#I love this Niall he is going to be very very smooth

[kissitbttr]

Ok so we’ve seen inspiration behind Frat!Miguel, but what about my boys Beck, Carlos and Glen? 💌

AAAA IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONEEEE!!!

beck is supposedly to be the most serious and responsible one of the group. he keeps everyone in tact, gives people a reality check (including miguel even if that means disagreeing with him). back in high school, he was the dude who’s known to be hooking up with girls, faking an id, stealing liquors and rarely goes to class. but all that changed when he went to college because he realizes how much shit is getting serious. beck is actually inspired by my guy best friend! a total douchebag in high school but turned his life around in college.

he is a real gentleman who loves taking care of his family, looking out for his friends, getting straight As while partying every week (balance is a must☝🏻) beck understands his priorities now. football, work and college. just like how my best friend is now! his name is jonathan and i am so fucking grateful at how well he becomes:)

carlos is the most unserious out of the group. the boys kinda has to babysit him just so he won’t go off track. he’s actually inspired by niall horan. HAHAHA. niall is one of my favorites 1d member back then. he’s funny, talented, has great comedic timing and really, really obnoxious (in a good way!). you can always count on carlos with a keg!! known to be the party goer, all day every day, smooth with the ladies;))) got into trouble for hooking up with a senior’s girlfriend once dbhsjshsh and beck had to slap him silly for it. carlos looks up to muñeca so much that he often needs her advice and insights about pretty much everything. calls her mom sometimes, too. begs to miguel to never break up with her because otherwise he would lock him and muñeca in a room until they figure shit out.

and glen, isn’t exactly inspired by anyone tbh. i just needed one more frat guy that seems to be clueless about everything that’s happening around him HAHAHAHA. he gets pretty confused about how to function during parties sometimes, prefer sitting back in the corner with a drink instead so he doesn’t have to socialize. he gets pretty awkward around girls, but that doesn’t stop them from fawning over him. extremely athletic and skilled in football. that’s why he gets recruited instead of having to try out.

he loves trying out different sports. so if you ever to date him, get ready for very productive dates!

oh and their face claims!! in case you guys are wondering

beck:

glen:

carlos :

[1dmonthlyficroundup]

— 1D Monthly Fic Roundup —

Hi, and welcome to the 1D Monthly Fic Roundup for July 2023! Below you’ll find 1D fics that were all published this month in the order they were submitted to the blog. We hope you’ll check out these new fics! If you would like to submit your own fic, please check this post on how to submit or visit our blog @1dmonthlyficroundup​. You can find all our other posts here.

Happy reading!

＊ Not Safe For Work by bluegreenish / @greenblueish [E, 23k, Harry/Louis]

I want to drown myself in Harry’s scent until I smell like him.

“I think I'm open to trying that too. Sounds very good.”

Louis shakes his head a little to get out of the Harry’s-scent-spiral. “Huh?”

“The dish your finger's pointing at. I thought that might be what you’re choosing?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

or, the one where the boys work at Niall's fashion start-up 28 Programme Designs, and omega Louis has a lot of not safe for work thoughts about his colleague Harry, but little does he know that the alpha can read minds.

＊ Let The Ocean Worry About Being Blue by bluegreenish / @greenblueish [E, 5k, Louis/Harry]

In a society where young adults go through the so-called Colour Test which determines their affiliation to a Colour - Blue, Yellow, Red or Green - and thus where they'll live, work and socialise for the rest of their lives, Harry is finally about to take the Test. Born and raised in Yellow, he met his boyfriend when he was still a teenager - against the government's recommendation. Louis, however, changed from Yellow to Blue two years ago. The problem: Harry needs to receive a Blue Test result as well, because a relationship between two people who live in different Colours is forbidden.

＊ The Truth In Me by @hellolovers13 [G, 1k, Harry & Zayn]

Harry is ready to come out to her best friend. Series. Part 2 of She

＊ Hold On Tighter by @hellolovers13 [G, 1k, Harry]

Harry finally has the house to herself again. Or so she thought. Series. Part 3 of She

＊ Take the Moment and Taste It by @hellolovers13 [E, 4k, Louis/Harry]

“You made him a bracelet?”

“Yeah. It’s a whole thing, people make these friendship bracelets and trade them at the shows. I got a bunch from fans while I was there, but I wanted to give Harry one, with my number on it.”

“Your number as in 28, your squad number, or your phone number?”

Louis smirked. “You know which one.”

or Louis didn't get the chance to give Harry his bracelet in person, but Harry isn't one to leave fate alone.

＊ Glasgow by @hellolovers13 [T, 859 words, Harry/Louis]

Louis' first moments with his newborn daughter. Part 3 of When the City’s Sleeping

＊ Paris in the Rain by @aquamarinedaffodil [T, 17k, Louis/Harry]

“Of course, I want to go to Paris with you,” Harry declares fondly, pushing himself up with one warm palm on Louis’ chest. Pleased, Louis smooths his hands over Harry’s thighs and licks his lips. His vision narrows as his eyes crinkle with the grin unfurling on his face.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” His cheeks heat up as Harry stares at him with a mix of excitement and disbelief in his eyes, those gorgeous emerald eyes that have become Louis’ favourite thing to wake up to. Reaching for Harry’s hand on his chest, he interlaces their fingers, pressing a tender kiss to Harry’s knuckles. “Happy Birthday, baby.”

I love you, Louis thinks but doesn’t say.

That’s what Paris is for.

— Or Louis attempts his first-ever grand romantic gesture and things don’t go according to plan.

Series. Part 2 of Darling Universe

＊ Suddenly Last Summer by @disgruntledkittenface [E, 44k, Harry/Louis]

Louis is bored, rich and lonely. He has no reason to expect that this summer in the Hamptons with his friends will be different from any other – until he meets Harry. Suddenly he has someone who listens to him and cares about what he thinks. Someone who really sees him. But their happily ever after is forever marred by an incident at a party during Labor Day weekend, and Louis is left with a choice to make.

＊ A Social Construct by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf [E, 7k, Louis/Harry]

Five times Harry and Louis try to lose their virginity and one time they finally do. Part 4 of Swallow My Words

＊ does it always end in heartbreak? by fearsparks / @onlythebravest [E, 47k, Harry/Louis]

It was only when Harry and Niall were on the bus on their way home that Harry got the chance to ask him what he thought of Louis.

“He’s great. I really like him.”

“Yeah?”

Niall nodded. “Think you’ve found a jealous one though,” he added. “A jealous and protective one.”

Harry sighed. “If he stays.”

“You haven’t told him yet?”

“You think I wouldn’t call you the moment I did so and tell you?” His voice changed, turned a bit shakier, when he continued, “I’m going to. Next date. I just –”

(Life never plays out the way one wants it to and no one ever goes through it unharmed. A story of two relationships, two life stages and more than only two broken hearts.)

＊ Running Over Thoughts That Make My Feet Hurt by @enchantedlandcoffee [E, 4k, Louis/Harry]

Louis is the little league coach of 'The Ducklings', the team that Harry's daughter plays for. Whilst she tries her best, she doesn't quite have the skills so Coach Tommo steps in. He offers private lessons to try and help her, and if he gets in her dad's good books? Well that'd just be a bonus.

＊ Are you ready for a new sensation? by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright [E, 2k, Harry/Louis]

Louis's never had his toes sucked. Harry can't let that stand.

＊ No (Birth) Control by @haztobegood [E, 2k, Louis/Harry]

They’d been so careful the past few years, ever since the twins were born. Two pups were quite a handful. But, the twins just turned four. They’d be nearly five. They knew someday they’d try for more. Was that distant someday finally now?

“Or maybe…” Harry paused unsure how to say what he was thinking. He bit his lower lip, averted his eyes. Would Louis be on the same page?

Louis waited a few moments before prodding, “Maybe, what?”

“Maybe we go without,” Harry said. Dropping his voice, he whispered a suggestion into Louis’ ear. “Maybe you could breed me for real this time.”

Or, An unfortunate situation left Harry without contraceptives a day before his heat.

＊ Into The Mist by @babyhoneyhslt [M, 15k+, wip, Harry/Louis]

Sneaking on board the famous pirate ship Compass Arrow to get a story for his journalist father, Harry must do everything to keep a low profile. But when one of the crew discovers him, hiding from the ruthless Captain Tommo becomes almost impossible.

＊ Meet In A Minute At The Rendezvous by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove [E, 3k, Louis/Harry]

Harry and Louis' sons are on rival high school football teams. And whenever they play each other, Harry and Louis sneak off to hook up in the restrooms after halftime. They've never been caught yet -- and if they were, it's anyone's guess whether people would be more scandalized by what they're doing or who they're doing it with. When their sons are injured on the field, Niall comes to find them.

＊ Truth Is I'm Gonna Dare by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove [E, 3k, Harry/Louis]

“Truth or dare?” Louis asks.Harry takes a sip from his beer. “Dare.”Louis’ eyebrows rise. “Feeling brave, are we?” His forehead wrinkles for a moment as he considers the possibilities, and Harry feels a pang of unease twist in his gut, though it’s quickly drowned by another sip of his drink.A billow of laughter rises up from below, some group of strangers wandering home from their own festivities, and a wicked grin spreads across Louis’ face as he peers down through the railing. “I dare you to piss off this balcony.”

Or, Harry and Louis are groomsmen for Niall and Shawn's wedding. At the bachelor party, they realize they have a few things in common.

＊ Make Me Your Aphrodite by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove [M, 16k, Louis/Harry]

“I just – I don’t know." Harry sighs. "I go on so many dates, and they’re all just… nothing. The guys are boring, or they’re terrible in bed, or there’s just no chemistry. It’s just so frustrating. Enough to make a girl want to give up on men altogether.”

“I mean, I did give up on men, like a decade ago,” Louis says, laughing. “Have you tried dating girls?”

It’s meant as a joke, but Harry looks thoughtful. “Maybe I should,” she says. “I’ve considered it, but never actually tried – I mean, goodness knows it can’t be any worse than some of the guys I’ve gone out with.”

Louis blinks. “Wait, do you – are you serious?”

“Why not?” Harry says, pulling out her phone. “I’ll change my Tinder settings right now, look.” She taps the screen a few times, navigating through the pages. “If it doesn’t pan out, then oh well, I’ve had some nice conversations with some nice girls – not the worst thing. Maybe we can even be friends. And if it does…” She smiles. “Well. You know.”

Written for the 1D Astro Fic Fest, based on the prompting heavenly body: Venus.

＊ Ice, Ice, Baby by cherrylarry / @beelou [G, 1k, Louis/Harry]

Figure skater Harry takes Louis out on the ice for the first time

＊ (Gimme a Solution and) Watch Me Run With It by @lululawrence [NR, 21k, Louis/Harry]

This second, this minute, this hour, this day... hell, this week the trend was for Harry to feel overwhelmed. He was having a hard time not drowning in all of the responsibilities he had heaped upon himself and it had exhausted him. Beyond that, really. He had gotten to the point where he didn't even remember why he used to be so focused on getting back on stage every night.

Fine. Maybe this trend had been going on for even longer than a week. It might have even been months.

Harry is getting dangerously close to his breaking point, and that is when things start to change, starting with a favorite childhood sweet a member of the touring crew leaves for him in his dressing room.

＊ U-Pop Truck Stop by @kingsofeverything [E, 4k, Harry/Louis]

After driving their big rigs all day, Harry and Louis park at the same truck stop.

＊ In Shining Armour of Trackie and Trainers by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13 [T, 9k, Louis/Harry]

Online dating isn't exactly working for Harry. In fact, it couldn't really be going much worse. But then the door of the bar opens, and the pack of friends walking in parts and - that’s Louis Tomlinson.

Louis fucking Tomlinson.

＊ The Touch of Your Hand by larry_hiatus / @larry-hiatus [E, 8k, Harry/Louis]

Louis has decided to bite the bullet and get himself a dick piercing. He knows it’s going to hurt, but what he doesn’t know is how to calm down when he finds himself on the brink of a panic attack in front of the incredibly attractive piercer, Harry. Luckily, Harry is really sweet and offers to help ease his nerves.

＊ Proper Little Darling by larry_hiatus / @larry-hiatus [E, 6k, Louis/Harry]

Harry loves the days when Louis makes him dress up pretty and tells him not to go to the loo. Today is one of those days. Their fun, however, does not go quite as planned…

＊ I got me an appetite, now I can taste it by @enchantedlandcoffee [E, 935 words, Harry/Louis]

"Haz, are you sure about this? I don't want to hurt you, love." Louis asked, hovering over Harry's chest.

"Lou..." The omega whined, bringing his hands to the alpha's butt in an attempt to bring him closer. "You won't hurt me."

"Are you sure?" Louis asked again, staying rooted in his position until he was sure he wouldn't hurt the omega.

