#quo arm reblog

[hsficrecommendation]

Hello Everyone! This is masterlist #4 (June of 2023!) for the all fics I have reblogged on this side blog I hold super close to me. Remember to leave feedback and reblog all the writings below!

Also, a huge thank you to all the writers mentioned, I adore you so very much and I hope you keep writing for yourselves <3

••• JUNE •••

Valentine's Day | Y/N receives a special candy gram on Valentine’s Day. - @nationalharryleague

French Fries | Harry kept glancing at her as he drove. “M’sorry about our date,” he whispered. “I don’t know what you’re apologizing for,” she shrugged and reached over to squeeze his arm while he held the steering wheel. “I had a lovely time.” - @1d1195

Shy | Close | Motherly Love | Don't Leave Me | Mother's Day | ♡ When Harry runs into a perfect stranger at a supermarket, he doesn’t know what to expect. After having been single for over a year and raising Amelia without a mother, dating somebody new feels impossible… that is, until she wins over the heart of his daughter. - @harry-writings

Vogue Beauty Secrets | Actress!Y/N does the Vogue Beauty Secrets video, and Harry decides to help. - @astranva

Gonna be Better in the Morning | Jeff and reader get into a fight and Harry takes Jeff's side. (As always, there is a happy ending with lots of comforts) - @harryhoney-bee

Work of Art | A cute little fluffy artist!Harry piece with a hint of angst! - @nationalharryleague

Update | The Best Present | Harry falls for a mysterious girl from YouTube. - @watchmegetobsessed

When The Levee Breaks | You're a waitress and Harry is being stood up. - @songbirdstyles

Playball | ♡ The reader owns a bakery and hates baseball, but what happens when her town’s bigshot MLB player walks into her bakery and she finds herself catching feelings unaware of his occupation? - @writingsbymarie

The Con Artist | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | ♡ You're a wanted criminal and when Harry Styles, the detective on the case, finally catches up to you- he finds it difficult to resist your charms. - @gurugirl

Baby Steps | You’re Harry’s son's therapist, and he isn’t the only one you end up helping. - @enthusiasticharry

Mute | ♡♡ Where Harry doesn’t talk and falls in love with Y/n. - @harry-writings

Score and Smash | In which their university holds an annual boy vs girl football match, the highly anticipated game of the year has arrived and Harry and Y/N hate each other just as equally until Y/N is under Harry.

Quid Pro Quo | Another lawyer!Harry. Technically six years before this piece. Enemies to lovers with plenty of angst! - @talesofstyles

Six Months (Part 23) | ♡ Layla desperately needs a vacation and her Aunt and Uncle come to her rescue. So, at twenty two, she packs her bag and jets off to America. Harry took a break from education and is now a full fledged content creator on OnlyFans. At twenty, he makes more money than almost all of his friends. What ensues when these two meet and realise the windows in their rooms face each other? How will paper airplanes bring them closer together? - @fishnets-fingers

2022 : Masterlist #1 , #2 , #3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. 2023 : Masterlist #1, 2, 3 (June masterlist would be continued in the next list!)

My official writing account in case you'd like to check out my fics too: @0oolookitsme :)

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles fic rec #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic recommendation #fic rec #harry styles fan fic #harry styles au #harry styles concept

[kairiscorner]

HELLOOOO I JUS STARTED READING YOUR WORKS AND i have been OBSESSED !!!!!

COULD I REQ a e1610!miles x fem!reader, where it’s a bit of a she fell first he fell harder sitch? reader and miles are pretty close friends and reader has been crushing on them for as long as she remembers 😅 miles DOES have feelings but he brushes them off as “just friends feelings”. they could have a bit of an argument cozzzzzz reader was getting mixed signals from miles 😢😢 but then once he does realize his actual feelings, he plans a little something to ask reader if he can court her? (filo!reader twist ? 🧐)

THANK YEW SM !! 🤞⭐️💘

HIII THANK YOU !! OMG WAIT I LOVE THIS?????? my second favorite trope after the "he fell first" one >:)) OK I HOPE THIS IS ANY GOOD !!

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

we're truly, utterly, pretty much just friends

summary: you have loved miles for the longest time, and guess what? he likes you a lot, too. he wasn't sure at first, though. he joked about it a lot, until you had enough, now he has to come clean and admit everything to you.

word count: 1,200

oh the pain of being in love with your best friend, it's excruciating. nothing is more suffocating than being in close proximity with the boy who has your whole heart wrapped around his finger with him being none the wiser. you two have known each other practically all your lives, and for most of it... you've spent it admiring him, finding all kinds of reasons to keep falling for and loving him in ways you never thought were possible. when high school came around, you wondered if it would be worth it to tell him your feelings; surely, you wouldn't be affected if he didn't like you... right?

oh, who were you kidding? it'd hurt like falling from the sky and landing in an active volcano's magma chamber. like hell you were ever admitting your feelings to him, you wanted to keep the status quo. why would anything that wasn't broken need fixing, right? you kept up the act of being his 'closest friend' that truly loved him, in all ways, but at a distance. you felt a suffocating catharsis with him, a contradiction that haunted you whenever you felt your heart flutter when you two were together, and you feared that so badly.

you wanted to stop feeling this weirdly about him, especially when he told you he thought of you practically as family. it made you feel like you were betraying him for falling for him. well little did you know... he's betrayed you too, then, in that sense. miles has always found you amazing, just overall wonderful company and the best friend he could ever ask for. you always take care of him when he doesn't feel okay, you always listen when he has to blow off some steam, and your touch against his... it feels electrifying, it feels like home.

he does get confused sometimes why he feels a little hot in the face when you look at him for a beat too long, or why he has the urge to want to wrap his arm around your shoulders, lay his head on one of them, too, maybe... wait, why is he thinking this? he hadn't really thought of you like that before, or has he? when he pictures doing things like that with his other friends, they feel alright, but not exactly the right kind of alright he feels with you. "i just... i just care about them a lot. yeah, they're just, they just mean that much to me." he'd tell himself when he overthinks it sometimes.

but sometimes, those feelings of his take over, and sometimes, he'll do things that make your heart beat a whole lot quicker. he'd sometimes compliment you unironically for no reason, even if you didn't change anything about yourself. he'd joke about what a pretty couple you two would look like, though he'd tell it was a joke, he meant nothing by it and he'd say sorry if it put you off. 'he should be sorry for giving me hope every time,' you'd think to yourself in frustration.

you weren't exactly angry about him showing you so much affection--you were angry because he gave you hope, every time, that he'd like you back--only to be greeted with a punch in the stomach as he brushed them off as 'jokes'. you had the last straw when miles made yet another 'joke' about him falling for you. "it's just... you're quite a catch, okay? you're pretty, smart, strong too. now, i'm not saying i do like you, it's just--" "can you stop?" you asked with a stern voice as miles immediately stopped talking when you cut him off mid-sentence. your eyebrows were furrowed together angrily as you looked at his concerned expression. "what did i do?" he asked you, genuinely unsure of what he did to warrant your anger. "that. it's that obliviousness of yours. don't you get it? you're... you're giving me..." you decided not to finish that thought, in fear that you would give yourself away.

you cussed under your breath as miles bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying sorry, because he knew you hated it when 'sorry' is all one can say while you were chewing them out. miles gently put a hand on your shoulder, and with a hung head and an absolutely anxious mind... he went out with it. "...i like you. so much." he admitted, placing emphasis on every syllable, hoping it sank in to you that he likes you the way you have always liked him.

he darts his eyes from your feet to his as he shuffles them a little out of anxiety, and he sighs as he looks up at your flustered face, trying to sound confident, sure of himself, but he was everything but that--and it showed. "i didn't think i'd... actually be in love when i thought about you like that, those... those thoughts i shared with you. you know, the... the 'me dating you' ones, the 'oh, you're so darn pretty, smart, strong, and everything' ones... the... 'i kinda wanna ask you out ones'... yeah... i just realized recently it meant... i like you." he said as his voice quieted and softened, as a small smile cracked on his face as he felt it growing hotter and hotter the longer he spoke.

"if you'll let me, and this is not a joke this time... if you'll let me, can i... can i court you?" he asked you in the softest voice he could muster, so scared of what you'd say. he poured his whole heart out to you, hoping you understood, hoping you'd say yes... "morales, i am going to hit you." you threatened him lightly as you tried to take your shoe off, feeling your own face get flustered as he chuckled. "i'll take it, just... i want to earn your love, i wanna do it right." he said as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. "...is it bad you earned it long ago already?" you asked him, which caused his eyes to widen as he pulled back a little.

"wait, so you mean to tell me that--" before he could even finish, you planted a kiss on his lips. it was brief, it was abrupt, but all the love you pent up for him over the years was put into that very kiss. you still looked angry at him, and rightfully so, for causing you so much excitement that he'd like you back only to just recently realize it. "you'll buy me lunch today, morales." you said as you took his hand and began to trudge forward with him following, smiling all the while and getting super excited for what this meant for the both of you. "i'd buy you lunch every day, walk you home, cuddle up with you if you wanted... i'd make every day about you, that's what i mean when i say i wanna court you, mahal." he said as he interlocked his hand in your own, which made you super flustered, but you wanted to keep it under wraps--gotta make him pay for giving you so much hope from back then, of course.

a/n: MY BOYYYYYY

tags !! @k4tsu3 @luvstarrstruck @toneystank-3000 @ii01vq @maxoloqy @solecitoszn @q2ie @zalayni

#miles morales #miles morales x filipino reader #earth 1610 miles morales x filipino reader #earth 1610 miles morales #miles morales x reader #earth 1610 miles morales x reader #atsv imagines #atsv #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #atsv fluff #earth 1610 miles fluff #miles morales x you #earth 1610 miles morales x you #miles morales x y/n #earth 1610 miles morales x y/n

[ooo-protean-ooo]

Their Glistening Whore: Part two of ?

Minors DNI!! 🤬🔥🔞🔞🔞🔥🤬

3k+ some change

Please consider reblogging, it dramatically raises the exposure of the work that’s being written by me and enjoyed by you for free. Thank you ♥️

Warnings

Smut!!

Group sex

Cockwarming

Exhibition

Voyeurism

It’s a trap! (Reader is set up to get in trouble if there’s a better way to tag this please let me know)

D&S

Daddy kink

Let me know if I need to add more!

🔥🔥🔥🔥

Your eyes were positively transfixed as the glass bottle spun.

It was like some vintage thing, blue glass you’d see in a renaissance painting or something.

It was soothing, and reminded you of warm windy days when you and your mom would paint out in the midd-

You blinked, jerking your head up at the eruption of excitement when it landed on Nancy.

Some how it had managed to skip her the entire game so far, so much so she almost opted to shuffle off towards the rest of the party.

Her face grew stone like, refusing to pick ‘truth’.

And yet there was more than just the other option.

“Truth, dare, or Kiss, Wheeler?” Eddie said smugly.

It was supposed to be ‘spin the bottle’, but half of us wanted to play truth or dare.

So then it became this morphed and melded game of endless possibilities.

She sighed out a huff, her shoulders shrugging with the action as a tight smile spread across her features. If he wanted to play hardball, she was game.

“Dare, Munson,” she opted.

He snickered, crossing his arms.

“S’ok, you're not my type anyway sweetheart, but you're still puckering up…I dare you to kiss Robin,” he proposed with a shit eating grin.

“What!?” The scoops sailor squeaked, flushing a deep red, causing Steve to laugh.

Nancy’s head whipped in her direction, eyes going wide as everyone lost their minds.

She looked back at him, blushing, glaring, but gave the tiniest smirk in an unspoken token of gratitude.

Eddie’s grin only widened as he bowed dramatically.

Steve pushed on Nancy’s shoulder and began a chanting that everyone soon joined.

“KISS’ER, KISS’ER, KISS’ER…”

Robin stared with eyes like saucers as the unsuspecting gunslinger stood, walked over to her and just stared down at the frozen girl amidst the chanting for a moment until ultimately dropping into her lap in a straddle.

Everyone shut up aside from some taunting noises of endearment as “Be My Lover” by Alice Cooper thrummed around them.

Nancy gathered all the courage she had and cradled Robins face in her hands, planting a less than chast kiss on her lips.

It took a second, but the reciprocity by Robin was animalistic.

Everyone clapped and erupted into hoots and hollers as the two decidedly didn’t move off of one another after the kiss was finished.

“Not brave enough my ass, Rob’s” Steve piped up about her earlier comment, earning a bird and a very stern look as Nancy just laughed, guiding Robin back for another kiss.

You giggle at the exchange as Nancy breaks away and takes a spin, looking towards the blond haired, blue eyed dream boat it lands on.

“🎵Billy,🎶”

“Dare,” he interrupts, looking over to her on the open take of a slow blink.

“Have a damned shot already,” nance says through a laugh, raising her glass as Robin nips at her neck, encircling her waist, elated that she’s still in her lap.

Billy rolled his eyes but motioned for the bottle Eddie was nursing.

“Quid pro quo…I get to spin before I shoot,” he counters.

“Sure,” Nancy agrees, looking at everyone, the request seeming reasonable enough.

And so he does, the bottle moves in slow motion until it’s not moving at all. It’s pointing at you, and you're not quite sure how long you stare at it.

Apparently not too long as no one’s said anything yet.

You look up at him, heart hammering as a very dangerous feeling creeps across you.

He raises his brows, smiling his most knee weakening smile.

The same one he used to give to Nancy’s mom at the pool…

“Well?” He prompts.

“Dare…” you say before letting go of the breath you’d been holding.

You glance next to you, to Steve, and then across to Eddie, both of them crowding you in with eyes of expectation.

This is a set up. . . Or a horrible horrible coincidence, you can’t tell which.

“Take a shot with me,” he says innocently, his voice holding that weird combination of smooth gruffness that made your tummy warm.

Your shoulders relax and you smile, that’s not so-

“up the stairs, in Steve’s room,” he tacks on impishly.

You choke on your own spit, and the entire group is silent as the grave.

“Uh, no. No-no-no, hah, no,” you stammer, earning a snort from Steve and a grin from Billy.

Eddies tilting his head a fraction, eyes half lidded, smirking at your discomfort.

“Rules are rules baby,” Steve offers from beside you.

He’s regarding you naively.

like there weren’t any implications behind Billy’s tone and You balk at him, anxiety shooting through you like murder bamboo on steroids.

What was he, he couldn’t be…he did not just say!!!!

“Well go on, the sooner you go, the sooner you can spin,” he offers, patting your thigh.

“Um, ok..b-but I wana spin before I shoot too,” you say hoping to get the same leniency.

The idea of everyone waiting on you made it that much worse.

“Fair, it’d keep the game going while Billy mauls’er,” The metalhead chimed dryly.

“Eddy!” You bite, earning a sliding glance from his still obsidian orbs. He smiles slowly.

It’s definitely a fucking set up.

Everyone agrees and you spin the damned thing, biting your lip happily when it lands on Steve.

“Kiss,” he says warmly.

And your rolling into his lap, kissing him messily, pointedly, enough that you earn a chuckle and then a surprised but delighted grunt from him, his hands settling on your hips.

After a moment he breaks it grinning stupidly at you while offering another thigh pat.

“Mm, go have a drink baby, I’ll see you soon,” he says, raking his eyes over your features with an air about him that made you nervous.

“Mm’k Daddy,” you whisper so only he could hear.

One last pat to your ass and your standing, and then joining Billy as he backed down the hall towards the foyer where the stairs were, the shadows taking over his face in some places.

▪️ ▪️ ▪️

You hadn’t spent much time with Billy, so you didn’t know a whole lot about’em.

Just that he used to be a real dick, but he could charm the pants off most anyone.

You’d watched him in school and even considered working up the nerve to try and get his attention.

At least, that was the idea, until Steve swept you off your feet like a damned undertow.

The door closed behind you and for once in your relationship, this room felt foreign. Off limits. Strange even.

But the simple fact was because you were in it without your boyfriend, the one who it belonged to.

Instead you were in it with none other than the asshole who took his proverbial crown.

“Listen Billy, the shots are fine, but-“ you gasped, cutting yourself off as you turned around only to bump right Into him.

“But?” He echoed through a slow spreading smile as he began to herd you further into the room.

“But no funny business…I’m with-“

“Kiiing Steve. Yeah, I picked up on that,” he said, popping the cork from the bottle.

You looked away, his gaze lighting you up like it shouldn’t.

He knew it too, making a small hum/noise of amusement as his grin grew Cheshire, perfect white teeth filling your mind with ideas of how nice they’d feel against your neck as he was railing into you, sliding so-

“I-is that whiskey?” You say blinking a few times.

“Uh-huh, why? you been swallowing clear all night?” He asks brazenly, and you laugh.

God do you laugh. It’s stupid, and obvious, giving away where your mind goes like a magnifying glass.

He just laughs with you before taking a swig, raking your body with his eyes.

“Unfortunately not,” you admit, still giggling through your happy haze.

However as soon as the words leave you, your eyes widen and your lip is between your teeth at your flirtation.

An action that Billy mimicked unintentionally.

‘Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck, goddamnit, you horny whorebag’ you think to yourself, as your face does nothing to hide that inner monologue.

“C’mere then, doll,” he commands.

It’s unmistakably an order, but it’s gentle, and it’s accompanied by a crook of his finger, bottle still in hand.

Contrary to his wanting, you take a step back, shaking your head.

“I really shouldn’t Billy, I’ll just…I’ll just take the bottle,” you say tightly, as if it were an actual effort to not to just walk your horny ass over and take the shot from his mouth.

In fact, you're folding your arms over your chest, shoulders nearer to your ears as the nervous smile paints your face.

It doesn't go unnoticed and now he’s prowling closer, taking a second swig, the one you were Sposed to have.

“Aww, C’mon (y/n) ‘fraid I’ll tell Daddy?” He taunts, and the smile drops, his demeanor suddenly wolfish, predatory and absolutely weakening.

You’re lips part, arms falling to your sides as you look away and then back to him like you’d been caught in a lie.

“Dosent matter if you didn’t, h-he’d know…” you whimper almost too quietly.

“A-and I’m on my best behavior tonight,” you rattle off despite the fact that each second that passed, the less resolve you seem to have.

The further you slipped into the headspace of your rank…

Before you know it, the backs of your knees hit the mattress and you glance behind to see you’ve nowhere to go.

And when you look forward once more?

There he is, smoothing his hands up your forearms and crowding your space.

“And if I tell’em you behaved your worst?”

God he smelled divine, th’dickhead…

Like tonka bean and beech wood…and saltwater.

Pfft. Of course he did.

“You’d be fucked anyway, might as well earn it, hm?” He offered, setting his jaw.

You whine slightly annoyed, using all your strength not to just fall back into Steve’s bed where the California King could get you Into big fucking trouble.

“Billy give me the fucking bottle!” You hiss, the words sounding far less threatening than you’d hoped.

When he doesn't budge you shove him, earning a giggle.

A giggle!

It wasn’t exactly something you ever thought you’d hear from Billy Hargrove.

Finally you growl pulling the thing from his grasp and barreling past him, while uncorking it and taking a hefty drink.

When he comes up behind you, pressing his bulge against your ass, gripping your hips firm, you can’t stop the breathy and dark groan that leaves your lips as you unthinkingly grind backwards.

The pulse of energy that jolted up your cunt made you imagine what it would be like, and you decided something.

Billy had a strange effect on you…he called to your inner wild woman. The divine feminine that seemed unhinged.

With Steve you wanted to be bratty, you wanted to taunt until you serviced your apology of sorts and melted into his love.

Because that’s what Steve was.

Pure, unadulterated, unconditional love.

With Eddie, it was a little more of the same until you felt yourself sinking into complete submission and then even worship.

Not that you had experience with Eddie, you were just good with feeling people out, and The brunette was someone you could see yourself begging for pathetically.

But right now? In another life maybe? With Billy?

You’d turn around moaning into the blondes mouth as his equal.

You’d pull and tear his clothes from him, climb him like a fucking tree until he was pumping into you hard just standing in the middle of the room, letting loose primal grunts and growls as he claimed you, and you him.

You’d give in to the spirit of it. Of pleasure, breathing his breath, crying his cries.

But the reality was you turned around, set down the bottle and smacked the shit out of him because you weren’t his, and you were on thin fucking ice.

And then you sucked in a small breath of shock at what you’d just done.

The noise bounced off the walls and sent baby blues into deep shark-like abyssal blackness.

“Did you just fucking hit me?” He said way too calmly, letting a smile split his face.

Billy saw red in a way he’d never seen it before.

Usually this was the part where fists flew and fights started.

But the way it took him over now wasn’t in the guise of rage, but lust.

After all, you didn’t hurt him, that’s laughable.

No.

You just turned him on.

“See you down stairs,” you hissed, voice shaking as you tried to hide how badly you wanted to smack him again and make him pin you down.

O-or maybe slap you back.

He started laughing as you turned from him, and when you opened the door to leave, Steve was suddenly there, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed with Eddie’s chin nestled on his shoulder, both of their eyes on you as ‘No More Mr. Nice Guy’ by Alice cooper filled the space now that the door wasn’t closed.

“Jesus!” You yelped, tripping backwards only to land in Billy’s arms as he quickly forced and kept yours behind your back.

Just. Like. Eddie. Had. Earlier.

Your brows knit in fury and you make some girlish noise of frustration, thrashing around.

“Goddammit! Is everything Just an Eddie illusion?!”

That earned a laugh from all three of the boys and Eddie was nudging Steve inside so he could shut, and lock, the door.

“I am one hell of a dungeon master, babe,” he says through a toothy shit eating grin.

“In more ways than one,” Billy quips rasp-ishly into your ear.

You go lax in exasperation, your head lulling back as you allow yourself to glare perfect daggers at the blonde currently restraining you.

“For the love of god, did he fuck you too!?”

Billy just grinned before pressing a soft kiss just below your ear, making you jerk your head away defiantly.

“Sometimes. Sometimes I fucked him,” he breathed pornographically in an almost growl as he squeezed you in his hold.

The thought was horrendously mouthwatering despite your scoff and further glare as you ticked your head away again only to keep regarding him as a fresh idiot.

“Oh shut your dirty whore mouth, Hargrove and turn her around,” Eddie griped, mouth pressing into a line as his cheeks barely flushed.

Billy chuckled with a knowing smile, doing as he was told, spinning you around quickly to face him despite your noises of protest.

His hands moved from your wrists up to your forearms, keeping the hold firm as Eddie slapped the handcuffs from his belt onto your wrists.

“H-hey! What the fuck?! Steve?!” You whine, wiggling and trying to turn your head to look for your boyfriend only to have Billy guide your chin back to center cooly.

Eddie was gone, the cuffs bit into your skin and the usurper eyed you like something to eat as he kept you chest to chest.

“I’m here baby girl, be good for Billy, huh?” The tawny king said casually as he moved around, like The blonde was no stranger to handling you.

He absolutely was.

You’d never been ordered about or held or even fucking considered by him, or so you thought!

Billy tilted his head patronizingly, rubbing your chin with his thumb as he winked.

‘God what an absolute arrogant dick!’ You thought as your nose crinkled in rebellion, thighs clenching with betrayal.

the way your nipples hardened was further proof to you both that the situation wasn’t unwanted or uncomfortable.

“Yes, Daddy…” you mumble reluctantly, but loud enough to be heard and Billy reveled in it.

“You owe me money, Munson,” the blonde said with a drag to his words as he kept his eyes on yours.

“Yeah yeah,” he answered, also sounding as though he were shuffling about.

“She was such a good girl for you Steve, even slapped me in the fucking face to keep herself in check,” he offered, the end of his sentence grounding out.

“Again with the smacking?” Eddie scoffed flatly and disapprovingly.

“You fucking bet on me?” You snapped up at Billy, even though the question was for everyone.

“Again?” Billy ignored you, interest peaked on Eddie’s words.

“She smacked Eddie earlier outside. It wasn’t in the face, but the nerve of this one,” Steve explained.

His words were quickly followed by a hissing inhale of ‘oh’s and ‘god yes’s’ that unfolded Into a groan and then a weak moan as the soft sounds of sucking began to fill the air around them, ruining your determination to find out what the bet was about.

Your volatile bubbling aggravation settled Into a steaming blush of arousal as your pupils began to dilate at the sounds, lips parting and a soft huff making itself heard.

“Oh? Like what you hear dolly?” Billy asked, smoothing his hands up your ribs sensually.

You shiver, looking at Billy but seeming to be a little spaced out, like you were tuned directly into Steve’s needy little gasps but dissociated from the visual right in front of you.

“T-turn her around Bills, let’er see” Steve managed through something of a half mewl half sigh.

Upon his request, you became mindful, bringing your attention back to the blond who regarded you with amusement as his brows raised in a sort of question.

You nodded to him, signaling you wanted to see.

And fuck, did you.

The sight was instantly lighting you up, sending signals for your core to slicken and your mind to slip further and further into instinct rather than logic.

Steve’s mouth hung slack as it came back up from having been obviously dropped back in rapture. A light flush colored his skin and his hands were so delicately tangled in Eddie’s hair.

Never once was he rough or harsh with the brunette, he simply guided the man as he so skillfully took every inch Harrington fed him.

The metalhead groaned over Steve’s length, sucking and slurping softly but lewdly before pulling back for air, as he looked up at him.

“You like that pretty boy? M’I makin’ ya feel good?” He prompted with a cocky but confident smirk.

Steve nodded before dropping his hands to his sides.

“Yes Master, so goddamned good, thank you,” he said affectionately, bringing his fingers to gingerly test at touching Eddie’s cheek.

No part of it sounded awkward, rehearsed or even shy.

It carried a current of trust, of more than willing vulnerability, even with you standing right where you were, having never seen him this way.

Eddie's smirk melted into a fond smile and he placed his hands on Steve’s bare thighs, leaning into the touch and kissing his fingers approvingly.

“Your welcome sweet boy, I’m happy to do it,” he mused, his eyes closing for a moment.

Your skin prickled so nicely as you couldn't resist the urge to lick your lips.

Unthinkingly you moved forwards only to be gently stopped, and pulled back flush against Billy’s now bare chest.

When did he do that? God he was warm…

“Ah, Ah, easy loca,” he whispered against your ear, warm and patient, the bass of his voice making your heart beat harder.

You blink a few times before biting your lip, wiggling a little, but less than you normally would seeing as you were so ensnared by the sight before you.

It didn’t go unnoticed by Steve of course, and after looking at you assuringly, he stopped himself, quickly glancing at Eddie who offered another small smile of pride and appreciation, before looking to you as a ‘go ahead for your boyfriend.’

“Color, baby,” Steve said after a moment, closing his eyes in an attempt to compose his wanton mind before opening them back on you, seeing much of the same emotion rippling through your demeanor.

Your heart beat was muddled in your ears…like being underwater, wrapped in a dreamy adrenaline as odd as that sounds.

Your skin rippled with devotion and when he asked you for your state of mind, you couldn’t get the word out fast enough. You wanted every part of this thing unfolding before you, whatever it was, however much depth it held. You wanted it tonight and however many nights it would find you…

“Green” you breathed out.

Billy coiled around you with excitment, fingers daring the hem of your skirt as he grinned against your ear.

Eddie’s smile spread slowly, almost like he was impressed, and Steve?

Steve searched your eyes a few moments, making absolutely sure before he nodded and looked back to the Brunette that was kneeling before him.

“Well alright then,” Steve rasped.

—-

Thank you so much guys for your interest and your patience, part 3 is already cooking!

I have some notes going but no timeline for when it will be done. BUT WE COOKIN, and we’ve also go a long way to go. I’ve got plans for this series that make it impossible for me to tell you how many parts there will be. ♥️♥️♥️

If you would like to be added to the tag list, just comment below! And please please please consider reblogging!

@eddiemunsonswifefr @mattefic @godcreatoreli

#eddie munson #billy hargrove #steve harrington #poly relationship #polyamory #eddie x billy #eddie x steve #billy x eddie #billy x steve #steve x eddie #steve x billy #harringroveson #stranger things fanfiction #Eddie x billy x Steve #harringroveson x Reader #fanfiction #billy hargove smut #eddie munson smut #steve harrington smut

[bas-writes]

Snowed In

Character: Denjiro Reader: gender neutral CW: size difference (smaller reader) Word count: 727 Prompt: One person stopping a kiss to ask “Do you want to do this?”, only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss. A/N: to cleanse my palette from the everlasting smut, I decided to return to my favorite prompt list, and sprinkle y'all's dashboard with some shameless fluff! i'll randomly assign blorbos i enjoy writing (or set traps on my friends and moots), until the whole list of 50 will be full :3 i hope you will enjoy!

Kiss Event! | if you liked it, please consider reblogging and/or leaving some feedback ❤️

You could swear it’s been snowing for eternity. In other circumstances you would probably be happy like a little kid—or at least in awe at the views alone—but here and now you’re just terrified. The snowdrifts reached the level you would call impassable hours ago, and so far you haven’t seen any sign of the cataclysm any time soon. If you two are lucky, maybe someone will find you and free you from the semi-abandoned home you took as your shelter. If not…Well, for sure there are worse ways to spend a night together.

Well, at least there’s a place to sleep. And more than one bed.

Denjiro is in a far better mood, shamelessly sprawled on one of said beds, a tad too small for his huge body. Hands behind his head, he gnaws on a toothpick and hums, deep in thought, with a dreamy smile across his lips. Even if your face is turned towards the window, you keep observing him from the corner of your eye. It’s been so…long since you saw him smiling so naturally for the last time. Just as you thought he can’t show any more emotion but a wicked smirk or anger, here he is, relaxed and pleased with something. Much like a well-fed cat.

“I can feel you staring, you know.” He rolls the toothpick from one corner of his lips to the other, his smile now directed at you. “Do you have any news for me?”

A little needle of embarrassment pricks your ears. Have you been that obvious? How far has he read you? You’re still not sure whether you want your crush to be known or not, so you’ve been doing your best to be discreet.

With little effect, it seems.

“All I can say is that—” You pray that at least your voice sounds neutral— “we’re in trouble.”

“It cannot be that bad.” He stretches and springs on his feet. To look through the window—and over your shoulder—he has to bend nearly in half. “Oh. Well. Seems it can.”

He rests chin on your shoulder—as expected, quite a weight to carry. But even if he placed only a feather there, the effect would be no different. Your body stiffens and your heart races in your chest, beating against your ribcage like a wild bird trapped in a cage.

Calm yourself down. He hasn’t done anything, he’s just…close. Oh, so close…

“And we don’t have firewood here.” Denjiro clicks his tongue, his careless smile fading a bit—just to explode anew a second later. “We might have to cuddle for warmth, isn’t it romantic?”

“I don’t think we’re close enough for that.” You roll your eyes but, underneath, you’re burning at the mere thought. Oh, to be so close, to feel with your whole body how big he is…

As if reading your mind, Denjiro wraps arms around you and pulls you close, trapping you against his chest. He’s not standing straight and yet, the top of your head barely reaches his chest. Involuntary, your body starts melting and leaning against him.

And he’s not losing this opportunity, one hand supporting your middle, the other gently cupping your chin and tilting your head in his direction, his face dangerously close…

He tastes of mint, you realize, eagerly opening for him. He brushes the tip of his tongue against your bottom lip before closing it between his and sucking a little, teasing, not breaking the subtle status quo. It happened so quickly you stand no chance for reaction, frozen in place, unable to even close your eyes.

“Ah!” He pulls away as fast as he leaned for it, his face genuinely concerned. “Do you want to do this? I’m sorry, I should have asked first—”

Instead of giving him an answer, you reach out and, threading fingers through his silky-soft hair, pull him closer again, your lips finally free of motionless curse. For a second or two you’re able to take control over it, attacking him with passion that surprised you both.

But it doesn’t last long. With a given permission, his gall returns—and he claims your lips his until you’re out of breath and leaning into chest, all your power gone in seconds.

“You know—” He wipes the saliva off your lips with his thumb. “I don’t think I want to be saved from here that early…”

#one piece reader insert #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #op x reader #op x y/n #op x you #one piece imagine #one piece fluff #one piece x yn #op x yn #denjiro x reader #denjiro x you #denjiro x y/n #denjiro x yn #bas writes #denjiro #gender neutral reader

[cocrante]

I Start Over With You

[SOLANGELO FANFIC]

summary: After the great battle against the forces of Gaea, Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter had formed a long-lasting alliance. Everything had gone well, and everyone was ready to start anew. This included Nico, who, after confessing his feelings to Percy, was prepared to open a new chapter in his life—perhaps the happiest one the Fates had ever written.

note: the chapters will be updated every Wednesday. If you want to read upcoming chapters of the fanfiction in advance, I invite you to follow me on Patreon. Subscribing is not necessary, these chapters will be added for free on the platform on Mondays and Fridays. Following me there is just a kind and free gesture to support my work c:

nda. On this chapter I had some doubts. The fanfiction you are reading is almost ten years old, and there are many inaccuracies that may have been explained in later books. The thing about demigods changing tables seemed like something I had read, but now that many years have passed, I'm not sure anymore. For plot reasons, let's pretend they can do it.

Reblogs are highly appreciated c:

[CHAPTER 4]

SINCE THE WAR HAD ENDEND and the two camps had started to mix to learn new training techniques, the cafeteria had slowly begun to change like that of New Rome, although some who preferred the status quo wrinkled their noses at seeing demigods from other cabins sitting at different tables.

The first time was the evening when Jason declared that he wanted to stay at the camp, feeling finally in a place he could call home. That evening he abruptly got up from his lonely table and sat down at Aphrodite's one, causing surprise and dissent from some, but certainly the table of the goddess of love did not disagree with hosting the handsome blonde. That evening, there was a lot of movement in the mess hall, with demigods moving from table to table, making dinner more chaotic and lively. After making his offering in the fire, with no particular request or prayer, Nico returned to his table, preferring solitude and tranquility, but unfortunately not everyone respected his lifestyle. Jason was keeping him company, as he had promised to do more often during meals. "Did Aphrodite kick you out, Grace?" Nico asked with a hint of irony, taking a sip from his goblet. Jason tried to suppress a laugh. "If you want, I can leave you alone" he replied, picking up a warm loaf of bread. The boy in front of him raised an eyebrow, as if he would get up in response to an affirmative answer. "Do as you please" he grumbled.

"So—" spoke the son of Jupiter after a while, catching Nico's attention. "We'll see again tomorrow morning for training at the arena?" Jason asked, spearing some asparagus with his fork. Nico remained silent for a moment, staring at his friend's face. He had forgotten that he had promised to train with Jason the next morning. "Ah" he exclaimed embarrassedly. "No. No, I—I have something else to do" he muttered, looking down at his plate. At that response, Jason completely lost interest in dinner. He was now much more curious about what Nico had to do that was better than training with him. "And what would that be?" he asked, crossing his arms on the table. Nico frowned, as if he was really obligated to answer him. "It's none of your business" he replied abruptly, taking another sip from his goblet and pointing his eyes towards the table of the seventh house, always lively and sunny as only the children of the sun god could be. "You know that I'll find out anyway" Jason smiled wryly. After all, sooner or later, everyone in the camp would find out about each other's business, and with that kind of provocation, Nico grumbled. He valued his privacy, but agreed that the boy would find out from external sources and subsequently pester him with stupid questions. "Fine" he sighed, placing his goblet on the table. "I'm going for a boat ride" he shrugged, trying to seem as annoyed as possible. "Oh really?" Jason placed his hand on his face, surprised by that response. Everyone knew that for some demigods, certain elements were off-limits. "Yes, Jason" Nico snapped, rolling his eyes. "And with whom are you going?" the handsome blond boy whispered, getting closer. At that proximity, Nico moved back a bit with his back, feeling his ears grow warmer. "Will asked me" he curled his lips, as if to say what can I do?

"Ah" Jason exclaimed in surprise, turning briefly to Apollo's table, where his children were having fun and entertaining with poetry and pop songs. "I didn't think you liked blonds" at that phrase, Nico almost choked on a piece of meat, causing some demigods to turn their heads out of curiosity and one in particular from the seventh table to go and see what was happening in person. When everything seemed to have returned to normal, the boy who had almost fully stood up returned to his seat, laughing at a joke from one of his brothers, avoiding looking at the table of Ade's son. "What the hell, Grace!" Nico scolded him, spitting out what was left in his throat onto a tissue. "We're just friends, I think" he explained, moving the plate out of sight. He had lost his appetite. Jason nodded, wanting to believe him. "Well, then, we'll see you after your date?" he finger-quoted, causing a certain nervousness in the boy in front of him. "As you wish" he replied, hoping that promise would shut him up. "Great".

At the end of the dinner, some groups left the cafeteria, leaving the tables full of dirt to be cleaned by the camp's harpies. Many of the boys headed to the bonfire, where it was a tradition to roast marshmallows and sing campfire songs. "Aren't you coming?" Jason asked Nico, seeing him heading up the camp to go to his cabin. "No, I'm good" he replied, distancing himself from the overly noisy crowd. "Oh—" Jason whispered. Once again, he had hoped that Nico would join them to sing the song of the Minotaur. "Good night!" the boy raised his voice to be heard by Nico, who raised his hand in return without turning around. But Nico, distracted by his thoughts for the next day, had not noticed that a figure was getting closer and closer behind him. "Planning to bolt?" the voice whispered, making the boy startle and jump. Caught off guard, he searched at his side for his sword to unsheathe it, only then remembering that he had left it in his cabin. He turned around and let out an imperceptible sigh. "Hasn't anyone taught you not to sneak up on people, especially at night!" he scolded. "I could have skewered you" he lifted his eyes to the sky. "Oh yeah?" Will asked amusedly. "And with what?" he smiled, indicating the left side devoid of his sword. "You're lucky I left it in the cabin" Nico pressed his lips together to avoid saying something inappropriate. Years of wandering outside had taught him to sharpen his senses, it was just a coincidence that the sword had been left in the cabin. However, Will shrugged "You still haven't answered my question, though" continued the boy. "What question?" Nico sighed, curiously raising an eyebrow. "Are you making a run for it?" Will repeated, hoping to convince him to stay at the camp and sing by the fire. "Yes" he replied directly, resuming his path towards cabin number 13. "Come on! Everyone's there" Will followed him. "Correct" that was precisely the reason he didn't want to go there. "You don't have to sing" Will smiled, his teeth shining even in the dark. "I'll take care of that" Nico stopped, muttering some not very flattering words in his mother tongue. "What did you say?" the boy was curious. "I said I'm coming" he lied, but Will didn't know Italian. "But only for five minutes" and saying that, the two of them headed towards the bonfire.

