#I genuinely cannot express with words how much I fucking appreciate her

[sennamybeloved]

// gift giving!

~ ship; mary-beth gaskill x fox (s/i)

~ word count; 980-ish

~ authors note; women..............i love women. also i'm sorry if arthur's dialogue feels unnatural, i did not put as much thought into his characterization as i did mary-beth's. also i did not and will not proofread so i cannot gauge the quality of this fic.

~ reblogs appreciated!

“Fox! Miss Fox!” They hear Mary-Beth calling from across the camp. 

As they hear her footsteps approach, they finally put down the piece of wood they’ve been whittling for the past hour and turn around to face her. “Yes?”

Mary-Beth comes to a halt in front of them. She has an expression on her face that’s bright and warm, like sunshine, and she’s visibly excited over… something. Likely the thing she’s cupping in hands.

“I found somethin’ neat while I was in town! I thought you would like it…” she crouches down next to them. She slowly opens her hands, unveiling a small, semi-translucent purple crystal. From all of the books they’ve read, Fox can easily identify this stone as Amethyst, but… it’s quite rare to see it around here. In shops, in the ground, anywhere.

“Where did you get this?” They look up at Mary-Beth, wearing a slight-yet-genuine smile on their face.

“There was a vender sellin’ little trinkets and collectors items. He had a buncha cool stuff, but I’ve heard you talk about crystals a lot, so…”

Fox plucks the crystal from her open palm, holding it up to the light so they can inspect it. It’s as genuine as genuine can be… as far as they can tell.

“Mary, this is beautiful.” They muse, their smile widening. “Looks authentic, too. Fantastic find!”

She blooms under their praise, her cheeks reddening as she begins fidgeting with her hands.  “I’m glad y’ like it, Fox.”

They admire it for a moment longer, before turning to face Mary-Beth with a tiny smirk playing on their lips. “How much do you think this would’ve cost?” They ask.

“20 bucks.” She answers simply. “I’d know—I paid for it.”

Fox’s eyes widen. “You paid for this? Oh, now I’m even more honored. First time I’ve ever seen you pay for something, I think.”

She laughs aloud; a beautiful sound, like the chiming of silver bells of a tune from an expensive opera piano. It makes their heart skip.

“Oh shush, you have too seen me pay for things!” She gives their arm a playful shove. “I just… prefer robbin’ over payin’. You do too. We all do!”

“Simmer down missy, I never said it was a bad thing.” Fox chuckles.

They finally decide to pocket the crystal, stowing it away where it’ll be safe and they don’t risk losing it. Until they can get it back to their tent, that is. They then shift their attention—and their unwavering gratitude—towards Mary-Beth, who sits on the grass beside them, staring up at them with glimmering forest green eyes.

The afternoon sun highlights every detail of her beautiful face, from her thick, almost doll-like eyelashes to her freckled face, from the slight curve of her nose to the fullness of her cheeks. She’s gorgeous. Oh, so gorgeous. It nearly takes Fox’s breath away.

After a long moment, they finally find their words: “Thank you, Mary.” They whisper, cupping her face and pressing a gentle kiss on the bridge of her nose. 

She giggles sweetly, placing her hands over theirs and pressing their foreheads together. “It’s no problem at all, darling.”

They remain like that for a moment longer, nuzzling into each other as they bask in the moment… until they are (quite rudely) interrupted by a certain camp member's commentary.

“Good to see the lovebirds out and about.” Fox sighs and squeezes their eyes shut. Fucking Arthur.

“This is a private conversation, Morgan” They say to him, reluctantly pulling away from Mary-Beth’s touch so that they can get a better look at him.

“What’s so private about smoochin’ in the middle of camp?” He retaliates. Fox rolls their eyes.

“I guess not much, friend. Now could you leave us alone?” They snap back, and Arthur is quick to take the hint—as he usually is. I suppose that’s an upside to his nosey nature; when you tell him to piss off, he does.

Once he backs off, resuming his stroll around camp, Fox shifts their attention back to Mary-Beth. She doesn’t look at all bothered by the intrusion. As a matter of fact, she looks rather amused.

“Strange man, that one is.” Fox huffs.

“You’re a strange man too, Fox.” Mary-Beth replies, punctuating her words by pecking them on the lips. “Besides… perhaps Arthur was right. Maybe we should move this to one of our tents.”

They shrug. “Yeah, I guess. Any chores you should be doing right now?”

She shakes her head. “What about you?”

“Clearly not, since I’ve been carving a stick for the past however long. Till you showed up.”

With that, the pair rises to their feet. Mary-Beth takes Fox’s hand. Hers is much softer and more delicate than theirs, but they fit together so perfectly. They begin meandering towards her tent, attempting to avoid the prying eyes of camp members that may or may not need something from them.

Mary-Beth goes unchecked, but unfortunately, Fox catches Hosea’s eye. “Fox! Can you go help Arthur take care of the horses, please? I haven’t seen you up and moving all day.”

Fox lets out a loud and over-dramatic groan of annoyance. They just can’t have a moment without interruption today, can they? They reluctantly release their girlfriend’s hand, putting over to the horses, past Hosea, away from Mary-Beth’s tent. 

“Love can wait, Fox. Life, however, cannot.” Hosea commentates. They reply with a small, agitated ‘mhm’ and little else.

“I’ll see you in a bit, Fox!” Mary-Beth calls out. They glance over their shoulder to see her waving exuberantly. “Don’t take too long!”

That makes them smile and pick up their pace. Yeah, they will see her in a bit… which should inspire them to move through this faster; more diligently. That way, they can get back to her faster, and they can resume where they had left off. Who knew romance could be such an effective motivator? 

However, her newfound positivity is soon dulled by a familiar voice. 

“Good ol’ Hosea.” Arthur says, walking past Fox with a bale of hay in his arms.

“Shut up, Morgan.”

#HEHE #📜💐 shall i compare thee to a summer’s day? 💐📜 #arthur placeholder tag #self ship community #self shipping #selfship #f/o community #self ship fanfiction #self insert #self insert x canon #s/i: fox #lotus writes #rdr2 self ship #red dead redemption self ship #fandom tags........thats bold #i mean technically they are fandom tags #i know the fandom will find this. im prepared #lesbian self ship #wlw selfship #lesbian selfship #nblw selfship

[tlacehualli]

"Sombra. Come in here for a second, please. Join me." Doctor caught the other's attention as she was walking by Talon's staff lounge, gesturing towards the empty couch in front of her. A smile creeps up on her face as she awaits the other to be seated, promptly handing her a mug of freshly made Irish coffee — You cannot help it, can you? To twist, somewhat manipulate, sprinkle in assertiveness here and there; YOUR resolve was THEIRS, she must know, you must make her know. "I wish to thank you in your active participation in Lacroix's... condition." Hand waves in an elegant motion at the last word, eyes locking together with the other's — Expression of gratitude from Moira was rare, usually not genuine, this one was, but certainly not out of the kindness of her heart. Widowmaker was her proudest moment, proudest creation, Moira's and Moira's alone, merely a chip made with other's help — Technology akin to that one usually despised, but sometimes, it had its place too. Sombra's aid also another sign of how you could make the others dance, follow you, engage in something which obviously pained still to this day; GOOD! A sign that perhaps the little infiltrator could learn new tricks, after all. Sombra someone who danced to her own tune ( in some odd manner, not very unlike you ), it was fine, usually, but one was not always appreciative of her antics. "We could not have done it without you." She clinks mugs together, taking a big sip, humming contently— Should you add another line, sprinkle in some more makeshift 'appreciation'? Scientist leans back, hands wrapped around her mug, patiently awaiting the other's reaction. No, you think to yourself, taking another sip. If this would not do, you would remind her again tomorrow.

"Mande?"

Her voice is cold and clipped, cool; her demeanor too. It's this transition point in her life, somewhere between the wide eyed ingenue she'd been and the calculating, smirking pessimist she would become. A necessary metamorphosis.

Ah.

The confused hesitancy in her fingers when she first takes the offered mug changes for just a brief moment into something honest; a squeeze of the cup, a dangerous glint in her eyes like a wounded animal that wanted nothing more than to go for the throat to protect itself and its cubs. Was Widow her cub in this scenario?

Their cub. Fuck.

It's a brief window in her psyche that shutters closed as quickly as it comes over her; her gaze cools and becomes analytical, mirroring the geneticist's body language somewhat. Sombra knows now they're playing a game of chess and that right now, she's pinned and at a severe disadvantage. Like up until that point, she thought they'd been playing checkers instead.

So she sips at the Irish coffee, taking note of changes in tone, turns of phrase, the pleased glint in Moira's eyes. She found just as much pleasure in this manipulation as she'd taken in her creation. Sombra knows then she is a proud creature and utterly vain, above it all. Shit, right now she couldn't argue that.

The hacker swirls the drink in her mug briefly before taking a sip, then extends the claws of her circuit hand with a little click; purple hardlight begins weaving a hologram in dedicated detail, the microchip along with her hypothesis of it's connections elsewhere, along with the visor and the way it works. She's certainly no geneticist, but she was far from a dumb woman. It spins in her hands and it changes every once in a while, a product of her continuous processing of the information she was privy to.

"Hell of a thing we created there," she agreed and her electric purple gaze cuts from the hologram to the geneticist. It's dangerous again but in a much colder way. A slow smirk that one day would come as easy as breathing crosses her expression before she dismisses the hologram with an unnecessarily pretty little flourish of her fingers. She downs the rest of the Irish coffee - and why not, her tolerance had suddenly spiked as of late for some reason or another.

She grimaces. "Little easy on the cream next time. Heavier on the coffee? It's a little sweet."

#asks #vanctua #sombra: let the mind games begin #sfdlkjsldf this was so good

[userlando]

I dunno if you do requests, but if you did a possessive/jealous Tom Hardy (or Eddie, or Alfie.... I dunno, they all give off the vibe) I would I've you like my soul or something......,........

oh god, inspiration strikes again..

Alfie wasn’t a soft man, both physically and mentally. He didn’t grow up in the warmest household and his mother, bless her heart, did everything to raise her boys to be great men when their father failed in that department.

Not to say that she’d failed, considering where Alfie had ended up, but it provided him with enough resources and money to take care of her the way she’d struggled to put food on the table and provide for him and his siblings during his childhood.

Alfie wasn’t soft when he’d done unspeakable things during the war, and he certainly wasn’t soft when he’d taken his place as the king of London. His hard exterior and the amount of blood on his hands was enough for people to fear him. And that’s all he would ever ask for. Because fear was respect, and Alfie would pry out anyone’s teeth with pliers if anyone dared to show him anything else.

Alfie wasn’t soft, but that’s the word he’d describe himself feeling when he heard you laugh for the first time. It had been five years but he remembered it so vividly that it still - to this day - made his hands shake in a way he’d never admit out loud. God forbid someone would hear him spew soppy shit that only you found endearing and romantic.

It was a rainy afternoon and Alfie was craving an evening at the pub after a long day at the distillery. A drink was all he’d come for, but then he’d heard you laugh and his ears had immediately perked at the sound.

It wasn’t difficult for him to locate where that sound came from. Because as he suspected, your face was just as radiating as your laugh and it sounded silly, but he knew from the moment he laid eyes on you, that he had to have you.

You were tough at first, your boundaries and lack of interest unlike any other woman’s he’d usually pick up. The way you seemed so unattainable only seemed to pull unwanted male attention, but the more he tried to pursue you, the more word got around. You were his woman, and only his. It infuriated you at first because you were no one else’s but yours, though Alfie knew you’d secretly loved it. Even though you refused to admit it even years later when the topic arose in conversation.

So, Alfie wasn’t soft. But he was soft for you, and he was soft for your laugh. Which was why his ears - much like that day at the pub - perked when he heard your giggle echo in the distillery. A frown immediately cast over his face as he placed his pen down on the surface of his desk.

He glanced around in confusion at first, wondering who the fuck you were speaking to that made you giggle like that. And his stomach churned when he thought of all the greasy men who were working under the roof of his distillery, who’d been instructed to not speak to you if not absolutely necessary. Everybody knew this. No one was foolish enough to risk losing their ball sack to a rusty shank.

Or so, that’s what Alfie thought.

The chair squeaked in protest as he rose from it, rough hands flat on the table to heave himself up as he grunted in annoyance. Annoyance because someone was clearly not doing their job, and annoyance because you knew better than to prance around at the distillery when there was work to be done. And chances are, you looked absolutely gorgeous doing it.

Alfie’s suspicions were correct, he realised, as he walked down the creaky stairs to the base floor. He found you a few yards away, legs that he loved so much clad in stockings he knew he’d be ripping off later. You had the same green dress on he’d seen you dress in before he left for work that morning.

He would’ve stood there and appreciated the way your dress flared where your back met your bottom, or the way you’d prettily pinned your hair back just far enough to reveal your neck. The very same neck he’d buried his face into the night before and just this morning.

Alfie couldn’t appreciate it though, mostly because of the two dimwits standing in front of you, greased up faces smiling as they spoke to you. As if Alfie paid them to slack off. Fucking idiots.

As Alfie moved closer, he could hear your soft voice ask ‘How’s Claire doing? What a strong woman she is for birthing your lovely twins!’ It admittedly made Alfie soften for a second, because of course you’d take interest in everyone’s life and show genuine concern. That was the major difference between you two. Where Alfie lacked, you made up for.

“Right, last time I checked, I paid you fucking idiots to do your jobs,” Alfie startled the two men as he approached, voice booming as usual. “So, tell me what you’re bloody standing around here for.”

You turned around with ease, having been with him long enough to not bat an eyelash at his vulgar words and flaring anger. His face was scrunched up in an expression that would make any sensible man and woman in London cower in fear, and you placed a hand on his meaty arm in a poor effort to calm him down. And to silently tell him to shut up and behave.

“Alfie.” You greeted him like he wasn’t shooting daggers at the two men who now looked like they wanted nothing more than to bolt. You couldn’t blame them. “Hi sweetheart. I was just talking to Christopher and William here about their families. Did you know Will had twins?”

Alfie only managed a grunt because why did you know their names? And Will?

He didn’t know if he wanted to drag the bastard into his office by his cock and beat his face into three different shades or to toss them out on their sorry arses. He knew the first option would send him into the doghouse for God knows how long, and the other option would cause more problems between the two of you than he dared to think about.

“Two girls.” The one he assumed was named William said, albeit a little shakily. The man next to him elbowed him and they both went quiet.

“Right, I must’ve missed the part where I fucking asked.” Alfie was livid, and there were so many factors playing into that reason.

These animals who worked under him knew to never lay their eyes on you, nevertheless talk to you. And he wanted to be angry at how good you looked, at the audacity to walk into the distillery when he knew he disliked you hanging around here during office hours.

Mostly, he wanted to spank your stubborn arse black and blue.

“Alfie, why don’t we go to your office, hm?” You asked softly, feeling the way he was shaking as you squeezed his bicep gently.

He knew what it was though. Your way of telling him to simmer down and behave.

You didn’t wait for him to answer, turning on your pretty polished heels to walk around and past him toward his office. He didn’t miss the way your legs wobbled, and he knew you were well aware of what you were to expect once the fragile door of the office closed behind the two of you. Alfie knew that the wobble of your legs derived from excitement and not from fear. You could scowl and reprimand him all you wanted, but you both knew that you loved his possessiveness at the end of the day.

He watched you walk away, his anger simmering down just a wee bit before he turned his head to the two men standing in front of him. He sucked his teeth, smacked his lips and contemplated beating them with his cane before thinking twice of it.

“What the fuck are you two still doing ‘ere?” His roar was enough to have them scatter like mice.

Alfie huffed and turned around, following in your footsteps to his office where you were waiting.

“How many times have I told you, right, to not fuckin’ walk in here when I’m working, woman?” He walked in and closed the door behind him.

He struggled to contain his anger when he saw you sitting on his desk, legs crossed over each other and his eyes immediately went to the sliver of skin where the hem of your dress had ridden up on your thigh. Alfie’s first instinct was to march up and grab the delicate skin until you squirmed, but he stopped himself.

He gripped his cane tighter in his right hand and rubbed his forehead with the other one. “You’re fuckin’ impossible.”

You frowned. “I can’t help it if you’re possessive, Alf. That’s your problem, not mine.”

“You know how these men are.” He gritted out, gesturing behind him to the distillery. “You cannot be this dim.”

“Alfie Solomons, I know you didn’t just call me dim.” You said and Alfie paused at the tone of your voice.

You sounded annoyed but he could detect the hurt in your voice and it was enough for him to let out a grumbling sigh, stepping up to the desk where you sat. He silently admired the frown lines on your pretty face and prayed that he hadn’t shoved his foot in his mouth.

Alfie got his answer when you parted your legs enough for him to step between them, and he struggled to breathe properly when you circled them around his behind to pull him closer.

“You’re my girl, yeah?” He muttered, bringing a hand up to cradle your cheek.

“Woman.” You protested softly, welcoming the touch as his silent apology.

You watched as his eyes appraised you and held back from preening when he grunted in appreciation and what you knew were hunger as his eyes trailed your body before landing on your face.

“And what a fucking woman you are.” He said lowly, using his hand on your cheek to pull you in for a kiss.

The clatter of the cane falling to the floor didn’t deter you as he let go of it in order to grab you by the waist, pulling you in closer as he deepened the kiss. You moaned into his mouth, not caring if anyone heard you. Alfie pinched the top of your arse in retaliation and you squealed.

“Alfie!” You sounded scandalised but the enormous smile on your lipstick smeared lips said otherwise.

Alfie admired his artwork with a smug smile, knowing that his mouth probably looked a mess too.

“Don’t Alfie me, woman.” He pressed an open mouthed kiss to your lips that tasted a lot like a promise. “This is just a preview of what I’ll be doing to you tonight.”

* * * * *

Welp, that turned sexual. But hello! Hi! Surprise, here’s me answering to an ask five hundred years later. I was in a writing mood so.. hope you enjoy x

#alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons fic #peaky blinders fic #blurb #alfie solomons #peaky blinders #my religion is alfie solomons calling reader woman

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: X

I will not ask you where you came from,

I will not ask and neither should you.

Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips,

We should just kiss like real people do.

Like Real People Do, Hozier

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

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

word count: 37.9k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Florida is just as lovely—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, um, that’s very kind of you—”

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

“Niall?  Are you there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Five, I think?”

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

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

“I mean, yeah, I think so, but—”

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The vampire snorts obnoxiously, pulling his hand from Y/N’s to rake his fingers through his rouge curls. “Jesus Christ, of course you did.”

Y/N matches his scoffing with ease, crossing her arms over her chest with a defensive air. “Don’t give me that tone!  This is exactly why I didn’t tell you! You know, you can actually find a lot of valuable information on there—”

“Yeah, because filming yourself doing the Renegade is a really great use of your time.”

“I didn’t say— wait—” The mortal girl quirks an eyebrow as she regards him with disbelieving eyes. “How do you know about the Renegade?”

“There’s a reason we blocked the app from Niall’s phone.”

///

Much to Harry’s relief, the drive back to Los Angeles begins a lot smoother than the drive to San Diego had.  

The bookshop had been extremely similar to the antique store they’d been to a while back— it had the same rustic, messy aesthetic that gives a cozy, homey vibe, and it had sprouted a seed of nostalgia in Harry’s chest. They’d wandered around for a bit with their fingers intertwined, rarely breaking away from each other for too long for the sake of maintaining their buddy system. The pair had filtered through the extensive array of titles and knickknacks, walking under archways built out of novels and winding through tall shelves full of vintage collectibles. Y/N had entertained herself with grazing over the spines of all the different books they’d passed, her eyes glazed with a form of childlike wonder he’d grown so fond of seeing. And while Y/N had been losing herself in all the old treasures the shop had to offer, Harry had found himself losing his thoughts to her dreamy smile instead. 

Satisfied with her purchases of Wuthering Heights and Romeo and Juliet, as well as a used copy of Jane Eyre (“Look, Harry, it has little notes in it from the previous owner!  Isn’t that neat?”), Y/N had settled into the passenger seat with ease, a light smile on her face as she buckled her seatbelt.  Harry’s own mood is considerably brighter than it had been on the previous drive, but his shift in energy had only partially been caused by his purchase of a new Simon and Garfunkel album.  Truthfully, Harry thinks, as he watches Y/N thumb through her new second-hand annotated book (the irony of her affinity for literature written from Harry’s original time period is not lost to him), his attitude is merely a mirror of the girl next to him.  It’s much more difficult to be in a good mood when she’s in a sour one, but on the flip side, it’s nearly impossible to be grumpy when she’s showing such a sunny disposition.

Her inquiries from their drive to the bookstore are worrying him, of course.  He knows that he’ll have to introduce her to his friends eventually, especially if he wants to keep this agreement between the two of them up.  He also knows that it’ll be ten times harder to do so with Niall running his mouth, Xander making sly digs, and Mitch and Adam watching him with parental-like concern.  Perhaps it would be easier to just call this all off right now, before things continue to progress.  It would certainly be better for Y/N, he’s sure of it.  Y/N, who gets excited over annotations in her books.  Y/N, who sings along off-key to the radio even when she doesn’t know all the words.  Y/N, who innocently presses tender kisses to his throat in a manner that draws an obsolete warmth from every limb of his undead body, and who smiles at his stupid inappropriate jokes and returns them with her own, and who fits into his arms like she was made for the sole purpose of filling them perfectly.

Y/N, who is reaching between the two of them, intertwining their fingers together with a practiced motion, and—

“Thank you for taking me to the bookstore.” The human girl murmurs, her lips grazing the back of Harry’s knuckles as she speaks. “I really do appreciate it, although I’m sorry I pulled you away from your friends.”

Harry’s woes melt away as she pecks across his icy skin, and a grin begins to jolt his lips as he brings her hand to his own mouth. “Don’t be sorry.” He smears a kiss to the back before dropping their tangled palms to the seat between them, his thumb caressing over her velvety flesh. “You’re much better company than the four of them.  And much prettier.”

“You’re such a flirt.” Y/N rolls her eyes at the comment, but leans further towards Harry in her seat. “And a liar.  We both know that Mitch is prettier.”

“Mitch?” Harry’s emerald eyes widen in appalled surprise, the corner of his lips twitching once more in amusement. “Out of all of my friends, you think Mitch is the prettiest?  What about Xander?  He’s quite the vain one, don’t you think?”

Y/N shrugs one shoulder in a light manner. “I like Mitch’s hair.  The long style works for him.”

“Ah, it’s the hair.  That makes sense; it’s always the hair.” Nodding sagely, Harry allows his lips to pull into a full grin. “So you like it long, hm?  Suppose I should keep growing mine out, then?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sherlock.” Y/N shoots him a smirk that’s much more mischievous than his own. “I said the long hair worked for him, not you.  Who’s the vain one now?”

Despite the jesting tone of her voice, jealousy twinges in the back of Harry’s mind as his eyes darken from emerald to forest green.  He forces his lips to stay upturned as he offers a response that’s only half a joke. “Ouch, Watson.  S’not very nice, especially considering how I’ve driven you to San Diego and back today.  I think I deserve a bit of praise, don’t you?  Instead of you mocking me—”

“I’m not mocking!” Y/N’s protest is muffled around the entertainment in her voice, the rainbow cardigan once again slipping from her shoulder as she shakes with suppressed laughter. “Making one little comment isn’t mocking!  It would be mocking you if I acted like you do when you get in front of a mirror— you make this one specific face, like you’re trying to pull a Blue Steel, and—”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Harry huffs as he yanks his hand away from Y/N’s, swiping it through his loose ringlet before clamping it back around the steering wheel. “Ungrateful little wench, aren’t you?  I have half a mind to pull over right now and—”

“A wench?  I’m a wench?” Y/N’s laughter grows louder, filling the entire Cadillac with the unabashed sound that, despite his act, warms the pit of Harry’s stomach. “Alright then, Merlin. What, are you going to put me to work in a labour house?  Is that what a wench does these days?”

“First of all,” Harry quips, giving her a flat glimpse, “I’d be Arthur, not Merlin. Main character complex, remember?”

Y/N rolls her eyes grandly, proceeding to lower her head in a dramatic bow. “My apologies, sire. How could I forget?” 

“And second of all,” the vampire states slightly louder, talking over her sarcasm, “no, because apparently, all wenches do nowadays is just make fun of the men who volunteer to spend four hours in a car with them without so much as a ‘thank you.’”

The mortal girl’s upturned mouth drops open in amused disbelief. “What—?  I said thank you!  Literally three minutes ago!” 

“Did you?  I don’t recall.” Harry sighs airily as he smoothly guides the car around a bend in the road. “All I remember is you saying you think Mitch is sexier than I am.”

Snorting loudly, Y/N crosses her arms over her middle as she gives a small shake of her head. “Alright, I think that’s a bit of a stretch.  I just said he has nice hair.  And, while we’re on the topic—”

“Watch it.”

“— his mustache is cool, too.  It suits him.”

“You know, I could grow a mustache if I wanted to.” Harry can’t help the pout that plumps his lips, nor can he help the whine that creeps into his voice when Y/N giggles at the sight. “It’s true!  I could!  I just choose not to.  And, really, you should be thanking me for it, because it saves you from getting a carpet burn between your thighs.”

“So I should be thanking you for driving me today, for not growing facial hair…” Y/N ticks off the items on her fingers with a ridiculing gleam dancing through her eyes. “Anything else we need to add to the list?”

Harry tuts as he thinks, pursing his lips in consideration before letting out a sharp exhale as a sly smile carves his dimples into place. “That cardigan you’re wearing.  You could thank me for letting you borrow it— although ‘stealing’ might be a more accurate term.”

A miffed expression rises to Y/N’s face just as a flush does. “I didn’t steal it!  I’ve just been borrowing it, like you said.”

“Mmm.  Alright.” Harry hums in the back of his throat as he glances at the girl beside him, kinking a brow expectantly. “And when can I expect it back?”

“Fairly soon, actually.  It—” Y/N’s cheeks boil with more heat as she drops her attention to her lap, clearing her throat gently before continuing. “It, um, it doesn’t really smell like you anymore, so…”

Silence falls between the two as Y/N’s voice drifts off, leaving behind only the sound of Fleetwood Mac gently drifting through Harry’s speakers to cut through the thickening tension that fills the vehicle.  It’s only the faint sound of Y/N’s own shallow breaths that reminds Harry that he needs to fake his own, and he sucks in a deep gasp of air, his throat burning as her thick honey and lavender scent settles on the back of his tongue.

“Well,” He begins cautiously, gauging her reaction from the corner of his eye while keeping most of his gaze glued to the road. “You can always steal it again after I get it back, yeah?  It’ll be good as new.”

Harry nearly heaves an audible sigh of relief when he sees the edge of Y/N’s mouth twitch. “Not steal.  Borrow.” She corrects, her voice as tentative as his.

The heavy atmosphere in the car begins to dissipate as Harry rolls his eyes with fondness. “Agree to disagree, dove.”

Y/N lets out a sound of dissent as she rubs her palms down her legs, drumming her fingertips against her knees with finality. “Thank you for letting me borrow it, H.  And thank you for not growing a mustache.” She giggles out, throwing a coy smile his way before her expression grows more gentle. “And thank you for driving me today, although I’ve already said it.  I’ll have to think of a way to repay you.”

“Oh, I could think of a few.” Harry says with a suggestive smirk, thrumming his ringed fingers against the steering wheel. “How do you feel about spending the night?  We could order dinner from that Thai place you like, take a nice bath, and I could spend a few hours between your thighs while you make those sweet little noises I like so much.  Sounds relaxing, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” Y/N agrees, keeping her voice as light as she possibly can at the mention of Harry’s skilled tongue working her over. “But that doesn’t seem like much of a thank you on my behalf.  Shouldn’t I be the one giving you something?”

Harry casts a look at the mortal girl with a raised brow. “Shouldn’t I get to choose my own reward?”

The fact that he sees the action of eating her out as a reward makes Y/N’s tummy froth. She really doesn’t know how she got so lucky, truly. “You should, but I can think of something better.”

The creature licks his lips once at the promise of something more enjoyable than her taste on his tongue. “Well, I wouldn’t say no to a blowie in the bath.”

“Actually…” Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as she casts Harry a sideways look through her lashes, twisting her body beneath her seatbelt to angle towards him. “I was thinking of something more immediate.”

The question of what she means by that dies before it can make its way out of Harry’s mouth, stopped in its tracks the moment Y/N’s fingers travel across the leather seat between them.  She rests her palm on his thigh for a moment before beginning to massage the muscle beneath his trousers, her delicate fingertips just brushing over his inseam as her hand works its way higher.

A choked groan is all Harry can manage when her touch travels over his suddenly-growing bulge, and it takes all of his focus not to veer the car off the road. “Y/N,” He says, his accent low and thick with warning. “‘M driving, sweetheart.”

“I know.” Her voice thrums darker than normal as her palm presses flat against him, moving in a slow circle over the plaid fabric with insistence. “I didn’t ask you to stop, did I?  You can keep driving.”

The laugh that rolls from Harry’s lips is breathless and strained. “Yeah, except I can’t when you’re— fuck—” Y/N squeezes along his hardening shaft, and Harry tightens his hands around the steering wheel with nearly enough force to bend it. “‘M gonna crash this bloody car if you keep doing that.”

“No, you won’t.” The mortal girl smiles sweetly at him as her nimble fingers pop the button of his tartan slacks, grasping his zipper and tugging it down so slowly that it’s almost painful. “You can multitask, can’t you?”

“Not like— God—” Clenching his jaw, Harry casts a pained glance at Y/N, only allowing himself a moment of looking before forcing his attention back to the road.  What he sees in that moment, however, is a mischievous glint in her eyes that’s hidden beneath set determination, and the combination would send a shiver down his spine even without her soft hand creeping beneath his trousers. “This doesn’t feel like a reward, pet.  Feels like torture.”

Y/N shrugs lightly, continuing to rock against Harry over his boxers as her free hand reaches for her seat belt and clicks the release button. “Maybe it is.  Maybe I want to see if you can stay just as focused as I did when you made me cum on that ladder. Remember?  Right in the middle of that antique mall?”

Harry watches as her seat belt retracts, a flash of worry striking through his body. Before he can voice his concern for her safety, her hand is dipping beneath the waistband of his boxers. “Y/N,” He strains to get her name past his lips, his abdomen tightening as she grips him snuggly, and her palm feels like agony and salvation all at once. “If you make me cum in my pants with an hour left in our drive, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Or maybe…” Shifting across the seat, Y/N leans into Harry’s ear, her breath hot against his cool skin as she pumps him slowly and ignores the comment he’d moaned. “Maybe I just feel the way you did that day.  Maybe I want to tease you a bit.” She uses the precum that’s begun to steadily leak from his tip as lubricant, twisting her hand around his length to elicit a hiss from Harry’s clenched jaw. She takes the shell of his ear between her teeth, nibbling at it just to feel him writhe in response. “What was it you said to me, H?  When you slid your fingers inside me in that little music room?”

Harry offers no response other than the short puff of air that leaves his nostrils as he clenches the wheel harder beneath his palms.  He keeps his eyes locked on the road, knowing that if he looks down and sees Y/N working him beneath his slacks, he won’t be able to restrain himself from yanking the car to the side of the road and throwing her into the backseat.  And however wonderful that sounds— because it does sound incredibly wonderful, especially when Y/N swipes her thumb teasingly over his bubbling tip— he can’t let himself give into her.

Y/N, however, doesn’t seem to accept defeat so easily, and begins to drift her lips down Harry’s jaw and neck.  While the area had previously been a sensitive spot for Harry in the worst way, he’s repeatedly come to find that the sensitivity he feels when Y/N caresses him there to be an entirely new and pleasant sensation. 

“You said you wanted to have fun, remember?” She licks over the curve of his throat, her own breathing growing heavy when she feels Harry’s Adam’s apple bob beneath her tongue. “Now it’s my turn, don’t you think?”

“Thought—” Harry swallows thickly again, his hips unconsciously thrusting up slightly into Y/N’s hot palm. “Thought this was about thanking me, wasn’t it?  Not getting even.”

Y/N pulls away from his skin with a coquettish look in her wide eyes, her brows raised and lips parted into a small pout. “Are you saying that my mouth isn’t enough of a thank you?”

“Your—?  Oh, fucking hell—” Harry nearly swerves the car into the other lane of traffic when Y/N frees his length from his trousers, the cool temperature of the air-conditioned car sending a shudder down his spine.  The sensation only increases when Y/N dips her head down and extends her tongue to tease his cherry tip with the textured surface. “Y/N.”

“That’s what I thought.” The human girl says smugly, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips even when she wraps her mouth fully around his head and sucks gently, just enough to draw a breathless whimper from the man above her. 

With one hand still grasped tight around the steering wheel, Harry threads his other into Y/N’s hair, roughly tangling his fingers between her silky locks.  He doesn’t guide her head as he usually does, but the idea of being able to move her if he wants allows him to feel a semblance of control. 

Y/N clenches her thighs together as she bobs her head down further, heat pooling inside her belly as she feels Harry tug on her hair with the lightest pressure.  She trails the tip of her tongue down Harry’s expanse, following the prominent vein that pulses underneath her touch. “Do you still want me to stop, baby?” She asks softly, looking up at him through her lashes as she pumps him in a slow motion, batting her lashes sultrily. 

“No.” Harry whines the word as he presses his head back into the seat rest, his neck flexing as he forces his gaze to stay pinned on the road. “No, love, just— fuck, just keep going.” He grits his teeth when he feels her nose smudge along one of his fern tattoos, his next phrase coming out as a barely contained growl. “You’re down there already, so you might as well.”

Tucking her loose hair behind her ears, Y/N takes Harry back into her mouth, pushing herself further and further down his cock at a pace that’s nearly agonizing.  Harry twists his hand within her roots to create a makeshift ponytail, holding the locks out of her face so that she can focus better on the task at hand.  He feels the mortal girl smile around his length, her tender fingertips drawing a little heart along his exposed pelvis as a cheeky thank you. 

As the highway straightens out, Harry risks lifting his hand from the steering wheel for a quick moment, and his deft fingers quickly find the volume button of the stereo to lower it to a quiet lull.  He wants to hear every sound of Y/N’s throat opening up for him, and the muted noises she releases at the taste of him in her mouth.  

Of course, all of that is nearly overpowered by his own sounds of pleasure, and he struggles to keep himself quiet as he grips the wheel with renewed force. “Fuck, doll, look at you...I just…Christ.” The last word comes out as an elongated groan, his eyelids fluttering as her tongue massages down his extent in slow and even strokes. “Just like that, darling. God, you’re so good. Such a pretty mouth with such a filthy fucking tongue, hm?”

Harry throws a haphazard glance over his shoulder as another vehicle passes them, and a flash of territorial protection runs through him at the possibility of someone looking into the car and seeing Y/N touching him like this.  The sight of her acting like such a bold little minx is for his eyes only, and that thought combined with her slow, blissful motions pushes him to inch his foot towards the gas.  Harry wants to put a bit of distance between them and the other traffic on the highway, which will insert some much needed privacy into the situation. 

His acceleration, however, is interrupted by a particularly rough bump in the road, and his body jerks in his seat as they drive over it.  He hears the sound of Y/N gagging before he registers the searing sensation of his cock hitting the back of her throat, and he risks a peek downwards to see Y/N’s watery eyes blinking up at him in disorientation.

“Baby—” He tugs her head up from his lap, concern mingling with the pleasure in his voice as he evaluates her well-being.  Her expression is hazy from her ministrations, and she blinks tears from her irises, keeping one hand wrapped firmly around his length as the other wipes away the wetness at the corner of her eye. “‘M sorry.” Harry gulps thickly as he smooths his thumb over Y/N’s scalp, trying to soothe any discomfort he may have caused. “Are you alright?”

Y/N nods in a jerking motion as her mood darkens lustfully, and she swipes her thumb over the glistening tip of his cock before answering. “I’m fine, H.  Just caught off guard.  Don’t worry.” The rasp in her voice is evidence of her actions, and Harry hates how the sound goes straight to his throbbing length in her hand.  Undeterred by the harsh thrust that had choked her a few moments earlier, Y/N leans down once more to smear more sloppy kisses to the head of his prick, rubbing the slit against her bottom lip to elicit a cracked gasp from Harry’s lungs. “Just wanna make you feel good.”

“You—You are.  God, you fucking are.” The praise falls easily from Harry’s raspberry lips as her mouth returns to its previous distraction, fully suckling on the leaking head as her hand continues to work him in a practiced manner. “Feels like a dream, sweetheart, t-the way you take me down your throat like that.”

The mortal girl keens at the validation, and uses it as fuel to push herself further down his shaft again.  She makes sure that she’s mindful of how deep she’s taking him, keeping her hand wrapped firmly around the base as a buffer in case they hit any more rough patches of road.  With that worry eased, she allows herself to focus on massaging his pulsing prick with her tongue, alternating movements with strong sucks to his sensitive tip. She twists her wrist at a rising pace, matching it to the tempo she’s established with her mouth, working him over messily and swimming in the strangled noises that pour out above her.

Y/N sniffles lightly, talking over Harry’s thick cock to the best of her ability, her voice garbled and raw. “You’re so fucking big, Harry. And so pretty, too.” She moves her hand lower down his expanse, carefully cupping his heavy balls and fondling them between her fingers, preening at the fractured grunt that filters from her lover’s taut throat. “And so full.”

“Please, baby…” The immortal’s quiet plea sends electricity coursing through every cell in her body, his grip on her hair tightening to the point where blots of color speckle her foggy vision. “Don’t stop. Just please don’t fucking stop.” 

“I want it.” She whispers around him, the warm breath of her words puffing down his prickling skin and sending goosebumps across his clammy thighs. “I want you to fill my mouth, Daddy. Want every last drop.”

The creature sucks in a rattling breath through the cracks of his teeth, waves of pleasure erupting along his cheeks and down the knobs of his spine, all because of how erotic her delicate voice sounds as it expresses such explicit confessions. “You’re fucking ruining me, dove.” 

The girl tugs at Harry’s balls gently, rolling them around her palm again as she gives a particularly harsh suck. He can’t stop the loud whine that tumbles down his tongue in response, his hips bucking upwards a tad in unrestrained need. “I want you to give it to me, H. Please? Want you so bad.” 

Harry throws his head further back against the headrest of his seat, his jaw dropping open in a silent moan as his heavy eyelids lull over his rolling irises, tears blearing his vision until he can barely make out the road in front of him. “Gonna—Gonna give it to you, pet. Gonna give you every last bit, all for my sweet girl.” 

Y/N hones her blurred sight above her onto Harry’s face, more warmth flooding the area between her thighs. He looks gorgeous as ever, with his prominent features slack in ecstasy, his clavicle cutting into the sweaty skin visible along the collar of his fitted tee, and with his unusually dark eyes framed by his long lashes. His chest is heaving wildly as he tries to keep his composure, his cross necklace glimmering in the sun with every rapid rise of his defined muscles. His sharp jaw is wound taut, the tendon along the structure ticking as he gazes at her drunkenly from above his sculpted cheekbones. His chestnut curls as matted along his temple and over the nape of his neck due to the heat of the moment, his thick brows are knitted together in pleasurable gripe, and his teeth-swollen lips are parted in aroused wonder at how skillfully she’s taking every last inch of him without any hesitation whatsoever. 

Y/N watches him intensely, drinking up every twitch of his expression and every soft groan he tries to stifle, her tongue lapping at him with more excitement than before. Harry locks eyes with her through his foggy haze, the corners of his flushed lips jolting upwards into a cocky open-mouthed smirk when he sees just how fucked he’s got her, despite the fact that he’s barely lifted a finger through the entire process. He slowly tongues over his chapped lips, glimpsing back up towards the highway for a split second to make sure he’s avoiding any other oncoming cars. He then returns his attention to the human, giving her head a playful tug and feeling the tip of his cock nudge along the roof of his mouth, resulting in a low hiss streaming past his condescending simper. “Why don’t you take a picture, princess? It’ll last you longer.” 

Y/N gives a quick squeeze to his balls, sly satisfaction weaving its way into her chest when she feels him jerk in response, a whined curse of, “Fuck me.” slipping through his defenses. “Maybe you should watch your tone while I’m down here.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at her challengingly, his palm grasping the back of her head with more intent and forcing her down, her nose smearing over his tummy as he hits the back of her throat deeper than before. He holds her there for a second, reveling in the way she constricts around him as soft gagging sounds bounce off the walls of his Cadillac. 

After a few seconds, he pulls her back up his cock to a more reasonable length, humming smugly as she shudders and coughs dryly, her eyes twinkling submissively. His voice comes out strained, but its dark and accented tenor holds its usual unyielding authority, as well as arrogant chiding. “And maybe you should learn not to talk back to me. Guess I’ll have to pull the paddle back out sooner than expected, huh?” 

A shiver coils down Y/N’s spine at the reference to that night. It happened a few weeks ago, but the memory is fresh in her mind as if it’s only been hours. It’s nearly impossible to forget, given everything Harry had put her through, and she often finds herself thinking back on it whenever she needs some relief and doesn’t have his company as help. 

The human murmurs her next sentence shyly, her watery eyes regarding him with a certain type of wistfulness that makes his balls ache. “Maybe you should.”

Harry lets out an airy chuckle at her eagerness, which slowly molds into a gravelly moan when she returns to dipping her head with faster, sloppier strokes. A few strands of hair have escaped the ponytail in his palm, and he takes great care in tucking them back behind her ears with his index finger, which then trails across her cheek affectionately. “Maybe I will. But right now, you just worry about finishing me off. Then, we’ll see if I’m feeling up to it some other time— if I feel like you deserve it.” 

Y/N nods her head obediently. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“‘Course, darling. Anything for my proper little slut. Especially when she’s taking me down her throat like such a good fucking girl.” 

Y/N’s only reply is a broken mewl, and she allows herself to become immersed back into the action of giving Harry the orgasm she so desperately wants to deliver.   

She can taste precum as it dribbles onto her tongue, a precursor to Harry’s impending climax, and the flavour makes her center throb.  She has half a mind to remove him from her mouth and beg him to pull over so that she can properly ride him, but she doesn’t doubt that doing so would add hours onto their travel time.  There’ll be time for all that once they’re back at his place, she reminds herself, pulling off of him just enough to lick her lips before lowering herself again.  Right now, there’s just one thing she wants above all else, and if the sounds Harry is making are any indication, she’s fairly close to getting it.

“So fucking close, angel.” Harry pants, his abdomen contracting over and over again as he struggles to keep the car moving at a steady and consistent pace. “Gonna make me cum, aren’t you?  Want Daddy to pump that pretty mouth full?”

Y/N hums around Harry as he yanks on her hair again, more for the sensation than to actually guide her.  Still, she pulls up from his prick with a pop, looking up at him with doe-like eyes as she replies. “Mhmm.” She hums again, giving him a particularly hard pump and delighting in the groan that rolls from his tongue. “Wanna taste you.”

“You— fuck, darling, that’s fucking it.” Harry’s words echo from his throat in a ragged gasp as he twists his jeweled fingers around her locks once more, straining his head back against the seat to keep himself from looking down again as she retakes him down her throat. “I’m gonna fucking— Oh my God, baby, please—”

Y/N digs the nails of her free hand into Harry’s pelvis, scraping over his plant tattoos as she feels his toned tummy tighten beneath her touch.  It only takes one more squeeze of her hand around his balls and one last determined suckle to draw his orgasm from him, and she lifts herself until just the head of his cock is in her mouth as he spills onto her tongue.  Her own eyes flutter shut as she whines at the salty taste, swallowing it down without a second thought.  She keeps her lips locked around him, wanting to capture every aftershock that spurts into her mouth, feeling ropes of cum splatter across her taste buds as Harry squirms against his seat, whining in encouragement.

She continues to milk him for everything he’s worth, repeatedly prodding the twitching vein protruding along his prick and scraping his sputtering head against the inside of her cheek, wanting to urge every last drop out of him. She only pulls away when the young man whimpers from above, shakily tugging on her hair to alert her that he’s crossing into more sensitive territory.

“Fucking shit…” He murmurs weakly, his breathing erratic as he eases off the gas pedal to reduce the car to a slower pace, rather than keeping the accelerated speed he’d fallen into as he came.  He combs his fingers through Y/N’s mussed locks as a faint, exhausted chuckle rolls from his lips, his thumb ducking down to collect a bit of the mess that had seeped out of the corner of her mouth. He pushes the digit past her swollen, colored lips, his breath catching as he watches her clean it off without a single hitch. “God, minx, I’m gonna need a little warning the next time you decide to do that. Thought I was gonna crash the car a few times.”

“You wouldn’t have.” Y/N reassures him quietly, looking up at him with a fond smile before turning her attention to his softening prick.  She licks up one stray bead of cum from his tip, delighting in the strangled sound the action draws from Harry. She then proceeds to carefully tuck him back inside his trousers, buttoning and zipping them up with ease.  She even takes care to tuck his red and black striped shirt back inside the waistband, but only after she presses a gentle kiss to his still-tensed abdomen, nuzzling her nose across his happy trail and feeling butterflies flutter in her belly when he lets out an appreciative mewl.

Harry inhales deeply as he watches her sit up from the corner of his eye, his hand slipping from her hair to his own to fix the disheveled curls. “No, I suppose not.  I have precious cargo.  Speaking of—” He reaches over Y/N’s body, and with one hand still on the wheel, fumbles to fasten her seatbelt back across her chest and lap. “Y’gotta keep this on if you ever do that again, alright?  S’not safe to have it off for so long.”

A fond smile tugs at Y/N’s lips as Harry sews his fingers over her thigh, squeezing lightly over her jeans before massaging the muscle.  She’s noticed that he’s grown more and more touchy and protective each time they’re intimate with each other, and it would be a lie to say she doesn’t enjoy it. “Yes, sir.”

Harry’s fingertips stutter over Y/N’s leg for just a moment, and the twitch of his sensitive cock beneath his slacks nearly causes Harry to swerve the car again. “Fuck, don’t say that right now.” He mumbles brokenly, his voice much more raw than he’d like it to be. “Don’t think my poor dick can handle it.”

Laughter bursts from Y/N’s chests, and the contagious sound draws a giggle from Harry’s own body as she settles her fingers over his, twisting them together in an instinctive motion. “Too sensitive?” She teases, lulling her head back against her seat rest while keeping her eyes focused on him, sweetening her voice down into a babying drawl. “You poor thing.”

A bright pink blush sears itself onto Harry’s cheeks as he clears his throat, tightening his hand around the wheel again to ground himself. “Yeah.  I only really like overstimulation when I’m the one administering it, not the one receiving it.  And you—” He squeezes her thigh as punctuation. “—are much too stimulating, especially when you’re looking at me like that.”

Another honeyed giggle falls from Y/N’s strawberry lips, and the corners of her eyes crinkle as her smile continues to grow. “I like seeing you like this.” She says decisively, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she reaches over and affectionately twirls one of his loose ringlets around her finger. “All flustered.  It’s cute.”

“Are you seriously calling me cute after deep-throating me while I drive?” Harry asks incredulously, a snort echoing from his throat as he shifts around in his seat.  He’s already uncomfortable in his trousers again, both from the wetness she’d left on him and the way her words are making him stiffen again. 

“Mm.” Y/N thrums in agreement as her free hand reaches for the stereo, dialing up the volume again so the sounds of The Kinks can be heard without strain. “I think you’re cute— very cute, actually.  Even moreso when you get all blushy. Am I not allowed to say that?”

Another layer of warmth soaks itself across Harry’s small ears and stinging nose, and he tries to play off his childish reaction with a casual scoff. He can’t deny the way the compliment makes him feel, though. It’s different from the praise she usually gives him, which tends to be sexual and in the heat of the moment. But this is much more intimate in such a sweet and tender manner, and he hasn’t received that type of innocent attention from someone in much too long. He likes it, he decides. Especially when it comes from Y/N.

She makes him weak, and though he’d normally seethe at the idea of anyone ever making him weak again, he comes to find that the softness she coaxes from him is something so different from the mainstream definition of that dangerous word. She makes him weak, yes, but not in a destructive sense. This girl— this simple mortal girl with bones made of glass and skin of fine velvet— makes him weak in the knees, and in the pit of his stomach, and in the cement walls he’d built around his phantom heart. She makes him vulnerable in new places that have been entirely foreign to him for the last twenty decades, if the glowing warmth surging through him is any indication. And for the first time in a while, he’s beginning to think that maybe— just maybe— that’s not such a terrible thing.

The vampire comes to the sudden epiphany that being weak for someone is unorthodox to him because it’s a human trait. Allowing yourself to form a deeper connection with someone— with a person completely the opposite of what you are— requires compassion and understanding. It requires willingness and empathy, as well as trust and pure intentions. It requires humanity. And that’s what Y/N is doing, Harry realizes. She’s taking that last wilted shred of humanity he possesses and is urging him to use it. Even though it’s not intentional on her behalf, and even though she has no idea of just how small that fragment of humanity is, it’s somehow miraculously working; just her being the caring soul she’s always been seems to be enough to awaken that part of him. 

