on the counter and we grab them before finding an empty table towards the back of the shop. it's in both of our first instincts to seek out the corner spots.
"well, I--" he starts, but then I remember something else.
"and I'm fully aware of your IQ and plethora of degrees, so don't give me that trivia information." I tease. he's looking down at the lid of his coffee. his eyelids are the color of something slightly bruised, and he lets out a nervous laugh.
"what else is there to know?"
"everything." I grin, my elbows resting on the tabletop. it's a small surface, so much so that even leaning forward a little bit gives off an air of intimacy that makes me hesitant. "we're spending a lot of time together, so you might as well tell me about you."
"I'm really not very interesting." it's an easy way to dodge questions and I don't want to push him too hard or scare him away. I just want to be friends, and that can be kind of hard when I don't know the first thing about him.
"I'll start then, if you'd like." I propose with a smirk. he nods and swallows, the Adam's apple in his throat bobbing.
"well, I was born in Atlanta, but I grew up in Montana. my family still lives there, though. I'm a big fan of the Real Housewives of Atlanta, I'm a scorpio sun, and I hate mushrooms." I fight a smile as I list random facts about myself in an attempt to get him to relax. I'm not hoping for him to divulge his biggest life traumas; there's no pressure.
it works. his high cheekbones poke out a little as he hides a smile behind his drink. my eyebrow quirks at his reaction.
"okay, now you have to go!" I prod. he puts his coffee down, though he fidgets with the sleeve on the cup.
"I guess I'm technically a Scorpio, too." he concedes.
"what? no." I almost laugh at the prospect. at first take, he doesn't really align.
"yes."
"what's your moon sign?" I narrow my eyes.
"I'm not sure, actually." this seems to frustrate him almost as much as it surprises me.
"you'll need to find that out if you want to understand your chart better." I shrug, leaning back in my seat. he fixes his gaze on my face as he tries to read the seriousness of my words. I'm only partly joking.
"what's your problem with mushrooms?" he asks instead, prompting my eyes to widen.
"don't get me started!" this time, I lean my elbows on the table. "I just don't like the thought of eating a fungus. and the texture--"
"what about milk, though?" he asks suddenly. I pause, mouth still open as I think on this.
"what about it?"
"is it weird to you that people drink cow milk in the same way that it's weird to eat fungi?"
"I suppose not." my brows draw together.
"lots of things humans do are 'weird'." he puts the word in air-quotes and it brings a smile to my lips.
"you're opinionated, aren't you?" I tilt my head a bit. this side of Spencer is new to me.
"mushrooms are rich in various nutrients and have been consistently used across time and cultures for medicinal purposes-- not to mention the burgeoning therapy treatments now in development with micro-dosing psilocybin." he replies. I giggle.
"big on shrooms?"
"what? no, I--" he gets a little flustered, shifting his sitting position and getting a rosy tint to his cheeks.
"I'm just joking, Reid." I set my palm flat against the table, something of a truce between us. he runs a hand through his hair. I move on. "I think the psilocybin research is actually really fascinating."
"isn't it?" Spencer's features appear somewhat ghostly under the café lights. he's got a sort of unusual face, although that isn't a bad thing at all. it's interesting.
he begins to talk about depression treatments that are being developed from shrooms, gesticulating wildly. his watch glints on his sleeve as he speaks. I notice the pretty arch of his eyebrows and the way he speaks through a grin. his voice has got a soothing quality to it, each word an individually selected puzzle piece. it's clear, low, and a bit filled with a childlike passion.
I rest my chin on my palm as he rambles, occasionally drinking my coffee and adding in my own thoughts. I think that Spencer could go for days if I let him, that he could talk enough to fill the pages of those books on the wall.
I'm not sure how long we sit in the café-- it could be an hour or three. we jump from medicine to philosophy to his obsession with Medieval literature. this, being something I know almost nothing about, intrigues me.
"my mom was actually a professor of it, so she read a lot of those books to me as a kid." he tells me, not even stumbling over the word was. either she died when he was young or she isn't dead at all-- there is no loss in the weight of this fact. I don't ask about it, but I pocket the piece away for later.
"explains the chivalry." I joke. he frowns.
"sorry?"
"your manners."
"oh," he blushes slightly. "she's always romanticized it, I think."
the change in tense tells me she must not have passed. I run my fingertip over the rim of my drink.
"does she live back in Vegas?" I hope it isn't too invasive.
"yeah, she does," his eyes flit between the tabletop and my face. "she, um, lives in a sanitarium."
his willingness to confide this almost takes me visibly aback. he seemed so hesitant to share personal details earlier this evening; something in my chest warms.
"oh," my voice is thick in my throat. I don't know what to say. "I'm sorry."
"it's fine." it's not, but I get not wanting to dive into it.
my intentions really weren't to prod at something that obviously is close to his heart, so I sit a bit straighter in my seat and look around the shop. we're the last people here, the only other sounds from the two baristas and the whir of machinery.
"are you-- do you wanna head out?" I ask. part of me feels no desire to leave. we probably should. it's getting late and I never know how much sleep I'm going to get. the hours for this job aren't steady by any definition of the word.
"sure."
when my head turns back from peering around the café, he's staring at me. I smile, stand up and push my chair in. he follows, both of us throwing our empty cups away before heading out.
it's much colder. a slight shudder runs through my body as we step into the night. involuntary, but Spencer falters a moment on the pavement.
"uh," he clumsily shrugs off his cardigan. "sorry." hands the thing to me.
my cheeks flush in surprise. his awkwardness is contagious, apparently.
nevertheless, I wrap the thing around my shoulders and feel a little better. it's warm. we keep walking in silence back to the car, my head now filling with thoughts that I can't quite sift through.
he's a very nice boy. I start to feel grateful that my craving for caffeine has given me the opportunity to get to know him better. when I glance at him for a second, his head ducking beneath a low-hanging branch of one of the sidewalk trees, he catches me and offers a ghost of a smile.
baby spencer is such a sub I literally can't--
#spencer reid#matthew gray gubler#dr. reid#criminal minds#mgg#fanfic#fanfiction#wattpad#friends to lovers#BAU#slow burn
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secrets and lies
Aaron Hotchner and Y/N Y/L/N haven’t seen each other since Y/N mysteriously dropped out of Law School right before finals. 16 years later and the meet again as she joins his team at the BAU. Will Aaron finally find out why she left? (set around season 6 time)
aaron hotchner x reader
warnings: some swearing and mentions of murder, just your usual criminal minds antics
a/n - I haven’t written in so long so apologise if it’s not great :) also I have no idea how law school in America works so apologise for any inconsistencies there
*
“You have an excellent record Agent (Y/L/N), the BAU would be lucky to have you.”
She scanned over your file one last time before settling it on her desk, turning her eyes to you.
“I’m grateful for the opportunity maam” her eyes seemed to stare through you, sizing you up and you shifted slightly in your seat.
“Good. I’m sure you’ll fit right in, with such an impressive history. You’ll start with Agent Hotchner’s team monday morning.”
One mention of his name and it felt like your heart stopped. No, this had to be some sort of mistake.
“Is something wrong, Agent (Y/L/N)?” Her brows furrowed in concern, no doubt noticing the sudden tension that seemed to fill your whole body.
“No, it’s just … when I applied for this job I was told I would be placed on Agent Walters team maam.” please let it be a mistake. Please.
“I’m afraid you were misinformed. This position is on Agent Hotchner's team. Will that be a problem for you?”
YES
“No, not at all. Thank you so much, for this opportunity.”
FUCK
*
Just open the door. It’s simple. Just push the door open and walk in. He’s probably not even here. And if he is, he probably wouldn’t even recognise you. Or even remember you. Yeah …
Fuck
“Hi!” you jump as someone taps your shoulder, clutching your chest as your heart thunders against it “Oh my god i’m so sorry!”
You turn, coming face to face with quite possibly the most vibrant woman you have ever met. She offers you a tentative smile, her eyes full of concern, scanning your face for any sign of anger or fear.
“I’m so sorry,” she reaches out a hand and lays it on your shoulder, “are you alright?”
“Yes. Sorry. Lost in my own head.”
She appears relieved, happy she didn’t cause any permanent damage.
‘Hi, I’m Penelope Garcia” She reaches out a hand for you to shake, her smile returning tenfold. It almost seems to emanate light, like she makes everything around her shine. It was infectious, and you soon found yourself with a similar smile on your face, all awkwardness forgotten
“Y/N Y/L/N”
Her eyes seem to triple in size at the mention of your name, her grip on your hand tightening.
“Oh my gosh you’re the new agent! I just saw your name come through on the system. It’s so great to meet you. I’m Penelope Garcia, the technical analyst,” She’s shaking your hand again, this time quite vigorously, “Come on, let me introduce you to the rest of the team.” taking the hand she was shaking she now leads you through the impenetrable glass doors and into the bullpen.
“Guy, come meet (Y/N)!” with her free hand she waves at a group of agents all huddled around one person's desk. At her call they all turn to look at you, and all of a sudden the anxiety of meeting new people suddenly overwhelms the fear of meeting an old friend. “She’s the newest addition to our wonderful team.”
Quite suddenly you're enveloped by a swarm of agents, all introducing themselves to you, asking you about your past, your family, your life. And it’s nice. Overwhelming, but nice. They’re all so friendly, and you can tell they’re all so close. Like a family. It puts you at ease and soon you’re laughing along with them.
“Have I missed a memo or something?”
The voice comes from behind you, and it feels like someone is pouring a bucket of ice cold water down your back. You feel the tension come flooding back and you daren’t turn around.
“Hotch, have you met the agent joining our team?”
Everyone is staring at you, expectant. Your move.
Just turn around. Get it over with. Like ripping off a plaster.
You can feel his eyes on you, burning holes into your back.
JUST TURN AROUND
You turn around.
“Hey Aaron.”
*
You could practically hear the gears turning in everyone's heads.
You knew Hotch? How did you know Hotch? HOTCH HAD A LIFE BEFORE THE BAU?
You drowned them out, focusing entirely on Aaron. For a moment, you could see every emotion on his face, written plainly for you to read. The fear, the surprise … the regret. You always were good at reading him. A moment later he was back to his cold exterior. Unreadable. Unknowable.
All at once his body jumped into motion. He moved the last few steps towards you, reaching out his hand hesitantly, as if not quite sure how to approach this situation.
How do you approach this situation? If only he knew just how weird it was
You took his hand, it practically enveloped yours, and it was so warm, familiar -
PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER
“It’s good to see you again (Y/N)”
“Likewise”
The stares of the other agents came from all sides, clearly trying to decipher just what was happening here. The silence was deafening, the noise of the bustling bullpen just background to the tension and confusion mounting in this one area. You were just waiting for the first brave agent to speak up, to ask the question they all wanted to know the answer to.
“So how do you two -”
BEEP BEEP
The shrill sound of the tech analysts phone thankfully cuts off the question that Agent Prentiss had begun to ask.
“Sorry guys, guess the getting to know you party’s over, we have a case” says Penelope, pouting slightly.
Ahh saved by the bell
Despite this, no one seems quite ready to leave just yet, much more happy to linger here and figure out this puzzle. It’s Aaron who moves first.
“You’re welcome to sit this one out if you want to get acquainted with your surroundings first.”
“Thank you, Aaron, but I’m ready. Let's get to work.”
He throws you a swift nod and moves past you, climbing the stairs to the walkway above. Slowly, the other agents follow suit, until you’re left alone with Penelope.
“Hey, are you alright?” she gently rests a hand on your shoulder, “You seem tense?”
“I’m fine,” you shake your head, trying to clear the thoughts racing through it, “Just first day jitters.”
She offers you a small smile, satisfied with your answer. You can tell she’s just dying to ask how you know Aaron, but not quite sure how to bring it up, like she doesn’t want to hurt your feelings.
“We knew each other. In law school. In case you were wondering.”
“Have you seen him since?”
“Nope. 16 years since I last saw him.” sixteen very long years
You can tell she knows there’s more to it, but she doesn’t want to push. Not on your first day. You expect that in a couple weeks you will be grilled in depth about your relationship with Aaron, what he was like in College, how well you knew him. But for now she simply nods, happy with this snippet of information she will likely file away and research as soon as she gets back to her office.
“Come with me Agent (Y/L/N), we have a case to solve.”
*
The case was pretty standard, If you could call a case that. 5 women had been murdered, all brunets, all young and attractive. No doubt some sick bastard had been dumped or rejected at some point in their miserable lives and decided to take it out on anyone who looked the slightest bit like her. All you had to do was catch him.
“From looking at the geographical profile I've deduced that his comfort zone is between these three points, so the odds are that he lives somewhere in here.”
“We could increase police presence in these neighbourhoods, might make -"
you missed the end of the police chiefs sentence as you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket.
INCOMING CALL: SOFIA
You feel someone's eyes on you and look up to see Aaron’s questioning gaze. You flash the phone at him and he simply nods his head. You slip quietly from the room, trying not to pull any attention away from the discussion happening around the table, and duck into an alcove.
“Hey sweetie”
“Hey mom.”
“Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, I just wanted to say goodnight. How’s the case going?”
“It’s good. Well, not good, but it’s certainly going.” you can feel those eyes on you again, and you resist the temptation to look round.
Not now, please not now
“Well, I don’t want to keep you if you’re busy, just wanted to touch base.”
“Ok, well goodnight sweetie, I’ll see you soon. Love you”
“Love you too. Oh and mom.”
“Yeah?”
“Kick some bad guy ass.” You laugh at that
“Ok, I will certainly try.” You hang up the phone, still grinning slightly as you glance at the picture on the screen. You and Sofia had spent the day at the beach and she had snapped a picture of the two of you as the sun set, ice creams in hand. You missed her.
There was a flurry of movement from the room you had just left, everyone grabbing their things and moving to the exit.
“What’s happening?” you managed to snag Reid’s arm as he walked past. By the look on his face it wasn’t good.
“They’ve found another body.”
You felt your stomach drop. You weren’t smiling anymore.
*
Dumped. Like trash. Just something to be thrown away. That’s what he thought of these women. You stared at her body, all crumpled on the floor and you felt the anger bubbling in your stomach. If you stared long enough she started to look like Sofia. A bit older, a bit taller. But the similarities were still there.
You closed your eyes, shaking your head slightly, trying to clear yourself of that mental image.
No. She’s at home. Safe.
“Are you alright?” He’s looking at you with that air of concern again and it’s almost too much. You can't bring yourself to look in his eyes, instead opting to look at the wall just over his shoulder.
“Yeah I’m fine.”
“If you need a minute, a break…”
“I’ll be fine Aaron.” You look at him then, feel the full force of his gaze and it overwhelms you. He can see it in your eyes. His eyebrows furrow and you can see he’s trying to read you, trying to figure out just what's wrong.
Everything. Everything’s wrong. And you don’t even know .
You feel the tears start to well in your eyes and you force yourself to look away. You can see out the corner of your eye as he begins to reach for you and you hold up your hand.
Please no. Don’t touch me. I don’t think I could bare it. Then it would be real.
“I’m fine Aaron. Really. It’s just a lot is all.”
“(Y/N) -”
You walk away before he can probe any deeper, moving to the mouth of the alley, breathing deep from the crisp night air. The tears still sit, threatening to fall and you try to hold them back.
Not here. Not now. Keep yourself together.
You feel him coming up behind you again, and you spin, your fear and sadness turning to anger.
“Aaron I said I’m fine -”
“Woah don’t shoot it’s just me.” You see Prentiss holding her hands in mock surrender. She lowers them, huffing out a laugh, but regarding you with that self same look of concern.
What is this look? A BAU special?
“I’d ask you if you’re alright but I don’t especially feel like getting my head blown off. That being said … Are you ok?”
Just like she did a moment ago you let out a small laugh, shaking your head slightly.
“Oh god, this isn’t a great first impression is it?” You feel like an idiot. You’re first day and already you’re practically having a breakdown.
“Don’t worry about it. We all have our moments, our limits. It’s what makes us human.” She lays a comforting hand on your shoulder.
You can see why they’re all so close. They look out for one another. See when one is hurting. Like a family.
Family.
“We’ll get him you know.” She pulls you from your thoughts and you glance back to her, eyes focussing on the here and now.
“I know.”
You share a small smile and you begin to truly believe it.
*
And catch him you did. You had figured out he was stalking and abducting women from their homes. He saw them at work, in a coffee shop, at the mall. One look and he already knew he wanted to kill them. The trick was finding them after he had abducted them. And without any physical evidence to even hint to who this man might be it seemed an impossible task.
But he slipped up. He left a trace. Whether that was the increased police presence, the fact that the FBI were there or just the fact that he was getting sloppy. It didn’t matter. You had DNA. And a name.
Charles Manes. We're coming for you.
For a man unhinged he was surprisingly easy to take down. He just gave himself up, that shit eating grin on his face as he did it. The last woman he had abducted was laying on the floor, bound and gagged. You ran over to her, pulling the rope from her body and helping her to sit up. She began sobbing and you held her against you as she cried, rubbing soothing circles on her back.
“You’re ok. You’re safe now.”
The paramedics took her from you and led her outside, ready to take her to the hospital. You followed after, stopping by the front door and leaning against the frame, taking a moment. You felt a presence beside you and turned to see Rossi watching her get loaded into the ambulance.
“We did good.” he said, not even glancing towards you, “She’ll be alright.”
“Eventually.” You took a deep sigh, feeling yourself start to relax. A commotion made you both look and you saw Charles fighting with the officers trying to load him into the police car. It seemed Aaron saw too as in a flash he was by their side, helping to get him in without causing any more damage.
You felt your body tense, felt Rossi glance at you questioningly.
“Everything alright agent?”
How do they do this? They barely even know me! Stupid profilers.
“Never better.” You said, glancing back at him over your shoulder as you made your way to the SUV’s, to the rest of the team.
“We got him,” Prentiss clapped you on the shoulder as you passed, headed to the second SUV, “let’s go home.”
*
You had to admit, travelling by jet was quite the experience. What wasn’t as fancy was the great pile of paperwork waiting for you at the other end. You’d only just started but already you were swamped.
You sat at your desk. Penelope had laid out your things whilst you all were away. “I just wanted you to feel more at home here when you got back”. It was sparse, but functional. She had even left you a post-it note with a cute message on and a unicorn stress toy, “You didn’t have any pictures, so I wanted to liven the place up a bit, I hope you like it.”
Right. No pictures. Wonder why.
The paperwork loomed and you tried to stay focused, eager to go home, but as the words began to merge into one another you knew it was time for coffee.
Another long night it is then.
You thought about calling Sofia, letting her know you would be late back. Would she even still be up? Who are you kidding, of course she is.
Might as well call her. A break from paperwork might do me some good.
You reached into your desk drawer to take out your phone.
“Y/N can I speak to you for a moment in my office?”
Maybe not then.
He was looking down at you from the walkway, not quite meeting your eyes. He seemed fidgety, like he couldn't decide whether to cross his arms or put them in his pockets or lean against the bannister.
Nervous. Interesting.
“Of course.” You walked up the stairs to where he stood and he motioned for you to go inside and take a seat. He lingered by the door for a moment before pushing it closed and making his way around the desk and sitting in his chair, hands steepled before him on the desk. He regarded you for a moment and you felt your heart skip. It felt like he was x raying you, like he could see into your mind, into the thoughts racing about in there. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, trying to escape his gaze, or at least prompt him into talking. Anything to break the silence.
“I just wanted to check in on you, your first case and all. You’ve done some exceptional work and I can see you being an excellent asset to this team.”
“Thank you. I can see that I’m going to enjoy working with this team.”
He simply nodded, nothing more to say, but you could see in his face he wasn’t done. Not really.
Is that really all you want to say? Come on Aaron spit it out. I can see it in your eyes. Maybe this will make it easier on the both of us, if we just blurt out what we have to say at the same time. Or would that wreck you even more? Either way I’m the bad guy. But I can’t keep this to myself. You need to know. You want to know. So just ask.
“Why did you leave?” he blurted it out suddenly and it shocked you, and by the look on his face it shocked him too
“I’m sorry what?”
He gained back some of his composure, steeling himself before asking again.
“Why did you leave law school. Right before finals you just up and left. No letters, no reason just there one minute gone the next. I tried to find out something, anything but no one knew-” You could tell he was working his way up to something.
Come on. Ask me. Make this easier on me. Blame yourself, so when I tell you the truth it will hurt less. Because you know why. Or at least part of it.
“If you left because of what I did I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to drive you away. It was stupid and immature and if that is why I am truly sorry.”
Oh god, I thought if I heard you admit it, it wouldn’t hurt as much to tell you the truth. To hurt you like you did me. But it’s worse, so much worse. Because you’re sorry. And I’m the villain. The one who didn’t tell you.
You could feel the tears falling down your face, slipping onto the hands wound tightly in your lap. His face was breaking too, and you couldn’t bare to look at it a moment longer.
“Y/N -” he reached across the desk for you but you held up your hand to stop him, just like in the alleyway.
“Please. Don’t.”
“If this is because of me I’m so sorry. If you want I can get you a transfer. If you can’t work with me we can sort this out.”
That's right, the cowards way out. Just keep avoiding this conversation till you eventually die.
Just tell him. Get it over with. Rip off the bandaid.
“Please stop. Just stop. It’s not your fault. I mean, it was, partly, but it wasn’t. And when I tell you why you will probably hate me, and can take that. I deserve it. And if you want to transfer me out, get rid of me I understand. But when you left me, to go back to Haley it broke me. I hated you. I hated you with everything I had and I thought the best way to punish you was to just not tell you. But over the years I’ve realised how stupid I was, how selfish and foolish I was to not tell you. All because of some petty relationship drama.”
His look of confusion morphed into one of understanding and horror. Like he had connected the dots in his head but wasn’t quite ready to admit to what they all added up to. He was as far away from you as possible. Like you stood before him with a bomb and he was waiting for it to go off. And you were.
“I was pregnant Aaron. I was pregnant and I never told you. I just left. And I’m so sorry.”
Your whole body was shaking as you dissolved fully into tears, not daring to look at him, to no doubt see the anger and the disgust written on his face. Disgust at how stupid and selfish you were.
Not telling someone they have a daughter. How evil can you be.
You heard your name spoken softly from the chair beside you. You hadn’t even seen him get up. But he reached for you again, and this time you let him, let him pull you into his arms, rest your head against his chest as you cried and cried, spilling tears onto his white shirt. He rested his chin on top of your head, rubbing soothing circles onto your back, rocking you slightly.
No. This is wrong. This is all wrong. You should hate me for what I’ve done, I’m despicable.
“Aaron.” You brought your head up from his chest, finally looking at his face. He didn’t look angry or disgusted, he just looked … sad.
“It’s alright.” He gently brushed some of the tears from your face, one hand coming to rest on your cheek, “It’s ok.”
“It’s not ok Aaron. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I kept this from you.”
The hand on your cheek fell away, coming to rest instead on your hand, holding it in his.
“You must hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“Well I hate myself.”
“This isn’t your fault”
“Isn’t it?”
“I screwed up. We both did. But I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me about this. I drove you away and I broke your heart. We both made mistakes. But we can fix them now.”
The way he said, the way he seemed to stare into your soul, made you truly believe you could.
“Tell me about them. Tell me everything.”
And so you did. You told him everything about Sofia. How excited she was to go into her junior year next year. How she liked to eat pancakes on saturdays and drink tea because it made her feel fancy. You told him how she cries at soppy movies and how you would always make time for mother daughter dates. And he listened to every moment of it, every little detail. And it pained you that he never knew any of this. That he never got to see her grow up. But maybe now he could get some of that time back. Still have a relationship, make some memories with her.
“I want to meet her.”
“I want that too.”
And you felt some understanding pass between the two of you. That whatever had happened in the past was over with. Now, what was important, more than anything else, was family.
#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner fanfiction#Criminal Minds#criminal minds fanfic
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Touch My Heart Part 2
Summary: Baby come back, you can blame it all on me. Or how to get your man back using bath soaps.
She has to cry silently, let her heart crack and splinter in silence because she doesn't want to explain her tears to Hong Yeon or Court Lady Choi. She should have expected nothing, should have known the King would want the one he truly fell in love with. But she'd still hoped, wished, dreamed selfishly that he would accept her and her feelings.