Without too much fuss, the two sat down in the middle of the group. Nico greeted Jason with a nod, who smiled seeing that his friend had changed his mind, then seeing him close to Will, it all became clear. Nico, slightly embarrassed, sat down near the cabin led by Will, as the boy had insisted so much for him to sit beside him. Will passed some marshmallows for Nico to roast so he wouldn't get bored while the others sang. Nico thanked him, already toasting the candy, listening enchanted to the intoned voices of the Apollo cabin mixed with the off-key ones of the others. He was listening in particular to one voice, the only one he really liked: Will had a really beautiful tone, melodic, warm. Nico would never admit it, but he would have stayed listening to him sing for hours and even though the boy repeated that he was only good at treating wounds, Nico found that he was also good at many other things worthy of a son of Apollo. At the second song, Will decided to take a break and talk to Nico, who had ignored him all that time. "Are you having fun?" asked the boy. Nico looked at him, ready to give him an another negative answer, but seeing Will's sunny face, with that beautiful smile, he couldn't tell him that he was bored to death. "Yes" he simply replied, breaking the roasted candy off the stick. "Thanks for accepting my invitation" the boy whispered in his ear, with all that noise it was difficult to hear anything. "It will be the last time you convince me to do it" Nico replied in the boy's ear.

On the other side of the bonfire, Jason never took his eyes off the two. It was the first time he had seen Nico smile and laugh at a joke. "What are you staring at?" Piper asked at one point, noticing that her boyfriend had been silent the whole time staring ahead. "What do you think?" he whispered to the girl, leaning close to her ear. Piper remained perplexed for a moment, not understanding the question, then looked to where Jason was looking, stunned. "Since when can he smile?" she asked ironically, laughing to herself. "Is that Will he's talking to?" the girl asked, who had not yet found a way to learn the names of the members of the cabins. "Exactly him" Jason replied, bending his lips in a crooked smile. "They look really good together" the girl whispered, and Jason couldn't agree more.

[CONTENTS]

1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 • 12 • 13 • 14 • 15 • 16

#🖇️ : fanfiction #i start over with you ☀️☠️ #solangelo #will solace #nico di angelo #camp halfblood #camp jupiter #fluff fic #percy jackson #pjo #pjo fanfic #riordanverse #writer on patreon

[amvguy]

Amv recs?

HI THANK YOU FOR ASKING MWAH

i will preface this by saying that, well, i love amvs. i love making them and watching them and sharing them so this was very fun for me. it would also be impossible to list all the amvs ive enjoyed, but the following is a collection of some of my favorites to share with other people. these are mostly spn amvs but i will include some of my favorites from other media at the end.

i've only included tumblr posts for all of them because tumblr is where i find most of the videos i watch and, you know, tumblr is not always very kind to videos so support your local amv maker!! reblog!

under the cut because i have no restraint and this got long<3

spn

firstly, i recommend looking through @spnamvs if you're looking for something specific. the tagging system is great and honestly i just love the archive i think it's one of my most visited websites.

now, the list:

characters / platonic relationships

anna | oh ana by @anna-coded

eileen | come on, eileen! by @calamitysong

dean | gold star by @obstacle1mp3

dean | my body is a cage by @eggcessive

dean | turn up the faders by @infinitysleeps

dean | something to sing about by @katebushstandean

dean | dean winchester is an enneagram six by @smokerdean

dean & claire | circus heart part 2. by @clairewolf

dean | dean “i have got to watch a horror movie with this bitch” winchester by clairewolf

dean | a little bit alexis by lesbianhostility

dean | september by @pinkinthenightdean

dean | his twins big like tia<3 by @maningning

cas | abbey by @peternureyev

cas | best of the best of times by @risencas

cas | marsha, thankk you for the dialetics, but i need you to leave by @eddietboyswag

cas | digital girl by @destielcrit

cas | body by @theangelisgay

cas & jack | cuckoo by @croc-odette

jack | youth by @danneelswife

jack | two-headed calf by @soysaucecas

mary | miss nothing / miss everything by @dawittiest

jimmy novak | katrinah josephina by destielcrit

relationships (this is literally just the destiel section, im not sorry)

destiel | i need a hero by @bleedingastigmatism

destiel | hot knife by calamitysong

destiel | kiss with a fist by @chronicpaindean

destiel | love at first sight by @cuckstiel

destiel | it's all coming back to me now by @cyclicalhaunting

destiel | on entire lakes ‒ you by @dawittiest

destiel | somebody to love by katebushstandean

destiel | happy ending by katebushstandean (actually all of mikanatural)

destiel | the predatory wasp of the palisades is out to get us! by maningning

destiel | relihiyoso by maningning

destiel | having a coke with you by frank o’hara by @maningning

destiel | deep in the meadow by @sosaysdean

destiel | judas by @tallahasseemp3

destiel | supercut by @twow

destiel | arms tonite by @emotionallyits2009

destiel | ahora estoy con él by @virfujiwara​ (this one is so fucking funny also latinenatural wohoo)

general

angels | gagarin by @afeelingsosweet

dta | i guess by @bedlund

supernatural | i wanted to leave by @chitaquadean

angels, demons, and their vessels | undone, undress by clairewolf

supernatural | stick to the status quo by @crosbystillsandhash

supernatural | no one lives forever by @csny

supernatural’s women of color | your best american girl by @eileenleahy

angels | it's a hard-knock life by @fruityangels

supernatural | why me? why us? - the heart as queer allegory by @jimmynovac

supernatural actors (?) | art is dead by @jurisffiction

supernatural | ME! by jurisffiction

supernatural | perhaps the world ends here by @kellyscabin

supernatural | space ghost coast to coast by @lovelybydecay

angels | succession intro by @nobodydean

angels | lost in the world by pinkinthenightdean

other media

lotr | love, love, love by @tincanopus

lotr (sam and frodo) | carry by smokerdean

torchwood | turn up the faders by @jugheadmp3

it (the losers club) | a better son/daughter by jugheadmp3

succession | relay by @parkinglotbird

doctor who (the doctor and the master) | no children by @tincanopus

severance | FUCK YOU AND YOUR MONEY by @firebuggg

black sails | say hey (i love you) by crosbystillsandhash

black sails | take me to church by @maremote

black sails | “Here every man is equal.” by @thurs-days

batman | el señor de la noche by @superhell

ted lasso | roykeeleyjamie throuple edit let's goo by katebushstandean

#THIS IS VERY EARNEST BC I LOVE AMVS I LOVE VIDEO EDITS I LOVE MUSIC OVER MY LITTLE TV PEOPLE #god this took so long and im sure im forgetting so many but i hope you find at least one you enjoy <3 #im tagging all the creators but if you're here and prefer not to be tagged do let me know<3 #ask #EDIT: my first attempt at tagging people mostly did not work #but i think i fixed it and SO sorry if you got a notification twice

[catcake24]

"Let's do this thing! My name is Hollie Connors, I was bitten by a radioactive spider, and for the last six months I've been the one and only Spider-Girl!"

"You probably can guess the rest - beat up some bad guys, get beat up by those badguys, hang out with my best friends MJ and Eugene, and take some pictures for the paper as my main gig."

"New York in my dimension is pretty flooded, some historic global warming left the ground under six feet of oceanwater and constantly raining, so things like Sunshine are pretty memorable! Along with the supervillains, and me fighting those villains of course. Making the front page isn't exactly new for me anymore."

"But I keep going at it, despite how much I might fall from all that rain or breaking an arm, because I know what I do is worthwhile for my city. And I'd say I'm pretty good at it!"

"At least... in my world. Heh. I mean, have you SEEN those other guys-"

Meet my Spidersona/ Spiderverse Oc, Hollie also known as Spider-Girl(by her city) or Rain (by other spider people when they eventually visit).

I have lots of ideas for her lol

Her New York is flooded, so people get around on jet skis and other somewhat futuristic aquatic transportation. There are also some floating sidewalks and platforms for businesses and homes, and the city has built upwards even more.

It constantly rains in her dimension, and she made non-slip shoes specifically for traversing in the rain. That's also why she wears a poncho, also it's a cute costume I find.

I actually looked up who spider-girl is, which helped me inform her backstory a bit, though it's also mashed with Spider-Man's. - She's adopted by a couple who raised her (now divorced), and she works as a photographer as she attends high school.

She went to get some pictures while a reporter interviewed a CEO who was trying to find a way to control the weather - make it so sunny days weren't so rare - and accidentally stumbled into a secret lab. She soon was stumbling around, getting bit by a radioactive spider, and got flushed out by the sewer.

Hollie's motivating event was not the death but the severe injury of her friend Eugene who was paralyzed from the waist down. She saw some criminals mugging people but stayed out of it, but then later Eugene was paralyzed after an attack gone extremely wrong. She realized that the pain she felt was likely also felt by the loved ones of those she saw being mugged in the past. Queue the "Great Power, Great Responsibility" lesson and her starting out as Spider-Girl.

That company she stumbled into was evil too, I don't know enough about Spider-Man to give it a specific name, but it was experimenting with animal DNA to try and make super humans and use it for crimes. Also just general evil plans like monopolize sunshine

Her world isn't very serious most of the time, even with the city being flooded life just kinda carries on like it's normal. Not super cartoony, but it has a levity and pretty good status quo compared to other spider-people.

I based Hollie off myself in many ways, but I wanted to have fun with this character lol

((I have many thoughts on how she would interact with other spider-people, and some other extra ideas for Hollie and the World, might reblog this with those later))

#my art #fanart #spidersona #atsv spidersona #my oc #oc art #oc brainrot #original character #accidentally made her conventionally attractive #was not my intention I just am bad at drawing skinny people #also not everything is shaded completely because I don’t like doing it and I wanted to just get this done lol

[rooftoprabbit]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ 𝖁𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖆 𝕮𝖚𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖉✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Summary | There's only so much someone can take before they break.

Pairing | Eddie x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Fluff, swearing, mentions of DV, Fem!Reader, Jason Carver, bullying, Eddie protecting reader, reader being a badass, few more cultural references, sad read

Author's Notes | This is Chapter 2 of the series (Chapter 1 is linked below and I'll create a Master List on my page shortly). This Chapter picks right back up from where the reader left Eddie in Chapter 1. This one is a heavy read but one I felt the reader needed to experience. I promise the next chapter is more light hearted! I hope you enjoy!

Word Count | 4.7k

Key | Pink Italics is reader’s internal monologue

Blue Italics is Eddie’s internal monologue             

Bold Italics is a recall of a past event/encounter

If you liked it, please like and reblog and share it with your friends! Feedback is so incredibly welcomed!

I don't consent to my work being copied and posted on third party websites. Plagiary is a crime...you wouldn't steal a car

SERIES LIST

PT 1

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ 

1986

Eddie was right, there absolutely must be something in the Geneva Convention specifically written about how inhumane it was for Ms Fowler to be keeping you back 30 minutes for being 3 minutes late!!  

Racing through the halls you bump into every person who wasn’t getting out of your way quick enough, simply screaming a “sorry” over your shoulder but keeping your attention ahead.  You finally make it to the cafeteria doors with 20 minutes to spare.  Bending down with your hands on your knees, you start to take in large breaths to compose yourself a bit more before entering.  This was the first time since starting at Hawkins High that you were stepping foot into the cafeteria, instead opting to sit behind the music building listening to your cassettes on repeat until the bell went.  

You open the doors and start to scan the room, clearly defining the stereotypes that have managed to converge together in one large hall and then isolate together so as not to break the status quo.  The nerds were closer towards the door trying to be as far away from the jocks - Jason and his flock of sheep, who had all situated themselves over two cafeteria tables, obnoxiously laughing and making everyone around them incredibly uncomfortable.  You hadn’t seen him since your little interaction in the gym earlier in the day.  Avoid his gaze. 

“Y/N, hey Y/N – over here!”.  Looking to your right you see Eddie waving his hands furiously over his head like he’s trying to direct a plane into its landing gate.  He’s surrounded by six other boys.  Three of them looked about your age and the other two a few years younger.  Thank god you’re hear, I haven’t scared you off.  

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧  

Eddie was kind, that you couldn’t deny.  You didn’t understand why he was being so kind to you though. Maybe he took pity after having to hear the countless arguments had between you and your mum, or seeing you live 90% of your time outside of the trailer alone; somewhere that should be a safe place of refuge for you in this unfamiliar world.  You had been used to staying out of the house though, finding space at your Uncle Mick’s place or a friends couch for the night after a fight with your mum.   You didn't have that anymore.

You were tough, that you were sure of but your world shattered into a million pieces the day your mum said you were moving to the States.  Not only had she made this decision without consultation with you, but she was purely moving in the hopes she would be welcomed back with open arms, ready to start anew and go back to the privileges of her old life.  What you wanted and what you needed was never put into consideration, so you left your heart lying there in a million pieces, determined to leave the minute you stepped off that graduation stage.  Determined to pick the pieces up all on your own.    

Hawkins was temporary. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧  

“Hey Eddie” you say as you sit down at the end of the table next to the pale lanky kid who had now found his lunch so incredibly interesting, he couldn’t possibly look up to acknowledge you.   

“Everyone, this is Y/N – the girl I was telling you about from gym class, she also lives in the same trailer park as me” Eddie says with a giant grin on his face, his eyes locked onto you.  

You gave an awkward smile “Hi everyone, I hope it’s ok for me to be sitting here.” 

They all gave you their best inviting smiles, yet you could feel they were somewhat cautious.  The boy to Eddie’s right speaks first “soooo what brings you all the way from Down Under?” he says in possibly the worst Australian accent.  

“Ohhh you know, mum felt like a fresh start and I guess that meant I get to have a front row seat to watch her mid-life crisis play out, lucky me” you scoffed.   

They all looked bug eyed at each other, unsure on how to react to how critical of your mum you just were.   

“You don’t have to look so tense guys, I’m aware that my sense of humour doesn’t always translate – but it’s fine. My life is a joke at this point.  My mum expected to come back to a welcome home parade but all we got was a trailer park at the edge of town” laughing a bit harder to reassure them they could regulate their breathing again.  

“I’ve only had a few conversations with Dundee here, you get used to her dry humour pretty quickly” Eddie gave you a smile as a show of comradery.  

“A weird sense of humour and a badass attitude, that’s a pretty wicked combination” the boy in the blue and white cap pipes up.  

“Sorry? Badass? I’m definitely not that.  I’m just here to get my certificate and walk out those doors” giving him a confused look as if you had just forgotten what happened during gym.  

The table erupts into laughter causing you to be even more confused than before.  

“Great joke Y/N” the boy to the right of Eddie says. 

A hush falls over the table as the boys look at each other realising you hadn’t heard yet. 

“Even though Eddie just gave us a play-by-play of what happened during gym class, it’s already spread across the whole school. You’re pretty badass.  Everyone who has ever had a problem with Jason sees you as their hero now.  No one’s ever stood up to Jason’s incessant taunting before for fear of retribution, but you’ve made a name for yourself”.  The table nods along in agreeance with what was just said.   

He continues, “how rude of me, I’m Dustin Henderson – it’s a pleasure to meet you.  Sitting next to you is Mike” and pointing to the boys across the table “Jeff, Gareth and Grant”.   

“I’m no one’s hero.  I said what I said to Jason to get him off my back.  I’m happy just being a nobody like you guys, no offense.  I’m just here to keep my head down, get my certificate and go back home”.  

“No offense taken Y/N.  We’re all just here trying to do the same thing” Eddie nods towards the boys who all agreed with your statement.  

“Some more than others” Grant laughs nudging Gareth and Jeff who all start laughing towards Eddie.  

“Shut the fuck up shithead” throwing a pretzel at Grant’s head.   

“This is my year, I can feel it”.  Eddie looks at you trying to send a telepathic message If you’re graduating, then so am I. I won’t leave your side. 

You knew with your personality you could only stay quiet for so long – turns out ‘so long’ was two weeks.  Jason just had to keep going at you.  He was everything you hated about a person.  Living in their picture-perfect family, behind their white picket fences.  He never had to suffer through a hard day in his life but still felt he could torture people like you? Where did he get the balls to do that?  Why does she want that life so desperately? Desperately enough to throw me to the curb.  

“It doesn’t look like Jason’s taken what you did too well, I can feel the excruciating amount of heat emanating from their table” Dustin gives a nod in Jason’s direction with everyone turning in unison to see what he was talking about.  

In the distance you could see Jason staring daggers into you.  You had always been told the old myth that humans had a sixth sense of knowing when someone’s staring at you, but you never believed it until you were here in this room.  You’d been able to feel it the whole time you’d been sitting at Eddie’s table, but you had managed to avoid his eye contact until now.  As soon as you looked up your eyes locked in on Jason’s.  You could feel the hatred seeping from every one of his pores for having humiliated him in front of his friends.  

“Everyone hates his guts; it was just a matter of time before he got what was coming to him” Jeff gesturing to the rest of the group.  

Anger filled you now, your gaze not leaving Jason, painful memories playing on loop in your head.  “I hate kids like Jason, and I know hate is a strong word.  I don’t usually give a shit what people do or say to me but people like Jason, who haven’t had to suffer through a day in their life come to school and fuck with us.  Then they leave here, live off daddy’s credit card and just continue to profit off their family connections while the rest of us nobodies slug it out trying to keep the smile on our faces and food on our tables. Drowning; treading water to stay afloat”.  You could feel a burn coming up your throat and tears in your eyes and take a large gulp of water to keep it down. 

You thought no one had noticed, they had all nodded in agreement to what you had just said.  Eddie noticed, and he felt he had heard you say that before.  He recognised the sudden anger that engulfed you and recognised that he had seen the same expression over the summer break when you had first moved in.  He had seen you angry quite a lot, but this was different. There was such pain behind those words.  

It was more than just ‘feeling bad for the little guy’, this was personal. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧  

Eddie was sitting on his front porch when you first drove in with your mum.  He watched as you sat in the front seat, with your headphones in and a solemn expression on your face, like you had just come back from a funeral.  

It was quiet for a few days before the fighting started.  At first it was just a few screams, the door slamming and you taking a walk to the woods behind the trailer park.  A few hours later you would return and there would be quiet for a day or so before the fighting started again. A vicious cycle he could see you didn’t want to be involved in.    

He got worried when he started hearing objects getting thrown and from what he saw, all directed at you.  He’d watch from his bedroom window as you dodged mugs and plates being thrown at your head.  There were a few times where a couple of the neighbours intervened, but you had always managed to reassure them you were fine and there was nothing to worry about.  

Eddie knew differently, he watched you just as he watched his mum fight with his dad.  He would replay it in his head repeatedly, seeing it all unfolding as if he were 5 again back in his mum’s trailer, helpless.  

So, he started to keep an eye on you from a distance.  When he would hear a fight abrupt from your trailer, he would walk into the woods ahead of you and wait for you to make your entrance.  He knew he looked like a creep, but he needed to make sure you were ok.  It was clear you didn’t want strangers in your business by the way you rejected any help from the other trailer park residents.   

He felt a sense of protection come over him every time he heard the screaming start.  The arguments were very rarely started by you, always coming from your mum and it would always be the same thing – the reason you’re here, in this trailer park and why it was your fault, not hers.  

This time the argument had spilled out of the trailer, you walking out to get away but your mum following you – not wanting to stop the screaming.  

“Let me leave, why do you insist on doing this over and over again!?”  

“You have no idea what I’ve been through Y/N, what I’ve sacrificed”  

“Why are we even here!? Go on, explain to me again why it was so important for us to up and leave everything behind to now be stuck in a fucking trailer park, in a town where your whole family fucking hates me and clearly wants nothing to do with either of us!? Go on, explain that Victoria”  

“My whole family doesn’t fucking hate you Y/N”  

“No, you do though”  

“Your silence speaks volumes mum.  How can someone hate me when they don’t even fucking know me!? Were you hoping that I would just sit in this trailer park alone while you went off and played happy families with your parents? Did you want to go back to your lunches at the country club; the fancy dinner parties? Daddy might even give you his credit card or ooooh this is good - you might even fall in love with your rich high school ex-boyfriend and remarry?  Doesn’t that sound grand!” 

“Jesus christ!! Why are you being such a cynical fucking bitch about all of this?? What is wrong with wanting to go back to what I used to have? What’s wrong with wanting to do something with my life?”  

“How is living off your parent’s wealth, drinking all day and treating people like shit ‘doing something with your life’?  What were the last 18 years then, just a place holder until you got back here? Well look how that’s turned out – they’ve shut the door on you again, the moment they laid their eyes on me.  I wasn’t part of their plan for their daughter. I’m just one massive inconvenience for you all.” 

“You know what, fuck it.  Yes.  Yes you are.  Sometimes I wish I had never met your father; I had my whole life planned out for me and I just had to meet your father and fuck it all up.  You’re just like him, you have no consideration for other people”.  

“I’m sorry, I have no consideration for other people!? Coming from the woman who ripped the carpet out from under my feet, moved me to a town where I know NO ONE on a whim that her parents ‘might’ welcome you with open arms.  I’m the one who’s not considerate?”  

“Yes, Y/N.  The life we had back in Australia is nothing compared to the life I could have here, I’m repairing the relationship with my parents and within a few months I’ll be living a happy life, a life of privilege, a life I deserve”.  

“It may have been nothing to you, but it was everything to me”.  

The first time he saw you in the woods after that fight, his heart shattered.  You were there, sitting hugging your legs up against your chest and crying.  This crying wrenched at his heart.  You cried so much there was no audible noise, you were just bawling out an ocean of pain.  It felt wrong watching this intimate moment but all he wanted to do was run and hold you, protect you from everything your mum had just said.  He wished he could tell you that even though he’s only watched you from afar, he didn’t know your name; you were loved.  He wanted to be your safe place.  

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧  

“I hate people like Jason Carver.  And like my uncle would always say ‘I wouldn’t piss on him even if he was on fire’” trying to make a joke after the seriousness of your last statement.  

“Hahaha! I get that one” laughs Gareth which in turn causes everyone to laugh with him.  You felt a sense of relief run over your body. 

The rest of lunch was filled with the gang explaining their latest D&D campaign and how Eddie and his band, Corroded Coffin, were going to ‘make it big’ which then led to a heated argument about why Metallica were so obviously more superior than your beloved Skyhooks.  

“Well, as you can see boys” gesturing to your exquisite athletic attire “I am still in my gym gear, so I better head off and get changed before next period.  It was lovely meeting you all”.  As you gathered your things and the boys all started to say their farewells, you moved to get up feeling yourself bump into someone.  Before you could turn around to apologise you felt a cold, thick liquid being poured over your head.   

“Hey loser, I wasn’t hungry so I thought I would come and share it with you seeing as we can joke and laugh with each other now”. Jason, fuck. 

It all happened so quickly.  You could only gauge what was happening by the loud yells from the boys at the table.  As you swung around you saw Eddie nose to nose with Jason, his fist held up in the air shaking in anger and the other holding so tightly onto Jason’s shirt you could see his feet being lifted into the air.  

“Who the fuck do you think you are Jason?  Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t brand your face with every single fucking ring on this hand” you could see the rage in Eddie’s eyes and knew you needed to dissolve the situation.  

“Eddie, Eddie!! Don’t!!” you grabbed Eddie’s fist trying lower it.  “it’s not worth it, you do this, and you know you won’t be graduating”.  Eddie looked at you, your hair and face covered in custard, but he also saw the concerned look you were giving him.  Your eyes telling him to lower his weapon.  He’s just like your mum, why are you protecting him?   

As he lowered his fist and slowly started to lower Jason back to the ground, the fucking idiot continued “well looky here, the loser can tame the freak”. Jason’s buddies laughed in the background and Eddie’s grip on his shirt tightened once more.  

You knew the only way you knew how to dissolve this was to be you, there was no holding back for this.  Say everything you’ve ever held back from saying to your mum, I’m here.  

Wiping a drop of custard off your forehead you bring it to your mouth and lick your finger. With a smile on your face “mmmm vanilla custard! Jason how did you know that was my favourite, that’s so kind of you.  Eddie you can let go of him. I know it was just a clumsy accident.”  

You put your hand onto Eddie’s chest and give him a reassuring smile and nod that you knew what you were doing.  Eddie reluctantly released his grip on Jason.  You’ve got this, I’ve got you if you waver.  

Jason didn’t let off, he needed to know that he had humiliated you.  “The loser protecting the freak, it physically makes me sick.  You should count your lucky stars freak that someone gives two shits about you” he laughs, taking a jab at Eddie.  You weren’t going to give him the reaction he so desperately craved to see from you.  He wanted to humiliate you, remind you that you were a nobody.  

Your face got serious and every single argument you had had with your mum flooded back.  How could she still desperately want to be a part of that world again?  

Eddie grabbed your hand, both because he thought you were going to punch Jason and to let you know he was here.  Let him have it. 

“Listen here you stupid, fucking little weasel – I didn’t tell Eddie to let go of you because I’m scared it would get him expelled, I did it because I knew that if he hit you, it would put you six feet under.  But continue to test my patience and see where you’ll end up” you say giving him the biggest smile of contempt.  

“I know you just want to see me run off and cry in the bathrooms right now, but I have no plan on ever giving you that satisfaction. Do you know why Jason?” you don’t let him answer the question before you continue.  

“Because at the end of the day, this is all you’ll ever be” your hands pointing around the room of the cafeteria.   

A crowd had started to gather.  

“Someone who will have peaked in high school, and you know what happens to people who peak in high school? When they leave, they realise the world owes them no fucking favours.  Jason, you leave this school and you turn into a nobody just like the rest of us” gesturing to the boys behind you.  

Jason rolled his eyes ready to come back at you with another stupid insult.  He thought that was all you had, but you weren’t done, not by a long shot. 

“You’ve peaked in high school and the only way from here is down. Enjoy this while you can, call us every name under the sun, throw custard over our faces.  Get it all out now.  Because in 12 months all you will have achieved is the ability to live off daddy’s money and connections.  Of course until the day comes where you take a step out of line, which I guarantee you will because they will never be satisfied with your choice; they will cut you off.  All your friendships here are based on the fear of being your next target, so that means all of these fuckers laughing at every shitty joke you that comes out of that unintelligible mouth of yours will always manage to be “unavailable” when you need them most.  Oh, and how could I forget, your relationship with Chrissy.  This will obviously breakdown when you inevitably turn to the bottle to drown your sorrows from how desperate you’ve become, and she’ll realise how better off she is without you. So really Jason, while we’ll always be nobodies, the ones that were picked on; we’ll at least be able to sleep peacefully at night knowing we will never lead the sad, lonely life that awaits you outside Hawkins High.”  

A harsh silence fell over the cafeteria, but your eyes never wavered from his.   

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go wipe custard out of my hair.  Eddie, can you help me please”. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧  

It was silent the whole way to the gym locker room, he didn’t know what to say.  He had just watched you destroy the king of Hawkins High’s ego in the span of 3 minutes, and he was so overwhelmed at seeing you so eloquently say what you needed to say without a waver in your voice.  He had only wished your mother was there to hear it too.  He was also aware of the vulnerability you must be feeling right now, and he was unsure on how to broach the subject.  

As you went to open the girl’s locker room “woah, woah, woah little lady, where do you think you’re going??” Eddie says with eyebrows turned upward as if he’d forgotten your entire head was covered in custard.  

“Well, as you can see Eddie” pointing towards your hair “I don’t think custard is really the latest fashion craze all the kids are aiming for”.  

“No, you can’t be going in their alone, I need to sweep the area to make sure it’s safe for you” Eddie now going into spy mode, lifting his left hand into a finger gun and his right held against his ear like he’s listening to an ear piece.  

Just this gesture alone from Eddie made you crack a smile.  Yes, a smile.  

“Well Eddie, I know the school calls you a freak, but do you really want them adding perv to it” pointing to the female sign on the wall. 

“Fuck ‘em”.  With that he bolts into the girl’s locker room, running around to make sure no one else was in there. You follow slowly behind sighing and shaking your head in embarrassment.  You weren’t really embarrassed, if anything you were grateful more than ever to have Eddie by your side.  Thank you.  

Raising his hand to his ear “the premises is secure; you may now shower safely.  I’m just going to lock the door, so you get a little more privacy”.  He tries to give you the most reassuring smile he could, make you believe you were safe in his presence. 

“Can you head over to my locker and grab my clothes out please?” 

“Of course, ma lady” bowing his head.  

The water falling over you felt like fire, burning away the constant disappointment you could see in your mum’s eyes for the daughter she so obviously regretted and for the life she could have had, a life like Jason’s.  You wanted to go home.  The feelings overwhelmed you and the flood gates opened. Your tears fell uncontrollably and loud, hoping that the sound of the shower was drowning you out. 

*Knock knock* “Y/N, you alright in there?” a sheepish voice on the other side of the door.  

You turn the shower off and wrap yourself in a towel.  “I look like my dad” spoken through heaving sobs.  

“Sorry?”  

“I look like my dad, that’s why we fight.” 

Eddie puts his hands and head against the door, wanting to break it down, feeling you crumbling on the other side.  

“I’m a constant reminder of the life she chose over the life of privilege she could have had it she had never met him.  She hates me, she doesn’t have to say it, I see it in the way her expression doesn’t change to anger when we fight.  She regrets me, I’m an inconvenience more than anything to her.  I’ve never felt more alone than right now”.  

Trying to compose yourself, you open the door and Eddie moved back to give you more space.  He gives you the same look Uncle Mick would give you when you’d run to his place after a fight.  A look that conveyed that you were enough, that you were safe, here in this moment, in his presence, you were loved by someone.  With that you fall to the floor, the flood gates reopening.   

Eddie crashes over you.  He encases your whole being, protecting you from all the people in this world that have failed you, a single tear falling from his face.  “I’m here, Y/N and I’m not leaving your side”.   

It felt like you had been sitting there, with your head in his chest crying for an eternity when the school bell broke through the sounds of your cries.   

Lifting your heard from Eddie’s chest you wipe away your puffy eyes “I’m so sorry Eddie, you shouldn’t have to witness this and I’ve just ruined your shirt and…” 

“Wait, what are you wearing!?” now realising he was wearing your shirt “what the fuck! Why is there a huge fucking rip in the front of the shirt?” you gasp grabbing the shirt from his chest.  

“Well funny story there, when I went to grab your shirt from your locker, it looks like the cheerleaders may have gotten to it first” he smiles, rubbing the back of his head.  

“You can just wear my Metallica shirt.  I feel like I’m pulling off this ripped shirt thing better than you could anyway” he laughs handing you, his shirt.  

Your hands touch as you grab for the shirt “I mean it Y/N, I’m not leaving your side, we’re in this together now”.  

Rubbing his hand “thanks Eddie”. 

“Anyway, who the fuck wants to live behind a white picket fence”.  

After you got dressed you both roamed the now empty corridors, late for whatever class you had next, not being able to find the strength to care.  

“How about we play hooky for the rest of the day? Who needs to be around these pieces of shits anyway? We could go for a drive, and you could show me exactly why you think Skyhooks would out play Metallica?” Eddie asks, looking for a way to cheer you up.  

You stop in your tracks looking directly into Eddie’s soul.  Even though these people were temporary to you, maybe the friendship developing between you and Eddie didn’t have to be.  

“Let’s go” a small smile returning to your face. 

“Fuck em”.  

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #Eddie Munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie x y/n #eddie x reader

[tumblingxelian]

I posted 58,200 times in 2022

That's 2,223 more posts than 2021!

404 posts created (1%)

57,796 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@short-wooloo

@aspiringwarriorlibrarian

@aalghul

@seeyouguyslater

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I tagged 2,682 of my posts in 2022

#rwby spoilers - 549 posts

#rwby: ice queendom spoilers - 460 posts

#ice queendom spoilers - 443 posts

#rwby iq spoilers - 440 posts

#rwby - 184 posts

#rwby9 - 87 posts

#rwby9 spoilers - 83 posts

#youtube - 81 posts

#cat - 77 posts

#dog - 42 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#this would be so funnybut as previous tags mentioned imagine jason swapping with stephand not only pre reveal - pre red hood!like. he's prob

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I find the whole “The step sisters were just kids, Cinder shouldn’t have killed them, it was wrong” thing very weird because like.

Cinder was a child too????

Why exactly is the tortured slave child being held as more accountable for her actions taken in a situation where they came to harm her; than the people who expressly came there to torture her or have fun watching her be tortured? 

169 notes - Posted January 23, 2022

#4

A Stephanie Brown operating outside the ‘jurisdiction’ of Batman or Oracle, or any other Hero would be a terrifying force to behold, so I claim. 

Mostly, cos I don’t think she’d like, or trust cops (This is Pre Batgirl Steph obviously) and at best view them as a tool, and most often as an obstacle. 

In this context she operates more like a vigilante than a ‘super hero’. In the sense that she’s doling out what she deems to be justice or otherwise necessary within her moral framework and lived experience. 

Thus, if you’re sent to rough up a store or the like, she’ll chase you off but that’s it. 

On the other hand, if you’re an abusive pimp she’ll break both your arms, legs & jaw. 

If she comes across someone’s drug shipment she’ll just destroy it over handing it to cops. 

If you’re sorting cash as  mobster then she’ll bludgeon you and your guards senseless, take the money & donate it. 

Corrupt politicians, that stuff is going straight to ever gossip rag in town and then to the internet, possibly accompanied by some mandatory violence.

If you’re a cop abusing your position, oh boy, enjoy being blindsided in your own home and knocked senseless. Plus if the department tries to act up, hello sabotaged cars, & systems. 

She also knows the difference between people just doing crime out of desperation or cos its all they can do, Vs the people pulling the strings, VS people who relish even their miniscule power over others and acts accordingly. 

Stephanie Brown is here to break exploitative enterprises over her knee, not do police work, or support the status quo, fuck the status quo. 

204 notes - Posted July 5, 2022

#3

Why Changing Adam Taurus Doesn’t Work

So, while I think the issues with the White Fang material in RWBY are overstated (Save for Sienna Khan content, may she be long remembered! And also returned please!!) I do agree they are there. 

And I also think that not quite everyone who suggests Adam’s role be changed to address this are just his stans being awful. However I still think these people are wrong. 

My contention with people who bring it up is not just or even really because there are asshole Adam stans who make edits of Ada killing Blake & Yang or write and say gross stuff or otherwise want him to be the MC. Those people suck but they also are not worth engaging with. The tension with people not like that bringing up changes to Adam that they feel could improve the White Fang storyline (Which I have always said has its flaws) is, yes, partially that I think other characters could fit the roll better but why do I want them for that role? Well let me tell you, its not just personal preference. Its because Blake's story has a lot of different layers, narratively, thematically, characteristically, and a lot of that is heavily tied up in her history with Adam and his efforts to take the White Fang and use it as a vehicle for his own glorification. On the main level, we've obviously got the usual storyline, moral conflicts, selfishness VS selfness, protecting the innocent, ETC, that's also fine and surface level and often what I think people focus on but there's more to it than that. For instance, there's people who describe Blake as bein something of a 'ranger prince' thematically speaking and it fits well. Blake was born into the White Fang her family has a strong history with the White Fang. (If we go by the comics, Adam quickly zeroed in on Blake's last name) 

There's flags and symbology, battles for political influence and the influence of a nation, of ideals and souls, of the 'prince' being led astray, and seeking redemption as a ranger before returning home to claim their birthright. Within this thematic narrative, Adam is essentially stealing Blake's agency and narrative, and thematic role by taking the White Fang, he's the pretender to the throne, the thief. Then there's her story on a personal narrative level, Blake's story is about someone who was groomed, gaslit, abused and who ultimately had to flee her abuser in a bid to save herself from being consumed by them entirely while viewing herself as a coward for doing so, convinced she should have fixed him, convinced he and his allies actions are her personals responsibility. It s a story about an abuse victim finding her way to a safe space, finding a support network that will stand by her in tough times, won't blame her for his actions, won't abuse her and will in fact actively try to help and protect her. Then she's found, he tears down her life, and again, cursing herself as a coward for how he's twisted her mind she runs, to protect her loved one's and punish herself. Yet despite that she finds her family again, one she feared would never welcome her back, but they do, and she sees a friend grappling with similar but different problems to herself and manages to help pull her from the same unhealthy circumstances she was in. Blake is revitalized, she's healing and she returns, rejecting Adam's influence over her, avoiding being drawn into his twisted mind games, and she reunites with the people who were first there for her when she escaped him. Then, in the ensuing volume they have their final face off. she's not alone, she's not afraid and she's not going to let him win again. Its a story of an abuse victim overcoming their abuser, of overcoming their trauma and finally being able to move on, her story doesn't 'end' there like in so many others, it goes on as she moves onto bigger and better things. 

That story resonates with a lot of people who have faced abuse, its a story that rather particularly would not benefit from stuff trying to give Adam more 'competence' or 'depth' or otherwise better qualities. (And if someone wants to argue abusers are people too, sure, but call me only when you want to start humanizing Jac Schnee to... Or rather. Don't. Please don't.) The point is, there's a lot more to Blake's story and more to the point a lot for major reasons not to try and change the story to Adam's benefit by rewriting him as a mentor or a more "Grey" figure. Because it completely removes these aspects entirely from Blake's own history, from one of the title characters arcs. 

Ultimately, Adam was a personal villain for Blake, Blake is a main character, her story and trauma shouldn't be subordinated or erased for the benefit of his character. If someone wans the White Fang plot-line to better handle these topics, Sienna, Illia, the Albain's and more are right there, ready and willing to be utilized, and they all can be without it doing any harm to Blake's personal narrative.

279 notes - Posted March 3, 2022

#2

So there were several comics where Crystal made it clear she suspected Stephanie of criminal activity. & even upon discovering her vigilantism, she seemed to think Steph doing that was also an indicator she would become just like Arthur. 

Meanwhile Bruce constantly saw his dead son in Stephanie and clearly expected she’d meet the same heroic but tragic fate as Jason. 

What I am saying is, Steph really gets a lot of people projected onto her and its interesting the two adult figures she cared about most share this problem. 