Despite the fact that the immortal would normally laugh at such a stupidly cringey and cliche concept, there’s no denying that at this point in their little LifeTime movie crossover, it’s true. That’s why it feels so utterly weird— she’s bringing out a side of himself he hasn’t shown in literal centuries. She makes him feel the one sensation he didn’t think was possible for him to ever experience again: She makes him feel alive. 

Oh.

…Oh. 

Harry snaps himself out of his inner turmoil, sucking in a shaky breath and exhaling slowly, releasing all his consuming thoughts. Relying on his supernatural impulses to focus on any oncoming hazards, the creature allows himself the indulgence of shifting his hunter eyes onto Y/N for a lingering glance.  The sun is just beginning to set outside the car window, ducking over the cityscape and washing the distant buildings in mellow shades of soothing pinks, cozy oranges, and buttery yellows. The colors cast a golden light through the glass of his car, and it settles onto Y/N’s soft features like stardust, highlighting her flyaway hairs, the gentle slope of her plush lips, and the dreamy tinge in her captivating eyes.  

If Harry didn’t know any better, about both what she is and about not believing in such ridiculous tales, he’d think she was an angel.  Not that an angel would ever be seen with the likes of him.

“Y’can say that, petal.” He murmurs after a lengthy pause, reluctantly returning his attention to the long stretch of road in front of him, his palm still secured over Y/N’s denim-covered thigh.  If he focuses enough, he can feel her pulse through the fabric, and the steady thumping sends a strange prickling through his hand and into the rest of his body. “You can say whatever you’d like, and I’d listen.”

“Oh, is that so?” She pokes at him with a cheeky grin, using her nail to absentmindedly trace the blood red daylight crystals embedded into the eyes of his lionhead ring. “So you’re actually offering to listen for once, instead of making your cocky little comments?”

The edges of the vampire’s lips jolt with endearment. “Just this once, yeah.” 

Except it’s not just this once, Harry thinks to himself, adding on the words he will most likely never have the courage to speak aloud. I’d listen to anything and everything you have to say. No matter how small and insignificant it may be, or however random and useless you might think it is. I’d listen. For you, always.

Harry doesn’t express his private thoughts, but he pretends that he has, and he pretends that the smile Y/N is gifting him at the moment is her heartfelt response to his silent confessions. 

He adores it more than he should, and how could he not? It’s so blinding, he thinks it could very well burn him.

///

It’s not that Harry is nervous for tonight, because he’s not.  

Spending his Friday nights with Y/N has become as regular as clockwork, and Harry knows that it’s overdue in their routine for him to cook a dinner for her, given that she’d had the courtesy of doing it for him. He’s already picked up her favourite red wine to accompany the gnocchi recipe he’d sweet-talked Vincenzo into sharing with him (Gnocchi al Vostro Gusto— the one she’d enjoyed on their date at Bella Vita), as well as snagged all the ingredients for the lavender lemonade cocktail he planned to make her when she first arrived.  He’d even gone so far as to freeze a few petals from edible flowers into his cubed trays earlier in the day, just to up the ante on his already stunning presentation.  

He’s already set out shining dinner plates along his kitchen island, tidied and dusted his entire condo, and made each of his friends promise to leave him alone for the night.  He’s prepared everything that’s been within his power into sheer perfection; nothing could possibly go wrong.  So he’s not nervous, because everything is fine and because he never gets nervous. Being nervous is for morons, and he’s far from being one, so he just isn’t. It’s that simple. There’s absolutely no reason to be nervous. 

Except that he can’t manage to get his mahogany belt to lie properly against his waist (he’d searched in vain for his black Gucci belt with the logo buckle, but hadn’t been able to find it), the woven leather tail twisting repeatedly whenever Harry tries to tuck it beneath the rest of the belt.  And while the rational part of his mind knows that this doesn’t matter, and that he can just guide the tail into a loop along his olive trousers, the irrational part of his mind— which, unfortunately, just happens to be in control at this very moment— knows that tucking it in won’t look nearly as chic as folding it just right to lay the excess along the length of his thigh.

He’s already crafted the rest of his outfit so carefully, spending almost an hour deciding on the red and black patterned vest to pair with the trousers, and an additional forty-five minutes choosing which short-sleeved button up to layer beneath it.  He’d ended up picking a yellow top with indigo swatches along the collar, proceeding to tuck the shirt sleeves up along the sleeves of the knitted vest to give the fit a stylish flare. Harry thinks he looks good (although, to be fair, he always does), but he knows that if he turns his attention back to it for too long, he’d end up tearing it off and starting all over again.  However, judging by the clock that’s ticking from his bedside table, Harry knows that isn’t an option.  It’s 5:42 PM, and Y/N had said she’d be here by 6:00, and if Harry isn’t ready by the time her delicate knuckles rap against his front door, then she might just decide to turn on her heel and leave, and Harry won’t ever get the chance to ask her—

The creature stops short in his tracks, his fingers freezing over the leather of his belt that he’d just managed to settle into place.  He’s not asking her that, he reminds himself, loosening his limbs just enough to nervously twist his mother’s ring around his pinky.  He’s already decided that— and undecided it, and decided it again— after his road trip epiphany the previous weekend.  It doesn’t matter just how weak, or warm, or alive, or just plain human Y/N makes him feel.  He knows what this is, and has known since the beginning, and there’s just no way that he can bring himself to ask Y/N to be his—

Harry can’t even force himself to think of the word. 

He makes long strides towards his dresser, picking up the string of pearls lying on top of the varnished wood and fastening them around his icy neck.  What meaning could that word even hold for him, anyways?  He’s a vampire, and though Y/N makes him feel the complete opposite, there’s no way he could ever feel so human as to give into the notion of having a girlfriend.  A girlfriend leads to a fiancée, which leads to a wife, which leads to the expectation of a family, and Harry knows that none of those things are compatible with the immortal afterlife he lives now.  If Mitch, who is— by any accounts— ten times the man Harry could ever be, hasn’t even managed to lock Sarah— another vampire— into a solid relationship after three years, how could Harry delude himself into thinking that he could do that with a human?

And even if he, with all his commitment, abandonment, and trust issues aside, could have a relationship with a mortal— not any mortal, he reminds himself, but the only mortal that’s ever managed to capture a sliver of his genuine attention— that doesn’t mean he actually wants one.  Why would Harry ever want to be tied to one place, or one person?  Why would he ever want to have to phone someone before going somewhere, or have to check in on them when they’re doing the same?  Why would he want to deal with having to manage someone’s emotions, problems, and life?  He’s traveled the circumference of the world and back again, and seen more changes to society than any human could ever comprehend. He loves being reckless, and untethered, and not responsible for anyone other than himself. He enjoys being impulsive and not having to worry about his actions falling back on anyone else’s shoulders other than his own. It’s who he is— it’s who he’s been for a while now— and it’s who he had imagined he’d continue to be for another two centuries. 

It’s like that one country song that tormented his radio in the early 2000s— the one about life being like an endless road and about how people should enjoy it while it lasts. He believes the exact words are, “Life is a highway, I want to ride it all night long” or something of the sort. Horrendous song, but it held a pretty decent message. 

So with all of this taken into precise consideration, why would he, in his right mind, ever chain himself to one geographical location, and one single fleeting soul?

The answer floats to the forefront of Harry’s mind as he casts a glance towards his half-opened dresser drawer, where a pair of Y/N’s pastel blue sweatpants are folded neatly on top of his own pairs.  She’d left them there a few weeks ago, and while Harry had washed and dried them for her with the intention of giving them back, he’d decided it would be a better idea to keep them here in case Y/N ever ended up staying the night without planning to.  Just so she’d have something comfortable of her own to put on before falling asleep in Harry’s bed, on the side that he now keeps made up just for her.  

Why would Harry ever tie himself to one person?  Because that person is Y/N, and she’s not just a person.  She is— in every way except officially— Harry’s girl.

Harry can’t even bring himself to deny that fact as he fixes the collar of his shirt and strides out of his bedroom, dimming down the lights before making his way to the glass staircase.  Every issue he’d brought up, every fact that he’s tried to use to convince himself that he doesn’t want a relationship, can’t even be considered an issue when it comes to Y/N.  He already does all of those things— checking in on her to make sure she’s alright, letting her vent about her stress, listening to her problems with an attentive ear, holding her hand whenever they’re together, kissing her forehead while she lays against his chest, switching her to the inside of the sidewalk to ensure her safety, moving strands of hair out of her face so they don’t become a bother— and he does it all gladly.  He’s come to adore the soothing comfort he receives when he walks Y/N to her door after a date, or double checks the locks after she’s inevitably invited him inside.  He delights in calling her during her lunch breaks to inquire about how her day is going, and to remind her that “iced coffee isn’t a substitute for water, peach.  You’ll feel a lot better on your shift if you drink a glass, alright?”  And even when her voice is strained and laden with anxiety as she curls into his side after a particularly rough day, it still sounds like the most beautiful melody he’s ever heard, and the weight and warmth of her body against his own acts like a relaxant to Harry’s cold limbs.  

He rolls his shoulders now as he skips the last two stairs and lands squarely on his leather Gucci boots (they’re one of his favorites, and though they’re a simple black, they have a rainbow impression along the lip that he thinks is quite chic). He releases a long breath as he absentmindedly studies over his art wall, his eyes landing on the painting of a deconstructed sunflower. The abstract piece reminds him of the night Y/N had come over to his condo for the first time, and he begins to feel that annoying yet familiar knot between his shoulder blades that always seems to form when he’s away from her.  It’s something he hadn’t even noticed until a few days ago; how his body grows rigid and stiff whenever they’re separated, like he can’t allow himself to exhale until she’s beside him again.  He supposes it’s a strange vampire tendency— something carnal and territorial inside of him that thinks it’s his job to protect Y/N, the decadent and intoxicating center of his strange obsession, and when she’s not around, unease threads into his muscles until he can be sure his primary source of blood is alright. 

Or maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s something deeper inside him— some other reason to keep her out of any harm and an arm’s length away. However, he refuses to indulge that unsettling mystery right now. It’s too fucking complicated to dwell on.

Ambling into the kitchen, Harry begins to dig through his lower cupboards for the apron he hadn’t bothered to slip on when he was cooking earlier.  Pushing aside the white cover with the words “World’s Best (pancake) Tosser” stamped onto the front (it had been a gift from Niall, delivered with a sly grin and a cheeky comment about how the apron was too accurate to pass up), Harry selects the butcher’s apron printed with the phrase “Mr. Good Lookin’ is cookin’!” He slips the loop over his head and ties the straps behind his toned back with a quick motion, the edges of his lips quirking at the pompous joke. He knows Y/N will make a comment about it. 

He hadn’t bothered with the apron before when he’d been preparing the gnocchi simply because his loungewear isn’t necessarily that important, but now that he’s changed into something much nicer than the t-shirt and sweatpants he’d previously worn— and after he’d struggled with deciding on the outfit for so long— the last thing he wants to do is splash sauce onto himself as he navigates his kitchen.

Harry’s mind continues to race with nearly incomprehensible thoughts as he gathers the last of the ingredients needed to finish the meal, his nimble fingers easily peeling the skin from a clove of garlic before he begins to mince it with practiced skill.  Maybe that’s the cause of all his confusing feelings, he muses as he tosses a knob of butter into his preheated pan, scooping the garlic onto his knife and adding that to the mix as well.  Maybe that instinctual feeling to protect is the root of all his fantasies of a relationship.  He can’t possibly want— can’t actually believe that he’d...

Except he does.  

Sighing grimly as he snags a wooden spoon from a kitchen drawer, Harry nudges the cabinet shut with his hip before beginning to stir the sizzling concoction in his pan.  Somehow, against all odds— against all reason— he’s become attached to Y/N.  So attached that he’d spent an hour begging Vincenzo for this specific recipe when he could’ve so easily googled a different one and recreated it to near perfection.  So attached that he’d driven to three different liquor stores to find her favourite brand of red wine, which he’d set to chill in his fridge hours ago, because even though a cabernet sauvignon is supposed to be chilled for forty-five minutes at most, Y/N likes it icy cold.  So attached that he’d taken care to freeze individual flower petals into ice cubes, just so he could make her a cocktail flavoured with honey and lavender, the exact same way she is.  So attached that, for the first time in twenty decades, the concept of a relationship doesn’t draw a disgusted gag from his throat and doesn’t send a ghostly spike of pain to his neck.

“Doesn’t matter.” He mutters the words out loud to himself, as if speaking them audibly will reinforce their meaning.  Opening the fridge with a rough tug, Harry nabs the quart of cream he’d purchased earlier that day, bending the mouth of it open and pouring it smoothly into the saucepan and giving it a stir.  It doesn’t matter if he wants a relationship, because there’s no way that Y/N does.

A bitter laugh tears its way through his chest as he reaches for the bowl of gorgonzola cheese he’d shredded earlier, scattering the ingredient into the saucepan and slowly mixing it in.  He’s arrived at the same point he has all week when he’s had this argument with himself. The same fact that’s stopped him in his tracks each time he’s dared to think that— if he should ask— Y/N would say yes to him becoming a more permanent fixture in her life.  She’d say yes, he thinks.  Or he hopes, at least.  She’d say yes, until she wakes up in the middle of the night to Harry caged over her with crimson irises, terrifying shadows below his waterline, black veins webbing out from his eyes, and a blood-soaked mouth bared to reveal his dagger-like fangs. Then, she’d be gone.

Not gone, he amends in his head, the thought somber and acrid in his mind as he reduces the sauce to a simmer.  He’d have to go after her, of course, but not in the way a man usually goes after a woman.  Despite how they’d joked about it casually, Harry most definitely doesn’t belong in a LifeTime movie.  No, he’s from a much darker genre— less leading man, more malicious creature that lurks in the night— and the only thing he could do when he chases Y/N down would be to wipe all traces of himself from her mind entirely.  That’s the ending they’d be destined for if he let himself buy into his romantic delusions.  It’s better not to put a label on anything.  No labels keep a degree of separation between their two lives— at least, that’s what Harry tells himself.  And as much as it pains him, a degree of separation might be exactly what they need.

And yet, when Y/N knocks on his door two minutes later, just as he’s sprinkling various ground herbs into the sauce and setting it onto the back of the stovetop to wait until they’re ready to eat, Harry can’t help the giddy grin that immediately decorates his dimples. He hurries to untie his apron and tosses it onto the back of one of the chairs lined against his kitchen island, dragging a ringed hand through his purposefully tousled curls as he nearly super-speeds to the front door of his condo. He trips on his way there, spewing curses as he barely saves himself from face-planting the ground like an imbecile. He straightens himself out with a petty huff, slowing down slightly and being more mindful of every step he takes. His smile has already returned before he even yanks the door open.

Y/N— his Y/N, he allows himself to think affectionately— is dressed from head to toe in his own clothes.  Well, almost head to toe, he corrects, casting a sly glance at the way her black jeans hug the curve of her hips too perfectly to be his own pair.  But he recognizes the black and white speckled short-sleeve button up that’s french-tucked into the high-waisted denim, and shrewdly notes the addition of a Gucci belt looped around her waist— the very one he’d been searching for earlier.  She’s even styled the shirt the same way he does, with half the top buttons undone.  However— Harry licks his lips unconsciously as his eyes hover over her exposed chest— she’s paired the top with a delicate looking black lace bralette that catches his hungry gaze the moment he spots it.  Even the black ankle boots she’s wearing are reminiscent of his own fashion choices.

“Y’know,” Y/N’s amused voice cuts through his stupor, drawing his attention back from the obvious canvas of her body and up to her glittering eyes. “It’s not very gentlemanly of you to check out my tits before even saying hello.”

Harry’s mouth crooks sheepishly in response as he reaches out to her, looping his muscled arms around her waist and pulling her inside the condo and against his body with ease. “Hello.” He murmurs obediently, thumbing at her waist over the silky fabric as a teasing yet fond cadence sews its way into his voice. “So this is where my clothes keep disappearing to, hm?  I searched for that belt for an hour today.”

“Shouldn’t have left it at my apartment, then.” Y/N counters easily, curling her hands against Harry’s chest.  He can already feel her heat beginning to web through his entire being, warming him in a manner nothing has in the last two hundred years. “And you said tonight’s dress code was casual formal— which makes zero fucking sense, by the way— so I figured the best way to conform to that would be would be by wearing your own clothes.” A drop of hesitance begins to colour Y/N’s tone as she casts her gaze towards his own, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she tries to read between his teasing words for any hint of actual annoyance. “Is that… okay?”

“Perfectly okay, angel.” Harry soothes the worry lines that have formed between her eyes by stamping a kiss onto her forehead, allowing himself to linger for a moment to inhale her familiar scent of sugar and flowers.  It seems more powerful today than it usually is, almost bowling him over right there in the foyer, and he takes a step back to regain control of himself under the pretense of closing the door. “Honestly, I’m a little miffed that you look better in my clothes than I do.”

“‘Miffed’?” The mortal girl laughs as she reaches down to retrieve something from the ground, and it’s only then that Harry realizes that she’d had an overnight bag in her hand before he’d tugged her into his grasp and caused her to drop it.  “Who says ‘miffed’?  Are you a sixty-seven year old woman named Betty?” 

Although he allows a chuckle at her incredulous question, Harry’s attention has focused in on the bag inches away from her outstretched hand.  Cursing himself for being too wrapped up in her appearance to notice the item she’d been toting, Harry quickly fetches it from the ground before she can, carrying it further into his apartment before setting it down on one of the island chairs, as if the small distance could make up for the initial lack of manners he’d displayed. 

“No, I’m not.  I’m just British.” He should bring the bag up to his bedroom, he thinks, just so Y/N doesn’t have to wonder where her clothes are when she’s fraught with exhaustion later. But that would mean having to leave her side, and the grip her fragrance has on his senses right now won’t allow him to do so. 

“Oh, yeah! I almost forgot.” Y/N lilts with an exaggerated air, another giggle rising from her petal-like lips as she leans against the marble countertop on her elbow, propping her chin up in one hand and resting the other on top of the stone.  She regards him with all the affection that he doesn’t deserve, and yet always seems to crave, and it takes all of Harry’s willpower to not grasp her chin in his hand and sift their lips together just to taste her laughter. “Along with ‘pip pip’ and ‘cheerio,’ right?”

“Yes, those phrases are definitely at the top of my vocab list.  You’ve heard me say them a million times.” Harry rolls his eyes playfully, shaking himself from his distracted thoughts as he steps back behind the counter to effectively put a little bit of much needed space between him and the mortal girl.  His restless hands are already outstretched to his bar shelves before he even asks, “D’you want a drink, darling?”

Y/N watches with innocent curiosity as Harry sets two lowball glasses down on the counter before reaching into his cupboard for a jar of honey, which he spoons onto an awaiting plate.  He rims the glasses in the syrup before dipping them into sugar, sparking confusion in Y/N as she tries to decipher what cocktail Harry is making her.  Her befuddlement only grows as he extracts a bottle of clear liquid that she assumes is vodka and a purple concoction that she can’t identify. “What are you making?”

“Lavender lemonade.” Harry answers swiftly, reaching into a drawer for the small double-ended measuring cup tool that Y/N still can’t remember the name of, as well as his crystal cocktail shaker.  Y/N observes with wide eyes as he fills the shaker with ice and vodka before picking up the mysterious liquid. “This is lavender syrup.  Not homemade, unfortunately, but I do buy it from a little organic grocer I know at the farmer’s market.  Adds a nice floral note to the drink, and mixes well with the lemonade.” He caps the container and shakes it expertly (the way his muscled arms ripple with effort doesn’t go unnoticed by her, as it never does) before setting it down on the counter and making his way to the fridge freezer. “S’where I get my honey, too.” He chances a look over his shoulder just in time to see Y/N dip her finger into the honey pooled on the plate and pop the digit into her mouth, and Harry has to force himself to tear his eyes away as she sucks lightly on her fingertip, her cheeks just barely hollowing. “Do you like it?”

“Mhmm,” Y/N hums around the digit as she keeps her eyes shamelessly glued to Harry’s ass while he bends down to open the cooled drawer, retrieving a tray of cubed ice and coming back over to add one large block into each lowball glass. “Are there flowers in there?” She asks in wonder after retracting her finger from her mouth with a pop, leaning over the table more to observe the decorative ice that has filled the cups.

“Mm.” Harry matches her hum with a more pleasured undertone, both from her noticing the small detail, and from the unobstructed view of her cleavage that her new position allows him.  He picks up the shaker and strains the light purple lavender and vodka mixture into the glasses, topping off each cocktail with a can of sparkling lemonade that he’d also retrieved from the fridge. “S’pretty, isn’t it?” He asks, stirring the drinks with a spoon before holding up one of the glasses to the light and handing it to Y/N. “My own creation.  You’re the first person to try it.”

Their fingers graze as Y/N accepts the glass from him, sparking electricity up her entire arm, and she can’t help the irreverent moan that thrums in the back of her throat as she brings the glass to her lips, tasting the honey and sugar first before the lavender coats her tongue. “This is so good, H.” She praises, licking a lingering dab of honey from her mouth between her words.  Twisting the glass in her hands as she regards the lilac drink, Y/N eyes him over the rim of the crystal, pupils blown wide. “I didn’t think honey and lavender could ever taste so good.”

“You know, I used to think that, too.” Harry’s mumbles knowingly as his own eyes drift a shade darker. He watches the human girl’s neck strain with her swallow, as if she knows he’s trying to keep his gaze away from there and she’s beckoning him back. “But it’s my favourite flavour combination now.  Can’t ever seem to get enough.”

The comment goes right over the mortal girl’s head, just as Harry knew it would.  His expectations of the cocktail in his hand are also met from his very first sip; although the concoction is delicious, it pales in comparison to the fragrance wafting across the island from Y/N.  He may as well be drinking water, honestly. But he knows he’ll end up repeating the recipe a few more times at the very least, just because Y/N tells him that it’s her favourite drink he’s ever made.

“You say that every time I make you a new drink, dove.” Harry can’t help but quip coyly at the repeated compliment, setting his crystal tumbler against the counter with a quiet thud. “Am I supposed to keep believing it?”

“Obviously. Especially when each drink keeps getting better and better.” Y/N licks a drip of honey from the rim, her tongue delicately capturing the sugar crystals before her lips settle back onto the edge to take another sip. “You would be an amazing bartender, but we’ve already talked about that before.”

“We have, yeah.” Harry smiles softly as he recalls the conversation they’d had weeks ago, where she had said his drinks were better than anything she’d had at a club, and he had responded by saying he doesn’t have the patience to be a bartender. That conversation feels as if it happened a lifetime ago, and considering how much closer they had become since, it quite literally could be. “But refresh my memory, will you? Why is it that I’d make such an amazing bartender?”

Y/N gives Harry a jokingly flat glance as a response to his smug tone, but decides to humor him, nonetheless. “Well, you obviously have the mixology skills, and I don’t doubt that the whole thing you have going—” She nods her head to him over the island with a teasing smirk. “—would get you endless tips.”

“My whole thing?” Harry repeats the phrase with an air of faux confusion. “What do you mean, my whole thing?”

He knows what she means, of course.  But he won’t deny himself an opportunity to hear Y/N feed his ego with sweet-spoken praise.

Y/N doesn’t buy his innocent act for a minute, but still indulges him, yet again.  She likes to see Harry preen under her compliments just as much as he likes to receive them. “You know…” She casts her eyes over his figure slowly, picking out every detail she can comment on as she wedges her bottom lip between her teeth. “Your whole look— the tattoos, the muscles, the dimples, the sparkling green eyes, the shiny curls… all of that would have any drunk customer draped over the bar for you.  And even if you couldn’t get by on looks alone, you’re absolutely charming.  To the point of ridiculousness, honestly, but,” Y/N eyes him suspiciously, and while her words are mostly in jest, she can’t deny that she’s seriously thought them at some point in time. “I’m not entirely convinced it’s genuine.  Although being able to fake that kind of attitude would serve you well in a crowded bar.”

Whatever Harry was expecting to hear among the praise, an accusation of dishonest behaviour wasn’t it.  His brow furrows deeply as his lips turn down into a displeased grimace, and he drums his ringed fingers over the marble countertop as he cocks his head to the side. “What d’you mean?” The question is earnest now, no longer a coquettish teasing remark, and the warmth the mortal girl had provided him with begins to subside as a flash of icy doubt digs shards through his chest. “Not genuine?  Does it seem like I’m faking it or something?”

Y/N teases her lips with her tongue, unable to stop the nervous tic as she hears the displeasure that clearly strains Harry’s tone.  Setting her own glass down on the counter, Y/N lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I just mean, like… I don’t know.  I don’t really think that now, but in the beginning…”

“What?” Harry prompts her with more intensity than he’d meant to, but he’s spent so much of this past week analyzing their every interaction while wrestling with his own thoughts that he’s already on edge; he needs to hear what Y/N had thought of him when they’d first met.  His own recollection of the memories has made him flinch multiple times, particularly the times when he’d thought that Y/N was as boringly ordinary as humans come. He can only imagine what her take on the situation is. “Did I— was I rude, or—?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” She hurriedly assures him, shaking her head hard enough that her loose locks bounce around her shoulders. “You weren’t rude at all— the opposite, actually.  I don’t know, it just seemed… like it was too good to be true, y’know?” Her voice grows impossibly softer as she traces her finger over the rim of her glass, her eyes dropping from Harry’s like it hurts her to hold them. “Like, there was no way that someone could be so attractive, so funny, so good in bed—” Harry can hear blood creep up the nape of her neck against her will, beginning to pour into her cheeks. “—and so charming.  Something had to be an act.”

Despite the urge Harry has to justify his actions, he knows there’s nothing he can say that could prove Y/N’s original perception of him wrong.  And, in all honesty, he has no right to.  As much as he’d like to argue the fact, and as much as he did genuinely come to enjoy being around her, Harry can’t deny that from the first moment he’d approached Y/N in that club, he’d dialed up his charm as he always did without a second thought.  He’d flattered her, flirted with her, done everything he could to convince her that she should take him home so he could indulge in the two things he’s always manipulated people for: sex and blood.  And when that worked, he did it again, and again, and again, until they’d fallen into the pattern they have now.  He’d never lied, of course, and he prides himself on that— every compliment he’d paid her had been rightly deserved.  But even that justification doesn’t stop the shame that’s twisting its way through his limbs and making his head heavy.  

She had thought something had to be an act, and she had been right.  Harry himself was an act, in every aspect of the term— stretching the truth about his past, opening himself up just enough to make her open herself in return, setting her up so that she’d become dependent on their relationship. And all so he could sink his teeth into her neck without a second thought.  

He can’t exactly pinpoint when all that had changed— singing “Non-Stop” in his kitchen?  The jealousy he’d felt when he spotted her on a date with that insipid idiot, Jacob?  Seeing her in that yellow sundress when he picked her up for their first date?— but the fact that it had changed doesn’t erase how it had started. It doesn’t erase the cruelty he’d hidden beneath his calculating words, intricately-placed caresses, and dirty promises.

“Harry.” He’d been so caught in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice Y/N had moved until she’s standing right in front of him, one of her velvet hands twisting into his own as the other tucks a loose curl back from his creased forehead. “I don’t think that now.  You know that, right?” Even after securing the ringlet, she keeps her palm pressed against his cheek, and Harry can’t help but lean into the burning heat her touch provides. “I just— I’d never met anyone like you.  There was no one like you where I grew up.  I didn’t think someone could be so…” Y/N worries her lip between her teeth again, and Harry wishes he had enough in him to smooth the bite mark with a touch as soft as her own. “I didn’t know you yet.  But I do now.”

The vampire inhales a shaking breath as if he needs it to live, lifting his own free hand to wrap over the palm Y/N rests against his cheek.  Weaving his fingers through hers, he drags her hand lower until her skin is secured over his lips, and he smudges a gentle kiss against her handprint.  There’s something so tender in her words— no one could ever accuse Y/N of being disingenuous.  But he needed to hear this, he thinks as he presses his mouth repeatedly to her palm, the throbbing of her pulse in her wrist catching against his cheek.  He needed to hear how she thinks she knows him.  It’ll serve as a reminder that he can’t allow himself to succumb to the weak thoughts he’d battled earlier in the day.  As much as Y/N assumes she knows him, there’s things that she’ll never understand— things he would never allow her to understand, because she doesn’t deserve such a terrifying burden— and how could he keep up that pretense while allowing her to call him her boyfriend?

“I know you do, sweetheart.” Harry mutters the words into her fragile skin, inhaling her intoxicating aroma deeply until his throat burns in agony.  It’s a small price to pay for what he’s put her through. “It’s alright.  I don’t blame you for doubting it.” The smirk he forces onto his face is nowhere near believable, but he manages to keep the strain out of his voice enough to sell it. “I’m pretty hard to believe, y’know?  Especially when you grew up with people like Cucumber Dick.”

Successfully diffusing the moment, Harry’s comment tugs an irritated groan from Y/N’s chest, and she takes a step back from him as her hand falls from his face, despite her other fingers still remaining tied with his own. “You can’t just keep calling him Cucumber Dick, alright?  He has a name!”

“Yeah, Bradley.” Harry says in distaste, his nose wrinkling as he shakes his head slowly. “S’honestly worse than Cucumber Dick.  I’m doing him a favour— a bit of charity work.”

Y/N hums in the back of her throat thoughtfully as she steps back around the kitchen island, Harry’s arm extending over the countertop as she tugs his hand along with hers. “Then don’t do me any favours like that, alright?  Can only imagine what you call me when I’m not here.”

A few names pop into Harry’s mind— dream, darling, angel, and countless others that he’s murmured to himself in the privacy of his condo— but they’re tainted by the memory of his friends confessing how they’ve talked about her when he hasn’t been around to hear it.  How they’ve compared her to different foods, used that to reference her, as if that’s all she is to him.  As if she isn’t the only person who has managed to make him feel something in over two lifetimes.

In the rational part of Harry’s mind— which, once again, is sadly not the part of his mind that’s ever in control— he knows that he can’t blame his friends for thinking that.  It’s his own fault for being so insistent on that fact over the last few months.  How many times had they questioned his motives behind his daily phone calls to her, or how often he found himself dropping everything just to spend some time with her?  How many times had he rolled his eyes at their assumptions that he wanted more from the mortal girl than he’d ever admitted?  How many times had he asserted that there was nothing more that she could offer him than her body and her blood?  They’d only listened to what he was saying, despite knowing that Harry’s reassurances were false.  Did any of them suspect that things had changed for him now?  Or did they still think that Harry’s only motivations behind his relationship with Y/N are primal?

Harry pushes the badgering thoughts from his head as best he can as he reaches for his apron that’s still lying over the back of the chair.  He can’t dwell on those thoughts now.  If the turmoil twisting inside of him hasn’t subsided by the end of the night, he’ll call Mitch once Y/N is fast asleep under the extra blanket he keeps on his bed just for her.  Although he doesn’t relish the thought of admitting he was wrong to the likes of Xander or Niall— he knows their teasing and taunting would never end— he can talk to Mitch about it without the worry of judgement.

“Why don’t you put a record on, petal?” Harry asks absentmindedly, nodding his head towards the record player set up in the corner of his living room as he slips his apron back over his head. “I just have to boil the gnocchi, and then—”

“Wait, wait wait,” Y/N cuts over him with an increasingly gleeful expression, rounding the edge of the island again to tug on the strap of Harry’s apron. “Mr. Good Lookin’ is cookin’?” She repeats, unable to bite back the giggles that are rising through her throat. “Please tell me you didn’t buy that for yourself.”

His troubling mindset disappears the moment laughter falls from her lips and echoes around the kitchen. “‘Course I did.  And why wouldn’t I?” Harry simpers as his deft fingers easily secure the ties behind his back in a neat bow. “I’m Mr. Good Lookin’, and I’m cookin’.  S’only the truth.”

“Your vanity is astounding.  Truly.” Y/N trails her finger from the strap of the apron to the pearls around Harry’s neck, stroking the silky stones with the lightest touch. “Like, borderline narcissistic.”

Snaking his arms around her waist, Harry easily pulls the mortal into his body, securing her against his chest just as he had done when she’d first arrived.  It’s comfortable for him to have her pressed against him like this.  The steady rising and falling of her chest and hummingbird beat of her heart against his own unmoving organ keeps him centered, like his own personal lifeline. 

“Is it so wrong to be confident in my appearance?” Harry quirks an eyebrow as his dimples pop from his cheeks, and he slides his hands from Y/N’s back to her ass, cupping and squeezing firmly in appreciation.  His smirk only grows as Y/N’s cheeks begin to boil from the suggestive contact. “How can you contradict me when it gets such a reaction from you?”

“I think that has less to do with your looks and more to do with where your hands are.” She quips dryly, and yet her nails dig into Harry’s exposed collar bones with the slightest of pressure, a surefire sign of just how much his touch affects her.

Harry leans forward as the girl’s breathing grows more erratic, and he nuzzles his nose along hers while keeping the smallest of spaces between their lips. “Either way, I’m getting what I want, aren’t I?”

To his immense pleasure, Y/N’s words are breathy and strained when she replies, a side effect of the shallow inhales her body draws against his. “Which is?” 

“You.  More specifically, you melting under my touch like you just can’t get enough of it.” Harry drags his lips across Y/N’s for no more than a second before continuing his path up her jaw, only stopping when he can feel the flushed shell of her ear beneath his mouth. “You should indulge your vanity a little more often, sweetheart.  S’quite fun, honestly.”

Y/N shivers beneath Harry’s touch, her eyelids fluttering as his cool breath rolls over her ear and down her neck.  Turning her head to the side, she locks her half-lidded gaze with his own before slotting their lips together to indulge in the lingering taste of honey and lavender that sits on his tongue. 

Despite his instinct to draw her closer while curving her body into his own, Harry separates their lips with a gentle nudge of his forehead against her own, his breathing growing just as erratic as Y/N’s.  Control, he reminds himself as heat prickles along his icy skin from the tender pads of Y/N’s hands.  This isn’t like their first meetings, when he could invite her over under a pretense and take her against the counter before they’d even finished their drinks.  This is different now.  She’s different now.

“Why don’t you go put a record on?” He says again, his voice noticeably deeper than it was when he first made the request. “And I’ll finish getting dinner ready. Sound alright?”

Y/N manages to nod without removing her forehead from his, but that seems to be the only movement she makes; her palms remain pressed firmly against Harry’s tattooed biceps, even after he reluctantly releases his hold on her body.  She can’t help it— it feels too good to be so close to the young man to allow herself to willingly walk away.  Something in his presence is so calming, so steady to her, even when he’s whispering obscenities in her ear.

But outweighing the need to be next to him is her desire to make him happy, and if he wants her to pick out a record… “Alright.” She nods once more as her hands slip from his skin, trailing down his forearms and grazing his wrists before falling to her sides. “Any record?”

Harry drags a ringed hand through his curls, his lithe fingers tugging on the locks before falling to his side in a loose fist. “Any record.” He confirms as he reaches for a kitchen drawer, tugging it open to extract a long metal spoon. “Anything you want to listen to.”

He watches as a serious expression paints itself over the human girl’s face, as if the task he’s given her is of the utmost importance.  She turns on her heel and marches out of the kitchen as if on a mission, and as Harry turns towards the now-boiling pot of water on his stove, he knows that his own face reflects a look of fondness.  It’s too easy to let his guard down with her, he thinks as he ladles his homemade gnocchi into the rolling water.  When she looks at him, there’s such an openness in her expression that he can’t help but allow himself to be seen.

But being seen doesn’t always feel so sweet, which Harry remembers the moment he hears Y/N’s melodic voice ring from the living room. 

“When did you get a piano?”

Harry’s hand freezes mid-scoop, the few gnocchi that had been dangling on the edge of his spoon falling into the boiling water.  A bit of the liquid splashes out and lands on his arm, but quickly fizzes to room temperature once it meets his freezing skin. 

“Uh—” He clears his throat as he tries to refocus on his task, but his actions are much more frantic than careful as he finishes filling the pot with gnocchi. “I’ve had it for a while, remember?  I mentioned it to you before.  At the antique mall.”

When his explanation receives no response, he gives his own frustrated sigh, and sets down the polished spoon to retrace Y/N’s steps out into the living room.  As he expected her to be the moment he heard her question, he finds her with a reverent hand tracing the edge of the matte black Steinway grand piano that’s occupied a space in nearly every home he’s had since he purchased it in the 1920s.  Seeing her nimble fingers drift over the hand-crafted edge brings back a hazy human memory to Harry’s mind— a flash of sharply manicured fingers and a strangely pale hand, adorned with an opal ring as they danced over the pianoforte in an opulent sitting room. The sound of tinkling laughter that rang like a bell, pitched almost high enough to make his ears ache, and a soft, hypnotizing voice slathered in the most delicate accent he’d ever heard. 

Harry has to blink a few times to bring himself back to the present.

“What was that, darling?” He hopes his voice isn’t nearly as strained as it feels when he refocuses his eyes on Y/N’s waiting gaze. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I said that you told me it was in storage.” She glides over the intricately carved music stand, the digit dancing across every twist and curve of the decorative panel. “Why did you bring it out?”

“Uh, I dunno, really.” An uncomfortable itch settles onto Harry’s skin, his stomach turning as Y/N takes a seat on the creaking piano bench set in front of the instrument. “I just, uh, figured it should be displayed somewhere, instead of gathering dust in a storage unit.  It’s a vintage Steinway, y’know?  Those need to be taken care of.”

In truth, the vintage instrument had rung Harry quite a high bill over the last few decades, not only in the price it cost to keep it in permanent storage, but in the services he’d had done to it once a year to keep it in its nearly pristine condition.  Despite keeping it out of sight to keep it out of his mind, he couldn’t seem to allow himself to let the instrument fall into disrepair, just in case he ever decided to display it again.  Or sell it, as he’d been leaning towards doing over the last few years— a genuine Steinway piano in condition as good as his had quite the high price tag.  But he’d never been able to force himself to part with it, as it looked too similar to the one he had originally learned to play on.  Even though those memories were tainted with the usual pain that came with thinking about his human life, it was still his life, and he ached to hold onto some part of it.  It’s why he had his mother’s ring, and his sister’s earring, and his father’s cross and pocket watch.  It’s why had a small wooden box hidden away under his bed with memorabilia from his first life.  As much as it hurt to remember— and it did, in ways he can’t possibly begin to describe— remembering seems better than the alternative.

“Well, if you want to show it off…” Y/N’s fingers are trailing down the fallboard now, inching their way towards the ivory keys with a daydream-like purpose. “You shouldn’t hide it away in the corner of the room.  It would look gorgeous in front of the windows, don’t you think?  A proper centerpiece.”

It would make a beautiful centerpiece, and he originally intended it to be so after the delivery company had dropped it off at his condo a few days before.  After bribing Adam and Niall with the offer to buy out their bar tabs for an entire month, the three of them had spent the afternoon rearranging the furniture in his living room to display the Steinway in the center of the room.  He’d thought that, knowing how excited Y/N had been to hear him play the piano in the antique store, she’d like to hear him play in his own home, on an instrument he knows like the back of his hand.  He’d even begun kicking around the idea of teaching her a few songs, but those musings had quickly turned sour as the instrument brought back more memories of his foggy human life.  In the end, he’d decided to restore his living room back to its original state with the addition of the Steinway thrust into the corner, where the ghosts of his past could plunk the keys quietly without drawing too much of his attention.  He’d done his best to ignore the instrument over the last couple of days, and in his hurricane of thoughts that had centered around Y/N, he’d nearly forgotten about its existence completely.

He can’t be mad that Y/N is asking about it; after all, he’d brought it out of storage with her specifically in mind.  But seeing the newfound object of his affections with her fingers poised over the keys brings back a rush of emotions he’d been repressing for the better part of two hundred years.

“It—” Harry clears his throat once more, trying to rid himself of the lump that is rising up like bile. “It took up too much space in the center of the room.  Wasn’t very cohesive.”

“That’s too bad.” The mortal girl’s words fall from her mouth in a murmur as her gaze remains locked on the keys, almost as if she’s in a trance.  Her finger begins to press down on the ivory with a slow and meticulous motion. “It seems like such a shame to—”

“Let’s— Let’s not get into that now, sweetheart.” Harry says hurriedly, his fingers catching her own before she can trigger the instrument to make a sound. “Dinner’s almost ready, and you—” He forces a grin onto his lips. “—still haven’t picked a record out.” Threading her fingers through his own, Harry gently tugs the human girl up from her seat on the piano bench. “Would you rather I do it instead?”

As he expected, Y/N wrinkles her nose with distaste as she rises to meet his emerald eyes. “No.” She scoffs as a quiet snort rises from her throat. “I don’t need to listen to some weird experimental 60s music while trying to eat dinner.”

While Harry would normally bite back at her dig, he just responds to her with a thin laugh and a smile without dimples. “Exactly.  So why don’t you pick something out,” He jerks his head over his shoulder to where his record player and vinyls sit neatly on a shelf lining the wall, ignoring the ghastly spike of pain that twinges his neck as he does so. “And I’ll plate dinner, yeah?”

“Alright.” She agrees, and Harry nearly breathes a sigh of relief before she finishes her phrase. “But you’ll play for me later tonight, won’t you?”

The phantom pain grows until it extends down Harry’s entire spine, filling every nerve in his body with a sense of anxiety and trepidation.  The last thing Harry wants to do is move his fingers over those weighted keys, and with the burning sensation now shooting through his fingers, making his hand twitch around Y/N’s, he’s not even sure he can.

But he is sure of one thing, and that’s the fact that he can’t ever seem to say no to Y/N.

“Yeah, dove.  Of course.” Keeping his voice even, Harry pulls her away from the extravagant instrument as inconspicuously as he can. “Later tonight.”

///

There are so many things that Harry has done over the last two centuries that have both angered and confused him.  

He’s held grudges against himself over the way he’s acted, the people he’s surrounded himself with, the people he’s allowed himself to trust, and the blatant disregard for human decency he’s allowed himself to succumb to.  In the last twenty decades, Harry has amassed enough vendettas for fifty lifetimes, let alone the one endless life he’s been given.  And yet, even with all of those missteps in mind, the fact that Harry ever looked at Y/N and deigned her an ordinary human might be one of the biggest mistakes he’s ever made. 

It’s so clear to him now— sitting across from her at his kitchen island, the few scented candles flickering between them doing almost nothing to cover her sugar and flower scent, her eyes reflecting back the burning flames and something else that Harry can’t quite put a finger on— that he’s not sure how he ever missed it.  How had he once leaned against the counter in her own kitchen, looked into those very same eyes, and managed to convince himself that it was only her blood that drew him to her?  How had he listened to her sweet and sensual voice murmur delicate phrases about her day and her emotions, and not realize that he was inching closer and closer in order to hang on every word, as if she had the supernatural ability to compel him as he did her?  How had he seen her in the smokiness of the club, with her fragile skin practically luminescent under the pulsing strobe lights, and thought that she was so utterly unmemorable and unnoticeable that he could easily take her home for one night without anyone wondering about her whereabouts?  How had he convinced himself that it would only be one night? 

There are so many things that Harry will always be angry about, will never forgive himself for, and his initial perception of Y/N is one of them. 

If he has any redeeming qualities, he thinks as he watches the mortal girl spear a bite of gnocchi onto her fork over the rim of his wine glass, it’s that he can, at the very least, admit when he’s wrong.  He can admit to himself that this girl— this self-assertive, stubborn, vivacious, kind-hearted mortal girl— is the most interesting and most intriguing human he’s ever met.  And as terrifying as that is, it’s also a little thrilling; it’s been so long since Harry has felt a pull to someone like this.  The sensation, while unfamiliar and something he’s severely out of practice with, is just as electrifying as he remembers, and now that he’s had a taste of it, he can’t stop chasing that high. 

It’s that undeniable pull which drive Harry to murmur an unauthentic apology about not having a dining table (he’d chosen a larger living room over a dining area when he moved in, and his friends just settled for eating at Niall’s when they wanted to sit down somewhere) because he’s secretly pleased that he has an excuse to sit next to Y/N.  It’s that pull that makes him hang on her every word about her day like she’s relaying the plot of a Greek tragedy, his facial expressions perfectly mimicking hers as she describes the customers she dealt with.  It’s that pull that sends his fingers forward of their own accord to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear as the soft melody of Hozier’s “Like Real People Do” floats between them like a comforting lullaby.  It’s that pull that, when she inquires about the entrée he’d prepared for them, causes him to proudly admit that he’d recreated the recipe from Bella Vita after wrestling it from Vincenzo.  It’s that pull that urges him to scoop up one of his own gnocchi and bring it to Y/N’s lips to feed her the first bite of the meal, his hand cupped delicately under the utensil to catch any sauce that might drip onto her shirt (which is really his shirt, and that fact alone delivers so much more pleasure than he ever would’ve thought possible).  

It’s that pull, that adrenaline rush, that indescribable sensation, but underneath it all, it’s her.  It’s always been her, since the moment they’d first met.  From the moment he first laid eyes on her.  How is it, Harry wonders, that his first sighting, enhanced by his supernatural senses, had managed to make him so blind?  How is it that he’d had this girl in front of him all along, and he’d managed to delude himself into thinking that he’d be able to stop himself from becoming vulnerable for her?  And maybe, he wonders slowly as he clears Y/N’s empty dinner plate from the marble island to the sink, he’s still deluding himself, because for some strange reason, being vulnerable for the mortal girl doesn’t seem to be as terrifying as he thought it would be.

The vampire suddenly recalls a specific day all those weeks back, when Y/N had stayed over and they’d taken their first bath together in his jacuzzi. He thinks about how he’d allowed himself to be vulnerable for just a fraction of a second, when he had admitted to her that she often caught him off guard. She had returned the sentiment, and he remembers the words he'd uttered to her amidst the warm steam and quiet splashing of the water. He had said that he found her influence on him— the influence they had on each other— to be scary, but exhilarating. And now, after spending so much time together and allowing himself to grow closer to her than he ever could’ve imagined, he’s come to find that his attraction to Y/N is no longer incredibly scary. Yes, there’s still a sliver of fear in him at the notion of opening himself up to her, but it’s only natural— there isn’t one person in existence who isn’t scared to strip themselves emotionally bare for someone else. However, his genuine excitement soothes his hesitations, and it startles him in a pleasant manner he can’t quite decipher.

Setting the dirty dishes into the sink to be dealt with later, Harry risks a glance at Y/N over his shoulder.  He watches as she wipes the corner of her mouth on a napkin before raising her stemmed glass to her lips, delicately draining the last of the crimson liquid before placing it back down with a clink.  When he catches her sparkling eyes, Y/N shoots him a smile that, even with only one corner of her lips lifted, manages to dazzle him from across the kitchen.  Harry can hear the fresh flush of blood that overtakes her cheeks, as if the wine itself is settling beneath her fragile skin.

Yes, vulnerability should petrify him.  Vulnerability means danger.  It means giving someone the ability to break you, and Harry knows this from firsthand experience.  Harry might be the only monster in the room, but in this moment, Y/N is the ominous threat. She’s the vague silhouette that hides in the shadows, the mysterious mass circling just beneath the waves, waiting for the right moment to strike.

But now that he’s dipped a toe in, Harry can’t stop himself from diving headfirst into those dangerous depths.

“D’you want another drink, love?” He asks, turning back around and leaning his hip against the marble counter as he cocks his head to the side in a questioning manner. “Some more wine before dessert?  Or another cocktail?”

Y/N glances at her multiple empty glasses in front of her, but shakes her head slowly. “No, I’ve had enough to drink.  But I’d love a cup of tea, H.  If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.  A cup of tea, coming right up.” Harry reaches for the sleek kettle that he keeps set on the backburner of his range, flicking on his tap with his other hand before settling the hollow object under the stream of water. “You know, I think this is the first time I’m actually making tea for you.  S’a real treat, isn’t it?” He flashes a toothy grin at the girl before placing the now-full kettle back onto the burner and twisting the knob to high. “A proper cup of tea made by a proper Brit.  Can’t get much better than that.”

Y/N rolls her eyes playfully as she circles her finger around the rim of the empty wine glass, her motions just starting to get heavy with the liquor. “It’s just some dried leaves and water, Harry.  Don’t get too full of yourself.” 

“I think you’re the one who’s usually full of me, aren’t you, pet?” Although his back is turned towards the stove, Harry can hear the effect his words have on the human girl by the small, nearly imperceptible gasp that leaves her lips. “‘M not sure you’re allowed to make that observation.”

Despite the choked feeling that’s welled up in her throat at his comment, Y/N quickly clears it out with a small cough, capturing Harry’s sea glass eyes with her own to stare him down stubbornly. “I’ll make any observations I want.” She says firmly, crossing her arms over her exposed chest in a mockingly angered pose.