That he would beg and plead with her to stay, would declare that he loved her too. She knew that wasn't the case but still her useless heart had been holding out, only to be shredded apart when his eyes revealed how much he missed Jang Bong Hwan. It wasn't fair for either of them, she couldn't be a replacement and he would be forever longing. They would live eternally in limbo, that was no life worth living.
It was a fool's dream, she'd thrown away her chance when she jumped into the lake drowning both her desires and ambitions. She thought filling his shoes would be doable, some of his quirks and behaviors had left a lasting impact on her soul and they had many hobbies in common. But they weren't the same, maybe cut from a similar quilt but the patchwork was too intricate to be replicated.
So she cries, gasping sobs that rattle her bones and wreck her lungs; for the life she couldn't have and for the pain she knows the chef must be going through. If she was this heartbroken at the thought of being without the King, he must be crushed; soul and spirit pulverized to dusty remains.
Sleep comes to her painstakingly, her eyes so raw and red that even the act of closing them hurts and she twists and turns all night until the sandman pulls her under.
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"Hong Yeon-ah, you have been loyal to me since the day I was brought here." The young court maid looks at her with a puzzled smile at her sudden reminiscing, but nods as if she's used to her oddities by now, barely pausing her actions.
"Yes, you're highness. You are always most important to me. I will be loyal to you until the end. And when your child is born, I shall be loyal to them as well." Hong Yeon smiles sweetly at her whilst gently brushing her hair, putting fragrant powder on the roots as she twists her hair into braids.
"I will always cherish you."
"Your highness?" The court maid stops braiding her thick hair, peering into her eyes inquisitively through the mirror. "Why are you speaking as if you will not be here with me?"
She forces a content smile, having now accepted what she just do for herself, the King and most importantly Jang Bong Hwan, the one who saved them all.
"I might be going on a faraway trip, don't look for me. Just care for my baby and take care of the King." She can tell that the younger woman has many questions on her mind but mostly she seems...saudade; she understands more than she wants to and she's sad but she knows the Queen well enough to know why she must do this.
"I too, will always cherish you. I hope we meet again and I can be by your side once more, it was my greatest achievement."
She hugs the court maid, no her close friend probably one of her best friends. Remembering how eagerly she would follow her around, becoming her confidant and supporter as she found her footing in the palace.
"I hope I meet you in another life." She whispers into Hong Yeon's trembling head, embracing tighter because this is her last time.
The others are not as perceptive as Hong Yeon, but she does notice tears lingering in Court Lady Choi's eyes before she blinks them away.
"Thank you for always nagging me, it made me feel like I finally had a mother. I hope you can find your own happiness now." She knowingly looks over at the royal kitchen, making the older woman blush and turn away.
"Are you going to be okay?" She thinks about the question, and she smiles as she answers, "Yes. I'm going to be happy, I will make sure of it this time." She now knows that she has the power to do so, nothing can control her life besides her.
She sends for her father, hugging him tightly despite his apparent confusion. He's been all she's had for so long, it's her hardest goodbye of all. He will never know she's gone but she will mourn his loss until she takes her last breath.
"Father, I love you. I know everything you did was for my future, I know you made mistakes along the way but I couldn't have asked for a better father. In another life I want to be your daughter again." She cries into his shoulder, childishly gripping the bottom of his robe like she did when she was young and had a nightmare.
He looks at her with wet eyes and a huge grin, chuckling before rubbing her belly and showing her all the new gifts he's brought for his grandchild. She smiles and listens, soaking up all his love and warmth to keep her warm on those lonely days.
Later that night, she presses her palm to her stretched skin she's barely showing now only a minor bump under her clothes. But she can feel the life inside of her, her sweet baby.
"My baby, know that I loved you. That I would do anything to protect you. Please be good to them and have a happy life. I hope we too will meet in another life, you are blessed to have two mothers who adore you. Never want for anything." When she feels light taps at her belly, she grips her belly tighter.
She has no regrets, it's time.
The next day, she goes through her day as expected. Letting her servants serve her and enjoying the breeze from the lake, she takes in the majesty of her life and smiles at the sky.
When night falls, she stealthily rises from her bed donning only socks on her feet to make her steps undetectable, she's already said her goodbyes so there is nothing keeping her back now. Only her fears but she's stronger than she was before, there's no turning back now.
The lake glistens remarkably under the mystical glow of the moon, calling to her like a siren. The water sloshes as she steps into it, hissing at the cold that prickles at her skin before her body adjusts. She keeps walking until the water buoys her off her feet and licks at her collarbone, taking a deep gulp of the night air she plunges her head under the watery sheet. Water burns her lungs as she loses the ability to breathe, resisting her bodies urge to escape.
This time is different, this time she's here to live.
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He goes through the motions of life, but everything feels like a chore. He quits his job, deciding to open a a small restaurant with his savings. His restaurant instantly becomes a fan favorite because of his delicious flavors and affordable prices, he also takes to cooking at a soup kitchen on the weekends. There's a young girl whose innocent smile reminds him of Dam Hyang, he always gives her extra meat with a wink.
That's the only thing brings him joy these days, he had so desperately wanted to be back and now, now he was miserable.
What had he been missing so much? His body? His job? Technology? All of it meant nothing now, it couldn't fill the void in his heart. Nights are the hardest, sleep is elusive and his thoughts race thinking about them- how were they living without him? Was his Cheoljongie able to fall asleep? Did Court Lady Choi and the head chef make it official? Was Hong Yeon doing well? Did they even notice that he was no longer in the body of the Queen or was he already forgotten?
Did he mean anything to them or was he easily replaced by Soyong? Those thoughts haunt him daily and he starts drinking, blacking out every night in a stupor just trying to turn off his brain. But that does nothing to soothe the ache.
He tries to find comfort in others.
Finding willing partners is easy, women throw themselves at him but he's more thoughtful now, no longer seeing them as conquests. He remembers their names and cooks them breakfast in the morning, but he still feels hollow like all of his innards have been scrapped out with a jagged spoon.
So he sleeps with men, gets fucked hard into his bed stifling his moans into pillows trying to feel something, anything. But being taken does nothing, he's still empty even while stuffed full. Nothing compares to him, everyone else falls short and it makes him crazy; he has to move on. One night stand after one stand does nothing to abate the emptiness he feels.
Spending time with his mother brings him solace, she's older so he has to care for her but it's not a chore, he's happy to.
"You seem different these days." He hums as he bathes her, swiping a soapy loofah across her shoulders and wetting her short thin hair.
"How so?" He hasn't mentioned anything to her or anyone, there's no way anyone would believe his story. Sometimes he wonders if it was all a vivid dream that he created to deal with his coma but the proof is in the history book, the one he keeps on his bed side table. A reminder that it was real, that he's not crazy. It's both grounding and soul crushing.
"You're waiting for something." She answers mysteriously, eyes sliding shut as he tips her head back to wash out the shampoo.
He doesn't reply. He's not waiting for anything, there's nothing coming. This is his life now. He's just waiting for the end.
After putting his mother to sleep, he travels back home his body aching, tight from lifting another human. Mentally fatigued from suppressing his feelings all day.
He watches idly as the water fills up the tub, his fingers dancing across the surface before he stops the flow squirting a honey scented bubble bath until the water is foamy. He undresses dropping his clothes carelessly on the ground before dipping one toe into the bath, he groans at the welcoming heat letting the water envelop him fully.
The bubbles tickle his nose as he sits in the tub, his muscles slowly relaxing under the luscious heat. It feels nice. He should be content, he's able to take a warm bath in his lavish apartment that should be enough to raise his spirits.
Tears start pouring from his eyes, he hadn't let himself cry that day that feels like a lifetime ago. Had sucked up all his sadness and loneliness and pushed them in a corner of his mind, but now the corner is exploding and he can't control his emotions. All his walls are crumbling in his mind.
He sobs, choking on air and wiping at the moisture on his face but they are falling too quick for him to catch and he starts to hiccup.
"I'll never see them again. Hong Yeon, Court Lady Choi, head chef, Cheoljong, my baby! It's like I never existed, why did this happen to me? I never asked for any of this!" He screams at his ceiling, he's never been a religious person not wanting to put that much trust in an intangible being in the sky, but if there is some omnipresent being, he curses them for punishing him.
"Why me?" He pounds at the water, shouting when soap splashes back hitting him in the eye. Flailing and attempting to rub it out, he's unaware of how close he is to his shower caddy until his hand hits the metal contraption, causing the suction cup adhering it to the wall to lift and the caddy precariously dangles before loosening and crashing down. Pain explodes in his temple before he slides into the water, excess leaking over the edge and onto the floor. Soapy water fills his lungs until he loses consciousness, everything fading to darkness.
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"Jang Bong Hwan! Wake up! Open your eyes."
A familiar voice penetrates the foggy cloud in his brain, as he struggles to clear mind.
"Please! Wake up. This may be our only chance!"
The voice pleads with him, he feels wispy threads weaving around his mind and finally he starts to force his eyes open, willing his body to follow his commands.
Wake up. Wake up. WAKE UP!!
Bursting free of his prison, he jolts awake looking around wildly shocked to see himself submerged in water far deeper than his tub is capable of holding, everything feels familiar. Eerily so.
Then he glances in front of him and a face he's grown so used to seeing is peering back at him.
"Kim Soyong?" He barely whispers, certain he's having a ridiculously vivid dream.
"This isn't a dream. I've been waiting for you."
He stares at her in shock, in complete disbelief about the situation. What the fuck was going on??
"What the fuck is going on?" He voices his thought, watching as she smiles and swims closer to him.
"I'm bringing you back. I'm giving you back this body." She states confidently, taking his world and knocking it upside down.
"What are you talking about? Everything is back to the way it should be, the King loves you. History changed. Everything is as it should be." He squashes the desperate hope that blooms at her words, nothing was that simple. It simply wasn't their fate to be together.
"Is that how you truly feel? Is everything as it should be? Are you happy?"
Happy. That feeling is foreign to him now. But he has accepted his fate, he was able to help his King that was enough.
"I helped him. That's enough. I can't ask for anything more." He answers honestly, resolve melting as he thinks of his King and his smile.
"He loves you. I thought what I felt for him was love but I know the difference now, love is earned. You earned his love."
The tears start again, he looks at her lost. He doesn't know what to do.
"But you deserve to be happy too. I know everything you went through, I felt it too. I can't let you die because of me, I want you to live Soyong." He cries heart aching for the woman in front of him, she only ever did what she thought she had to. If someone had truly been there for her without any motives, this could have been different.
"I do deserve happiness too." She agrees and his heart jumps because this is it, he'll truly never see Cheoljong again.
"But I won't get it in this universe." Blinking through his tears he stares at her, a sad accepting smile on her face.
"I will always live in your shadows. That is not a true life, I want a fresh start. I deserve a live of my own without any regrets." She swims closer until they are face to face, nose barely grazing as she carresses his cheeks. It's clear what she intends to do, her lips moving closer until only millimeters separate them.
"Take care of him and our baby." She whispers before closing the gap, warm lips pressing against his and then he feels a sharp tug from the center of his stomach lurching him forward and then suddenly backwards.
He's only able to get out two words, "Thank you." Before he's plunged into darkness again.
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He swirls in a sea of nothing for what feels like eternity, locked somewhere he can't escape. He wanders and wanders trying to remember who he is and where he is? The darkness is unchanging and he feels smothered by it, running only to end up back at the same spot. But then he hears a sound, something soft and sweet. A voice, a voice he recognizes but he doesn't know how.
Who is that?
Where am I?
Those questions spin around and around in his head, vicious cycle that leaves him feeling no closer to the truth or the end.
Then he hears another voice, louder and deeper. It's pleading and pained, his heart aches for the agony he can feel and then he feels a sensation, a distant touch and suddenly a door opens in the darkness, light pours into the once desolate room and he rushes to the door, chasing the light. Needing to be closer to that voice and that touch.
His head is throbbing, opening his eyes feels like a splitting headache but he pushes through the pain desperate to see where is he. His eyes are burning but he forces his heavy lids up and sunlight floods his vision, making him wince and shut them once more.
"My Queen?"
It can't be. No. He's dreaming.
He feels a hand wrap around his own, completely cocooning it.
"My Queen! You're finally awake!" The King cries, relief emitting off his body as he clutches him to his chest. His hot tears landing on the thin material covering his shoulder.
Throat scratchy and aching he licks his lips before speaking, "Cheoljongie?"
Immediately the King freezes in his arms, it's so quiet he can hear the crickets outside chirping loudly. The King slowly leans back, his eyes darting all over his face with something that looks like nervous wonder.
"What did you call me?" He whispers, his eyes wide.
"Cheoljongie!" He screams suddenly throwing himself into his King's arms, which are loose at first but then they become rib straining tight but he doesn't care, he needs this hug more than he needs air.
The King breaks them apart grabbing his face ardently, "Is it really you? Jang Bong Hwan?" His name sounds foreign on his tongue and now it's his turn to be speechless.
"You kn-kn-know my name? You know who I am?" He stutters incredulously, feeling the tears streaming from his eyes but this time doing nothing to stop them.
"I know everything. I know you're a man from the future, you were telling the truth. You always told me the truth."
He feels steamrolled, pressed out and flattened by this discovery. He knew that and he was still here hugging him? It didn't make sense.
"How do you feel? About the truth?" It's not an easy question to ask but he needs to know the answer, there are in a different time now. Cheoljong hadn't said such when he had explained to him that sexuality was more fluid in the future, people were allowed to express themselves in many ways. There was no right or wrong way to love.
It was a nice sentiment, but this was a Joseon period. Everything was different here.
"I love you."
He's not expecting that answer and he stares with his mouth open, feeling himself being drawn into a tighter hug his small body slotting perfectly into Cheoljong's. It's unnerving and familiar being this much smaller than him again.
"I love you so much. I don't care what form you take, I'll love you every single time." He growls the last words, rumbling between their bodies.
He's never said these words out loud to anyone but his mother, but he knows that he means it. He's never wanted to say them to anyone before but now he can't wait, he's bursting with it.
"I love you too. Life was empty without you, I was walking in an endless desert. You are my oasis." They stare at each other passionately, the King's fingers warm on his cheeks as he clutches at his royal robes. They gravitate towards each other as their lips meet and the universe rights itself. He moans at the sensation of having his King's lips back on his, the kiss tethers into frantic in mere seconds. All of their longing and heartache colluding as they slam into each other.
Their tongue slide and twist around each other, he nibbles at the King's lip letting him lick at his open mouth gasping as a hand grips the nape of his neck.
He grabs the King's hair pulling him closer so he can plunge his tongue deeper, swallowing his hardy groans and letting some breathy moans escape from his bruised lips. It's going to take some getting used to, being so slight once more, whimpering as the King easily manhandles him pushing him back onto the bedding and bracketing him in his powerful arms.
The move knocks his head into the floor, momentarily dazing him as a soft "Oof," falls from his lips.
The King reacts immediately, drawing away with concern pouring from his face.
"I apologize my Que...en I was too eager, you've just woken from a vegetative state. Now is not the appropriate time for such.... activities. I will control myself." He notices the King's hesitation as he pauses while saying the title which has become something more for them.
"It's okay. You can still call me that it means too much to me now and I don't want you to be careful. I've spent all this time feeling alone and empty, trying to find other," now he hesitates and the King's eyes widen and then scowl in comprehension, "Means to feel alive. It was all futile, nothing compared to you."
The declaration does little to douse the jealousy he can feel surging off his King, he almost purrs in response. Excited. Electrified.
"I will make you forget about all others. My name is the only that will fall from these lips," Cheoljong rubs a large thumb across the his full bottom lip, seductively. "I missed you so much and I'll show you just how much."
"I spent so much time hoping to get back to my dragon, only to miss yours too much to enjoy my own. It's sad isn't it?" He pouts reaching out boldly to grab the King's thick cock peeking through his layers.
The King smirks, crawling over him before lifting up his dress easily and lowering his undergarments with a swift tug.
"My dragon missed you immensely, it's time to get reacquainted. " Cheoljong warns before slipping into his body without preamble, he shouts and tightens at the intrusion.
Every cell in his body feels alive and buzzing.
They get acquainted all night, into the wee hours of the morning hoarse shouts filling Daejajoen hall as all the court ladies blush and cover their faces bashfully. Hong Yeon smiles knowingly at Court Lady Choi, both with matching 'earmuffs' the Queen had gifted them long ago.
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"Mr. Jang, can you hear me? Mr. Jang?" She struggles to regain conscious as a light is shined into both of her eyes, blinking wildly she turns her head away trying to escape the bright glare.
"I apologize. I had to check your pupils. How are you feeling? You've been in a coma for three days. We were very worried since you had been comatose just a month prior. It's not good for the human brain to be in that state several times." She listens absently to the doctor(?) too fascinated by all the unfamiliar things surrounding her.
There's a strange machine beeping away next to her and something attached to her arm, her eyes bulge at her arm, it is larger thick with muscles she's never had before. She flexes and watches entranced as her arm gets even bigger.
"Mr.Jang, are you okay?" Finally she glances over at the feminine voice, clipped and professional but a tinge of genuine concern.
She's gorgeous, a round face and wide almond eyes that are scanning something in her hands, she has thick hair that is held up in a topknot with tendrils framing her face and her lips are succulent and rosy red, she feels blood rushing to her nether regions. When the doctor notices her staring she puts down the thing in her hands, to meet her gaze head on.
"Mr. Jang?" She finally realizes that's her name, Jang Bong Hwan.
"What's your name?" She feels compelled to ask as if this is the most important question she'll ever utter, something tugs in her stomach as they stare at each other.
"Dr. Won Beom."
She smiles.
Author's note: This will be my canon moving forward in my future untouchable updates, I'll also be incorporating a love story behind Director Hong and Kim Hwan because they are the sweetest beans and I feel like they can get great advice on their relationship from our King and Queen. 🥴😉 I was very selfish with this fix-it I don't want to let go of my Joseon family, so we're staying here instead.
#mr.queen#queen cheorin#king cheoljong#kim soyong#jang bong hwan#sobong#mad homo#as it was intended#bath tub time travel#science#no touch princess
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oh god I want to ask abt many of ur wips but the one that v obviously stands out the most to me is valerine and the twins !! that ficlet u did for this concept with teh mb still lives in my head rent free so ofc I want to know how that fic is going. also 40 (bc what a concept !!) and/or 53 <33
I thought that would be the one that most interested you haha, of course you can know how it's going, I am very pleased that it lives rent free in your head. You obviously know the basic concept, which is that Valerie and Caroline get full custody of the twins, so we'll jump right into the snippet instead!
"I want to go for full custody."
Valerie stops. Her hands are drenched in bubbles and soapy water, a plate in one hand and the sponge in her other. She looks more domestic than Caroline ever thought she'd see her, hair tied back loosely and wearing one of Caroline's softest plaid shirts. It's orange and pink. It's a good look on her.
The smile that had been caught on her lips just a second ago has faded slightly as she processes what Caroline just said. In all fairness, it's a big thing to just casually throw out into a normal conversation while washing the dishes.
"Okay," Valerie says slowly. "Um... Okay, that's a pretty big deal." She lets the plate slide back into the sink and turns to Caroline, shaking her head. "I mean, I think you should."
Caroline blinks. She was expecting a more alarmed response; usually, in tv shows and books, when one person says they want to get full custody of a kid, it's a big deal for the partner, right? They're not sure they can handle it, they're not sure their relationship will be able to get through it, all of that.
Flat out agreement wasn't quite on the list.
"Really?" she asks, straightening up with a surge of joyful hope. "You do? You're not -- you don't want to -- to talk about it or anything?"
Valerie frowns, her brow wrinkling. Caroline's always liked the little crease it makes between her eyebrows. Not when she first met her, that was more satisfying, knowing she had stumped her. But recently, it's become a fond thing rather than one for her to be triumphant over.
"Caroline, they're your kids," Valerie says. "If you want full custody of them, it's not my place to have a say in that."
The hope is quickly pricked with a sharp little pin and bursts, deflating with a sad whistle. It weirdly stings her, too.
"That's... No, that's not how this works," Caroline says, weirdly hurt. Maybe she had been expecting a bit more hesitation surrounding the idea, but this feels worse.
Valerie seems to be realizing that. Confused, grabs a towel from the sideboard and starts drying her hands, while she says, "It isn't?"
"No!" Caroline laughs in disbelief. She steps forward and takes one of her partially dry hands in between both of her own. "No, it's absolutely not. Val, you are a big part of my life now. You know that, right?"
Valerie hesitates now. Her mouth opens like she wants to agree, but her just runs along her teeth while that little crease in her eyebrows grows deeper.
"Well, yeah," she quickly says after a moment, with Caroline's exasperated stare focused on her. "Of course I do. But I wouldn't stand in the way of any decisions you wanted to make about your kids, that's why I just thought this was more you telling me rather than something for us to talk about."
Caroline's realizing that Valerie's response wasn't because she doesn't want to be part of the family. She just doesn't think that she is part of it.
Which... actually hurts even more, Caroline finds. Because maybe that's on her. Has she been making her feel left out? Like she's a separate part of her life from Lizzie and Josie? That was the last thing she wanted.
"Valerie," Caroline says seriously, and her eyes widen a little with worry. "Almost every decision that I make for my future is going to include your voice, because it's going to affect yours, too. That's what being in a relationship is, remember? So, if I tell you that I want to get full custody of Lizzie and Josie, I'm asking you to talk it through with me before anything goes ahead. Are you okay with having that conversation?"
She has never seen Valerie look so stumped for what to say before. It's the first time they've had a conversation like this, one that's really going to affect both of them.
But even though she has that fight-or-flight, ready to flee at a moment's notice look in her eyes that she often gets, Valerie nods slowly. Then her face breaks out into a smile, and she breathes out a soft laugh, looking down.
"Yeah," she says. "Yeah, I would love that."
Now, 40! Hope living with Jeremy! It is certainly a concept, isn't it?? This comes entirely from the start of season 2 of Legacies, when no one remembered Hope but she was sticking around Mystic Falls to help with the Malivore monsters. When watching that, my mum and I had been trying to guess who she was going to live with, because surely she wouldn't be living on her own and she couldn't stay at the school, so we came up with the theory that she was going to be living with Jeremy, who, as far as we knew, would have to have somewhere to live while he was in town. And then I decided that if she was going to be living with Jeremy, they would train together, he would help with some Malivore monsters, then they would slowly bond because Jeremy was actually kinda friends with Kol at one point. And then we have big brother Jeremy! Have a little snippet:
There's a loud thwacking noise from the back garden as Hope walks into the kitchen. She pauses momentarily in her sleepy state, registers the noise, then continues going about grabbing a bowl and her box of cereal. It's nearly empty, she finds, to her dismay.
Once she's poured the last of the milk and tossed the carton, she opens up the back door and steps out into the garden. Her eyes adjust quickly to the darkness and hone in on the figure currently throwing a staff around at a tree like it has personally offended him.
"Are you ever worried that one day it's going to fight back?" she asks curiously.
Jeremy startles and nearly drops the staff in his haste to turn around to face her.
"I mean, dryads and wood nymphs are actually a thing. Just so you know. That tree might have a family that probably wouldn't appreciate you hitting it repeatedly for fun."
She spoons cereal into her mouth as Jeremy laughs. Relieved that she isn't some Malivore monster sneaking up on him, he relaxes enough to double over, hands on his knees as he breathes heavily. For someone who's not exactly unfit or unathletic, he gets out of breath incredibly easily.
Tilting her head, Hope asks, "Have you ever considered that you might be asthmatic? You breathe like one."
"And you talk like your uncle," Jeremy quips back, still laughing at her comments. He groans, straightening back up as he adds, "But yes, I do have asthma. Thanks for your concern."
Hope's heart beats a little faster. It always does when her family is mentioned, more often now than before. The urge to get on the bus and go home to them in New Orleans is still there, no matter how much she tries to ignore it. She needs to focus on Malivore's monsters. But it's hard sometimes.
She smiles to herself, wondering if he's right. She hopes so. Uncle Kol was always her favourite. The thought that she could be making him proud with just a few words fills her with a kind of happy pride she hasn't felt since Uncle Kol told her she was just like him for causing trouble at the Salvatore School.
Then she wipes it off her face like she always does whenever he casually talks about her family, straightens up against the doorframe, and says, "Maybe you should use an inhaler, then. I wouldn't want you dropping dead while we're fighting a monster."