In a slightly more comedic take: 

Crystal: My daughter is dooming herself to a life of violent criminality, this is inevitable. Bruce: Your daughter is dooming herself to a heroic, but ultimately foolish and violent end. Stephanie: Does anyone want to actually engage with what I, Stephanie do and say or feel? Both: Hush child, we are speaking for you.

364 notes - Posted January 8, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I think those AU's where Catra ends up at the Rebellion in place of Adora -with or without the sword- miss out on the real juicy feels and drama with their insistence on remaking the Best Friend Squad/Super Pal Trio. Cos Catra would not want new friends, and would be difficult to get along with as a policy decision 9 times out of 10. Glimmer, Bow, most of the other Princesses would struggle, & unlike canon when Catra joined up there's no Adora or circumstances to ease the process. But have her interact with Angella or Casta, or any vaguely patient and slightly emphatic maternal figure and Catra will be eating out of their hand in a week and plotting the Horde's downfall for them in the next. &  to me sounds like it'd be fascinating to read about and unique.

384 notes - Posted May 22, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #I miss fishyfod #Someone still needs to write that Catra fic

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: III

“You can have me tonight or never

I thought you understood

Baby, some people are meant to be loved and others just naked

So take what I’m willing to give, love it or hate it.”

—Wrong, Zayn and Kehlani

A/N: alright SO!!!! the original part 3 ended up being at the cusp of 50k words (because i have no self control) and that is a LOT to read in one go so it’s getting split into parts 3 and 4! which means!! double update laidese and germs!!!! part 4 will be posted this SUNDAY, AUGUST 16th at 5PM PST/8PM EST :D we hope you enjoy this chapter, feedback is greatly appreciated, and please please PLEASE!!! if you like it, reblog it!!! and if you want, go nuts in the tags!! every single one is read!!! it keeps content creators motivated 💌leyla @sunflowervolvimp3​ took the liberty of making an incredible playlist to go along with our story, so feel free to check it out and see if you can find any clues as to what’s in store for the characters 👀without further delay, here she is...buckle up 👁👁this is gonna be quite the ride

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

word count: 24.2k

content/warnings: cheeky banter over texts, The Crew dragging Niall to shit, more banter over a glass of cheap wine, vampire!harry showing up to “interior design” sessions looking like a runway model, some fwb smut, degradation kink, very mild mentions of blood, and some ugly tapestries that somehow lead to sexting

///

Y/N definitely puts Harry’s number to good use. Very good use.

In fact, during the span of the next month or so, Harry reckons that she pulls up his contact on her phone so often that she probably has him listed on speed dial. The assumption is dramatic and probably incorrect, on behalf of his arrogance, but with how much time they start spending together, it’s hardly a stretch.  

It all begins exactly a week after their first time meeting. 

Harry still hates clubs. 

He hates them more than he did last week. He hates them more than he did yesterday, more than he did this morning, and even more than he did a minute ago. He fucking despises them. 

And yet, as Harry stands here before the mirror in his enormous double-sink bathroom, fiddling with his damp hair as his flouncy dress shirt hangs unbuttoned from his broad shoulders, he’s absolutely positive he has never hated clubs more than right now. 

Niall got to pick the venue this time. He’d texted his choice in the groupchat (which is respectfully named Dinner Plans) about four hours ago, making sure to get the word out decently early so that everyone could start making their preparations, all in order for the crew to be on the move by nine P.M. 

It’s now nine thirty-seven, and everyone is fully set to leave at the agreed upon hour. Everyone except Harry. 

This, however, is not uncommon. He’s always the one that takes the longest to get ready, no matter how soon he starts. No one can remember an instance where Harry has ever been ready on time— which says a lot, considering most of the gang has years of memories from which they can pull. Mitch especially. With almost a century of friendship behind them, not once has the older vampire ever seen Harry stick to a deadline. His flare for being fashionably late is less a flare, and moreso an irritating burn. It always throws off their game a bit, but at this point, everyone has gotten used to the seemingly young vampire’s theatrics. 

So on this Friday night, there isn’t much more to do other than mold to his habits; Harry answers to no one except himself and it’s been that way for decades now, for a reason he’d rather not reminisce. He doesn’t owe anything to anyone, especially since he’s the one that always takes charge of getting them where they need to go, as well as getting them inside said destination. Complaining about their leader wouldn’t do the gang any good for a number of reasons, especially because Harry rarely ever listens. It is what it is— he’s just the way he is, and they’ve all learned to live with and respect that.

The funny thing? Harry does it on purpose, though his friends aren’t aware of it. He drags out the process of getting prepared simply so he can put off having to step inside one of those circus acts people refer to as clubs. He goes as slow as possible and does as much as possible, spreading seconds into minutes, and maybe— if he’s insistent enough and feeling particularly pesky— an hour. His record is an hour and twenty-eight minutes, which he wears with pride, much to his group’s unamusement. 

Harry knows no one will ever say anything about his annoying tendencies, unless they’re willing to volunteer themselves to take the reins for the night. Vampires are alert and productive, but only when they want to be— which is usually only when it benefits them— and only if they can muster up the patience for it. And frankly, none of the creatures he associates with have the patience required to deal with security, driving, and other obstacles the way Harry does. He’s indispensable, and therefore, everyone puts up with his shit. Quid pro quo has never been more effective. 

So here Harry stands, now thirty-eight minutes past the original time sorted for departure, carefully combing volumizing mousse into his slightly wet curls and spinning each ringlet around his index finger to give them the definition and bounce he’s so well-known for. Here he is, finishing up his post-shower routine as all of his friends mill around downstairs in his living room, waiting for him to come down so they can pack into his car and head out for the weekly hunt at whatever establishment has been deemed fit for the night. And here he is, taking his sweet time so he can be the signature pain in the ass that everyone hates to love. 

Once Harry has thoroughly coated all of his hair with the fluffy white cream, he pulls out his hair-dryer from the cabinet below his sink, snapping its accompanying diffuser into place and flipping his head upside down. He carefully scrunches his curls to his roots with the attachment, moving in thoughtful circles as he hums to the rhythm of a song he can’t be bothered to remember the name of. Staring down at his polished jet black heeled boots, he absentmindedly taps against the porcelain ground to the beat of the music, sighing wistfully as warm air circulates its way across his scalp. 

Harry turns his shoes to the side, admiring the detailing along the back of the heel. Across the curved surface is the word SUCKER, bedazzled onto the article with multicolored jewels, glitzing beautifully under the fluorescent lighting of his bathroom. The shoes had been a gift from a friend with connections in high places; more specifically, connections to the man who sits on the throne of the Gucci brand. Harry hadn’t questioned the present when he’d received it— only an idiot would bat a cautious eye at such a luxury. He’d fallen in love with them the second they landed in his palms, decked out in a gorgeous satin box and wrapped with sparkly black tissue paper. The only words that had dared leave his lips were, “Fuck, I think I just got hard.”

The shoes had fit like a charm, and he had wanted to save them for a special occasion. But given that he has hundreds of years worth of special occasions lined up for his future, he’d shrugged off his pickiness and yanked them out the back of his closet for tonight. What better way to show them off than at an overhyped disco hall? 

Harry flips his head right-side up once again, ruffling his fingers through his soft, shiny curls to check for any wet patches or stringiness. He rolls up the wire to his styling tool and puts it back in its designated spot, grabbing his favorite paddle brush and attentively filtering it through his hair until he gets the tousled waves that he’s grown so fond of sporting. He musses them until he’s satisfied with his appearance, nodding at himself casually in the mirror as he proceeds to wrap up the last few necessities he has left. 

Harry buttons his blouse, admiring it in the fogged mirror. It’s a flowy sheer black piece with holographic threads sewn through its expanse, the fabric continuously shimmering with every shift of his muscles from underneath. He leaves the last three holes empty to better show off the dark butterfly inking on his lean chest and the swallows suspended in flight along his collarbones. He doesn’t really have to leave the shirt open, given that the material is see-through to the point where it leaves very little to the imagination, obvious in how all the tattoos along his arms are clearly visible. But he does it either way— he likes it when people stare. He’s got the assets, he might as well flaunt them.

Harry loosely tucks the hem of the shirt along the brim of his high-waisted beige slacks, which he’d ironed with precision to an ideal fold. He opts out of a belt tonight, wanting to display the array of elegant buttons that line the front of his pleated trousers. The pants hang slightly flared around his ankles, and if someone’s interests were intent enough, they might catch a glimpse of his favorite socks underneath the cusps, the words FUCK IT printed across the dark cotton fabric. He always makes sure to have an aspect in his outfit that could make for neat conversation.  

The vampire pulls out one of his drawers, ghosting his fingers over his collection of jewelry before picking out a pearl necklace and his father’s gold-plated cross necklace, as well as a colorful array of rings. He makes sure to retrieve the most significant two, as always— his lionhead amethyst daylight ring and his mother’s opal. He never goes anywhere without them. 

After he’s slipped on those accessories, bending and stretching his fingers for good measure and feeling everything settle into place, he picks out the gold cross earring that matches his necklace. It used to be part of a pair that belonged to his sister. As he watches the gold twinkle in the artificial light, he briefly wonders what happened to its twin, but pushes the thought away before it leads him down a path of pessimistic speculations. 

Harry loops the dangly piece through his earlobe, sighing through his nose as his gaze jets around his entire look, searching for any possible faults he could tend to that would prolong the inevitable— another night of drunken morons and thick synthetic smoke. 

Harry decides to fold the cuffs of his shirt up to his elbows, knowing that it makes his veiny forearms look appealing. He rummages through his selection of colognes before deciding to go with his trusty Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille, spritzing a bit along specific pressure points on his neck where a pulse would otherwise be present, following along with the insides of his wrists. The scent of cloves, sugar-frosted vanilla, and cedar wood envelope him in a warm ambiance. After that task is complete, he fusses with his necklaces for a minute or so, settling the cross between his pectorals and resting the rosey pearls across his clavicle, fingering at their smooth surface in thought. Much to his defeat, everything seems to be in order, down to his freshly lacquered black nails. It’s not his fault he’s nearly flawless. His long— and unfortunate— extension on life had given him a plethora of years to work himself into a state of physical perfection. There’s only so much one can do to their appearance before it becomes superiorly stagnant. 

Harry tunes his heightened hearing for a second, listening in to the conversation his friends are entertaining on the first level of his condo. Niall’s voice is the first one that comes through, unsurprisingly. He’s always the loudest and has zero filter, present in how he’s freely ranting about Harry’s exaggerated mannerisms as he paces back and forth across the floor, footsteps heavy. No one seems to be paying him any mind— As usual, Harry thinks to himself, snorting softly— because everyone appears to be caught up in their own personal lives, too lost in gossip and exchanging opinions to give the Irish vampire any thought. 

None of his gang seem bothered by his lack of rush, but Harry knows he can’t keep them waiting forever. Fridays are the day they’d all collectively agreed to hunt together and it had been as so for almost twenty years. Being the leader, Harry can’t let his childish distaste for nightlife get in the way of what’s best for the group. He needs to hunker down on his selfish inclinations and be a responsible friend, or else a human might not be the only person Niall sinks his fangs into tonight.

With one final lingering stare at his reflection, Harry goes to retrieve his phone from its face-down position on the dark marble counter, simultaneously reaching for the light switch to begin powering down his apartment for the next couple of hours until he returns. Hopefully with a pretty girl hanging off his arm and less of a burn in the back of his throat. Although Harry may be cynical, he’s also practical; if he’s going to have to spend eternity on this planet, he may as well try to conserve enough energy to make it bearable. After decades of adjusting to electricity, the last thing Harry wants is to return to candlelit rooms and going to bed in time with the sun. 

The sudden chime that shrieks from his device causes him to jump a tad, brows furrowing in mild confusion for a few reasons. First, because it’s such an odd coincidence that right as he went to grasp it, his smartphone had gone off; it’s almost spooky. Second, because anyone who would normally dare message him at this hour is currently sequestered downstairs on the cushions of his sectional sofa, waiting for him to emerge from his room. Who else could possibly need to contact him this late, especially at the beginning of the weekend? 

Harry flips his red iPhone curiously (yes, he’d bought it in red for the purpose of irony), peering down at the unknown number shining back up at him from the screen. 

The text is simple enough: Hey, accompanied by three disco ball emojis. 

After a few seconds of blank blinking and adamantly searching through his mind for a clue as to who this could be, the answer smacks him square between the eyes. The memories come to him in quick flashes. 

A bald bouncer with a stupid name. A two-story room with seven foot tall speakers and a bar nuzzled in the corner. A group of loud, tipsy girls in stilettos and glittery dresses. One girl, sitting amidst the ruckus looking alone and indifferent while everyone around her gave into inebriated chaos. Mitch urging him to go talk to her. The overwhelming smell of honey and lavender. Gentle caresses placed across the tattoos painting his arms. Pretty lips the color of fresh blood, drained glasses of liquor, and witty banter exchanged between suggestive glances and cheeky grins. Shouldering through a crowded dance floor with the young woman in tow. Settling her into the passenger’s seat of his Cadillac and feeling heat explode across his cold cheeks when she’d yanked him down by his collar, kissing him like his lips were her only source of air. 

A quaint apartment complex, flickering lights in a corridor, and a worn couch. A warm mouth, smudged lipstick, teary eyes, and the gentle, shaky echo of, “I want to make you feel good.” High-waisted silk pants discarded on the floor, a cream lace blouse, and pastel pink lingerie. Thighs squeezing his head as her sweet taste spilled across his tongue. The mortal’s bare back pressed to his chest as he worked his hips roughly into her, mumbling dirty promises against her ear. Sugary whimpers and needy pleads. The warm, tangy flavor of her blood filling his mouth and sedating the burning in his throat. Childish giggles shared in a tiny flat, her warm fingers sewing between his icy own and tugging him into her room. A sleepless night full of steady breaths and only one heartbeat. A stupid tapestry and an ugly popcorn ceiling. A late morning strewn with sarcastic jokes mumbled over the rim of a coffee mug. Pulling his favorite t-shirt over his head and inhaling the sweet smell that had been glued to every thread. 

Making a drastic decision and typing his information into her phone. 

Harry doesn’t mean to speak aloud, but the name slips down his tongue as easily as he’d drawn moans from hers. “Y/N.”

It’s not like he didn’t remember her, because he did. And it’s not like he hadn’t thought of her since, because he had. But it’d been in passing and barely relevant— faint recollections in the form of fleeting seconds. 

He’d thought of her a couple days ago, when he’d been wandering around the mall with his friends. They’d passed by a candle shop where, among all the mixed scents, there had been the unmistakable aroma of lavender and honey somewhere inside, smelling vaguely like her. She’d unwillingly made her way to the forefront of his mind when he’d gone to do laundry, picking out his baby blue Marc Jacobs t-shirt from his hamper and feeling his eyes dilate and fangs protrude— a result of animalistic instinct. As it turns out, she had left a bloodstain along the inside of the yellow collar of his tee. It was dried and crusted over by the time he found it, but the effect it had on him remained the same as the night he’d drawn it fresh from one of her arteries. He’d chucked the garment into the wash carelessly with hardly any hesitation. 

The girl had even elbowed into his brain during an important self-care session. He’d been sitting in his glorified bathtub— which, in shallow honesty, is just a jacuzzi— with his cock twitching in his palm while his head hung over the edge, an orgasm teetering along the trench of his stomach as he’d repeatedly thumbed over his tip. When he’d finally coaxed himself into a climax, moans running freely across the empty halls of his home, the image he saw in those short moments of pure bliss was of her. It was Y/N, sitting in front of him with her hands clasped between her bare thighs obediently, his prick running along the length of her warm tongue as her eyes pleaded for him to cum. 

But, as he’d stated before, the picture had only lasted a handful of seconds. As soon as his high had died down, it had disintegrated to ash, and he’d been left with a slightly startled mental imprint in its wake, which had faded away within minutes. He hadn’t thought of her since. 

That is, until now. Until the surface of his jade eyes are reflecting the message his phone had just received at nearly ten P.M., her identity obvious in her choice of emojis. 

A disco ball. The exact same character he’d assigned himself beside his name in her contact list. It was an inside joke; a result of the hatred they both shared for clubs, juxtaposed by the fact that they had met in one. It was a cute determining factor in their minimal acquaintanceship, and he’s always a sucker for a good paradox. 

Harry continues to stare down at the text message, trying to conjure up some type of answer. She couldn’t have caught him at a better time, quite literally. She could be his saving grace tonight, if he plays his cards right. Maybe if he swoons her enough, she’ll invite him over again, and he can avoid another night full of shit-faced idiots and blinding strobe lights. 

After careful consideration, he swipes open into their new text conversation and taps back a reply he deems appropriate, satisfied with how it shows his personality— the same one the mortal girl had been so taken with upon their first encounter. 

Well, this is awkward. I don’t remember giving my number to a disco ball.

The vampire waits idly for a response, watching as the message delivers and is immediately marked by a read receipt. He doesn’t know why, but he likes that she has them on. 

A swift pause follows— in which he has no doubt she’s probably attempting to come up with some type of witty remark to his— and then the three grey bouncing bubbles pop up, signifying that she’s typing back. His device bloops with her response, vibrating in his large palms.

Funny as ever, I see. It’s Y/N, from the club last Friday. 

Harry’s slightly disappointed by her humor-lacking answer, but he’ll keep the interaction going for curiosity’s sake. Some people are fun in person and just not that bright virtually. Can’t always have it all.

Oh, hey, Y/N! So are you translating on behalf of the disco ball that wanted to talk to me or…?

He can practically see her eye rolling up at the grungy ceiling of her room and that notion makes his lips twitch. 

Ha. Ha. Hilarious! But no, I’M the one who wants to talk to you, actually.

Harry can feel her sarcastic tone through this specific message and that gives him hope. Maybe she does have social networking skills. 

Oh. Well, give the disco ball my best regards then, will you? Don’t want it to think I’m being rude and casting it aside.

The creature can’t see it, but now Y/N’s lips are the ones jolting as she sits on her bed in nothing but a towel, damp hair beading water down her naked shoulders and back.

How caring of you! I’ll pass on the message.

A full grin begins to edge across Harry’s cheeks as she returns his banter just as easily as she would face to face, dimples threatening to indent into place. That’s more like it. 

His fingers poise over the keyboard, mind flicking through the different scenarios he could steer this conversation towards. He has to be perceptive and respectful, but also keep her entertained. He figures asking about her intentions is the best route to take, but he’ll do it subtly. Being too direct could come off pushy. 

So...what gives me the honor of basking in your presence tonight, hm?

He adds a thinking face emoji to the end of the text as an afterthought. He rarely uses emoticons, but now is as good a time as any to start, especially because he has to seem like someone who belongs to her generation, rather than a Victorian era immortal.

Well, you said if I wanted more interior design advice to shoot you a text so...here I am, seeking your expertise.

Harry allows himself to break into a wide simper at the shrouded compliment. It goes right to his ego, just as he likes it. She’s smart. 

My expertise, huh? I take it that my taste in wallpaper left you pretty satisfied last time, then?

A similar grin buckles Y/N’s face at his playful smugness and she bites into the side of her index finger to try and suppress it. After a moment of thought, she releases her digit from between her teeth and taps back. 

Very satisfied, yeah. Your help was greatly appreciated.

Harry scoffs coyly, leaning his shoulder against the lightly fogged black marble wall of his bathroom, his friends and plans for the night all but forgotten. He’s having too much fun flirting to pay anything else much mind. 

My pleasure, love. I’d be more than happy to give it again, anytime you need it. Just make sure to fill out the customer service survey my boss emailed you. I’m shooting for a raise and could really use the brownie points. 

“Cute.” Y/N murmurs to herself in amusement, her chest fluttering as a result of the pet name, alongside how well they’re getting on. It’s almost like no time has passed at all. Almost as if they’re friends. 

She’d been nervous to reach out, fearing that he’d see it and ignore her— or worse, leave her on read. Needless to say, this is going way better than she could’ve hoped

Already filled that out. Gave you five stars and everything. Would’ve given you six if it was allowed. 

Harry shifts his weight against the surface he’s using for support, chuckling softly as he gnaws along the inside of his cheek. He feels like a teenager with all of this borderline childish back-and-forth. He’s not mad about it, though. It’s pretty enjoyable. 

Thank you so much for your input! It’s taken into deep consideration. VERY deep consideration, if I recall correctly.  

Warmth pours into Y/N’s cheeks at his innuendo, and she somewhat hates that he can get her all flustered without actually being present. He’s really good at this. A true lucky strike, to put it in his own words.

I’m glad my standards are held so highly, especially since I’m trying to book another advising appointment with you. 

Is that so?

Very much so. How about tonight, if you’re free? I’ve got a dire situation with some wood paneling that I just can’t handle alone.

The vampire’s irises flare crimson red in triumph. It looks like he won't have to put himself through another mortifying ordeal tonight, after all. 

I’m on a tight schedule, Y/N. These expertise are highly sought after, yanno?

Y/N snorts at his pompous joke. “Moron.”

Another text comes in from Harry before she can even think of a response.

However, I think I might be able to squeeze you in for a help session today. Say in about 10 to 15 minutes? 

With newly brightened eyes, Y/N gives the message five repasses to make sure she’d interpreted it correctly. She can’t believe he’d agreed, especially at an hour when most people already have weekend plans cemented for the night. And by the length of time he’d given her to prepare, she’s extremely thankful she’d decided to shower prior to attempting a booty-call. 

Sounds perfect. Do you need me to send you my address or do you remember, by some miracle?

Don’t worry about it, pet. I have a pretty good memory of that night. You made it hard to forget. 

Another layer of heat crawls up her neck and into her ears. She knows this is a casual thing, at best, but for some reason, the idea that he had deemed her unforgettable makes her entire body feel like it’s glowing. She tries to brush it off, chalking up his compliment to how they’d seen each other barely a week ago so of course he remembered. It was fairly fresh in both their minds. 

But Y/N is from an area where she was just another face in the crowd— another timid girl in an ocean of a hundred small-town carbon copies— and she’d certainly never referred to herself as anything particularly special. To have Harry, who is such a refined and attractive person, who most likely has dozens of hook-ups under his belt, call her that? Of all people? It just hits differently. 

She shakes herself out of her head, remembering that a very interesting boy is waiting for a response on the other end of her phone.

Alright, then. See you in 10 to 15 minutes, Mr…? 

Y/N comes to the realization that she doesn’t even know his last name. She doesn’t know the last name of the guy she’d let into her house and between her legs. God, if her parents could see her now...They’d blow California into a crater. 

The name’s Styles. Harry Styles. 

She immediately recognizes the reference, chewing at her bottom lip to keep a tab on a girly giggle. It’s probably not healthy how easily he reduces her into such a dopey puddle. 

Alright, then, Mr. Harry Styles. See you soon?

Very soon. Can’t wait to show you the wood samples I just found.

With a sly smirk dimpling his cheeks, Harry pushes off the elegant stone wall of his luxury bathroom, locking his device and absentmindedly tapping it along his palm as he does a quick mind-sweep of the interaction he’d just had. He’s going to get his needs taken care of—both intimate and carnal— by a girl with whom he meshes with so well, no less. This night has taken an unexpected turn for the better, and he’s never been more thankful for making such a rash decision the morning after a one night stand. 

The shrill boom of an Irish accent breaks Harry out of his flirty stupor, the sound bounding up the stairs of his flat and echoing off the tiles in his bathroom. “Harry, did you fucking desicate up there, you prick?!”

The vampire’s head snaps to the side towards where the sudden intrusion is originating, clearing his throat softly before answering, mostly to anchor himself back into the present. He’d been too busy floating in a daydream bubble to give his friends any proper attention. “I’m on my way down!”

Harry flicks off the light switch to his master bathroom, heading into his dimly lit bedroom and scooping up his wallet from its usual spot on top of the dresser. He tucks it into the wide front pocket of his slacks along with his cell phone, rounding the king-sized mattress at the center of his space, footsteps muffled by the thick maroon carpeting across the ground. He stops under the doorframe, giving his room one last calculating glance to make sure he isn’t leaving anything important behind. Once the creature is sure he’s set, he reaches over and slides the switch meter all the way down until the hanging lamps on the ceiling fade to black. 

Harry clambers down the glass and metal staircase, passing the collection of original paintings organized across the expanse of the largest wall in his home. His friends spot him from the huge couch once he’s halfway down the steps, and of course Niall is the first to make his presence audible.

“Fucking finally.” The blue-eyed vampire groans in exasperation, shooting up from his seat beside Xander, arms falling across his lean chest. “I thought you’d died. Really died.”

Harry dismounts the last stair carefully, heeled boots making a soft clicking sound against the polished light-wash wood of his floorboards. He pushes a few rogue curls out of his eyes, the corners of his mouth jilting upwards teasingly as he regards the fellow immortal. “If I have to keep staring at that shitty paisley button-up you’re wearing, I just might.”  

Niall’s irritated expression shatters into one of sheer hurt, hands fumbling with the silk fabric of his shirt, lips melting into a pained pout as he contemplates it sadly. His tone comes out whiney and defensive. “Hey! I really like this one!”

Harry side-steps the boy, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Your fashion sense makes me question my friendship with you.”

Niall’s face pinches with anger, thick brows furrowing as he roughly swats the brunette’s wrist away. “And your dickhead attitude makes me question mine.” 

Harry’s jade eyes dance with evil glee as he returns his palm to where it had been resting before to give a curt squeeze, his rings playfully digging into the muscle beneath Niall’s top. “And yet here you are, sitting on my couch, waiting to get into my car. Funny how that works, innit? We benefit from one another. Mutualism at its finest.”

The Irish man shrugs himself free of his friend’s hold once again, glaring at him with darkening eyes, but there’s no true malice behind it. “More like parasitism.” 

“So are you two gonna kiss now or what?” Mitch’s soft, mocking voice butts in as he drifts up beside Niall, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark denim straight jeans and his long hair tied back into a low ponytail. He’s wearing a light-wash Rolling Stones t-shirt he’d gotten at a concert he and Harry had attended back in the eighties, along with a pair of scuffed up sneakers. Pretty casual for a club— too casual, in Harry’s opinion. “The sexual tension is killing the audience.” 

The green-eyed boy cranes his sight back onto Niall, raising his eyebrows in question and puckering his lips. “What d’you say, Ni? Wanna kiss this little disagreement better? I’m down.”

The pale young man makes a gagging noise, stepping away. “Don’t know where your mouth’s been. But if your bed fellows have anything to say about it, it’s nowhere good. I’m going to respectfully decline.” 

“There was absolutely nothing respectful in that response.” Adam chimes in, chuckling as he bumps Niall’s shoulder with his own, hands clasped casually behind his back. “You need to work on your people skills.”

“My people skills are fine.” Niall quips back sarcastically. “Harry just isn’t a person, he’s a demon.” 

“Technically, we all are.” The curly-haired vampire points out, walking over to his matte leather couch and retrieving a pin-striped, grey-black fitted blazer from its backrest. He tosses the jacket over his shoulders, shrugging it on and fixing the material over his torso, the curves of the piece accentuating the strong muscles of his back and the dip of his slender waist. “I just don’t care to hide it, really. Especially not when it comes to Niall’s taste in clothes. Which is rubbish, by the way. If that wasn’t clear before.”

“It was.” Niall deadpans, gaze half-lidded and petty.

Harry fixes the sleeves of his coat around his forearms, smoothing out any wrinkles and buttoning the cuffs. He momentarily ducks into the kitchen, his enhanced eyesight spotting the small digital time-stamp of the oven even from across the room. He has less than thirteen minutes before he has to be at Y/N’s flat. He should’ve suggested a longer time span.

Harry turns back around to fully face his crew, situating his collar into place by folding it along the back of his neck, appraising their expectant appearances. They’re all waiting for him. He’s the one driving, after all. 

The immortal clears his throat, hands dropping to pat at his blazer pocket, making sure that his keys are in his possession. He sighs lightly through his nose, a knowing grin trying to force its way onto his lips but he keeps it at bay, wanting to maintain a straight expression to garner less backlash for the news he’s about to break. 

“I’m not going.”

The pause that fills the atmosphere and the blank faces his friends dote are almost comical. Harry bats his eyelashes at them without a single twitch or jerk of his features. He wants them to understand he’s being serious.

After at least ten heartbeats— a guess, considering no one in the room has one to provide an accurate measurement— a raging exclamation explodes from behind the other three vampires in front of him. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

Harry watches in mild amusement as Xander stomps up from behind the group, shouldering between Mitch and Adam and sticking him with a glower dark enough to instill fear in any living being. But Harry is hardly living, and he’s definitely not scared of a vampire who’s practically a newborn. Xander’s the youngest of them in terms of the immortality scale— he’d transitioned back in nineteen ninety-six when he was thirty, which gives the illusion that he’s older when in reality, he isn’t— so Harry’s strength easily outmatches his. Xander is basically the puppy of the circle, and he’s certainly yappy and annoying enough to support that title. His lack of age and wisdom is also probably why he’s the most explosive. 

Harry kinks an eyebrow up at the taller, tanned man, looping only one button through its designated hole in the middle of his jacket. That will allow him to show off what lies beneath it while also making sure the article won’t be a pest in the windy California night. “I’m not kidding. Something else came up that...peaked my interest.”

Xander’s fists momentarily clench by his sides and he then folds his arms across his lightly heaving chest, trying to hide his anger away along the insides of his elbows. He spits his words through gritted teeth, attempting to keep his cadence level. “What could have possibly come up so late that you only let use know after we waited for you for over an hour?”

Harry can’t stop himself from smirking this time around, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards with condescension. The statement that he produces is all too familiar to Xander, given that it mirrors the reply he had used on Harry exactly a week ago, when the leader of the group had asked him what his intentions were once they’d gotten inside their club for the night. “I have a date.”  

Xander’s entire face flushes a faint shade of cherry red. His forearms tighten across his body, tone more strained than before as he actively wills himself to remain calm. “A date?”

The shorter vampire smiles at him with fake innocence, working his every nerve like it’s his job. Harry doesn’t know why, but pissing Xander off is always such a delectable pastime. “Yup. With a girl I met last week, actually.”

“You don’t go on dates.” Niall pipes up, looking around at the other men in the room in confusion, almost as if his comment should be obvious. “You rarely even spend the night. Said so yourself.” 

Harry shrugs one shoulder indifferently, checking his reflection in the closest section of the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline, the lights of the cars and buildings below twinkling otherworldly. “I guess it’s less a date and more a booty-call, to be honest. I only agreed ‘cause it’s easier than having to drag my ass to that horrid club you chose to spend hours trying to find someone. This meal’s already prim, proper, and served. And I know for a fact I’ll enjoy it, so there’s no real harm.” 

He turns back to Xander, the man’s peeved reaction tickling him more than he thought it would. “What was that you said last time, Xanny?”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Oh, yeah! I'm just grabbing a to-go box for my already prepped meal.”

Harry’s friend’s cheeks dye a deeper shade of crimson, dark veins webbing across the iridescent whites of his eyes for a flickering second. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

Harry counters the angry expression with a bright smile, his dialect dripping with arrogance. “Girls dig it. And you seemed to dig it, too, if I recall correctly. Remember? You might not. Post-orgasm amnesia and all that.” 

Xander takes a measured inhale, releasing it slowly and allowing his anger to ebb away gradually, ignoring Harry’s blast from the past. His next question is physically directed towards their ex-chauffeur, but is truly aimed at the gang as a whole. “Who’s going to take us, then?”

The curly-haired vampire shrugs his shoulders once again, uninterested in the topic that is quickly growing old. “You could take Niall’s car. Problem solved.”

The whole clique lives in the same condo complex, mostly due to convenience. It’s already tricky for vampires to find others of their kind, so it’s a miracle that they’d all managed to end up together in the first place. And it’s an even bigger miracle that they got along well enough to form a tight-knit coven, which is the closest thing any of them now have to family. Living in close proximity is the ideal way of maintaining that rare bond, plus it allows them to help each other in staying safe and keeping their urges in line. 

Since they all live in the same building, Niall’s car is in the garage right beside Harry’s, so transportation shouldn’t be an issue. They just always take his vehicle because he’s the only one that actually enjoys driving. 

“Are you mental? Like actually, genuinely insane?” Xander sputters in appalled shock. “Niall drives like a lunatic!” 

“Oi, piss off! Maybe you should learn to drive then, huh? Instead of having all those guys you shag take you everywhere.”

Xander ignores Niall’s insult, putting his palms up in disgust, backing away. “I refuse to get in a car with him behind the wheel. Dying once was good enough for me.”

“Did I miss the memo?” Niall snaps, glimpsing around at all the monsters standing around him, attitude tight with annoyance. “Y’know, the one where you all just decided to shit on me tonight?”

Harry bursts into an airy cackle, listing his head to the side as he gives Niall a humorous once-over, his dangly cross earring dabbing across the crisp cut of his coat’s shoulder blade. “You don’t necessarily make it hard, love.” 

Niall’s jaw clenches as he narrows his icy blue eyes. “Xander’s right— you are an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, he’s also right about you driving like you’re on tranquilizers.” Adam sighs, running a palm up his face, using his index finger and thumb to massage either of his temples, despite the fact that they lack a pulse. “I guess I could drive? I hate it, but Mitch hates it more, so I’m our best bet. Better than Road Runner over here.” 

“Yeah, just keep talking about me like I’m not present. That’s fine. I’m spitting venom in all your drinks tonight.” 

“Well,” Harry boasts abruptly, interrupting the game of verbal ping-pong happening in front of him, taking a quick peek at his phone for the time. As much as he loves causing some good-natured chaos between his friends, he has less than ten minutes to make it to Y/N’s apartment on time and traffic’s a bitch at this hour. “I have nothing to do with this anymore, so I’m just gonna take my leave. You lot have fun figuring this out.” 

He swivels around on his heel, striding away with his usual haughty air straightening his back, heading towards the corridor that leads to the front entrance of the apartment. The softly lit hallway swallows his silhouette and for the first time since he’d left the secluded confines of his bathroom, he allows a giddy smile of excitement to tweak his lips. Just for a second and not a moment longer. If his friends had seen it, they would’ve taken the piss.

Niall’s accent cuts through the air, prickling at his ears as the glossy, cold doorknob comes into contact with his even colder fingers. “I can’t believe you’d abandon us just to get laid!”

“Lock the door on your way out!” 

///

When a sharp knock echoes across Y/N’s flat, she nearly screams. 

Her nerves have been on edge since the last text she’d received; only after reading that final cheeky message had the reality of the situation hit. 

This isn’t her. This isn’t her at all.

Inviting a total stranger into her home and into her bed was something she’d never experienced before last week. One night stands were very few and very far for her— she could count all the ones she’d had on a single hand, and even then they had been with people she had known to some extent— and it was due to the fact that this type of situation is slathered in mystery and unsureness. Giving herself up in such an intimate manner to someone she wasn’t acquainted to in some shape or form…It comes with a certain amount of risk, both physically and emotionally, which is why she hardly ever engaged in such activities before Harry.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with having that type of exhilarating fun in your life— she praises the women who can go around so confidently and express their sexuality however they please— but she herself had been raised under a roof that was moderate and conservative, and that environment had molded her into the person she had grown up to be. Those traditional concepts ran through the core of her being, and no matter how hard she tried to shake them, they refused to break loose. They weighed on her shoulders, constantly making her second-guess her motives and desires, most of which go against the status quo that had been implemented into her brain from a young age. This— whatever this is— is a huge step for her; it’s the first attempt she’s made to take over her own life and go against the grain she’d been accustomed to her whole existence. 

From the second Y/N had arrived here in Los Angeles and set a foot off the plane, she had been alone. Everyone who cared for her was miles and miles away and she was starting a new chapter on a completely blank page, with no one to guide her hand as she wrote. For the two months she’d spent settling in and trying to meld into her new environment, she had gone at it with a sense of emptiness hollowing the pit of her stomach. No one was there to comfort her during the rough patches, and no one cared enough yet to assure her that things would turn out alright. No one had bothered to tell her she was safe and that nothing would hurt her. No one made themselves available the way people did back home. 

That is, until she met Harry seven days ago. 

Their encounter had been purely for sexual gratification, but during that short time they shared, she vividly remembered him telling her that she could trust him. It was a preposterous statement to make— asking someone to trust you when you didn’t even know their last name— but the gaze in his emerald eyes had seemed so genuine and encouraging, and his voice had been so gentle and soothing, and his touch had been so delicate and consoling...That strange young man— with the pretty curls, intriguing tattoos, and dazzling smile— had somehow managed to untie the knot of unease that had been sitting in her belly for the last couple of weeks. She’s stumped on how he’d managed to wriggle it free; the only thing she can effectively say took a part in it was his eyes. There was just such a glass-like quality to them that reminded her of a mirror. It was like they were reflecting all her emotions back at her, using their familiarity to compel her into a state of mental peace. She’d appreciated it more than she’d let on. 

Something tells Y/N that this is the reason she had contacted him. She wanted to feel that safety net he had provided her with once again. She didn’t need an emotional connection from Harry, she just needed a bit of mental relief. She wanted something to take her mind off all her troubles. Something to distract her, even if it was only for a few hours. And with the way Harry had handled her last time, she knows he’s more than capable of helping her reach those goals. 

Y/N doesn’t think anyone has ever made her feel how Harry had that semi-drunken Friday night. She’d been with a few other people before, and had even been in a long-term relationship with someone she had once thought would end up being her husband, but none of those men came close to this peculiar stranger. 

In the town she was from, it was typical for people to marry their high school sweethearts. It was a small region where everyone either knew one another or knew of one another, so it wasn’t difficult to find someone that could fit into the role that needed to be filled. The person she had found was a boy by the name of Bradley, who she had begun to date their freshman year of high school. 

They’d met through mutual friends and he’d invited her to their first ever homecoming dance, where she had felt like everything was falling into place almost like in a movie. He was cute, with hazel eyes, sun-bleached hair, and freckles that jolted every time he laughed. He was polite, funny, and treated her with enough respect and dignity to keep her hooked for a while. Things had gone pretty well the four years they were together in high school; their relationship wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t exciting either. It was just...secure. He was there, and he was willing to give her his attention, and that’s all that really mattered to her at the time. She thought that was all she needed. 