A fond laugh rolls from Harry’s stained lips as he opens his cupboards and extracts two tea cups that are painted with vines of wisteria flowers.  He’d found them a few years back at the very same antique mall he’d brought Y/N to, included in a china tea set that he hadn’t been able to resist buying.  The hand painted violet flowers had caught his eye from the moment he’d glanced at the china cabinet they’d been locked inside, and he’d barely been able to tear himself away from the glass case to retrieve the key from an employee.  

He’d always had a soft spot for wisteria; there had been a wisteria tree outside of his childhood home, and he and Gemma used to collect the bunches of blooms and bring them inside for their mother.  That had been a long time ago, of course.  When they were children.  Harry can’t quite remember at what age they’d stopped digging through the garden for flowers— it might have been when Gemma turned eleven, which would’ve made him…. Seven?  Harry frowns at the uncertain memory as his grip tightens around the delicate china cups.  Yes, he reminds himself, he would’ve been seven.  His sister had been four years older than him, and it was around age eleven when she’d declared herself a lady, and said that it wasn’t ladylke to dig through a garden and walk around with dirt under one’s fingernails, and Honestly, Harry, you must wipe your feet before stepping into the house, or else you’ll track mud everywhere—

With trembling hands, Harry sets the wisteria tea cups down on the marble counter, flexing his fingers to get rid of their shakiness before reaching for the respective saucers.  It seems that Y/N’s ability to make him feel more human isn’t just resurfacing the manners and emotions he’d long suppressed, but the memories, too.  How long had it been since he’d heard his sister’s voice ring in his head as clearly as that?  How long had it been since he’d thought of the tiny foyer of his childhood home, which he’d tracked mud into countless times as his mother and, eventually, his sister clicked their tongues at him?  Is the tree still there, he wonders as his thoughts continue to spiral.  Or had it been cut down in the two hundred years since he’d last seen it, long after his family had all… 

Harry places the saucers carefully down against the marble before bracing himself against the edge for just a moment.  Barely thirty seconds have passed since Y/N’s retort, and although his enhanced mind had begun to spiral, it’s not too late for him to give a half-sane response.  

“I know you will, sweetheart.” He finally murmurs, hiding his face as he pulls open his fridge to extract the carton of oat milk he’d purchased last week.  Y/N, he’d come to learn over the last few months, prefers milk over cream in her tea, just like she prefers sugar over artificial sweeteners. 

Harry can feel the burn of her eyes into his back as he extracts a teaspoon from his kitchen drawer and the kettle begins to whistle.  Focusing and relishing in being the object of her attention, Harry removes the kettle from the heat, flicking the stove off before reaching for the canister that stores his tea bags.  In an effort to fully distract himself from the troubling thoughts of his past, he begins to hum the tune to the Hozier song that had been playing earlier, before the record had spun to stop just before they’d finished their entrees.  With the near murmur of the melody reverberating through his throat, he spends a moment debating on whether or not he should use the matching wisteria-adorned teapot that sits on the highest shelf of his cupboard, but quickly decides against it— it’s too formal for the occasion.  But tossing two separate tea bags into the two teacups, he finds as soon as he does it, doesn’t feel right either; after all, he’d told Y/N that he’d be making her a proper cup of tea.  That fact settles the manner in his (moreso than usual) changing mind, and within a few moments, he has the two teabags deposited into the teapot before pouring in the boiling water to steep the satchels of dried leaves.

Halfway through his preparation, his ears had perked up with the distinct sound of Y/N rising from her chair, which had been followed by the muted pattering of her feet against his hardwood floor.  Not bothering to ask where she’d been going, Harry had instead decided to wait for his suspicions to be confirmed.  Sure enough, just as he’s stirring the sugar and oat milk into Y/N’s cup of tea, he hears the quiet press of one of the keys of his piano.  C4, if his aural skills are still as tuned as they used to be.

Setting the two cups of tea onto their respective plates (Y/N’s with milk and sugar, and Harry’s plain), the vampire easily balances both cups of tea in his hands and makes it to the living room without spilling a single drop.

Just like before, Y/N seems entranced by the piano, plunking out different notes and letting them ring into the open air.  Harry can’t help but wince slightly as he approaches— as talented as Y/N seems to be at some things, music theory does not appear to be included.

“Christ, love, a tritone?” He protests, his voice hinging on a whine as he approaches the piano bench. “What, your fingers couldn’t make it a perfect fifth, hm?”

The answer to his teasing question comes in the form of Y/N’s entire body jumping as her fingers stutter over the keys, an audible gasp falling from her mouth while her hand clutches to her chest and her head turns to stare at Harry over her shoulder. “Jesus, you scared me!” She says breathlessly, her palm massaging over her the area where Harry can hear the rapid pulsing of her heart. “Have you always creeped around like that?”

A playful grin tugs at the immortal’s lips as he extends an arm out, handing the china saucer and cup to the human girl. “Only when I’m carrying boiling tea.  Scooch over, will you?” Nudging his way onto the newly unoccupied space of the bench, Harry nods his head towards the keys she had been previously playing. “Was that an original composition?”

“Beethoven, actually.  I’m surprised you didn’t recognize it.” Y/N blows gently over her tea with pursed lips before taking a small sip.  Harry knows that his sister would have condemned the action, along with the following slurp, by calling it unladylike, but the inelegant manner leaves a fond feeling buzzing through his body once more. 

Raising his own teacup to his lips, Harry chuckles quietly over the rim of the cup. “I wouldn’t have pegged it for the classical era, actually.  Sounded more atonal to me.” He takes a small sip of tea, the liquid scorching down his throat in the best way. “You said you took lessons when you were younger, didn’t you?  Do you remember anything?”

“Twinkle twinkle little star, maybe.” Y/N takes another small gulp before setting the cup back down on the saucer. “I was, like, eight.  Nursery rhymes were as far as I got.” Her gaze drops to the caramel coloured tea with a curious gaze; Harry had remembered exactly how she takes it, despite him only having seen her make a cup of tea once a few weeks ago. “But you, on the other hand… Mr. Good Lookin’...” Her lips jolt into a teasing grin as her eyes flicker to the side to capture his own. “You’re quite the musician, from what I remember.  And you promised to play me something.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Harry’s smile grows imperceivably tighter as he takes another drag of the boiling drink, his throat growing thicker with every swallow. “And you still want me to?”

Brow furrowing at his reluctance, Y/N cocks her head to the side in bewilderment. “Of course I do, H.  I loved listening to you play for me at the antique mall.”

Harry thinks back to that day, when he’d stuttered his way through a Chopin piece before his stumbling fingers had given up entirely. “I’m just a little out of practice, love.  It’ll be a bit messy.”

“I didn’t ask for perfection; I asked for you to play.” Her warm fingers find Harry’s upper arm, massaging the tattooed muscles just underneath the tucked sleeve of his shirt as she regards him with wide, curious eyes. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but if you’re nervous because you might mess up… Well, you heard me play.” Her light laugh rings through the cavity of the piano, reverberating off the highest strings in a way that only Harry’s immortal ears can pick up. “I won’t be able to tell the difference.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Despite his reservations, a half-hearted smile finds its way to Harry’s lips over the rim of his tea cup, which he sets down on the living room side table after taking one last sip.  

Flexing his ringed fingers, he repositions himself on the piano bench, moving more towards the center of the seat as Y/N moves down to the edge to give him full access to the piano.  For a brief moment, his hands hover over the ivory and ebony keys as he evaluates the repertoire he knows he can muddle his way through without too much trouble.  He’s already played a few Chopin pieces for the human girl, so that composer is out.  Liszt doesn’t seem to fit the mood, either, as his pieces are much too ornamented for their quiet living room ambience.  Debussy is out before Harry can even consider him; the last thing he wants to do is invoke any more memories of sitting at a piano with the much too familiar composer.  And Beethoven and Mozart seem too contrived for this setting, as well.

With a frown on his wine-stained lips, Harry spares one glance at Y/N, whose own eyes are glued to his floating fingers.  She reaches out with a tentative touch of her own, gliding them across Harry’s tensed knuckles with a pressure so soft that, if not for the heat of her skin, Harry might not feel it at all.  The cautiousness of the motion is not lost on him— it’s almost as if Y/N is worried that she’ll spook him out of playing, like any sudden movements could break him.  It reminds the creature of the awareness he has whenever he touches her; how he always carefully evaluates the amount of pressure he uses whenever he glides his fingers over her vulnerable skin. 

As if she were a butterfly, he thinks, not for the first time.  His butterfly.

Harry doesn’t remember making the conscious decision to start playing.  He doesn’t even recognize the piece that’s tentatively ringing from the piano until the repetition of the first motive, when Y/N emits a satisfied breath and her warm hand falls back to Harry’s thigh, rubbing gently over his olive trousers with that same delicate touch, almost as if he were a butterfly.

The creature’s fingers continue to glide over the ivory keys, his phrases growing smoother and more confident with every passing moment.  He pays careful attention to the dynamics of the piece, trying his best to recall the sheet music that he hadn’t looked at in decades, but it only takes about thirty seconds for him to realize that it’s easier to just let himself feel the music.  With Y/N’s hand continuing to dance over his thigh in time with the tune, Harry lets himself play around with the score, peppering in crescendos and decrescendos as he sees fit.  He draws out some of the minor phrases, hoping to wrench on his obsolete heartstrings the way he had when he first learned the piece in the early 20th century, and hovers his fingers over the bass notes as he uses the pedal to make them ring out into the living room.  

Halfway through the composition, Harry realizes that he’s breathing with the phrases, timing each inhale and exhale of his lungs with the musical lines.  It only takes him another two measures to realize that Y/N is doing the same, her body leaning into Harry’s as Harry leans into the instrument.  And that, he finds as his jeweled fingers slide over the keys, tugs on his heartstrings more than any melody ever could.

As he approaches the end of the piece, he softens his touch, his fingertips almost ghosting over the keys as he gently presses the final notes.  Harry keeps his foot hovered over the pedal, allowing the quiet cadence to fade to silence in its own time, and as it does, he can feel his body coming back into itself— which is strange, considering he hadn’t noticed the trance-like space he’d slipped into.

Y/N, however, must have noticed, because her voice is hushed and hesitant when she speaks again, waiting until the final notes have completely faded to silence, as if she’s afraid that she’s interrupting something. 

“That was so beautiful, H.” She praises, her hand still rubbing over his clothed thigh.  The motion would normally drive Harry mad, but for some reason, all it does to him in this moment is bring a strange lump to his throat. “What’s it called?”

In his unfamiliar haze, it takes Harry a moment to find his own voice. “Uh, Papillons.” He says through his thick accent, clearing his throat subtly as he lowers his hands to his lap.  He hadn’t even realized they were still lingering over the last notes. “It means—”

“Butterflies.” The mortal girl nods in recognition, a thoughtful look over her face as she taps a finger against his trousers, her tone slightly jesting as she murmurs her next sentence. “I know enough sixth grade French to understand that.  Is it a French piece, then?”

“No.” Harry jerks his head in the negative, only remembering to soften the agitated motion after it’s happened.  He raises his keen eyes to meet Y/N’s, a reminder of where he is.  And a reminder of who he’s with. “It’s the fifth movement in a suite by Robert Schumann— the “Polonaise,” in B-flat major.  S’one of my favourites.”

“I can see why.” Y/N murmurs, a fond smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “It was wonderful, really.  ‘Out of practice,’ my ass.”

Even with the residual anxiety still coursing through his veins, Harry manages to force out a chuckle at her teasing. “Trust me, I’m just as surprised as you are.  But Schumann has always been a favourite composer of mine—” Harry takes Y/N’s teacup from her, noting how her eyes had flickered to the ground, as if she was looking for a place to set it, and she sends him a thankful grin as he sets the cup next to his own on the end table. “—along with his wife.  They were both incredibly talented musicians.”

“His wife?” Intrigue threads through Y/N’s voice as she props up an elbow on the piano, resting her chin on her loose fist as she turns her body towards Harry. “She was a musician, too?”

Harry hums affirmatively as he cracks his knuckles, flexing his fingers in his lap to loosen them from the buzzing sensation that’s still prickling his skin. “She was, yeah.  They had a pretty passionate love story, y’know.  That’s why his music is so beautiful— he wrote it all for her.”

Y/N doesn’t miss the reminiscent tone that seeps into Harry’s voice, and she threads her fingers through his own as her eyes widen with a gentle plea. “Will you tell me about them?  Schumann and his wife?”

“I—” Hesitating at her request, Harry squeezes her hand tightly, half in affection, half in warning. “It doesn’t have much of a happy ending, darling.  A bit of a tragedy, that one.”

“I want to know.” The human girl nods her head stubbornly as her eyes flash with determination. “Just because it has a sad ending doesn’t mean it’s not worth knowing.” 

Harry pauses for a moment, allowing her words to fully sink into his mind and spark the beacon of hope that’s sat coldy in his head for so long. “I suppose that’s true.” 

He mulls over where to begin, thinking back to all the newspaper articles he’d read about a child prodigy in Germany in the 1820s, who was the daughter of—

“So the story really begins with Friederich Wieck.” Harry’s voice falls into a smooth cadence as he begins, thumbing over Y/N’s warm knuckles absentmindedly as he recalls the information. “He was a music teacher, most known for piano, but what he really wanted to be known for was raising a child prodigy.  He had a few children, but the one who filled that description was Clara, his second oldest.”

As Harry begins to spin the tale, Y/N can’t help but focus on his expression.  Although his eyes are set on their linked hands, she can tell that his gaze is far away, as if he’s seeing the scene play before his eyes as he tells it.  It’s fascinating, she thinks, seeing him focus so intently on something as niche as an old love story between musicians, but more than that, it’s new to her.  This is a new side of him that she hasn’t seen before— not cocky, or charming, or playful.  This side of him is intent, as if he wants to make sure that every word he speaks is the truth.  His expression is almost as interesting as the story itself.

“Clara’s parents, Friederich and Mariane, didn’t really get along very well, and Clara had a lot of trouble when she was young; she didn’t really speak until she was four.  But music always came easily to her, which made sense, considering her parents.” Harry’s free hand drifts back to the ivory keys, just resting over the lacquered surface. “Her mother was a musician, too— an accomplished singer.  But after her parents split when she was five, when Mariane had an affair with a family friend, Clara was left with her father.  And her father wanted to focus on her music career.  He gave her hour-long lessons every day, and made her practice for two hours on top of that.  She made her performance debut when she was just nine years old, in 1828, at the Gewandhaus in Leipzig.”

“Okay, wait.  Pause.” Y/N worries her bottom lip between her teeth as she waits for Harry’s faraway eyes to refocus on her confused expression. “What does playing in Leipzig at age nine have to do with a love story?”

An amused laugh slips from Harry’s lips at Y/N’s impatience. “I’m getting there, sweetheart.  A little bit of patience would be beneficial to you, I think.  And a little bit of trust in me, yeah?”

Although she huffs a little bit, Y/N relents, squeezing Harry’s hand in acknowledgement at the phrase he always seems to end up repeating: Trust me. She vaguely wonders why it’s so important to him. “Alright, fine.  Continue.”

“Thank you.” Harry swipes a hand through his tousled curls before settling it back down on the keys, running his fingertips over the smooth surface absentmindedly in the same rhythm he’s swiping over Y/N’s knuckles. “Okay, so… She played in Leipzig a few times that year, and once was at a private music party at someone’s house, where she met Robert Schumann.” At the mention of the name, Harry shoots Y/N an ‘I told you so’ look, which she meets with a roll of her eyes. “He was a gifted pianist, and was so inspired by Clara’s playing that he got permission from his mother to quit his law studies in order to study piano under Clara’s father, Friederich.  So in 1830, Robert moved into the Weick household as one of Friederich’s students, and—”

“Sorry, I— pause again.” Brow furrowed, Y/N’s eyes narrow in suspicion as she mulls over Harry’s words. “So— if Clara was, like, nine—”

“Eleven, actually.  It’s 1830 now, remember?”

“Alright, eleven.  If Clara was eleven… You said Robert quit law school to study music.” Y/N’s narrowed eyes widen as she regards Harry, as if asking him to contradict her suspicions. “How old was Robert?”

“Around twenty, I think.” Harry says casually, lifting his shoulder in a light shrug. “He was born in 1810, so— yeah.  He would’ve been twenty.”

“Twenty?” Y/N yanks her hand from Harry’s as she fully twists her body to face him, as if just hearing the horror in her voice isn’t enough. “He was twenty?  I thought this was a love story?”

“It is!  It’s just—”

“No, it’s not!  It’s gross!” Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Y/N shakes her head harshly, her loose hair spilling over her flushing cheeks. “A twenty year old shouldn’t—”

“He didn’t!  Nothing happened until they were older, love.” Harry captures Y/N’s hand within his own again, smoothing over her knuckles as he hurries to reassure her. “And it was the nineteenth century… a nine year age gap in a relationship wasn’t exactly uncommon.” For a brief moment, Harry wonders what Y/N would think if she knew just how much older he really was than her.  Would she react with the same horrified expression she had now?  Yank her hand from his again as she had just done?

“Yeah, well…” Y/N’s appearance is still bristled as she shoots Harry a condemning look. “There’s a difference between a nine year age gap and a child—”

“Nothing’s happened yet, sweetheart.” Harry bites back the involuntary laugh that bubbles through his chest at the indignant tone of her voice. “Now can I continue?  Or do you want to yell some more?”

Although her response is grumbled, the mortal girl mutters, “Fine.  Continue.” as Harry lifts her knuckles to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of her hand. 

“Thank you.” He lowers her hand back down to his thigh, smoothing it over his trousers before continuing where he’d left off. “So Robert studies under Clara’s father and stays with them for a year.  And although Clara and Robert were just friends, Friederich could tell that they were becoming close, which he didn’t like.  And before you say anything,” Harry watches as Y/N’s lips twitch into a frown. “It wasn’t because of Robert’s age.  Friederich didn’t want Clara to fall in love with anyone; he just wanted her to focus on her music.  He still wanted his child prodigy, you know?  So he began to take her on tours through Europe.  But by the time Clara was sixteen, it was clear that she and Robert had feelings for each other.  They wrote countless letters to each other, signed them ‘your special friend’... And when Clara turned eighteen, Robert asked Friederich for his permission to marry his daughter.  And Friederich said no, because that would ruin his plans for Clara’s music career.”

Despite her hesitation at the relationship, Y/N still mutters a quiet “Harsh.” at the story.

Harry’s hands return to the keys, but this time, they do more than hover.  He begins to press a few notes slowly, letting one ring out completely before moving to the other, and it takes Y/N a few moments to realize that he’s playing an actual melody, albeit a deconstructed one. 

“Because Clara wasn’t twenty-one yet, they needed her father’s permission to marry, so Robert took the case to court.  And it was…” His fingers stutter over the keys for a moment as his face twists up, remembering how the story had decorated the society pages of newspapers back then. “Messy.  Really messy.  But in the end, Robert won the case, and he and Clara were married.  And they wrote all this beautiful music together…” Harry’s left hand joins his right over the piano, moving with more intention now as he adds a quiet harmony to his slow melody line. “They weren’t good with words, but they were good with music.  That’s how they communicated with each other.  You can hear the love in everything they wrote, the devotion they had for each other.  Listen,” He says in a hushed voice, the melody of the music becoming unbearably sweet. “D’you hear it?”

“I do.” Y/N nods softly, her fingers massaging Harry’s thigh muscle as he continues to play.  It’s not a lie, either; there’s a sincerity in what Harry’s playing that twists within her chest.  

Or maybe, she thinks, her eyes trained in the profile of the man beside her, it’s just Harry. 

“Didn’t you…” Y/N hesitates both in her words and her motions over Harry’s leg as a new thought tugs at her mind. “Didn’t you say the story had a sad ending?  That all seems good, isn’t it?  Clara and Robert got married, wrote music together…”

Harry’s fingers begin to slow down, returning to the reduced melody he’d been playing previously, as if weighed down by the knowledge he’s about to share. “Uh, yeah.  Robert had a lot of problems— mental health issues.  Later in their marriage, he became manic, had episodes where he saw angels and demons… and he was worried he’d hurt Clara.” Harry says quietly, risking a glance at the girl beside him, who’s watching him with such wide and trusting eyes that he almost can’t bear it.  Harry knows what it’s like to fear hurting the ones you care for. “He tried to kill himself, and when he was unsuccessful, he asked to be taken to an insane asylum.  And he never went home again.  He died there, just a few days after Clara was finally allowed to visit.  S’like…” Harry’s fingers pause over the piano once more. “S’like he was waiting for her.  Before going.”

Detecting the emotion in his voice, Y/N raises her hand from his thigh, smoothing back a few loose curls before gently setting her palm over the curve of his neck. “That is a bit of a tragic story, I’ll admit.  To have fought so hard for each other for so long… And then to lose all of it like that…”

“Yeah.” Harry clears the lump from his throat as subtly as he can.  He’s certainly no stranger to loss, to feeling helpless at being unable to save someone you love… He knows that pain all too well. 

As if she can sense the darkness in his mood, Y/N rubs a comforting hand across his shoulder and down his arm, drifting over his inked skin with a warm touch.  Her comment, however, is more lighthearted than her caring caress. 

“I still think the age gap is a little weird.  How do you go from writing letters about being ‘special friends’ to falling in love?”

Harry rises to her baited joke, doing his best to shake himself from his introspective thoughts as his fingers begin to drift over the keys once more.  He focuses on just his right hand now, playing out an absentminded yet tender tune as he speaks. “So if I started to call you my special friend, you wouldn’t like it?”

“God, no— that sounds awful.” Y/N scoffs, her own hand drifting to the ivory keys. “We’re sleeping together, not making mud pies in a kindergarten class.”

Harry’s laugh is more genuine as he begins to slow down his playing, plucking only single notes that Y/N echoes in the lower register of the piano. “Alright, fine.  Not special friends, then.”

“There’s just so many cooler historical ways to say we’re having sex, y’know?  None of that ‘special friend’ bullshit.” Y/N continues to match Harry’s notes as best she can, wincing every so often as she plays a dissonant key. “Like… ‘lover.’  That’s a good one.  Nice and simple.  Or—” Her eyes light up with mirth as the thought pops into her head. “Courtesan to the queen.  Not as simple, but it certainly rolls off the tongue.”

Harry quirks a brow at the suggestion. “And you’ll be the queen in question, I presume?”

“Of course.  Do you have a better idea?”

“‘Paramour’ is a neat little name, don’t you think?” Harry asks, his fingers pressing down a simple perfect fourth on the piano to punctuate his question. “Sounds pretty elegant.  Understated.”

“If you want understated…” Y/N matches the top note of Harry’s interval, already knowing she wouldn’t be able to match the actual notes without hurting both of their ears. “We could do what historians do when talking about ancient queer couples.  Say we’re just good friends.”

The creature hums in acknowledgment at the back of his throat. “We could, yeah.  Or we could be mistresses.   Is there a word for a male mistress?” Harry quirks an eyebrow as his lips pull into a quizzical frown. “A master?”

“Jesus Christ, never refer to yourself as a master again.” Y/N groans loudly, her fingers slipping from the keys as she feigns a shudder. “That just sounds creepy.  Even creepier than a special friend. How about…” She tries her best to stifle a wry grin as a more vulgar alternative pops into her head. “The Whore of Babylon?” 

“Fuck’s sake, what did I say about slut-shaming me?”

“I just thought it’d fit! It has a nice ring to it! But if it really irks you that much— Oh, wait—” She quirks her head to the side, a new wave of amusement lighting up her eyes as she thinks of her next step in their game. “What about ‘special advisor’?  You know, like we’re in a historical drama, and I have a kingdom to defend from oncoming war, and you’re my most trusted advisor, and when my husband is away with the army, you and I sneak off into my chambers…”

Although he giggles boyishly at the suggestion, Harry can’t ignore the twinge of jealousy that shoots up his spine at the mention of Y/N’s— albeit imaginary— husband.  He doesn’t like being referred to as her side relationship, even in an imaginary world of queens and wars.  Even then, he wants to be Y/N’s first choice. 

Because she’s his, he realizes, his fingers continuing to pluck out single ivory notes as a way to deal with the impending ball of tension that’s growing inside his abdomen.  Even in a game, in an imaginary world, in any way imaginable— Y/N is his first choice. 

He just— he wants her, in every sense of the word. And he knows all the reasons he shouldn’t— he knows how reckless it is to allow a human to get so close to him, how he’ll never truly be able to be honest with her, how he’ll always be using her for her blood, how he can’t give her the human relationship she deserves.  But he can’t stop from thinking about Robert and Clara, who fought for each other from the very beginning, who persevered through every challenge thrown their way, and who still only got sixteen years together before circumstance tore them apart. 

Harry is here. He is— for all intents and purposes— theoretically alive.  And the girl he wants more than anyone else is right next to him.  There’s no doubt in his mind that it’ll be difficult, but does he not owe it to those who ran out of time to try?  At the very least? Does he not owe it to himself to fight for the happiness he’s spent so long evading, all out of fear? 

He can manage that.  He can manage his cravings around Y/N enough to take only what he needs, and never anything more.  He can manage his double life and keep her from falling victim to the darkest corners of his mind. He can manage his strength enough to treat her as delicately as he’d treat a butterfly.  He can manage the most monstrous parts of himself.  He can do that for Y/N. 

But only if she wants him to. 

It’s that hesitation that brings a tremor to his hands as they pause over the keys, poised over the lacquered surface that he can barely tear his gaze from. “A special advisor sounds fun, yeah.  Or you could…” Harry clears his throat roughly, sweat pooling across his brow as he fiddles with the opal ring on his pinky.  He twists it back and forth around the digits, only managing to spare one look from the corner of his eye at Y/N’s quizzical face before dropping his stare back down to the piano. 

“Or you could, um… you could just… call me your…” Say it, the voice in his head practically yells. It’s just one word. It’s not that hard. “Boyfriend. You could just call me your boyfriend.”

A heavy pause fills the air in the large room, and Harry feels like he’s being suffocated. His voice grows fainter when he detects the sudden hitch in Y/N’s breath, but nothing else. He finds himself wanting to fill the empty space between them with something, or else he might pass out from the nerves. “If you… If you want, that is.  It would just keep it simple. Plain and simple.”

Plain and simple, Y/N thinks as her hands curl together in her lap, slotting between her thighs as if the pressure of her clamped legs can keep her from feeling how they shake.  It would keep it plain and simple.

But when has their relationship ever been simple?

It should’ve been simple, and the mortal girl knows this.  Two consenting adults, calling each other every once in a while for a bit of release— that’s simple.  That kind of relationship doesn’t have any pressure.  There’s no need to try and impress one another, or to meet any expectations.  That kind of relationship is no muss, no fuss, and no strings attached.  That was how they had started, and it had been simple.  It had been easy.  It had been uncomplicated. 

And it also hadn’t been that way for a long time.

Y/N’s known for a while now that the line between two friends having sex and being in a committed relationship has become increasingly blurred; that was all but confirmed when Harry nearly pitched a hissy fit when he saw her coming home from her date with Jacob.  But even with all of the dates, the gifts, the phone calls during her lunch breaks, the homemade dinners and drinks and desserts, even with all of that— Y/N never thought that they’d actually arrive at this moment.  This moment, in Harry’s apartment, their bodies pressed together on the small piano bench, his fingers fidgeting nervously as hers are pressed between her thighs, with the word boyfriend dangling over their heads like a sword.

She can’t pretend she hasn’t thought about it, because she has.  And she can’t pretend that her thinking about it doesn’t usually lead to her daydreaming about it, because it does.  It’s why she spends the majority of her downtime wrapped in Harry’s rainbow cardigan, and why she’d picked out his button down shirt to wear tonight.  It’s why she’s talked about him to her friends, why she’s begun to speak about him casually to her coworkers, instead of hiding in the storage closet when he calls her on her break.  Because even though they aren’t together— even though they’re friends in the least and seeing each other at the most— it had been nice to pretend that either of them were capable of being more.

Y/N is no stranger to heartbreak, and she’s spent long enough studying her own commitment issues to be able to recognize them in someone else.  Harry had pretty much told her in the beginning that relationships weren’t his thing, that he didn’t want to be defined by a label that could so easily be broken.  And Y/N, who hadn’t opened herself up since Bradley, had been inclined to agree.  Relationships are messy, and labels only bring expectations that would eventually not be met.  Seeing each other is easy.  Seeing each other is breezy.  Seeing each other leaves room for interpretation, for allowances, for excuses to be made if one of them suddenly changes their mind.  Seeing each other is plain and simple. 

Boyfriend.

The truth of the matter is that Y/N shouldn’t be so terrified of such a simple word.  In all forms and fashion, Harry practically already is her boyfriend— he literally calls her his girl during sex, for fuck’s sake. They do everything that a normal couple does, and have been doing it for a while now.  She’s fairly certain that calling Harry her boyfriend instead of the guy she’s seeing wouldn’t actually change their relationship that much.  But if she’s honest with herself, Y/N knows that it isn’t their present day situation that’s sending a cold sweat down her back.  Boyfriends, from her limited experience, lead to fiancés, which lead to husbands, which lead to children and a white picket fence in an unassuming suburb.  That was the exact life she’d come to L.A. to escape— how could she willingly fall back into it?

And then she hears Harry exhale shakily, his thumb fumbling with the opal ring on his pinky, and she knows exactly how she could willingly fall back into it.

This is Harry.  Harry, who tells her the stupidest jokes that can somehow still make her laugh.  Harry, who gives her all of his attention every moment that they’re together.  Harry, who listens to every story about rude customers without complaining once, hanging onto her every word as if what she says matters more than life itself.  Harry, who makes her believe that it does.  Harry, with entrancing emerald eyes, shining chestnut curls, intricately inked skin, and the most comforting arms she’s ever been held in.  This is Harry.  Not Bradley.  Bradley wanted the wife, the white picket fence, the house filled with children.  Harry— as far as she can tell— just wants her.  And she just wants him.

Plain and simple.

Y/N extracts one of her hands from between her legs, snaking it over Harry’s, where she captures one of his fiddling hands in her grasp.  Intertwining their fingers, Y/N fixes her gaze onto his opal ring as she hesitantly swipes her thumb over his cool knuckles.

“Yeah,” She whispers the word, as if speaking any louder could break whatever it is that’s brewing between them. “Yeah, that could work.  I’d really like that.”

The human girl watches from the corner of her eye as Harry’s lips, which he’d been gnawing on nervously while waiting for her response, slowly curl into a hesitant grin, as if he’s nervous to show how anxiously he’d been waiting for her to answer.  He keeps his sea glass eyes glued to their tangled hands, his own fingers contracting to test their grasp. 

Harry knows that it’s selfish of him to be so happy that the girl he cares for is entering into a relationship with a monster.  But seeing as how he’s the monster in question, he can’t make himself feel guilty for it.  All he feels is the elation that’s slowly spreading through his entire body, and the determination that’s chasing it.  He can do this.  He’s strong enough.  He can be strong enough for her. 

“Can I…” His voice is just as quiet as hers, nearly cracking at the end when he finally lifts his gaze to her heated cheeks, wide eyes, and stained lips. “Can I kiss you?”

A tender laugh falls from those stained lips as Y/N combs his curls back over his ear, dragging her thumb over the sharp lines of his jaw. “You do that all the time, so the answer is obviously yes, isn’t it?” She thumbs down the muscles in his neck, until her palm settles over the collar of his shirt to fist the fabric between her grip. “You don’t even need to ask anymore.”

“It never hurts to ask.  And this time…” Harry worries his bottom lip back between his teeth before he soothes the bite mark with his tongue. “It’s different.  We’re different.”

“Not too different.” Y/N leans forward until their noses nudge against each other, their mouths kept apart only by an inch.  She cards her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, twisting the locks around her digits in a way that’s so much softer than Harry thought possible. “Still us, yeah?”

The taste of honey and lavender is so thick on the back of Harry’s tongue that he’s almost choking on it, but he’s never felt less thirsty in his life.  He has this under control.  He can tame this.  He can.

“Yeah.” He inhales deeply through his mouth, as if he were relishing the bouquet without tasting the wine, and slots their lips together with ease. 

Although they’ve shared countless kisses over their months together, this might win the record for the gentlest that they’ve ever shared.  There’s no rush, no animalistic need to pull Y/N closer and tighter against his body.  There’s only her burning warmth, her silky skin, and her sugar and flower flavour washing out the black tea that had been lingering on his taste buds.  Harry has never felt closer to being human again than he has in this moment.  Right now, they’re not a predator and his prey; they’re simply two people who, against all odds, have managed to find each other.  And Harry is owed this happiness.  He knows he is. 

The rest of the night passes in a blissful haze of comfortable domesticity.  They eat dessert on Harry’s couch, feeding each other bites of raspberry sorbet in between giggles and banter.  It’s something they’ve done countless times before, but there’s something different about it now; maybe it’s the fact that Harry knows that Y/N isn’t going to push him away now.  She wants him.  She wants him.  She’s leaning into his touch every time he brushes his knuckles over her cheek, laughing at his poorly-timed jokes, gazing at him through her lashes in a way that stirs desire in the very pit of his belly.  They’re comfortable together, and for the first time, Harry is realizing just how wonderful that is.

It’s the only thing on his mind as they stand side by side in front of his double vanity in his en suite, his gaze tilted to the side to watch as Y/N removes her makeup with some wipes she’d packed in her overnight bag (Harry makes a mental note on the brand so that he can pick them up the next time he finds himself near the drug store).  He’s never had such casual comfort and ease with someone like this before; the last time he’d found himself in a relationship, it had been in a time where maids were required to help lace and unlace corsets and valets prepared him for bed.  There was never a chance to watch as someone he cares for ties their hair back in a loose ponytail before rubbing cleanser into their skin.  He never got to observe the quiet, intimate moments of someone’s bedtime routine.  In the early days of their relationship, Y/N had never had a chance to properly take her makeup off before Harry was tugging her into bed, her lipstick smeared across his face as much as hers.  This is his first time really witnessing that transition, and he likes it more than he thought he would.

There are, however, a few things that he knows Y/N likes before bed, and he gives her a moment of privacy to change into her pyjamas while he makes the quick trip to his kitchen to fill a tall glass with cold water.  He doesn’t need to grab an extra blanket this time— he’d already made sure to toss the knit afghan onto his bed before Y/N arrived, and he finds it draped over her body when he returns to his bedroom.

“You look cozy.” He comments with a fond smile, handing the mortal girl the glass of water as he pulls back the other half of the blankets.  He climbs underneath the covers, propping his elbow up on his pillow as he lies on his side to watch as she takes a sip of the drink. “Y’alright, love?  Need anything else?”

Y/N shakes her head as she sets the glass down on the bedside table and settles back into her pillows, stifling a yawn into the back of her hand.  She always gets sleepy after she has a few drinks, something she’d explained to Harry— much to his amusement— a few weeks prior, after a movie night at her house when he’d made his famous margaritas.  They’d been having a Harry Potter marathon, and they’d barely begun the second before her eyes had started to flutter closed. 

“I’m good, I think.” She tugs the blankets up to her chin, tilting her head to the side to find Harry already staring at her with a soft expression. “Actually…” Extending a hand to him, she lifts her covers off her body enough to indicate what she wants. “C’mere.”

A boyish giggle falls from the vampire’s strawberry lips, and he flicks off the lamp before crawling towards Y/N in the enveloping darkness.  He folds himself right into her side, opening his own arms for her to slide into, but is surprised when her hand finds his shoulder and tugs him closer to her.

Harry takes the hint and hesitantly settles himself onto her own body, allowing the mortal girl to rest his head along her collarbones, his ear finding a home just above her beating pulse.  One of her hands knots itself in his hair, delicately detangling his messy curls as the other finds a home on his naked shoulder blade, rubbing over his defined muscles with the hottest touch Harry has ever felt. 

It’s a vulnerable position, one that Harry hasn’t been in for decades.  And yet, instead of feeling the usual mix of fear and trepidation, all Harry can feel is comfort.  The combined sensation of Y/N playing with his hair and massaging his shoulder is more pleasurable than he ever could’ve assumed.  A month ago, that would have confused him.  But now… he exhales softly as Y/N’s nails lightly scratch along his scalp.  He can be vulnerable with her.  He trusts her.  And, to his extreme luck, she seems to trust him.

A few minutes pass with nothing said between the pair, the silence around them punctuated with only the sound of their breathing and Y/N’s lone heartbeat.  If Harry didn’t know better, he’d think that Y/N had fallen asleep, but his sharp senses know that’s not true; her pulse is still a few beats faster than it normally is, and her breathing hasn’t completely evened out yet.

Sure enough, Harry’s suspicions are confirmed when Y/N whispers into the darkness a moment later, as if she could hear him mentally assessing her body language. “Harry?” Her voice is gentle, halfway between a whisper and a murmur, as if she’s afraid to be any louder. “Are you awake?”

Harry bites back the smirk that threatens to overtake his lips. “Mhmm.” He hums, nuzzling his head further into Y/N’s caring touch. “Still awake.”

She matches his hum of acknowledgement, the pads of her fingers pressing deeper into the knots of his back. “I was wondering…” Her voice thickens with hesitation. “Would you, um, would you sing for me?”

Without completely lifting himself from her chest, Harry raises his eyes to meet her own, her fingers pausing their motions through his locks as he does so. “Sing?” He asks, taken off guard by the out-of-the-blue request. “Y’want me to sing?”

Although there’s a shadow of shyness across her face, Y/N nods slowly. “I heard you humming earlier today, while you were cooking, and it sounded nice, so I was just thinking about it…” She clears her throat nervously, and Harry can hear the wave of blood that rises to her cheeks. “But you don’t have to.  I know it’s late—”

“No, petal.” Harry hurries to ease her, a frown settling onto his face as he hears her breathing grow shallower with anxiety. “S’fine.  No need to get shy.” Harry is amazed at how smoothly the reassurance falls from his lips. “Yeah, I’ll sing for you.  Any requests?”

Despite him telling her not to be shy, Y/N just shrugs her shoulders in response to his question, her eyes locked on the ceiling above them as if she can’t bring herself to meet his gaze.  Harry plants a kiss along her clavicle before settling back into her plush chest, mentally running through the catalogue of songs he’d been humming earlier.  He should pick something soft, he thinks.  Something like a lullaby.

Y/N resumes her gentle combing through Harry’s locks, mostly to distract herself from his thoughtful silence.  She shouldn’t have asked him to sing something— he’d made it clear earlier that playing the piano for people was something that made him nervous.  They’d sung together playfully multiple times, and Y/N could tell that Harry has a pretty voice, but half-singing, half-rapping along to the Hamilton soundtrack is so different than singing to her in the darkness of his bedroom.  She shouldn’t have asked.  In fact, she should tell him to just forget it, and—

“I had a thought, dear, however scary, about that night, the bugs and the dirt.” Harry’s low vibrato echoes around the previously silent room, his voice no louder than a murmur.  Y/N can feel the vibrations of his vocal chords against her chest, a quiet hum that soothes her like nothing else ever has. “Why were you digging?  What did you bury, before those hands pulled me from the Earth?”

Harry clears his throat quietly between the stanzas, his own eyes drifting close.  He’s never been one for stage fright— he’s always been eager to show off his vocal skills, and there’d been a time when all he wanted was to sing on stage in a smoky speakeasy.  But this— singing in the quiet of his bedroom for an audience of one— is more intimate than he’s used to, and he knows if he catches Y/N’s observant gaze right now, he’ll lose his nerve.

“I will not ask you where you came from; I will not ask and neither should you.” Harry tunes his ear to the steady pulse of Y/N’s heart, using the rhythm as a makeshift metronome to keep his time.  To keep himself steady. “Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips; we should just kiss like real people do.”

Harry feels a spike of warmth against the top of his head, and it takes him a moment longer than normal to realize that it’s Y/N’s lips pressing against his hair.  As he continues to sing, she times her caresses of his ringlets with the beat of his words, which he keeps timed with the beat of her heart.  They’re in a cycle, he realizes as he quietly sings the second verse into her skin. She’s lined up with him as he lines up with her.  They’re locked together, steadying the other while relying on them to keep them steady in return.  For the first time in two hundred years, Harry feels truly in sync with someone.

“Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips,” Y/N’s mouth smudges against his temple once more as he nudges his nose along the base of her throat, allowing himself to press his own lips against the satin skin of her chest, just over her heart. He feels like he could stay in this moment forever, which means something given that he truly does have forever. He’d spend every second of the rest of eternity frozen in this instant, if the world allowed it. He’s content, and relaxed, and cradled in his duvet with the one other soul who has somehow managed to thaw the coldness from his stony heart. For the first time in too long, he feels like an actual person again. He isn’t bogged down by his carnal instincts, or by the fear of losing his composure, or by the fact that he doesn’t have a thumping rhythm behind his ribs. 

He doesn’t need all of that because he has Y/N, and she makes him feel more real than all of those aspects ever could. 

“We could just kiss like real people do.”

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

[rawdogmeharry]

will you write something about reader and harry having a 12 year age gap, but fans and everyone are really supportive of their healthy relationship? like they’re so in love. lots of fluff and maybe a tinge of smut? 🥺 love your writing 🥺🥰

old man

or, the one where Harry’s family loves Y/N and he loves her even more.

]part 2: old bones]

sorry for the wait, hope you enjoy babe <3 and thank you very much, that’s lovely to hear!!

requests go here:)

masterlist

•

“What d‘ya say, baby, red or white wine?“ Harry ponders, leaning one hip against the kitchen counter and holding up the two dark glass bottles in his hands, showing them to Y/N.

“I dunno, I‘d say red but Anne‘s not really a fan of it, so let‘s just take the white,“ she shrugs her shoulders, little animated hearts dancing around in her eyes from watching Harry look so fucking effortlesly hot for no damn reason. His sheer button-up that shows his vast collection of body ink and the way his black jeans fit snugly on his juicy thighs are the reasons her panties are drenched inside out.

Little does she know, he‘s thinking the exact same thing.

She stands in the kitchen doorway, dressed in a tight, sand colored turtleneck, black bell bottomed pants and the pointed-toe nude Louboutin heels Harry had gotten her for her last birthday, looking like Harry‘s next meal. All he wants to do, is take those pants, shove them down to her thighs, bend her over their glass dining table and bury his face in her cunt and ass.

But, they‘ve got places to be and people to see at the Styles-Twist family gathering.

Dead puppies, grandma boobs, cow udders is all that circles his head because nothing else can bring his boner down.

“Hey, where‘d you go?“ Y/N waves her hand in his face, seeing his spaced out face and eyes weirdly zoned in on her tits.

“Huh?“

“Y‘zoned out on me, Har, y‘okay?“ she slowly walks towards him with her brows furrowed, her heels making a really satisfying noise on the gray kitchen tiles.

“Oh, yeah, ‘m fine, kitty, just thinking ‘bout how pretty y‘are,“ he grins and tugs her in close by her love handles, then gradually migrates his hands down to her ass and gives it a firm squeeze once she‘s fully enclosed in his arms. And about how hard I want to fuck you, you fucking Goddess, he thinks to himself.

“Let‘s go then, bub, don‘ wanna be late. Been a while since we last saw your mum, I‘ve missed her,“ she smiles up at him. “And, wanna get home as soon as possible as well, also been a while since we used those handcuffs, huh?“

Harry watches as she bites her bottom lip and feels her dainty hands stroking up and down his back, and just as he‘s about to ram her against the wall to spank her and remind her how daddy doesn‘t like to be teased like that, she quickly slips out of his embrace and spanks his firm bum, telling him “let‘s go, Har“ and giving him a pointed look as if to silently tell him that she knows exactly what he‘s thinking.

‘‘‘

“Oh, yeah, since ‘m on winter break right now, me ‘n Harry started re-watching Friends, but my old man can barely keep his eyes open past 11, so it‘s been goin‘ really slowly,“ Y/N giggles, and that‘s the only part of the conversation Harry hears as he‘s approaching his lovie and Gemma, the two of them talking alone on the outside bench of Anne‘s back garden.

He feels finally free after hearing his uncle talk about the new corn he‘s been growing and how the high fiber content has really helped with his digestion for the past half an hour, and all he wants to do is throw Y/N over his shoulder, go home and fuck the ever living shit out of her. Maybe they won‘t even make it inside the house, he thinks, maybe he‘ll just take her in the car in the driveway.

“Hey, is the old man you‘re talkin‘ about supposed to be me?“ he pretends to be offended with raised brows and mouth open in mock offense, throwing his arm around his lovie‘s shoulders and leaning against the side of the bench in a hunched over sitting position with his bum right at the edge.

“Well, I don‘ really have any other old men watchin‘ Friends with me,“ she shrugs, her eyes regaining the light they get whenever Harry‘s around.

“Better not,“ he says in a stern tone, expression softening once again as he feels her hand on his thigh, rubbing softly in reassurance.

Then, he hears someone else giggle beside his baby, completely forgetting that Gemma‘s been sitting beside Y/N, because all he sees, knows and breathes is Y/N.

“You guys are so cute,“ Gemma giggles again and Harry notices just how tipsy his sister is from the sparkly look in her eyes, no doubt from the delicious wine set out on Anne‘s kitchen island. “Can I tell you a secret?“

“Go ‘head, Gem,“ he chuckles, brushing his fingers through lovie‘s soft hair, “jus‘ don‘ be mad at me if y‘gonna be embarassed by it for the rest of y‘life.“

“Oh, shut up,“ Gemma rolls her eyes, “I may be drunk, but ‘m not stupid, it‘s nothin‘ embarassing. Jus‘ wanted to tell you both how glad I am you two ended up together.“

“We‘re glad too, Gem, thank you,“ Y/N smiles at her, a fond look taking over her face from the realisation at how lucky she got with her sister-in-law. Or actually, Harry‘s whole family, really, and she feels beyond grateful for how accepted and loved she feels in it.

“No, like, ‘m sayin‘ just-just how grateful I am my brother ended up with someone so amazing, so understanding and just—overall such a great person. Really, at first, me ‘n mum were a bit skeptical because of—you know—the pretty big twelve year age difference and all, and Y/N bein‘ only eighteen when y‘met. But over time when we got to know you, you‘re mature beyond your years and I wouldn‘t wish Harry any other person. ‘M really glad that all the negative comments, looks and hate y‘both got at the start of your relationship didn‘t break you up or put any tiffs between you. Y‘gained the fans‘ trust, didn‘t let them overwhelm you. Just proves that no hardships can separate you‘s, you‘re meant to be.“

And Y/N‘s got tears in her eyes at the end of Gemma‘s mini speech, because she couldn‘t imagine hearing nicer words from her boyfriends family. If everyone genuinely thinks all of this about her, she‘s quite literally the luckiest person in the world.

Harry watches as Y/N doesn‘t hesitate to give Gemma a big, fat hug once she‘s done talking and all he thinks is how right Gemma is.

How right she is by saying that Y/N is the most fucking amazing thing to ever happen to him, how nothing can separate them and how they‘re meant to be. That‘s all  Harry thinks about all day every day, and to think that his sister and probably the rest of his family have the same outlook on their relationship is like putting in the last missing piece of the puzzle.

Y/N pulls away from the hug and subtly wipes at her undereyes, “thank you, Gem. I just-I don‘ really know what else t‘say except thank y‘so much.“

“No, but seriously,“ Gemma grins at the next part she‘s about to say, “jus‘ the other day me and mum were talkin‘ about the adorable little buggers you‘d make with your good genes and all an-“

“Okay, Gem,“ Harry chuckles and takes the almost empty wine glass from her hand, “thank y‘for the kind words, but tha‘s all for tonight, I think.“

Gemma pouts, “hey, why‘d y‘take my wine?“

“C‘mon, let‘s go find Michal, he‘ll know what t‘do with ya,“ Harry smiles at his sister and helps her up from the bench and watches as she uncoordinately trots towards the door, heading inside of the warm house where the rest of his family are chatting away amongst eachother.

He stays behind and quickly leans down to whisper in Y/N‘s ear, gripping her thighs in both of his hands, “bathroom upstairs. In five minutes. Daddy doesn‘t like to wait.“ And walks away, catching up to his sister and leads her away to her boyfriend. He wants her, and he wants her now, because he physically cannot contain all of the love and absolute appreciation he has for her inside of him any longer.

Y/N just sits there with clenched thighs and an irregularly beating heart.

‘‘‘

“Fuck,“ Harry pants against his lovie‘s neck, keeping her hands pinned to the wall above her head by her wrists, “how are you this fucking beautiful, huh?“

“Fuck, please do something, Har,“ she mewls into his ear, desperately wanting to grind against something and longing to feel his cock lodged deep into her pussy.

“That‘s not my name,“ Harry growls and grips her wrists tighter.

“Daddy. Daddy, please fuck me, just-please, do something.“

“God, bunny, y‘drivin‘ me crazy. Can‘t fuck you here, don‘t want m‘family t‘hear you screamin‘ fo‘ daddy to fuck y‘ass harder. Gonna make it home, first. Or halfway.“ He grinds against one of her thighs and his cock is leaking so much precome he‘s sure there‘s gonna be a wet stain on his dark jeans once they get out of this Goddamn bathroom.