"Hasn't happened yet!"
She rolls her eyes at him, something she also finds herself doing often these days. It's easier to ignore him and continue eating her cereal while he goes back to training. Clearly, he has no concern about dryads coming after him for revenge.
"Hey, do you wanna join?" Jeremy calls over to her.
He offers the staff out to her, but she shakes her. Motioning her cereal with her spoon, she smiles again, and says, "I'm good. Just came down for this. You have fun freezing out here, though."
She turns back inside the kitchen as Jeremy chuckles and shakes his head at her. "Good morning to you too."
53 is a good choice, I very much enjoy that one as well. "Klayley Wedding" is pretty much what it sounds like; Klaus and Hayley are together and getting married. They waited a while to do so, so Hope is seventeen and being pulled out of the Salvatore School for a few days in order to be there for it. And she's bringing a date! Here is your preview:
"Come on, humour me," Lizzie whines as she fusses with the back of Hope's hair. Why she agreed to let her style it, Hope has no idea; it was definitely a moment of bad judgment, but at the same time, it was let her do it when she begged, or be forever resented for saying no.
And having Lizzie Laughlin-Forbes resent you is not something anyone in the Salvatore School risks. It's signing a death sentence.
Rolling her eyes, Hope goes to shake her head then quickly stops when Lizzie holds it firmly on both sides and glares at her in the mirror. "No moving until I'm done!" she reminds her. "I haven't spelled it yet, you'll mess it up."
"Have you ever considered going into hairdressing?" Hope asks dryly, glaring back halfheartedly. Really, she doesn't mind her helping her out.
It's at least better than her having to worry about it herself. Though, Aunt Rebekah is not going to be happy that she didn't let her do it. It's why she's practically been avoiding her since getting to New Orleans.
Lizzie laughs shortly, then says, "Nice try. You're not wriggling out of the question."
Hope doesn't admit that's what she was trying to do, but it definitely was the intention. Lizzie has been a broken record since she found out that Hope was bringing a date to the wedding. At first, she was offended that Hope hadn't asked her, but then saw Hope's reasoning when she pointed out that she and Josie were already going to be there because of their mom.
"It's not a big deal!" Hope says, finally at least acknowledging the question.
Lizzie scoffs. "Oh, of course not. Except, it absolutely is, and you know that it definitely is to Rafael. You basically asked him to meet your family, Hope. That's a big deal to most people."
"Not to you or Josie."
"We've known your family since we were born!" Lizzie protests. She stops whatever she was doing to Hope's hair to stare at her in the mirror. "Rafael is head over heels in love with you, any person with barely working eyes -- or ears -- knows that. Except you, apparently!"
Hope shakes her head, once again forgetting Lizzie's rule. Lizzie quickly holds her head in place again, but she's too focused on the conversation at hand to lecture her again.
"Maybe this is your way of letting him down without having to actually tell him!" Lizzie continues, obviously trying to get under her skin. "After all, you've invited him to meet your family, who are probably going to threaten him at every turn. Especially your dad, because of the whole macho alpha werewolf thing, you know?"
"My mom's actually the Alpha of the pack, not my dad," Hope corrects, but Lizzie brushes it off.
"After today, Rafael's probably not going to have any feelings for you anymore out of fear of your family, so, really, you won't have to do anything. I mean, it's smart -- a little cruel, but at least you don't have to do any of the hard work yourself, that's all up to your family--"
"You make them sound terrifying," Hope protest with a touch of offence to her voice, staring up at Lizzie in the mirror. "They're not that bad. I actually think they'll like Raf."
Lizzie raises an eyebrow. She's smiling.
"Is that because you want them to like him?" she asks slowly, and Hope groans, but Lizzie quickly presses on before she can interrupt, "Just admit you asked him to be your date because you like him!"
"If I do, will you shut up and finish my hair so that we can go and meet Josie and Raf?"
Lizzie lights up like a Christmas tree. She squeals excitedly, even though Hope technically hasn't even admitted anything yet. She's taking it as all the confirmation she needs.
"I like him," Hope says anyway, and maybe she's smiling a little as well. "And yes, it would be convenient for me if my parents liked him before anything happened between us."
"I knew it," Lizzie breathes out, shaking her head. She picks back up where she left off with Hope's hair as if nothing happened. "Now that that's over. Tell me, would your Aunt Rebekah mind if I borrowed that really gorgeous emerald bracelet she showed us yesterday?"
Hope is laughing. Lizzie can't seem to figure out why, but honestly, Hope's just so happy in the moment that she can't help herself. For a moment on the way over to New Orleans, when everyone was packed onto that bus, shouting and arguing, she thought this was going to be a disaster. Someone would end up killing someone.
There's still time for that, especially since neither she nor her mom have told her dad that she has a date. But Hope is finally living up to her name for once and is choosing to be hopeful that, actually, maybe everything is allowed to go right for once.
God, writing those snippets took me so long, so apologies for the delay! But I actually enjoyed this a lot so thank you so much for giving me motivation! Who knows, I might actually finish writing them now! (God, now all I can think about is TVD and Legacies, I haven’t been here in ageeeees. Time to rewatch TVD season 1-6 and season 2 of Legacies, I think.)
#nbvethbrenatto#ask away earthlings!#tvd#the vampire diaries#legacies#fanfiction stuff#wip nudge game
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Not Alone in London
Tom Holland x reader
PLATONIC
Warnings: mentions of anxiety and swearing.
Y/a = your age
Summary: Y/n is an actress, best known for Marvel/ Avengers movies. While on press tour for the latest movie, she finds herself alone in London, much to her dismay. Enter Tom Holland.
You had arrived in London two days ago, doing press for Marvel. Your jet lag had begun to wear off and you were finished with your interviews for the day. This trip in particular was different. You were alone. Of course, you had your team with you, and you loved them, but it wasn’t the same as having your mom or someone else with you. Being in another county, as much as you loved it, was still pretty intense, no matter how many times you’ve done it.
You were walking down the hall on your way to grab a tea when you saw Harry Holland walk out in front of you.
“Oh, excuse me. Y/n! Hi! ...Are you alright?” Harry asked. He had a concerned expression on his face.
“Oh it’s okay, and I’m okay. Thank you, Harry. It’s so nice to see you!” You said giving him a hug.
It felt so nice to be with someone familiar and you knew what it meant for him to be here. Tom was here as well. You felt excitement bubble up in your chest. You loved Tom and had grown very close to him from Marvel and press tours. You had been told that you were getting the last of the interviews of the tour and everyone else had gone home. This was your last stop before you too could go home. It had been nearly a week since you had seen Sebastian, Evans, Downey, Scarlet, or anyone from the cast. You barely got to say goodbye due to the hectic schedules and it was hard on you to be ripped away from your family so suddenly. You had been experiencing so much anxiety. You thought you had it under control, but it returned toward the end of this tour.
“Tom’s in there. He should be wrapping in a bit, if you’d like to wait for him. I have to leave now, but I hope to see you again while you’re in town.” Harry said with a smile.
You gave him a hug and he hurried off. You awkwardly stood in the hallway waiting for Tom. His interview took longer than you expected, so you slid down the wall and sat on the floor.
A bunch of people started to leave the room carrying equipment and stuff. You could hear Tom’s voice, chatting away. You couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying, but you could still tell he was being so polite and funny, like always. Tom finally walked out of the room and gasped when he saw you and you quickly stood up and launched in his arms. He picked you up and hugged you tightly.
“Aww, sweet girl! What are you doing here?” Tom asked, still holding you.
You felt as if you were going to cry right then and there. Your anxiety had been through the roof and you couldn’t stand it much longer. Tom felt you shudder and set you down, observing your teary eyes.
“I think you and I should go get some water or something.” He said, pulling you into the catering room and shutting the door.
He poured you a glass of water and handed it to you, before pouring one for himself. Tom had seemed to go into a protective mode you hadn’t really seen him in before. He hadn’t had to. Now, he had concern in his eyes, but also determination.
“Y/n, do you mind telling me what’s wrong?” He asked, placing a hand on your shoulder.
You proceeded to pour your heart out to him about all that had been going on. You didn’t mean to dump all of your emotions on him, but you just had to get it off your chest.
“I’m so sorry… I don’t mean to be dramatic. It’s just been hard for me.” You explained, dabbing your eyes with a tissue. You didn’t want your interview makeup to run down your face.
“Darling, do not apologize.” Tom scolded, leaning down to your height.
You nodded.
“How long are you in London?” Tom asked.
“Four more days before I go home. I should ask you the same question, haha. I went to the movies a few weeks ago, and I saw your name on three posters!” You gushed. The tears had stopped flowing.
“It is true that I’ve been very busy.” Tom laughed. “I’m home for a few weeks, thankfully. Where are you staying?”
“In a hotel down the street from here.”
“With who?” He asked.
You almost didn’t want to answer. You knew he wasn’t going to like it.
“...Myself.”
“Y/N!”
“I’m y/a, you know.” You mumbled, looking at your feet.
“Uhuh, yeah.” Tom smirked, clicking his tongue. He found it endearing how you thought you were so big and bad now. “You mean you like to be grown up and alone?”
“I thought I would...but no, not with my anxiety.” You answered.
“Y/n, if I ask your mother, would you like to come stay with me in Kingston? I have a guest room and my parents’ house is literally right down the street.” Tom kindly offered.
“Tom, are you serious? You do NOT have to do this.”
“Oh hush! It’s you, Y/n! I insist. I’d love to have you. My family loves you as well.” Tom insisted.
“Okay.. This is actually really, really great. Thank you so much, Tom.” You hugged him tightly.
“Of course, darling. I still have to call your mother though.” Tom said, extending his hand for your phone.
“Tooom. I’m y/a now!” You whined.
“Haha! Like that means anything. Yous a baby!” He teased, ruffling your hair, making you blush.
You let Tom talk to your mom and of course she was okay with it. She felt much better about you staying with people you knew instead of being cooped up in a hotel by yourself. Tom drove you to the hotel to get your stuff. You had to be very quick and sneaky because you did not feel like dealing with paparazzi. You finally got into his car and he made his way to his place.
“You want the aux oooor?” Tom asked, handing you the cord.
“Nah, I’d rather hear what you listen to.” You said. You didn’t really know what music he liked, or even if he liked American music, so you let him play his own.
He listened to quite a variety of music. Lots of rap that he knew every word to. You’d giggle at his raping, but his singing… you were blown away. You were surprised he even sang in front of you, because he’s very self conscious about his singing voice. It was really good. His driving is good, but he had a few questionable moments. You weren’t about to try to give him any advice, but almost called him out a few times. You finally did one time and he insisted that’s how they all drove in the UK.
“Tom, that some bullshit.” You joked, making Tom laugh and blush.
…
“Here we are!” Tom swung open his door to his apartment and it was very nice, and surprisingly clean. There were a few things tossed about the countertops and what not. It was obvious that he travels a lot and doesn’t get much time to spend at home. You felt a bit awkward, even though you knew Tom really well, and of course trusted him. You wanted him to be able to relax and not worry about entertaining you.
“Chill, Y/n!” Tom chuckled. “You’re welcome here. I don’t like being by myself either.”
You relaxed a lot and felt very at home with him. You both had such a good friendship. You were very happy to be able to spend some one-on-one time without constant interruptions and time limits due to schedules.
…
You and Tom ended up on the couch, watching a movie. You were both tired from the travels over the last few weeks. You laid on one end and he laid on the other. His legs reached over to your side, barely, but yours weren’t long enough to reach to his. You thought of a silly idea, to hopefully bring out some of you two’s shared playfulness.
You looked over at Tom, the blanket pulled up to his chest, texting on his phone and glancing up at the movie every once in a while. You then looked back down at his foot that was next to you, with his Spider-Man tattoo on the bottom of it. You smirked before tracing your finger all over the tattoo, causing him to giggle and jerk his foot.
“Y/n, no!” Tom giggled, looking over his phone at you.
“Oh! Sorry, I was just looking at your tattoo!” You said innocently. You wondered if he’d retaliate and tickle you back, but you didn't think he actually would.
“That tickled me.” Tom said quietly, and really cutely, before focusing back on the movie.
You smirked to yourself and went back to “tracing” his tattoo. He laughed and yanked his foot away, sitting up.
“Y/n!” Tom exclaimed. He had a goofy smile on his face, like he knew what you were up to.
“Why do you keep freaking out? I’m just admiring your tattoo!” You said mischievously. You loved playing around with Tom. He really is a sweetheart and likes to joke around quite often.
“Oh reaaally? Because I think you're trying to get me to tickle you.” Tom smirked, raising his distinctive fluffy eyebrow that he has never been able to tame.
You blushed a dark pink, and didn’t really know how to respond. His comment made you very flustered.
“Wow, you’re blushing so much! Now I HAVE to tickle you!” He teased, crawling over you.
You began giggling nervously and pushing at his chest with the blanket.
“Tom Holland! D-Don’t tickle!” You squealed.
He paused for a moment, chuckling, before ripping the blanket away from you and immediately digging all ten digits into your tummy.
“Tickletickletickletickletickle!” He teased in his accent.
You absolutely lost it, thrashing and laughing.
He mocked your laughter, making you laugh even harder and blush even more. You tried to grab his hands but he was too fast and strong.
“Stop trying to fight me!” Tom laughed, now squeezing your hips.
You were in hysterics. His hands squeezing your hips tickled so bad, and every move you made only made it worse… but you HAD to move! It tickled too much not to.
“I think you’re laughing way too much, Y/n! If you keep laughing, I’m going to tickle under your arms!” He threatened with a devious grin.
You covered your mouth with your hands, trying your hardest to muffle your laughter. Tom began tickling your sides and you broke out into loud laughter, shoving at his hands.
“That’s it! I warned you!” He exclaimed, shooting his fingers into your underarms. “Kitchy kitchy kitchy!”
You laughter fell in and out of silent laughter and you collapsed, unable to move. If you moved, it would tickle even more and you couldn’t stand it.
Tom looked down at you, chuckling. “You’re super ticklish, Y/n! I mean, it really blows me away.”
He stopped tickling under your arms, letting you breathe. Then he started squeezing your thighs and you began wiggling around again, your laughter escalating.
“Tom, I cahahan’t! Stahahahaaaa!” You exclaimed through your laughter.
“Oh alright… I’ll just tickle your ribs. I know you’re super ticklish there! Sebastian tickles you there all the time and you absolutely lose it!’
You gasped. “Nonononooo I’m not even ticklish there!” You knew that comment just got you in trouble, but you may have said it on purpose.
“Not ticklish on your ribs? Are you sure? Because I think I remember that if I do this, you start giggling like mad.” He teased, using his index finger to wiggle the middle of your right ribs.
You squeaked and began pushing at him again.
“Oi oi oi.. How dare you push at me when I’m tickling you!” Tom growled. He then grabbed your wrists and pinned your arms above your head. He used his free hand to shake your left ribs.
Your laughter turned into adorable squeaky giggles. The way his fingertips vibrated into your ribs tickled like crazy.
“Does that tickle?” He asked sweetly, chuckling at you. Of course he knew it tickled bad, but he wanted to make you say it.
“YEHEHEHEEESSS!”
“Okay okay! Hahaha I think you’ve had enough.” Tom said. He could tell because you were about to turn purple.
Just as he stopped tickling your ribs, he used his free hand to pin your wrists down more securely. “I almost forgot!” He said, pushing your shirt up a bit so he could blow a raspberry on your tummy.
He blew a huge raspberry, shaking his head, making you scream and then fall into silent laughter. He stopped and looked up at your red face.
“I think you can take one more. What do you think?”
“I cahahan’t!” You squealed.
“Y/n.. You can do anything!” He said with a squinty smile. He then blew another fat raspberry that tickled even more than the first one, your belly laughter filling the room.
He ceased his tickle attack and fell back to his side of the couch. You caught your breath and drank some water while he focused on the movie with a sly smirk. You rolled your eyes at him and smiled, butterflies swarming around in your stomach.
“Tom..?”
“Yes, darling?”
“Um, I think I actually really needed that, so thank you.. And thank you again for rescuing me from having to be alone.” You said quietly, blushing because you actually just thanked him for tickling you.
“Aww haha, anytime Y/n/n. I love you, darling! I’d never let you have to be alone.” He said, sitting up and ruffling your hair, making you smile.
“I love you more!”
“Oh no way! Not possible!”
You both fell asleep on the couch during the movie a few minutes later. You were both tired from hysterical laughing as well as interviews and jet lag. You both related to each other, being young people in the industry, and you especially looked up to him. You spent the rest of your time in London with Tom and his family. He and his brothers absolutely loved showing you around real London culture. You had an amazing trip after all, and you and Tom became even closer than before.
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Part Two: Mr. Brightside
A/N: Here’s Part Two! I don’t know when Part Three will be out, but I’m sure it’ll be out soon, I’m almost done the part and the songs for it! Check out the playlist!! If anyone wants to make an Apple Music version, just DM me!
PLEASE TAKE A SECOND TO LOOK AT MY PINNED POST, SIGN THE PETITION AND REBLOG IT IF YOU CAN!!
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Henderson!OC
Fandom: Stranger Things
Warnings: Guns, violence, life-threatening situation, aggressive talk about Russians (evil Russians, not all Russians), belittlement, feelings of inferiority, feelings of weakness, deprecation images of oneself, SPOILERS!!!
I Wanna Be Yours Playlist (Spotify)
This part’s songs: Red - Taylor Swift | Mr. Brightside - The Killers | Iris - The Goo Goo Dolls | To Wonder - Aqualung (feat. Kina Grannis) | Lost Cause - Beck | Towards The Light - Jacoo | Blood // Water (King Kavalier Remix) - grandson, King Kavalier | Oh No!!! - grandson (explicit) | 1 SIDED LOVE - blackbear | Take What You Want - ONE OK ROCK (feat. 5SOS) | Get You The Moon - Kina, Snøw (Shifts into Part Three)
Part One | Part Two | Part Three - Coming Soon
masterlist | taglist | wips | navigation
- not my gif -
Steve hid behind the plastic plant in the middle of the food court, the binoculars pressed around his eyes, surely leaving a noticeable red ring around his eyes. He was supposed to be looking for the evil Russians that the boy crouched beside him keeps rattling off about, but he couldn’t stop watching them. He really did try to pull his focus away from the two teens standing way too close, but his eyes just pulled towards them like a magnet. “See anything?” Dustin asked, poking his head up over the plant. The two stood out like sore thumbs, proving that they were shit at stake-outs.
“Uh, I guess I don’t totally know what I’m looking for.” Steve admitted, pulling his eyes away from the couple to scan over the other people occupying the mall. His mouth hung open, his eyes drifting back up to the second floor where Ophelia and Brett stood, leaning against the railing.
“Evil Russians.” Dustin told him as if it were simple.
“Yeah, exactly,” Steve exclaimed, not even trying to pull his eyes from Ophelia as she laughed. “I don’t know what an evil Russian looks like.” Steve muttered, his binoculars following Ophelia and Brett as they walked along the second floor.
“Tall? Blond? Not smiling,” Dustin listed off suggestively. Steve only hummed, squinting into the binoculars, watching as Ophelia bent down to grab a drink of water from the water fountain, paying attention to how Brett snuck a look at her butt, her dress riding up dangerously. His blood started to boil at the sight of him shamelessly eyeing her like a piece of meat. “Also, look for earpieces, camo, duffle bags, that sort of thing.” Dustin looked over at him as he hummed along, not paying attention.
“Right, okay, duffle bags,” Steve repeated, following the pair as they walked again. If looks could kill, Brett’s arm (which was wound around Ophelia’s waist) would have been killed brutally. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Steve muttered in disbelief when Brett leaned down to whisper something in Ophelia’s ear making her pull away, a blush darkening her cheeks as she giggled and hit his chest playfully. The smirk Brett wore made Steve want to knock his lights out. It was a smirk that told Steve his true intentions. He just wanted to get in her pants and he thinks he’s almost there.
“What?” Dustin asked, trying to follow the line of the binoculars to see what Steve saw, thinking he saw a Russian.
“Your sister,” Steve told him as if it was obvious. “I have no idea why she would even think about going out with a guy like Brett Morris. She can do so much better than that weasel, god-” He ranted, his top lip curling into a snarl at the sight of him pressing a kiss to her cheek, the blush coating her delicate cheeks deepening. “He’s a sleaze.” Steve grunted, looking at the tall hockey player in disgust. Dustin’s eyes snapped towards his sister, watching Brett interact with her.
“I don’t know, I don’t see anything wrong with it, they’re on a first date and he’s being nice?” Dustin shrugged, not seeing what Steve was all worked up about. Steve pulled his eyes from the binoculars, keeping them in place so he didn’t lose the couple.
“Nice? You see nothing wrong with it,” Steve asked, bewildered. “Dude! That’s your sister and he’s smirking like he’s about to bang her!” Steve nearly cried out. Dustin’s lips turned down in a disgusted frown as he fought back a gag before turning his attention back to his sister and her date who made their way down the escalators, still in each other’s arms.
Dustin watched Brett smile down at Ophelia as she gazed at all the sights, seeing what was going on. He shrugged, looking back at Steve who watched the same scene with a snarl. “Dude, he’s smiling like he likes her,” He shook his head at the older boy. “Why do you care anyway? Do you like her?” Steve pulled away from the binoculars again, furrowing his brow at the younger Henderson. Dustin twitched an eyebrow at Steve, waiting for an answer.
“I don’t like her,” He denied, his voice filtering almost like it knew something he didn’t. Of course he didn’t like Ophelia. Those were old feelings. She’s his best friend’s sister. The girl who fought demogorgons, demodogs and Billy Hargrove alongside him. The girl who always comes in and brightens his day with her smile and laugh. The girl with bright eyes that seemed to swirl with stars. She was the girl who he felt a strong need to protect, to shield away from the world that was hell-bent to destroy such a beautiful creature. The girl who kissed him in grade nine during a game of spin the bottle. Steve certainly did not like Ophelia Henderson and her certainly didn’t find himself thinking back to that quick little peck of the lips at Hannah Hanson’s party. He scoffed, looking back through the binoculars and letting panic settle into him. “Shit! Where’d they go-” He was cut off by someone snatching the binoculars away.
Both Dustin and Steve jumped, looking up at a fuming Ophelia; the binoculars grasped in her hand. Her body nearly shook with the anger coursing through her. “What are you two mouthbreathers doing? Spying on my date?” She asked, her fingers wrapped around the binoculars turning white from her grasp. Steve’s lips parted, his brown eyes looking up at her. It wasn’t like he set off to spy on her date, it just kinda happened. Dustin grabbed the binoculars back from his sister, making the angry girl shift her eyes to him.
“No-” Dustin snapped, holding the binoculars to his chest. “We were looking for evil Russians, Steve is just a horrible spy.” He told her, bringing the binoculars up to his eyes. Steve whined at the younger boy’s comment, but otherwise remained silent.
“Evil Russians? Why would you be looking for evil Russians in the food court?” Ophelia turned her nose up, looking at her brother as if he were crazy. Dustin sighed, pulling the binoculars from his eyes to give her a look. Steve furrowed his brow at her until he remembered that she had left them last night before they discovered the Russian transmission came from the mall. Heat bubbled in his chest, remembering why she had left them. His jaw clenched, his brown eyes hardening on the wall across from him, hoping that his stare could make it crumble.
“The Russians aren’t in Russia, music from the Indiana Flyer was heard in the background of the recording, blah blah blah, there you’re all caught up-” Dustin grumbled, peering through the binoculars again, leaning forward as he looked at each person mulling around suspiciously. Ophelia opened her mouth to retort, but Dustin cut her off. “Now go back to your date so that I can actually spy - unlike somebody.” Dustin shot the last part towards the older boy who sat there, stewing in his anger.
With a groan and a roll of her eyes, Ophelia turned on her heels and strutted back towards Brett who now held a pretzel and a drink in his hands. Steve watched as he greeted her with a smile, handing her the drink. His now free hand slipped along the small of her back as he guided her towards one of the empty seats. “Ugh, he doesn’t need to be so handsy.” Steve grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest, his lips pouting.
“Oh my god, I don’t get why you can’t just see it, are you really that blind?” Dustin asked Steve, not taking his eyes from the binoculars. Steve looked over at the busy-haired pre-teen.
“See what?” Steve snapped, trying his hardest not to look over at Ophelia again, just knowing he would be greeted by the sickening sight of her giggling for another guy. Just the thought of another guy making her laugh like Steve does made his stomach churn. He felt like he was standing out in a field as the world around him turned cold, the blue skies swirling into a dark gray - just seconds before the cold rain poured down on top of him.
“See how you actually feel about Leah, you Dipshit,” Dustin exclaimed, growing tired of Steve’s blindness. “Everything you’re seeing with Brett being an ass is all in your thick head, fueled by your jealousy!” Dustin told him. Sure, Dustin hadn’t noticed the crush that his friend harboured for his sister, but the second that Ophelia told them about her date, Steve had changed. It had become obvious to Dustin. All the time Steve just suddenly dropped by the Henderson household with Ophelia’s favourite movies in his hands, the fact that Steve was always parked by their curb in the mornings to drive them to school.
“I feel like she’s a friend, you Dipshit,” Steve argued back, his top lip rolling up into a sneer at Dustin's suggestion. The fact that everything in his life had suddenly become a downcast blue since Brett had asked Ophelia on a date didn’t mean he liked her. Just because he felt like his heart had been struck with a hammer does not mean he liked her. “And I am not jealous, I am quite positive if I do say so myself.” Steve liked to view himself as Mr. Sunshine. Full of positive light and energy. Though, he couldn’t shake the images of them after their date. Brett’s fingers trailing along the curve of Ophelia’s side as their lips mashed together. The hockey player’s fingers slipping under her skirt, running along her thighs. The mental image hurt him so much he could have punched a wall.
“Come on Steve! You like her, why else would you be so obsessed over her going on a date with Brett?” Dustin pointed out. Steve scoffed, rolling his eyes. Why was he even fighting with Dustin on this? Dustin was a kid, he doesn’t understand the complicated world of love. He doesn’t know the arch of a heart, he doesn’t know the pining and the angst. He has no idea what he was talking about.
“Because Brett Morris is a dirty sleezeball and Ophelia shouldn’t be on a date with him!” Steve told him, his arms moving frantically even though he knew Dustin wasn’t going to pull his eyes away from the binoculars to watch him.
“Sure,” Dustin hummed, finally pulling away from the binoculars far enough to turn his head to look at Steve. “And the fact that you can only refer to Brett as Brett Morris has nothing to do with jealousy?” Dustin posed the question. Robin and Dustin all refer to him as just Brett in a nice, casual tone, but Steve always spat his first and last name as if it was venom he had just ingested, his face always screwing up as if he had just referenced his arch nemesis.
“I just don’t like him, I know his type.” Steve avoided, his head swirling from Dustin’s interrogation. Why did he not like Brett? Steve never really talked to him. Sure they were both popular, but Steve hung close to the basketball crowd while Brett spread out a little more within the high school groups. Brett and Ophelia ran in the same crowd, being involved with multiple organizations in school. Without an explanation, Steve had developed a hatred for the tall hockey player from the first time he saw him and Ophelia talking in the school hallway as they stood at her locker, why back when Nancy was in the picture.
“You like her and if you don’t figure that you soon, you’re going to have to figure out how to forget her because she’s not going to wait around for you.” Dustin shrugged, telling him how it is. Of course he knew how his sister felt, he figured out how to pick the lock on her journal two years ago. He knew everything about her, and some of it, he didn’t want to know.
“I don’t like your sister dude!” Steve gave up trying to make excuses, knowing that Dustin will just mess with his head someway, making him question if he actually did like Ophelia.
“Yes, you do.” Dustin stated pointblank.
“No.” Steve denied again. Dustin shook his head, peering through the binoculars once again.
“Yes-” Dustin sang back, pleased with knowing that he was right once again.
“No-”
“You do!” Dustin shot back. Steve glared at the younger boy.
“She’s not my type, okay? She’s too nice, too sweet, too pretty - too perfect.” Steve trailed off towards the end, not being able to find the correct reason why she wasn’t his type. When he was King Steve, he was positive that Carol and Tommy wouldn’t have any problem listing reasons why she wasn’t his type, but now he wasn’t sure. She was gorgeous, funny, insanely smart and caring. She was everyone’s type.
“What’s your type again? Girls who don’t like you?” Dustin perked an eyebrow at him when he pulled away from the binoculars once again. Steve shot him a sharp glare for the comment. Steve wasn’t sure what his type was in all honesty, but he was sure that Ophelia wasn’t it.
“Thank you,” Steve forced the corner of his lips up in a sarcastic smile before they dropped back down into a straight line. “For your information, Ophelia is still in school and that’ll be weird for me to date someone who is still in high school and she-she is nice to the weird-o’s like Robin. She’s on the prom committee and homecoming committee, and she likes hockey players apparently - hockey players are the bottom of the sports food chain.” Steve ranted, searching his mind for his next point.
Dustin looked at him once again, rolling his eyes at his reasons. “Now that you’re out of high school, which means that you’re technically an adult, don’t you think it’s time to move on from primitive constructs such as popularity - which Ophelia is popular.” Dustin suggested, trying to get Steve to see the world that’s outside of all the worrying about fitting in.
“Oh, primitive constructs? That some stupid shit you learned at Camp Know-” He paused, shaking his head, trying to come up with the name of the camp Dustin had went to this summer. “Nothing?” He settled for an insult, his defence mechanism starting up.
“Camp Know Where, actually. And no, it’s shit I learned from life,” Dustin told him. Nerds, with all that they have to put up with from the popular people, have learned things. They’ve learned that you shouldn’t focus on making other people see you as cool, instead you should focus on making yourself happy. Steve hummed, looking away from Dustin to scan over the people walking around. “Instead of dating somebody you think’s gonna make you cooler, why not date someone you actually enjoy being around,” Dustin suggested. Steve blinked, thinking about it. He did like being around Ophelia. She made his day brighter and just the thought of her made a smile stretch onto his face. “Like me and Suzie.”
“Oh, Suzie-” He mocked, bouncing his head. Dustin gave him a look, pulling the binoculars back to his eyes. “Yeah, you mean ‘hotter than Phoebe Cates”, yeah that Suzie, and, uh,” Steve paused. “Let’s actually think about it, how exactly did you score that beautiful girlfriend,” He posed the question, scratching the side of his face in faux question. “Oh yeah! With my advice,” He reminded him. “Because that’s how this works, Henderson. I give you advice and you follow through - not the other way around, all right, pea-brain?” Steve shot at him. Dustin gave him a look before resuming his search.
***
Ophelia walked towards Scoops, a dazed look on her face. The feeling of Brett’s lips on hers was still fresh. The odd feeling she felt in the bottom of her stomach returning at the memory. His lips felt odd on hers, they didn’t feel as pillowy as she imagined them to be, instead they were chapped against hers. His lips had touched her so gently, almost as if he was scared that she’d shattered under him any second. Normally, she would have found his gentleness romantic and endearing, but the kiss was almost just his lips hovering over hers, just barely brushing together like he didn’t even want to touch her. It was like that for the entire date, his fingertips just brushing against the small of her back or his arm barely touching her shoulders.
She found her mind wandering off to Steve and if he would have done the same thing. Would he have barely touched her, would his lips just skim over her’s in a short kiss? Would his fingertips ever so slightly touch her body? Maybe Brett just didn’t want to touch her? He hadn’t even mentioned a second date before he scampered off for his shift with blushing cheeks. She sighed, her heels scraping against the floor sluggishly. “Does he even like me?” She whispered to herself. She heard thudding feet running towards her, making her lift her head to see Steve and Dustin rushing out of Scoops in search of someone.
They ran towards her, Steve’s hand reaching out to grasp her small wrist in his, yanking her along with them. She let out a squeak of surprise as she was spun on her heel and pulled towards the center of the mall. She tried to ignore the tingling and the heat that crawled up her arm, spreading throughout her body at his grasp. Steve came to an abrupt stop when they arrived at Robin who stood on the bench wrapping around the center planter’s box that held an assortment of fake plants and a tree, a wide eyed look on her face as she looked down at the three of them. “Robin, what are you doing?” He asked, walking closer to the blonde, his hand still wrapped around Ophelia’s wrist.
“I cracked it.” She said, a hint of excitement in her usually monotone drawl. Ophelia furrowed her brows, glancing at Steve’s hand still on her wrist. His grip, it wasn’t just hovering over her like Brett’s was. His touch felt different from Brett’s. His touch was just something brushing against her body while Steve’s ignited warmth in her that spread throughout her body, like a fire burning under her skin.
“Cracked what?” Steve asked, prompting Robin to jump from the bench - Steve and Dustin’s eyes following her. The sound of her sneakers slapping the tiled floor made Ophelia look at her.
“I cracked the code,” She couldn’t help the smile that consumed her face. Ophelia smiled, proud of Robin for cracking the seemingly impossible code. Robin brushed past the group, glancing down at Steve’s hand encircling Ophelia’s wrist. “Oh, um, Steve?” She turned around, walking backwards with a smirk on her face.
“Yeah?” Steve asked, his eyebrows jumping up as he turned his body to look at Robin, waiting for her to ask him something. Her eyes jumped from between Ophelia and him with sparkles of amusement dancing in her vibrant blue eyes.
“I think you can let go of Ophelia’s hand now.” She beamed at the older boy. Instantly, Dustin and Steve’s eyes dropped down to see that Steve’s hand still held Ophelia’s wrist, making Dustin snort and slap his hand over his mouth to stop his chuckles while Steve nearly choked on his own spit - a blush covering his cheeks. His hand dropped Ophelia’s wrist, the warmth she felt from his fingers grasping her wrist still burning throughout her body.
“Thanks.” Ophelia smiled, walking towards Robin, leaving Steve and Dustin behind. Slipping his hand from his mouth, Dustin looked at Steve who stared at his hand, clenching it in a fist before stretching it out, feeling a weird tingling that felt like he just grabbed an electric fence. Steve’s brown eyes looked up at Ophelia who talked to Robin about how she managed to figure out the code. Her hair bounced behind her as she tried to keep up with the slightly taller girl, her heels clicking against the clean tile.
“Yeah, you definitely don’t like her.” Dustin mused, giving Steve a look as he shook his head. Steve looked over at him, still fisting and unfisting his hand.
“I don’t like her!” Steve denied making Dustin hum and walk away, joining Ophelia and Robin. Steve rolled his eyes, trudging after the group.
“So, Leah,” Dustin cut into the girl’s conversation, earning pointed glares from both of them. “How was the date, from what I saw, it went pretty good.” Dustin inquired, stealing a glance at Steve who glared at him as well. Ophelia glanced at her brother, before glancing at Steve who dropped the glare and gave her a smile instead.
“Yeah, Leah, how’d the big date with Brett go? You were so excited yesterday.” Robin easily changed the subject, knowing that she had the rest of the day to explain her thought process and the plan she was cooking up in her mind. Ophelia shrugged, glancing down at her feet.
“Uh, it was okay. We just kind of walked around after the movie, we shared a pretzel and sat by the fountain, that’s about it.” Ophelia waved them off, her tone less excited. The date was good, he made her laugh, paid for everything before Ophelia could even think about it, but she couldn’t help but let the kiss and lack of talk about a second date put her off. Steve sensed her downcast mood, his heart itching to cheer her up. He couldn’t stand to see her so down, but he also couldn’t help but to feel delighted at the thought that her date didn’t go well.
“Did he kiss you? Is there a second date?” Robin pressed, glancing at Steve from the corner of her eyes as he waited for her answer with baited breath. Ophelia shook her head, a heaving sigh leaving her lips.
“He did kiss me, but it was weird and I have no idea if there is a second date, he didn’t even talk about a second date,” Ophelia admitted, looking at Robin. Robin simply looked at her with wide, confused eyes. She was shocked, Brett seemed to actually like Ophelia. “I’m fine, really. Brett’s cute and nice, but I think we might just be better as friends.” She brushed off Robin’s sympathetic eyes.
“Still, that must suck, Leah. I know how important this date was for you.” Robin rested her hand on Ophelia’s shoulder softly, offering her support. In a private moment with Robin last night when Steve was scooping ice cream and Dustin had been in the bathroom, Robin had made Ophelia crack, admitting her feelings for Steve along with her hopes that this date would help her get over the goofy dingus. Hoping that Brett would be the antidote to the poison that was her crush flooding her veins.
“It’s no biggie, he has my number. Maybe he’ll call me, maybe he won’t - who knows,” She continued to deflect Robin’s support. They all walked into Scoops, seeing barely anyone in the store. Robin opened her mouth to talk to her, but she cut her off. “I’m just going to change into sneakers, I want out of these shoes.” The words were heavy with a lack of emotion, a huge contrast to her normally sweet voice and cheery disposition. Steve watched her as she walked sluggishly into the back room, his heart hurting. He didn’t want to see her so sad. He wanted to see her bright smile, to hear her laughter bouncing off the blue and white striped walls of the overly cheery parlor. He was snapped out of his trance by both Robin and Dustin whacking the back of his head.
“Ow! What the hell was that for?” Steve grumbled, looking at Robin and Dustin who glared back at him.
“For being an idiot.” Dustin retorted, walking around the counter, grabbing a sample spoon and skimming the top of one of the ice creams.
“I did it because I’m tired of this,” Robin threw her hands in the air, also walking behind the counter, closing the screen, but not before peeking in at Ophelia who sat at the table slowly putting her shoes on. “She is upset because she’s trying to move on.” She shook her head, speaking mostly to herself, but she wasn’t aware of Steve standing on the other side of the counter, hearing the words.
“Move on from what? She broke up with her last boyfriend back in September, she’s not still caught up on that asshole, is she?” Steve asked, making Robin whirl around in surprise, not wanting Steve to hear that. Dustin and Robin shared a look before glancing at Steve. A mix of emotions flurried around Steve’s mind like a blizzard, making him mad. Why would she still be hooked on the asshole who barely paid attention to her? Couldn’t she see that she deserved more.
“Why would that matter to you, Steve, you don’t like her.” Dustin sneered, reminding him. Steve jolted back at Dustin’s sudden aggression. Dustin felt protective over his sister. She was obviously crushed that her date didn’t go well and from what Robin just said, it wasn’t because she liked Brett.
“I care because she’s my friend. I don’t need to like her romantically to care for her,” Steve bit back making Robin groan, stomping her foot against the floor in frustration. Steve was just as thick as the layer of product in his precious hair. “What? I shouldn’t care about her?” Steve asked, his eyes wide as he tried to pinpoint their emotions based on their reactions.
“Let me ask you a question Steve,” Robin paused, placing her hands on the counter by the cash, her hard blue eyes looking up at him. “Were you upset about Ophelia going on a date with Brett?” Robin threw the question up in the air, already knowing the answer.
“I wouldn’t say upset-” Steve was cut off by Robin raising her hand at him.
“How did you feel about her going on a date with Brett?” Robin rephrased the question, her hand slapping back to the blue counter, waiting for Steve to answer. Steve blinked, thinking.
“I guess I was a little upset, I mean, Brett Morris is not good for her. She can do so much better than him.” Steve answered, growing upset at the thought of her not realizing how great she was and underestimating what she deserved.
“Okay, so what type of guy is good for her?” Robin bounced back instantly with another question, trying to get him to figure out that he liked her.
“I don’t know,” Steve muttered, thinking. With a sigh, he placed his hands on his hips. “I honestly can’t think of any guy who is good enough. They’re all shit,” Steve confessed. Robin raised her eyebrows, giving him a look. “Alright! I was upset that she was going on a date with Brett Morris, happy?” Steve exclaimed, admitting defeat.
“You hated it so much that you couldn’t stop spying on them, Steve. You were ready to kill the poor guy.” Dustin chimed in, trying to bring Robin’s point home.
“Yes, I spied on them and I might have made some comments about how much I don’t like the guy, what’s your point?” Steve asked them, kicking his leg out to the side, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip. Dustin groaned, his forehead hitting the top of the cooler.
“My point is you like her Steve and you have the power to make her feel better. I know it’s killing you to see her so upset so could you just take a second, try to let the realization penetrate that thick skull of yours and figure out that you are head over heels for her?” Robin pressed, gesturing towards the backroom where Ophelia still hid. Steve scoffed, shaking his head at their antics.
“I don’t like her, okay? I’m not even looking for a serious relationship - not after what happened with Nancy.” Steve denied. Robin and Dustin grew even more frustrated by his denial. Robin rested her elbows on the counter, leaning down as she clasped her hands together in front of her. She licked her lips, glancing down at the counter before back up at Steve.
“You’re just going to stand there and tell us that not even a tiny little part of you realizes that you like Ophelia?” Robin asked him point blank. Steve blinked at her. He thought about it. Did he really like Ophelia? The way Robin had phrased it and the way she said it made him question how he really felt. Had he been denying how he felt about Ophelia because he was scared of being hurt again? His heart did practically leap out of his chest at the sight of her. Seeing guys shamelessly flirt with her day in and day out made him feel like he was continuously running into a solid brick wall with his heart tapped to his face. Oftentimes, he would find himself imagining her smile to calm him down when he’s sad.
“I-I don’t really know,” Steve stuttered, unsure of himself. He shook his head, righting his posture. “Even if I did like her, she probably doesn’t like me. I am the furthest thing from what she deserves.” Steve argued back.
“You won’t know if she likes you if you don’t ask Steve, I know you know how you feel about her,” Robin’s tone was soft and comforting. “We know how she feels about you, but it’s not our place to tell you that. If you want to know how she feels before you realize your feelings, you’re going to miss her - she’s not going to wait around if she likes you.” She told him. Steve looked at her in confusion.
“What?” Steve blinked, not understanding what she was saying.
“I’m saying that if you don’t just figure out your feelings for her, you’re going to miss your chance with her,” Robin was handing him the answer of Ophelia’s feelings for him on a silver platter and it was up to him to figure it out. “And if you don’t figure them out fast, you’re going to mess up.” She warned.
***
Rain poured down on them as they laid on their stomachs, watching a storage room being loaded up. Ophelia rested her chin on her hands that laid on top of the concrete parapet in front of them. “Look for Imperial Panda and Kaufman Shoes!” Robin instructed Dustin from beside Ophelia. She pulled her hood up over her hair, her bare legs that her dress didn’t cover becoming cold as they got soaked with rain. She could hear one of the delivery guys whistling over the pounding rain, but because of the distance, she couldn’t see anything through the pouring rain.
“They’re with that whistling guy, ten O’Clock!” Dustin exclaimed from the other-side of Steve, his binoculars once again pressed to his face. Lazily, Ophelia let her eyes move towards the direction Dustin told them, seeing a man with a yellow raincoat pushing a trolley with three boxes on it into the storage unit. She also couldn’t help but notice the two large guys dressed in black, both holding rather large guns.
“What do you think’s in there?” Steve asked, his eyes squinting as rain fell on his head. He was the only one without a proper raincoat, but that didn’t surprise Ophelia, he wouldn’t be one to own a rain jacket.
“Guns, bombs.” Dustin suggested.
“Chemical Weapons.” Robin also suggested. Steve’s eyebrows jumped as he licked his lips. He wasn’t pleased to have Ophelia with them, not wanting her mixed up with this. It was starting to get dangerous.
“Whatever it is, they’re armed to the teeth.” Dustin announced, his eyes dropping to one of the stern faced guards. Thunder clapped overhead as Steve rubbed his eyes that were irritated from the rain.
“Great,” He commented, nodding his head as he pulled his hand away. His eyes were screwed shut in hopes not to get any more water in them. “That’s great.” He grumbled, opening his eyes. Ophelia reached up to his shoulder, patting it twice before letting it rest on the concrete once again. Her eyes squinted when one of the guards started to move, trying to see what he was doing. She was so focused on what the man was doing, she jolted back in fright when the storage room doors suddenly opened.
“Hey, what’s in there?” Robin perked up, also noticing the doors opening.
“It’s just more boxes.” Dustin told them. Ophelia nodded, watching as the delivery man pushed the trolley into the now open room.
“Let me check it out.” Steve told Dustin, reaching his arm up to grab the binoculars blindly. Dustin pulled the binoculars from his eyes, his grip tightening around them.
“No! I’m still looking!” Dustin pulled back on the binoculars, trying to get Steve to let go of them. Steve simply slapped his other hand on them, trying to wrestle them away from the younger boy.
“Lemme see it.” Steve pressed, pulling harder. Ophelia scooted closer to Robin, not wanting to be hit by Steve’s flailing elbow. A flash of lightning temporarily blinded them as Dustin and Steve continued to tug on the binoculars.
“Hold on!” Dustin argued, giving a sharp tug to the binoculars just as Steve let his hands go - making Dustin hit one of the metal pipes, a loud bang sounding over the pounding rain. Ophelia and Robin jumped at the sound, their eyes jumping from Dustin before looking down at the guards.
“Shit!” Ophelia cursed when she saw the guards glancing towards their direction, their hands reaching for their large semi-automatic guns. All four gasped, fear making their blood run cold in their veins. Ophelia was almost positive that her heart had stopped beating for a second.
“Duck!” Dustin cried as they all dropped to lay down. Ophelia flopped on her back, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her head rested against the slope of the parapet uncomfortably, a dull ache already making itself present in her neck. She had barely noticed that Steve had grabbed her hand tightly in the middle of the mess until she felt the same heat crawling under her skin that she felt when he grabbed her wrist earlier. It was a welcomed contrast from the cold rain pelting her like bullets, but she couldn’t let the sensation distract her from the fact that they could very well die right then and there.
“We gotta go,” Steve whispered harshly. His mind raced, trying to figure out how they were going to get themselves out of this situation. “We can hide along that.” He pointed towards the larger structure attached to the roof entrance. He didn’t even wait for them to argue before he started to move, tugging Ophelia along with him. He hadn’t even noticed his hand in hers, he was too occupied with trying not to die. They all awkwardly ran, pressing themselves up against the tin siding of the structure.
“I hope this plan works because we don’t have a plan b.” Ophelia panted, letting her head fall back against the wall, her eyes closing. Her chest stung from the panic and running, her lungs burning as they continued to grow greedy for air. She could feel herself shaking, but she wasn’t sure if it was mostly from the cold or her pending death which was rapidly approaching.
Nobody said anything as they all tried to calm their wildly beating hearts in hopes to control their loud breathing. The faint but rapid clang of heavy boots hitting the stairs was muffled to their ears, but detectable none-the-less. The heavy door slammed against the tin making them jump. Ophelia pressed the palm of her free hand to her mouth, her heart rate picking right back up. She found herself trying to plead with every higher power there was to just let them make it out of this situation alive, even wishing on the stars she knew were hidden behind the thick black rain clouds. She hoped that the planets and stars were aligned just the right way so that they all could live another day.
Thunder clapped, overhead making Ophelia suddenly start praying to Zeus of all people, hoping her name was a good enough reason for the mythical god to help the four of them. Steve squeezed her hand tight, nearly cutting off the blood flow to her fingers, but she didn’t care, she just squeezed his hand back equally as hard. They listened carefully, trying to hear any sign of movement over the rain splattering against the concrete of the roof.
It felt like an eternity before they heard the door swing open and slam shut, followed by the sweet sound of heavy boots hitting the metal of the stairs. “We should wait here until we know for sure he’s gone.” Dustin whispered, anxiety filling him, making his mind race. For all he knew, the guard could be waiting to catch them at any second, successfully catching them in his masterplan.
“Good idea.” Steve nodded. Robin and Ophelia looked at them with hard eyes.
“Well then how do we know when to leave? It’s not like he’s standing out in the pouring rain, he can wait there for hours!” Ophelia pointed out a flaw in Dustin’s wait-it-out plan. Just as she said that, they heard the guards loudly talking to each other in Russian, their voices booming over the rain. Dustin smiled at his sister.
“That’s how we know.” He remarked, darting towards the door. She rolled her eyes as the rest of them moved after him, their hearts still racing a mile a minute. They filed into the stairwell, their panting breaths echoing off the wall along with the squishes and squeaks of their sneakers against the clean floors. They were all drenched from head to toe, their clothes a soaking mess that clung to their skin uncomfortably. Ophelia’s hair hung in clumps around her head, a few clumps sticking to the back of her neck and allowing water to trail down her dry back. For the most part, Ophelia, Dustin and Robin’s clothes were somewhat dry thanks to their raincoats protecting them; the protection of the rubber coats stopped the second the Russian guards discovered their presence, their hoods sliding off their heads, their unbuttoned jackets flopping open to expose them to the cold rain.