Then graduation came and went, and so did Bradley. He left for college, set on the intention that they would make long distance work somehow. To keep a long story short, it hadn’t worked out how they expected. As the months passed, she noticed he started to separate himself from her more and more. The video chats are what disappeared first; what used to be a daily FaceTime call turned into a weekly one and then, if she was lucky, a monthly one. Phone calls followed the same fate. Texting became a chore rather than something to look forward to and she could feel him slipping, which left her feeling helpless because he was in another state, far away and too out of reach to appropriately solve anything. Energized conversations slowly faltered into five-word messages, which eventually teetered into barely any communication at all. 

When Y/N heard the news that he’d cheated on her, it didn’t even come from him. It came from his roommate. Things ended swiftly after that, which was the saddest thing of all. Almost five years of her life, completely gone to waste. Handling the pain was a whole other misery she’d had to shoulder, alongside the embarrassment and humiliation, which stemmed from the fact that she was aware her peers had heard about the whole ordeal. With the help of her family and friends, she’d eventually gotten over the heartbreak. The weird thing is, she doesn’t think she loved him. She loved the idea of him— loved that he represented everything she had been raised to seek in a relationship. They’d grown up together, their families knew one another, they shared the same friends, they had common hobbies. It was like a match made in heaven, though after it broke off, she quickly came to the realization that it hadn’t been made in heaven at all. Made in a test tube was a more fitting analogy. 

Y/N’s love life after that painfully slow cliche disaster consisted of random boys around town she recognized from school and work. The hook-ups were fleeting and hardly satisfying, but at least they were something. She soon found out that she could do better on her own, but whenever she craved someone else’s touch, she was grateful to have anyone she could get. She’d mainly stuck to the same guys for the sake of consistency; it was easier having people she already knew how to please and vice versa, though she’ll admit it was mostly a one way street. Men can be so clueless sometimes that it’d be funny if it wasn’t so irritating. 

Then Y/N had skipped town and closed off sexually for a while. She had stayed shut down until Harry had walked into her life with that stupid sly smirk and his unorthodox— yet surprisingly attractive—fashion sense, sipping straight tequila like a fucking psycho from the cup in his jeweled fingers. He’d waltzed right onto the stool beside her at the bar, right out of the club with her hand in his, and then right past the doorframe of her apartment, kindly gifting her the best sex of her entire life. He’d worked her every desire with a certain skill and awareness she had never experienced (not from any of her past lovers, and definitely not from Bradley’s vanilla tendencies), dismantling her body as if he’d known her for decades, leaving her sore and aching in a way she didn’t know was humanly possible.

And now here Y/N is, pacing back and forth from her small living room to her even smaller kitchen, chewing along the knuckle of her forefinger as she tries to tie down the jitters running amuck in her belly. 

She repeatedly smooths down the dress she’s wearing, claiming that it’s to get rid of the wrinkles, but in truth, it’s to wipe the dampness from her palms. The outfit had been a birthday present from her cousin the year before and she’s rarely worn it since the move, which is a direct result of her lack of socializing. She only ever really leaves her home for groceries and to attend work, neither of which call for a pretty sundress and strappy tan sandals. Despite having gone out to the club a few times, the dress doesn’t fit that scene either. LA gets a bit chilly at night and she has yet to grow accustomed to the city’s weather. Wearing this after-hours would surely end with her acquiring a mild case of hypothermia. 

The garment is a light blue baby doll design, littered with tiny daffodil prints of varying shapes and colors. It stops about three-fourths down her thigh, fluttering outwards in layered flares, its bandeau-style top held in place by thin straps of the same fabric. She figured she’d deck herself out nicely; from the one interaction she’d had with Harry, she can tell he’s a person of refined taste. It was evident in his expensive clothing and his wide variety of precious rings. She doesn’t know why, but there’s a toiling in the pit of her tummy urging to impress him. 

Y/N’s hair has been freshly washed and blow-dried, her legs thoroughly shaved into silk, and she’d applied a light layer of makeup, done in anticipation that anything heavier would likely end up smeared across her face— a result of sweat and Harry’s dominant persona. Simply reflecting on his commanding sensual presence makes her self-pedicured toes curl in her sandals. 

Y/N hadn’t been sure on how to prepare for his arrival. She wasn’t versed in advanced hook-up culture— her raunchiest experience was in the backseat of someone's 2004 Toyota Corolla. She doesn’t want to get this wrong. Going overboard would make him feel smothered and awkward, but underselling would give him the impression that she doesn’t have any respect for him, save for what lies between his legs. Those are the last two things she wants him to gather from this. 

She’d settled for pulling out a bottle of red wine that had been a house-warming present from the landlord. Not too shabby, but not too loud. And who doesn’t enjoy a cup of half-decent wine on a Friday evening, right?

Y/N had just finished arranging two glasses— which she’d found at the thrift shop down the street for a steal— onto the counter of her kitchen when that swift rapping sound had broken through the tense air of her home, echoing from the front door and causing a yelp to lodge in her throat. 

Ice shoots through her veins. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She takes a handful of penetrating breaths, concentrating on how the cool air feels expanding her lungs. The technique aids in calming some of her nerves, grounding her just enough that she can will herself to move without her knees giving out. Y/N tentatively makes her way down the corridor that leads to her front door, heart hammering against her ribs. She shouldn’t be this riled up— he’s literally already been inside her. There’s pretty much nothing she can hide from him at this point. 

On the other side of the door, Harry is blissfully ignorant to the panic attack threatening to overcome Y/N. 

The vampire leans his shoulder against the frame of the somewhat raggedy door, arms crossed over his thick chest as his gaze bounces judgmentally around all the patches of peeling paint. He chews at a piece of gum— which he’d popped into his mouth on the drive over to make sure he tastes as delectable as always— in slow, lazy motions, jaw flexing as he unconsciously pops an array of tiny bubbles with his teeth, waiting for Y/N to emerge. 

Harry glances up at the flickering light bulb in the hallway of the complex, nose scrunching in distaste at the annoying flashing. She really needs to get a better place, he thinks, reaching up and dragging the pad of his middle finger along the curve of his bottom lip, absentmindedly wiping off a bit of extra chapstick that had colored outside the lines when he’d applied it. He always tries to keep his mouth soft, especially when he knows he’s going to be using it. Plus, the vanilla bean flavor pairs well with mint. 

The sound of a seal cracking open yanks his attention, the door before him slowly swinging inwards. Cool air pours from inside, bathing him in a scent that his frenzied instincts had been subconsciously craving the last couple of days. Harry cranes his neck over his shoulder, spitting his gum out and not bothering to watch where it lands. He turns back just as Y/N’s familiar figure comes into view.

The first thing he notices is the dress. 

Fuck, the dress. 

It’s nothing too fancy, just a casual sundress, but it fits her like it was made specifically for the purpose of testing his restraint. He rakes his gaze up and down her body shamelessly, much like he had on the night they met. 

The light blue background and rainbow miniature floral print compliments her skin tone nicely, making it stand out below the dingy light hanging above their heads. The piece lands about halfway down her thigh, fanning around her legs slightly in frilly folds, tempting him with that bit of innocent exposure. An image of him ripping the dress up her thighs races across the forefront of his mind and he can feel his fangs momentarily break through his gums.  

As Harry draws his sight upwards, the minimal throbbing between his legs only amplifies. The dress cinches just below her bust, accentuating her chest, and he comes to the painful realization that she’s not wearing a bra underneath; she doesn’t need it due to the bralette-like top. One simple tug of his index finger would leave her completely bare and that conclusion causes a sweltering itch to erupt along the back of his throat.

Harry’s irises finally come to rest on her face, finding that the rest of the human girl’s look appears just as it had last week. Minimal makeup, no accessories, and the smell of chamomile shampoo strung through her hair, though it’s easily smothered by her natural scent of flowers and sugar. He also finds that while he had been blatantly undressing her with his eyes, she had delighted herself in doing the same. Watching her gawk at him hungrily caresses his ego immensely, evident in how the edges of his mouth kink. 

Y/N doesn’t mean to ogle, she really doesn’t. But from the instant he’d come into view, standing there propped against her threshold with his ankles crossed and his lean arms folded over his strong chest, she couldn’t control it. He just looks so fucking good— better than last time, which she didn’t think was plausible— and she gets the feeling that he knows he looks borderline godly. 

Harry’s clad in what appears to be a sheer mesh flouncy button-up with holographic threads speckled through the material, shimmering under the dim atmosphere of the hallway. The last three holes of the shirt are left open, exposing his tanned pectorals and thoroughly inked chest. Last time they had been together, she’d been too distracted by the aching between her thighs to properly notice the swallow tattoos along his collarbones and the giant butterfly at the crest of his stomach. But now, she stares at them freely as they expand and contract with his easy breaths, her mouth beginning to water. 

The blouse is covered by a dark pinstriped blazer, the crisp shoulder blades of the jacket complimenting his broad frame as the curves dip along his waist alluringly. The loose top is tucked in along the brim of yet another pair of high-waisted trousers, though they are creme-colored instead of copper. The ironed pants give way to a pair of glossy black heeled boots, which are bedazzled along the back of the two-inch elevation, the jewels twinkling in the shape of a word that she can’t make out at this angle. 

Harry’s collection of luxurious rings and necklaces adorn their usual spots and she gets the impression that he never leaves home without them. His gold cross earring sways back and forth lightly, her warped reflection cast across its surface and staring back at her numbly. 

Harry breaks through the haze his physique had cast on her brain.

“Nice to see you again, Disco Ball.” 

A shiver slithers down her spine at the deep baritone of his voice, English accent slathered across every syllable and dripping with suggestive teasing. She’d forgotten how sultry he sounds, even when he’s not actively striving for it. 

Y/N’s attention jets up from where it had been pasted to his body, the expression across his handsome features one of snarky self-assurance, which tells her she’d been caught. Indents cave into his cheeks, twitching with glee as he bats his lashes slowly, eyes going half-lidded in amusement. He looks so sinful with those shiny ringlets curling around his small ears, framing his sharp jaw and kissing the nape of his neck, alongside those raspberry red lips and the emerald hue sparkling around his pupils. She can’t tear herself away.

After an elongated second of silence on her part, Harry raises one of his sculpted brows expectantly, letting her know he’s waiting for a response. Heat overflows Y/N’s cheeks and buzzes across the shells of her ears.

“H-Hi. Uh— Nice to see you. Too. Nice to see you, too.”

An odd sense of déjà vu flags in the back of her skull and she’s reminded that this is exactly how they’d met the first time around— with her making an utter fool of herself, much to his entertainment.

The crescent above his top lip curves upwards as a result of his grin widening. He taps the tip of his elegant shoe patiently against the cement ground, arms shifting against his chest and she can see the way his biceps strain the fabric of his coat. He’s just so fit.  

Harry’s tone comes out playful and lighthearted. He doesn’t need to be invited in again since she’s already explicitly allowed him in before, but he asks anyways, out of courtesy. “Can I come in? Or are you planning on taking me dancing or summat?”

The laugh that escapes Y/N is dense with a nervous edge, but it’s better than a stuttering jumble of incoherent words. She moves out of the way, flushing her back to the wall of the tiny entrance corridor and leaving just enough room for him to squeeze by. “Yes, come on in! Sorry.” 

“You’re alright, darling.” The tall vampire steps forward into the mortal’s home, turning sideways as he does so, chest pressing against her own. He glances down at her lips for a flash of a moment, then back to her eyes. “Thank you.”

Y/N’s grip on her doorknob tightens. She looks up at him through her lashes, bottom lip barely trembling. “No problem. Thanks for coming over on such short notice.” 

Harry runs his tongue across his teeth, pressing it to the inside of cheek as he absorbs the mildly erotic image of Y/N decked out in a frilly dress, glancing up at him shyly as her chest heaves slightly against his own. “Well, I couldn’t leave you to handle that pesky wood paneling all on your own, now could I?”

A smile ghosts over her delicate lips as she shuts the door and locks it, not breaking eye contact. “How generous of you. My hero.” 

Far from it, love.

Y/N slips out from where Harry had wedged her to the wall, beckoning him after her with a gentle turn of her head. The creature tucks his hands into his front pockets, following her down the narrow stretch. They drift past her room (he makes sure not to look in and spare himself the horror of seeing that dumb tapestry) and past her bathroom, into the expanse of her living area. It’s just as small and cozy as he remembers it and he can’t stop himself from scoffing lightly as his sight drifts over the couch. Good memories. 

“Would you like some wine?” Y/N’s question carries softly from inside her kitchen. She’s already gripping the glass bottle in her hand, attempting to pull out the cork, and she hadn’t thought of needing a wine-opener until now. Fuck. 

Harry makes his way to join her, passing underneath the archway and taking the spot across from the girl. He leans his lower back on the counter, hands remaining perched casually in his slacks. “I’d love some.”

“Great.” She huffs, twisting stubbornly at the spongy cap with all the might she can muster, the rough surface scratching her palm. “Let me just— just get this open.”

Harry’s head lists sideways as he wards off a chuckle. “Want some help?” 

Y/N releases an irritated grunt, shoulders slumping a tad as she fails to get the top loose. She holds out the bottle towards her visitor, titling it from side to side in surrender. “Be my guest.” 

The immortal pulls his hands out from his pockets, taking the container from her grasp and the human notices how they dwarf the bottle. It shouldn’t be hot, but it is. 

Harry wraps his ring-clad digits around the cork, giving it one easy twist and Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off as she hears a pop tinge the air. Harry offers her the wine and cap in return, licking his lips to avoid laughing in her face. Supernatural strength always delivers. 

“How…?” Y/N’s owlish eyes flicker back and forth between Harry’s cocky expression and the object in his hands. “How did you even...?”

The brunette gives her a nonchalant shrug. “Guess you loosened it up for me, Thor.” 

She gingerly takes the beverage and its accompaniment from his outstretched palms, blinking at him in mild shock. Her slight unease is swiftly phased out, however; a result of his cute banter. It was probably just a lucky coincidence. “I guess so.”

Y/N pours out two glasses of the dark red liquid, handing one to Harry, feeling her heart skip a beat when he wraps his hold around the stout flute and their fingers brush. He stays like that for a heartbeat, with his icy digits sifted between hers, the amber specks in his irises glittering like diamonds. Then, the moment is over and he pulls away slowly, guiding his drink up to his plush lips. She hates how he can leave her so breathless without a single hitch. 

The girl watches as Harry takes a leisurely sip of the alcohol, his gaze dancing around her kitchen curiously as she finishes recapping the bottle and scooting it into the corner of the counter. 

A thought dawns on her as soon as she focuses back onto the boy before her. Harry looks weird. He looks so weird standing in her small, dingy kitchen with its worn wooden cabinets and fake marble tabletop. He looks so out of place, dressed head to toe in designer brands and fancy fabrics, hands and neck decorated with posh jewelry, and the unmistakable smell of an expensive cologne wafting from his masculine throat. And he most certainly is out of place when it comes to who he’s associating with. He’s out of Y/N’s league, not only physically, but in his behaviors, as well. It’s so obvious it almost hurts. 

Yet here Harry is, looking polished and stylish, while she’s sporting a mere sundress that was probably bought off the clearance rack at Kohl’s. It just doesn’t mix, and she finds herself wondering why he’d chosen her in the first place. When she had voiced similar concerns the day they’d slept together, he had told her it was because she was timid and he wanted to see if he could break through that. But Y/N isn’t stupid. There has to be some other reason. Why else would a rich bachelor pay attention to a small-town runaway in a measly floral—

“I like your dress.”

Y/N glances up at Harry from where her mind had fallen, startled by the sudden interference in her dark thoughts. She’d been tracing across the slope of his structured jaw, mesmerized by how it would grow taut every time he swallowed down a gulp of his beverage. 

She had ambled so deep in her head, she barely manages to mutter a passable answer. “Oh, thank you! I’ve had it for a bit, but I barely wear it.”

The edges of the vampire’s mouth quirk around the rim of his glass, creases wrinkling along the corners of his bright eyes. “It suits you nicely. A beautiful dress on a beautiful girl.” 

Y/N’s belly somersaults, a sheepish giggle running along the undercurrent of her next mumble, so low it’s hardly audible. “Thank you. Again. Thought I’d bring it out for a special occasion.” 

Harry’s eyebrows jump upwards at her comment. He draws his wine glass from between his lips, resting it against his hard stomach and gifting the human a cheeky once-over. “So I’m a special occasion, now, am I?”

Y/N looks down at the straps of her sandals, fighting off a grin. She shrugs one shoulder offhandedly, bringing her cup to her mouth and taking a long drag of the sweet liquor, feeling it wash across her tongue and leave a warm glow in her tummy. “Maybe.” 

Harry hums teasingly in his throat, tapping his pinky pensively along the bottom of his glass, opal ring clinking against the crystalline surface. The color of his drink makes the black polish on his nails stand out almost artistically. “I’ll take any compliment I can get, especially from those pretty lips.”

Another wave of heat flushes across the apples of Y/N’s cheeks. “You really know how to flatter a girl, don’t you?”

The monster tips back another swig of wine, savoring the notes of wild cherry and pomegranate in its palate. Not bad, especially for what he can tell is a ten dollar bottle. 

He cocks his head to the side, irises glitzing knowingly amidst his long lashes. “I think we’re both aware that I most certainly know how to flatter a girl.” 

Y/N’s stare snaps up to lock with his, the faintest whimper stringing her vocal chords. If it wasn’t for Harry’s heightened hearing, he would have never known it’d happened. But he does, and he can feel the throb between his thighs spike as a result. The sounds she makes are just as wonderful as he remembers.

The sexual tension suspending in the room is practically palpable. After a bundle of her heartbeats— which is gradually rising in intensity— echo in his ears, he decides to speak up again. 

“I’ve been thinking about you.” 

The statement can be taken into so many different contexts and that’s why Harry chose it. She could interpret it as innocent admiration on behalf of a smitten lover, or as another layer of sensual praise. It’s versatile, successful either way. 

Y/N blinks at him exactly three times in surprise. “You have?”

She’d been thinking about him, too. Non-stop. And now that she knows it’s mutual, she doesn’t feel so nervous anymore. It reassures her that they’re on the same page of this messy novel written about their undefined association. Or that they are at least within the same chapter.  

Harry bobs his head in confirmation, indulging another sip of wine, letting it filter through his taste buds slowly. His glass is almost empty. “Mmhm. Walked past this candle store at the mall the other day and they had one burning that smelled just like you.”

His confession is sweet and it makes the tips of her fingers tingle. Y/N copies his action, taking another gulp of her beverage, attitude airy and inquisitive. “Is that so? And what do I smell like?”

Harry’s response is immediate and confident, almost as if he’s spent time thinking on the subject prior to today. “Honey and lavender.” 

Y/N nods her head in wonder, laughing gently. “That’s oddly specific.” 

Harry feels like he’s been smacked between the eyes with an iron rod. That was an idiot move. Absolutely moronic. 

He just now comes to terms with how intimate the comment he’d made had been. It suggests that he’s pondered on this topic, which gives the impression that he could be more interested in her than he actually is. He doesn’t need this loose connection turning into some type of cliche romantic comedy; he doesn’t have the space, patience, or emotional stability for it. And certainly not with someone he’s only fucked once. 

The vampire clears his throat, figuring that he can clean up this metaphorical spill by throwing a bit of crudeness at it. “Then yesterday I had a donut, yeah? One of those cream-filled ones. And when I took a bite of it, all the cream just came oozing out and I was like, ‘hm, this reminds me of someone…’”

The slightly endeared expression on Y/N’s face crumbles to dust, voice shrill and indignant at his lewd analogy. “You fucking perv!” 

Harry sputters into a round of boyish cackling, nearly wheezing when her foot reaches over and strikes him on the shin. He clasps over his stomach with his free hand, head falling back in glee as her features pinch in embarrassed disgust. He manages to speak between bursts of giggles, water gathering along his tear ducts due to how hard he’s laughing. “I’m just being honest!”  

“No, you’re being a gross little fourteen year old asshole!” Y/N exclaims incredulously, but she can’t keep herself from joining in on his boasts of amusement. 

His laughter is contagious. It’s loud and unapologetic in a manner she rarely sees in anyone and he just looks really fucking cute with his dimples jolting and smile lines creasing. It’s hard to stay mad at him, though it’s not like she’d truly been upset in the first place. 

Harry reigns himself in, inhaling deep breaths and wiping at his tears with the back of his large hand as a joyful groan rumbles in his chest. A few more giggles sneak out when he sees Y/N’s flat expression, but he manages to stifle the rest. His tone is jesting, poking fun. “If it makes you feel any better, I was respectful enough to wipe the donut down with a napkin, as well.” 

“Fuck off.”

Harry grins down snidely at the last inch or so of alcohol left in his glass, bringing it to his mouth and downing it all in one go. He places the cup down carefully on the counter behind him, his arms finding their way across his stomach, fingertips momentarily tapping at his elbows. He appraises a playfully grouchy Y/N, pursing his lips to hide a smirk. 

He watches as she takes another small taste from her drink, her pulse lulled by its contents. She’s not drunk by any means— not even buzzed— but it had helped calm the tittering in her throat that Harry had been able to detect earlier. She’s relaxed now, all anxiousness washed away by the small serving of liquor and his inappropriate (and extremely funny, if he does say so himself) jokes. 

The creature thinks it’s proper time he gets what he came for. 

“I really am glad you reached out, though.” Harry starts, an easygoing smile nudging across his alcohol-swollen mouth. “Truly.” 

Y/N snorts sarcastically, attempting to hide how his comment had made her pulse sharpen. He’d heard it anyways. “Oh, are you? Truly?”

Harry pushes himself off the edge of the counter, slowly sauntering over to Y/N, who instinctively draws back further against the tabletop behind her. She ogles at him from below heavy lashes, glass still perched between her tinted lips, excited anticipation written all over her body language. He can practically feel the heat radiating off her, rising a few notches the closer he gets. 

“Yeah.” Harry’s arms unfold, one stretching over her shoulder to prop his palm against the cupboard behind her head, the other fiddling with the seam of his blazer. He slides his forefinger and thumb along the single buttoned hole, giving it a rough tug and allowing his jacket to spring open. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun interior designing with anyone. Not for a while.” 

Y/N glimpses down at where his coat had parted, drinking up the sight of his lean torso behind the see-through material of his shirt. Now that he’s nearly pressed against her, his scent is stronger than before, burying her under smoky notes of vanilla and seasoned firewood. A familiar heat pools between her clasped thighs. 

When she pipes up, it’s shaky and whispered, covered in a dreamy undercurrent. “Yeah, me either. It felt...nice.”

Harry’s irises flash crimson for a millisecond, but she’s too occupied gawking at his tight stomach to notice. His dialect takes on a low, seductive twang, the breath of his words fanning across her face. All she can smell is wine, mint, and...vanilla chapstick? 

“It felt really nice.” 

Y/N’s view drags up to land on his lips. They look as soft and appetizing as last time, tempting her to just drop her flute onto the floor and replace it with his mouth. “Extremely nice.” 

An outside force suddenly tips her glass upwards and she realizes it’s Harry’s fingers. He nudges her cup until the liquid inside funnels towards her mouth, his intentions set on helping her finish it off. She drains the wine obediently, staring up at him dazed and moony, feeling a few drops escape along the sides of her mouth and tickle down her chin. The jade-eyed boy then gently pries the glass from her fingertips, reaching over and placing it inside her sink to be handled later. 

Y/N’s hands fall flat against his thick chest, feeling it rise and fall steadily below her grasp as he takes a step forward, their bodies completely flushing together. His palm trails up the exposed sliver of her thigh, diving a couple of inches below her dress and giving the outer area a hard squeeze. He doesn’t go any further; he won’t until she explicitly asks for it. He’s a prick about a lot of things, but never consent.

Harry leans down, running the tip of his cold nose along her clenched jaw, his warm tongue peeking out to collect the streams of wine that had dripped out. The contrast in sensations makes her knees buckle and what he murmurs hotly against her skin doesn’t help in calming those motions at all.

“Wouldn’t mind making you feel that nice again.” 

Y/N’s mind stalls, overwhelmed by his touch and smell. She can feel him sponging tender kisses at the corner of her mouth, and she can feel the palm of his hand massaging at her thigh needily. She can feel his breaths quickening in pace the longer he’s around her, and she can feel the foundation of a moan building in his lungs in the form of small vibrations, which run across her palms and twitch her fingers. She can feel everything; she’s never been more hyper-aware of her surroundings than now. And all because of this one mysterious young man. 

When Y/N finally speaks, Harry feels relief flood his system, though it is swiftly replaced by intense desire. 

“I wouldn’t mind it, either.” 

That’s full permission if he’s ever heard it. 

Harry’s other hand drops from its spot against the cupboard behind her, joining its partner on her opposite thigh. He coasts his palms fully below her flowy dress onto her hips, a lascivious simper crawling across his cheeks at the lack of extra fabric beneath her clothes. “No panties tonight?”

The human swallows heavily, shaking her head as she leans it back against the wooden cabinets, giving him access to her throat. At the sight, the vampire’s fangs protrude, cutting into the inside of his lower lip as venom fills his mouth. He wills himself to maintain control. It’s difficult, considering his sharp eyes can make out the chiseling of her arteries pumping blood just beneath her delicate skin, but he forces composure into his behavior nonetheless. With all of the lights on and Y/N completely sober, he knows he won’t get away with another mid-fuck stunt like the one he pulled last time they were in this position. 

Instead, he distracts himself with what he can draw from her at this very moment— another unbelievable orgasm. 

“Such a filthy little fucking thing.” Harry growls, smearing his lips down the center of her jugular, nipping love bites into her flesh but making sure not to split it open. “S’that how bad you wanted it when you texted me? So bad that you didn’t even bother to wear anything underneath?”

Y/N whines softly when he passes over a particularly tender spot along her neck, shuttering against his chest. “Y-Yes.” 

A low chuckle rolls from Harry’s wandering tongue as he hones in on the area that had coaxed such a delicious reaction. “Fuck, that was such a pretty noise. Are you sensitive here, baby?”

Y/N nods with fervor, running her touch up his pectorals and over his strong shoulders, diving under his coat and fisting at the mesh that strains across his muscular back. Her eyes roll closed, her next confession coming out in the form of a feathery sigh, legs parting wider for him to comfortably fit in between. “I just...I just need you.”

Harry eagerly accepts the invitation, sifting between her thighs and hiking them up onto his hips. The fact that he can suspend her so effortlessly, almost as if she weighs nothing, makes the pit of her tummy boil. “You need me now, d’you? How much, doll? Want you to tell me how much you missed my cock.” 

The young woman winces ever so slightly at the crude word and it amuses him to no end. “So fucking much, Harry.” 

He can confidently say his name has never sounded sweeter than when it trickles from Y/N’s tongue. 

When he speaks, it’s packed with all the pent up turmoil radiating deep in his abdomen. “Did you think about me the way I thought about you?”

Y/N’s reply falls breathily from her mouth without any hesitation. “Y-Yeah. Couldn’t get you out of my head.”

A cocky hum tinges the air on his behalf. “And why’s that?”

“Because…” The girl struggles to swallow, finding it difficult to match how easily brazen he can be. She pushes through. “Because you fucked me better than anyone else ever has.” 

The compliment is one Harry gets often, but for some inexplicable reason, it hits so much deeper coming from Y/N. “Mm. Poor baby just needed to get properly rawed, didn’t you?”

“Had no idea how badly I wanted it until you came along.” 

A dark chuckle rolls from the creature’s lips at her bluntness. He repeatedly passes his textured tongue over the pressure point on her throat, flames igniting in his chest when she releases another watery, desperate mewl. “God, look at you. Practically already dripping. Like it when I play with you like that?”

“Fuck, y-yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

And so Harry keeps going, and he doesn’t stop. Not at her neck, and not anywhere else. Not until she begs him to hours later, when he’s whittled three orgasms out of her trembling body, each one more intense than the last. 

The first one takes place right there on top of the kitchen counter. He boosts her up onto the table, bunching her pretty sundress around her quivering thighs— as he’d fantasized prior— while she fumbles with his trousers. He tends to her every breathy whimper as she eases him out of his briefs, marking his teeth all over her throat with the assurance that his blood will fade the bruises by morning. He tears his jacket down his broad shoulders, panting into her mouth as she undoes all the buttons that line his elegant iridescent shirt, moaning softly when she breaks their kiss to paint her hot lips down the expanse of his heaving chest and tight stomach. Y/N ducks down as far as her angle will allow, wanting to taste as much of his skin as she can. She wants to memorize its salty smoothness for as long as she lives. 

Harry watches her with bliss-drunken fondness twitching his mouth, head falling back to hang between his shoulders as a low, “Such a good girl.” rumbles from his throat. His ring-clad fingers tangle into her locks and scratch at her scalp lightly, strained exhales encouraging her to keep going as she delights herself with tainting love bites all over him. He yanks the girl back up by her roots, grabbing her hips and roughly scooting her forward towards him, clammy foreheads pressing together as he fixes to fill her up for the first time in what feels like eternity. 

The monster’s voice is as dominant and thick as she likes it. “Eyes up here. Want to see you come undone while I fuck you.” 

The way he spreads Y/N open makes her choke out a scream like nothing else she’s ever heard. Harry simply clamps one of his palms over her mouth, continuing to ram into her at a harsh stride, gasping against her ear with every thrust as she rakes her nails across his back. “Gotta keep that pretty mouth quiet. Thin walls.” 

The human feels like her heart is going to break through her ribs and what she doesn’t know is that with every passing beat, Harry feels it tenfold. And it’s driving him fucking insane— she drives him fucking insane. Especially when she looks at him with that glossy, begging gaze, biting into the mound of his hand as he slams his hips inside her so hard, the glasses in her cupboard shake. “Like it when I give it to you rough? Yeah, I thought so. Just like that? Harder? Say please…Christ, you’re a fucking angel.”

Y/N is dirty. So fucking filthy, and Harry loves every second of it. Loves that anything he throws out, she returns with as much enthusiasm, if not more. Loves that she can take his cock as hard as he’s willing to give it, which says a lot, considering his stamina and strength usually surpasses most humans. He’d met very few mortals who can match his sexual prowess and she happens to be one of them. She not only takes it, but pleads for more. She doesn’t just seek her own pleasure, but insists on delivering his own. And though they’re polars opposites at their core— she’s timid, physically standard, and boringly normal, whereas he’s confident, attractive, and unusually superior in every sense of the phrase— they fit together better than he’d ever care to admit. They’re perfectly compatible, down to their personalities and their intimate needs. 

As Harry stands there— fingertips leaving welts across her waist as he grunts brokenly against her throat, stretching her out like she was meant to take him this deep, her moans sounding like classical melodies to his ears— he thinks that maybe...maybe he’ll keep her around. A friends with benefits situation would be the most ideal. And to quote his own clever motto from before, it would be mutualism at its finest. 

The alliance would be nothing emotional; simply for the sake of providing each other with requited relief, as well as providing Harry with a convenient feeding arrangement. Neither of them would have to submit themselves to going to those terrible clubs, they both already know what the other enjoys, and the banter they share is pretty fulfilling. Plus, her blood is one of the sweetest he’s ever had. Whatever magic lies in her veins tides over his cravings in a fashion he’s never quite experienced. They both get what they want and don’t have to deal with the disasters of real commitment; neither are in a place in their lives where they can shoulder such a big responsibility. Harry is emotionally unavailable, as he has been for the past two centuries and as he intends to be for the next dozen. Y/N has just started anew in a place where she has so little to give and so much to lose, dating is the last thing on her mind. A casual no-strings-attached arrangement would be a perfect gift, bow and all.

And with the way they make each other cum multiple times that night— once on the counter, and twice on that trusty old couch— there’s not a single doubt in Harry’s mind that this is most definitely mutualism at its peak. 

///

During the span of the next few weeks, Harry learns a lot about Y/N. It’s surprising how informational someone’s sex habits can be. 

The second week after they had met— and the first since their second very heated, very satisfying encounter— she shoots him a text on Wednesday, of all days. 

Harry isn’t doing anything particularly interesting when he receives her message. He had gone to see Mitch play at the bar that had recently booked him as a semi-permanent gig, sitting in the booth furthest in the back from all of the ruckus, fingers tapping along the waxed table to his best friend’s skilled jazzy guitar chords. Mitch always teases Harry about how he doesn’t have a job, which the vampire always waves off. Working for money is stupid and unnecessary; any materialistic wants and needs that plague him, he can get with the help of compulsion. Therefore, what’s the use in condemning himself the horrors of customer service or a constricting office cubicle? 

His best friend is halfway through his set when Harry’s device vibrates against the sticky surface before him, tittering fingers coming to an abrupt stop. He flips over his iPhone, eyes flickering over the screen, a coy grin spreading its way across his blushed lips. Y/N’s contact beams up at him in return. He’d set her profile as just her name alongside three disco ball emojis, for the sake of their little inside joke. 

I’m getting off work a bit earlier than I thought today and was wondering if you wanted to help me with my ceiling fan.

Harry bites into his bottom lip to muffle a chuckle, shaking his head lightly as he stares down at the comical request. 

That’s odd. Last time I was there, you didn’t HAVE a ceiling fan.

Y/N sits on her lunch break in the backroom of the cafe where she’s employed, a veggie wrap halfway suspended towards her mouth when Harry’s text bloops in, pointing out her embarrassing mistake. She blinks at his correction blankly, eyes closing in faint humiliation as her true intentions are now painfully clear. 

After a second of recollection, she types back some damage control, though it hardly has an impact. Harry’s already chortling to himself just thinking about how contorted her face must look at the moment.

I’m aware, thank you. I meant I wanted help picking one out. I’ve got a few tabs saved as potentials. 

He decides to be a little shit about this whole thing, continuing to mock her.

You could just send me the links right now and I can tell you which one I like. You know that, right?

Y/N knows that. She also knows, by the tone and texture of his response, he’d only mentioned that alternative to be annoying. He knows she’s not talking about ceiling fans, and he just wants her to chase after him. Unfortunately enough for Y/N’s pride, she’s more than willing to.  

I just think your opinion would be much more valuable and effective in person, since you’d be able to help me search for other ones at the same time. We’d cover more ground. Two heads are better than one!

We do make quite the team, don’t we?

I personally think so. A dynamic duo for the books, honestly.

A soft round of applause cuts through the air around the vampire, signaling the end of Mitch’s performance. Harry glances up to see his best friend mounting his guitar back into its case, smiling bashfully at the crowd and nodding his head in thanks to all their praise. Harry coins his luck; things couldn’t have wrapped up at a better time. 

Alright, Watson. What time will you be home?

Y/N stops mid-chew through a bite of her meal, cheeks puffed as the corners of her mouth twitch at his nerdy reference.

I’m off at 6:45. Should be home by 7. 

I’ll see you there, then. 

See you there. Also, why do YOU get to be Sherlock? Seems a bit sexist. 

Harry rolls his eyes at her quip, smirking to himself as he types out his final response.

Well, first and foremost, I’m literally English. Secondly, last time I checked, I’m always the one in control. And frankly, you seem to like it that way. See you at seven, darling.

And at seven on the dot, Harry’s outside her apartment. His friends would be amazed at his punctuality. He only shows it when it’s worth the trouble.

The creature walks up the steps to the mortal’s complex with his Ray-Ban sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, keychain tucked into the back pocket of his black skinny jeans, and his tan Chelsea boots clicking against the cement ground. A light wind whips his Keith Harrington Safe Sex t-shirt against the broad muscles of his back, drawing a soothed sigh from his lungs. He loves the California weather. 

He gives her door three swift knocks with his ring-clad knuckles, stepping back from the entrance and clasping his large hands behind his back as he waits. 

When Y/N answers, Harry tilts his chin down a smidge, looking at her over the brim of his chic black glasses with his signature dazzling smile dimpling his cheeks. He lists his head slightly in a formal greeting. “Detective.” 

The girl’s irises flit up to the ceiling as amusement twitches her lips. She plays along. “Nice to see you again. Detective.”

She moves off to the side, beckoning him to come in and he gladly takes the offer, striding into the flat and down the narrow corridor he’s grown quite familiar with. Y/N follows him back into her living room, gaze quickly drinking up his appearance. He’s casual today— less jewelry, more comfortable clothes— and he works the normal fit as effortlessly as he works his fancy brands. Especially with those tight dark jeans. They hug his thighs in a fashion that should be illegal. 

Harry twists around on his heel to face her, reaching up to remove his sunglasses and tucking them along the collar of his tee. A handful of curls fall across his forehead, framing his face and sculpting his jaw, as usual. A sweep across Y/N’s physique tells him everything he needs to know. 

She’s still in her work clothes, clad in a navy blue polo shirt and a pair of dark skinnies similar to his. Her hair is down, though the strands have a dent that suggests she’d been wearing a ponytail. Her mascara is smudged a tad under her seemingly tired eyes, but her attitude is as bright and lively as always. She appears messy, but he likes it. It’s a type of unconventional beauty that’s natural and genuine, which he can appreciate.

He contemplates her with a certain slyness that makes her shift in her socked feet. 

“I got a message earlier. Sounded kinda frantic.” He drifts closer to the human, a sultry tension growing taut between them. He glances upward for an instant, as if recalling a thought. “Something about ceiling fans…?”  

Y/N chews into her cheek to keep from giggling, allowing him to press his chest to hers. He slowly begins to back her up towards the shabby couch, which has seen this interaction happen one too many times. “Yeah, I’m thinking of getting one. Figured it’d help. It just gets really hot in here sometimes, y’know?”

“Mmm…” Harry thrums in agreement, deep in the back of his throat. His hands crawl onto her hips and grasps them somewhat roughly, index fingers hooking into the belt loops of her jeans as he leans down to brush his soft lips over her own. She’ll never grow tired of the electricity that passes through them every time their mouths touch. It kindles her needs unlike anything else. “It does get pretty hot in here sometimes. Especially if you’re working up a sweat.” 

He pushes her further towards the sofa, movements gradual as she drifts backwards, careful not to trip her. She glimpses down at where their lips are flirting, breath hiccuping when he licks his lightly in anticipation, his tongue just barely grazing her Cupid’s bow. “Absolutely. A fan would definitely help relieve some of that stress.” 