“Just stop talking, Daddy,“ she pants out, not really caring for the consequences of talking back to daddy at this exact moment and slots her lips to his own, immediately sucking his tongue into her mouth.

And Harry thinks he‘s gonna let her off for this one, because they both need it so much that the bloody rules daddy made can fuck right off through the window.

He moans into her mouth and takes his tongue out of it, quickly pulling back and looking into her eyes, “put your hand into your panties and feel how wet y‘are for me.“ And let‘s go of her wrists.

She does as she‘s told, feeling so fucking thankful for the small amount of friction she gets from her fingers quickly brushing on her clit as she passes it to her weeping hole and rubs her her pointer finger at the entrance of it.

Taking her hand out of her pants, she shows Harry her shiny, slick fingers coated in her juices.

“Suck on them like you‘d suck my cock.“ He rasps out with his hands put on either side of her head.

She takes them into her mouth and moans at her own mouth-watering taste, sucking her fingers to the back of her throat and gagging on them like she‘d gag on Harry‘s cock.

Harry moans out from the filthy sight and locks their lips together for a final time, “five minutes to say goodbye t‘everyone and then I want y‘in the front seat of m‘car with your pants in the back.“

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagines #harry-angst #harry angst #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #fanfic

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

I’m sorry, but can I just go on a little rant about the Louis, clouis, and the Clem comic...? 

I didn’t really talk about Louis in my overall review of the comic because I wanted that to be more contained to the content shown on the pages, Clementine’s relationship with AJ, and her as a character.... but the more I think about these comics and Louis, the more frustrated I become thinking about what Clementine abandoning everyone would do to him. 

[... okay it’s not little anymore since I guess I can never just do anything simple when it comes to Louis, sorry my bad]

So, no surprise, we all know the comic’s bullshit by now. Clementine leaving everything and everyone behind because she’s not happy is dumb, AJ just letting her go is dumb, and Clem going to the mountains on crutches and a peg leg to find this so-called happiness is dumb. 

Now that we’ve established it’s dumb, I wanna talk about Louis because I got a lot of built up feelings about how bullshit this storyline is with how Clementine would not only abandon AJ, but also abandon Louis. 

Because let me tell you..... his heart would be broken beyond repair and I need to talk about why.

Sigh.... so.... muh boy. 

Before he met Clementine, Louis was this laidback, irresponsible, but caring and musical person who kept his head down to avoid conflict and never looked at the future. He was the kind of person who took things one day at a time, saw survival as a day-to-day task, and said that the future doesn’t exist, there’s only today. You get the point, he was never too concerned with things because they always seemed to work out, and if they didn’t, then that sucks and that’s why we should appreciate every day while we have it. 

Louis is shown to be charismatic and friendly, he spends his free time playing piano and card games, but no one really takes him seriously. Not even Marlon, his best friend for 8+ years. While he doesn’t seem to be on bad terms with anyone [including Aasim, they just act like people who disagree with the other’s point of view and have had the same argument many times, but that doesn’t mean they hate each other, y’know?] he also doesn’t appear super close with anyone outside of Marlon and possibly Violet, but even then. 

Marlon’s shown to have little faith in him with the way he talks about if Louis will even show up to hunt. He has a controlling grip on Louis that’s prominent during the confrontation scene when he uses intimidation to try to convince Louis to not interfere. Oh, and there’s the fact that Marlon’s been lying to Louis for the past year about the twins and then continued to lie to his face about what really happened to Brody... which isn’t great when you consider how Louis was the only one who had blind faith in him as a leader and, according to Marlon, was the only one who couldn’t see how pathetic he always was. 

Violet, while having a few more nicer moments with him than Marlon, still invalidates him and his feelings several times throughout the first half of the game which makes me wonder how close they ever were, or at least if Violet ever considered him a close friend to begin with. And no, a small monologue in the dorms doesn’t make everything better or confirm they were brotp the whole time... especially when once they’re on the boat, Louis might as well not exist because Violet can’t be bothered to acknowledge what happened to him or inquire about how he’s doing. I guess she just didn’t have time react while standing in her cell for several unbothered minutes-- no wait, it’s she already reacted off screen. Right. Good writing is good.

What I’m getting at here is that even though Louis is surrounded by people who he genuinely cares about, there is an argument to be made that he’s a lonely person. Hell, he’s aware of his loneliness when he says that no one hears past his music and jokes. I mean, how many nights do you think he spent by himself playing the piano because no one wanted to hear it? Are they like Violet and crack jokes about how he doesn’t have actual talent? Probably, given that someone literally carved “you suck at playing” onto the side of the damn piano. 

Oh, and let’s touch on that backstory of his. Louis grew up wealthy with two parents who loved him and each other, and they gave him anything he wanted except singing lessons. Louis says he wanted to be a real musician. But I guess his father didn’t like that idea and told him no, with the [as Louis puts it] dumb dad lesson of, “You get to be happy, or you get to be rich, can’t be both.” ...which is interesting given that Louis and his family were stupid rich but also.... were they not happy? well, that doesn’t make sense because little Louis knew that if he broke up their marriage, they would be hurt. 

So yeah, Louis was so upset that his father continually refused to let him take singing lessons that he broke into the man’s credit cards and faked an affair, which led to his parents divorcing... and then he spit his father’s words back in his face. 

Then they dumped him at Ericson. And the walkers came. 

There’s so much to unpack from the story he tells that it could be it’s own analysis, but basically.... Louis is aware of why what he did was fucked up, and he carries it with him every day. 

He regrets what he did, chews himself out for being such a “vindictive fuckhead” [and the amount of force used in that line tells you a lot, like how it’s not the first time he’s chastised himself like this] and he admits that he doesn’t even know the person he’s talking about. Yet, he still sees himself as bad, saying that they [I assume the staff] told him and the other kids they’re bad people. I don’t doubt that Louis internalized that which played a huge role in the confidence and self-esteem issues he has during tfs. 

Anyway, I’ll come back to this later, but when you take that amount of guilt and regret, and mix it with the fact that they dropped him off at this school that was supposed to make him better.... then the walkers came and those teachers, staff, and headmaster? Gone. Left a bunch of kids to fend for themselves, with the exception of Ms. Martin [but given how she looks when we find her I doubt she lasted that long] and I cannot imagine how horrifying that was for all of them. The dead are up eating people, and if you die you become one of them... and the people you thought you could rely on just fucking left you to die at this school. 

Every kid in that school has trauma and abandonment issues from before and after the world went to shit, every last one, and Louis isn’t the exception here. Over the years, a lot of kids died and they’ve all seen horrible shit. They all knew they were never going to see their families again, and as far as we know, no one came to get their kids at the beginning. They had to find ways of coping while trying to survive, and all they had left was each other. 

Louis copes with music and games and jokes. He’s built up this persona where it seems like he’s unaffected by the comments the others make, that the death and suffering he’s gone through is in the past, that he is confident and open to those around him.

But then Clementine and AJ show up, and Louis grows close with both of them. They had immediate chemistry upon first meeting, he was the one who looked after AJ since it seems like everyone else saw him as a little terror, and he went out of his way to be kind and make them comfortable. 

When they go hunting with him, Louis and Clementine have a moment after taking care of the walker where they lower their guards a bit-- Louis gives her more in-depth reasons for his views of survival, and going off her expression, it gets to her and makes her think.... but they’ve know each other a day and he’s not quick to infodump his life story or let her in, so he cuts the conversation short.

Then we have the Marlon confrontation scene that I have gone over so many times in the past. I won’t dillydally with it too long but..... Clementine appeals to Louis, who curls in on himself because of the control Marlon has on him. He wants to help, and hell, he knows this is wrong but he’s so used to not getting involved that he gets defensive.... plus, he’s known Clementine for two days, and he’s known Marlon for 8+ years.... he wants to believe Marlon but you can tell he doesn’t want this, either. It takes Clementine talking to him to give him courage to stand between her and Marlon’s gun and it’s a lot.

AJ shoots Marlon and everything goes to shit, and Louis is a goddamn mess. His best friend was murderer right in front of him, so add that to the trauma list, and he’s overwhelmed with all these feelings that again.... they keep getting invalidated by Violet because “Marlon was a liar and murderer, therefore you shouldn’t feel bad about his death. Get over yourself, Louis, you can be such a shithead sometimes.” 

Oh yeah Vi, I guess he should care more about two people he’s known for a total of two days rather than for the safety of the people [including you] he’s grown up with and cared about for 8+ years.... makes sense. 

So yeah, little to no support during this time. Alone again. 

And just because I have to make this clear so no one gets a hair up their ass-- both Louis and Violet are wrong here. Kicking them out isn’t the solution, but neither is acting like AJ was right to commit murder just because it was Marlon.

 But plots gotta plot, so they get voted out and you can see that Louis is conflicted about the whole thing. He wants them gone, but at the same time, he knows what kicking them out means. You can see it on his face that he’s not okay with kicking them out. He’s hurting when he’s there in the dorms telling them how the vote went... he literally doesn’t know what else to do. He just knows that everything hurts, Clem and AJ caused it, and he wants the pain to stop. He even tries to justify it to himself by figuring that they’ve done this before so they’ll be fine. Not a great thing to say, Lou. 

Anyway, we know the story, Clem and AJ come back and Louis once again sees the consequences of acting out of pain.... AJ is shot because Louis was hurt and he made a bad decision that he’s gotta live with.... something that he’s done before, and this affirms to him that he’s bad. He wishes he could take it back, and goes as far as to admit that to Clementine during the archery scene. 

By the way, credit to him for his apology to her. It’s rare in these games that Clem gets a genuine apology from someone who hurt her and doesn’t turn around to repeat the hurtful behavior, y’know? Plus, I can think of plenty of characters who owed Clem an apology in the past or if they did apologize, it was half-assed. 

You can feel how conflicted he is with this whole thing-- learning who Marlon really was and what he did, feeling something for Clementine before everything went down and not knowing how to handle those feelings afterward, caring about AJ and understanding why he thought shooting was the best choice but still hurting that his friend is dead.... 

And the thing is.... Louis forgives her for so much, as she does him, and through all of that bullshit, they manage to develop that strong connection that turns romantic. Louis lets himself be fully vulnerable with her and is honest about his feelings, how she listened when no one else did and seeing him for more than just the persona he put on. 

This works on Clementine’s side, too. Clementine has been through her own fair share of bullshit-- trauma, abandonment, loss, injury, you name it. She’s made mistakes, done terrible things, and has been in enough groups to know that romance usually ends in heartbreak.... and yet, she’s willing to open herself up to Louis and admit she feels a lot for him. 

Is it a little rushed? Yep. Could it have been handled better? Of course, most things this season could’ve, but what we got was pretty good. 

So Clementine and Louis are romantically involved now, the raiders attack, and she saves him... and boy does Louis feel guilty about that one, too. He feels bad enough that he questions why she would pick him because he can’t fathom his life being worth saving over another’s. He doesn’t see himself as useful, and even though Clementine is literally his girlfriend at this point, his self-esteem is so all over the place that he can’t understand why she would have him at her side. 

And when Clementine tells him that he’s too important to her, he’s too baffled to even give a response. He looks at her in disbelief like he wasn’t expecting her to say that.  But this shows that at the beginning of their relationship, he still doubts himself, and through her working with him, he begins to build up that strength in himself. 

He becomes brave enough to share what got him sent to the school with her, and he plays Don’t Be Afraid for everyone at the party and like.... for once, everyone is listening to him. Really listening to him. They’re not talking shit about his musical skills, they’re not ignoring him or the feelings he’s putting into the song, they’re sitting there with him and I just..... if you watch him, you can see that his eyes get pretty glossy throughout the song. The moment meant something to everyone. 

There’s also the fact that Clementine asked him to come with her and AJ onto the boat, and to be the one in charge of the bomb... that’s a huge responsibly and he feels the pressure of that. He starts to panic a bit about if he can do it, because what if he fucks up? What if he gets them caught and makes everything worse? What if something happens to Clementine and he can’t do anything about it? 

She’s there to reassure him that she believes in him, and that he can do this. They’re going to get everyone back, and he needs to focus... then he asks her to slap him which why would you? that’s dumb, so Clementine smooches him instead and like.... he physically relaxes into her because he’s comfortable and trusts her in this situation. 

Also, he loves her and cares about this mission enough to cover himself and his fancy jacket in walker guts.... sure, he complains while doing so but how else is he gonna cope with rubbing rotten guts on himself to blend in with a herd of walkers? 

Skipping ahead so that we’re not here all day, I wanna talk about the walk back to the school because it’s one of the most important clouis moments in the game and a huge reason that solidifies why the comic is bullshit.

Louis went off on his own to go out and find them. He didn’t know where they would be, he just knew that he had to go out and find them after making sure everyone was okay back at the school because he couldn’t bare the thought that he had lost them. And the way the AJ gets so excited to see him? and the group hug??

At this point, Louis has grown so much as a character. With Clementine by his side to support him, he’s grown stronger and more reliable. Remember how he never thought about the future? Well, now he is because his relationship with Clementine has given him a reason to long for a future. He talks about building this imaginary house with her, one he knows they can’t physically build... but it’s his way of saying we can build a home together, that he wants a future with her and AJ and everyone else. It’s such a personal conversation that flows so easy between them. Louis is more comfortable talking to her about things from his past, which is something he didn’t want to do back in ep1. 

He confides in her how he’s feeling after he shot and killed Dorian, he tells her that having a home means protecting it and I just.... it’s so good, okay? And from Clementine’s side, you can feel how at ease she is with him, too. Just the way she smiles at him as they’re walking? like he’s the cutest thing and she’s so happy to have him with her? 

But then we gotta deal with Minerva’s crazy ass on the bridge and well, AJ shoots Tenn and Louis is having flashbacks to Marlon and it’s not great. That’s a whole thing, and he ends up separated from them while escaping.

We don’t get to see Louis’ reaction to Clementine getting bit and losing her leg since I guess that puts a damper on the overly happy ending. But, going off of what we know about him and what I’ve explained [which isn’t even all of it, this isn’t a full Louis character analysis. if it was, it would be much longer and in multiple parts... believe it or not, I’m trying to not make this too long and only sorta failing...] we can get an idea of how he would react. 

Um, to say he was upset is an understatement.

Because remember, he had no time to think and climbed over the fence, thinking he could get them to climb over and they could get away, but it didn’t work. He ended up leaving them in order to save himself since walkers were closing in on him.

But you know that he’d blame himself for the bite. A lot of, “if I had just stayed” and “I should’ve climbed back over, I should’ve stayed with you.” I’m sure there were points where it looked like Clem wouldn’t make it and I can’t imagine how much hurt he went through watching her suffer and heal from losing a leg like that. 

Not only that, but knowing that AJ was the one to do it? And him thinking about what Clem’s death would do to AJ after all this? There isn’t a doubt in my mind that Louis would take care of AJ if she died. He cares about AJ, and he loves Clementine, so he be there for both of them, even if he’s still hurting from Tenn’s death. 

However, Clementine didn’t die. She survived the bite and amputation, and when we flashforward, she and Louis are still happily together. Louis is right there next to her at dinner, and he’s the one to help her with her crutches. He’s there to go over future plans to meet the traveling caravan, and Clementine wants him to be the one to go. 

Oh, and Louis once again forgives AJ for shooting Tenn, claiming that he understands that AJ saw something that he couldn’t. Like with Marlon, he’s not happy Tenn’s dead but he can see why AJ did it to save his life. 

I just..... happy ending. Clementine and Louis are together and she’s truly happy to have found a home for her and AJ with him at Ericson. 

....But then the comic thought it would be fun to say “nah.” 

The comic isn’t canon, I’m still insulted that it would ever consider itself as such, but even so I can’t help but feel so frustrated about how this would destroy Louis. 

He finally found someone he would consider his best friend, not just his girlfriend. She saw past that funny man persona and he trusted her enough to let her past this wall he built around himself. He let himself become vulnerable around her, he named his song after her. Their initials are carved into his piano with a heart surrounding them. He loved her. 

Clementine left him feeling loved, something he probably hasn’t truly felt since he was a little boy with his parents before their divorce. She loved him even after hearing his past because she knew that wasn’t him anymore, and she helped him build the confidence he needed to step up. Because of Clementine, Louis wants to enjoy every day while also looking at the future. He isn’t lonely anymore, he has her and AJ. He’s truly happy.

So to tell me that Louis would wake up one morning only to have AJ tell him that Clementine’s gone, she’ been planning an escape without telling anyone because she wasn’t happy...? I’m sorry, but if you think that wouldn’t leave Louis absolutely devastated, then you know nothing about him as a character. 

This idea is just.... look, Louis is perceptive. That’s a big part of his character, he’s perceptive of those around him. If Clementine was showing signs of being unhappy or depression, he would see it. He would notice a change. He would be able to tell if something was off, and he would ask her about it. Louis is the type of person to ask you what you need. What can he do to help? What do you need to feel better? And if you don’t know, it’s okay, he’ll help you figure it out in any way possible. 

Plus, the comic suggests that there are times where she went off on her own but came back [probably doing her escape prep ugh] and you expect me to believe that Louis wouldn’t notice that or wonder what she’s doing? Wouldn’t sense that something’s going on? 

After she’s gone, he’s going to blame himself for not being enough. He couldn’t make her happy and he was a fool to think he ever could. AJ lost the only family he’s known since he was born because Louis couldn’t help her, couldn’t do anything to stop her from leaving. 

And for him to realize that she didn’t love him? Clementine, the girl he thought the world of because of how strong and confident and in-charge she was, because she saw him for who he was..... she left him, abandoned him... and she couldn’t even be bothered with a goodbye.... that says that she didn’t care all that much about him in the end.

You KNOW that he would think he had this coming, too. How could the universe allow him to fall in love and be happy with someone who loved him back after what he did to his parents? He would feel so heartbroken that he would see this as some sort of karma for breaking up his parents happy marriage as a kid years before he ever met Clementine and before the apocalypse.

I fucking can’t.... I don’t have the words to fully explain how much I hate this. Louis wouldn’t be okay afterward, and I doubt he’d ever fully recover. I wasn’t joking when I mentioned before that Louis would stop playing piano. How could he sit there and play when I he can see is their initials and remember the night she confessed to him? When he named his song after her? Clementine left and took the music with her because Louis wouldn’t have it in him... something that he used to cope would be ruined and that’s just.... it’s fucking awful. 

Not only that, but now he has AJ who I assume is hurting just as much [though the comics inaccurately assume he would just let Clem go sooo... yeah] and he would be the only one Louis would really talk to about it, but then again.... what if AJ doesn’t wanna talk about it? What if AJ starts to act out and things just become terrible and Louis is just too overwhelmed? 

I just.... UGH. That’s how I feel. UGH. 

Clementine from the comic? Not her. She would never fucking do this to Louis, AJ, or anyone else at Ericson, and you would know that if you played the tfs. 

Sigh.... sorry, I just needed to get this all out. I haven’t seen anyone talk about how Clem leaving would affect Louis and I’ve gotten some asks/come across some posts about Louis that have left me incredibly annoyed.... well, I was annoyed before because of the comics, so my annoyances with those things were only heightened. So yeah... I wanted to talk about Louis’ character in hopes of explaining why he would be so hurt if this comic was canon. 

Which it’s not. So it’s fine. 

How are we all feelin’ at this point, by the way? I know I’m not the only one still annoyed with the comic, so I hope y’all are doin’ okay. Hope you’re stayin’ chill and thinking about your faves to help cope with this mess hahaha

#twdg louis #twdg clementine #twdg clouis #twdg aj #twdg marlon #twdg violet #clouis #twdg #sometimes i just need to talk about louis okay #one day i'll do a full character analysis that goes over everything #but today isn't that day #long post

[thefanficmonster]

Strictly Professional

Corpse Husband x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: HUMOR, Fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: A slip of the tongue leads Corpse to make an unexpected confession which leads to him getting lectured by his best friend. That’s all you need to know, the rest shall unfold before your eyes.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for your lovely request! I’m so sorry it’s been so long overdue but here it finally is and I really hope you come across it and read it. If so I hope you enjoy it! Love, Vy ❤

I’ve buried my head under my arms, resting it on my desk as my ears are still violated by the hollering coming from my headset. I don’t know what in me snapped out of nowhere or what caused the slip-up, but what matters is that it happened and now I’m in some hot water. I’m practically the soup everyone in this Discord call at the moment will be eating for dinner tonight, getting a real kick at my expense - some even having the audacity to be mad at me over it - ahem, Rae, ahem - but bottom line: I won’t live this down easily.

“Hey everyone! What did I miss?“ Sykkuno, who was running late and missed this entire debacle makes an appearance. If it were any other occasion, I’d be overjoyed to hear he’s finally joining us, but his question of what he had missed renders me only able to cringe and wait for my friends’ next move.

“Sykkuno!“ Rae exclaims ecstatically, “Oh, strap in, imma tell you what you missed...“

“No, you won’t tell him, Rae.“ Toast cuts her off, sounding uncharacteristically serious, especially when taken into account how hard he was laughing just a moment ago, “This is Corpse’s tale to tell, don’t spare him the shame of telling it one more time.“

And just when I thought this fucker would prove himself to be a true friend...

“Oof, this sounds serious...“ Sykkuno says to fill the silence I purposely let linger just so I don’t give these bullies the satisfaction of hearing my embarrassment all over again even though they inevitably will.

“It is...“ I sigh with a heavy heart, hiding my face in the palm of my hand, “It’s really bad and embarrassing and...I’d rather not retell it at all let alone for a second time, but here it goes...“ I inhale as much air as I can as a method of gaining confidence before I start talking, “So you know MGK and I made a song. Yeah well, we’re gonna be making a music video for it and I asked Rae to be in it. Thing is, I wanted to ask Y/N first. Buckle up, this is where it starts going downhill: ok so I went over to their place so we could just chit chat an marathon a few movies like we usually do over the weekends but I also wanted to bring up the whole ‘hey, wanna be in my music video’ thing but didn’t know how. Mind you, we were drinking beers this whole time, might’ve had a few too many actually. Ok, we definitely had a few too many, but back on track: as I was blabbering and stumbling over my words, nervous as all hell and unable to string the simple question inside my head, all Y/N did was tilt their head and smile at me. You know, the odd thing is it was a genuine smile, not a drunken grin like you’d expect from someone on their fourth beer bottle. And then, out of the blue, they had the audacity to hit me with: ‘You’re so cute’ and I just sat there frozen for a few seconds. I mean, my reaction was on point - who wouldn’t react like that if their crush told them they found them cute. Anyway - I was like ‘what?’ and then, out of an even bluer blue, they freaking kissed me. I nearly had a heart attack damn it!“

“And he never asked them to be in the DAYWALKER music video!“ Rae clearly couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“I didn’t get the time! I was out of there in the blink of an eye!“ I bark, feeling my face heating up with embarrassment and regret. God, I should never ask how stupid I can get because I keep surprising myself in the end with just how far my stupidity goes. It’s fucking insane.

“Oh God, poor Y/N.“ Sykkuno sighs, sounding only a tiny bit as though he’s about to laugh. I appreciate his self-control honestly, the rest of these fuckers were dying laughing as though our friends and my crush kissing me and me responding like I had an allergic reaction was the best joke to ever be told.

“Poor Y/N?“ I snap a little, “What about me?“

“Yeah, poor Y/N!“ Rae backs Sykkuno up, “Poor Y/N and poor me for the missed opportunity to me in a music video for a song of one of my best friends with another one of my best friends. Corpse, you better fix this!!“

“How?!“ I’m aware I sound desperate but I seriously wanna fix it just have no idea how to go about it. I mean, if this looney group of nine people over here don’t come up with a plan no one will so not all hope for me is dead just yet. Even if we all had only one braincell we’d still be able to figure it out - I mean, ten braincells ain’t as bad as it sounds. Truth be told, Y/N’s the real brain of the group and they’d most definitely be able to help me - so fuck the irony.

“Call them.“ Sykkuno suggests so casually as though it’s a no-brainer. I’d go as far as to say his nonchalance almost made me laugh. Has he forgotten who he’s talking to? 

“No way.“ I turn that down real quick, unable to even imagine the course of that phone call without cringing.

“No, Sykkuno’s right, call them right here right now. Ask them to star in the music video and then swerve the conversation to that kiss.“ Charlie’s suddenly decided to join the torturing being preformed upon me over here.

“What will I even say? I have no idea what to tell them!“ I complain, aware that I sound like a tantrum-throwing toddler but it’s really not my fault.

“Corpse. Corpse dear, listen to me, follow each word I say really carefully, ok?“ Rae asks, her voice now pitched as though she’s addressing an actual child. Yeah, that’s her well-known way of mocking me. “How about you say the actual fucking words. You know: ‘Hey Y/N, MGK and I are making a music video for DAYWALKER, wanna be in it?’“

I sigh, clearly defeated.

I pull out my phone, muttering to the crowd I’m about to speak in front of to be quiet as I put the ringing call on speaker, sweating like a pig the whole time. The room has risen in temperature and this hoodie has thickened, providing more warmth that’s more suffocating than comforting when it’s a hundred degrees outside. Or when I’m about to talk to my crush after THAT incident.

“Hello?“ Y/N’s voice on the other side rips me from my thoughts’ grasp, reminding me I’m on a mission.

“Hey Y/N, what’s up?“ I reply a little too quickly. Not giving them the time to reply with anything, I continue: “Hey Y/N, MGK and I are making a music video for DAYWALKER, wanna be in it?“

DAMN IT WHY DID YOU HAVE TO SAY IT WORD FOR WORD?!?!

“Oh....“ They sound confused - and rightfully so - but then regain their composure finally, “I-I’d love to. Thanks for the opportunity, Corpse. I’m so happy you’ve made it so far. I’d be honored to be in the music video.“

Ok, that’s partial relief. Now - time for the second phase of this plan

“Uh....“ and there goes my whole vocabulary out the window, “You’re welcome.“

“Cool...cool...“ they mutter awkwardly, clearly looking for a way to end the call, “Um, by the way...this is strictly professional, right?“

No! No it’s not! Of course it isn’t! I’ve been head over heels for you for a year now, damn it!

“Of course, o-of course it is. No worries.“ I reply, once again, a little too quickly. Faster than I could’ve prevented it.

“Ok cool...well, text me the details....“ They once again trail off, hoping I’ll catch the hint.

And so I succumb.

“Will do.“ I sigh, “See ya.“

“See ya.“ They reply and hang up.

I’m left there staring at my phone screen with utter self-disappointment and frustration that’s so intense I cannot even express it in any way.

The whole lobby is at a loss of words too - all nine of them astonished by my stupidity. Fortunately though, Charlie is quick to pull himself together and speak up because God forbid Charlie ever falls speechless, then we’d be SERIOUSLY in danger.

“Corpse. You. Are. The. Biggest. Fucking. Idiot.“

@maat-the-prescriptive  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @itsminniekat  @hacker-ghost  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat  @idontknowwhatthisisfam  @evi-ka  @classyandfabulous00  @redperson58  @lilysdaydreams @solowheein  @mythicalamphitrite  @axen-gers  @luckygirl144  @nj01  @buddyemily   @the-albino-lioness  @stardream14  @gdhdkfnn  @nomadicgypsyy  @preciousskye  @fluffysuicideunicornsworld  @o-kaelin  @manacharlotte  @awkward-youtube-trash  @lolalee24  @bonky-beerns  @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian  @strawbrinkofdeath  @teenloves  @tams0527  @browneyespinkhair  @starstruckllamapuppy  @daisychains012  @y0ulooked  @tinytacosuitcaseflap @supernatural-is-my-only-life  @jula-pauline  @melodykitty  @just-that-bi-girl  @crazybutconfidentaf  @lowellshade @alphakees  @bellero  @weallneednamjesus  @starryhanji  @boiled-onionrings  @husherstan  @fockingwhore  @melaningoddessthings  @prettypastelpetals  @haleypearce  @godwhyamiawkward  @y-napotat  @daisychainyoonmin  @little-miss-rebel3  @free-wheelin-bi-sexual  @redmoon261 @darkacademic2  @wiseflamingoqueen  @into-the-end  @namikhai-i  @nastiablr  @thelittleplantlover  @mirktuan  @dont-hyuck @jjk-bunny  @vintagegothlover  @easygoingtheatre  @itsrandombooklover  @miiaivi  @emmybaybee  @befourgolden  @jjk-is-my-shit  @eternalteaaars  @spacebadgerx  @princesslunalight  @acequinn14  @samm48  @misselsbells06 @simp-lykawa  @fo-love  @marishimomura-blog  @therealglenncoco  @cinnamonbun332  @killtherandomness  @sanshinexxxsan  @fee-btheweeb  @press-lay  @cathleenpotgieter16  @jazzydoesstuff  @moonlxghtbay  @forestrain2000  @hyunjinhugs  @blood-of-fandoms  @lovellylies  @ukiyolixx  @simpforhpcharacters  @chrisdylan17  @parkerjisung  @pedernille  @theodonyous  @wineandionysus  @malfoystilinskii05  @morbid-x  @coryisagee  @jessewa26  @scoobydooluver97 @mindintheskies365  @raeanneinwonderland  @indecisive-empanada  @gluttonypalace  @loriane2503  @btsiguess-kpop  @khaoticbunny  @lucidlycactus  @smiithys  @rottenroyalebooks  @kpopgirlbtssvt  @fangirl-tc27  @fr0z3n-1  @notmesimpingfortechno  @shotarosleftpinky  @kunoi-chan  @idk-whats-wrong-with-me  @yikeroonie  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @poetry-and-tea  @ama-do-writing-stuff  @wishbonewolf  @emeraldxhope  @t0xick1tty  @kusuinko  @speakyourselfloveyourself  @sophia902103  @lo-manburg  @classsykittykat  @dmgama  @depressedpuppythatneedscoffee  @btsiguess-kpop  @akaashi-baby  @gun-jong-simp  @geschichtenfee  @yerapotato-wp  @browneyedgirl365  @thysagclub  @sparklycloudnight  @helloatomicshadow  @queentorresstuff @vtte @val-gal  @lucy-bunny17  @aaliyahh0  @katluckybear  @boyleanti  @straybids  @franchesca-791  @cosmicstorm19  @averyisbackinthetrashcan  @aomi-nabi  @xlanawriter  @allensimpsforcorpse  @sunnyrae-cessh  @ladykxxx08  @meowiemari

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse fanfiction #corpse fluff #corpse fandom #corpse fanfic #corpse fic #corpse x y/n #corpse x you #corpse x reader #corpse imagine #corpse imagines #corpse husband fanficiton #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband fanfic #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband fanfiction #corpse husband fic #corpse husband fluff #corpse husband imagine #corpse simp #corpse husband is ruining my life #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #fandom #fan #fluff #humor #request

[inkedtae]

starfruit ⇾ jhs. [M]

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ camboy!hoseok x curvy!reader

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾  s2l, livecam au, smut, pwp, filth, 18+

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾  one video is all it takes to realize you’re all he wants.

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 20.2k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ camboy!hoseok, dom!hoseok, big dicc!hoseok, ass enthusiast!hoseok, nose piercing!hoseok, curvy!reader, sub!reader, shy!reader, nipple piercing!reader, vague mention of alcohol, unprotected sex (wrap it to tap it), rough sex, tongue kink, lowkey corruption kink, dirty talk, creampie, double penetration, reverse cowgirl position, sixty-nine position, oral (m. and f. receiving), degradation, overstimulation, mutual masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, use of star shaped vibrator, multiple orgasms, body worshipping, cum-eating, face licking, choking, dry-humping, a lil hair-pulling, spanking, swearing, begging, biting, clit biting, motorboating, fingering, rimming, ass job, ass play, spit play, breast play, a tad bit of jealousy/possessiveness for the win, star sparkling filth

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ hobi thirst hours:open

✩ banner by ⇾ @dee-ehn​ (thank you again dear~)

✩ beta’d by ⇾ @kitsutaes​ (darling luff~) and @moonmintrails​ (my luffly soulmate~)

✩ le playlist

Blinds shut, doors locked. The routine is second nature at this point. Hoseok dims his lights before checking his hair in the mirror. He sighs at his reflection, hoping this lazy look of his is good enough for tonight’s live. Already shirtless, Hoseok sports baggy, grey sweatpants that hang dangerously low on his hips, while his semi-hard cock is just barely visible. 

A good enough tease, he thinks after one last glance. Or at least let’s hope it is. 

He can’t bring himself to care too much about what is or isn’t “properly shown.” Maybe a year ago, or even six months ago, he would’ve made sure he was completely hard, his bulge unmistakingly visible through his sweatpants, and not have dimmed the lights. Now, however, it seems as though all he wants to do is the bare minimum. He’ll show as much as he needs to, get off as well as he has to, put on a good enough show to keep his viewers satisfied… for now. 

Still, even the bare minimum requires a certain degree of effort. Making his way to his desk, Hoseok scrolls through his phone and turns on his playlist for tonight. The first suggestive song tickles out of the speakers and softly fills the room. Getting off on camera is only half the job of being a camstreamer. Setting the tone, giving the audience an experience to crave, is the other half. 

As The Weeknd’s melody continues to hop between the walls of his bedroom, Hoseok makes sure his camera is properly set. Usually, he’d be making himself comfortable on his bed, preparing a variety of toys by his side to play with. Tonight is different. Tonight, Hoseok lacks the motivation to play around for an audience. In fact, if he’s being honest with himself, he’s been lacking that motivation for a while. Tonight, he wants nothing more than to sit at his desk and use his hand to get himself off. Back to the basics, the bare minimum.

He looks forward to reading comments while he searches for the courage to share his news. He’s been thinking about this for a while, thinking about retiring from this kind of work. After three years of being on this site, he has cultivated a good following of viewers, but now the entire ordeal just seems… tiring. He loves sharing parts of himself to the camera, some more than others, but it feels like a chapter of his life that he has somewhat outgrown. Now, the entire job feels more like a chore. Not much pleasure, besides the one he stimulates himself, can be found before a camera anymore. 

There’s something about the distance between him and others that he somewhat loathes now. Before, Hoseok found the disconnect, the stringless affair of live after live to be a comfort. He believed he could come and go as he pleased. He’d have fun with others at a safe enough proximity to fool around without the fear of catching serious feelings. It was a solid plan, until it wasn’t. All Hoseok craves now is that spark between him and another. And the more time he spends live streaming, the more he realizes how lonely it is. 

His camera starts to flash, signaling it’s going to start recording in about fifteen seconds. Hoseok lets the red gleam pull him out of his thoughts as he stands up. He shoves his hands in his pockets and tenses his stomach a bit. He doesn’t have ripped abs, but he’s fit enough to give off that impression. The light stops flashing, shining a bright red to let him know the live has started. Cutting just under his nose, the camera captures his entire torso and just a bit under his hips. Views immediately pour in as do comments and some cash. 

Hoseok chuckles a bit, watching as viewers beg him to drop his pants. The attention is just enough to get him fully hard. That’s one crutch Hoseok seems to have trouble letting go of; the attention. 

Licking his lips, he starts to palm himself through his pants. He lets out a shaky sigh then pulls his chair forward and takes a seat once again. He leaves some room between him and the desk though as he slouches a bit and makes sure that they can see his hard-on through his loose sweatpants. With the camera rolling, Hoseok has no other choice but to play along, one last time at least. 

“Hey,” he forces a smile. “Everyone ready for a relaxed night?”

[agustwantsthatd] : no toys tonight?

He shakes his head. “No toys,” he replies, continuing to rub himself over his pants. “Nothing fancy tonight. I hope that’s alright.”

Hoseok laughs to himself a bit at the mixed reactions. His aim to have a relaxed evening costs him a couple thousand viewers. In the past, something like that would’ve scared him enough to make him immediately drop his pants and move the show to his bed. But, now, he really can’t bring himself to feel even the slightest bit worried.

Just a few less people to break the news to. 

Comments begging him to just take his sweats off start to stack. Hoseok runs his tongue across his teeth, puffing his bottom lip out while glaring at the comment section. He doesn’t appreciate being told what to do very often. Most of the time, he just does what he wants while talking to some to his audience like he’s fucking them instead of whatever toy he usually goes for. His patience for their attitude is wearing thin. They almost don’t treat him like a real person sometimes, talking to him like an object. It may have been what he wanted before, the distance, the ability to keep himself unattainable, but now it’s becoming something of a pet peeve.

[starfruit340] : it’s only been a day, but i’ve missed you. Hope you’ve been well.

Hoseok only just catches the kind comment before it’s casted off by another pile of demands, smiling at his screen. That Starfruit is always too nice for her own good. All her comments are gentle requests, sometimes even sweet nothings. Once he even caught her asking him how his day was and if he’s eating well. He’s not sure what a sweet soul like that is doing on a site like this. He has realized, in the last six months or so, that she’s been the only viewer to remind him of his humanity. Her ability to look passed the charade of his has been refreshing. He wonders if she knows, if she can tell he hasn’t been his best. 

“Starfruit,” he breathes as comments questioning his sudden smile flood in. “You’re too sweet for your own good, honey.”

[starfruit340] : did he just say starfruit?

Immediately, Hoseok regrets his words, realizing his mistake. Not even a rookie would call a user out by name. A few viewers have turned on the user, bashing her for the favouritism he just displayed. “No fighting or nothing comes off,” Hoseok threatens, raising a brow. A smile plays on his lips as some users scold each other to stay in line. 

[agustwantsthatd] : let’s not forget the real fruit we all want.

Hoseok has to keep himself from laughing at the comment. He doesn’t want to start anything else and that comment seems to be enough to keep everyone focused on him, so he doesn’t want to ruin it’s progress.

“Since you’ve all behaved yourselves,” he starts, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his sweats. “The pants are coming off.” 

He pushes the sweats down, lifting his hips a bit. His huge cock slaps his stomach once exposed, then stands tall. Kicking the pants off his ankles under the desk, Hoseok returns his hand around his veiny member, storking himself a couple of times. 

It seems like his remark to Starfruit has made some viewers adopt her sense of concern for him. They begin asking about his day and if he’s doing well. He bites back the sneer that wavers the smile on his face. Though he would like to believe that their concern for his well being is genuine, he knows they’re only saying that in hopes to get his attention.

Hoseok can’t play around it for much longer. He forces a smile, replying, “My day was fine, darling. How was yours?” 

Slowly pumping himself, he reads a few more comments then lays back in his chair. His usual cocky expression falters, a fact he’s not very proud of. He replies to some more users to cover it up, plastering on a fake smile long enough to avoid any questions on “what’s wrong.” 

Hoseok falls silent, squirting some lube into his hand to help get himself off. He lets a few good moans out, closing his eyes and getting lost in the pleasure rather than focusing on the broadcast. His cock’s getting needier as he just slightly tightens his grip and moves his hand faster over himself. Rolling his hips into his hand, he sucks in a sharp breath.

The void within him cannot be pleased with one lousy hand job. Hoseok tries to refocus his attention on the live stream, hoping he might rediscover that forgotten thrill of exposing himself to everyone. However, the closer he gets to his orgasm, the clearer Hoseok realizes that the only thrill lies merely in the pleasure of getting off rather than doing it for an audience. 

He huffs under his breath and rests his head back against his chair. Forget the camera and the thousands of people watching him get himself closer to his high. Hoseok realizes that if he’s going to cum right now, he’s going to have to attach his loneliness to something, someone other than himself. 

The first person in mind sparkles with kindness and Hoseok tells himself he’s only focusing his energy on her because he just wants to get all this over with already. But Hoseok can’t deny the swirl of excitement bubbling in his chest at the thought of her. He wonders if her voice is just as sweet as her words, eyes just as innocent as her soul. Pumping himself faster, he can’t help but think about her smile. Is it as bright and full of hope as her comments? Or does it delicately twinkle like her personality? 

A staggered moan tears through his throat, adam’s apple bouncing, as his brows come together. Jaw clenches, nostrils flare, and Hoseok groans his pleasure through gritted teeth. Suddenly sprouting out his release, he gasps and rolls his body into his hand. Usually, he’d make a show of this, but he can’t deny it’s truth right now. The shots of cum land over his legs, some even on the ground but for the first time in a long time, Hoseok can’t care less. Chest still heaving, he tries to dump all thoughts of her from his mind but she’s tethered deeper within now. 

Stringing a few curses, Hoseok mentally scolds himself for his inability to think tonight. Any other night, he would’ve pulled up some porn on his phone way before the camera started rolling and hid the lewd video from the viewers’ sight. He would’ve continued on his efforts to carry out the bare minimum.

But, thinking of her, attaching himself to a user he’d never even properly talked to, only further proves to him how important it is for him to leave this life behind. He’s desperate to fill a void and acts recklessly. The determination to break the news hits anew. He’s sure this is it this time. He’s going to tell them.

That determination trickles the moment he returns his attention on the screen. The comment section is going wild. His words get caught in his throat. A rush of cash floods in the tune of clattering coins. Praises follow commands and Hoseok is not sure if he can even keep his screen persona up for much longer, let alone drop the ball about leaving. 

Eyes growing heavier, exhaustion slowly overtakes him. “I’m sorry for the quiet show tonight,” he mumbles, cleaning himself up. “It’s just…”

He stares at the comments, the view count, the amount of cash he made tonight and sighs. His courage falters, so that happy, hopeful image resurfaces. He forces a wide smile and shrugs. “I had a bit of a rough day, but hopefully tomorrow makes up for it. I’ll catch you all in the next live. Sleep well.” 

Hoseok leaves them with the image of his fakest smile as he turns the camera off. His entire mask crumbles when it’s over. After cleaning himself off, Hoseok pulls on his pants and tries to convince himself that it just wasn’t the right time. He just got off to one of the users. He’s clearly not in the right state of mind to announce this kind of decision.

With a sigh, he switches his computer off then the music and crawls into bed. Face buried in his pillow, Hoseok waits for sleep to wash over him and hopes, with every fibre of his being, that the fear of telling them the truth doesn’t follow him into tomorrow. 

A loud yawn leaves Hoseok as he shuffles back into his room. He shuts the door while taking a quick sip of his morning— well, mid-morning coffee. He’s not used to sleeping in since it always happens to throw his entire day off. He would’ve been fast asleep by eleven, but a neighbour of his, a couple of doors down, seemed to have other plans for the night. With all her moaning, Hoseok was barely able to get a wink of sleep. She wasn’t up for long, but just the fact that she had interrupted him in the middle of drifting to sleep was enough to keep him wide awake. Once he’s up, he’s up. There’s not much he could do about it. 

With a tired sigh, Hoseok sets his mug on his desk and logs onto his computer. He makes it a habit to check the live website for new donors and sometimes even replies to some comments left last night. He hovers the cursor over a new post, wondering if a quick broadcast would break the news better. At the chime of a new message, Hoseok’s attention darts to his inbox.

[from starfruit134] : so sorry to bother you

Hoseok brings his brows together. Heart thumping, he immediately recognizes the username. His mind reels to last night, trying to recall if he said your name again. Did he maybe mutter it again when he was caught up in the act of getting him off? His fears intensify as he wonders if any of those viewers followed you into your inbox last night to leave some nasty comments. Maybe some were so hurtful you needed to reach out to him. 

Confusion riddles his face when you debunk all his theories with a simple string of texts.

[from starfruit134] : hope all is well.

Hoseok’s fingers hover over the keyboard for a second. Should he really be engaging in a conversation with you? After all that’s transpired last night, the idea of privately talking to you has his stomach flipping with the flutters of butterfly wings. 

He doesn’t know when he last talked to a girl like you though. And the more he stares at your username, the more he craves the sincere interaction of simply one person getting to know another. 

[to starfruit134] : could always be worse. are you alright? did anyone bother you last night?

[from starfruit134] : no, no one bothered me. i just came to thank you for getting them off my back actually

A little smile plays on his lips upon reading your message. His heart murmurs, stunting his breath a bit by how sweet you can be. 

[to starfruit134] : no need to thank me. 

Hoseok’s about to reassure you that the entire interaction was his fault when you suddenly hit him with a question he wasn’t expecting. 

[from starfruit134] : have you really been alright? you didn’t seem like you were feeling well last night.

You noticed? Hoseok furrows his brows, sitting back in his seat. His fingers brush against the letters as he tries to come up with a good enough lie, but he really can’t bring himself to type one out. He wonders how much you’ve picked up on. Can you see through his entire persona or just the fact that he’s lost the motivation to put in the same effort? 

Swallowing thickly, Hoseok hopes his reply is enough to keep your questions at bay.

[to starfruit134] : just an off day 

[from starfruit134] : ahhh i see.

[from starfruit134] : well, i have something for you. 

[from starfruit134] : has sent a video

Hoseok bites his lip, a single brow quirking at the thumbnail. The first thing he notices is ass. Curved so beautifully, your ass struggles to remain contained in your yellow panties. If he had known you were this thick, he would’ve thought of you sooner. With a tilt of his head, he stares at your plump cheeks, smirking at hints of cellulite and lining stretch marks. A light blush colours his face and he has to pull himself out of the trance of the picture to properly return his attention to your messages.

[from starfruit134] : you must get this a lot. these kinds of videos.

You aren’t wrong. He receives videos like this multiple times on a daily basis. However, not a single one of these people have ever been so… kind. Many of them demand that he watch them, which only turns him off. Yes, maybe once or twice, Hoseok appreciates a guiding hand in his sexual endeavours online. But, off camera, all he wants is to be spoken to with a bit more kindness. It’s for this reason that he usually deletes all those videos without a second thought.

[from starfruit 134] : i don’t mean to bother you with mine. but, you looked so exhausted last night and i wanted to show you how much i appreciate your dedication to still live stream.

[from starfruit134] : also i’d love it if you could tell me what you think? maybe even offer a few pointers? i’m thinking about starting one of my own lives and i just wanna make sure i’m good enough.

The first message has him smiling, but the second one fades any happiness he thought he held. Of course, you’re here for a favour. Were your previous messages about his well-being serious, or were you just buttering him up to get him to comment on your video? Do you even really appreciate his efforts to put on a show? 

His mind laps around a million doubts, but his heart intercepts the discussion with the reminder of your usual attitude and presence. You’re considerate, that fact being clear in the way you’ve always put his needs before yours. And even though he really is just some guy online, you’ve always treated him with a degree of humanity that others lacked. He doesn’t blame them, as he’s admitted to himself that he’s the one provoking their feral reactions. But the fact that you can switch between the two so seamlessly means something to him. A little sigh pushes past his lips. You’ve always seemed sincere enough, so why shouldn’t he give you the benefit of the doubt? 

Hoseok sits back in his chair and rubs his chin, staring at that thumbnail. Just from a first glance, he knows you’d do well. A lot of the cam business centres around superficial tendencies and he can’t deny your beauty. He could easily ignore your message, like he does with others, or pretend to have viewed it and reply with a single word, “good.” But, something within him can’t let you go that easily. 

Licking his lips, Hoseok reaches for the lube. He’s getting hard anyways and there’s still a whole day before his next live. After putting on his headphones, Hoseok takes a deep breath and starts the video, full screening it to make sure he gets every angle of your ass. 

Lights dimmed, you smile shyly at the camera. A string of star shaped lights twinkle behind you, illuminating your room with a sensual glow. The quiet beat of a suggestive song can only just be picked up by the camera as you run a hand through your hair and toss it to the other side of your head. You’ve created quite an ambiance for him, one he definitely finds himself craving. 

“Hi,” you giggle, biting your lip nervously. “I hope this is okay. I’ve never really done this before. You make it look so easy every night.” 

Hoseok can’t help but smile with you, setting the lube down to just admire your cuteness for now. He just knew you had a stellar smile. Someone that nice has to have a cute smile to match it.

Fuck, she’s adorable. 

He can’t keep his eyes off yours, even with your breasts squished in that tight shirt of yours. You have this endearing innocence that he’s not so used to. Dressed so slutty, looking so precious, you sit at your desk with your bed behind you. Hoseok is suddenly charged with the urge to ruin you, just laying you down on your bed and dicking you down so good, you’d never want to leave his side. He’s not really sure what you were so worried about. It’s rather obvious to him that you’d do great as a camgirl. Yet, the thought makes his heart twinge. 

“Hmm,” you hum, looking up. 

Hoseok can’t believe how cute you look even when you’re just thinking. He glances at the time of the video, cursing himself when he sees it's only been ten seconds and he’s already whipped for you. He wonders if this is an act, if you know exactly what you’re doing. One look into your nervous eyes let’s him know you’re clueless to your own charms.

“Well, I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time. You looked…” you trail off, chewing on your lip before slightly shaking your head and changing the course of your sentence. Still, Hoseok can fill in the blank you’ve left. You can tell he’s been off his game, he concludes. Now the question remains: how long have you known?

“I just wanted to know from the best if I’m cut out for this kind of…” Pausing, you search for the right word. “Fun.” 

With a deep breath, you let your shoulders fall a bit and let your gaze wander only to look back at the camera like you just remembered something. “Oh, I guess I should show you what I’m wearing first, right? Why am I asking? He can’t reply.”