"I'm sure," Harry whined, moving his hands to the top of Louis' thighs. "How about this? If I'm uncomfortable in any way, I'll tap you twice, like this, okay?" The omega demonstrated the movement for Louis, tapping twice on the alpha's upper thigh.

OR Louis and Harry try something new in the bedroom.

＊ (drippin' on me) till my feet are wet by @justanothershadeofblue [E, 3k, Louis/Harry]

They’ve known each other so long, is the thing. More than a decade, at this point; their entire adult lives. They know each other with a deep and abiding familiarity, know each other's ins and outs, hopes and fears, secrets and kinks. There’s nothing hidden between them, and little that escapes each other’s notice.

All of which is to say, Louis knows exactly what Harry’s up to, making this huge pitcher of lemonade and waiting until the lads were out the door to bring it outside and press a cold glass into Louis’ hand. He’d poured the liquid carefully, sunglasses concealing his gaze as he filled it to the top.

“Drink up,” Harry had said, and Louis had, tipping the contents down his throat in one long pull, letting a few drops slip free and run down, chilled and sweet, into his short beard. He’d caught Harry’s eye and held out his glass for more. “Good,” Harry had said, voice deep, and filled it again.

＊ The Beautiful Game (Group Stage) by @justanothershadeofblue [E, 2k+, wip, ot5]

Neil: Right, lads, you ready for this?

LouLou🍋: bloody christ

Neil: Kick on the first game is in three days!!

Leeyum: kick on wut?

Neil: *slaps you* The Women’s World Cup, you eejit! Where have you been?

Leeyum: London mostly

Z: ☘️ gon 2 win it all thn?

Neil: Obviously! Have you seen Katie McCabe play lately?

Z: she is good u rt

Haz: What are we doing?

Neil: Right, there are 32 teams going in. Five elimination rounds. We’ll leave England and Ireland out of it, since we’re all biased there.

LouLou🍋: oh god here it comes

Neil: I’ve assigned us all six teams each. We’re playing old tour rules.

＊ Play for Keeps by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings [M, 18k, Harry/Louis]

Aside from being a supportive friend, all Louis expects from being dragged to an annual board game convention is boredom. Then, he meets Harry, and suddenly conventions aren’t as boring as he thought.

＊ Speed Dates and Slow Lanes by zita17 / @louisandtheaquarian [E, 35k, Louis/Harry]

Overworked drama TA and script reader Louis Tomlinson just wants to make it through the end of the semester unscathed when an impromptu road trip turns his relationship with his best friend and roommate Harry Styles upside down.

Basically, this is the story of what happens AFTER a pair of idiots try to become lovers.

Co-starring Harry’s vintage Mercedes named Delilah, with cameos by Shakespeare, mix tapes, Denny’s, Walmart, Frank Sinatra, Joshua Tree National Park, Harry’s crocheted bucket hat, and Louis’ mesh tank top.

Based on the prompt: "harry & louis not together but living together get into a fight, and harry goes: "get in the car” “what” “get in the car. we are going for a drive and we are not coming home until we figure this out" “harry, it’s 11pm on a tuesday” “so what. get in.” and they solve their issues and end up having to stay at a bnb cause they drove too far, and guess what yea baby there is only one bed."

＊ The Heart's Home by @homosociallyyours [T, 10k, Harry/Louis]

Louis is alone in the world, working long hours at a restaurant job that barely pays his bills, when he's roped into helping his bosses with a scheme. All he has to do is guard the special catch they've brought in, the one that they expect will bring them unbelievable wealth. But there's a problem: the creature they've caught is definitely half human, with the heart and soul of a human and the voice of an angel. Louis knows immediately that he can't let this mer-squid, Harry, become a wealthy person's dinner. As they spend more time together, growing ever closer, Louis realizes that he's got to find a way to get Harry back to his home-- the sea --even if the thought of losing him hurts and doing it means risking everything.

[hazelhearts]

You're Perfect

Niall Horan x Fem!reader

summary: when insecurities get in the way, your boyfriend is always there to make you feel like the most important person in the world

content/warnings: mentions of insecurities

word count: 609

note/request: "Could I get a Niall Horan x reader where she is sensitive but offensive about how she looks. Niall shows her he doesn't mind any look even if it looks messy or weight sensitive. Maybe he could like show her how beautiful he thinks she is. Reader would be female, light skin, brown hair, brown eyes. They could be long time friends that turn into a relationship" - anon

I stuck as closely to your request as I could without getting to specific about the readers appearance so everyone could insert themselves. I also kind of was at a loss for how to extend this since I struggle writing hurt/comfort but I hope you love it!

masterlist

Standing in front of the mirror crying was a very common thing for you. Your insecurities had always been a very big part of your life. They held you back from doing a lot of things. Currently, they were preventing you being able to leave the house.

Niall had a reservation set up for the two of you at one of your favorite restaurants to celebrate your anniversary. When he told you about it this morning, you already decided what you were going to wear.

You had impulsively bought a dress a few weeks back that you didn't really have any purpose for. You loved the way it looked on the model. It accentuated every curve perfectly and highlighted every breathtaking feature she had. But when you wore it, it did the opposite.

"Babe? You almost ready? We've gotta-" Niall's voice cut off as soon as he saw you. He slowly raked his eyes up and down your figure, his eyes darkening the longer he stared.

Your eyes immediately started watering as every thought he must be having began running through your mind. Every negative thought you had ever had about yourself sprang to the surface. Every negative emotion you've ever felt clouded your mind.

"I'm sorry, I'll change. I really thought this dress was perfect and it was but I ruined it and-" Niall pulled you into his arms suddenly, guiding your head to rest in the crook of his shoulder.

"Baby, you look amazing. You always do." You never knew that two sentences could push you over the edge, but they sure as hell did as violent sobs began wracking through your body.

Niall slowly led you over to the bed, sitting you on his lap as you continued crying. He repeated over and over how perfect you are as he rubbed soothing circles on your back.

As your sobs slowly began to die down, you raised your head just enough to look into Niall's eyes. You took the moment to study his features. Everything from his perfectly-styled hair that is usually sloppy to his gorgeous blue eyes with the faintest bit of green was engraved into your mind, a constant reminder of just how perfect he was.

"Hi." You carefully wiped your eyes, hoping to save whatever makeup was still on your face.

"Hi petal. D'ya feel any better?" You nodded, cuddling back into the crook of his neck.

"Alright then, let's get ya cozy hm?" He moved his hand towards the back of the dress, slowly starting to unzip the zipper. Your hand flew back as soon as you comprehended what was happening, pulling his hand back between the two of you.

"Ni, what're you doing? We gotta get going." He shook his head, hair flopping wildly around after he had spent so much time fixing it.

"Nope. We're gonna stay right 'ere, in this bed, cuddlin all night long." His head moved down to your chest, leaving kisses across the open skin.

"But what about the reservation?" A small pout made its way onto your face, quickly followed by Niall's thumbs smoothing out the creases and manually lifting your lips up into a smile.

"Screw the damn reservation. I'd rather be cuddled up with m'girl any day." His hand traveled back to the zipper, you no longer fighting it.

When you both finally changed into more comfortable clothes, you cuddled up in bed and turned on one of your favorite movies. Your laughs echoed all throughout the room, redirecting Niall's focus to you every time. Honestly, he would much rather watch you watch the movie than actually watch it himself. You're just so pretty.

--------

[theearlgreymage]

Or Thursday. It's fine. We're pretending yesterday wasn't real right now.

These last two weeks have been brutal to my writing schedule. Being an adult is too much. Being responsible for other humans is overwhelming.

On the positive side, I have a million ideas and plenty of WIP's!! Just need to find the time to get to them. There's FOUR snippets under the cut that I need to stop staring at and just finish.

My current baby is still Infinity In Your Chest Pocket. Chapter 3 is coming along smoothly. It should be up SOON (I'm sorry it took so long @ionlydrinkhotwater )

Snow looks like a lost puppy as he follows our group through the shopping center. Or really, follows my cousin.

It reminds me of fifth year, when we couldn't do anything without Snow sniffing around us like a blood hound. Baz was going out of his mind by Spring.

He'd come out to his family the prior summer, and while it hadn't gone terrible it also wasn't great. Uncle Malcolm tried to act like Baz had never opened his mouth. So, Baz kept his mouth shut at school. Niall and I knew, but that was it.

There were a few opportunities when Baz could have made a derisive comment to Snow about his stalking habits that year, but he never did. I've always suspected his attitude towards Snow. I know how Baz treats someone he detests, and his treatment of Snow is not that. Not that I’m dumb enough to point that out to him. 

Right now he's leading Snow around from shop to shop, acting like this is something we've always done together. As though Niall and I are just supposed to follow his lead.

Well, Niall does. They are best friends, and love shopping together. I'm more so here to carry their haul like some pack mull.

Snow has muscle, though, so when my arms start to get tired, I toss some bags his way. "Here, consider this your initiation to our group."

I swear I haven't abandoned Let's Avoid Spoilers, Darling either. The plot for this keeps shifting in my head. Originally, it was supposed to be very serious. But more and more ideas keep popping up in my head that border on crack. So I have to squash them routinely.

It’s locked. I growl, frustrated and try to turn the handle again. 

“Stop.” Baz whisper-hisses at me, getting in my personal space. 

“What are they hiding from us?” I demand. 

“I don’t know, but my future-self is going to hear us if you keep trying to force that door open.” 

Resigned, I let the door knob go. “So what do we do now?” 

Without answering, Baz grabs me by the elbow and pulls me back into the room we’re sharing. “Right now? Nothing. We can’t go sneaking around this house so openly.” 

“You think any of our future selves are going to leave us unsupervised long enough to sneak around except at night?” I ask. 

This forces Baz to pause, crossing his arms and bringing one hand up to his mouth. He does this sometimes, it’s one of his plotting faces, chews on the pad of his thumb while he thinks. 

My submission for EGF is also taking shape. Realistically, I wanted this to be a multi-chapter endeavor. But I think it's going to be a one-shot. We'll see.

I never thought that the hands that so deftly wield a sword, could be this delicate. The way Simon plucks my shirt buttons open with a smooth finesse is borderline hypnotic. He's gotten so good at it. If he really wants to, he can get a couple buttons undone without my noticing.

Normally, Simon is brute force and strength in everything that he does. But with me, it's the opposite. He treats me gently, reverently, just like I asked for when he decided to genuinely try.

When I finally feel the tips of his fingers on my newly exposed skin, it makes me shiver. The temperature contrast between us has my nerves feeling extra sensitive.

Finally, I had a random thought (and was then bribed by @ic3-que3n with their stunning artwork that I am willing to sell my soul for) to create a Witcher!SnowBaz AU. This is still in the planning process. I probably won't post anything for it until after EGF to balance my plate. So, it's just an outline for now.

Open the scene in a small desolate village at night with the streets empty 

Simon is in the middle of battling [insert dark creature] 

He defeats it easily with just a couple of scratches, nothing to be concerned about for him 

Payment is left outside the village leaders home - no words are exchanged 

Flashback Scene 

Simon on his first hunt with [insert Witcher Mentor] 

They’re explaining to Simon the real world practices of the Witcher trade 

Hunting monsters at night 

How villagers will likely not want to talk to him 

How the world relies on them to keep the monsters in the dark at bay 

Jump to next scene of Simon in a different town, talking to an innkeeper about a monster problem 

Someone tries to hire Simon as a mercenary 

Comments about Witcher’s not having emotions/feelings & only looking for coin are made 

Simon ignores them and the men  

Flashback Scene 

Simon is in the market with other young boys from Kaer Morhen 

The boys are offered coin for a small job 

End up robbing an innocent shop-keep 

Simon feels extreme guilt for his actions

While I have been spending too much time just staring at blank documents lately, I have still been writing a lot. But not alone. So I won't share pieces from them. BUT I have been role-playing with two amazingly talented individuals.

@buffy has me going feral over our snowbaz mpreg plot. It's so emotional. Has literally made me cry. I love it. We need to check our word count cause I think we’re over 40k now.

And @upuntil6am has me head over heels for our tender snowbaz a/b/o dynamic plot. It's tooth rotting sweet (for now, I swear you can trust me though) and I need more of it at all times.

We're not going to talk about the fact I need an idea for COBB still.

Thank you to @confused-bi-queer @hushed-chorus @shrekgogurt @johnwgrey and on Sunday @palimpsessed for all the tags these last few days ♥️ I do see them and they make me so happy to be included in the community of this lovely Fandom.

I'll forgo tagging back since it's. You know. Thursday.

[niall-ate-mynamee]

He's Not Heavy, He's Our Brother (part one)

Author's note: hello lovers <3

So, it's been a while, huh? I am so sorry. I have no excuses. I've been hitting writers' block for months now, and have finally overcome it! Because I've felt bad about not posting for a while, I wrote this today! It will have a second part to it, but because I have work in just over an hour, I wanted to post the first half now. I've combined the above two prompts that I received in July, so please let me know what you think! I will be writing the next part when I get home tonight, and will have it up either tomorrow or Sunday! Thank you for being patient with me and sticking by me, I love you guys <3

TRIGGER WARNINGS: bad language, sexual harassment, drug use, drugs, non-consensual touching, non-consensual drugging, attempted non-con/rape.