“Yeah.” Harry nudges the tip of her nose with his own, feeling her grab at his biceps for security as he continues inching her backwards blindly. “It can work wonders for when you’re all pent up, too. Especially when you’re really tight, which I know for a fact you are.”

The backs of the girl’s knees hit the edge of the couch and she topples into its cushions. She sits up onto her elbows, sheer need inking into her irises as he patiently begins to undo his belt. His long, nimble fingers work with ease and he seems to be in no particular rush, which pricks at her nerves because she feels completely the opposite. She’d been thinking about him since Friday night— or rather, Saturday morning, when he had actually stayed for breakfast that time around. 

Y/N had sat on top of her small dining table while he took the seat before her shirtless, leaning forward with his arms crossed nonchalantly over her lap as she fed him bites of lemon blueberry pancakes. The pads of his calloused fingers had drawn random shapes across the warm skin of her thighs, attempting to cheekily slip beneath her pajamas shorts and he’d giggle boyishly around mouthfuls of food every time she would swat his hand away. He looked so fucking pretty that morning, with his curls tangled in tuffs and the vague imprint of her teeth scattered across his grinning mouth, angry red scratches decorating his bare shoulders. That wholesome yet dirty image had left her head spinning for days. 

The sound of Harry’s zipper ripping open blinks Y/N back into the present and she nearly gawks as he grabs onto the hem of his graphic t-shirt and yanks it over his head, arms crossing as he does so. He tosses it onto her playfully, laughing as she smacks it away from her face and gives him a deadpan look. Harry leans forward, propping his palms on either sides of her head and bracketing her in, the unmissable scent of his delicious cologne invading her senses as his dark tattoos ripple over the lean tendons of his stomach and arms. His strangely cold forehead flushes against hers and he nips at her top lip, tugging it between his teeth and releasing. His voice comes out as deep and hypnotizing as ever. 

“Get undressed for me. Want your thighs wrapped around my head.” 

Harry comes to find that for such a reserved girl, Y/N has a pretty intriguing sexual mindset. She’s open to a lot of stuff he’d never expect from a rural-town escapee. Her kinks surprise him, but pleasantly so, considering they cross over with a lot of his own. She’s into choking, which he adores. There’s nothing hotter than feeling her pulse slam against the palm of his hand as his array of rings mark into the delicate skin of her throat. She likes being restrained, which translates into Harry pinning her wrists above her head while he slams between her drenched thighs. It’s difficult to achieve that on the sofa, so they end up rolling across the rug on the floor, her legs tangled around his hips like a vine as he pants into her mouth, damp hair flopping over his forehead and tickling her eyelashes. Ideally, he would have used his belt to tie her hands to a headboard. If they were at his place, he would’ve just reached for the metal cuffs he has hanging casually off the railing of his bed, which he keeps there for easy access. But they’re in her living room, so he makes do with what he can. 

The vampire doesn’t stay over that night, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he promised Niall he’d help him out with a car issue. Apparently the motor is making a weird noise and Harry isn’t shocked one bit. Niall barely has the brain cells to be alive, much less to handle the upkeep that comes with owning a vintage vehicle. He thanks Y/N for a good time as he slips into his tight jeans and recovers his sunglasses from the floor, pulling his tee over the already fading hickies littering his collarbones, fitting his accessory into his sweaty curls. 

Harry leans down to where she lays limply, splayed over the couch where he had placed her after picking her up off the ground (only after he’d made her cum twice). He plants a nonchalant farewell kiss to her parted lips, thumbing over her bruised nipples jestingly and grinning into her mouth when she whimpers. “I’ll see you later, Watson. Let me know which fan you decide to buy.” 

Two days later, Harry’s phone chimes again, this time with the unique ringtone he’d assigned just for her. 

He’s relaxing in his bathtub, submerged up to his chest in hot water mixed with Epsom salts and jasmine bubble bath, his locks sudsy with shampoo. He’s in the middle of shaving his face, dragging the straight razor (his time in the nineteen thirties made him picky towards any other tool, especially those simpleton plastic ones) down his jaw carefully, making sure not to nick the little moles under the corner of his mouth. When his device goes off, he halts all his motions, glancing over from the hand mirror he’s holding before his face. He’d changed her contact name to Watson as homage to their funny little dynamic, but he’d kept the disco balls in their place. He respects the roots of their acquaintanceship.

Fan came in. Wanna come check it out?

He had a nagging suspicion he’d hear from her today. It’s another Friday night, after all. He’s just happy she’d texted earlier than last time so he can flake on his friends without forcing them to wait for an hour. 

Wow, you chose two day shipping? You must be itching to see me.

Don’t let it go to your head. The only thing I’m itching for is your professional opinion. 

Right. Well, me and my professional opinion are washing up at the moment so give me thirty minutes and I’ll be there, yeah?

Sounds good to me, Sherlock. 

Harry decides on an outfit that falls at the center of his dressing spectrum— something comfortable but not lazy. Something semi-formal. He doesn’t really have to impress her anymore (not that he had to try that hard in the first place) but he wants to look good, either way. There’s nothing wrong with showing off what he has, both physically and wardrobe-wise. He chooses a horizontal-striped fitted tee made of thick cotton, the lines alternating between brown, beige, and a light caramel. He tucks the shirt into a pair of mid-rise corduroy flared pants that are a dark mustard shade, shrugging on an olive green jacket with red and white stitch detailing along the edges, large images of cacti embroidered along its expanse. His pearls, cross necklace, and he opts out of his earring this time. Rings, vanilla chapstick, mint gum. Keys, wallet, starch white Vans. 

Before he knows it, he’s being roughly pulled into her home from his spot just outside her threshold, his cherry-lacquer nails carding into the silky hair along the nape of Y/N’s neck as his teeth skim over the hollow of her throat. The human grapples to push his coat off his wide shoulders, backing further down the small hallway of her flat and kicking the door shut. She holds his head firmly to the sensitive spot in her neck that he’d toyed with a week prior, and he can’t resist the way his eyes blink crimson— a hunting impulse, stemming from the sound of her blood rushing through her carotid artery. He hadn’t fed last time— vampires only need to feed once a week to avoid desiccation— so he surely intends to tonight. 

Harry’s hands fit perfectly around the dip of her spine, pulling her body tight to his as he paints sloppy kisses over her jugular. He gets his teasing words out in between desperate gasps and breathy chuckles. “And here I thought this was genuinely going to be about the fan.”

“Shut up.” 

Y/N makes a sharp turn, tugging him into her room instead of the living room and it dawns on him that this is the first time they’re going to fuck in her actual bed. All those instances of sleeping together and not once had they done anything on the piece of furniture that was intended for that sole purpose. It’s ironically hilarious and he voices that opinion as they stumble onto her mattress. 

“You know,” Harry murmurs into her mouth as she shoves him flat onto the rumpled sheets (she hadn’t made her bed this morning and that’s endearing, for some reason), straddling his lap as she hurriedly pulls his t-shirt out from along the waistband of his trousers. “Out of all the times we’ve done this— which is quite a few— we’ve never done anything on your bed other than sleep.” 

That’s a lie. He’s never actually slept in her bed. After staring at the ceiling blankly two weeks ago for about eight hours, he had been smart enough to grab his phone from his pants the second time around. He spent that stretch of time playing Mario Kart and watching Unsolved Mysteries on Netflix with the volume down just out of human earshot, so as to not disturb her slumber. 

Y/N ducks in order to drag her wet, pillowy lips down the butterfly inking on his tummy and over the spines of the two ferns on his pelvis, licking across his happy trail. He jerks in response, a soft grunt gurgling in his lungs as she uses her index finger to trace the outline of his hardening cock through the velvet fabric of his slacks. Her voice is distant, giggle breathless. “Yeah, you’re right. How counterintuitive.”

Harry swiftly pops the button of his trousers, helping her coax them down his legs, releasing a stuttery moan when she immediately bends down and mouths at his prick over his briefs. The soiled stain forming around the tip of his cock would be embarrassing if he didn’t know she found it hot. 

His tone is tight but humorous as she continues licking at him eagerly through his underwear, nails digging into his inner thighs. “Am I your first?”

Confusion flickers in her eyes for a moment before she realizes the joke. He’s referring to if he’s the first person she’s slept with on her new bed in her new home. “Yes, you are, actually.” 

Harry’s juts his bottom lip out into an overly-sweet exaggerated pout, talking in a honeyed drawl. “Aw, I get to christen your bed with you? We’re practically married now. When’s the baby due?” 

“God, you’re a moron.” Y/N bursts into a fit of laughter as she mounts back onto his lap, pinching at his torso in fake spite and feeling her insides flutter at the airy giggles that escape him. She gnaws on her bottom lip thoughtfully for a second, watching with hunger as he finishes removing his shirt and momentarily sits up to chuck it onto the ground over her shoulder. 

Harry falls back onto the mattress, folding his taut arms behind his neck, biceps flexing with the movements as his strong chest and toned stomach look as appealing as ever. She runs her palms over his tanned skin, feeling the sturdy muscle shift beneath her touch. Shit.

The immortal slinks his head to the side, eyes going half-lidded in suggestive mischief as he sees the way she’s objectifying him. He doesn’t mind; he actually lives for it. “Are you just gonna keep staring or are you gonna fuck me?”

His lewd comment washes warmth across Y/N’s ears and spurs her into action. In less than a minute, she’s fully unclothed, bouncing on his cock with a type of need that boils the pit of Harry’s belly. His fingers are digging bruises into her waist, slamming her down onto his prick with enough force to make the old bed creak wildly. She may be on top, but he’s still the one pulling the strings. 

Y/N collapses forward, anchoring herself onto her forearms on either sides of his head, burying her face in his auburn ringlets. She bites onto her tongue, trying to keep a tab on the atrociously loud sounds threatening to spill from her mouth. They come out as broken whines instead, which Harry drinks up like a glass of aged bourbon. She fists at his roots, jolting with every thrust he gives upwards, her knees digging into his love handles to keep balanced. At this point, she’s barely riding him at all. He’s just ramming himself into her from below as he guides her hips and she doesn’t have an issue with that at all. She likes when he leads.  

His growl comes out low and raspy, riding on a moan, his warm, choppy exhales pebbling her bare nipples. “How’s that, darling? How’s that cock feel?”

Y/N nods her head frantically, not trusting her tongue to form an appropriate response. 

“Tell me.” He grits out through bared teeth, back arching a bit as he feels the knot of white hot pleasure in his stomach twist and turn. 

“I— I can’t. I’m—”

One of Harry’s hands coasts down the small of her back and onto her ass, giving it a harsh squeeze. She yelps at the new sensation, pain and bliss intermingling. “Yeah, you fucking can. You will. Use your words. Tell me how much you like it.”

A violent shutter runs through Y/N’s limbs and she instinctively pushes back against his palm. Harry’s eyebrows kink in question as he feels her draw her face back from his hair. One look at her eyes tells the entire narrative: She wants him to spank her. 

Harry slowly lifts his hand from her skin, brows raising a bit higher for confirmation. Y/N smears his lips against his forehead and left cheekbone, bobbing her head desperately, whispering a tiny, “Yes, please.” that sends smoky tendrils of hot air cascading down his straining neck. 

When the vampire’s hand comes down, it’s fast and hard, his cold rings biting into her flesh and leaving welts, the sound echoing off the glossy walls and tall bookshelf in her room. The cry that betrays her could probably be heard down on the main floor of her complex. 

The shattered noise makes Harry sanity slip and he’s lucky she’s too lost in her own bliss to see the way his eyes glow dangerously red. “Fuck, you’re such a slut for it.” 

Harry suddenly boosts himself forward, toppling Y/N backwards until she’s the one wedged against the bed. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, nestling her face into the crook of his sweaty collarbones, cracked cries pooling into the junction of his clavicle as he hikes her roughly up his thighs. He sinks further between her legs until he bottoms out with a loud garbled groan, pushing so deep she can feel him in the trench of her belly. 

“Oh my God, Harry— I— fuck, just—just— oh!”

His pace rises in intensity, strokes messy and unforgivable as he fucks her into the bed, the cracking of the frame warning him that it might give away. “Oh, so you liked that, did you? Like it when I call you a slut and stretch you out like one?”

Harry feels Y/N’s teeth rip into his shoulder in order to evade a scream; a strong shiver pin-balls down his spine as a result. Her voice is absolutely wrecked as she talks over her muffled mouth. “Loved it. Loved it so much. Want—Want more. Please, please, please.”

Harry holds her down firmly to the sheets, pounding into her with a form of unrestrained force he’s never exhibited. She just drives him to the brink like no one else has in nearly twenty decades. “Can you feel me in your tummy, pet? Can you feel how I fill you up?” 

“Yes, yes— it’s so good, Harry. You’re incredible.”

“Such a proper little whore.” He has to actively hold back from digging into her throat with his fangs, his eyes screwing shut in concentration as his orgasm begins to burn through his veins. “Begging me to fuck you like one, over and over. You’ve never had it this good, have you?” 

“N-No. You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.”  

“Hands off.” 

“W-What?”

“Hands off.”

Y/N obeys, throwing her arms above her head and letting them hang off the edge of the bed as he’d instructed. It’s not like he wants her to stop scratching down his back, but he knows that if she continues, he’s going to black out. He’s already teetering, obvious in the black webs he can feel materializing over the whites of his eyes.

“Ask for permission.” 

The mortal unclamps her teeth from his bruised shoulder and swallows heavily, her words sputtering out from how hard she’s jerking against the bed. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please—can I—can I cum?”

“‘May I cum.’” The boy corrects, half because he wants to be a cocky ass, and half because it’s automatic. He was raised during an era where intellectual accuracy was of utmost value in society. It’s hard to leave those lessons behind. 

Y/N hiccups another mewl, hands curling into loose fists above her head as he continues to fuck her deliberately into the duvet. She repeats his phrase shakily. “May I cum? Please?”

Harry’s lashes flutter open and as soon as he sees her, all doe-eyed, covered in his love marks, with her bottom lip trembling...It’s like a switch flips. When he speaks, it’s soft and encouraging; a drastic contrast from his mood a few seconds ago. “Yeah...Yeah, baby, go ahead. Cum for me.” 

That night, as Harry lays there awake staring at that awful popcorn roof with the taste of her blood fresh on his tongue and her steady heartbeat throbbing in his heightened ears, he catches himself smiling in the dark. It doesn't have to do with emotions or feelings or any of that complicated bullshit. It just has to do with the fact that he found some consistency in his life, as unattached and materialistic as it may be. They don’t have a complex bond or a deeper meaning. They simply just coexist. They provide some common stability to each others’ lives and it helps keep an important balance. Stability is so rare to find, especially for an immortal who is condemned to witness the world constantly evolve around them while they remain frozen in time. Society will change, people change, appearances change, alliances change, and though it can be exhilarating, at times, Harry never truly has a say in it. He’s always just strung along for the ride.

This is different. It’s static, and that’s all he really needs it to be. Sex can be so emotionally messy if lines aren’t drawn and boundaries aren’t set. But with Y/N, it’s like they have a silent understanding— an unspoken agreement signed by both parties. It’s a notion that could have spared Harry his life in the past, and it’s an ideal that— even in death— took him centuries to learn:

Some people are meant to be loved, while others are just meant to be naked. 

///

The third week is when things escalate for the better. 

Specifically, Tuesday night. That’s when the sexting starts. 

It’s a pretty calm evening and Harry finds himself with nothing to do. Mitch is out with Sarah, who had come into town two days ago due to the band she’s touring with being on a three week break. She’d said she wasn’t staying for long— maybe a week, because she has plans to visit some other bloodsucker friends in Canada. Even though Mitch tries to hide it, Harry can tell he’s bummed about Sarah’s short visit. The older vampire is good at hiding his emotions, but Harry’s known him for so long that he could read Mitch’s mood even if he was blindfolded and gagged. 

The jade-eyed boy had been honest with his best friend, asking him what the point was in continuing to see someone whose depth of interest in the relationship wasn’t as developed as his own. Mitch had simply shrugged one shoulder and told Harry that he wouldn’t understand. He mentioned something about how eventually, the freshblood high would wear off and Sarah would find herself wanting to settle down somewhere with someone she could trust for the rest of eternity. Mitch explained that he cared for her enough to wait until then. 

His best mate had been wrong. Harry does understand. He understands the concept of chasing after someone who, in the end, didn’t want anything to do with him. He understands it a little too well, sadly. He figures that’s the same fate Mitch is bound to suffer, just on a less extreme level. 

But then again, Harry’s perception of love is majorly skewed, so who is he to judge?

With Mitch tied up with Sarah (probably literally, though Harry doesn’t dwell on that; it’s none of his business), his options dwindle to the rest of the crew. Niall and Xander had invited him to a concert they were attending, but Harry politely declined the offer. The musicians were some wannabe indie band and Harry would rather swallow a nicotine addict’s blood than listen to a couple of morons sing in cursive. Adam had suggested he tag along with him, Ny-Oh, and Charlotte to a new art exhibit that had opened up in the next town over. It was a thirty minute drive, so it wasn’t that bad, but Harry declined that invitation, as well. He loves art, if the giant collection on his wall has anything to say about it, but he doesn’t get on well with Ny or Charlotte. They say he’s “too much of an arrogant dickhead” to be around for an extended period of time. They’re right, of course, but it still hurts. Plus, Ny has a mullet and Harry knows he wouldn’t be able to withhold from making a Billy Ray joke. It’s best he stay away, lest she end up with an achy-breaky heart.

So that leaves him here, all alone at eight P.M. on a Tuesday, plopped on his couch in nothing but a pair of maroon plaid boxers as Hamilton plays on the ninety inch flatscreen mounted on his glass wall. He had left the curtains open, not really caring that he’s practically naked. The sun’s already set and it’s almost pitch black outside; plus, he lives on the twenty-fourth floor of the condominium complex. The only living being risking an eyeful is a peepy pigeon. Even then, Harry’s more than happy to put on a show. He’s confident enough in himself that nudity is practically second nature. His friends can attest to that. 

Harry lays across his leather sofa with a large checkered throw cushion snuggled into his side, one of his hands slung across the backrest of the couch as the other remains submerged wrist-deep in a bag of Veggie Straws. His socked feet are propped up on his round marble coffee table, ankles crossed and posture anything but eloquent. The apartment is silent, except for the musical streaming through the speakers of his television set and the gentle pattering of rain just outside his glorified window pane, accompanied by the faint flickering of the city lights below. The atmosphere of the room is relaxed and cozy and it lulls his soul in a manner he can’t put into words.

Harry has always liked the rain. Ever since he was a child, he would sit by the small round window of the attic room he shared with his older sister, watching it fall from the sky in sheets of glittering sapphires, soaking into the dry ground and turning it into a slush of dirt he would later sneak out to play in. When he got older, he would prop his shoulder against the doorframe at the back of his father’s blacksmith shop and gaze at it, mesmerized by how it would trickle down the streets of the public market, washing away all the grime that came with a bustling city’s reputation. Sometimes he would stand in it, feeling its cool touch run down his arms and soak into the back of his sot-covered work shirt. He enjoyed how it would cleanse the sticky sweat from his face and neck, its gentle nature leaving him feeling like he could float through air. Then his father would call him back into the store and playfully scold him for allowing himself to get drenched, warning that his mother would kill him if he caught a cold. 

Harry’s changed a lot since then, he knows that, but it comforts him that his love for rain is the one aspect of his personality that two hundred years of Hell had failed to take from him. 

The melodies swimming out of his TV reign him back in from memory lane. 

Harry’s not really one to enjoy musicals, but back when Hamilton had first hit Broadway, he’d used his persuasive supernatural abilities to sneak into one of the first showings. He’d been curious as to what all the hype was about, and the play did not disappoint. The songs were catchy, the acting was good, and the characters were brought to life through raw emotion and comedy. He respected that. And the plot of the story itself resonated with him deeply, as well. A protagonist that rose from nothing, fell in love with the wrong woman, and made terrible life choices that seemed correct at the time, which would all eventually lead to his death. It hit a bit too close to home. 

If he had a dollar for every time he’s seen it since it had come out on Disney+, he could probably pay rent himself instead of compelling others to do it for him. 

The play is halfway through one of its most famous ballads when the monster’s phone dings with a familiar tune. A smirk is already etching itself across his face before he even unlocks his device. 

I need interior design advice. 

I’m still a little sore from our last help session. How’d you bounce back so quick?

Funny, but I need ACTUAL interior design advice this time. 

Harry’s brows furrow in mild confusion and slight disappointment. He draws his hand from the junk food container, dusting off the crumbs. Oh. 

Genuinely? 

Yup!

He guesses he’ll give it a go. He does have pretty exquisite taste; the modern gothic aesthetic of his condo proves that. It’s not like he has anything better to do.

Alright, shoot. 

Y/N releases the breath she’d been holding in. Thank God he’s agreed to help. As much as she’s ashamed to admit it, Harry’s really the only person in LA that she deems relatively close to a friend. She hasn’t managed to mesh well with her coworkers much, despite the fact that she’s been trying extremely hard. She just doesn’t wanna force herself into unfulfilling fake friendships for the sake of having people to flaunt. It’s not right and she knows she’d grow to resent it. 

So instead, she’d reached out to the one California resident who doesn’t make her skin crawl. 

Whew, okay, thanks in advance! So I went out yesterday and got a new bedspread and I wanted some help choosing a new accessory to go with it, which is going on my wall. 

Harry’s ears perk up and his back straightens at her statement. Could she finally, by the grace of fucking God, be getting rid of that shitty tapestry? 

Well, let me see it, then. Don’t keep a man waiting, I’m dying to play Property Brothers over here.

A picture comes through of the two new accessories Y/N is referring to and the way Harry’s face drops instantly is almost comical.

Which tapestry fits better? I’m thinking the Van Gogh style painting of a lighthouse. The blue goes well with the dark turquoise of the comforter. But then again, the forest canopy has those pretty exotic flowers that compliment the coral stitching. I can’t decide. 

The vampire’s face pinches in disgusted horror as he blinks down numbly at the image on his screen. He’s going to be sick. Those Veggie Straws are about to make a hideous comeback. 

…two new tapestries? Did the other one rip or…?

What? No!! I just saw these down at the thrift store and thought they were cute. Why? Are they really that bad??

They’re not just bad, they’re worse. He’s going to ask her to blindfold him next time he visits. 

They’re…kinda immature, dove. I just thought you’d go for something cooler this time, like a vintage painting or a couple vinyls to mount on the wall. 

Immature? 

Oops. He should have picked his words more carefully. Now he’s gone and offended her and she’ll probably bite down the next time he puts his—

Another message interrupts his spiraling negative conclusions.

I know you didn’t just call ME immature when you compared me to a cream-filled donut, Harry. 

The playful tone in the text delivers a wave of relief that is almost as pleasurable as what lies between Y/N’s legs. 

Can I speak freely for a second? Full disclosure, no consequences?

That preface makes me think you’re about to chew me out.

I’ll be gentle, I promise. I know it’s not our usual dynamic, but I’ll give it a go.

Y/N ignores the bristling across her cheeks. 

Alright, go head.

I just think tapestries are kinda stupid. They scream “confused teenager trying to find myself.” But that’s just my opinion. I’m only telling you so you know that I’m probably not the best bloke to go to with tapestry inquiries. 

Harry watches as a read receipt stares up at him for a few seconds. Just when he thinks he might have truly upset her this time, her message bubble pops up. 

So...the one I’ve had hanging in my room the last three times you’ve been over…

I had to actively restrain the urge to strangle myself with it.

Y/N breaks out into laughter. The image of waking up to Harry laying facedown on her bedroom floor, balls naked and mummified within a sunrise tapestry...It’s sending her. 

Well, you know what? That’s not fair! You can’t judge my house when I haven’t even had the chance to judge yours. 

Harry nods once to himself in surrender, reaching up to finger-comb a few rebellious curls out of his eyes. She makes a valid play. 

Fair enough. You’ll have to come over and give me your opinion sometime.

I’d be honored to. Now, would you be so kind as to put your own personal bias aside this once and help me choose which one to put up. I promise I’ll spare you any more tapestry-related problems in the future. I’ll remove it from my customer contract.

Harry sighs defeatedly. He can’t believe he’s giving up his integrity for sex. 

Fine. Send me a picture of both of them up on the wall. It’ll give some perspective. 

Y/N giddily obliges, deciding to send a video instead. That way, she can get all of the angles in one go rather than having to send multiple pictures. 

Harry waits patiently, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth as he taps his foot against the coffee table to the tune of Wait for It, which is playing in the film that has now become the backdrop of his night. When Y/N’s next message comes through, he’s mildly surprised to find it’s a video. He clicks play, watching intently as she circles the two pinned tapestries slowly, making sure to get a proper view from all sides. By the time the thirty second clip is coming to an end, Harry’s leaning more towards the tropical canopy painting. It’s not as loud and she was right about the flowers matching the stitching on the duvet. 

He’s about to tap back “the forest one” when something flashes across the screen that makes him choke on his snack, launching him into a coughing fit.  

It’s within the last three seconds of the video and if he had cut it off in order to text back, he would have missed it. But he hadn’t, and now it’s burned into the back of his eyelids, causing a buzzing sensation to string right to the area between his thighs.  

The last few frames of the video, Y/N had lowered her phone from the position she’d been suspending it, probably thinking she had already stopped filming. She hadn’t. And because of that, Harry gets a full frontal view of her body, covered in nothing except a pair of lace panties and a mid-thigh oversized Avengers t-shirt. The entire screen fills with bare, silky skin and raunchy lace and he can feel his fangs poke into his tongue. 

Harry’s not a pre-teen; he’s not going to drool over seeing a pair of legs. What really gets to him is the fact that it appears Y/N still has a few hickies across the inner area of her thighs, which have failed to fade as quickly as the others. They should be gone, given that anytime Harry feeds (like he had the last time they’d slept together), he always gives her a bit of his blood to heal. Meaning, normal bruises like that should be gone. Maybe he just hadn’t given her a high enough dosage, or maybe he’d marked her more than he remembers, but either way, the stains are there.

The vampire ogles at the paused image with a dry throat and wide eyes. Just seeing her like that, dressed in comfy yet effortlessly sensual attire with no bottoms on whatsoever, freely flaunting his love bites around her apartment, probably looking at them in her mirror, thinking about how his teeth had felt grazing her skin…

It’s enough to pop a stiffy into his briefs. 

Harry glimpses over the top of his phone, swallowing thickly at the large bulge beginning to tent his boxers. His socked toes curl as he feels a longing throb begin to swell at the pit of his clenching stomach. Great. This is just fucking perfect. 

He attempts to tap back a reply, but his hands have started quivering slightly, clumsy thumbs ruining his message to the point where he has to retype it three times.

The forest one. I agree with what you said about the stitching. 

Okay, thank you so much! Your input is highly appreciated, as always.

The immortal finds himself gnawing at the inside of his cheek, weighing on whether he should mention the little softcore porn moment she’d unknowingly shot, or if he should just let it slide and go take care of the issue that is literally weighing on him— he can feel it getting heavy against his thigh. 

His fingers seem to take on a mind of their own, printing out a quick sentence and hitting the send button before he can rethink his motives. 

Did you watch your video before you sent it?

Uh no...It looked pretty okay to me while I took it. Why, do you need a different one? Was the lighting too dark? 

The fact that she sent it by accident only adds to the appeal. She’s such a good girl. So fucking innocent and sweet, she could practically give him a toothache. 

Do me a quick favor and rewatch it all the way to the end. I think you’ll be surprised with what you find.

Y/N leans back against her bookshelf wall, chewing on her bottom lip as a sly grin ticks the corners. She doesn’t have to rewatch the video. She’s fully aware of what she had done, which had been completely on purpose. She’s only playing dumb to see his reaction, getting off on how flustered he seems to have become. Yes, her intentions for contacting him had originally been purely for his opinion on decor. But when she saw the chance, she decided to jump headfirst and take it. What are friends with benefits for if not for times like these, when you’re too lazy to come over but need a bit of relief? 

The human allows a full thirty seconds to pass, simulating that she’s watching the video, and then thoughtfully taps out her response.

Oh, whoops. Sorry for the indecent exposure.

Harry shifts in exasperation against his sofa, the radiating in his abdomen crawling up to his chest and down to his knees. He needs to take care of himself now.

It’s fine, babe. You just might wanna be more careful, cause this time around you got lucky that it was me and it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Could go south if it were someone else. 

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly at his scolding, but continues to play the clueless act, curious to see where it’ll take her. 

You’re absolutely right, I’m so sorry. 

Harry clears his throat, flinching as he feels a soft twitch run up the length of his cock. He exhales tightly, trying to steer the conversation into a lighter mood. He doesn’t want her to feel bad; it’s not like he’s angry about this. He’s hot and bothered and needy, but not mad.

I just think it’s funny you exposed the fact that you go around your house without pants. 

Oh, fuck off! No one ever wears pants around their own house, especially if they’re alone. It’s one of the laws of physics. No human resistance, no pants. 

Harry glances down at his body symbolically, where he’s clad in only his underwear, as well.

Touché.

Exactly. 

A pause befalls the conversation as both parties fish for something new to say. The situation’s become less lively and more intense now and neither are sure how to navigate without crossing a line. In a surge of courage, Y/N decides to just directly communicate her intentions, praying that he doesn’t take it the wrong way. 

I have an idea, just hear me out. For the sake of evening the playing field, I think that since you saw me pantsless, it’s only fair that I see you the same way. It balances out, right?

Harry’s jaw drops in an open-mouthed simper, impressed by her blatant suggestion, but also by how smoothly she had delivered it. He mumbles his next words to himself, voice amused and somewhat awed at how she had managed to spin this to her benefit. “You clever little minx. Bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

Y/N purses her lips, shrugging her brows cheekily.

Maybe.

The vampire scoffs, taken aback not only at the ploy she’d pulled off, but at how unapologetic she is about the whole thing. It’s hot. 

Alright, l’ll bite. Tick for tack. 

The photo that comes through makes Y/N choke on her spit. It’s not anything too revealing, but it packs a lot. Literally. 

It’s a pretty casual picture, and she gets the feeling he took it as so just to be a tease. In the frame, all she sees is a snapshot of Harry’s lap, thighs straining against the flimsy material of a pair of crimson tartan boxers, the large tigerhead tattoo he totes somehow prominent in the low lightning. Of course it stands out, though. That’s to be expected; his thighs are thick in the most satisfying fashion and they’re one of his most defining features. She can also see the bottom half of his lean tummy, the cutoff being the crest of his belly button. His fern inkings are peeking out of from below the waistband of the Calvin Kleins, dark and matte on his lightly bronzed skin, and she spots the nonchalant position of his crossed ankles in the background. 

As appetizing as every little detail is, the centerpiece of the portrait is the obvious bulge pressing into the fabric of his briefs. The outline is so prominent, the picture borderlines on graphic. His cock looks pretty as ever, even when it’s covered; the thin underwear leaves very little to the imagination. 

Y/N has to bite down on her tongue to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

Wow, okay, well...Your picture was much more explicit than my video. That’s not fair at all. Throws off the equilibrium we were trying to establish. 

Harry chuckles aloud, shaking his head in amazement at how well she can bend the game to her will. Three weeks ago, when he’d first laid eyes on that shy girl at the club, he would have never expected her to be so bold. Now, she has him wrapped around her pinky like a string.

You’re absolutely right. My apologies. Maybe you should send one similar so we can even out the stakes. 

You read my mind.

Y/N’s next picture causes a hiss to stream through the cracks of Harry’s teeth, eyes glinting red.

It’s a picture taken on top of her bed, the angle set from above. She’s laying on her side, her torso twisted so that her backside is in the shot, her huge tee pulled tight against her waist so it creates an enticing cinching effect. Her thighs are clasped together, the collar of her shirt pulled away just enough that he can see where the valley of her chest begins to curve, and the cheeky lace panties are working utter wonders for her ass. He can’t stop staring. He physically can’t pull himself away, his eyes bouncing across every pixel, attempting to commit the picture to memory to keep it locked in the back of his brain forever. 

Y/N awaits anxiously for his reaction, biting into the pad of her thumb as the seconds list by, wondering if he had enjoyed the nude or if he was just sitting there judging all her flaws. It’s been so long since she’s sent a risky photo like that, she can’t help but stress. Sharing your body with someone digitally is almost as intimate as real sex and it comes with similar worries and insecurities. Was the angle good? Are her stretch marks unattractive? Are the dimples along her backside gross? Is he second-guessing their arrangement? Is he wishing they hadn’t met?

She practically drops her phone when it vibrates.

God, you look stunning. Like a proper fucking dream.

All of her concerns immediately disintegrate, replaced by an odd sense of pride. She’s happy that he enjoyed it, and she’s thankful for the caliber of his response. Most men don’t care to comment that nicely, if they comment at all, and Harry’s enthusiasm only excites her further. She wants to keep going. 

You look pretty fucking good yourself. Wish I could just kneel between your thighs, take you into my mouth, and make you feel good for hours. 

Harry struggles to get saliva down his parched throat, her words bouncing around the inside of his skull, sending a current of bliss directly to where he needs it. 

Hours? You want me down your throat for hours?

For hours, Harry. I’d literally just sit between your legs and let you fuck my face again. Let you use me to make yourself cum.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Harry’s broken whine echoes off the tall walls of his home, one of his big hands finding a path to his curls and tugging in desperation. He needs to keep composure. 

Harry’s next snapshot comes through and Y/N has to screw her eyes shut for a second to brace the bolt of electricity that zips down to her core. 

The boy’s thighs have parted wider, his feet now down from the table, knees hanging off the edge of the sofa. His free hand has delved below his briefs, pulling them up just enough to show a tad of the neatly trimmed area beneath. His fingers are cupped over his cock, hiding it from plain view, but the imprint of his knuckles on the fabric suggest he’s gripping it tightly. The longer she looks, the more she notices— specifically, a dark damp patch spreading at the middle of his boxers and she knows damn well what it is. The fact that she’d got him riled up enough that he’s leaking through like that...She can hardly breathe right. 

Shit, you look so good. How do you always look that fucking good? I just want to feel you stretch me out while you moan into my mouth. 

Harry slowly starts pumping his palm up and down his cock as he rereads her words, catching his lower lip between his teeth, his naked and flushed chest stuttering. He doesn’t want to be the douche that tells her to send another picture, but he really needs her to. He wants to see what she’s doing, how she’s fairing. Wants to know if he has her as fucked as she has him right now. 

It’s almost like they share a telepathic link because not even five seconds later, another beautifully filthy photo is decorating his screen. 

This time around, Y/N has decided to fully lay on her back, spreading her legs open and drawing her knees up slightly so that her thighs are not only flexing, but displaying all the love bites he’d left only a few days prior. They’re all different shades of purple and brown, scattered over the satin suppleness of her skin, painting a canvas of the heated night they’d shared. It’s art at its most prestigious, if he’s ever seen it. And she has her hand ducked below her panties, the outline of her fingers situated right over her clit. 

Harry’s own hand instinctively tightens around his length, pulling a weak groan from his parted lips. He throws his head back against the backrest of the couch, bucking into his palm and teasing his forefinger over his bubbling tip. He spreads the precum all over the sensitive head, whimpering when the draft from the air conditioning caresses it and sends a quiver toppling over his shoulders. 

Fuck, she’s driving him mental. There’s only one way to take care of this effectively, despite their distance. 

I’m going to call you.

Y/N gulps heavily, licking over her chapped lips and feeling her pulse jump at the realization that she’ll be getting to hear his throaty voice coax her through an orgasm. Not only that, but she’ll get to hear him cum, too. She’ll get to hear every shattered gasp and needy mewl, almost as if he were pouring all those sounds of pleasure right into her ears in person. 

The mortal’s heart hiccups when his contact pops up on the Caller ID, phone vibrating insistently. After a deep breath taken to ground herself, she slides her shaky thumb over the glass, slowly bringing the device up to her ear. Her voice is soft and timid as ever, a tremble running through its undertone. “H-Hello?”

Harry’s words come through the crackling speaker as dark and smoky as whiskey, pouring into her mind and intoxicating her as easily as the real liquor would.

“Flip onto your stomach and take off the lace. Now.”

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #smut #harry styles series #vampire!harry #harry styles #1d fanfiction #1d fic #one direction fanfiction #one direction smut #one direction fic #1d smut #ysijwa #harry styles one shot #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles dirty imagine #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry x y/n #harry x reader #harry styles au #vampire au

[belphegor1982]

for the commentary thing

“Then there’s the wife, of course.”

This got the guy’s attention. His head snapped up and he stared at Len with a suddenly much more normal look on his face.

“You’re married?” It was hard to tell for sure whether he meant the emphasis on ‘you’ or ‘married’.

“Yeah.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

They lapsed into silence again, the only sounds around provided by a slight wind and a nearby dripping from a drainpipe from an earlier rain. The silence was not much less awkward for it. This was getting ridiculous.

Still Len hesitated for a few seconds more, the voice of reason at the back of his head yelling all sorts of colourful expletives about his current level of intelligence and his choice of priorities.

Then he made up his mind.

He got back on his feet and whipped his gun out.

The Flash tensed, but Len held up a hand defensively.

“Relax. I’m not gonna ice ya.”

“Oh yeah?” Incredulity was back full force.

“Yeah. Let’s say I’m… off the clock.”

“Look, that might work for Ralph and Sam, but people like me or you don’t punch clocks. I mean, how do I know you’re not gonna ice me?”

“Because I won’t.”

“’Course you’d say that,” the Flash retorted, mistrust and a no small hint of sarcasm creeping back into his voice.

Len rolled his eyes again. “Actually, I wouldn’t. The way I see it, if you’re gonna shoot, shoot, don’t talk.”

“…Did you just rip off a line from a movie?”

“Can’t beat the classics. Now don’t move. If that’s even possible for you to do that, I mean.”

There still was an odd undercurrent of mixed-up emotions – a lot of them unrelated to the current situation – in the Flash’s glare, but he relaxed ever so slightly and held still. As though he actually trusted one of his most regular antagonists and a notorious villain to keep his word and not take a golden opportunity to off him just like that. Len suppressed a sigh.

I know I’m going to regret this.

Then he changed the right settings on his cold gun, pointed it at his enemy’s ankle, and – still calling himself every kind of idiot under the sun – fired.

The Flash gingerly moved his foot, looking bemused.

