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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

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you’re someone i just want around: I

“And I can't wait another minute

I can't take the look she's giving

Your body rocking, keep me up all night

One in a million, my lucky strike.”

— Lucky Strike, Maroon 5

A/N: this idea started as just random concept drabbling between leyla @sunflowervolvimp3 and i and we never really thought it would amount to anything tbh!! but as we started putting more and more into the plot and characters, we made the spontaneous decision to make it a full on, multi-chaptered collab fic! we have so many ideas planned and so much to elaborate on and we’re just so mfing excited to share it with you guys :’) any and all feedback is greatly appreciated 💌 we hope you enjoy the first part and that you fall in love with this stupid emotionally unavailable moron the way we did! happy reading!!

andrea’s askbox : leyla’s askbox : ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist :

word count: 17.2k

content/warnings: vampire!harry being a lowkey asshole while downing straight tequila like a psycho, getting to know The Crew, Mitch being the iconic legend he is, mentions of smut, and Harry working his immortal charm on an unsuspecting human girl with a peculiar scent and intriguing personality

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Harry hates clubs.

In his two hundred years of life, through many trials and tribulations, through tricky scenarios and annoying encounters, through thousands of unappealing circumstances and patience-testing events, he doesn’t think anything quite compares to the crowded, nerve-wracking experience that is a Los Angeles club on a Friday night during peak hours.

According to his wise, humble opinion, it’s absolutely fucking petrifiying. He’d rather swallow a stake than have to spend hours in a dimly lit room with synthetic smoke choking his lungs, half-conscious humans stumbling around into him, and the stench of sweaty bodies mixed with liquor fumes, alongside the faint yet unmistakable waft of vomit.

Yeah, Harry would definitely rather eat a red oak spear than have to shoulder that.

Despite his intense hatred for this Californian city during its after-hours, he can’t deny that he fits right into the scene perfectly. Decades of grooming and practice have made him a prime candidate for the fast-paced characteristics that come with the party nightlife.

Fitting into these aspects aren’t something he had learned willingly; he didn’t really have a choice on the matter, considering his entire existence depends on mortals immature tendencies to get properly shit-faced and make stupid decisions in tightly-packed glorified bars. Harry never understood that— how a fog machine, strobe lights, and an undergrad amateur DJ could ever seem more appealing than the quiet, stable ambiance of a semi-formal bar. How deranged do people have to be to actually enjoy strangers spilling alcohol on them while attempting to shag someone else two feet away on the dance floor?

Whenever he dwells too much on that thought, he gets a spiking migraine. After this long, Harry’s just come to terms with the fact that humans are regressing as a species. His conclusion is a bit cynical, perhaps, but hardly difficult to accept. One look at a news outlet provides enough proof to launch an Ivy League research project on the matter.

He really shouldn’t be complaining, however, because the combination of overflowed close quarters and dampened inhibitions makes it the ideal hunting ground. Picking up a living blood bag at a club is basically as easy as walking through a vineyard and plucking grapes right off the stems. It’s practical, it’s fool-proof, and if he plays his cards right, he gets to feed and gets his more intimate needs tailored (a combo that he and his friends refer to as Laid and Drained).

So regardless of his distaste towards clubs and their eager inhabitants, Harry had learned to mold his persona to fit the bill, making himself as approachable and desirable as possible. His life literally hangs in the balance; he’d put up with throngs of drunk sorority girls and their affinity for shitty perfumed drinks if it means avoiding desiccation.

It’s not like it’s hard. All Harry has to do is make himself look more appealing than the other hundred men milling around the establishment, which— if he’s being brutally honest— isn’t that challenging. The moral, physical, and ethical standards of men have dropped frighteningly low since his time. Most of the ones that creep around clubs are overconfident, overzealous, boundary-lacking douchebags who think they’re entitled to a woman’s attention, and therefore make complete, utter fools of themselves in the process of trying to court one into their pants. Buying a girl one Sex On The Beach and dry-humping to Daft Punk isn’t the way to convince her to come home with you.

Harry has developed his own guidelines and tactics for securing a nightly bedroom companion, and his ideas have been working wonders for him for decades now.

The first and foremost rule is to clean up nicely. Personal appearance is everything. Humans are visual creatures; they build first impressions solely based on outward attraction. That trait is enhanced the higher their blood alcohol content rises. The drunker someone gets, the shallower they become, and it’s Harry’s job to work that to his advantage. And at the risk of sounding shallow himself, he thinks he does pretty alright in that department.

Especially tonight, present in all the elements of his physique. He’s clad in a pair of high-waisted tan trousers that have been ironed to a crisp, his fitted graphic tee tucked neatly along his waistband beneath his black leather belt. His t-shirt is probably his favorite part of the entire look. It’s a baby blue sturdy cotton number with pastel yellow detailing along the cuffs and collar and a giant cartoon puppy in a striped bowtie taking up its center, smiling cheekily at the onlooker. Arranged around the doodle in faded Times New Roman bubble letters are the words WE’RE IN THE SHIT.

Harry loves the irony of the article— the innocence of the drawing juxtaposed by the crude message. The piece is a conversation-starter— people almost always comment on it— and that’s exactly what he needs. Something to draw attention to himself and shadow all the other men. Something that shows he has a personality; that he has taste and a good sense of humor and isn’t just another walking genital. Plus, what person doesn’t enjoy a funny little contradiction, especially when it’s this cute?

On top of his graphic top, he’s wearing a tartan cropped blazer (open, of course) with a creme background and royal blue lines. The hem ends at the bottom of his ribs, exactly where his pants begin, and the jacket's hand-sewn buttons and strap detailings show that it's an expensive garment. It shows that he puts money and effort into how he looks, which is something anyone would appreciate when scoping for a possible hookup.

Harry’s shoes are the most casual factor of his fit. They’re a pair of light yellow Vans that match the collar of his tee. They’re plain, but he keeps them clean and they tie the whole look together without a hitch.

Accessories are everything, as well. Aside from the pearls arranged around his prominent collarbones, the gold-dipped cross hanging from a delicate chain around his neck, and the matching dangling cross earring on his right earlobe (again, he adores irony), he’s sporting a plethora of chunky rings on his hands, each unique and effortlessly complimenting his appearance. On his left hand, his index finger dots a ruby jewel embedded into a thick rusted band, another large metal one with dancing bears on his middle, and two clunky golden letters on his last two digits— his initials, HS. On his opposite hand, he has a medium-width plated ring on his middle finger with peace engraved along its rounded edge, an elegant lionhead number with an amethyst stone snug in its mouth, and along his pinky is a decently-sized opal set into a delicate polished frame.

His two last rings are the most important of all. The lionhead is his daylight ring, which he hasn’t taken off since he transitioned. It keeps him from bursting into flames everytime the sun hits his skin. The opal was his mother’s, and it was her favorite.

Harry’s attire is something he’s immensely proud of, even though a good amount of people deem him eccentric in the eyes of modern masculinity. He couldn’t give less of a shit. With his lightly tanned skin, alluring cologne and lacquered nails, his shirt stretching across the defined muscles of his chest and stomach, his broad shoulders and tapering waist, his thick thighs, sharp jaw, jade eyes, loosely tousled chestnut curls, and the vast array of dark ink littering his arms...

He looks good and he knows it. And all the people whose gazes glue to him as he passes by know it, too. Especially a random group of young women in line, who ogle at him shamelessly as he casually strolls past. He treats them to a sly wink, an irresistible dimpled smile, and a soft, cheeky greeting of, “Ladies.”

He gets off on the way they swoon at his refined English accent, giggling and waving.

The only other component Harry has for succeeding in the club environment is simple, but it’s important: Don’t seduce, romanticize.

Anyone— even inebriated idiots— can try and seduce a woman. And if she’s had enough tequila shots to cloud her thoughts, they just might succeed. But only a real man can romanticize a girl, and it yields way better results.

Females are an emotional sect (Harry says that with zero misogyny; it’s just a scientific fact and he actually praises it), which means that if you entertain their interests and fluff their egos, they are bound to fall right into the palm of your hand. It changes the game completely because then they don’t feel that they have to pleasure you, they want to. They pursue the guy who flirts without being too vulgar, who appreciates and acknowledges their efforts, and who can go head-to-head with their wit by carrying unforced banter. They chase after him because he’s showing genuine kindness rather than just sexual interests and if he’s that attentive on the getting-to-know-you front, one can only imagine how skilled he could be in other bases. Chatting up a girl the right way, with patience and courtesy, builds credibility and prowess. And as a thank you, they’re usually more than willing to pay special attention to your needs, as well.

Thus, romanticizing is always the expert move. So, yes, Harry detests clubs and the disaster that is adult recreation. But he’s fucking amazing at playing it to his favor. He’s great at calculating everything down to the smallest detail and he’s going to piggy-back on those skills for the rest of eternity. He’s so good at what he hates that his closest friends have anointed him the title of Walking Paradox. He’s more than happy to keep it.

All of these thoughts are circulating around his skull, hyping him up for the game ahead as Harry and his friend group walk up to the bouncer at the entrance of the club they had chosen for the night, faint stars twinkling in the dark sky as the sounds and lights of the city fall away into background static.

They cruise by the long line of people, hearing sounds of disagreement and grumbling coming from the other patrons waiting to get in. Harry casually tucks his large hands into the pockets of his light brown slacks as he pulls up in front of the burly bald man, who is wearing a black shirt with the club’s name printed in neon letters. The security guard is at least five inches taller than him, overswollen biceps and pectoral muscles rippling under the flimsy material of his work outfit as he crosses his arms over his barreled chest, cocking a single thick eyebrow at the seemingly young vampire.

Harry delivers a good-natured smile up at the employee, despite the man’s obvious begrudging disbelief at what he is about to try and do. His friends chat quietly behind him, uninterested in what is happening; after years of being acquainted, they know that Harry is going to get exactly what he wants. He always does.

He’s the best of them, that much is obvious. Not only when it comes to his experience with persuading sexual partners and getting himself a decent dinner, but he’s the best at convincing just about anyone to do anything, neutral of gender. He’s the second oldest of the crew, yet he seems to have the most knowledge and practice under his belt; his easygoing charisma, undeniable good looks, and dazzling smile could sway even the most stubborn of souls. Frankly, he’s so successful in getting his way that no one cares to try and argue for the leader position. Not when they can just sit back and let Harry do all the work.

“Good evening.” Harry’s deep voice chimes giddily in the direction of the bouncer, his accent particularly heavy for no real reason. “How you doing tonight, mate?”

The guard— whose name tag reads Brock and Harry has to actively stop himself from snorting at how fitting the name is for such a brick of a human— looks down at him with a stony expression, voice flat. “I’m good.”

“Well, that’s great to hear!” The curly-haired boy’s simper widens, dimples popping into place as he skates into his next question with dramatic friendliness. “Haven’t had anyone cause you any trouble tonight, have you?”

Brock blinks once, attitude remaining coldly indifferent even in the face of Harry’s cheeriness. His words, however, are snipped and pointed. “Not yet.”

“I’m guessing you’d like to keep it that way.” The young man comments sympathetically, nodding his head along with the worker. “Totally understandable.”

“Good.” The employee remarks in the same detached tone, shifting on his feet, obviously growing uncomfortable and irritated with the conversation. “So I’m guessing that means you know you have to get in line.”

Harry glances over his shoulder at the lengthy expanse of people gathered along the side of the building, a light wind filtering through his freshly-shampooed ringlets as he studies the way the bright sign on top of the club casts alternating rainbow colors across the crowd.

He makes a disapproving sound by sucking at his teeth, lulling his sight back onto the guard. “I don’t know, man. At this rate, I feel like by the time we get to the front of the line, it’ll be last call.”

“Maybe.” Brock shrugs offhandedly. “It is what it is, right? Fair’s fair.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Harry returns his gesture, but his posture shows no intention of moving, the corners of his rose lip set in a knowing smirk. “But since you’ve been having a good night, do you think you could find it in yourself to just let us through? We’d greatly appreciate it.”

The bouncer’s face hardens, any shred of professional amiability washing out of his defined features. “I don’t think so.”

The vampire’s shoulders sag in exaggerated disappointment. “Are you sure? It’s just five of us. Don’t think we’ll do much damage. Right, guys?”

Harry glimpses over his back to his friends, who let their conversation falter for a moment to throw out a chorus of half-assed agreements, trying to keep themselves from snickering.

“We promise we won’t cause any problems.” Xander speaks up, jutting his chin encouragingly at the man as his lips twitch slyly. He lifts one of his hands, the smallest finger sticking out stiffly and wiggling around. “Pinky swear.”

The rest of the group bursts into a round of light laughter, causing Harry to release a few airy giggles of his own.

Xander looks over at Niall, raising his eyebrows and quipping in an innocent manner. “Right, Ni? No funny business tonight. That means no climbing onto the bar again and stripping down to your socks.”

“That happened one time!” Niall exclaims incredulously, socking the taller boy in the shoulder as the others laugh harder than before, his blue eyes narrowed and face pinched. “Once! And it was only ‘cause Harry challenged me to a tequila shot contest.”

The Irish vampire’s accented voice drops darkly as he reminisces. “Fuckin’ hate tequila. Makes me act like a moron.”

“As if you’re not one already.” Mitch pipes up in his usual soft dialect, chuckling as he ducks away from Niall’s vengeful fist.

Harry cranes back to face Brock, thumb playing with his daylight ring as his hands stay relaxed inside his trousers. He shrugs one shoulder easily for emphasis. “See? You can let us through. We pinky swore.”

The entire charade seems to have only infuriated the security guard more than before, his brows now fully furrowed and a deep, unamused frown etched across his previously pursed lips. His voice is on edge with barely controlled anger. “I’m not putting up with any shit. If you want in, go to the back of the line. If not, leave.”

Harry sighs grandly in defeat, head shaking slightly. “Guess I’ll just have to go the other route, then.”

The creature takes a step forward towards the employee, close enough that their chests almost press together. The bulky man stands his ground, though there’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes at seeing the smaller boy make such a bold move.

“What the f—?”

Harry locks gazes with Brock, pupils dilating to twice their size, the usual emerald shade of his irises flickering a haunting red and looking sinister in the buttery light of the street lamps. Horror breaks across the worker’s face, the ability to form coherent sentences disappearing from his demeanor. Harry’s heightened senses can hear the way his heartbeat spikes, blood instinctively rushing into his chest as a response to the adrenaline materializing in his veins. The activation of human’s fight-or-flight modes is always so oddly pleasurable. Just feeling how they react so drastically makes Harry’s fangs tingle with longing. Fear is a good condiment, he’s learned; it gives blood’s usual metallic flavor a certain twang.

But at the moment, a beverage from this specific tap isn’t the one Harry has in mind. He has his interests set on something much tangier and full-bodied; maybe Casamigos golden tequila, or Don Julio's Blanco. Preferably mixed with a young office secretary or a Bath and Body Works employee instead of lemon and salt.

All in all, Brock is just collateral for a much bigger prize, which lies behind the roped off area he holds dominion over. It’s Harry’s job to break that dam.

Before the large man can fully react, the vampire begins working his compulsion strategy, tone coming out level and soothing, thick with persuasion and teetering along a sleepy undercurrent. “You’re going to let us through, and you’re going to forget we ever met.”

The guard’s pupils enlarge to match Harry’s, the look of utter terror on his face melting right off. His features go slack as the monster’s magical influence works its way through his brain, coating every neuron and bending him to the deliverer’s will. The man reaches over and removes the velvet rope blocking the group’s path, stepping off to the side obediently with an empty expression present across his appearance.

The leader of the group smiles just as brightly as he had the second he’d walked up to the door. He passes by the worker, giving him a hard pat on the shoulder and feeling the muscular man strain under his supernatural strength. “Thank you very much. You have a nice night, Brock.”

Harry’s friends follow behind him, echoing his parting message and sharing a collective chortle.

The second the group dives past the frame of the club entrance, the whole ambiance of the atmosphere changes. Harry walks across the top ledge of the establishment, coming to a halt at the railing that overlooks the main level of the club, his inhumanly sharp eyes bouncing around all the corners of the building to construct some type of familiar layout in his head. Amidst the blinking lights, thick artificial smoke, and swaying bodies, his keen instincts sketch a mental image for tonight’s hunting ground.

The bar is at the far left corner of the club, squared off and taking up a large chunk of the colorful tiled dance floor. The music station extends across the entire wall at the opposite end of the tavern, stocked with massive speakers and a professional turntable. Harry’s brows jump in mild surprise— it’s not every day that a club puts so much effort into their mixer.

The animated dancing area is packed with people, the crowd all jumping and grinding to the beat of the bass, moving as one large mass while the rotating strobe lights hang from the cavernous ceiling, bathing their moving silhouettes in neon reds, drunken blues, groggy purples, and electric yellows. The dim surroundings and heavy fog make all the hues more intense, giving the endless party that timeless quality which people tend to enjoy about nightlife. It’s the night to remember effect that movies and shows always hyperbolize; he thinks this way because he’s well aware that not even a third of these people are sober enough to know what the fuck they’re doing, let alone recall it the following day. It’s comically ironic, really.

But Harry profits off that liquor amnesia, so he brushes away his sardonic skepticism for the time being, settling his lean forearms onto the metal railing that lines the second story of the venue, which is meant to keep shit-faced customers from creating a messy lawsuit. He carefully absorbs the grandeur of it all, leaning his weight forward with a detached sigh, already flickering through the mental menu of his favorite drinks that he has expertly memorized.

He’s in the process of choosing between a Manhattan— it isn’t a very complicated drink, which is exactly what he’s looking for; something simple and strong— or just straight tequila in a glass when he suddenly feels a familiar presence arrange itself beside him, bumping his shoulder playfully with their own.

Harry snaps out of his recipe retrieval, eyes casting to the side to land on his best friend of almost a century. He cocks an eyebrow expectantly, waiting for the thin, bearded man to make the first move towards conversation.

“You’re a real dick, y’know that?”

The green-eyed vampire sputters into spontaneous laughter, the edges of his eyes crinkling as the small pits in his cheeks jolt awake. His tone is humorous and full of fake insult for the hell of the joke. “Wow, alright. So I get us into the club that you chose and that makes me a prick? Good to know. You can handle the muscle next time, then, if you’re gonna talk shit.”

Mitch cracks a gentle jesting grin, which is very on brand for him. He doesn’t seem like much, with his skinny, lanky frame, delicate features, shoulder-length hair, and somewhat scraggly stubble. He’s quiet, reserved, and hardly engages with anyone outside of their immediate group. He’s always been that way for as long as Harry could remember.

When they had met back in 1924 at a speakeasy in New York, Mitch had given off a mysterious vibe that Harry had found amusing and intriguing. His slightly sickly appearance and distant persona made the younger vampire want to get to know him better; it was just so peculiar that this seemingly impassive man was working at an illegal bar as a live musician. One would think that a performer would have to display an engaging character to keep a loyal audience, but Mitch had been all the talk of the underground despite his unemotional coolness. It was startlingly unorthodox and Harry just had to know more.

Therefore, with a bit of help from his convincing supernatural abilities, he’d secured a spot as the black market club’s leading vocalist. He wasn’t anything worth a Grammy, but he could keep his singing in tune and follow Mitch’s guitar rhythms easily enough, all thanks to his limited experience with piano. He fit right in.

From the first show they had put on together, it was like they had known one another in a different lifetime. They clicked so flawlessly it was almost fictional.

Harry was lively and charming on stage, working the crowd to his favor as easily as he could knock back a shot, wrapping every single patron around his jeweled pinky without breaking a sweat. His witty temperament countered Mitch’s timid disposition perfectly and that uncommon dynamic had been the foundation to their friendship. Their humorous shenanigans on stage (which included Harry pinching at Mitch’s ass and making vague vulgar motions at each other while harmonizing) was a hit within the drunken community, and it bled into their personal lives. They went from only interacting on stage to sharing drinks together afterwards, to hanging out outside of work, to deep late night conversations about the world and their experiences.

Soon enough, they were closer than either had expected to become. And once they found out each other’s true identities (Mitch had transitioned during the American Revolution, when a vampire in his battalion had given him blood to heal from a wound, unaware that the next day, Mitch would suffer a fatal gunshot to the stomach that would trigger his transformation) they grew inseparable. They had remained that way ever since.

Despite his friend’s withdrawn tendencies, the older vampire never hesitates to make his opinions heard, obvious in how he’d just full-bodied Harry with that snarky comment. Even when it’s at his expense, Harry appreciates and respects the rawness of it. He loves the way Mitch is honest and straight-forward with everything that crosses his path— it’s one of his favorite traits about him and definitely one of the characteristics that had led Harry to deem him his best friend. He’s probably the most fulfilling person Harry has ever met and their friendship brings him a type of comfort that he doesn’t receive from anyone else.

Vampires can be so detached and cold not only towards humans, but towards one another, and it gets old at times. It’s unsettling not having someone to truly confide in, and Harry is grateful that Mitch had been so willing to fill that position.

Due to this, Harry rarely takes genuine offense in Mitch’s digs. They’re normally expressed as a joke and they’ve both been alive for so long that thick skin is a default.

“How was I dick?” Harry inquires, slinking his head to the side with entertained curiosity. “If anything, he was the one being an asshole. I asked him to let us in nicely and he practically spit in my face!”

Mitch snorts in amusement, shaking his head lightly as his eyes streak across the humongous room in the same cunning manner Harry’s had. “You and Xander didn’t have to mock him that way.”

That’s another thing that makes Mitch the better half of their power duo— he still has a decent shred of humanity in his unbeating heart. Pessimistic conclusions aside, Harry does have a bit, as well...but his is more like a paper-thin pencil shaving than a shred. Barely there, but there, at least.

The young man returns his companion’s snort, rolling his eyes up to the hanging lights over their heads. “Was just some harmless teasing. Nothing bad came of it.”

Mitch scowls scoldingly. “It was unnecessary and mean.”

Harry mimics his expression with his nose scrunched sarcastically. “We were just taking the piss, and it’s not like he’s gonna remember it anyways. Stop being such a kill-joy.”

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.”

“Or what?” Harry tilts his chin up challengingly, the amber specks around his pupils glinting tauntingly, faint black veins momentarily webbing across the whites of his eyes. He sweetens his voice into a honeyed drawl. “Are you gonna spank me, daddy? Have I been a bad boy?”

Mitch belts out a feathery chuckle, shoving his friend with enough strength to send a regular human flying across the deck. But since the taller vampire matches his force, he hardly moves an inch. “Fuck off.”

“I’m being serious!” Harry cackles, turning his hips and sticking out his ass towards his visibly disgusted acquaintance. “Go fucking in, if you want.”

He lowers his voice into a sultry hum, wagging his backside jestingly. “I like it rough, baby. Why don’t you bend me over this railing and show me who’s boss?”

It’s Mitch’s turn to roll his eyes to the ceiling, voice deadpan. “I think I’ll pass.”

Harry juts his lower lip into a theatrical pout, sniffling faux tears. “You’re rejecting me that quick? Who’s the asshole now, huh?”

His best friend doesn’t even blink. “Still you.”

“I can live with that. And it’s probably a good call on your end to give up all this,” he signals vaguely up and down his tight torso with a ringed hand, grinning as he watches the veteran vampire pretend to gag, “because I don’t think Sarah wouldn’t be too happy about it.”

Mitch’s humorous face immediately drops, eyes narrowing at the change in topic. “Very funny.”

“I know, right? I’m a proper comedian.” Harry quips proudly, batting his lashes mockingly. “Where is Sarah, anyways? Have you heard from her lately?”

Sarah and Mitch...They’re a complex couple, if they can even be called a couple. The two are more like occasional friends with benefits, “occasional” meaning “once every couple of months, if Sarah happens to be passing by.”

Their relationship is open and very loose, mostly due to the fact that Sarah is fairly new to the world of blood-driven immortality and has decided to take full advantage of it. She’s been using compulsion to travel the world for the last three years since she changed, which had been the result of an unfortunate car accident.

Mitch had been seeing her casually beforehand, keeping her around for the purpose of having a conventional feeding arrangement. Every time vampires feed, they heal the wounds they inflict with a bit of their blood, proceeding to then wipe the person’s memory with compulsion in order to eradicate any chances of getting caught. The caveat is that if a human dies with vampire blood in their system, they become one.

Sarah’s death happened the day after she’d spent a night with Mitch, and one can imagine how distressed she had been when she'd awoken atop a metal table in a morgue within the basement of a hospital. Mitch had been there from the very first second she’d opened her eyes to her new life. Or rather, her dead life. He had helped her get accustomed to the next stage (meaning having to cut family ties in order to avoid a catastrophe— the less people that know the truth about the supernatural, the better) coaxing her through transition and teaching her the way to go about the rest of eternity without putting herself and others in danger.

Vampires rarely have any compassion for life (usually out of spite, which stems from how their own lives were taken from them), so it’s not uncommon that bodies are found drained of blood in back alleys, abandoned warehouses, and washed up on banks of oceans and rivers. It could be either of two reasons, or even both: the monster doesn’t care about the consequences of their actions, or they never learned to control their urges.

Harry’s crew isn't that careless. Through Mitch, they had learned restraint, taking up his practice of feeding enough to satisfy themselves without killing the host, healing them, and then erasing the occurrence from their memories. Mitch had come up with the tactic to cling to his humanity— to be as kind and nondestructive as possible— but if Harry’s being honest, most of their friends only play along because it’s convenient. No bodies means no police involvement, and no police involvement means being able to settle down in one place for an extended period, not having to stress about the annoying process of bouncing around the world for the rest of their lives to avoid detection.

Keeping low was for the best, and when things get rough— whether it be a mistake on their part or a disastrous bender caused by another vampire passing through— they resort to drinking from blood bags until things tide over. Mitch has a contact at the nearest hospital, which is how he gets access to the stock, as well as how he managed to clean up Sarah’s passing so quickly.

All in all, Harry had only mentioned Sarah to tease his friend, knowing the slight sensitivity that comes with the subject. Vampires rarely form emotional bonds, typically because it can get really messy, really fast, whether that connection be to a mortal or to another creature of their species. All of them have baggage of some sort— you can’t die, resurrect, be forced to abandon your family, and be a slave to drinking blood for the rest of eternity and just...be normal. That type of extreme emotional turmoil is corrosive towards love. It’s always better to just avoid it all together.

That’s why this is so habitual to joke about; it’s a way to deflect.

Mitch sighs grandly, Harry’s question echoing in his skull. “I don’t know where she is, to be honest. Last we talked was, like, four weeks ago, I think. She was in Japan, said she was drumming for a new upcoming band. Haven’t heard from her since.”

Harry nods his head once in understanding, itching to steer the theme of their conversation elsewhere now that he knows the topic is in a more sensitive state than he’d imagined. He doesn’t want to push Mitch into a depressive episode when they’re supposed to be having a good time. Spending the night consoling his sulky friend in the bathroom of a club is the last thing he wants right now.

“I guess that makes Sarah the asshole, then.” He pokes jokingly, bumping the older vampire’s hip with his own. “She’s ghosting you. Get it? It’s funny ‘cause she’s actually dead.”

Mitch’s sad expression shatters like glass, replaced by one of unamused secondhand embarrassment at the shitty pun. “I fucking hate you.”

“All the people who were ahead of their time were hated.” Harry sing-songs, turning up his nose haughtily. “Copernicus, Socrates, Einstein— all of them were hated for being geniuses. I’m willing to carry that same burden.”

Mitch blinks at him three times. “No one hated Einstein.”

The curly-haired boy’s lips twitch darkly. “I’m pretty sure Japan did.”

“You’re going to hell.”

“I’m already there, mate.”

Mitch shakes his head, but even through the black lights, Harry can see him trying to ward off a laugh. After a moment’s pause, he speaks up again softly. “It’s not that hard to refrain from humiliating innocent people who are just doing their job, H.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re still on that?” The broad monster groans in exasperation, palms slapping down on the metal rungs below him. “We were just having some fun! But fine. If it helps you fake sleep at night, I’ll try and keep my condescending flare to a minimum.”

“That’s all I’m asking.” Mitch responds peacefully, tapping his nimble fingers casually along the railing, his action much less violent than his companion’s. “S’not too difficult.”

“Whatever.” Harry scoffs, returning his intent gaze to the dance floor, scoping out the scene once again in hopes of finding a proper meal for the night.

He zones in on a group of young women gathered along one side of the bar, their messy giggling and lack of balance giving away that they’re obviously sloshed off their faces. Seems promising enough.

When he talks once more, his tone holds an attitude that plays on a grumble, but it’s somewhat distracted. “The least you could do is let me have some fun, considering I didn’t even want to come.”

Mitch huffs, making an entertained noise in the back of his throat. “You say that every single time we go out, and yet you always end up taking someone home. Don’t know why you’re complaining.”

Harry side-eyes him from his peripheral vision, the corners of his pretty cherry mouth dipping down grudgingly, mood defensive. “You drag me to these things so I’m not going to apologize for making the best of it. I put a lot of effort into my pick-ups! I deserve to get my dick wet.”

“God, please don’t say that again.” His best mate physically makes a vomiting sound. “You’re acting like a spoiled fraternity douche.”