Characters: Niall Horan, Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles, Liam Payne, Original Male/Female Characters

Word count: 1632

Hope you enjoy!! :) please let me know what you think! :)

P.s. the lads are NOT famous in this one :)

21 year old Niall Horan had been working at The NightLife Club for a few months now, along with his best friend Louis Tomlinson, 25. Their other best friends Harry Styles, 20, and Liam Payne, 23, were frequent customers, always coming in on the night's Niall and Louis were working, knowing they'd get at least an hour or so after their shift to have some fun together. Not that they didn't have fun anyway, because Louis was always cracking jokes and the four were found huddled around the bar every second they had spare in between serving drinks.

Niall loved his job, most of the time. Of course, working in a night club in the middle of London wasn't always smooth going. He'd dealt with a lot of drunken men, thrice his age, trying to hit on him or touch him in places nobody besides his future partner should even think about even looking at. Thankfully, his three best friends rarely leave him alone for five minutes, meaning he's always got his boys protecting him.

He had met Louis first, just a few hours after he moved into the flat he was renting, a little over a year ago now. The older lad was his neighbour, he lived in the flat opposite Niall, and the two hit it off instantly. Then, he was introduced to Liam and Harry, who also lived in the flat block, three floors below. The four were instant friends, and they were rarely apart. Niall couldn't believe how lucky he was. When he moved from the small town in Ireland where he was born, to London, he never expected to make friends within twelve hours of his flight landing, but he'd never change anything about his life. Moving to England had been the best thing he ever did, and he adored his best friends, who were more like brothers to him, more than anything in the world (besides his family, of course).

When Louis told him about the server position going at the club he worked in, Niall jumped at the chance for a change in jobs and immediately applied. His managers, Frank and Tucker, seemed to take to him very quickly, and he was basically offered the job on the spot. The lad could've cried in happiness. He had a job he loved, with his best friend, and he had a pretty decent amount of money behind him. He thought his life was amazing and didn't think anything could stop him.

Until it did.

It was approaching 11PM, the time when Niall and Louis' shifts would end, and they planned to stay at the club to have some fun with Harry and Liam, before the place closed at 1AM and they decided to go home, or, well, to one of their flats for some more drinks and movies, as their Friday and Saturday nights tradition, and tonight wouldn't be any different, or so they thought.

Five minutes before he was due to clock off, Niall was approached by his manager, Frank, who was barely taller than Niall. "Could you just go serve that gentleman over there for me before you go, please? He's been giving Anna a hard time." Frank asked him, bent close so Niall could hear him. The Irish lad glanced to where Frank was pointing, and after seeing Anna, his 19 year old co-worker, shaking her head in disgust, he nodded and made his way over. Once he arrived, he put a hand on Anna's shoulder and gently pulled her back with a quiet, 'I've got this,' and was rewarded with a relieved smile from the young woman as she hurried away.

"What can I get for you, mate?" Niall asked as professionally as he could, while wanting to smack this man's smug face. He held eye contact and stood as tall as he could, beginning to get bad vibes from this man.

"Your number." He smirked, and Niall resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "And a look at that ass."

"Sorry, mate, no can do with either of those. It's a drink or the door, your choice." Niall bit back immediately, really not wanting to deal with this…at least he could clock off once he's finished with this man, though. He's definitely needing a few drinks after this customer.

"I'll take a vodka and coke then, handsome." The man eventually replied, still smirking as he leaned forward against the bar, getting even closer to Niall as he did. Niall nodded and, after catching Harry's eyes a few feet away, he smiled and turned away to get the drink, when all of a sudden, he felt a hand slap his backside and he gasped, swinging around in a panic.

Before he could say anything, Harry was there and shoving the man aside. "Don't touch him, you creep!" The younger man exclaimed, which caught the attention of Louis and Frank, who both hurried over.

"What's going on?" Frank asked, at the same time as Louis asked, "Ni, you alright?" Niall just nodded, melting back into Louis' chest as his older friend wrapped his arms around him.

"Chill out, mate," The man was talking, holding his hands up as if surrendering, "I'm sorry, okay? Just a spur of the moment kinda thing, yeah? Won't happen again."

Harry huffed, not liking the man, but not wanting to cause a scene, especially when his best friends work there and wouldn't want him in any trouble. "If I see you so much as even look in his direction again…" He let the threat hang heavy before letting him go, very slightly shoving him.

When the man walked to the other side of the room, Niall let out a breath and slumped. "Thanks, Hazza." He smiled gratefully, which Harry returned with a grin of his own.

"Always got your back, Nialler." Both lads grinned at one another as Frank put a hand on Niall's shoulder and smiled gently at him.

"Go clock out, Niall, you and Louis go enjoy a few songs, drinks are on me tonight." Their manager said, and Louis whooped while Niall gave the older man a quick hug.

"You're the best, Frank, thank you!" He laughed as he pulled away, before turning to Louis, "Race you to the back!" He yelled, quickly running ahead with Louis cackling behind. Frank just shook his head, before continuing with work.

-----

McFly's Obviously was thumping through the speakers as Niall, Louis, Liam and Harry drank, danced, laughed and sung to their heart's content. It's been nearly an hour since the incident at the bar, and it seemed like the lads had put it behind them. Niall didn't see the point in being cautious or nervous now, because in his mind, the guy was gone and he could fully enjoy the night with his brothers. They've all had a fair few drinks now, since Frank had said they were free for them, so they said screw it to their usual limitations and simply drank, Niall had definitely had more than the others, but they wouldn't try and stop his fun now, they could tell he had been shaken up by the incident, so wanting him to have some fun.

That would all be coming to an end soon, though.

When Niall announced he was off to get another drink, the lads nodded and continued jumping around to the music. Niall laughed as he watched Liam's poor attempt at the robot, resulting in him nearly tripping over as his shoes caught a tiny lip in the floor. Heading over the bar, Niall caught sight of Damien, a 31 year old who had started at the club a few weeks ago. "Usual, Niall?" The man smirked, already pouring the drink before Niall could talk. As it happened, the younger man nodded and laughed, taking the drink as it was handed over.

"Thanks, Damien!" He called over his shoulder as he began making his way back to his friends, before bumping into someone. "Shit, sorry, mate!" He apologised, looking up and freezing as he saw the drunk from earlier. "Um, I, uh, sorry…I'll just be…" He was cut off as the guy grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards an empty corridor. "HEY! Let me go!" He cried, using his other hand to try and pry at the tight grip on his bruising wrist.

"Shut up!" The man growled, just as the two ended up in a small room, which Niall recognised as the spare storage room. "First you reject me, then you get your little friend on me, and now you bump into me? I've had it with your type!" He was ranting, slamming the door closed and blocking it with an empty shelving unit. "You pretty kids, thinking you're better than everyone else. I'm sick of it!"

Niall was terrified now, his drunken mind sobering as he finally realised the situation he was now in. "P-please…I'm s-sorry, please don't h-hurt me." He whimpered, trying in vain to get up and away from this creep. It didn't work. Niall watched as the man, who had a clear bottle of something, grabbed his chin and began pouring whatever the drink was down his throat. Niall felt it burn and began choking, trying to spit up whatever it was.

"Swallow it!" The man screamed in his face, making sure the entire bottle was empty before waiting for the effects to start. Once the drug kicked in, a few seconds later, Niall was losing all strength and could no longer think straight, vision blurring and head spinning. He no longer felt in control of his body. "Perfect," The man smirked, "Just how I've wanted you since the second I saw you…I can't wait to finally get a taste of you…"

Niall knew no more.

Author's note: I haven't proof read this, so if you spot any mistakes, please let me know! See you this weekend for part two! <3

[wellthatwasaletdown]

Hi this is about where Harry said about a flat tummy. It was in Heat magazine in the UK in 2011. It was a print article and not online - but I’ve linked a contemporaneous tumblr quote of it. There’s also some tumblrs reacting to the interview at that time.

He’s asked his favourite body part on a girl and he said “a flat smooth stomach is always nice”. He also mentions that most of his girl friends have been blonde, but a good brunette is always nice.

It’s so funny to read the older, non guarded, interviews. He comes across as cheesy, cringy and not a gender neutral pronoun in sight.

##########

Thanks, anon. Your link was to another blog, and I didn't want to send trolls there. I looked for another source but couldn't find one, so I'm just going to paste the transcript here. If anyone remembers this interview or has a link to it somewhere else, please provide it.

Also, massive grain of salt. It is a transcript of an interview that was supposedly done with Heat Magazine. The original blog who transcribed it deactivated in 2012:

Heat interview with Harry Styles... WEEK FIVE

Heat: What's your nickname?

Harry: Curly.

Heat: Loves?

Harry: Sleep and food. I like fine dining, like at The Ivy - the shepherd's pie there is unbelievable.

Heat: Hates?

Harry: Smoking, drugs, Niall's farting.

Heat: Favourite position?

Harry: Missionary? No, I'm joking.

Heat: Describe yourself naked in just three words...

Harry: A bit disappointing.

Heat: If you were invisible for the day what would you do?

Harry: I'd like to say something cool, but I'd probably run into a girls' changing room at least once.

Heat: Blonde, brunette or redhead?

Harry: Any, really. Most of my girlfriends have been blonde, but a good brunette is always nice.

Heat: Legs, boobs or bum?

Harry: All of them. But I'm more into legs and bums.

Heat: Skinny or curvy?

Harry: Curvy, so there's more to grab on to!

Heat: When did you have your first kiss and who was it with?

Harry: I can't actually remember... I think it was with a girl at school when I was 11.

Heat: Do you have any distinguishing marks on your body?

Harry: I've got four nipples. I think I must have been a twin, but the other one went away and left its nipples behind.

Heat: When were you last naked?

Harry: This morning after my shower, then twice afterwards. [Smiles.] I like these questions - they're a lot more daring then we're used to.

Heat: Do you prefer being single or in a relationship?

Harry: I don't know. I do quite like having a girlfriend as it's nice to have someone to spoil.

Heat: Have you ever dumped anyone by text or e-mail?

Harry: If I said "no", I feel like I would be lying. I think I've done it on the phone.

Heat: What's your favourite part of a girl's body?

Harry: Well, a flat, smooth stomach is always nice.

Heat: Where would you take heat on a date?

Harry: Wherever heat would like to go. Maybe we'd go to The Ivy as the food's nice there and it's got a good atmosphere.

Heat: And what would we have for pudding?

Harry: I don't know. Whatever "afters" she'd let me [give her]!

Heat: Rate yourself out of ten for looks, personality and sense of humour...

Harry: For looks, I'll give myself a generous seven. Personality-wise, I'll go for eight, because I'm a hoot! I have an extremely morbid tone, which is very good for being sarcastic. [Laughs.] And as far as a sense of humour goes, I'll give myself a nine.

[zephfair]

Love your fics so much!! I'm a softie so i would love it if we'd get a real soft/funny one again 😇 maybe pynch going to the carnival and ronan fucking everything up until they are finally in the ferris wheel or so? 🤣🙏🏻 i love everything you write though, it was just an idea 😊

Hello, Beautiful Anon! Thank you so much for reading my stuff, and I’m very happy that you enjoy it! Here’s a little something for you that I really hope is soft and funny!😘💖

I haven’t revisited the guys from my crack-filled baby Will You Accept This Rose? But this prompt reminded me of a scene from there and a little daydream that Ronan had. So it’s an AU in that world, set in the summer after they’re on The Bachelorette.

There was something wrong with Adam. Ronan wouldn’t say that he was the most perceptive person, but he was reasonably sure that Adam was annoyed and not having a good time, and Ronan honestly didn’t know what he’d done wrong.

They’d been living happily ever after, enough, since The Bachelorette had filmed and even more happily in public since it aired. Things weren’t perfect, but Ronan was cautiously optimistic that they’d make it, or at least, they’d be together, ‘til death did them part, if he had his way.

He’d thought it would be fun to take Adam back to Virginia for a long weekend, not only to show him the Barns but mostly because he—Adam, that is, not Ronan because he, Ronan, certainly did not care if he ever saw Blue and her fiendish family again—would get to spend time with Blue and her diabolical mothers and cousins.

When Gansey, Blue and Henry found out about the plan, they’d excitedly decided to take off and join them, although Ronan was positive that they needed very little excuse to visit Henrietta.

That relationship was still going strong and heavy, even though Ronan had zero interest and didn’t care at all what the threesome was up to, and he’d deny being the first to check the group chat any time one of them had a thought they just had to share.