“You reversed the – wow. That’s a new feature.”

“After that stunt with Heatwave at the bank, I figured I needed something in case I accidentally froze someone I actually work with.” To tell the truth, Len wasn’t half proud of this recent finding. It had taken a lot of tinkering. Plus, it could prove useful.

He put the gun back into his holster again as the Flash turned to him, apparently trying to look sly and cold. It didn’t work – thankfully. That meant he wasn’t so far gone yet.

“How do you know I’m not gonna haul your butt to the cops now for breaking into that store?”

Len was expecting this. He crossed his arms and stared at the guy straight in the eye. Or where his eyes should be, anyway.

“Because something’s wrong with you. I don’t know what, I don’t necessarily care, but I got a feeling it’s going to make life very difficult for all of us. And we don’t need that.” He paused, and gave a small smirk. “If I wanted some dark and scary urban legend to run after me, I’d have moved to Gotham by now.”

Ooh, THANK YOU 💜 I queued the “fic commentary” post I reblogged from you but I always relish the occasion to wax verbose on my faves - and this is one of my favourite stories in the Everybody Comes to Harry’s “series”. Let’s gooooo ^^

Right. So, Status Quo is about a lot of things. It’s about a hero who’s still very early in his career (and a 16-year-old kid besides) and a villain who’s a little more seasoned, it’s about finding (awkward) comfort from unexpected places (and awkwardly offering it), it’s about trying to strike a balance between professionalism, pragmatism, and being a decent human being. Mostly it’s about heroes and villains finding common ground because the villain doesn’t want to see the hero go over the edge, which is a trope I love a whole lot.

“Then there’s the wife, of course.”

Janet mention ^^ I created Janet Snart for Wife and I ended up loving her so much she had to make a cameo or two elsewhere. Like she does at the end of the story.

This got the guy’s attention. His head snapped up and he stared at Len with a suddenly much more normal look on his face.

For context, in this story (as we find out later), Flash is 16 year old Wally West, who (in my version of the DCAU) was the Flash right away, since Barry Allen was never struck by that bolt of lightning. What he also is is a kid with parents who, if they’re not physically abusive, are dismissive and just don’t know how to deal with a teen. His mom, anyway, since his dad left. Fortunately he has his Aunt Iris (and his Uncle Barry) who essentially functions as his family of choice. And Iris just has had a bad heart attack earlier that day. So fear and grief and everything else are making Wally grimmer, angrier, and more sloppy. Which Len picked up on and is trying to work out why, because an unfettered speedster is dangerous. (Also, it’s just disturbing that the guy who’s always smiling just... isn’t.)

“You’re married?” It was hard to tell for sure whether he meant the emphasis on ‘you’ or ‘married’.

“Yeah.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

For the record, Wally’s mental picture of how Captain Cold lives more or less matches the way Geoff Jones writes him: crappy apartment with beer cans all over the place. Except this Len Snart is canonically married (headcanon: to a wife who has a steady job as an accountant). So he actually has a house - tiny, bit run down (Janet has given up on a proper lawn years ago), but still, a step up from his comics version.

They lapsed into silence again, the only sounds around provided by a slight wind and a nearby dripping from a drainpipe from an earlier rain. The silence was not much less awkward for it. This was getting ridiculous.

Still Len hesitated for a few seconds more, the voice of reason at the back of his head yelling all sorts of colourful expletives about his current level of intelligence and his choice of priorities.

Then he made up his mind.

I love describing awkward silences. Scratch that, I love describing characters reacting to awkward silences :D

He got back on his feet and whipped his gun out.

The Flash tensed, but Len held up a hand defensively.

“Relax. I’m not gonna ice ya.”

“Oh yeah?” Incredulity was back full force.

“Yeah. Let’s say I’m… off the clock.”

“Look, that might work for Ralph and Sam, but people like me or you don’t punch clocks. I mean, how do I know you’re not gonna ice me?”

I’m always so glad when I manage to work in pop culture references that make sense for the characters. It helps with my impostor syndrome of “French writer writing (mostly) American/British characters”. As it happens, I remember watching a Ralph Wolf and Sam Sheepdog cartoon before I wrote this (a few months, probably) and the mental picture of the wolf and sheepdog punching the clock in the morning (“Mornin’, Sam” / “Mornin’, Ralph”), doing their thing all day, and then punching out reflects a whole lot on my version of the Flash vs. the Rogues and why I love them. Because at the end of the day, they’re just blue collar workers trying to do their job. They aren’t trying to rule the world or kill a bunch of people; they rob banks (or try to) and the Flash stops them. But in other circumstances (like, say, a Parademon invasion) they would team up and not grumble too much about it.

“Because I won’t.”

“’Course you’d say that,” the Flash retorted, mistrust and a no small hint of sarcasm creeping back into his voice.

Len rolled his eyes again. “Actually, I wouldn’t. The way I see it, if you’re gonna shoot, shoot, don’t talk.”

“…Did you just rip off a line from a movie?”

You bet he did! That’s Tuco’s line from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly :D I love referencing spaghetti westerns for the Rogues. It suits them well, especially the cynicism. That’s why I have this in Mick’s narration in the story before that: “He should have known that this wasn’t some Old West movie where the stand-off can last for excruciating long minutes and time isn’t really a problem. Or rather, if it was indeed a western, it wasn’t the Sergio Leone kind, where the main characters were more or less bad guys.Nope. John Wayne had to waltz in and save the day.Of course, John Wayne was a tall, lean kid in flashy red pyjamas (...)” :3

“Can’t beat the classics. Now don’t move. If that’s even possible for you to do that, I mean.”

Wally fidgets. And he has super speed.

There still was an odd undercurrent of mixed-up emotions – a lot of them unrelated to the current situation – in the Flash’s glare, but he relaxed ever so slightly and held still. As though he actually trusted one of his most regular antagonists and a notorious villain to keep his word and not take a golden opportunity to off him just like that. Len suppressed a sigh.

I know I’m going to regret this.

I don’t know why I find it so funny having Len think he’s some seasoned hardass without a heart (dude is what, 30, 35 tops?) when he’s clearly not. I mean, he is a bastard and a whole lot more cynical than, say, Wally, but he actually has a heart somewhere. (very well hidden.) And the quickest way to access it is to show him a kid having a hard time, for personal reasons. Of course, a lot of his reaction in this story is him being pragmatic, but it’s also, y’know. Not just that.

Also give me all the stories about a hero trusting his villain not to kill him when he has the chance, just because he gave his word 💜💜💜

Then he changed the right settings on his cold gun, pointed it at his enemy’s ankle, and – still calling himself every kind of idiot under the sun – fired.

The Flash gingerly moved his foot, looking bemused.

“You reversed the – wow. That’s a new feature.”

I’ve bullshitted a LOT in my time as an author, but this bit of technobabble might just take the biscuit :D How do you even begin to reverse an ice ray!?

“After that stunt with Heatwave at the bank, I figured I needed something in case I accidentally froze someone I actually work with.” To tell the truth, Len wasn’t half proud of this recent finding. It had taken a lot of tinkering. Plus, it could prove useful.

I’m a big fan of the idea that the heroes vs. villains game, even when it begins relatively harmless, leads to an escalation, because what doesn’t? That’s a subject I liked on touching with Wife. Also that’s a callback to the first story and a nod to the fact that there may be all of two Rogues for now (the Temperature Twins) but Captain Cold’s day of being a lone wolf are over. He has one whole work colleague now! And more to come soon, though he doesn’t know it :o)

He put the gun back into his holster again as the Flash turned to him, apparently trying to look sly and cold. It didn’t work – thankfully. That meant he wasn’t so far gone yet.

Oh, Wally. He’s a teenager; he still has a long way to go to learn posturing.

“How do you know I’m not gonna haul your butt to the cops now for breaking into that store?”

Len was expecting this. He crossed his arms and stared at the guy straight in the eye. Or where his eyes should be, anyway.

The Flash in the DCAU has a mask with some kind of lenses that hide his eyes. I like the idea that if you get really close, you can see them. But Len is still too far.

“Because something’s wrong with you. I don’t know what, I don’t necessarily care, but I got a feeling it’s going to make life very difficult for all of us. And we don’t need that.” He paused, and gave a small smirk. “If I wanted some dark and scary urban legend to run after me, I’d have moved to Gotham by now.”

Look, I love Batman. The DCAU version might just be my favourite. But if you’re going to be a crook, you’d better work Central City or Keystone rather than Gotham (hell, if you’re a civilian, Central City is better than Gotham any day). And while I love the idea of The Batman being a scary urban legend across the map for the American underworld, I love even more combining this with what we know Batman to be, especially in the DCAU.

Of course Len is exaggerating. The quip has its desired effect in the next paragraph, though: “Now that he was standing up, the dim light of the streetlamps a few feet away caught the Flash’s face better, revealing a look halfway between baffled and amused. It was the most normal he’d looked since he turned up, but it still didn’t come close to his usual annoyingly buoyant disposition.” Anything to get the kid to unclench and talk about what’s with the punching first without asking questions or heckling even once.

There you go 💜 Thanks for giving me the chance to ramble!

#fic commentary #rogues #ask reply

[crispyjenkins]

fic with ahsoka as Obi-Wans Padawan? Maybe some angsty jangobi? (Used to be together but broke up and now they pine from afar™️)

(i’m devastated that i don’t get to write ahsoka much, especially as obi’s padawan, so that an anon would come into my inbox.... and request jangobi on top of it..... seriously, though, thank you! can’t say i wasn’t inspired by @autumnchild22’s Kenobi Tano AU, but this doesn’t share almost anything with their take of events (ノ*´◡`) i’m flattered y’all thought i could do something of theirs justice lmao

i have written entirely too much backstory for this one, i think my brainstorming ended up longer than the actual fic so like. rip. 

support artists and writers by reblogging, message me for more info if this confuses you!)

  It surprises everyone except Obi-Wan that not only does Jango join the clones on the front lines, but he does so as the ARC troopers’ medic. That the son of the Mand’alor murdered by the Jedi would allow his kid to be apprenticed by a lifetime Council member is already hard enough for the galaxy at large to swallow; believing that the man who had at once been the most feared bounty hunter in the Outer Rim wouldn’t even ask for a command position? Impossible.

  Obi-Wan knows better. Just as Obi-Wan had picked up Soresu because he could not protect his master on Naboo, Jango had learned to put people back together because he could not save his buir on Korda 6. 

  Besides, Obi-Wan thinks Mace is a wonderful match for little Boba, even though he’s joining the Jedi older than even Anakin had been. Knowing Mace was among the Jedi to liberate the spice freighter Jango had been sold to, and that he had continued to check in on Jango for years after he got his armor back, Obi-Wan actually finds it rather silly that others on the Council had thought Jango would trust Boba to anyone else. 

  Which does leave Obi-Wan in quite the predicament, when less than a year after Anakin's knighting, Mace sends him a new padawan in the middle of a campaign. 

  Ahsoka smiles with all canines, and calls Anakin Skyguy, and has to be tricked into wearing more armor because, according to Cody, she is "not to take the General's lack of self-preservation as the status quo, nor as the basis for field safety." Which, rude, Obi-Wan wears plenty of armor when the situation calls for it; he simply doesn't find many situations where plasteel has kept his men or the Jedi from dying horribly.

  Letting Ahsoka gallivant around a battlefield in a tube-top without even a cloak, however, is out of the question, and Obi-Wan thinks Waxer does a brilliant job in sizing down the armor to fit their collective padawan over the next few months. Force, had Anakin really been younger than she when he first started taking him on missions?

  "Master?"

  Obi-Wan blinks, and smiles down at Ahsoka standing next to him, his apprentice looking quite dashing in the orange paint of the 212th. "Sorry, my dear, what were you saying?"

  She shrugs, eyeing him suspiciously. "'Was just asking if we would be working with the ARC troopers on Kiros; Captain Fordo said he would show me how to use a blaster rifle next time they were on the Negotiator."

  The Kaminoans intended for a few ARC troopers to be sent with each battalion, but it had quickly become clear that Jango had not trained them that way. Instead, he had raised and created a strike team so efficient, it would have been a waste to separate them; Obi-Wan knows Jango had hand-picked them from cadets, had searched for a spark in them that the Kaminoans hadn't already snuffed out completely. Jango had been like that once, too.

  "I would be surprised if we didn't," Obi-Wan decides on, turning back to observe the 212th loading into the Negotiator, and he would be, because the ARCs are often deployed with Obi-Wan’s men, have been since the Battle of Kamino. "But I have not heard anything from Master Shaak Ti, nor Captain Fordo as of yet."

  Ahsoka scrunches up her face into a pout, an amusing show of her age that she usually does not allow. "We'll probably get halfway through the mission and they'll just show up."

  Obi-Wan chuckles. “Hm, yes, probably,” he agrees, starting to make his way down to the hangar to join his men with Ahsoka trotting along behind, “but perhaps I can convince Captain Fordo not to surprise us too badly this time.”

-

  When the ARC troopers finally storm the Kadavo Processing Facility with Anakin and the Jedi on their heels, the warden Agruss is already dead.

  The sudden swell of Jedi presence is nearly blinding after a month of helplessness, but Obi-Wan can't tap out, not yet. Rex, satisfied and vindictive and relieved, sways dangerously and automatically reaches out to Obi-Wan to steady himself. 

  That Rex trusts him enough to not even think about rank before asking for help warms Obi-Wan in ways he doesn't yet have the words for — he wraps Rex's arm around his shoulders and takes half his weight happily.

  "Thank you," Obi-Wan finds himself murmuring as he helps Rex towards the doors, and only smiles at the captain's bemused expression. 

  "Whatever for, General?" he asks, even as he looks back over their shoulders across the room, to Agruss impaled to his chair with the electrostaff still sparking. Then he returns Obi-Wan’s smile, shaking his head. "That's not very Jedi-like of you, sir."

  "I'm afraid I haven't felt much a Jedi since Kiros, my dear." Which is perhaps too honest to allow himself before he's had a proper meal and a full night's rest, but if there is anyone who will understand, it is the man that lived it with him. "We could wait up here for Anakin to find us, but it will likely be a while before they can spare him to start looking; do you think you can keep your feet long enough for us to reach the ground floor?"

  Rex snorts and gives a vague wave of his free hand towards the elevators. "Well, I'm certainly not going to wait up here like some damsel, sir, and General Skywalker would kill me if I let you wander around on your own."

  "Well!" Obi-Wan laughs, for the first time in weeks, and hitches Rex up to get a better grip on his waist. "In that case, we really should not keep him waiting."

  They somehow time it perfectly for what the 187th and the 501st to have just finished rounding up the slavers in the courtyard when he and Rex hobble out of a side door of the warden's tower. Lieutenant Law oversees the Togrutas' move to Mace’s flagship Solace, and Obi-Wan easily picks him and Boba out from the crowd, standing at the base of the loading ramp and speaking with the Kiros colony's governor. Anakin is nowhere to be seen, but Obi-Wan doesn't get the chance to keep looking before Kix spots them from his place by the medical frigate; a shout passes over the nearby clones like a wave, until Kix and an ARC trooper break away to (gently) manhandle both him and Rex to the frigate. 

  The 187th's medic, Oro, is already on board seeing to the Togrutas too injured to wait for triage on the Solace, snapping a distracted salute that Obi-Wan quickly waves off as he helps heft Rex onto a hoverbed. He fully intends to duck back out and check in with Mace, though things seem well in hand without him, but the ARC with Kix takes off his helmet and glares, until Obi-Wan meekly shuffles to the next hoverbed over.

  He could never refuse Jango, after all. 

  "You repainted your armor," he says conversationally, as Jango pulls a scanner from the bandoleer around his chest and has Obi-Wan roll up his right sleeve. 

  "'Lost the last set to a sarlacc before our deployment to Kiros," Jango snorts, Concord Dawn accent stronger than any of his clones. "Though it looks like your mission had its fair share of excitement." Running the scanner over the electrical burns on Obi-Wan’s arm, Jango raises an eyebrow at the dried blood on the shoulder of his tunics; Obi-Wan honestly doesn't remember if it's his or not.

  And he can only smile at Jango, because even with a decade and a war between them, the corner of Jango's mouth still twitches when he's stressed. "Well, it certainly wasn't boring, my dear," Obi-Wan says, opening the neck of his tunic enough for Jango to stick him with a hypospray that hopefully won't make him too high. "And I can't say I'm looking forward to what is surely going to be a long dip in the bacta tank."

  He gets a laugh for that, and can't think of the last time they had done more than make eye contact from opposite sides of a ship. Perhaps it had been Kamino, when Taun We had first sent for the Jedi to meet the army created for them. 

  Obi-Wan had rather thought Jango dead until then, when he had disappeared from the galaxy abruptly as if he had never lived in it at all. For a time, Obi-Wan believed he had just gotten cold feet, that finally meeting Anakin made it all a little too personal too quickly, but then even Mace could not get a hold of him and no one had seen a Mandalorian bounty hunter in months.

  Their... conversation, Jango's stilted explanations of his absence and of how little he actually knew about the purpose for the clones he helped create, left far too much unsaid, but then Obi-Wan had been sent to Geonosis and, well. It's been nearly two years now, and Obi-Wan isn't sure if he's even seen Jango without his helmet since then. 

  His eyes flick over Obi-Wan’s face, the left side of his lips twitching as if knowing exactly what Obi-Wan is thinking — and he might not put it past him. 

  "Where are Anakin and Ahsoka?" Obi-Wan hears himself ask, when the silence grows heavy with those unsaid words. And he really would like to check in with his padawan, he can't imagine her last month has been a picnic either.

  Jango sticks him with another stim before answering, "Mace sent Skywalker to make sure no slave is missed, and no slaver isn't arrested. As for your new foundling..." That little smile comes back, as Jango nods out the back of the frigate to where someone is cutting a line through the clones guarding their new prisoners. 

  "Oh dear," Obi-Wan mumbles, barely having time to brace himself before Ahsoka is launching herself at him, and all he can think is how relieved he is to see her out of her slave disguise. Jango steps cleanly out of the way to let Ahsoka smother herself in Obi-Wan’s chest, though it doesn’t stop him from starting to prep bacta patches to tide him over until they can get to the Negotiator’s medbay.

  “Hello, little one,” Obi-Wan murmurs, carefully loosening the tight net of his shields for the first time since Zygerria and letting Ahsoka’s presence flood his mind. 

  “It’s good to see you, Master ‘Nobi,” she says into his tunics, and her voice does not waver at all.

  He manages a chuckle, though it does not hold nearly as well as Ahsoka’s, as he feels himself finally relax. Anakin, of course, senses the both of them immediately and prods at their minds, but neither Obi-Wan nor his padawan acknowledge him. “I take it the Queen is dead?”

  Ahsoka sighs and pulls back enough to nod. “Count Dooku was there, Skyguy barely got us all out.”

  “That was a week ago,” Jango adds, not looking up from the datapad he’s logging Obi-Wan’s injuries into. “Even with the Queen giving us the location of the Processing Facility, we had to wait for the 187th to catch up.”

  Running his palm from the top of her head down her hind lek, Ahsoka melts back against him with a Togruta churr he rarely has the pleasure of hearing from her. “Hm, and I imagine Boba was thrilled to work with the ARC troopers.”

  Jango snorts, because they both know Boba is thirteen and his rebellious stage where he wants nothing to do with his father for fear of losing his independence. “Originally, the 104th was the closest battalion, but were held up in their own campaign. ‘Honestly didn’t think we could keep Skywalker from rushing in anyways.”

  And Obi-Wan has to wince at that, because no matter what he does, he can’t seem to find a way to teach Anakin about attachment in words he understands; truthfully, Obi-Wan wouldn’t have had him knighted until he had at least attempted to master that part of his mind, but, well, the War had different opinions.

  “I’m actually just surprised he didn’t try to fight Dooku,” Ahsoka admits, finally releasing Obi-Wan only to hop up on the hoverbed next to him. Jango immediately pulls Obi-Wan’s bare arm back to himself to start slapping the bacta patches over the worst of his burns. “Master Windu had a talk with him, though, I think it was good for him.”

  “I’d like to see that!” Jango barks, only half sarcastically: he knows better than most, the sorts of things Mace Windu can talk someone out of, and if it worked for one ex-slave, why shouldn’t it work on another?

  Ah, perhaps that shared history should not have slipped Obi-Wan’s mind, not here with thousands of freed slaves needing aid for injuries Jango is intimately familiar with.

  “And are you alright?” he asks before he can talk himself out of it, as Jango is cutting his sleeve further back. His brow ticks back up, clearly bewildered by what Obi-Wan could be referring to, but it’s Ahsoka that leans around Obi-Wan to sniff triumphantly up at Jango.

  “I told you he still likes you,” she says, and Jango’s hand freezes on Obi-Wan’s wrist.

  Obi-Wan sighs. “Ahsoka.”

  But instead of denying that he might have actually had such a conversation with Obi-Wan’s padawan, Jango coughs on a laugh. “So you did, edee. To be fair, I did not think that was the issue.”

  Ahsoka rolls her eyes, leaning back into Obi-Wan’s side as he automatically raises his arm to accommodate her. “He thinks he lost his chance, Master ‘Nobi,” she tells him. “Even Cody thinks he’s full of banthashit.”

  Where Obi-Wan feels a little shell-shocked by the turn in conversation, Jango simply keeps that tiny smile — even if it looks bittersweet and self-deprecating now. “Your foundling has spent the last week talking me in circles about this, I almost think she’s as stubborn as you.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, I think,” Obi-Wan returns, sarcasm an automatic, subconscious response. 

  “I wouldn’t need to talk you in circles if you two just talked to each other.”

  Shaking his head in bemusement, Obi-Wan gently fixes Ahsoka’s slika beads to lay properly around her montrals. “I’m afraid there’s quite a lot of history there, little one; most of which I’m sure Jango did not actually share with you.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “No, he refuses to tell me anything except that you met on a mission. And that he saved your ass from Jabba the Hutt.”

  Obi-Wan snaps his eyes to Jango, who looks absolutely anywhere but at him. “Is that how you remember it going, my dear?”

  “Could we do this later?”

  “Because if I recall correctly, and I do, this is not the first time you’ve lost your armor to a sarlacc.”

  Jango looks to the ceiling for patience. 

-

Mando'a: buir — “parent”, gender neutral  Mand’alor — “Sole ruler”, contended ruler of Mandalore. edee — “teeth”, “jaws”, used here as an affectionate name for Ahsoka. because she teeth.

#thinking about opening the ask box again but keeping anon off #i miss y’all ꒰๑·̥﹏·̥๑꒱ #WHY DO I KEEP WRITING 3000 WORD PROMPT FILLS #well i mean it’s cause i don’t want it to seem slapdash or not thought out and i always have so much plot #but it’d still be nice to not put my chaptered fics on the backburner ‘cause i can’t multitask between them T0T #prompt fill #crispy writes #jangobi #jango fett #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #captain rex #prequel trilogy #au #force sensitive boba #alternate events at and post galidraan #medic jango #clone oc #oro is mine (ノ*´▽`) #real talk tho #i’m super fucked up about everything happening with achievement hunter right now #it’s been a rough couple of days #i hope you’re all safe and healthy and taking care of each other #believe victims not abusers #hashtag crispy stop tagging so much

[transthaumaturge]

Squirrel Girl is Super Gay for her Roommate and I Want Everyone to Know

A gay infodump of sensible length by Rachel Tikvah

ALRIGHT, SO The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl was the very first comic that I ever read regularly, back when I was looking for more stories with strong female protagonists but didn't really know why. Back then I just thought I really liked strong female characters and not that I was being gay on main, but now I know the truth. The comic had a 5-year run, and it was the first time that Squirrel Girl, AKA Doreen Green, had had her own series. She had a brief run in the mid-2000's where she was established as someone who could beat up Thanos with her bare hands well, more like squirrel hands but was mostly a joke character that happened to be incredibly buff and had indestructible plot armor. USG decided that Doreen's next major life goal would be to enroll in college to become a computer scientist, because her writer, Ryan North, is really into computer science and they basically gave him free rein over Squirrel Girl canon for five whole years. Like, a solid third of the plots are solved with some kind of computer science smarts. It’s really cool. Anyway this is Doreen in one of the gayest solo pictures I could find of her on short notice, which is also one of the variant covers from the actual series:

And this is her college roommate, Nancy Whitehead:

I'm like, 99% certain that Ryan North intended for them to end up as a couple and Disney!Marvel told him no. So he decided to make them AS GAY FOR EACH OTHER AS POSSIBLE without explicitly saying that they were a couple, and it ended up going under the radar. What follows is evidence for that claim. I’m going to put a "read more” after this so it doesn’t clutter everyone’s dashboards, but please read on if you’re interested. There’s a lot of cute gayness after this point. I’m also going to put all of the image descriptions at the end, since they take up a lot of space and I don’t want to break up the flow of the post. Finally, a quick spoiler alert for one arc in the middle of the series and a couple major plot points from the final few issues.

AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES

So for a while it was just kind of hinted at that they’re in a relationship, mostly because they were basically domestic life partners for like, two whole years in-universe before the comic run ended. But it really came to a head with an arc that was ran about 2/3 of the way through the series. Some pictures of them being, like, so cute together in general and/or talking about how much they care about each other before I get to that arc, though: 

Also Doreen describes her and Nancy's cat as "co-parented" in one of the last issues:

ANYWAY, THE ARC. THE HYPERTIME ARC. So one of the villains created for the Squirrel Girl run (I think they liked making weird shit canon just because they could) was a dude who went by the name "EpicCrimez". He’s a crime streamer. He livestreams his crimes to an online audience. I don't know. *Throws up hands*

He had some kind of laser gun that he built out of scavenged alien tech but didn't really know what it did, so he shot it at Doreen and Nancy for kicks. It shot them into hypertime, so suddenly the rest of the world was moving at a fraction of the pace that they were. They were moving so quickly that they were slated to live out their entire lives over the span of a single weekend if they didn't figure out how to reverse the effects. And...they did. Live out their entire lives together. For the two of them, they were the only two people in the world. There were other people, but they looked like statues unless you spent a very long time observing them. Doreen and Nancy grew old together in a world where they only had each other. This is an incredibly cute domestic scene from a little while after they found themselves in hypertime:

Gosh, I wish I could find more official art from that arc of them just living together, it was so good. But the point is, they were both old by the time that Nancy figured out how to get them out of hypertime. And it wasn't ideal. Their bio signatures were stored in the gun that EpicCrimez shot, and they could essentially "reboot" their bodies from when they were first shot and send themselves back into the regular timestream. But they wouldn't remember anything about the life that they had shared together. Nancy almost didn't want to do it. She raised the possibility of them just living out the rest of their lives together, because she didn't want to forget their life together. This is the conversation they had:

"I don't regret any of it. I don't want to lose it, and I don't want to lose us." "You're not getting rid of me that easily." Every time I look at that last picture, which took up an entire page of the comic, I start to cry. We’re seeing the final moments of two people who love each other more than anything, who were each other's entire lives, savoring their last moments together and wondering what the future holds. Sacrificing the life that they built together so that their younger selves could live a better, fuller one. Dying in each other’s arms, scared but comforted by the fact that they had each other. And then the arc ends, and they can't remember anything, so the status quo is restored. They have some paintings they made of each other while they were living together in hypertime, but they move on pretty quickly without ever knowing the significance of those lived decades. Still, it's clear in the arcs that follow and the adventures they embarked on afterward that they would die for each other. All of that continues until the end of the last arc. Their shared apartment's been blown up at this point by a supervillain who wanted to ruin Doreen’s life before eventually killing her. And in the aftermath of the fight, they're sifting through the wreckage for anything that survived (don't worry, the cat got out in time) when they find the picture that they painted of themselves during the hypertime arc:

They have a really cute conversation about how this chapter of their life is over, but they're going to be okay and they're going to build a new life together. And then Nancy basically tells Doreen that she can't live without her:

And then Doreen says something super queer-coded about how she likes the idea of the world knowing her secret identity now:

On the very last page of the comic, after all of the action is over and the series is about to end, they're talking to each other in what's supposed to be a twitter thread and Doreen asks Nancy a very thinly veiled question about whether she still wants to spend time with her now that her identity's out. She pretends it's about a class project, but it's really not about the class project. Here's how that conversation goes:

With no knowledge of what happened during the weekend when they shared their entire lives together, without ever having heard Doreen say it to her before, Nancy’s heart still knows which words to choose. "...you're not getting rid of me that easily. <3" I believe that the author of the series, Ryan North, did as much as he possibly could to portray them as a couple without saying it outright. And as the last piece of evidence to support that claim, I want to share a response he wrote in one of the series' last-ever letter columns:

"as for more Doreen and Nancy, I hope so too. A Squirrel Girl book without Nancy would feel like--like--like some sort of hypothetical "Super" "Man" book without an equally hypothetical "Lois" "Lane"!" It's easy to write off this analysis as wishful thinking, or as a misreading of the subtext. But when the author of the series says that these two characters are meant to always be together and compares them to one of the most famous couples in any comic series ever, it's clear that there's more to it than that. 

Some Additional Thoughts: 1) Doreen and Nancy are both probably bisexual or pansexual, since they both expressed romantic interest in men throughout the series but they’re both clearly interested in each other too. There might be an element of demiromanticism there as well if part of the reason that they’re into each other romantically is because of how emotionally close they’ve become over the years. I want to make sure that that facet of their romantic orientations doesn’t get erased, because bi and pan folks get erased enough as it is. Neither Doreen nor Nancy are lesbians, just super-cool WLWs.

2) HERE’S WHAT THE ISSUE 50 VARIANT COVER LOOKED LIKE

That’s NOT a fun, totally straight way to pose with your platonic gal pal. They’re so incredibly cute together! I have no words! In Closing If you got this far, thank you so much for letting me talk to you about a comic that’s very important to me, and a couple in that comic that I care about very much. I spent way too long making this (six hours and counting), mostly in writing the image descriptions, and I’m very proud of my work but very tired now. Hyperfixation is a hell of a drug. If this resonated with you, please consider reblogging it so that more folks can see it. If not, even a like is nice. I’d also love to engage with people who have their own thoughts, so feel free to leave some comments in the notes if you’ve got an idea/a reaction/any additional cute Doreen/Nancy scenes that you’d like to share with me. At any rate, this post has gone on long enough and I don’t want to ask y’all to read any more than you have to. So have a great day, good morning / afternoon / night, and stay safe. Thanks again for reading! ~Rachel Tikvah, AKA @transthaumaturge Image Descriptions: Image 1: [ID: Squirrel Girl, a young woman with light skin, is posing in front of a brick wall that she seems to have crashed through, leaving a perfect outline of her body. She’s facing away but looking backwards over her shoulder at us and smiling. She’s flexing upward with her right arm and has her left fist resting on her left hip. Her sidekick, a squirrel named Tippy-Toe, is standing in the cutout she left in the wall and is making the same exact pose while wearing a light pink bow around her neck. Squirrel Girl is wearing brown lace-up boots, fur-lined hot pants over grey tights, and a brown fur-lined jacket with sleeves that come up to her forearms and a symbol of an acorn embroidered into the back. She’s also wearing a hairband with fake squirrel ears on it over short reddish-brown hair. She has a large squirrel tail coming out of her hot pants that sweeps down in a curve behind her lower legs. The illustration is drawn so that everything is bathed in the light of a sunset, and Doreen is casting shadows on the wall in front of her.] Image 2: [ID: Two frames depicting a scene between Doreen and Nancy in their college dorm room, with many cardboard boxes still not unpacked and sitting on a bare bed mattress. Nancy Whitehead is a young woman with dark brown skin and short, curly black hair. She's wearing black tights, a white dress-top, and a yellow cardigan over that. Her arms are crossed as she holds her white cat, Mew, against her chest. Doreen is wearing grey tights and a black long-sleeve shirt with a wide collar and white stripes across the chest. She's holding Tippy-Toe up to Nancy with both hands so she can see her better. The following dialogue ensues: Nancy: "A squirrel? But weren't you the one who was all about pets not being allowed in--" Doreen: "Yeah, I know. But this really interesting person I met today told me that obeying an unjust law is itself unjust." Nancy: "...You know, I was worried I'd get a weird roommate, but you're all right, Doreen Green."] Image 3: [ID: Doreen and Nancy are both sitting on a lavender-pink couch in nightclothes. Doreen has short, orange hair. She is wearing a loose-fitting grey long-sleeve shirt and steel-blue cutoff shorts; Nancy has cropped black hair. She is wearing a dark purple top with sleeves that come down to her upper arms, and loose-fitting navy-blue shorts that come down to her lower thighs. Doreen is side-hugging Nancy as she says, with an ecstatically happy smile, “Nancy, you’re the greatest. You know that, right?” Nancy gives Doreen a full smile as she responds, “I’d always suspected it, but it is nice to have it confirmed.”] Image 4: [ID: Nancy is shown from the shoulders up. She has short, curly black hair. She’s wearing large, disc-shaped gold dangle earrings, and a red jacket with prominent shoulders and a yellow collar. She’s fixing the observer with an angry, determined stare as she says, “She knows this man wouldn’t dream about betraying her, or he’d have to answer to me.”] Image 5: [ID: Doreen and Nancy are eating breakfast at the brown, circular kitchen table in their apartment. Doreen’s wearing a skin-tight athletic crop top that’s striped in black, red, white, and blue. Her arm muscles are well-defined and clearly visible as she puts a spoon in her mouth, closing her eyes as she does so. She has a bowl of cereal in front of her, and half a banana in front of that. Nancy is sitting to her left in a pink camisole top that’s also exposing her muscles, scrolling through something on her smartphone. Her hair is in a yellow fabric wrap that’s knotted on one side of her head. A cup of coffee sits in front of her. The clear blue sky is visible through the window centered on the wall behind them.] Image 6: [ID: Nancy and Doreen are facing away from the vantage point, walking towards an Empire State University campus building and holding hands with their fingers intertwined. Nancy is wearing a long knee-length grey coat and black knee-high boots, with a baby-blue side bag hanging from her left shoulder. Doreen is wearing a magenta sweatshirt with the periwinkle-lined hood down, light brown form-fitting denim pants, and black ankle-high boots, with a dark brown side bag hanging from her right shoulder. Trees and bushes hem the walkway in on either side. The building in front of them is dark red, with glass doors and a row of floor-to-ceiling windows on the second floor. Doreen is saying “...we’re just going to have to take the long way around.”] Image 7: [ID: Doreen is facing towards the vantage point and is visible from the legs up, standing in front of a pile of rubble in the background. She’s wearing high-waisted light blue shorts over black tights, and a red windbreaker with sleeves ending at her upper arms that’s opened to reveal a white t-shirt underneath. Tippy-Toe is sitting on her shoulder. There are two people facing Doreen, each slightly in frame and silhouetted in black against the light of the setting sun. Doreen is fixing them with an angry, determined expression, resting her right fist at her hip while she gesticulates with her left hand and says, “So! I don’t know about you all, but Melissa kidnapping my friend and blowing up my life and my house and almost blowing up my co-parented cat makes me feel like giving her a piece of my mind. Friends...”] Image 8: [ID: A full comic page. EpicCrimez is looking like a dork in a green and black skin-tight jumpsuit, bright red ski goggles, and a green wig cap with his brown hair sticking out the back in a mullet. He’s standing inside a jewelry store and holding up a fist of expensive gems and pearls-on-strings as holds up his smartphone and speaks into it. He’s facing off against Squirrel Girl, with her allies Koi Boi and Chipmunk Hunk on her right, and Nancy and Brain Drain on the left. The following scene ensues: EpicCrimez: “And for those of you just tuning in, welcome to another successful heist by your boy EpicCrimez, streaming live! Now with 10% more live crime action than any other streamer! Don’t forget to like and subscribe!! I know some of you in EpicCrimez Nation have been forgetting to do that lately. Not acceptable.” Squirrel Girl: “You picked the wrong small business to rob, crime-initiator! Because this mall is protected by super heroes.” Brain Drain: “HELLO” SG: “And also an unrelated civilian friend I brought along too!” Nancy: (Not looking up from her phone) “ ‘Sup.” EC: “Check it out--Squirrel Girl and her miscellaneous friends are here! It’s action you won’t find on any other channel!” SG: “Are you...streaming your robberies?” (Nancy pockets her phone) EC: “Yeah I am! For money reasons! And with you “heroes” in it, I’ll make even more!” SG: (Whispering to Nancy:) “Question: a fight scene just gets him more traffic, which lets him profit from this crime even more--so does this mean we don’t fight him?” N: (Whispering back:) “I feel like letting him go causes more harm, but I look forward to us teasing apart the moral implications of this later.” SG: “Nice.” SG: (No longer whispering:) “I’ll like and subscribe, EpicCrimez! I’ll like fighting crime, and subscribe... to a worldview wherein the strong protect the weak!” EC: “Oh my gosh, are you like wholesome Spider-Man or something??” At the bottom of the page, small text says: “Wholesome Spider-Man, Wholesome Spider-Man/Does whatever a wholesome spider can/Is he tough?/Listen bud/He’s here to hear you talk about your day and tell you it’ll all be fine while taking you out for your favorite meal for dinner because he knows you deserve it.”] Image 9: [ID: Another full comic page. Doreen and Nancy are in their apartment together, and their friends Tomas and Brian (AKA Chipmunk Hunk and Brain Drain respectively) are frozen as they look down at the machine that Nancy is on her knees in front of, working on. Nancy, barefoot, is wearing cerulean-blue athletic pants, a black long-sleeve spandex shirt without shoulders, and narrow-framed glasses. Her hair is partially covered by a yellow cloth head wrap tied on the left side, with black dreadlocks spilling out the side and back. The machine in front of her is made of dull grey metal, about a meter tall and roughly circular. Wires dangle out of a hatch that Nancy is fiddling with. Doreen is wearing a flowing, dark-purple pantsuit with wide, ankle-length legs and a halter top with the sleeves tied off at her shoulders. Her shoes are light-brown ankle boots with a horizontal gap on the bridge of each foot. Her wavy orange hair is parted in the middle and down past her shoulders. She looks incredibly cute. The following scene ensues: Doreen: “What do you think?” Nancy: “I think--come on you stupid screw--I think we’re still years away from this thing working, if it ever does. Who knew time machine construction is really hard, except of course for everyone who has attempted it?” (She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand) D: “Hah! No, I mean my new outfit.” N: (Looking up and checking her gf out:) “Doreen! You look amazing!!” D: “Liberated it from a very expensive department store uptown!” N: (Now standing) “Tony paid for it?” D: Tony will eventually discover he was kind enough to leave some expensive jewelry in trade, yes. I pinned a note to him so he knows.” N: “There really are advantages to being friends with billionaire playboy genius philanthropists.” D: “Right?!” N: (Taking Doreen’s hands in hers:) “It’s a shame we can’t take a picture of you all dolled up.” D: “Not without standing still for a few months, yeah. But I was thinking about that. I picked up something else at another store downtown. Thought maybe it could help us with that.” (Holding up a shopping bag with one hand while still holding onto Nancy’s hand with the other:) “Nancy Whitehead, I thought you and I might take up painting sometime.” At the bottom of the page, small text says: “Tony Stark moves from meeting to meeting, his body accumulating dozens of notes every second. He sighs. Stuff like this didn’t happen before he knew Doreen. But then he smiles, because after all...stuff like this didn’t happen before he knew Doreen.”] Images 10-16: [ID: Several pages worth of comic frames, posted together to depict one scene. Doreen and Nancy are now old women, likely in their seventies or eighties. Doreen has short, grey hair. She’s wearing a tan button-up waistcoat and an orange ascot, brown flats with an olive-green skirt, knee-length and softly pleated. Her tail is sticking out the back of her skirt over the top, bushy and brown but with stiffer, less-dense hair. Nancy has her grey-black hair done up in a ponytail, a mass of tight curls behind her head. She’s wearing thin oval glasses, black dress pants, black flats, and a lavender cardigan with a flower motif along the edges, open to show the yellow-orange top underneath. They’re standing in front of a completed time machine. On either side are tall pieces of machinery, and in the middle is a round, flat metal dais hooked up to everything else with snaking cables. The following scene ensues: Nancy: “So...this is it, babe. The new machine.” Doreen: “Your secret project! Nancy, it looks like you started from scratch!” N: That’s because I did. I finally realized our old machine was never going to work. Maybe if we had a few more decades, but...there’s no time. And given that our backs are to the wall, I took a risk. I disassembled the gun right down to the metal, and examined all the parts. And I did find something: a data chip. Doreen, the gun stored our bio signatures when it us.” D: “What are you saying?” N: “I’m saying my new machine won’t send us back in time, and we’ll still have lost a weekend of real time. But it will restore our bodies to normal time.” D: (Hugging Nancy tight:) “Nancy! You saved us!!” N: (Resting her hands on Doreen’s shoulders:) “Not--quite. There’s a catch, Doreen. Our bodies will make it...but we won’t. Look, Doreen...I’m an old woman. I’ve spent most of my life in hypertime. This wasn’t how I saw my life going, but...I don’t regret any of it. I don’t want to lose it, and I don’t want to lose us.” D: “I don’t understand.” N: “It’s like restoring from backup. Our bodies will be restored to how they were the moment we were first hit. But--that necessarily includes our brains, too. Everything we’ve done since we entered hypertime--our entire lives spent together...we’ll forget.” (She looks at Doreen in distress) D: “I don’t either, Nancy. You’ve been the most important person in my life. But if we do go back--we can do it again. All of it. It might not happen again quite the same way, but--well, like you say...we’ll have all the time in the world.” N: (Their faces inches apart, they both tilt their heads down and smile sadly:) “Twist my arm, why don’t you.” (They both step onto the dais holding hands, and blue energy starts to ripple around them:) “You filled up Spidey’s web-shooters before we go?” D: “Yep. Again.” N: “You and me, saving the world.” D: “Well,” (holding Nancy’s hand in both of her own) "No reason we can’t do it twice.” N: “You know, there’s a chance things could turn out differently, now that we’ll have video games to distract us. In 40 years we might decide we don’t like hanging out after all.” D: (Hugging Nancy even tighter than before as the energy from the time machine starts to envelop them, resting her face in the nape of Nancy’s neck:) “Nah. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”] Image 17: [ID: Doreen and Nancy are sifting through the charred rubble of their apartment as night starts to fall around them. Doreen is wearing faded blue jeans and a navy blue t-shirt with a Captain America star in the middle. Over top of the shirt, she’s wearing a dark reddish-brown leather vest with four metal studs at the four points of the folded-out collar. Nancy is wearing black tights and a light green long-sleeve shirt with olive-green sleeves. The front of the shirt has a picture of Cat-Thor, Cat God of Cat Thunder’s head on it. The following scene ensues: Doreen: “So I know we’re only a few hours into it, Nancy, but I think my identity being public isn’t gonna be as bad as I thought.” Nancy: “Oh?” D: “Yeah, Tony’s given me lots of tips, and it does honestly help to know that my parents are protected by a robot tree with laser eyes and my friends live in a city with the most super heroes per square mile.” N: “Most super villains too, but--Hold on. I think I found it.” (Nancy lifts a picture frame out of the wreckage, charred around the edges but otherwise no worse for wear. It has a painting inside of it of Doreen and Nancy, arm-in-arm, from hypertime. Doreen is wearing the lavender pantsuit from before, and Nancy is wearing a tight-fitting lilac dress.) “...And it looks like you and I made it through just fine.”] Images 18-19: [ID: Two later comic panels from the same scene. They’re wearing the same outfits, but Nancy’s now cradling her white cat, Mew, in the crook of her left arm while she holds onto the picture frame with her right hand. The following scene ensues: Doreen: “Come on, let’s talk about it! If we’re starting a new chapter in our lives, and we can decide what’s in it, what do you want it to contain?” Nancy: “Doreen...” D: “What are the three things you can’t live without, Nancy Whitehead?” N: (Holding up the picture so that Doreen can see it:) “Fine. If you must know, all this girl needs to be happy are cats and squirrels and knitting and computers and friends and secret tattoos and super heroes and lots and lots of love. Also food and shelter. And water. And internet.” D: “That’s more than three things.”] Image 20: [ID: Same scene as before, a single frame with a close-up on Doreen from her chest upwards. Doreen cups her chin with one of her hands and says, “Honestly--I thought about it. I really did. But I realized that where I am now, I’m safe and I’m loved and I kinda like the idea of not having to lie to people anymore, you know? Even if it is just a lie of omission. I want to share my whole self with the world. I don’t want to have to hide who I am anymore.”] Image 21: [ID: Something resembling a twitter thread, with dialogue between Nancy and Doreen stacked chronologically as horizontal boxes. Their respective names and handles are at the top of each of their comments. Nancy is Nancy W. and @sewwiththeflo, Doreen is Squirrel Girl and @unbeatablesg. The following conversation ensues: Nancy: “You think I’d leave you high and dry??” Doreen: “I think I don’t want our lateness harming your grades and therefore harming your post-secondary education or career choices and therefore harming your ENTIRE LIFE?!” “So yeah I think you should switch to someone else, real talk. I honestly don’t mind, I promise.” Nancy: “Please. If there’s one thing I know about you, about me, and about how we spend our future together, it’s this. Doreen Green...” “...you’re not getting rid of me that easily. <3″] Image 22: [ID: A paragraph of text, black text on a yellow background. “As for more Doreen and Nancy, I hope so too. A Squirrel Girl book without Nancy would feel like--like--like some sort of hypothetical “Super” “Man” book without an equally hypothetical “Lois” “Lane”!”] Image 23: [ID: A group picture of Squirrel Girl and friends sitting down on a grassy hill and watching the sunset together. Kraven the Hunter is in the foreground for some reason, looking almost directly at the camera. In the background we see Koi Boi, Mary Mahajan, Chipmunk Hunk, Brain Drain, and Mew the Cat. In the middle of the shot, Doreen and Nancy sit together. Doreen is in her superhero outfit with Tippy-Toe on her right shoulder, and Nancy is in a yellow cardigan and jeans on Doreen’s left. They’re holding hands, fingers intertwined, as Nancy leans against Doreen with her whole body. Their heads are tilted inward towards each other, the side of Doreen’s head touching the side of Nancy’s, as they look off into the distance together.]