Harry’s gaze ignites into flames, his back straightening out as he fully turns to face the shorter man. He’s never been insulted so low before. “Take that back!”

“Take that back!” Mitch mocks in an exaggerated, high-pitched British accent, attempting to stifle giggles.

“Take it back! You know how much I hate Gen Z.”

“Okay, boomer.”

“You’re older than I am!”

“I know. Your lack of maturity is a constant reminder.”

Harry opens his mouth, prepared to make a sharp comeback about how Mitch should have left the shaggy-haired stoner aesthetic back in the eighties, but then a heavy Irish accent interrupts his rebuttal.

“What’s all this about getting your dick wet?”

Both of the vampires turn towards Niall, finding Xander and Adam accompanying him in a loose semi-circle.

Xander isn’t paying any attention, too busy tapping away at the screen of his smartphone, apparently engaged in a very riveting conversation with whoever is on the other side. Adam has his hands tucked into the pockets of his plum purple wind-breaker, looking over Harry’s shoulder, seeming to be adamantly searching for someone in particular amidst the mob on the level beneath them. Niall is the only one interested in their dying conversation, probably only because he heard something crude being mentioned.

“It’s nothing.” Harry dismisses, but he can’t help but stick Mitch with a glare. “What’s the plan for tonight, then?”

Adam speaks up for the first time. “Charlotte and Ny texted saying they got here about ten minutes ago. Mentioned they were dancing near the DJ station, so I think I’ll go find them.”

“Sounds good.” Harry bobs his head in accordance. “We’ll see you out there, yeah?”

Adam returns his action, turning on his heel and heading for the stairs that lead to the bottom floor. The leader of the group watches him trot onto the large spiral staircase, disappearing into the thick throng of people scattered across its wide steps.

Harry shifts his attention to Xander, snapping his fingers a few times in his direction and giving a two-toned whistle. “What about you? What’s got your head?”

“Not what, who.” Niall teases, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and making kissy faces at their friend.

Xander ignores him, glancing up at the green-eyed brunette to let him know he’ll be with him in a second, returning his focus back to his iPhone. After a few more elongated moments of typing, the older man finally locks his device.

“I have a date.” He throws out casually, almost as if it should be obvious.

“A date?” Harry reiterates slowly, not quite buying it. Xander doesn’t date. He couch-surfs just as much as Harry does.

“Mmhm.” Xander glimpses behind his fellow vampire, eyes carrying intention. “It’s just a random dude from Tinder. I thought it’d be easier to set something up beforehand, just so I don’t have to spend the whole night trying to figure out if a guy is making eyes at me or trying to keep his whiskey down.”

“Smart.” Harry shrugs his sculpted brows, impressed. A cocky grin toys with the corners of his mouth. “But we both know no one will ever compare to me.”

“Right.” Xander scoffs in a deadpan manner, gifting him a tight, aggravated smile. “If only you weren’t such an emotionally unavailable prick.”

“Oh, like you’re mentally stable enough for a relationship?” Harry bites back, but it holds no true malice, just some petty rivalry. “Piss off.”

“Happily!” The other vampire exclaims, clasping his hands together for dramatics. “Have fun finding someone out there. I’m just gonna grab a to-go box for my already prepped meal.”

Harry doesn’t bother watching him leave. Instead, he turns to Niall, pointing at him to symbolize it's his turn to share his plans for the night. “What have you got, Lucky Charms?”

His friend breaks into a jolly cackle at the nickname, arms falling crossed over his chest, hands absentmindedly squeezing his elbows in thought. “Well, I dunno, Tea and Crumpets. What’s your game plan?”

Before Harry can answer, Mitch butts in, feeling left out of the banter and somewhat hurt that no one had assigned him an alter ego. “What’s my country-derived nickname?”

Niall gives the American a slow once-over, shifting in his dark brown Clarks boots, fitted navy slack riding up his thighs and allowing his rainbow polka-dot socks to peek out. He hums lowly in the back of his throat, a grin spreading across his rosy cheeks. “Biscuits and Gravy.”

Harry chimes in, his own arms casually folding over his strong chest, index finger tapping on his bottom lip as if mulling something over. “I quite like We The People, actually.”

The Irish lad snaps his fingers as if having a sudden epiphany. “Uncle Sam!”

Harry’s emerald eyes twinkle with glee at seeing the way Mitch’s go half-lidded, no longer entertained. “Four Score And Seven Years Ago.”

“Okay, I think that’s enou—”

Niall wags a finger at Harry, lifting one shoulder in question, seeking approval on his next idea. “Star Spangled Banner?”

Harry copies the boy’s motion from before, snapping his fingers and making jazz hands. “I Pledge Allegiance.”

“Ok, I get it!” Mitch whines with annoyed finality, pushing off the metal railing with a curt grimace on his scraggly face.

“You asked!” Niall rationalizes between hiccups of evilly delighted joy, cupping his stomach as if to keep it from splitting open.

“Won’t make that mistake again.” The older creature grumbles, leaning his back against the rungs and looking off towards the distance, communicating that he’s done being a part of the conversation.

Once Harry manages to reign in his giggles, he rubs at his nose with the side of his finger, releasing a wistful sigh. He refers to the question Niall had stated before their little bullying fest. “I think I’m just gonna do what I always do— sway a nice, pretty girl into doing some not-so-nice but very pretty things.”

“Solid.” The Irish bloke remarks, toying with the plastic buttons on his silk beige top. “Not much to do other than that, to be fair. Adam’s usually my wingman, but I guess he abandoned me for a girl’s night.”

“Mitch is mine, and he knows better than to dip on me.” Harry roughly nudges his best friend with his elbow, dodging to the side when Mitch tries to hit him in return.

Niall hums softly in amusement. “Maybe I should make Adam sign whatever contract you drafted for that poor bugger.”

The curly brunette snorts. “Good luck. Adam’s as stubborn as they come. But, hey, if you can’t find anyone, just come to me.” Harry’s irises flit crimson for a millisecond, an ominous smirk buckling his features. “You know I’m always happy to share.”

“Thanks,” his friend exhales flatly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“If you’re taking tips,” Mitch pipes up, vaguely signaling at Niall’s shirt with his chin, “maybe don’t wear that stupid shirt next time. The elephant doodles look ridiculous.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not taking fashion tips from anyone who actually enjoyed living in Ohio, then.” Niall snaps in an exaggerated American accent, middle finger jutting towards the other man. “The only thing you know how to dress is a cornfield scarecrow. Must be why you look like one.”

Harry forces down more laughter, clearing his throat softly. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t get hammered— girls hate that.”

“Note taken.” The pale boy runs his fingers through his hair, fixing it up and adding texture to appear more laid-back and rugged. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Later.” The younger vampire recites, giving a big thumbs-up.

“Good luck out there. You, too, Boston Tea Party.”

With that, Niall saunters away, leaving a fully laughing Harry and a grouchy Mitch in his wake.

The two acquaintances decide to follow in everyone else’s example, descending down the looped staircase and chatting about Mitch’s latest gig at a new bar downtown.

Harry praises Mitch's talent with his guitar, specifically the fact that he found a hobby which he enjoys so much that he’s willing to keep it as a permanent part of his life. It’s easy to get bored of things when you have hundreds of years ahead of you; everything can seem pointless, in the end. But Harry doesn’t think Mitch has ever let himself fall into those types of dark headspaces and he finds that extremely admirable.

Harry wishes he could say the same. He’s no musical prodigy, that much is obvious, but he is an expert at playing a few specific French songs on the piano by memory. He rarely does it, though; only when he’s in a low state of mind, which— given the origin of how he learned said classical pieces— isn’t something he’s proud of. They’re tied to a very gruesome part of his past that he’d rather bury deep inside, but he can only push back his troubles for so long before they begin to leak out, staining the clean sheet of recovery he had sewn into place. Those arrangements just bring him a warped sense of comfort he can’t explain.

Even though he’s aware of the destructive aspects of the songs, he finds himself humming one now out of instinct as he elbows through squished bodies and flailing limbs. The second he notices he’s doing it, he cuts it off, focusing all his intention on making it to the other side of the room to the bar. It’s a hard trip when it feels like the walls of the building are closing in on him.

When Harry finally breaks free from the Human Centipede re-enactment that is the club dance floor, he practically collapses onto the sleek glass counter. Death was less painful than that walk.

He cranes his neck to the side wildly, suddenly remembering that his much smaller, much skinnier, much more crushable friend had been in tow behind him. To his utter shock, he watches as Mitch calmly weeds around grinding drunk couples with the poise and grace of a swan, filling the empty spot besides him without a single ailment in the world.

Harry blinks at him blankly in silence, almost as if he’d grown an extra set of fangs.

Mitch flags the bartender from all the way down the counter, not bothering to meet the green eyes peering at him in disbelief. “You’re so fucking dramatic, H.”

“How did you not die? Again?” Harry sputters, sight jutting all around the older vampire’s body, looking for any battle wounds or missing appendages. “I almost lost an arm in there!”

“It’s a good thing it wasn’t your favorite one, right?” Mitch smirks at his own lewd joke, the simper molding into one of genuine kindness when the mixologist slides up in front of them. “Hi, how are you? I’m good, as well, thank you for asking! Yeah, I’ve got something in mind. Don’t worry, I’m not one of the ‘just make me something sweet’ type of assholes.”

Harry zones out the rest of the friendly chat Mitch entertains with the employee, letting his gaze wander around the large auditorium-like room. He dances his vision over the DJ remixing music on top of the stage, head beginning to bop along to the beat that is currently shaking the seven foot tall speakers. He’s pleasantly surprised at how good this specific producer is.

He continues scoping out the rest of the venue, taking notes of the different clusters of people that seem to hold promise for the plans he has in store later tonight. A small group of hippie friends here, a two-party duo of tipsy stoners there, and a clump of college students at the edge of the ruckus, stumbling around loudly. Things are looking somewhat decent, in his opinion. The hippies seem to be catching his attention more than the others— specifically, the one that looks similar to Stevie Nicks. That’s a fantasy that’s been waiting to be fulfill for decades now.

Harry lulls his head forward again when he feels Mitch give a squeeze at his elbow, telling him that the bartender is waiting to take his order. He decides to go for the gold tequila, asking for it straight in a highball glass without any garnishes. The worker’s eyebrows jump up slightly at the unorthodox request, but he drops a polite, “Coming right up.” either way.

“You truly have no flavor.” Mitch tuts once their waiter has stepped away to prepare their drinks. “No taste buds whatsoever.”

“Yeah? Well, you can suck my flavorless dick.” Harry chimes brightly, eyes crinkling shut as a result of a theatrical smile.

The younger vampire goes to turn back around, legitimately interested in the girl he’d seen that looked like one of his seventies celebrity crushes, already running through scenarios in his head on how he’d get her into his bed for tonight. Weed and ABBA are probably good conversation starters for that, if Harry’s undisputed people skills have anything to say about it.

As he’s rotating his torso, a blurred image catches his eyes. He does a double-take, honing in on a group of girls that look faintly familiar. He scans them carefully as they huddle around the corner of the bar area, laughing and toasting along to the multiple conversations they all have going at once. They look like the typical posse that would be a backdrop clique in a mainstream movie.

He knows where he recognizes them from— it had been the same girls he’d spotted earlier up on the second deck.

Harry expertly surveillances each woman, picking out potential candidates as easily as he’d pinch petals off a flower. The one in the center of the group is obviously the leader, present in how she’s the prettiest and is somehow managing to juggle all of these interactions at once. It means she’s used to being the center of attention— probably strives under it. He throws her out as a potential; the last thing he needs is someone who everyone knows and seeks out. He wouldn’t be able to sneak away with her quietly.

The rest of the girl crew all seem to be the same status-wise, appearing as supporting characters to the main one in the middle. He could choose any one of them blindly and it wouldn’t make a difference. They all seem so tight-knit, they probably share personalities, at this point. It’s like dipping his hand into a jar of jelly beans and they’re all the same flavor. That notion makes him laugh to himself a bit; maybe Mitch was right about his lack of taste.

Then, Harry spots her, and all the other women immediately go up in smoke.

It’s hard not to spot her. She sticks out like a sore thumb, but not in a good way.

The prospective contender is off to the side, sitting atop a barstool with her feet tucked along the footrest, tapping them against the metal rung awkwardly. She’s talking to one of the other people in the group, but the interaction seems forced and not very satisfying, obvious in both of their faces. She’s tracing her middle finger around the edge of her glass cup distractedly, the contents inside barely touched, the ice in her drink long-melted. She seems disinterested in the chaos her friends are causing, her expression bored and borderline regretful, as if she doesn’t want to be here.

The further he sizes the girl up, the more appropriate she looks for the role he needs filled. Since barely anyone is paying attention to her, that means he can lead her astray without too much resistance from her acquaintances, if any at all. She appears somewhat unimportant to the narrative— merely a background extra— and it makes him wonder what she’s doing with this clique of women that can’t seem to be bothered by her presence. It’s sad, really. Sad, but beneficial, because that means he can succeed in making her the supporting protagonist of his narrative, at least for tonight.

The girl is attractive, but not anything astronomical. She’s unconventionally pretty in a way that makes her relevant, but not particularly distinct in the eyes of regular men with presumptuous standards. She’s easy to pass up, and if Harry hadn’t been actively pursuing someone of her bashful persona to card into his plans, he wouldn’t have noticed her. At the risk of once again sounding shallow, Harry’s aware that— physically speaking— he’s very much out of her league. His above-average appearance gives off the vibe that he’d fit better with the leader of the group instead of with her, but he doesn’t want someone that would raise suspicions as a result of their absence. This girl, sitting along the edge of the party with barely any purpose and no one to really question her whereabouts, is exactly what he’s looking for. She’s perfectly imperfect for the cause.

Harry continues to examine her meticulously, analyzing other traits that can give him a better feel for her character. She’s clad in a pair of high-waisted pastel pink silk pants that stop right at her ankles, accompanied by a flouncy creme lace blouse tucked into her waist. Tan wedges, no accessories, delicate rosey nail polish, and minimalist makeup. The boldest thing about her is the brick red shade of her lipstick, which is easily shadowed by the sparkly sequin dresses, five inch heels, and layered tops her friends are wearing.

Harry likes her outfit, though. It’s concise and safe, which he can appreciate. Yes, perhaps she looks like she belongs in a dentist’s office rather than a Los Angeles nightclub, but he thinks there’s beauty in simplicity. She looks cute, and that’s good enough for him.

“She seems interesting.” Mitch’s soft voice snaps him out of his detail-hungry haze, drawing him back into the reality that is the black lighting of the club and the deep booming of the music’s bass.

His friend slides his tall drink across the glass counter, the amber liquid inside warping his reflection.

“I suppose so.” Harry answers passively, shrugging one shoulder in indifference while accepting the cup, ringed fingers clinking against the crystalline surface.

He takes a leisurely sip from the straight tequila, its tangy kick sending a warm surge up through his ears and down his throat, spreading into his chest and along the trench of his tummy. Alcohol really is the cure to everything.

Mitch gives him a deadpan look, the strobe lights alternating across the glossy surface of his hazel irises, highlighting smugness. “You’ve been gawking for five minutes. Put your pride back in your pants and go talk to her.”

The curly-haired vampire flashes him a light smirk over the rim of his drink, absentmindedly tapping his two initial rings along the bottom of the highball cup. “Ever so blunt, aren’t you?”

Mitch scuffs, taking a swig from his trusty beer bottle. Out of everything, that’s the one aspect Harry despises about his best mate— that he goes to a club and orders the same drink every time. Where was the fun in that? Where was the excitement of trying something new? When you have an eternity, the least you could do is utilize it to your advantage. Cycling through every cocktail in human history is a prime example of making the best out of immortality.

But Mitch is a creature of habit— as are most of their kind— and Harry knows he won’t shake easily. Not when it comes to surrendering his preferred beverage, and definitely not when it comes to sticking his nose in Harry’s intimate business. Meddling and being irritating are what best friends are for.

“What can I say? Pep talks are my forte.” The older monster remarks sarcastically, bumping his bottle against Harry’s glass in encouragement, using the spout of his container to point in the general direction of the mysterious girl. “Now go make dinner.”

“But, darlinggggg,” Harry whines playfully, a smirk still tugging at the corners of his slightly liquor-swollen lips. “I made dinner last night. Isn’t it your turn?”

Mitch rolls his eyes and shoves Harry’s shoulder harshly, with just enough force that it actually has some type of impact this time around. “Just go, before she gets creeped out by your staring.”

Harry’s own irises copy his friend’s actions as he pushes himself up from the bar, rubbing at the new sore spot on his shoulder with an exaggerated pout present. “Ow.”

Mitch blinks at him flatly, fighting off a grin. “You’ve had worse. Go.”

Harry swivels on his heel, once again facing the group of tipsy girls at the other end of the counter. It appears that most of them have dispersed into the dance floor, having found partners to entertain them for the time being, moving to the music as if there are no other people in the room. They had left behind three of their companions, one of which is Harry’s aspiring hookup; he gets the feeling that the two girls had stayed behind out of the kindness of their hearts, feeling too guilty to leave the runt of the litter all on her own. He hopes that’s the case because if so, the second Harry inserts himself into the situation, they’ll take that chance and split, leaving him to tend his meal in peace.

He tucks one large hand into the front pocket of his trousers, the grip on his glass tightening a smidge, rings biting into his skin as the condensation of the chilled tequila cools the small spike of pain. He spins his lionhead ring around his finger within his slacks, gradually drifting closer as he goes through a checklist of prized pick-up lines he could use to garner her attention. He ducks and dodges inebriated club-goers with ease now that he’s had something to take the edge off, finally reaching the end of the bar, slowly coming to a halt right behind his target for the night.

Harry nearly passes out as soon as her scent hits him.

It’s faint and tender and nothing quite like anything he’s encountered before, a mixture of honey and lavender that permeates through her normal perfume. He feels like his head’s been put through a wringer, his whole body clenching for a moment as raging sparks erupt across the pit of his belly. He indulges a deep breath, willing the blazing current away in order to keep his cool, but all he can see flashing before his eyes are images of her leaving traces of that smell smeared all over his face as he bobs his head between her quivering thighs.

He takes another penetrating inhale, centering his mind back into the present. He needs to behave.

Her friends spot him immediately, their side of the conversation faltering to ash. They give Harry a wide-eyed once-over, mouths parting in slight shock as they drink up his attractive appearance, gazes lingering along his thick chest as it strains the baby blue material of his tee. Their sights drag across his broad shoulders, dainty collarbones, and strong neck, faces gawking without remorse, blinking emptily at the slope of his sharp jaw and the peaks of his prominent cheekbones. They seem to be at a loss for words the second his dimples indent into place, his brows shrugging in a half-assed greeting before he cocks his head to side a tad, voice velvet as it directs towards the girl they had forgotten existed.

“I’m guessing you’re the designated driver?”

Y/N jumps slightly in response at the new addition to the painfully dying conversation, not recognizing the heavy English accent and deep baritone that booms behind her. She had been wondering why Melissa and Isabel had stopped talking so abruptly, and she now has her answer.

Y/N slowly goes to cast a curious glance over her shoulder and Harry can hear the pulse flaring in her neck from the sudden intrusion to her surroundings. His fangs prick along the inside of his bottom lip due to carnal instincts; he has to will them back into receding.

When her eyes land on the owner of the random words, her finger immediately halts its swirling motions along the hem of her glass.

‘Fuck.’ is the only thought that registers through her short-circuiting mind.

The lanky, curly-haired brunette that stands before her gives a gentle yet confident smile, the gesture dazzling even in the low lighting of the atmosphere. He’s absolutely gorgeous, with deep pits carving into his cheeks, perfect teeth complimenting full cherry red lips, eyes the color of a rainforest canopy, and a broad frame that is somehow not overwhelming. He’s sporting neatly ironed tan slacks, a fitted cotton shirt with a cute yet crude graphic at its center, a fancy plaid coat, and crisp yellow Vans without a single smudge in sight.

Y/N can’t help but take notice of all the little details of his fit, especially the accessories. A beautiful pearl necklace laid along his delicate clavicle, a cross resting between his defined pectorals, and a matching earring dangling from his earlobe. Not to mention the array of clunky rings arranged along nimble fingers, hugging a tall glass carrying caramel liquor and somehow managing to dwarf the cup’s size. The extra decoration is sensual in such an unexpectedly delicious manner.

The hand he has tucked in his pants ducks out to comb through his dark auburn ringlets and Y/N can feel her mouth water at the new round of elegant rings. The action activates the cologne Harry had thoughtfully spritz in specific pressure points along his body, the scent of tobacco and vanilla traveling through the fog-heavy air and causing Y/N’s stomach to summersault.

The young man is as close to flawless as anyone could ever come.

Y/N feels an unmistakable sharp pain shoot through her ankle, and she comes to the realization that it had been the tip of one of her friend’s heels. The reality check jars her out of the embarrassing daze he’d spelled onto her, open mouth snapping shut and her lashes fluttering over her previously unblinking eyes.

“Oh! Uhm—uh—” She clumsily twists sideways to fully face him, swallowing thickly and tasting the remnants of the alcohol she’d barely been nursing. “N-No. I’m not— well, I don’t think…? We Ubered here so that wouldn’t make any sense ‘cause I have no car to drive...so...”

The boy chuckles softly at her choppy monologue, his laughter warm and inviting, similar to the look reflecting off his shiney irises, the golden flecks around his pupils seeming to swell and shrink from the rainbow lights cascading across them. Despite being caught off guard and utterly embarrassed, she can’t seem to break eye contact with him. The longer she gazes into his eyes, the more relaxed she begins to feel, a fuzzy heat stemming from the center of her belly and spreading up her neck and ears.

Y/N gulps heavily like before, willing her tongue to produce a less embarrassing comment. “Sorry. Let me...Let me start over…Hi.”

“Hello.” He quips back playfully, lopsided grin widening in fond amusement. He lifts his drink up a bit in greeting. “M’Harry.”

“Y/N.” The girl squeaks out, copying his gesture because it’s easier than forcing her disoriented brain to try and come up with its own.

Harry flirts his intent up and down Y/N’s body slowly, checking her out without any subtlety. He wants her to know he’s interested.

When his sight locks with hers again, he bats his lashes sultrily and pours as much passion as he can into his tone, accent weighing in just right. “S’nice to meet you, Y/N.”

Her entire face prickles at how her name sounds dripping from those faultless raspberry lips. She’d pay anything to hear him say it again. “You, too.”

This is not what Y/N intended. This is most definitely not what she’d intended to happen when she’d reluctantly agreed to go out with some coworkers on a Friday night, giving in simply because she had promised herself she’d be more social within her new job.

She had moved to California roughly two months ago, wanting to get away from her old life in the small, boring town she hated to call home. Buying the flight had been a drastic decision made when she had been under the influence of something she’d rather not admit, but the following day— after she had sobered up from a wicked hangover— she found herself not wanting to cancel the trip. Found herself craving the excitement and adventure of beginning anew somewhere far away from everything she had ever known.

All of Y/N’s friends back home had supported her without hesitation, egging her preposterous idea and congratulating her on “getting the fuck out of here.” Her family had been a little less supportive, but after a few heartfelt chats about following your ambitions and a budgeting lesson from her cousin, they had gingerly gotten on board. They understood that keeping her trapped in that lame town where nothing really happened wasn’t the way to ensure her success in life. Therefore, the people closest to her had swallowed their opinions and respected her choice to dive off the deep end, in search of something better beyond the borders of their tiny city.

Within a week, Y/N had secured a decent job at a semi-popular cafe, courtesy of a connection from a family friend. Within two weeks, after many sleepless nights full of Rocky Road ice cream and the bright white pages of ApartmentFinder.com, she had managed to book a nice flat close to her place of work. It was a miracle, if she’d ever seen one. Especially within the crowded, expensive community that is Los Angeles. Within three weeks, she had been walking out of the giant glass building that was LAX with only two suitcases in tow, boarding an Uber to her new life.

Things had never seemed more picturesque, she’d thought. Everything was falling into place in a way that seemed almost blessed by the universe.

Then, the culture shock hit.

California was different. It’s was so fucking different than anything she’d ever faced and she wasn’t prepared for the social difficulties she’d have to hurdle. All her life, Y/N had grown up with the same people around her, spending every school year with them up until graduation, expanding her friend group as time passed. Even after high school, she’d remained closely connected with most of her graduating class. The region she lived in was tiny, tight-knit and friendly; it was hard not to. She couldn’t even go to the store for groceries without bumping into at least three people from her Algebra II class.

Point being, it had been ages since Y/N had been put in a situation where she actively had to try and make friends. She’d been through that challenge way back in kindergarten and had never been hit with it again.

Until it smacked her across the head here in LA.

Y/N didn’t mesh well with Californians, she quickly found out. They were all about crazy parties and club-hopping, whereas Y/N had been raised on community cookouts and mass sleepovers. They enjoyed getting cross-faded and streaking down the beach at two in the morning, meanwhile Y/N liked stripping down to her undies and spending the night binging Queer Eye while stuffing her face with Cheeze-Its and Snickers bars. They freely boasted about their sex adventures while bussing down tables at the restaurant, while Y/N’s intimate life had been nonexistent since the move.

It was just...startling, to put it lightly. It wasn’t what she had expected at all, and that’s mostly her fault for not doing the correct amount of research before jumping headfirst into a cliche LifeTime film.

Therefore, Y/N had made a pact with herself one month in, swearing to let loose and allow her surroundings to sweep her into a new dynamic— into a new, social butterfly version of herself. She’d started accepting the invitations from her coworkers to go out at night, and she’d started putting more effort into being open to wild experiences, no matter how scary they might seem. Shutting down and refusing to mold to her environment would only result in her having to return home with her tail between her legs, and she’d rather jump naked off a pier than see her parents’ faces wracked with pity.

And that’s exactly what she’d done a couple nights ago, at the encouragement of the group of girls she was at the club with now. It had, in turn, ended in her coming down with a mild cold, but at least now she’d be able to tell her friends back home a cool story about dropping inhibitions.

Dropping inhibitions is also why Y/N’s here tonight, dressed in the most party-like outfit she could put together, prodding an overly-boozy drink into her system, attempting to release some of the tension that had been building in her head for the last couple of weeks since she’d left her old life behind. That’s why she’s here, with strands of her blow-dried hair catching on the dark red gloss Melissa has slathered on her mouth in a thick layer. That’s why she’s here, with synthetic smoke scratching at her lungs and drunken men and women bumping into her every two minutes, most of them too busy sticking their tongues down each other’s throats to realize they’d almost toppled her off her seat. That’s why she’s here, with a blasé expression plastered across her features as her coworkers talk over her head without a second thought, her mind far away from the walls of this overhyped horror house.

Y/N had been thinking about how she’d just started her Disney+ membership, finding comfort in putting together a mental checklist of all the movies she’s going to plow through the second she sets foot past the doorframe of her apartment. Indulging on her childhood was an ideal form of escapism, in her opinion. She’s positive Walt Disney would agree.

That’s what her brain had been lost in when Harry’s deep, melodic voice had interrupted her daydreams, sending her spiraling into an embarrassing performance of nerve-induced hysteria.

Now here she is, blinking back at him dumbly, eyes the smallest bit damp from the smoke machine and neon flashes of light. And here he is, smirking at her over the rim of his glass, eyes raking down her wired up body suggestively as he takes a calm sip from what appears to be the straight tequila in his colossal, bejeweled hand.

The English boy takes a gradual step closer to her, wanting to make sure he’s not crossing any boundaries that would make her uncomfortable. The scent of his cologne intensifies and she feels a fiery heat suddenly pour between her clasped thighs. It just hits her how long it’s truly been since she’s gotten laid and fuck, it’s sad.

Harry begrudgingly peels his attention away from Y/N for a second, aiming his words towards the girls standing behind her with their mouths still opened stupidly. Even from a respectful distance, his warm breath still washes across her jaw and cheek, causing electricity to zip down her spine. “You don’t mind if I steal her for a bit, do you?”

‘Yeah,’ Y/N thinks in the back of her muddled skull, ‘that’s definitely tequila.’

Isabel and Melissa slowly shake their heads in unison, glancing at each other as if to confirm he’d just spoken to them.

The edges of Harry’s lips jolt into a kind, easygoing smile. “Thank you. Promise I’ll keep her safe.”

Y/N feels her heart hiccup at his statement. If she’s not insanely mistaken, it appears to have carried an undertone of dirty intentions. God, she’s praying she’s not mistaken.

The two girls clamber away on their tall pumps, rounding around Harry and pausing for a moment. They make moaning faces and vulgar motions behind him, encouraging Y/N to pursue the stranger. She then watches them disappear into the throng of crowded bodies, leaving her alone with the beautiful boy and her heart slamming against her ribs.

Y/N focuses back onto Harry, licking her itching lips lightly, not knowing what to say next as he settles himself beside her. He rests his forearm on the counter along with his drink, tucking his other hand back into his trouser pocket and fixing himself into a comfortable standing position, crossing his ankles nonchalantly. The friction between his jacket and the bar rides his sleeve up an inch or so, and Y/N gets a view of the anchor tattoo he has along his wrist, as well as the upside-down cross inked between his thumb and index finger.

Harry catches her looking, mouth twitching with a smidge of arrogant self-assurance. He loves when girls drool over his tats.

“I have more.” He remarks lightly, a pang of condescending pleasure shooting through his chest at the way she jerks and pins her gaze down to the floor.

Blood rushes into her cheeks at the realization that she’s been caught and Harry’s teeth grind. It’s so hot watching her fidget for him. Maybe he finds her more attractive than he’d originally let on. “Would you like to see them?”

Y/N timidly coaxes herself into locking stares with him once again, looking up at him from beneath her lashes, barely nodding with a soft, “Sure.”

She looks so pretty like that, he notices, staring up at him all doe-eyed and shy. It’d probably look even better if she were on her knees.

Yeah, he definitely likes her more than he’d thought.

Harry proceeds to shift about, shrugging his coat off his strong shoulders, letting it slip down his lean arms and reveal the plethora of dark tattoos strewn across his left arm. Y/N watches avidly, drinking up every flex of his biceps under the black paint and every twitch of his pecs beneath his cotton shirt, the tendons along his throat going taut for just a moment. That moment is enough for her to etch the image into the back of her eyelids for the rest of her life.

Harry tosses the article onto the table, extending his arm over its surface for her to get a better reading. She doesn’t miss the chance, her pupils tracing over every line and stroke of the pen, over every shaded area and meticulous detail.

His voice comes out as a low, garbled murmur, his own irises studying her features with just as much intensity. “You can touch them, if you’d like. I don’t mind.”

After a moment of hesitation, the brim of her crystalline cup is replaced by the ridges of his smooth, tanned skin. She drags her digits over the naked mermaid, tracing the curve of her figure and the dip of her tail, then passing onto the stem of the large rose, ghosting over every thorn and prickle. Harry can feel her heartbeat through her fingertips and it’s making him throb.

“They’re very pretty.” Y/N whispers, allowing her touch to fall away, palm finding refuge across the counter. “Did they hurt?”

“A bit, yeah. But I’ve gotten so many done that I think I grew numb to the needle after a while.” Harry answers, shrugging one shoulder to show it’s no big deal. He grasps his glass once again and takes a drawn-out swig, extending the action just so she can see the way his Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows. Once the cup is back in its place, his tongue peeks out and swipes any leftover liquid from his rosy lips, which then settle into a coy simper. “Plus, I kinda like the pain.”

Y/N’s breathing stutters in her lungs and she swiftly swerves the topic onto something much less explicit. “So why’d you ask if I was the designated driver? That’s kind of an odd question. Very out of the blue.”

Harry lulls his middle finger across the hem of his glass, exactly how she had been doing earlier, the motion weighed by an innuendo. She seems to understand it, present in how she bites into the inside of her cheek. “I just figured that a pretty girl like you would have easily found someone to dance with. So when I saw you sitting here looking all bored with your drink barely touched…I just assumed, I suppose.”

And there it is again— the blood pouring into her face. Christ, if she keeps that up, he’s going to fucking lose it.

“Thank you, that’s— that’s really sweet. Proper gentleman.”

Harry runs his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes snapping to her tinted mouth for a second, establishing some sexual tension that he’ll expand on as they go. “Who doesn’t like a guy who knows how to treat a girl, right?”

Y/N clears her throat softly, obviously phased by his forward compliment, but she tries to play it off. “To answer your question, I— uhm...I’m not really one for the club scene, I guess. Don’t really like it, but I didn’t want to be rude and turn down the invitation.”

‘Good girl,’ Harry thinks, silently cheering her on for having more brain cells than the typical human.

“Well, that’s where we share some common ground, then.” He chimes brightly, a soft smile bringing his dimples to life. “I don’t care for clubs, either, but my friends have an affinity for them so here I am.”

He gestures vaguely towards the general direction where he’d left Mitch, continuing his rant. “The choking smoke, the annoying strobe lights, the crowded floor, the drunk morons—”

“Bumping into you without giving a shit.” Y/N finishes his sentence, her vulgarity drawing a boyish giggle from her companion and now she’s convinced she’d do anything to hear him laugh like that again. “And there’s always a faint smell of vomit coming from somewhere.”

Harry slaps his hand down against the glass table in passionate agreement, voice pitching up slightly as his brows jump in emotion. “Right?! It’s fucking disgusting. Don’t understand how anyone could genuinely enjoy it.”

Y/N nods vehemently, sharing the same expression of utter distaste towards the subject. “It honestly doesn’t make any sense to me, either. Why come here when you can go to, like, a nice bar somewhere, y’know?”

Harry blinks at her in astonishment, her opinion mirroring his own with psychic-like accuracy. “My thoughts exactly.”

“Great minds think alike.” Y/N responds playfully, taking a hearty gulp from her drink since the first time he’d spotted her from across the room.

After a comfortable pause, Harry speaks up, also entertaining another sip from his own drink, which is now nearly empty. “Are you from around here?”

She can’t be. Rarely anyone born and raised here is willing to bash the status quo, and never so openly.

She’s once again mesmerized by the attractiveness of his rings, but manages to get her composure in check. “Kinda. I moved here about two months ago.”

Precisely his point.

Harry releases a curious hum over the cup between his lips. “Let me be the one to officially welcome you to Cali, then! Where people go to shitty clubs for fun and tan themselves into a strip of leather.”

Y/N sputters out a half-suppressed giggle and Harry’s brows almost furrow at the weird fluttering in his stomach. He rarely gets it.

Y/N takes another deep gulp of what he thinks is probably an Old Fashioned, silently praising the way she’d finished it off so quickly. She crunches an ice shard between her teeth and lets it melt across her tongue before engaging again. “I’m guessing you’re not from around here either though, are you?”

Now it’s Harry’s turn to chuckle a bit and she fights off an endeared smile.

“What gave it away?” He asks, purposefully doing a thicker, fuller accent, his teasing nature making the grin she’d just stifled fully break through.

Y/N lifts a shoulder offhandedly. “Your accent seems a little too…posh for this area. Or even this hemisphere.”

Harry scoffs softly, the pinky around his glass sticking up jokingly as he kinks an eyebrow at her, a few rouge curls falling across his forehead. “Keen ears, mate.”

Y/N lifts her drink up a bit with a playfully knowing air, mimicking an English dialect. “Cheers.”

He places his empty cup down on the counter, his middle finger once more ghosting around the edge absentmindedly. She notices the pastel yellow polish covering his nails, tiny black smiley faces decorating the lacquer.

“I like your nails.” She admires, tipping her empty lowball towards his hand for significance. “Did you do them yourself?”

Harry glances at his fingers, stretching and wiggling them out, his features taking on a bit of pride. “Sure did.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever met a guy at a club who could pull off nail polish so easily.”

The left edge of his lips flicks upwards. “How do you mean?”

Y/N’s gaze bounces back to his and the tone twirling in his jade irises tells her everything she needs to know about keeping this conversation going: he enjoys being praised.

She chooses her next words carefully, wanting to appeal to his interests. “I mean that it looks amazing on you. The color suits your skin nicely, makes your hands look good.”

Harry breaks eye contact, glimpsing down at his shoes and she realizes he’s actually trying to hide a blush. The fact that she had managed to coax one out of him boosts her confidence while simultaneously making his own waver. He’s never like this— never so easily flustered. He needs to get it together.

Harry tilts his chin back up, lower lip strung between his two front teeth. His voice comes out as a flirty laugh.

“Known you for maybe,” he looks at the beautiful watch on his wrist symbolically, “ten minutes, and you’re already stroking my ego just the way I like it. I think that’s a record.”

Y/N doesn’t know if it’s the liquor she’d just consumed too quickly, or if it’s Harry’s intoxicatingly alluring scent dulling the region of her brain that controls fear, but she’s suddenly filled with a strange surge of courage and her thoughts are spilling down her semi-numb tongue before she can stop them. “I’ve been told I’m pretty good at stroking, so an ego’s not too hard to handle.”

Harry cocks an eyebrow, surprised at her brazen reply. He might have misjudged her more than he assumed. However, he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy this girl more than the one he thought he was going to receive. There’s just something about how she can match his banter without a problem, and how they share a lot of the same thoughts and opinions, that just lights a fire in his stomach.

“Is that so?” His voice lowers in pitch and he scoots a step closer, fingers just barely brushing against her arm as he repositions himself against the bar. His question comes out as a sultry murmur. “What else can you handle?”

Y/N knows that she’s starting to cross a line, and with every passing moment, the likelihood of returning to her friends is getting smaller and smaller. She’s not mad about it. Riding off of the wave of confidence that had inflated her ego earlier, she mumbles her response back with the same tone and texture. “How about you buy me another drink and then maybe you’ll find out?”

Harry gives her a boyish grin and the indents that pop into his cheeks nudge his appearance from an incredibly attractive man to an adorable cheeky boy. He motions to the bartender for another round of drinks, only letting his eyes flicker away from her for the moment it takes to do it. “How do you like LA so far?”

“It’s...alright.” It’s Y/N’s turn to move closer to him now, flicking her hair off her shoulder, hoping that the motion releases the perfume she’d dabbed on her neck while getting ready. Judging by the darkening of Harry's eyes, it does just that. “It’s definitely a change in pace from where I used to live, but I think I’m slowly gaining the reigns. I feel like once I get acquainted, I could grow to love it.”

“LA’s definitely a toggle. You could either vibe with it, or it’ll eat you alive and spit you back out.”

She bats her lashes at him in stunned fright at his bluntness, his face deadly serious without any twitch or give.

Harry then bursts into high-pitched laughter, eyes crinkling shut and nose scrunching. “I’m just fucking with you, love. Ease up, hm?”

“You asshole!” Y/N exhales grandly, half in relief and half in indignation, slugging him on the shoulder. All she feels is hard muscle beneath.

He continues to cackle, sticking his tongue out at her. “Looked like you were about to cry.”

“It definitely crossed my mind, yeah!”

The bartender arrives with their fresh drinks and Harry tells the man to but both of Y/N’s on his tab. She feels her cheeks glow, telling him he doesn’t have to, but he waves it off and says he’s more than happy to serve such a nice girl as herself. Especially if she “hates the same things I do. Think of it as your initiation gift into the Anti-Club Club.”

A handful of heartbeats tick by, full of comfortable quietness as they both savor their new beverages. Harry pipes up first, regaining their topic from before.

“But, yeah, Cali’s for sure a special place. You meet some cool people if you hang around for a while. But sometimes,” he pauses for a second, eyes gleaming with something she can’t quite interpret. “But sometimes you can meet a really interesting person in just one night.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Y/N clicks her nails against her Old Fashioned distractedly as Harry fixes her with that beautiful emerald gaze that makes her ears tingle. She cocks her head to the side knowingly, flashing him a soft smirk. “Sometimes, you just happen to meet that one in a million.”

“A lucky strike.” He adds, lifting his tequila an inch off the counter and tilting it towards her in what appears to be a toast, irises dancing with a certain type of suggestive mischief. “To meeting interesting people.”

The human girl clinks the rim of her lowball to the edge of his cup, shrugging her brows and reciting his comment back to him. “To meeting interesting people.”

Y/N measures how the rest of their interaction goes by how quickly her drink shrinks.

When she reaches down to the first ice cube stacked on top, Harry has managed to coax multiple rounds of laughter out of her, his humor startlingly similar to her’s in the most refreshing way imaginable. She quickly learns that despite his broad shoulders, lean torso, dark inking, and flawless features, he’s a complete and total dork. His personality consists mainly of voice impersonations and contorting his expression into an endless array of silly faces, which she takes to easily.

By the time Y/N’s amber drink has reached halfway down its container, the default touch barrier between the two has broken completely. There had been a few caresses prior, but now it’s more frequent, more noticeable, and each touch extends in time. She had been the one to initiate getting physical, which had sat so right in her stomach because that meant he was respectful and patient— definitely unlike most men in clubs.

The mortal girl had gently shoved Harry’s chest when he’d made an nonchalant joke about how losing his swim trunks at a nude beach had been both the best and worst experience of his life, her cheeks boiling as she had felt nothing but more toned muscle beneath the cotton fabric of his top. She had gone back to tracing at his tattoos the further they got into sharing anecdotes and opinions, glancing up at him for permission in the middle of their exchange and smiling to herself when he’d nodded casually without a second thought. As the conversations continue, they both unintentionally get closer in distance to the point where the arm Harry had settled on the bar is now fully wrapped around the small of her back. She willingly leans into him, their knees and thighs brushing with every shift of their bodies and those minute moments begin to pile up their excitement.

By the time the alcohol in her possession bottoms out, she is nearly sitting in his lap, faces only a few inches apart. Y/N can’t recall half of what she had said, the subject having steered into so many different places that she couldn’t be bothered to keep track. Besides, she’s too focused on trying to keep a straight face as Harry plays footsie with her below the counter, his light yellow sneaker toying with her heeled velvet wedge.

An important question on his behalf snaps Y/N out of her flirty stupor.

“So how do you like your new home?”

She blinks at him slowly, partially to try and give a seductive tinge to the interaction and partially because the liquor has started to truly settle in. It takes her a few heartbeats to process the inquiry. “I love it, actually. It’s a place of my own, for the first time ever. I couldn’t be happier.”

The corners of Harry’s swollen lips tick in genuine happiness on her behalf. “That sounds amazing. Congratulations on such a big step.”

“Thank you! What about yourself? Renting anything neat?”

“Oh, I own a condo here.” He mentions casually, outlining the criss-cross pattern along the circumference of his highball glass. “I used to visit so often that I finally just decided to pull the trigger on one.”

“Look at you, investing in real estate.” She says in a teasing voice, her heel grazing around his calf slowly, cheeks sizzling as he parts his legs a bit to allow her the pleasure of traveling higher up.

“Mmhm.” Harry licks his red lips, free hand starting to trace over her own. The tips of his fingers are calloused and cold, the motion of them over her skin almost pulling a tremble out of her body. She does her best to restrain it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “Is it nice?”

“Hm?”

His lips twitch in endearment at how he’s managing to make her lose her train of thought. “Your apartment, darling.”

She rests the rim of her drink on the bottom of her lip as she speaks. “It’s nothing huge or fancy, but it’s a decent size and l can call it home. Can’t get much better than that.”

Y/N loves how Harry's eyes flit to her lips for what she thinks is the billionth time tonight, his vision sketching along the curve of her cupid’s bow and dotting every peak.

Another warm glow of confidence spikes through her veins and she’s talking before she can analyze her thoughts. “Well, at least I think it can’t get much better than that. Although, I could just be biased. Could probably use an outside opinion.”

It takes Harry a moment to register what she’s suggesting, a light blush creeping up the base of his neck as he realizes how he’s stopped so abruptly. Humans usually never get him this unnerved and it’s one of many times she’s made it happen. “An outside opinion?”

Y/N lists her head to the side. It sounds like he’s accepting the vague invitation, but she’s so anxious to mess this up that she’s second guessing herself with every passing second. However, with every touch, she wants Harry more and more, and that’s enough to propel her towards a more direct approach. “Mmhm. Like yours, maybe. Would you like to come back and see it?”

Harry pauses for a few of her heartbeats, and then bobs his head in acceptance. She can breath again.

He finishes off the last inch or so of his tequila, a wicked grin creeping its way across his pretty, flushed mouth, long fingers carding into his loosely arranged curls. “I’m more than happy to be of service.”

A smile works its way onto Y/N’s own face at his response, her foot dropping back down his leg slowly. “I’m glad to hear.”

“Mm.” Harry takes her hand completely now and she almost moans at how much bigger his are, his rings pinching a bit, skin rough in some areas, but silky smooth in others. And strangely icy, but she enjoys it. “Shall we say goodbye to your friends first? I wouldn’t want them to worry about you.”

He knows her “friends” couldn’t care less, but he wants to be as much of a gentleman as possible. Romanticize, romanticize, romanticize.

Y/N snorts, knowing full well that they’d probably purposefully embarrass her in front of him as a joke.

She squeezes his grasp lightly, giving him a soft smile. “You’re sweet, but it’s fine. They were actually behind you earlier, encouraging this whole thing, so I’m pretty sure they won’t mind.”

Harry hums deep in the back of his throat and the sound melts into a cute chuckle. “I’m glad they helped, then. Think you can deliver them my thanks some other time?”

The young woman chews on the inside of her cheek at his comment, realizing that it suggests he aims on keeping her occupied for the rest of the night and well into the morning. She has to will herself not to lurch forward and kiss at his annoyingly perfect lips right then and there. “I’ll make sure to pass the message along.”

With one last cocky simper, Harry helps her down from the stool and pays off their tab, offering her his jacket since most of her outfit is made of flimsy fabrics. Y/N takes it appreciatively, lashes fluttering when his scent envelopes her like a blanket. It’s the unique smokiness from his cologne, mixed with a slightly sweeter smell that she assumes is his shampoo, and a bit of something that reminds her of a vanilla candle. The aromas are sewn into every thread of his coat and she can’t wait to have those scents glued all over her more deliberately later tonight.

Harry turns and plunges them into the throng of partiers, weeding through bodies with a type of determination that makes her insides twist. His arm comes up in front of him as he plows people out of the way with absolutely no regret, leaving her to throw out a few half-assed apologies in his wake. The idea that he’s excited to be alone with her has Y/N’s insides churning.

Once they escape all of the grinding limbs and tight spaces, stumbling into the cool air of the starry night, she takes a huge gulp of air. She prays it will tide over the jitters running along the inside of her tummy. She has just now realized how riled up he’d gotten her and it’s all coming to a raging boil.

Harry paces past the bouncer, throwing up two fingers in parting. “Later, Brock.”

The security guard gives the young vampire a confused look, not recognizing him at all and wondering how he knows his name.

Y/N repeats Harry’s phrase for the hell of it, squeezing his hand jestingly and he glimpses over his shoulder, grinning at her with sheer amusement and something much deeper swirling around the specks of copper in his irises. If there was a bit more light, perhaps she would have noticed the way his irises had glinted blood red instead of olive green.

She ogles at the way his back muscles shift and flex below his pastel blue shirt, her mind vaguely taking note of the light yellow detailings along the cuffs and collar. The tee is intriguing and fun and she hopes he’ll let her sleep in it after they’re done.

She also gets distracted by the baby curls decorating the nape of his neck. She’s itching to tug at them and see what his response would be. Would he shiver in her grasp and let out a soft moan, or would he smirk darkly and tell her to go harder?

Harry suddenly halts, snapping her out of her thoughts as he presents his car. Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off. “This is yours?!”

She gawks at the vintage jet black convertible before her, feeling like she isn’t worthy of its chic presence. It looks new, shining in the street lamps like a thousand diamonds, not a scratch or dent in sight.

Harry unlocks the passenger’s door, opening it and guiding her inside with a gentle pull at their clasped hands, shrugging his brows playfully. “Hope it’s not too shabby for your liking.”

“Are you kidding?” The human mumbles in awe as she ducks down into the patented leather seat, running her free hand over the elegant cover. She sighs softly at the way his smell is lingering inside the vehicle, just as much as it sticks to his clothes. “I feel like I should bow to it or something.”

He laughs fully now, leaning down to get a view of her sitting prim and proper in his favorite car, looking gorgeous in her flowy silk pants, lace creme blouse, and his own clothes. He gnaws at his bottom lip to withhold a needy groan. “I think you fit right in.”

Y/N feels warmth erupt into her face and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to distract her fingers from shaking. “Looks like I’m not the only one that’s good at stroking egos.”

“S’hardly a task. You make it easy, doll.”

It’s the second pet name he’s called her tonight— it’s strangely vintage, same as his car— and she can’t wait to hear what others he has in store. Preferably in the form of breathy pants and broken whines.

Y/N flicks her gaze up at him through heavy lashes, attempting to stifle a sheepish smile. “Quite the charmer.”

A moment of silence suspends in the air, a light breeze filtering through Harry’s curls, swaying the jewelry around his neck as well as the earring hanging from his lobe. Harry speaks up with a type of hushed desire she hadn’t heard from him yet. “Can I kiss you?”

She blinks up at him once in mild surprise and then releases a sigh of utter relief. “Fuck, I thought you’d never ask.”

Her hand reaches upwards outside the confines of the car, knitting into the thick fabric of his shirt and yanking him down. The second their mouths meet, it sets off a dozen fireworks in the pit of her stomach. His is softer than she had imagined, wet and warm, and his tongue carries the sourness of the tequila he’d been swishing the whole night.

Harry’s breath hitches in his throat, and then a quiet whimpery moan streams down his tongue onto her itchy skin. “Christ, that was hot.”

As much as she loves the taste of him— the tartness of the alcohol mixed with an inherent sweetness his lips carry— she forces herself to pull away, but keeps her sweaty forehead pressed to his. “Yeah. It was.”

With one hand still gripping the car door, Harry uses his other to cup her chin lightly, guiding her into another kiss. Now that they have both developed a feel for the other, this one is less tentative than the last. She tastes so fucking good on his tongue, like strawberry syrup—probably from her lipgloss— orange bitters, and bourbon. He just has to have more of it.

A helpless gasp escapes Y/N when Harry's teeth graze against her upper lip, only nipping enough that she craves more. More of anything he has to offer.

He pulls away and the whine that plucks her vocal chords feeds his eternal soul like nothing else has in a while.

The young man grins at her for a moment, half in smug satisfaction, half red-faced and desperate, before carefully closing the car door and making his way to the driver’s side. He slides in with ease, shuts his own door and buckles up with a click of the belt. The simple action has never looked so attractive before, but she’s certain that anything Harry does with his ring-covered hands would be attractive.

He fishes his keys from his front pocket, asking her where she lives in order to try and orient himself. As it turns out, she’s not too far away from his own flat. He knows exactly which condominium she’s referring to without having to even search it up— a perk of living here for a few decades.

He also chuckles to himself a bit at the fact that she hadn’t mentioned he shouldn’t drive under the influence. Vampires have an extremely high tolerance due to their self-healing properties, so the drinks he’d had only gave him a soft, warm buzz. He just finds it comical— and slightly arousing— that she’s so eager to get at him that she’d let that detail slip her mind.

Harry starts the car, but doesnt pull out of the parking spot. Instead, he glances at Y/N as a crease appears in his beautifully sculpted brows. The idea of something displeasing him bothers her, and she’s about to ask what it is when he murmurs a quick, “Just a second, dove.” He reaches across to grab her seatbelt, pulling it over her body and securing it into place on her behalf, making sure it’s nice and proper before leaning back in his seat. He doesn’t know why he cared to do it, but he had.

The simple action leaves another layer of heat on Y/N’s cheeks. Having him bent over her like that was just a teaser of what was going to unfold later and it already has her mind spinning. She can only imagine how much of a mess he’s going to leave her when there’s no clothes restraining them.

“Thanks.” She whispers, playing with the tips of her fingers.

“No need to thank me. Just wanna keep that pretty face in one piece.”

He plops one hand on the steering wheel as he shifts into reverse, carefully backing out of his spot. His arm ducks behind her seat, head turning and veins chiseling into his neck. It takes all of Y/N’s willpower not to lean up and begin to darken his tanned skin with hickeys.

Harry cruises up to the exit of the club parking lot, waiting impatiently for the turn signal, digits tapping away at the leather below them. Y/N can see him throwing pained little glances at her from her peripheral vision, obviously restless to feel her skin sliding against his. Each look causes the warmth between her thighs to swell.

She’s talking before she can stop herself, voice bashful and soft as ever, yet full of boldness from the liquor she’d consumed. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to do something to you that’s gonna get us both killed.”

The tapping of his fingers halts and he cranes his head to face her fully, ignoring the flashing green arrow on the stoplight before them.

Harry reaches over the center console, his nose dragging up the length of her cheekbone, causing her to squeak out a tiny whimper at the feathery sensation. It’s the first time tonight he’s touched her so intimately.

The sentence he grits out next makes her entire body visibly shutter, his breath hot against her ear, damp lips smearing over her jaw as his oath burns into her flesh.

“And if you say something like that to me again, I promise you I’ll pull this car over and make you eat every fucking word.”

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likeahorribledream · 3 years

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The One That Got Away

Chapter 7: Number One

Summary: Charlie tries to settle into her new routine, without Bucky. As she's finally getting back on track, she has to go on her first date with Potential Future Husband Number One.

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: A little bit of angst, one jackass, worst mother ever.

The two weeks following the fight, Charlie spent her time either at work or with Steve. As she had promised him, she did all the research she could to find the best training possible with what they had.

The training was going well, both her and Steve were sore pretty much all the time. After a week of working out with him, she had decided to be the ‘’brains’’ of the operation and leave the ‘’muscles’’ part to him. She was way too out of shape for boot camps. Steve was happy to have her around to help him, whether she was working out alongside him or cheering him on while he was doing the exercises she was telling him to do; it was nice to be able to spend more time with her.

It took almost a week of them hanging out together every afternoon after work before he started to see a change. Slowly, his friend was coming back to him. She started to smile again and the first time she laughed he grinned non-stop for 5 minutes. It took her a little more than a week before she stopped waiting for Bucky to show up. She had been waiting for him outside every day for lunch, but he never came. Whenever they were working out in the park together, she was always hopeful that he would join them but he never did. Steve knew it was hard for Bucky to stay away and he was impressed that he had managed to do it for this long.

Every time he had seen Charlie searching for Bucky and looking sad when she couldn’t find him, Steve had wanted so badly to tell her why Bucky had said what he had said and did what he did but that would only push her towards him and ruin all the efforts Bucky had put towards protecting her, so he never said anything. In a way, he was relieved when he noticed she had stopped looking around the park in the hopes that Bucky had finally changed his mind but it also saddened him because he knew it meant she was starting to move on.

When Bucky asked about her and how she was doing, he never knew what to tell his friend. Should he tell the truth and say that she was still sad, making him feel more guilty in the process or should he lie and say she was fine, which he knew would make Bucky feel better and worse all at the same time. Bucky wanted her to feel better, he hated knowing she was still in bad shape but if she felt better, it meant she was forgetting about him and just the thought made him want to cry. Steve avoided answering by only telling his friend what the two of them had been up to with his boot camp, being careful not to tell him anything about how she was feeling. None of the answers he had for Bucky would make him feel better.

Ever since her fight with her parents, Charlie had been more distant towards them. She ate dinner with them every night, per their request. She waited until they told her she could excuse herself before walking away from them. She knew she was on thin ice and that anything could set them off, so she played the role of the dutiful daughter, doing everything they said as soon as they said it.

Charlie came back to her room after dinner. She had been sitting in bed, reading, for an hour before a soft knock was heard at her door. She put her bookmark between the pages open in front of her and closed the book, putting it on her lap. She told the person to come in and was surprised to see her mom. Ever since that night, her mom had been avoiding her. If she had something to say, she would send her father to tell her and Charlie was fine with it. Her mother wasn’t really high up on the list of people Charlie tolerated at the moment.

Mrs. Mathews looked at her daughter, no emotions showing on her face and stepped into her room to stand at the foot of her bed.

‘’This Saturday, you have your first date.’’ Her mother announced, like she was talking about the weather. As if it was nothing when she knew how much it would affect her daughter.

Charlie felt bile rise up in her mouth and her stomach dropped. She knew this moment was coming but a small, naive part of her had hoped they had changed their mind. Her mom kept talking, telling her all about her date. His name, his age, who were his parents, what job he had and where they were going. Charlie forced herself to listen to her mother but none of what she said completely registered with her and as soon as the door closed behind Mrs. Mathews, Charlie had already forgotten everything except that she was going on a date with Potential Future Husband number 1. She knew she was being childish but she refused to learn their names. She had named them PFH number one through five.

Having lost interest in the book she had been reading, she decided to go to bed instead. She put her book on her nightstand right on top of the one that had been laying there for the past 2 weeks. The book that Bucky had started reading to her. She turned off the lights and closed her eyes. She hated the fact that just the thought of Bucky made her sad, she hated that she missed him when he had made it blatantly clear that he couldn’t care less about her. That night, Charlie once again fell asleep with the images of Bucky telling her she wasn’t worth his time replaying in her head, ignoring the stubborn tears that were falling despite her eyes being closed.

Charlie’s co-workers knew something had happened but didn't know what it was. Just that it was bad, bad enough for her to close in on herself and put up her guards. She had even asked to be moved from the front desk to the back office and only work on the patients’ charts and files. The only person who was aware of the situation was the owner of the clinic, her dad’s friend who had hired her. He was on strict orders to fire her the moment James Barnes would show up at the clinic.

Everyone was worried about her, but they knew better than to ask questions. The whole energy at work had shifted, having lost their sunshine; the one person who could make anyone smile through a bad day or through pain. If someone was having a bad day, it stuck with them until the end of their shift because the only person who always knew what to say or what to do to lift their spirits up was hiding in an office, far from them.

They were just as surprised to see that no one was coming in to see her anymore. The friend that used to come eat lunch with her every day was gone and their most regular patient, Steve, hadn’t been seen in weeks. Although it seemed like the two were connected, it was just that Steve was focusing all of his time and energy on his training and didn’t want to risk ruining all of his hard work by getting hurt in an alley fight.

The next day at work, Charlie seemed even more closed off. Her co-workers had slowly started to see the old Charlie coming back to them but all of that was gone overnight. She came in, said a quick good morning to everyone and disappeared in the back office for the entire day. When they saw her again, it was at the end of the day when she left. She wished a good night, to no one in particular and walked out.

She walked straight to the park to meet Steve. No matter how bad her mood was, she never stood him up and always showed up to his training.

When he saw her arrive, he instantly knew something was wrong. Where there usually was a smile, he found a small pout; her face frozen in a frown. Her shoulders were slightly slouched and there was no energy in her steps whatsoever. She stopped walking and started looking around for him, he waited until their eyes met and waved her over.

As she walked over, she gave herself a small inner pep-talk to get into a good mood. Steve had been an amazing and supporting friend with everything that had happened, she knew she hadn’t been the best of company and brought down the mood so she forced herself to smile before reaching Steve and faked enthusiasm.

‘’Hey Stevie.’’ She greeted him, trying to sound as cheerful as possible.

‘’Hey Char.’’ He smiled softly at her before bringing her into a hug. ‘’What happened?’’

She hugged him back, sighing. ‘’I’m sorry.’’ She whispered.

He took a few steps back to look at her. ‘’What are you apologizing for?’’

‘’I’m always in a bad mood lately, I always have problems. I’ve been a bad friend and I’m sorry.’’

‘’You don’t have to apologize for having a hard time. What you’re going through is not easy.’’ He hugged again before letting her go completely. ‘’So, tell me.’’

She motioned for them to start stretching, she was in a mood where she needed to blow out steam and working out with Steve was the perfect solution.

‘’I have my first date on Saturday.’’

Steve stopped stretching, looking at her with sadness in his eyes.

‘’Oh.. Char.’’

‘’It’s fine. We knew it was coming.’’ She tried to shrug it off.

‘’Wanna talk about it?’’

Charlie shook her head no.

‘’Wanna sweat about it?’’ He joked.

Charlie’s only answer was a big grin.

They spent the rest of the afternoon working-out, well Steve was working-out while Charlie was cheering him on, completely out of breath.

‘’I didn’t think I would ever be in a better shape than someone else.’’ He laughed in-between reps.

She stuck out her tongue at him. ‘’Ha. Ha. Ha. Aren’t you a funny one, Rogers.’’

‘’I know, I’m hilarious. It was about time you acknowledge it.’’ He smirked.

She rolled her eyes at him, smiling.

‘’I guess I was too blinded by my own flawless sense of humour to notice yours.’’ She shrugged.

Now Steve was the one rolling his eyes and laughed, pointing at his own head.

‘’How’s your ego? Good? Does that big head of yours make it difficult to walk through doors?’’

‘’My ego is fine, thank you for asking and yes, it is difficult sometimes, some door frames are smaller than others but I just learned to side step. I’ve gotten excellent at it.’’

Steve whistled, his eyes focusing on her head. ‘’Fascinating. I think I can actually see it grow before my very eyes.’’

‘’Aren’t you supposed to be training right now?’’

‘’Aren’t you?’’ He shot back.

Charlie gasped dramatically and they both started laughing. Steve went back to training, finishing today’s boot camp before falling to the ground, sitting next to his friend.

‘’You’re getting better every day Stevie. I’m proud of you.’’ She smiled.

Steve blushed at the compliment, not that anyone could notice, his face already red from all his hard work. She forced him to stretch afterwards, even if he kept complaining that he was too exhausted and he didn’t need to stretch even if deep down he knew he would be less sore the next day.

They walked home in silence, aside from their giggling. Anyone who saw them wouldn’t be able to tell that these two were full grown adults by the way they walked, shoving into one another; their steps going in every direction but a straight line, and by how they acted.

After an eventful walk home, they stopped a block away from Charlie’s house. It had become where they met and where they said goodbye, Steve didn’t come over anymore. They hugged once last time and went their separate ways.

Charlie felt so much better. All the laughing and running around almost made her forget what was waiting for her at home. Almost. But tonight, she couldn’t be bothered with it all. She had just had one of the best days in a long time and she was determined to not let anything ruin it. She was careful not to do or say anything that would set her father off, as soon as it was possible she disappeared to her room and finally let herself relax once she had closed the door.

She was getting ready for bed, brushing her wet hair from her, very much needed, shower. She was looking at herself in the mirror and being tired, she zoned out. Her eyes weren’t focusing on anything in particular, looking in her mirror at the reflection of her room behind her. She was looking around, still through the mirror, when something caught her eye; bringing her out of her thoughts. She gently placed the brush on her desk, to its rightful spot and turned around. She started looking around again, trying to find what had caught her attention but she couldn’t find it. She took a few steps to the side, when she saw it again. Something was shining in the light from her room. She walked over and picked it up.

Her locket.

She closed her fingers around it and brought her hand to her chest, where the locket usually would be and took a deep breath while closing her eyes.

‘’I’m sorry Gran. I know it meant a lot to you, it meant a lot to me too. I really wish you were here right now.’’ She whispered, almost inaudibly. ‘’I miss you.’’

As she opened her eyes again, she tried to think of a place where she could put the necklace. Somewhere that she would know it was safe, hidden from her parents but where she would still have easy access to it. Her eyes fell on the books piled up on her nightstand, finding the perfect hiding place. Her parents never looked through her books, they would never bother themselves trying to find out more about her interests.

She took the book that she had started reading with Bucky and found the page they were on. She hid the necklace in between pages, as close as possible to the bookbinding to not make it too obvious that it wasn’t closing completely because of the pendant. Closing the book, she put it back where it had been; under the book she was currently reading.

She fell asleep easily that night, feeling more at peace than she did the night before and every other night before that.

Saturday came around quickly, too quickly. Like everyone else, Charlie always looked forward to the weekend but not this time. Steve had tried to reassure her, saying it would go smoothly and that maybe she would even like him but she knew that if her parents had chosen him for her, he probably didn’t have anything in common with her but everything in common with them.

The pit in her stomach made it more difficult to get excited and to get ready. Even though she had half a mind to not put any effort on how she would look, she knew it would only mean more trouble for her so she decided to look her best, as if it was a real date. A date she wanted to be on with a man she liked.

She looked at herself one more time in the mirror to make sure her hair was secured into place, that her eyeliner looked good and that her dress looked flawless; not a wrinkle in sight. After all, she had to show her ‘’housewife potential’’. She heard knocking at the front door and took a shaky breath. She grabbed her clutch and opened her bedroom door, cringing at her father’s loud laugh. She walked downstairs, avoiding to look at the man waiting for her as long as she possibly could, that way she didn’t have to talk to him. Instead, she focused all of her attention on her feet as she walked down. It looked completely natural, like she was simply trying not to trip. Unfortunately, she reached the first floor and finally had to look up.

Number One looked handsome, too handsome. He had a smug look on his face, the kind of look that screamed ‘’I know I’m hot, I’m a big shot and better than you.’’ and Charlie hated that. It was going to be a long night.

She shook his hands while her dad was introducing him, honestly she wasn’t really listening and just nodded politely when he asked if she was ready to go.

He told her parents he would bring her back no later than 10pm, then shook her father’s hand. He turned around, opened the door and walked outside towards the cab that had been waiting for them; never looking back to see if she was following him. She followed not long after, a bit disappointed that he hadn’t opened the door for her and let her walk out first, guiding her with his hand resting on the small of her back like gentlemen did. Like James Bucky did.

The restaurant was nice and very expensive. The waiter walked them over to their table, right next to the window that looked over the street from where they had just come from. She followed the waiter, looking on the tables around to see what looked good. Great, she thought, ridiculously small portions. I should have eaten before this. Although it was really ‘’unlady-like’’, Charlie liked it. She didn’t care about the name of the restaurant or how much everything cost. She cared about actually eating and loving the food on her plate. That wasn’t going to happen tonight.

When they reached their table, Number One pulled out a chair and sat down. He didn’t pull out her chair, he didn’t ask her which seat she preferred; the one facing the wall or the one back to the wall. He barely even looked at her. Leaving her with the chair against the wall, she started walking over to sit but was stopped by the waiter who gave her a small smile. He pulled out her chair for her and waited until she was comfortably sitting before leaving them. She thanked him with a small nod and looked at the man sitting across from her, there was no doubt in her mind that he didn’t want to be here either. She wondered why he accepted to do this, clearly he had to be coerced into it otherwise he wouldn’t be here.

She was surprised to learn that he was here of his own free will.

‘’I like those kinds of dates, '’ he started. Dates, plural. Not his first time doing this.

‘’I like to see what kind of sad woman needs her parents to set her up on dates with men.’’ He snickered. ‘’Couldn’t find anyone to love you on your own uh?’’ He added with a mocking tone, pouting to mock her even more.

As rude as he was, Charlie sincerely didn’t care about what he said. He didn’t mean anything to her and his opinion meant even less.

Her eyes drifted to the window, watching people walk by as they looked curiously into the restaurants. Human nature, always so curious. The man in front of her kept talking, never noticing that she wasn’t listening to a single word he said.

The people on the street were much more interesting than he was, she was almost amused; a small smile at the corner of her lips. Her arm was resting on the table and her hand was under her chin, holding her head up. The small smile quickly faded when her eyes met with someone’s on the street. She sat straighter in her chair, her hand falling on the table. The pit in her stomach got even worse, the lump in her throat that had rapidly formed made it hard to swallow or breathe.

It was the first time she had seen him ever since that night almost 3 weeks ago. Bucky.

They both froze into place, even though a window separated them. Her heart started beating faster, just as his did too.

He had managed to avoid running into her for the past 3 weeks. Avoiding every place he knew she went to often, taking a different way home in case Steve would be bringing her over as he lived close to him. He thought that going out for a walk on a Saturday night would be safe, she usually spent her Saturday reading books or by sorting them and rearranging her shelves. He really didn’t expect to see her and the way her expression changed, Bucky knew she hadn’t expected to see him either. He finally broke eye contact, looking her over. It felt like he hadn’t seen her in months, when in reality it had only been a few weeks.

He noticed how dolled up she was and how beautiful she looked. He started moving before he even realized it, walking towards her.

When Bucky broke eye contact, Charlie also took the time to look him over. She wondered if his hair had always had that cute little curl at the front of it. As he started walking closer, her heartbeat picked up. Her heart was beating so fast and so loud that she was sure everyone in the restaurant could hear it.

That’s when he finally saw him; the reason that she was out on a Saturday night, the reason why she looked so beautiful. Number One.

It was like he had been in a trance when his eyes met hers, for a few moments he had forgotten why she wasn’t in his life anymore and why he couldn’t hear his favorite sound again, the sound of her laugh but when he saw the man sitting across from her, everything came rushing back and he was brought back to reality.

He stopped walking, meeting her eyes one more time; so many emotions went through his head and showed in his eyes. He sincerely hoped that everything he had wanted to say and every apology he had been dying to confess could be seen in his eyes.

Then, he turned around and walked away, disappearing as quickly as he had appeared.

Charlie spent the entire date thinking about Bucky and the look in his eyes. He looked so sad but why? He never cared about her, he told her so himself. Hundreds of questions were running through her mind while she ate. She had barely ordered anything, she had lost her appetite.

When the check came, she was glad she did. Number One paid for his half and then pointed to Charlie, talking to the waiter like she wasn’t even there.

‘’She’ll take care of the rest.’’ He said, with a smirk.

The jerk. He wanted her to not be able to pay, to ask him to pay for her half because she didn’t have any money. He wanted her to feel humiliated. Can’t find a man and can’t pay for yourself? Pathetic. She could almost hear him say those words, his smug expression said it all.

Charlie looked at the waiter with a big, genuine smile on her face before grabbing the clutch that rested on the table next to her and opening it.

‘’With pleasure.’’ She said, pulling out a few bills and handing them over to the waiter.

He stopped smiling instantly, clearly angry that she hadn’t needed to beg for him to pay for her meal. It seemed like her parents had left out the part about how she worked everyday, which almost meant she got a paycheck every other week.

Now, he was the one feeling embarrassed. She had completely turned the situation on him and he ended up looking like the cheap date who couldn’t afford taking out women in places like the one they were in right now.

The waiter looked down at Charlie, grinning. He had seen and heard everything Number One had said and done since they had walked in and he was glad to see her put him back in his place.

They walked out of the restaurant and Charlie swore she could see smoke coming out of his ears. He waved over a cab and turned his face to look at Charlie.

‘’You can find your own way home.’’ He said coldly before sitting in the cab and closing the door, telling the driver to go.

Charlie sighed. Although he was extremely rude and she absolutely despised him, she really didn’t feel like walking home alone. Especially not in this dress and those shoes. Her dinner had been expensive and she didn’t have any money left to get a cab.

‘’What a jerk.’’ She said out loud, angry.

Suddenly she felt someone behind her, standing close to her. Too close. A hand rested on her left shoulder before it ran down her arm, fingertips brushing against her skin. They were the kind of little touches that would have made her swoon if she hadn’t been so terrified.

‘’Bad date?’’ Was whispered in her ear as the hand on her left arm reached hers, closing around it.

***

As I promised yesterday, chapter 7 is here! I hope you enjoyed it, let me know what you think.

34 notes · View notes

physicistdyke · 4 years

Text

Transed his own Gender

Dr. Harold P. Coomer is trans, he's worked his whole academic career to make his body just how he wanted it. Now, at age 46, he finally has an opportunity with his work at Black Mesa to get bottom surgery. But his colleague and friend Dr Bubby, who doesn’t know anything about gender besides the strict hetero-normative and patriarchal culture of STEM, objects to the new and risky procedure while questioning Coomers desires to put his own safety at risk all for a silly gen-dar.

rb >> likes!

Link to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25611880

or read under cut

It was both viciously empowering and crumbled him to the core. He had a power over his own body, rare for the here and now in this space and time. Harold had felt this way many times before, an advantage that should be a right. He could relieve his own suffering, but at what cost? The lingering thoughts would stick with him, latching on like a parasite, a cancer. A hand on his shoulder brought him back into his body, a body he’s worked so hard for. He turned back to see his colleague, stoic in expression. Dr Bubby was not good at expressing emotions in a conventional manner, but other characteristics helped to convey what his face could not. Right now the pressure he was applying with his hand on Coomer’s shoulder mixed with how he avoided eye contact told Coomer that Bubby was afraid. Bubby was afraid for Coomer. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Bubby started. Coomer was about to reply, but Bubby’s own racing mind cut him off. “It’s a very experimental procedure you know, I was reading over the cybernetics reports-“ “Please Bubby,” Coomer turned and looked up at him straight on, he saw worry in his friend’s eyes, “I am fully aware of what I’m doing, I have done just as much research as you.” He said these words with confidence. He didn’t want to hurt his friends feelings more, but sometimes Bubby’s ego got the best of him. Bubby took a step back from the other man, as if the eye contact burned him. Harold was one of the few people Bubby could look in the eyes without that feeling, but now it felt like the island of experience between them was distant. He averted his gaze back to a corner of the room, reconsidering his own words and constructing a sentence most logical for the situation. “I just don’t understand your desire to keep going forward with this, you’re already well respected enough.” *** ____________________________________

This would be Coomer’s first procedure since he had met Bubby. The most recent before that was the operation on his chest, he had snagged that opportunity while working on his post doctorate. That was an experimental procedure at the time too, but Coomer’s endless tap of kindness and intelligence had been able to convince his friends in the medical department and their higher ups that this was an ethically sound decision. Even though Coomer himself never wished to study human anatomy, much preferring engineering and physics to biology, the circumstances of his life pushed him to learn more then he wanted to know. This study began the second he got to college, an unaware and afraid young man, he used his own body as test subject. Mixing concoctions that transformed his body and mind. By the time he was applying for his masters, he was a new man. All the insecurity and anxiousness of his younger years behind him, he now shone like the star he was. From there he made incremental and bolder steps in the process of his transition; first with the top surgery as mentioned before, and now, at the age of 46, he was arranging what would hopefully be his final procedure. Black Mesa did a lot of things, and apparently mechanical prosthetics was now one of them. The new cybernetics department had already made wondrous strides in terms of arms and legs, restoring ability to those in their ranks that needed it. These semi-mechanical, semi-flesh prosthetics fascinated Dr. Coomer to no end. About 8 months ago he had started wandering into the department more often. Finding himself asking passing questions to colleagues, asking questions from a genuine place in the heart. Dr. Coomer was open to talk about his experiences as a trans man, but a majority of his peers were always too uncomfortable to ask. They saw it as an oddity within a good man, he saw it as something that helped make him the good man he was today. The gap in that understanding stung Coomer sometimes, and the feeling of isolation sometimes crept up on him. But his smile and the passion for his studies often helped to bring him away from that space. It was about 2 months ago when he picked out a particular team within the cybernetics department, and started to have more serious conversations with them. From a scientific perspective, everyone involved was enthralled by the prospect. Combine that with Coomer's consistent fascination, confidence, and consent, they were fast approaching a place where action could be taken. _____________________________________

Bubby had noticed his friend's increased absence from their own department. Missing from collaboration meetings, not in his office or nearest break room for their usual chit chat. Coomer was an unlikely but much appreciated friend to Bubby. They had met about 10 years prior, when Bubby was nearly done the process of being titled 'a successful prototype'. Coomer was an unexpected ray of sunshine in Bubby's life. Showing him a kindness and understanding Bubby never had the luxury to live with. Being regarded as a test subject and experiment your whole life does that to you. ____________________________________

Bubby didn't know what being trans meant when Coomer first brought it up with him. Bubby, in reality, didn't even know what gender meant. He had a vague grasp on the fact that gender existed. The knowledge tubes his creators attached to him all those years ago mostly skipped out on all topics of liberal arts, humanity, sociology, etc, except for the most minimum required for him to be a somewhat functioning social life form. But what Dr Bubby lacked in those nuanced interactions and social rules, he well made up for in his ability to observe and form logical conclusions (according to his own account). He was aware of the fact that some people were referred to differently. Out of Black Mesas staff, a small minority were referred to as ‘she’. This group had a tendency to dress different from the rest of the staff, occasionally donning skirts and dresses, and varying from person to person on pigment applied to the face. Bubby viewed these people as his equal (or more so equally below him as the rest of his male co-workers, as he was still an egotistical jerk), but he couldn’t help but notice the trends surrounding this group. Bubby heard the back handed remarks, the passing jokes, the tone of superiority made by some of his male colleagues about the fairer sex. He saw the anxiety in his female colleagues when this attitude approached them. He noted the equal distribution of men to women in the ranks of visiting grad students and post docs, yet the stark lack of women in actual professional roles at Black Mesa. He saw the complacency in nearly all of his male colleagues regarding the generally accepted treatment words the ‘fairer sex’. Nearly all his male colleagues. Coomer and Bubby had been working together for a few years, and a friendship (or the closest thing to that someone could get to with Bubby) had started to really solidify. They were on lunch together, discussing the published panels from a recent convention on nuclear physics. Bubby was particularly fascinated in some newly publish findings on strange Beta decay experiments. He excitedly postulated the possibilities the results could mean for the future of the strong nuclear force. Dr Coomer was as supportive and thoughtful towards his friend as ever, but something else seemed to be occupying his thoughts. “Did you read over the notes from the panel on gender issues in STEM?” Dr. Coomer eventually interrupted when his lingering thoughts became too present. This caught Bubby off guard, but he quickly caught up with his colleagues present state of mind, “I didn’t because I saw it as trivial. I mean, it was a convention on nuclear physics, why waste time with trivial matters of progressing social etiquette?” Coomer furrowed his brow and Bubby realized he had perhaps chosen the wrong words, “Well Professor, if you had spent the time to read, you’d realize it was barely focusing on Progressing social etiquette at all. The man they chose to lead the panel was as backwards thinking about women’s role in science as the Pythagoreans were about irrational numbers.” Bubby shuffled in his chair with slight discomfort, he was never put up to the task of discussing matters like this, “Ah, yes. Well that is a shame. Pretty fucked up too… But I’m sure women will find a way to still contribute valuable findings.” “It’s difficult enough already, I’m sick of this two steps forwards one step back mentality.” Coomer was submerged in his own thoughts, barely acknowledging Bubby’s weak response. “Things have barely changed since my undergrad days. I’m lucky I managed to survive the few years I did in academia being perceived as a woman.” Bubby processed this as neatly and quickly as he could. Gender could be changed. ____________________________________

***“What do you mean by respect, Professor?” Dr. Coomer asked, cooling his own emotions. “You know what I mean, you’re already perceived as a man! You’re no longer are seen as a woman and you’re no longer discriminated against. I admire that you’ve figured out a way to jump the backwards system but-“ he was cut off by Coomer. “Bubby,” Coomer looked at his friend, trying to fathom what the hell had gone wrong in that ‘perfect’ brain of his. He finally gathered his thoughts, “I’m not, trans- because I wanted to be respected. I’m trans because I just am.” Bubby ruminated on his colleagues response, “Well fine, if not for the respect then it’s simply conformity! It makes complete sense Harold, science can be a real dog eat dog world. Anything that makes you separate from the norm is just a weight to be lifted.” “What the actual hell are you talking about professor” a tone of anger and disappointment filled Coomer’s voice, “This is some really problematic thinking you know.” Bubby gave a huff and deepened his gaze to the corner of the room, he mulled over his thoughts and tried to choose his words carefully. As much as he hated to admit it, he really knew very little about gender, but his drive to maintain the upper hand kept him from admitting that. He decided drawing from personal experience was the most logical argument to make, “I mean, that’s why I’m a man. I guess I just always assumed it was the same for you.” Coomer’s look of annoyance turned to one of intrigue, it was rare for Bubby to share his more personal thoughts and feelings. Coomer took this opportunity to prod his colleague, “Is that so Dr Bubby?”, he knew how to get Bubby in a more comfortable mindset, “Then tell me, do you feel like a man?”. “What the fuck is that suppose to mean?” Bubby sneered, “I don’t feel like a man, I just present like one. What the hell does feeling have to do with gender?” Coomer chuckled a little, realizing his friend wasn’t a complete bigot, just an idiot. “I say Dr. Bubby, it looks like your creators really didn’t connect any gender tubes to that brain of yours. Did they tell you the you were a man?” Bubby was feeling increasingly exposed and embarrassed but kept his composure. “Those bastards didn’t tell me anything! At least not directly. I popped out of the tube and they just started calling me ‘he’ and I just rolled with it. I thought that happened to everyone! Until I met you,” Bubby finally returned his gaze to Coomer. Slight tones of confusion, fear, and anger made up his expression, “I could tell that it sucked to be a woman, regardless of their extra freedom of expression with clothes and things like that. So it made sense to me that you changed your presentation to avoid the ridicule.” Coomer enjoyed pressing Bubby’s ‘think deeply about something other than science’ button, but refrained and decided to give some explanation. “Bubby, that really isn’t how gender works in the slightest! I mean for some people they’re content with what ever gender they were assigned at birth, but even then they have some sort of emotional attachment or sense of that gender. And for others, like me, they feel a stronger connection to some other gender and they make what ever adjustments feels right for them. With everyone it can be pretty fluid throughout their lifetimes, but it’s all very personal. What gender do you feel Bubby?” “I don’t feel like any fucking gender! I feel like a scientist, can’t I just be that?” Bubby tapped his foot and rolled the hem of his lab coat between his fingers. He was glad he was talking about this with Harold, but it still felt awkward as hell. “Of course you can Dr. Bubby!” Coomer beamed at his colleagues honesty, “Though I don’t think you could be considered trans though, you were assigned Scientist at Birth™.” Cooper laughed at his own joke, which in turn made Bubby relax and smile a bit himself. Coomer placed a hand on Bubby’s sholder, “Ah, but in all seriousness. It’s completely valid to not be a man or a woman. There are plenty of people like that! And it’s also ok to not have any gender at all! You can feel and express yourself however you want to Bubby, and at least I’ll be here to fully support you. I hope you’re willing to do the same for me.” Bubby looked to the side in a sheepish but calmer way, “Well, of course Harold. I guess I didn’t fully understand how much this meant to you. I’m, um, sorry for speaking over you about this.” A sorry from Bubby was a rare commodity. “It’s alright. You were worried about my well being and I’m grateful for that! You were miss informed and kind of stupid, but I’m glad you were willing to open up and have an honest conversation with me.” Bubby smiled and his gaze was finally able to align with Coomer’s again, the feeling of safety retuned and his anxieties took a back seat. “Well, if it’s alright with you, I’d love to help you and the cybernetics department in your research and development. Learn more about the cutting edge of gender confirming surgery and whatnot.” Coomer beamed at the support, “Ah! I’d be happy to include you in Project Black Mesa Super Shlong 3000! I can grab some of the blueprints we’ve been working on right now!” Coomer left Bubby’s office in an excited hurry and would return shortly. In that time Bubby reflected on the conversation. Not needing to be a man or a woman? Not needing any gender at all? That sounded really nice to Bubby. He still had a lot to learn about life outside of Black Mesa and the apparently fluid rules of gender, but he was glad he Coomer there to fill in the gaps.

#hlvrai #half life vr but the ai is self aware #coomer #dr coomer #bubby #dr bubby #bubby hlvrai #coomer hlvrai #this is a lil silly #Tried not to make it too angsty but also it has a lot of serious talk about gender identity #two fics in one year?#This is a new record #boomer #They're not explicitly dating but I gave their relationship the qualities of a real relationship so #Also don't dead brain come at me thinking I feel how bubby feels about gender #he's literally framed as wrong in his ideas but is shown compassion and capability to grow #like we all are

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villains-with-benefits · 4 years

Text

Playing the blame game, and other pointless endeavours

A reflection on BNHA Chapter 291

Before and after: or, How to violently radicalise an abuse victim in five easy steps

I think a lot of the people throwing blame around or trying to declare that one character or another is the One True Villain™ or the One True Victim™ need to stop seeing personal responsibility as a zero sum game, because it really isn't.

Arguing about whether Dabi and Endevour should each have 50% of the blame or if it's more of a 60/40 or 70/30 split (in either direction) is pointless. Endeavour is 100% responsible for his abuse of his family and general failings as a human being, and Dabi is 100% responsible for the lives he's taken and people he's hurt in retaliation because of it.

Sure these two things are absolutely related in that good ol' cause-and-effect sense, much like how an earthquake at sea will cause a tsunami. And much like them neither happened in a vacuum, the surrounding environmental conditions needed to be just right for a perfect storm of this magnitude to occur. It just so happens that in this case both the earthquake (Endeavour) and the tsunami (Dabi) are not faceless forces of nature, but human beings with superpowers who chose to take action based on their deep-set mental and emotional issues at everyone else's expense, either because they think their needs are more important, they think the price paid is worth being the means to the end or (most likely) a combination of the two.

Please note, I don't say this to excuse or condemn either character, the readers who are taking sides, or even Horikoshi's writing. It's pretty well established by now that one of the biggest themes in BNHA is that there is no perfect black and white when it comes to people and society and morality, and just about all the conflict is driven by just how badly their entire system (which is built and determined to die on that hill) messes it up for absolutely everyone on all sides. Saying Dabi is a Bad Victim while Shouto is a Good Victim is just as pointless, because you're missing that the real villain is their broken society, of which everyone is a victim, even Endeavour.

Again, Endeavour was the one to abuse his family and he gets no passes for that so don't even try to argue that's what I'm saying, but he didn't wake up one day and just decide to do it. If Chapter 291 has done anything it's shown how escalation is nine tenths of the law in cases like this. He was already an asshole narcissist with a raging inferiority complex, we've heard from his own POV in an earlier chapter that he purposefully chose Rei to have kids with to eugenics a solution to his problem, he was never an upstanding guy.

While we don't see Endeavour's own upbringing there's a reason he's been such a strong narrative parallel with Bakugou, so we can make an educated guess from what we've seen of his what it must have been like having a powerful Quirk and ambitions being fed by the people around him, and the way Bakugou has clashed with characters like Deku and Shouto when he was confronted with the reality that he wasn't going to get Number One effortlessly, we can guess how well he took realising he was always going to be Number 2.

Pictured: the hero equivalent of always the bridesmaid, never the bride.

At least with Bakugou's rivals they're his own age and acknowledge him as a rival, All Might is at least a decade older than Endeavour and he's always been a loner who didn't get to know his colleagues that well. As readers we know All Might keeps his distance because he's kinda awkward socially, and because between the threat of All For One and maintaining the flawless image of the Symbol of Peace he wasn't ever able to let his guard down or it might risk people's safety. But just like Bakugou assuming Deku was looking down on him, from Endeavour's perspective it probably looked like All Might was looking down on Endeavour too.

Again, not excusing Endeavour. He's an asshole and needs to be held accountable for his actions. But just like Bakugou he didn't spring fully formed from the womb as an asshole, sure he had all the ingredients for it but their society is what decided it was a good idea to put the lime in the coconut and mix it all up, just like he's the one who broke Touya which ultimately led to the creation of Dabi.

Which brings us back to Dabi not just calling out his abusive dad but making a spectacle of it, and while again, yes, he's done a lot of murder and that's not okay either, he is absolutely justified in this. Especially because the part of his reasoning for his actions which isn't just maniacal laughter (also totally valid) is that he's correctly identified, much like Shigaraki, that while specific individuals have hurt them and must pay for it, that the overarching problem is hero society itself.

Shigaraki attacked All Might at first because Sensei said so, but later on because he was the symbol of everything he felt wrong with society, everything he's done has been to attack the pillars of the hero system like All Might and UA. Dabi attacked Endeavour, his abuser, but not just physically attacking him as a man and a father, but by attacking his reputation as the Number One Hero and the new pillar of society.

Pictured: an asshole who's realising that no matter how badly you think you done fucked up, another asshole can always come along and point out just how much worse it actually was than you thought.

Endeavour's sin was always acting as a hero first and a father second, if ever, and even then it was usually still to further his own ego and ambitions, which was tied so tightly to his role as a hero that Endeavour pretty much didn't exist outside of that. So Touya with his healthy sense of dramatic irony is naturally retaliating by treating him as a hero first and a father second, if ever, because that's the standard of behaviour that Endeavour himself set. Before discarding him for the new model he made it clear he wanted his son to be powerful, aggressive, independent, and to take down the Number One Hero without regard for anything else, and that's exactly what Dabi is doing. He's giving Endeavour exactly what he wished for and is making him choke on it.

Just like he said, Touya's making sure Endeavour reaps exactly what he sowed because it proves his point, that if he hadn't been such a violent, toxic narcissist none of this would be happening. His desire to call out his abuser is both personal and justified (regardless of how he's going about it), and it shouldn't be condemned because it has nothing to do with his family. His family, who he was the scapegoat of and who he hasn't seen in probably around a decade, and who are still keeping silent about the abuse even though as far as they know it killed him. I'm not saying he hates the rest of his family like he hates Endeavour (though it probably comes closest with Shouto, there's a lot to unpack there) but it would be a very complicated web of love and grief and resentment and guilt that he'd need a weapons-grade therapist to unravel, which he's clearly never gotten considering this is how he's dealing with the trauma.

tl;dr Touya is a victim just like Shouto, and all the awful things he's done as Dabi don't detract from that, just as his victimhood doesn't excuse his actions either.

In conclusion, you don't have to reconcile or find explanations or excuses for Endeavour's abuse or how any of the other Todorokis have been dealing with it, especially Touya. They are all established facts and exist as objective truth regardless of our feelings on the matter. Instead of making moral judgement on the characters (or the readers who love them/hate them) maybe we all need to stop and think about it critically first, especially when chapters are still incoming and we don't even have the full story yet.

If we can all spend some quality time thinking objectively about all the sides of the story and what lessons we can learn from them, I can guarantee that little things like 'having compassion', 'listening to victims and survivors before they have to resort to domestic terrorism to be heard' and 'learning from the mistakes of the past' will get us all much better results than just sharpening some pitchforks, no matter who they're pointed at.

#bnha manga spoilers #bnha 290 #bnha 291 #dabi is todoroki touya #dabi #endeavour #shigaraki tomura #todoroki shouto #hero society #bnha meta #bnha analysis #bakugou katsuki #how to violently radicalize an abuse victim in five steps or less #i get that endeavour is a bastard and it's satisfying to dunk on him don't get me wrong #but there's enjoying the glorious schadenfreude and then there's ripping into other fans for not agreeing with you on exactly how to do it

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 3 years

Text

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 140 prt 1

140

Rieva climbed into bed, laying so she was facing him. Lance crying. It hurt yelling at Keith. He’d sacked up and told his boyfriend and Keith... No. Keith had a right to be mad, but Rieva was kind of right that he hadn’t had the right time to tell Keith

“Lance, can you look at me?”

Sniffling, Lance pried his eyes open, Rieva smiling at him

“Boys just don’t get it”

Lance snorted, hiccuping weirdly but she wasn’t yelling so that was kind of nice

“I really have been trying”

“I know you would have been. I’m sorry we heard you”

“I knew he’d be mad... but he wasn’t there”

“He wanted to be. He really did. Not being with you he was angry and he frustrated. I think he’s beyond hurting over Mami. I know he brought her a Christmas gift. I think he believed he’d be coming home to both his family members”

Lance sniffled again

“He was supposed to be...”

“I know. He knows too. You know he blows up when he gets angry at himself, especially when he had this dream to come back to you. Are the twins really in risk?”

“Coran made it sound like... maybe. He said so many things and didn’t want me to come back here alone, but I wanted to be where I’d been with Mami. I could still smell her, and I... we were waiting here for Keith...”

Rieva held her arm open, Lance scooching into her hold

“You two really have so much to talk about. I am a little disappointed you thought Keith wouldn’t return”

“I didn’t know what to think. I thought I’d have Mami for longer than I did. You guys were gone. I thought coming back to a sad sack of a vampire would be the last thing you’d want to do... I wanted to be waiting here happily. I feel like I let you all down by not being okay”

“Idiot. Mami was a wonderful woman. She was very wonderful to us, despite us not being her children”

“She loved everyone... I don’t know if I’m even capable of loving me”

Hugging Rieva felt nice. Hugging Keith had felt nice too

“You think too much! You love Keith and Keith loves you. You will have two healthy babies and I will be the favourite aunt!”

“I don’t know... I... had a bleed”

“And now your heart is full of more fear. Keith’s heart is too filled with fear. He hurts from feeling he is never where you need him. Honestly, much of Rome was very tiresome. Had Shiro not been there to keep him in line I feel he would have come back all the sooner”

“Keith said you were hurt”

“Ah. Yes...”

“I was so mean to you...”

“I would rather you be you than acting out of sympathy for a wound long healed”

“What happened?”

“Lotor went to confront his parents. He was foolish. Though he did kill Zarkon with his own hands. Honerva had already lost her mind, her grief... you know of loss, and of grief”

“Are you really okay?”

“I am. As is Matthew. We both were looking forward to being home with you again”

“I’m sorry I ruined your plan”

Rieva stroked his hair

“You have done nothing wrong. This is hard. Matthew has a big mouth, but a kind heart”

“I love having you guys around. I was... so ashamed of myself”

“Silly. You are very silly. We love you, you are part of our pack”

That’s not how a pack worked

“I’m a vampire”

“We can’t all be perfect. Can you see it in your heart to forgive Keith?”

He wasn’t mad at Keith, he was mad at his inability to just wind back the clock and remember how to be loved by him. Compliments left him flustered, he didn’t see what Keith saw when he looked at him and his big mouth wrecked things

“I know he wasn’t away because he wanted to be, when I think of him coming home to all of this I feel I let him down”

“You are the only one who feels this way. You alone. Now, do you forgive him”

“I forgive him but I don’t forgive me. I know I had to tell him. These are his children. I don’t want to make decisions without him about them. But he’d choose me over them and... even if I’m not comfortable like this, I am so in love with them”

“You are taking too much on alone. Packs stick together. It’s not uncommon at all back at home”

He didn’t know how to be part of a pack. He loved his friends... did that make them there own kind of pack seeing he thought of them as family already?

“I’m just... it’s hard”

“Letting Keith in was hard for you. Letting him go is impossible for you. He cannot let you go either and he would not”

“Everyone leaves in the end”

“They have not met Keith. I seem to remember hearing how you tried to kick him out before you started dating and he refused to go”

Yep. That was true. He’d thrown him out in the sun. Let him drink blood. Jumped out the window to get away from him

“He thought I’d turned him. He punched me in the mouth and started screaming how I bit him”

“No one said he was the smartest of men...”

Lance and his ego took instant offence to that. Keith was smart. He was so fucking smart. He just didn’t believe in himself the way he should

“He’s smart. He can do anything once he puts his mind to it”

“I know that too, yet he is stupidly in love with you”

Rieva sounded like a mother telling their child they were the greatest artist ever to appease them. He hated this. It was just... he didn’t feel like they were quite clicking. He... he wanted Keith. He’d even fed off of him because he knew that was what Keith wanted him to do. He was trying. He was past the stage of a pat on the head or a gold star, but some acknowledgement would be nice

“Rieva, I don’t know how to be better”

“With time. Time heals all wounds. Losing Mami is fresh. Keith knows you never forget but for him, he only found out yesterday he lost his second mother. Give him some time with Matt, and he’ll come back with his head on straight”

“Really?”

“I’m sure of it”

“Can you help me with some stuff? I... I know what it says but I... need someone to tell me I’m not overreacting”

“I would love to. I love you. You may not be a werewolf, but you are my pack”

“I guess that makes you part of my coven?”

Rieva blew a raspberry at him

“Pack is better”

Okay. Pack it was.

Heading into the hotel lounge, Matt directed him to bar. Hands on his shoulders, practically shoving him, though Keith wasn’t exactly objecting. Coming over to them, the man behind the counter smiled politely, voice heavily accented, but clearly used to dealing with dumb American’s

“What can I get you both?”

“He needs tequila. We need tequila. Can you put it on our room tab?”

The man looked almost bored at the question

“Of course. I’ll need your room number, ID, and signature. Plus the agreed upon tip for deduction”

“Wait... I think...”

“Keith, let them talk. You know how Rieva is. She’ll only kick us out again”

“But”

“Nope. You need tequila. Trust me. Now, go sit and I’ll be right over”

Keith sat, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. He didn’t think tequila would solve his problems but he’d blown up at Lance. He felt like he was being punished for being away for as long as he had been. That his boyfriend was going through losing his mother was hard enough. That Coran had filled his head with ideas... He wasn’t impressed. Coran’s nagging now might be clear, but like... give a guy a break. Piling this on top of him and making him feel that his best efforts weren’t enough. Surely he had to know sometimes Lance needed a different approach than how he’d normally talk. He’d known Lance long enough to fucking know better. Keith could have kicked the table with how angry he was.

Bringing a tray of shots over, Matt grinned as he kicked his foot lightly

“Look lively, drinks are here”

“I really should be getting back”

“Or you could really drink some over priced tequila that we don’t have to pay for”

“I don’t think me going back drunk is going to help”

“Ah, Lance is already man. Rieva will make him see sense”

“I should be the...”

“Dude, don’t. Look, I didn’t hear everything because Rieva was getting changed and I don’t know if you’ve noticed but she’s kind of hard to ignore, but it sounds like you got mad for a reason”

“He didn’t tell me about the twins. He could fucking lose them...”

“Every pregnancy carries that risk”

“God. You don’t get it, do you? He lost Mami. He doesn’t feel like he’s good enough how he is. He’s so fucking perfect and he’s been dealing alone with this shit”

Matt sat a shot in front of him

“You sound like you’ve already been drinking. Drink”

“I don’t...”

“Drink or I’ll make you drink! Seriously, let Rieva sort things out with Lance. She knows about babies and stuff and she’ll get through to him”

“I want to be get through to him. I want to learn about that stuff”

“Ahhh, but we can’t push them out. Now drink”

Keith drank... and things got a bit blurry. Crying against Matt, he was making a fool of himself. He’d hit that stage of drunkness where he’d word vomited onto Matt. He loved Lance. Like super duper loved Lance. Like he’d marry the fuck out the man. They’d have four kids. Get another dog. He’d get his high school diploma. Maybe find a new job. Get matching tattoos because they were that gross couple. “He’d take the bite and be with Lance forever”, loved Lance. But Lance wouldn’t bite him. He didn’t want to get old. How would they have sex? Lance was so damn pretty. He loved his eyes and he loved that Lance loved his eyes. And all of these thoughts were coming out his mouth instead of staying in his head.

Slumping further against Matt, Keith whined pitifully

“I love him!”

Matt had a high alcohol threshold. And had been putting up with Keith’s crying for the last half an hour

“I know, buddy”

“But I really love him”

“I know”

“But I really, really love him”

“I’ve got the message, dude”

No! Matt didn’t get the message! He loved Lance. What was so hard to figure out?

“He’s so perfect... How can anyone be that perfect?”

“I don’t know, buddy. Maybe it’s time we go back to the room?”

Keith’s bottom lip quivered as he stared at Matt.

“I don’t want him to throw me out again”

“He’s not going to throw you out”

“He didn’t tell me about the twins... Doesn’t he love me? We had sex last night and you should have seen his tummy. Our babies are in that tummy. Like actual people are in his belly. They’re like cupcakes. I want cupcakes!”

Matt sighed at him. The werewolf completely to blame for Keith’s current state

“You can have cupcakes another time”

“No. I want my cupcakes now! I wanna see them!”

Beside, Hunk wasn’t there and Hunk was a god descended upon them. There wasn’t anything that Hunk couldn’t cook. Again, his thoughts were still being said out loud

“Okay. That enough. We’re going back to the room”

“But Lance...”

One moment Keith was down, the next he was up. Matt was holding him up. Why was Matt holding him up? Patting himself down, he didn’t seem to be hurt

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out where I’m hurt”

“You’re not hurt”

“Then why are you holding me up? And my are my feet so far away?”

Matt groaned at him. They were two legitimate questions if anyone asked Keith

“Because your feet are connected to your legs which are connected to the rest of you”

“I want another shot”

“No, buddy. No more tequila”

“Why?”

“The hotel’s run out. Now start moving”

“How does a hotel run out of tequila? We’re in Cuba!”

“You have something to drink when we get back to the room”

“I don’t wanna have sex with you. You’re not Lance. His butt is so pretty. He likes it when I...”

Matt clamped his hand over Keith’s mouth, Keith didn’t know why. He was just going to say Lance liked it when he plowed him into the mattress. He’d be so cute with that tummy hanging while Keith fucked him. Lance was so cute. He missed him.

Making it to the door, Matt knocked, Rieva letting them in

“Rieva! Did Lance talk to you? Does he still love me? I love him... I wanna suck his dick”

Rieva giggled as Matt groaned

“Help”

“Shut up. You wish you were sucking Lance off. Did you suck him off? I’ll kill you if you sucked him off”

Propelled in, Keith crashed into Rieva

“Lance! Keith’s back! He’s had tequila!”

Lance came out wearing a singlet that seemed to accentuate his bump. Keith hiding behind Rieva. He didn’t want to be in trouble with Lance again

“I brought something of yours back”

Keith gripped Rieva

“I don’t wanna go! He’s mad at me!”

Matt took him by the shoulders, Keith pulling Rieva as Matt pulled him

“Please take him. He’s spent the last hour crying about how perfect you are”

Matt didn’t get it! Did he not see that cute little belly?

“Lance is perfect! He is best boy... bestest boy? Besterest? I wanna be with Lance”

“Lance, I’ll never do it again if you take him now”

Lance drew closer, Keith starting to cry. He’d had tooooooo much to drink

“Babe... I’m not mad. Not at you. Not really, I love you, Keith”

Opening his arms, Keith dove straight in for the hug

“I love you, too!”

Chuckling, Lance kissed his cheek

“I’ve got him, guys. Thanks. And thanks for the talk, Rieva. I really did need it”

“You’re most welcome. Seeing dinner won’t be happening, we’ll come see you for breakfast”

“Sounds good. Thanks. Matt, no more tequila for Keith”

“I learned my lesson. I was trying to make him feel better then he started talking about sex... He’s so happy about becoming a dad. Take care of him”

Rieva and Matt left. Lance dragging him into their bedroom. Sitting him on the end of the bed, his boyfriend started undressing him

“What are you doing?”

Lance chuckled at him

“You’re going to have a hell of a hangover, and you can’t go to bed fully clothed”

“But I don’t wanna sleep?”

“You’ll be comfier out of your clothes”

“You just want to sleep with me... you looked so hot with my dick up arse and your belly bouncing as you rode me”

Zero filter. Lance blushed, spluttering slightly as he tugged on Keith’s shoe laces. He didn’t remember putting his shoes back on...

“Babe, you’re drunk”

“I know. But you’re like... like perfection. I wanna marry you. I wanna have four kids and marry you and I wanna fuck you until I get old and grey and I wanna have a life with you and I don’t wanna not have you...”

Lance paused, looking up at him with those gorgeous blue eyes

“Keith, you’re super drunk. Let me get your shoes off”

“I don’t wanna take them off! I wanna cuddle with my cupcakes!”

“Cupcakes?”

“Our twins. They’re so big now and I missed it and it’s not fair because you’re so beautiful and you’re all cute and round and I just wanna be with you for like forever, because I love you”

“If you love me, be good for me and stay still and quiet until I’ve got your shoes off”

Keith gave it a fair effort, going red in the face as he tried to keep quiet. Lance getting his shoes, socks, and shirt off

“Up we go mister, time for the pants”

Not his pants... Lance was gonna see. The breath he’d been holding exploding out, Lance quirking an eyebrow

“I can do it”

“I know. Stand up already”

“But I’m horny...”

“I already know you get horny. It’s alright”

“But we fought... you arse is like... like amazing and all that shit but I love you... I can stick my dick in you when you’re mad at me! What if I poke the twins!?”

He had a new genuine concern. How did that work?! Lance was laughing at him, voice wobbling with laughter

“Babe. Shut up and let me strip you down already”

He’d progressed to drunken slurring

“Nooooo. You’ll see my boner”

“I love you and your boner”

“I wanna stick it in you but I want you to know I love and I want to be with you and I don’t wanna fight and I...”

“Keith, shhh. You’re making this hard. Can we please just get you out your jeans?”

Lance got forceful and Keith was out of his jeans without remembering actually having moved. Wrapping his arms around Lance, he nuzzled into his boyfriend’s bump, Lance placing a hand on his hair as he did

“I’m sorry I got short with you. I’ve been trying so hard to do everything right and it feels like I’m a bad father already”

Keith’s head shot up, shaking it quickly he protested

“I’m the bad dad! I left you for three months! Three! I didn’t wanna but... I wanted you to be safe and I couldn’t even be there and I’m like the worst boyfriend in the world and you should be yelling at me but they’re my twins too and I want to know and I want to hold them already and I don’t want something bad to happen to them and I don’t want to lose you and...”

“I’ve been trying really hard. Doing everything I’m told... I know I broke your heart giving up...”

That was right. He was mad. Lance decided all these things on his own! He wouldn’t just let Lance leave him. He was his boyfriend. His. He’d licked him and that made him his! No backsies or swapsies

“You’re an arsehole and liar! I really love and you doubted me! You said you wouldn’t leave me...”

“Keith, I had no word from you for a month. I was hardly that fun to be around before...”

“It’s not about always having fun! It’s about me! I want you”

#once bitten twice stupid #oncebittentwicestupid #ashratherose

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doctorgerth · 5 years

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Good luck with the blog dear!! I am cheering for you! 💜 Here is my request, how will X Drake behave when he meets the woman who once was his superior when he was a marine and theu had a relationship back then (not fully romantic, more like something physical). Now she is a infamous pirate. Please make it a scenario if it is possible. I hope this makes sense xD (Ai)

I know this is old, but still, thank you so much, Ai! To be quite honest, idk what the fuck I just wrote for you lol X Drake is an interesting character, but was a bit of a challenge since we hardly know anything about him. I hope I portrayed him to your liking. Also, I know you never stated it, but I kinda went a lil nsfw-ish at the end? I hope that’s okay. If not, I will gladly change it! Either way, I hope you enjoy this! x

*Putting it under the cut, as it is a bit lengthy!

Running into a Former Lover (X Drake)

Seeing her waltz in into the bar was immediate nostalgia. A rush of emotions, emotions he hasn’t felt in years, flooded his entire being. He eyed her shamelessly for a while, making sure over and over again that it was indeed (Name) he was seeing right in front of his eyes. Craning his neck for a better view, his heart skipped a beat once the divine eye contact was made at last. X Drake was a rather apathetic man, but he couldn’t hide or deny the fiery rush of blood that tinted his entire face once she recognized him.

“Drake? Is that you?”

He had spent a good few minutes just staring at the woman, begging for her to notice him. But now that she was walking his way, a cheesy smile accentuating her face, he wanted nothing more than to flee this place at breakneck speed. What would he say to her? What would she say to him? Her smile was inviting, but surely he was setting himself up for trouble if the Marines were here.

X Drake stood from his chair, a respectful stance he grew accustomed to while working alongside his former Marine superior, (Name) years ago. She was a Vice Admiral, and he was her Rear Admiral, her right hand man. The two were quite the pair back in his Marine days.

“(Name).” He acknowledged her flatly.

Her pace seemed to quicken as soon as her name rolled off his lips. Only he could make her name sound like that. It was him! She couldn’t contain her excitement as she trotted over to her former partner, thrilled to see him as it had been years since their last time together.

X Drake stood still, was she there to arrest him? He had been extra careful as to not cause any trouble the past few days. My, what a sight it would be for her of all people to retain him.

“As stoic as ever.” She smiled up at his indecipherable demeanor. She always found that side of him intriguing. (Name) had lost count of the times she spent observing him, wracking her brain for any knowledge as to what this unreadable man was thinking.

Her smile and playfulness made his tight lips crack ever so slightly into a wistful smile. Still as beautiful as ever, he thought to himself. But he wouldn’t dare say such words out loud for everyone to hear. Just before his mind had wandered, something peculiar caught his eye.

“Is that a Jolly Roger?” His left brow raised high, surely she was working undercover for a mission of some sort? Nevertheless, there was definitely a pirate symbol on her coat. One he had seen before, but couldn’t quite place a name on.

An even bigger, prouder smile graced her lips, “Yep! I’m officially a pirate, just like you!” Though she was his superior, she enjoyed acting like she was the one who looked up to him. She always said that it was a means to inflate his ego, but he knew it was her way of teasing him.

“My my, (Name). What happened to fighting in the name of justice?” He couldn’t hide the amused smile any longer, his hands resting at his hips dramatically. He was indeed proud of her, but was he supposed to be? Why had she left? She was a Vice Admiral! He knew how tedious and difficult it was to achieve that rank, let alone abandon it.

She simply shrugged her shoulders in response, “We always talked about how flawed the system was. I grew tired of the mundane missions that got us all nowhere. I’m not getting any younger, so I decided it was time to take a risk! Live an actual life for once.” Her confident laughter filled the room, and though the bar was as full and lively as moments ago, all he could hear was her; everyone else had faded away, “I had seen you in the papers and…”

“Oh, so you’ve been keeping up with me?” A satisfied and cocky grin stretched from ear to ear on his face. It was her turn to blush now.

“T-that’s not what I…”

“You did always enjoy living on the wild side.” Drake pointed out, going back to their main conversation. Remembering the life-risking adventures they frequently went on together, he had to admit, life with her was definitely thrilling. She knew how to keep him on his toes and he admired that about her.

“I always enjoyed it with you, anyway.” She admitted honestly, almost to herself, but he had heard. A quickened pace began thumping in his chest at her confession.

The two had subconsciously sat down at the table they were talking by, Drake’s crew getting the hint to relocate while (Name)’s men remained close by, talking amongst themselves at a table within sight. A waitress plopped down a couple of beers and the two began reminiscing, picking up right where they left off.

* * *

“Oh? So you’re the captain?” Drake sneered, feeling more and more comfortable by the second. He could always let his guard down around her, effortlessly.

(Name) sloshed down the rest of her drink, slamming the cup down, “Damn straight I am! Who the hell else would it be? Can’t trust these men to lead each other. It’s like the blind leading the blind!” Her drunken laughter sounded like music to his ears; the kind of song you wanted to listen to on repeat.

“Men need a strong woman in their life. They are lucky to have you.” The words just flowed right out, and his sincerity caused her face to heat up. She brought the mug to her face, attempting to hide the evidence of her embarrassment. Drake smiled to himself, catching sight of her adorably flushed face, knowing there was nothing left in that mug.

“W-well how about you then? Have you met anyone?” She was scared to know the answer, but she couldn’t waste another second in the dark. Had everything truly been lost between the two?

Drake shook his head, “Can’t say I have found anyone to settle with just yet.” His arms stretched to rest casually behind his head, “One too many options.”

Her eyes widened. Was he serious? Had her chance been shot? She was searching his face for any evidence of jest, but his face was as unreadable as ever! Would she ever learn to crack his codes?

It was no surprise he’d have hoards of women clawing at his feet. He’s always been so handsome and charming. Her head felt heavy as it began to stoop.

“Kidding.” He muttered blankly, “Only kidding.”

(Name)’s head shot up. Her flustered, furious face causing an entertained chuckle to escape his throat.

“Oh, haha, very funny. I’m sure you’re quite the bachelor.” Her eyes rolled dramatically to the back of head.

Coming down from his laughter, Drake looked down into his drink, the remaining liquid reflecting his hesitant face. “What about you?”

(Name) was always an independent, head-strong woman. Most men would fear her type, but never him. Drake adored her fighting spirit, her determination, and her immense care for others. He hadn’t realized that until his absence from the Marines and his absence from her.

“Not for me. I’m far too independent for any romance.” Her (e/c) eyes drifted to a downcast angle; she was no longer looking at him. She looked upset and he was willing to do anything to bring that smile he loved so much back to her sweet face. He had wondered if something happened during their separation. Surely she had met someone along the way? Silence filled the table, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. The boisterous noise from the bar crowd coming into earshot yet again, until her restrained voice brought him back to their own little world.

“It’s really been a while…” She whispered, reminiscing on the days when they were most dynamic; not only on the battlefield, but behind closed doors as well.

“10 years.” He retorted matter-of-factly.

She smiled, he had remembered, “We were so young then. So desperate for some kind of connection with anything other than duty.”

Drake’s brows furrowed, causing his infamous frown to return. His body stiffened forward with his hands resting on the table, “You were my duty, Captain.”

(Name) bit her quivering lip at his formalities. He hadn’t called her that since 10 whole years ago. She did not expect such a simple title, one she was most definitely used to by now, to get her flustered so easily. Sobering up, her shaking hands found his that was resting atop the table. The need for contact was intense between the two as he never faltered, simply allowing her hands to settle on his casually. He didn’t realize just how much he missed her touch until her ever soft skin sent him reeling to their past passionate rendezvous together. This touch was different however; innocent, longing.

“It’s been too long…” (Name) trailed off, subconsciously joining Drake on a journey into their past.

They were indeed younger back then. Things were hardly ever more than physical for the pair. Their desire for each other had threatened to overrule their desire for justice, because they were that desperate to feel something. Thinking back on it now, it was amazing they were able to work together for so long, since they were quite terrible at hiding their affection.

Working as a Marine was stressful, especially being a Vice and Rear Admiral. Satisfaction was practically a must to make it through the tough times, and luckily, they always found relief in each other. They knew their passionate nights together were numbered. What they hadn’t expected was to miss each other once their time was up. All the things they regrettably overlooked in each other, became the things they craved for in other people during the 10 long years. But, the connection with strangers could never be formed, as Drake and (Name)’s connection had only grown stronger during their absences.

It was a subtle connection, one they thought about occasionally, that caused them to pray silently to whatever god was ruler of their fate; they needed to see each other, just one last time. Were they given that chance, they promised they would do better that go around. Now, as fate would have it, they were here, holding hands in a random bar while reminiscing on what was behind them. But was the past truly the only chance they had together?

“I shouldn’t have left you like that, (Name).” Drake admitted, sheer regret dripping from his words.

(Name) nodded, forgiving tears swelling in her eyes, but she wouldn’t let the dam break. Drake squeezed her hands in his, offering a reassuring smirk.

“Any way I can make it up to you? Say it, and it’s yours.”

She looked at him while slowly leaning in. To anyone else, the pair just looked like they were having a nice conversation. But she knew the true meaning behind his words. She instantly noticed his sincere smile twisting to something devious, seductive. His eyes sparkled; that same youthful sparkle that always tempted her in the darkness of her room.

The pair looked over to their respective crews who were each drunk and in their own worlds. They could sneak away easily, just like old times. The rush made both of them nervous, yet excited. But they were pirates now, they could do whatever they wanted.

“I can think of a few ways.” She whispered, inches from his face now.

* * *

They found themselves entangled in endless bouts of passion later that night. Though nostalgic, the night was far from any others they had experienced in their past. They had matured and at last accepted their deep-rooted, irrevocable love for one another. X Drake made many confessions, apologies, and declarations of love to his lover that night. Their fervently intertwined bodies drifted off to a peaceful slumber, ending their sensual night with the promise this wouldn’t be their last.

#one piece #one piece request #one piece scenario #scenario #x drake #x drake scenario #former lover #anon #anon request #ai

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stevenuniversallyreviews · 5 years

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Episode 104: Kindergarten Kid

“I'm smarter than your average Peridot.”

Oof. I need a break. Do you need a break? Let’s take a break.

When I was a kindergarten kid, my family had a firm policy against “commercial TV,” as in any children’s television programming that included commercials. Our house didn’t get Cartoon Network until 2003-ish regardless, but this meant pretty much everything that wasn’t PBS (and later Disney Channel, which had commercials but not for toys) was restricted to friends’ houses until I was about eight. I was born in 1990, so the ban lift came right on time for Digimon and Pokémon to debut (in that order, fight me), but until then my access to cartoons was largely limited.

So yeah, unlike others of my age group, I didn’t grow up with Rugrats or Aaahh!!! Real Monsters, and due to the continued lack of Cartoon Network I also missed out on Dexter’s Laboratory and The Powerpuff Girls until reruns in the aughts. But I did have The Tapes, and The Tapes had Looney Tunes, so I was more than satisfied.

I still remember sitting up straighter when I first realized what Kindergarten Kid was doing back in 2016. The southwestern setting is a pretty big hint from the start, but we were cleverly introduced to the area in Beta and Earthlings and aren’t primed to see the Road Runner and Coyote connection until the plot revs up. And yes, these rivals are the clearest inspiration for Peridot’s futile attempts to outsmart a faster, “dumber” foe with intricate traps. But with an exception here or there for comic relief, Messrs. Coyote and Runner are silent, while Peridot is anything but. And as much fun as it would’ve been to go full throttle and make the entire sequence silent, I’m so glad to see Raven Molisee and Paul Villeco instead have Peridot emulate another icon from the Looney Tunes roster. And no, it’s not Porky Pig.

It’s ironic, because his best work sees him fail to come out on top, but I legitimately can’t think of a better cartoon character than Daffy Duck. Like, out of all cartoons, from every country, from any time period, period. Bugs Bunny is no slouch—he follows the legacy of Loki, Anansi, Reynard, and Maui as modern America’s most notable trickster deity—but Daffy perfected an archetype that’s largely unrepresented in myths of yore, and stands head and shoulders above all other examples, including Wile E. Coyote himself (and Daffy’s fun but better-in-the-comics counterpart, Donald Duck). Aptly referred to in Babylon 5 as “an ancient Egyptian god of frustration,” Daffy evolved from a perfectly good screwball character (Daffy Doodles is the best of this era) to the embodiment of self-inflicted pain.

I’ve already compared Peridot and Ruby to the little black duck before (seriously, stop what you’re doing and watch Daffy Doodles if that weird nickname doesn’t ring a bell), but Kindergarten Kid seems to go out of its way to evoke the essence of Daffy. Wile E. Coyote’s ploys may have the same convoluted detail as the Peri-Plans we see, but going on at length about how a scheme is going to work only for it to immediately fail? That’s Daffy Duck. Puffing up in confidence at the infallibility of said plan, and having it collapse in the middle of a smug victory lap? That’s Daffy Duck. This episode pulls its pacing straight out of the Hunting Trilogy (from which we get the famous “Rabbit Season!” “Duck Season!” debate), with Steven subbing in for both Elmer Fudd and Bugs depending on who Daffy is allied with at any given time, and it’s a beautiful thing to watch.

We even get variations of classic gags to keep things fresh. It would’ve been acceptable for Peridot to slowly dismantle an injector to crush Gem Runner, only for it to not fall until she’s right beneath it. But no, she realizes the risk, takes a step back, then gets crushed by falling rocks. I still would’ve laughed if her cannon refused to fire until she stepped in front of it, launching her over the horizon. But the recoil launches her backwards, crushing her with more rocks. Rehashing the exact same classic gags would’ve been an easy way out, but the gags are classic for a reason and I would’ve appreciated the tribute; that we see actual creative changes instead brings Kindergarten Kid to even higher heights. Yes, the final plummet is directly based on Wile E. Coyote’s own falls (sadly without the sound effect), but there’s a level of innovation here that’s compelling for an episode referencing the past so vividly.

Still, the biggest difference between Kindergarten Kid and vintage Looney Tunes is that unlike Daffy or Coyote, Peridot can make a change. The episode is similar to Barn Mates, in that both are a series of sketches that show Peridot and Steven trying and failing to accomplish a goal (which is perhaps the most clinical way to describe the standard Looney Tunes short). Both episodes end with a victory for Peridot when she realizes she must rethink the core problem, but Kindergarten Kid works better by halving the number of characters that need to grow. Barn Mates is by no means bad, but it’s hard to balance the story of its two leads, so Lapis is left without much focus behind her actions. This time the opponent is something of a force of nature, so we can spend more time digging into why Peridot’s plans aren’t working.

Peridot has already changed quite a bit, but her superiority complex remains a central tenet of her personality. It’s been tempered when Steven is involved, but she still treats most other Gems as intellectual inferiors even when she gets along with them. So of course she sees outbraining a Corrupted Gem as a cakewalk, and of course Steven teaches her the error of her ways with a lesson in empathy. These are obvious story beats, but old habits die hard, and I like that Peridot still has issues with her ego despite how far she’s come as a Crystal Gem.

It’s hard to compare any voice actor to Mel Blanc, in the same way it’s hard to compare any English-speaking playwright to Shakespeare, so I’m not gonna give praise that lofty, but Shelby Rabara still nails the fury of a gremlin who's smart but thinks she’s way smarter. It’s not easy on the throat to shout this much, and in such specific nonverbal ways, but I still think her best moment is when her confident front falters, and she yells that she’s doing the best she can. She’s as angry as ever, but that glimpse of vulnerability shows that she’s not a lost cause like Coyote.

Steven also returns to old habits, focusing all his energy on helping Peridot and not mentioning his mother once. I can see how this might make Kindergarten Kid seem too flippant, but as we’ll confirm in Mindful Education, our hero is pushing down the bad feelings instead of dealing with them. I think it’s crucial to have a few episodes where he seems okay to lull us into the sense of security that his breakdown destroys, and just like Bubbled, it’s clear that his coping mechanism is putting others before himself. He never complains about the physical injuries caused by Peridot’s poor planning, instead making sure his friend is okay.

Like Log Date 7 15 2, the show leans into Peridot’s brand of comic relief to cool us down from a major event. This is an even sillier episode, to the point that the other Crystal Gems are watching it for entertainment value, but it comes after an even more harrowing Diamond reveal. And because this one has more to do with Steven, he gets more to do in the episode: he’s not reliving a Peridot montage, he’s participating in her adventure, and the episode is stronger for it.

I understand that comedy is subjective. For instance, I’m not huge on meta humor in the style of our next episode; I acknowledge that it’s done well, but it’s not for me. So I don’t expect everyone to be huge on this episode, especially if you tragically lack a childhood full of ducks getting their beaks blown off and rabbits dancing up to bulls to slap them in the face. But hopefully folks who were let down in their first viewing, expecting more drama and lore in our post-shattering reality, can give Kindergarten Kid another look, perhaps after downing some classic cartoons, and enjoy it for the outstanding love letter that it is.

(I still don’t know why she references Yogi Bear, that’s a whole other era of cartoon, but nobody’s perfect.)

If every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have inconsistencies…

I know it’s absurd to nitpick unrealistic elements of such a cartoony episode, but Steven’s endless bag of marshmallows bugs me. At least it gives us another Peridot-as-raccoon reaction.

We’re the one, we’re the ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!

It barely misses the cut, but boy do I love this episode. Like any great Looney Tunes short, I can watch it and laugh no matter how many times I’ve seen it; the gags are so pure that rather than getting bored of them, I now chuckle in anticipation before the hits even come.

Top Twenty

Steven and the Stevens

Hit the Diamond

Mirror Gem

Lion 3: Straight to Video

Alone Together

The Return

Jailbreak

The Answer

Sworn to the Sword

Rose’s Scabbard

Earthlings

Mr. Greg

Coach Steven

Giant Woman

Beach City Drift

Winter Forecast

Bismuth

When It Rains

Catch and Release

Chille Tid

Love ‘em

Laser Light Cannon

Bubble Buddies

Tiger Millionaire

Lion 2: The Movie

Rose’s Room

An Indirect Kiss

Ocean Gem

Space Race

Garnet’s Universe

Warp Tour

The Test

Future Vision

On the Run

Maximum Capacity

Marble Madness

Political Power

Full Disclosure

Joy Ride

Keeping It Together

We Need to Talk

Cry for Help

Keystone Motel

Back to the Barn

Steven’s Birthday

It Could’ve Been Great

Message Received

Log Date 7 15 2

Same Old World

The New Lars

Monster Reunion

Alone at Sea

Crack the Whip

Beta

Back to the Moon

Kindergarten Kid

Like ‘em

Gem Glow

Frybo

Arcade Mania

So Many Birthdays

Lars and the Cool Kids

Onion Trade

Steven the Sword Fighter

Beach Party

Monster Buddies

Keep Beach City Weird

Watermelon Steven

The Message

Open Book

Story for Steven

Shirt Club

Love Letters

Reformed

Rising Tides, Crashing Tides

Onion Friend

Historical Friction

Friend Ship

Nightmare Hospital

Too Far

Barn Mates

Steven Floats

Drop Beat Dad

Too Short to Ride

Restaurant Wars

Kiki’s Pizza Delivery Service

Greg the Babysitter

Gem Hunt

Steven vs. Amethyst

Bubbled

Enh

Cheeseburger Backpack

Together Breakfast

Cat Fingers

Serious Steven

Steven’s Lion

Joking Victim

Secret Team

Say Uncle

Super Watermelon Island

Gem Drill

No Thanks!

5. Horror Club 4. Fusion Cuisine 3. House Guest 2. Sadie’s Song 1. Island Adventure

(I’m almost happy there’s no promo art for this one, because hot damn do I love this pic from Dark Tarou.)

#kindergarten kid #steven universe #su #steven universally #review

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anagentinwriting · 5 years

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To Catch a Thief - Part 9

Summary: Being an FBI field agent was your dream job but having been stuck behind a desk for most of your career you’ve almost given up. Fortunately, a series of robberies with minimal evidence forces you to assist a team in the field to help solve the case. But when the only thing left behind is a series of song lyrics, will you be able to find the perp? Or will the number of obstacles and lack of evidence keep you from solving the case?

Pairing: Peter Quill x Reader

Word Count: 1972

Warnings: Swearing

To Catch a Thief Masterlist / Main Masterlist

THE DAY OF YOUR BIRTHDAY (PART 5.5)

“Ronan, are you fucking kidding me? I’m on a date,” Peter yelled into his phone after leaving you alone at the table on your birthday.

“I bet you don’t get those often,” He laughed, forcing Peter to close his eyes and shake his head.

“What do you want?”

“It’s time for another go around. Meet at the rendezvous point in ten minutes.” He hung up without another word.

“Man, I’m a real a-hole,” Peter mumbled, running his hands down his face.

Ronan always called on the most inconvenient days. Peter didn’t want to leave you alone in the restaurant, but he had no other choice. This was going to go down as another terrible birthday for you, and it was all his fault. He planned the perfect night, but now you weren’t going to see any of it. You were going to be pissed at him since he’s the only reason you came out tonight. If only he could tell you the whole story, but he couldn’t because you were one of the Feds on his case. All Peter wanted was for this to be over and after tonight he would be one necklace closer.

He sat behind his Milano, a blue Ford Mustang II King Cobra with orange stripes, driving to the rendezvous point. The only thing running through his head was the look on your face when he told you he had to leave. It was a mixture of frustration and annoyance. You hated him at that moment, Peter could see it etched on your face. He blamed himself, too.

He pulled up behind the gray surveillance van to grab his gear and change into a security uniform. Ronan goes over the plan one more time with everyone, but Peter’s mind is focused on someone else. He wasn’t worried about the plan because he created the plan after he scoped out the museum. It would be a quick in and out if everything went according to plan. Granted his plan was only 12% of a plan, but it was better than the 11% of a plan The Collectors Trinkets came up with.

Every time Peter was about to steal something, his father would pop up in his mind being his teacher and instructing him on what to do and not to do. With every theft comes a set of rules he needed to abide by. Upon learning about thieving, his father gave him a rule book he needed to follow and every few months Ego would test him. No matter how hard Peter tried to forget the rules he couldn’t but he could forget how to do algebra.

Peter picked the backdoor lock and tiptoed his way down the hallway of The New York Museum of Art. Rule #23: Always step with the balls of your feet to keep your presents unknown. Ronan instructed Peter over his comm about what direction he needed to go. Peter ignored him because he knew this museum's layout better than anyone, including the location of every camera, bathroom, speaker, and fire alarm. The cameras didn’t matter so much because Korth hacked into the system and played the same footage on a loop for the security room. All Peter wanted right now was to be with you in the restaurant, but he had to settle for Ronan’s comments and stupid jokes.

Peter stopped moving when he heard someone whistling from around the corner. He dived into a caveman exhibit and waited for the guard to pass by. If he needed to, Peter could come up with a bullshit excuse, but he would rather go unnoticed if possible. Rule #47: Bullshit your way through a tricky situation.

After dodging a few more guards, he arrived in jewel room and sitting dead center in the room was the yellow Mind Stone necklace. He wandered over to the secure glass case with red laser security sensors surrounding it inside. With Korath working on turning them off, he stood there admiring the necklace.

This necklace was encrusted with rhinestones and the yellow Mind Stone was inside the large pendant in the center. There were two smaller yellow pendants on each side of it, but the large pendant attracted the most attention. Peter never understood what was so damn special about these six necklaces. Did they have these extraordinary powers like the legends said or was it all a hoax? It was insane how much one of these necklaces was worth, but all six of them together was an infinite dollar amount.

“One minute to go,” Ronan prompted over his earpiece. Peter sat ready with his lock pic in hand waiting for the signal. Rule #105: Always know what type of lock you are up against. “Go.”

Peter got to work on the lock and like magic, it opened in less than fifteen seconds. He carefully grabbed the necklace and put it into a velvet jewelry box before sliding it into his backpack. He placed the lyrics below the velvet bust and locked the glass door back up. He had less than ten minutes to get out before the sensor alarms start ringing or until one of the guards notice the necklace was missing.

He nodded at the camera to signal he got it and left the room in the opposite direction. Rule #136: Never leave the same way you came in. Peter crept down the hallway when he heard someone approaching him from behind. Peter peeked over his shoulder and spotted a guard heading straight for him. Hopefully, the small amount of light in the room will be enough for the guard not to see his face.

“Thanks for the warning fellas,” Peter mumbled only hearing the sound of laughter through his comm. He stopped walking and turned around to face the guard. How was he going to bullshit his way out of this one?

“Excuse me, sir, but who are you? I’ve never seen you around before?” The young guy asked, sizing him up.

“I’m from S.H.I.E.L.D. Security. I received confirmation you were aware of our impromptu visit,” Peter replied with his hands on his hips.

“No, no I wasn’t, but this is my first week on the job. They didn’t tell me anything about you coming.”

“Well,” Peter scrunched his eyes to read his name tag. “Leeds, please inform your predecessor everything is up to code and running fine. I’m glad the new sensors are working out well for you guys. I know they were a little on edge to upgrade their system, but trust me, they needed it,” Peter recalled with a soft chuckle. Rule #149: Add enough random details to make your story more real and convincing, but too much to show your lying. “As always it was a pleasure doing business. We’ll be in contact.”

“Of course, yeah. Please call me Ned, but thank you for coming and checking on everything,” Ned acknowledged as Peter walked away.

“Congratulations assholes. You probably made that kid lose his job.” The only reply he got back was laughter, again. This is why he hated the Trinkets because they did whatever they wanted without having to pay any consequences.

Peter exited the building at the exact time the alarms started blaring. He sprinted to his car parked four blocks away and hopped into the driver's seat. Rule #190: Park vehicle a good distance away to make for an easier getaway, but only if you’re able to run to it. He tossed his backpack in the passenger seat and started up the Milano. Peter closed his eyes taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, but it did nothing. This was the first time in a long time he was seen and it freaked him out. What if Ned Leeds could recognize him in a lineup? What would you think of him? Would you even talk to him again? His eyes shot open realizing he needed to get out of there and fast. Peter shifted the car into drive and sped away with the tires screeching on the pavement. He wasn’t paying attention to where he was going when he ran a red light right by the museum.

“Dammit” Peter yelled, staring in his rearview mirror noticing the camera on top of the stop light. “Well, The Collector isn’t going to like fixing this one, so much for getting out unnoticed,” he grumbled to himself. On the drive home, he kept to the back roads and avoided any stop lights or cameras along the way.

Peter rushed into his apartment heading straight for his bedroom. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Peter ran both his hands through his hair tugging at the ends of it. This wasn’t good. Not good. He hated how the security guard caught him and how the alarms happened sooner than they should’ve. Worst of all, he ran a fucking red light and with his luck tonight it probably caught his plate number. Peter’s phone started ringing and he answered it leaving his bedroom.

“Ronan.”

“Drop off in five days at 22 hundred hours at the south warehouse,” Ronan explained. “Come alone.”

“In 5 days, are you serious? You want me to hold onto something this valuable for five days. Can’t I hand it over now?” Peter shakes his head, he despised this part of the job. He didn’t want to hold onto something that could get him thrown into prison if the police ever found it.

“No. Listen to the instructions I gave you, and don’t do anything stupid before then.”

“Welllllll,” Peter dragged out. “We may have a bit of a problem, like a big problem.”

“What did you do this time Star-Prince?”

Peter rolled his eyes and tells him what happened. Ronan agreed to call him back within the hour with his alibi and hangs up. “Thank god,” Peter said, running a hand down his face. He knew this was going to be tough to explain if he gets questioned, but at least the Trinkets will come up with something good and have evidence to back it up.

Peter changed out of his security outfit throwing it in the trash and tying the top of the bag off. He slipped on his favorite red jacket and takes off down the steps to the trash chute to dispose of the evidence. He always tried to dump it at a random location on the way home, but he didn’t want to risk it this time. He meanders back to his door when you see him.

“Hey, everything alright? I heard shouting from your apartment,” you asked, staring wide-eyed at his red leather jacket.

You found out something new about this case, but Peter didn’t know how to ask about it without you getting more suspicious of him. You’re a great agent and if Peter’s assumptions were correct you already knew he was the one committing these thefts. Would you even listen to him if he tried to tell you the truth now or would you arrest him and never speak to him again? Would you believe him if he told you he was innocent?

“Everything’s fucking fine,” Peter snapped in frustration. He didn’t want to do this anymore. He hated lying to you, Yondu, Drax, and everyone else in his life. He wanted this to be over but it wouldn’t be until he stole the last necklace. Who knows when that will happen? No one even knows where it’s at.

“Okay, sorry for asking.” You marched past him with a hurt expression on your face. Your eyes were puffy and there was a pillow imprint on your cheek. You looked exhausted, and without a doubt, this would go down as one of your worst birthdays ever.

“YN. YN. Wait, YN,” Peter called, but you kept walking not even giving him a second look. He needed to fix this, but where would he start.

A/N: I thought getting Peter's POV would be an interesting touch. What do you think his real motive is? Where do you think the last necklace might be? If some of you were paying attention I did hint at it a few times already. 😉 Guess we will find out in the coming chapters! Thanks for reading!!

#peter quill x reader #peter quill #peter quill reader insert #peter quill au #peter quill image #star lord x reader #star lord au #star-lord au #chris pratt #gotg #gotgvol2 #guardians of the galaxy #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel image #marvel au #to catch a thief

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vampyr-boyfriend · 6 years

Text

2k Celebration

I’d like to do something more for the 2k celebration. In addition to you guys writing for me, I’d like to do some writing for you. I’m starting to get burnt out writing RED ICE, so I need to take a break. A good way for me to do this is to write for OTHER characters. I’m going to provide a list of prompts and characters, and you guys just have to send me a number (preferably not more than two at once as my brain can’t handle that), a character or two (or you can let me chose the character(s)), and what you’d like the pairing to be. (Please be sure to include what pronouns you want the reader to have if you chose a reader insert. If you don’t, I’ll default to she/her.) Please send your requests in as asks, not as comments on this post. I WILL NOT BE WRITING FOR CONNOR OR LOKI.

I will write for the other DBH and MCU characters, as well as Markiplier and Jacksepticeye’s Egos.

The prompts are:

1. “I apologise in advance for the inconvenience my murder is going to have on your life.”

2. “I hate you.” “Why? I’m lovely.”

3. “Murder wasn’t on today’s agenda.” “It’s not on anyone’s.” “No, it’s on mine, just not until next Thursday.”

4. “Hold on, you died.” “Yeah, well it didn’t stick.”

5. “This is my life now. I have climbed this hill and now I will die upon it.” “Shut up. We’ve only been hiking for twenty minutes.”

6. “She’s crying, what do I do?” “Go comfort her.” “How do I do that?” “Start with hugs.” “With what?”

7. “What’s our exit strategy?” “Our what?” “Oh my god, we’re all going to die.”

8. “I’m going to need chicken blood, salt, five candles, and a bottle of vodka.” “Vodka? For the spell?” “No, that’s just to make me feel better about ripping a hole in the universe.”

9. “Are you clinically insane or incredibly annoying?” “I don’t know, probably both.”

10. “I saved your lives.” “How? By stealing our freedom? Our minds? Our identity?”

11. “It takes a very special kind of idiot to pull off what you just did.”

12. “I’m getting really tired of pretending I’m not evil.”

13. “Did you just agree with me?” “Oh I wish I could take-” “Nope! You said it! No take-backs!”

14. “It’s a long story.” “You conned me into thinking you were dead for eleven months. I have time.”

15. “I regret a lot of things. Having this conversation tops the list.”

16. “I had a thought.” “Oh no.” “I swear it’s a good one this time!’

17. “FBI, open the door!” “No. It’s cooler when you break in.”

18. “Do you think they remember you?” “I sure hope not after what I did the last time I was here.” “What did you do?” “You’ll find out.”

19. “You look…” “Beautiful, I know. Can we move on?”

20. “You scared me!” “Well, I am naturally terrifying.”

21. “I’d agree with you, but then we’d both be wrong.”

22. “I’d take a bullet for you, you know that.” “You’re immortal, and I’m going to kill you if you keep saying that.”

23. “You really have no clue who I am?” “You’d think the confused looks and blank stare would have answered that for you.”

24. “I am way too sober for this.”

25. “You don’t strike me as a professional criminal.” “That’s what makes me so good at it.”

26. “I don’t think of you as a protector. More like a distraction.”

27. “We have five people trying to kill us right now, what are we supposed to do?” “Actually, it’s more like eight.” “Oh, sorry I wasn’t specific enough!”

28. “If you could even comprehend where I’ve come from, you would be terrified of me.”

29. “I saved your life!” “You pushed me off a building.”

30. “You know we’re not all born with the ability to throw fireballs, right?”

31. “How do we keep getting into these situations?” “Eleven years of friendship and I still don’t know.”

32. “Did you hear that scream?” “Yes, I’m the one who screamed.”

33. “Are you SURE I can’t punch him in the face?” “Yes.” “What if I just break his nose a little?”

34. “You are remarkably well behaved tonight. What did you do?”

35. “You’re-you’re crushing my spleen.” “You don’t even know where your spleen is.”

36. “I’m no detective, of course, but I think this dead body might not be alive anymore.”

37. “Right now, I don’t know if I want to kiss you or shove you off a bridge.” “Can I pick?”

38. “The real treasure was the memories we made along the way.” “I almost died!” “Ah yes, that was my fondest memory.”

39. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you!” “And I’m trying to subtly avoid it!”

40. “Hey, I didn’t kill anyone today!” “What do you want? A gold star?”

41. “I hate you.” “Why? I’m lovely.”

42. “On a scale from one to ten, how bad do you think it would be if-” “At least a twenty.”

43. “Literally everything about this is illegal.”

44. “Seven billion people in the world, and you’re overreacting because we killed one man.” “But-” “Seven. Billion. People. Now quit the complaining and drink your smoothie.”

45. “It’s not my birthday.” “It’s definitely your birthday.” “Give me a calendar. It’s not and I will prove it to – oh. Never mind. Happy birthday to me.”

46. “On a scale from one to ten, how bad do you want to kill me right now?” “I’m hovering somewhere in the high thirties.”

47. “I can fix that.” “I’m calling a professional.” “I’m a professional.” “A more professional, professional.”

48. “What’s the word for that infestation of tiny creatures over there?” “Those are children. That’s a school.”

49. “I have a concern.” “Just one?” “No, but I didn’t think you’d let me speak my piece if I told you how many I actually have.”

50. “Why are you glaring at me?” “I’m hoping you’ll spontaneously combust.”

51. “If we die, I’m going to spend the rest of our afterlife reminding you that this was all your fault.” “That’s cool, I wouldn’t mind having company while being a ghost.”

52. “What are you so afraid of?” “You.”

53. “What is that THING in your backpack?” “It’s my new pet dragon.” “Dragons aren’t real!” “Then why is there one in my backpack?”

54. “I hate the sight of blood.” “Then maybe you shouldn’t kill for a living.”

55. “All that blood looks good on you. It really brings out your eyes.”

56. “Want to see what kind of trouble we can get into?” “Oh god, we’re going to die, aren’t we?” “It’s a Tuesday, I know how to restrain myself.” “You absolutely do not.”

57. “I don’t give a damn.” “You give so many damns they’re visible from SPACE.”

58. “It’ll be easy. You just have to seduce them.” “You’re kidding, right? I’m about as seductive as a cabbage.”

59. “You’re not as evil as people think you are.” “No. I’m much worse.”

60. “That’s a terrifyingly accurate drawing of us.” “It’s almost like I’m good at what I do.”

61. “You have no power over me.” “You sure about that?”

62. “This isn’t good.” “How can you tell?” “See how they’re slowly surrounding us? And they all have guns and knives and I think one guy is carrying a machete?”

63. “He’s right behind me, isn’t he?” “Actually he’s right in front of you.”

64. “I’m not a thief. I’m just really good at acquiring things that aren’t mine.”

65. “I’m not completely human anymore. Remember that next time you want to punch me in the face.”

66. “Is that blood?” “No?” “That’s not a question you’re supposed to answer with another question.”

67. “I never stood a chance, did I?” “That’s the sad part – you did once.”

68. “It’s okay, I’m here.”

69. “I’m not going to leave you.”

70. “Everything is okay.”

71. “I’m going to protect you.”

72. “I believe in you.”

73. “Do you feel guilty? Like, at all?” “I don’t have time to feel guilty. And neither do you.”

74. “Stop that!” “Stop what?” “Doing that thing with your face when you’re happy. It’s making me nauseous.”

75. “What are you doing?” “…Eating.” “We’re being held hostage and you decide to raid the kitchen?” “They didn’t say the fridge was off limits.”

76. “Is that a dead body?” “Maybe?” “It is. I can see it right in front of me.” “I promise I’ll clean it up before dinner.”

77. “If we’re going to get out of here, we’re going to have to work together. After that, we can go back to killing each other.” “Oh, fine.”

78. “That’s not funny.” “I thought it was.” “You don’t count. You started laughing in the middle of a funeral because you started thinking of a meme you saw on Facebook.”

79. “Do we need wine?” “No, I need wine, you need to put your pants back on.” “But life is so freeing without them.” “Pants. On. Now.”

80. “Can you please go be stupid somewhere that’s away from me?”

81. “I feel like I’m being stabbed.” “How do you even know what it feels like to be stabbed?”

82. “Will you be quiet?” “I didn’t say anything!” “Well stop thinking so loud.”

83. “Did you get my note?” “Of course I got it. You taped it to my forehead while I was sleeping.”

84. “You’re a psychopath.” “I prefer creative.”

85. “Why do people keep trying to put this blanket on me?” “Because you’re in shock.” “That doesn’t mean I need a blanket. It means I need booze.”

86. “Oh no.” “What is it? What happened? Who died?” “I think I just felt an emotion.” “You have GOT to be kidding me.”

87. “When all this is over, I want my sanity back.”

88. “That’s definitely not true.” “Of course it is. I read it on Wikipedia.”

89. “You forgot me.” “It was an accident.”

90. “Why do you keep risking your life? To prove a point?” “Yes.”

91. “I would like to join you in acknowledging the difficulties of your life.” “You are the WORST at this comfort thing.”

92. “You’ve got to stop doing that.” “What?” “Saying things that make me want to kiss you.”

93. “Look, if you want to conjure some demon spawn from the great beyond, that’s all fine and dandy. Just wait for me to leave before you start.”

94. “Just calm down!” “My leg just dematerialised and you want me to calm down!?”

95. “You know what they say, panicking burns a shit ton of calories.” “Who even says that?” “Me. Just now.”

96. “Don’t mind me, I’ll just be in the corner, having another existential crisis.”

97. “Oh my god, I had the exact same dream!” “Really?” “Are you crazy? Of course I didn’t.”

98. “I need to go de-stress.” “Where are you going?” “To demolish the living room.”

99. “I think I’m having a feeling. How do I make it stop?”

100. “I’m bitter and complicated. It’s one of my charms.” “I don’t think you know what that word means. Or how to count.”

101. “I don’t know what the protocol is for revealing your secret identity so, hi? Surprise?”

102. You always think you know what you’d do when faced with the end of the world. Me? I went home and took a nap.

103. “Damn it, why aren’t you obeying the laws of physics?”

104. “I’d hug you right now, but you’re covered in evidence. And I also really don’t want to.” “Evidence is a really nice euphemism for blood, gore and guts.” “You’re totally missing the point. Do you know how pissed I am at you right now?”

105. “This way is more efficient.” “This way is going to get us killed.”

106. “You’re not my favourite person today.” “I’m not your favourite person on any day.”

(There’s a weird cut here because I’m using prompts from multiple posts that I have saved. Sorry.)