Hoseok chuckles a bit at your little rant. He licks his lips to whisper, “it’s okay, honey. Show me what you’ve got.”

As you get up, Hoseok shifts in his seat. Jaw going slack, he has to remind himself to breathe. You stand up and show off that tiny, little yellow crop top you’re wearing with those matching lace panties that hug your curves all too well. Fisting his hands, Hoseok lowly growls, wanting to rip them right off while he’s thrusting into you. He knows he’s barely seen anything yet, but he’s already nudging his underwear off. Inhaling a sharp breath, he watches his screen intently as you slowly show off your body. Giving your back to the camera, you cup the underside of your ass then use your fingers to shake each cheek. Your ass jiggles even though you’ve barely touched it. 

“Oh, shit,” Hoseok sighs, melting back into his seat. How the fuck can it move like that? With each shake, your cheeks bounce up in waves. He rests a hand over his mouth, brows furrowing, as he watches you tease the fuck out of him. At least three new ways to fuck you come to mind every time you shyly look over your shoulder at the camera.

You give each cheek a good rub then stand with your legs hip length apart and lean forward enough to just stick your ass out. Hoseok’s just about to wonder what you’re up to when you start to bounce a bit on the balls of your feet. The waves return, ass clapping loudly, effortlessly with each jump. Hoseok has lost all ability to give a shit if his roommates are home or not. He groans out at the sight and tilts his head a bit, thinking it’s going to give him a better view. 

You’ve perfected that move. Catching glimpses of cellulite, Hoseok smiles to himself at your natural beauty. He almost forgot you were a natural girl. He wonders how natural you’ve left your pussy for him.

As you continue to make a show of your ass, his hand hovers over the timeline of the video. He debates on whether or not he should just skip to the parts where you’re finally naked and pleasing yourself to the thought of him. But, with every second that you clap or shake your ass, Hoseok concludes that he really doesn’t want to miss a second of you. Moving his cursor to the side, Hoseok settles on letting you tease him for a little while longer. 

You giggle as you look at the lens over your shoulder and stand up straight again, suddenly getting shy. Hoseok smiles and chuckles a bit with you, not able to resist how adorable you are. He lets out a hissing sigh, trying to figure out why the fuck this didn’t happen sooner. The thought of you last night got him off, the sight of you this morning has transported him into uncharted grounds. He’s never sure what he should be doing. Sometimes, he’s too entranced by your beauty to do anything at all, and other times his hand acts on his own. Taking a deep breath, Hoseok decides to simply stroke himself a bit for now, watching as you pick up the camera and set it up just in front of your bed.

You crawl over the sheets, oblivious to how good of an angle the camera has of your ass. “I just finished watching your live and I didn’t touch myself just so I can show you how wet you get me,” you say as you seat yourself in front of your pillows and spread your legs. 

Hoseok mutters a quiet, “oh god,” when his eyes fall on the big, dark wet patch between your legs. Even your inner thighs look slick and sticky. You pull the hem of your panties aside to show him the mess he’s made. Hoseok smiles when he sees that you’ve trimmed the hair up for the most part, leaving a little patch on the top part of your pussy. Fate is cruel to present his perfect girl yet keep her so far away. Hoseok can’t fight the frustration festering in his heart at the reality of your separate worlds. 

But as you continue your discovery of pleasures, Hoseok can’t dwell on the misfortune of your shared distant fate. You’re too cute to deny attention, not like Hoseok has much of a choice to do so when you’re offering yourself up to him on a star speckled platter. 

You tug on your folds with your other hand, fingers in the shape of a ‘V,’ to properly show him how ready you are. Swollen and sensitive, your pussy is drenched with your wetness. 

His eyes twitch, roll back at the sight. Never has he been this fucking turned on before. He huffs a breath, trying to regain his composure as you further spread your legs. Biting on your lip, you look to be lost in thought, looking up at the camera in wonderment. 

“Hmm,” you hum again, making Hoseok’s heart flutter. “I think I’ll just take this off. Might be easier to play that way,” you give him a single shoulder shrug. 

Hoseok lowly moans and nods. His strokes become a bit fast as he watches you pull your panties off and toss them somewhere in your room. Keeping your legs spread, you pull up your shirt and expose your breasts. Hoseok pauses the video, removing his hand from his already twitching cock as he leans his elbows on his desk. Taking a deep breath, he tries to calm himself down because he knows that if he doesn’t he’s going to cum just from the sight of your duality. 

Sneaking a glance at your frozen image on his screen, Hoseok quietly moans to himself. Your shirt is still on but rolled up to display your tits. He can’t believe that someone as shy and innocent as you also has a nipple piercing. He can definitely tell that you have a slutty side, but you don’t like showing it often. The fact that you’re even exposing yourself to him like this is enough to make him want to have you all for himself. He’s not usually possessive but he just can’t stand the thought of you posting videos like this for everyone else. 

Playing the video again, Hoseok sits back up in his chair and just watches you for now. He decides he’s not going to touch himself yet until he sees you finally start to play with yourself. He wants to see you enjoy yourself first before indulging in his own pleasures. He also figures it might be the best way to hold off on his impending orgasm.

You shyly smile at the camera and pinch your nipples, rolling the buds between your fingers. Hoseok smiles, groaning to himself as you quietly giggle and bite your lip. He can see that, in this moment, you’re putting up an act, and he’s loving it. It’s not as adorable as when you’re unintentionally cute and nervous, but it’s just as sexy. 

Nervously sliding a hand down to your pussy, you cup your pierced breast with your other hand and gently massage it. You land a few light slaps on your pussy, moaning louder with each hit. Hoseok’s drooling, though he doesn’t pay much mind to that. Completely enthralled by the sight of you looking so pleased, he doesn’t even realize he has leaned forward so close that his face is only a few inches away from the screen. All he can think about is burying himself between your legs and drowning in your pussy. 

A high pitched moan escapes you as you start to lazily rub your clit with your fingers. Your other hand moves from your breast to rest behind you as you lean back and get yourself comfortable. Gazing down at your own work, you moan again, sighing contently as you gather more of your wetness and further rub it against your needy bud. 

Pause. 

Hoseok leans back in his seat, rubbing his face with his hands. If you were here right now, he’d seat you on his lap and help guide your bounces on his throbbing cock. What kind of game do you think you’re playing? You have to know how fucking hot you are. Hoseok begins to wonder if you’re even really looking to get pointers or if you’re just here to show off. You’ve already set the scene, and look the part. There’s not really much left to it. Maybe his use of your name last night switched something in you. However, judging by how nervous you are, he assumes you must really be looking for pointers and not just showing off because he noticed you. Though, if he’s being honest with himself, you’re too fucking hot to not know it yourself. 

He chews on his lower lip as he debates on what he should tell you. Just a couple of minutes in and Hoseok is willing to transfer all his funds to you if you were a live streamer like he was. But the idea of sharing you with everyone else is not something he’s particularly fond of. Pushing that thought aside, Hoseok ignores the disheartening feeling swimming in his chest from the mere thought of someone else witnessing your precious figure like that. He decides to simply focus on the video and not take you out of its context so much anymore. You’re just some hot girl on a screen, he tells himself, nothing to be overtaken by.

Play. 

You slap your pussy again, squealing giggles then looking up at the camera shyly. Hoseok blushes, licking his lips at how fucking cute you are. With a gasp, you look between the camera and your pussy. Hoseok furrows his brows, wondering what’s got you all worked up now. You shift closer to the edge, grabbing the camera and bringing it down to your wet pussy.

Hoseok’s face flushes red as your entire wetness is in HD. He assumes this must be what his view would be like if you were here with him right now. However, that’s not what’s got him all choked up and breathless. You move your fingers up off your pussy and Hoseok growls loudly at the sticky string of juices that connects your pussy to your fingers. You giggle, in the process of placing the camera back in it’s spot when he pauses the video once more.

This can’t be real. No one this hot has ever even looked at him twice. Those other girls that flood his inbox are beautiful but you’re fucking enchanting. Fuck, not taking you out of context. You did that yourself when you sent him this video looking that cute and irresistible after a handful of messages worrying over his well being. You’ve made yourself more real than your video, obscured his senses with your endearing personality and beautiful body. 

Minimizing the full screen for a second, Hoseok clicks back to his inbox in a different tab and deletes all the other videos from the other girls, even resorting to blocking them, leaving your messages behind. He clicks back to your video, full screening it again. He’s decided: you’re all he wants.

After playing the video again, Hoseok leans forward and watches as you reset the camera on your bed and lay back into your pillows. 

“I’m wet enough for a toy,” you think out loud, making Hoseok smile. His cheeks hurt a bit from how much you’ve got him grinning throughout the first three minutes of your video. 

You reach into your night table, grabbing a yellow star shaped toy, bulky with curved edges, from the first drawer. You show it to him with a smile, and he breaths a chuckle, completely taken by your charming antics. You shove the toy into your mouth, wetting it even more and lean back over to reach for something else. Legs still spread, pussy still glistening, you rummage through the drawer for a moment longer. 

Though your cunt is on full display for him, Hoseok focuses his attention on your face, enchanted by how cute you look when you're focused on something. You have the long string of the yellow toy dangling out of your lips, looking like you’re sucking a lollipop as you finally find what you’re looking for and pull it out to show it to the camera. The long, golden cylinder remote operates the vibrator, Hoseok realizes. 

Taking the vibrator out of your mouth, you set the remote down. You move the wet toy between your folds, drenching it in your juices before tugging on your pussy’s lips and shoving the toy in. Your brows furrow, mouth hangs open as you slowly slide it in, squealing in the process. You swallow thickly once it’s in, the rubber line hanging out of it just like it did in your mouth. 

“If you were here,” you start as you pick up the remote again. “I’d let you control it.” Smiling to the camera, you flip your hair off your shoulder and suck on your bottom lip. 

“Let me?” Hoseok questions under his breath. He can tell from the way your eyes sparkle with mischief that you’re choosing your words carefully. You’re egging him on, knowing he’s the dominant type. As you turn the vibrator on at its lowest setting, Hoseok can’t shake the feeling that you’d love the feeling of his tongue between your folds, maybe even a bit lower. Watching you make yourself comfortable, he scoffs, “Honey, I can ruin you.” 

You keep the remote beside you as you close your eyes and enjoy the little stimulation. Hoseok pumps some lube in his hand and starts to stroke himself again, wanting to match the same level of stimulation you’re getting to feel as though he’s there with you. You must have been getting a bit impatient with yourself though, because not even seven seconds later, one hand is on your clit, rubbing harsh circles around it, while the other is on the remote, turning up the intensity of the vibrations.

Caught in the pleasure, your thumb trembles over the buttons, the vibrator suddenly being heard clearly over the camera. With the loud hum of your toy and the symphony of moans escaping you, the music can barely be heard. It’s just you, him and that star shaped vibrator you’ve seemed to lose all control over. A screech tumbles out of you as the remote falls out of your hand and onto the floor. You let out a moan of frustration while the vibrator goes crazy inside you. 

Hoseok can’t help but smile at your horny, clumsy state. He’s so enraptured by your annoyed yet pleased sounds that he doesn’t even realize he’s been jerking his cock to a fast pace for the last little bit. 

You lay back in your pillows, seemingly accepting your fate as your body jolts and eyes roll back with every buzz of pleasure. High moan after moan tears out of you. You beg him to never stop, grinding your hips up and Hoseok can’t help but wonder what he’s doing to you exactly in your mind that’s making you this needy. 

“O-oh, fuck yee-eess,” you manage to whine. You have your arms framing your breasts, pushing them together for him to admire as you get yourself off. While one hand gingerly plays with one of your nipples, your other hand rests near your mouth, sucking on your trembling fingers like you’re trying to stay quiet. 

“Fuck, just scream,” Hoseok whispers under his breath. What he’d give right now to have you scream his name. He moans loudly at the sight of your riling on your bed, so captivated by your pleasure, as he jacks himself off at a speed he never thought he could. 

Your moans get higher pitched by the second and Hoseok realizes that you’re getting closer. Hips shooting up, you finally cry out all your moans and whines as you cum. Hoseok’s eyes widen at the sight, breathlessly whining to himself as you roll your hips up to ride your orgasm out. 

Face lost in the pile of pillows behind you as you throw your head back, all Hoseok can really see is your slick gleamed pussy. Hints of your orgasm leaks out of you before you flip to your side and pull your knees up to your chest. Whimpering quietly into your pillow, you bounce a bit on your bed. 

Hoseok swallows hard. Going to lick his lips, he notices another trail of drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t make an effort to wipe it away, one hand too busy pumping his needy cock while the other’s clutching onto the chair’s armrest. Knuckles whitening, he tightens his grip and lets out a dark moan at the sight of you overstimulating yourself because you’re just that needy. 

Sitting up again, you run a hand through your hair and try to spread your legs. They’re still shaking; you’re still shaking. Eyes wet with horny tears, you let a few loud moans slip pass your pouty lips. “Fu-ck,” you stutter, eyes rolling back a bit as you hold onto the underside of your thighs. He can tell you’re doing your best to keep your pussy visible for the camera. You’re trying desperately to hold your legs apart, but with all that uninterrupted friction, you’re struggling. Knees knocking together, blocking your breasts and pussy from view, you can’t seem to keep your body under control. 

All previous attempts to remain quiet have fully been discarded. As Hoseok previously requested, you start screaming out your pleasures. Falling back into your pillows, body shuddering, you put all your strength in pulling your legs apart and scream at the instant pleasure it provides. Hoseok furrows his brows, chest heaving as he watches you toe the line of your next orgasm. 

You start to rile in place again, choking on a sob-like moan. Hoseok lets out a little sigh at the sound, swearing to himself that it sounds all too familiar. He doesn’t dwell too much on the familiarity, though, as you enjoy your next high. 

Then you suddenly sit up, eyes wide. “Holy shit,” you practically sob, quickly pulling the vibrator out and letting all your juices squirt out of you. You hold the vibrator to your clit and cry out as your release sprays all over you, the bed and the camera. Shutting your eyes, you stick your tongue out to catch a quick taste of yourself before looking back at the camera and squealing. 

Hoseok jumps back a bit, as if he too is getting squirted all over. His orgasm suddenly overtakes him just from the sight of you tasting yourself then trying to save the camera all while still holding the vibrator to your clit and squirting whatever you have to offer. The way you’re still desperate for stimulation even after possibly ruining your camera has him almost shaking. Ropes of his cum fall all over his desk, streaking his screen and keyboard, but he couldn’t care less. You’re both a fucking mess and he likes it that way. 

You finally discard the vibrator, letting it continue to buzz on your bed and fall back. Your body shudders a bit and you bring your knees up to your chest, letting your orgasm course through you for a minute longer. “Well, shit,” you whisper to yourself. Slowly, you unfold yourself and sit up to wipe the camera off with the hem of your shirt. Laying back onto your pillows, you’re breathless, eyes heavy and breasts heaving as you giggle quietly at the lens. “I don’t know if you could tell, but that wasn’t supposed to happen. Maybe I’m not cut out for this camgirl life afterall.” 

You’ve got that shy look in your eyes again, and Hoseok only cleans his screen to get a better look at you. He’s still pumping himself, not completely drained and satisfied just yet. And though you look a bit fucked out, he can tell that you can definitely go for another round. But, you don’t. Instead, you brush the hair out of your face and pull your shirt down. He groans as your breasts disappear from view. 

“I-I think I’ve kept the neighbours up for long enough,” you nervously giggle before tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

Hoseok huffs, sitting back in his seat. Another couple of rounds won’t make a difference then, will it? He thinks to himself as you wish him well and hope you’ve done a good job. A breathy chuckle escapes him at your words. He can’t believe you could be this clueless to your own charms. It’s clear to him, as it would be to anyone else who would watch your lives if you were to make them, that you’re absolutely perfect. 

Glancing down at the throb between his legs, Hoseok finds himself hardening once again just from the thought of you. The last stilled image of you reaching back to turn the camera off, a clear shot to your breasts, nipple stud in full view, has him squirming in his seat a bit. 

From the yellow glow of your username, Hoseok knows that you’re still online. But with his cock still craving another round of your beauty, he decides against giving you an answer yet. He tells himself he needs to watch your video one more time. Or maybe even three. Just to be sure. 

After wiping his desk down from his last orgasm, Hoseok restarts the video. He pumps a bit more lube in his hand and smiles as you greet him through the camera. 

“Hi. I hope this is okay. I’ve never really done this before. You make it look so easy every night.”

You sit atop of the washing machine, your roommate, Minh, across from you. After how your night ended, you needed to wash your bedding. Upon hearing you mention leaving this morning, she decided it’s time to clean her laundry too and tagged along. You don’t really mind it. All you hope is that she doesn’t ask too many questions about why you’re washing your sheets earlier than usual. 

You knock your feet against the washer window and try to soothe the quick beats of your anxious heart while she reads peacefully. It’s been exactly four hours since you’ve sent him the video you took of yourself last night. You know he’s online. The golden glow of his name tells you as much anyways. You’re not sure if he has looked at your message though. Maybe he’s ignoring you, or worse. He’s blocked you. You swallow back a nervous lump in your throat at the thought and tell yourself that you’re being ridiculous. 

“Stop,” Minh sighs, looking up from her book. 

You still your legs, muttering a quiet apology. As she turns back to her book, you wonder if it was your mention of last night that’s thrown him off. He did look uncomfortable, most of the time lost in his own world. But, maybe he didn’t want anyone else to know that. Maybe the fact that you brought it up has turned him off. 

BUZZ!

Your heart nearly tumbles out of your chest at the sound. Hands darting to the phone, you quickly unlock it to look at your notifications. Your eyes light up when you see his username. Lips trembling, you tap the notification and wait anxiously for the app to load to his message. 

[from hopeonthescreen340] : i can’t imagine a moment of you like this being a bother

A little gasp escapes you at his response. You blink, once, twice, three times, trying to make sure that what you’re reading isn’t just some hopeful thinking you’re projecting simply because you find yourself completely and utterly infatuated by him. Reading the message over and over again, you try your best to fight off the smile playing on your lips. You know full well that you can’t come up with something witty to send back if you get all giddy. 

His comment is cute but you got an earful from Mrs. Jiwoo across the hall asking that you bring men over at an earlier time to get that over with sooner. Minh was completely confused, having spent the night out with a few friends. You had to later explain to her that Mrs. Jiwoo has no idea what she’s talking about. And though both conversations were mortifying, you’re somewhat relieved Mrs. Jiwoo didn’t think you were alone, getting off to some guy on a screen, and that Minh bought your excuse. 

[from hopeonthescreen340] : i think this site would crash if you started up your own livestream honey

The pet name has your knees knocking just as it did last night. You still can’t believe he said your username and spoke to you through his live. Sure, it resulted in some backlash, but having his attention like that was like nothing you’ve experienced before. 

Looking around, you make sure you haven’t caught Minh’s attention. She remains unbothered, flipping a page in her book. Glancing back down at your phone,  you let out a little giggle. Is this really happening? This guy must get tons of videos like the one you just sent, tons of people must throw themselves at him like you indirectly did. With that thought suddenly in mind, you wonder if he’s merely telling you all this to be nice. Maybe he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings and is talking you up just to keep you away. 

[to hopeonthescreen340] : you really mean it? 

You type and delete the message a couple of times before finally sending it. Chewing on your lower lip, you watch the three floating bubbles wave as he types out his reply. Did that sound too desperate? Your fingers tremble over the keyboard again as you let out a shaky deep breath. No. You mentally assert. Why would he lie? If he wanted to get you off his back he would have ignored your messages, maybe even deleted them all too. He has nothing to gain from lying to you. 

[from hopeonthescreen340] : with all my heart

You bite back a giggle, in the middle of typing out a reply of gratitude when he sends another message that has you shaking again. 

[from hopeonthescreen340] : but i don’t think you should host a livestream

Defeated, disheartened, disillusioned, you scoff at your phone. Is he playing games? Is that what he’s up to right now? Slouching, you knit your brows and glare down at your screen. 

[to hopeonthescreen340] : thought you meant what you said?

[from hopeonthescreen340] : i did 

[from hopeonthescreen340] : i do

[from hopeonthescreen340] : youre just a little too innocent for this kind of scene

You shake your head, dryly chuckling in disbelief. What kind of backhanded compliment is that? Too innocent? Yes, maybe you were nervous in the beginning but you thought that the rest of the video was pretty good. Heart sinking, you can only stare down at your phone. 

How could you not see this coming? You sent your favourite camboy a video of yourself with only the best scenario in mind. How could you so easily disregard the possibility of being rejected like this? Running a hair through your hair, you type a quick, plain response. 

[to hopeonthescreen340] : k. thanks.

Putting your phone away, you turn back to laundry. With a ding, you hop off the machine with Minh and get to drying. The warm, freshly cleaned sheets will probably be the new highlight of your day. So the sooner you finish cleaning them, the quicker this day will go by. Or, at least that’s what you hope.

A tired sigh fills the living room as you switch the channel again. Snacking on some cherries, you’ve taken to eating your feelings away. You’ve already gone through two packs of blueberries and a pack of strawberries. Your lips are smeared with the cherry juice and fingernails stained red. 

As you change the channel once more, your mind wanders back to the messages. Maybe he’s right? Maybe you are too “innocent” or whatever to be a regular on a livestream. You roll your eyes at yourself, knowing that’s not what’s got you so tired of the day. 

The truth is you never really had your heart set on being a livestreamer. You know deep down all you really wanted was some more attention from an online crush. You wanted to feel beautiful to him, wanted to know he was losing himself to the thought of you. To have him crave you like you crave him was your real intention behind that video. And now that you know that’s not the case, you can’t help but feel riddled with regret and stupidity. You should’ve taken what you could, taken the use of your username as the flirty, casual comment it was meant to be. You took him out of the context of the live stream too soon, too quick. You’ve got your hopes up and all you have left to show for it is cherry lips and fingertips. 

The vibrating hum of your phone pulls you out of your thoughts. You grab a tissue and wipe as much of the fruit off your hands before picking up the phone. “Hello?”

“It’s busy here. I’m probably gonna be home late.”

You glance out the window, judging how dark it already is. The sun’s already setting, swirls of golden peach hues taking over the darkening sky. Minh’s not usually home before dark anyways, but you appreciate the call either way. “Alright. There’s some leftovers for you when you get here.”

“Great, I’m starved. Hey, did you check the mail?”

You bite on your lip to hold back a forgetful sigh. “Mhm,” you lie, slowly getting up from your spot. You tiptoe your way to the door and try to pick up your keys as quietly as possible. 

Minh must’ve heard the lie in the sudden high tone of your voice or the jingle of the keys because her scoldings soon followed. “I told you to check it four times before I left. It’s probably full now. You know I’m waiting on a package. How is it supposed to fit if mail from a week ago is still in there?” 

“I’m getting it right now. I promise!” you reassure. 

Minh sighs and mutters a “you better” before hanging up. 

You sigh and toss your phone on the table by the door, heading out to get Minh’s precious mail. You were going to suggest that she just pick it up on her way to the apartment once she’s off her shift, but the last time you did that, she scolded you for not doing your half of the chores. You figured it’s better to just go do it yourself. 

Lost in thought, you don’t realize you’ve left barefoot. And, to top that embarrassing realization, you also left behind a sweater, cardigan, something to cover yourself with as all you have on is a pastel yellow tank top and a pair of matching lounge shorts. Annoyed with yourself, you figure it's much easier to just quickly go grab your mail now instead of riding the elevator up and down. 

You pad the cold ground of the building’s lobby, rushing to the foyer before someone can see you. After fumbling with the keys for a couple of seconds, you finally find the right one and unlock your mailbox. 

“‘Scuse me,” a voice mutters to your left. 

You keep your eyes locked on your mail. For some reason, you figure that if you don’t make eye contact with the other tenant, then you’d face less embarrassment. So, you mumble an apology and side stepping to the right all while keeping your head low. Your plan seems foolproof until he quietly thanks you in a deep voice all too familiar to ignore. That lively tone laced in a tired voice tickles the curve of your spine, making you roll your shoulders back.

Curiosity always seems to get the best of you. Trailing your gaze up his frame, you think he doesn’t look that familiar until- 

“Oh god,” you whisper. 

He turns to face you, face dropping when he recognizes you as well. You bring your letters up to your face, shielding yourself from the shame and embarrassment of coming face to face with the man that subvertly rejected you online. Peeking above them, however, you can’t resist the urge to check him out. You tell yourself it’s to make sure it’s really him, but you know full well that you just want to get a good look at him. 

Loose grey sweatpants, baggy white shirt, black hair in its usual middle part, exposing just the right amount of forehead to get you wet from just one glance. Oh, and that little, silver hoop pierced into his nostril. It looks even more heavenly in person, as does he. Yeah, it’s definitely him. You can feel your heart taking residence in your throat as you meet his dazed gaze. 

“Oh my god,” you repeat to yourself in a whisper. Glancing between him and the key in his mailbox, you can’t believe he lives in the same building as you. You’ve been watching his videos for about six months now. Never had you seen him around your building before, not even a bump in the elevator. 

“Starfruit,” he mutters, sounding surprised himself.

For some reason, the nod to your username draws a little mewl out of you. Your eyes widen the moment you realize what you’ve just done. His brows shoot up, the tips of his ears tinting red. 

“I’m sorry,” you rush out. “I, um, I didn’t mean to do any of that.” 

His expression immediately softens, a little smirk gracing his lips as he scans your figure. You shift your weight from foot to foot, eyes averting to the mailboxes as his eyes lock on your hips, drinking in the way your shorts sit on your curves. You can feel his eyes soon trail up and linger on your breasts. You internally scold yourself for resting your shoulders back and puffing out your chest so he can get a better view. Even after all that’s transpired, you still can’t help but throw yourself at him. 

He doesn’t seem to mind that, however, shamelessly staring at how your cleavage peeks out of your pastel yellow tank top. Clearing his throat, he snaps his gaze back to your face as if just remembering that you’re watching him stare at you. “Uh, there’s no need to apologize,” he shrugs before turning to grab his mail too. 

“I didn’t know you lived-”

“Me either,” he cuts you off, biting his lip when he realizes what he did. He lets out a breathy chuckle and shakes his head. “Uh-”

“I wouldn’t have sent anything if I’d known,” you explain. Shutting your mailbox, you lock it once more and remove your key all while continuing to hold your mail over your face to hide your shame. 

His smile somewhat wavers as he tilts his head to get a better look at your face despite the presence of your mail in front of it. “Why?”

You clutch onto your keys, avoiding his gaze as you reply, “well, um, it’s just a bit embarrassing to send that kind of thing to someone in your building.”

“And it wouldn’t be to a stranger?”

You sigh and finally meet his eyes. “For all I knew, you were on the other side of the world. I didn’t risk much when you rejec-” You cut yourself off, clearing your throat. “It’s just different when it’s to a stranger.”

He shuts his mailbox too, dryly chuckling at you. He gives you one last once over, licking his lips, before walking past you. You furrow your brows, confused eyes following his tall frame back to the building’s lobby. You can’t help but wonder what the look was for. Did you say something wrong? Maybe that whole thing about strangers was offensive? 

“Wait,” you call after him, following his steps to the elevator.

He pushes the button then spares you a side glance as he shifts through his mail. You curl a loose strand of hair behind your ear, suddenly grabbing his attention. His eyes lock on the simple action, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows thickly. 

You hold your mail to your chest, letting out a little sigh, then muster the courage to say. “Look, I’m just sorry I sexualized you.” The honest confession has you gulping, looking at the floor in the hopes that it will open up and swallow you whole just to get you out of this humiliation fest you’ve got yourself lost in. “It’s just easier to feel less guilt about it through a stranger’s live stream rather than a neighbour’s.”

The elevator rings, signalling it’s arrival and you wait for him to make a move to enter. Only when he nods towards the door, urging you to go in first, do you step onto the elevator. 

“Floor?”

“Tenth,” you mutter, regretting every word you’ve spoken since running into him. 

He remains silent for a second before clearing his throat. Glancing at him, you raise a brow. “I sexualized myself, so there’s no need to blame yourself for anything. And, for the record, I’m not sorry about that video at all.” A blush creeps up his neck at his own confession. 

Licking your lips, you draw your bottom lip between your teeth, nervously nibbling on it. Not much of his reply makes sense. For one, it goes against whatever you thought he meant in his messages earlier today. You want to believe he rejected you since he already said that in so many words but his sincerity makes you question your interpretation. 

“So you actually…” you trail off, reading his expression carefully. “You actually liked the video?”

His entire face reddens. You’ve never seen him this shy before. He’s usually so cocky, so controlled. Not a lot can faze him. In fact, now that you think about it, you’ve never seen him fazed by any sexual things his viewers have commented. Yet, here he is. Looking flushed and, dare you even think, embarrassed, he shifts his weight from foot to foot. “It was amazing,” he whispers, looking over to you. “I watched it more than once actually.”

Your jaw falls, eyes widen. Is that why it took him so long to reply? The air in your lungs thickens as you realize that he probably got off to your video. The thought alone has you shivering in place with lustful pride. 

“Really?”

He nods.

“How many times?”

DING!

The elevator signals the floor arrival and it’s only now that you realize he only hit the button to the tenth floor. He nods for you to step out first and you obey, eyes aimlessly staring at the floor as you try to make sense of the fact that the two of you not only live in the same building, but on the same floor as well. 

With all that has come to light in the last few moments, you realize you can’t get lost in your worries anymore. Turning to face him, you offer a shy smile and say, “I’m-”

“Starfruit,” he finishes with a smirk. “I know.” 

You raise your brows in question. His grin only widens, lighting up the dim hallway like the rays of a morning sun. But it doesn’t distract you from wondering why he doesn’t want to know your real name. “I think ‘hope on the screen’ is a bit of a mouth full,” you joke.

He chuckles, looking to the side a bit before turning back to you. “What’s wrong, honey? Not used to having your mouth full?”

You freeze, breath hitching. Goosebumps prickle your skin as you try to settle your ramming heart with sad excuses that brush off his statement to be anything but sexual. However, with just one look at his smug features, you know full well that’s exactly what he meant.

“Not usually by a name, no.”

Lust clouds his eyes.  He sets his jaw, gaze hardening. Quirking a brow, he asks, “Is that right?” When you nod, he sighs. “Just Hope will do then.”

“Hopie,” you somewhat slur with a smile. 

A little smirk tugs on his lips and he nods. “Sure, Hobi is fine.” 

You don’t bother correcting him, liking his version of the name better anyways. For a moment, you both stand inches apart, staring at each other. He then suddenly blinks and clears his throat. Looking down the right side of the hall, he bites his lip and turns back to face you. You pick up on his hint to go your separate ways and nod, walking ahead of him back to your own apartment. You’re convinced this will be your first and last meeting, in which he will call you Starfruit everytime he sees you and you will reply with Hobi and convince yourself that you’re okay with that. However, his footsteps only follow after you.

You make it to your door before turning to face him. He stops an arm’s length away, features clueless and eyes confused. 

“Looking for an invite to come in?” you tease, hoping to fluster him. 

“You offering one?” he smirks. 

Mouth gaping, you look between him and the door. How is it that you’re the one flustered? That was not the plan. Hobi’s smirk only widens. You suddenly wonder if he’s bluffing, that cocky look starting to irritate your wettening core.

You turn to your door, unlock it then push it open. Leaning your back against the doorframe, you reply, “You tell me.” 

Hobi swipes his tongue between the gaps of his teeth, eyes darkening once more. “You sure about this, Starfruit?” He asks as he takes a step closer. 

“What’s not to be sure about?” You question. “I’m just inviting a neighbour over for a drink. It’s an innocent offer. Wouldn’t you agree, Hobi?”

A low growl tears through his throat before he dips his head and catches your lips in his. You kiss him back with very little hesitance. His lips taste of lemon and cream, sweet and citrusy like he just had dessert. Moaning into his mouth, you hear his mail spill in your apartment somewhere to your left. He then grabs the stack of letters in your hands and repeats the same action, tossing the mail into your apartment. 

His hands are free to roam around your body but immediately settle on your ass. Hips pinning you against the doorframe, Hobi grabs handfuls of each asscheek. Groaning and groping, he doesn’t miss a chance to make you wetter than you already feel yourself getting. 

You don’t hesitate to get your hands on him either. Clutching onto his shoulders, you chase after his lips as he pulls away. Nudging you back with his nose, Hobi then dips his face in the crook of your neck. His tongue darts out, hot breath fanning over your goosebump prickled skin. Warm and wet, his tongue swirls around your collarbone then up to your jawline. Meanwhile, his greedy hands are working fast to pull your shorts to the side, exposing your panty-less pussy.

You don’t give him a chance to see that, wanting him to feel it instead. You spread your legs and hold his thigh between them. Pressing your clit to his dampening sweatpants, you roll your hips onto his leg. 

Hobi stills for a second, only just pulling his face away from yours to watch your body move against his. A giddy grin plays on his lips, his hands returning to your ass to help guide your thrusts against him. 

You wrap your arms around his neck and rest your forehead against his cheek. Never did you think you’d find yourself in this position. Last night, you imagined him fucking you against the wall to get yourself off, but never pictured that wall to be in the hallway. Standing in the middle of your doorway, one foot in the apartment and the other out, the two of you risk being caught in a compromising position by the entire floor. And yet, neither of you seem to care. With his body so close that his heat warms you, you find very little interest in anything else. His racing heart against yours and that excited gleam in his eyes is all you can focus on. He looks a bit happier than he did last night and that alone has you moving your hips a bit faster against him.

“Mhm, honey,” he hums before pressing his lips against your forehead. “Just like that.”

To unknowing eyes, the two of you might look like a long time couple, horny and adventurous in your intimate endeavours just from the way he holds and expresses his interest in you. You even find yourself indulging in that daydream for a second, giving into your delusions and pretending that Hobi is your boyfriend and the two of you are that adventurous couple. Whines leave you as he digs his fingers into your ass. It somewhat pulls you out of that daydream. 

His grip then circles around to your hips, stilling your thrusts and holding your against the doorframe. He flashes a cocky smile at your sad mewls from the loss of friction. “Don’t pout,” he whispers. You further draw your bottom lip and test his grip on your hips as you try to continue your movements. 

Hobi chuckles darkly, tightening his hold on you. “I know you’re needy, honey,” he purrs. “But if you don’t behave soon, you won’t get to cum at all. Do I make myself clear?” He questions before licking your pout away. 

It takes everything in you not to squirm. His voice is enough to make you needy, but his words make you desperate. You nod and pull your bottom lip into your mouth, sucking on the strip of saliva his tongue left behind. Hobi raises a brow at your actions. Gathering some spit in his mouth, he mutters, “pout,” then drops the stringy liquid over your lips. Some of it slides down your chin to your neck but, once he’s done, you part your lips. And as you drink in his saliva, Hobi licks up the trail of spit from your cleavage to your chin. He places a wet kiss to your lips once he reaches them.

Pulling away, he peppers your cheeks with soft kisses while one of his hands tugs the hem of your shorts aside once more. The cool air hits your wet folds. You whine against him and try to fight against the hold on your hips against. The longer he delays getting to your clit, the needier you get.

“Patience, Starfruit,” he mumbles against your cheek. 

The soft pad of his thumb brushes up against the short hair upon your pussy a couple of times, filling the pit of your stomach with a growing restless desire to just be filled and fucked. He’s teasing because he can, because he loves the way you squirm against his hold and pout for his tongue. You know this; he knows this. Catching the other’s eye, both of you share a knowing smile. 

Holding your gaze, his thumb finally nudges its way between your folds and grazes your swollen bud. You instantly shudder, breasts heaving from the excitement. He smirks, dragging his thumb back and forth on your clit as he watches you slowly come undone. 

His head lowers again, lips latching onto your neck. He nibbles and sucks on your skin. You can only tangle your fingers in his hair and moan. As your eyes flutter shut, Hobi fully removes his right hand from your hip, and devotes it to your pussy. He runs two long, slender fingers between your folds, instantly drenching them, and chuckles against your neck, “what’s got you this wet, Starfruit?”

A gasp escapes you as he circles his fingers around your clit. Your mind’s a foggy mess, focused only on his pretty face and how easily his fingers can have you shaking. There’s not much attention spared on anything else, so you answer with the first thing that comes to mind. Eyes hooded, you reply, “Just a little hope.” 

He likes it- loves it, fingers slipping into your pussy in an instant. A growl rumbles upon your skin in the process and you can’t fight the shivers that dance along your spine. You whimper his name, resting your forehead on his shoulder. The hand previously holding your hips still wraps around your waist. He’s somewhat cradling you against his chest as his fingers unforgivingly thrust in and out of you. Movements harsh but touches so gentle; Hobi is a god of duality. Just another fact you can’t deny.

Your orgasm knots in the pit of your stomach, only just satisfying that boundless crave for him. His body is all but pressed against yours. Cheek to cheek, your lips are merely inches away from his ear, while his kisses yours. You untangle your fingers from his hair, gently tugging on it as you do just because you can, and you wrap your arms around his shoulder in a tight, desperate embrace. Still, you need more of him, need him closer, so you hook a leg around his waist too. 

Hobi growls a chuckle against the shell of your ear as he gives into your silent, needy request and slides his hand from your waist to your ass. He lands a light spank, as if testing your limits, drawing a loud squeal out of you. 

“F-fuck,” you whine. “Again?” you ask, pushing your ass back into his hand. “Please! Pl-ease, Hobi.”

He groans, whispering, “Already begging, honey?” 

Before you can reply, he spanks you again. The smack is harder, clap louder and you can’t help but match the volume of your moans to it. Your pussy tightens, hips roll uncontrollably against his fingers. You're reaching your peak; the both of you can feel it. Hobi grips onto your ass, and it’s only now that you also realize you’re clinging onto him not just because you want him, but to keep from falling. Your knees have gone weak awhile ago, but you were so enthralled by the pleasure to fully register it. 

You’re squealing, screeching your moans against his shoulder with every wet slouch that echoes from your core. “Oh, god! Yes, yes, yes, Hobi! I’m- I’m-”

His little eager chuckles, the kind where his voice rumbles into your ear and echoes within your soul, are the force that push you off the edge… until the door across the hall opens. 

Mrs. Jiwoo screams at the pornographic sight in front of her. You quickly shoot a hand to his wrist, holding it still in you the moment you realize you’ve provoked an audience. Though you’ve kept his hand still from the embarrassment your mind’s telling you you’re supposed to have, your hips continue their lifts against his hand. The act of getting caught has you shaking with the wash of a harsh orgasm that you can’t seem to stop yourself. Hobi peppers your face with kisses, unfazed by the interruption as well. Within seconds, you flood his fingers with your release. 

The older woman is beside herself. She rushes back into her apartment as you throw your head back and moan a giggle of delight. “When I said during the day, this is not what I meant!” She shouts from the other side of the door. 

You don’t care. You can barely even hear her with how powerful your high hits you. Your ears feel as though they’re submerged underwater, mind fogging with light-headedness and body shuddering as it struggles to stay upright. 

“You fucking slut,” Hobi seethes, gently sinking his teething into your neck. 

You whimper in response, hips jolting in an attempt to escape the overstimulation of his ruthless fingers pushing in and out of you.  

“That got you off, huh slut? Getting caught by the neighbours?”

“Maybe I’m not as innocent as you think.”

The growl that echoes in his chest is enough to make you cum a bit more. And the fact that you know that response wasn’t what he was expecting has a smile playing on your trembling lips. A few strands of his hair fall over his eyes as he scans your face. He looks as though he’s trying to place you, confused by your words and actions. A smile suddenly stretches upon his lips, that tongue of his cockily pushing out.

You can’t quite think straight with his fingers still deep in you, holding still while your hips jolt against his hands. But, if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s amused, perhaps even obsessed with the way you discard your inhibitions for him. The reality of the matter is, that if any other partner had wanted you against the doorframe of your apartment, fingering you in the hall for all to see, you wouldn’t have allowed it. But Hobi is different. He provokes recklessness and abandons fears so effortlessly that you can’t help but follow.

Fingers withdrawing from your pussy and into your mouth, Hobi lifts your ass so that your bodies are completely flushed against each other. You suck without much of a command, quietly mewling at the taste of yourself on his fingers. You try to hold his gaze, but his eyes travel to something over your shoulder. He smirks as he guides you inside, the grip on your ass strengthening. Curious as to what’s got him so possessive, you spare a quick glance over your shoulder. Another set of neighbours, Jin and Jimin, stare at the two of you, jaws slack and eyes wide. When you meet their gaze, Jimin quickly looks away, fumbling with his keys then struggling  to unlock the door. But Jin only continues to stare, his eyes dropping down to Hobi’s fingers digging into the plump flesh of your ass. 

An embarrassed squeal escapes you before Hobi pulls your attention away from the guys by curling his fingers in your mouth and tugging your jaw towards him. His eyes darken, face hovering inches away from yours, but all you register is the bulging veins in his neck. Kicking the door close, he whispers, “I don't share, Starfruit.”

Ceasing all sharp suckling and swirls of your tongue, you freeze at his words. His eyes soften and  flash with worry, fingers uncurl and withdraw from your mouth. He parts his lips to speak but you only smash yours against his and clutch onto his thick biceps. He kisses back in an instant, cupping the underside of your asscheeks to give them a good shake. He seems to have some sort of infatuation with your ass. His hands have barely wandered far from your backside, as at least one hand has been groping and gripping it. You smirk against his lips and arch your back so that your ass further pushes into his palm. He smacks it, tongue attacking yours all the while. 

He breaks the kiss to ask against your lips, “bedroom?”

You moan in response and push him back in the general direction you think your room is in. You don’t realize you’ve terribly misjudged your placement in the room until you push him into the door. He grunts upon impact, pulling his lips from yours with a little laugh. You nervously giggle with him, convinced he’s going to tease you, maybe even open the door again and give all peering eyes an encore, but instead he smiles and leads you down the hall. 

Bodies collided, all you can do is move with him, timidly peppering his chin with little kisses. For some reason, you only feel shy in his presence when he’s not overtaken by lust. It makes the interaction more real when he just flashes that bright smile at you and continues to hold you close against him. Lips dragging under his chin, teeth grazing the soft skin, you take a moment to admire his beauty up close. The camera doesn’t do him justice. He glows. Skin, smile, eyes, everything about him gleams, glitters, glistens of beauty. And when lacking a dose of lust, his features shine into something pure. You can’t quite tether the purity to a source, and you aren’t granted the time to as he finds your bedroom. 

In mere seconds, that bright sunshine gleam in his eyes flashes into a dark moonlight glow. He’s lust driven, sex crazed. And suddenly you’re no exception. Following his every silent command, you let him shove you onto your bed. You land with a soft grunt, fumbling with your skirt. He’s so eager to be all over you, he doesn’t even take a moment to flick on your lights. No, Hobi has different plans. His infatuation with you and that video seem to go to lengths you didn’t think were possible. 

“Turn on those lights from last night,” he orders while making his way over to the curtains and draws them shut. 

You furrow your brows. “Why?”

“Why not, Starfruit?” 

He must know the effect of using your screen name, must see the way you chew on your lips and absentmindedly puff your breasts out. In that fruity voice of his, he really can coax you in and out of your thoughts.

Hobi pulls his shirt off as he makes his way over to you. Gulping, you take a moment to admire his tan torso. You’ve been thinking about it since his last live, thinking about scratching your nails down his chest then cat-licking the faint marks up. You wonder if he’d let you do that now. 

But, as he crawls onto your bed, his eyes flash a silent warning to do as you’re told. You lean back and switch on the twinkling starlights tangled around your room. The quiet room mirrors the production you set up for him last night, once again reflecting the ambiance of a midnight showing. Despite the sunset peachy swirls, Hobi has recreated the set for your video. Actually, with the presence of his grey sweatpants and the little yellow outfit you have on, he has somehow merged your two videos together, transporting the two of you into your own private live stream setting. 

“I don’t suppose you’d want me in lace too?” you tease as his lean body hovers over your curves. 

He breathes a chuckle, placing a soft kiss over your lips before replying, “I don’t want you in anything at all.”

Your legs have a mind of their own, adjusting apart to give him some room to lay between them.  Your trembling breath fans over his lips, hesitant hands rest on his bare shoulders. He picks up on your anxiety and nudges his nose against yours, the cool edge of that hoop piercing refreshing your skin. 

Delicately, he whispers, “Lemme know if it’s too much, Starfruit. It’s never too late to change your mind.”

His reassurance is enough to have you arching your body into his.  Based on the concern swimming in his eyes, you can tell that he’s waiting for some verbal confirmation. But you, instead, put your mouth into different use. As his tongue reappears to graze the gaps of his teeth, a brow raising in question, you catch it. Hooking your tongue around his, you pull it into your mouth and hollow your cheeks. His eyes widen with every suck, warm breath heating your face as it fans over you. A chuckle or two escapes him as he watches you hold his gaze shamelessly while playing with his tongue in ways you’ve only ever thought of. 

Hobi drops to his elbows, arms on either side of your head, and presses his body against yours. The shift of his position further pushes his tongue into your mouth. Your previous sucking fest turns into a wet, sloppy makeout session. He rolls his clothed hips into yours with each swirl of his tongue, groaning as you mewl from the subtle friction. 

He seems to be losing patience, breaking the sloppy kiss, a string of saliva connecting your tongues, to trail kisses down your neck. You think he’s going to stop in the dip of your collarbone, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leads the sloppy trail of kisses down your cleavage. Before you can even register it, Hobi has his teeth locked on the neckband of your tank top. He pulls it down to expose your breasts. Locking eyes, you find something animalistic swimming within his gaze. Unbounded, uncontrolled, it seems as though every minute spent with you has unleashed yet another layer of primal lust ready to take over every inch of you. Never have you seen such passion in those eyes before, even on his best days, his best lives. You start to wonder if maybe it’s the presence of another that has him all worked up.

Hobi lures you out of your thoughts as he leans back and rests his weight back up on his hands again. Looking down at you, he admires your chest. His eyes bounce between your pierced and bare nipples, as if deciding which one he’s in the mood for. You take a deep breath and arch your back to push your breasts up towards him, urging him to just pick one already and devour you. 

A little breathy chuckle escapes him once he picks up on your hints. The pad of his thumb brushes over your pierced nipple. Slow, quiet, steady. He remains still, lost in thought before his eyes find yours again. That primal instinct that was previously unleashed has somewhat tamed itself. A little smile tugs on a corner of his lip, dimples only just visible. 

Something endearing lies behind his eyes. Something… pure. You lay flat on the bed again as you stare up at him. Quirking a brow, you silently question his motionless frame. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t even seem to notice your subtle change of expression. He simply stares, admires. 

“Hobi?”

Your quiet voice lulls him back to you. He blinks, shakes his head then snaps his gaze back down to your chest, that little smile of his widening. Before you can question him again, both his hands cup your breasts. You gasp a moan, pushing your chest up against him again. 

Hobi just pushes you back down. He squeezes your tits together then dips his head between them. His wet lips push their way through only to blow and vibrate. He blubbers, babbles, saliva drenching your tits as he shakes his head between them. 

Never has a man been so obsessed, memorized by your body enough to motorboat you. Most of the time, your interaction with others lasts shorter than this. But here Hobi lays, shoving his face between your breasts. He’s infatuated with you enough to take his time. 

Moaning, rolling your hips up into his, you close your eyes and enjoy his little treat. Your hands slide from his shoulders to his back, hugging him closer to you. You feel that sinful tongue of his dart out again, licking a trail up to your pierced nipple only to envelop it in his mouth. Hands lost in his hair, you push his face further against you. You know full well that he can’t get any closer, but you try anyways. 

His teeth graze the silver stud, a quiet clatter of metal on teeth meeting your ears. Hobi looks up at you, holding your gaze, and gently tugs on your hardened nipple. In a pout, you mewl at the sight, the stinging, blissful sensation. A smirk graces his lips when he lets go. 

“You sound so fucking cute,” he chuckles, dipping his head to give your nipple a little kiss. 

He’s sweet and kind and you want to get lost in his eyes and honey voice. But, with his bulge rubbing against your shorts, all you can think about is how well he’d fit in your mouth. Using your feet, you push his sweatpants down his frame. 

Hobi chuckles under his breath before helping you out a bit and kicking his pants off. He dips his head back to your breasts, this time focusing his attention on your bare nipple. He gives it the same treat as the studded one, licking, sucking, nibbling. Mid tug, he trails a hand down your body, resting it upon your drenched center and asks, “when are these coming off?”

“When I get to suck you off.”

Your words leave you fast, unexpectedly. You’ve never been this unaware of yourself, uncomposed. Even in your most submissive moments, you’ve maintained a certain amount of control. However, with Hobi, it’s almost as though all that control becomes his. 

He quirks a brow up at you, releasing your nipple. Scanning your features, he judges how serious you are. With your chest heaving and gaze unwavering, he seems to conclude that you really mean it. 

“Want me to come up there?”

You fight off a smile and shake your head. Nudging his shoulder, you have him fall beside you, laying on his back. “I’ll come down to you,” you tell him as you sit on your knees and push your shorts off.

Hobi’s brows shoot up at your actions. He chews on his lips, eyes devouring every exposed inch of you. As his hand rests on your ass, gently rubbing it, you let your gaze traill down his chest to his tall, thick cock. It’s bigger than you thought it was. You know he’s big after watching his live streams, but you didn’t think he’d be this massive. Vein laced, precum smeared, pink tipped, his huge cock begs for your attention. You gulp now wondering if he’d fit in your mouth at all.

“You don’t have to,” Hobi whispers. You snap your gaze to his and you can see the concern that swims in his eyes. Is he worried that he won’t fit or that he’ll hurt you? 

Licking your lips, you collect any drool about to fall from the sight of his dick and shake your head. “No, I really want to.” Your tone is steady but voice breathless. Pressing your legs together, you can’t fight your need for him any longer. Without much thought, you throw your leg over his chest, straddling his torso as you position yourself in front of his dick. 

A gasp meets your wet folds and you freeze for a second, thinking that you may have acted out of pure greed. You’re about to move off him when his hands smack down on your thighs and slide up to your ass. He pushes your plump cheeks up and digs his fingertips into your little dimples. As you cat-lick his precum oozing tip, he runs the bridge of his nose through your folds. 

You moan loudly, his bold move provoking you to engulf his tip and then some into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around him and it’s only now that you realize, with your tongue sliding and looping around him, how thick he really is. It only makes you want more of him.

While you attempt to shove in another inch or two down your throat, Hobi laps his tongue over your pussy, favouring your clit over your entrance. After flicking it with the tip of his tongue, he purses his lips around your clit and sucks harshly. 

Through a gag, you moan around his length. Only half of him is lodged in your throat, and you thought you might be ready to take a bit more until he began to focus all his energy on your clit. You shudder against his lips. Closing your eyes, you try to recompose yourself. You have a job to do as well and you know you won't be able to do it right if all you focus on is how well he can work his mouth. Taking in a deep breath through your nose, you continue your bobs up and down his length, working your hand on the last few inches you haven’t found the courage to shove in your mouth yet. 

Hobi can’t seem to keep his volume down. Every one of your harsh sucks and slurps has him crumbling into more of a moaning mess. Your jaw aches, eyes water but you work through it, living for every moan and groan that vibrates over your needy core. And though he continues to play around with your clit, the sounds you've sucked out of him have sprinkled a bit of hesitance in his approach. His previously sharp licks and suctions over your pussy have somewhat stuttered the faster your bounce your head up and down his length. 

He composes himself quicker than you do, however. Tongue poking in and out of your entrance, his thumb slides over to your clit and rubs hard circles around it. You squeal, choking on his cock at the sudden switch. However, that’s not what forces you to pull him out of your mouth. That thumb of his drenches itself in your juices and trails up the curve of your ass to smear your juices all over your asshole. As his mouth returns to your clit, he pushes his thumb into your ass, making you pull his cock out and throw our head back. 

You’re so lost in that new wave of pleasure, all attention on his cock falters. You grip onto his thighs and grind your hips into his mouth. Hobi smirks, but he’s not happy with your actions. His free hand comes down on your ass as a silent warning. You want to take it as such but with his thumb moving in and out of you and his mouth sucking on your clit, you can’t find it in you to do anything else but whine and push your weight down on his face. 

Hobi growls against your wetness, teeth grazing your bud. Your eyes widen, and a loud moan pours out of you. He breaths a chuckle over your clit all while continuing to nibble on it. Lips still pressed against your aching heat, he questions, “who the fuck told you to stop?”

You wrap a hand back around cock, pumping him at a fast pace. Still, Hobi doesn’t think it’s enough. He withdraws his thumb from your ass and takes to fingering your instead. With two fingers thrusting in and out of you again, his mouth is free to latch onto your asshole. He licks and pokes his tongue in and out your tiniest hole while your body shakes over his. 

“Suck my dick, slut,” he orders with a growl, spanking you just to grab and grope you all over again. 

You don’t dare disobey a direct order. Wrapping your lips around his length, you immediately pick up where you left off and shove his thick cock down your throat. Ignoring every gag instinct, every urge to pull him out and take a proper breath before taking him in again. But, when he’s shaking his face between your cheeks, swirling his tongue around your hole and pushing his fingers in and out of you at an incomprehensible pace, you can’t focus, let alone think, about anything else. His cock falls out of your mouth once more. You don’t want to disappoint him, but how can he expect you to do anything when he’s making you feel so good? 

“Oh my god!” You scream. Sitting up on his face, you all but force him to take his fingers out of you and relatch his lips over your folds once more. You ride his face as your orgasm nears, a variety of curses pouring out of you in desperate moans. “Ahh, fuck yes! H-Hobi!”

He groans in response, smacking his pussy slick hands over your ass. He grips onto your supple flesh, pushing your ass up to get a better hold on your pussy. 

Your hips jolt over his mouth, eyes roll back. There’s not much more you can take. Body quaking, you warn, “I’m go-nna cum!”

“Do it!” Hobi rasps, sounding hungry and deprived. 

Your jaw falls open, high pitched moans tumbling out as your release gushes into his mouth. Hobi flattens his tongue and lets you ride his face. You circle your hips around his face, mewling and whining as you grind out your orgasm. Hearing Hobi’s slurps and laps over your pussy only makes your body shudder and jolt all the more. 

His mouth suddenly escapes your needy hips. You huff a whine, looking over your shoulder at him. Hobi has his jaw pushed out and lips purses like he’s holding onto something in his mouth. You furrow your brows, about to question him when he pushes your body into the bed between his legs. 

Sitting up, Hobi leers over your ass while you’re left in suspense with your face buried in the sheets. He pulls your cheeks apart and drops a warm, thick dollop of saliva mixed cum. He uses his forefinger to rub it around your hole, catching any leaking streaks that rush back to your pussy. You shudder as a string of mewls muffles into the bed.

“Where’s your vibrator?”

You turn your head to the side, smushing your cheek into the mattress instead and ask, “Which one?” 

Hobi chuckles at your words. As he pushes his finger into your ass, he replies, “How many do you have?”

Gasping from the blissful sensation, you try to focus on the question. You only really have two. The yellow star-shaped one and that dildo you use when you really need a good fucking. But judging by the tone of his voice, he seems to be expecting a lot. You chew on your lip and debate on inflating that number. But what will you do if he asks to see them all? 

 “I-I’m not sure.”

“Take a guess.”

You pause. Balling the sheets into your hands, you swallow thickly. You know you should just be honest, but after that mediocre blow-job, you don’t think you can handle disappointing him any further. Still, it’s better and safer to tell the truth. Besides, you know full well that you can’t lie to him. It would break your heart more than his. 

“Just two,” you finally reply. “They’re at the table by the bed, first drawer.”

Hobi places a sweet kiss on each cheek before he shifts a bit behind you. The drawer opens and closes, Hobi shifting back in place again. “Is there something wrong with having just two?” He asks as he runs the curved edges of the star vibrator up and down your folds. 

Your pussy quivers at the sensation, hips greedily grinding against it. So needy for more, one would think you didn’t just cum a minute ago. “You tell me,” you whisper. After swallowing your moans, you ask, “Doesn’t two seem innocent?”

The toy stops mid stroke and you stiffen up with it. Maybe you’ve taken the comment too far, but you can’t deny the gnawing voice in your heart telling you he’s just here for a quick fuck. You’ve raised your hopes up too high, romanticized him too often not to take what he had said to heart. Chewing on your lip, you wonder if you should apologize for your tone and suggest to just continue all this without another word. You’re about to voice your idea when you feel his lips on your curves of your ass again, the wet toy moving once more. 

“There’s nothing wrong with a little innocence, Starfruit,” he mutters against your cheek. Trailing that toy up to your asshole, he grazes his teeth over your cheek and says, “It’s what makes you so sweet.”

As his teeth nibble on your skin, you quietly whine into the bed. Hobi holds you in place as you squirm, sensing your impatience to be played with again. “Deep breath,” he mutters against the curve of your ass. 

You inhale deeply and brace yourself for what you think might be coming next. Hearing your intake, and catching the way your shoulders rise, Hobi pushes the wet toy into your tight hole. There’s a bit of resistance, as you're not used to more than two fingers in there usually. However, the toy enters just fine. It stretches you so fucking well, making your left eye twitch the way it always does when you’ve reached pure bliss. 

“Besides,” Hobi suddenly continues. He shifts under you again, reaching back into the drawer. “You’re hardly innocent around me.”

The star buzzes to life in you. You gasp and sit up as your body shudders from the sudden jolt of pleasure. From your new position, you feel his tip poke at your clit and you can’t stop the squeal that escapes you then. Hobi wraps his arms around your waist, kissing the curve of your spine and igniting your lust frenzied nerves.  

“I gotta be in you, honey,” he mutters between kisses. 

“Yes, please.”

With a chuckle, Hobi nuzzles his face into your back. The gesture is so sincere, so casual that for a second you let yourself believe this is a usual occurrence. You let yourself believe that you and Hobi always find each other like this because you’re dating. You let yourself indulge in the fantasy that you belong to Hobi and he belongs to you. The second comes and goes, but you’re still left with his warm breath fanning on your back and sweet kisses trailing up your spine.

Hobi lifts your leg, muttering, “Under mine.” He positions both calves under his thigh and sits you on his lower stomach. His hands retreat off your body and you shiver from the loss of warmth his touch always brings. 

You look over your shoulder, curious, and find him lying on his back with his arms crossed behind his head. He’s eyes lock on your ass. He admires it, studies it’s curves and the way it sits on his abdomen. Meeting your gaze, Hobi smirks. 

“Make it clap for me.”

The request has you breathless. It sparks the memory of your question all those moments ago, before things go so hot and heavy. How many times? How many times did he watch that video? 

With a shy smile, you turn back around and lean forward, resting your hands on the mattress between his legs. You take a deep breath then shake your ass, the claps subsequently following. Hobi groans behind you. You moan in response. The slow buzzes of the vibrator only heighten the act of shaking your ass over his abs. 

With that extra little treat for you, you feel a bit guilty. He’d been showering you with attention and affection. He’s made you cum twice already and all you’ve offered was a sloppy blowjob you couldn’t even follow through with. You want to give him that little extra bit of attention he never forgets to offer you. Ceasing you movements for a second, earning a light spank to continue, you lift your hips.

“I don’t remember you asking for my cock, Starfruit.” His tone is heavy with authority. It only makes it harder to ignore him. “And I sure as hell don’t remember telling you to stop.”

Another smack lands on your ass. This one is harder, stronger and you whimper at the warning. You can’t bear to ignore him any longer, knowing his patience will soon run out. “I just wanted to try something, Hobi.”

He grunts, but doesn’t say much more. You take this as approval to continue and sit your ass just before his cock, pussy resting on his heavy balls. His hands find your hips again, but they don’t grope you like they usually do. Instead, they simply rest there. You interpret this as a precautionary measure, in case you try anything without permission again. 

“Do you wanna watch it clap?”

Hobi hums in reponses, thumbs gently rubbing your skin. Leaning forward again, you push your ass back so his cock slips between your cheeks. The gasp that escapes him fills your chest with pride. A smile plays on your lips and you shake your ass once more, cheeks now clapping around his length. 

“Innocent, my ass,” you giggle. 

Hobi fills the room with that dark chuckle of his. You can hear the amusement of the joke and pleasure of the display from the tone of his voice. He smacks his hands down on your cheeks, helping them move fast around his cock. 

“Fucking slut,” he hisses as he tightens his grip. His hips suddenly jolt upwards causing you to almost fall over his lap. Hobi catches you before you slip off his lap, however, and holds you back in place. 

He huffs and hisses, moans and groans. You’re sure he’s about to cum, can even feel his cock twitching, but he stops you just before he lets himself go. “I just need to be inside you.” 

The desperation in his voice has you giggling. Hobi spanks the laughter out of you, grumbling, “Behave or you won’t cum for the rest of the night.”

You bite back a whine. Shyly looking over your shoulder, you find that wild urge resurface in his gaze again. He must’ve been really close to cumming. Hobi catches your gaze, a wicked smirk tugging on his lips. He reaches for the vibrator’s remote and turns the intensity up. You whimper and pull on the sheets in front of you. 

Lifting your hips, you nod at his warning and turn back around. You are met with your reflection from the full-length mirror by your closet. It’s parallel to your bed so you can see yourself sink down on Hobi’s massive cock and watch as well as feel your pussy stretch so fucking well from his girth. “H-Hobi,” you squeal as he guides your hips further down his shaft. 

“Hoseok,” he corrects. 

You cease all movement, already halfway down his length. The vibrator is still humming loudly in you, only just distracting you from what you’ve just heard. Did he just tell you his real name? He’d been so adamant on keeping it to himself, even refusing to know yours. Yet, here he lies. With his hands secured on your hips and cock ruining you for all other men, perhaps even toys, he tells you his name. 

“Is it too much?” He suddenly asks while adjusting his hold on your hips. 

You shake your head, breathlessly muttering, “No, it’s perfect.” 

It’s not until he’s guiding you back down on him do you realize he was talking about his cock. You suck in a breath and wait until you’ve completely taken in him before whimpering your name. He grips onto your hips tighter and growls. The reaction is enough to fill you with worry. You fear he may not have wanted to know your name, that he only wanted you to scream his. 

“(Y/N)”

His moans carry on as you circle your hips around his cock. Each syllable of your name sounds more desperate and greedy than the last. And when you finally switch to bouncing, ass clapping down on his thighs in loud smacks, he growls your name. Over and over again, you’re dripping off the tip of his tongue. All he thinks about is you, all he says is you, all he sees is you. 

Ass in bliss, pussy in pleasure, your body meets heaven and your mind overflows with everything Hoseok. You can’t get enough of him or the way he utters your name in that fruity, lively voice of his. 

You think this is all the pleasure you need when he sits himself up. He rests his chin on your shoulder, one hand sliding down from your hips to rub your clit while the other slides up. You catch his gaze in the reflection and offer a shy smile before you feel him yank your tank top down once more and expose your breasts. 

Bouncing uncontrollably, your tits are all his attention can focus on now. He doesn’t even make a move to grope one of them, too consumed by the way they move to disturb their rhythm. The mere sight of him continuously being mesmerized by you only brings you closer to your high. Your pussy tightens around him again and you can’t ignore the twitch of his cock this time. You giggle at his reflection, drawing his attention away from your tits. 

“You’re ready to cum again, Starfruit?” 

The smirk he wears is just as deadly as the size of his cock. 

You crumble beneath it, whimpering a tiny, “Yes, please, Hobi.”

He kisses your shoulder and nods, as if giving you the approval to cum whenever. Your eyes roll back, moans intensify and body seems to be losing all composure for the third time tonight. You screw your eyes shut, feeling your orgasm nearing but Hoseok replaces his kisses for a little bite on your shoulder. Gasping a moan, you snap your eyes open and meet his gaze once more. 

“Look at me,” he orders in a hushed tone. “I want you to look at me when you cum.”

You expected to find that untamed animalistic look in his eyes, or maybe even a barrier of distance to remind you that this is just a one time thing. Instead, you find affection. Within those lust-blown pupils, you find that glowing sunshine-like sparkle of sincerity. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. 

Just like that, while holding his gaze and getting lost in his eyes, your ograsm overtakes the entirety of your body. Grounding your ass into hips, you shudder, whimper and tear your sheets out from under his legs. You’ve lost the ability to hold that honest gaze of his and completely shatter from the force of your orgasm. Mind whirling, ears ringing, you feel like the wind has got knocked out of you too. Seeing stars, you can’t think straight. All you can feel is him. 

And while you’re losing yourself, gushing and convulsing all over him, Hoseok continues to rub harsh circles around your clit and rolls his hips up into yours. He further gets himself off all while helping you ride out your high as well. He groans in your ear as it rings and finally takes to groping your breast again. He grabs at anything, wanting to feel all of you as his dick twitches once more. With your warm cum coating his cock, Hoseok can’t hold himself back any longer. He locks his arms around your waist, holds you still over his hips and releases a heavy load of his cum. 

“(Y/N)” he growls as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. 

You lean your head back against his shoulder. Eyes closed, mouth pouring moans, you revel in the ropes of cum he shoots in you. He fills you up all too well that you know you’ll cry if this is a first and last time occurrence. Your pussy quivers from the nonstop friction, that vibrator in your ass not doing you any favours to slow the process of overstimulation. You tell yourself that the moment Hoseok is done, you’re going to demand that he take that vibrator out and give you a moment to collect yourself before even thinking about another round. 

But then he nuzzles his face into your skin and you melt into his frame. You feel him inhale your scent and smile against you. Biting your lip, you force yourself to endure another moment or two of overstimulation if it means he can stay this happy for a little bit longer. 

“Ah, shit,” he suddenly mutters into the nape of your neck. “You alright, honey?”

You open your eyes and find him staring at your fucked out reflection with a look of concern. Meekly, you nod but he doesn’t buy it. He unwraps his arms around you and pushes your body forward. You whine and whimper, wanting to fight against it since that angle seems to give a whole new wave of pleasure you’re certain you cannot handle right now. 

“Bend over, honey,” he chuckles. “Trust me.”

You moan out of frustration, your ass starting to become just as sensitive to the touch as your pussy is. Still, you know you can trust him, and bend over. “Careful.”

Hoseok kisses your asscheek and mutters, “always,” before gently tugging on the yellow rubber line to pull the star out. He sighs at whatever sight rests in front of him, but you’re all too consumed with recovering from such a hard orgasm. The ringing in your ears has barely stopped and you keep telling yourself that if you keep taking deep breaths you just might be about to settle your heart down and regain your sense of sound. 

The buzzing suddenly ceases, a little clatter on your night table momentarily filling the silence. Hoseok then slowly pushes your hips off his softening cock, rubbing your ass in hopes of soothing all those little mewls that leave you. 

He then gasps and you can already tell that you won’t like what comes out of his mouth next. 

“I know you’re sensitive,” he starts. You whine, already knowing where this is leading. “But, you need to get cleaned up somehow.”

You shudder and grip onto the sheets as a precaution. The ringing in your ears has somewhat settled, but you don’t get comfortable with that fact just yet. After a long whine, you ask, “How do you want me?”

Hoseok breaths a chuckle and you hear him pat a spot next to him. Heaving, you look over your shoulder at the vacant space beside him. You sigh and crawl over there, lying on your back and spreading your legs immediately. Hoseok runs a hands down your torso, watching as you make yourself comfortable on the bed. The two of you work around each other like this is a nightly routine, and you’re not mad about that. 

Once you’re settled, he positions himself between your legs and dips his head down to your pussy. You close your legs around his face in an instant, the sensitivity being too much to handle too soon. Hoseok doesn’t care; he works through it. He laps and licks up every part of your mixed cum. Soon, however, his hands get a hold of your thighs and he pulls them apart. He shakes his head as he devours your pussy once more and you find yourself having to tug on his hair to get him off you. 

“Hoseok, pl-please!” You whine, attempting to close your legs once more. 

Unlatching his lips from your overstimulated pussy with a little wet pop, he sits up and smirks down at your fucked out state. You bring your legs together, cross your ankles and pull your knees into your chest as the last remnants of your orgasm shudders through you. 

The bed dips beside you. Hoseok makes himself comfortable. He lies next to you, chest heaving and eyes locked on the ceiling. And once you feel your orgasm finally pass through, you unfold yourself. Your nakedness has never been more apparent to you until now. With lustful desires trickling away, all that remains is the bareness of your bodies and the hovering reality of your emotions.

You shift your weight and pull your comforter over your curves, quickly shielding yourself before he can look over and get another look at you. You freeze all over when he spares you a glance, curious as to what you’re doing. It’s like you didn't just spend the better part of an hour or so screaming his name. 

Hoseok smirks, gaze wandering down your covered frame anyways. His eyes don’t need to undress you, knowing exactly what you look like from what angle, yet they still do. He finds your gaze again, breath stabilizing, and mimics your actions. Shifting to get under the sheets, Hoseok asks, “Are you okay?”

The question stunts you. Actually, the fact that he’s still here and not halfway through getting dressed stunts you. You can only stare at him for a moment, your ears regaining full ability and chest ceasing its full rises and falls. 

He furrows his brows. Taking your silence as avoidance from the truth, he says, “You can tell me if I hurt you. I’m sorr-”

“Aren’t you leaving?” Your question sounds colder than intended. And the fact that you cut him off to ask it, is not doing you any favours. 

Hoseok can only stare back at you, speechless. He chews on his lip and scoffs a dry sigh before you quickly correct your intentions. 

“Not that I want you to leave.” A brow of his quirks in interest. “It’s just… I thought that’s what you’d want to do.”

He must see the fear in your eyes, must hear the earnest plea to stay in your voice as he shifts closer to you and tucks an arm under your head. You scoot closer to him too, sweaty bodies colliding once more. Your arms draped over the other’s waist, you pull each other closer. His breath fans over your hot face and you slowly trail your gaze up from his neck to his eyes. 

Lips less than an inch apart, Hoseok mutters, “If it’s up to me, neither one of us would ever leave.” He nudges your nose with his, brushing that hoop piercing against your skin.

Your hand slides up to his face, caressing his cheek while your thumb rubs his chin. You want to tell him you feel the same way, that you’d want to be in any moment as long as he’s there with you. But, he seems to read that in your eyes, in the way you hold his gaze shamelessly and flash that shy smile. 

Your lips are so close now, you’re exchanging breaths, but he doesn’t kiss you yet. Instead he whispers, “Thirteen.”

You knit your brows as confusion riddles your face. 

“You asked how many times I’ve watched your video; thirteen.”

Thirteen. Your mind struggles to comprehend that reality, eyes searching his face for signs of dishonesty. You only find genuineness and a hint of admiration in his eyes and the way he says, “Starfruit; (Y/N).”

“You couldn’t have gotten off that many times,” you scoff.

“I didn’t.” 

Your nerves jolt into another heartwarming frenzy as your body freezes over with realization. It’s never been about just sex, it’s never been about cameras and live streams. It’s only ever been about finding the one on the screen, finding the hope you’ve been searching for every time either one of you logs on and scrolls through comments.

“I just came back from an errand. Jin wanted cake and Jimin was too tired to get out.” He suddenly starts, pulling you out of your thoughts. You pause for a moment, realizing that Jin and Jimin have a third roommate. “I was about to go inside when I saw you walk out of your apartment. I honestly couldn’t believe it was you. But I knew it the moment I saw those yellow shorts.”

Your breath hitches and he smiles. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

��You walked so fast,” he chuckles. “And by the time I figured out what I wanted to say, you were already on the elevator. I was honestly about to just go back inside and forget the entire thing. I even opened the door. I couldn’t go in, though. I just needed to see you one last time.” 

He pauses to press a gentle kiss on the corner of your lips. You flutter your eyes shut, melting into his existence. He continues, “I ran down the stairs, hoping to catch you before you left. When I saw you checking the mail, I'm not sure what came over me. I pretended to be doing the same thing. I didn’t think you’d be that embarrassed about the video.”

Slowly, you open your eyes and meet his apologetic gaze. Heart swooning, you let out a shaky breath and confess in a quiet mutter, “I don’t want to be a camgirl.”

“What?”

“I sent you that video because I wanted you to notice me again. And you’ve been looking so sad and tired during your lives, I just wanted to cheer you up a bit.” 

Hoseok stares, brows knitted, lips parted. You open your mouth to apologize when he presses his lips to yours, engulfing you in a whirlwind of soft gold emotions. You drink in every breath, curling your tongue around his. 

“I lied about you being innocent.”

You blink. 

“Well, you are innocent but that’s not the reason why I told you not to live stream. I just wanted to keep you to myself.”

“I’m not very happy with the idea of sharing you either.”

“I really like your ass.”

You pause. Your war of confessions hovers over your tangled bodies but all you can do is laugh at his words. He can’t hold back the laughter bubbling from his chest either, and you feel the sweet rumble of his chuckles before you hear them. He gingerly leans in for another kiss but it seems to be more teeth than lips as you two try to laugh through the kiss. 

The hand resting on your waist trails down to your ass, rubbing gentle circles around it as your laughter trickles out. You kiss him again, properly and with little tongue so you can focus on the way his lips move against yours. 

When he pulls away, he shares his last confession. “I hate streaming.”

You bite back a gasp, chewing on your lips. He takes this as a sign to continue. “I mean, I used to love it. It just seems like more work than it’s worth now. And I want moments like this more often.”

“You’re quitting,” you whisper in realization. 

He nods. 

You hum, nodding along as everything begins to make sense. You conclude that he must’ve felt this way for a while and that’s why there was a sudden shift in his demeanour. 

Pushing his hair back, you softly kiss his cheek and mutter against his skin, “I started watching for Hobi. But, I sent that video to Hoseok.”

Bodies flushed, Hoseok shudders against you. Eyes flutter shut, hearts beat in sync, and as you drift further into this daydream, you hear the lingering words he breathes into your hair. 

“You’re an angel, (Y/N). Sweeter than Starfruit.”

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission. 

#bangtanfairygarden #ficswithluv #btswritingcafe #hyunglinenetwork #networkbangtan #btsguild #bangtanhq #btsgoldnet #houseofddaeng #jhope smut #jung hoseok #jung hoseok smut #hoseok smut #hobi smut #jhope x reader #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts x reader #magicshopnet

[mehbzz]

Degrees of Lewdity

This anon's dream spoke to me, so had to have a go at writing it.

M!Whitney/F!Reader. featuring soft Whitney, protective Whitney and Perv Leighton.

18+ fingering, spanking, exhibitionism/voyeurism, dubcon, pseudo incst, blood kink, abusive relationships. A small hint of serial killer wannabe Whitney at the end.

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

It had been a quiet, uneventful day until Whitney and one of his friends cornered you on your way to your final class. Your stuttered hello gets ignored as he pins you against a locker and kisses you hard. It’s abrupt, giving you no chance to even try to move away as his hands are instantly roaming, gripping your thighs and running up your body to squeeze your breasts. He’s rough and your body reacts of its own accord, shivering with pleasure. He breaks the kiss with a soft moan, gripping your hair and pulling your face close to his own.

He looks tired, there are dark circles under his eyes, and he’s not wearing his usual tongue stud. He licks your cheek before going to pull away but your hands grasp the collar of his shirt and keep him close. “Please.” He looks back to you with a flicker of surprise that turns into a smug grin as you arch into him.

“Needy little thing aren’t you?” He lets you tug him closer into another kiss even as his friend mumbles something about getting to class.

Whitney breaks the kiss and presses his hips against you as he turns to look at his friend. “Since when do you care about going to class?”

His friend replies with something you can’t make out, to focused on trying to undo the first few buttons of Whitney’s shirt. “Fuck off then.” He turns back to you with a roll of his eyes. One hand against the wall beside your head to steady himself as the other grips your thigh. The hand next to your head is injured, bloody bruised knuckles and several band-aids adorn his fingers. You feel a pang of worry but his free hand dipping between your legs immediately distracts you.

He slides his fingers between your folds, drawing an amused snort from him when he feels how wet you are and shame curls through you, adding to your growing arousal. He runs his finger over your clit and swirls around it in soft slow circles, continuing to play with you lazily until you are panting hard and you bury your face into the side of his neck.

He shivers as you suck at the sensitive skin there, and he makes a tiny, desperate noise in the back of his throat when you nip at the spot just below his ear. Your teasing turns into a loud moan as he slowly pushes a finger inside of you, this make out was feeling too soft, too slow for Whitney. You’d expected a quick rough fuck before class, not this sleepy almost tender touch.

You hissed and dug your nails into his shoulders as he pushed another finger inside you, working them faster, your moans not stopping the wet greedy sounds of your cunt from echoing loudly in the quiet hallway

“So wet, such a slut,” he groans as your wall clamp hard around him, “Are you close?”

You whine and dig your fingers harder into his shoulders as you arch your back. Your gaze drawn again to his injured hand and fuck why is his blood so sexy? Images flitter across your mind of his hand stroking down between your breasts, leaving a bloody trail in its wake, of him smearing blood across your nipple before taking it into his mouth. He doesn’t notice your fixation on his wounds, which is probably just as well. He would absolutely switch hands if he realised. He continues to thrust his fingers into you, stroking smoothly and gently, not increasing his pace even as you desperately try to rock your hips. It’s only just enough friction and movement to keep you teetering right on the edge.

“Whitney!” This was new. The teasing, the denial, you’re not sure if you like it and the frustration is clear in your voice.

"Do you want to come?" His voice is low, strained, and you feel a little better knowing he not as collected as he pretending. “Yes, Yes! fuck Whitney, stop teasing!”

He makes a small noise in thought, “You know what I want to hear,” his fingers still thrusting slowly in and out of your slippery cunt. “Say it,” rubbing his cheek against yours and nipping lightly at your earlobe. “Ask big brother to make you cum.”

It’s a role-play he’s been indulging in more and more and you hardly feel the embarrassment anymore as you respond quickly. “Please, big brother, want to cum.” It’s a needy whine, whispered right into his ear in a sweet, more faux girly tone than you normally would but it works and he shudders hard.

"Just like that, yeah,” He grunts as you clench hard around his fingers. “Such a good little sister for me, taking my fingers so well.” He shudders again, hips jerking so hard into your hip that you think he might have just reached his own peak. “Go on then, cum." His thumb presses hard against your clit and your eyes open wide in shock at the jolt of pleasure. Your gaze immediately lands at the end of the hallway where Leighton is standing, watching you with a blank expression.

You feel mortified, you open your mouth to say something but Whitney crooks his fingers just so and then you’re cumming hard with a desperate keen, your walls spasming and twitching on his fingers, unable to break Leighton’s gaze as Whitney continues to fuck you through your high.

“This is inappropriate school behaviour.”

Whitney tenses and something akin to genuine panic flitters across his face before it’s gone. He slowly slips his fingers out of you and sucks them into his mouth as he turns to face Leighton.

You expect Whitney to saunter off as he usually does and leave you to face Leighton’s wrath on your own but he doesn’t. Instead as he turns to face Leighton, he takes a step to the side, standing directly in front of you and blocking you from his view. If it was anyone else you’d say he was being protective.

“My office.” Leighton sounds entirely to calm and that scares you more than if he was shouting.

“We’re sorry.” You step out from behind Whitney on slightly wobbly legs just as a low fuck off is spat from his lips.

It shocks you, seeing him so immediately aggressive towards the Headmaster and you’re not sure what to say. Leighton looks disappointed. “I’m aware you try hard to maintain your lowbrow image to your peers but with your upbringing I’m sure you could think of more eloquent insults than just vulgar language Whitney.” Whitney just scoffs and crosses his arms. The tension is palpable. You’re not sure what’s going on between the two of them. Leighton seems reluctant to drag Whitney away as he usually does and Whitney, much more to your shock, seems unwilling to leave you.

“We’re sorry; we were just on the way to class.” Leighton’s gaze snaps to you at your repeated meek apology and takes a step forward at the same time Whitney reaches out and grasps your wrist. It makes you squeak in surprise. “What are you two doing in the hallway? Class started nearly 10 minutes ago.” Doran appearing behind you makes you jump but you feel relieved at his appearance. It seems to break the odd tension in the air, although Leighton still seems to be fixated on you and you find yourself unable to look away even as he speaks. “They were just on their way.”

No one says anything else and it’s incredibly uncomfortable and awkward. Doren’s confused gaze flicking between the three of you.

“Right, well, come on then Whitney.” Doren raises his arm and gestures down the hall, looking at Whitney expectantly who just scowls in return.

“Whitney. Class.” Leighton’s voice is stern. “If you continue being so defiant I will have to call your father,” Whitney’s grip tightens at Leighton’s threat and you try not to wince. “He’s a busy man, I’m sure he will not appreciate having to come down to school on a Friday afternoon.”

“Fine.” You don’t like how defeated Whitney sounds; it hits you with the foolish urge to draw him into a hug.

“Let’s go then,” Doren gestures towards the classroom, “Now, Whitney.”

“What about her?” Whitney glowers at Doren who seems unaffected by the venom directed his way. “Not fair if I have to go to class and she doesn’t.”

“I will escort your girlfriend to her class.” Leighton speaks up before Doran can respond. Whitney glares at him, “Yeah I bet yo-” “Thank you Headmaster.” You speak up quickly, not wanting him to get in any more trouble than he already is and twist your wrist from his grip, taking the few steps towards Leighton. You give Whitney a small smile over your shoulder, trying to reassure him. He looks unhappy.

You follow Leighton down the hallway but he veers left towards his office instead of right towards your class. “Umm, Headmaster?” You hesitate and he turns and gives you a stern look.

“Public indecency is a serious break of school regulations. Such a blatant disregard for the rules cannot go unpunished.”

You swallow hard and his look turns frosty. “Unless you would like me to inform your guardian of the situation?”

The thought of Bailey being summoned to school is more terrifying than whatever punishment Leighton wants to give and you shake your head. Leighton sighs. “Good. To my office."

==

Leighton’s office is all dark wood and leather; it’s oppressive and makes you feel more than a little intimidated. You stand awkwardly in front of his desk as he closes the door behind you. “Hands on the desk” “W-What?” They don’t do corporal punishments at this school do they? You’d not heard any rumours of the like but the thought of being caned suddenly feels like a real possibility.

“Hands. On. The. Desk.” Leighton stresses each word. His voice firm and you don’t dare turn round and look at him, instead reaching forward to press your hands shakily on the polished wood.

“Hmmm, very good.” He comes up behind you, so close you can feel the warmth of him along your back. “I will not tolerate such lewd behaviour in my school,” His hands rest lightly on your hips and it makes your breath catch in your throat. “Although I will admit, you do look a beautiful sight when you orgasm.”

Your face heats and a cold stab of fear hits you low in your gut. You feel completely out of your depth.

“Did you enjoy me watching?” His grip tightens as he pulls your hips back, forcing you to take a step backwards. “Keep your hands on the desk.”

He leans back over you, face close to yours as he whispers into your ear. “Even from the end of the hall I could hear how wet you were.” “I-I’m sorry.” You whimper, the situation seems to be escalating quicker than you can keep up with. “Please Sir, I’m sorry.” The fear is melting into a confusing mix of panic and arousal. He pauses, him draped over your back makes you feel incredibly small. He presses closer, his groin pressing against the soft flesh of your ass and you bite your tongue when you feel how hard he is. “I’m sure a straight A student such as you can think of something more… stimulating to call me than Sir.”

He pulls away and flips your skirt up over your hips. He makes a half choked sound low in his throat as he looks at you. “No underwear is also against school rules young lady.”

He walks around you, stopping briefly behind his desk to pull a small digital camera out of one of the drawers. He smiles as you make eye contact, and you lower your head quickly. He walks back behind you slowly and then it’s silent. The silence makes you more tense, your breathing uneven as you wait for his next move.

A harsh smack rings through the air, the pain taking you by surprise and stealing the air from your lungs before you can cry out, your hips jerking painfully in to the hard wood of the desk. “You’ve been a bad little girl.” He emphasises his words with three rapid strikes, it stings, but you think you can hold out. “10 minutes late for class, so 10 well deserved strikes.”

Another hit and your resolution breaks as you cry out loudly. Trying to keep your hips from crashing in to the desk again, it feels much harder than the first few smacks, more violent. The next flurry make you feel like your skin is on fire, tears running freely down your cheeks as you whimper and plea for forgiveness.

A large, cool hand presses into the base of your spine, forcing you to still until you tears calm to pathetic little sniffles, that was definitely more than 10.

“Did you want me to watch?” Leighton sounds a little breathless as he moves his hand to dig his fingers into your burning flesh, making your tears start anew. “Wanted me to catch you? Wanted me to punish you?”

“N-no! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“I don’t believe you.”

Another burst of pain and this time to your horror you moan. You didn’t mean to but your body betrays you as your back arches, pushing your ass higher and towards him, your tears flowing and dripping on to the desk beneath you. He pauses, hand resting on your ass at the sound of your moan. “This is supposed to be a punishment,” The heat of his palm is making your inflamed skin burn hotter. “Do you want me to touch you?” He speaks softly, palm still massaging your ass. “Do you want to cum on my fingers too?”

You sob, humiliation floods through your body and makes you shiver. What you want is to leave. He lets his hand drift lower, sliding down your thigh and letting his thumb glide through the wetness between your legs before he abruptly pulls away.

He steps beside you, and strokes your hair gently with his left hand. “You may stand.” You stand shakily, feeling relieved and maybe just a little confusingly disappointed. You fix your clothing. Leighton watches you intently as he sits in his chair, the leather creaking softly as he shifts his weight to place the camera on the edge of his desk. It’s still on, the screen showing a picture of you bent over his desk that you quickly look away from. His unspoken threat is obvious. His eyes are dark as he takes his thumb into his mouth, eyes closing briefly as he tastes you. It makes you tremble and you twist your hands in front of you nervously. He smiles.

"I took no pleasure in that. I hope you've learnt your lesson." His gaze catches on the little puddles of your tears that mar his desk, reaching forward to run his finger through them with a tut of disapproval. "This better not stain.” He gestures for you to leave. Oh. The dismissal makes you feel a little disorientated, the adrenaline still gunning through you and your hands shake as you close the door behind you.

==

The walk out of the school feels like a dream, the crowds and noise of students leaving sounding distant and muted, you don’t feel particularly conscious until the cool breeze of the playground hits your face and you blink hard.

Whitney is hanging out beside the gate. He looks agitated, unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth as he fidgets with his lighter. His friends are, as always, behind him, kicking a couple of empty beer cans between them in what looks like a chaotic game of impromptu football.

You give him a small wave when he notices you, relief clear across his face making your heart swell until his expression drops and morphs into anger.

“Where have you been?” Whitney snaps, cutting off your hello. He doesn’t relax when you flinch at his tone, but reaches out and grabs your face. He tilts your head to the side, like he’s examining you and then squeezes your cheeks until your mouth puckers and you whimper in protest. He ignores your mumbled plea of his name, and clicks his tongue. “What he do to you?” You try to shake your head and Whitney lets you go with a frown and repeats his question. “Nothing.” You swallow hard, the image of the camera making you hold your tongue as you force yourself to look him in the eye. “Gave me a lecture then made me write I will obey the rules on the whiteboard for a while.”

He’s still twisting the lighter between his bandaged fingers and you realise with another surge of affection that he’s genuinely concerned about you. You find it hard to imagine Leighton trying anything with someone as aggressive as Whitney but his unease makes you wonder. It makes his hatred of Leighton understandable, makes you see the amount of times he’s dragged you with him to Leighton’s office in a different light. You heart hurts. You reach down without breaking eye contact to grasp his hand between yours and still the frantic twitching of his fingers. The contact obviously startles him and he pulls away quickly, glancing behind him towards his friends.

“I’m fine.” You speak quietly, wanting to touch him but aware for some reason he’s uncomfortable with that. He looks back at you, the anger evident in his expression. You’re not sure if it’s aimed at you, Leighton or himself. He seems either unwilling or unable to ask you outright if you’re ok. He just looks at you for a few seconds then shrugs. “Whatever.” Pulling another cigarette from his pocket and lighting it quickly.

His friends are getting restless and he throws an arm over your shoulder as they finally get his attention. One of them makes a teasing move to towards you and Whitney practically snarls, tightening his hold and pulling you flush to his side. His friend looks surprised but backs off, holding his hands up in surrender.

Your skin chafes painfully against the fabric of your skirt as Whitney drags you through the school gates. You wouldn’t be surprised if you had several hand shaped bruises, and you find yourself almost praying that Whitney lets you go soon. You don’t want to imagine what’ll happen if he sees. "You’re going to walk me home,” he grins at your confused look “it’s your turn to be chivalrous.”

Chivalrous was the last word you’d use to describe Whitney but you don’t comment. He obviously knows what you’re thinking because his grin turns wicked, ignoring the teasing jeers from his friends about his use of a big word. “Empty house for the weekend and I need a well behaved slut to keep my bed warm.” He waggles his tongue and the catcalling from his friends gets a little rowdier. “I can’t, I-” His grin falters slightly, his mouth twitching downwards for a split second before the wicked smile returns, if a little forced, and you notice again how tired he looks. You sigh inwardly, cursing yourself for how easily you give in. “Ok.” You’re not foolish, you know that whatever this weary protective mood he’s in isn’t going to last, that you’re going to start school on Monday covered in more bruises, another huge dent in your self esteem, and his friends knowing more about your naked body than you’d like but as he links his fingers with yours you think maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to pretend for a little while. “And don’t think I didn’t notice,” Whitney holds up his injured hand in front of your face and smirks as you face flushes. “Didn’t take you for a blood kink.” He leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek. “Means we got some new games to play this weekend.” His blue eyes are icy, cold and you shiver as you look up at him. He squeezes your hand like he’s trying to reassure you but it does the exact opposite and you regret agreeing to stay, have never regretted anything more in your life than right at that moment. “Looking forward to seeing how fast you can run.”

#degrees of lewdity #dol #degrees of lewdity whitney

[bugsbunnybisexual]

Only fools fall for you, only fools.

Only fools do what I do, only fools fall.

Random Baffy thoughts

Hi motherfuckers,

I have no idea what's gotten over me today but I cannot, for the life of me, stop thinking about Baffy. So much so that I made this blog on a valuable Friday that I should be using for productivity. Holy shit.

Keep reading if you wanna hear my spiels.

First, some easy-to-digest headcanons:

Bugs is 26, Daffy is 28

Bugs is bisexual biromantic, Daffy is demisexual biromantic

Bugs is Egogender, Daffy is Nonbinary and will describe his gender as "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Bugs Black, Daffy Black-Desi, specifically Bangladeshi

Daffy knows some broken-ass Bengali

Fools by Troye Sivan is a song that Bugs will sometime listen to and contemplate his romantic choices. LMAO but he will never tell Daffy that-

Bugs listens to a lot of Hip-Hop and old-school Rock. Daffy likes classic music because he thinks it makes him smarter. And older Desi music, like old movie ballads

Bugs has OCD. He's experienced depression before but it doesn't really flare up anymore

Daffy has OCD too. Don't @ me, all my faves get OCD okay? Along with that he has generalized anxiety disorder

Bugs likes reading about History & Physics

I like to think they have a sun/moon thing going on with Bugs being the sun and Daffy being the moon. All my ships have this dynamic, I know.

IDK there's more I can't remember right now...

Bugs' Flags:

Daffy's Flags:

Now, my basic idea for them...

If you notice in TLTS, Bugs doesn't HAVE to let Daffy stay with him, but he does. Though Daffy is basically a freeloader, Bugs never complains. To me, I definitely see this as Bugs being interested in Daffy in a more intimate way than one might think. Bugs has the ability to be roommates/housemates with other people who may have a job or whatever but Bugs doesn't particularly care. Moreover, Bugs is shown to be annoyed of others easily while being very patient with Daffy. You see what I'm talking about?

Meanwhile on the other side, yeah I know TLTS is comedy and everything - but - if we suspend the comedy for a second, I would like to imagine that Daffy actually has issues. Now, this has been supported by official/canon media before. Particularly in Back in Action. Daffy is shown in that show acknowledging that he feels people like Bugs a lot, but don't like him.

So, if we suspend the comedy for just a second, and talk about Daffy's issue, for some goddamn reason I LOVE and absolutely LOVE the idea that Daffy has difficulty understanding why Bugs loves him. And he questions it a lot. And gets upset over it. And Bugs can't really explain it, either, other than just saying "I like you for who you are. You may be a pain in the ass sometimes but that doesn't change the fact that I enjoy your company, I enjoy you."

I also like to imagine that their relationship is nowhere near perfect, sort of similarly to TLTS's approach to Bugs & Lola, where they are somewhat aware of the fact that they're a couple but continue to have miscommunications & difficulty. Except with Bugs & Daffy it's a lot louder, with a lot more accusations, but they make up in the end, because they have a mutual understanding that isn't obvious at first sight, but the more you see them interact, the more you realize they understand each other a lot better than it seems on the outside.

And then comes the lovey-dovey stuff.

Oh the lovey-dovey stuff.

I'll be putting them under a read more, it gets intimate.

So, Bugs is clever. He doesn't really exercise his flirting skills with Lola in TLTS, partially because Lola is more interested in him than he is in her. But in the classic Looney Tunes you can see how good he is with flirting with people of all genders and how easily he catches people off-guard with witty flirting. So, I'd like to imagine that doesn't change with TLTS Bugs, either. He just uses this type of flirting on very specific people. And Daffy is definitely, definitely one of them.

Daffy has a big but fragile ego. It's easy to trip him up with the right words & actions. And as I said, Bugs is smart, he knows Daffy very well. He knows exactly what to say to get to Daffy, and he loves using this as an advantage, especially when there's a fight between them.

There is a LOT of Bugs just using Daffy's words right back at him in a flirty way. Lots of shutting Daffy up with a kiss, lots of intimidating leans from Bugs, and a lot of flustered Daffy who doesn't actually know what to do with real affection and love because he barely knows what that is.

Daffy stuttering, having difficulty making eye-contact, being unable to believe what's happening, blushing, and just falling deeper in love every time Bugs flirts with him. And don't get me wrong, Daffy LOVES it, but he doesn't know how to react or just...how to compute. He short-circuits.

And Bugs enjoys that a lot. He loves seeing Daffy all flustered, confused, seeing his ego disappear and only his vulnerable and emotional self being visible, seeing Daffy being unable to stand on his feet flippers because of how nervous he is, refusing to look Bugs in the eyes until Bugs connects their foreheads...it gets Bugs just as flustered as Daffy is. He's just a lot better at controlling his emotions and not wearing his heart on his sleeves during intimate moments.

CW // Suggestive or NSFW

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

And of course, this dynamic continues onto bed, as well. Bugs loves showring Daffy with compliments as they fuck, only for Daffy to be completely flustered and unable to compose himself throughout the whole thing. Sometimes, if Daffy has the energy, he will grab Bugs, kiss him and tell him to shut the hell up. Which will usually lead to Bugs giggling and throwing a "fine, sure, we'll play it your way" and finally letting Daffy take the occasional lead.

Their physical intimacy will involve nibbling and hickeys from Bugs' side, tiny little bites hidden all over Daffy's body under his fur. And Bugs thinks Daffy gives the best head. Daffy's beak is sensitive and squishy, and easy to tickle.

NSFW over //

Some random intimate stuff:

Daffy really likes PDA but has difficulty expressing that he'd like to do things like holding hands in public. Luckily, Bugs understands and makes his moves bravely.

As they get older, Daffy humbles up and gets a lot better with his emotions and starts being a helpful househusband - cooking, cleaning, helping with chores and just making their home a nice environment. Bugs really appreciates this. Daffy understands later that he just doesn't like the corporate world, which is why he never liked working jobs.

The wedding is huge because Daffy wants it huge and Bugs actually exercises his popularity and riches for their wedding day. Daffy is genuinely so happy that Bugs feels greatly satisfied about his decisions by the end of the wedding. Also Bugs wears that one tux with a skirt wedding outfit. You know the one. Daffy can't decide between a tux and a wedding dress and flips a coin which lands on wedding dress, LMAO. It's his mom's old dress. Yes it is a Sari, if you thought it was a western wedding gown then the L is on you.

They play a lot of Troye Sivan, BTS, Pink Sweat$ & Kehlani on their wedding. Why? Because I said so, that's why.

...and that's about it!

Yeesh!

GO WATCH THE LOONEYTUNES SHOW. IT'S GAY, I PROMISE YOU.

#baffy #bugs bunny #daffy duck #the looney tunes show #my posts #poddo screams into the void as no one gives a shit #yes that poddo. poddostarline lmao #looney tunes #long post

[missskzbiased]

Betting Big

Summary: As the one and only Seo Changbin, you would never think that you would be willing to pay for someone to go out with you. At least not until you met her. To be honest, not even after you met her but here you were now… Agreeing with splitting the money from a bet that you never made… And all this for what? Just to get a chance to make her fall for you

WC: 1,5 K

Genre: Romance, Fluff

AUs: High School, Fake Bet

Pairing: Seo Changbin X Fem! Reader X ???

Rebloggable Masterlist    //   Main Masterlist   // Tag List

Warnings: none

Notes: This is in “Changbin’s POV” although written as Self-insert

This is going to be a miniseries, I guess. I’m not sure how many chapters I want to make. I’d like if you guys could vote on this:

Minho as BFF to lovers for the Triangle

Han as Friends to lovers for the Triangle

No Love Triangle at all

                                                        ///

     Everyone but you wanted to be the popular guy.

     Not because you were above things like wanting to fit on the wild battlefield that high school was or because you didn’t need people’s approval to feel like a whole person, and even less because you hated being under everyone’s eyes… No. You were petty enough to admit that you loved the attention. The reason why you weren’t like everybody else was that you were the popular guy that everyone wanted to be. That’s right… You were what every single one of those kids wanted to become and you didn’t need to do anything to have your way.

     At least, that was what you believed exactly thirty seconds ago.

     The silent pause following your invitation wasn’t expected, and neither was the way her judgmental eyes scanned you from head to toes. There was this foreign feeling of being embarrassed, and that sudden urge to shrink and hide from the crowd that you didn’t allow to show on the surface. You were too cool for this. So you settled for clearing your throat, leaning on her table in what you hoped to be a flirty way, and glanced at your friends’ table in search of some sort of silent moral support that you were so in need of right now.

     You could say that you weren’t the most subtle human being in the world or else her eyes wouldn’t have snapped right to where you were looking at. As the bunch of overly stealthy people that you definitely were used to be with popularity clogging your better judgment, the four of your friends stared right into her eyes; the expression of a deer caught in headlights plastered over their face. If you had any hopes of not humiliating yourself to that strange girl in the corner ─ who you happened to have a big, fat crush on for at least one year now ─, they were immediately crushed by your own best friends.

     Very well.

     At least, it couldn’t get any worse than this, right?

     Then you learned the valuable lesson of not speaking too soon.

     “You want to go out with me?” That wasn’t the kind of incredulous tone that was meant to hide one’s excitement… It was more like that bewildered contempt that one cannot hide at all.

    She couldn’t even process the fact that you were bold enough to believe that the mere thought of dating you could ever have crossed her mind… And once more, the humiliation hit you like cold water coming directly from an angry, merciless waterfall. Was that how normal people felt in their daily lives? Jeez… It was so much better to be popular! How do those kids even handle that? Definitely not the life for you.  

     Your internal rambling had you missing the slow shift on her expression; rejection dissolving to give way to some kind of resigned interest: “How much?” She spoke up in curious confidence, and you must have been too lost on your thoughts because you had no idea of what she was talking about.

     “Excuse me?” You blurted out ever so eloquently.

     “How much is into this bet?” She asked as if it was the most reasonable thing in this world, and the lack of response had her scoffing, to further prove your point, “Really? You expect me to believe that the most popular guy in school would come all the way to my table, conveniently under his friends’ eyes, just to ask me out on a date with no second intention?” She raised her brows amusedly, chuckling at what seemed to be the best joke she had ever told anyone “Right” She huffed, crossing her arms and tilting her head to take a better look at you.

     That was the moment of the truth.

      You could either tell her that she misunderstood everything and explain how much you really liked her ─ which would put everything at risk because she clearly didn’t believe you could like someone like her ─ or you could play along with it and score a chance to win her heart on a date.

     The answer seemed to be pretty obvious to you.

     “Yeah, right” You laughed dismissively, pulling out the chair so you could sit down beside her. There was no sign of resistance in her face; moreover, there was a shimmering curiosity dancing in her expectant eyes, “You totally caught me…” You admitted grudgingly, shrugging to show her how much you didn’t care about it. Fun Fact: You actually did! And you would very much appreciate her to know that… Damn it! What the hell were you getting yourself into?! “So… Should we split it?” You suggested nonchalantly ─ just like the smooth son of a bitch you were.

     “What about fifty-fifty?” She proposed shamelessly; face twisting in a funny expression that tried to say that she didn’t care about it either but giving it away that she did, “How much is in for me? Like… A hundred bucks or something?” She leaned back on her chair before shrugging, not willing to admit that she was interested in this.

     “You’re good” You chuckled while nodding in agreement; mimicking her as you leaned back on your chair, “Sounds great, right? Getting a hundred bucks to date this hot stuff here?” You grinned as you gestured at yourself, getting nothing but an unimpressed look from her.

     “Look, Changbin…” She began hesitantly “If we’re going to make this work, it might be better for you to let me do the talking, okay?” She smiled sarcastically, looking at you with a mix of… You weren’t even sure what. Was constipation considered a feeling? If so, she looked constipated by your existence, “I’m not gonna lie… I want the money, and as long as we don’t have to do anything stupid like kissing or having sex, I think I’m in” She simply agreed while looking into your eyes.

      She had such pretty eyes… The most beautiful eyes you have ever seen… The type of eyes to hold so many emotions that you couldn’t help but wonder if those would ever be directed at you. Right now, you could see they were. However, the usually captivating trait wasn’t that heartwarming now… Not when there was nothing but pained resignation in them… Not when they made so damn obvious that she didn’t like you back… Not when they shift to sheer excitement to the sound of someone else’s voice.

     “Hey” Was the single word that brought her to such a state of happiness; eyes twinkling and a genuine smile cracking on her face as she looked to the guy talking to her “What’s this?” He asked while gesturing to the both of you before squinting his eyes in suspicion “This table has always been our, shortie, fuck off” He scoffed; sitting down as if it didn’t even cross his mind that you could stand up against him.

     “Short—?!”

     “Shut up, Minho” She rolled her eyes, even though you could see the amusement in them, “He’s here to ask me out on a date” She clarified nonchalantly; eyes attentive to his reaction.

     “Of course he is” He snorted, shaking his head in disbelief while poking his food.

     “I am” You stated seriously while boldly offering him The Look, “Is that a problem?” You arched your brow in a silent challenge.

     “I don’t know…” He dropped his fork; eyes connecting to yours with such a murderer intention that for a second you considered just playing it off as a joke “Is that a problem?” He asked back, studying your face.

     Thank Lord you were a proud Leo or else the “No, Sir” on the tip of your tongue would have slipped just like that from your mouth. Instead, you just returned his glare, choosing to be silent so you would not show him how much he scared the shit out of you. The silent battle was promptly cut off by the damsel in distress herself, a not-so-subtle kick under the table that had Minho wincing on his seat.

     “No, that’s not a problem” She stated firmly enough to end the discussion “I’m going out with him” Even though you were aware of that, it still made your stomach flutter.

     “Okay” He said bitterly; lips twitching slightly “So that’s not a problem” He forced a smile, picking his fork and scrambling his food mindlessly.

     “Great!” You offered her a bright smile, too excited to hide your true feelings.

     “Great” She stated monotonously “So… See you later?” She arched her brows as if to say that it was time for you to walk away.

      “Of course” You agreed promptly “I can walk you home later… So… We can arrange the details” You suggested hopefully, and she seemed to embrace the idea.

      “Sounds like a date” She smiled.

     “Yeah” You chuckled; rubbing your arm before waving at her and heading to your friends’ table.

     Well… Getting a date: Checked.

     Having your feelings reciprocicated: Hm… On progress?

     First confession meeting any of your expectations: Hell no...

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

Rebloggable Masterlist    //   Main Masterlist   // Tag List

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

#skz fanfic #skz x reader #changbin x reader #skz fluff #districtninewriters #changbin fluff #skz scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfic #seo changbin fanfic #changbin fanfic #seo changbin x reader #changbin scenarios #changbin imagines

[astridthevalkyrie]

summer rain: chapter 3

Your days in the Training Corp aren’t too out of the ordinary. You make friends, you train hard, and you eat dinner every day.

Oh, and you’re also hellbent on getting revenge against Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.

Chapter 2, Chapter 4

You don’t keep your promise to yourself. Very unwillingly, you let Lieutenant Levi catch out after hours again, a few months later, in very different circumstances.

The day goes pretty well before the incident, actually. Nothing extraordinary or painful happens, and you even get Grumman to tell you in that gruff voice of his that you have good form. A good day deserves a good night, a nice farewell. It’s the end of the week, and since tomorrow is everyone’s day off anyways, you decide you want to have a little fun.

The usual suspects want no part in it. Millie doesn’t support sneaking out of the base, Ricky is too busy studying, and Stephen cannot stay awake past dinnertime and is always out like a light. Traitors, the lot of them. There’s absolutely no fun in sneaking out alone, so you start asking around. Surely there must be someone who feels as cooped up as you do.

And that’s how you find yourself in a bar with Traute and Nifa.

It’s an odd combination, you know that much. Nifa is bubbly, bright, and speaks very loudly when she gets drunk. Traute, on the other hand, has a glare that turns out to be helpful to ward off any amorous intruders, but when directed at you, it can be scary. She doesn’t drink at all, giving you a hard stare when you ask her if she wants anything. You only have a single glass yourself before getting up to do what you really came here for - dance.

You start off slow, the alcohol leaving your brain just a bit fuzzy after not drinking for such a long time. The musicians playing on the stage at the side sweeten everyone’s ears with a gradual but energetic melody. You grab a random man’s arm, swinging into step with him. He complies with a hearty chuckle, and now you have a dance partner. In turn, he grabs his friend, who grabs theirs.

Claps and cheers fill the air. You feel the heavy steps under you as your arms flail and you spin, right in the center of it all and enjoying every last second of it. Your hair bounces around you, falling into your face. Someone grabs your hand and tugs you into a waltz. Eventually, dancing turns to jumping, but you don’t care, you live for every second of this. The dancing, the music, the crowd, the sinful act of sneaking out and getting so handsy with everyone. The music is only egging you on.

Your hands are in the air, twirling for all you’re worth. The crowd is cheering you on, the melody is reaching its peak, the room is spinning, and you raise a leg up to finish with a grand pirouette and a wide grin.

The song finishes and you stop to a resounding wave of applause, your arms still thrown in the air.

Right in front of you is Lieutenant Levi, and he does not share the crowd’s enthusiasm.

You stay exactly in the position you are, hands frozen as though he’s caught you. Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe it’s the absurdity of the situation, or maybe it’s that he somehow went to the same seedy bar you did and caught you dancing and is now listening to your admirers enthusiastically shouting for an encore as the next song starts playing. Whatever the reason is, you start laughing.

He looks funny, with his bored, fed up expression. Why does he always look like that?

Sighing at your disorderly conduct, he beckons you forward with one finger. Feeling particularly pleasant, you follow him out of the crowd, pausing only to bow with a flourish to anyone who looks at you. Apparently, Lieutenant Levi does not appreciate your desire to please the crowd, because he grabs your arm and shoves you out of the bar. You giggle, hands flying up to cover your mouth.

“Who did you come here with?” he asks, and you waggle a finger.

“I’m not telling.”

“It’s your little quartet, isn’t it?”

“I’m not telling,” you repeat, taking a few steps back from him. You have no desire to get enthralled in him once again. The last time replays in your mind enough times as it is.

The lieutenant gives you a hard look. You try your best to match it, but you end up breaking out into giggles again, the giddy feeling too good to leave you so soon. He sighs.

“You’re drunk.”

“Ooh, so clever.” You smirk, completely unbothered. He doesn’t look too mad, and you’re not worried about Traute or Nifa either. They’ll find their way back. And now you have an escort! It’s truly a special night. “I’m not, actually. I’m no lightweight. I just feel good.”

“That won’t last long,” he promises, “you just ruined my plans. Instead of having a drink, I get to babysit you. So rest assured I’m going to make your life hell, (L/N).”

Your voice unwittingly comes out in a whine. “But you already do that.”

He sighs that sigh again, placing a hand on the top of your head to spin you around and push you in the direction of the base. You laugh loudly, finding his exasperation hilarious until he gives your temple a painful flick.

“Ow!”

“Fucking brat.”

“Ooh, you’re infuriating.” The good feeling is still there, but it’s a little more bitter. He just has that natural effect on your emotions. “You make me so mad.”

“Likewise,” he responds dryly.

The lack of engagement in his voice only serves to make you more sour. For a few minutes, you remain quiet, the two of you walking side by side. More than once, his knuckles brush against yours, but you pay no attention to the contact. You’re simmering in quiet annoyance, months of being thrown around, embarrassed and disrespected all coming to a head now. The liquid courage you consumed earlier doesn’t help either.

“Was it ugly?” aren’t exactly the words you wanted to say, but they’re the ones that come out.

“Hm?”

You look at him, an uncharacteristically vulnerable look displayed on your features. “My smile. Was it so ugly that you just couldn’t stand it?”

“What are you talking about?” He’s raising a brow at you, the breeze playing with his collar a bit. You realize this is the first time you’ve seen him out of uniform, in only a simple white buttoned shirt. He looks nice.

“The day we met. The first day of training. That day.” You wave a hand to make him understand. “You didn’t like my smile, so you...did what you did. And then you did it again later. That was mean.” There’s a pout on your face now, as you remember all his past transgressions. “It must have been an ugly smile if it made you act like this.”

“What are you trying to say?” Levi looks irritated. “Spit it out, (L/N).”

So you do.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

He looks at you, really looks at you, and yet he doesn’t halt. He merely scans your questioning face, your downtrodden expression and the downward direction of your lips. You’re not trying to be difficult this time, you’re really not. You just think that you have a right to know just what you did to make him constantly come after you. Maybe once you hear it, your ridiculous attraction to him will stop.

“What makes you think I hate you?” he replies, genuinely, honestly, and your heart clenches. Before you can reply, he goes on, “I wouldn’t be training you if I hated you. Wouldn’t put up with your annoying ass presence all the time.”

Not sure what to do with such a backhanded compliment, you press on. “So what, you like me? I’d hate to see how you treat your enemies.”

“You would hate to see it,” Levi hums in agreement, and leaves it at that. There’s no confirmation as to whether or not he likes you, which you take to mean he merely tolerates you enough. That does nothing for your feelings. Oh Maria, you can’t actually believe you’re entertaining the idea of having feelings for him in the first place. There’s an attraction there, sure, in a if-he-asked-you-to-sleep-with-him-you-would-probably-say-yes kind of way. You can appreciate his features, you can admit that he’s ridiculously attractive (for a midget). But it doesn’t go deeper than that, and you know now that it doesn’t go deeper for him either. You’re a thorn in his side, who he begrudgingly agrees to train out of some sense of duty. That’s fine. Except…

Except your fascination with his eyes doesn’t just stem from you good you think they’d look above you. It’s been the same thing since day one - there’s just something about him you crave. His closeness, his attention. He’s interested you since the beginning, and you just don’t know why. It looks like you won’t ever find out.

“Hey.” Levi flicks your forehead again, ignoring the glare you throw his way. “You’re thinking too loudly. Cut it out.”

You cut it out.

Not even a whole minute later, he asks, “What were you thinking about?”

He just can’t make up his mind, can he? What an adorable little sadist.

For maybe the first time since you arrived here, you think carefully about your words before speaking. “I was thinking about something that happened once back home.” When he doesn’t say anything, only raises a brow, you continue, “Millie and I went out this one time, with this guy I liked but was too shy to tell. It was pretty late, and I was really tired, so we got separated somehow. I ended up in front of this large mansion. Large, large. Like, I grew up there as one of the richest girls on the block and I still thought it was huge -”

“Get to the point,” Levi grumbles, and you smirk at his impatience. You really do think he should hear this one.

“I knocked on the door, and these two women opened it. I told them what happened, and they agreed to let me stay the night. So I ate dinner with them and then -”

The lieutenant just isn’t content with letting you tell your story without interrupting. “You actually went in? That’s so fucking stupid. Not to mention dangerous. Why didn’t you just try to go home?”

“I’m scared of walking alone at night.” You wave your hand dismissively and hurry on before he can chide you further about how unsafe it is to trust strangers. “So anyway, I went to sleep in one of their spare rooms, but in the middle of the night...I heard something. A scratching sound. It freaked me out.”

He scoffs. “I would guess you got murdered after that, but since you’re here, I guess we weren’t so lucky.”

You look at him crossly. “Ha-ha. No, I made it through the night. I asked them about it the next morning -”

“And then they killed you.”

“No. They told me they’d love to tell me, but they couldn’t, because I wasn’t part of their secret society that they had built the mansion for. So I left, but a month later, I ended up getting lost there again.”

“You’re fucking useless.”

“Shut up.” You’re not sure where you get the gall to tell him that. “I stayed the night again, I heard the scratching again, and I asked again. But they said the same thing. So I said, screw it, I really want to know, I’ll join the secret society. They tell me that first I need to tell them how many houses there are in Stohess. It doesn’t have to be exact, but it has to be close.”

Levi’s brows are furrowed in concentration. He shakes his head with a frown, clearly running it over in his head. “I can’t see how you could figure something like that out. It would take you ages to walk through every single street and count all of them. Why would they need to know that anyways?”

You shrug. “Haven’t the faintest clue. But remember I said there was that guy I liked? His father is actually a mathematician, and the man’s a chip off the old block. So I go to him, and he helps me out. Approximates the shit out of it. I thank him with a kiss and then go to the mansion, and give them my final answer.” You lick your lower lip, basking in how intently Levi was listening to your story. “They said I was close enough and that they could finally tell me where the sound was coming from. They lead me to a gold door, and give me a gold key. Actual gold, Lieutenant.”

“Fascinating,” he mutters sarcastically.

“It is,” you agree, humming, “I open the door, but then there’s another door. This time it’s silver.”

There’s deep confusion in those grey eyes. Something is very thrilling about having him hang on to your every word.

“They hand me a silver key, and I open the silver door, and then there’s a bronze door. At this point I’m really irritated, but they give me a bronze key and promise that this is the last door. So I put it in, unlock it, and open the door. And then I finally see it.”

You’ve arrived at the base. Snapping your heels together, you press your fist to your chest and salute. “Thanks for walking me back, Lieutenant. See you tomorrow.”

“What?” His eyes narrow. “Finish the story, (L/N). What was making the sound?”

You gasp in mock surprise, scandalized. “I can’t tell you, you’re not part of the secret society.”

If only you could capture his face in this very moment. It’s as though he goes through all the stages of grief - denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance all in one second. His mouth falls open in surprise, and you burst out laughing, pointing at him gleefully.

“Ooh, I got you so good!”

Levi gives you the dirtiest look you’ve ever seen, which only serves to make you guffaw even louder. You grin broadly - it feels so amazing to one-up him, even if it’s in this brief, stupid exchange. He can take this as your revenge for flustering you in the hallway a few months ago. Just who did this man think he was playing with? You are the product of the bitches and bastards of the fakest place in the world, so yeah, you can tell a story, and you can act your heart out. In fact, what were you doing here in the military? You should’ve joined a traveling theatre group, now that would have put your many talents to good use.

“Your sense of humor is shitty,” the lieutenant informs you flatly. Oh, you beg to disagree. “Laughing at your own jokes doesn’t make them good. So it was all fake, then?”

You do your best to control your giggles. “Y-yeah. I don’t just sleep over at random mansions. And I’m not scared of being alone in the dark.”

“All of it was fake?” he asks again, and this time it’s your turn to be confused.

“Yes?”

He tsks, whether at you or himself you’re not sure, then lets out a tired sigh. Sparing no further pleasantries, he orders you to bed, warns you not to be late tomorrow, and adds that he’s looking forward to the fresh hell he plans to inflict on you. You salute again, just to be extra, then start walking to the female barracks, still laughing to yourself. Hopefully this won’t seem like a hazy dream tomorrow. You got him, you really got him.

Just before you change into your nightgown, a fleeting thought pops into your mind.

Was the reason the lieutenant double-checked that the story was fake because you mentioned that there had been a guy you liked? No, that was ridiculous. He probably just wanted to check that his subordinate that he was investing so much time in wasn’t a complete idiot. But the thought is stuck in your head now, and you fight back a smile, burying your face in your pillow. Maybe you are a little drunk, but you could go back to hating him in the morning.

____________________

It’s astonishing to you, but you’ve actually improved. Gone are the days of your legs aching after running a few measly laps. When Rashad attempts to pin you down, you can flip him over and hold him there. The ODM gear starts to feel more natural, and zipping through the air is slowly becoming muscle memory. Even the swords feel just right in your hands, although it’s weird that you could run out of them and then have nothing to defend yourself with. Oh well, you don’t plan to be in that kind of situation anyways.

You hate to admit it, but Lieutenant Levi’s training is paying off. It’s not something you realize until you learn, with a start, that you are in the top ten. Number six, to be specific. Ricky mocks you endlessly for being one of those people who say they don’t care when they in fact care very much, as though he’s not two ranks below you.

Without telling Millie, you send a letter to your mother, telling her about your achievements.

Mama,

Sorry for taking so long to write. I wasn’t so sure you wanted me to. I still don’t know. But l wanted to tell you that I’m doing well here. I’m number six in the ranks. Isn’t that cool?

Millie’s doing well too, although I’m sure Mrs. Shackel keeps you updated. We have these two boys who follow us around like annoying flies. One’s from a village in Rose, and the other’s actually from an outer city of Wall Maria. Don’t worry, I don’t plan to marry a poor boy. I’ll find someone rich to settle down with eventually.

I hope you’re taking care, and I hope Grandma is too. Her condition hasn’t gotten any worse, has it? If you need me to send something from here, I’ll do my best to see if I can find it.

I wish I was the kind of daughter who could write you a longer letter. Sorry, Mama, but I’m not sure what else to say. Who knows if I’ll see you again?

Lots of love,

(F/N)

____________________

“I” - huff - “need it.”

“No.”

“I” - huff - “will” - huff - “kill you.”

“Tch. You’d try.”

“Just give me the water, please.”

“You still have a lap left.”

“I’ll do it, it’s important to stay hydrated!”

“Do the lap, then you get the water.”

“If you don’t give it to me now, I’ll faint.”

“Then I’ll leave you out here.”

“You wouldn’t - well, you would, but you shouldn’t.”

“Don’t want to. So get to it.”

“God, fine!”

“...”

“Now can I” - huff - “please have it?”

“I don’t know, can you?”

“You are such a -”

“You talk too much.”

“Oh my” - cough - “God. Are you trying to choke me?”

“You wanted the water.”

“To drink, not for you to shove down my throat and waterboard me with!”

“Ungrateful wretch.”

“What are you, a charming prince from a novel?”

“Yes. Now drink up, my bratty duchess, we’ve got more work to do.”

____________________

There’s dirt on your face, your sleeves, and your shoes, and yet you stay still, with a small grin on your face. You’re lying down, facing up, hands pressed up against the ground. To anyone flying above, you’d blend in with the dirt perfectly. Or at least, that’s what you’re counting on.

Somewhere out there, Ricky is on the hunt looking for you.

Your gear lies hidden a few feet away, since you didn’t want anything chunky to ruin your brilliant camouflage. Obviously a good long wash will do wonders for you later, but for now you stay quiet, ignoring the filth on your otherwise pristine self. The forest is quiet, with the light chirps of birds that you’re sure are very cute but would take a shit on you if you stay here too long. You breathe in and out quietly, stomach tense as you wait to see if your plan will work.

The wait isn’t long. You hear him before you see him, faint clicking sounds that his ODM gear is nice enough to alert you with. Pressing down into the ground, you hold your breath and close your eyes halfway, convincing yourself that you’re part of the nature that surrounds you. If you believe it hard enough, maybe this will actually work and Ricky won’t spot you.

After a second that feels like an hour, you hear him fly away and you breathe easy, running a hand through your hair.

Only then you feel something brush up against your finger, something hairy that’s crawling up your hand -

You let out an ungodly shriek, jumping to your feet. The poor bug that crawled onto your hand is flung off as you thrash your arms this way and that, smacking your skin just to get it off, get it off, get it off!

For all your efforts, Ricky hears you scream and immediately zooms back, chortling. He lands down in front of you, placing his finger on your nose as soon as you calm down.

“Found you.”

You sigh. This extreme version of hide-and-seek may have been a bad idea.

____________________

Millie has her head in your lap, a map in her hands as she shakes her head. Apparently there’s something marvelous about the document, since she can’t keep her eyes off it.

“I don’t think I ever realized how large the space is between the walls,” she mutters, “there’s so much distance between Maria and Rose. It didn’t feel that way when we came here.”

“Yeah,” you hum, absentmindedly tracing designs on her cheek, “makes you wonder how different people get the more inward they go.”

Millie’s nose wrinkles in concentration. “Stephen has a slight accent. Have you noticed?”

“Mmhm. He does good work hiding it, though. It’s hard to pick up on it unless he has to roll his r’s.” You try snatching the map from her hands but she holds on tightly, scolding you over trying to give her a papercut. Well that’s hilarious, considering the two of your are covered in scratches and bruises all over, but that’s Millie for you, always striving for the closest thing to perfection she can get.

You lean your head back against the bark of the tree, leaving her to her observations. It’s been a while since the two of you have gotten to hang out together, away from everyone else. It’s really no one’s fault, you’re both busy and it’s not like you haven’t already spent most of your lives together. Millie has her studies to religiously focus on, her rivals to crush, and apparently her maps to drool over. Meanwhile, you have friends to playfully compete with, horrible doodles to draw next to your scribbled notes, and your mind is strangely preoccupied with…

“Look, it’s your best friend,” Millie said noncommittally, nodding her head to the right.

Deja vu hits you like a merchant’s cart. You’re sitting under the same tree, he’s walking in the same direction. When he catches your gaze, you decide to complete the scene and give him a bright smile and a friendly wave.

Levi stares at you for two seconds, and then rolls his eyes and keeps walking. You bite your lip, just slightly amused.

It’s an improvement.

____________________

"(L/N), you’ve got a letter too!” are the words that shake you out of your sleep haze in the morning. You jump up, pushing past the others trying to get their hands on their mail. Reginald, the man who's nice enough to put up with this crap once a week, thrusts an extremely fancy envelope in your hand. Your name is written on the back in your mother’s expert penmanship. You eagerly walk back to your seat, ignoring the glares and eyerolls from some people who obviously weren’t getting their letters in pretty envelopes.

You sit back down at the table, opening the letter with extra care. It’s from your mother, and that makes it precious, so you want to savor it the best you can. Across from you in her normal seat, Millie raises a brow.

“Your mom wrote to you?”

“I wrote to her a few weeks ago. Just wanted to catch up,” you say quietly, not meeting her eyes, “I’m surprised she wrote back.”

Next to Millie, Stephen’s brows furrow. “Why wouldn’t your mother write back to you?”

“No reason,” you answer quickly, “she’s just a busy woman.”

With your friends’ watching your reaction carefully, you unfold the piece of paper, beginning to read.

To my darling daughter,

You say you don’t write much, and yet it gave me a headache just to read that much. You know that I like to be organized, so I’ll answer your unwanted letter point by point.

It’s certainly wonderful that you’re sixth in the ranks. Perhaps that means you’re the sixth least likely to die? Maybe the next time I hear from you, it’ll actually be from your commanding officer telling me how special you were, but how that didn’t stop you from meeting your terrible end. Hopefully there’ll at least be a small pension that comes with it.

Mrs. Shackel and I met for tea last week. She told me you were being personally trained by the best soldier in the Scouts. I have an idea - marry him, someone with such a valuable skill set surely isn’t poor, and is much better suited to your tastes. That way not only will you leave me without a daughter, but you’ll also leave the poor man a widow as well. Would that satisfy your cruelty, dear?

I am taking care. Grandma is taking care. We are doing fine without you. We don’t need anything from you. I don’t think we ever have. Had I known I was raising such a manipulative, heartless girl, I would have prayed to that ridiculous church that you die during childbirth. Unfortunately, Sina did not give me the good instincts to run a knife through you the second you were born.

Please do not write again.

Lots of love,

Your doting mother

“(F/N),” Millie starts immediately, taking in your stricken expression. She must have a good idea of what the letter says. “Forget about it, she’s a -”

You clear your throat loudly, standing up. Stephen looks worried, but he also seems unsure as to what to do. You don’t want him to do anything, hell, you don’t even want Millie to do anything. You want to get out of here. The room is suddenly suffocating. Your eyes are stinging but you are damned if you’re going to break down in here, so you only shake your head, unable to form words. You wave a hand at Millie, hoping she gets the hint not to follow you.

Without looking at anyone, you rush out of the mess hall. Despite your determination to wait until you’re definitely in a secluded area, tears start flowing down your face the second you step out. With an ugly, pained sob escaping you, you break out into a run.

Now that it’s getting a bit chillier, the cold bites into your eyes, making them water even more. You stop running after a few minutes, in the middle of the grounds. With everyone still having breakfast, there’s no one here yet, and you take that as an invitation to drop to your knees and start crying in earnest.

Why did she have to be so cruel?

You’re not a crier, you’re really not. An avid complainer, sure. A whiner at times. Definitely a sore loser. But you don’t particularly get any catharsis out of crying like so many other people do. When it comes to your mother, though...she’s just always known exactly where to strike her punches to turn you into a helpless little girl again. She can make you start blubbering so easily, and you hate that she can control your emotions even from so far away.

So you read the letter over and over again, until you’re mouthing the words on your lips that taste salty from the waterworks coating them. You’re trying to be quiet, but it’s beyond your control. You’re sobbing and wailing, and showing no sign of stopping.

There’s a quiet rustling beside you as someone walks up, and you shut your eyes tightly for a second. “M-Mil, I’m fine, I swear.”

“Are you?” Levi inquires, and you choke on a surprised sob, swallowing the embarrassing sound at the last second. Furiously wiping your eyes, you make to stand, but he crouches down instead.

He’s been in close proximity to you before, but never like this. Right now he’s near enough for you to reach out and touch his cheek if you so desired, but far enough that he’s not overwhelming you, and yet you can see the pores on his cheeks, the individual lashes lining those gorgeous grey eyes. You wipe your cheeks angrily. Great, just great, this incident will set you back several months on your plan. As though he was someone who needed to see you in such a vulnerable state.

The lieutenant outstretches his hand expectantly, and you’re not sure why you give him the letter so easily. You watch as his eyes scan the cruel words.

“I know,” you say before he can speak, “I know it’s not a big deal. But she’s my mother, I just - I just wanted her to - I thought she could at least be a little proud - “

You don’t realize another tear has rolled down your cheek until he brushes his thumb across your face, wiping it off easily. God, he must think you so weak. You wouldn’t be surprised if he decided to stop your private lessons right here and now.

But when you look at him, there’s no condescension on his face. There’s not even pity. You can’t place it. To an outsider he might look angry, but after knowing him for almost a year, you know that’s not it. It’s something strangely...protective. Fierce. You never expected him to look at you like that. You don’t know what to make of it.

“Stop crying,” he orders, not unkindly. It could be taken as a request. “Do you want to keep this letter?”

“I - I don’t know.”

It seems your body is more obedient than you are, because you stop tearing up, and when you wipe your face again, it remains dry.

“That’s it,” Levi murmurs, as his hands hold yours, warming them up. “Personally, I’d rip it to shreds. But that’s up to you.”

What’s going on? He’s being...well, he’s being nice. He’s never nice. He’s not always unpleasant, and he indulges in your silly banter, but he’s never been so...soft, especially not with you. And just why are you so easily warming up to him, going as far as to curl your fingers around his? Is it because his hands are warm against your cold ones, or is it...is it because…

“I want to keep it,” you blurt out, partly to keep yourself from the unwelcome thoughts inside your head.

He nods. and then gently grasps your arms, bringing both you and him to your feet. He places the letter in your hand, and then proceeds to brush the sides of your uniform off. It’s rough, but you’re emotional and this feels like the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for you.

“Thanks,” you breathe. It’s hard to say, but you spit it out anyways. “I - I don’t know what to - thank you.”

Finally, Levi looks like himself again, because he rolls his eyes and mutters, “I just picked your lazy ass up, (L/N), don’t look so fucking grateful about it.”

You smile softly, but he looks away, obviously feeling awkward. He truly goes through moods like he’s trying on different outfits, the weirdo. You decide that just this once you can spare him - besides, you need to save face too. You turn around, intending to walk away.

The lieutenant grabs your hand at the last second. He grips it tightly, keeping your arm outstretched. If only your heart could stop lurching like this, it’s not as if he’s going to pull you in for a kiss - he’s not the type.

“(L/N).”

“Yes?”

“From now on, if you’re going to cry, you’re only going to cry because of me. Understood?”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Yes, sir.”

He nods, satisfied, and lets you go.

____________________

You can’t believe you’re doing this.

In the past year, you’ve been to Lieutenant Levi’s office once, maybe twice or thrice. Either you had something to tell him (like how you couldn’t train due to severe emotional trauma, which was usually denied), or he led you there himself, to quickly grab something. How come he gets an office anyway? You’re pretty sure one has to be a captain or section commander to get their own space, and Levi is neither. You suppose being humanity’s strongest comes with its own benefits, even if it is an unofficial title. He gets to enjoy the finer things in life. Lucky him.

Anyways, you hadn’t planned on showing up here after hours, and certainly not with a steaming cup of tea in your hands.

Swallowing every bit of your pride, you knock on the door. “Lieutenant?”

No answer. You knock again.

And again.

It’s right as your knocks get just a touch louder that you hear him groan, “I’m coming, just hold on a second.”

When Levi opens the door, you take the quickest second to note that he looks how he did the day he walked you home, dressed in casual clothing. Realistically you know that no one stays in their uniform all day, but it’s still jarring to see him out of it. Someone might mistake him as approachable, although that ridiculous notion would quickly evaporate when they got a good look at his face.

He gives you a quick annoyed lookover, clearly waiting to hear your reason for disturbing him at this time.

“Chamomile,” you say with a grin, thrusting it forward, “Helps you sleep.”

He gives you a long, deadpan look.

“Who asked you to make this?”

“No one asked me.” You let out a puff of air to blow the loose strands of hair that have fallen out from your bun into your eyes. “I’m being nice. As thanks for...you know. Just take it.”

Levi doesn’t take it, but he does turn and go back into his office without closing the door, so you take the invitation and slip in, shutting it behind you. He slips into the chair behind his desk and you make yourself comfortable in the one in the front. There’s important looking documents all over, but there’s an order to them - a method to his madness. There’s not a single pen out of place. Of course, this is your obsessive compulsive midget who organized it, so you can’t expect anything else.

You slide the cup across the desk, where there’s another cup of tea already half empty. Oops, you’ve accidentally fueled his caffeine addiction. “That doesn’t look like chamomile.”

“It’s not. Just regular black tea.”

“Won’t that keep you up even more?”

“That’s the idea,” he says calmly, relaxed and leaning back.

“Wow, you’re a proud insomniac.” You shake your head in a disappointed manner. “If it were me, I’d at least try to sleep.”

Levi gives you a little glare, then pushes aside the paper he was working on to pick up your gift. He peers at it, looking a bit tired all of a sudden. It’s as though the day or the month or the entire year is catching up with him, and his eyes flicker to your eager face before he lets out a long sigh, raises the cup and brings it to his mouth.

Almost immediately he gags, slamming it down as his face scrunches up in disgust. “What the fuck, (L/N)? This is shit!”

Well, excuse you. You’re not a professional tea sommelier, and this isn’t some dainty cafe.

Still, you wince, crossing your arms and curling back into the chair. “Sorry. I’ve never actually made tea before. I’m not a fan.”

“Let me guess,” Levi says in a scathing tone as though you just admitted to cold-blooded murder, “you drink coffee.”

What an ignorant thing to assume.

“I drink milk, I’ll have you know.” You snap this at him, only realizing a second later that it’s not really something to boast about so proudly.

Something he clearly realizes as well, because he’s fighting back a smile and failing pretty miserably. “You drink milk.”

Well, there’s no taking it back now. “Yes.”

“Milk.”

“It makes your bones grow strong, okay?”

He laughs at you, leaning back in his seat. “Of course it does.”

“Don’t make fun of me, it does!”

You bite down the comment that comes to mind, which is that he must not have drank much milk otherwise he’d probably be taller. You’re here to be nice, you remind yourself, even if he’s being his usual infuriating self. There’s lots of nice things you can do, like...like…

Oh my gosh, are you the mean one in this relationship? No, that’s impossible.

“Looks like you have a lot of work,” you say, gesturing to the piles of paper on his desk. “Want some help?”

Levi raises a brow at you, as though to ask you how much help you possibly think you could be. That’s fucking rude. “No, I wouldn't want to waste your strong bones on some boring paperwork.”

It’s your turn to glare. Maybe focusing on his totally wrong opinions about your choice in beverage will help you ignore the fact that the two of you are sitting, dare you say, cozily, in his office. He’s not kicking you out, he’s indulging you in conversation, and he’s even taking another sip from the supposedly terrible cup of tea you made for him. Sure, he grimaces after drinking it, but he’s not throwing it out. That’s...something.

Your relationship with the lieutenant is quickly becoming something dangerous. You’re enjoying his company a little too much lately. You’re thrilling in his laughter too often, you’re drowning in his eyes an unhealthy amount. It could be chalked up to the fact that you’ve just grown accustomed to him, since you see him so often, but you know that’s not it. The more likely explanation is that you just have such low expectations for him that the second he shows basic human decency, you mistake your surprise for some newfound affection for the man. You want that to be the explanation, at least. The alternative is too awful to think about.

“So,” he begins, and you think you’re about to be kicked out until he says, “shitty mom. What’s that about?”

You sigh. That’s about the only conversation topic you don’t want to breach, but you suppose it can’t be avoided. “Typical rich girl problems. She wants to use me for her own purposes, so she’s not happy I got up and abandoned her. Plus, Dad died outside the walls, and she’s not really a fan of me following in his footsteps.” You feel comfortable telling him this much.

Levi looks thoughtful. “Do you plan to die out there?” He’s not fazed by your blunt attitude at all, which is kind of refreshing, actually.

But the question is still...well, how do you answer that? How do you answer it without disappointing him? And why does it matter if you disappoint him? You don’t have the answer to any of these questions, so you only shrug and avert your eyes, letting them drop down the floor. Your goals are your own, and he doesn’t need to know them. He doesn’t pressure you, only hums in understanding.

“I’ve really never had a cup of tea this bad.”

You smile, grateful for the change of topic. “No one’s forcing you to drink it. Lieutenant.”

“Insolent brat, you go a whole conversation and then add the title like you’re doing me some kind of fucking favor.” He’s good at avoiding the topic too. Your eyes light up, and you lean forward.

“Pardon me, sir. Lieutenant Levi. Your grace. My prince charming. The duke of destruction. My deepest apologies.”

“Not forgiven.” He smirks, thoroughly entertained. “Try harder.”

“Make me.” The response slips naturally through your lips, inviting and seductive.

Oh for the love of Rose, you think to yourself, please shut the fuck up. It’s like the second you resolve to keep things neutral with him, he sets something up so well that you have to say something borderline flirtatious. It’s just too easy with him. You lose all semblance of self control, and always end up saying something stupid.

“Should I?” Levi muses, a gleam in his eyes now. “Your mother did suggest that you marry me. Maybe I should take her up on that.” He leans forward with a cruel smile, as if the idea is perfectly enticing to him. “Would you finally be a good girl and listen to me then, (L/N)?”

You freeze, mouth falling open. You had really, truly forgotten that your witch of a mother had included that in her oh-so loving letter, and that he’d read it. Holy hells, the universe wouldn’t be satisfied until the man in front of you had humiliated you in every way, shape and form. And this right here, this is exactly the fucking problem. He never stops you when you unintentionally flirt with him - most of the time he ignores it, and other times he encourages you and you daresay he flirts back. To mess with you, of course, none of this is genuine, but it makes the butterflies in your stomach freak out either way.

“Probably not, sir,” you force out when you find your voice, “I’m actually not looking to get married at all, so if someone did make a wife out of me, I’d fight them tooth and nail.”

He snorts. “Of course you would. Have to make use of those strong bones somehow, don’t you?” This fucking midget, he somehow musters up the audacity to leave you flustered and then moves on and pretends like nothing happened. What an asshole.

“Oh my God,” you groan, “leave me and my milk alone, caffeine addict. Seriously, I know it’s bad out there, but it can’t possibly be bad enough for you to act like such a hardass all the time.”

Levi pauses, the sharp retort that he was surely about to fire dying on his lips. There’s a brief flash of sadness in his eyes, and you bite your lip. Fuck, maybe you’re the one who crossed the line this time. You have a quick apology ready to go. but he speaks before you get the chance.

“For your information,” he says coolly, “I’ve always been like this.”

Well, that’s interesting. He’s not wartorn, just a grump? No one is just negative all the time for no reason, they have to have been screwed over by life somehow. You can’t take his claim at face value, you just have to do some more digging.

“And why is that? Rough childhood?” You snap your fingers, invested in this new guessing game. “Orphaned as a baby. Cast aside by a sibling.” Your eyes sparkle mischievously as you grin. “Abandoned at the altar by your long time lover. She left you for your cousin!”

“It’s past your bedtime,” Levi says, standing up, “lovely of you to drop by, but you better get going.”

The cup that you gave him is now empty.

“Injury. Business deal went wrong.” He pulls you up by your arms, ignoring your scientific hypotheses. “Your favorite pet died. Ooh, I know, the company your father left you in charge of went bankrupt! Wait wait wait, Levi!” He’s pushed you out of the room and has a hand on the door, but before he can close it, you place your palm against his chest, looking at him very seriously.

“Is it the altar one?”

“Why do you need to know?” he asks, seizing your wrist to take it off.

See, this is what you mean by setting you up perfectly. It’s his fault, all his fault. “If my betrothed has a scandalous past, I think I have a right to that information.”

Levi shoves you out and slams the door shut, leaving you beaming as you begin to jog to your dorms. That’s another point for you, and now that you’ve paid him back for comforting you earlier the two of you are even, and you can return to planning for the battle that he has no idea he’s participating in. The stars shine brightly that night, and you sleep easy.

____________________

“Look, they’re back!”

Everyone ignores Grumman’s instructions to stay right where they are, an action they’ll probably pay for in blood, sweat and tears later. The Scouts are returning from their latest expedition, finally. Everyone around the base is always tense when they leave, and now people can rest easy knowing that the next one won’t be for a few months. There’s apprehension in the air - as of right now, no one knows who made it back and who wasn’t so fortunate. You feel a twinge of guilt at the relief that you know the only person is the Survey Corp that you care for know is the most likely to have survived.

Sure enough, there he is next to Captain Erwin, looking weary as he gets off his horse. You’ve pushed forward to the front of the crowd of cadets, all scanning the crowd. You find yourself sandwiched between Ricky, whose long legs make it easy for him to keep up with you, and Petra, who is sighing with a dreamy smile on her face. You follow her gaze, confused.

“What, one of them bring back some food?” You crane your neck to figure out what she’s looking so lovingly at.

“No.” Petra points discreetly, and you follow her finger. “It’s just, he’s rather handsome, isn’t he?”

“Who, Erwin Smith? I mean, I guess, but he’s not really my -”

“No, (F/N).” She shakes her head fondly. “Lieutenant Levi. Don’t you think he’s extremely good-looking?”

Next to you, Ricky barks out a laugh, and you elbow him as you utter with the grace of someone who hasn’t been fantasizing about Levi’s eyes since the moment you met him, “No, not really. You can do better, Petra, trust me.”

A soldier rides in late, his face panicked and sweat trickling down his face.

“Oh, come on, I know the two of you have your differences, but even you have to admit that -”

One second, you’re chattering with Petra and wrestling Ricky with one arm as he grinds your foot against his.

The next second, your ears are ringing with the words that the soldier screams as loud as he can.

“The titans have broken the outer wall! They’ve gotten into Shiganshina!”

In a single moment, everything you know and hold dear changes.

All at once people are shouting, screaming at the poor soldier who delivered the news to explain. The titans have gotten into Shiganshina? How could they have? Is he out of his mind? Who sent him? How many drinks has he had? What does he mean, they’ve broken the outer wall? It’s a wall, it can’t just be broken, so what does he mean? What is he talking about?

It takes you a minute to notice Ricky has completely frozen next to you. His hands are trembling, and he’s mumbling to himself and shaking his head, as though this is a nightmare and he just needs a good pinch to wake up.

“My - my mom and dad, and my sisters,” he’s saying. “They’re not...they can’t fight titans, they’re not soldiers. They need...need help…”

With a terrifying realization, you remember that he’s from Shiganshina. You’re grabbing his arm to steady him, words of reassurance getting stuck in your throat. You don’t know what to say - you can barely control the consuming fear growing inside you, let alone soothe his.

In the next few seconds, Commander Shadis has learned everything he’s going to learn from the messenger, and he lets out a scream you will remember for the rest of your life. The order that’s delivered to you on humanity’s darkest day is simple.

“All Survey Corps members will refill their gas and restock their blades immediately! I want you all back on horseback in five minutes, you hear me? We are riding back to Shiganshina right now! All cadets and other personnel at this base are to gather the rest of the horses and get behind Wall Rose to assist the soldiers there with the refugees! Is that understood?”

He’s met with the chilling cries of at least a hundred people shouting, “Yes, sir!”

Your voice was not among the people who answered. As people run past you to prepare, you run forward, because suddenly you’re scared. Suddenly you’re not so sure that he’ll come back. And you can battle with yourself all you want later, all that’s important to you right now is getting to him. Even as you see tearstained faces pass by, you keep running, because you have to catch him before he goes, you have to -

You catch up to him right before he disappears. Steely grey eyes meet yours as people rush past you, no one sparing even a second glance to the two of you.

For a second, he’s surprised. Then he turns cold, and hard, and you know that many people are about to die. And he’s going to have to witness every. Last. One.

“Is there someone in Shiganshina you need me to look out for?” Levi murmurs, with all the softness of someone who might be riding out to his death.

No, you want to scream. Ricky’s family, maybe, but you don’t even know what they look like, and he’s going to have to worry about saving enough people without you placing an extra burden on his shoulders. No, it’s nothing like that, you just want him to...you need him to...

“Be careful,” you manage to get out in a foolish, rushed request, “please be careful.”

Shock makes its way to his features, as though he thinks it’s out of this world for someone to ask him to stay alive for his own sake. Your heart clenches, but you’re not leaving until he promises you he’s going to come back.

“Levi!” Captain Erwin calls. You don’t have any time left.

Even before he speaks, you know that he’s not going to make you the stupid promise you were hoping for. He’s not flowery, and certainly not one to feed you bullshit. No, he’s real, the realest person you’ve ever known, and his answer is going to be as authentic as he is.

“I’ll do my best.” Levi pulls away from you. “You be careful too, (L/N).”

With that, he breaks away from you and is lost in the crowd.

You don’t even realize you had been holding onto him until your hand is left feeling bare, reaching for him in an endless sea of soldiers storming to their doom.

ohhhhhh, i’ve been waiting for this for a long time. surprise, things are happening!

mommy dearest is rather harsh, isn’t she? reader’s no sweetheart herself, but damn.

yes, there’s a slap on titan reference in there.

poor carla is getting eaten right about now, and reader is here having a moment. sigh.

comment and let me know what you think!

#aot #attack on titan #aot x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #valkyrie stories

[fukurodianthus]

Its just skin

Synopsis: Self-love is not something that comes to you naturally. Years of self-depreciation makes it difficult to grow into the habit of loving yourself despite of the scars peppered across your skin.

But with your fiancé, Tooru Oikawa, you find yourself stealing glances into mirrors quite often. It catches you by surprise when you find yourself...beautiful?

Pairing: Tooru Oikawa X fem!reader

Genres: tooth-rotting fluff , a lil bit of angst thrown in

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: The reader suffers from body positivity issues and insecurities regarding her appearance.

Author’s note at the end!

(p.s. didnt proof read because im ✨lazy✨ might do it later when im feeling cute idk)

“Y/N-chan, can we leave already? We’re getting late for the party” Oikawa whined, tugging the sleeve of your shirt lightly.

“Tooru, stop being so impatient!” You pushed your whiny fiancé away and concentrated on covering up the acne scars and freckles peppered across your face with layers of concealer. No matter how much you tried, you could never make your skin look half as perfect as that of the girls who dominated your Instagram and YouTube feed. Every time you looked in the mirror, the taunting voices of your family members and friends would creep into your mind.

Oh my god! Whats wrong with your face?

Don’t you wash your face properly?

You’re never going to get married if you look like that Y/N! Do something about that face of yours!

Do you want me to recommend a good dermatologist to you?

No matter what the topic of the conversation was, people always found a way to bring up the topic of your skin condition in it. You could be talking about quantum physics for all they cared, they would somehow find a way to bring up the topic of your skin.

But they didn’t know all those sleepless nights you had spent on the internet looking for remedies, they didn’t know how you cried yourself to sleep every night, praying that you’ll somehow find that your skin had magically healed up when you woke up. But miracles didn’t happen in this world. At least for you, they didn’t.

You spent a humongous chunk of your salary buying medicines, serums, anything skincare specialists would recommend to you. But none of it could you fix you. Ultimately it all ended up in the trash and you ended up on the bathroom floor, sobbing as you looked into the mirror, face contorted with disgust and self-loathing.

But then, Oikawa Tooru stepped into your life. The first person who didn’t grimace as he looked at your face. He looked at it with childish wonder in his eyes, as if he was looking at something…beautiful?  Every night, when you fell asleep in his arms, his fingers softly grazing your cheeks, you felt an unfamiliar warmth blossom inside your heart. If he could love you despite your flaws, what was stopping you from doing it?

But years of self-depreciation made it difficult to develop the habit of loving yourself. There are still moments when you found you yourself drowning in self-hatred.

Take the present moment, for instance.