So the first day had gone fine, even though Adam confided in Ronan that he just wasn’t fully comfortable being back in Virginia. Ronan knew the broad reason why, didn’t have to question anything about Adam’s former family, reassured Adam that they’d stick to Blue’s crazy family home or the bed and breakfast so there’d be no risk of him running into anyone he didn’t want to see.

But then Ronan had a bright idea and asked the three stooges if he could have Adam to himself on Saturday afternoon, so they relented.

Ronan’s bright idea was the Rockingham County Fair, a week-long celebration of local livestock, youth farming and greasy fried foods supplemented with games and carnival rides. His family had usually visited one day a year, and Ronan had run from stall to stall goggling at the animals then begging Aurora for food and Niall for a ride on the Krazy Karts.

Those were happy memories, of which Ronan didn’t always have a lot. He treasured in particular the one year he’d goaded Dicklan into eating a daring amount of various colored cotton candies and then taken to the swirling teacups, ending in Dicklan spewing a veritable rainbow of spew. Too bad Matthew had been a sympathetic vomiter and ended up doing the same, crying until Aurora declared they’d had enough and were going home.

The staged date during Blue’s season of The Bachelorette had reminded Ronan of a very weak version and made him long for the hot, humid authenticity of the county fair.

So, he’d thought that Adam would enjoy it just like he always had. He’d been trying since they started dating to fill in the gaps in Adam’s education of guilt-free fun, and the county fair seemed like just the thing.

But Adam was pissy from the time Ronan joined him in the car outside the B&B.

“You’re wearing that,” Adam said, eyeballing Ronan’s tank top and torn jeans.

“Yeah. You look very handsome too,” Ronan said, grinning at him and leaning over for a kiss, but Adam turned his face in time so he only smacked his lips on smooth, shaven cheek.

“Lynch, where are we going?”

“Told you, it’s a surprise,” was all Ronan continued to say until they were parking in one of the fields around the fairgrounds.

“The county fair,” Adam stated in a very calm, very inflectionless tone that Ronan had learned to be wary of.

“We always had so much fun here as kids. I thought you’d have a blast.”

Adam got out of the car and slammed the door. Ronan got out and joined him cautiously. Adam was just standing, shading his eyes from the hot sun, glaring out at the chaos of the fair.

“Adam?” Ronan finally asked quietly, wanting to reach out but afraid that Adam would rebuff his touch.

“You told me we were going somewhere nice.”

“Well,” Ronan gestured broadly at the scene in front of them. “It is nice.”

“I asked you how I should dress for your surprise destination, and you told me, and I quote, ‘I’m taking you somewhere really fucking nice, Parrish.’”

“That does sound like me,” he admitted.

Adam rounded on him. “So I dressed like this because I thought we were going somewhere a lot fancier.”

Ronan looked up and down his freshly pressed khakis, blue-checked button-down short-sleeve shirt, and nice shiny brown shoes. “And you look great.”

“And you look like a damn carny yourself,” Adam gritted out.

“You’re gorgeous,” Ronan insisted, stepping closer and slowly reaching out a hand to go around Adam’s waist, but Adam made his fear a reality and stepped away.

“Come on then, Lynch. Let’s do this,” and he stalked toward the gates. Ronan shrugged off his disappointment and followed.

To his surprise, Adam didn’t even put up a token protest at the gate, let Ronan pay for admittance and buy a buttload of tickets for the rides and games.

The fair was crowded since it was a weekend, and after a brief glare from Adam, Ronan shrugged and led them toward the midway, dodging around kids and hurrying past old people.

Usually when they walked, Adam was right beside him so Ronan would take his hand or put his arm around his waist. But now, Adam hung a step behind. When Ronan stopped, he caught up, but kept his distance even when Ronan held out his hand, feeling like a child reaching out to a parent for a loving gesture.

“Why won’t you hold my fucking hand?” Ronan asked, stunned by the rejection.

Adam stepped closer long enough to hiss, “We’re in rural buttfuck Virginia. You can’t just walk around holding another man’s hand.”

“Why the fuck not?” Ronan asked, honestly bewildered for a moment.

Adam rolled his eyes and started walking. “You live in your own fantasyland, Lynch.”

“What the fuck?” Ronan said, just loud enough for a passing mother to shoot him a glare worthy of Adam.

Ronan shuffled after him as Adam practically stomped down the midway, glancing at then spurning one game booth after the other. Ronan finally grabbed his shoulder, but let go as soon as Adam spun on him, and said meekly, “Let’s play a game.”

“These are all rigged. You’re never going to win anything.”

“Let me try,” Ronan all but begged and pushed from his mind the thought that he sounded like he was wheedling a parent.

He remembered the fake fair on the show, when Blue was being wooed and all the men were vying for her attention by winning the games and presenting her with the prizes.

One look at Adam’s thunderous face, and Ronan knew it would take a lot of woo to change his mood.

“What about this one?” Ronan gestured to the nearest one.

Adam sniffed and made no attempt to lower his voice. “All those goldfish are dead,” he announced, and one little kid who was throwing ping-pong balls at the fishbowls burst into tears.

Ronan grabbed Adam’s elbow and escorted him down a couple booths. “How about this? I can throw a baseball.”

“Those bottles are rigged and weighted so they won’t fall over. You’re just wasting your money.”

The carnival employee now joined in the glares at him and Adam, so Ronan kept them moving.

“Here. I’ll buy a ticket for the raffle—”

“That’s just gambling, Lynch. You're wasting money because the house always wins.”

“All right,” Ronan said slowly, backing away from another group of angry looking employees. “Why don’t we go check out the rides?”

But Adam wasn’t interested in any of the carnival rides. As they slowly wandered past, he tutted at the Krazy Karts, poo-poohed at the Whiplash, and openly called into question the safety inspections that enabled any of the rides, especially the Scrambler, to operate legally.

Luckily for Ronan, the ride operators weren’t close enough to hear him complain about how unsafe they looked, although a few people waiting in the lines looked at each other and then left.

Ronan face-palmed while Adam was stalking toward the Pirate Ship to flay it with his scorn. There was something very wrong with Adam, and not only did Ronan not know what it was, now he was scared to ask.

They’d walked through most of the carnival side of the fairgrounds when Ronan smelled his savior—delicious frying dough.

He hurried in front of Adam and tried to steer him toward the food booths. “Let’s get something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” Adam informed him.

“C’mon, I want to buy you a funnel cake.”

“I don’t want any damned fried foods.”

“How about a hot dog? Ice cream? Cotton candy?”

“No.”

Ronan sighed. “I need a drink. I’m getting a homemade lemonade.”

Adam didn’t say anything as Ronan stood in line for two ice-cold drinks, but stood in the shade of one of the pavilions, arms crossed over his chest, angry at the world in general and, apparently, Ronan in particular.

He did accept the lemonade, and he deigned to sit at a picnic table while Ronan scarfed down some fries.

“I know the food looks shitty, but it’s really good. They have a great barbecue sandwich. I’d be happy to get—”

“No, Lynch” and that was that.

Some very loud exhaust and engine noises began to draw Ronan’s attention from the near distance. “I, uh, think there’s a tractor-pull today, if you want?”

“No, I do not want.”

When Ronan took his last fry, he brushed off his hands and said, “There weren’t any tickets for the concert tonight, but it’s some shitty country band. But if—”

“No.”

Ronan sighed. There were just the animal barns left, and they would’ve seen entire the fair at record speed. The evening wasn’t going anything like he’d planned, but he didn’t know what to do to change it.

“Do you, uh, wanna see the animals and shit? And then we’ll go?”

Adam at last seemed to relent a little. “I guess we can see some animals shit.”

“Cool,” Ronan stood then realized, “I’m going to the portapotty. I’ll be right back.”

It took a little while to find Adam after he’d pissed. Adam was waiting near one of the fair’s information stands and gazing toward the animal barns.

Ronan very carefully did not slide his arm around Adam or touch him casually like he always did. He did walk up to his good side and say, “You ready to go pet some cows and sheep?”

“Yes,” Adam said with the most beatific smile that should’ve immediately put Ronan on his guard. “You love animals, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do. They’re better than people. Well, most of them,” Ronan smiled guilelessly back.

“Good. I thought so. I signed you up for an animal-related event,” Adam’s smile slowly deepened into diabolical.

“Oh. Okay.” Ronan was shocked, but moreso that Adam had decided to participate rather than the look on his face. “Uh, what is it?”

And that was how Ronan was entered into the annual pig chase. It was an event that organizers guaranteed would not injure or harm the pig, but they made no such promises for the humans.

Ronan looked at the corral specially wetted down so the mud was thick and sloshy. He looked over at the squealing piglets that glistened with some kind of oil. He looked at Adam who was leaning on the outside of the fence, beaming beautifully.

He would do this, only for Adam.

When the whistle blew, the piglets were released into the corral where a group of children, teens and Ronan waited. The goal was simple: catch a piglet and carry it successfully to the gate.

The reality was much more brutal. The piglets ran and cut and squealed in all directions. The humans tried to run, then fell, then barely got to their feet before slipping again into the squelching mud.

Ronan swore under his breath as he dove for one piglet slowing down, but it stopped and he overshot, diving to the mud face-first. He never even got a finger on the tiny pink back.

He rolled over, struggled to his feet and tried again. The kids were screaming, the teenagers were hooting and hollering, and the piglets were having the times of their lives in the filth.

“You sliding, slippery little mud fucker,” Ronan told another piglet as he got his hands around its belly, only for it to squirt out of his grip and land safely in the mud to go on its way.

“Language!” a familiar voice yelled from the sideline. Ronan looked up and rubbed some sweat off his forehead as he found Adam—Adam who had his cell phone pointed directly at Ronan. Ronan was sure he was filming, so he gave him the finger. Several parental-looking people yelled at him then.

He went back to the chase, but both the humans and pigs were definitely slowing down, and Ronan didn’t even swear when a piglet swerved away from him right as he leaned down, making him fall on his side in the mud again.

Finally, a wiry little girl who looked suspiciously clean compared to the rest of them managed to capture a piglet and carry it, struggling, up to the gate. She was declared the winner, and the rest of them were allowed to leave the corral with as much pride as they could muster, and as much mud as they could carry.

Adam was still beaming when Ronan climbed over the fence beside him. “Oh Lynch, that was a sight I’ll never forget.”

Ronan looked down at his mud-soaked clothes and the brown streaks already drying on his arms and chest. “Joke’s on you. You have to smell me the rest of the night.”

Adam’s smile fell just a little. Then a fair organizer hurried over and bustled them away to an area set up behind the nearby barns. There were several faucets and the race participants were splashing away happily.

Ronan waited his turn and did what he could with the cool water and a tiny sliver of soap someone handed him. When he turned Adam was holding something out. “That nice lady gave this to you.”

Ronan stripped off his tank top and threw it right into the trash. Then he opened the bright purple T-shirt bragging “I’m a Big Oink, I Squealed in the 96th Annual Pig Chase, Rockingham Co. Fair.” Ronan closed his eyes against the monstrosity and breathed a silent prayer for patience then dragged it on.

At least his humiliation at the tiny hooves of the piglets seemed to have warmed Adam to him. It was Adam who suggested they visit the 4H barns where they admired cows, horses, goats and sheep, since Ronan had declined to see any more pigs.

Adam even smiled normally at the petting zoo, but he didn’t suggest they join in.

The sun was starting to go down when the feedback shrieks and rumbles announced that the opening band was getting ready to take the main grandstand stage.

“You sure you don’t want me to find a scalper, get some tickets for the concert?”

“Nah, I’m not a fan of country music anyway,” Adam said, as he slowed and walked beside Ronan.

Ronan sighed. “I’m really sorry.”

“About what?”

“About...everything. I’m sorry I ruined your whole day.”

Adam walked beside him in silence until they got back to the rides. “I didn’t say you ruined my day,” Adam said finally, his voice almost startling Ronan. “What do you say to one more ride and then we’ll leave?”

That did startle Ronan. “Sure. Which one?”

“You still have those tickets?” When Ronan nodded, Adam led them to the Ferris wheel, where the line was much shorter as people flocked to the grandstand.

They tucked into a car and started a slow journey to the top. Ronan leaned forward against the rail, making the cart sway mournfully. “I’m sorry I’m such a shitty date. I thought it’d be fun. I really fucked this up.”

“I wasn’t my best either,” Adam admitted. “I never wanted to come back to Virginia, and I certainly didn’t want to come to a very public fair in the very county where my parents still live. I didn’t want to ever risk coming in contact with them again, and you brought me back here, right to the busiest event in the area. Not that we ever came to the fair when I was a kid,” he said after a moment’s thought.

Ronan lay his head down on his arms on the rail. Sure, he hadn’t known exactly what town Adam was from, but he couldn’t believe he’d made such a horrible mistake.

“I’m sorry,” Ronan said. “I should’ve asked you first, or at least told you what I planned. Then you could’ve told me the problem, and we could’ve avoided all of this.”