#the unbeatable squirrel girl #squirrel girl x nancy #squancy #squirrel girl #nancy whitehead #queer comics #WLW comics #long post #described #squirrel girl spoilers #thaumaturgethoughts

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Crown For Two {4}

Henry Cavill AU x OFC Xari Thornton AU

Warning: Plot, Mild Cursing, Cheesy Christmas Themes, Slow Burn, Dialogue Heavy, PLENTY OF WORDS

Words: 6.6k

Summary: Xari Thornton is a travel photographer with a blog and social media that garners some heavy-duty traffic. People tune in to see where she is and what she’s doing there, all in hopes of either living vicariously through her or to plan their next vacation.  

Her slogan; “Traveling the path to the most off-beaten places, so you don’t have to.”  

Her next stop on her four destination travel itinerary of “Places You May Never Have Heard Of” is Sandvell, a small European country. When her plane makes an impromptu stop due to bad weather, she has no idea where she is. It feels like she’s stepped inside of a snow globe and back in time in a modern way. It leaves her fascinated.

This bad weather forces her to stay at an Inn, The Beaux, for the night. Rather than letting the hours tick by in her room, she explores and meets the friendly locals. While taking photographs, one local in particular captures her lens with eyes as blue as the ocean and a jaw that was chiseled from stone. They strike up conversation during their time drinking at one of the local bars, Ickles. Once they separate, she gets herself into a harrowing situation.  

As soon as she awakens, she realizes she’s not in some fever dream, but a palace and the owner of the palace is none other than the local she met before with the piercing blue eyes, His Royal Highness Henry Wellington Leopold Danglishton, First of his name, Crown Prince of Brexendor.

Note: All right, all right people, the ride continues. I really, really hope you enjoy this. As a reminder, it’s going to be fast-paced a bit, and I am gonna overload you with pictures because why the hell not, it’s a Christmas Fic. 😁 Feel free to come by and tell me what you guys think.

As always, thank you all for reading, I appreciate each and every one of you.

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-Five Days Later-

-Henry-

“Before we get to cut this ribbon, I want to say something. My father—your king.”

 He paused, swallowed, and bowed his head slightly, trying to gather his thoughts and reign in his emotions. This was one of the first times he’d spoken about his father since his death, especially in front of the entire country. This unveiling was televised all around Brexendor and probably in neighboring sister countries, which meant he was probably speaking in front of over four million people. Clearing his throat, he tried to continue.

 “Eh-em, my father, and your king loved this project. He spent so many nights coming through every detail of it. He particularly wanted to be hands-on with this because he felt this endeavor would bring many people together.”

 He looked from face to face in the crowd, making eye contact and giving reassuring smiles—a tactic he’d learned long ago that made speeches more effective.

 “He believed though we are individual countries filled with many different races, ethnicities, beliefs, and cultures, he believed we are all one people. He believed that one of the most universal things was connection.”

The crowd murmured their agreement as several heads nodded. He felt the hand of his mother on his shoulder, gently reassuring him and giving him some of her strength.

 “As humans, we all crave connection. We all want to make connections in our lives that are worthwhile. That is what this endeavor is, a bridge for our connection across the world beginning with our finances, and he would be so incredibly proud to see it today.”

 The crowd before him erupted with applause, giving him a reprieve to bring himself back to his stoic image. He waited for them to quiet down before he continued.

 “Without further ado.”

 He walked over to the shimmering blue ribbon that was aesthetically tied in front of the bank's doors. Once before them, one of the men handed him giant scissors, and he got into place. The crowd counted down from three. Each second that passed, he could sense the excitement increasing. Once “one” was yelled, he cut the ribbon signaling the crowd to explode with applause and cheers. The camera snapped pictures of him from every angle as he shook hands, waved, and posed with everyone on the bank’s council and the finance commission’s office.

 The next hour was spent walking through the location, explaining all the details that his father had put so much time, thought, and energy into. As he pointed things out, he remembered the various conversations they had together about the items and specifications. This was a project just as close to his heart as it was to his father’s. from the corner of his eye, he saw his mother standing in front of the giant grandfather style clock that his father had chosen special. He loved clocks and had collected quite a few in his years. She placed her hand on it, then dipped her head down. He knew her pain.

 The following few hours passed with him answering questions and doing his duties as head of the country, never breaking away from the status quo. He could do this in his sleep. That was how well trained he was for this. In a matter of weeks, his duties would be tripled or even quadrupled when he went through his coronation. At that time, he’d really put all that grooming to use. It was an event he’d imagined differently his whole life. For one, he’d always expected to look out to his mother and father’s faces as they’d passed the duties on to him. This future was one he was not prepared for.

 “Mother.”

 She hummed and spun her head to him with a solemn smile on her lips.

 “Are you well?”

 She smiled brightly, and any evidence of her previous sadness was only visible in her pale blue eyes, but just a smidge.

 “Of course, I am. What about you, my darling boy?”

 He smiled. She’d been calling him that since he was, in fact, just a boy.

 “Glad to have gotten through that.”

 His mother nodded before she looped her arm through his.

 “You did beautifully. Your father would be incredibly proud of you, Henry, so incredibly proud.”

 The tears welled in her eyes before she kissed his cheekbone.

 “I have only ever wanted to make him proud,” he admitted.

 “He has been proud of you every single day since you were born. Every day.”

 She turned her face away, and he knew it was to hide the tears that had rolled down her cheek. He pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to her, allowing her to dab at her eyes. Several moments passed in silence as he looked out the window at the passing snow-covered hills. After a minute or two, his mother cleared her throat.

 “So, what is this I hear of a house guest?”

 He smiled to himself, thinking of you, your smile, your tenaciousness, and stubbornness. Since his mother had been away in Sandvell on Queen duties, she’d been absent for the excitement from the last near two weeks. He explained it to her in the vaguest of terms and finished stating you would be remaining at the palace most likely for the duration of the month. He spoke it so flippantly that he hoped it sounded to her ears that it was not a big deal.

 “Mm-hm. Well, I am pleased you are showing your charming side rather than your scrooge one.”

 He gasped, then snapped his head to her to see her amused eyes dancing with laughter.

 “I do not think it is right for a mother to call her son a scrooge.”

 She did not look as if she regretted it at all. “It is right for a mother to let her son know how he is perceived or has been for the last seven months.”

 “Mother, I do not mean to—I have tried--,” he sighed. “It has only been seven months since--.”

 “I know darling, believe me, I know. One of the tragedies of our roles, we are expected to carry on as if we are not human. We are seen as figurines, and we must ever be pristine. The human emotion of grief cannot hold us bad. Oh, how I wish it were different.”

 They sat quietly again for a few turns on the drive back to the palace.

 “I assume you have taken the necessary precautions with our house guest?”

 “Yes.”

 “Have you spoken to her?”

 “I have.”

 “Was it my son the scrooge or my charming son who did the talking?”

 He scoffed, then shook his head. “I am always charming.”

 His mother giggled before she rested her head on his shoulder.

Once they reached the palace and walked inside, the staff swarmed his mother, giving her details for the preparations for the opening ball that was taking place within the coming days for the beginning of the festive month. It was the tradition for a ball to be thrown the first weekend of the month to usher in the month-long festivities. That also meant that many would come to the palace to stay and join in on the jam-packed month of celebration.

 “Yes, Carolina, I know we have much to plan in a short amount of time.”

 Carolina, his mother’s personal royal assistant, nodded her strawberry blonde head as she gripped the stack of papers and folders in her arms tighter.

 “Welcome home, your majesty,” she began. “Shall we begin right away?”

 His mother, now free of her coat and outside garments, shook her head. “No. Prepare the necessary details, and we will meet in the pink tea room in thirty minutes.”

 “As you wish, your majesty,” Carolina replied with a head bow and curtsy.

 “Oh, Carolina, for tonight’s supper, please tell the kitchen I am feeling quite festive and maybe a roast. I hear we have a house guest, and I would like to welcome her properly.”

 “Mother, do you really think that I have been anything but absolutely hospitable?”

 She smiled and looped her arm through his again as they began ascending the stairs.

 “Of course, I am sure you instructed the staff to be hospitable and tend to her needs,” she clarified.

 She knew him too well. If only she knew that he himself had been the most hospitable of all, he thought to himself. He reminisced on the last few days. He hadn’t been able to have dinner with you for the last five days because the closer the event got, the more work he had to do. You’d exchanged emails about his speech with you leaving notes on what he’d prepared or even giving him suggestions on where to carry other thoughts he’d begun. He liked all your additions and suggestions. It was your suggestion to bring up something personal about his father, especially since it was his passion project. He’d had every intention to disregard it, but in the end, he’d listened to you, and he still hadn’t regretted it.

 Though you were maybe a six-minute distance from his own bedroom and under the same roof, he hadn’t physically seen you in those five days. He did get information from Dr. Alphonsi and even details from McArthur about how you looked, who had been to see you to extend his apologies for getting you into this predicament. McArthur was now your greatest fan. You hadn’t chastised him or belittled him for hitting you with the car. You said it wasn’t his fault, accepted his apology, and even thanked him because you would have probably had a health crisis sooner rather than later with your other ailments.

 Everyone in the palace seemed to have grown to like you. When he saw Jemma, his sister, she often sang your praises and chattered on about something you or your sister had told her. It was easy to see that even she’d been captivated by you, just as he had.

 “Were you listening to me?”

 Shaking his head, he glanced at his mother with a raised brow. “I am sorry, mother. What were you saying?”

 “What has got your head so far away? work?”

 He sighed, shrugged, and looked forward, realizing they were in the hall leading to your bedroom.

 “Where are you leading me, mother?”

 “It is you who is leading me, son.”

 He scoffed. Even his feet seemed to want to go to you. he made a swift left turn away from your hall.

 “Mother, I have some work to attend to before supper tonight.”

 “All right, do not work too hard. Supper is at seven…promptly, Henry.”

 He smiled and kissed her cheek. “Promptly,” he repeated before continuing on his way.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  -Y/N-

“I am quite happy with your improvement, Xari.”

 You smiled.

 “I do feel a lot better today than I have in weeks.”

 Dr. Alphonsi smiled and began closing his doctor bag.

 “That is wonderful news. The direct infusion through IV usually does work better than capsules or any other treatments. You have been a sample patient. If only my other patients would give me this little trouble.”

 You snorted, then shrugged. “What can I say? I’ve always been a teacher’s pet.”

 Dr. Alphonsi smiled again before he walked around to the IV rod to disconnect you. You watched as he slowly removed the needle from your forearm, only flinching slightly. He pressed down on the puncture hole for a few moments then plastered a band-aid across your arm.

 “There. So as our plan goes. A week IV, a week injections, then repeat,” Dr. Alphonsi reiterated.

 “Sounds good.”

 Dr. Alphonsi walked over to the stainless steel trey resting on the side table and placed the needle on it, then began taking the emptied IV bag off the pole. Once the items were arranged on the trey, he walked back over to his doctor’s bag.

 “Any questions for me?”

 You thought for a moment, then began. “Not really since I already know you’re going to say no traveling.”

 “You are not a prisoner here, Xari. If you are feeling strong enough, you can go anywhere you choose. The palace has plenty of rooms that would interest you. When it comes to venturing outdoors, I would say be careful, pace yourself, and do not overexert. There have been many who thought they could walk a block only to find they could not make it more than fifteen meters.”

 You nodded again.

 “Would you like me to speak to the prince about assigning you a lady’s maid?”

 “Oh my goodness, no. that is not at all necessary.”

 “All right. Well, you have my telephone number if you need me, as does the staff. I have instructed someone to inform you every time you are to take an injection. I have a trained professional here at the palace who can administer it if you are not confident enough to do it yourself. If you feel confident, remember every six hours one vial. I’ve combined them to decrease the number of needle pricks.”

 “Thank you very much, Dr. Alphonsi.”

 He nodded, then prepared himself to leave. As he walked to the door, it opened, and in came Anika.

 “Does she have a clean bill of health?”

 “Cleaner, but we still have quite a way to go. Slow and steady, says the tortoise to the hare,” Dr. Alphonsi said before walking out of your room.

 “Oooh, look who doesn’t have a pole attached to them anymore. How do you feel?”

 You took a deep breath and thought about it for a moment, then smiled. “A lot better than a did.”

 Anika smiled with you, then dropped on the bed beside you. “Does that mean you can finally leave this room and go exploring with me?”

 “Nika.”

 “Don’t Nika mean, you know you’re curious and want to look behind every door of this place.”

 She had a point. You were curious. You’d been in a few palaces from around the world before, but you’d never been in a palace as a guest. At the thought of “guest,” you began to wonder if that was what you were. Patient yes, unexpected and unwanted temporary responsibility, maybe. The look Anika was giving you said she was impatiently waiting for a response.

 “Ugggh, fine. Yes, let’s get our Dora on,” you said, slowly getting out of the bed.

 A shower took you longer than usual, mostly in part because you couldn't help but marvel at your surroundings. There was marble and porcelain everywhere. The amount of luxury that surrounded you made your jaw dropped. You sampled everything, beginning with the twelve jets in the shower to the heated bidet. The shower even had a switch that you could change the water from fresh to sea saltwater. That part tripped you up because you didn’t know why anyone would want that. Even the sink had buttons you could use to change the water pressure.

 By the time you’d showered and changed, an hour had passed.

 “What’d you think of the sea salt option in the shower?”

 You snorted, then busted out laughing. “Oh my god, I almost lost my shit. Did you try it?”

 “You know I did. Then I immediately regretted it when I forgot and began really getting into crevices to wash and rinse. Ouch.”

 That only made you laugh harder. The whole time Anika protested and pouted. When you stepped out of the room into the adjoining one, you felt like you saw it in a new light. The first or even second time you’d been in it, nothing registered. Now, you could appreciate the art on the wall, the décor, and color choices. It screamed elegance but also comfort.

“I asked around, and this particular room is called a sitting room. All of the bedrooms have one,” Anika informed.

 “Yeah. When I went and toured Versailles, the sitting room was where visitors were entertained. Marie Antoinette loved to also have tea and cake there before turning in for bed,” you added as you walked around, touching different materials and snapping pictures from a few different angles. It was all super high class. You didn’t expect anything less.

 You and Anika stepped into the hall, and your jaw dropped.

 “Holy Shit!”

 The people in the hall stopped what they were doing and looked back at you while Anika tried to stifle her laugh.

 “Sorry, sorry. Please carry on.”

 They slowly continued what they were doing while you and Anika made your getaway. The halls were gorgeous. The white and gold complemented each other so well you just knew that this was just the beginning. Then when you looked up to the ceiling at the Sistine Chapel worthy mural, you could hear a heavenly hymn in your ears.

 “The Sistine Chapel could never,” you muttered while walking and snapping pictures.

 It was so beautiful you almost didn’t want to move. Anika’s arm looped through yours was the directing force. She pulled you down the stairs that were on the same level of grandeur as the Russian opera house’s. The carpet that lined them was blue instead of the red that bathed other royal abodes. It even looked like it was silk. When the two of you finally descended the stairs to the main floor, you went down one of the halls on the right.

 The first door you both walked into, Anika whistled loudly. “Well, fuck!”

 It was the largest dining room you’d been inside in a long while. The table looked like it could seat at least seventy. As you walked around the room, you took pictures from different angles until you got to the window, then you gaped at what you saw.

 “Wow.”

 “Like a winter wonderland, right.”

 “Have you gone out?”

 “Heck no. You know me and winter don’t agree. There is a reason I live in Georgia.”

 You shook your head and snapped two pictures before you walked off in search of more. Once you and Anika finished looking around the dining room, you walked into a large parlor with several places to sit. You wondered what the room was used for. Your imagination said it could have been where smoking parties happened, or maybe a lounge area before dinners. It honestly could be used to anything.

 A library followed that you knew you could get lost in for days and days and lost you got. You touched titles you were familiar with and others you’d never heard of before, making a mental note to come back and have a closer look. The ones you couldn’t pass up, you took from the shelves and took with you. You didn’t know how long you spent in the library. It was hard to tell because you hadn't looked through the whole thing even with all the time you spent there.

 Somehow, you found yourself pushing open intricate golden doors and walking into an ornate room filled with gold, marble, and that same blue carpet lining. From the ceilings hung low hanging crystal chandeliers and an even more awe-inspiring mural. At the end of the carpet, you saw a pair of thrones. Immediately you knew you’d happened upon the throne room. You walked the length of it, taking a picture every few steps. When you reached them, you stopped in front and stared.

 You could imagine him sitting in the one on the right. You imagined him with perfect posture, a stern face, and tightly clenched jaws with the most regal of crowns. You wondered if this monarchy was as ostentatious as others. Maybe he usually held a scepter and golden orb while being draped with royal furs. At that thought, you imagined him sitting on that throne completely naked with nothing but the royal furs draped over his shoulders. It was a damn inviting vision, one you wouldn’t mind seeing.

 A loud sound behind you made you spin around to find a cleaning crew. Quickly you walked back down the carpet and out the room apologizing for intruding. Once back in the hall, you spun around, unsure when you’d lost Anika. You called her name a few times, but there was no answer. It was then you regretted not bringing your cellphone. You walked a little further down the hall then made a left as the scent of flowers captured your attention.

 When you stepped through glass French doors, you felt as if you’d walked into some country garden. The room was bathed in soft amber and purples, no doubt from the sunset. Thanks to the glass room, you were able to see peeks of its glory through the fluffy looking white snow resting on it. The more you walked around, the more the exterior contradicted the interior. You knew it being the dead of winter made it impossible for the sight before you. There were flowers of all different kinds. It was a sea of blues, reds, yellows, pinks, and even purples.

“Holy Shit!”

 “I will take that as a compliment.”

 You spun around, looking for the owner of the voice, but there was no one there.

 “Uh--.”

 You walked around cautiously.

 “A few more steps.”

 After three steps, you found a woman sitting at a table decked out with every piece of a tea set you could imagine, along with a few pastries.

 “Found me.”

 She looked up at you, then looked back down to your feet until she met your eyes again.

 “Uh—hi,” said.

 “Hello.”

 The smile on her face was pleasant, and it matched the kindness in her blue eyes. They were eyes you felt like you’d seen before, only on someone else. Slowly it hit you who she could be.

 “Oh my god, your majesty.”

 You dropped down to your best curtesy, hoping it would distract her from your potty mouth. She softly chuckled.

 “You are quite all right, dear. Stand up, please.”

 You stood and tried not to give away that you were slightly unnerved.

 “I’m sorry about the cursing. It’s a horrible habit and probably not—dignified,” you expressed.

 She laughed again, then took a sip from her golden rose printed porcelain cup. It looked fancy and antique. “No need to apologize. Believe me; cursing is not the worst thing in the world. I have said quite a few in my day.”

 You smiled, even though you found it hard to believe, especially with how prime and proper she looked sitting there.

 “I have to know, though. How did you know who I was?”

 “Um—your eyes.”

 She looked even more curious. “My eyes?”

 You swallowed and avoided her gaze. “They’re—they’re the same as Henry’s—eh-em, I mean his highness.”

 The way she looked at you made you slightly uncomfortable. She looked like she was assessing you. Before she could speak, another woman walked into the room, one with strawberry blonde hair.

 “Your majesty,” she began stopping instantly when she saw you.

 You cleared your throat and turned to walk away. “I’m sorry to intrude.”

 “No intrusion. Carolina, I think that will be all for today. I would like to finish my tea and possibly get to know our new houseguest.”

 “As you wish, your majesty.” She curtsied then walked back out of the room, leaving you alone once again.

 “Please, have a seat,” the queen said.

 Before you sat, you actually thought to dart out of the room but quickly changed your mind. When you sat down across from her, you took note of the open binders and folders sprawled out on the table. Out of nowhere, someone walked into the solarium, took up the matching teapot, and poured it into a new teacup to your right.

 “Will there be anything else, your majesty?”

 “Thank you, Edie.”

 The woman walked back out of the room, and it got silent for a few moments.

 “Please, have some. It is a Darjeeling blend that is grown right here in Brexendor. I drink at least a cup a day. I promise you it is delicious.”

 She took another sip, but she didn’t look at all worried that you wouldn’t sample it. You placed the books on top of the table and took up the teacup instead, and sipped. Lavender, mint, honey, and rose filled your mouth. A moan escaped you.

 “Good, right.”

 Nodding, you took another mouthful.

 “How are you?”

 After swallowing, you placed the cup down. “I am feeling a lot better, your majesty.”

 “Please, every time I am called that, it makes it impossible to forget. Call me, Cecelia, please.”

 You didn’t know what to say to that, and it must have shown because she smiled then giggled.

 “O—kay.”

 “I promise. I am not trying to trick you in any way. I just want you to be comfortable. I can imagine what it feels like to come here and be surrounded by all of this. It is—overwhelming…intimidating even. I just want to make your time here peaceful and enjoyable.”

 She didn’t look like she was lying or trying to cover something. She came off as genuinely kind, like she truly meant what she said.

 “Thank you, your—Ce—Ms. Cecelia.”

 She smiled, then nodded. “Alright. I understand.”

 “I’m Xari.”

 “A beautiful name. It is wonderful to meet you, dear. I do hope your stay has been a good one so far.”

 “Yes, yes, everyone has been nothing but kind and hospitable. I appreciate your kindness,” you expressed.

 Cecelia nodded and took another sip from her cup. Her eyes landed on something on the table.

 “Of Vice and Virtue and Clandestine. Two wonderful selections.”

 “I hope it’s alright. I took them. I promise I will put them back,” you began.

 Cecelia reached her hand out and placed it on top of yours. “Xari, I could not care less if you kept them. You are free to anything in the palace.”

 You slowly nodded and took another sip of tea. As you did, the photos on the table caught your eye. They were of a decorated room. It looked like a mock-up of a ballroom of some sort. The colors of the flowers were orange, and they didn’t look like they belonged with the pastel green that surrounded them.

 “This color scheme is all wrong. You shouldn’t pair orange and green. You have to pick one or the other. I’d recommend the green; it’s very pretty.”

 She looked curious, most likely wondering who the hell you were to say half of what you did.

 “Are you a decorator?”

 “Not officially. I took some classes, got some certificates in event planning and interior design,” you admitted.

 “Oh, so you design for a living.”

 “No, no. It—I am a travel photographer and blogger. It’s not what I planned, but I fell into it. Event planning and design are more of hobbies.”

 “Well, this might just be serendipitous. I am in the middle of planning the ball for the opening of the festivities,” Cecelia began adjusting herself in her seat. “I just got back in Brexendor, and the trip was longer than I anticipated. That means I have two days to put together our annual ball that is supposed to open Brexenavid. That is our month-long celebration of what every Brexdorian prides themselves on—our holiday time.”

 “What exactly is Brexenavid?”

 “It is our month-long holiday celebration that we go all out for. There are tens of events, sometimes games, balls, dinners, and dignitaries within Brexendor and our neighboring countries who will begin arriving to stay with us here,” Cecelia explained.

 You were impressed. It all sounded like a lot of work.

 “And you’re the one to plan all of it?”

 “Yes. That is my role as the matriarchal head of the royal family. It is one of my many roles.”

 You released a breath, then finished your cup of tea. Before you spoke, you poured another.

 “So tell me, if you were planning this, how would it look?”

 You took a few moments to sip your tea and think about how you would do it. Closing your eyes, you tried to visualize the space, but you’d seen so many spaces that you couldn’t really picture it.

 “Where will it be? What room? Can you describe it to me?”

 Cecelia smiled, then stood. “I can do better. Let me show you.”

 Cecelia walked out of the room, leaving you to hurry behind her. she led you through the hall you’d just walked down until you went down another hall you hadn’t before. About a minute later, you followed her into a large ballroom that looked like it belonged in Versailles. The walls dripped gold, and the ceiling housed so many chandeliers you didn’t bother to count past five.

“Wow. What a room.”

 “One of my favorites. It is the usual one I use. What do you think?”

 “Nice room. I would say with the amount of light that comes in and the views; I’d play that up. since it is December and I’ve seen several of your streets, Christmas is huge here.”

 “If you only knew,” Cecelia confirmed.

 “Then play it up. Christmas trees, poinsettias, tree lights, tinsel, everything that everyone loves about Christmas. Give your guests what they really love about this country, the beauty, the splendor,” you suggested.

 She looked around the room as if she were trying to picture it. “I like it.”

 Her smile was bright. “I more than like it. I love it. Carolina thought floral.”

 “Floral isn’t a bad idea. You can add some in. Roses are subtle, lilies, even Dahlias, and Tulips.”

 Cecelia approached you and took your hand. “I love your ideas, Xari. I have one of my own. How would you feel about taking point on this? I know you are still recovering, but you would have every staff member at your disposal. You would not be doing too much. You give the design orders, and everyone else will execute it.”

 You were speechless and couldn’t believe the queen had just asked you to deck out her palace for a ball. “Obviously, you do not have to if you do not want to.”

 “Do what?”

Henry’s voice brought your attention to him. he wore a simple white button-down shirt and grey dress pants. While it wasn’t as formal, he still looked put together.

 “I have just asked Xari if she would put together the ball.”

 “Mother. She is supposed to be resting and recuperating. Dr. Alphonsi has left very strict orders, and work was on the list of prohibited actions.”

 His mother looped her arm with his with a smile. “Oh, darling, I am not talking about manual labor. She has quite an eye for design and event planning. I thought it would be fun.”

 “Mother--,” Henry began again.

 “Plus, what are you doing here?”

 “You said supper was promptly at seven.”

 “Heavens, is it seven already? All right, Xari, you do not have to answer right away. You can take the night to think about it. we should all go to supper.”

 “Uh—I’ll go back to my room,” you began.

 “Nonsense, looking at you, you are well enough to dine with the rest of us. Come,” Cecelia pressed as she released Henry to loop her other arm with yours and led you closer to her son.

 Henry smirked, and when he realized he was in the middle, he softly scoffed and held out his arm for you. Your eyes locked for a few seconds, and you picked up a hint of amusement behind his blue orbs. You slowly looped your arm through his, allowing him to led the two of you out of the ballroom and down the long hall.

 As you walked, his mother chattered on about something that you paid no mind to. All you could focus on was the smell of Henry’s cologne and his towering presence beside you. Your hand rested on his forearm, and the heat radiating off of him tempted you to flex your fingers against him. The minute your fingers moved, you felt his bicep tense. It was an action that brought your eyes to him. You lost your breath when you found his were already on you. Goodness, you thought to yourself, slowly trailing your eyes over the details of his face until they landed on his lips.

 “Eh-em.”

 Snapping your head forward, you saw that you’d arrived in the dining room. You pulled your arm free and walked away from Henry flashing them out, trying to cool them from his heat and gain some control over your wayward thoughts. This dining room was a different one from before. It looked more intimate.

 “This is the dining room we prefer to eat in as a family,” Cecelia explained the closer you got to the table.

 Taking your place beside Anika, Henry took his at the head of the table while his mother across from you beside a beaming Jemma. Once everyone was seated, the staff walked in carrying trays of food toward you. Once yours was put down, the silver cover was taken off to reveal a pot roast of some kind.

 “I hope you are not a vegetarian,” Cecelia began.

 “Oh no, my sister and I love all kinds of meat, Anika blurted out, making you give her a harsh eye.

 “Wonderful. Please, dig in.”

 Dinner went on uneventfully. Jemma talked about her plans to include a local orphanage in the planned festivities for the month. Everyone seemed to think it was an excellent idea. Then the conversation turned to Anika as the Queen tried to get to know her better. The only ones who remained relatively quiet were you and Henry. Every so often, your eyes met and lingered. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words never manifested. That was when your eyes drifted to some part of him, either it was his lips, or his hands, or even those sprigs of black hair that teased the bounty that laid under his shirt just waiting to be played with.

 By the time dinner was finished, and after dinner, coffee and tea were served, things had moved to one of the sitting rooms you’d walked through earlier in the day. After your first cup of chamomile and lavender tea, the queen said her goodnights and left you, Anika, and Jemma to your own devices. It allowed you to crack open one of the books you’d picked earlier. By the time you finished your second cup of tea, exhaustion had caught up with you. When you looked up, it was just you and Henry sitting there. Once again, Anika had disappeared, this time taking Jemma with her.

His nose was buried in a book. Before you could admire the view of him sitting there with one leg crossed over the other, his eyes drifted to you; then he lowered his book to reveal a soft smile. Neither of you spoke. It was a comfortable silence that didn’t need to be filled with words. A yawn sprang from you, making him snort.

 “This can’t be regular chamomile or lavender.”

 “You are probably right. I do know it is farmed straight from the field and brought here,” he answered.

 “Wow, so literally from the earth to your stomach.”

 Henry smiled again.

 “I um—I think I should probably turn in,” you said.

 Henry placed his book aside, then stood. “Allow me to walk you back to your room.”

 “Thank you, your highness.”

 He smiled, came closer, and held his arm out to you.

 “Are you always such a gentleman?”

 “I try to be. It is what I was raised to be,” he replied.

 “So—always. There isn’t a time of day where you say fuck it and let it all fall away?”

 He smiled and stepped a little closer. It was as close as he was the first night in the bar before you parted ways. His eyes bore into you from his towering height, and you decided you wanted to see what he would do.

 “There is about an hour in the morning when I first wake. No one has come in to give me news or updates. It is quiet, and my mind is clear. Then there are those few minutes at night before I fall asleep where I can let everything fall off me. In those two moments—I—I feel like myself.”

 There was a pained look in his eyes that you wanted to know more about.

 “And what does it feel like to be yourself?”

 Henry gave you a melancholy smile. “Lonely.”

 A full minute passed then Henry held out his arm again. “Shall we?”

 You looped your arm and let him lead the way out of the sitting room, down the long corridor, and up the grand steps. The walk was quiet, but you didn’t feel weird being close to him like this. It felt normal. Halfway to your room, Henry spoke.

 “My father told me before he died, the more people that want a piece of you, the less you have for yourself and the lonelier it is at the top.”

 “Sounds like the words of a wise man.”

 “He was very wise.”

 Silence. You’d heard the sadness in his voice the first time he mentioned his father.

 “Do you miss him?”

 “Every single second of every single day,” Henry answered.

 As you turned down the hall that would lead to your room, the silence returned.

 “Your speech was amazing.”

 “You’re saying that because you helped write it.”