“Well, I think we found your Russians.” Robin declared the second they reached the back corridors that connected all the stores to the loading dock. She glanced between Steve and Dustin as they all rushed back to Scoops, wanting to be safe once again. Steve continued to hold Ophelia’s hand, tugging her along behind him as he sped walked to Scoops. Robin glanced at their intertwined hands, sharing a look with Dustin who also noticed.
***
Robin was long gone, having biked home so that she could sleep off the memory of nearly dying, something the other three had unfortunately faced twice before. Dustin retreated to Ophelia’s car, but forced her and Steve to get his Camp Know Where hat that he accidentally left behind in the backroom of Scoops. Ophelia and Steve walked in silence, Steve’s mind wrapped up in trying to figure out if he actually liked her. “So, that was kinda scary earlier, huh?” Steve asked, his voice coming out squeakier than he wanted, as he pulled the door to the outside open, the sound of raindrops hitting the wet pavement meeting their ears.
“Yeah, just a little,” Ophelia nodded. She had sensed his rigidity around her. It was like he was constantly on edge, overthinking everything he did. She felt fear settle into her chest at the thought that he had figured her feelings for her. He was probably trying to figure out how to let her down gently or how she could have possibly misread his signs of friendship for something more. “We’ve almost died a lot of times, but this is the first time we’ve almost died from guns.” She tried to carry on the conversation as if her heart wasn’t threatening to rip itself in half.
Stepping into the pouring rain, their barely dry clothes were instantly wet again, weighing down on them along with the crushing silence beating between them like a pulse. Even with the cold rain drops pelting them and thunder rolling over their heads, they still took their time walking to their respective cars. Despite the suffocating silence that bathed them, they still wanted to spend time together. “I don’t think this is a good idea - not after what happened on the roof.” Steve suddenly stopped, turning to face her. Ophelia dug her heels into the ground, whirling around to face him with furrowed brows. He didn’t know what prompted him to say that, the thought of not wanting her to get hurt pressing itself to the forefront of his brain - begging for attention.
They both ignored the raindrops rolling down their faces at high speeds and the rain beating at their faces, their eyes blinking rapidly. “What do you mean? You don’t want to figure out what they’re doing anymore?” She asked, confused. Steve was stubborn, he never gave up on anything. It wasn’t like him to back out of something.
Steve shook his head, water spraying from his hair at the action like a dog. “No, no,” He breathed out so softly Ophelia almost didn’t hear it over the rain. “No, I don’t want you to be involved in this anymore.” He told her, gesturing his hands in the small space between them. They stood so close, you could barely fit another person between them. Ophelia blinked at him, her mouth opening and closing as she processed what he had just said.
“Why not? If you haven’t noticed, I’ve dealt with things a lot scarier than Russians.” She shot back, her hands flying through the air. They had been through so much the past two years, they had been through hell and back and there was no way she was going to bow out at Russians. Last time she checked, they weren’t some unknown force from another dimension.
“Did you not see the giant semi-automatics they were holding Ophelia? That’s a lot harder to avoid than a monster,” Steve’s voice boomed, his blood pressure building. He didn’t want her to get hurt; he didn’t want her to end up with a bullet in her. He wanted her safe, far away from this. Monsters were one thing, but these monsters had guns and a ruthless urge to kill. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.” He admitted, his voice quieter, but scratchy - realization hitting him. He felt like he had been hit by a tonne of bricks. The world was spinning around him like he was standing on a spinning top that was spinning out of control. His stomach churned, making him want to throw up, but the dizziness made him feel like he was going to pass out. He liked her. Here he stood, in a deserted parking lot with rain pounding down on him, starting a fight with her because he liked her.
Steve watched her face, a mixture of sadness, hurt and anger perfectly blended to match the storm swirling overhead. She chuckled dryly, shaking her head as she folded her arms over her chest. Licking her lips, she set her watery, but hard eyes on Steve who seemed to be caught up in his own thoughts. “You don’t want me to get hurt,” She echoed like she couldn’t believe the words he spoke. “Do you not remember who saved you from being killed from demodogs and Billy Hargrove last year? Oh, yeah! That’s right,” Her tone picked up to fake enthusiasm. “It was me.” Her tone dropped dangerously.
“Billy was different and you ended up right next to me on that floor, Ophelia,” He reminded her, his voice raising as well, his voice strained. “I can’t do that again, I can’t see you laying there barely hanging on to consciousness again!” His body shook as he screamed into the night. He was screaming out silently, hoping that she could hear what he was trying to tell her.
“And you think I want to see you being beaten to a pulp again? No, but I’m not going to try and stop you from potentially saving the world again and you shouldn’t try to stop me!” She screamed back. She was trying to get him to hear her, to hear her true meaning in the words that she spoke.
“I can take care of myself, you-” He cut himself off, his mind stopping his mouth from talking before he put his foot in his mouth. “You-” He tried to come up with something else quickly, knowing that what he wanted to say was a complete lie. She could take care of herself. She had proven that multiple times. “You-” He tried again, but she cut him off with a stressed cry.
“I- What, Steve,” She asked, her eyes dancing with fire despite the water that pooled in them, trying desperately to smother the fire. “I can’t defend myself? I can’t take care of myself, huh,” She asked, choking back a little sob as her heart pulled itself apart slowly. She had always been undermined, nobody letting her do anything because she wasn’t strong enough, because she was just a little fragile thing that would break if the wind blew too hard. She listened to his silence, his eyes darting to the wet pavement guiltily. “God Steve! I thought that you of all people wouldn’t look at me like that, but I guess you’re just like everyone else.” She spat, tears finally breaking through the wall, sliding down her cheeks along with the rain.
Steve noticed instantly, his heart feeling like it was being held together by a single thin string that was seconds away from snapping at the sight of the tears. “No, Ophelia, that wasn’t what I wanted to say-” She cut him off once again.
“Then tell me,” She stated, sniffling slightly. “Tell me what you don’t think of me like a porcelain doll that will crack at the softest touch,” She prompted him. Silence banged like the thunder over their heads. Steve’s mouth hung open, wanting to say something, but he couldn’t, his mind blank. He really didn’t see why she couldn’t continue this with them other than the fact that he likes her and will go insane if something happened to her, but he couldn’t say that. Not yet at least. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” She muttered bitterly, wiping at her face. “Think what you want, Harrington-” She spat his name as if it were a bad taste in her mouth, sending a dagger into his heart - severing the string holding it together. “I’m doing this whether you like it or not.” She told him, turning on her heel and speed walking towards her car where Dustin sat.
Steve stood there, hair hanging in his face as he watched her. The warning Robin gave him earlier echoing through his head. “If you don’t figure them out fast, you’re going to mess up.” Steve sighed, kicking the ground and walking to his dark car. His thoughts were consumed by Ophelia, wondering how he was going to fix this and his new found feelings for her. He had always felt it, he just finally realized it. Ophelia Henderson could take anything she wanted from him, even his beating heart from his chest, and leave and Steve would just be happy to see her smile.
She was always there for him. She gave him shelter when his dad and him were fighting about College and he didn’t feel safe to be home for weeks. She held him, gave him food, cared for him when his parents wouldn’t. When he felt like he was losing everything, like he was drowning, she was the one keeping him afloat, keeping his head above water. She was the reason his head was still above the rising water levels of his life. She was the reason he was still hanging onto hope that his life will get better. It didn’t matter if she wasn’t able to protect herself (which he knew full well that she could), he’d still rather give his life for her because she’s saved his life more than once and he knows that she’d do it all over again, even if it meant giving her life for him. She was the reason he was still there, being able to be there for Dustin. She pulled him out of his darkest time, of the period of his life where he honestly couldn’t picture himself in five years because he thought he’d be dead. He didn’t understand how he couldn’t have realized his feelings sooner, how he so clearly liked her that even Dustin noticed it before him. He could have avoided doing the one thing he never wanted to do: hurt Ophelia.
#steve harrington#steve harrington x original character#steve harrington x oc#steve harrington series#stranger things 3#stranger things 2#stranger things#stranger things series#stranger things imagines#henderson!oc#henderson#dustin henderson#robin buckley#will byers#mike wheeler#el hopper#eleven#jane hopper#el#max mayfield#lucas sinclair#netflix
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Fighting and Home
First, Previous, Ao3
Word count: 1902
Warnings: Horrible parenting, smoking mention, fighting, yelling
Roman pressed his pillow over his ears.
It muffled the screams but they were still too loud.
Dad yelled something, Remus yelled back, Ma cut in with her voice shrill.
"Give up," Roman whispered, holding back tears. "Stop arguing with them."
Remus couldn't hear him. Nobody could hear him. They wouldn't have listened anyway.
Roman's breath hitched.
How pathetic of him.
He should be used to this by now. He had even expected it the moment Remus had bought the stupid cigarettes.
How could he hope to be a hero one day when he couldn't even handle his own parents and brother fighting?
Part of him wanted to go over to Patton's house.
Ma and Dad wouldn't care if either of them were at dinner after a fight this bad, so it would probably go unnoticed and Patton had told them that they could always come to him if they wanted to.
But for that, he'd have to get past Dad and Ma.
He'd have to get himself moving at all and get out of the false safety of his blanket cocoon.
He couldn't do it.
But maybe he could text him?
Roman peaked out from under his blanket.
His phone was just a few inches away from him.
He removed his hand from the pillow over his ear and the yelling downstairs got louder.
Roman winced and opened his phone to find Patton's contact.
Their last text conversation had been about body armour because Patton had agreed to let them go out by his side soon, as long as they retreated as soon as he told them to.
Roman: Hi
A loud scream made him jump and he almost dropped his phone. Footsteps stomped up the stairs loudly and Remus' door slammed shut.
Patton: Hi, kiddo
How are you?
Roman nervously licked his lips. Downstairs Ma was still yelling at Dad. He had probably tried to blame her for Remus smoking.
Roman: Not really
Patton: What's wrong?
Roman: Another fight
Wasn't involved but it's loud
Patton: What happened?
He hesitated for a moment before replying.
Roman: Remus started smoking
For a few moments he didn't get a response, the 'typing' symbol appearing and disappearing a few times before remaining gone for a few minutes.
Patton: Sorry, Remus just texted me
Do you two want to come over and have tea?
Roman most definitely wanted that.
The question was if he could.
He listened for sounds downstairs. Ma was still yelling.
A door, probably the front door, slammed shut and she screeched in frustrating before stomping up the stairs and slamming the door of her bedroom behind herself.
Roman: Ok
Slowly he managed to stand up, terrified of every small creak of the floorboards under his feet.
He snuck over to Remus' room and knocked with his palm to make it quieter.
Remus opened a moment later. He had cried.
Roman nodded his head towards the stairs and in the vague direction of the front door.
Remus hesitated then nodded.
They snuck downstairs and Roman kept glancing over his shoulder. It didn't help with the persistent feeling that Ma would appear behind them at any moment, grab them and drag them back to their rooms.
They took their shoes and jackets and slipped outside, hiding in an alleyway to put them on. They had no idea where Dad had gone so they couldn't risk him seeing them.
"Let's go over the rooftops," Remus suggested and rubbed his sleeve over his face. " 's safer."
They climbed up the facade of the nearest building, making sure that no one saw them.
The familiar exertion helped Roman's anxiety ease up and the slight breeze felt good in contrast to the suffocating air back in the house.
They jumped from rooftop to rooftop, so far away from the casual nightlife down below.
Roman wondered what the people walking down there might think if they looked up and saw them.
Once they reached the train station they climbed down a ladder and took the next train to downtown. There were a few people going home from work, none even noticing the teenagers.
Remus pulled out a sharpie and doodled on a wall. Roman didn't look but it was probably either a dick or an octopus.
Or both.
Probably both.
Roman pulled out his phone and opened a game he didn't care about just to have something to do with his hands.
He wasn't even sure what it was about but it was easy and had bright colours.
They got out at the downtown station and walked past the small park where Roman was pretty sure drugs were sold like candy and reached the flower shop.
The door to the back alley was surrounded by cats who greeted them loudly.
Roman pet a few of them in passing and Remus knocked at the door a few times.
Patton opened the door and ushered them inside to make sure that the cats didn't come in.
"Are you two alright? I made Lavender tea," Patton rambled and hugged both of them tightly. "Are you hungry? I could make something for you if you want to. I think I have some ice cream too."
Roman melted into the embrace.
"Can we eat dinner here?" Remus asked after a moment.
"Of course, do you want noodles or something else?" Patton pulled back and lead them up to his apartment and into the cosy living room.
"Noodles sound good," Roman said and followed Patton to the kitchen. The smell of lavender hung in the air and soft steam rose from the kettle.
Roman got out a cup and poured himself some.
"Careful, it's still hot," Patton warned.
Roman hummed in acknowledgement and smelt the tea, feeling it's warmth on his face, and closed his eyes.
Simply being here in Patton's tiny apartment made him feel safer.
"Move, I want some tea too," Remus pushed against his arm and Roman moved out of the way.
"Do you boys like pesto or tomato sauce better?" Patton asked and set a pot of water onto the stove. "I have both."
"Both mixed," Remus blurted out.
"Pesto," Roman said. Dad had dragged them to an Italian restaurant yesterday because one of his colleagues had celebrated his birthday and for some reason, they had to be there. Roman had had enough of tomato sauce for at least a month.
"I'm not sure they go well together, Remus," Patton chuckled. "Let's go with pesto for now."
"Fine," Remus grumbled and took a sip of his tea.
Roman carefully took one too. It wasn't too hot anymore and the soft taste made him smile.
"Is it good?" Patton asked. "With lavender, I'm always worried that I used too hot water. It ruins the tea."
"It's fucking great," Remus grinned.
"Language!" Patton scolded and blew into his tea to cool it down faster.
The water in the pot started to bubble and Patton moved the lid slightly to avoid it boiling over, as he explained to them.
He had taken to teaching them household chores since both were determined to leave their parents' house as soon as possible and Sera was usually too busy to show them how to get shit done.
Once the food was done they sat in the living room and Patton filled the silence by telling them about his day and details of his confrontation with Sleep the night before that the press hadn't gotten.
Roman was pretty sure that this was what family dinners in other families were like.
Weird, that the guy they had only gotten to know because they had pressured him into becoming their mentor was now more of a Dad than their biological dad had ever been.
Back at home Remus would've already been yelled at for slurping his noodles, while Patton only asked him to do it a bit more quietly. Roman would have gotten a glare and exasperated sigh for bouncing his leg, but Patton didn't react to it in any way.
He'd make a great Dad, Roman thought and felt tinges of jealousy towards any future kids Patton might have.
"So, kiddos," Patton said as he put the dishes into the dishwasher and smiled at them, "who wants some ice cream?"
"What kind do you have?" Roman asked, while Remus already went to grab some bowls.
"Just the classics, Vanilla and Chocolate. You can mix them if you want to," Patton closed the dishwasher and gestured towards the freezer. "Should either be in the first or the second drawer."
Roman checked and pulled the cartons out.
The chocolate had been opened already but only a small scoop was gone while the vanilla was even newer.
"Tomorrow your boyfriend comes to the shop again, right?" Remus asked looking through the mismatched spoon collection for the ones he wanted to pick.
"He's not my boyfriend!" Patton said, turning bright red. "Not that I wouldn't like him to be," he added quietly.
"Then why don't you just ask?" Roman asked. "Take him on a beautiful date, have fun and then when he brings you home you give him a small kiss before you go inside, leaving him standing there for a few minutes, unable to process what just happened because he loves you so much and you just kissed him! And then when he comes again you confess your undying love to each other, make out and have a spring wedding!"
"Bit mushy but yeah!" Remus agreed.
Patton had turned an even darker shade of red.
"I can't just ask him," he said and got a scoop out of one of the many drawers.
"Why not?" Remus asked.
Patton sighed.
"Neither of you have been in love before, have you?"
The twins both shook their heads.
"Well, it makes things... complicated," Patton began filling the bowls with ice cream. "The thing is, I don't know if he likes me back. And if he doesn't and I ask him for a date he might feel uncomfortable, because I'm just a friend to him. Nothing more. And that might ruin our friendship, which would be... I couldn't stand to lose him like that. I'm happy just being around him, so I don't want to take any risks that might destroy what we have."
"But you could be even closer and together more often!" Remus argued.
"That would be very nice," Patton agreed and put the ice cartons away again. "But he also has a son. About your age, I think. So, what if his son doesn't want another parent or doesn't like me? I wouldn't want Logan to have to choose between his son and me. His son would definitely win but still."
Roman stared at him in bewilderment.
"How could anyone not want you to be their dad?" he blurted out, his mind only catching up with his mouth a moment later.
He pressed his hand against his mouth as if it would somehow take back the words.
"You-," Patton hesitated. "Would you want me to be your dad?"
"I uhm... Yes," Roman admitted.
"Duh," Remus shrugged. "Who wouldn't?"
For a moment it was silent then Patton began to smile.
"I'd love to be your dad, kiddos. Now let's eat the ice before it melts."
They sat on the couch this time.
Suddenly Remus shot up.
"Wait a minute! Why do you not know if Logan likes you? You're a fucking empath!"
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Taglist:
@patton-cake
#sanders sides#roman sanders#ts roman#remus sanders#ts remus#patton sanders#ts patton#logan sanders#ts logan#logicality#found family#my writing#au#woethough au
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The Three Adventurers: To Comfort a King
(also on ao3)
Based on The Three Adventurers crossover webcomic by @captmickey: More specifically, based on this picture.
When Link and Guybrush come to Daventry to throw Graham a surprise birthday party, they themselves are surprised by events that occurred when they were separated. But they won't be kept apart no matter what. Fluffy, friendly, sickfic, comfort fic with mild hijinks ensue.
1/1, 6k
~*~*~
Something felt wrong.
The weather wasn’t helping: Daventry’s castle town was saturated. Rain skimmed off rooftops and splashed in puddles beneath drains. Dark clouds weighed down the sky, making it gloomy even in the middle of the afternoon. It would make sense for everyone to be inside, staying dry and safe and happy. But something felt wrong. Tense.
Some deep knight’s instinct made Link reach for his sword hilt. This didn’t feel like people were waiting out a monsoon. This felt lonely, completely still and silent but for the rain dashing against window panes. No candlelight in the windows, no murmured conversation behind doors. The baker’s shop especially drew his attention. Some sort of accident had befallen it since Link’s last visit several months ago: there was a big wooden board nailed across the front windows, like they had been broken. The glass must have already been swept up, and very well at that since he couldn’t see any glittering fragments nestled in the cracks between the cobblestones.
Unless it had been broken into and the glass was all inside.
Don’t jump to conclusions, he scolded himself. Still. He warily stepped around the tree growing in the courtyard, searching the shadows, trying to pin down what was sparking the unease in his chest.
“Aaaah,” Guybrush yelled. Link instantly sprang forward, sword half drawn, before realizing it was a cry of disappointment and not a warning of attack. “Aaah, those alchemists aren’t here!” Guybrush walked out of the empty shop, leaning his elbows on the railing in front of the door. “I wanted to talk to that old guy. He’s got the only rubber chicken supply for miles.”
“No one’s here,” Link said, knocking gingerly on Amaya’s door, not expecting an answer: the forge was clearly cold. No smoke rose from the blacksmith’s chimney. “Where do you suppose they are?”
“Probably the castle. I bet they’re afraid of flooding. This rain is no joke; that river we passed was looking pretty sketchy. Summer in Daventry, eh?”
"Monsoon season is only in July, Graham said. And only for a week or two at that, normally.”
“July in Daventry, eh?” Guybrush swung himself down the shop stairs, boots sloshing up a wave. “Shall we go on to the castle, give him the shock of his week?” He grinned.
No one in Daventry was expecting the pair of adventurers. They’d been coming to throw Graham a surprise birthday party. He was turning twenty-two, and that seemed like an important marker. Double identical digits and all. But they’d missed his birthday by several days at this point. They had been inescapably delayed.
By a side quest involving a cat stuck up a tree.
Link had insisted they dig up bait, use it to catch fish, trade the fish to a traveler for an empty bottle, find a farmer with a cow to fill the bottle with milk (the farmer first requested they clear his field of wolves, a dangerous task that took some more scheming), and then use the milk to tempt the cat down. The cat hadn’t been appreciative. It had nearly taken Link’s finger off with a swipe of its claws. Once they’d left, both with a healthy amount of scratches and bites and a half empty bottle of milk, Guybrush had asked why they hadn’t just tempted the cat down with the fish in the first place.
Anyway, the delay had taken a few days. Travelers with empty bottles were scarce on the road, apparently. So, now they were late.
It would definitely be a surprise, then.
Link patted his pouch to make sure their chosen birthday present was safe. He hoped Graham would like it. It was possibly sentimental gooey nonsense, but it was their sentimental gooey nonsense. “You’re right. I’m sure they’re at the castle. Let’s go.” He squeezed the end of his hat to clear some rainwater, but it didn’t help.
~*~*~
The castle gates were shut tight, the drawbridge high. The rain fell endlessly, rivulets pouring down the battlements and rushing into the moat. The water was swollen, pressing against the banks. It looked like it was going to spill onto the road if this kept up for too much longer. The moat monster eyed them with curiosity, nosing just above the waterline. Link wondered if it would sweep out on the road with the overflow, too, and what merry hell it could raise if it got into the main river.
“Don’t suppose there’s a doorbell on this side of the moat,” Guybrush said, holding his hand over his eyes to shield them.
“Generally, castles don’t have those.”
“Neither do ships, to be fair. We’ve got a voice activated alert system on my ship, though.”
“Do you really?” Link was impressed—it sounded high tech.
“Yeah. Bet Graham does, too. It works like this.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and roared so loudly that Link jumped half an inch off the ground, “OI, ANYONE HOME?”
“Oh. Is that all?”
“All you need.” He drew in a huge gulp of air and yelled again, “WE’RE HERE...” he paused and glanced at Link, whispering hastily, “what’s the polite lingo for a king, again?”
“Seeking an audience,” Link whispered back. That usually was what people said when they wanted to talk to Zelda.
“HERE TO SEEK AN AUDIENCE. WITH THE KING. WHO IS GRAHAM. CAN GRAHAM COME OUT TO PLAY?”
They waited. For a long time, there didn’t seem to be any movement from across the moat, though the monster playfully flicked its tail beneath the water and sent a little wave skimming over the edge to douse their boots. Finally, a shaken sounding voice called back, “Who goes there?”
“I go where I like,” Guybrush yelled.
“No, I mean. Uh. Who are you, exactly?” The voice was flustered.
“Guybrush Threepwood, Mighty Pirate.™”
“And Link of Hyrule.”
“Not a pirate,” Guybrush added helpfully.
“Oh, it’s you two. Right. You were here for the coronation. Back again already? Um. Now...now isn’t a good time.”
“’Course not. It’s raining. But if you let us in, it would be a better time.”
“How did you even find out?” the guard asked distractedly. “They’ve only been back two days. We haven’t even told anyone yet.”
Link glanced at Guybrush, that little nervous thrill at the back of his neck rousing, a twitch in his fingers begging him to go for his sword. Some sense that something was wrong. “Told anyone what?” he asked.
“And Bramble’s pregnant, and this has all been very hard on her, and she doesn’t want to go back to the bakery right now, and who could possibly blame her after what happened to everyone?”
“Look, it’s raining very hard—”
“And the Hobblepots are absolutely destroying the kitchens. Number One is going to have a fit when he realizes, even if Muriel is helping King Graham.”
“Can we just—”
“And Muriel probably wouldn’t even allow you to see him, you know. He’s probably too drugged to even talk.”
“I’m sorry, repeat that?”
The guard hesitated. “Um.” They could see his helmet bobbing over the crenellations as he paced. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to tell anyone.”
“We’re not just anyone,” Link pointed out.
“Um. I mean.”
“Look, anyone could hear us from out here, right?” Guybrush said.
“Sure.”
“And you don’t want anyone to know whatever happened, right?” Guybrush continued, pacing a little to match the guard’s movements.
“That’s what Number One says, at least for now.”
“But if you let us in, then we’ll be inside, right? And then when you tell us, anyone won’t also hear. Because we’ll be inside, and anyone won’t be able to hear us in there.”
“I suppose?”
“And we’re not anyone. We’re Graham’s friends. We’re supposed to know. Whatever it is.”
“Um. I think that makes sense.” The guard seemed all the more uncertain. Whatever had happened must have been very serious to make him this befuddled. Or maybe he was always like this and Graham should hire better security. “I think that’s right.”
“Yes, it is. Now, let us in.”
“Of course, Mr. Threepwood, right away.”
While they waited for the guard to scurry around to the drawbridge crank, Guybrush muttered, “Also, I’m really sick of being wet.”
“You’re always on the ocean.”
“Not in it, though. Come on, he’s dropped the bridge. Hurry up.”
They scurried across, bubbles from the moat monster pursuing them. Unease nagged at Link, but he dared not speak until they had more of an idea about what was happening. The guard met them in the courtyard. He looked even more rattled up close. His armor wasn’t just damp with rain, but properly disheveled. It even looked like pieces were on backward. He smelled like wet pancakes, syrupy and pathetic.
“I mean, you’re his friends,” the guard babbled, wringing his hands. “It might help if he can see you.”
“Might help?” The apprehension was growing and growing. “Inside, now. And tell us what’s happening.”
“Hang on, I need to close the gate. The goblins might come again. He says it’s safe, at least I think he did, it’s all so jumbled, but…no one wants to leave it to chance, you know?”
“I don’t know.” Link was starting to get angry. “Can you just please tell us already?”
“Graham was kidnapped. With the villagers. A week and a half ago. By goblins. He just got back with everyone not two nights past. He’s really sick—he fainted almost as soon as he got to the castle, and he keeps screaming—nightmares, I guess—so Muriel drugged him to make him sleep. I really need to close the gate. Wait here.” And he vanished into the rain, leaving the two adventurers standing stunned and still and silent.
~*~*~
People had been tracking water into the castle, probably from running around in a panic. The plush carpet just beyond the doors was soggy under their feet. They wandered forward in a daze, damp carpet squishing behind them for a few paces until it dried out.
“I can’t believe it,” Link said, voice hoarse. “We’ve got to see him. Can you imagine? Goblins. I can’t imagine getting taken by bokoblins.”
“That’s because they’re about as smart as rocks,” Guybrush said. “I don’t know the goblins around here. They must be clever. Or Graham was daydreaming again. Easy to drop a sack over his head if he’s thinking about candy.”
Link elbowed him. “Be nice. This is serious.”
“I know,” he said. There was a glint in his eye, and his shoulders and jaw were tense. He had a sharpness to him, like a cutlass half drawn and ready to slice if someone looked at him wrong. “Come on.”
The hall was quiet. Candles flickered against the monsoon gray light, barely holding the darkness away despite it technically being the afternoon. A royal guard hurried past, clutching a tray. A teapot and cup were precariously balanced on top, and he was fiercely muttering under his breath about the state of the kitchen. He glanced at the visitors dripping rainwater on this once-dry section of carpet and frowned. “Dare I ask what you’re doing here?”
“We seek an audience with the king.”
He laughed bitterly and started reciting: “The king has been a little tied up lately. I’m afraid he’s indisposed to see anyone—the recent unexpected demands on his attention have been slightly overwhelming, so we’re feverishly requesting a safe delay in all visitations. Perhaps you can leave your contact information at the gate and we shall attend to you whenever we’re available again.”
“Yeah? The audience with the goblins was a bit rough?” Guybrush said.
The guard froze, teapot rattling on the tray. “Who told you.”
“Well. For starters, your speech wasn’t that subtle. Also the guard on the gate told us.”
“I’m going to kick Number Two out of the castle.”
Link stepped forward. “Sir, if I may. You might remember me. I’m Link, of Hyrule. The royal family there has had all sorts of trouble in its history, so I have some experience in matters like this. Also, I know Graham—uh, sorry—King Graham well. We used to travel together. He’ll want to see us as soon as he knows we’re here.”
“Did Number Two tell you how sick he is?” the guard asked suspiciously. “He might not even be awake to see you right now. You should probably just go away.”
Guybrush leaned forward, plucked the lid off the teapot, and inhaled deeply. “Steeping chamomile? And based on the temperature, it’ll be just perfect to drink by the time you get upstairs with it. He’s awake, or you’re hoping he will be. May as well let us come find out.” He glanced airily around the hall. “I seem to recall enough of the layout of this place from when we were here for the coronation. It wouldn’t be hard to find the way on our own.”
“I could probably have you escorted to the dungeon,” No1 said uneasily, “for…uh….”
“For obstructing tea, yes. But that would put a delay in your delivery. It’s getting colder as we stand here, you know. I’m sure if he’s sick he’ll want it hot and good. And the sooner he gets it, the happier he’ll be. If I know royalty, you want to keep them happy. It would be easier to go up together, wouldn’t you say?” That sharpness in his grin was starting to look like a shark’s—someone he loved was being threatened, and he wasn't going to stand back and let it happen, not if he had any say. He practically vibrated with urgency. “Also, there’s too much lavender in there.”
“Now, see here, you…” the guard hesitated again, sensing that sharp desperation, looked at his tray, looked at them, thought a moment, then said, “If you happen to follow me, I’m not going to stop you.” He started walking, muttering, “And lavender’s our main export anyway, I can’t help the amount they put in.”
~*~*~
There was another guard standing watch over the bedroom door. It looked like no one was taking chances. Bit late for all the caution, Link thought, but they’re doing their best.
As it turned out, though, the guard on the door wasn’t even going to be their last opposition.
No1 pushed past, bumping the royal bedchamber door open. Through it, the adventurers could just make out a shape huddled in the bed, and then they heard the most horrible, aching, sharp cough from Graham—it was the sort of ripping cough that made them flinch, that you could feel in your own throat. They started forward, anxious, but an arm shot across their path, blocking them. The door swung shut behind the guard, Graham’s agonized cough muffled.
“Oh! Lady Alchemist!” Guybrush swept an exaggerated bow. “Been a while. Love to chat. Bit busy right now. Got things to do, people to see. Could you just—”
She glared. “You can’t go in there.”
“You can’t stop us.” The joking edge vanished from Guybrush’s voice again.
“Do you wanna get sick? This is inappropriate anyway, seeing a king like this.”
“We demand to see him,” Link said.
“Yeah? And why should I let you do that?” It was amazing how a little old woman could threaten when she wanted. She bustled her way forward, puffing herself up. She was almost of a height with Link when she stood up on her toes.
From behind her another voice said: “Muriel. It’s okay. They’re his friends, remember?”
“Chester, you have the worst memory of all time, but you remember these two?”
“I remember anyone who tries to buy my whole rubber chicken supply out in one go with a lousy brass coin that doesn’t even have any value in Daventry.” Chester stuck out his hand for Guybrush to shake. “Nice to see you again, even in these circumstances. No, I still don’t have any inflatable cutlasses for sale.”
A friendly response at last. A memory stirred: kidnapped with the villagers. “We heard a little bit of what happened. Are you okay? Were you part of it?” Link asked.
“That we were, that we were. Nasty little things, those goblins. If it hadn’t been for him,” Chester thumbed at the closed door, and they could just make out another hacking cough, “we would have been in a lot more trouble. I’m not sure anyone would have come back.” He glanced down the hall, and whispered, “I think there was something intentional going on. Someone had it in for him.”
“Do you think they’ll try again?” Link wasn’t a stranger to assassination attempts. Keeping Zelda safe was a full-time prospect sometimes. He wasn’t sure he was ready for the stress of having another royal friend at risk.
“Not in the same way,” Chester said. “These guards,” he gestured at the one standing nearby, “are all puffed up since they got caught flatfoot, but they’ll smooth out. It won’t happen twice like it did, I can promise that. If I know who did it, and I think I do, repetition isn’t really his style, not if he can go bigger and better. Creativity’s the word. Besides, I think Graham’s got some ideas about opening up diplomacy talks with the goblins to prevent anything like this happening again. But I think there’s someone you’d rather hear all this from instead of me.”
“No,” Muriel said sharply. “I don’t care that they’re friends. That’s not a good idea for him, or them, and you know it.” She looked to the guard, like she was going to ask for help with chasing these two off. “Clear off. Maybe later you can see him. Right now is not appropriate, and I will have you chased out of this castle if I must.”
Guybrush opened his mouth to start arguing again, but Link gently touched his shoulder. She had precedence over them in this situation. That guard would listen to her, and chase them out, and then they would be much further from their goal.
“You’re right,” Link told Muriel. “We shouldn’t go through that door.”
“Just so,” she said, eyeing him a bit suspiciously, more than surprised that he was giving in. “So, shoo.”
“Oh, Muriel,” Chester sighed. “It wouldn’t hurt.”
“It would hurt them after I was through with them,” she snapped. “Go on, shoo.”
Link dragged Guybrush down the hall by the hand, steering him into one of the bedrooms down the corridor once Muriel had turned her back.
“Come on, I could have turned on the charm and gotten us in there,” Guybrush complained. “Now we probably won’t get to see him for days and I’m not willing to wait that long.”
“Look, I promised we wouldn’t go through the door,” Link said. He reached into his bag and withdrew his grappling hook. “Didn’t say anything about a window.”
“Aaahhh.”
~*~*~
On reflection, Link realized, this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe they should have tried to persuade Muriel after all. Or maybe if they’d started screaming, Graham would have heard them and ordered them in (unless the tea had been drugged to make him sleep, or he didn’t actually want them to see him like this after all). Now, Link and Guybrush were dangling off the side of the castle, clinging to the grappling hook rope, rain making everything slippery and hard to navigate.
“Are you sure this is the right window?”
“Got to be,” Link said. He used his elbow to swipe some of the rainwater out of his eyes. “I did the calculations. It’s gotta be it. This time.” (They’d already tried two other windows, both of which had led to empty bedrooms. One of them might have been where the Hobblepots were staying, based on the array of random junk everywhere that seemed to belong to Chester, but luckily the two alchemists were out doing something else. Probably still standing guard in front of Graham’s door. Presumably the Feys and Miss Blackstone were staying elsewhere in the castle, because no one screamed when the adventurers poked their noses over the windowsills and swatted them down.)
They could make out the warm flickering glow of a lit fireplace in the window above them, which at least matched what they had glimpsed through the door of Graham’s room. They just had to get there without sliding down the rope and falling fifty feet to the treetops. Guybrush was dangling near the bottom of the rope, finding it difficult to get purchase on the slick castle walls with his boots. “They’re going to think we’re invaders and shoot us down,” he muttered. “They’re going to think we’re goblins back to finish the job we started.”
“Be quiet and climb,” Link said, glancing nervously side to side in case there were a few royal guards taking aim at them from the balconies or parapets. No one was.
Except…Royal Guard Number One was looking down at them.
He had opened the window and was leaning against the sill, staring down. His chin was propped on his hands, but with his helmet on, there was no way to tell if he was enjoying this or furious.
Link slid down the rope a few feet in his frozen panic, knocking into Guybrush, who yelped and locked the rope tighter around his leg so they wouldn’t fall, and the two of them grinned guiltily up at the royal guard.
He sighed heavily (they could hear it over the rain, he was so loud and flustered), gripped the rope, and started to heave them up.
~*~*~
The room beyond was cozy, the large array of candles keeping the gloom (and perhaps those nightmares the guard had spoken of) at bay. Graham, eyes closed, was propped up against a pile of pillows in bed, slipping slowly at the delivered cup of tea and wincing at every swallow. No1 hoisted the two embarrassed adventurers over the windowsill and they fell to the ground, sloppy and squishy with rainwater. Graham looked up when he heard them, and his face—drawn, pale—lit up with a huge smile. He put the teacup down on the bedside table amongst a dizzying array of cups and pots and vials and bandages and tissues and ingredients brought by the Hobblepots.
“Number One said you were here,” he said, nodding toward the royal guard. His voice was raspy. “I kind of expected you to come in the door instead of the window, though.”
No1 took off his helmet and shook the rainwater off it, fluffing the uniform’s feather back up and putting it in front of the fireplace to dry. He bristled his moustache, but it looked more like he was hiding a smile instead of annoyance. He helped the two adventurers to their feet, insisted they wait for a second so they wouldn’t drip water everywhere, pulled some towels from a pile neatly folded by a large copper tub shoved in the corner, wrapped them up, and then let them go. Immediately, they rushed to their friend’s side. Link grabbed Graham’s hand out of some desperate instinct, squeezing hard. Graham squeezed back as hard as he could—which wasn’t particularly hard.
“I’m so sorry we weren’t here,” Link said. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? What happened? We don’t have the details. Oh, Graham....”
He looked absolutely awful. His bedhair, usually pretty hilarious anyway, was a tangled mess from tossing and turning in his sleep. His eyes were ringed with dark exhaustion, making it look like he’d been punched, but they were bright with a lingering fever, too. Link could feel the weakness in his friend’s trembling fingers. Graham was swimming in some ridiculously oversized nightshirt that more or less swallowed him up. It gaped here and there on his thin frame, and they could see the edges of bruises beneath it on his arms: bruises that, even partially glimpsed, looked uncomfortably like fingerprints.
“A kidnapping,” Guybrush said, shaking his head. He grinned mischievously, “Or was it a kingnapping?”
Link’s ears flattened, and the sheer look he shot Guybrush could have knocked a moblin over. “You’re going to end up right next to him nursing a black eye instead of nursing the flu,” he hissed. But Graham was laughing, and Link subsided, though he was still too annoyed to perk his ears up again. He was wary of pushing it if Graham wasn’t ready to talk yet, but he was desperate to know, to help in any way he could. “Are you...is it...are you up to telling us what happened?”
“No, I don’t have the energy to get up. But I can be down for telling it.”
Link dropped his head into his hands and moaned, “I can’t stand being around you two.”
“I can’t stand either, so it’s okay,” Graham said, patting Link gently on the shoulder.
“Aaaargh!”
“You can’t be mad at him,” Guybrush said. “He outranks you now—his hat’s shinier than yours.”
“Yes, my crowning achievement,” Graham agreed. “But that doesn’t make you beanie-th me.”
“Ahh, you’re fedorable when you’re being humble,” Guybrush said, “but you don’t need to downplay your escapades.”
“I’m not that far ahead, really,” Graham said.
“You’re going to make me sick,” Link sighed.
“If you hang around me much longer, you will be,” Graham said, and the laughter faded from his scratchy voice. “I heard Muriel. I’m glad you’re here, absolutely, but...she’s right, you know. You shouldn’t be in here. I’m not safe to be around, I think. I might give you this.” He gestured vaguely at his throat. “You don’t want it, believe me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not going anywhere.” Guybrush sat down so hard on the bed that Graham bounced. “Now. It’s time for you to tell us one of those stories you like to tell. But only If you’re ready.”
And so, after a pause and a sip of lukewarm tea, Graham began. The day had begun in frustration in the throne room and had ended in fear in a goblin cell. He kept rubbing his wrists, remembering the bite of ropes, until Link held his hands again.
He told of huge caverns, of stalactites dripping water into secret pools, of glowing salamanders scampering through the shadows, of mushrooms in every color casting off glittering spores. He told of sharp spears and heavy padlocks, of giant rats and whispered escape plans. There were costumes and stories: Cinderella and Rumplestiltskin. Porridge, sweetycakes, and frogs. Friends and enemies, and some people that might have been both in equal measure. Shrouds of stone armor, unbending bars and sharp bolt cutters, stolen beds, stolen people. The goblin king, his courtiers, and the book written by a former friend that had incited the goblins and started it all.
He talked for a long time, his voice wavering in and out. Sometimes he had to stop and take a breath, drink tea, rub his aching throat. He sank lower into the pillows, looking more worn out, but he stubbornly refused to sleep no matter how often they suggested it. Whenever these breaks happened, Link and Guybrush sat a little closer together and waited with him in comforting silence. They offered to at least give him a proper long break and finish the rest later, but he wanted to tell the story. Wanted to explain it from start to finish. “It helps,” he said. “Even if it hurts a bit.” He choked down another cough and sipped at a fresh cup of tea No1 had brought. No1 had also silently brought Guybrush and Link their own mugs, unasked and unexpected. They had crowns painted on them. The lavender tickled their noses, and the trio drank in quiet but good company.
At some point, Muriel and Chester came in to prep medicine doses. She saw the adventurers huddled together and took a step back, startled and angry, and she opened her mouth start yelling, but Graham cut her off, hastily saying, “Ahh, Muriel, you remember my best friends, right? I’m so glad they’ve come to visit. Link, Guybrush, meet Muriel and Chester Hobblepot, the greatest alchemists in the country.” He gave her a pleading, sopping kitten sort of look, breath held in nervous anticipation.
She deflated with a weary sigh—the look she gave them told Link and Guybrush they were destined for a sickbed next. “He should be sleeping right now,” she warned them.
“That’s what we told him,” Link replied, relief tinging his words now that he knew his position on this bed was secure. “He says no.”
“We’ve been over this,” Muriel said. She reached for a cup that Graham had been especially careful to avoid and tried to offer it to him. “You were supposed to drink this an hour ago. You can’t avoid your dreams forever.”
“I can definitely put them off,” Graham said, crossing his arms so she couldn’t force it on him. “Muriel, please. Just a little longer. I don’t want to sleep. It’s not...it’s not the nightmares this time, honestly. I’m just trying to explain things. I think straightening everything out, talking through it...it’s going to help the nightmares stop. Please.”
She pursed her lips, then sighed and stepped back. “Fine. This once, fine. But I’m going to swap those bandages out now anyway.”
Guybrush half stood. “Oh. Should we leave?”
Graham grabbed his sleeve. “N-no, please don’t. I’d like...please don’t go. I didn’t tell you this part, but...um. To make sure I wasn’t smuggling anything, the goblins would...literally shake me down. Upside down. And they’ve got hard hands.” Graham slipped up his nightshirt sleeve, and showed off some of the half-glimpsed fingerprint-shaped bruises. “These are mostly faded. It’s my legs that are...badly bruised. My own weight against their hands. That’s all.”
“This makes them heal faster,” Muriel said, plucking a jar from the tray. Link reached for it automatically, as curious about healing potions as ever. The jar felt icy cold in his hands, almost frosted over despite the warmth of the room. “Green ice scale,” she told him. “Good for deep soothing.”
Guybrush let Graham lean against him while they reapplied the icy goop and rewrapped the bandages so the bedsheets wouldn’t stain green. Graham shuddered, his shoulder pressed hard against Guybrush’s as he flinched away from Muriel’s touch. “It’s so much colder than it was last time,” he muttered.
“I think you just weren’t paying attention the first time,” Muriel replied.
Link stuck a finger in the jar and studied the gel. “Good for burns?” he asked.
“Plan on fighting a dragon soon?” Chester said.
“Fire arrows can have interesting consequences.”
“I’ll get some together for you. It’s a good snack on a hot day, too.”
“I’ll, ah, keep that in mind next time I’m in in the Gerudo Desert, thanks.”
Guybrush was staring at Graham’s bruises. It was almost possible to make out individual handprints in the colorful marks on his shins. “Those are nasty.”
“Just don’t poke them,” Graham said. “They were worse, if you can believe it. How much longer, Muriel?”
“Oh, a week, maybe. This knocks the heal time down, but doesn’t erase ‘em. I could go global if I had something that just erased ‘em.” She picked up yet another little pot from the hoard she had gathered, whisked off the lid, and offered the contents to Link and Guybrush. There were tiny little white leaves in it, crisscrossed with green veins. They smelled like extreme mint, like you could flavor an entire moat’s worth of lemonade with one leaf. It made Link feel a little nauseous. “You’re going to want this. Put it under your tongue and it’ll melt. One an hour. I’ll give you both your own bags of it, but start with this for now.”
After she left, the story picked up where it had left off, details untangling like knotted ropes, until Graham started to reach a rough conclusion.
“As for me getting sick. It’s probably not hard to guess. Muriel thinks...I mean, the stress alone was hard, but my cell was always wet. The rainwater kept finding channels down. It was one big puddle most of the time. And there wasn’t a lot of food to go around after the porridge ran out, and I couldn’t let Bramble go hungry, or the Hobblepots, or Amaya. It…it wasn’t….” He coughed, a hacking wheeze that rattled his chest. “I’m lucky. It could have been worse. I could have gotten like this before escaping. But...but I couldn’t let that happen. I think I didn’t let myself get sick until we were free. Everyone was depending on me, you know.
“But...but it was hard. To be alone for so long. In the end, Bramble and I found the goblin king together. I told him a story about what it means to be afraid. What it means to get too much responsibility too fast, to not know what you’re doing, and how friends are the only way to push forward and keep going. And that, a story about friends, was a story he liked, and in that place where stories hold more sway than kings, it was enough, and he let me, let all my friends, go.”
Link and Guybrush glanced at each other. Link breathed deeply: “Graham. The reason we’re here. It’s not because of what happened...we didn’t even know until today. We were here for a different reason at first. This...this isn’t the way we would have wanted to do this, but...” He and Guybrush leaned cheek to cheek together and shrieked “Happy birthday!” so loudly that No1, who had actually not been listening at all, almost fell out of the rocking chair. Link shoved his hand into his bag and withdrew a small wrapped box with a crumpled bow pasted on top.
“It isn’t much,” Link said apologetically. “It’s late. You had your birthday...” his voice faded.
“In that cell, yeah,” Graham agreed. His eyes were sparkling with excitement, though, and he spoke lightly. “It wasn’t that bad. I sang to the salamanders, and Wente made me a special sweetycake, somehow. But, guys, you didn’t need to do this.” He took the proffered gift all the same and slipped off the rumbled ribbon.
“It’s an engraving we had done,” Guybrush leaned forward, watching as Graham extricated a charm and chain. “I think it’s kinda cheesy, but Elaine and Zelda thought it was clever. They helped with the design.”
The charm itself was styled like a piece of eight, with two crossed swords and a bow and arrow printed on top—clearly tiny little renditions of their weapons of choice. Graham ran his fingers along the edge, finding a little latch and flipping it open like a locket. It contained an image of the three of them, arms flung over shoulders, apparently mid-joke and laughing together.
Link said, “We thought...well, it’s your first birthday as a king, and we were worried you might, y’know, get too busy and distracted and...maybe forgetful. Zelda said that’s normal, for a newly responsible royal. But we thought that together we did so much, and even if we can’t be here in person all the time for you as a king, we...well, I guess it’s sort of silly after all that happened, when you really did need us and we weren’t there for you then to help protect you and Daventry and all, but—”
“But you’re here. Now. And that’s all that matters to me. It’s perfect. I love it.” He pulled the chain over his head, and the charm rested against his chest. Graham bit his lip. “It’s probably too late, but...I mean, I’m definitely contagious, but...”
He didn’t have to finish saying it. His friends launched themselves at him and grabbed him in a tight hug. They stayed together like that for a long time, regret and gratitude and everything held in silence. They could handle anything when they were apart, but they were stronger together, and they reveled in it.
(Later, Link’s throat started to ache and Guybrush started coughing, but they both agreed it was worth it. Muriel just sighed and ordered more soup.)
#captmickey#King's Quest#kings quest#King Graham#the three adventurers#chester hobblepot#Muriel Hobblepot#this post is protected by the royal guards#monkey island#legend of zelda#ch2#fic'ing#tcak
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Yellow (Tales From The Heart)
Fandom: One Piece
Rating: Gen
Warnings: none
Characters: Ikkaku, Law, Penguin, Shachi
There were many things Ikkaku liked about her new crew. They were friendly, boisterous and protective of their own, unafraid to play pranks and have a good time but unforgiving if anyone hurt their nakama. The captain was quiet, almost brooding, but it didn't take her long to realise that didn't mean he cared any less. If anything, Law probably cared the most.
The flag appealed to her, too. Simple and to the point (whatever the point was), there were none of the ridiculously complicated flourishes she'd seen many other crews sporting. The grin, despite its similarity to other, less pleasant crews, felt kind to her. She'd got a knowing smile from Penguin and Shachi when she mentioned that before they'd declared she definitely belonged.
The one thing that didn't quite make sense was the ship. A submarine was great – she had no objections to the submarine, nor did she have an issue with the underwater wonderland it gave them unique access to – but when she thought of spending long periods of time deep underwater, she associated it with hiding.
Why, then, was a ship so suited to hiding and concealment, painted an obnoxiously bright yellow? Not that the Polar Tang didn't suit the colour – Ikkaku couldn't actually imagine her another colour, although Bepo had told her the submarine used to be grey before they redecorated her – but it seemed rather counter-productive.
"Is yellow the captain's favourite colour?" she found herself asking Penguin one day. As well as the ship, a large proportion of their captain's wardrobe appeared to sport the colour, and the jolly roger decorating their boiler suits were also tinted yellow. Penguin chuckled.
"You mean, 'why is the Tang bright yellow'," he corrected. Slightly abashed, Ikkaku nodded, and he shrugged. "I haven't a clue," he admitted. "When we repainted her, Law just turned up with barrels of yellow paint. He never told us why."
"You never asked," the aforementioned captain commented, making Ikkaku jump. She hadn't realised that Law was in earshot. Penguin didn't show any surprise at all, leaving her to wonder how long her captain had been there for.
"I'm fairly sure we did," Penguin countered. "You just ignored us." Ikkaku hadn't thought you could talk to your captain like that, but Law didn't seem offended at the accusation.
"Maybe I did," he allowed thoughtfully. "For the record, yellow is not my favourite colour. I don't actually like it that much."
Ikkaku gaped at him, and out of the corner of her eye she could see Penguin's face mirroring her own.
"Then why the hell did you pick it for the Tang?" he exclaimed, loudly enough to draw the attention of the rest of the nakama in earshot.
"Why did Law pick what?" Shachi asked, gravitating towards the trio of them as if he'd appeared out of nowhere. Ikkaku later learnt that Penguin and Shachi had a habit of randomly appearing wherever the other was.
"Law doesn't like yellow," Penguin explained, and Shachi joined them in gaping.
"The hell?" he flailed. "But everything is yellow. Because you picked it!" He pointed at his captain accusingly. "And don't you dare say 'just because' because I know you better than that."
Law avoided their stares for a moment, glancing down at the ground and then around at the rest of the eavesdropping crew before pulling himself up to his full height to stare them down. Ikkaku began to feel as if she'd opened a forbidden box with her innocent question and opened her mouth to apologise.
"It was my sister's favourite colour," he said, without fanfare, and Ikkaku's head swam with the implications of that sentence – Law had a sister, he used the past tense, Law no longer had a sister – as she vaguely noticed Penguin and Shachi stiffen besides her.
"Law-" Penguin started, but their captain waved him off.
"Don't worry about it," he said, before making his way past them in the direction of the kitchen. Ikkaku quivered, the aura Penguin and Shachi giving off making her feel like that was something Law never talked about and feeling horrendous for bringing it up, before a hand landed on her shoulder. "Don't worry about it," Law repeated quietly in her ear as he passed. There was a small smile on his face. "Care to join me for a coffee?"
She could find no reason to refuse, so trailed behind him as the rest of her crew dispersed. She could hear murmurs of 'captain had a sister?' before hissing noises from Penguin and Shachi muted them, but Law seemed unconcerned.
"There's no need to be scared," her captain told her as they entered the kitchen. "Asking questions is fine on this crew, although you won't always get an answer." Ikkaku nodded numbly, watching the water debate how quickly it wanted to boil. Not fast enough, apparently. "If you do get an answer, it's because they chose to share it, not because you pried." The water finally started to bubble and Law poured it into two mugs, passing one to her.
"I didn't know you had a sister," she admitted, wrapping her hands around the mug. "I know I'm just new, though."
"Until today, the only ones that knew were Bepo, Penguin and Shachi," Law told her, taking a gulp of his own drink. Ikkaku's stomach churned. "It hurts to think about her much." Ikkaku opened her mouth to apologise, but he cut her off. "But trivial facts like her favourite colour not so much anymore."
She shut her mouth with an audible clack, biting back more questions. She hadn't earnt the right to ask Law any more painful questions, nor did she want to disturb the smile on his face as he stared off into space.
Smiling herself at the sight, even though her brain still insisted she needed to apologise, she returned her attention to the mug of cooling coffee in her hands and decided to appreciate the rare silence. In the distance she could hear the boys laughing at something or other, and was reminded again why she loved her new crew.
#one piece#one piece fanfiction#heart pirates#tales from the heart#tsari writes fanfiction#trafalgar law#penguin#shachi#ikkaku
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I Can Get You High (If You Want To Climb) Chapter 2
Barb/ Carol.. You’re welcome
links to AO3 in notes.
Gym class is arguably Barb’s worst class, straight A student in all other lessons, gym being the only one she’s barely scraping by with a C and it’s not hard to see why. There’s nothing worse than having to run laps around the track, ill fitting sports bar doing absolutely nothing to keep the girls in check, she gets out of breath just looking at the track let alone when she actually has to do laps, barley breaking into a sprint, sweating buckets chest heaving and almost giving herself a concussion with every stride. She’s long passed caring about her grade enough to actually put in 100 percent, only participates so she doesn’t get failed altogether, can’t have a fail, that would screw her plans for college up entirely.
Of course the physical excretion is nothing compared to the mandatory gym kit Hawkins high provides, a pale grey t-shirt that does absolutely nothing to hide the tidal wave of sweat gathering across the entirety of her torso, she’s always soaked through by the time the hours up, and of course those awful little shorts. She always wonders if the uniform was designed by some creepy man, who gets off watching young teenage girls in the shortest shorts possible, barely enough fabric to cover even the smallest girl’s butt cheeks, let alone Barb’s, with her hulking thighs that really test the limits of the shorts seams. Barb has always been slightly self conscious, gym class makes it worse, all she wants to do is get the class over and done with, sit on the bleachers and wait patiently while all the girls filter through and get showered and changed, before she can go in a change herself. Thank god it's the last class of the day, otherwise she'll have to weigh the pros and cons of being late to another class.
Today was dodgeball and god did Barb loathe dodgeball above all other things, firstly she’s easy pickings and all the other girls take advantage of that, even the girls supposedly in her team, secondly her aim is shit especially because it is not worth the risk to wear her glasses, having learnt that lesson the hard way freshman year, with a broken pair or brand new glasses and a rather dramatic trip to the nurses office to make sure she didn’t get glass in her eye. It’s not like Barb couldn’t see anything, more like everything was more hazy, all the girls running about in a blur of green and gray, the balls whizzing past in a flurry of angry orange, it also messed with her depth perception like crazy, which meant unfortunately she tripped over her feat, a lot more than she usually would, causing her classmates to snicker cruelly from all angles, it just wasn’t fair that she was subjected to this, why couldn’t she just scrap this class altogether?
She prepares herself to be pelted by the balls and to be eliminated at her earliest convenience, the less time she spends on the court the better, but today’s different, as the opposite team line up balls in hands ready to take aim, she braces herself for the inevitable sting of rubber slapping against flesh, except this time it never comes. She’s startled by a growl and a blur of auburn locks rushing up in front of her, Its Carol Perkins of all people, an impressive force of tiny fury, catching each ball mid air and launching them back with acute precision at the other team, within minutes she’s already eliminated half of the opposition and is showing no signs of slowing down, Barb is in absolute awe as she stands in astonishment, admiring how flawless Carol looks channeling all that aggression into the game. Unfortunately for Barb she’s dragged out from her stupor by a ball landing squarely in her stomach, knocking the wind right out of her, she doubles over in pain for a second before having to compose herself as quickly as possible and makes her way to the sidelines to watch what’s left of the game, or risk getting hit again. Carol continues her assault, seemingly spurred on even further by Barb being knocked out, unsurprisingly Carol is the last woman standing, expression alternating between angry scowl and smug grin as she gloats in her victory to the rest of the class. Barb thinks she see’s Carol spare a glance at her, offering her a small apologetic smile, but it’s so brief Barb concludes she must be hallucinating.
###
The locker rooms are literal hell for Barb, reluctant to get changed herself in front of the other girls, always paranoid she’ll get ridiculed for her weight, but honestly? That’s not even her biggest problem, no the thing she hates most about being surrounded by a class full of beautiful girls in various states of undress, is that she doesn’t hate it at all. She feels like such a peeping tom, surrounded by all this silky skin, firm breasts and while she tries to avert her eyes as much as she can she always catches herself lost in thought staring a little too intensely and a little too south than she is comfortable with, has to shake herself from her sinful thoughts, shove her head further into her locker a pray that this will all be over soon, or god himself will strike her down and put her out of her misery. She wishes things could be easy for her, that she wasn’t repulsed by the very idea of men, that she didn’t crave the touch of a soft delicate woman instead of being manhandled by the rough calloused hands of a man. Her only saving grace is as all her classmates file out, chattering away about their weekend plans, if none of them seem to notice her, or her longing gaze, she’s safe for now, left in the peaceful silence of an empty locker room.
With a heavy sigh of relief she makes her way to the showers towel in hand and shimmies her way out of her gym kit, ecstatic that she’s free of it for at least another 3 days at least, she turns on the spray lets the water get to temperature as she fights her way out of the constraints of her sweaty sports bra and panties, discards them in a heap on the tile out of reach from the running water. She steps into the spray, lets out a satisfied grown as the warm stream runs now her back soothing aching muscles as she stretches and cracks her stiff joints. She lets that small pleasure wash over her for a while, she’s in no rush to hurry out today, no plans on this ordinary Friday afternoon, or for the entirety of the weekend to be fair, maybe except her regularly scheduled phone call with Nancy on Sunday evening.
She gets lost in the quiet, only the sounds of the spray filling the room, finally free to daydream about creamy thighs and the curve of womanly hips, all alone in her own little bubble, which is why she’s startled by the sudden appearance of Carol, leaning casually against the entrance to the showers, still fully clothed in her gym gear and bright blue orbs starting with a laser focus directly into Barb’s soul. Carol has a dangerous smirk on her lips, the kind that makes Barb squirm with the paranoia that Carol can read minds and knows exactly what Barb was thinking about only seconds ago. Her paranoia is not calming down as Carol begins to stalk towards Barb, never breaking eye contact even as she lifts her gym shirt over her head, and steps out of her tiny shorts. Carol completely skips past her own shower head, instead stepping under Barb’s stream, all hunger and determination pouring out of her as she stalks forward like a predator and Barb’s her prey. Barb has nowhere to go but backwards, cornered into the wall, shivering at the loss of warmth for the shower, and burning all too hot from the press of Carol’s skin on hers. Barb is at least 9 inches taller than Carol, height not giving her any advantage as Carol cages her in, Carol even has to stand on her tiptoes just to place a chaste yet hungry kiss to Barb’s collar bone, ripping a full body shudder from her, completely incapable of controlling the flush creeping across her face and spreading eagerly down to her chest.
“Wha.. what are you doing Carol?” Barb stammers out. She’s a storm of confusion and panic and it really doesn’t help that Carol is currently burying her face in her cleavage, leaving little kisses in her wake, until she rests her chin on the shelf of Barb’s breasts and looks up eyes all faux innocence as she says
“What’s the matter Teddy Bear? Don’t you want me?” Carol actually pouts, feigning hurt and Barb melts, it’s like an instinct, the inexplicable need to comfort a pretty girl. With shaky arms Barb brings her hands to rest on Carol’s shoulders, leans her weight in fear of her legs giving way any minute, she’s overwhelmed with a conflict of emotions, she’s not stupid, she knows exactly what this means, what Carol is trying to do; heard all bout her little romp with Nancy, she just can’t figure out why Carol has any interest in her.
“That’s not it.”
“Then what?” Carol asks. Still pouting and Barb is overcome with the need to kiss that put away.
“Why me?” Barb’s actually curious, why her? When Carol could have absolutely anyone she wants, she’s gorgeous and Barb has been told all her life, with the exception of maybe Nancy and her parents that she isn’t worth a second glance from anyone.
“Isn’t it obvious Teddy Bear?” that pet name does something to Barb, she should be annoyed, instead she finds herself quite fond of it, never wanting Carol to stop calling her it. Barb shakes her head, she really is at a loss. “You’re beautiful baby” Carol purrs and she runs her hands across the expanse of Barb’s sides, brings them round to rest her palms against the small of Barb’s back, uses the new angle as leverage to pull them closer together, as she begins peppering kisses all over Barb’s chest. “So pretty, gorgeous” Barb can’t help but scoff at that, no one has ever called her beautiful before. “It’s true! Let me show you just how beautiful I think you are baby?”
If Barb were not being held up by Carol’s knee bullying its way between Barb’s thighs she would have been a puddle on the floor because of Carol’s words alone, how could she possibly deny a beautiful girl showering her in compliments an affection, it’s not like she doesn’t function like everybody else on this godforsaken planet, she needs the validation just as much as the next person, and surprisingly to her she kinda gets off on it too, and if Carol’s actions are anything to go by, she gets off on giving them too. Carol leans up trying to reach Barb’s lips has to almost climb the length of Barb’s body to get even a little bit close, Barb gets with the picture and bends at the knees to meet her half way, their lips smash together clumsily, teeth clacking together in a desperate bid to brush against each other, its awkward but not awful and soon they find their rhythm, Carol deepening the kiss by licking her way into Barb’s mouth, sucking at her bottom lip and catching it with her teeth, it’s obscene and it lights Barb’s whole body on fire with desire and need, what she needs she doesn’t really know, but Carol seems to know what she’s doing, asserting her dominance with practised finesse as she uses her mouth to explore every inch of Barb’s skin, lips sliding across her across the shoulders and down her chest, until Carol sinks to her knees and gently paws at Barb’s thighs pushing them open to allow access.
Before Barb can even process what’s happening Carol’s nose is nuzzling its way through the course reddish hair that grows unruly atop Barb’s mound, she seems to revel in the sent and she uses her nails to lightly scratch at the backs of Barb’s thighs, inhaling deeply and sighing as if its the sweetest sent she’s ever smelt, maybe it is Barb really wouldn’t know, too ashamed to even touch herself down there.
Just when Barb thinks she can’t take the anticipation any more Carol dives in, goes straight for the gold and swipes her tongue across and around Barb’s clit with what Barb can only assume is practised precision. Barb yelps out at the sudden jolts of pleasure that shoot all through her veins, like sparks of electricity about to light a tinder box completely aflame. Carol’s tongue continues its exploration, licking through Barb’s folds, darting out and teasing her hole, she can feel herself gush and it’s embarrassing but Carol moans lewdly as her tongue laps up the evidence of Barb’s excitement. Her tongue peaks its way back up to Barb’s hood, lightly grazing against Barb’s bundle of nerves, causing her to twitch and her hips it involuntarily thrust, Carol’s hands creep their way up to Barb’s hips and press her flush to to the wall as she continues ministrations. Barb has to scramble for purchase to keep herself right, one hand desperately clinging to the top of Carol’s head to keep her balance the other flying to her mouth to muffle frankly pornographic noises she’s making without her consent. She can feel everything building, like a glass of water getting filled bit by bit and she’s so close to spilling over it’s almost painful, all it takes is for a well timed suckle of her clit from Carol and Barb is screaming out, hand doing absolutely nothing to silence the sounds of her pleasure now her orgasm is wreaking havoc on her body, she’s shaking all over, wave after wave of intense feeling crashing over she’s sure she’ll black out, before she can catch herself she sinks to the ground, still reeling from the aftershocks of the most mind blowing thing to ever happen to her. Carol catches Barb on her way down, cradles her as she leans against Carol’s shoulder, almost sobbing from being so overwhelmed. Carol pets through her hair, massaging and scratching lightly at her scalp and cooing quietly in her ear between a spattering of kisses across her cheek.
“You were so good Teddy Bear, so good for me”
Barb feels sleepy, could drift off right here she’s in such a daze, doesn't really register as Carol props her against the wall and reaches up form the soap, only jumps slightly in surprise as glides its across her body to clean her, it’s oddly gentle and far more intimate than what just transpired, Barb has completely lost the use of all her limbs so just sits there quietly as Carol washes her thoroughly and oh so sweetly all the while murmuring pretty little words and praises about how good Barb was. Once Carol is done cleaning the both of them she helps Barb to her feet and leans up to plant one last kiss to Barb’s cheek.
“That was fun Teddy Bear, can’t wait to do that again.” and with that she’s spins around and struts out of the showers grabbing a towel on her way out, leaving Barb completely speechless, her head spinning with all the possibilities of what again really means.
#Barb Holland x Carol Perkins#Barb x Carol#Barb Holland#Carol Perkins#Stranger Things#WLW fic#Fic#My fic#wlw
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Valentine’s Day (1)
AU Fanfiction:
Kiryuuin Shou x Kyan Yutaka (Golden Bomber)
... also Shoko x Yutako.
Note: This is another high school fic, set in the same universe from Golden Bomber’s Glamorous Butterfly Campaign with Jex, that I already used for the fic about GB Academy. You don’t need to know that fic, though, it’s a stand-alone. I just thought it was a shame I didn’t make the couples gay there, because somehow I thought the world could need some lesbian Golden Bomber fanfiction for whatever reason XD If that’s not your thing however, there are two plotlines, one between Shou and Yutaka and one between Shoko and Yutako. They keep switching, so technically you can skip through and only follow one couple, too. Also, I’ll post this in two part. Happy Valentine’s Day! (^-^)
“Just a little bit more!”, Yutako demanded, holding up the bowl of sugar. In her hands it looked like a weapon. In Yutako’s hands almost everything did.
“No!”, Shoko protested and jumped to the side to shield the pot on the stove with her body.
Usually, she wasn’t one to pick fights with Yutako. She was usually one to give in to Yutako and to clean up the disaster afterwards that she herself had seen coming all along.
But today, Shoko had something worth fighting for. Some things were too important to let even Yutako butcher them.
“It will make the chocolate sweeter”, Yutako said.
“No, it will ruin it by making it crunchy. You will be able to taste nothing but sugar”, Shoko lectured calmly and stirred the liquid chocolate with the whisk in her right hand.
“No arguing with our perfect housewife I guess.” Yutako gave in and put the sugar bowl down with a loud clonk. She spilled some of the sugar.
Shoko tried not to feel offended by the fact that Yutako had called her a perfect housewife. That was what Yutako probably saw in her. She expected Shoko to get married to a nice, boring guy and stay home to cook for him and clean the apartment. It was what everyone seemed to expect of her. Because she was calm and neat and so very much not like Yutako. No one looked at Yutako and thought she would devote her life to a man. People looked at her and thought she would be the first woman on the moon or the first female Prime Minister of Japan. It didn’t matter if she was qualified or not. Yutako had the air of a woman, who would surely be the first in something. She wasn’t meant to settle down. She was born to conquer.
Deep inside, Shoko felt adventurous, too. She just wasn’t so good at showing it.
“I’m just worried about the chocolate”, Shoko said, sounding a little huffy. “You know I’m an expert on the field.”
“I know you love chocolate”, Yutaka confirmed and pushed herself off the kitchen counter. Like all of her motions, she did it with force. “They should rather call you Choco.”
Shoko rolled her eyes visibly, before she turned towards the pot again. The right consistency was important.
Yutako stepped up behind her, leaning in to inhale deeply. She wasn’t quite hugging her, but Shoko could feel the heat of her body against her back anyway. As always, Yutako wore a thick sweater as if she was freezing. It was very warm inside the kitchen.
“Smells delicious”, Yutako observed.
Shoko bend her head a little, too. Just moments ago, she had been able to smell the faint hint of cacao in the air, but now it was concealed by the sweet chemistry of Yutako’s hairspray. Yutako smelled like the human version of bubble-gum.
“Did you get out the baking forms?”, Shoko asked.
She had been distracted for a moment, and the chocolate started to get sticky already. They had to hurry, otherwise it would burn. Shoko had wanted to use a double boiler, but Yutako had protested with her usual no-risk-no-fun mentality. Now, they were risking their chocolate.
“I was supposed to do that?!”, Yutako shouted and took a step back.
She was still standing so close that Shoko nearly went deaf.
“I swear, I saw them around here somewhere earlier. Somewhere, somewhere”, Yutako muttered and Shoko heard some worrisome clattering behind herself.
She turned off the heat and took the pot off the stove. It was quite heavy, but her arms were stronger than her appearance suggested.
“Put them on the counter”, she ordered, hoping that Yutako would for once listen to her.
She carried the pot over to the counter and Yutako slammed down two backing forms onto its surface. She exclaimed a loud “Ha!” of victory. With her, making chocolates was like going to war.
Shoko lifted the pot, carefully pouring the liquid chocolate into the small, heart-shaped forms. She spilled some of it, but once the chocolate dried, they would be able to scratch off the ugly bits and be left with about 30 small hearts of delicious chocolate.
The chocolate didn’t pour out of the pot quite that easily anymore as Shoko reached the last row. She tilted the pot more. Her arms were starting to feel heavy. She tried to shift the weight in her hands, her lower arm brushing against the bottom of the pot that was still hot.
Shoko winced and put down the pot onto the counter.
“Did you burn yourself?”, Yutako asked.
Shoko held up her bare lower arm to check for the red mark forming there.
“It’s not so bad”, she said, making a face. “It had already cooled down somewhat.”
“Idiot”, Yutako said and grabbed Shoko’s wrist, pulling her over to the sink.
Her grip was very firm, but that just seemed part of her personality. She turned on the cold water, dragging Shoko’s arm under the tap forcefully. She kept holding on to her wrist as if she wanted to make sure Shoko did not pull back.
Shoko wondered if Yutako could feel her pulse. It had quickened rapidly. Probably due to the pain, Shoko assumed. A physical reaction. Adrenaline. Fear of dying. Something like that.
The water was so cold, it slowly started to numb her arm. The pain was nearly gone, but Shoko didn’t feel much else, either. Yutako’s hand, though, she could still sense. It felt warm.
“It’s enough now”, Shoko protested and jerked her wrist free.
“Always so clumsy”, Yutako said and switched off the water. She looked at Shoko affectionately.
Shoko hurried to turn her face. She grabbed a kitchen towel and used it to dry her arm. Yutako wiped her hand off at her skirt.
Shoko felt weird when Yutako looked at her like that. She also felt weird when she grabbed her wrist like that without warning or when she walked up from behind so close. She felt like there was nowhere left to hide.
“We’re missing two hearts”, she observed to change the topic.
“The boys can do without those. I’m was planning to eat one half myself anyway.”
Shoko huffed.
“Have you decided whom to give your chocolates to this year?”, she asked innocently.
Not that she cared a lot whom Yutako gave her chocolates to. It was her decision. On Valentine’s Day, the girls gave chocolates to the guy they liked. That was just how it was done. Shoko didn’t really like anyone, but she liked making chocolates with Yutako. They did so every year since middle school.
“I’m just going to do the unexpected, you know”, Yutako said and shrugged. “I don’t want to impress anyone, so I will just see who doesn’t get any chocolate this year and give him mine. My guess is on Shou. He is weird. But I’d feel sorry for him, if he didn’t get chocolates from anyone.”
Shoko watched Yutako from the side for a moment.
She tried to imagine what it must feel like for a shy, awkward guy like Shou to get chocolates from such a pretty, popular girl like Yutako. Surely, he would be overjoyed. Shoko in his place would be overjoyed.
“And it’s not like any man is worthy of my love anyway, so I might as well give it to charity”, Yutako added.
She was speaking flippant, but Shoko knew her better than that. Although she acted like she just didn’t care who got her chocolate, she was seriously worried for the people who would not get chocolates at all. Underneath her brash attitude, Yutako was quite soft. She didn’t like people noticing, though.
“You gave chocolates to that guy from third year last Valentines”, Shoko reminded her. “He wasn’t needing charity, though.”
Yutako gave a heavy sigh.
It was true that her crush had been so popular, that he had received chocolates from a lot of girls. It was Yutako he had asked out on a Valentine’s date, however. Shoko hadn’t doubted for a moment, that he would pick Yutako. She wasn’t the prettiest girl, who had given chocolates to him, nor the smartest or the kindest. She just had that personality that drew you in so much, you forgot there were other people around to compare her to. Yutako became her own measure by sheer force of will.
“I was young and stupid. I liked him, but where did it lead? Turned out he was boring like the rest of them. I don’t need a disappointment like that again.”
Shoko was all too aware that Yutako had liked the guy. It had bothered her back then. Thinking of it, her stomach still felt weird as if she had just received bad news. They had been dating for only three weeks, though, before Yutako changed her mind again. Shoko had been relieved when she did.
“What about you?”, Yutako asked. “Still giving yours to that beau Yutaka?”
Shoko tried not to pay attention to the judgement in Yutako’s voice. She shrugged.
“I guess”, she said. “He’s cute.”
Truthfully, she did not have any strong feelings towards Yutaka. She didn’t understand why girls giggled in his presence or blushed when he talked to them. But objectively speaking, he was probably handsome and he had an easy-going air about him that Shoko had always found likeable.
The reason she had chosen Yutaka as her Valentines was that he was a safe bet. A lot of girls liked him. That meant Shoko wouldn’t embarrass herself by giving chocolates to him. There was nothing weird about liking Yutaka. People just liked Yutaka. No one would question that Shoko did, too. And since he was so popular with the girls, the chances that he would react to Shoko’s gift and she’d end up on a date with him were close to zero.
Occasionally Shoko wondered if the other girls just pretended to like boys. At least, like them to that extend. Shoko didn’t dislike Yutaka. He seemed good looking and fun. But she did not get excited by his charms like the other girls seemed to get excited by them. Shoko had always assumed they just acted excited, because they enjoyed the drama and the giggling with their friends. Just like Shoko pretended she cared for giving Yutaka chocolates, when really, she only cared about making them with Yutako.
But then Yutako had seemed invested when she had given the chocolates to her crush last year. She had cared about his reaction. Shoko did not care about Yutaka’s reaction. If anything, the thought that he might actually ask her out was horrifying.
She wasn’t sure if that meant something was wrong with her, or if the rest of the world just hadn’t let her in on the play they were staging.
“We should put the chocolates into the fridge, so they turn solid faster”, Yutako suggested and took a step towards the counter.
“No!”, Shoko exclaimed and held Yutako back by the arm. “They need to cool down first. It will affect the taste otherwise.”
Yutako shook her head.
“You are so serious about this”, she said somewhat teasing.
“We have been doing this for years already. Shouldn’t you remember how it’s done by now?”, Shoko scolded her.
Yutako made a funny looking gesture with her arms, as if she wanted to push Shoko’s words aside physically.
“I have grown no more patient over the years”, she said.
“Well, I’m also looking forward to wrapping them up”, Shoko admitted as a compromise.
She had cute wrapping paper upstairs in her room and several pretty cards that she could choose from. She had no idea what to write to Yutaka, though. There was nothing she wanted to tell him. She liked how cute the cards looked, though.
“Are you kidding me?!”, Yutako shouted and threw back her head, laughing loudly.
Her laughter was another reason Shoko didn’t understand why girls liked boys. Boys never looked pretty when they laughed. Yutako, though, Yutako looked dazzling. She understood perfectly well why boys liked girls. But the other way around, it remained a mystery to her.
“I can’t wait to eat them!”, Yutako said.
* * *
Yutaka put down the controller. They were hanging out in Jun’s basement currently, playing video games. Jun had the biggest space and owned the most games, too. He was a little spoiled. Sometimes, Yutaka envied him for that.
“Kenji, your turn”, he offered and held the controller out to his friend.
He had grown bored with playing anyway. Currently, Yutaka grew bored with everything. It wasn’t the fault of his friends. Just lately, their conversations felt somehow shallow to him. It was all about sports and girls and although Yutaka liked sports and he liked girls, there was really only so much to say about these two topics and he had spent 16 years already, saying it all.
“Why so gloomy lately?”, Kenji asked, but took the controller from him. “Cheer up, tomorrow is Valentine’s Day.”
Yutaka groaned. He had planned it out weeks ago already. He had booked a place at a cute café that would surely be packed tomorrow and he had made absolutely sure that his parents had other plans for the day and wouldn’t be home until the late evening. Shortly, he had done what he had done every year so far since he found out about boobies.
“Yes, I’m sure you will get tons of chocolate again”, Jun agreed. “You are always the most popular, although Kenji is much taller.”
“Maybe the girls hope he will grow, if they feed him enough”, Kenji joked.
Yutaka snorted. He wasn’t even in the mood to argue.
“It’s just so damn boring”, he whined. “I will check which girls gave me chocolates and then ask the prettiest one out. And since it will be Valentine’s Day and the mood is romantic and I know she likes me anyway and since she is desperate to show off to their friends who didn’t get a date, it will be so easy to make her fall for me. It’s boring.”
“Good for you, if you think a cute girl falling for you is boring. Others have to work hard for that, you know?”, Jun scolded him.
Yutaka knew that Jun worried about not receiving any chocolates every year, because he deemed himself less popular and less attractive than his friends. He was proven wrong every year, though. Yutaka mused that Jun had something of a reliable if awkward vibe to him that girls liked. If Yutaka had to choose between the three of them, he would have given his chocolates to Jun, too. He wasn’t one to toy with your feelings.
“Yes!”, Kenji confirmed. “I’m already all nervous.”
Yutaka knew that Kenji had no reason to be nervous, but that he still was. Beneath his good looks and his silliness, he was actually quite shy.
“I just want something different. I’m doing the same thing over and over again, getting in and out of short-time relationships. But it’s not fulfilling at all. So, why do I keep doing it?”
Yutaka had been thinking about this for a while already. Lately, he felt like he had stepped out onto the side-lines and once he saw the game from the outside, he just wondered what the fuck everyone else was doing. Valentine’s Day was just the peak of a very ridiculous iceberg.
“Maybe you should do something different then”, Kenji suggested. “Don’t take the cutest girl out on a date. Take the one you expected chocolates from the least. Like, the shy girl you would usually overlook. The girl with the weird glasses you would never ask out on a date normally. Maybe they’ll surprise you.”
Yutaka hummed and stared at the tv screen. He hadn’t been aware that Jun had paused the game.
“So, you think I should go out with the most unexpected person, who gives me chocolates?”, he assured.
The idea didn’t sound so bad. He did tend to be slightly superficial about his relationships, maybe that was why it had never worked out. Maybe the girls he usually overlooked were more interesting indeed. And even if the date still sucked, maybe it would make a plain girl happy that a popular guy like himself paid attention to her. He’d be doing a good deed. Charity, so to say.
“You know, I actually like the idea”, he concluded. “But how to decide who is the most unexpected?”
“We will look through the cards together!”, Kenji blurted out and it dawned on Yutaka that he had suggested the whole thing for Yutaka’s amusement as much as his own.
“Yes, we’ll take a vote. And you have to follow through with it”, Jun said.
“Yep, no chickening out, because there is this really cute girl all of a sudden”, Kenji demanded.
“Alright, alright.” Yutaka nodded. “I promise, I’ll obey to your decision.”
* * *
Shoko shuffled on her seat, looking over to the classroom door. Yutako was late. That wasn’t unusual, but today was Valentine’s Day. The first chocolates were given out before class even started and none of the girls liked to miss out on spying who had given chocolate to whom. Valentine’s Day wasn’t about love. It was a social event.
Shoko’s own set of chocolates still sat on her desk. She had meant to drop them off at Yutaka’s locker before first hour started, but there had been a line. A line. Shoko wasn’t sure if she found that unsettling – because so many girls seemed to like a teenage boy who was so, well, so very much like a teenage boy – or relieving, because it meant Yutaka had so many confessions to choose from, that he would surely overlook Shoko’s.
She looked at her bag of chocolate. It was wrapped in pink paper and ribbons in different shades of red. It contained ten small chocolates shaped as hearts. They had had 28 hearts to begin with. Shoko had eaten one of them to check if the taste had turned out sufficient. (It had.) Yutako had eaten seven. It left ten for each of them to give away.
Shoko looked over to Shou’s empty seat. He was late, too. Unless Yutako he wasn’t one to run late usually. Shoko wondered if Yutako had bumped into him and given him the chocolates. She should probably have waited to see if he wouldn’t receive some from someone else, but then that wasn’t very likely. Shou wasn’t unattractive – at least in Shoko’s eyes, but she felt for his outer appearance as strongly as she felt for Yutaka’s; which wasn’t very strongly at all. But he was a loner, someone who always stuck to himself. Shoko assumed that girls didn’t give him any chocolates, because there was something intimidating about him. He didn’t seem to want to get close to people. But maybe that was just an act. Shoko was sure that if Yutako gave him her chocolates, he would drop his misanthropy immediately and hope for a date. Yutako had that effect on people. Even if you hated the entire human race, under no circumstances could Shoko image someone hating Yutako. Of course, it wasn’t very likely that Yutako would go out with Shou. It was just charity chocolates, as she called it. But then it was Yutako. You could never be sure what would be going on in her mind next. Shoko didn’t understand why she worried about it so much.
She felt physically unwell, thinking that Shou and Yutako were running late, because they were setting up a date right now. Shoko didn’t have any plans yet. She had assumed she would hang out with Yutako in the afternoon. But if Yutako changed her plans now, it would leave Shoko behind alone, wondering what Yutako was doing on her date in the meantime. It wasn’t a very fun perspective for Valentine’s Day.
The door opened and Yutako rushed into the room. She always moved as if driven forward by an unstoppable energy.
The first thing Shoko noticed was that her hair was slightly out of shape, as if she hadn’t brushed it properly before leaving the house. The second thing she noticed was the box of chocolates in her hand. Relief washed over Shoko, because it meant she hadn’t given the chocolates to anyone yet. The relief was instantly followed by panic.
The box of chocolate wasn’t the one they had wrapped up together yesterday. The wrapping looked professional. It looked like the box had been bought at a store.
That left two things to worry about. What had happened to the chocolates they had made together? Had Yutako indeed given them to someone already? Did she have a date? And where had she gotten the other chocolates from? Had someone given them to her? A guy who liked her so much, that he was trying to bribe her into going out with him on Valentine’s Day? Had the bribe worked? But then, guys didn’t bring chocolates on Valentine’s Day. He could have waited until White Day, if he wanted to confess. On Valentine’s Day, the girls confessed. Did those chocolates mean, that a girl had confessed to Yutako? Like, a female girl? Shoko knew that that was in fact possible. If girls liked girls, they would surely like Yutako. Not just because she was pretty and funny and so adorably crazy, but also because she radiated the feeling that she wouldn’t mind. She was so unlike all the other girls at their school, that Shoko had wondered, too. But she knew Yutako liked guys. She knew that for sure. But maybe the girl who had brought the chocolates hadn’t known? And if Yutako had accepted the chocolates, did that mean she had accepted the confession, too? By a girl? Or had she just wanted to be polite?
Shoko felt a piercing pain in her chest, that somehow made it hard to breathe. Or maybe it had been hard to breathe before the pain already, she wasn’t sure. Her head felt dizzy. Possibly from oxygen shortage. When was the last time she had taken in a breath?
“Hey”, Yutako greeted cheerfully, putting the box of chocolates onto her table next to Shoko’s and dropping her school bag to the floor.
Shoko stared at the box of chocolates. She tried to focus on her breathing. The wrapping paper around it was white. The print on the side was golden. There was a golden sticker on it, too. It reflected the lights overhead. On one side, the paper was slightly crumpled, as if Yutako had clenched it too tightly there. Her breathing evened out.
“Where is that box of chocolate coming from?”, Shoko asked.
“Ah, I bought it this morning”, Yutako said and sat down. She sat with her legs spread widely, although her skirt was very short. Shoko could see more of her bare thighs than was appropriate. She looked away.
“It was insane in that store. I had to physically fight off three other women to get it. I almost ran late.”
She brushed over her hair with the back of her hand as if trying to flatten it that way. It looked funny, because most people would have tried to run their fingers through it to untangle it. Yutako didn’t use her hands like a hair brush, though. She used them like a flattening iron. Somehow, Shoko found that adorable.
“And you know what? It wasn’t even worth it.” Yutako slammed down her palm onto the table plate. For a moment, Shoko honestly believed the table would just fall apart under the impact.
“I was thinking of that sad little fucker Shou and how he would feel, if he didn’t get any chocolates and just when I got here, I caught him next to the entrance, sliding a box of chocolates into his school bag. A cute yellow one. I feel betrayed. Men. You can’t trust any of them.”
Shoko chuckled. She liked it when Yutako talked about men like that. Like she didn’t really like them at all.
“What happened to the ones we made, though?”, she asked.
Yutako shrugged nonchalantly and pulled her hands up into the sleeves of her sweater. Only her fingertips were showing.
“I ate them”, she said.
For a moment, Shoko just stared at her, before she snorted with laughter.
“You are absolutely the worst”, she concluded.
“Good I did!”, Yutako exclaimed. “He didn’t deserve them anyway!”
Still grinning Shoko shook her head. She was kind of glad Yutako had eaten them by herself, though. She was right, Shou did not deserve them.
Yutako pulled one of her legs onto the chair. Her skirt slid up even further. Thankfully, the legwarmers were covering a great deal of her skin.
“I’m just sad they’re all gone already”, Yutako pouted.
“You shouldn’t have eaten them all at once”, Shoko said calmly.
“We should have made more.”
Shoko looked onto the chocolates still sitting on her desk.
“You know, you can have mine”, she offered. “Since you like them so much.”
She reached out to push the box across the table. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears as if her heartbeat had decided to step it up to highspeed.
Shoko had no idea why she felt like that. She was just being nice to a friend. If Yutako liked the chocolates so much, she ought to have them. For Shoko, it had been more about the making anyway.
Yutako hesitated.
“What about Yutaka?”, she asked.
Shoko brushed it off with a small gesture.
“You know”, she said. “I don’t think he deserves them either.”
Yutako leaned forward and lowered her voice to a stage whisper. She was unable to really whisper, since her voice always remained loud, but Shoko got the idea.
“He cleaned out his locker today and left it open, just so the girls could leave their chocolates freely. The arrogance.”
Shoko had to admit that it was a pretty arrogant attitude. Yutaka wasn’t hoping for chocolates, he was just assuming he’d get them. He certainly did get a lot of chocolates, though.
“See”, Shoko said. “One box more or less. He won’t even notice. So, take them.”
Yutako looked at the neatly wrapped up chocolates Shoko had pushed towards her. She bit her lower lip. Yutako usually wore lip-gloss that made her lips look shiny. Shoko always wondered if it made her lips taste artificial or just sweet.
Suddenly, Yutako’s expression lit up.
“Hey, you know what”, she said. “You can just take mine. Give them to Yutaka instead. I won’t feel so guilty for eating yours then.”
She took up the white box with the golden print and put it down in front of Shoko.
Shoko stared down onto the box. She knew that it was just a simple exchange. It was basically a business agreement. They hadn’t exchanged Valentine’s chocolate just now. Not in a girls dating girls way at least.
Shoko felt her cheeks heating up anyway.
She reached out and touched the box. She wasn’t sure why she was doing it, though. Somehow, she just wanted to make sure that it was real. That she had really gotten those chocolates from Yutako and that they physically existed. Let alone the thought of giving them to Yutaka seemed like blasphemy to her. Yutako had bought those chocolates. She had fought three other women for them. She had almost been late. Admittedly, she hadn’t done so specifically for Shoko, but the sacrifice seemed too big for Yutaka anyway. He would have deserved Shoko’s chocolates. But Yutako was too good for him.
“I think I’d rather eat them myself”, Shoko said and made a face that gained her a grin from Yutako. “I don’t feel like standing in line.”
“A wise decision, if I may say so”, Yutako agreed, but then a frown appeared on her forehead. “But damn, no. You will have to eat the lame-ass bought ones, while I ate almost all the good ones, we made ourselves.”
“They weren’t that good”, Shoko pointed out.
She was pretty sure that the bought ones were created with far more skill.
“No way!”, Yutako shouted. She had a way of raising her voice in the middle of the conversation that made it impossible to tell if she was angry or excited or just temporarily hard of hearing. “You are so good at making them. They are the best chocolates in the world! We ought to split.”
Shoko gave a small shrug. A part of her expected Yutako to just rip open both boxes right then and there to split up the chocolates.
“Fine”, she gave in, just because she knew that protesting wouldn’t help her with Yutako. She had a way of getting her will.
“Great”, Yutako said and pulled Shoko’s chocolates towards her a little closer as if making sure no one would try to steal them from her. “I’ll drop by at your place in the afternoon. We can share then.”
And although Shoko knew for sure that it wasn’t a Valentine’s date, she thought that the fact that they had just exchanged chocolates, made it feel a little like a Valentine’s date nonetheless.
* * *
“I think everyone should be gone by now”, Kenji observed.
“I don’t understand why we had to wait so long”, Jun whined. “Everyone else went home thirty minutes ago.”
“We had to give some time to the shy girls, to drop off their chocolates”, Yutaka explained. “Maybe some of them waited until school finished, so no one would see them.”
“And it would be a shame to miss a box by leaving too early, wouldn’t it?”, Kenji chimed happily.
“There is something seriously wrong with the two of you”, Jun muttered as they rounded the corner that led to their lockers.
Kenji’s and Jun’s were farther down the hallway, but Yutaka’s locker was already in clear sight.
Someone was still standing in front of it.
Yutaka stopped short and squinted his eyes, although he could make out the person perfectly well. He wouldn’t have needed to check for the fact that they weren’t wearing a skirt to realize it wasn’t a girl. Not a lot of people had such a large head and a hunched over body posture. Their classmate had an almost comical physical appearance.
“Wait, guys, wait”, he hissed. “What is that dude doing at my locker?”
Kenji and Jun stopped as well.
“That’s Shou, isn’t it?”, Kenji asked.
“Ah, poor guy, he is so awkward, I don’t think anyone gave him chocolates”, Jun said. As someone constantly in fear of ending up exactly in that position, he obviously took pity in him.
Shou opened the locker.
“Is he stealing my chocolates?”, Yutaka whispered at full volume.
Kenji laughed, but tried to supress his voice. Shou was not looking in their direction.
“If that fucker is stealing any of my chocolates …”, Yutaka muttered, not sure what he would do then. He just knew that he wouldn’t be pleased.
What did Shou think he was doing? Yutaka had worked hard for those chocolates. Being as charming as he was, wasn’t easy. He deserved those chocolates.
“It’s your own fault for leaving your locker open.”
Shou knelt down and opened his schoolbag.
“I can’t believe this”, Yutaka said and shook his head. That bastard wouldn’t just grab one or two boxes. He would fill his entire schoolbag with it. It was just impudent.
Shou got out a box wrapped in cute yellow paper from his bag and placed it in Yutaka’s locker.
Yutaka stared.
Shou closed the locker.
Yutaka stared.
Shou buckled his schoolbag again.
Yutaka turned his head to check for the reaction of his friends. He wanted to know if they were staring as well.
“Did he just …?”, Yutaka asked.
Shou got up.
Kenji turned towards him and his grin was very wide.
“Now”, he said. “That was unexpected.”
Yutaka stared at him for another moment. Something about that word rung familiar. Unexpected.
He turned his head to look at Jun.
“You mean …?”, he asked.
“Absolutely”, Jun confirmed, grinning just as widely.
“Fuck”, Yutaka said softly. That had come unexpected. And although he was not a man of honour by any means, he was a man who stood by his word.
“Shou!”, he called out.
Now Shou did look into their direction.
Yutaka had expected him to be embarrassed. He had expected him to blush and maybe stutter an awkward explanation. He had expected him to be delighted, though, once Yutaka offered to go on a date with him.
What he had not expected, however, was Shou to shoulder his schoolbag, turn on his heels and make a run for it.
Yutaka stared after him.
“What the fuck”, he said.
Kenji burst out laughing. This time, he did not lower his voice.
“Run, Yutaka, run!”, he shouted.
“What are you waiting for?!”, Jun shouted and only then did it dawn on Yutaka, that he was actually supposed to do something.
“Fuck”, he said again. Then he started running.
“Shou!”, he shouted. “Shou, wait up!”
Shou showed not the slightest inclination of slowing down. He was aiming for the exit.
Yutaka dropped his bag to the floor while running, hoping that Kenji or Jun would pick it up. The bag no longer bouncing against his thigh as he ran, increased his speed rapidly. Shou was an awkward runner. Pretty much everything about him was awkward. Yutaka caught up to him.
Shou did not stop, though. He kept heading for the exit. Yutaka mobilized his last reserves, dashing past Shou to reach the exit before him. There, he swirled around, stretching out his arms to block the doorway.
“Stop!”, he shouted.
Shou stopped short right before colliding with Yutaka.
Both of them were breathing heavily.
“Why did you run?”, Yutaka gasped.
“Why did you follow me? What do you want from me?”, Shou shot back just as breathlessly.
He was glaring at Yutaka so angrily from behind his glasses, that for a moment, Yutaka really thought it was his fault. But then he remembered why he had chased Shou in the first place.
“I want you”, Yutaka said and straightened himself. “I want you to be my Valentine’s date.”
Shou flinched and then looked around hectically. He looked like a small animal caught in a trap. Suddenly, Yutaka felt almost sorry for cutting his flight like that.
“Don’t say something like that in public”, Shou asked quietly.
Yutaka looked around as well. In the distance behind Shou, he could see Jun and Kenji, but except for them, the building was empty.
“There is no one here”, he soothed Shou.
Not scolding him for being so scared was Yutaka’s idea of a peace offering.
“So, will you?”, he added. “Go out with me today, I mean?”
Shou stared past him. It made Yutaka want to look over his shoulder to check what he was looking at. He forced himself to concentrate on Shou. He had already assumed he would be embarrassed after all.
“No”, Shou said. He did not sound shy. He sounded very determined.
“What?”, Yutaka asked, for a moment doubting he had heard him correctly.
“No”, Shou repeated. “I won’t.”
Yutaka stared at him blankly.
The whole situation was so, well, so unexpected that he had no idea how to react at all. It was all just about improvising. Shou’s whole behaviour was very irritating to say the least.
“But you gave me chocolates right now!”, Yutaka exclaimed.
Shou rolled his eyes.
“You maybe want to broadcast it over the radio station, too?”, he asked.
Yutaka felt guilty for speaking so loudly immediately. Then he felt irritated why he was feeling guilty. Shou had no reason to be so snappy. He was trying to change the topic, too.
“So, you confessed to me, but you don’t want to go out with me?”, Yutaka assured.
Shou nodded grimly. Yutaka thought that he was kind of scary.
“Why not?”, he inquired.
“Why do you want to go out with me?”, Shou asked.
Yutaka stared at him, for a moment struck speechless.
“I, uhm”, he started.
“It’s a joke, isn’t it?”, Shou asked. “I saw you with your friends. You are making fun of me. It’s easy to make fun of people, when you are popular.”
Yutaka raised his open palms, trying to express that he was coming in peace. He wasn’t blocking the door entirely anymore that way. Shou remained standing where he was.
“I’m not making fun of you”, Yutaka said. “I really, seriously want to go on a date with you. It’s not a prank.”
He could see the hesitation on Shou’s face. He had a funny face. Yutaka had never paid attention to just how expressive it was.
“Then why?”, Shou asked.
“Well, me and my friends had this agreement where I have to go out with the most unexpected person, who …”
“Ah”, Shou interrupted him harshly. “So, the joke isn’t on me. It’s on you.”
“What? No!”, Yutaka protested. “It’s not about making me go on an awful date. It’s like, giving a fair chance to the underdogs. You are the underdog this year.”
He reached out to box against Shou’s shoulder lightly.
Shou stared at Yutaka’s fist so irritated that Yutaka regretted it immediately. Shou had something about himself, that made Yutaka feel stupid.
“Giving a fair chance to the underdogs?”, Shou repeated incredulously. “What do you think people are doing? Competing for you? You are so vain.”
“But … but …”, Yutaka stuttered. “People are giving me chocolates! That means they all want to go out with me! I get to choose. It is like a competition.”
“Well, if you are the price, I don’t care for winning”, Shou said and pushed past Yutaka to get outside.
His shoulder brushed against Yutaka, but he did not stop to apologize.
Yutaka turned to look after him.
He still felt very irritated. He had met girls before who liked to play hard to get. Shou wasn’t playing, though. His walls were built up so high, Yutaka hadn’t been able to even peek over them. But luckily, Yutaka wasn’t one to give up easily. He knew what to do about walls. All you needed to do, was bring a ladder.
“At the train station!”, he called after Shou. “West exit. At 4 pm. Say you’ll be there!”
Without turning around, Shou flipped him the finger.
Yutaka was absolutely willing to accept that as a yes.
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