“Or I could’ve just come out and told you before we even got to Virginia,” Ronan thought he saw Adam thaw a little bit. “I have pretty awful memories of this place, and I really don’t want to run into anyone that I knew before. They weren’t the ones to take kindly to someone being gay or bi on national TV.”

“Shit,” Ronan said and he suddenly understood a lot more about Adam. And if he privately vowed to never let anyone lay a finger on Adam or he’d send them to meet their maker, well, that was between him and the Lord. If Adam even flinched near a stranger, Ronan would take care of them.

“To be honest, I’ll never be thrilled to be back in Virginia, and really, nothing was going to make me happy today. Although, watching you chase that pig came close,” Adam said with a dreamy smile of remembrance. “Oh that reminds me!”

Ronan had to shut his eyes while Adam played a voice mail that was one minute straight of Blue’s uncontrollable laughter, gasping for breath, more laughing, another loud gasp and then “Oh thank you, that’s the best thing I’ve ever seen.” And Gansey’s voice saying, “I feel bad for the pig, though.”

“Which one?” Henry asked and Blue lost it again.

“It’s nice to know who your friends are,” Ronan grumbled, unsurprised that Adam had sent the video to their friends already.

Adam nudged him pointedly. “Are you considering me your friend?”

“I was until you made me wrestle that pig.”

“I made you chase and catch a pig. You did the wrestling all by yourself. And then you got beat by a little girl.” Adam laughed for the first time that day.

That sound was enough to perk Ronan back up. He sat up and took in the view around them. The sun was almost down behind the mountains, the sky a rich gold and red, with darkness slowly overtaking the brilliant colors. The din and smell of the fair was less up in the air, and the bright lights of the midway sparkled instead of looking cheap and dingy.

They’d made it to the top of the Ferris wheel and it stopped as usual so each car could have a moment at the apex.

“Thanks for coming with me anyway, Parrish. I’ll take you some place better next time.”

Adam reached over and took Ronan’s hand. “I’ll hold you to that, Lynch.”

Ronan smiled at him. Adam leaned over and kissed him. Ronan just had time to bring up a hand and cup Adam’s face before he pulled away, and the Ferris wheel moved down, letting another couple have the place of honor.

Adam was still smiling at him. “You smell like shit,” he said affectionately.

Ronan sniffed but his nose had long given up and surrendered to the olfactory onslaught. “Take me back to the B&B and shower me,” he said.

“How about we grab some pizza and ice cream, get into our nice air conditioned room, you take a long shower and then we eat?”

“Deal.”

On the way out, Adam held his hand, and squeezed until he made Ronan stop at one more stall, a BB gun game. Adam took aim and four quick zings out of five shots, he’d won.

He smiled widely and picked the big, pink, stuffed pig. Which he presented to Ronan. “So you can always remember your defeat,” he said.

Ronan sighed. He’d wash the T-shirt and put it on the pig. It seemed appropriate. And it would make Adam laugh again.

“We’re OK, Ronan,” Adam slipped his hand into Ronan’s again. “Now take me and Wilbur somewhere cool and less stinky.”

Ronan brought their hands up to kiss Adam’s knuckles and obeyed.

[facewithoutheart]

Behind the Writing

I’m cleaning out my drafts so here, have some Meta about “This Will All Go Down In Flames”. At some point there was meant to be more but I can’t remember what… after the break for spoilers.

Social Media: other than the TMZ/Buzzfeed background relationship, you can read the social media posts as something either Simon or Baz is reading and reacting to. That’s why they peter out during intense emotional scenes, like the first time Simon and Baz have sex and right before their final performance with Dev and Niall as The Watford Goats.

The Final Sex Scene: resolves some lingering threads from the story, with Baz finally accepting Simon’s forgiveness and Simon finally understanding that he has value outside his ability to give to others. You may note that Simon keeps saying “you want this” and Baz keeps saying “you” because they still aren’t on the same wavelength. Simon doesn’t realize until his falling asleep what it’s all meant: that Baz wants him, just him, no fame. Baz has always wanted him. And it starts to heal that part of Simon that sought love in sex for all those years.

Cues: I love that @cutestkilla caught this; how Baz and Simon’s comfort in their relationship is evidenced by their increasing ability to read each other’s small expressions and body language. You can even see it compared to Dev and Niall, who always seem to be perfectly in sync. This culminates in that last scene, first that they’re sitting so their tattoos perfectly align, and also in Shepard commenting on it. They’ve fully come into themselves as a couple. Clearly the road trip worked!

Baz’s Anxiety: stems from the pressure of being two very famous musicians. This isn’t something Malcolm and Natasha do on purpose, but he’s been in the spotlight since birth. He’s afraid of letting anyone get close to him; Dev’s a cousin and Niall’s Dev’s best friend which are the reasons Baz let’s them in. It’s probably the source of his conflict with Simon at first: the distrust he’d feel having some poor kid as his roommate. I imagine Baz has had various household staff sell family secrets to the tabloids. By the time Baz realizes he can trust Simon, it’s damage done and also probably unrequited crush territory. The night Simon defends Baz turns their relationship because Baz learns he can not only trust Simon but also depend on him. Plus, Simon makes him laugh, which is not a small feat for Baz.

I also imagine that there’s more to the story for why Ebb brings Seb back to Baz. I think it’s possible that Baz has a very private breakdown when Simon leaves and that’s when he and Ebb get close. Seb becomes a helpful tool in Baz’s recovery, and Natasha and Malcolm go through therapy of their own to figure out how to help Baz. There’s probably a big come to Jesus family meeting where they talk about how to help Baz, which is probably another reason why Fiona so tightly scripts Baz’s life. Baz comes off as a diva because of it, but it’s all to protect his mental health. Does Baz get therapy? Probably some, but not to the extent Simon does. Baz still has some internalized shame about his anxiety. But I think he’ll get regular help in the future.

Simon’s Backstory: I honestly wrote half of this fic before it dawned on me that I hadn’t figured this out. But Simon’s father is a Labour MP and rising politics star when his side piece gets clingy. So he dumps her, and she finds out she’s pregnant afterward but never tells him. She does write him a letter, asking him to take care of their son in case of emergency. When she dies in childbirth, he gets the letter. And then puts Simon up for adoption. He ends up with a few different families that, for reasons outside of Simon, never work out. And he tries so hard to be understanding but it really feeds his low self esteem. He ends up at Watford through connections his dad makes and from then on it’s fairly smooth sailing. He’s got friends and Penny (although I really feel bad this fic lacks her influence). And then he has Baz, and things are great. Until they’re not. I think it’s probably Penny who steers him to America. Maybe she’s following Micah to college though they don’t end up working out. Anyway. Davy! He sends a letter when TWG hits it big asking Simon to play at a fundraiser.

[1d1195]

Not an eldest daughter week :( those are always the worst. I can definitely relate to that so I know how hard it can be to set boundaries! It’s truly never as easy as it seems even if you end up doing that. But at least you're trying, which is always something! It will work in the long run! But yeah I can’t imagine having to be in a ‘helping’ mode 24/7 because although you may enjoy it and are nice/helpful at heart there are sadly some people who will always take advantage of that. But I'm glad you are trying though! Hopefully the week doesn’t end up being way too much for you <3

I don’t have anything planned for the summer lol Maybe a few concerts that I'm still debating on going but nothing truly exciting lol But the drag show last night was so fun! The queens were amazing and they are just so talented! It was for sure a break I needed lol And you’re so real about the sad songs not hitting. My current ones are mainly from The Marias new album Submarine. But for me that make me a bit sad are Sienna, Echo,Paranoia, If Only, No One Noticed,Blur and probably others but those are the main ones lol Oh and this isn't a new one but Liability by Lorde has reentered into my brain which is wild considering I was fixating on this song the summer before my first year of college soooo idk what that means lol

No bestie you are SO right about leather jackets 😭 The things i would do if given a chance is absolutely horrendous lol

Are you a gel polish girl or an acrylic girl? But at least that’s something even though that lady was kinda wild for sighing lol I desperately need my eyebrows done too! I simply have just not made the effort to do them lately and they are so gross lol YAY TO ALMOST BEING FINISHED!!! I'm very excited for you! Also the way you triggered my own traumatizing math class that was also a 3rd period HAHA I don’t blame you for needing a break because teens are such menaces, you're so strong for having to deal with them!!

ALMOST THE END OF MY TRADITIONAL BABIES?!?! This is so tragic but I know they are obvs not going away forever lol But yeah I love reading through his POV and I think that you do it so well!

Don’t be embarrassed!l, I'm sure anyone given the chance to go down on Harry like THAT would! I know I would 😭All I kept think while reading it was WHEN WILL IT BE ME!😭It was so hot and I love that for them lol

I will probably be a bit MIA during finals week :( I'M already dreading missing our little chats! You are so kind! I love you so much and I wish you the best!! I hope you have the loveliest start to your break!!-💜

Unfortunately I think I'm taken advantage of all the time. It's pretty much my own fault and it's just gotten worse over the years. I saw a post on here not too long ago that was something like "If I can't be wanted, I'll be needed. If I'm not needed then let me be used until there's nothing left." ☠ Oops. I'm working on the boundaries thing. But I think I'm truly just a victim to weaponized incompetence. I feel like the people in my life are getting stupider, and I know that's mean but I really don't know what else to chalk it up to.

ANYWAY I was way less stressed than I thought I was going to be. Monday was the busiest/most stressful so it was really smooth sailing after that. I also have nothing planned for the summer! Just Niall, visiting family, and more work. I like doing nothing though lol.

Gel polish all the way. I write and type too much for acrylics and I know you CAN do those things with acrylic but I'm like very rough and tumble if you will. All my t-shirts have holes in them. My shoes are always scuffed. My books are so well loved when I read them because I'm just like "whatever" I am gentler on electronics fortunately but nonetheless.

I yelled at one of my 14-year-old students to keep his hands to himself and he was like "what did I even do?" and I was like "Bro? You put your friend in a headlock?????" Teen boys are so stupid. I saw this thing that Montessori (like of the school) said something along the lines of preteens and teens should be in the field/farm because their brains are so wild at that time and then they can come back to the classroom once they've calmed down. Normally, I would disagree but like idk how to reprimand "why can't I put my friend in a headlock?" So ridiculous. They didn't teach me that in college at all.

I know! Maybe something else will come to me about them but planned, I only have a few things left. (I suppose I could just write a whole bunch of extras about going down on Harry if I run out of ideas🤭)

I know you're going to do well on your finals, but good luck anyway! You're almost there! Glad the drag show was fun and I hope you have more fun things planned to break up your studying! 💕

xoxo

[dedicated-family]

About The Blogger

Hi there! Welcome to my blog, which is dedicated to One Direction! I’ve really been missing them recently, so I thought, what better way to fill the void in my heart than to reconnect with the fans of them?

So, if you were wondering, my name is Robbie. But I also go by Ava or egg if you prefer to call me one of those. I use any pronouns and I’m 22 years old as of January 30th. I live in Pennsylvania in the United States and I’ve lived here all my life.

Now, onto the stuff you really care about! The stuff about One Direction! I joined the fandom in the late summer of 2011, so I was 9 years old. I was introduced to them by my sister and our cousin. I remember them telling me that I couldn’t just like them because I thought they were cute, but I had to like them because of who they were as people. They showed me the music video for What Makes You Beautiful and I was instantly hooked on them.

I’ve always been a Louis! I love all the boys, but he has my heart and probably always will. As of 8/29/24 my favorites in order are Louis, Niall, Harry, Liam, Zayn. I put Zayn last mostly because I’m not really up to date with what he’s been up to. To be honest, I was very upset for a long time about how things went with the boys. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still a bit salty. But I’m truly trying to get over that because I know it’s been a long time and that things with the boys, at least from what we’ve heard, seemed to be smoothed over a bit.

I’ve been to 3 One Direction concerts. During Take Me Home, I went to the Hershey, PA concert with my sister, cousin, and our aunt. In Where We Are, I went to the Philadelphia, PA concert with my mom, sister, and her friend. And for On the Road Again, I went to the Columbus, Ohio concert with my mom and sister. And in case you’re curious, I also went to a Louis Tomlinson concert in 2022 in Indianapolis, Indiana.

As far as favorite album goes, it’s very hard for me to pick. Up All Night brings me the most nostalgia while Made In the A.M. I think is the best musically. However, I believe that Midnight Memories has the most bops on it. But I’m totally willing to hear your thoughts on your favorites! My favorite song honestly can change by the day, so I won’t bother updating you every time it changes lol.

I hope you enjoy the content I post and that you join me on my journey to reconnect with the family of fans that I’ve missed so dearly.

We can live forever!

[queenofgraveyards]

is ivy going to run into anymore of harry’s ex’s? i kinda want to know what he was on dates and like his best pickup line was, i also hate his ex-fiancée! i read about how some love the friendship with zayn and niall!!!!! sorry i am all over the place😬

not planned for it actually! maybe it’ll be a blurb or something his other ex’s apart from Rebekah with a k h are all actually very normal and have moved on so they’d be happy to see that Harry’s happy too and I think that would be cute but u know ivy…always jealous so she’d defo get in her head about it all which would provide very cute soft reassuring daddy h content so 🤔 ugh I also WOULD kill to know what he was like and I think he’s one of those guys who if he’s not 100% all in for you he’s really smooth and doesn’t have any nerves bc eh whatever happens happens but like when he really likes the girl he’s all nervous n dorky just like he was and still is lol with ivy! and that’s also what made him easy target for Rebekah with a k h bc she was able to recognise he was very into her ☹️ and yah I hope everyone loves zayn n nialls friendships with ivy bc I really cherish them!!!

[cherievol6]

mum’s night out

new dad!harry !!!!!!!!!!!! my favourite

Harry wants you to have a night off from mummy duties

word count: around 800

warnings: tiny bit of swearing but that’s it. just cuteness upon cuteness. not edited rly

.

Harry's lax grin that hasn't even changed a single bit since you first met him is spread across his cheeks, a twinkle in his eye as he watches you walk past him on the sofa. Your tiny baby girl rests on his chest and it makes your heart tingle, seeing him being so domestic with her.

"You've got to be joking."

You must admit, you'd picked out your glad rags for this party you were going to, so it might have been a shock for Harry to see you dressed in anything but sick-stain T-shirts and joggers.

"Oh, didn’t see you there." You say faux-whimsically, grinning and running a hand down your hip to smooth the black dress down your body. You like to refer to this as your Bridget Jones dress, because you'd snatched it off the rack in a charity shop when it reminded you of the one she wore in the film.

"M’sure you didn’t.” He teases. “Where did you pull that little number from, eh?" Harry drawls, eyes shamelessly skirting up and down your body as you fiddle with your bag to retrieve your lipstick.

"Oh this old thing? Charity shop in town. 8.99." You grin, and Harry throws his head back in a laugh, quieting himself when he accidentally jostles the baby with his shaking shoulders.

"I'll have to write the person who donated that dress a very long thank you note. Possibly with a gift." He winks, rising from his seat and gently placing the sleeping baby down in the cot to the side of the room, one you kept down there so you could watch her whilst you cleaned (you were a paranoid first-time mum).

"Oh shush. I just needed something to wear for this party. It's the nicest thing I own next to those leggings with the unknown stain.” You snort.

"I like those leggings.” He hums. “But I love this even more, baby." He slinks over to you, tone low as he skirts a hand just to the base of your spine.

"You're not allowed to flirt with me when our daughter is a few feet away." You scold, lifting an eyebrow but placing your hands against his chest anyway.

"I can't help it. Her mum just looks so fucking good—" his face hovers to the side of yours as his lips ghost over your cheek, leaving a tender kiss there. "how can I convince you to stay home, hm?"

You shake your head and laugh, trying to push him away as he grins cheekily. "No! This is my first night out in ages. I need a drink, babe."

"And who was the one who decided last time she was supposed to go for a drink that she just couldn't bear the thought of leaving her baby girl for more than twenty minutes, hm?"

It was true. Your first night out after her birth, you spent ten minutes crying at your makeup table whilst Harry consoled you with a bewildered look, coaxing you to get yourself ready and trying to push you out of the door so you could have a break from being a newborn mum just for a night. You called him twenty minutes after getting to the bar in tears and asked if he would come and get you, which of course he did, and you barrelled through the door to embrace your child.

"You're no better! You rang me every ten minutes when you were golfing with Niall to check that she was okay. And then you skipped the last nine holes to come home!"

Harry's fingers pinch your hips, "oi. I don't like missing feeding time!"

You kiss him sweetly and run a hand through his unruly curls, "I know. I know. You're a good dad."

"You're a better mum. That's why—" he pries your hands away and clasps them, turning you towards the door by your hips, "you need to go and have some you-time. We'll still be here when you get back, and then you can snuggle her all you want. And me, if you're feeling generous." He winks, swatting you on the bum.

"Okay, okay. I'm going." You sigh, grabbing your bag and sweeping over the cot, blowing a gentle air kiss to your daughter and running a gentle finger over her cheek before turning to your husband.

"I'll see you later, baby." You mumble, smearing your lips over his and watching him wink from the door as you jog to your friend's car that idles in the driveway.

.

"Lovie?" Harry's voice sighs apprehensively through the phone forty minutes later, the tv blaring in the background. He’d had hope that you would stay out at least a little bit longer tonight. You’d beat the record by twenty minutes…

"Hey. H..." you pause. Harry knows exactly what's coming.

“She’s fine, y’know. Fast asleep next to her daddy.”

"Good.” You swallow. “S’loud here. I think the alcohol is giving me a headache, or something. I think I might need to get to bed.” Your voice is timid.

“Ready for bed already?” He asks pointedly.

"Mhm." Your voice is nothing convincing.

There's a long pause as Harry glances over to where your baby sleeps peacefully. He silently thanks the Gods that you were graced with a heavy-sleeping baby, so it would be easy to manoeuvre her into a car seat.

"We'll be there soon. Hang tight, honey."

.

[arctickat2400]

Stress & Cheering Up <> Harry Styles

* * *

Y/N/N = Your Nickname

You’ve been very stressed lately, and the boys were not helping. You’ve been going out of your mind trying to get your story done for your creative writing class, but the boys were being a bit too loud for you to concentrate. Not to mention you’re 5 months pregnant, you feel much more anxious and insecure than usual, and the baby’s been kicking so much throughout the night to where you can barely get any sleep. Meaning, you were exhausted as it is, and that plus the boys loud, obnoxious messing around made you want to scream, cry, pull your hair out, all at the same time.

You’re sitting at the kitchen bar by the living room where Harry, Niall, Louis, Liam, Ashton, Luke, Michael, and Calum were hanging out. Why they had to hang out today, and here at yours and Harry’s house, doesn’t make sense to you, but you couldn’t do anything about it. Trying to work on your story, you were having too much of a hard time doing so as the loud noises in the room behind you started to make your head hurt.

You were distracted by your thoughts until Louis popped up next to you, making you jump slightly. “Hey, Y/N, what percent is your phone on? My phone’s almost dead and I forgot a charger,” He asked, gesturing to your iPhone that was connected to your charger which was connected to your laptop.

You check your phone, just barely moving your head towards him in order to minimize the pain in your head. “82. Have at it,” You murmur quietly, but with an annoyed tone. It wasn’t directed to him or anyone else in particular really. You just had a ton on your mind and life was driving you crazy. You unplugged your charger from your phone and laptop, placing it in front of him before he took it along with a charging box and left back for the living room, not missing your scrunched up expression.

“What’s with her?” Louis asked Harry as he joined his friends. He just had to ask the question. All the boys turned toward Harry for answers. They could all tell you had stuff going on. But boys could be very stupid and ignorant sometimes, and this was just one of those times.

“”She’s just been really stressed lately. She’s going crazy trying to get her story done and she hardly gets any sleep these days ‘coz the baby keeps her up at night,” Harry answers, looking over to his wife sympathetically. He wished there was something he could do for you, make life easier, or at least manageable. The boys nod in understanding, feeling a bit sympathetic themselves. They’ve loved you ever since Harry met you several years ago. You were like a little sister to them, although sometimes you’d be more of a mother figure when the many, many situations occurred.

The boys continued to talk, laughing about who knows what about who knows who, when you jump in surprise as Harry’s hands wrap around your waist. You relax, knowing it was him, as he smooths his hands over your protruding belly, rubbing over the sore spots with his thumbs.

“[Are] You doing okay, baby?” Harry questions, placing kisses over your shoulder. You breathe in and out deeply a few times before answering, trying to calm yourself down so as not to be short with him like you hated that you were with Louis.

You offer him a small, forced smile, even though he could see through the pain in your expression. “Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Go hang out with your friends. I know it’s been awhile since you’ve all been able to hang out outside of your music and such,” You tell him. He knew you weren’t fine, though. But, it seemed you just needed your alone time.

“Baby, why don’t you go upstairs? It’ll be quieter up there. I can make you something and bring it up when it’s ready,” Harry suggested. But, that didn’t seem like an option to you.

“No, no, it’s okay. I’m afraid if I go upstairs, I’ll see the bed and then I’ll lay down and then I won’t get any work done, so I need to be here.” You replied, leaning back in your chair, relishing in the feel of your husband’s hands on your belly.

“Okay, well just let me know if I can do anything for you and I’ll tell the boys to keep it down,” Harry mentioned, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Just before Harry pulled his hands from you to walk back to the living room, “Hey, Y/N/N…” You both hear the troubled voice that was Calum. You sigh heavily, knowing something went wrong. You look to the side and see Calum with your charger in his hands.

“I guess you could say we were playing around and Niall tripped over your chord and it broke,” You look down at the chord and see that it was split in the middle. How you didn’t hear all that commotion was beyond you.

You feel tears sting your eyes as you reach out for the chord, taking it from Calum as you hear him and the rest of the boys in the living room say, “Sorry Y/N.”

You didn’t have the energy to do anything about it. Once Calum walked away, the tears began spilling down your cheeks as you let your head fall back against Harry’s shoulder. You felt his arm wrap gently, but comfortingly tighter around your waist. You could feel his movements as he silently sent the boys outside to the backyard. He wraps his other arms around you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Baby, I’m so sorry. I really wish there was something I could do to help you. Please, what can I do? Anything and everything,” Harry almost begged as you could feel his lips move against your head. You sniffle as you cover his hands with yours over your belly.

“I don’t know. I feel like I just need to sleep. But, I’m afraid I won’t be able to and I really just need to get this story done. And I feel really hungry, but also not. I need help, Harry,” You cry out softly to Harry as he turns you around and holds you in his arms.

Harry thinks about ways he could help you and decides that he’ll make you some brownies, knowing they’re your favorite, and to get you to relax, to convince you to take a break. It was hard, but after some compromising, he allows you to attempt a bit more at writing while he makes the brownies. Once in the oven, Harry decides that you’re done writing for the day and closes your laptop. He helps you from the barstool, wrapping an arm around your waist, the other holding your hand as he helps you upstairs to your room.

Settling you in bed, Harry makes the room as dark as possible, helping you get comfy, piling pillows and big, fluffy blankets on and around you. He turns on the tv, handing you the remote so you could choose what you want to watch as he turns the fan on so you wouldn’t get too hot.

Just as Harry was about to walk out of the room, “Harry, where are you going? Can you stay with me?” You request, pulling a smile from him.

“Of course, baby girl. I’m just gonna go tell the boys to come back another time, alright? I’ll be right back,” Harry answers her, kissing her forehead before leaving.

Soon enough, Harry comes back with the tray of brownies in his hands, knowing that his girl could eat a whole tray if she wanted to, so this way you had the option. You were eating for two, so no one could judge. You smiled when he walked through the door, and he was happy he was able to get a real, genuine smile from you, no matter how small.

Placing the brownies in front of you, Harry curls up next to you as you turn on an episode of Friends. While you eat and watch, Harry snuggles up beside you and gently lays his head above your belly, placing a kiss there, wrapping his arms around your waist, holding you close as he massages your sore tummy.

One thing was for sure, you could always count on Harry to make you feel better, no matter what.

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: VII

Sunflower, my eyes

Want you more than a melody

Let me inside

Wish I could get to know you

Sunflower Vol. 6, Harry Styles

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

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

word count: 26.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because surprises are fun.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not like you have standards.”

“Hey!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s debatable.” Xander corrects. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s the point.” 

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

“Your dick’s probably small, anyways.” 

“Bigger than yours.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

���Oh, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

Y/N isn’t lost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, you’re not.”

“Oh yes, I am.”

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

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

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

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

“You’re disgustingly conceited.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“Thrown away.”

“No.”

“Folded up and tucked under the bed?”

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

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

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

[havin-a-wee]

can you make a frat boy harry x reader where the boys were at hazs stepdads house (yeah they are famous too) and youve been hazs gf for a while and you and harry went out to skinny dip around midnight while the boys were watching a movie and then like a um scene where the girl would get eaten and stuff please?? sorry if its a bit confusing lln

Soaked

warnings: oral, female receiving 

word count: 1.4k

send me a request!

check out this new one shot i wrote, A Lifetime Of You

im so sorry this took so long! i changed it up slightly but i hope you like it!

also i would really really appreciate it if you checked out A Lifetime Of You (linked above) its my first one shot that isn’t a request!

“There she is!” 

You were greeted by the sweet voice of your long-term boyfriend, Harry, and you bounded into the movie room, taking a seat beside him. The chairs were large and velvet, and it didn’t take much time to get comfy in your seat.

“So we can start the movie now?” Zayn peeked his head behind his chair, looking at you and Harry for approval. The two of you nodded simultaneously and he turned back to the large screen in front of him.

You always loved spending time at Harry’s stepdad’s house, mostly because he was absolutely loaded with money. The in-home theater you were situated in was only one of many amenities that his California mansion had to offer, and it was a nice change from the small off-campus flat you shared with your roommate. Harry, Niall, Liam, Louis, and Zayn all lived together in their frat house. It was great for Harry because he was living with his best mates, but both of you sort of wished you could live together. 

The familiar Disney intro played out on the screen and it slowly faded to the movie, which was Tangled tonight. 

The big chair was a lot comfier than you had remembered, and you found yourself dozing off within the first fifteen minutes of the movie. Harry adjusted himself to allow you to lean on him while you slept, his warm body providing a comfortable and safe feeling.

----------

“Bubs? Y’awake?” 

You stirred slightly, your eyelids still heavy from the nap you had just been woken from. “Mhm” Your confirmation was muffled by the sweatshirt Harry was wearing that you had your face buried in. You let out a small whine of protest as Harry moved to stand up, towering over your curled-up body.

“Baby, the movies over, the boys already went t’bed.” You managed to lift your weary eyes at Harry’s words and gave him a meek smile. 

“Sorry I slept through it,” you whispered, just loud enough for Harry to hear.

“Nonsense, I love cuddlin’ with y’babe.” His reassurance gave you butterflies, your body fully awake now although your actions weren’t reflecting that. “M’actually thinkin’ we could go fo’ a swim, know how much y’love swimmin’ at night.” Your entire head perked up at his suggestion, especially because he was always too tired to go for late-night swims. 

You jumped up excitedly, causing Harry to step backward in shock. He chuckled at your quick change in mood and wrapped his arm around your waist, guiding you to the door. 

You ignored the tired aching of your muscles as Harry guided you to the pool. You turned to him in confusion, stopping his movement as well as yours. “Wait, we need swimsuits, Harry.” He just looked down at you and smirked, shaking his head before continuing to guide you outside. It took you a second to understand, but once you did a giddy feeling erupted in your tummy.

Soon enough the two of you were stripping naked beside the pool, leaving your clothes on a white lounge chair that sat by the pool. A loud splash made you whip your head around, only to see Harry’s face bobbing above the water at the deep end of the pool. You laughed as he smiled dopily at you, clearly very pleased with himself.

“Babe, c’mere, sit on the edge f’me.” He had swum to the edge of the pool, patting on the tile that bordered the edge of the water. 

You pouted slightly, wishing you could get in the water with him, but you obeyed nonetheless. You sat down on the smooth surface, the freezing tile causing goosebumps to cover your bum. Your knees were pulled up to your chest, and you peered over them to look at Harry in the pool in front of you.

His large hands grabbed your calves, the metal of his rings pressing into your skin. He moved your legs to hang over the edge and into the water, a small shiver wracking your body at the cold temperature. 

“Before y’swim w’me, will ye’ lemme get a taste of yeh? Been wantin’ this all day long.” His action finally made sense, and a wave of heat rolled through your body due to his dirty words. That heat was directed straight to your core, which was already quite wet from watching Harry undress earlier. 

“Yes, please Har,” you breathed out. He had this effect on you like no other man had ever had, and it was hitting you like a truck. 

His hands met your calves again, spreading your legs apart at an agonizingly slow pace. He was at a place in the water where he could stand perfectly well, and his head was at just the right level to put his mouth on you. He dipped his head in, starting by leaving small kisses on the sensitive flesh of the inside of your thighs. He sucked and bit over certain areas, ensuring that there would be a mark left there. “Love tasting yeh,” he spoke between each kiss he placed. “so much angel,” He breathed heavily before going back down, his kisses getting closer and closer to where you need him most. “Y’taste so sweet, y’know tha’?” 

“Harry, please,” your words were choppy and breathy, your lungs having trouble keeping air as pleasure rolled through you. 

“Please what love? Tell me what y’want bubs.”

“Want- I want your mouth..” Your words trailed off at the end because you were cut off by Harry’s harsh sucking on your clit. He had finally placed his mouth on your heat and you mewled at the feeling. Harry moaned in harmony with you, and you could feel the vibrations of his noises hitting your swollen button

“Fuck, just like that-” Your hand made its way to Harry’s chocolate brown curls, gripping down on them harshly. His hands rubbed on the outer portion of your thighs and you threw your head back in pleasure, placing your arms behind you to keep you from falling over.

His tongue moved from its place on your clit and dipped into you. He caressed your soft walls with his mouth, lapping up everything you had to offer. He lifted his head from you for a brief moment, sucking in a deep breath. “Y’always so good f’me, such a good girl.” His mouth found its place back on your core, his tongue dipping in and out of you as if he hadn’t eaten in a year.

His nose bumped your clit and you groaned loudly, prompting him to repeat the motion. Your legs were shaking around his head when he brought his attention back to your clit, sucking and nibbling on it softly. 

“H, I- I’m close, shit,” you whined, cursing when he applied a short burst of hard pressure onto your sensitive nub. You could tell your words encouraged him, his mouth working even faster than it had been. 

“Come for me Y/N, all over m’tongue.” It only took a few more seconds before you were sent tumbling over the edge, the knot in your stomach releasing and tingles ran through your body. Harry worked you down from your high, slowing his movement until coming to a complete stop. 

After a few minutes, his head was no longer between your thighs, and he rested his head on the tile next to you as both of you attempted to catch your breath. 

The tingling in your body had finally subsided enough that you could speak, so you turned to Harry and he did the same. “So that was your plan all along?” You smirked and pushed his shoulder playfully, eliciting a laugh from him.

“Well, it worked didn’t it?” You were the one to laugh this time, running your hands through his hair as he smiled up at you. You swiftly slipped yourself into the pool, giving your body a moment to adjust before turning to your boyfriend. He turned towards you as well, tucking some wet hair behind your ear to keep it out of your face. You leaned in for a kiss, but you were interrupted.

“You guys didn’t tell me you were going swimming!” Niall’s voice vibrated through your eardrums and your eyes widened in panic. Niall walked through the glass door and smiled at the two of you, unable to see anything but your faces. He turned his head and pointed towards the beach chair, his head tilting in confusion. “Hey, aren’t these the clothes.. oh.” His eyes opened wide and his cheeks flushed pink at the realization of what you were doing there. “I’ll just-” He pointed to the glass door behind him and ran in quickly, not allowing you or Harry to say anything. 

After you were sure that Niall was gone, you turned to each other at the exact same time and burst out in a fit of laughter. 

[jawllines]

So when he rolled up to the nurse’s station at 6PM just before she gave report to night shift, a stolen pudding cup in hand and cheeks rosy from the cold chill of Gibby’s hospital room. Harry grins at her, “Let me drive you to my place, yeah? I’m making dinner tonight.” 

Her brows raise, a smile teases her mouth as she finishes writing down a cheat sheet for each room that she can give to the nurse coming in (she’s a bit new, and doesn’t know the flow of the floor very well yet, so Y/N tries to help when she can) “Yeah? Didn’t know you could cook.”

A gasp leaves him, “Oi, of course I can cook! I could make a Sunday roast that would put any Nan on the block to shame.” 

or

Y/N gets everything she’s ever wanted (Harry does too) 

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

part 6

vii.

“Holy fuck.” 

Y/N had been equal parts nervous and excited when Harry invited her to his flat, a mere four days after they returned from Sweden. In all their time together, and in what they had gone through in the past few months, Y/N had not even so much as been extended the offer to go to his flat, let alone actually be privy to it. To no fault of his own -- Y/N reckons that the last thing on his mind was a tour of his home when someone was threatening to rob their company blind and murder his boss -- but that never meant she wasn’t curious. 

She was excited because she thrived off visiting people’s places for the first time and learning what their decorating techniques consisted of. Ever since they’d started chatting past the nurse/family relationship, Y/N had been intrigued to know what his place looked like, and would even theorize about it sometimes if she had a moment to spare. Harry had very offhandedly mentioned that he had a Tanuki statue stationed to the right of his door as soon as you walked in, and Y/N (who also had a Tanuki statue) had her interest piqued immediately. Did she and Harry have similar decorating styles or just equivalent odd taste in staple items? Was that his only piece of decoration? 

Some boys she considered complete psychopaths and had barren walls besides maybe a flag or a singular sports poster -- that’s why she’s nervous. Hell, she’d love him all the same if he was repping a Manchester football poster but visiting his flat would be a bit of a struggle.  

So when he rolled up to the nurse’s station at 6PM just before she gave report to night shift, a stolen pudding cup in hand and cheeks rosy from the cold chill of Gibby’s hospital room. Harry grins at her, “Let me drive you to my place, yeah? I’m making dinner tonight.” 

Her brows raise, a smile teases her mouth as she finishes writing down a cheat sheet for each room that she can give to the nurse coming in (she’s a bit new, and doesn’t know the flow of the floor very well yet, so Y/N tries to help when she can) “Yeah? Didn’t know you could cook.”

A gasp leaves him, “Oi, of course I can cook! I could make a Sunday roast that would put any Nan on the block to shame.” 

“Better watch your mouth, Miss. Gregory has a keen sense of hearing and would beg to differ.” She clicks her pen shut, looking up to where he was leaning against the counter, “I’ll let you drive me, yeah, but can we stop by my place so I can grab Ubbe and a change of clothes? Reckon you don’t want the scent of hospital clouding your flat.” 

‘Yes we can stop to grab Ubbe, no you may not grab any clothes. Want you in mine.” 

Y/N pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, fixing a response for him in her head but Johnathan just about trips over himself with a convenience store cappuccino and a reusable grocery bag with his lunch, “I’m so sorry m’late, my bloody dog decided he was going to wee on my scrubs.” 

“Well, I hope you changed out of them.” Harry notes and Y/N snorts, rolling her eyes before she rolls her chair over to him and starts her shift report. 

Things had been calm since they returned from Sweden. Or as calm as they can be post-kidnapping, attempted murder, gang fiasco they had encountered there. When Y/N saw Gibson after it had happened, he pulled her into his body closely and squeezed her tight enough that she had a bit of trouble breathing. Y/N couldn’t lie, she was immensely happy to see him, and despite what she had learned about his relationship between him and his son, she let herself enjoy the cuddle.  Even the kiss that he pushed to her temple, before holding tight on her shoulders, “I am not a man who fears many things,” he had started slowly, “Nor am I a man who cares about many things, but you -- I care about you,” he cradles her cheeks in his palms, patting it gently, “I’m glad you’re safe.” 

Gibson -- just as Harry -- had a knack for making her feel like a very important addition to their lives. He was relieved to know that she would be his main nurse for the day, and Y/N it’s so he could keep an eye on her. She couldn’t fault him for it though because she beckons Harry around so that she can keep an eye on him. Niall doesn’t think anything is out of the ordinary regarding it, since they usually traveled in something short of a pack. The only reference to the night before that he made (other than asking about her hand, which she had promptly explained that she drunkenly broke a vase and tried to clean it up with her hands) was squeezing her shoulders and uttering, “Champagne turns you into a lightweight, ey? Harry treat you right?” Harry smiled a bit to himself and Y/N cleared her throat, tucking the hair behind her ear. 

“Tucked me in, got me water, nursed my hangover, the whole nine.” 

Niall patted Harry on the shoulder, “Nice then, mate. Hear one thing about you hurtin’ her and I’ll have to do ya in.”

Harry pouted, “What’s with all the threats my way?”

The night before had felt surreal; a bad, hyper-realistic dream that stuck with her like syrup to a plate. There wasn’t much on the agenda for them since the wedding had passed so they all kind of lingered in Niall and Gibson’s room. They ordered room service, rented a horror film (Gibson was something short of a horror buff, it turned out), and relaxed for the first time in a very long time. It felt like everyone had collectively let out a sigh (apart from Niall, who remained blissfully unaware and fast asleep most of the day). 

Harry allowed the others to love upon her for a majority of the time they spent in Gibson’s room. She alternated from being close to where Gibson sat, to leaning against Mickey, and hell she even hung out with Niall a bit when he bothered to wake up. The only bits alone they had together were when she would take Ubbe out for a wee, which normally Mickey might want to accompany her during, but Harry was insistent that he be the one. Had practically pushed her over attempting to get up before Mickey could even think to say that he wanted to go, which he later apologized for. 

“I just. . .it won’t be like this for long, but I just -- I wanna be near you, y’know?” 

She did know -- because she didn’t want him out of her sight. The few moments that she had to spend, leaving him behind with someone who would ( did) harm him given the chance -- she couldn’t stand it. Could have crawled out of her skin even -- and she knows he must have felt the same, if not worse. Y/N was even more thankful now than ever that they were sharing a hotel room. 

Because by the end of the night, when Y/N gave Gibson his nighttime meds, tucked Niall in, and pecked a kiss to Mickey’s scruffy cheek -- they got to flee together. Popped open the door to their room, Ubbe ran in first and beat them to the bed, and Harry suggested a cheeky shower together which -- well, Y/N said if he didn’t mind her in a shower cap (she couldn’t be arsed to wash her hair) then they could go right ahead and do it. 

So they did, and Y/N doesn’t think she’s ever been this close with someone before. She helps him tie a plastic baggy over his thigh so that the bandage didn’t get wet before she changed it, and in turn, he helped her tie her own around her hand, “It’s good that I’m here, hm? How else would you clean this arm if you didn’t have me?” 

“Niall is dexterous enough.” She teased him. 

“I can assure you that I’m far more adept with my fingers than Niall.” 

Nothing but bare, smooth skin that their hungry eyes drink each other in. Harry had a lot of tattoos and she can’t help but outline them with her gaze, though she does attempt not to let them wander too far downward -- she would feel bad to stare at his bits, even if he was getting a good look at hers. She did take a whack at his peachy bottom when he leaned over to turn the shower on, and he squeaked, putting his hand over it palm outward, “Aish, that hurt!” Y/N went for him again, a little harder on the other cheek until he straightened out and pivoted, looking at her with furrowed brows, “I’ll spank your bum, see how you like it.” 

(Y/N reckons she would like it.) 

The shower had been good; it was hot, steamy, and they hadn’t even done anything sexual. They just enjoyed one another, soaked in the hot pelts of water against their skin as they both took turns with who was in the direct line of the water. Harry cleaned her, sudsed her up with strawberry-scented soap, and made her all bubbly before nudging her back into the water. He sang obnoxiously loud, ticked her when he could, and he did get her back with a few swats on her wet bum, leaving a resounding smack that bounced off the walls in an echo. She had fun, and when he bent down to slide their lips together for an innocent little peck, she was over the moon. 

It was just good to be with him, and she was happy that her feelings were finally able to be expressed. And he had almost immediately quelled her worries when she thought that maybe this was just a Sweden thing -- maybe they would go home, Harry would not feel the need to be around her constantly since the initial threat had been dealt with and he could go on about his normal life. When she really thought about it, she was sort of just a wrench in his normal plans -- an unnecessary addition and disruption, having accidentally gotten involved in their whole scenario. 

But almost as soon as they landed, an hour or two after they had all parted ways to unpack and destress, Harry rang her phone and when she answered she got a, “I don’t think m’quite ready to not be around you 24/7 -- can I come over?” 

With a grin that threatened to split her cheeks, she told him to hurry up. 

While things were calm now, Y/N still strayed from going out too late at night or lollygagging when she went on her walks with Ubbe. She’s cautious still, of course, but it doesn’t feel like she has to keep looking over her shoulder. They were still taking care of some things, tying off the problem with a nice, neat little bow, and figuring out the semantics of what Elias had left behind with the people he’d hired. From what she understood they were paying them off with a suitable amount to make sure whatever they had discovered or heard wouldn’t be discussed, along with the looming threat that they had actually kidnapped her, and they shouldn’t be a problem any longer. Especially given the fact that they had no emotional ties to the whole situation. 

There were still a few questions she might have and confusion on some parts of what happened, but Harry opens up and explains it to her if she asks him anything.

And now she was outside his flat, after climbing seven flights of steps with an ecstatic Ubbe who was beside himself with the new smells. It was a nice area -- a rich one, at that -- the kind of place that she would press her nose up against the window glass as they pass, before looking it up later and realizing that it’s a month’s salary for rent alone. The outer exterior was all sleek and white, about a thousand windows that decorated the building and peered into the lives of the residents. There were balconies as well, each flat had one and from where she could see when they were driving around it toward the parking garage, they were evenly spaced far apart from each other. Which she reasoned that they would be decently large on the inside. 

They could have taken the elevator but Y/N felt too guilty to drag Ubbe in when there was an older woman and her friends stepping in, so they took the stairs.  When Y/N had suggested it she hadn’t known he was on the seventh fucking floor, but she trudged up and huffed every time he giggled and teased her, even though he huffed and puffed himself. 

He was quick with his keys, the slide of the teeth into the lock was smooth and clicked in a fluid motion that she envied (she had to jiggle and jangle her own), but he paused before he twisted the knob, and turned toward her, “Listen -- this is. . .new for me. I don’t invite people over ever . . .not even like hookups or anything, so other than the movers and the occasional Mitch  -- nobody else has been here. This is my own little safe space, y’know, I try not to sully it with all the shite I’m in but you -- I just can’t get the thought of you in here out of my head. Needed to see it for myself.”

Her heart was full upon entry, which she hadn’t known if that was his intent or if he just needed her to know beforehand that he wasn’t used to having other people in his flat and he might be a little squirrely. Either or, she leaned forward and nudged her forehead against his shoulder (her hands were full with a wriggling Ubbe so at the time it had been her only option to show affection). She was still a little nervous about initiating the kisses -- Harry was typically the one to initiate it and Y/N melts into them. 

Harry opened his door and Y/N was almost immediately greeted with the beloved Racoon dog statue. He told her to go ahead and let Ubbe run amuck (he was her good boy though, he wouldn’t climb any couches or beds without explicitly being told he was allowed to) as she was looking around the small foyer-like entrance. Right away she could tell that Harry had somewhat of an eye for interior design -- everything was cohesive in color and sense of style, he easily put her flat to shame. The sofa was facing away from the door and loveseat was caddy corner to it, both large, and a light grey that looked incredibly pricey but lived on -- there were blankets rumpled atop of it like he might have napped there, the pillows only kind of positioned correctly on the couch. They sat on a rug that is a lighter grey in tone, atop of smooth pine flooring. Behind the sofa, there was a dark console table that stretched along the length of it with a modern square lamp on either end. To the left at the end of the couch, he had an electric fireplace installed into a wall of what appeared to be marble, and above it his tv was fixed to the wall, far bigger than what she was used to. His coffee table looked like it was made of black glass, magazines and books were halfheartedly thrown in the middle. 

But what really takes her, that she’s trying to drink in entirely, is the wall of windows that is opposite of where she stood. It was clearly the way to the balcony that looked far larger than it did from the car, the panes of glass were so clear that she would probably slam right into them. They only stopped when it reached the kitchen, because of its open concept she could see it from where she stood and it was all sleek, marble counters and black appliances that all looked incredibly new. There was an island counter with bar stools that she reckons he eats at. On the opposite end of the flat, there was a hallway that she believes led to what she presumes was the rooms and bathrooms. 

“Holy fuck.” That’s where she was now, her brows raised as she turned to face him, “We’ve been at my crowded, old, rickety flat when you’ve had this just laying around?” 

His brows furrow deeply, “Oi, I love your flat. It’s cozy and comfortable, don’t you dare talk about her like that.” 

Y/N is too enamored with what she’s seeing to pay much mind to his words. She’s looking around with her face permanently stuck with her lips in an ‘o’ as she looks up and around, taking in the artwork that he had chosen, how it smelled like him, the way it appeared well lived in yet still pristine and polished, “If I lived here, I reckon I wouldn’t leave,” she continues, reaching out, letting her fingertips stroke against the couch wondering how the material could just feel expensive, “I’d be one of those nurses that answers panicked calls from parents at like 3AM ‘cos their kid sneezed.” 

A snort leaves him, but he shakes his head all the same, “S’not that great. Gets a bit lonely.” Her face is pressed against the cool glass of the windows, looking out on the dazzling lights that twinkle from the city below them, but his words and the sad inflection in his voice drags her from it. She turns to face him, where he’s setting his things down on his coffee table before sliding up beside her, “It looks much better with you stalking around it though.” 

She laughs, leaning her head against his shoulder, “I’ll come stalk about whenever you want then.” 

Harry maneuvers them, kisses his teeth to garner her attention before stealing her lips in a kiss when she turns to face him. Her nose scrunches up and she giggles -- he’d let his facial hair grow out some, and it tickled her face when he pressed their mouths together. She sinks into it though as she always does, and Harry can only kiss her for a few moments before he begins to smile against her, and withdraws, “Christ,” he pecks another kiss against her mouth, “Alright, I’ll show you how to operate my shower, and I’ll have some clothes out for you to change into. Will you teach me how I should wash your scrubs?” 

His bathroom is just as modern and seemingly hi-tech as the rest of his flat. He surpasses the one in the hall in favor of taking her to his own through the master bedroom, which has a Hilma af Klint painting (he and Mitch have similar tastes), a bed the size of a room that she’d grown up in (it felt like at the very least) that was made, with a black comforter and about thirty thousand pillows. The headboard was large, rectangular, and a dark stained wood that his other furniture matched. Across from his bed, there is another TV affixed to the wall, with a screen saver of a night sky during a thunderstorm. It smells like lavender and Harry -- she’s comforted by it. 

There’s a sleek, black tub, an entirely separate shower that came straight from the ceiling, his sink counter is large -- like, several people could keep their morning and nightly skincare routines on there. He shows her how to use the shower (there was a fucking touch screen on the wall that she used to decide the settings), makes a cheeky joke about watching her undress before he left her be to shower. 

It was unlike any showering experience she’d ever had before. He showed her the rainfall setting, gave her a spare loofah to scrub with and he let her use the rose-scented body soap he had a huge container full of. She scrubbed her skin raw, washed away every bit of the day. Harry had told her there was a surprise about the towel when she was finished, which she was soon to find that he had a heated rack. The towel is warm, big, and soft as she wraps it around her body, and she finds that he had left her some clothes to change into. It was a grey soft, worn Harley Davidson shirt and sweatpants. Y/N wriggled them on and left the bathroom. Harry told her he would be in the living room, so she ventured out from his bathroom, but she pauses when her eyes flicker across his dresser. 

Set on his drawer chest, there was a photo frame that made her heart swell. 

Y/N very vaguely remembers taking it -- the night of the bonfire, when she was scared to be alone and that man who’d been following her turned up at the park when she was there. Harry had come to get her, made her feel safe and soft. It was the first night she had met everyone, hung out with them, drank with them until she got sleepy, and managed to slump into Harry’s body. She remembers being lulled to sleep by the steady drum of his heart, how nice it sounded, how warm she felt, and she remembered how he accommodated her body with his arm around her while he let her rest. All of that she remembers quite vividly, however, the picture that was taken is what she has to dig through her thoughts to be reminded of. It was right after Harry had woken her up, called her snoozy, and patted her bum before letting her lean against him so they could walk to the car. Just before they had started their venture to the car, she remembers Mickey stopping them, having been trigger happy with a camera the entire night. 

“Big smiles! This one’s for the books.” 

Y/N’s eyes shut and she smiled sleepily, her fingers thrown in a peace sign and Harry grinned wide, a dimple dotting his cheek. The ember glow of the fire outlines them in an orange-ish tint as the flash illuminates them in the night, and Y/N wonders what possessed either of them to wear ripped jeans when she was almost certain that night it was below freezing. 

“Tha’s my favorite photo,” Harry’s voice rings from behind her and she nearly startled out of her skin, turning her head to look at him, the frame in hand, “Mickey gave it to me like a month or two after he had developed it, I thought we were right cute.” 

“We are,” she thumbs the wooden frame, the ridges dabbing into her skin, “This is the night you first stayed at my flat.” 

“After you practically tore me a new one for suggesting otherwise,” his chin hooks on her shoulder, nose dipping into the curve of her throat, “You look nice in my clothes.” 

“Reckon?” She leans back, melting into his touch, “They’re very soft, kinda feels like cuddling with you. Guess if I have your shirts I don’t have to bother with the body and your freezing toes.” 

“Oi,” he grumbles, sliding his arms around her waist, “Be nice, Pet, or I’ll take ‘em right back. Besides, clothes can’t pet on you, or feed Ubbe, or even turn on the godforsaken vampire film or cook dinner.” 

A gasp leaves her as she spun in his arms, “You put on Twilight?” 

“Of course I did, you wouldn’t shut up about it before, which had me wondering if I remembered it correctly. Figure after you we eat and you tell me about all the gross shite you had to deal with today, we could watch it.” 

It was true -- on the way to his flat, she had not so subtly mentioned that it felt like she was being invited into a vampire’s home before delving into a scene by scene explanation of the better half of Twilight. Harry had openly admitted to not really liking the film but he let’s her rant and rave anyway, even offered his commentary on what he did remember from it. Y/N thinks it’s the first time anyone other than her mother let her express the teenage nostalgia that still resonated with her and the movies as a whole. 

And for him to put it on for them to watch? In his beautiful flat that smelled like him? Where she would be fed, be able to chat about her day with someone other than Ubbe, feel warm and happy? She couldn’t think of a better way to spend her time. 

“As long as we can cuddle, I think this might be the perfect night.” She tells him and he rolls his eyes playfully, teasing her with a squeeze at her ticklish sides. 

“Of course, we’re going to cuddle. You think I spent the last four months pining after you, just for us not to cuddle?” 

Y/N lets her eyes flutter shut, leans into him, and smiles.