107. “You’re the only thing left that is important to me now.” 108. “Please, put some pants on, you’re embarrassing me.” 109. “Oh, love, I don’t think you understand the meaning of sarcasm.” 110. “You don’t get to touch her! Not anymore. Not after what you did!” 111. “I think i’m going insane.” 112. “You’re the only one for me.” 113. “Honestly, if you wanted sex this bad you could’ve just told me!” 114. “I’ve come to the conclusion, that this house just might be haunted.” 115. “What makes you say that?” 116. “There was this perfect moment. This perfect moment where everything that I wanted was clearly in front of me… and i understood.” 117. “You broke my favourite vase!” 118. “I think we should get a puppy, and with this puppy we should become the stereotypical cute couple. As well as because I want a dog.” 119. “You’re crazy.” 120. “I promise that i’ll protect you.” 121. “I don’t need saving. Not now! Not ever.” 122. “You act as if you’re the hard done by. You’re not.” 123. “You cheated on me! What was I suppose to do? Smile and forgive you?” 124. “I think you’re worth much more than that.” 125. “I’d rather die than do that.” 126. “Did you ever wonder what brought us together?” 127. “Is… that really you? I thought i’d never see you again!” 128. “You had one job!” 129. “How is it that you’re a complete flop at everything you do?” 130. “You need to stop.” 131. “That lip biting’s getting a little out of hand.” 132. “If you continue to do what you’re doing, I won’t hesitate to come over there and stop you myself. 133. “Isn’t he just the cutest?” 134. “I want a child.” 135. “You still awake?” 136. “You’re probably the hottest stranger i’ve ever seen.” 137. “Never thought that all this would happen because of one tiny moment.” 138. “My clothes look good on you.” 139. “Is that my shirt?” 140. “Isn’t that a bit too big for you?” 141. “Isn’t that a bit too small for you?” 142. “I think you look absolutely adorable.” 143. “When I said you’re mine, I meant it.” 144. “He better only be just a friend.” 145. “Those short’s look really good on you.” 146. “Hey, they can’t hurt you anymore.” 147. “I… I lost the baby.” 148. “It’s all my fault, i’m so sorry.” 149. “My arms just fit perfectly.” 150. “You’re drunk.” 151. “I am not wearing that.” 152. “How did I get stuck here with you?” 153. “I swear, the world is against me.” 154. “Don’t touch me!” 155. “Get away from me!” 156. “Tell me you need me.” 157. “You’re not the boss of me.” 158. “We’re out of gas, what’s your plan?” 159. “You’re an ass” 160. “I’m on vacation, you take care of it.” 161. “Disney movies all day? I’m in.” 162. “Hurry up! Would you?!” 163. “Take the long way around” 164. “Can you shut up for five minutes, please???” 165. “He’s been gone for quite a while” 166. “I can’t see anything.” 167. “I heard a noise.” 168. “Where’s my food?” 169. “I bet you feel like an artist” 170. “Can I be of assistance?” 171. “Get out of the way before I murder you.” 172. “You’re breaking my heart, babe.” 173. “Cry me a river. Build a bridge. Get over it.” 174. “Another credit card?!” 175. “It’s just rain, you aren’t gonna melt!” 176. “Have you ever lied to me?” 177. “I’m stuck! Help me!” 178. “I swear, I’m not scared.” 179. “What do you think a cupholder is for?” 180. “You know when your phone buzzes, it means I’m trying to talk to you, right?” 181. “Turn that sh*t off!!!!” 182. “When’s that last time we went on a date?” 183. “I thought you didn’t like cats?” 184. “The door’s locked.” 185. “I’ll just tell your mom on you.” 186. “I thought you were nice.” 187. “I had a dream about you.” 188. “What colour do you like better?” 189. “Take notes, sweetheart.” 190. “This is where you impress me, right?” 191. “Pick up lines only work when I’m drunk.” 192. “I can’t believe you didn’t remember” 193. “If that makes me a child, so be it.” 194. “I could beat you up, you know that right?” 195. “Would it kill you to help people?” 196. “I bet you can’t go 24 hours without cussing.” 197. “But, I said I love you.” 198. “Is it just me or is cold as hell in here?” 199. “I’m not weird, you’re just basic.” 200. “Just sleep with one eye open, that’s all I’m saying” 201. “Take off your shirt.” 202. “We could get struck by lightning, but you want to kiss in the rain.” 203. “You’re never this quiet, what’s wrong? 204. “Sit still, for the love of all that is Holy.” 205. “I’ve seen terror... and you don’t have his smile.”

#detroit become human fanfiction #dbh fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #ego fanfiction #antisepticeye #darkiplier #wolfys2k #jse #markiplier #egos #jacksepticeye #fanfiction

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mylittleedgey · 5 years

Text

Just Give Me a Reason

Phoenix Wright was used to operating on the fly when it came to his relationship with Miles Edgeworth. Sometimes it was smooth sailing, sometimes it was harsh words that needed to be said, and sometimes it was just harsh words. Sometimes it was making up, sometimes it was two angry men trying to navigate a small room without acknowledging the other’s presence, and sometimes it was amazing sex. Often it was a mixture of those things. Phoenix was getting used to falling asleep with just a few inches of their backs touching, mirroring each other like a large antisocial butterfly spread out over the sheets. He’d learned from experience that they normally woke up in each other’s arms. If being in crisis was normal, then at least pulling off miraculous turnabouts at the last second were nearly as easy to count on.

Today’s crisis began with a panicked call from a detective who’s main skills were misinterpreting facts and jumping to conclusions. Phoenix knew from years of painful experience that that a call like this normally meant everything was about to go straight to hell, with about even chances that Gumshoe would turn out to be the cause or not. “Listen, Pal, no one’s supposed to know about this, not even me-” he began.

“-especially you, let’s be honest,” Phoenix interrupted sarcastically. He’d lost count of the number of times Gumshoe’s well-meant tips had made things worse for himself or the prosecutor he’d been paired with. He always told himself that next time he wouldn’t act until he’d heard the truth straight from the source, and yet, he didn’t hang up the phone. The chances were too high that it involved him.

“Well, you’re a close second, Pal, and at least I don’t have to sleep on the couch every time he’s angry at me! Anyway, it’s about Mr Edgeworth, of course.” As if the two had anything in common besides their dangerously low incomes and their mutual obsession over a certain brooding prosecutor. “He’s been making calls all over Europe the last few days, and he’s just about to leave for the airport! He even had fake appointments for the rest of the day!”

Phoenix felt his stomach drop. “But, still,” he started, trying to force normal words out of his suddenly dry mouth. “That doesn’t mean anything. He could be picking someone up, or…” His mind was suddenly hyper-fixated on the conversation last night where Miles had declined to meet for dinner. He simply wasn’t available. He didn’t offer a reason, and Phoenix knew better than to ask. There was always tomorrow.

Until one day there wasn’t.

And Gumshoe didn’t need to know it, but it had been weeks since he’d seen the inside of Miles’ bedroom. It’s not that they were fighting, not technically…

…Fighting would be better. They were hardly talking. It wasn’t the silence of two angry men who needed time to let their egos calm down before they could make up, either. It was two men who wanted to talk to each other desperately, that had more to say than they knew how to express, two men who were (hopefully) still very much in love but overwhelmed by the circumstances. Troubles beyond what they could have foreseen, even after everything they’d already been through. An elephant in the room that he wasn’t sure they could surmount.

A tiny elephant with brown hair and a contagious laugh and a penchant for magic tricks.

Phoenix himself had been the one to introduce a stranger into the relationship, without the consent and certainly without the approval of the other party. That would have been enough to throw the status of their relationship into question even without the far-reaching scandal that had destroyed his career and was currently drawing his partner’s ethics into question. He had been trying to remain optimistic for his new daughter’s sake, even when he couldn’t bring himself to believe he deserved for things to go well, he knew how unrealistic it would be to just assume things could be smoothed out. A large part of him had expected this weeks ago. “Listen, Gumshoe,” he finally continued, trying to keep his voice calm, “there’s a lot going on right now. Thank you for the heads up, but if he’s made up his mind-”

“But I don’t think he has! You’ve had him moping for weeks, but he’s been different the last few days. Y’know, quiet, nervous, jumping at stuff, like he does when he’s really lost in his thinking! I think he’s about to make a really big decision. And, y’know, Pal,” here his voice got a little lower. “You ain’t been that good for him recently, but still I think you should be there. Ya gotta try, anyway.”

“I…” Hope wasn’t what he needed right now. Hope had gotten him everywhere in life: his profession, his public standing, and even the relationship he hadn’t dreamed was possible; but it had let him down this time. Right now what he needed to do was work on managing expectations, and that included accepting that Miles Edgeworth wasn’t actually obligated to take on the role of father to go with his newly acquired reputation as a prosecutor dating a disbarred attorney. Hope was selfish. “He should do what’s best for him.”

There was a very long pause, during which he swore he could hear the detective’s mood switch at least three times. “Listen, Pal, if I can be frank,” he finally started, an uncharacteristic edge to his voice, “If you’re done with Mr Edgeworth, you should just tell him. This ain’t fair.”

“Done with him? Me?! Listen, Detective,”

“No, you listen! You haven’t been to his office in two weeks-”

“-You think I’m welcome there?!” Phoenix snapped.

Gumshoe didn’t even pause, “You think he’s welcome here?! You think nobody mentions you just ‘cause you ain’t been visiting lately?! Mr. Edgeworth has put his life into this job for years, he can’t just drop everything and run because you made a mistake, and,” Phoenix was cut off before he could protest, “I don’t even care whether you did it or not, you made a mistake and you gotta own up to that! Mr Edgeworth defends you a dozen times a day, why can’t you speak for yourself once in a while?!” There was a disturbingly wet sniffle. “If I could do anything to help him through this, I wouldn’t even question it! I… I’d even call the chief stupid!”

It took a second for Phoenix to finish cycling through the emotions the sudden rant had caused. He found his pride was most hurt by the fact that he had no comeback to Gumshoe’s logic. He must have gotten better at lying to himself if he could get himself to believe things even Gumshoe wouldn’t buy. “Listen, Detective,” he began warily, “if I’m the reason he’s suffering, why on earth do you think seeing me would help anything?”

There was another long pause, and then Gumshoe replied in an extremely disappointed voice, “I dunno, Pal. I guess I just assumed you two were in love.” A beep ended the conversation.

It was difficult to process what had just happened. He had just been told off by Gumshoe about his love life. Detective Gumshoe, who’d pined after Maggey for years without ever making a single move that didn’t make things drastically worse. Gumshoe, who only followed after Miles and did what he was told, who wouldn’t stand up for himself if his paycheck or job or even his life was on the line.

Gumshoe, who was always willing to risk everything for his boss, regardless of whether or not he was benefiting from it. Who trusted his boss to make the right decision every time. Who, in his own way, had loved Miles for almost a decade, probably more than the poor detective even loved himself.

Love. He and Miles respected each other deeply when it came down to the line, and trusted each other implicitly. They had managed to carry the bumbling lust of a first tryst and work it into a familiarity that had yet to take the edge off of their incessant need for each other. If you had asked him a month ago if they were in love, he probably would have just responded with a self-depreciating smile. Did it matter? There would be time enough to figure all that out when things calmed down. Now, the question made his stomach turn sour with anxiety. Love? Not blindly like Dollie or protectively like with Trucy. What he had with Miles was something strong enough that he would walk through fire without even questioning whether it was necessary, but it was still young enough he felt awkward asking to reschedule a date. It was something like a sharp cliff; the base was sturdy and would probably survive after everything else had crumbled away, but the edge was constantly breaking down, subject to landslides, eternally changing. It wasn’t something you could just define, tomorrow it might be something completely different.

Miles was so much to him.

But what was he to Miles?

Almost automatically, he picked up his phone off the desk. He would probably never understand the inner workings of Miles Edgeworth, and he was even less likely to interpret how it applied to their complicated bond, but he knew someone who deserved to be part of the dialogue.

Maya picked up on the third ring. “What’s up, Nick? Adopted another kid you need to have looked after?” She snickered. “I don’t do bulk discounts, you know.”

“Hey, Maya? This is weird, but can I talk to Trucy?”

“Yeah, whatever. Need some advice?” she laughed, handing the phone over. “At least you know who’s the adult in your house!”

The phone thumped a little as small hands wrestled the phone into place. “Hi, Daddy!”

“Hey, Trucy, how are you doing?”

“Great!” Trucy giggled. “Aunt Maya’s trying to figure out how I keep making all the cookies disappear!” Her voice became louder and more distorted, presumably because she was cupping her hand against the phone to be secretive. “I ate them.”

“Don’t give Aunt Maya too much trouble, okay? I need her to still like you enough to babysit you,” he joked.

“Everybody likes me!” she proclaimed loudly, the scuffling of a chair implying that she thought this statement was worthy of standing up. “I’m the amazing Trucy Wright!”

Phoenix laughed again. “Well, you’re Daddy’s favorite, that’s for sure.” He paused for a second, taking a deep breath. “You know Mr. Edgeworth, right?”

“Yeah!” She responded enthusiastically. “He’s really pretty. He needs a better agent. When we saw him on TV yesterday they didn’t even center the camera on him! He’s the best talent they have, they should treat him like it!”

Phoenix gave a sad half-smile to the receiver. “Well, I’ve heard he’s going to England.”

He heard her shift the phone excitedly. “Does he have a new gig?”

“Yeah, I guess. Something like that.” Phoenix replied.

“Sounds exciting!” she exclaimed. In the silence after the statement, she seemed to quickly pick up his unease. “But you’re gonna miss him, huh?”

“Yeah, Honey,” he admitted quietly, “a whole bunch.”

“So, go kiss him goodbye! And tell him you’ll miss him! Don’t you watch movies?!” She sounded as angry as a little girl could muster. “He’ll miss you too, you know!”

“You really think so?”

He could practically hear her little eyes roll. “Daddy…” she explained with exaggerated patience. “Mr. Edgeworth’s whole thing is that he’s really good at catching bad guys, right? If he really thought you were a bad guy, he wouldn’t keep insisting that everyone say ‘alleged’ when they talk about bad things you’ve done. ‘Allegedly’ done.” she corrected herself, and giggled.

He didn’t realize she’d picked up on that, although every media outlet in the country had made multiple references to it. And while their relationship wasn’t common public knowledge yet, any amount of familiarity invariably reflected badly on Miles. “You don’t think he’s gotten sick of me?”

There was a long pause. “Daddy, are you sick of me?” She finally said, and his chest seized. She was still young and confident enough that it was still rhetorical, but it was still a dangerous question. A question that a child should never have to ask, especially one who had already lost two parents.

“Of course not, Honey, you know I love you more than anything. Aunt Maya has to watch you while I finish all this paperwork about why I don’t get to be a lawyer anymore, but we all know she’s not allowed to keep you, right? I’d miss you too much.”

“So why do you think Mr Edgeworth doesn’t like you?”

Christ, he could write a book. An entire series, with hourly updates on the official blog to remind the world what he’d done in the last ten minutes that would make Miles Edgeworth regret being seen in the same room as him. But how to explain that to Trucy…

No, if she had caught on to the significance of what ‘alleged’ meant for both of their careers, she had to realize how tense things were on the few occasions when “uncle” Miles had shown up. She probably even realized that at least some of that tension involved her. He knew she was almost unnaturally perceptive. He wasn’t even sure when she’d realized that his relationship with Miles was the kind of thing that warranted a kiss goodbye, but he found he wasn’t surprised that he knew. “Honey, you know Edgeworth and I have been fighting, right?”

“Yeah.” He was surprised how vulnerable her voice sounded all of a sudden. “It’s hard to hear.”

“I’m sorry, Truce, I-”

“It’s not like you’re too mean.” she interrupted. “Dad- my other Dad, he gets in fights a lot. Sometimes he even punched people. I didn’t like that. The yelling hurt too.” “Sweetie...”

“You and Mr Edgeworth are different.” she continued quietly. “I can tell you’re mad, but… I don’t think you’re mad at each other. And you don’t really want to be right either, so it doesn’t even matter if you win or lose. It just hurts.”

Holy shit. Magic was her calling, but her was certain that they could set up the agency as a counselor tomorrow and make more money in their first week than he pulled in as a lawyer in the average month. Just the fact that he’d managed to gain such a wonderful daughter was the closest thing he had to proof that he hadn’t ruined everything. “And you still think he likes me?”

“Daddy, he loves you.” she replied. “He wouldn't fight like that if he didn’t.”

“You really think so?” He should probably feel ridiculous relying on his daughter to bolster his confidence before he went to confront his boyfriend over his still theoretic and totally justified abandonment, but at the moment all he cold think of was how much better she seemed to be reading the situation. If she believed it was worth a shot, then maybe…

“Daddy...” the tiny clairvoyant mood seemed to pass as quickly as it had begun, and now she was just another long-suffering child dealing with a clueless parent. “He thinks you’re pretty. Even I don’t think you’re pretty.” In the background, Maya burst out laughing. “Besides, you want to kiss him, right? It’s good for both of you!”

He couldn’t stifle a chuckle. Trucy was still Trucy, thank goodness. “You know what, Honey? I’ll do that. Thanks.”

“Kiss him for me too,” she laughed, “You can kiss him on the mouth if you want, as long as you tell him that part was your idea. Oh, and tell him I know a guy that can help him with his sound checks! He’s got a nice voice, they just need to wire him better.”

Kiss him goodbye. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it? If he managed to even find Miles, and didn’t get chased off immediately, he could kiss his boyfriend goodbye and tell him there would always be a place for him here if he got lonely. And if he didn’t, well… Phoenix Wright had plenty of practice pining after Miles Edgeworth. He’d survive.

“Thank you, Truce.”

“Go get him, Daddy!”

“I’ll try, Sweetheart. Be nice to Aunt Maya, okay?”

“Yep!” The call ended.

Phoenix grabbed his wallet and headed for the door, intentionally avoiding the mirror. He already knew Miles wasn’t dating him for his looks or fashion sense or career, or anything else that readily came to mind. Getting his suit out would only waste time and make him more recognizable to gawkers. If he had any chance of pulling off a miracle, his pride wasn’t going to enter into things. In fact, the less he thought about it logically, the better. This was one for the heart.

THIS WAS WHERE WE LEFT OFF–

Fortunately, it was easy to catch a shuttle to the airport from the Gatewater, and if Gumshoe had been right and Miles wasn’t leaving just yet, he might even have gotten there first. Besides, he knew the prosecutor well enough to be confident enough that Miles would never resort to a taxi. He had to be storing his car, which meant more delays. And on an international flight, it could still be hours before he actually left.

If only his dumb ass hadn’t gotten him stuck in arrivals. It never ceased to confound him how such a huge airport could constantly manage to have the same population and hostile, zombie-eyed energy of an overcrowded high school. He was scanning the area with growing apprehension, wondering what to do. He could try to find departures, although the time and energy it would take to force his way against the current of humanity would mean he’d show up at the right area missing his sunglasses, most of his sanity, and possibly a few fingers, just in time to catch a glimpse of one of the nicest asses in Los Angeles passing through a metal detector behind four security fences. He’d look great on the news being arrested as a terrorist who jumped a counter in the name of love. At least he knew a good defense attorney…

...Oh wait, not anymore.

He was surprised how much the realization still managed to hurt.

He could page Miles and see just how mad that made him. Did they even page people at airports anymore? It would be easy enough to convince someone of the uselessness of his piece of crap phone, but Miles would know exactly what was happening even if they didn’t give his name. He should probably just hang his head in shame and crawl back to his office and be glad he hadn’t had a chance to make things even worse. If this was a movie, he’d be sitting here on the brink of despair when all of a sudden a flash of magenta would catch him off guard.

A little girl in a dark pink dress happened to be taking off her coat in the corner of his vision at that exact moment and nearly gave him a heart attack. No, of course it wasn’t Miles, because this wasn’t a stupid movie and he had a feeling he wasn’t anywhere near the nadir of his fall from grace anyway. He apologized profusely to the family he had frightened and pretended he had mistaken her mother for someone he knew because it seemed slightly less creepy than saying he thought her young daughter was his boyfriend, and made his way to the bathroom to get a hold of himself.

And there was Miles Edgeworth in the flesh. Tall and harried and unfairly beautiful, leaning against a suitcase that was far too large to be meant for a weekend trip. He was sipping tea from a national chain Phoenix knew he could hardly stand and trying badly to pretend he didn’t hate everyone within a hundred yards of him. Phoenix slowly edged around the masses of people, trying to get closer without looking suspicious.

God, he looked tired. He always tended to look overworked, but this was beyond a Miles who had suffered through a hard day at work and needed a glass of wine before he was willing to talk about it. This was Miles on day two of a three day trial, considering a nicotine patch just to keep him awake and re-applying concealer in the bathroom because he was raised to be perfect and perfection didn’t show up to court looking like a drug addict in a nice suit. This was Miles holding together because failure wasn’t an option even when nothing else was a possibility anymore, and he was the Miles that always caused Phoenix and Gumshoe to hold their breath and hope this wasn’t the millstone that broke the camel’s back.

That was the look of a man who had had three cases in the last two days appealed simply because Phoenix Wright had touched the case, and their shared history alone was proof enough that someone needed to take a closer look.

That was entirely Phoenix’s fault, and as Gumshoe has pointed out earlier, he hadn’t really been doing anything to make things better. And here he was, in sweat pants with a ratty old beanie pulled over his hair and his favorite pair of sunglasses that made him look like any one of thousands of people going through a personal scandal. What did he have to offer? He wanted to run.

And god, did he want to kiss that man.

Hold him and kiss his tired eyes and tell him it was okay, there had just been a misunderstanding and his stupid boyfriend hadn’t ruined both of their lives thinking he could handle things on his own. Call a cab and give him a back-rub and a good meal and make sure he got a good night’s sleep whether he wanted it or not, and maybe in the morning they could talk about their relationship if there was anything left of it.

He was considering his options when the man with the silver hair happened to glance in his direction. He froze, but Miles didn’t even look surprised. “Goddamn it, Gumshoe’s got to be afraid of a living wage.” He turned back like that was the end of the conversation.

Phoenix stepped forward. “I…”

“What did he even tell you?”

“He just said you were leaving for the airport and if I hurried I might be able to catch you before you left.” Forget that kiss goodbye, not in front of all these people. If he really loved the man, he should let Miles punch him out in front of the crowd. Let him leave on a high note after weeks of being abused by Phoenix Wright simply existing.

“You…” It seemed to take a moment for the words to sink in, Miles must be even more exhausted than even Phoenix realized. “…Listen, I don’t think you have any idea what’s going on here, but I need you to leave right now.We can discuss this later.”

“What’s to discuss?” Phoenix asked with a wry smile, removing his sunglasses. “You’ve held out longer than I thought you would. I just wanted to say I’m sorry it’s come to this.”

“Come to…” Confusion momentarily overtook the irritation in Miles’ voice. “Come to what, exactly? At what point did you finally notice things had gotten out of hand?”

Phoenix shrugged the question off. “Yeah, I know, I’ve been screwing everything up since the whole thing started, right? Why should this be any different?”

“That’s not what I meant, and I’ll thank you not to twist my words-”

“Easy, I’m not blaming you for anything. I just wanted to…” kiss him, that’s what he had set out to do, wasn’t it? Show up like the arrogant prick he was and demand a kiss from a man he’d inadvertently tried to ruin. “Hey,” he asked suddenly, “would you like to punch me out?”

“What?!”

“The press would eat it up, you know, everyone’s got a camera these days, it would be all over the news by this afternoon. At least it would give you something to talk about when you get to wherever you’re going besides what terrible taste you have in men.”

“Listen, Wright, I assume you think you’re helping with something, but I assure you that you aren’t.” Miles was finally showing signs of true, intense agitation around the edges of his frazzled confusion. “When is the last time you actually tried to talk to me? Now you want to look like a martyr?”

“No, not a martyr, just an asshole.” Phoenix returned. “Isn’t that what everyone’s thinking anyway?” He glanced around. A few people had paused around them, either recognizing the minor celebrities or just smelling a public breakdown. It occurred to him that people who didn’t recognize them must be wondering what sort of business the man in the dirty hoodie with stubble that said he was never expected to be presentable anywhere might have with the person who looked like some sort of minor royalty in a period piece. Someone must have alerted security already. Whatever was going to happen would have to happen soon.

“Wright, this is not the time. Honestly, I’ll be the first to admit we could use more communication, but you have somehow managed to pick the worst possible time to initiate it, and even by your twisted logic this is wildly inappropriate.”

“Come on, Sweetheart, I know you’re good for it.” Phoenix persisted, taking Miles’ wrist more roughly than he had intended. Even he wasn’t sure why he was so insistent about a physical altercation. Perhaps he was afraid of the lack of passion in their voices. If what they had was ending, shouldn’t it end with the same fire that had forced them together in the first place? The relationship had been short, but the events leading up to it overshadowed both of their lives. “Do something,” he insisted. “I’m not just some stranger asking for change.”

Miles looked at the hand trapping his and then back at the owner of said hand. “After everything we’ve been through, can’t you just trust me?”

That was fair, honestly it was more than fair. Miles had never intentionally hurt him during their brief but intense relationship, and a man who didn’t order takeout without an intense inner dialogue about his decision wouldn’t have just up and left without considering the consequences of his actions. He should just trust Miles to make the right decision. But standing here, inches away from the man who he’d pursued for over a decade, it struck him just how difficult it would be to accept that what was best for Miles was to leave and not look back. Certainly without a kiss goodbye. It wasn’t that Miles had dispassionately concluded that his use for Phoenix Wright had ended, it was a man who had dedicated weeks to trying to drag his unresponsive partner out of an engorged river and was finally having to accept that getting himself killed over a lost cause wasn’t accomplishing anything. “I…” he started, with no words in his mind to finish the though.

The last time Miles had left, it had taken fifteen years to catch up. This time, would it even be possible?

“Miles?”

Both men turned to see the confused man who had just exited the bathroom and was now standing a few feet behind Miles, still drying his hands on a linen handkerchief as he surveyed the scene. He was very average in almost every regard, but in a strangely comforting way. He somehow gave off the feeling of a relative you hadn’t seen for a while but remembered on almost an instinctual level as being a source of comfort, perhaps an uncle. He was certainly old enough to be, with gray hair fashionably beginning to dust his temples and glasses that only made him look more refined. Phoenix was the first to admit he didn’t know as much about suits as his profession would suggest, but he realized at first glance that the suit the man was wearing was most likely custom and definitely closer to Miles’ budget than his own. “Who is this?” The man asked with a faint but refined accent.

Phoenix would have liked to have something to say at this point, if only so that the first impression of him was that he was a coherent human being capable of rational speech, but unfortunately his mouth had become incapable of such niceties the moment it registered that a total stranger had referred to Miles by his first name with no reaction. He’d never even heard Franziska refer to him by his given name without tacking on his last. Hell, they’d been dating for months, and he still knew better than to throw the epitaph around carelessly. But this man… He looked to Miles, who had gone totally silent. There was no attempt to return his eye contact. “Miles?” he repeated softly.

“Excuse me, may I help you?” The other man stepped forward, taking a worried glance at Miles’s obvious discomfort. “Do you have some business with Miles?”

Phoenix supposed the man could be considered handsome. Not his own type at all, but he had to admit that the man, while definitely many years older than himself or Miles, seemed fashionable and well-aged. It was more than that, though, something in the eyes or the wrinkles by his mouth, that made him look soft and kind. Not the kind of person he would have expected to turn Miles Edgeworth’s head, but somehow he looked like the kind that would be strong and stable enough to support the troubled man through his hectic life without piling on extra unnecessary stress. A relationship a man like Miles truly deserved.

He knew he was able to satisfy Miles sexually. The man standing between them probably had no idea that the refined and outwardly repressed prosecutor had introduced the subject of bondage the first time Phoenix had stayed the night at his place, or that they’d had to establish a safe word that same evening after Miles had gotten so loud they’d had to pause and confirm that unless it involved that one certain word, the volume should be considered an indication that everything was perfect and he should not under any circumstances stop. Two weeks after they had gotten together Gumshoe had actually hugged him, tears in his eyes as he thanked Phoenix for whatever it was he was doing, because in the almost ten years they’d worked together he hadn’t even realized Mr Edgeworth could be that relaxed. Gumshoe definitely hadn’t caught on that Phoenix’s main objective in that moment had been to distract the detective from how fast Miles had ran for the bathroom or that his bangs were wet when he returned, but he definitely noticed when he dropped some decisive evidence and his boss shrugged it off without comment. For a few perfect weeks they had been living like rock stars.

But as a couple their relationship was mostly hard spikes and sharp edges, no pun intended, and after his scandal things were getting roughed up faster than they could force them back down into place. A couple of spectacular orgasms a week didn’t even begin to justify what Miles had been through lately. Even then, this was the closest they’d been physically.

And yet, the idea that Miles had reached out to another for emotional support hurt so much more than the thought of him finding a convenient body to warm the other side of bed. “I get it.” he finally said quietly, trying to keep the tears out of his voice. He’d embarrassed himself enough.

“I highly doubt that.” Miles replied coolly, still looking away. He looked more upset at the inconvenience of the scene being played out in front of him than he did embarrassed or conflicted. He just wanted it to be over. In some ways, that hurt the most.

“No, I get it. Honestly, you’ve held out longer than I deserved.” A kiss goodbye, that had seemed like such an obtainable goal this morning. This was exactly what he deserved for listening to the lies of hope. Anger rose up in his throat, at everything, the world that had put him in this position and himself for allowing it to happen. At this other man simply for looking exactly like the source of mental and professional stimulation he’d never been able to be for Miles. At Miles himself for letting things get to this point without saying anything. For that look that was too exhausted to even be ashamed. “Listen,” He had no idea what he was going to say, but he knew something had to be said. He was surprised by the pain and challenge in his own voice. “I’m not quite as stupid as you think I am-”

“No, you listen,” Suddenly the other man was between them, blocking Miles’ body with his own. “I don’t know what your problem is, but-”

“Robert.” Miles finally spoke up, his voice quiet and reluctant as he put his hand on the man’s shoulder gently. That hurt too, physical familiarity was not something Miles was readily comfortable with. “I appreciate your concern, but this is something I need to deal with personally.” The gesture was enough to quiet both men down, waiting in silence for the prosecutor to speak. Even in his anger, Phoenix could tell that the other man held a deep respect for Miles and was willing to wait for an explanation before jumping to conclusions. “I would like to introduce you to Phoenix Wright. We’ve spoken of his recent troubles, which I can only assume are responsible for him acting like this.”

Robert’s face seemed to lighten instantly. “Why, I didn’t recognize you without the suit! And that silly hat. Yes, of course, I’ve heard…” he turned back to Miles, and was suddenly quiet again, as if realizing there was more to the story.

“I’ll admit that our communication has been strained recently, but the last time we actually discussed it, I was under the impression we were still a couple.”

Phoenix’s heart caught in his throat as Robert looked from one face to the other with shock. “I had no idea-” he stammered, and then went quiet again.

“And Phoenix Wright, I had hoped that this would be under different circumstances, but I would like to introduce you to Robert Edgeworth, my uncle. I assume you understand how circumstances kept us from speaking for most of my life, but we reconnected in Brussels two years ago. I’ve asked him to stay out here for a week as my guest.” He cleared his throat as he thought over his words. “There were things I felt more comfortable speaking about in person rather than over the phone.”

And this would probably be that nadir he had been thinking about: The exact moment that he was able to pinpoint what exactly he saw in the other man that would be such a comfort to Miles and realized it was how closely he resembled Gregory Edgeworth. “I-I, um, I’m Phoenix Wright… I guess you knew that. It’s such an honor to meet you, Sir, I, um, I didn’t realize- he never talked about- n-not that he hasn’t talked about you, just not to me! I mean…” Now words were coming without thoughts or pauses as he tried to decide the most socially acceptable way to excuse himself to find a good hole to crawl into to die.

“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Wright, Pleasure to meet you.” Robert offered his hand awkwardly. “I was aware that the two of you were close, but I didn’t think… I wouldn’t presume…” he glanced back towards his nephew.

“It’s complicated.” Miles said quietly. “Significantly more so as of late.”

“Yes, I can see where it would be.” Robert said, his voice filled with concern. “And you said that he had recently adopted a young girl, didn’t he?”

“I personally need a drink.” Miles announced. “I don’t live far, and I honestly don’t think I’ll be driving again today. Wright…” he paused. “I don’t even know what to do with you right now.”

“I can get lost, no problem.” Phoenix mumbled. “I mean, you’re still welcome to that punch, if you’d like. You’ve certainly earned it.”

Miles’ expression was too exhausted to show his emotions properly, everything came out as profound, soul-crushing disappointment. “I suppose you’re free to do what you like. I’ve never expected otherwise from you, anyway.” He was still avoiding eye contact, and it finally hit Phoenix exactly what he had been accusing his partner of.

“After everything we’ve been through, can’t you just trust me?”

He trusted Miles with his life. Even the lives of the people closest to him, which was significantly more impressive because he actually cared about their well-being. He idolized Miles so much that he had automatically assumed infidelity was a normal, healthy thing for to do before it occurred to him that such an action would be out of character for the prosecutor.

He was so deeply devoted to the man that he’d practically forced Miles out the door towards a better future without even asking for his opinion.

“I’m so sorry,” Phoenix stammered, having trouble forcing the words past the lump in his throat, “I… I guess I just got so used to the idea that I was dragging you down that I just assumed…” the words died on his lips. There was really no way to recover. “I hope the two of you have a great time...” He abruptly turned to go.

A hand caught the back of his sweatshirt. “You don’t don’t mind, right, Miles? I’d hate to think I’d strained your relationship further.” Miles shrugged without glancing in their direction. “Then as my guest, please.” Robert addressed Phoenix directly. “At least until we get to the house. I need to thank you for saving my nephew’s life.”

“It’s nothing. It was a long time ago.” Phoenix mumbled. Miles continued towards the exit with the larger of the suitcases.

“Nonsense.” Robert returned. “You fought Manfred Von Karma for his sake. Some of the bravest men I’ve known would balk at that.” He glanced back at his nephew, who had retrieved the suitcase and was walking towards the exit without comment. “And you won, boy! Do you know how impossible that was? I underestimated him once, I’ll never forgive myself.” His voice dropped, and he leaned in closer. “I tried to sue for custody, I was his uncle, I had a steady income and a stable job and I was cocky young bastard... By the time the ordeal was over it cost me my practice in the states. The man was a monster, Mr. Wright.”

Phoenix cringed away from the words. “Please, Mr. Edgeworth, it was nothing. I didn’t even do it on my own, I got help from everyone. The press didn’t show how strong Miles had to be.”

“Mr. Wright...” That sad smile. Phoenix hadn’t even realized he had so many memories of Gregory Edgeworth until he met Robert. If it was affecting him so much, what could Miles be feeling? “I lost my brother, and there was nothing I could do about it, but I almost lost my nephew too. I can’t speak for Miles, but I know I can never repay you for what you’ve given back to me. I can’t imagine how my nephew must feel. He needs you, probably more than he needs me. Please, Mr. Wright.” His gray eyes glinted earnestly, and for the first time in years Phoenix wondered how Miles would be with a nurturing guardian. “For the ride over, at least, I’m sure you would be appreciated.” He turned to catch up to Miles.

Against his better judgment, Phoenix followed him.

Conversation was nearly impossible as the two less experienced men struggled with keeping Miles in sight as he wove through people and cars with the air of someone who must visit this airport several times a month. He didn’t look back or address either of them until he arrived at his car. Finally he turned, and seemed to notice for the first time that both men were still there. Phoenix stood still guiltily, like a child awaiting punishment, for the surprise to turn to resentment, but it never did. “Let me see if I can get these in the trunk.” he finally said. “It might be tight, but we should manage.”

“You have your father’s taste in vehicles, I see.” Robert smiled, and it took Phoenix a tense second to notice the shy, barely-repressed grin as Miles mumbled a thanks. “Even his color. Did you ever see the photos of his cars when he was younger?”

“A few.” Miles admitted. “He kept a picture of the Spider in his office, sort of in the back. Andrea, wasn’t it?”

“I remember her. Robert smiled. I still think Sarah wanted him to sell that one because he didn’t stop referring to it as his girlfriend until after they were engaged.” Robert let a hand trail lovingly along the well-polished hood. “His priorities changed when he had a child, but I’m sure he would have been thrilled to know you inherited his love.” He wiped a tear out of the edge of his eye with the base of his palm. “I’ll stop now.”

It hadn’t occurred to Phoenix just how little Miles must know about his father. Truth, justice, protecting people that couldn’t protect themselves, all of that had become a mantra that stuck with the boy until adulthood, but little things, preferred movies, book, foods… Most of it wouldn’t come up in normal conversation with a nine year old. Just knowing that he had a link with his father must be more precious to him than breathing after surviving on scraps for so long. Phoenix watched the two other men talk with relative ease as Miles somehow managed to get the huge suitcase into the back of the car.

He felt like an intruder in an extremely intimate scene, and at the same time he felt immensely blessed to be here at such a magical event in his partner’s life. There was something deeper though, not jealousy, he was thrilled to see Miles connecting with his past in a positive way. No, it was more like dread. He had always seen Miles as a cornerstone of his childhood, a rock that diverted his life from an unfocused kid to the path he had followed for most of his life. He was suddenly struck by the ugly thought that he wasn’t even a particularly strong link to his lover’s past. Here was a living relative who actually knew Gregory Edgeworth, and he has always counted himself as something special for remembering a few words Miles had said about a book he hadn’t even bothered to read.

Miles turned to Phoenix again when he closed the trunk. He seemed to be waiting for some response, but Phoenix didn’t have one. “I… I can still get lost if you want. I realize how important this is,” he offered lamely.

“I’m not asking you to leave.” Miles replied. He certainly wasn’t asking Phoenix to stay either, but after everything the prosecutor been subjected to today, he deserved to have his partner stick out his own neck.

“I...” Phoenix cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about everything. I should know by now not to listen to Gumshoe.”

“And I should have known better than to think I’d managed to keep him from interfering.”

“I,” Words were so stupid. In all these thousands of years, why hadn’t mankind invented a way for people to actually communicate their feelings? “I’ve just felt so useless lately. All I do is cause problems for you.”

“If you think we started dating because I thought being in close proximity to you would make my life less complicated, I’m afraid you’re very much in error.”

“No, I...” Over Miles’ shoulder, Phoenix could see Robert jerking his head towards his nephew. He wasn’t quite sure what it was meant to suggest, but if their short conversation had been any indication Robert was expecting something. “I...” He stepped forward with no real plan. “I...” Up this close, Miles was even more breathtaking, and somehow even more exhausted than he had looked in the harsh light by the baggage pickup. “Oh, Miles...” His brain was still telling him that this was all stupid, he didn’t even deserve to touch Miles after everything he’d put them through today, and if you took the last month into account he didn’t deserve to exist in the same city. Everything he’d done so far had only managed to dig the hole different. He ignored that voice and wrapped his arms around his poor, worn out boyfriend.

Miles was all one tense muscle as Phoenix settled into him, pulling his arms tighter as he was enveloped in the familiar smell and warmth and realized that the last time they’d just gotten lost in each other he had been a single man with a career ahead of him. That was lifetimes away, but here was Miles, still warm and solid and… familiar. Somehow, despite Phoenix’s terrible luck and horrendous judgment, this was still available to him. “I’m sorry, Miles. Let me make it up to you.” He couldn’t think of anything he had to offer, but Miles was here in front of him and not pushing him away. That was worth anything to him.

Miles hadn’t let go of his tension yet. “Is this just how it is now?” He asked, his voice ragged. “Nothing for days and then accusations out of nowhere?You’ve always expounded on your unshakable trust, and yet-”

“I trust you, Miles.” Phoenix whispered. “I never stopped believing in you, I just don’t believe in me right now.”

“Without you there’s hardly us, Phoenix.”

“Do you still want us? Even after everything that’s happened?”

“...Do you?”

It was hardly fair to turn it about like that, but hell, Miles had earned it and more after everything he’d put up with. “I’d give anything short of Trucy to keep us.”

He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the man in his arms stiffened more at the mention of the young girl, and Phoenix could have sworn his heart just stopped cold, its last beat echoing through his empty chest. “She… needs you, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

“And it had to be you, didn’t it?” Miles asked, voice wavering. “She doesn’t just need a father, she needs Phoenix Wright.”

Phoenix felt his heart, still cold and unbeating, drop out of his chest. “I really believe she does,” he answered quietly.

There was a choked, broken noise in back of Miles’ throat. “It’s not fair,” Miles croaked.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Phoenix whispered. He hadn’t realized it was possible to hurt this much after everything he’d been through. He had been sure there was too much scar tissue on his heart for a fresh scar to be possible, but here it was, bleeding new blood. “I love you.” As he spoke the words aloud he realized he had the answer to the morning’s doubts. “If there’s any way I can keep you both in my life, I promise I’ll do anything. If you just tell me there’s a chance someday, just enough hope to keep me going...” He was wrong. He needed hope more than anything. He needed to believe the universe wouldn’t make him throw away one love to protect the other. “Please...”

Miles was silent for several seconds more. “I don’t understand children. I didn’t understand them when I was one. I don’t know what you think you can expect from me.” His voice was so strained it hurt to hear.

“This isn’t your fight, Miles.” Phoenix replied quietly. “I meant it when I said you’ve already held out longer that I deserved.”

Miles hissed through clenched teeth, eyes flicking around in what Phoenix was quickly identifying as a panic attack. “Are you telling me to let go, then?”

“I don’t know what I’m saying, I just know that every time I talk I make things worse and I don’t know what to do!” His head was pounding, but it wasn’t something that could be defined as a headache, it was more like his thoughts were so conflicted they were refusing to coexist inside the same skull.

“Excuse me,” a quiet voice came from behind him, and Phoenix turned when he felt a hand on his shoulder, easing him aside. “I realize I’m a stranger under these circumstances, but I think I understand better why I was asked here.”

Miles gritted his teeth. “I certainly didn’t ask you here to be my personal therapist, Robert.” His voice was laden with shame and suppressed tears. “I had hoped to spare you from as much of the drama as possible.”

Robert reached out and put his arms gently around his nephew. “You’re not a burden, Miles. You never have been. You realize that, don’t you?” Miles seemed to flinch away from the words, like just hearing them hurt. “You’re a gifted young man. You have faults like any other human on the planet. No one blames you for reaching out.”

Phoenix watched, transfixed, as Miles slowly melted into the embrace. “I’m sorry,” he offered lamely. “I’m making things worse again.”

“My area of expertise is divorce court.” Robert’s voice was calm and still gentle, but with a sort of parental authority. “Oh, come now, it’s not that bad. My area of expertise is determining whether a couple needs a therapist, a trial separation, or if divorce is the best option.”

“I didn’t ask you here to help me end my relationship!” Miles protested. His voice was no longer verging on panic, but it was still so raw and tense even the words sounded like they needed a massage.

“I know, Miles.” Robert soothed. “The road to hell is often paved with good intentions. I’ve no doubt you’ve both seen your share of hell, and I truly believe you both have the best of intentions for each other.” He turned slightly. “My professional opinion is that there’s a severe lack of communication going on between you. Miles, may I speak to him on your behalf?” Miles replied with a distressed noise. “There, there,” he soothed.“Mr. Wright, Miles contacted me… perhaps two months ago. He said he was being considered for a position that would station him in Belgium for a year, and then possibly continue in various cities across Europe. He was excited about the prospect and the opportunities it could present, but he was afraid he didn’t have the...” here Robert stopped to consider his words. “social skills to to create a meaningful long-distance relationship. My partner lived in Australia for three years, so of course I was happy to assist him in any way possible. It was a week after that when the conversation seemed to change. Looking back, it must have been your trial.” Phoenix cringed. “He’s very upset about that, I might add. We spoke about you extensively, although I wasn’t aware that you were also the significant other he spoke of. He told me that under no circumstances should I believe the news was true, but that didn’t change the fact that your professionalism had reached a new low, and your naivete is going to get you killed someday.” Robert paused again to reflect. “It occurs that the fact that he was so open in expressing his feelings that sealed the impression you weren’t the significant other he had been referring to. There was none of the frailty I would have expected from a new relationship.”

“We’ve been seeing each other romantically for about three months. We’ve known each other since we were nine.” Phoenix offered shyly..

“Nine?! Miles, you didn’t tell me-!” Robert sputtered into a laugh, and despite his tension Miles managed the indignant glare of a cat that had been forced out of it’s favorite sleeping spot. “Wait, are you telling me he was the trial boy from class?!”

“I don’t know what my father told you, but I’m sure it was exaggerated.” Miles replied, his cheeks bright red as he glared in any direction that would keep him safe from eye contact. “I was just being logical. It was unfair.”

“He told me you hadn’t made many friends since Sarah passed, and he was genuinely upset that you wouldn’t let him take you both to Disneyland to celebrate. You know how he worshiped the ground you walked on, how could he help but adore a child who wanted to become your first disciple?” Robert replied knowingly. “Come here, Wright, I feel like I’m practically your uncle too.” He offered Phoenix a hearty hug. “You’re persistent, aren’t you? Good show!”

“Robert, please-” Miles had never had any use for praise, but it was obvious that this had blown past his first few levels of discomfort and was rapidly approaching Oldbag levels of stress. Some sadistic part of Phoenix was comforted by the fact he wasn’t Miles’ sole tormentor.

“It can’t be as bad as all that, Miles. If he’s been following you since you were nine, a few thousand miles probably won’t make much difference. Now, Mr. Wright, what would you say is the biggest issue in your relationship?”

“That’s easy, me.”

“Could you be a little more specific?”

“I’m a lazy, unemployed asshole who adopted a kid without asking my significant other. And I thought about punching his uncle for being better than me at everything like thirty seconds after I met him.” Phoenix rattled off. “Would you like more?”

Miles snorted derisively and threw an aggravated look at his uncle like he was planning a retort, but said nothing.

Robert nodded as if that was exactly what he had expected to hear. “And what do you bring to the relationship?”

Phoenix had to think about that. “Stress and mediocre sex?”

Edgeworth arched a wary eyebrow. “Mediocre?”

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re great! I’ve got no complaints there. It’s just, you know...”

“No, I don’t know.” Miles replied, apprehension giving away to a scowl. “Perhaps you’d care to enlighten me.

“Well, yes,” Robert thankfully chose that moment to intervene again, “I’m certain you can work the ins and outs of the whole thing later. Right now, we’re working on verbal communication. Now Miles, what would you say the biggest issue in your relationship is?”

It took a moment for Miles to remember what their conversation was supposed to be about. “I.. uhh, I guess right now it’s mostly a problem of myself and his daughter.”

“What?!” Phoenix choked. Miles flushed. “It’s not as if I’m claiming your daughter isn’t upholding her obligations to the relationship. She’s a child, she has no obligations, it’s just that her presence causes… issues.” He tried to explain, scowling as he tried to explain his feelings.

“No, I mean, what about me?” Phoenix asked. “Me, the one that ruined everything? The one that continues to ruin everything? The one that-” There weren’t words to describe what had transpired today. “-I just, I’m no good for you.”

“Well, I’m not really contributing anything to the relationship at the moment, myself.” Miles replied with eyes fixed on the ground..

“What would you even contribute?”

“Are you saying I bring nothing?”

“No!” Phoenix snapped, then bit his tongue when Miles looked away quietly. “I meant that I don’t feel that way, Miles.” he added, slightly irate that he even had to clarify. “You’ve done more than your share in the past. Right now there’s not much you can do.”

“You’re not letting me do anything!” Phoenix jumped slightly. He had meant it as absolving Miles from any guilt, not as an accusation, but he was overwhelmed by the passion in the response. It wasn’t even anger, he could almost taste the complex tangle of emotions in the words. “I understand that I’m not qualified to take care of children as I am, but you seem so intent on keeping us separated. We agreed this wasn’t something casual, so why are you walling me out of your life? Do you not trust me? I still don’t even know what she thinks I am! Am I your friend, your partner, an uncle? Does she even understand the idea of two men in a romantic relationship? I don’t know what children these days know!” He ran a hand through his hair, clenching a fistful of it in frustration. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, and you’re not telling me anything!”

Phoenix had felt the color drain from his face as Miles’ fears became more clear, and now he felt like his heart would actually break if his partner continued. And he’d deserve it, but this was about damage control. “Oh Miles,” he said quietly, gently, as he brushed some of Miles’ long bangs back into place. “I’ve tried to keep her out of your hair. I thought all of this was overwhelming enough without you having to deal with all my issues on top of it.” The tiny movement of Miles’ face, turning slightly to nuzzle into his palm, went straight to his heart like an electric shock, and before he realized it, he was wrapping his partner in another hug. “She loves you. She calls you Uncle Miles and she loves seeing you on TV. She doesn’t quite understand your job, but she says that you rely on your wits and showmanship like any good performer.” Miles replied with a quiet sigh, and for the first time in weeks he felt the hug actually soften into an act of intimacy between two lovers. Their issues certainly weren’t solved, but from a hopeful outlook rather than a sense of merely delaying the inevitable separation, he found it impossible to comprehend how he had survived the last month without the steadying assurance of his partner. Had he really forgotten what a comfort it was? “She knows I’m crazy about you. How could I hide that? She can even tell when I’m thinking about you already. She knows the tells.”

“In what sense?” Miles mumbled into his shoulder.

“In the ‘how did I I let things get this bad, how can I solve this without hurting everyone involved’ sense, I guess.” Phoenix replied. “And even then, ‘talk it out like adults’ was never an option I considered viable. I didn’t even think it was worth annoying you with my existence to tell you I would miss you. She was the one who told me to kiss you goodbye and tell you I’d be waiting if you decided to come back.”

“We mutually agreed to enter a relationship. I would have hoped the decision to end said relationship would be subject to the same sort of cooperative discussion.”

“Yeah,” Phoenix replied, his voice growing just a bit wistful as his grip tightened, “but I’m… In my experience, we don’t always contact each other before making life-changing decisions.” There was a long, anxious drag of air between Miles’ teeth that meant he knew exactly what was being referred to.

“That’s fair.” Miles agreed hesitantly. “I… apologize if I haven’t been clear in my intentions.”

“You haven’t done anything you need to apologize for.” Phoenix replied. “I’m sorry I’ve been projecting so much on you.”

Miles cleared his throat. “I need you to keep in mind that I’m not good with other people, and there’s little hope of me picking up your insecurities interfering with the relationship while I’m busy fixating on my own faults.”

“I’m sorry,” Phoenix replied with a small chuckle, “I’ll try to remember you’re not perfect.”

“I don’t see how that would be difficult to remember.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a little more handsome than I’m used to dealing with, and sometimes I wish you’d dial back the wit for a bit to make it easier to lose an argument against you without feeling like I should take a vow of silence to make sure I never sully the world with my idiocy again, but I’ll admit that ‘unfathomably still interested in boyfriend who continues to ruin everything he touches’ wasn’t a fault I considered.”

“Please don’t hesitate to let me know what it is I’m doing that might hurt your confidence.”

“I’ll bet you’d like to know. You could use a technique that would grant you some sweet, sweet silence in this relationship, couldn’t you.” Phoenix laughed.

“You know me so well.”

Phoenix had entirely forgotten the existence of the elder Edgeworth until he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. “And this is the point where I am happy to tell you that you boys don’t need the services of a divorce lawyer,” he said gently, “although in my professional opinion, you would benefit greatly from couple’s therapy.” He squeezed Phoenix’s shoulder encouragingly. “Now, Miles, I assume you could still go for that drink. Would you like me to drive? I think I remember enough to keep on the proper side of the road.” Miles replied with a soft noise that was non-committal. “Or would you prefer that Mr. Wright drove?” “I don’t drive.” Phoenix interjected quickly.

“In Los Angeles?” Robert asked, “You certainly are the odd one.”

“You have no idea.” Miles mumbled, his face still nestled in Phoenix’s shoulder. With no further words and the least possible movement he produced the keys and offered them in the general direction he had heard last Robert’s voice.

Phoenix’s heart was somehow simultaneously melting and overflowing. This was his boyfriend. His gorgeous, overextended, pushy, conflicted and emotionally stunted, absolutely perfect boyfriend. Miles loved him. They were mutually in love. And for the first time since he’d heard that fateful verdict was read, that love didn’t feel like an anchor around their necks threatening to drag them both to their deaths. This was real and sustainable. No, much more than that, this was the culmination of events set in motion when the most amazing child he’d ever met had seen him as human when even he was convinced he was trash. Miles had been there to help him in the same way that he had managed to help Miles years later. They didn’t need to be on equal footing to be there for each other, they only needed to want to be together. It was impossible for him to comprehend two people wanting to be together more, and yet he’d almost let this go without so much as a word. Without a kiss goodbye.

The realization of what he’d just narrowly escaped struck him suddenly and violently, like feeling a hand on your shoulder stopping you and not realizing what was happening until you felt the wind from a bus passing an arm’s length from your face. He’d almost lost… He’d almost actively given this away…

He didn’t deserve this. He’d lost the right to this sort of happiness when he’d let his faith in others trump his common sense. He didn’t deserve Trucy, with her infectious giggles and a gigantic heart big enough to hold him even with all his issues and failings. He didn’t deserve Miles telling him it was okay when it wasn’t, he definitely didn’t deserve that strong, broad shoulder to bury his face into, and no force on earth could convince Phoenix that he was worthy of disturbing Miles Edgeworth’s precious sleep. And yet, Miles was in his arms and holding onto him like something precious, something necessary to his survival.

The question wasn’t whether or not his presence was still beneficial to Miles. The evidence stated that Miles still wanted to be with him, and no matter how improbable that was, he had to accept that it was the truth. “Miles...” He hadn’t realized how close he was to crying until he heard his voice trembling.

Miles squeezed tighter, burying his head further into Phoenix’s collar. “Please don’t do this right now.”

“Oh, I have to do this right now, Miles,” there was no recovering from this, his voice was rapidly breaking down into ugly sobs. Miles must have said something in reply, he could feel reverberations that felt like the familiar baritone voice, but he was beyond processing words. All he could think was this feeling, this warmth, this man he’d almost lost so many times… all of that was still here. They were still here, together. Phoenix was sure he was still talking too, when words could make it out between wet sobs, but those sounds didn’t mean anything to him either. This was beyond words. It was like the last few weeks of fear and pain, mourning what he’d lost and failing to understand what he still had, all the thoughts he couldn’t stop thinking, the stress of hiding the darkest parts of him from his loved ones from, every emotion he’d been frantically forcing back, all of it was being projectile vomited into his boyfriend’s cravat.

It hurt so much.

But damn, did it feel so good.

Miles was tugging on him listlessly, and even though he was aware on some level that Miles must be trying to get him in the car where his bellowing tears would be slightly less public, he fought the suggestion like an irate child refusing to give up his toy. He needed this, he needed every single centimeter of contact with Miles’ body, and nobody, not even Miles himself, was going to deny him this moment of healing. Miles finally seemed to accept that his quest was pointless and settled with wrapping Phoenix in a hug again, and in that moment Phoenix really felt like he might be in danger of dying simply from an overabundance of love.

What a way to go.

Of course this didn’t mean everything was solved, there was still his badge and his daughter, and they needed to discuss this job Miles had mentioned. He still had to convince Robert that he wasn’t the possessive madman he had probably come across as. But if he hadn’t properly gauged how much of the patented Wright bullshit Miles was willing to put up with, Miles had substantially underestimated just how long Phoenix could sustain himself on the barest of scraps as long as he knew he was still wanted. “God, I love you, Miles.”

“And I’ve long since given up on trying to pretend I don’t return those feelings.” Miles replied, his voice filled with the irate affection that seemed to sum up their relationship. “Now, do you think I could get you into the car?”

“Mmmm, in the back seat.” Phoenix knew it was a little mean to egg Miles after he’d been through so much, but right now he was ecstatic and exhausted and just a hint of that subtle European aftershave he knew so well always kicked some animal part of his brain into high gear but right now he was drowning in that feeling. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Wright, please.”

“I think I’m the one who should be begging,” Phoenix breathed, “I’m the one who’s been a bad boy.”

He was hardly surprised when the hand that forced him bodily into the back seat was more angry than playful. “You are an adult-” Miles was climbing in after him with the air of someone planning to start a fist fight, but Phoenix knew the prosecutor’s limits better than the man probably knew himself. As soon as he was in range, Phoenix shot forward and wrapped his arms around Miles’ neck. He moved quickly as the mouth opened to protest-

And caught them gently, softly, in a total reverse of what most men were probably expecting. He was drunk on Miles, and more now than ever before, but this wasn’t goodbye. Even if Miles ended up taking that job in Europe, this was far from the end. They had plenty time to explore their feelings and desires. Right now, the only reason he had to coax Miles on a horizontal surface was to get the gorgeous man some much-needed rest. Their relationship wasn’t going anywhere, it could wait. “Thank you,” he gave a lopsided smile as he caught Miles attempting to adjust to this latest shift, “for everything. I love you.”

“I...” Miles shifted his gaze. “I know I’m not the best at expressing it,” he let one finger run down the side of Phoenix’s cheek, “but I I love you, as well.”

Phoenix leaned into the point of contact. “I owe you a shave,” he admitted. “I was a little out of sorts when I left.”

“I don’t mind.” Miles replied as he leaned in for another kiss. This one was even lighter and softer than the last, and Phoenix felt himself enthralled by every tiny shift of Miles’ thin lips. It was like a first kiss. No, it was better than a first kiss, there was nothing of the awkwardness or fear, wondering if you’d made a mistake, no fear of rejection. Just intimacy. Which kiss it was didn’t matter, he had a feeling he could keep kissing Miles Edgeworth for decades and still get dizzy from every little kiss.

He couldn’t wait to find out.

The door to the front seat opens. “I have your address in my phone, Miles,” Richard announced as he climbed into the front seat and adjusted the wheel. “I was just going to use it for directions. Anything I should be looking out for?”

“It’s pretty straightforward.” Miles replied without taking his eyes off of Phoenix. “There’s enough money in the ash tray to pay for parking.”

“Sounds good.” He turned the key and seemed more than happy with the way the car purred to life in response. “Are you boys okay back there?”

“Everything’s okay back here.” Phoenix replied as he felt Miles settle into his shoulder with an air of familiarity he’d assumed were gone forever. “Everything’s just fine.”

And, as ignorant as the Phoenix Wright of this morning would have called him for listening to ridiculous hope, he knew it was true.

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