No matter how much concealer you caked on your face, it didn’t look half as good as you wanted it to. You let out a frustrated groan as you plopped down on the bed. How could you go to the party looking like this, especially when Oikawa would be by your side? Everyone’s appearance paled in comparison to his flawless beauty. Then how could you, of all people, ever stand beside him as an equal? You knew everyone would be comparing you with him behind your back, their jealousy-tinged voices emphasizing on how someone like you didn’t deserve to be with him. You’d always be an undeserving lover for him in their eyes.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Oikawa’s voice was laced with heavy concern. “Do you feel sick? I told you to not eat that expired candy bar last night, but you didn’t listen-”

“Tooru, its not that. I think I look very fucking ugly right now and I can’t bear to look at myself in the mirror. I can’t go to the party right now, not when I’m feeling like this.” You buried your face in a soft cushion and let out a frustrated groan as you turned over on the bed.

“Y/N, did you start putting yourself down again?” You felt him plopping down beside you on the bed, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Tooru, don’t lie to me, my skin still looks just as bad as ever.”

“You know, sometimes I wonder if astral projections are real.”

“What? Have you finally lost it?” Your widened eyes searched his face, trying to make sense of his words.

“If it was real, then I’d pull your soul out of your body make you look at your face through my eyes. Because there’s clearly something very fucking wrong with your eyes if you cannot see how damn pretty you are.” Tooru huffed, looking at you nonchalantly as if he was stating the obvious.

“Tooru-” you whimpered, turning on your side to face him.

Tooru and his horrible pickup lines.

Gosh, how can I not love him?

His chocolate-brown eyes softened as he pulled you into his chest. The sound of his heartbeat drowned all the cacophony of all the negative thoughts cluttering your mind.

“Y/N, I thought love at first sight was way too cheesy and corny to be real. But then, one day, back in high school, I saw Iwa-chan talking to you. You looked so fucking pretty, you know? The way you’d bite your lips when you were confused, the way you’d look down and let your hair cover your face whenever you were flustered, it was so damn adorable. I might have gone down on my knees right then, if Iwa-chan hadn’t been there. He’d beat the living crap out of me for playing my ‘disgusting tricks’ on his friend.” Oikawa took your hands in his and slowly drew circles on your palm with his thumb.

“Iwa wouldn’t have to beat you up, I’d do it without a second thought if you pulled any of that shit on me. I always found you very bratty, clinging to Iwa with that radioactive sweet smile of yours.”

“Wow, I was head over heels in love with you on first sight, while your first impression of me was that I’m a brat? No wonder you were Iwa-chan’s friend, you both are so mean.” He pouted, looking at you with playful annoyance.

“That was before I got to know you. Your brattiness started growing on me, gradually. Now I’m so used to it, I think I’d forget how to breathe if I didn’t hear your annoying voice every morning.” You chuckled at how his face kept getting redder with every insult that you threw at him.

“You’re used to my brattiness? Are you implying I’m still a brat?”

“Exactly. Looks like you do have a brain.”

“The most amazing setter on this planet doesn’t have a brain, is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but instead of asking me out on a date directly, you bugged Iwa to set us up on a date until he finally shouted at you in the middle of an English class, saying ‘Alright, Shittykawa, I’ll set you up on a date with Y/N, now stop running that fucking stupid mouth of yours.’ " You stole a glance at his face, savoring his flustered expression. "I’m right, am I not?”

Oikawa’s face reddened to the extent where it seemed that he would spontaneously combust at any moment.

"Tooru, c'mon, we both were emotionally constipated fools who could never ask each other out if Iwa hadn't stepped in." You softly ran your hands over his chest, savoring the warmth radiating from him. "Now stop pouting Brattykawa."

"You and Iwa-cha, both of you can never appreciate me before backtracking, huh?" He ran his fingers through your tangled hair, slowly massaging your scalp.

He knew it always calmed you down.

"Hey, did you really find me pretty that day?" You mind went back to how you looked the day when Oikawa first saw you. Greasy hair stuck to your face, cavernous dark circles covering your under eyes, face swollen as a result of pulling all nighters for a whole week. How could anyone, let alone Oikawa find you pretty when you looked like that?

"Can you not hold a conversation for 5 seconds without putting yourself down, huh?"

" I dont think I can Tooru. It still weirds me out that you, of all people found me beautiful when I looked like such a mess."

"Y/N I think we really need to try astral projections now-"

"Tooru, I'm serious-" You whined.

He chuckled, twilring your hair in his fingertips. "Y/N, after being with you for so long, I've realized something. You look for validation in the eyes of people who couldn’t care less about you. But when finally, someone who really cares for you and sees you as who you are tells you that they are truly beautiful, you brush it off. Why do you pretend that our compliments aren't heartfelt? Why are you so scared of being appreciated?"

Every day, when he saw you stealing glances into the mirror, he noticed how disappointment flashed across your face. He knew how you beat yourself up for not being pretty enough. You were never enough for yourself.

If your mind was a place, he’d waltz into it, shredding the self-destructive thoughts gnawing at you sanity into pieces. He’d untangle the mess inside your head, shattering the walls that bars genuine compliments reach your heart.

Oikawa wasn’t the best with words, not at times like this. But he’d give it his best.

He could feel the wet spots blossoming on his shirt, as you buried your face deeper into his chest.

"Oi!  You dummy! Are you crying?"

"To-Tooru I just think th-that I d-don’t deserve your love because I'm not as good looking as-" You choked out in between an onslaught of sobs.

“Hey. Hey, look at me.” He cupped your flushed cheeks and lifted your chin up, his eyes scanning your face in concern.

“Those fucking stupid scars on your face don’t define who you are, okay? Its just skin, Y/N, you are so much more than just…a piece of skin, you know? Honestly, we’re all just bags of flesh and bones if you look at it that way. Do you think I loved you because you were a particularly pretty bag of flesh and bones?” Even though you found his analogy slightly funny, you noticed how his face lit up with passion so you refrained from making any sarcastic comments. He was trying his best.

“Continue, Tooru. I’m listening.”

“I love you because of who you are. I love the way your lashes flutter when we stargaze on the roof every night, I love you how your hair is a tangled mess when you wake up, I love how your puff your cheeks in annoyance when I stop you from over-drinking coffee every night, I love how you whine when you spend hours trying to get your eyeliner right, only to end up smudging it when you rub your eyes absent-mindedly, I love how your eyes light up when I put an extra spoonful of Nutella in your sandwich…gosh, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

Your grip on his hoodie tightened. He looked at you, breathlessly, scanning your face for a reaction.

Your stared at your reflection in his chocolate-brown eyes, struggling to find the right phrases to express the way his words made you feel. You felt your heart race as if it was beating in pace with a rhythm set in by a drug-induced ecstasy.

What would you call this feeling of warmth that washed over you with every syllable he uttered?

“Thank you.” You wondered if you could’ve said anything better to express how much his words meant to you. God, where were a the fancy words you had learnt from corny YA romance books when you needed them?

But he didn’t need to hear your words to know that you’d been moved by his words. Fancy phrases could never tell him what the faint rosy glow of your cheeks could.

“Stop thanking me for stuff like this. It’s my duty, Y/N. I’m your fiancé for fuck’s sake.”

“You’re such a sap Tooru.” You giggled, squishing his cheeks softly.

“Yeah but you’re hopelessly in love with this sap, so deal with it.” His grip around your waist tightened as he nuzzled his face on your neck, his hot breath fanning across your collarbones.

“Now let me go Shittykawa, we have a party to attend.” You pried his arms off your waist and sat up.

“Babe, we’re about to get married in a few months, you really need to drop that stupid nickname.”

“Hmm, let me think.” Cocking your head to your side, you pretended to be immersed in deep thought. “Nope, not happening.”

“Don’t blame me for what happens next.” Oikawa sat up and tackled you to the bed, pinning your wrists by your side.

“Ooh, now that’s hot, Tooru”

“You know whats hotter Y/N?”

“What?”

“This.” He didn’t give you a chance to respond as his hands slid down to your waist. Your breath hitched in anticipation.

And then he started tickling you.

You broke out in an uncontrollable fit of laughter, kicking him, trying to get him to stop.

Two minutes later, you both lay side by side, panting, faces flushed with breathless fits of laughter.

You caught a glance of your face in the bedside mirror.

Even with your reddened face, tangled hair and smudged mascara, you looked…beautiful.

You felt beautiful.

As you nuzzled your face on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat rumbling in your ears, his words kept replaying in your mind.

“Its just skin, Y/N.”

Author’s note: ahhhhh I kinda wrote this in a flow?? Its a comfort fic/drabble???Idk what this is tbh. This is very self indulgent because I’ve suffered from skin problems(cystic acne ugh🤢) all my life, so I decided to comfort myself through this fic 🥺👉👈 . If only I had an Oikawa in my life 😩✋

N E ways, drink water, get enough sleep(lmao the irony that I’m saying this-) and remember to love yourself because you are beautiful!😤❤️I’ll come for your kneecaps if you put yourself down🤩🔪.

Reblogs would be highly appreciated!

#haikyuu #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu comfort #tooru oikawa #oikawa #tooru oikawa fluff #oikawa fluff #oikawa x you #oikawa x reader #oikawa x y/n #tooru oikawa x reader #oikawa x fem!reader #haikyuu x female reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #hqradiostation

[cloudy-leonhart]

AOT Characters with a filipino S/O!

[Author Note: I just made this out of impulse lol, I’ll make a part two with the AOT veterans- if it’s requested then I’ll make a part three with the Marley Warriors- feedback is also appreciated on all my posts :))]

[Summary: It’s just headcanons, AOT with a filipino S/O lol, that’s it. that’s the post.]

Recommended song: Sa Susunod Na Lang - Skusta Clee ft. Yuri.

Gender Neutral Reader.

Theme: Fluff, Modern AU.

TW: Swearing.

Characters: Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Marco, Connie, Sasha.

Eren Jaeger

He probably fucks up his greetings with your parents, surprisingly your dad loves him, both of them talk about basketball and boxing, whenever Many does a fight, you and him come over so Eren could watch with you dad.

This man gets bodied by your dad ALL THE TIME during basketball, it’s valid because your dad used to be a basketball player.

He eats with his hands, yes he also got that from your dad. Your mom always comes up to you, while Eren and your dad talk, she’s happy that you found someone, and that Eren reminds her a lot of your dad.

Mans swallows rice like it was no one’s business, he eats that shit with barbecue and vinegar. 

You can’t tell me he gets drunk with your dad and his friends?? They watch boxing matches and eat peanut while drinking beer.

For some reason he acts like he lives there?? Like the whole community knows about him, the kids like playing with him, the guys like doing karaoke and drinking beer with them, and the titas and lolas love talking about your relationship with him and how they would totally marry a guy like that if they ever met someone like that when they were younger.

His favourite thing about the culture? Probably how open the people were, they were very generous and kind.

Armin Arlert

When you first told him, he was kind of like, “okay??” but he also took time out of his day to research your culture, he’s the type to catch you in a sad mood where you really miss your country, and take time out of his day to try his best to make food from your culture.

He’s mastered to cook Tofu Sisig and Halo-Halo. You always ask him to make it for you whenever you’re sad.

He could never understand how your family’s able to sit in your traditional clothing, he tries his hardest not to scratch, he literally looks at you with a look begging for help because he was itchy but he didn’t want to take it off.

You had to explain that he doesn’t always have to participate in your culture, because respecting your culture was enough for you. Mans cried because he thought he was horrible for not wearing the Barong for the whole ceremony.

He does loves trying filipino recipes, he loves seeing you cook adobo or tapsilog in the morning, it just fills the house with an amazing aroma.

he knows how to say ‘i love you’ in Tagalog and he has fully replaced ‘I love you’ with ‘Mahal Kita.’ 

Favourite thing about the culture? The language, he just loves learning new words everyday, his favourite saying so far is, “Huwag kang mag-alala. Akong bahala.” (Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.)

Mikasa Ackerman

Poor baby was confused, she caught you talking on the phone in another language and she just stared concerningly at you, forgetting about whatever she’s doing.

She was also afraid to try your food?? Until you shove a ube-filled riceball (in filipino, Buchi) in her mouth, she ends up making it her comfort food, she asks you to make Buchi with her, she likes to eat the left over filling.

she actually wants to keep trying some of your culture’s food, her favourites so far is definitely Taho and Kaldereta, and of course Buchi.

She can’t say much in tagalog but she does know traditions, she did the binasuan dance with you once, amazingly she kept all cups in balance for her first time.

She knows how bless and actually calls people tita and tito, or ate and kuya. She was kind of, ahem, convinced, to call your parents nanay and tatay.

Your parents always complain about how you haven’t married Mikasa yet, Mikasa was confused about why she could hear them talking about her, but you reassured her that it was only just your parents egging you to marry Mikasa. In which she blushed in return.

Mikasa also learns recipes from Armin, those two cook for ther S/O’s so much that even their S/O feel like their not filipino enough, they got to try things even they didn’t know filipino culture had.

Jean Kirstein

SUPRISINGLY, he knows what blessing is, went as far as saying “Mano po.” whenever he did.

 your dad hates him for some reason lmfao like your dad’s always staring at him with a weird expression.

He’s scared of your dad, no cap. first time you guys went on a date and didn’t have a house together, he almost shit himself talking to your dad.

You tried to teach him to do the tinikling dance and he almost broke his leg.

You and your parents conversed by yelling at each other, like Sasha, he too thought that you were arguing with them and he tapped you on the shoulder like, “Should I leave?-” You were confused as he was, you had to explain that yelling was a way filipinos communicated.

He was concerned when you would hit him while laughing, you also had to explain that was also something most filipino’s communicated.

He tried picking the language up but he just butchers the pronunciation.

Favourite thing about your culture is the places, if he could he probably would’ve bought a private island.

Does this man know how to cook filipino food?? Yessir!! He’s absolute god at cooking, imagine when he finds out we have a whole CHEESE ice cream-

Mans was confused confused, why..would you like cheese ice cream?? surprisingly he likes the ice cream, it’s sweet and salty??

Connie Springer

THIS MAN- he thought filipino was a sexuality?? when you told him, he’s like “so, what gender do you prefer then?” 

HE WAS DUMBFOUNDED WHEN HE FOUND OUT WHAT FILIPINO MEANT-

I just know he shared filipino swears with Sasha, he actually grew accustomed to them, once in a while you’ll hear, ‘PUTANGINA’ throughout the house, because he stubbed his toe.

ugh he rocked the barong too, AND HE ROCKED HIS TINIKLING DANCE.

your titas seemed to love him?? Every time you talk to them, they ask if he’s doing okay.

He actually is a simp for filipinos, he was awestruck with how much beautiful women and men there were in the Philippines.

you cannot tell me this man doesn’t watch Manny Paqcuiao’s boxing fights.

In general he tries his best to respect your culture and not disrespect them, but he cannot bless for the life of him.

favourite thing about your culture is the adobo, he says its “bussin’”.

He drinks with your titos and your dad. No way he doesn’t, he also plays basketball with them.

traumatized somehow by the naked children running down the street sometimes- Filipino streets man, a little too comfortable-

He was shocked to find out that some people showered outside?? Like comfortably?

Man covers his whole face bc he feels like a perv.

Marco Bodt

Absolute researcher in your culture, like Armin, he actually makes sure he’s not disrespecting it or anything.

HE DOES THE BLESS GESTURE, but he whispers in your ear about how he accidentally blessed one of your titas too hard

his favourite filipino dish is Buko Pandan, he literally couldn’t help but get seconds when your grandma offered him a cup.

tbh he rocked his barong, he looked so good, like GAH DAYUM.

he picked up some words since he really loved being around your family, you were lively and your family was so open to accepting him.

you and him danced in a barong and baro’t saya for your wedding reception.

genuinely, he was in fearful awe when you caught a rat your parents have been complaining about in their house, remind you rats in the Philippines are as big as kittens 

He also calls you Mahal, it’s kinda cringey but you thought it was cute.

Favourite part of your culture, the clothing, he’s always asking to go to parties just so he can wear the barong.

he’s also deathly afraid of the bodies of water the Philippines has, he doesn’t know if murky water scares him more than clear water in the islands.

Mans tried his best to corporate your culture into your guys’ wedding, until your Tito Philip brought a WHOLE ASS LIVE CHICKEN as a wedding gift?!

he was kinda sad y’all didn’t keep the chicken.

Sasha Braus

Sasha honestly didn’t know that your were filipino until you spoke your language with a family member, you guys were yelling at each other and Sasha thought y’all were fighting-

she wants to learn the language BUT ONLY THE SWEARS, connie and her both.

she loves when you speak to her in your langauge, she loves guessing what you’re telling her. SHE ALSO LOVES WHEN UR PARENTS TRY TO SPEAK TO HER AND THEIR ACCENTS COME OUT.

you guys actually went to the Philippines for your guys’ honeymoon. did she almost spend all your money? yes, did you let her? duh.

Her most favourite thing about your culture is definitely the food, and beautiful people like you.

Genuinely rocks the Baro’t Saya, her short hair goes well with the dress, her colour was a dullish-pastel pink, she had a matching fan with it too! 

She wore it for your birthday, almost ruined it by almost spilling fruit salad on it.

THIS WOMAN- SHE WAS LITERALLY CRYING TEARS OF JOY WHEN SOMEONE BROUGHT OUT THE LECHON (a whole roasted pig).

Yes, she almost ate half of it, she would’ve probably finished it if it weren’t for her eating everything else, a human compost bin, you got leftovers? She’ll eat em.

She loved going to Jollibee with you, you and her have dates where you literally eat almost everything off the menu.

#aot imagines #aot x reader #aot veterans #aot x y/n #aot #aot headcanons #armin arlet x reader #mikasa #mikasa x y/n #armin aot #miche zacharias #miche x reader #mike zacharias #erwin snk #erwin x reader #eren x you #eren aot #levi attack on titan #levi ackerman x reader #hanji zoe #hange zöe #bertholdt #annie leonhart x reader #reiner braun #reiner x reader #jean kirschtein x you #jean kirstein #marco bodt x reader #connie springer #sasha braus

[sequinsmile-x]

If Tomorrow Starts Without Me - Chapter 10

I cannot believe we are at the last chapter. I have no words to express how much I appreciate all the love for this story, for the version of Aaron and Emily that are in it, and the family I have created for them here.

It means...so, so much. Rating: Mature (smut in this chapter) 

Words: 5.2k 

You can read over on a03, or below the cut

Please let me know what you think <3

April 1993

Emily hated these events. How false everyone was - plastic smiles and lies scattered around the room in a way that made her skin crawl. She always had an escape route, a place of solace she could find when her mother was getting too much for her.

This particular event was always held in the same hotel, and so her hiding spot was always the same. A small, windowless conference room just down the corridor from the ballroom. Her mother had never found it, or her, so she cursed when she heard the door opening only 20 minutes after she had snuck off.

She sighs as she turns around, ready to tell off whoever had disturbed her only for her to come face to face with Aaron. “Oh, hi. What are you doing here?”

“I came to find you.” He answers as he clicks the door closed behind him. “I’m off duty now. And you promised me a dance if I remember correctly? Something about it being the perfect thing to piss off your mother.” His smile disappears when she doesn’t return it, discomfort clearly laced throughout her body. “Are you ok?”

Emily tilts her head slightly at him, unsure how honest she could be. Since they had gone for drinks together and he had told her about his ex, who she had since learned was called Haley, things had changed between them. They had always been friendly, but it had now taken a turn into flirting. Long glances at each other in the hallways of her mother’s home, lingering touches that definitely were not appropriate. There was something about Aaron that she trusted, something that made her want to be around him.

“I hate these things. My mother parades me around like I’m a thing to show off to society.” She scrunches her nose at the idea of it and looks at the floor. “All those men out there looking at me like I’m some prize to be won.”

He’d noticed it. The way the men in the room had watched her as she walked around with her mother, his blood boiling he saw slightly wandering hands as she was pulled into another dance she clearly didn’t want to be a part of. Aaron didn’t question exactly why it bothered him so much, not wanting to pick at that thread and unravel the friendship he had built with Emily in the time they had known each other. Spending time with her already meant more to him than it probably should.

“You deserve better than that.” He says, frowning in a way that makes her smile. She reaches for him on some kind of instinct, not even realising she's doing it until her finger traces the frown line between his eyebrows. Emily smiles at him, and takes in the genuine concern on his face. He cared about her and expected nothing in return, and she couldn’t remember the last time someone made her feel so safe.

So she bridges the gap between them and kisses him, and she would spend the rest of her life claiming he kissed her first.

For a moment he’s still, and she's worried she has read it wrong. That the subtle moments between them over the past few weeks since she’d dragged him to a bar against his will had all been in her head.

Then he kisses her back, his lips pressing back into hers as his hand moves to the back of her head, tangling in her hair to hold her close.

Emily pulls away from him, hiking her dress up so she can sit on the table. She drags him closer, spreading her legs so he could stand between them and she kisses him again.

Aaron pushes one of the thin straps of her dress off her shoulder, following the material with his lips. A soft sigh escapes her and it seems to bring him out of it, and he pulls back from her. He cups her cheek with his hand, running a thumb over her swollen bottom lip.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She replies before kissing him again, her teeth clashing with his with the force of it. His hands are all over her then, pushing her dress the rest of the way up her thighs. He bites her lip as he pushes her underwear to one side and she gasps into his mouth.

He takes her apart with his fingers first, covering her mouth gently with his spare hand as she cries out, worried they would attract attention from anyone walking past. Emily kisses him harshly then, shaking hands pulling at his belt buckle whilst she wraps her legs around his waist.

“Em, wait.” He murmurs against her lips, gasping as she grabs him, pulling him further into the cradle of her hips.

“If you ask me if I’m sure again, I’ll kill you.” She laughs, pressing a kiss to his dimpled cheek, wrapping a leg around him tighter to encourage him further.

As he enters her they both gasp, and she wretches her mouth from his to rest her forehead against his, her eyes closed as she adjusts. “Move, Aaron. Please fucking move.”

He complies, gently at first but goes harder, faster each time she begs him for it. She breaks apart around him, and nods into his shoulder at his unasked question, feeling him fall over the edge inside of her only moments later.

She leans her forehead against his, breathing heavily as her heart rate returns to normal.

“I’m sorry.” He says as he kisses her.

“What are you apologising for?” She asks, kissing him again, trying to regain her breath but finding herself unable to stop touching him

“You deserved better than that.” He says, echoing his earlier words of how other men had treated her.

“It was pretty good from my point of view. Excellent even” She says, biting her lip as she looks at him, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck. “But, if you think you can do better...we could always go to mine?”

Aaron doesn’t miss the tentative nature of her question, the way she seems nervous for the first time since she had kissed him.

“Won’t your mother miss you?”

She shakes her head. “No. And, if you remember, I have just moved into my own place. No interruptions.” She leans forward and kisses him. “At all.” Another kiss.

He grins against her lips. “Then lead the way.”

Aaron knows he would follow her anywhere. ______________________

Emily calls him 20 minutes after JJ, her name flashing on his phone screen making him immediately feel better. Relief floods through his body as he abandons packing the bag on the bed so he can answer his phone.

“I’m okay.” She says as a greeting, although she doesn’t sound it. He’s known and loved her long enough to know when she's in pain, even when he can’t actually see her. Aaron can hear the sound of the buzz of an emergency room around her.

“Em. The car you were in was hit by a truck. You’re not okay.”

She chuckles slightly, the sound dying on her lips, and then winces. “Fine, I’m not okay.” She admits. “My entire body hurts, but you don’t have to come here. I’ll be home as soon as we recapture him.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” He says, feigning innocence.

“I know you’re already packing a bag and thinking of a way to get the kids to my parents, despite the fact that it’s midnight.”

His eyes drift to the bag on the bed, hurriedly packed with things he hadn’t even really thought about as he shoved them in. She has known and loved him just as long as he has done the same for her, so it shouldn’t surprise him that she knows this would be his instinct, but it does.

Aaron thinks he could be married to her for 100 years and still be surprised by her. Amelia cries out, despite him only just getting her settled back into bed.

“Is she ok?” Emily asks, sounding weary.

“She’s fine, Em. Just missing you I think.” He sighs. The separation anxiety was bad on both sides, Amelia was just the right age for it. Crying out any time Emily wasn’t in the same room as her, having spent her entire life with her mother just within reach. He knew Emily was struggling too. She had gotten used to being around the kids all the time, and when she left for work only a couple of days ago it felt very reminiscent of her first day back after having Theo and Amelia. Torn between her family and her job, knowing both were important parts of who she was.

Aaron hated that her first case back had ended up like this, with her hurt and too far away for him to see her. To check she was really okay. It felt like a taste of how she must have felt when he was in hospital, leaving him behind and not having any way of knowing how he was.

“I miss her too. All of you.”

“We’ll be here when you get back.” ______________________

She realises she should have expected it the moment she sees him standing on the tarmac as she gets off the jet. He was never going to leave it, to let her make her own way home despite her assurances before they took off that Derek was going to drop her home.

Emily can’t hide the wince that escapes her as she walks down the steps of the jet to the ground, the pain vibrating through her aching body, stiff from a long flight and a lack of movement.

She tries to smile as she approaches him. She wants to reassure him that despite her appearance, the black eye, the massive bandage on her arm and how slowly she was moving that she really was ok. The concerned look on his face tells her that she has failed, and he gently traces the bruise below her eye with the pad of his thumb.

“Sweetheart.” Aaron says as he wraps his arms around her, loosening his grip when she stiffens in his embrace.

Emily presses her forehead into his shoulder. “Hell of a first case back.”

He pulls back from her, and sees Derek standing behind her with her go-bag in his hand. “Let’s go home, the kids are excited to see you.”

Aaron grabs her bag from Derek and throws a grateful nod to the team, knowing that they would have looked after her in his absence. He guides her over to their car and tries to help her in, but she bats his hands away, claiming she doesn’t need help.

He says nothing when he has to help her clip her seatbelt into place, the pain in her upper body too much for her to do it herself. ______________________

Theo runs into her so quickly when they get back to the apartment that they don’t have time to remind him to be gentle. He recoils quickly when she can’t control her reaction, the yelp of pain that escapes her as her son wraps his arms around her at full force.

“It’s ok, Theo. I promise.” She says, hoping he doesn’t pick up on the breathlessness in her voice. “You just need to be careful, okay.”

He nods. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Oh sweetheart.” She tugs him back into her, hand cupping the back of his head. “You could never hurt me, ok?”

She leads them over to the couch so she could sit down, and Theo immediately sits next to her, fingers tracing over the large white bandage on her arm. “Did the bad guy hurt you?”

Emily smiles softly at him. “Yes, sweetie. The bad guy hurt me.”

He looks concerned as he reaches for the bruise on her eye, fingers less gently than Aaron’s had been earlier and she manages to suppress a wince. “Was it George?”

Emily’s smile falters at that, and she pulls her son into her as best she can, hugging him close. “No, baby. George can’t hurt any of us anymore, remember? Daddy made sure of that.”

She feels Theo nod against her and she sighs. There were moments when she would love to bring George Foyet back just to kill him again herself. Whenever Theo mentioned him, fear colouring his face, she felt the hatred burning for the man throughout her entire body.

“Someone heard that Mommy was home.”

Emily looks up to see Aaron holding Amelia in his arms, the little girl scrambling to get into her arms. She winces as she takes her, the strain on her upper body unavoidable.

“Hi sweet girl.” She holds her daughter against her chest and the little girl immediately melts into her embrace.

Jack appears next, his concern all over his face as he looks at her. The moment he registers the bandage on her arm and her black eye apparent. “I’m fine, Jack.” She says before he could ask. “I promise.”

He nods, hands dug into his jeans pockets. “I’m glad.” He clears his throat. “I was thinking we could get pizza for dinner?”

Emily smiles widely at him. “Sounds great.”

______________________

Aaron puts Amelia to bed, and observes Theo brushing his teeth at Emily’s request. When he’s done Emily isn’t in the living room like he was when he had left her.

He seeks her out like he always has, knows her well enough to know her hiding spots even in this temporary apartment they found themselves living in. She is exactly where he thought she would be, looking out of the large window in the dining room that overlooked DC. It reminded him so much of the first place they’d lived together, before the desperation that came with wanting to build their family, everything that followed with Haley and then Foyet. The place where he had learnt just how much he needed her.

“Em?” He speaks gently, knowing she is still on edge from everything that’s happened recently. She jumps anyway, and he doesn’t miss the wince that follows. Her whole body still sore from the car accident she’d been in, the pain of it only beaten by the guilt she felt for not being able to save the detective she had been travelling with.

She turns to look at him, visible relief on her face when they lock eyes. She tries and fails to smile at him before turning back to look out the picture window. “Did Amelia go down ok?”

“She’s out like a light.” He walks towards her, gentle as he wraps his arms around her from behind. She leans back into him and allows him to take some of her weight. The easiness that had always been present in their physical affection had returned. His initial hesitance around her was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He was always touching her now, reassurance that she was there next to her, and he wasn’t going to open his eyes to find that this had all been some kind of cruel dream.

“Good. She’s been having trouble lately. I think it’s all the change.” She speaks absentmindedly, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

He presses a kiss into her temple. “Want to talk about it?”

“Yes.” She says, swallowing against the lump in her throat. “But I don’t know where to start.”

He leads her to the couch and curls up behind her, gently dragging her aching body into the safety of his arms. Emily leans into him and hugs his arm across her chest, seeking comfort that only he could provide her.

“One of the men he killed today was home with his wife and son.” She says quietly the words of Dan Otley’s wife floating around her head like dust in the morning sun.

I was always afraid to believe it, you know? Because then it can be taken away.

“He was right there with his family and then…he just wasn’t.”

Aaron closes his eyes and presses a kiss to her temple. He knew what she was thinking, what fears would be tearing at the edges of her nerves. “Em, we’re all here. We made it.”

It had become a mantra of sorts. Something they’d say as they coaxed each other out of nightmares where they hadn’t been so lucky. Dreams where Aaron woke with the feeling of her blood on his hands seeming so real it would take her an age to calm him down, the only solution often being pulling his head to her chest. The sound of her heartbeat was the only thing that could assure him she was ok.

She’d see them all dead. Her husband and her children were stolen from her by a man she had never personally met. Emily would wake with tears already on her cheeks, shaking hands reaching for him as he held her fiercely. Reassuring words pressed into her skin as he stroked her hair.

“I know.” She replies softly. “But Theo still isn’t sleeping through the night. Jack is as angry as he was when Haley died. You and I are both a mess.” She half laughs, half cries. “The only one who is vaguely ok is Amelia and that’s because she doesn’t understand.”

Aaron carefully moves her so he can look at her. He tucks some of her hair behind her ear, letting his thumb trail down her cheek.

“Sweetheart, we’ll get there. All of us. It will just take some time - which we have plenty of.” She nods at him, but her eyes still betray how unsure she is. How terrified she is that she could lose everything. “What can I do to help?”

Emily smiles at him and cups his cheek. “You’re already doing it. I wouldn’t say no to a bath though.”

He guides her to the ensuite off of their room and runs a bath for her. Aaron can’t help the concerned look on his face when she slowly strips off her clothes, the black bruises left by the car crash all over her body.

“I’d say it looks worse than it is.” She quips. “But it feels pretty fucking terrible.”

He helps her into the tub. He doesn’t join her, in fear of hurting her, but he kneels on the ground next to her, fingers tangled through hers before he helps her wash the horror of a day she’d had away from her skin.

When they climb into bed and he lays as far away from her as possible she gives him a reproachful look. “Get the hell over here, Aaron.”

He wraps her in his arms, and he runs his fingers up and down her back. When she wakes in the middle of the night, images of watching a man get strangled in front of her replaying in her head, Aaron keeps his hold on her.

Just like he always would. ______________________

They go house hunting and it is every bit as painful as Emily remembers it being the first time around. Every property they are shown has something missing, something that just doesn’t sit right with them. Memories of their old house, the place they had planned to call home forever, haunting them at every turn.

Then they find it. A beautiful house in Arlington that ticks all of their boxes and more. The hardwood floors and white walls create a feeling of a new beginning. Enough bedrooms for the kids to have one each and one left over for a shared home office for Aaron and Emily.

Emily falls in love with the porch swing, memories of teaching Jack spanish flooding through her as the real estate agent raves about the wrap-around porch.

They sign the deeds that afternoon. ______________________

Aaron quickly realised that moving house while you had children was significantly harder than when you didn’t. He remembered when they bought their first house. How they slowly unpacked everything in between rounds of sex, christening every room they could. Many of them more than once.

This time they had no such luxury. Jack was moody, but helped distract Theo as the team helped them carry boxes into the house.

Amelia refused to be put down or held by anyone other than either of her parents. Pitching a fit as soon as she was passed to somebody else. Which is how Aaron found himself standing in his new kitchen, his daughter on his hip, as he unboxed their crockery one-handed.

The baby clearly felt as if she wasn’t being paid enough attention, because she slapped her hand to his cheek, her fingers digging into his dimples.

He huffed out a laugh. “Amelia, sweetheart, please be gentle with Daddy’s face. Your Mommy quite likes it.”

“Dada.”

He stops, almost drops the plate he had in his hand before he is able to put it down on the kitchen island. He looks at Amelia who is staring right at him.

“Did you just say, dada?”

“Dada.”

Aaron kisses the side of her head before leaving the kitchen in a rush, in a desperate attempt to find his wife. “Emily?”

“Aaron?” Her breathless reply comes back from the floor above, and he hears her racing down the stairs. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, but-”

“Jesus, Aaron.” She admonishes him, sighing. “Can you maybe not scare the shit out of me next time by shouting like the house was on fire?”

“Emily.” He says, stopping her before she could rant any further. She purses her lips and stands in front of him, hands on her hips. He turns his attention back to Amelia and bounces her on his hip slightly. “Amelia, who is this?” He asks, pointing at himself.

It takes a moment, and he briefly thinks he imagined it, but then he hears her sweet little voice again. “Dada.”

Aaron looks at Emily, and sees how tears immediately spring to her eyes. She steps towards them and hugs him, kissing Amelia as she does so. “What a clever girl you are.” ______________________

Emily misses the first time Amelia walks. It happened when she was away on a case. It hurts when Aaron tells her over the phone, a burning sensation in her chest as she fails to accept she missed such a pivotal moment in her daughter's life.

The pain eases when Jack texts her a video of the moment. The footage shows Amelia taking unsure steps between Theo and Aaron, the joy on her husband's face outweighing any upset she felt.

When she gets home two days later her amazing, loving husband recreates it for her. He makes her stand in the same hallway from the video and he asks Theo to stand a few paces away from him and Amelia before he sets the little girl on the floor.

Emily watches as Amelia toddles slowly back and forth between Theo and Aaron, Jack recording it on his cell phone, soft laughs coming from all of them. For the first time since that morning, when she walked into their old house and found a bullet hole in the wall and Aaron’s blood on the floor, she truly believed everything was going to be fine. That they had made it.

“Sweetheart?” She looks up to see Aaron standing at her side, Amelia in his arms, giggling to herself. “You ok?”

Emily nods and diverts her attention to their daughter who was now reaching out for her. She pulls Amelia into her arms and presses a kiss to the side of her head, her emotions getting the better of her as she thinks about her baby girl walking, and how grateful she was that they got to celebrate that moment as a family.

Aaron notices, as he always does, and he pulls Emily into a hug, holding her and their daughter in his embrace. He kisses Emily’s forehead and places a hand on Amelia’s back. “My girls.” He murmurs into his wife's hairline.

“Dad, gross.” Jack exclaims, making Emily laugh loudly as she leant further into Aaron.

“Yeah, Aaron. Gross.” ______________________

Emily wakes up first for once. She quickly gets out of bed and presses a kiss to Aaron’s cheek as she sneaks out of their room. She smiles when she enters Amelia’s room to see the little girl already awake, standing in her crib and reaching out for her mother.

“Morning, sweet girl.” She lifts the baby up and into her arms, pressing a series of kisses into her dark hair as she takes a seat in the chair in the corner of the room. “Happy birthday.”

“Mama.” Amelia settles in Emily’s arms, seemingly content to have an early morning snuggle with her mother. Her hand tangles in Emily’s hair as she talks to herself.

Emily runs her hand gently up and down her daughters back, content to have some rare one on one time with her. “I can’t believe it’s been a year.”

She still remembers the fear she felt that morning, walking into the bathroom to have her waters break a month early. Amelia making a dramatic entrance into the world that ended up being almost a prophecy for the year they would have.

“Is this a girls-only gathering or can anyone join?”

Emily looks up to see her husband standing at the door of the nursery, smiling at the two of them together. “What do you think, Amelia?” She whispers to the baby, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “We can make an exception for Daddy, huh?”

“Dada!” Amelia squeals, making Emily roll her eyes good naturedly while she mutters something about favouritism under her breath.

Aaron walks into the room and sits on the arm of the chair, and he presses a kiss to the side of each of their heads. “Happy birthday, sweetie.” He says as he kisses Amelia again.

Emily rests her head against his side. “What time is everyone arriving?”

“Not until this afternoon.” He lifts Amelia into his arms as he reaches for her, and stands up to place her on his hip. “So we can have a nice easy morning.”

A crash from outside the room happens almost simultaneously. “Theo.” Jack’s voice shouts out afterwards, frustration laced through his tone.

Emily laughs. “Since when did easy mornings exist in this house?” ______________________

When the party winds down that evening, the birthday girl is exhausted. The celebrations lasted well past her bedtime, and she passed out in her mothers arms for the last hour of it. Emily shifts Amelia in her arms as she walks upstairs to put her to bed, letting Aaron say goodbye to the rest of their guests.

She quickly changes her daughter into her pajamas, expertly doing it without waking her, and she lays her in the crib before kissing her gently, whispering how much she loves her against her forehead. Emily grabs the baby monitor as she leaves the room, softly closing the door behind her.

Emily checks in on Theo to see he was already asleep, the excitement of the day having worn him out. She sits on the edge of his bed and tucks him in a little tighter and she makes sure Archie is secure in his arms. She kisses him and gets up to leave.

“Love you, Mommy.”

She smiles and kisses his cheek again. “Love you too, sweet boy.”

As she walks down the stairs she passes Jack, who was heading up to his bedroom.

“Don’t stay up too late, Jack.”

He doesn’t stop as he walks past her, clearly already running late for when he told his friends he’d be online. “I won't, I promise. Love you, Emily.”

“Love you too.”

She goes in search of her husband and spots that the front door is slightly ajar. She finds him sat on the porch swing, a blanket half around him and a glass of wine in each of his hands. Emily smiles as she joins him, curling up into his side in the cold February evening, pulling the blanket around them both as she takes a glass from him and settles her cheek on his shoulder.

“Today was nice.” She says softly, snuggling into his side.

“It was.” He replies, taking a sip of his wine. “I can’t believe she’s a year old. So much has happened since then.”

She hums, turning her face to press a kiss to his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Em.” He replies automatically.

She pulls back from him to look at him, her eyes searching for something he couldn’t quite place. “I know I say it a lot, but I really do love you. You know that right?” She whispers, the cold air she breathes out almost louder than the words themselves.

“Of course I do.” He frowns, pulls her impossibly closer, wrapping the blanket tighter around them both.

“I mean it Aaron,” she pulls away so she can look at him, cups his cheeks in her chilled hands. “I love you so much it’s almost ridiculous. I can feel it with every part of me. When we were apart…” Her voice falters like it always does when they talk about it, a wound still too fresh to not be painful even after the two months that had passed since they were reunited. “When we were apart I realised how much I need you. I had a glimpse of my life without you in it and I hated it.”

“Em.” He places his hands over hers on his cheeks, brings them down to his lap and tries to seep some warmth into them. “What’s brought all this on?”

She sniffs. “I don’t really know. I just keep thinking that this time last year Amelia was born, and it was scary as hell. And we had no idea what was coming. That Foyet would attack you in our home, that he’d try to kill our kids. Now everything is great again.” She wipes a tear from her cheek. “And despite the new house and everything I still feel like I’m waiting for the next thing to go wrong.”

“Em, sweetheart.” He stops her, leans her forehead on hers. “I can’t tell you nothing awful will happen to us again, that we’ve had our share. Because if that’s how it worked we’d have hit our limit with what happened with Haley.”

She nods against him, closes her eyes to stop more tears from falling. “I know.”

“What I can tell you is that whatever happens, whatever tomorrow, or a week or a year from now brings, we can face it together. Okay?”

She pulls back, looks at him with tears in her eyes and sees just how sure he looks. How resolute he is in what he is saying, and she believes him. “Okay.”

He kisses her, like he has a thousand times before, and pulls her into a hug. “I love you so much, Emily. More than I did yesterday, less than I will tomorrow.”

She snorts out a laugh before muffling it into his shoulder, aware all the kids were in the house asleep. “That was so fucking corny.” She presses her forehead into his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” ______________________

I don't care what tomorrow brings, as long as I have you. - Molly Harper

#hotchniss #hotchniss fan fic #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #au fanfiction #CM fan fiction #ITSWM #WTB Universe #i'm going to go cry now #cannot believe it's done

[franniebanana]

CQL Rewatch - Ep 28

Note: I will be critical of Jiang Cheng in these posts. If you can’t handle that, please feel free to scroll on.

Sorry this write-up is so late. I had a migraine that lasted for a few days, and I didn't want to do anything.

So, we're finally here. The big showdown between Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian--they're finally talking, and Jiang Cheng is letting it all out. He starts off strong, leading with this: "you've pushed me to my limits." So, first of all, it's Wei Wuxian's fault that the other clans are pestering Jiang Cheng, as if this is an intentional act on Wei Wuxian's part to cause Jiang Cheng trouble. Obviously absurd--Wei Wuxian doesn't want to cause the Jiang Clan any more harm than they've already been through. That is the very reason why he took the surviving Wens away to a secluded area that no one else would try and enter.

Next Jiang Cheng pleads with Wei Wuxian to come back to Lotus Pier and turn in all the Wens. Yes, turning them in means they'll all be executed, but at least Wei Wuxian can come back into the fold and, most importantly, Jiang Cheng won't have to deal with him being a black sheep anymore. And what they don't really understand at this point is that if it's not the Wens, it's someone else. Someone always has to take the blame for whatever evil is occurring in the world. If Wei Wuxian were to turn the Wens in, they would undoubtedly be executed, but I don't think for one second that they wouldn't hold Wei Wuxian accountable as well, even if he were the one to turn them in himself. For one thing, they are still convinced he took piece of Yin Iron that Xue Yang had, and they don't trust him when he says (repeatedly) that he did not get it from there. Bottom line, there's always going to be a scapegoat, and we know that--we see it happen again and again in this story.

Last thing about this little scene so far: Defenders of the Wen Clan are going against the mainstream. No one will speak up for them. No one will speak up for Wei Wuxian, in particular. Jiang Cheng is pretty much giving Wei Wuxian an ultimatum: if you don't turn them in, it's over--you're out of the Jiang Clan. No one will take him in at this point, not even the Yunmeng Jiangs. Yes, Jiang Cheng is torn up about this. He wants Wei Wuxian on his side--at his side. He doesn't like the idea that Wei Wuxian's loyalty has switched from himself to these Wen remnants who are as good as dead. But here's the thing: there are still people who will speak up for him. Lan Wangji will. To a certain extent, Jiang Yanli will as well, but no one will really put much stock in what she says. When she and Jiang Cheng visit so that she can show her wedding attire to Wei Wuxian, they keep hidden--they don't want anyone to see them there. Lan Wangji, on the other hand, makes no effort to hide himself. He even calls attention to himself at the tea house when he gets pissed off at all the people gossiping about Wei Wuxian. He's really the only one who is truly on Wei Wuxian's side right now.

Heartbreakingly, Wei Wuxian tells Jiang Cheng to leave. He's the one who supplies the idea that he defected, and proposes that they stage a fight to make it believable. And I can't sit here and fault Jiang Cheng for giving this ultimatum. He's a clan leader--his priority is whatever will better his clan, and right now, Wei Wuxian is a detriment. He tries to convince Wei Wuxian, over and over, to abandon the Wens, but Wei Wuxian can't--he won't. He can't abandon them when they've done so much for him, and he can't abandon them when they've been so wronged. The people he is protecting have done nothing wrong, other than have the wrong surname. Jiang Cheng never really tries to understand that or fight for that. He knows that these people are not dangerous, yet he just goes along with the other clans.

In the end, Jiang Cheng kind of makes it about himself and his inferiority complex with Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian wants to be a hero, wants to be the best, he knows the Jiang discipline better than even Jiang Cheng. It's sad that it always comes back to this, despite how many times Wei Wuxian argues with it. Jiang Cheng just cannot get over not being better than Wei Wuxian, and what I find most frustrating is that that issue isn't Wei Wuxian's. It's not Wei Wuxian's problem at all. It is wholly Jiang Cheng's problem, but he behaves as if Wei Wuxian owes him something--as if he ought to do something about it. But there's nothing for him to do. Jiang Cheng just needs to get over his issues and himself.

Can you imagine how shitty Wei Wuxian must feel right now? The person he was raised like a brother to just told him he wouldn't be able to defend him anymore and essentially forced him to defect. He's leading and trying to protect a group of individuals whom the rest of the dominating clans want dead and, by extension, they probably want him dead as well. But despite this, he's doing his best to make everyone else feel better. He puts on a smile, a chipper attitude, and tries to comfort them all. He gives extra fruit to A-Yuan, then he goes to try and cheer Wen Qing up. This is the kind of person he is. And it takes a lot to break him. Think of what he's gone through! Gah!! He's so amazing, I love him!!!! Lan Wangji is my absolute fave, but it did take me a while to warm up to him. I was immediately enchanted with Wei Wuxian, and the more you know about him, the more you love him, I feel.

That fucking comb! Seriously! When will it end! I don't want to see that thing ever again!!! I'm a little irrational about the comb, but it's just really annoying to me, okay? I mean, I feel bad for the guy. He keeps trying and hoping to get a girlfriend, but it's just not happening. Wen Qing probably should have made it clear a long time ago that she had no intention of being his wife, though, and then maybe we could have ditched this subplot a long time ago as well. But the other thing is, if Jiang Cheng cares about Wen Qing so much, why is he so willing to let her be executed? It just...doesn't really make much sense that he can't even admit what his feelings are to even Wei Wuxian.

I love how Wen Qing hasn't said a word in this scene yet. Wei Wuxian is just talking and talking and talking, sort of having a dialogue with her, anticipating what she's thinking. I don't remember being this amused the first time I watched it, but it's quite funny now. Charming, as well. When I get annoyed at what the showrunners tried to do, having Wen Qing and Wei Wuxian be in a romantic relationship, I'm going to think of this scene, and the other moments where I really appreciate their platonic relationship.

Adorable! So adorable, I almost can't stand it! This part is so cute, and I swear, Jin Zixuan has never looked better. There's something about him being disheveled and maybe not having as much makeup on his face, plus the addition of the dirt and mud, that makes him really attractive and cute haha.

"I know this is not Lotus Pier, but I'm willing to build another Lotus Pier for you." Ugly sobbing ensues.

I just love them!!! <3 <3 <3

Just Lan Wangji quietly seething with rage over here. Seriously, these gossips! The funny thing is, they're all terrified of what Wei Wuxian will do, yet they sit in here and gossip about him, as if they'd ever be brave enough to stand up to him.

Favorite wangxian scene alert! I love this scene. So much. So so much. Everything from Lan Wangji's panicked expression to the way Wei Wuxian stifles his laughter, to the look on Lan Wangji's face when he hears his name being called (and recognizes whose voice it is) to Wei Wuxian's genuine smile when he and Lan Wangji make eye contact. It's genuine happiness that Wei Wuxian feels--not the forced cheerfulness that he puts on around Wen Qing. He's so glad that someone has come to see him that isn't Jiang Cheng or someone else who wants him dead. It's a friend--finally a friend.

Oh, my gosh--look at him! He's delighted! He's so happy!! When is the last time we've seen our boy actually happy? It feels like it's been forever! And my little wangxian heart soars, knowing that it's Lan Wangji that makes him feel this way. But really, it couldn't be anyone else, could it?

Indulge me. Just look at them.

Look. Look! Love! It's love!

I have so many feelings about this part, but I can't even talk about it. I just love these scenes of Lan Wangji's visit to Yiling so much. Beginning to end, it's one of my favorite parts of the series. There's such a range of emotions from joy to sadness to bitterness to love--it has everything. And seeing the beginning of their little family warms my heart: A-Yuan warming up to Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian being indignant about it. It's such an emotional time for the both of them, seeing each other for the first time in months, especially after all that has happened between them. If Lan Wangji hadn't come here, maybe they never would have seen each other again. Wei Wuxian certainly can't go to the Cloud Recesses to see him. Ugh, I have a lot of feelings, but that's to be continued, because of a strange episode break (as per usual).

Another kind of shorter post! This episode was just a lot of Jiang Cheng being dramatic about evicting Wei Wuxian, which is entertaining and all, but there’s not a whole lot to say. And then Wen Qing kind of has the exact same conversation with Wei Wuxian, which, again, not a lot to say there either. This episode was just me waiting impatiently for the wangxian part at the end to be quite honest.

Other episodes: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | Or just check out the #CQL Rewatch hashtag

#wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #jiang cheng #cql #the untamed #wen qing #jin zixuan #jiang yanli #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #ep 28 #cql rewatch