 You couldn’t help but laugh. “It doesn’t matter who helped write it. Words are nothing without the conviction to back them up. You made the speech.”

 You could feel his eyes on you, so you met them right before you stopped in front of your door.

 “Thank you,” he whispered. He then took a step to you, closing the wide gap between you.

 “Do you usually have to approve the plans for big events?”

 His crinkled brow said he was confused. “I guess it depends. Why?”

 “Well, since you are so busy being his highness and all, the only way we’d ever see each other the next few days would be for me to accept your mother’s offer and plan this ball seeing how his highness would get the final say-so on all plans. Right?”

 Henry slowly began smiling then he licked his lips. “That sounds about right, but that would mean one thing and one thing only.”

 You leaned against your door and smiled innocently. “And what’s that?”

 “That you want to see me almost as much as I want to see you.”

 Your heart pounded faster and faster. “Almost as much?”

 Henry rested his arm on the door jamb, sort of boxing you in. “You have to know, Xari.”

 “Know what, your highness?”

“Henry,” he whispered quite breathlessly as he stared into your eyes.

The tension between you was palpable. It felt like any second one or both of you were going to do something that neither of you could take back. The loud crack of thunder boomed outside, bringing you both to realize your surroundings. Henry cleared his throat and took two steps back.

 “Good night, Xari. I look forward to seeing those plans at every decision,” he said with a stern face and plenty of humor in his eyes.

 “Your highness.”

 He sighed, then walked back down the hall, leaving you to admire the sway of his hips and the plump but firm state of his ass. God help you, you thought to yourself before you stepped back into your room. You’d never been good at fighting off temptation. You liked to put up a fight but eventually, you always gave in. 

You knew that it was only a matter of time before you did just that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#crown for two fic #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x black reader #henry cavill x black ofc #black fanfiction #slow burn fanfic #cheesy christmas fic #henry cavill au #royalty au

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Middlemen Part Two

Part One | Next Part | Masterlist Pairing: Horacio Carrillo x Reader Rating: Mature (This may change) Notes: I hope everyone is well :) Thank you for all of the likes/comments/reblogs! AU where Carrillo isn’t married; this story is set in/around Season 1 *Disculpe, señorita - Excuse me, miss **Quién es esa mujer - Who’s that woman? ***Esta buena; La conoces? - She’s hot; you know her? Warnings: Cursing; canon-typical violence Summary: What was it about Horacio Corrillo’s tone that made every question sound like a statement? Ah, you knew what it was. The deadpan delivery coupled with that expression - the one that said, ‘If it were possible for me to kill you with my eyes, you would’ve been dead five minutes ago’.

“We got a tip, we’ve gotta roll!” You looked up from the newspaper you’d been skimming when you heard Ray, your cameraman, and saw him scrambling for his bag. “Aw, fuck,” You mumbled. You’d only just gotten to the station, you hadn’t even had your coffee yet - hell, you hadn’t even put down your shit. Gene Davis, your reporter, was right behind Ray, smoothing his shirt down as if he was right about to go on camera and not get in the van. When you’d been told you’d be going down to Medellín, you’d asked your boss if there was any chance of getting a Colombian reporter, someone that would help you blend in with the locals. Your boss had chuckled as he shook his head, told you that you were thinking too small, that the whole point was to stand out. And stand out you did. Colombia was not devoid of red-heads, but they tended to draw the eye. Add Davis’ subpar accent to the mix, and he was caught out pretty quickly. Everywhere you went, Davis’ red hair and flat, American-accented Spanish was like a fucking beacon that said ‘the gringo reporters are here to talk to you’. You did your best when you were interviewing people, pulling the stories together for Gene before he had to go on camera, but people were usually distracted by him. You had an easier time asking questions when he wasn’t around. “I’m taking my bike,” You called out to Ray and Gene. That was easier. You’d get ahead, canvas the area, speak to a few people before the red-hot gringo alarm arrived on the scene. --

“What are you doing here.” What was it about Horacio Corrillo’s tone that made every question sound like a statement? Ah, you knew what it was. The deadpan delivery coupled with that expression - the one that said, ‘If it were possible for me to kill you with my eyes, you would’ve been dead five minutes ago’. “I’ll give you three guesses,” You said before nodding back toward the area that was already cordoned off by tape, “What happened?” “I’ll give you three guesses.” Your brows rose, and a surprised scoff left you. “Alright, smart guy,” You grumbled as you stepped around him. “You shouldn’t be here,” Horacio stuck close to you as you looked around. There were pools of blood on the ground, bullet casings; you could hear weeping. Your first week there, it had turned your stomach. Now, it was becoming the status quo. “You tell that to Valeria Velez, too?” You asked, eyeing the reporter that had already set up with her crew. Horacio graced you with a withering sidelong glance, and you rolled your eyes. “Taking that as a ‘no’,” You mumbled before stepping away from Horacio, walking toward the sound of the weeping. “*Disculpe, señorita,” You said quietly, crouching in front of a young woman. She was sitting on a stoop, head in her hands. She peered up at you, tear tracks cutting through the dirt on her face. You gave her a small smile, reaching into your pocket and pulling out a tissue. You offered it to her and she took it, mumbling, “Gracias.” You gave her a moment to gather herself before you began asking questions. -- Horacio lingered nearby, arms folded across his chest. He was watching his men clean up, but listening to you break down the young woman’s walls. You were gentle with her, didn’t push for answers where she was wary to give them, offered encouragement when she did give you information. You handled her with the same patience he had seen you handle his nephew with the week before. It was...Endearing, almost.

--

You thanked her for her time, gave her another tissue, then straightened, turning away from her and reaching into your bag. You pulled out a small notebook and a pen. Horacio peered over your shoulder, brows furrowed. “What are you--” “Ssh.” He went quiet and still behind you. You looked up at him a few moments later as you tucked the pen behind your ear. “What?” “...Why didn’t you just take notes while you were talking to her?” You shook your head. “People that are in distress don’t like that, they just feel like they’re being milked for info. Which, you know, they are, but I can at least pretend that they’re not.” You began to walk away from him, and you felt him fall into step beside you. “Are you just going to trail me the whole time? Because having you linger around me is actually going to make my job harder,” You stopped walking and looked up at him. You caught a flash of-- You didn’t even know what in Carrillo’s eyes; it disappeared as quickly as it arrived. “Carrillo!” You both turned your head as his name was called. You spotted two men standing by a truck - one brunette, one blond. “Gringos to the rescue,” Carrillo muttered, “Excuse me.” You watched him go, brow furrowed. Gringos to the rescue? What the hell did that mean? You didn’t have time to dwell, though; you had a job to do. -- “What happened?” Murphy asked, nodding toward the building. “Hand-off gone badly. Posion was chewing out the workers about the kilos being light,” Horacio recalled what he’d overheard the woman telling you, “He got a tip-off that we were on our way, we missed him by a few minutes.” “Shit,” Murphy sighed. “My men are still inside clearing out the lab,” Horacio added. Murphy nodded, grabbing his camera from the front seat of the car and stepping around them. “Hey,” Javier nudged Horacio’s arm with his own, lighting a cigarette before nodding over to where you were speaking to another bystander, “**Quién es esa mujer?” “La reportera,” Horacio answered stiffly. He recognized that look in Peña’s eye, saw the sweep that the other man gave your form; the last thing he wanted to have to think about was whether or not he had to protect you from Peña, too. Not that he’d be going out of his way to protect you from things - he’d followed you home that night because his mother had asked him to. “***Esta buena,” Peña muttered, “La conoces?” Horacio felt his jaw clench at the question. Could Peña focus for five minutes? “Javi!” Murphy called Javier from inside. Javier turned his head, nodding when he saw Murphy waving him in. He patted Horacio on the arm, ignorant to the tight pull of the man’s shoulders as he headed inside, expecting Horacio to follow. And follow Horacio did, but not without giving you one more look. -- You didn’t see it. You were too busy speaking with someone. You felt it, though. 

-- “I think we’ve got it,” Gene flashed you his best ‘my face was made to be on television screens’ smile, and you nodded in return. “Let’s get back to the studio, I wanna get this together as quickly as possible,” Ray grumbled as he began packing away his equipment. You already had your script written in your notebook, you just needed to type it up. “I’ll meet you guys back there,” You said, “I wanna grab something to eat.” Gene and Ray nodded, heading for the van. You shifted your bag on your shoulder, walking over to your motorbike. Before you could climb on, you heard, “Finished?” You turned to see Carrillo approaching your motorbike. “For now. Are you?” You added, glancing at the men filing out of the building. “Until next time,” He folded his arms across his chest. You nodded once as you settled on your motorbike, picking your helmet up. “Are you going to insist on tailing me to the station, or am I free to go?” You asked, adjusting your bag so that you wouldn’t jostle it during your ride. Horacio didn’t laugh or crack a smile - not that you’d really expected him to. “What’d you mean earlier when you said ‘gringos to the rescue’?” You asked. Carrillo chanced a glance over his shoulder at the men that had called him over before. “Not everyone came down here with the intention of being a middleman,” Was his explanation. He added, “Drive carefully, patito,” before turning away from you. You floundered for a few moments; that answer had only given you more questions - and why did that nickname sound so sweet coming out of that gruff mouth? You shook your head, pulling your helmet on. You could dwell on all of that later; now, you had a job to do. Tag list: @angels-pie​

#Horacio Carrillo #Horacio Carillo x Reader #Horacio Carrillo x You #Horacio Carrillo/Reader #Horacio Carrillo/You #Middlemen

[bluenet13]

Heroes Tonight

Written for @badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: 911: Lone Star

Characters: T.K. Strand, Carlos Reyes

Prompt: Taking the Bullet

Summary: Life is but a series of split-second decisions, and when you were born a hero, any one of them can end it all in the blink of an eye. Especially when your boyfriend is about to be shot and you don't think, just leap. Or, Carlos and T.K. should have been safe. It was only their day off. But when a convenience store robbery walks in on them, they end up in even more trouble than if they had been on shift.

Links: ff.net - AO3

"This was a really good idea," T.K. says softly, before taking another bite of his cherry ice cream, "thanks for insisting we do something special."

Carlos smiles, and squeezes the fingers that are intertwined in his. "I'm all about staying in bed all day on a day off, especially if it's with you. But every once in a while I like to go out and show the world that the prettiest boy in Texas is all mine."

"You're a dork," T.K. says, a teasing smile on his face, which quickly turns into a fake pout. "But… only in Texas? And what about the other days?"

Carlos sets his mango sorbet down and captures T.K's mouth in his, anything else that T.K. wanted to say dying on his lips, as he parts them in an invitation and deepens the kiss. Carlos' hands now on either side of his boyfriend's face, as T.K's moves his to Carlos' back and draws him close.

When they both need some air, they break the kiss and smile at each other shily. Carlos then grabs his phone and takes a selfie of the two, doing quick work of posting it to his Instagram. "There you go, now the whole world knows... Maybe we can get Marjan to reblog it so even more people know," Carlos lets out with a breathy laugh, then snickers when T.K. playfully smacks his arm. "As for other days... on those I like to show that boy how happy I'm that he chose me." Carlos again continues right from where T.K. left off, his smile only faltering for a second as he remembers a time when a failed past relationship made T.K. choose fear over him.

"I love you," T.K. breathes out, "and if you let me, I'll gladly spend the rest of my life showing you how I choose you over and over again."

"Rest of our lives," Carlos echoes wishfully, "I like the sound of that."

Carlos and T.K. share another kiss, before T.K. interrupts the moment with a chuckle. "I think the rest of our lives is going to be cut frustratingly short if we don't get out of here and to the Ryder household soon."

Seeing the time, Carlos blanches. Quickly finishing the last of his ice cream cone in one swallow, then grabbing T.K's hand and pulling them both towards the parking lot.

Carlos and T.K. had already agreed to meet the team for another 126 hangs before Carlos convinced T.K. to take advantage of the first day of summer landing on their day off to go on an adventure. So they had spent their Saturday on Zilker Park, then playing a round at Peter Pan Mini-Golf, which Carlos had insisted was a real Austin attraction and mini-golf tradition that T.K. needed to experience. Then stopping at The Range after much insistence from T.K. for Carlos to teach him how to shoot. Argument which had been going on for weeks and which Carlos had instantly metaphorically shot down as soon as T.K. tried to argue that it wasn't just for fun, since they never knew when he would be taken hostage again, and learning how to shoot could help him defend himself. At that, Carlos had mumbled that making the switch to paramedic was supposed to be safer, then told T.K. there was no way he would let him handle a gun, as he already was a trouble magnet without adding firearms into the mix. But T.K. was nothing if not stubborn, so today he had sweetly offered to drive when they left the park, and next thing Carlos knew, they were already parked in front of The Range, T.K. smiling up hopefully at him. Never able to deny his man anything, Carlos had begrudgingly agreed. And so they had spent their next two hours in the shooting range, before ending their magical day at the ice cream parlor.

That's how now Carlos and T.K. were very late. Which wouldn't be a problem if not because they were already in hot water after being no-shows at the last three team gatherings. This time, Marjan had said in no uncertain terms that they were both expected to be there or they would be forced to take a time-out every third shift. Well, that idea had come from Mateo, always the sentimental wanting to keep the band together and preserve the status quo, but Marjan and Paul had easily agreed, much to both Carlos and T.K's displeasure. Judd hadn't particularly cared either way, saying his only job was getting the house ready for the team.

-x-x-x-

"I'll be back in a sec," Carlos says, as T.K. parks the car in front of a convenience store a few blocks from Judd and Grace's house.

"I can go with you," T.K. offers, already turning the key and opening his door.

"Sure?" Carlos inquires softly, "I don't mind if you'd better just wait here."

T.K. shakes his head, shooting Carlos a confident smirk. "I'll just get some snacks while you check the fridge."

Nodding, Carlos gives T.K's hand a quick squeeze before following him out of the car. As much as Carlos always wants to protect T.K, he makes a point to remember that living normally while in proximity to alcohol is a natural part of his boyfriend's recovery.

Intertwining their fingers together, Carlos and T.K. then walk into the store, completely oblivious to the two men arguing next to their car, three spots away from theirs.

Parting in different directions, Carlos goes to pick some beer, while T.K. tries to decide which potato chips brand is better, then meeting back in the center aisle and walking together towards the front. "Wait, I forget Mateo wanted some Takis," T.K. says, cringing, then runs back to the snacks aisle.

As soon as he meets Carlos again in the center aisle, T.K. sees the six-packs discarded to the side, and turning to his boyfriend, he easily recognizes the no-nonsense posture and fiery eyes that Carlos keeps reserved for when he's on shift. But before he has a chance to ask what happened, Carlos moves his finger to his lips in the universal sign for please stay quiet and don't get us into any trouble, and grabs his hand, forcing them both to kneel, as he begins to take quiet steps back.

That's when the voices coming from the front start to filter into T.K's mind, eyes going wide as he realizes what's going on. "...quietly open the register and no one will get hurt. Speak or call for help and you won't live to say another word." A man is threatening in a hushed voice. Then there's silence, and Carlos and T.K. can only assume that whoever is tending the register is complying with the robber's demands.

When Carlos feels that they have backed away enough, he drops T.K's hand after giving it a final squeeze and reaches for the phone in his back pocket.

"We have to do something," T.K. whispers, a broom in one hand, and shovel in the other, his face scrunching as he silently tests which would make a better weapon. Because, of course, and much to Carlos' dismay, he had walked them to a mix aisle containing household, yard and other miscellaneous items.

"We're not doing anything," Carlos warns, "and drop those things!" He exhales long and slow, his hand clawing through his hair as he tries to take control of the situation. "I already messaged my boss, someone should be here any moment now."

"It will be too late, we can't let them get away," T.K. argues, "come on, you're a cop, you can't tell me you're okay with this."

Releasing a pained exhale, Carlos closes his eyes for a second. "Of course I'm not okay with this! But I'm a cop because I know what to do in these situations," he chides, "and I'm not okay with my hothead boyfriend getting hurt either. So, you're staying right where you are," he finished in a low, threatening tone.

T.K. nods and stays put, even if the fighter inside is shouting at him to do anything but that. But with Carlos here, he can't do something stupid and risk his boyfriend's life.

Those thoughts however come to mean nothing as soon as the bell above the door rattles loudly and a mother and her daughter come in, both stumbling and crying out loud as soon as a gun is pointed in their direction.

"Oh, crap," Carlos mutters, turning quickly to T.K. with a pleading look on his eyes. "Please," Carlos tries but T.K. is already crawling forward to get a better look. "T.K!" Carlos hisses but he's too late, and is forced to follow instead.

"You two, come here," the robber directs, grabbing the lady by the arm, pulling her along with the girl, who's holding on to her mother's skirt. "Just stay here, and don't try to interfere," he says, pushing them both down towards the floor, behind a hot bar full of hot dogs, taquitos and pizza slices.

With that done, the man moves back to the register and continues pulling out bills and dropping them onto a bag his partner is holding open. "Come on, man. That's more than enough. Let's go before someone else decides to crash this party." The second robber pleads, speaking for the first time. His eyes looking nervous as he moves them from the register to the front door and back again.

And as if summoned, the bell rings again, and a couple of teenagers step into the store. "Mierda!" One swears loudly as his eyes move between the two men, the cash register, and the terrified store clerk whose back is as far as it would go into the wall, his hands raised and slightly shaking.

"Marcos, vamonos," the older teenager says as he grabs his companion's hand and tries to walk back outside.

"You're not going anywhere," the first robber declares, his gun already being pointed towards the two boys, "we don't need no one calling the cops."

"We won't, we won't. Please, just let us go. My brother and I won't say anything. I promise," the teenager begs in a heavily accented voice. Then out of nowhere, he opens the door and pushes his younger brother out of the store. At the same time a shot rings out and the boy collapses in a pool of crimson.

Back in the rear of the store, the shot seems to set something loose in T.K's mind, because not two seconds later, he's turning to Carlos with an apology in his eyes. I'm sorry, T.K. mouths, then gives Carlos' hand a final squeeze, before he drops it and begins crawling towards the front of the store.

-x-x-x-

Getting to his feet, T.K. raises his hands just as the two robbers notice him for the first time. A lump making its way up his throat as he stares down the barrel of a gun. "I'm a paramedic, I can help. Let me..." he begins to say, but his words are cut short as the gun is pressed directly to his temple.

"And where did you come from," the man asks, "is there anyone else here?"

"No, I was alone, hiding in the back," T.K. explains, releasing a relieved breath as both he and the man with the gun scan the area where he came from but come out empty. "Please, let me help him. He's going to bleed out," T.K. tries again, pointing with his chin towards the teenager.

"Go! But I don't want any more surprises or I'll shoot you both," the man angrily concedes.

"I need a first aid kit," T.K. says. "Please," he adds as an afterthought, because he's open to being polite to the man threatening him with a gun, if it can potentially stop him from getting shot, again.

After getting a nod from the man, the store clerk lowers his hands for the first time, reaching down towards the counter and grabbing a small red bag that he throws to T.K, before raising his hands again just as quickly.

Catching the bag, T.K. wastes no time. Just barely acknowledging the robbers with a clipped thank you, before rushing to the boy and kneeling next to him. By now the boy is unconscious, his wound bleeding freely. Not ideal, but T.K. honestly thinks it's a small mercy as he roughly pushes gauze into the opening. After the wound is packed, T.K. curses to himself when he sees there's no chest seal or sterile medical plastic on the kit. Reaching for his wallet, he instead grabs his credit card, and carefully places it over the hole, then uses some medical tape to hold it in place, doing his best to form an airtight seal on the wound to keep air from being sucked into the wound and preventing the lung from collapsing, while also making sure to leave a small opening to let out air.

With that done, T.K. turns back to the robbers, wondering why the hell they're still here and where the damn cops are, when the boy starts to stir, mumbling in pain. Wishing he could switch places with Carlos, T.K. tries his best to keep him calm, whispering whatever comforting word he can think of in Spanish and promising that his brother is safe. Absentmindedly, T.K. also wonders where Carlos is cause he hasn't heard a single sound coming from the back.

Turning to the rear of the store, T.K. tries to find any sign of his boyfriend, but instead he notices the reflection of blue and red lights bouncing off a potato chips display. Keeping any expression from his eyes and his breathing even and calm, T.K. turns to the door, trying to understand what's happening outside.

Seeing cops beginning to get close, weapons and shields at the ready, T.K. carefully starts to pull the boy towards the first aisle and away from the front of the door so he doesn't get trampled down.

"What are you doing?" One of the men asks, as he and his partner begin to walk towards the door, eyes going wide as they see what T.K. just saw. "Did you call the cops? Or maybe it was that damn brother of yours," he all but shouts, gun going up as his finger tightens on the trigger.

Not knowing what else to do, T.K. raises to his feet and stands protectively in front of the boy, his lips parting as he tries to form words, but before he settles on anything in particular, a voice booms from outside, no doubt amplified by a megaphone.

As a man, who T.K. assumes is commander of S.W.A.T, or whoever came to negotiate their release, asks the men to turn themselves in before anyone gets hurt, the one who's clearly the leader swears loudly, as he begins to take steps back. Then when he feels far away enough from danger, he begins to pace, his gun moving widely along with his thoughts and words.

A telephone ringing is the only thing that stops the pacing, as the man angrily grabs it and starts shouting demands. Not smart, T.K. knows but what can he expect from two guys that took like 20 minutes to rob a convenience store. Not able to hear the other end of the call, T.K. just sighs as the robber asks for a car with a full tank, and for the cops to leave so they can drive away, threatening to shoot everyone if his demands are not met, before he throws the phone into a wall, the device breaking on impact.

Knowing there's no way out now, the firefighter turned paramedic tries to add his two cents in an attempt to get everyone safely out of this situation. "Come on, man. Think this through. The cops are already here, they won't just let you go. Turn yourselves in and I can say this was just a big misunderstanding." T.K. has no idea how he would do that, but he can only hope the men are dumb enough to believe his empty promise.

"But we shot someone," the second man whispers, voice shaking. "There's nothing you can say that would justify that."

What a surprise, the one not in charge is actually the smart one, T.K. thinks and chuckles inwardly. "That's okay. He just came in too quickly and scared you guys. We can explain that to the cops," T.K. tries his best to sound convincing.

Seeing the leader drop the gun to his side, T.K. has a second to think that his words must be sinking in and they will turn themselves in. But there's a reason why he's a firefighter and paramedic, and not a cop. Because next he knows he hears someone shout his name, just as the gun is lifted again and a single shot resonates all around him. Everything happening before he even saw it coming.

T.K. waits for the remembered pain, but it never comes. Instead his mind barely recognizes the voice of his boyfriend as the one who screamed his name, just as the man in question lands on the floor in front of him. Blood already beginning to pool under him.

As soon as T.K's mind comprehends that Carlos just jumped in front of a bullet for him, he tries to run to his side, but the robber is now standing in front of him and as soon as T.K. moves he swings the gun hard against his temple. Stunned, T.K. stumbles backward as tears cloud his vision, and he can only wonder if they're because of the hit or due to the fact his boyfriend just got shot.

Feeling like he has nothing left to lose now, and throwing what's left of his self-preservation out the window, T.K. launches himself forward, tackling the man. Both paramedic and bad guy land hard on the floor and instantly begin to struggle against each other as they fight for control of the one weapon. The robber manages to land the first hit, punching T.K. on the face, but he just shakes his head and swings, connecting with the man's nose and feeling it break on impact. Taking advantage of his bit of good fortune stunning his assailant, T.K. takes hold of the gun and raises to hit feet, backing away from the offender on the ground.

Trying to remember everything Carlos taught him earlier today, T.K. sets his feet down and squares his shoulders as he points the gun at the man who just shot his boyfriend. But before he can cock the gun or even really think about pressing the trigger, T.K. instead disassembles the weapon and throws it to the ground. Not only because his oath says that he's supposed to save people, not be judge and executioner, but because T.K. knows Carlos would never want him to hurt someone on his behalf.

Fight over with and save for the time being, T.K. stands paralyzed as he stares down at Carlos, bleeding out on a dirty store floor in front of him, after being shot with a bullet meant for him.

-x-x-x-

As T.K. took care of the injured teenager, Carlos had stayed hidden in the back. Grateful that his boyfriend was just working quietly and not doing anything special to put himself in even greater danger.

Keeping an eye out on T.K. and the robbers, Carlos had text his boss as the men continued to wipe the cash register clean, moving then to the mother's purse. He had done his best to keep calm as he shared with his boss the internal layout of the store, and information on the number of people inside and where everyone was located. But when the commander of S.W.A.T had started making demands, which were only followed by the leader of the pair making even more demands over the phone, Carlos realized he had seen many stories like this before. And rarely, did any of them end peacefully.

Knowing the men wouldn't voluntarily give themselves up, and not wanting his worst fears to come true, Carlos had begun to crawl forward. Luckily T.K. had been focused on the man with the gun and the injured boy, and the man with the gun on T.K. and the cops, so no one had noticed Carlos getting closer.

When T.K. had started trying to plead with the men to turn themselves in, Carlos had the sudden urge to kill his boyfriend himself. But then T.K. seemed to be gaining ground so he allowed himself a brief smile. Before his cop training kicked in and Carlos recognized the man was not accepting defeat, but preparing to go out in a blaze of glory.

And suddenly Carlos knows what is about to happen. And what he has to do.

"T.K!" Carlos shouts, at the same time as he closes his eyes and leaps.

The pain is instantaneous as Carlos collapses to the floor. Darkness already nudging at the edges of his vision.

With all his energy being used on just being able to take one breath after the other, Carlos barely notices the robber walking towards T.K. before the man is raising his gun and Carlos stops breathing altogether when he thinks he's about to shoot at T.K. again and this time he can't do anything to protect him. But the man just pistol whips T.K, forcing Carlos to release a nervous exhale. Because another hit to the head is not ideal, but definitely better than the alternative.

But then Carlos gets another urge to shoot T.K. himself, because his boyfriend launches himself against the robber and they begin to struggle on the ground. And before Carlos can even try to get up and help, T.K. is standing and pointing the gun at the man, making Carlos curse silently because why did he teach him how to shoot. But T.K. being T.K. never disappoints him, and does what Carlos himself would have done, then seems to lose the remaining of his energy and just stumbles and stares at Carlos with teary, guilt-ridden eyes.

Just then the doors to the store burst open and the scene around them turns to full-blown chaos as cops and paramedics rush inside. Doing his best to ignore everything going around him, Carlos focuses solely on T.K, because he can feel a lot of blood pooling below him and if he's about to die he wants his boyfriend to be the last sight he sees. So, doing his best to clear his eyes, Carlos shakes his head and looks up, smiling at T.K. who just dropped to his knees beside him.

Carlos parts his lips to try to say something to his boyfriend, but he's not listening. "No, no, no," T.K is saying over and over again, his already blood stained hands going to Carlos' chest as he tries to stop the flow of the blood which has already soaked his shirt.

Talking off his flannel, T.K. pushes it into the wound on Carlo's chest. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I know it hurts, but I need to stop the bleeding," T.K. soothes when Carlos grunts and tries to move away. "Damn it! Why is this blood not stopping?" Discarding the saturated shirt to the side, T.K. uses his own hands again, blood seeping through his fingers.

"T.K, it's okay," Carlos tries to say, but stops as he coughs and chokes on a mouthful of blood. "Please stop and look at me," Carlos whispers as T.K. continues trying to stop the bleeding, so he weakly raises a hand and catches T.K's, intertwining their fingers together. "Whatever happens, everything... everything will be okay," Carlos promises, even as more blood trickles down his mouth, "you'll be okay. I love you, T.K."

"No, no, no!" T.K. continues his chant, tears sliding down his face as he desperately shakes his head. "Please, Carlos…"

"I'm sorry," Carlos says with a pained gasp, weakly reaching out with one hand and running it through T.K's hair, stopping on the bruise already beginning on his temple and stroking softly. By now he can hear muffled voices around him but can't make out any words and he knows that he's fading. Then he sees T.K's lips moving and desperately tries to read the meaning behind his words, but his eyes are closing and he's just so tired. When his lids finally close, Carlos can see unshed tears pressing against them, but instead he chooses to focus on the last image he saw. That of two cops grabbing T.K. by the arms and pulling him from Carlos, his boyfriend's teary eyes pleading, as T.K. begged him to hang on and open his eyes.

-x-x-x-

The door opening behind him and a multitude of emergency personnel rushing inside, springs T.K. back into action.

Forgetting all about the boy whose life he just saved, and ignoring the cops and paramedics around him, T.K's only focus is the man bleeding in front of him. He drops to his knees, doing his best to ignore Carlos' attempts to talk, because it sounds suspiciously like his boyfriend wants to say goodbye and he's not ready for that, instead he concentrates on using his shirt, then his hands, as he tries to stop the bleeding. As Carlos grunts, T.K. does his best to push his guilt down, hating that he's hurting him but willing to do whatever is necessary to save his life.

As Carlos continues trying to call his attention, T.K. can only continue his chant and work because if he stops to listen he knows he will break down, and that is not going to help Carlos. But then his boyfriend grabs his hand and squeezes weakly, and T.K. crumbles. Because Carlos' tear-streaked face is looking directly at him, and there's blood on his lips, and he is obviously dying.

But Carlos can't die so T.K. shakes his head and continues to chant, "no, no, no!" His words, a plea for anyone willing to listen. Then he pleads to the man himself but T.K. can see Carlos' eyes are beginning to close and then he's apologizing. Carlos' hand softly caressing his boyfriend's hair, because even when he is bleeding out, Carlos is still more worried about T.K.

As Carlos goes silent, T.K realizes someone else is talking to him, and there are also people kneeling to his side, and someone is grabbing his arm from behind, but he does his best to ignore it all. "I love you, too," he whispers instead, because he didn't say it back and if this is Carlos' last moment, then T.K. needs to make sure he knows. But he doesn't think Carlos understands because he scrunches his face in confusion before his eyes finally slip shut. "Carlos, please, you can't do this to me, to us… please fight… Please, open your eyes." T.K chokes on his own sobs, and then he's being pulled away from Carlos, two sets of hands grabbing him from behind.

"Son, please. Let the paramedics work. And they need to check you out too," a cop, who is not Carlos, but might be his boss, T.K. can't really remember, is saying to him. "That's a lot of blood."

With that comment, T.K. looks down at himself, his stomach threatening to revolt at the sight, but he pushes it down and shakes his head. "It's not mine," he mumbles, pushing away from everyone. He stumbles backwards, almost collapsing, but steadies himself on the same potato chips' display that first alerted him to the cops' presence. If only he hadn't seen them and tried to play hero.

Feeling his anger and guilt begin to overpower him, T.K. uses the last of his strength and swings his arm hard against the display. The sudden movement makes him feel lightheaded, and for the first time, T.K. notices the nausea and headache. Blinking his eyes a few times, he lifts his hand and touches his temple and winces, then frowns when he sees his fingers covered in wet blood. But he focuses on the dried crimson staining his fingers, and suddenly T.K. is stumbling to the back of the store where he remembers seeing a bathroom and standing in front of a run-down sink as he roughly rubs his hands, trying to get the blood, Carlos' blood, out of his skin.

After his hands are as clean as they will be with just water, T.K. stares at himself in the mirror, absentmindedly wondering if the cop had been talking about the blood on his clothes, which is undoubtedly the boy's and Carlos', or about the one that he now sees flowing down the side of his face. Not particularly caring about the answer, T.K. feels the need to strip off his clothes because he just can't keep seeing all this blood that should be inside Carlos' body. But shaking his head, he just sighs and exits the bathroom instead.

As soon as he's back in the front of the store, T.K's stomach drops as he notices the amount of blood on the ground, then the absence of one of the men whose it belonged to, but before he can ask, he sees the stretcher being pushed into a waiting ambulance. T.K. tries to run outside to follow, but with his adrenaline fading, and all his discomforts finally making themselves known, he just swings wildly as his vision dims and he feels arms pulling him down into a stretcher.

"No," T.K whispers, struggling to get up. "I'm going with him. You can treat me in the ambulance... or I can wait until we get to the hospital. Just save Carlos, please," he begs, voice breaking at the end.

The paramedics prepare to argue, but a voice T.K. only heard once but still would recognize anywhere, speaks next to them. "Let him go." Steadying himself on the stretcher, T.K. turns to find Gabriel Reyes staring back at him. "Let him ride with his boyfriend."

"Thank you, sir," T.K. says, then wastes no time and climbs into the ambulance, sitting on a bench next to the stretcher and instantly taking one of Carlos' hands in his.

"Just take good care of my son. I will be by the hospital as soon as we're done here." And by done here, T.K. knows Mr. Reyes means making sure everyone remotely at fault for what happened to his son is sitting in a cell, without any possibility of parole. So he just nods, before the double doors of the ambulance are closed, cutting any further conversation short.

And whatever happens next at the convenience store is lost to both T.K. and Carlos as their magical day ends with another trip to Dell Seton Medical Center.

-x-x-x-

Opening his eyes, Carlos' first conscious thought is asking himself why everything hurts. He then tries to move his hand to rub his tired eyes, but finds an IV there and decides to leave it alone. Trying to move his other hand, Carlos sees no IV or tubing, but his hand still feels glued to the bed, so he turns his eyes downward and sees another hand attached to his, their fingers intertwined together. Following it to its owner, Carlos sees T.K. slumped on a very uncomfortable-looking chair next to him. The sight steals his breath away for a moment, as all the memories of the last day come crashing down on him.

So, Carlos' second conscious thought is wondering how he can still be alive when there was so much blood. Maybe this is all a cruel dream and I'm still in surgery, Carlos thinks, but as soon as his eyes land on his boyfriend again, seeing him unharmed except for a white bandage on his head and brace on his other hand, Carlos pleads with whoever is listening for this to be real. Because if T.K. is okay, nothing else matters.

There's no third conscious thought, as the pull of whatever drugs they're giving him is too strong and Carlos drifts back to sleep. But not before he squeezes T.K's hand, and softly promises that he will see him soon.

-x-x-x-

One of the next times Carlos wakes up, he quickly notices there's no hand in his, instead T.K. is lying on the bed next to him, one of his hands under his head holding it up, the other one carefully set on top of Carlos' chest, as his eyes focus on the rise and fall that tells him Carlos is still alive.

Wanting a moment to take it all in, Carlos says nothing and just stares at his boyfriend, thanking their lucky stars because they're both okay. A few seconds later, still saying nothing, Carlos just moves his free hand and sets it over T.K's, intertwining their fingers from above.

Turning away from their joined hands, T.K lets out a small squeak, tho later he would argue it was only a gasp, then looks up and smiles at Carlos. "Hey babe, glad to see you awake," he says softly, "you really scared me today."

Carlos begins to say something, but his dry throat makes it hard to talk and he ends up coughing instead.

"Here, don't talk yet." T.K. quickly turns to a table next to the bed and grabs a cup of water, setting the straw in front of Carlos so he can drink easily. "Go slow."

Carlos drinks a few, tiny sips, letting the cold water soothe his throat and waits a moment before he tries to speak again. "Thank you."

"Anytime," T.K. whispers, then turns back to the bed and gets closer so he can kiss Carlos' forehead. His lips lingering above as his eyes look down on him with as much guilt and pain as Carlos as ever seen there.

"I'm sorry I scared you, but you also scared me a lot," Carlos admits, barely stifling a grunt as he slowly lifts his head to press a kiss to T.K's lips. "And I'm also glad you're okay."

"You shouldn't have done that," T.K. mumbles, lowering himself back onto the bed as he continues to stare at his boyfriend, as if trying to convince himself that he really is okay. "When you said I wasn't allowed to get shot again, that didn't mean you could just jump in front of a bullet meant for me." With that admission, his eyes glaze over and he squeezes them shut to stop any tears from falling.

"I'm sorry, T.K, but I couldn't just do nothing and see you get shot right in front of me," Carlos says honestly, even when he knows his action forced T.K. to do just that but still not regretting his decision. "Besides, at the moment, I didn't think, I just did."

"That's not how this works..." T.K. begins, but Carlos cuts him short.

"This works however way it ends with both of us alive at the end of the day," Carlos finishes for him.

T.K. opens his mouth to say Carlos didn't know that would happen when he took that bullet for him, that he could have died, but honestly, he doesn't think it matters. Because T.K. would have done the same thing for Carlos, and they both know it. So why delve on it now.

"Thank you," T.K. says instead, "and sorry for also worrying you. I just couldn't let the boy die."

"You saved his life… both our lives," Carlos says proudly, "a doctor came before, the boy is okay. His brother also. He stayed outside and helped explain things to the cops when they got there," he answers the unspoken question on T.K's eyes.

T.K just nods, the events of the day still too fresh for him to say much. So Carlos and T.K. just fall into silence for the next few minutes, eyes locked on each other but no words being exchanged.

Raising his hand, Carlos runs it through T.K's hair, stopping when he reaches the white bandage. "You okay?" He asks softly, breaking the silence in the room.

"You just spent four hours in surgery to fix a hole in your chest and you're asking if I'm okay?" T.K. wonders incredulously.

"I will always worry about you," Carlos says sincerely, "and… I'm very high on painkillers, I can see you're not."

Rubbing his bloodshot eyes, T.K's sighs, for once wishing Carlos didn't know him so well. "I'm okay, or I will be. They offered some OTC painkillers but you know I'd rather not."

"Okay," Carlos says simply. He wishes he could do something to alleviate T.K's pain but he knows he can't. This battle is something T.K. always undertakes alone, but as every other time, he will just be here to hold his hand while he toughs it out. "Come here," he says, pulling T.K to him and running his fingers soothingly over his scalp.

Sighing, T.K carefully rests his head over Carlos' shoulder, mindful of all the wires and tubes around him. "Next time we're not going out, and just staying in bed all day, just like this," he says with a breathy laugh, his eyes beginning to slide shut as feelings of content and relief overtake him.

"And next time you guys don't want to hang out with the team you can just say so, no need to be all dramatic and get yourselves shot and concussed again," a voice says from the door and both Carlos and T.K. groan when they see Marjan, Paul, Mateo and Judd standing by the door, no doubt with Owen and Gabriel closed behind… Both cop and paramedic wondering if it's too late to close their eyes and just fake sleep.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fanfiction #bad things happen bingo #tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes