#actually I think I’m being perfectly reasonable and rational this time around ignoring the fact that I. always think that

[tacit-semantics]

Women love me for my overtly compulsive behavior

[kobakova]

Dragon Age and how it addresses oppression

ok so disclaimer this is not the rewrite of the Elven pantheon (the thing I keep promising I know I’m terrible) however it is an introduction to it and basically the reason why I feel the need to rewrite it in the first place! It’s a bit wordy, but I hope you take the time to read through it, as it took a lot of time and effort and I would super appreciate it! Today I stumbled upon a tik tok that was discussing how DA handles oppression and it motivated me to create a post about how I believe the way DA handles it is problematic at its core. I am not going to link the tik tok, as the creator has asked not to be put on blast, though I am including a word for word transcription of what the creator has said to avoid altering or skewing their message. I want to add that this is not an attack on the creator and what they said, more importantly it is an analysis of how other players perceive the oppression addressed within the game and how that proves that there is a serious problem with how DA handles it.

It is evident to me the message Dragon Age is trying to express is that oppression HAS to happen and that there is a reason to oppress. There are many examples within the game that prove this statement, though I want to focus mainly on how oppression impacts the mages and the Dalish, and how you as the main character can choose to perpetuate that oppression. To begin, here is the transcription of the tik tok below, which addresses oppression through the treatment of the mages.

“When it comes to mages, dragon age gives us a very clear picture that yes, these are people, they have hopes they have dreams they want to do better for themselves, they want to help others, we see this very clearly especially in DA2 where the whole plot revolves around mages rebelling. However, we also see very clearly in DA2 what can happen when a mage is left unchecked. Abominations, blood magic, the ability to force ones will onto somebody is a real threat with mages. Whether they succumbed to blood magic, whether they succumbed to the temptations of demons. These are unique challenges that face mages. And whether or not they should have freedom is true. And the game even gives us an amazing depiction of what could happen through Tevinter mages. What happens if mages are truly released, they have freedom. They might turn out like the Tevinters. Mages can become the ones solely on top oppressing other groups. A situation of the minority suppressing the majority. Whereas all the other lands of Thedas it’s the majority oppressing the minority. We have to grapple with these choices, whether not you kill a blood mage or you let them live. Or whether not you side with the mage rebellion or you side with the templars in DA2. It doesn’t pretend like it’s easy, and it doesn’t pretend to be something that it’s not. It doesn’t pretend to be real life. It gives unique challenges and unique decisions.”

My problem with DA is that you make choices through the role of an oppressor, which is very clear within Dragon Age: Inquisition as your rise to power then gives you the choice to oppress. The transcription above proves that a player has to make their decisions through the lens of an oppressor because you can determine the freedom or oppression of other people, in this case, the mages. Oppression cannot be a tool used for good because it is inherently bad, it only belittles others and is used to gain power. This could be a valuable lesson on how once power is gained so then is the ability to oppress, and how with the responsibility of power you should make choices based on what is best for the people who are oppressed. However, Bioware fails to follow through with this message for the sake of keeping their game morally grey. Instead, Bioware creates reasons and excuses for certain groups to be oppressed, thus making it okay for the player to make a decision that oppresses because either within their history something bad happened or there are certain people within the group that have done bad things. For example, all blood mages are considered evil due to some mages using blood magic in order to oppress and harm. However, we see in the game that not all blood mages are evil, and use blood magic to help. Despite this, all who use blood magic are deemed evil and if used, even if it means they are trying to escape an oppressive system, they will become Tranquil. When addressing Tevinter mages it’s evident that they have gained power, however they have chosen to oppress with this power. Being born with the ability to use magic is having the ability to gain power over another, but it is up to the individual to use that power to oppress or to use it to assist others. The ability to use magic itself is not an oppressive tool, because it has the ability to do good, it is the decisions of the individual that make it oppressive if the person decides to be an oppressor. If Bioware wasn’t so adamant about keeping the game morally grey, then they would’ve had an opportunity to create really interesting and important lessons on power and oppression that would better reflect our political landscape.

Now I want to move onto the Dalish, because I have a serious issue with how Bioware addresses the oppression they face and I believe it is important to mention. As stated above, Bioware chooses to ignore the dismantling of oppression, and instead creates reasons in order  to excuse the oppression of a group simply due to the fact that no group is perfect and they all have their issues. This is evident within the Trespasser DLC when discovering the true nature of the elven gods, which I will paste below:

!! Warning: spoilers ahead !!

“Following the initial events of the Exalted Council, the Inquisitor uncovers the reality that the Elven Gods were in fact phenomenally powerful mages who rose in prominence after the end of an unknown war. Solas implies that the Evanuris started out as generals during the war, then respected elders, and finally were revered as gods. They started out as heroes of the famed war eventually becoming corrupt tyrants in order to hoard and maintain their own power. The Evanuris institutionalized a system of slavery using Vallaslin as a brand, with only Fen'Harel (and more subtly, Mythal) challenging their tyranny. Most of the gods were arrogant in their ways, their power and attitudes more akin to the Tevinter Magisters. Eventually, the other Evanuris plotted against Mythal and killed her, prompting Fen'Harel to lead a rebellion against them and later creating the Veil to banish them into the Beyond,”

(https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Elven_pantheon).

From what I’ve seen, little is known about the Elven Pantheon before Dragon Age: Inquisition and the discovery that the elven gods are actually powerful mages is only represented within the Trespasser DLC. Though I have learned later that this was always the plan for the Elven Pantheon, which was to expose the gods for being tyrants who enslaved their own kind. It is clear that Bioware took inspiration from Native tribes to then create the Dalish elves (even within the name, since there is the Salish Kootenai tribe and Bioware literally just switched the first letter) and this is why I have a major issue with how they chose to handle the oppression that the Dalish are impacted by. Throughout the Dragon Age games, we see the torment that the Dalish suffer through from name calling to the complete erasure of the elven race; Bioware even goes as far as to take significant historical events like the Trail of Tears and write them into the elven history. This is why the Trespasser DLC angers me, because after all you learn about the Dalish and what is done to oppress them, it almost seems brushed off after it is exposed that the elven gods were similar to Tevinter mages. This type of message has real world implications, and can impact how people perceive Native people. Within my own experience as a Native person, I’ve had people argue to me that the oppression Native people face has reason because we have also owned slaves which is COMPLETELY untrue. I was shocked to see this exact reason be integrated into the Trespasser DLC, and it worries me because some players will see that and find it perfectly rational to think that because of the Dalish’s history it is then okay that they were oppressed. Throughout history, America and other countries that have oppressed Native and Indigeous people have created excuses and reasons to oppress them (from excuses like we are s*vages that need to be educated, to reasons like the Manifest Destiny). Therefore, it is incredibly harmful that Bioware would use the same type of reasoning not only for the Dalish but for the mages and the Qunari as well. Finding a reason to oppress a group does not create progressive change, it only divides us and keeps the oppressed groups oppressed and keeps the oppressors in power. Bioware needs to change how they approach oppression, and instead actually teach players the tools needed in order to dismantle oppression. 

I hope to be able to change how the Dalish are perceived, and show through my rewrite of the elven pantheon and also rewrites of missions involving the Dalish how to dismantle oppression through the choices and involvement of the inquisitor. I thank you all for taking the time to read and if there are any questions please don’t be afraid to ask!

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: VI

“I think I’m catching feelings

And I don’t know if this is empathy I feel

Just hold on

Remember when you said this was the last time?”

Sex, Eden

A/N: okay this chapter has probably been my favourite to write so far because we are finally. finally!!!!!! getting to a lil smidgen of softness!!!!! and the softness will only continue like originally I had a different lyric in mind for this chapter (a hozier lyric to stay on brand) and decided that it was too soft so I stocked it away to use in the future when things get even sweeter and harry gets even dumber 😌 we really hope you guys enjoy this chapter!!! and please remember that feedback is truly, madly, deeply™ appreciated!!!! not just by us but by all content creators!!!!! and if you enjoy it, please reblog it!!!! spreading content keeps creators motivated!!!!! and so do messages about what you liked!!!! it lets us know what sort of vibe to add in later!!!! okay now that that’s out of the way!!!! let’s dive in 😼  

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

word count: 29.1k

content/warnings: a good healthy dose of denial and justification to deny feelings, the defamation of gherkin pickles, pet names (literally), a strong independent woman who don’t need no man, a (not quite) man who definitely needs a strong independent woman, brunch served with a side of emotional trauma, breaking promises, nsfw social distancing, and Harry once again ignoring the phrase “bros before hoes”

///

Harry knows he’s good at a lot of things.

He’s good at picking up on fashion trends and turning them into timeless styles, molding each piece to fit his own persona with ease.  He’s good at identifying the locational origins of wines within five seconds of the sweet liquid crossing over his tongue.  He’s good at mixing his own drinks as well, always managing to craft the perfect concoction that suits each drinker’s needs.  He’s good at creating gallery walls in his apartment, at charming anyone into giving him what he wants with a slip of his mouth, and at pissing off his friends until they’re threatening to stake him just to get a little peace and quiet.  Harry is good at chess, at reciting poetry from memory, and at painting his non-dominant hand’s fingernails without smudging any nail polish onto his icy skin.  Harry is fucking excellent at coaxing orgasms out from his lovers.  He knows that he’s good at a lot of things.

The issue, he realizes the day after he asks Y/N out on a real date, is that planning a real date is not one of those things.

This, Harry rationalizes to himself, is not his fault.  After all, the last time he’d been on a real date was during the Victorian era, and Harry is fairly certain that taking a chaperoned stroll around his beloved’s estate garden isn’t in fashion anymore.  And when the way all of those dates ended is taken into account, Harry doesn’t think his past experiences should be the marker for a good date, anyways.  

It’s this frustrating lack of knowledge that leads Harry to do what he always does when he doesn’t know the answer to something: he Googles it.

With the top of the line Macbook Harry had purchased a few months back with the money from a CEO of some candle company perched on his lap, Harry relaxes back onto his leather couch, kicking his brown boots up onto the matching footrest as he does so.  Once the search engine is open and the cursor is blinking in front of his face, however, the vampire pauses, his manicured fingernails perched over the keys.  What question could he possibly Google for his situation?

Harry twists his lion head ring around his cool finger as he thinks, his tongue tucked between his lips in concentration while potential queries run through his head.  Ideas for a first date with a girl you’ve been fucking for a month.  Things to do in L.A. with a mortal when you’re a two hundred year old vampire.  Places to take someone after drinking their blood.  A snort echoes from Harry’s throat as the last idea pops into his head.  Somehow, Harry isn’t confident in what results those questions will show him.

Tapping his black lacquered nails against the keys, Harry purses his lips as he loses himself in thought.  How had he even gotten himself into this position?  The reason he hasn’t planned a date in centuries is because he doesn’t date, and for good reason.  What use does a soulless vampire have for dating?  Mortals use romantic outings to open their hearts to one another, and Harry, in contrast, can’t open what he doesn’t have. 

Despite his wondering, however, he knows exactly how he got himself into this situation: he let himself get jealous of a fake-tanned, shaggy-haired idiot named Jacob, a name that Harry despises on principle alone.  It had been a perfectly fine name until that awful Meyer woman decided to make it one of the banes of Harry’s existence.  And while Harry doesn’t have a particularly forgiving nature, he had just finally begun to get over the association, but thanks to that hallway confrontation at the end of Y/N’s date with the obtusely orange fool, Harry is now reminded that he will forever hate the name with a burning passion.  And shaggy hair.  And fake tans. And while the irony of him, a vampire—with a middle name of Edward, for Christ’s sake—hating an insignificant mortal named Jacob, simply because he dared to make a pass at the object of Harry’s fascination, is not lost on him, all of that was pushed aside the moment Harry smelled the perfume his fascination wore for the mortal boy. 

Y/N never wears perfume for him. And though she had assured him that her dressing up had been for him, he can’t shake the fact that Jacob had gotten to experience it first. 

It’s not that Y/N needs to wear perfume for him.  In fact, if Harry’s being honest with himself, he likes that she doesn’t spritz artificial scents all over her body before letting him into her home and between her legs.  She has one of the sweetest natural scents Harry’s ever had the pleasure of inhaling, all lavender and honey and utterly intoxicating.  Of course, as all mortals are, Y/N is unaware of the mouth watering fragrance that drips from her skin, while Harry is all too aware of it at all times, but her obliviousness to her natural scent doesn’t change the fact that Harry would bathe in it if he could.  If it were possible, Harry would pump an entire room full of her personal cloud of lavender and honey, lay back on the floor, turn down the lights, spark a joint, and let himself get lost in the very thought of her.  That would be Harry’s personal definition of Nirvana.

But Y/N isn’t aware of her natural, skin sweetening aroma like Harry is, which means two things.  Firstly, that Y/N doesn’t feel the need to smear anything unnatural on her body to attract Harry; she knows she doesn’t need to go through all that trouble.  And that was fine with Harry, until he realized the second thing, which is that there potentially could be someone that Y/N would go to all that trouble for if he doesn’t keep her entertained and occupied.  She had told him her date with Jacob hadn’t been on her terms, and that she’d done it just to be courteous towards a co-worker, but that doesn’t sedate the truth: There will always be a maddening possibility that occasions could come into play in which Y/N will spray a choking cloud of gardenia and freesia over herself, all in the hopes of appealing a suitor.  The issue is that in those hypothetical cases, the suitor Y/N would be trying to impress wouldn’t be Harry.

Actually, that’s only the first issue. The second issue is that it could be another fraternity moron with an equally stupid name. 

After the vampire had come upon Y/N ending her date in front of her door, just minutes before their own rendezvous was scheduled, Harry had felt an initial burst of blind rage, and everything after is a blur.  He vaguely remembers trying to make Jacob uncomfortable and delighting in how he succeeded, until he saw the anger on Y/N’s sweet face.  He remembers a brief discussion about limits and honesty, and about how she was only interested in him, and that he shouldn’t waste his time stressing about her supposedly dormant dating life.  And, most importantly, he remembers asking Y/N to accompany him on a real date, one that would blow her date with the VeggieTales carrot out of the water.

Now, of course, he’s beginning to regret his impulsive decision, purely for the fact that he now has to figure out how to woo a mortal girl just enough to keep her away from creeps with horribly coiffed hair.

And yet, despite this regret…there’s something new curling inside his belly as he types the phrase date ideas for L.A. into the search bar, the blinking cursor reflecting in his eyes before he presses the enter key and millions of results pop up.  Ah, the joys of the internet, he thinks as he scours the results with inhuman speed.  It’ll take Harry a few different clicks to find the perfect activity for himself and Y/N, and his hyperfocus on the topic will stop him from over analyzing that new feeling twisting inside him.

It’s a win-win situation, if he can say so himself.

Harry’s halfway through the first disappointing article (somehow, he doesn’t think taking Y/N on a hike is very romantic) when the door to his condo opens and reveals Mitch in the frame, dressed in his usual casual attire, this time of blue jeans and a plaid shirt.  Harry has spent the last century trying to refine the older vampire’s taste in clothing, even going so far as to once donate the entirety of Mitch’s closet to a homeless shelter, but all his efforts have been in vain, as his friend still insists on wearing the standard (and boring) style for every decade they’ve lived through together.

“Hey,” Mitch greets from the end of the corridor with a nonchalant nod, shutting the door behind himself before sauntering further into the living room. “Thought we were meeting at the bar at eight?”

It takes Harry a moment to remember the agreement Mitch refers to, his brow creasing as his eyes flicker to the corner of his computer screen.  By the time he registers the numbers 8:41 shining back at him, the memory of agreeing to get drinks with Mitch after his evening gig has resurfaced. “Fuck, I’m sorry.  I lost track of time.”

“I thought so.” Mitch moves the decorative pillow next to Harry on the couch, taking a seat in his usual spot. His voice is slightly sarcastic as he gives Harry a knowing look. “That’s been happening a lot lately.  Lapses in your memory and such.”

“It's old age, I suppose.” Harry’s lips quirk up in amusement, although he knows that Mitch’s comment is pointed towards a subject they’re both acquainted with, courtesy of Harry’s absence on their annual Vegas trip about a week prior. “It’s finally getting to me.”

The long-haired immortal makes a vague sound of humorous acknowledgement, but offers no other response as he turns his gaze to the younger vampire. 

Harry watches as his friend’s expert eyes appraise his appearance, examining how the older vampire takes note of the messy state of Harry’s hair that indicates he’s been tugging on it in frustration, the redness of his lips, the way he’s curled over his open laptop.  Although he makes no further comment on Harry’s newfound tendencies, his brows furrow in confusion. “What are you doing?”

“I, uh—” The amusement is replaced by an unfamiliar feeling of nervousness that sweeps through Harry’s entire body. “I’m doing research.”

When he’s given no other explanation, Mitch prompts his younger friend. “On?”

“I...asked that girl from the club out on a date— Y/N. Like, I invited her on a proper one.” Harry elaborates, twisting his lionhead ring around his finger as he speaks. “But I don’t really know, like, what to do with her.  I’m a little out of touch with what a typical twenty-something woman wants to do on a real date.”

And this is another thing Harry is usually good at— being confident and sure of himself.  Normally, he speaks with ease and a nonchalant cadence to his words, lacking any worry about how he’ll be perceived.  Harry knows what he wants, and knows how to articulate it.  Right now, however, he feels the complete opposite.  There’s a tension aching its way through his muscles and settling into the pit of his stomach, curling around those organs that haven’t been truly needed in years, and the utterly bemused expression weaving its way onto Mitch’s face doesn’t help.

The quiet vampire cocks his head to the side upon receiving this news, propping one foot up onto Harry’s coffee table and addressing him with a mocking air. “Why are you taking her on an actual date? From what you’ve told me— which isn’t much, and that strains our best friend reputation, if I’m being honest— I thought you two had an...understanding?”

“We did.  We do.” Harry stumbles over his words as he half shuts the laptop, setting it down on the coffee table and giving Mitch’s foot a quick playful shove off the lacquered surface as he repositions himself. “But she went on a date with someone else, so I have to—”

“Are you jealous?” His friend cuts over him with an incredulous tone, and the disbelief sends a flare of something akin to shame through Harry’s body. “Because she had a date?”

“I’m not jealous.” With a firm voice, Harry manages to scoff at the very notion. “I may be a monster, but my eyes are red, not green. It’s just—”

“Well, technically, they are.”

The immortal ignores the shit-eating correction. “—occurred to me that our arrangement will end if Y/N starts seeing some mortal bloke. So, if she wants a relationship, then I can fabricate one for her.”

Although the excuse slips off his tongue easily enough, Harry refuses to meet Mitch’s eyes as he picks up his laptop and opens it again, clicking his way onto another article in the search results.  The older vampire’s stare feels as if it’s scorching his icy skin, and Harry can’t exactly say he enjoys the sensation, but it’s better than the alternative of admitting to Mitch—and to himself—that he may harbour the smallest trace of feelings for the human girl.

However, Mitch seems to buy the rushed explanation. “Fabricate a relationship?” He repeats, scratching the base of his chin slowly. “Doesn’t that seem a little...cruel?”

“It’s not.  It’s only for a bit, and once I’m done with her, I’ll probably just…” The words lodge in his throat for some unknown reason, but he forces them out. “I’ll probably just wipe myself from her mind, and she…” Harry’s sharp teeth tug on his plump bottom lip. “She won’t remember me.  It’ll be fine.”

Yes, Harry repeats to himself as he scrolls through all the results Google has to offer.  It’ll be fine.  It has to be fine, really, because what’s the alternative?  Harry’s kind aren’t exactly built for a long term commitment to anyone that’s less than immortal.  The kindest thing for him to do would be to let Y/N go now, without having to use compulsion at all.  It would be so simple, he thinks.  One small text, a few words along the lines of “it’s not working out, and we probably shouldn’t see each other again, I’m sorry. H.” would probably suffice.  And surely she’d be a little upset, but she’s mortal, and a mortal’s feelings never stay the same for long.  It would take her a few weeks, or maybe a month at most to get over the creature she’d begun a casual sexual relationship with.  Within a year, Harry and their short-lived friendship would be nothing but a small blip in her memory, and she’d be moved on to someone else.

Harry can see her future so clearly that he almost believes it’s shining through his laptop screen like an old film.  Y/N, going back out for the first time after Harry breaks things off.  Y/N, bumping into a handsome stranger with a bright smile and dull eyes.  Y/N, slumped over her kitchen table and fighting a hangover as the stranger hands her a cup of coffee.  Y/N and the stranger going for dinner.  Walking hand in hand.  Kissing goodnight at the door.  

Harry’s mind spins through scenarios faster and faster, racing through every possible future for Y/N before he can even take another breath.  Although some scenarios have different paths, different breakups, different faces, they always end at the very same place: Y/N in a white dress, walking down a flower strewn aisle, and taking the warm hand of someone who is not Harry.

If Harry needed to breathe, the wind would’ve been knocked out of him the moment he pictured those warm hands with blood pulsing beneath the skin lifting Y/N’s veil, cupping her flushed cheek, and sealing their lips to hers.  It’s a perfectly normal image.  A human pledging themselves to another human.  It’s natural, by human standards, as they seem to value monogamy over everything else.  The path Harry is seeing is the path Y/N was always meant to take.  So why does it make his icy blood curdle?

Mitch, who seems to be completely unaware of the wild road map his friend’s mind has just drawn, speaks out his concerns in a quiet but careful voice. “Are you sure you’re not getting too attached?” He asks, gauging Harry’s reaction to his question as if it’s a catastrophic statement. “You’ve been spending more and more time with her, you blew off the Vegas trip for the first time…” The older vampire gives a soft shrug of his shoulders. “If it were just for sex and blood, that would be one thing, but it’s almost like you’re getting…addicted to her.” 

Although the statement first brings a laugh to Harry's strawberry lips, the initial chuckle quickly fades away as the gravity of Mitch’s statement hits its recipient.  Certainly, he feels an indescribable draw to Y/N, but he knows, deep down, that any addiction he has to her is more so to her blood than anything else.  After all, what else could he possibly indulge?  The last time Harry let himself be addicted to a person, he ended up with a broken neck and newfound bloodlust.  He’s learned since then.  He’s not so naïve, or so foolish, as to let his emotions wander like that again. He knows better.

“There’s no addiction—I just like her blood more than others, that’s all.” Harry assures his friend, tapping his thumb against the band of his mother’s opal ring. “I know I’ve been a bit of a flake lately, but it’s just while I have her around.  I’ll get tired of her eventually; I always do.” He deliberately flashes his crimson eyes at his friend with a knowing smirk. “And then all it’ll take is a few choice words to take care of whatever lingering marks—metaphorical or otherwise— I’ve left on her, and it’ll all be done, and in the past. You know me, mate. Sometimes I like playing with my food.”

That last sentence makes his mouth go sour, almost as if his body is punishing him for uttering something so indifferently ruthless. Especially because deep down, there’s the smallest seed of doubt in his speech— the tiniest hint of uncertainty, telling him that the detachment he is playing up is not true. 

Harry forces it to be true. It has to be. Both for his sake, and Y/N’s. 

Mitch spends a long few minutes gazing into the blood red irises marching his stare, determined to find a crack in their façade. However, Harry’s good at hiding his feelings, given that he’s had decades of practice on how to keep a thick curtain draped over his innermost thoughts. He won’t let anyone see his weaknesses anymore, no matter how microscopic they might be. 

When the older monster’s search turns up empty, he repents with a long sigh, waving his hands free of the whole affair. “Whatever, Harry.  You seem to know what you’re doing.  Just be careful, alright?”

“I do know what I’m doing, thank you.” Harry elects to ignore the last statement Mitch tacked on, and instead flips his laptop around to show his friend his findings with a triumphant—albeit, forced—grin. “I’m doing brunch.  Google says girls Y/N’s age like brunch, and that the Persimmon Pantry in downtown L.A. has authentic crepes that are to die for.”

“Too bad you’re already dead.” The older vampire deadpans, pushing the laptop closed and raising himself from the couch into a standing position, tucking his hands into his jean pockets. “If you’re going to be dating a mortal, do we get to meet her?  Because I think Niall may need a bit of a heads up after the accidental run in that happened last time—”

“Do you usually meet my meals?” Harry counters easily as he sets his laptop aside, standing to escort Mitch to the door. “Don’t be sentimental, Mitch.  I’m certainly not.”

When Mitch’s eyes meet his own once again, there’s a degree of clarity running through them that nearly stops Harry in his tracks. “Aren’t you?” Mitch asks, voice neutral by careful control. 

Harry sucks in a quick breath out of habit, pasting a bright expression over his face in lieu of actually revealing his swirling insides. “Not since I learned my lesson.” He says easily, tapping two fingers over his dormant carotid artery with a sly smile. 

The casual act does the trick, and Mitch’s eyes roll in a familiar jesting fashion as he steps towards the door. “Right.  You’ve got it under control, then.”

“All under control.” The words slip off Harry’s dry tongue like honey, his sweet cadence filling the space between them. “Not to worry.”

///

Y/N thinks this may be the most out of control she’s ever felt her entire life.

A few weeks ago, she would’ve said that taking Harry home from the club was the most out of control she’s ever been.  And three months ago, dropping her whole life and moving to L.A. might have been the answer to that question.  And another three months from now, Y/N might get herself into the middle of a new entirely stupid act— which is completely probable, given her track record— and that’ll become the new marker for the most out of control thing she’s done.  But right now, at this moment, the most out of control thing she’s done is say yes to Harry asking her out to brunch.

When compared to everything else she’s done with Harry—and let Harry do to her—brunch may seem entirely harmless, but it’s the connotation behind it that scares her.  Harry is taking her on a date.  A real date.  A date to a brunch restaurant, at 11 A.M. on a Sunday, when it’ll be completely bright outside, and people will see them together.  A date with both of them in presentable situations, rather than being coated in sweat and completely dressed.  A date where Harry refrains from whispering the filthiest fucking shit Y/N has ever heard into her ear, although she wouldn’t put it past him trying to do that over a plate of avocado toast.

Harry is taking her on a date.  And last time Y/N checked, she wasn’t exactly good at those.

Her ex hadn’t really been the romantic type, to say the least.  Their dates typically revolved around their high school’s dance and athletic schedules.  Bradley took her to homecoming and to prom, and football games on Friday nights, where all her friends would meet them at a diner after their school— more often than not— lost.  He would take her on long drives where they got nowhere fast, with the two of them sitting in silence, and his music playing through the speakers.  She went over to his house once a week for dinner.  He’d take her to a movie every second Saturday.  And while it was all fine, none of it was very romantic. ‘Robotic’ is a more appropriate term.

And even with the fear of actual romance aside, Y/N has no idea what to discuss on a first date with someone.  She had already known a lot about her ex when they began going out, so there wasn’t a period of “getting to know you” that needed to happen.  The few first dates she’d had after him hadn’t been stellar, or even noteworthy.  If anything, they had been guides for what not to do on a first date.  And the funniest thing is that, while she’s fairly sure her last first date had been the catalyst for Harry asking her out, the actual date itself had been awful.  But if she’s right, and that was the factor that set Harry off, then maybe she should be grateful for all those awful dates from her past, because Harry, in contrast to all those horrible dates, is different in every conceivable way.

Harry is just different.  When she speaks, he listens.  When he looks at her, he really looks at her, and he sees her in a way she’s not sure she’s ever been seen before.  And, honestly, he has seen her in ways she’s never been seen before, and that’s exactly what Y/N is worried about.  How do you sip a mimosa with someone at the Persimmon Pantry after they’ve throat fucked you on your couch, or bent you over the kitchen counter, or handcuffed you to their bed?  How do you ask someone about their favourite movie when they’ve coaxed multiple orgasms from you over the phone as Sinister played from the TV screen?  How do you listen as someone tells you about their childhood dog when the last dog you were concerned about was the position they bent you into as they spread your—

Y/N clears her throat and shakes her head of the thought, reevaluating her heated complexion in the mirror that hangs on the back of her bedroom door. “Stop it.” She mutters to herself, attempting to give her reflection a stern look. “You’re not going to be able to make it through this if you’ve thrown the towel in before Harry’s even picked you up.”

And that’s another thing, Y/N thinks, as she opens her bedroom closet and begins searching through it for something acceptable to wear.  Harry insisted on picking her up, even though the restaurant he chose was a fifteen minute walk from her apartment.  She’d brought this up to him when he asked her to brunch over the phone (which is a whole other thing in and of itself— he only called her when he had his hand wrapped around his cock and needed her voice to finish himself off; wouldn’t a text have been sufficient?), but Harry had blown off her concern without a second thought.

“Part of taking you on a date is picking you up, Y/N.”

“Yeah, but the Persimmon Pantry is between our apartments.  Wouldn’t it make more sense to meet there?  Then you wouldn’t waste your time driving past it to get me.”

“I don’t consider anything involving you to be a waste of time.” Harry had answered immediately, his voice stern, but still allowing a vein of tenderness to run underneath it. “Is that your only concern, then?  Me picking you up?”

No, Y/N had thought.  It’s not my only concern, but how the fuck do I explain everything else?

“Yeah.” Y/N had answered tightly, her voice weak. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, it’s not a concern of mine, so don’t worry.  I’ll pick you up at 10:45 Sunday morning.” And then there had been a pause, full of baited breath and nerves, before Harry’s thick accent rang through her phone again. “I can’t wait to see you.”

Those parting words had sat in her stomach since, warm and cozy and inviting, keeping a soft, constant glow filtering in her veins until the end of the week came. 

Y/N glances at the blinking clock beside her bed.  It’s 10:17 now, a couple days after that conversation, which means she has less than half an hour to pick something to wear, style her hair that’s currently dripping wet from her shower, and throw on enough makeup to cover up the bags under her eyes that have been developing over the last few nights.  After becoming so used to sleeping with Harry next to her every weekend, Y/N is now finding that not having him in her bed, smoothing her hair and rubbing her cheek as she cuddles into his cool chest is prohibiting her from getting a good night’s sleep.

Another concern, certainly, but not one she can deal with at this moment.  The best she can do is smear on some concealer and hope for the best, and with that in mind, Y/N turns her full attention to her evaluation of her closet.

“Brunch,” She murmurs to herself, slowly pushing her clothing apart to examine each article. “We’re going to brunch.  What do you wear to brunch?”

Brunch, she decides after a moment of consideration, is casual, but not sloppy casual, so jeans and a t-shirt are off the table.  It’s Sunday casual, like the outfits her mother would pick out for her to wear to Sunday afternoon teas with the other church women once she turned 15 and had to “start acting like a lady.”  Sunday casual, Y/N thinks, but maybe not those outfits.  The raised necklines and starched collars had made her neck itch the entire time, and she had picked at the hemlines of her dresses under tables until the seams began to unravel.  Sunday casual, but more of her actual style.  Sunday casual, but sluttier, maybe?  Could one describe Sunday casual as slutty?

Y/N groans as she takes a step back from her closet, clutching her towel to her chest with a tense hand.  Maybe she’s going about this the wrong way.  Maybe she should try to match Harry…? 

A sharp snort falls from Y/N’s mouth.  Yeah, like she could ever match Harry.  Harry, who is so obsessed with labels that even his handcuffs are embossed with the Gucci logo.  Harry, who is so attractive that it’s almost otherworldly.  Harry, who can make her tiny apartment look like a New York Fashion Week runway by simply walking down the corridor of her entrance.  Matching Harry is almost impossible.  She could show up in a full length gown, and Harry would still outshine her in a graphic t-shirt and flared jeans.

“Hey.” Y/N chastises herself lightly, catching her judgemental eye in her mirror once again. “Stop it.  Don’t be mean to yourself, just...just pick something to wear.  It shouldn’t be this hard.”

After returning to her closet search and trying on a few different combinations, Y/N finally settles on an outfit consisting of a pale yellow sundress with a sweetheart neckline and tea length skirt, but dresses it down with a denim jacket and a pair of cotton candy coloured vans.  It’s bright and fun, but still casual enough that it looks like she just threw it on.  

“Oh, this old thing?”  Y/N raises her eyebrows in mock surprise as she moves to her bathroom to begin to tackle her hair.  She keeps practicing the imaginary conversation in the mirror with herself, and while she knows she sounds insane, it oddly keeps her nerves in check. “Oh, I just pulled it out of my closet a few minutes before you got here.  Haven’t worn it in years.  Do you like it?” The mortal pauses as she reaches for her makeup, deciding to keep herself to a more natural look for the day. “Thank you, Harry, that’s so sweet.  You look nice, as well.”

She lightly fills her brows before sweeping some neutral eyeshadow over her lids, pausing her muttering to herself to concentrate on drawing her eyeliner as neatly as she likes.  Once she’s satisfied with that, she moves to mascara, adding a thin coat to her lashes and blotting off the makeup she smudges underneath her eye by mistake.  When that’s finished, the young woman takes a step back from the mirror, appraising her appearance.

It’s not awful, honestly.  She could do worse.  In fact, if it weren’t for the ball of anxiety currently twisting its way through Y/N’s stomach, she might even praise herself for the cute and casual look she’s managed to pull off.

“You look good.” She murmurs to her reflection as she reaches for her small silver hoops, slipping them through her lobes with a quick and practiced motion. “Good job.” With her eyes locked on her reflection, Y/N worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “Today is going to be fine.  Better than fine, actually.  And it would probably go better if you stopped talking to yourself, so maybe let’s get that in check before Harry gets here—?”

As if on cue, a now familiar knock on her front door causes the mortal’s mouth to snap shut, clamping off the rest of her third person monologue.  When she makes a quick pause to straighten her jacket and fetch her over-the-shoulder woven bag, Y/N impulsively decides to grab her favourite perfume bottle, giving her body a quick spritz before making her way to the door and opening it with breathless anticipation.

Harry, of course, looks fucking incredible.  Although his casual outfit consists of a black short sleeved button up shirt tucked into white slacks, Harry manages to work the whole number like a model.  His usual cross necklace, unique rings, and stately single cross earring adorn his body, drawing Y/N’s eyes to the glint of the metals as a pair of black sunglasses sit atop the man’s defined nose.  He meets Y/N’s eyes behind them, a grin beginning to paint itself over his cherry lips as his jeweled hand pushes the sunglasses from his face and into his chestnut locks, revealing his bright jade gaze full of genuine kindness. 

“Well, look at you. Proper model now, aren’t you, Miss Urban Outfitters?” Harry’s voice takes on a casual tone, but the flirty phrase sends a shiver of pleasure down Y/N’s spine. “You look so fucking good in yellow, love.  Why have I never seen you in yellow before?”

The shiver of pleasure reverberates throughout Y/N’s entire body. “Maybe because I’m usually naked when I’m around you?” She retorts quickly, reaching to the little hook next to her door to grab her keys. 

“Hm.  That’s true.” The pleased cadence in Harry’s voice catches Y/N’s ear over the click of the door lock. “Guess you go for the Victoria’s Secret look more often, hm? Though I’m not complaining. You look just as good in lace.” 

“Thanks. But not today, I guess.” Y/N says quietly as she pushes down the heat boiling her face, unable to bite her tongue before the words slip out. “We’re on a real date today.”

“Right you are, Watson.” Harry grins cheekily as he motions for the girl to walk past him, following closely with a guiding hand on the small of her back. “We’re on a real date.  It’s probably a little overdue, but you know what they say...better late than never, right?”

The moment she takes a step past him, it hits Harry.  Although her delectable signature scent of lavender and honey is still there, it’s faintly hidden behind the nearly overpowering scent of gardenia and freesia he smelled last time he was in her hallway, when that oafish buffoon had the audacity to try and seduce her.  And despite the fact that Harry prefers Y/N’s natural fragrance to any other scent on the planet, knowing that she took the time to spritz herself with perfume before greeting him brings a dimpled smile to his face.  Harry considers making a comment about it, but bites it back at the last moment.  The last thing he needs is to have to explain why he pays such particular attention to Y/N’s scent.

When the pair exit the apartment building, Harry takes the lead in front of Y/N, unlocking his flashy car with a click of the remote and opening the passenger door with ease.  He extends a hand, grasping the mortal girl’s hand in his own with care as he helps her into the car.  The click of the car door shutting comes a moment later than expected as Harry pauses to fix the hem of Y/N’s dress, making sure it’s free of the doorway before closing the door without clamping the light fabric.

Harry doesn’t even think twice before readjusting Y/N’s skirt, with the move coming as naturally to him as breathing once did, and merely notes the stuttering of Y/N’s heartbeat with a half hidden smug smile.  It’s not until he’s in the driver’s seat and stopped at a red light that he realizes what that stuttering rhythm is indicating.

Y/N is tense.  Even without his supernatural abilities that allow him to hear her heart, register her strained breathing, and feel the energy radiating from her body, Harry would be able to tell that some part of her feels...uncomfortable.  Nervous, even.  But for what?  What about Harry—aside from the obvious that the human is unaware of—could make her nervous?  After the countless hours in bed together, the lazy Saturday afternoons, the kitchen singalongs, Harry would think that Y/N would be as comfortable with him as he is with her.  After all she’d shown him when they have sex—

Huh.  Maybe that’s it, Harry thinks, giving the mortal a quick look from the corner of his eye.  The light ahead of them turns green, and Harry continues to ponder his realization as he presses on the gas.  If sex has become the norm for them, then maybe a date is outside of her comfort zone.  Or maybe, now that her brain isn’t fogged by the endorphins that roll through her veins whenever Harry coaxes an orgasm from her trembling body, Y/N is realizing how unnatural it feels to be around Harry.  

As much as Harry likes to pretend otherwise, humans aren’t dumb.  If they get too close to someone of Harry’s kind, some sharp-sighted mortals begin to sense that there’s something different about them.  Aside from the easy targets and quick decisions, part of the reason that picking up meals in clubs works so well for Harry and his friends is that a mortal’s senses are dulled in the flashing lights and inebriated atmosphere of a club.  If Y/N is beginning to sense that there’s something different about Harry, or if she’s beginning to feel uneasy about being around him, then she must be wondering why.  In Harry’s experience, mortals will relate their uncomfortable feelings about the supernatural into something they have more experience with to make sense of it all, and if that’s what Y/N is doing, then she’s probably attributing her newfound discomfort towards Harry trying to take advantage of her.  If he could read her mind, he might see a horrific scene playing out like an old movie: Harry buying her a meal, soaking her rational thinking in mimosas and other drinks spiked with God knows what, and then helping her back to his car, where he drives her back to his apartment, practically carrying her inebriated body through the door towards his bedroom…

The car takes a sharp right turn into the restaurant parking lot, and Harry guides it to a spot with his hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel.  The idea of Y/N thinking him capable of that, capable of hurting her like that...it takes Harry a moment to extract his clenched hands from the wheel.  If that was really what Y/N was thinking, then he could fix it.  All it would take to set her at ease would be a quick request, a repeated statement, and the girl’s breathing would even out, and everything could continue like he had planned.

“Y/N?” He begins, keeping his voice as smooth as silk as he sets the car into park and turns it off. “Look at me, please.”

And then she does.  And Harry forgets his plan within a moment.

There’s nervousness apparent in her eyes, yes, but no fear.  Although her lips are chewed red, they don’t tremble when she answers him with a quiet “yes?” Despite their close proximity, she keeps leaning closer to him, and whether she’s aware of the action or not, the constant inch of her hand closer to Harry’s softens the immortal more than he thought possible.  He can’t compel her to let down her guard when she already trusts him.

“I know that this is different for us.  Doing something like this.” Harry begins, keeping his eyes as sincere as possible without compelling the young woman in front of him, who is keeping her eyes on his emerald irises with steadfast attention. “But I want this to be a proper date, like...like what I should’ve probably taken you on a month ago.”

Warmth rises to Y/N’s cheeks at the confession. “So do I.  I like being around you, Harry.  A lot.  I’m just a little...nervous, I guess.”

Harry bites back a smile at how she sounds like she’s confessing something, as if her body language hasn’t been telling him that from the moment she got into his car. “I know.  So I think it would be best, just to prove that this is a real date, if we don’t have sex after we finish brunch.”

A choked sound falls from Y/N’s mouth, and Harry delights in watching her scramble for words before she manages to form a half indignant reply. “I didn’t say I was going to sleep with you!”

“You don’t have to say it, pet, because we both know you can’t keep your hands off me.  Exhibit A,” Harry nods at her hand, which is mere millimeters away from his thigh. “Being how you kept trying to grab onto me through the entire drive.”

Another gasp of indignation fills the car, and the emphasized outrage sets Harry at ease.  He’d rather Y/N be equal parts annoyed and—if the soft look hidden behind her eyes is any clue—endeared than have her equal parts nervous and anxious.  He’d take any anger directed at his expense if it meant she was at ease. 

“I wasn’t trying to grab you.” The mortal mutters under her breath, her eyes falling from his as the increase of her heart pricks Harry’s ears. “That’s just where my hand fell naturally.”

“Right.” Harry answers in a disbelieving voice, his smirk growing as Y/N rolls her eyes in response. “Well, either way…” He extends a jeweled hand and grips her chin between his thumb and forefinger, enjoying how her breath stutters as he turns her head to look at him. “What do you say?  No sex after our date?  Think we can behave ourselves?”

“I can.” Y/N answers, irritation laced through her voice to hide the desire settling between her words. “You, on the other hand...I doubt you’ll be able to keep it in your pants.”

A wry smile works it’s way over Harry’s lips, and the vampire wets them with his tongue as he uses his gentle grip on Y/N’s jaw to tilt her head forward. “I have wonderful self-control, darling.” He breathes the words, letting the scent of mint roll over Y/N’s face, and delights in the way it intoxicates her with every syllable.  Harry ghosts his lips over the curve of her jaw, smudging his kisses down her neck until he can feel her pulse thumping unevenly beneath his lips.  His mouth opens just slightly as he leaves a lingering kiss on the area, his tongue gliding carefully over her sweet-scented skin. 

Despite every instinct in his body telling him to sink his teeth into the beating pulse he feels and quench the thirst that burns in the back of his throat like a roaring fire, Harry manages to pull away. “See?” He murmurs softly, his cool breath still clouding Y/N’s every inhale. “Self control.”

While Harry is a master at withholding his desires, the effect his actions have on Y/N is apparent in her reply. “Good.” The mortal swallows thickly, her pulse fluttering again as Harry releases her chin and drags his fingers down her neck. “That’s good to know.  So no sex, then.”

“Right.” Harry grins triumphantly as Y/N attempts to collect herself.  The smug expression on Harry’s face lets her know that he’s completely aware of the impact he has on her, and it drives her insane to no end.  Although her conscience is urging her to play his game, and do her best to fluster him as he flusters her, the more rational part of her stops that thought in its tracks.  This is what she wanted, wasn’t it?  To open herself up again, to open herself up to Harry in a way she hasn’t before?  To prove that she can let someone know her without burrowing themselves between her thighs?

The latch of her car door brings her from her thoughts, and her head jerks to the right to see Harry with one hand on the door handle as he extends the other to her to help her from the car.  Y/N, still fumbling with her seatbelt, takes a moment to grasp his hand in return, too swept up in the fact that Harry remembers to open her door to ponder how he always reaches her side of the car so quickly. 

However, there are some new developments that don’t slip from her attention, like how Harry keeps her hand grasped firmly in his icy grip even after she’s out of the car, pausing only to click the lock on his keyring before walking with her towards the door.  Or how, despite his long legs, he never falls out of step with Y/N, making sure to keep his strides measured and even so as not to yank on her hand.  Or how, even though her hand is already half extended out of habit, Harry reaches the door of the restaurant first, opening it smoothly and stepping back, gently laying his hand on the small of Y/N’s back to guide her inside the restaurant.

“Uh, thanks.” The young woman murmurs to him, a tone of perplexity running beneath her words.  She’s not quite sure why all of this surprises her; hadn’t Harry already proved that, despite his harsh and suggestive exterior, there’s an undercurrent of manners instilled into him?  

Maybe, she thinks as she watches Harry step forward to the restaurant host, the surprise and confusion is due to the lack of manners she received from her ex.  Despite the “small town charm,” as her mother had called it, Bradley had lacked the ability to successfully perform any gallantry, and any attempts he made to do so had only annoyed Y/N.  Whenever he tried to do something that may fall into that category, like insisting on driving everywhere they went, or choosing where they’d go for dinner, Y/N never felt that the actions came from a place of protection or chivalry; on the contrary, Y/N felt like each action was taken on the basis that she herself was incapable of doing the same things Bradley did.  On the one occasion she’d brought it up to him, he had scoffed, and argued that he was just trying to be a nice guy, and why would she have a problem with him trying to help her, and if she was going to complain, then he wouldn’t—

An icy touch to the dip of her back jerks Y/N from her thoughts, both metaphorically and literally as her body spasms away from the touch.  Upon hearing the alarmed gasp that falls from her lips, Harry turns his head to the side, a look of concern painted over his face.

“Everything alright, darling?” He asks in a quiet voice, his hand retracting from her back with uncertainty. 

“Yeah, sorry, just—caught up in thought, I guess.” Y/N covers quickly, giving him an apologetic smile. “You just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

If the way the mortal shivers is any suggestion, Harry can guess what exactly about his touch took her by surprise. “I’m sorry.” He says sincerely, his fingers hovering a few millimeters above the fabric of her dress. “The, uh, the table I reserved is just on the patio around the corner.” Although he lays his hand on Y/N once again to guide her, Harry is careful to place his palm further up her spine, where the sensitive skin of her back is covered by her jean jacket in addition to the thin yellow sundress.  As much as he usually adores making her shiver, there’s something different about the action when he knows it’s because of his inhumanly cold touch, instead of his inhuman ability to pleasure her. 

The pair move in a line, following the hostess in a beeline through the busy restaurant and out onto the sunlit patio, where there are fewer occupied tables.  Stopping in front of a table partly shaded under an umbrella that’s away from the other diners, the hostess turns to the two of them, her eyes flickering over Harry once again.

“Is this table to your liking, Mr. Styles?” She asks, her voice sweet as sugar.  The stickiness of it grates against Y/N’s skin, but Harry gives no indication of finding it irritating.  In fact, he seems to give hardly any notice to the hostess at all, only half glancing at her before nodding his head. 

“Yes, it is, thank you.” He steps out to the side, grasping the back of the chair facing away from the sun and pulling it out.  It takes Y/N a moment and a half step already taken towards the opposite chair for her to realize that he’s pulling it out for her.

“Oh—” Face flushing with realization, Y/N steps back around Harry, settling down into the offered seat as he carefully pushes it in. “Uh, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Harry replies, pausing to be sure she’s comfortable before taking his own seat across from her.  The hostess, who had been watching his actions with a keen eye, gives another smile to the vampire.

“Alright, Paige will be your server today, but before I leave,” The hostess spares a short glimpse at Y/N before turning her full attention back to Harry. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

The creature is aware of the effect he has on mortals, and has been since he was first turned.  While he normally plays that to his advantage (and while that was, to be frank, part of the reason he was able to take Y/N home from the club the night he met her), the attention is beginning to grind against his nerves.  It’s easy enough for him to ignore a human, especially one he has no interest in whatsoever, but he can see the way Y/N notices the hostess’ preference for addressing Harry.  More specifically, Harry can see the way it bothers her, and it would be amusing if his jealousy over Y/N going on a date with someone else hadn’t been the catalyst to their date today.

“No, that’s alright.” Harry finally responds to the waitress, glancing at her just enough so as not to be rude. “Thank you.”

The hostess smiles at him again before nodding to Y/N and turning on her heel, marching back towards the kitchen, and it takes just a soft snort falling from Y/N’s lips to pull Harry’s attention completely back to her.

“What?” He quirks an eyebrow up at the noise, reaching for the menu in front of him and flipping it open slowly. “Something funny?”

Y/N gives a small shake of her head as she mimics Harry’s action, casting her eyes downwards towards the now revealed menu. “No, not at all.”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” The vampire reaches across the table to touch his date’s hand, flipping her arm carefully so he can lay two ringed fingers against the thin skin of her wrist, the fragile hummingbird flutter of her heart thumping beneath it. “And I’m too excellent at reading people to let it go.”

“Too stubborn, you mean?” Y/N corrects him as she raises her own brow, but much to Harry’s delight, she doesn’t pull back from his icy touch as she did earlier. 

Harry shrugs lightly, an unconcerned air tinting his attitude. “If that’s what you’d like to call it.  Either way, I’d like to know why you’re laughing at me.”

The mortal chews on the inside of her cheek, the action of her weighing her next words clearly written all over her face. “You seriously can’t tell me you don’t notice it.”

Cocking his head to the side, Harry gently yet consistently continues to stroke two fingers over Y/N’s velvety skin, the heat of her veins burning beneath his touch. “Notice what?”

Although she opens her mouth, Y/N’s reply is cut off by the clicking of high heels approaching their secluded corner, and it’s only a moment before a waitress (whom she assumes is Paige) is standing in front of their table.  Like her coworker before her, Paige gives a brief hello to Y/N before turning all of her attention to Harry, smiling brightly at him as she gives her opening spiel.

“Hi!  My name is Paige, and I’ll be your server today.  Can I get some drinks started for you?” She asks, her hands clasped tightly in front of her (Y/N always hates when servers don’t write down orders; she knows it looks impressive, but the attention it takes to remember exact specifications gives her secondhand anxiety) as she addresses Harry.  

The order is right at the tip of Harry’s tongue. “We’ll have two mimosas, please.  And two ice waters, as well.” He replies, smiling briefly at her as his fingers continue to glide over Y/N’s wrist.  The girl catches the way Paige’s eyes flicker to the movement, her (just barely) professional smile shifting for a fraction of a second before fixing itself, and while Y/N knows that it’s irrational, a small part of her can’t help but be pleased.

“Sounds good.  I’ll be right back with those.” She chimes giddily, her heels clicking against the ground once more as she walks away.

The moment she’s left, Harry has his full attention turned back to Y/N. “You didn’t answer my question.” He murmurs, his emerald eyes alight with curiosity. “Notice what?”

An exasperated sigh sounds from Y/N as she makes a face. “The way they stare at you.” She answers, jerking her head over her shoulder towards the restaurant door. “The hostess, the server—they were both practically undressing you with their eyes.  Are you telling me you didn’t notice that?”

Harry’s curious expression drops as he begins to shift in his seat, the stroking of his fingers over her wrist pausing for just one moment.  Ah, Y/N thinks.  Here it is.  A confession that, yes, Harry did notice it, and Harry (and his ego) loved the attention, and he—

“I noticed it, yeah.” He begins, a reluctant look painting itself onto his statuesque features as a finger on his free hand rubs over his lion head ring.

A glum feeling of satisfaction settles into Y/N’s stomach, and she pulls her hand back a few inches, completely removing it from Harry’s grasp. “I thought so—”

“But I didn’t see the point in mentioning it.” Harry continues, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’m here with you.  Why would a spare look from a hostess or a server be anything but inconsequential to me?”

Huh.

“I…” For once, Y/N is stunned into silence. “Well, I just thought—”

“Y/N.” Her name sounds like a melody when it falls from Harry’s mouth, and the sincerity layered in his voice makes her snap her eyes to his. “Do you truly think I would flirt with a waitress on a date I asked you on?  Does that sound like me?”

“Well, honestly…” Harry’s stare bores into hers, prickling Y/N’s skin with the new and nearly uncomfortable sensation of being seen. “I don’t want to think so, but considering how we met…”

“Ah.” Harry’s lips turn down into a small grimace, but quickly right themselves as he once again grasps her hand in his two large palms. “I won’t pretend that I’m not a bit of a—”

“Whore?”

Harry’s lip twitches in amusement again at the blatant tone of the girl’s voice. “Didn’t we just have a conversation about you slut-shaming me?”

The flush that overtakes Y/N’s face indicates that she remembers. “Yes, we did.  But I seem to recall you agreeing.  After you teased me for it, of course.”

“Of course.  We both know how much you love teasing.” Harry digs his nails ever so slightly into her wrist, not enough to hurt, but enough to pull a small gasp from her mouth as his grip begins to mimic the handcuffs that she had begged him to use on her. “But all that aside...I couldn’t give less of a fuck about what they think of me.  I’m here with you.  Despite most of my flaws, my mother raised me right.  I wouldn’t do that to you.”

The thunderous thumping of Y/N’s heart rings through Harry’s ears, a constant reminder of why he’s here.  Beneath her soft skin, beneath every telltale mark and scar, beneath her glittering eyes and silky lips, there’s the thing that keeps Harry alive.  Rushing through this girl’s arteries is the sustenance that Harry needs to survive, the sweetest liquid he’s ever consumed, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep it at his beck and call.  If being the gentleman of Y/N’s dreams is what will keep her available for him, then that’s what he’ll do.  The pounding of her heart is the beat that keeps him in time with the tune of his life.  It’s nothing more and nothing less. 

Still, Harry chooses his next words attentively, to bring back a joking manner to the conversation. “Someone must have done a number on you, huh?  Was everything not so charming in Smalltown, USA?  Did your parents split when you were a kid?”

And although Harry asks the questions with a smirk on his face, laughter in his voice, and mirth in his eyes, he doesn’t miss the way Y/N’s breath hitches in her chest, how her hand tenses beneath his, and how her eyes drop for a fraction of a second.  He’s touched a nerve, one that is obviously frayed and hurting, and the regret that instantly washes over him is tinged with the confusion of how he’s capable of feeling such an emotion so intensely. 

“Um—” While Y/N knew that she had to tell Harry about her disastrous dating history sooner or later, she had really hoped it would be later rather than sooner.  Is a discussion about one’s scumbag ex appropriate first date talk?  Can she bring it up now, or should she wait until they’ve finished their appetizers? 

“Alright, so I have two mimosas and two waters for you…” Paige’s return distracts Y/N from her dilemma for just a moment as the server sets down the four glasses in front of the respective recipients.  With her attention turned back to Harry, she takes a step back from the table. “Are you ready to order?”

Y/N’s eyes snap to the open menu in front of her, which had become the least of her concerns over the last few minutes. “Oh, I haven’t—”

“We’ll get two orders of the chorizo and goat cheese crepes, please.” Harry closes his menu before reaching for Y/N’s and repeating the motion, handing them back to Paige with a charming yet neutral smile. “And a side of hashbrowns, please, to share.”

Brow furrowing as the server scurries away without giving her a second glance, Y/N gapes at Harry, her voice wrought with confusion. “Why did you order for me?”

Harry raises his mimosa to his lips and takes a long sip, setting the condensation-covered glass back down on the table before replying. “You didn’t know what you wanted, and the crepes are delicious.  Did you want something else?” With a lick of his red lips, he glances over his shoulder. “I can call her back if—”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Y/N wraps her hand around the alcoholic drink, swirling her finger over the cold glass. “I can order for myself.  I’m a grown woman.  Do you think I’m not capable or something?”

Harry cocks his head to the side, appraising how the mortal’s expression is closing off with every passing moment.  This bothers her, he realizes.  The idea of him not thinking she’s capable of something bothers her, enough that she’s clenching her glass, and her normally clear eyes are swirling with anger more and more with every passing moment.

“I know you’re capable, Y/N.  I just thought that…” Shifting in his seat, Harry clears his throat as he gathers his words in his mind.  Wasn’t he supposed to be the one asking the questions? “It’s supposed to be polite.”

“In what century?” She replies, her mouth falling agape in surprise as her eyes widen. “Men used to order for women because women weren’t allowed to, right?  Because men made the decisions?  Holding open a door is one thing, but choosing for me—”

“Okay, maybe choosing for you was impolite.  I thought you were unsure on what to order, but I should’ve asked first.  I’m sorry.” Harry half mumbles the apology as an uncomfortable feeling of shame begins to buzz in his stomach. “But the ordering thing, that— men did that as a sign of respect, so women wouldn’t have to talk to someone they didn’t know.  I really didn’t mean anything by it, I swear.  My mum just taught me that it was polite, so I...it’s a habit.  I’m sorry.  I won’t do it again.”

He watches as Y/N chews her bottom lip, seemingly contemplating the authenticness of his apology.  Everything he had said was true, of course.  His mother did teach him that it was polite to order something for a date so she wouldn’t have to speak to someone she doesn’t know.  Of course, it was also true that the practice had died out a century ago, and most women now preferred to speak for themselves.  Harry can’t begrudge Y/N if she dislikes what he did; she’s proved time and time again that she can be rather independent.  However, Harry’s surprised at the disappointment he feels about her reaction.  If this is going to be a proper date, he’d like to hold it up to his standards of proper.

“Alright.” The mortal says after a moment, releasing her lip from her teeth and finally raising her mimosa to her mouth. “You’re forgiven.  But I think I’ve earned the right to compensation for your assumptions.”

“Compensation could be arranged, I suppose.” Harry leans forward with a sly grin, his fingers finding the delicate skin of Y/N’s wrist once more. “I feel like I’ve been fairly firm on the no sex thing, but I could pencil you in for some compensation tomorrow evening, if that works for you.”

Y/N swirls the liquid in her glass as she bites back a smirk. “I was thinking of something a little different than an orgasm, actually.”

“What could possibly be better than an orgasm given by me?” Harry questions, his free hand fingering the cross around his neck. “Didn’t you once compare them to a gift from God?”

“I don’t recall ever saying that, actually.” The mortal girl replies in a dry voice, setting her glass down with a decisive thunk. “I don’t want an orgasm—”

“Oh, that’s a bloody lie—”

“I want information.” Tapping her fingers against the table, Y/N stares Harry down with firm eyes. “Like where did you grow up that your mother taught you it was appropriate to speak for a woman?  Or why have you avoided any personal questions I’ve tried to ask over the last month?”

Harry retracts his hand from Y/N’s wrist as she voices her inquisition, settling his fingers on the rim of his mimosa to begin tracing the smooth glass. “To be fair, pet, you haven’t asked many personal questions.  You’ve been too busy bouncing on my cock, haven’t you?”

“Maybe, but I won’t be today, as per our agreement.” Y/N steeps her fingers together as she leans towards him, the comical sight of her posture forcing Harry to repress a snort. “And you brought up personal questions first, Holmes.  So you kind of screwed yourself, didn’t you?”

“I suppose I did.  I’ve gotten so used to you doing the screwing, Watson.  Guess I’m getting sloppy— although you seem to like that.” Harry can’t help but get in one last dig before conceding, taking a long gulp of his beverage before smacking his lips. “I’ll tell you what.” He says, pointing a jeweled finger at his date with his glass still wrapped tightly in his hand. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Pursing her lips, Y/N quirks up an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“Let’s play a little question game.” Harry sets down his glass as he elaborates, his signature smirk growing over his cherry lips. “We alternate questions back and forth, asking whatever we’ve wanted to know.  And the other person has to answer it honestly.”

Or as honestly as possible, Harry amends in his head.  For obvious reasons, he’ll have to fabricate the majority of his answers, but that’s nothing new to him.  Over the years, he’s had to create multiple spiels about his childhood, taking tiny pieces of truths and weaving them together with updated lies.  Spitting out a few standard stories about where he grew up and why he left London is small change compared to his burning desire to know more about Y/N’s past.  

The mortal chews on the inside of her cheek again, weighing her options in her head as she holds Harry’s questioning stare.  As much as she hates to discuss her life story, and as much as she’d been hoping to hide it from Harry, she knows that she has to be honest with him if she wants him to be honest with her.  As awkward as it may be, she’ll have to tell the stories sometime.

“Alright.” She relents after a moment, blowing out a harsh breath and lifting her mimosa to her lips. “But I get to ask the first question.  Ladies first, and all that.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Harry flashes a cheeky grin at her, his left eye dropping into a quick wink. “Start your inquisition, Watson.”

Harry’s been in this position millions of times, so he knows the types of questions that are about to tumble from Y/N’s pretty lips.  She’ll start off by asking where he grew up, and where he went to school, and how many siblings he has, before moving to things like why he moved to L.A., and how he made friends, and—

“What else did your mother teach you, besides manners?” Y/N asks suddenly, her tongue poking from the corner of her mouth to catch a stray drop of liquid on her bottom lip as she lowers her glass. “And what was the most important thing?” 

The nature of the question catches Harry so off guard that he doesn’t remember to quell the throb in his chest where his heart used to beat at the mention of his mother, and the old half healed wound flares with pain.  What had his mother taught him?  Harry ponders the question as Y/N’s curious eyes ponder him.  What hadn’t she taught him? 

“My mother taught me…many things.  Many good things.  She was a wonderful woman.” Harry begins honestly, albeit carefully, speaking in a measured voice as his eyes fall to her opal ring that sits upon his pinky. “She taught me how to read as a child, before I began school.  She taught me...she taught me how to cook a bit.  I’m not nearly as good as she was, but I’m passable.  And yes, she did teach me how to behave around women, how to be respectful.  But the most important thing…”

Y/N watches as Harry’s eyes bore into the ring on his finger, as if he’s staring into a crystal ball of the past to search for an answer.  Perhaps, in a way, he is. 

“The most important thing,” Harry repeats again, his eyes finally snapping away from the entrapment of the ring. “Was how to let someone know you appreciate them.  It’s easy, I think, to go about your day without telling someone you care for them.” Stroking his thumb over the band of the ring, Harry thinks back to the countless ways his mother had wordlessly shown Harry and his sister how much she adored them. “Little touches, or little favours, things like that— those go a long way.  They help someone feel less alone.  They can be the difference between a good day and a bad day.  She used to, um,” A lump suddenly develops in his throat, and Harry struggles to swallow it down as he voices a memory he hasn’t spoken aloud in over a century. “She used to comb her fingers through my hair when I was a little boy, whenever I was upset.  I’d come home from—“ Harry cuts himself off before he mentions his father’s blacksmith forge, where he was an apprentice. “—from school, and she would take one look at me and be able to see I was frustrated.  She always sat in this big chair in front of the fireplace, and she’d pat her lap, and I’d sit in front of her knees and lay my head on her leg, and she’d card her fingers through my hair as I told her every bad thing that happened that day.” Unconsciously, Harry raises his own hand to his chestnut curls, raking his fingers through them.  The motion doesn’t bring nearly as much comfort as it once did. “She always listened.  She never made me feel like my problems were silly.  She just listened.  It made me feel better.  Made me feel…” The vampire’s hand drifts from his hair to his lips, rubbing over them pensively. “Loved.”

The mortal girl’s eyes soften as she listens to the memories of the man in front of her, who begins to look younger and younger with every word that falls from his lips.  Although she’s surprised by the candor of his answer, it pleases her; she thought pulling truths from Harry would be like pulling teeth.  One note of his story, however, catches her attention with an ache. 

“You said...you said she was a wonderful woman.” Y/N murmurs, carefully gauging Harry’s reaction to the question. “Is she...not anymore?”

“I’m sure she would be, but she passed away a…a while ago.” Harry’s eyes shift to the ring again, the dainty band with its opal stone standing out from the rest of his chunky jewelry.  Y/N wonders if that’s because it once belonged to someone else. “She got sick, and couldn’t get better.”

With a careful but tender motion, Y/N slides her hand across the table and settles it on top of Harry’s, cupping his larger hand in her smaller grasp. “I’m so sorry.” The sincerity in her voice snags Harry’s attention, and the vampire looks up to find the mortal staring at him with understanding eyes. “I can’t imagine how awful that must have been for you.  You must miss her very much.”

It takes Harry a moment to clear the lump from his throat enough that he can choke out a response. “I-I do, yeah.  Every day.” He’s not sure if it’s his icy skin or the burn of Y/N’s touch, but he slowly pulls his hand from beneath her grasp, reaching for his glass of ice water instead.  He gulps down half the liquid, setting the cup down with a decisive thunk before pasting a strained smile onto his face. “But that’s enough of my sob story, don’t you think?  It’s my turn to ask a question.”

A small frown works its way over Y/N’s face as Harry pulls away, and she clasps her now empty hands together around the stem of her mimosa glass. “Fine.  What do you want to know?”

“The answer to my previous inquiry.” Harry’s emerald irises sweep over her figure, his tongue poking between his teeth as his simper becomes more genuine. “Someone must’ve really done a number on you if opening a door for you is a shock.  What’s the story there?”

Although she knew that this would be Harry’s first question, Y/N still bides her time by knocking back the rest of her mimosa in one swift gulp, wrinkling her nose at the lingering taste that catches in the back of her throat. “His name was Bradley.” She begins, tapping a fingernail against the delicate glass. “And he—”

“So sorry to cut you off, darling, but,” Harry raises a finger to pause her speech, his rings glinting in the L.A. sun. “Bradley?  You fucked someone named Bradley?”

“It was a small town!  It’s not like I had many options!” Y/N argues hotly, her eyes rolling harder than they ever have before. “Now are you going to be quiet and listen politely, or are you going to keep interrupting me before I can even begin?”

Harry laughs once, shaking his head with an amused air. “Sorry.  Continue.” Despite the teasing smirk still tugging at his lips, Harry raises a hand to the corner of his mouth, pretending to lock it shut with an imaginary key.  He even takes care to slide the invisible key into his shirt pocket, patting it with satisfaction once the deed is done. 

Y/N takes one more moment to glare at him, but Harry’s newfound silence continues, and so she does, as well. “His name was Bradley.  I met him through a mutual friend in our freshman year of high school.  I’d seen him around before, but we’d never talked, really.  And after he asked me to Homecoming, he just kind of…stuck.” The girl shrugs in a way of explanation. “Like, he started coming around more to my house, taking me out to movies.  And it was nice.  The attention, I mean.  There was no one else I was really interested in at school, and Bradley was cute, and he was friendly, and our families really liked each other.  It made sense.”

As she speaks, a crease works its way between Harry’s perfectly sculpted brows.  Most mortal romances, he’s come to find, are rather dull, but this one seems more boring than others, and he can’t stop himself from raising his jeweled hand in the air as if he were in one of the classes Y/N mentioned, waiting for the teacher to call on him for an answer. 

When Y/N notices the hand, an exasperated sigh falls from her mouth, but she leans across the table and retrieves the imaginary key from Harry’s shirt pocket, her warm fingers leaving pinpricks of fire across his chest.  A small smile tugs at the corner of Harry’s lips as those warm fingers touch the lifted spot, mimicking an unlocking motion before she sits back in her seat. “Yes?”

Harry rests a bent elbow on the table, propping his chin up on his fist as he leans forward. “I have a question.” He begins innocently, watching as Y/N narrows her eyes at his sudden polite intrigue.

“Yes?” She repeats again, wariness written into her tone as she evaluated the suspicious air of Harry’s behaviour. 

“I was just wondering how big Bradley’s dick is.” Harry’s grin grows to wicked proportions as Y/N’s mouth falls open in shock. “Because, honestly, he doesn’t seem to have that much going for him, and I’ve been wracking my brain to figure out why you dated him, and the only answer I can come up with is—“

“That his dick must be huge?”

“That he’s well endowed, yes.” Harry finishes smugly, tapping a finger against his chin. “I’m curious.  Are we talking about a carrot?  A cucumber?  A zucchini?” Lip twitching again, Harry stifles a laugh as Y/N’s face hardens with exasperation. “A stalk of celery?  I suppose the length could be a selling point, but if there’s not enough girth to fill you—”

“His dick wasn’t the reason I dated him.” Y/N replies flatly, a deadpan stare meeting Harry’s mirth filled eyes. “Although, since you’re curious…it was the size of a cucumber, but not an English cucumber.  More of a garden variety.  Not incredibly girthy, but good for a beginner.”

“A beginner?” Intrigue sparks at the pit of Harry’s belly (along with what he thinks is jealousy, but he’ll wait to dissect that at a later date) as the vampire leans forward more. “This bloke was your first?”

“We were together for years, so—” Y/N cuts herself off with a shake of her head, twisting a lock of her hair around her finger nervously. “No, wait, that’s another question!  You don’t get another question if I didn’t!”

“But you haven’t finished answering my first question—”

“I would if you’d stop interrupting!” Silencing Harry with a stern look, Y/N holds up her left hand, pinching two of her fingers together. “Do I need to pretend to lock your mouth again like I would a seven year old, or can you sit and listen like an adult for five minutes?  What happened to that old fashioned chivalry from earlier?”

Harry lets out a defeated sigh, sitting back in his chair with proper posture.  He takes a moment to adjust himself, straightening his back, fixing the fall of his shirt, adjusting his cross, planting his feet on the ground of the patio, and finishing off the show by rolling out his shoulders before squaring them. “Alright, I’m sorry.  I’m ready to listen.  Please continue.”

The young woman inhales deeply, testing Harry’s rapt attention as she takes her time sipping her ice water.  When she sets the glass down and finds that Harry has stayed perfectly still, his irises glued to her, she continues. 

“So Bradley and I got together our freshman year, and stayed together for the rest of high school.  It was comfortable.  His mom liked me, and my parents liked him.  He came to church with us—” Y/N notes that Harry’s eyebrow lifts a quarter of an inch, but only for a moment before dropping back down into its neutral state. “—and he and I went out once or twice a week.  He was…nice.  But he didn’t do the stuff that you do, the…etiquette stuff.” She taps an index finger against the table, thinking back to all the movie and diner dates that have blurred together in her mind. “Well, he’d try, I suppose, but not in the way you do.  Whenever he did something that was supposed to be chivalrous or gallant, it felt like he was doing it because he thought I was incapable.  And when I brought it up, he got mad.” Y/N lifts one shoulder in a shy shrug as she smiles apologetically at Harry. “That’s why I didn’t understand you ordering for me.  I know you didn’t mean it in the way he did, I can tell that, but it just kind of…reminded me of him.  It left a bad taste in my mouth; he left a bad taste in my mouth, I guess.”

A beat of silence falls between them, and the intense way that Harry is looking at her is prickling the hair on the back of Y/N’s neck. 

“I get that.” The brunette speaks after a moment, voice low and accent thick. “Being haunted by someone.  Even after they’re gone, even after time passes…something can remind you of them, and it can be enough to bring you to your knees.”

Although Harry’s eyes are locked on hers, Y/N has the distinct feeling that he’s seeing someone else in her place.  Before she can ask what he means, however, he’s blinked himself out of the self-imposed trance. 

“So what was the final straw?” Harry clears his throat quietly as his mind comes back to the present. “Between you and Cucumber Dick?”

A tiny giggle escapes Y/N’s mouth despite her far from humorous answer. “Well—”

The telltale clicking of heels interrupts the unspoken thought, and within a moment, Paige is standing next to their table once again, a tray balanced on her hand with precision as she offers another one of her smiles to Harry. “Here you go—two orders of the chorizo and goat cheese crepes, and a side of hash browns.” The server sets the first plate down in front of Harry, but he quickly lifts it again and sets it down carefully in front of Y/N before accepting the second dish.  He repeats the motions with the hash browns, sliding them to the middle of the table and within Y/N’s reach. 

“Thank you.” Harry speaks with a kind tone, but offers no other comment to the girl, who’s allowed her eyes to slide to the dark ink that decorates Harry’s arms. 

“Of course.” Paige stutters, giving no pretense of paying attention to Y/N. “Could I get you anything else?”

Harry glances at Y/N’s empty mimosa glass, raising an eyebrow in question. “Would you like another drink?” He asks her slowly, his voice unsure.  Normally, he’d just order a second one for her without a thought, but now that he knows how she feels about him ordering for her, he’ll have to work on beating back that particular bit of Victorian etiquette. 

“I would, yes.” Y/N replies with a smile as she touches the stem of her empty glass. “Thank you.”

A strained smile flickers over Paige’s lips. “No problem.  I’ll be right back.”

Harry nods in satisfaction as he watches the server retreat. “There.  We have a few more minutes.  Keep talking.”

“Ah ah ah.” Y/N picks up her fork and sticks it into the hash browns, pulling away a crispy bite for herself. “I think I get to ask a question now, especially since you’ve crammed a few different inquiries into your last turn.”

“And here I was, thinking you loved when I crammed things into—”

“Harry.”

A teasing smile breaks across the vampire’s face, more genuine than Harry thought possible. “Fine.” He relents, cutting the corner off his crepes and popping the savory bite into his mouth. “What else would you like to know?”

Where to begin?  Y/N considers his question pensively as she takes a bite of her own crepe, her expression raising in surprise when she finds that she enjoys Harry’s entrée choice.  The smokiness and spice of the chorizo is undercut by the tangy saltiness of the cheese, all wrapped together with a few garnishes in the perfectly cooked crepe.  Savoring the bite as she chews, Y/N begins to run through the list of questions in her head. 

She could ask more about his family, but if the aching sadness that had radiated off of him at the mention of his mother was any hint, any answers Harry could give on that topic may be off tone for a first date.  And while inquiring about what he said before, about being haunted by someone seems promising, it may also be a bit too much.  As much as she dislikes talking about her personal life, she gets the feeling that Harry absolutely abhors it, and while she was surprised about him asking her on a date, she’s been even more surprised to find herself enjoying it.  The last thing she needs is to fuck that all up by interrogating him about an ex. 

With those two possibilities pushed aside, only one burning question is left on the tip of Y/N’s tongue, and she hurriedly swallows her mouthful of crepe before letting it fall. “Alright, I’ve got it.” Cocking her head to the side, Y/N points her fork at the man in an accusatory manner. “Did you ask me out on this date just because you were jealous I was out with Jacob?  Was that the only reason?  Because you saw me with him, and you didn’t like it?”

Harry wraps his ringed hand around his water glass, the metal of his jewelry clinking against the surface as he pulls a face.  Even if he wanted to be honest with Y/N about this, Harry isn’t quite sure what the honest answer would be.

“I’ll admit, I was a little…bothered by it.” Reluctance is threaded through every word that Harry manages to spit out. “Moreso by your taste in men than anything else— Jacob wasn’t exactly up to par.”

“It wasn’t like I chose him myself.” Y/N retorts, pulling a grape from the bunch of side fruit on her plate and popping it into her mouth. “Was that really all that bothered you?  That he wasn’t up to par?”

Tapping his fingers against the wooden table, Harry takes a moment to ponder the question. “No.” He says finally, deciding to continue his honesty streak. “No, that wasn’t all that bothered me.  You’re right, I didn’t like seeing you with him, but it wasn’t because of him.  Not entirely, anyways.  I can’t imagine I would’ve liked seeing you with anyone.”

A light flush works its way over the mortal’s cheeks, and Harry can hear the stuttered thumping of her heart. “Why?” She asks in a half whisper, her teeth worrying her bottom lip unconsciously. “Why is that?”

Harry muses the various answers he could give as Paige brings them refills on their mimosas.  It’s not like he can tell her that he wants to keep her available for snacking whenever he gets a little thirsty.  Well, he could, but then he’d have to wipe her mind, and he’s not particularly inclined to do that at the moment.  And, if he’s being honest with himself…he’s not entirely sure that’s the truth anymore.  Is sheer convenience the reason behind his terrible reaction to Y/N seeing someone else?  Or is that reaction linked to the way he felt when she opened her door to him that morning, and the sight of her all dolled up for him hit him like a truck?

Either way, none of those answers are suitable to confess in the moment, so Harry merely gives a dimpled grin. “That’s another question, darling.  We’re not very good at limiting ourselves, are we?”

“I suppose not, no.” Y/N smiles sheepishly as she takes a sip of her fresh mimosa, her eyes watching Harry over the rim of the glass. “Your turn, then.  What else do you want to know?”

What else would he like to know?  Harry thinks, taking another bite of chorizo as he mulls over the question.  Now that the floodgates have opened, now that he has the opportunity, now that he has the ability to ask, Harry wants to know everything.  He wants to know what makes Y/N tick, what her pet peeves are, and if she prefers mornings or nights.  He wants to know what her favourite school subject was, if she was ever in her school’s plays, or on any of the sports teams.  He wants to know her favourite flavour of ice cream, what TV shows she binge watches when she wants to distract herself, and if she’s really read all those books that line the floor to ceiling shelf in her room.  He wants to know her, he realizes.  She’s more fascinating than he ever thought possible, and her blood is more addicting than he knew.  He wants to know every aspect that molded her into the person sitting before him.  And one of those aspects is—

“Why did things end between you and Bradley?” He finally asks, his voice low and cautious. “Was it mutual, or...?”

Despite the time Harry took to think of his question, Y/N knew exactly what it was going to be, and she has her answer ready to go the moment the words roll from Harry’s pillowy lips. “He was cheating on me.” She admits with a sigh, her eyes glued to her mimosa glass as she swirls the orange liquid within it. “He went away for university, and I stayed home.  I guess he met someone at school.” Allowing her eyes to flick up to Harry for a moment, Y/N finds the man staring at her blankly with a harsh crease between his brows. “I kind of thought it was going to end, honestly.  He began to get more and more distant...we’d talk less over Skype or the phone...but I didn’t think he’d…” She trails off for a moment, thinking back to the day she found out. “Well.  He did.  I found out from his roommate, and the next day, he and I were through.  And almost five years of memories, time together, shared moments...all of that was just gone.”

Although it’s been years since things ended, and Y/N has moved on in tenfold, she can’t help the way her voice aches at the end of her explanation, which acts as proof of how the raw wound had healed in a way that wasn’t quite right.  No matter how much time passes, no matter how many people she’s been with, no matter how little she cares for Bradley now...nothing will change the fact that he hurt her.  Nothing will mend the jagged scar he created.  Sure, it may fade with time, but it’ll never disappear completely.  And as much as Y/N hates that Bradley still has an effect on her after all this time, she can’t change it.  She’s tried.

“That…” Harry’s cool hand wrapping around her own drags her back to the present, and she lifts her eyes to find the man staring at her with the most tender expression she’s ever seen his sculpted face wear. “That’s awful, Y/N.  I’m so sorry you went through that.”

“It’s—it’s fine.  Really.” Y/N half mumbles the words, distracted by the small circles Harry’s thumb is rubbing against the bone of her wrist.

Chestnut curls swaying, Harry adamantly shakes his head, the crease between his brows deepening with each passing moment. “Don’t.  It’s not fine.  You don’t have to make excuses for someone who hurt you.”

“I’m not making an excuse, I just—”

“Did he hurt you?” Harry’s jade irises fixate on her own with determination. “Yes or no?”

Once Y/N locks her eyes with Harry, she can’t look away.  His gaze nears hypnotic the more she looks. “Yes.  He hurt me.”

“Then he doesn’t deserve you making excuses for him.” The vampire squeezes her hand to emphasize his answer.  Although he’s not compelling her to understand him, Harry looks at her with an unfamiliar sincerity that he hopes makes the depth of his words resonate within her. “You may be fine now, or you may not be, but the situation itself wasn’t fine.  Don’t use your healing as an excuse for his behaviour.  You shouldn’t have had to heal yourself in the first place.”

The gravity of his words rings in Y/N’s ears, and the girl gapes at him for a moment, her mouth half open in shock, before the realization of what he’s saying hits her.  The way he’s staring at her…it’s nearly uncomfortable, the way he sees her.  She almost can’t bear it.  How does he know to say exactly what she needs to hear, even if she doesn’t know she needs to hear it?  Since the first night they slept together, when he reassured her that she could relax and let loose, Harry has been honest and reassuring.  And although Y/N has greatly appreciated that trait in the bedroom, when she’s been at her most vulnerable in a physical aspect…her eyes lock with Harry’s once more, finding them still as steadfast as ever.  This may be the most vulnerable she’s been emotionally in a long time.  And the idea of that, for once, doesn’t completely terrify her. 

The questions get more and more personal from there.  Although there’s a few lighthearted inquiries sprinkled in to ease the tension (“What was the name of your first pet?” “It was a cat named Mr. Snuffleupagus.  I named him after the Sesame Street character.  What’s your earliest childhood memory?” “My sister nearly drowning me in a lake.  She thought I would float.”), the majority of questions asked are things that neither person ever thought they would admit to someone else.  

Those questions range from vaguely prying (“How old were you when you lost your virginity?” “Seventeen.  It was with—” “Bradley and his beginner penis, right.” “Alright, smart ass, who did you lose yours to?” “My first girlfriend.”) to diving deep into memories, stories, and opinions that neither have so much as breathed to themselves in the dark of the night, let alone someone else.

Despite the plan having been to leave after brunch, the pair find themselves engrossed in their conversation, drinking mimosa after mimosa as the late morning bleeds into early afternoon, and they continue to discover each other. 

As Y/N takes a sip of her fourth beverage, Harry regards her with curious eyes, which are focused on picking apart every moment of her body to dissect and devour in his head when he’s alone that night. “So you said pretty much everyone from your hometown marries their high school sweetheart.” He asks slowly, rubbing a jeweled finger over his ice-swollen lips. “But you didn’t, obviously.”

“No, I did not.” Y/N says in agreement, a tipsy snort sounding from the back of her throat as she raises her fluted glass in a toast. “Thank fuck, honestly.  Could you imagine me as a wife right now?  And a mother?  With children?”

Finger tapping against his lip, a cheeky grin tugs at the very corner of his mouth. “No, I couldn’t, frankly.” Harry’s dimples wink at her as he answers. “But what I’d like to know is…do you believe in it?  Marriage, I mean?  Because you said your parents had rough patches, and you thought they mostly stayed together just to stay together, and you and Gherkin Pickle didn’t last—”

“I’m sorry, Gherkin Pickle—?”

“So what I want to know is…” With his thumb and knuckle still grazing his chin, Harry points his finger at the girl across the table. “Marriage.  Do you think there’s value in it?  Do you think someone can be monogamous for their entire life?  Do you want to get married someday?”

The alcohol is beginning to soak into Y/N’s brain, making her bolder with every thump of her heart in her chest.  She leans across the table to ghost her fingers over Harry’s knuckles, continuing to glide them over his cool skin until she reaches his statement rings. “Why?” She asks, a smirk twinkling its way onto her face. “Are you asking?”

“Not quite yet, no.” Harry can feel the alcohol beginning to buzz through his stagnant veins, and he’ll later blame his flirtatious response on the pleasant feeling. “Although you in that dress has me half considering it.”

“Only half considering it?” Y/N clicks her tongue in feigned disappointment, swirling the tip of her index finger over the opal ring that sits upon Harry’s pinkie. “That’s a bit disheartening.  I’ll have to up my game, huh?”

The sight of Y/N’s lithe finger tracing his mother’s ring sends a shock through Harry’s buzzing body.  He can’t quite tell if it’s the witty banter that she matches perfectly and with ease, the lighthearted smile that lifts her soft lips, the gentle pulse he can feel reverberating through her fingertip, or the cleavage that’s just barely slipping out of her dress as she leans over, but Harry can’t tear his eyes away from the mortal girl, not for one second.  He doesn’t want to miss a single moment of her like this.  How it’s all for him. 

“You know, I’m starting to regret my earlier proposal.” He murmurs quietly, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue as he watches the mortal take a long sip of her mimosa. “How much begging would it take to convince you to follow me to the bathroom right now for a little fun?”

Despite the warmth pooling between her thighs at the offer, Y/N shakes her head. “Too much begging.” She replies, setting her glass back down on the table with a soft clink.  She can already tell there’s a good chance that she’ll go back on the agreement they made, but she wants to make him sweat first.  As much as it tortures her, she knows it tortures him more.  And he’s certainly done his fair share of torturing.  Now it’s her turn. “But speaking of proposals…”

To his credit, Harry doesn’t push the subject of bathroom quickies again. “Right.” He pauses with his glass half raised to his lips. “Marriage.  Thoughts?”

Harry’s attention is rapt as his eyes drift to the mortal’s lips, which pucker slightly as her lightly inebriated mind thinks through the question.  Not for the first time, he wishes he had the ability to take a look inside her head and see how her thoughts form before she voices them. 

“I think…” She fixes her fork against her plate with a clink, her voice light but thoughtful as she forms her response. “I do think there’s value in marriage, but not inherently.  It’s not valuable just because it exists; I think it becomes valuable based on the work you put into it.  My parents, for example…” Her finger begins to circle Harry’s icy knuckle absentmindedly. “My parents didn’t put much work in, so I don’t think their marriage has that much value in comparison to what it could have if they tried.  But if two people put effort in, and strive to be the best partner they can be…I think there’s tremendous value in that.”

Harry responds with a low hum in the back of his throat. “That stands to reason.” He wishes he could take her hand in his own, but the sensation of her warm fingers tracing his skin is too wonderful to pull away. “What about monogamy?  Do you think it’s realistic?”

“I suppose my answer is the same.” Y/N shrugs lightly as her soft skin catches on the corner of Harry’s H ring. “It’s different for everyone, but I do think it can be realistic.  What’s not realistic is the idea that it’s easy.  People change over time, right?  Sometimes someone can change into someone completely different.  You have to expect that, and be flexible with it.”

For the first time since the beginning of their date, an uncomfortably negative feeling buzzes in the pit of Harry’s belly.  Of course Y/N thinks people change—she’s mortal.  But Harry, on the other hand… Harry is forever frozen at twenty-six.  Harry is static.  Harry is stagnant.  However Y/N will change, Harry cannot match it.  Ever. 

That realization helps him identify the uncomfortable feeling as his eyes fall on the girl’s finger tracing his rings.  It’s longing, he discovers, unable to look away from the way her fingernail scratches his immortal skin without so much as leaving a pinkening mark.  Harry will never change again, while Y/N has a whole life of it ahead of her.  Millions of possibilities that lead to millions of more possibilities, always shifting, never staying the same from one moment to the next. 

“As for your last question…” Y/N’s familiar cadence pulls Harry from his thoughts. “I’m not sure.  I wouldn’t completely rule out marriage, but it’s not an active goal of mine.  It all depends on finding someone I think I could grow with and still love at the end of every day.  And despite how simple that sounds,” The short laugh that leaves her mouth is wistful, but hides a tinge of bitterness. “It’s surprisingly hard to find.”

“It is, yeah.” Harry agrees, finishing the remnants of his mimosa with one fell swoop. “Incredibly hard.” His gaze sweeps to Y/N’s glass, which has about one more gulp of liquid left in it.  With the hand not within her grasp, he reaches across the table, picking up the glass and lifting it to her lips. “May I, pet?”

He can hear the way her heartbeat stutters in her chest, and feel the heat radiating off her cheeks as she nods slowly.  Harry places the glass between her lips, carefully tilting it back until the drink runs out of the crystal and into her awaiting mouth.  A small droplet streaks from the corner of Y/N’s mouth, and Harry is sure to catch it on his finger after setting the glass down. 

Y/N knows that Harry is doing his best to fluster her, and while it’s working, she knows that she can play the game just as well as he can.  Keeping her eyes on his like a challenge, she grasps the hand touching the corner of her mouth, guiding his finger beyond her lips with a firm grip.  The sweetness of the orange juice and champagne concoction swells across her tongue, but that’s nothing compared to the sweetness of watching Harry’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly. 

Pulling his finger from her mouth with a quiet pop, Y/N sets his hand back down on the table, squeezing it once before releasing both of his hands and resting her elbows on the table.  She steeples her fingers together, setting her chin on the makeshift rest as she regards Harry’s darkening eyes. 

“Thanks.” She murmurs, tilting her head to the side lazily as Harry shifts in his chair. “Didn’t realize I missed a drop.  That was a sharp catch, Holmes.”

Harry can’t help but flex his finger as his gaze drops to the digit, catching how a light sheen of saliva covers his skin.  Heat floods between his thighs, making him regret his choice of fashionable linen pants over standard jeans.  “Thank you, Watson.” He matches her banter, albeit with a slightly strained voice. “Shall we order another drink, now that we’ve both finished?”

The question hangs in the air between them like an invitation, open ended and carefully calculated.  Y/N leans forward again, unlocking one of her hands to run a finger over the dark ink staining Harry’s exposed forearm. “I think we should grab the check, actually.” She wets her lips with a swipe of her tongue as she feels Harry’s muscle tense under her touch. “I think I’ve had enough to drink.  Have you?”

All the moisture in Harry’s mouth disappears, his throat burning as the mortal girl’s scent envelops him with every move.  His eyes flicker to her neck, where the thumping of her heart is practically visible underneath her fragile skin.  With his inhuman eyes, he can just make out the ghost of a bruise he sucked into her neck a few nights before.  

Has he had enough to drink?  No.  He’ll never get enough.  But that’s not what Y/N means by the innocuous question. 

“I’ve had my fill, yeah.” Jerking his head in agreement, Harry motions towards the window, where he knows Paige has been analyzing every move between them.  Her displeasure at the close interactions between Harry and Y/N is nearly palpable as she makes her way back to their table, and Harry wonders if Y/N can also sense it, as she seems to be more perceptive than the average human.  When he turns his attention back to her, however, his brow creases in confusion. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, watching as Y/N shifts through her woven bag and extracts her wallet. 

“Grabbing my wallet?” Her expression is just as confused as his own when she replies. “To pay?”

“To—?  No.  Put that away.” Harry says sternly, using the same dominant tone he adopts in the bedroom (only half on purpose). “This is a date.  I’m paying.”

“This isn’t the 18th century, H.  We can split the bill.” Y/N begins to roll her eyes as she opens her wallet, reaching for the debit card stamped neatly with her name.

“I’m well aware it’s not the 18th century, love.” Lip twitching from the wry irony, Harry gently places his hand on her own and closes her wallet. “But it’s a date— our first one, at that— and I’d like to pay for you.  It’s just manners.” 

Although he can feel the grip on her wallet loosening, there’s still a degree of hesitancy apparent in Y/N’s eyes. “Harry—”

“And I don’t mean that in a chauvinistic way, and I don’t mean to imply that you’re incapable of paying.” He swipes his thumb over her knuckle once, letting his physical touch reinforce his words. “I asked you out, yeah?  So I think it’s only fair that I pay.”

Harry’s eyes flicker to Y/N’s pillowy lips as she worries them between her teeth, her resolve getting weaker and weaker with every passing moment.  It only takes three more beats of her heart for her to give a small nod, and Harry, satisfied that she’s agreed, reaches for his wallet to pay the bill.

Despite the temptation to short change Paige on the tip for her disregard for his date, Harry still leaves a sizable tip, saying goodbye to the server with a polite— and only polite— smile.  Once she has her back turned, however, Harry flashes his most genuine grin at Y/N as he scoots his chair away from the table to stand.

Y/N’s hands grip the sides of her chair to match Harry’s motion, but she freezes once she sees the man step towards her.  Within a moment, his jeweled hands are wrapped around the back of her chair, carefully pulling it out before offering her a hand to help her stand.

“Is this going to be a thing now?” Y/N asks, nodding to their clasped hands as she pulls her bag over her shoulder. “Pulling out chairs, opening doors—”

Placing his hand on the small of her back once again, Harry scoffs. “It’s always been a thing,” He argues, guiding her to the patio door and through the restaurant. “You’ve just been dating pricks, apparently.”

Despite his answer, however, even Harry can’t deny that the urge to resurrect his Victorian etiquette is as strange as it is sudden.  And, truth be told, there is something deeply pleasing in the light flush of blood he can hear work its way over Y/N’s cheeks when he opens the door of the restaurant for her, opens the car door, takes her hand to help her in, and shuts the door carefully before making his way to the driver’s side.  

It’s easy to spend the short drive back to her building with his hand entwined with hers, their fingers woven together as Harry’s thumb moves over her knuckles.  Y/N’s skin, like usual, is so warm, almost as if she’s made from sunshine herself.  At this point, Harry wouldn’t be surprised to learn that; her blood could certainly pass for being made from stardust. 

It’s all too soon that Harry is pulling into a parking spot in front of Y/N’s building and turning the key in the ignition, his favourite car smoothly powering down in one fell swoop.  Once the sound of the engine dies down, his eyes refocus on the girl next to him. 

Y/N, in comparison, is just as focused on Harry as Harry is on her.  She knows that it’s time to let go of his hand, time to climb out of the car, time to return to her apartment alone.  Time to fall out of the fantasy that has been this afternoon.  Despite knowing all of this, however, she stays glued to the seat, her eyes locked with Harry’s emerald irises in a soft battle. 

Harry is well aware of the predicament he’s found himself in.  While he was the one to establish the no sex rule in an attempt to keep Y/N comfortable, it’s becoming harder and harder to stick to it with every passing moment.  If he was smart, he’d bid the girl goodbye here, allow her to walk herself into her building, thereby erasing any possibility of him charming her into allowing him inside her apartment.  Then, once he was safely back home, he could draw himself a hot bath, scent it with lavender epsom salts, close his eyes to picture the way Y/N looks with laughter in her eyes, the sun spilling across her cheeks, her dress’ neckline falling dangerously low, and tug himself to a tension-relieving climax. 

However, Harry has never been known for his intelligence. Not as much as he’s been known for his recklessness.

Before he can second guess his most likely terrible decisions, Harry is out of the car and opening Y/N’s door.  He’s helping her out.  He’s guiding her into her building, and climbing up the stairs of her fifth floor walk up with her hand locked in his.  And now he’s standing in front of her apartment door, with Y/N shyly looking at him as she bites her fucking lip, completely unaware of the rampage raging inside the vampire before her. 

And the most infuriating, frustrating thing about the entire situation is the way Y/N is looking at him, like she can barely hold his gaze, but can’t force herself to look away.  Harry can feel the waves of need and uncertainty radiating from her, hear the thumping of her heart in her chest.  The last time she looked at him like this, like she’s unsure of where they stand, was the first night they met.  Harry remembers how she fumbled with her keys, nervously invited him in, and then let him use her in a way that literally drove him to his most primal state.  He remembers the euphoria of sinking his teeth into her neck, tasting her ridiculously sweet blood for the first time as his orgasm rolled over him, wave after wave of intense pleasure blurring together as his eyes burned crimson, the lewd sounds of their bodies moving together, the desperate whines that echoed from her throat...

“Thank you for lunch.” Y/N’s sweet voice interrupts his walk down memory lane, and with good timing— five more seconds, and Harry would have been pushing her against her front door to rut her dress up and slip inside her. “And the drinks.  I had a really nice time.”

Clearing his throat, Harry pushes the indecent thoughts from his head as best he can.  He can take care of this later, he tells himself.  He just has to be a gentleman for a few more minutes, and then he can go home, and be as depraved as he needs to be. “I did, as well.” The vampire squeezes her hand in preparation of letting go of it. “A really lovely time, actually.  I’d like to do it again.”

The way Y/N’s eyes widen ever so slightly as her breath just barely hitches, both of which would be imperceivable to human senses, makes Harry bite back a laugh. “I would too.” A more reassured smile rolls over her face as she leads his hand to her waist, setting it just over her hip and squeezing his fingers around her love handles. 

Even after everything Harry has done to her, all the ways he’s seen her, felt her, made her feel— even after all that— his hand on her hip over her dress still sends a shiver down her spine. “I don’t want you to go…” She confesses in a quiet voice, rubbing her thumb over his icy knuckles. “It feels strange, not having you come inside…”

“I know.” A sigh escapes Harry’s lips as he leans down, brushing his forehead over hers as he murmurs his response, his voice dangerously low. “But if I come inside, I know what I’ll do.  And I promised that I would behave myself today.”

“I don’t mind breaking promises.” Y/N wisps, closing her eyes as Harry’s breath, tinged with orange from the mimosa and mint from the candy the restaurant gave them with the bill, rolls over her in a delicious wave. 

Nudging his nose against her own, Harry shakes his head with the smallest of motions, his fingertips digging further into Y/N’s love handles. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” His lips ghost over hers, barely even brushing before he pulls away again. “One of us needs to have some self control.”

Y/N wedges her free hand between their bodies, resting it over Harry’s chest with her fingers curled along the unbuttoned edge of his shirt. “If you insist.” Her fingernails dig just the slightest bit into Harry’s sturdy chest, savouring the way she feels his body tense beneath her. “If you want to be boring, then that’s fine.”

Harry laughs quietly at the small attempt to tease his ego, and although his instinct tells him to prove her wrong, he just nods his head. “Am I too boring to receive a goodbye kiss?” He brushes a loose hair back from her forehead before cradling her warm cheek, guiding his thumb over her cheekbone in a repeated action. “Haven’t kissed you in hours.  Feels wrong.”

Butterflies burst into flight in Y/N’s stomach at the innocent request coupled with the sweet explanation.  They’ve done everything in the wrong order, she thinks, as she allows Harry to smudge small pecks along her chin and cheeks.  The very first night they met, she allowed him to use her in any way he wanted, and he allowed her the same luxury.  They’ve spent the last month exploring each other’s bodies, getting to know every nook and cranny, every preference.  They’ve grown accustomed to how the other moves in their sleep, how they wake up in the morning, if they shower at sunrise or sunset.  And now, after all that, they’ve finally had what has probably been the best first date in the history of first dates, and this man, who has already coaxed countless orgasms from her shivering body, who has learned all of her likes and dislikes, is asking for a goodbye kiss like a nervous teenager walking his crush home from biology class.

How could she refuse him?

The answer is simple: she can’t.  In fact, she’s not sure she could refuse Harry anything he asked of her.  And maybe that would be worrisome— it probably should be worrisome— if the idea of giving Harry whatever he wanted didn’t bring a wave of warmth to Y/N’s belly that travels from her center to the very tips of her fingers.

“No,” She wraps the loose fabric of his shirt around her fingers, clutching him as close as she possibly can. “You’re not too boring, H.  You’re never boring.” Y/N sucks in a breath as she feels Harry’s teeth graze over her jaw, marking her ever so slightly as her lover makes his way back to her lips fervently. 

He smudges a kiss at the corner of her lips, pulling a strained whimper from her as she waits for him to kiss her properly. 

“Ask me.” He whispers, grazing his fingers over her cheekbone again and again. “Ask me to kiss you.  I want to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

The request is so innocent compared to everything else Harry has ever asked her to do, and his voice lacks the dominant command it usually carries over her, but Y/N feels just as weak as she would if he ordered her to get on her knees. “Harry…” Her voice floats through the miniscule space between them, so quiet that it’s barely audible over their laboured breathing, but Harry still thinks it sounds like a song. “Please kiss me.  Kiss me goodbye.”

A groan reverberates in the back of Harry’s throat, and the tiny molecule of composure that he has left in him slips away as he glides his lips over her own silky pair, his fingers threading into her hair on instinct.  Although he does his best to restrain himself, it becomes more difficult with every passing moment, and becomes damn near impossible when he hears the way Y/N whines at the sensation of their lips brushing together with more and more force.

Despite his best efforts, Harry soon finds his hands moving of their own accord as his palm travels from Y/N’s hip towards her ass, ruffling her dress as he grips her and thrusts a leg between her own.  He backs the mortal up into her door, her back hitting the wood with a delicate thud, and the groan she releases worries him for a split second before he feels her grind against his thigh situated between her legs.

Harry knows that the pretense of this just being a goodbye kiss went out the window the moment he touched her, and although she’s responding in kind, he has to live up to his word.  He has to.  He swore that he wouldn’t fuck her today, and as much as he wants to, as much as it seems that she wants to— and if the red hot heat burning his thigh is any hint, she very much wants to— he has to regain some self control.  Despite all his shortcomings, or how his thirst for her blood outweighs any other desire he has for her, he has to remain a gentleman.  Even if it means peeling himself away from the beautiful girl who is scratching at his chest, moaning into his mouth, grinding against his thigh, and speaking between ragged gasps—

“Fuck the promise.” She groans into his ear, her teeth grazing over his lobe with more pressure than Harry thought her capable. “Please, H.  I know what we said, but I need you.” 

Harry curses under his breath at the sensation, his eyes rolling back into his head for a split second, and he knows that if he doesn’t distance himself, he’ll succumb to her begging. “I can’t, darling.  I can’t.” He chokes out the words between pants, bumping his forehead against Y/N’s as he struggles to catch a breath that he’s forgotten he doesn’t need.  It’s funny, he manages to think, how he teased Y/N for not keeping her hands off him earlier, when he’s the one who can’t bear to be away from her touch now. “I want to— Christ, I want to— but I’m trying to behave.”

“Behaving is stupid.” Y/N mutters, smudging her lips across Harry’s stubbled jaw and down his neck, leaving small marks in her wake. “What happened to giving into desires?”

Good fucking question.

Harry squeezes his eyes shut tightly, a choked laugh escaping his heaving chest. “That was when we were just fucking.  Now we’re…”

Y/N regards the man with hooded eyes, a flutter of hope shining through the desire that’s settled in her chest.  What exactly are they?  They’re not dating, she knows that for certain.  But they’re not exactly just fuck buddies anymore. “We’re what?” She prompts after Harry trails off. 

“We’re…” Harry struggles to form a coherent thought, too entranced by the feeling of Y/N in his arms to think straight.  Sucking in a deep breath, the fragrant scent of the girl’s arousal burning his throat, Harry forces himself to take the smallest step back from her, although his hands stay locked around her hip and her cheek. “We’re saying goodbye.”

A defeated sigh falls from Y/N’s swollen lips, but she nods gently at the man before her, brushing her thumb over his exposed collar bones with great care. “Alright.” She mumbles, disappointment laced through her voice. “Goodbye.”

The glum tone brings a small smile to Harry’s cherry lips. “It’s just for a little while, love.  Not forever.” Harry teases her as he swipes his thumb over her flushed cheek. “Couldn’t stay away from you that long.” 

The breathless flush turns into a pleased warmth as Y/N struggles to hide the smile threatening to break across her expression.  Taking the change in mood as a hint, Harry ducks his head, pressing his lips against hers with an earnest softness for just a moment before stepping back and releasing the mortal girl from his grasp.

“Goodbye.” He murmurs again, his belly aching at the thought of leaving Y/N alone for the rest of the day.  It really does feel unnatural, he’s surprised to find.  Has he really gotten that used to being around her?

It’s a strange process, leaving Harry at the door.  After she finally says goodbye again, shuts the door, locks it tightly, and slips on the chain, Y/N finds herself touching the wood, her palm pressed flat against the surface as if she can feel Harry on the other side.  It takes her a moment to walk away from it, the buzz of the mimosas and their first date streaming through her veins.

Checking her phone for the first time, Y/N is surprised to find that it’s nearly 4pm— had they really been in the restaurant for almost five hours?  No wonder the server had been giving her a dirty look; they’d spent so long just talking and sipping drinks, ordering no other food, and not giving up their table.  She’d probably be glaring too.

Admittedly, there is a slight rumble in Y/N’s stomach, as they ate over four hours ago, but she ignores it as she takes a seat on the couch to untie her pink vans, tossing them into the corner before slipping off her jean jacket.  She tosses that over the couch too, running her hands through her mussed hair.  She’s not quite sure what she’ll do with the rest of her day now that she’s alone.  She could indulge some reading, or answer some messages from relatives, or maybe even—

A pounding on the door disrupts her thoughts, jerking her eyes from the book on her coffee table to her front door.  With her brow furrowed in confusion, Y/N rises from the couch and walks to the door, gliding the chain free and turning the lock before swinging the door open.

Braced in the doorway with shining eyes, ruddy cheeks, and a heaving chest as if he’s run all the way back up to her apartment, is Harry.  He takes a moment to compose himself, swiping his tongue over his lips as she takes in her more relaxed appearance.

“I couldn’t go.” He confesses, answering the question on the tip of Y/N’s tongue before she even has the chance to speak it. “I made it down to my car, and then—”

Y/N grabs him by the front of his shirt and yanks him into her apartment, slamming the door behind them before reaching for Harry again.  His hands are already outstretched to receive her, having grown used to their intimacy routine, and she’s pleased when he automatically rests his palms on her lower back and her neck as she wedges her lips between his once again.

“I don’t want you to go.” Y/N gasps the words against his mouth, barely peeling herself back from him to utter the sentence. “I need you so fucking bad, H, please—”

With great difficulty, Harry attempts to think straight, but it gets harder when Y/N bucks her hips and— well, it gets harder. “I meant what I said, Y/N.  I did, I—I made a promise, and I have to—”

“What do I have to do?” Y/N demands, tangling her fingers in Harry’s chestnut curls and forcing him to look her in the eye. “I fucking need something, Harry, and you’re the only one who can fix it.”

Christ.  Harry’s had his suspicions, but now he’s convinced that this girl has some direct line to all his weaknesses, because she knows exactly how to stroke his ego like no one else has before.  She presses every one of his buttons every time.  She’s allowed him to handcuff her, take her in every position, manhandle her, slap her around, and she still begs him for more.  Is there anything that she hasn’t done better than anyone else?

And that’s when it hits him.  The perfect loophole.

Harry is so excited at the possibility of relief that he nearly whimpers, just barely managing to bite back the sound at the last second as he smooths his fingers over his lover’s wild hair. “What about when I’m not here, pet?” He goads her softly, a glint shining in the corner of his darkening eyes. “What do you do then?”

“I…” Although confusion is present in Y/N’s voice, she answers him promptly— she’s gotten used to obeying his sexual requests over the course of the month. “I call you.  And you...you tell me what to do, usually.”

“Tell you what?” Harry hungrily prompts her again, tugging on her hair with the lightest of touches.  Like before, he wants to hear her say it. “What do I tell you to do?”

“You tell me how to—how to touch myself.” The mortal girl stammers, shyness creeping into her tone despite having begged for Harry mere moments earlier. “And then I do.”

“You do.  You behave so well for me.” Keeping his voice as smooth and sensual as possible— which isn’t hard for him, if he’s honest— Harry twirls a lock of Y/N’s hair around his finger, wrapping it around the length as his fingertip brushes over her lip. “I tell you what to do, and you do it.  And you moan for me, and send me the prettiest pictures.” He presses harder against her lip, dragging her mouth open as a whimper escapes. “And I always think: what would it be like to see that in person?”

Although the effect of the mimosas has faded by now, Y/N’s head is swimming in a cloud of Harry’s cologne and her own lust, and she struggles to understand the double meaning in his words. “What—what do you mean?  You’ve seen me in bed—”

The innocent confusion in her voice tantalizes Harry in the best way. “When I’m touching you.  But that’s not what I want.” He murmurs, grinding his hips back into her own. “I know how to get around my promise.”

He watches as the realization dawns on Y/N’s face, her heart stuttering as warmth floods through her body. “Y-you mean—?  You want to see me…?”

“I want to see you touch yourself.” Harry finishes her thought as his eyes darken, and he licks his lips at the image of Y/N laid out on her bed, legs spread wide, showing off just for him.  Only for him. “Will you let me?”

And there it is.  That wave of warmth and desire spreads through Y/N’s tummy, begging her to say yes to any request that falls from Harry’s mouth.  The urge is so strong that she nearly begins to strip, her fingers edging to the hem of her dress, before she manages to form a clear thought of pause. “Are you sure you want to see me…?” She dances around the word for a second time. “Like, I—I don’t know if it’s very sexy, or—”

“Is that a fucking joke?” Harry laughs incredulously, his thumb swiping over the edge of Y/N’s jaw.  He could leave so many pretty marks… “Of course it’ll be sexy.  Christ, love, it’s fucking you.”

The statement that Harry makes is so sure, so confident, that it nearly sends Y/N reeling.  The human’s eyelids flutter as he begins to pepper kisses along her cheekbones and down her jaw, his tongue swiping over her sensitive skin every few moments. 

“Anything you do is sexy.” He whispers the words against her skin, his voice low and accent thick enough that it seems to fill the entire hallway. “Literally anything… How you lick your lips after taking a drink, how you get in and out of my car so delicately… It’s all so fucking erotic.” Y/N shivers when a breath of cool air hits the damp skin of her neck as Harry laughs lightly. “I’ve got a bloody hard-on nearly every moment of the day.”

Hearing the confession that tumbled from Harry’s cool lips, Y/N thinks, is the verbal equivalent of doing three shots of tequila and chasing with a vodka soda.  The words wash over her as easily as Harry’s cologne does whenever she gets close to him, and her fingers tug on his brunette locks with need. “Really?  Even today?”

“Are you kidding?  Especially today.  Look at what you’re wearing…” His icy fingers skim down her neck before tracing over the cleavage that the neckline of her yellow dress leaves exposed. “Every time you leaned over to take a bite of food, I nearly came in my trousers.”

Despite the desire curling itself around Y/N’s core, she can’t help but giggle at the mental image. “That would’ve been a sight.” She scratches her nails lightly against Harry’s scalp, the motion surprisingly tender for their topic of conversation. “Would’ve had to ask Paige for another napkin.”

“It would’ve been properly humiliating, yeah.” Harry agrees easily, unconcerned with the thought as his lips follow the path led by his fingers. “But it would’ve been worth it.”

While the pair’s position is rather incriminating— Y/N’s hands in Harry’s hair, Harry clutching her as close as possible, his lips travelling over any exposed skin he can find— there’s an air of careful consideration floating around them.  As much as Harry wants to see the girl in his arms pleasure herself, he wants it to be her decision.  Anything less wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying. 

“Y’don’t have to do it just for me, Y/N.” The vampire takes the slightest step back to give her some room to breathe without his close proximity to cloud her judgement. “But if it’s my reaction you’re worried about…” Harry untangles one of her hands from his hair, ghosting it down his body before cautiously laying it over his white linen trousers, where his bulge is growing more prominent by the second. “You have nothing to be worried about.”

A desperate whine nearly escapes Y/N’s mouth, but she manages to bite it back at the last moment.  She wants him.  As nervous as she is to have him watch her touch herself, she’s more turned on than anything.  When she sends Harry explicit texts and photos that are most certainly not safe for work, part of the thrill is the reaction she gets from him.  A dirty photo is only as sexy as the other person’s reception of it.  To see Harry’s reactions in person… it would be a lie to say she’s not into the idea. 

But it would also be a lie to say that she doesn’t want something in return. 

“Alright.  You can watch me.” Y/N relents with a sigh, and she takes a moment to enjoy the triumphant look in Harry’s eyes before tacking on her addendum. “On one condition.”

“Anything.” 

Y/N squeezes her hand over his bulge, making the slightest stroking motion upwards towards his belly as a low groan rolls from Harry’s mouth. “I get to watch you touch yourself, too.”

There’s not even a moment of hesitation. “Done.” Harry seals his lips over hers firmly the moment the word exits his mouth, grinding against her hand as he backs her into the wall.  Her back hits the panel with a quiet thud, but Y/N is too busy twisting her fingers around the button of Harry’s pants to notice. 

“Ah ah ah.” Harry tuts as his jeweled hand grabs her wrist, pulling it away from his hardening cock while making sure not to use too much strength on her fragile joint. “You don’t get to do that, pet.  You’ll only be undressing yourself tonight.  It’s only fair.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve to talk about fair.” Y/N huffs her reply, but doesn’t pull her wrist from her lover’s grip. “You’re the one who made the stupid rule in the first place!”

Clicking his tongue, Harry takes another step back from the young woman while keeping his other hand floating over her hip. “And you agreed.” He reminds her as the corner of his lip tugs up. “So I think it’s best you behave, don’t you?”

Although the statement turns her legs to jelly, Y/N doesn’t let it show, and instead steels her resolve as best she can. “I’m behaving.” She mutters, crossing her free hand underneath the arm in Harry’s grip. 

“That’s a matter of opinion, isn’t it?” Harry swipes his thumb over the delicate bones of her wrist, feeling her pulse stutter beneath his touch.  The vampire swallows the venom that spills into his mouth at the thumping rhythm.  He’ll have time for that later. 

Chest heaving, Y/N wets her dry lips as best she can despite the lack of moisture in her mouth. “So where are we…?” She trails off as she glances down the hallway of her apartment. “The living room is probably best, position wise…one of us can be on the couch, and the other on a chair.”

“That’s true…” Harry nods his head, but a frown settles over his pillowy lips. “But it’s not very comfortable for you.  You usually lie down when you get off, don’t you?” Like every other technically intimate question Harry has ever asked her, it’s spoken with a tone of efficiency and casual observance, simply to find the best approach for any situation. 

And, like every other technically intimate question Harry has ever asked her, it sends a shock of warmth into her panties. 

“I-I do, yeah.” Y/N stutters her response, clearing her throat before adding onto the short statement. “I’m usually in bed.”

Harry nods expectantly, like her reply is just a confirmation for him. “We’ll go to your bedroom, then.” He says decisively, his grip on her wrist loosening. “You can lie down, get comfortable.  I’ll stand.”

Leading the mortal to her bedroom, Harry slides open the door, guiding her inside before shutting it with a firm click.  When he turns back around to look at her, she’s looking at him expectantly, her fingers twisting around each other as she stares at him with wide eyes.  She trusts him, he realizes, not for the first time.  She really does trust him. 

Although the anticipation is written clearly across her pretty features, Harry knows she needs a small prompt to begin. “How are you usually dressed when you do this alone?” He asks quietly, his own fingers working over the buttons on his shirt smoothly. “Completely bare?  Fully clothed?  Underwear only?” One of his dimples makes an appearance as he smiles with half his mouth. “Wearing only that sweater of mine that you’ve pretty much stolen?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, that sweater’s too warm.” Y/N replies with an eye roll, tugging off the jean jacket covering her smooth shoulders. “I, um…it depends.  If it’s just quick, then usually I’m clothed, but if I’m taking my time, then I’ll just, um, I’ll be in my underwear.  Sometimes just my bra.”

Harry’s fingers finish with his last button, and he leaves his open shirt draped over his tall frame. “We’ll be taking our time, angel.  So just get as comfortable as you usually would.”

Y/N nods her head in a jerking manner, sucking in a deep breath through her parted lips in an attempt to calm the heave that threatens her chest.  The erotic tension in the air could be cut with a knife as she tosses her jacket to the side and works her fingers over the zipper of her dress, which catches for a moment and puts up a struggle as she fights to undo it.  Once she wins the battle, she tugs the yellow dress down her shoulders, letting it pool around her ankles before stepping out of it and tossing it to the side.  Her bra and panties aren’t matching, with the former being a delicate baby pink lace, while the latter are lavender cotton, but she doesn’t let herself focus on that detail.  Instead, her fingers hover for a moment at the waist of her panties, hooking in the elastic before she changes her mind at the last minute and decides to keep them on.  For now, at least. 

Harry watches the entire ritual with starved eyes.  He wants Y/N to start before he does, so she can get into a natural rhythm herself, but he can’t resist palming himself over his trousers like she did a moment ago, despite his icy touch not being nearly as satisfying as hers. 

Y/N, however, has different plans, regarding him with heavy lashes as she takes a step back towards her bed. “Your turn.” She murmurs, sitting on the edge of the bed and curling her fingers around her ruffled comforter. 

“All in due time.” Harry assures her with a wry smile, ghosting his fingers along his inked abdomen. “Get comfortable, baby.  Pretend I’m not here.”

“Like that’s possible.” The mortal girl mutters under her breath, unaware that Harry’s supernatural hearing can pick it up as if she were shouting in his ear.  Nevertheless, she does as he says, scooting back on the bed until her shoulders reach her pillows.  She lays back on the soft cushions, shifting around until the padding feels comfortable beneath her back.  She lays there for a moment, her arms folded neatly over her bare stomach as she licks her lips expectantly. “Now?”

“Now…” Harry flicks open the button of his trousers. “Do whatever you like to do.  Whatever feels good.”

It takes Y/N another moment to work up the courage to actually do something.  The trick, she realizes, is closing her eyes.  If she so much as catches a glimpse of Harry watching her, her entire body tenses, and she can’t even manage to move a finger over her stomach.  With her eyes closed, however, she can imagine that Harry isn’t there, and she’s just in her room, with his only influence being in her mind as she touches herself.  It may not make much sense, when she could just use the real image of him to fuel her thoughts, but Harry’s presence is so dominating that pretending he’s not there seems to be the only solution.

And so, when her eyes are shut tightly enough that she can’t see the man, but loose enough that she’s comfortable, Y/N begins to touch herself lightly, her fingers tracing over the dips of her stomach with the smallest amount of contact she can manage.

Her touch moves over her skin like a flutter, its only purpose to warm herself up and ease herself into being watched, and while the small brushes against her own skin would normally have no effect on her, in this moment, with Harry standing by her bed, the action feels more erotic than she ever would’ve thought possible.  She slowly glides her hands up to the pink lace of her bra, tracing her finger along the edge of the cup before sliding over the lace to the hardening peaks of her nipples.  She’s more sensitive than she thought, and Y/N’s breath hitches for a moment as she brushes against one nub, tweaking it once more with her finger before repeating the motion on her other breast.  When a quiet but harsh exhale sounds from Harry’s direction, the human girl amuses the idea of removing her bra to give more visual stimulus, but quickly decides against it.  Harry said he wanted to see what she does to herself, she thinks, keeping her eyes closed as she massages her breasts once more.  He didn’t ask her to perform a strip tease for him.

And, in truth, a strip tease is the farthest thing that Harry wants in this moment.  Any girl can take off her clothes and touch herself to put on a show for a voyeur.  If Harry really wanted to watch that, he could easily find countless porn videos depicting the real thing.  But the sight of Y/N gliding her fingers over the soft lace of her bra, tracing unseen roadmaps over the mountains and valleys of her chest and abdomen, parting her lips just slightly as she twists her nipple once more… that’s what Harry wants.  Despite the countless erotic activities Harry has engaged with Y/N, this may be the most intimate, even without touching her.  Maybe that’s why, he muses, only half in the thought as he slowly tugs down the zipper on his trousers, doing his best to make no noise so as not to startle the girl in front of him.  She’s letting him see what she does to herself when no one is around, when she just wants to make herself feel good.  It’s a selfish act, in the best way.  And it’s making Harry’s cock throb like never before.

Y/N’s hands have reached the edge of her panties now, and with her legs spread wide open, Harry can see the dampened spot staining the lavender cotton a shade darker.  Her scent wafts over him as she moves, slipping her hand beneath the fabric, and Harry’s own eyelids flutter as she fills every one of his senses.  There’s a small part of his more instinctual mind cursing him for thinking of this— for establishing an activity where he can see her, smell her, but not touch her.  However, there’s a larger part of his mind thanking him for this.  For the opportunity to bask in Y/N’s own sensuality and pleasure.

The dampness that greets Y/N’s fingers as she slides into her panties isn’t a surprise, but still provides relief.  For a brief moment, the girl had been worried that she’d be too nervous about the situation to let herself enjoy it, but as she teasingly circles her index finger around her clit, she knows that enjoying it won’t be a problem.  Although she misses Harry’s cool touch, the feeling of his rings sliding over her clammy skin, and although it may seem untrue when Harry is in bed with her, no one knows Y/N’s body like she does.  No one can instantly know what feels good and what doesn’t, what needs to be touched with more force, what needs to be gently caressed with a feather light pressure.  Y/N alone is the keeper of those secrets, and although she’s begun to whisper those unspoken tokens to Harry in the dead of the night as he lays between her thighs, she alone knows the real truths.

She continues to circle her clit for a few moments, gradually applying more and more pressure as her free hand clutches her bare thigh, her fingertips digging into her squishy flesh.  It doesn’t take long, however, for Y/N to need more, and she allows her fingers to run over her entrance a few times before dipping her index finger into her hot core. 

While the sound that leaves her mouth is quiet and could potentially go unnoticed, it’s the loud groan from Harry that snaps the human’s eyes open, and the sight in front of her that stops her movements in their tracks.  With her index finger still half inside her, and her grip on her thigh tightening, Y/N gapes at him unabashedly, because Harry looks like a fucking god. 

Her eyes sweep over him methodically, committing every inch of his appearance to memory so as not to ever forget what he looks like when pleasuring himself.  His chestnut curls are tinged with sweat, just beginning to plaster to his damp forehead and neck.  His jade eyes are darkening by the second, while his strawberry lips are parted and dry, despite him swiping his tongue over them every minute or so.  His toned chest is bare, displaying his dark ink for Y/N’s viewing, heaving with every movement of his tattooed arm.  And lower… Y/N moans again as she clutches her leg tighter, nearly enough to bruise.  Harry hasn’t completely removed his pants, but he’s pushed them down low enough that he’s freed his cock, which stands tall and proud and angrily red at the tip that pokes through the tight fist he has wrapped around the length.  Despite the tension in his body, however, Harry flicks his wrist lazily, teasing himself as much as Y/N did earlier, and she wonders if he does it for the same reason she did.  To give their lover something to look at. 

With her eyes locked with Harry’s, Y/N pushed her middle finger inside herself, whimpering at how the extra digit stretches her out.  She curves her fingers as they move in and out of her at a leisurely pace, focused more on reaching deeper than reaching a quick speed.  While her hand busies itself inside her panties, she slides the other from her thigh back up to her breast, gripping and massaging it as her lashes flicker. 

“Look at you.” Harry utters with a groan, breaking the silence between them as he thumbs over the leaking head of his cock. “Christ, you look so fucking filthy.” His eyes shift from hers for just a moment, glueing themselves to the shadows of motion he can see beneath her underwear. “Does that feel good, angel?”

A high pitched whine falls from Y/N’s mouth as she presses the pads of her fingers against the spongy spot inside her, setting off a wave of bliss inside her belly. “Yeah.  Feels—feels really good, Harry.” His name leaves her lips in a breathy mewl as she tweaks her nipple over her bra, throwing her head back against her pillow. 

The newly exposed skin of her neck beckons Harry.  It’s completely covered with a thin veil of sweat, with the heat radiating from her throbbing pulse seemingly reaching towards him at the end of the bed.  He takes a half step forward without realizing it, only catching his action when his knees bump the edge of the mattress. “Fuck—” He closes his reddening eyes to collect himself as his hand quickens its pace around his prick, only opening them again when he’s sure he’s under control. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“I think I have a bit of an idea.” She mutters in reply, stroking small circles over her clit with her thumb. “It’s not like you can hide it.”

“But you’re hiding.” The vampire replies in a strained voice, tightening his fist around his cock as he nods to the girl’s covered core. “Take those off for me, pet.  Please.”

Y/N withdraws her fingers from her dripping center, her skin shining in the light of her bedroom as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of the panties. “Wait—” she says suddenly, pausing her obedient motion. “Wait, I—”

The moment his foggy mind registers the word, Harry’s palm stills over his length, and although he doesn’t let go completely, he forces his body to calm down as he appraises the human. “What?” He questions, concern laced into his thick accent. “What’s wrong?”

Sitting up on her elbows, Y/N raises her head from her pillow as she scoots closer to her bedroom wall, stopping once her heated skin grazes the tapestry. “I want you next to me.” Her eyes are pleading as the words fall from her mouth, quiet and desperate. “I promise I’ll stick to the rule— I won’t touch you. I just want you to be comfortable, too, and… and I like it when you’re close.  Please?”

The idea of refusing her doesn’t even enter Harry’s mind.  Within seconds, faster than a mortal ever would, Harry has stripped off his trousers, leaving himself in just his dark blue boxers that are still half rugged down.  He crawls onto the bed quickly, only letting his knee brush against Y/N’s leg before situating himself six inches away from her.  Even with the distance between them, he can still feel an electric energy radiating off of her as her fragrance becomes thicker and all encompassing, making his head swim in the intoxicating honey and lavender perfume. 

“M’here.” Harry murmurs the assurance softly, his fingers aching to reach out and touch her.  Surely that’s not against the rules?  After all, caressing someone’s cheek, and only for a moment, isn’t necessarily sexual.  With that rationalization in his mind, his jeweled fingers brush against the young woman’s flushed cheek, grazing upwards to push a loose strand of hair from her eyes. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Y/N whispers back to him, her hands now resting on her tummy as she stares longingly at the figure next to her in bed.  She wonders if the comforting touch is allowed, but decides not to question it.  Questioning it may make it stop, and that’s the last thing she wants.  Instead, Y/N simply places her hand over Harry’s, interlocking their fingers together and bringing his hand to her mouth to smudge a soft kiss over the back of his icy knuckles. 

Harry can feel the pulsing of her heart through her lips, and it takes all of his inhuman strength to pull his hand from hers as carefully as he can. “I think you made me a deal, didn’t you?” He asks, disguising the want in his voice behind a teasing tone. “You said that if I got up here next to you, you’d…” Harry clicks his tongue as he nods at her cotton panties. “Hm?”

Despite the small laugh that escapes her, Y/N rolls her eyes. “You’ve got a one track mind, I swear.” She hooks her fingers into the edge of her panties, lifting her bum off the bed to tug them down her legs and toss to the side. “Happy?”

Harry licks his lips as he watches the girl’s hands drift back to her bare thighs, gliding over the silky skin with small strokes. “Very much so, yeah.” He replies, pushing his own hair back from his face before trailing his fingers back down his stomach.  He wraps his right hand back around his leaking cock, stroking it once as he glances at Y/N again. “Keep going, dove.  Don’t stop on my account.”

It’s like they’re back at the beginning,Y/N thinks, as she dips her index and middle fingers back into her wetness before she circles them around her clit.  With Harry next to her, his presence so very there, Y/N has to close her eyes again to compel herself to relax.  It takes a few moments of massaging her clit and focusing on keeping her breathing steady before she can open her eyes again and allow her gaze to slide back onto Harry. 

The vampire, as expected, looks like an erotic renaissance painting.  His hand is moving faster over his cock now, which is bubbling precum with every few strokes.  His hips buck into his hand every so often, searching for more and more friction as he chases his high.  Like herself, Harry has his eyes closed for much of his movements, but when he does open them, they’re pinned to her form and how she touches herself, like she’s his own personal show.  And, in a way, she is.  And she likes that.

It’s not long before Y/N needs more stimulation, and she thrusts her two fingers back inside herself as her other hand begins to rub over her clit.  The dual sensation sends a hoarse moan falling from her lips, her tummy contracting with the wave of ecstasy that she knows is getting closer, but it’s the feeling of Harry’s lips on her temple that has her breath stuttering. 

His slightly chapped lips move over her skin in slow and sensual movements, opening and closing as he speaks against her. “That’s it, darling.  You’re so close, I can tell.” He sucks in a long breath while bucking his hips into his fist, a whining moan echoing from his throat and into her ear. “Fuck, you’ve got me wrecked…”

Curling her fingers inside, Y/N prods against her G-spot with fervent desire, leaning her head closer and closer to Harry’s mouth as she does so. “I’m gonna cum, Harry, I—” Her words cut off with a broken whine as her spongy walls clench around her fingers. 

“Wish I could touch you.” Harry mutters the dirty confession in her ear, his lips still meeting every inch of skin they can find. “Wish I could make my pretty girl cum…” His brow furrows at the whimper that escapes Y/N at those words. “But at least I know you can—Christ—” He swipes his thumb over his tip again as his other hand moves to his balls, massaging over them with a gentle touch. “—can take care of yourself when I’m not here.”

When Harry’s lips find her neck, suckling at the sensitive spot where it meets her jaw, Y/N moans again, louder than before as she bucks her hips into her hand. “Fuck, Harry—” The way she sobs his name is music to his ears. “Can—can I cum?  Please?” The question rolls off her tongue without prompt, sounding as natural as breathing to the girl. Harry’s not even sure she registers that she’s asked, but the question for permission goes straight to his throbbing cock. 

“Yeah, baby. Cum for me.” He drags his teeth over her fragile skin, aching to bite down but restraining himself from giving in.  Instead, he redirects his reaction to his hand, speeding up his strokes until he feels his balls tighten. “Cum for Daddy.” The way he feels her heart stutter at his words feeds his ego like nothing else, and he brings one hand up from his abdomen to rest on her throat, stretching his fingers to grip her chin and direct her face towards his. “Show Daddy how good you’re making yourself feel.” He demands, his lips ghosting over her own as they both work themselves towards the edge.  His voice sounds less himself and more like a growl with every passing moment. “Cum.”

It’s the final harsh demand that pushes Y/N to thrust her fingers into herself faster, matching her motions over her clit to the new speed.  It only takes a few more moments for the tight ball of pleasure inside her belly to burst, the waves of her orgasm washing over her repeatedly as her walls pulse around her fingers. “Daddy—” The name falls from her mouth and into Harry’s freely.  Her only thoughts are of him as her climax consumes her; only his emerald eyes and cherry lips, only his brunette curls and inked skin, only his calloused hands and thick cock.  He’s all she can think about.  Has there ever been anyone else? “Please, Daddy…”

Harry watches with hungry eyes as the human’s body spasms through her release, the movements of her hands shuddering as the pleasure becomes too great to move. “That’s it, sweetheart.  Good girl.” He grunts the praise through clenched teeth as his own orgasm nears, his hand twisting around his cock more and more. “Prettiest little slut in the world, y’know that?”

Y/N releases a whine of acknowledgement, her chest heaving as she comes down from her high and withdraws her fingers from her core.  Resting her hands on her clenching belly, she turns her heavy lidded gaze towards Harry, watching him eagerly as he works himself. “Your turn.” She murmurs, her lips finding the edge of his sharp jaw and giving it a teasing bit. “You’re gonna cum, aren’t you?  All over your stomach?”

“If—fuck—if that’s where you want it, baby.” Harry groans loudly as his stomach clenches, the butterfly flexing beneath his strained movements. “You want to watch me cum?  Hm?”

“Mhmm.” Y/N hums the agreement against his skin, clasping her hands together to stop herself from reaching for Harry’s cock. “You’re usually inside me when you cum, so I’ve never seen it.  I want to see it.”

“God, I—” Harry reaches over with his free hand and grasps Y/N’s warm palm, dragging it up to his hair and tangling her fingers in his dark locks.  It’s a poor substitute for the craving he has to feel her touch over his cock, but the sensation of her tugging on his hair and scratching her nails against his scalp manages to provide the contact relief he desires. “Fuck, right there—” Harry’s abdomen contracts once more as he works himself over the edge and begins to shoot thick ropes of cum all over his tattooed tummy. 

Y/N continues to work her lips over his jaw, whispering anything and everything into his ear to continue to stimulate him through his orgasm. “Looks so pretty, H.” She utters once his cock has finally stopped spurting and he releases it from his grip. “You’re so pretty…”

A breathless laugh leaves Harry’s mouth as he shifts in the bed, wiping his damp hand against his indigo boxers before pulling them back over his shaking hips and exposed cock. “You’re one to talk.” He murmurs, twisting his head to the side to press a kiss to Y/N’s sweaty forehead. “You don’t happen to have a wash cloth handy, do you?”

“I have tissues in my bedside table.” Y/N points to the object in question, and Harry reaches over and tugs open the drawer to retrieve the box of Kleenex.  Pulling a few squares from the box, he makes quick work of the cleanup, doing just enough to save him from the trouble of a sticky stomach. 

“I could’ve done that, you know.  Cleaned you up.” Y/N watches as the vampire stands to dispose of the used tissues, and reaches for her discarded panties to tug them back over her still shaky legs. “You know I like it.”

“I know, but if you did, then I would’ve broken the no sex rule right then and there.” Harry chuckles lightly as he climbs back onto the bed, wanting to reclaim his close proximity to Y/N as soon as possible. “And we’d already come so far.” 

When he opens his arms, Y/N doesn’t hesitate to nuzzle into his cool chest, resting her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder with a sigh. “I suppose that’s true.”

Harry lets his jeweled fingers trace down her back, drawing random shapes on the damp skin as her breathing begins to even out. “Did you like it?” He asks curiously, a seed of worry planted within the words. “Having someone watch you?”

“I liked having you watch me.” Y/N clarifies her answer as if it were the most natural and easily explainable thing in the world. “Did you like watching?”

Harry giggles again, almost incredulous as he nods his head at the damp spot on his boxers, a symptom of the copious amounts of precum that had leaked from him. “I think the answer to that is pretty obvious, Watson.  I’m surprised someone as distinguished as yourself has to ask.” 

“Asking questions is never a bad thing, Holmes.  I’m surprised someone as distinguished as yourself doesn’t know that.” The girl counters, delighting in the small laugh that shakes Harry’s shoulders.  A laugh falls from her lips as well, followed quickly by a yawn that she unsuccessfully tries to stifle. 

“Tired?” Harry murmurs, his fingers still keeping a steady pace against her back. “It’s only the late afternoon— not exactly late enough for bedtime, is it?”

Y/N sighs into his musky skin, relaxing completely against Harry’s body. “Not exactly, no.  But I think a little post-orgasm nap may be in order.” She raises her head from the crook of Harry’s neck, looking at him with soft eyes. “Will you stay?”

If Harry’s heart could beat, the tender question would make his rhythm irregular, and the knowledge of that fact dries out the venom that had been flowing freely through Harry’s mouth. “Wow.” He tries to disguise the reaction with a laugh. “Our first date, and you’re already asking me to sleep over?  What kind of man do you think I am?”

“Shut up.” The mortal nudges her forehead against his shoulder in a playful manner. “I’m serious.  Will you?  I sleep a lot better when you’re here.” 

The confession falls from her lips as easily as a sigh, but her words lock Harry’s chest in a tight chain, restricting his every breath.  And yet… the pressure is comforting, like a hug from someone you haven’t seen in years and you’ve sorely missed. 

“Alright, yeah.” He whispers gently, caressing Y/N’s mussed hair without tugging on any tangles. “I’ll stay.  We can order some dinner later, if you want.”

Y/N’s voice is already far away when she replies. “That sounds nice.” She whispers, her eyes fluttering closed as her full weight falls against Harry.  Within a few minutes, her breathing has leveled completely in time with her steady heart beat, which thunders against Harry’s own silent chest. 

The vampire sighs as he shifts on the bed, keeping Y/N locked in place against his body as he does so.  How did he end up here, in her bed, staring at that fucking tapestry again?  How did he end up agreeing to stay over, to grab dinner with her after she sleeps?  How does he know that, if she asks again, he’ll stay over tonight as well, even if it means lying still in bed and counting her heart beats until the sun rises through her curtains? 

And why does that sound so appealing?

Carefully, so as not to wake her, Harry shifts Y/N onto her own pillow, removing her from his chest with gentle movements.  Once he’s arranged her in a comfortable position and made sure that she’s still asleep, he cages himself over her, brushing her hair back from her face and inhaling deeply.  This is why, he thinks.  This is why he’s agreed to all of these dates, to holding her as she sleeps, to spending night after night in this tiny human apartment.  Her blood. 

Harry nudges his nose along the length of her throat, breathing in her fragrance as if it were the bouquet of a fine wine.  Her signature honey and lavender scent is as prominent as ever, only amplified by the orgasm-triggered endorphins that are still swimming through her veins.  Letting his lips drag over her fragile skin, Harry smudges kisses along the base of her throat with a light touch, searching for the most tender part that he’s come to adore.  When he reaches the mark just above her carotid artery, he presses a firmer kiss to the skin, admiring how the mortal’s breath floats from her lips in her sleep.  Still, he pauses for a moment to make sure that the sound is just that, a symptom of sleep, and once his suspicions are confirmed, Harry sinks his teeth into Y/N’s satin skin. 

As usual, the relief is instantaneous.  The warm blood that flows into his mouth quells the dry, burning ache in the back of his throat like nothing else, and Harry clutches the girl closer to him as he drinks more and more.  She’s just as sweet as she smells, and there’s that familiar depth of flavour to her that Harry can never quite place a finger on.  Perhaps he could if he spent more time analyzing it, but it’s never too long before he loses himself in her taste, and all rational thought goes out the window completely.  In the reflection of her mirror, Harry can see that his eyes are blood red and black-veined, and that he looks every bit the monster that he actually is.  If Y/N were to wake up right now and see him like this—pale skin, black veins, mouth stained red with her blood—she’d probably scream in horror, and do her best to shove the supernatural creature away.  She would be thoroughly repulsed, Harry is sure.  And, honestly, he couldn’t blame her.  He remembers the first time he saw the red of a vampire’s eyes, and the terror that had seized his entire body like an icy dip in the English Channel.  It would only be a natural response. 

Harry had come to terms with what he is a very long time ago, and though it took a lot of trial and error, a lot of sleepless nights doused with self-loathing and denial, and a plethora of blurry memories full of strangers’ veins bulging under soft skin and glassy eyes dulled by compulsion, he is in a place in his eternal life where his identity doesn’t phase his peace of mind anymore. He hadn’t become a monster willingly, and he certainly doesn’t enjoy having to do the unspeakable acts required for his survival— not consciously, anyways. 

From an instinct-driven perspective, he does enjoy the taste of blood, but it’s only because his supernatural carnal impulses demand it. Ethically, he isn’t proud of his affinity, but it’s not like he has any say in the matter. This isn’t his fault— he was forced to become what he is— and that moral claim is what has kept him tethered to his last few shreds of humanity for the past twenty decades. He’s not doing this to Y/N out of malicious intent, he’s doing it because he has no other choice. Therefore, he assures himself that the traces of guilt tightening his chest at the moment are completely misled and invalid. He hasn’t felt guilt much before— not for years— and he refuses to let it plague him once again. This is just the way things are. This is just the way things have to be. 

So why does he feel so fucking shitty right now?

Pushing the discomforting dwellings to the back of his mind, Harry continues to drink from Y/N, using his final remaining strains of functioning thought to monitor the human’s heart beat and breaths.  When his thirst is satiated enough, and before either one of those human traits begins to falter, Harry releases his bite on Y/N’s neck, licking over the wound with relish to temporarily seal it.  He turns to check his reflection in the mirror again, and finds that, yes, his suspicions are confirmed.  Although he’s managed to keep himself halfway presentable, there’s still a trickle of blood flowing from the corner of his mouth, and his lips are stained a dark merlot colour from the sweet substance.  Harry swipes his tongue along his mouth, cleaning up any evidence of his late afternoon snack, before bringing his index finger to his mouth and pricking the tip on one of his fangs.  Then, while carefully holding the girl’s jaw open with his other hand, Harry slips his finger into her mouth. It’s practically a ritual by now. 

It takes only a few seconds for the bite mark on her neck to heal completely, leaving behind only a faint purple bruise in its place.  If Y/N were to see it tomorrow, she’d assume it was a half-healed hickey, and wouldn’t bat an eye at it.  She’d have no idea that the real cause of it was—

“Harry…” His name falls from her lips with a quiet stutter, her brow furrowing as if troubled by something the vampire can’t see. “Harry…”

“Y/N?” He whispers in reply, his limbs sealing over with ice as he freezes in place as if he were a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Everything alright, love?”

“Harry…” The human utters his name once more as a frown begins to tug at her pillowy lips, and it takes another moment of her shifting in the bed for Harry to realize that she’s still asleep, and the murmuring of his name is merely a symptom of her dreaming of him. 

Oh.  She’s dreaming of him. 

There’s a spark of something in his chest—happiness?  Excitement?— but it’s quickly extinguished by the realization that, if Y/N is dreaming of him, her body language is making it clear that the dream isn’t a pleasant one. 

Harry releases a frustrated sigh as he sinks back down into the sheets.  That’s to be expected, really.  After all, he did just feed from her; if she’s having a bad dream about him, it would only be logical. 

Still, the sight of her shifting in bed with a distressed look on her face pulls an equally distressed look from the immortal, and he only hesitates for a moment before carefully maneuvering the girl back onto his chest, positioning her so that he can easily rub her warm back with his cool hands.  

“You’re alright.” He murmurs softly into her ear, his voice low and melodic despite no one being around to hear it. “You’re fine, sweetheart. I’m here, hm? Go back to sleep.”

It takes a few more minutes of back rubbing, whispering, and a handful of strategically placed forehead kisses, but Y/N’s face finally relaxes as she falls back into a deep, untroubled slumber against Harry’s chest.  As her breathing evens out again, Harry breathes a gentle exhale of relief.  That was a close call.  The next time he feeds, he’ll have to make sure she’s truly unconscious, and has been so for a while.  Her bad dream, whatever it was, had probably been caused by him digging into her prematurely.  Next time, he’ll wait until the dead of night, when she’s deep in REM sleep.  She’ll be more comfortable then. 

Which reminds him— he has plans he has to cancel tonight, and the sleeping girl on his chest mixed with his phone being in his trouser pocket on the floor make a difficult combo to surpass. 

Despite the testing task, Harry manages to retrieve his phone from his discarded linen pants after a few minutes of awkward stretching, some light grunting, and a few curse words, but he manages to do it without waking Y/N up (she moves a couple of times, but a few soft words and tender hushing Harry’s behalf sends her right back into her dreams).  With one hand still wrapped around her back, Harry manages to type out a quick message to Niall. 

Won’t be able to make it tonight— something came up with Y/N.  Have fun at the bar. 

Harry references her by name, knowing that Mitch had probably already blabbed to their entire friend group about the date he’d had, and about how a human girl had recently become the target of his fascination. Juicy gossip is indisputably one of the aspects that keeps eternity from growing stale, and the vampire’s crew believe that to be so more than anyone. There’s not a single doubt in his mind they’d eaten every word up, and that he’d probably get drilled on it later.

He keeps his phone clutched in his hand, waiting for a (sure to be ridiculing) reply from Niall that comes a few minutes later. 

The girl from last time? Jesus, again?  Weren’t you meeting her for brunch?

A small smirk tugs at the corner of Harry’s lip. I did meet her for brunch.  And then I met her back at her apartment, and I’ll probably be meeting her again later after we get some dinner.  Don’t wait up.

After that text, Harry drops his phone on the bedside table, expecting Niall to just leave him on read in a fit of annoyance.  He’s surprised, however, to hear the quiet vibration of his phone a moment later, and picks it up to skim the message with pressing curiosity. 

You’re a fucking incubus, you know that?

The smirk on Harry’s swollen lips suddenly drops.  

While it’s not the first time he’s been called an incubus, it is the first time the label has ever bothered him. Why is that?  It’s not like it’s untrue; he frequently seduces various people, many of them being women, in order to sleep with them and drink their blood. That’s what an incubus does.  The label shouldn’t pester him.  In fact, it should boost his ego. 

But the title being applied to his relationship with Y/N… that gives him pause. It reminds him of a certain person— a certain disgrace, if he’s being pettily honest— who he had sworn never to think about again, out of respect for his sanity and emotional stability. It reminds him of how when he himself was mortal, he was under similar circumstances to what Y/N is under right now— he was a human blood bag to a vampire who took pleasure in his body. 

This is different, Harry tells himself.  I’m not going to ruin her life. She’s not going to end up like me. And we have an understanding, which I never got to have. This isn’t the same. I’m...I’m not the same.

In his steadfast opinion, the immortal isn’t an incubus when it comes to Y/N and it’s that simple, point blank. Saying he is… that sets the implication that he could be doing this with anyone, and that’s just not true.  Even though he’s keeping Y/N around as a convenient fuck with delicious blood, he wouldn’t go to this much trouble for anyone else; no one else is worth it.  No one else has her honey and lavender scent, or contagious laugh, or can match him so easily in banter without flinching or blinking an eye.  And though he’s too attached to his own pride— to the inherent coldness and indifference he’d worked so hard to build over the last two centuries— to let her know, he’ll admit that there’s no one else like her. There’s no one who’s company he enjoys quite the same. 

Harry doesn’t indulge Niall with a response, simply closing his phone and setting it back on the bedside table.  His friend can think what he wants, Harry decides, returning his attention to tracing figures on Y/N’s back.  Harry knows what this really is.  He knows, and it’s not some evil plan to permanently damage her. It’s just a simple loose relationship between two people who float an inch above the friendzone. That’s all. 

Friends, just slightly more. 

[serene-victory-77]

Why The Crows Being Teenagers Is Actually Perfectly Realistic

There’s a TL;DR are the end because wow I like to rant.

I lightly discuss the general situations they’re all in to explore how they are frighteningly mature and competent, but it’s not particularly depressing or descriptive, it’s definitely lighter than the books

I thought about this post with a joke first: “People who think that Six of Crows is unrealistic because they’re so young clearly have not spent much time with traumatized honors students.”

It’s a bit of an exaggeration, but the point stands.

But I decided that, hm, actually, I could make a point about this. I totally agree with the aging up of the characters in the Shadow and Bone show, but when people straight up say that the books are wrong or unrealistic for having a young crew, I get annoyed, and here’s why (other than me reading the books for the first time when I was 13 and thinking ‘Huh okay, I see it’ and now being lowkey offended when people say they ignore it for being unrealistic):

On Inej

- At first I thought Inej’s wisdom and general demeanor was one of the most unrealistic things in the book

- When I thought about it longer, I was like “Actually, she’s 16, right? I’ve sent some of the most lyrical philosophy trying to help my friends while in high school. My friends have done the same. It’s valid.”

- Frankly, teenagers love hard-hitting philosophical truths. They love repeating what they’ve read or heard in movies and in books and from family stories. They love sharing little bits of wisdom they have come up with

- Inej’s ability to hear and understand philosophy and wisdom that she was surrounded by for 14 straight years and then sit on it and elaborate it for her friends to understand, or even just to piss them off in Kaz’s case? 

- Teenagers have that. They do it. So, Inej’s Wisdom passes, to me. It’s valid. 

As for her being calm

- You know how everyone jokes that Kaz seems calm on the outside but when you get to his POV he’s like “What the fuck” at the Van Eck house or just straight up “Huh, is this revenge for making tree jokes” at the Djel River thingy in the Ice Court?

- Inej is like that, too. And she gets angry, and she gets confused, or exhausted.

- AKA every quiet kid ever. Like, are you kidding? Have you ever been in a situation in which it’s literally chaos all around you, people are screaming and things are being destroyed (think middle school classroom with bitchy long term substitute and even worse students), and you’re just, calm? You pick up your things, you do what you need to do?

- That’s Inej. Like, what else is she gonna do? She’s smart enough to know that panicking won’t help anyone, and so she just rides it out. Internally she might be like “Why is this happening” but frankly, her being quiet and controlled in most situations is probably a coping mechanism and I respect that

- Pretty sure this is also based on the fact that the Suli have no land for their own and constantly have to keep moving. It might align with generational trauma, I’m sure someone could explain it better than me, but being able to keep your cool while constantly having to change and adapt to new situations, in, say, a country with hellfire politics and no land to call your own? Seems like a hereditary trait that could be useful in Ketterdam, although it’s sad.

On Inej’s abilities

- Simone Biles started training when she was 6 and went to the World Artistic Gymnastics Championships when she was 16, where she qualified in all the events. 

- There are videos of people walking over tightropes as young as three years old. We know Inej didn’t start that young, but not only was she naturally talented at it, but she spent a lot of time practicing. I think it’s valid. Plus, some of her family members do some pretty crazy things in her flashbacks, because that’s the whole point of what they do. 

- Youngest person to beat American Ninja Warrior was 16 year old Vance Walker

- Inej has a variety of of tools that help her wall climb, and while it’s true that she started young and got good really fast, she already had a history of physical work that would help her, and from what we can gleam from the book, a surprising amount of free time in which she was actively encouraged to learn everything she could. 

So that’s Inej! I think her skills are perfectly possible for someone with her history and situation. It’s true that she’s naturally skilled, but that’s not actually all that unusual. And her demeanor and wisdom do fit in with what a lot of teenagers are like and the circumstances she was brought up in

Onto Kaz!

- One thing I hear about is that Kaz is too smart for not having gone to school and also too young to know all that he does

- Do you all KNOW how many self-taught people there have been in this world? The word for people who are self-taught is autodidacts, and honestly a huge amount of famous people apply. Like many, many other people in history (there’s a whole list of them in Wikipedia), he had an vested interest in a field and he learned all he could. Sure, those fields were magic tricks and math, but still.

- Suddenly I have a lot of thoughts

- Okay, think, hyperfixations. That’s essentially what Kaz’s thing with magic tricks was, right? Have any of you ever spent time with an eight year old that clearly really, really loves dinosaurs? Those kids can spout names and facts and identify them by their skeletons and frankly know more than I ever will. Kaz’s was magic tricks. All kids are special.

- Kaz continued working on magic tricks and practicing them for years, so, I think that gets a pass. 

- As for the math! Look, a Fact Of Life is that some kids are just Like That, whether it be possibly from neurodivergence or other factors:

- Flo and Kay Lyman are twins with Autism who basically have the calendar of EVER memorized. Kaz memorizing card decks is sensible, and these ladies don’t need to look up anything to figure it out, so Kaz doing sums inside his head seems plausible. His “photographic memory’ isn’t impossible, although the term itself might be incorrect.

- Katherine Johnson who worked at NASA (yes, the lady from Hidden Figures), was so good at math that she was in high school by age 10 and went to college at age 15. It’s true that she had some teaching, but 1. There’s no evidence Kaz had absolutely no schooling, even if it was just at home with books and 2. Kaz was 9 when he came to Ketterdam, and after Jordie died, when he wasn’t surviving, he was learning. 

- Human calculator is a term that is applied to children a lot and there’s definitely plenty of videos showing how smart these kids are and them doing mental math easily, which he does in the books

- He had a LOT of pressure on him to figure out all he could, and if he wanted to move forward, he was going to have to learn a lot. He spent hours practicing magic tricks, for all we know he spent hours practicing math too. We know Jordie was a bit of a bookworm too, so Kaz from a young age probably already had a reason to learn. Personally, a lot of my love for books was inspired by my older sibling when I was younger

- Young people are adaptable. Kaz is incredibly adaptable. The term prodigy exists because of people like him through history. 

- As for him being rational, there’s no other way to survive. Some of the greatest soldiers in history have been very, very young, and very, very smart. It’s true tacticians are generally considered to be older, but that doesn’t mean there haven’t been very young ones. 

- A lot of the generals I found were like, 19 years old, but Kaz is 1. not a general and 2. in a place where young people take up the mantle really, really quickly, and frankly it’s been like that for a long time. I still think this passes. This isn’t relevant but William the Conqueror was apparently called “The Bastard”?

- Frankly, underground communities of thieves probably don’t go around publishing their escapades so to me it makes sense that I can’t just look up “famous young thieves” and get anything that makes sense, but I did try

- Y’all I tried to do research on youngest escape artists since I think Kaz qualifies and I found myself in what I think is a magicians forum? It’s from 2002-ish and I feel like I’ve just found a relic. I can’t definitely prove they’re all saying the truth, but some of the people there talk about 10-11 year olds at magic camps, so, it’s not impossible for this to be a skill Kaz learned really young, particularly when he made a habit of following around magicians

- I think he passes the realism check overall

For the other Crows:

- Nina being so proficiently multilingual makes sense to me, because she’s been in the Little Palace almost her entire life with all the best teachers they could afford at her disposal. Some people just click with languages. One such would be Timothy Doner, who spoke 23 languages at 16. 

- Nina is a child soldier. She of course can handle the battlefield, although I imagine there’s a degree of trauma that she has to deal with (although it’s true that most of her work was always meant to angle her towards being a spy).

- Jesper was taught to shoot from a young age by Aditi, who was likely incredibly proficient. Plus, there’s mentions of him and his father being on some sort of frontier at one point in the books, so, it’s likely that Jesper got his fair share of ‘being a child soldier” since he would’ve been 15 or younger. Plus, with being a Fabrikator, he gets a leg up

- Jesper’s smart y’all, he just also likes to have fun

- I am a little terrified by the fact that I looked up ‘youngest sharpshooter’ and found out about a 9 year old girl (Addysson “Addy” Soltau) who can indeed shoot guns, but uh, it does prove my point

- Matthias... I haven’t heard anyone really argue about Matthias. He’s the oldest at 18 and again, he’s essentially a religious child soldier. Of course he would be built af and know how to handle himself in a fight, and in a flashback about meeting Trassel, we’re told that he was actually distanced from the other boys and was the biggest and strongest/smartest of the group. Perhaps not compared to Kaz, but still

- We know how Wylan ended up how he is, so I don’t think i have to defend how he’s both a musical prodigy, good at math, and good at chemistry. Plenty of kids who can’t do one thing will immediately gravitate to a different field (think AP math students who can’t write essays, or those kids who could analyse a book and it’s metaphors in class but didn’t understand geometry).

- Granted he took it far but it’s kinda implied that  his father ignored him eventually and what else was Wylan going to do

- I don’t really know how he did chemistry while not being able to read the symbols and stuff, but that’s likely because I’ve never had to learn the way he did and also I really suck at Chemistry, but I refuse to believe that it invalidates his capabilities

Final Thoughts:

- They’re Traumatized Honors Students

- People might say that “it’s unrealistic that all the smart ones somehow ended up together” but again they’re traumatized honors students and those gravitate to each other

- Of course the smart ones ended up together, they’re the ones in those crazy situations precisely because they are prodigies. Nina wouldn’t have met Matthias if she wasn’t skilled and a spy, Kaz wouldn’t have known Inej if she hadn’t been skilled at silence (I can’t explain that one but uh ninjas did/do exist and it IS still a fantasy world). Kaz would have never been a leader of the Dregs in a position to find Jesper if he hadn’t been so determined to rise to the top, and Jesper wouldn’t have been in Ketterdam if his father hadn’t thought that Jesper was smart enough to get that chance.

- You know how those fringe revolutionary artists for new eras end up knowing all knowing each other and even hanging out? That’s them.

- I have decided there is a strong basis for Autistic Kaz, someone who is more studied than me should feel free to explore this.

- I read this book a few years ago, A Long Way Gone by Ishmael Beah. It’s about this guy’s experiences as a boy soldier and it’s a painful read so I’m not sure I recommend it as a casual read, but he talked about these young kids being able to actually make competent military strategies and handle warfare. It’s an extreme example of what I’m trying to explain when it comes to them being able to handle the brutality of their situation, but it’s true, essentially

- They are definitely serious, but if you think they’re not teenagers I just, disagree so much. They have moments of lighthearted banter, they make light of their situation, they try to support each other Nina covers it so well in her farewell at the end of Crooked Kingdom: The little rescues of laughing at each others jokes or eating together and just supporting each other, is not only a very human thing, but a very teenager thing. 

- Scary experiences that shape us happen all the time, and although for most it’s not the things that the Crows experience, picking each other up is a big part of why they do read as teenagers to me. I’ve seen kids be able to seriously converse about things like being questioned by the police, or being left to their own devices for days at a time, or the general impending doom they all feel, and it’s dark, but they’re also going to joke about silly puns 20 minutes later. 

- Teenagers aren’t exempt from terrifying maturity and competence

- Finally: Despite all I said, it’s a fantasy story and doesn’t have to be realistic

In the end, everyone can believe what they want to believe, but this is my case for my opinion.

TL;DR The Crows are all prodigies and a lot of their achievements and capabilities are based in reality and there are real people who actually achieved things like what they’ve done. Messed up prodigies gravitate to messed up prodigies, hence how they all end up together. When it comes to their mental state, most of them have been brought up their entire lives in situations that required for them to problem solve and keep their cool even when things are going to hell.

[mamanabeille]

I Don't Want to Be Reasonable

This week's @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers sprint fic. I chose the "If we both want to fit, we will have to cuddle" prompt.

“I’m going to kill her,” Luka all but growls under his breath as they stare at the single bed in the center of the room that seemed to be taunting him. He should have known. He shouldn't have expected anything less from his conniving little sister and her soon to be wife.

Juleka and Rose were getting married the next day in the little inn that Rose had fallen in love with when Juleka booked it for their first vacation away together years before. It was tiny, but somehow seemed to perfectly mesh together the two of their personalities and neither could imagine being wed anywhere else. So when they had asked Luka if he minded sharing a room with Marinette, due to a lack of enough rooms for the wedding party to each have their own, he had willingly agreed without so much of a second thought. He would do anything for the two women. He loved them both larger than life, even if in this exact moment he was fighting the urge to tear the mickey out of them… and himself for not catching on sooner. When she asked, he assumed she meant sharing an actual room… not the bed.

“So,” Marinette breaks the silence hesitantly as she looks around the tiny room, her cheeks flushed a light pink. “I’ll go back to the front desk and make sure they gave us the right room or if there’s another.” She knows it’s pointless, but she feels like she should at least offer to try.

“There isn’t,” Luka sighs, setting his bag down and taking Marinette’s off her shoulder to do the same. “They’ve booked up the whole inn.”

“I know,” Marinette nods, her voice seeming to catch in her throat. She was the one that unintentionally offered to bunk with Luka when Rose had called in tears because there just weren’t enough rooms for anyone and no other local hotels. Marinette had suggested some of the wedding party sharing rooms, not thinking in the moment that she and Luka were the only members of the party that were still single and not sharing a room with their spouses and families.

“I’ll take the floor,” Luka offers. “Or I’ll crash with Ding and Bri.”

“You will not,” she protests, glaring up at him as if he’d personally offended her. “This is the first time they’ve gotten a night away from the baby. I’m also not letting you sleep on the floor the night before your sister’s wedding. That’s absurd, for one. Besides, you get grumpy when you don’t sleep well and you will not be a grouch on their day. We are grown adults, Luka. We are more than capable of sharing a bed for a few nights.” She makes her way over to the full size bed, and plops down, patting the spot next to her as if to prove a point, even though her voice catches a little on the last few words.

Luka feels his face and neck burn hot, pushing out the thought of sharing a bed with her in a very adult way. He knows that wasn’t what she meant. That’s not what they are. They are friends. Good friends. Best friends. Best friends that both have feelings for each other, but just friends. Period. They had to be. Still, something in her phrasing, and the fact that he’d been in love with her for as long as he could remember, sends images of leaning her back against the pillows and kissing her senseless until neither of them could breath. He shakes the images away and takes a deep breath before walking over to the foot of the bed, but not laying down next to her. “Marinette. I could barely fit in the bed on my own,” he chuckles weakly, trying to keep his tone light. The woman frowns and glances between him and the bed, taking in his over six foot stature. “Well,” she offers up slowly with a growing little grin. “If we both want to fit, we will just have to cuddle.” She holds her breath as she locks eyes with him. Usually it takes a few glasses of alcohol to get her to flirt openly with the man, but something is different tonight. She knows she shouldn’t be playing this game with him. It always ends with one of them hurt and wanting more, usually both of them if she’s being honest with herself. She can’t seem to stop herself though. “Come cuddle, Lu? Please...” Waiting for his response seems to last an eternity. She watches Adam's apple bob as he nearly choked on his words, and her sudden burst of confidence falters. “You're killing me,” he groans, sinking down on the bed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and bury his face in his hands, his fingers tangling into his hair. “You’re supposed to be the reasonable one here, Nette.” Marinette smirks, and slinks down the bed to wrap her arms around his middle, resting her chin on his shoulder as she curls around him. “I don’t want to be tonight. I’m always the rational one.” “Because they are your reasons. Our schedules are still crazy. We are rarely even in the same hemisphere We are too important to each other to fuck this up.” He says the words as much to himself as her, but she can feel his posture softening under her. “Fuck, Nette. We can't do this,” he huffs out, straightening up slowly to not knock her off the edge, and gestures between the two of them. “And just expect for everything to stay the same.” “I know,” she nods softly, turning her eyes downward to where her hands were now slowly twiddling in her lap. The two of them sit in a strained silence for a few minutes, backs barely brushing against one another. Luka lets out a few audible deep breaths, trying to recompose himself, while Marinette bit her bottom lip trying to fight of the tears stinging her eyes. “I’m sorry,” Luka sighs, just as Marinette whispers out a barely there “I don’t want things to stay the same.” Luka’s head shoots up at her words, and he turns to face her so quickly she nearly does topple off the bed this time. His hand instinctively reaches out to steady her and he leaves it there grasping her arm as if she’s his only life line. “What?” he questions, his eyes begging her to repeat the words, praying to whatever gods would listen that he heard her correctly. Marinette looks up at him, just as vulnerable and swallows down the nerves that are stuck in her throat. “I don’t want things to stay the same anymore. I know they’re my reasons. I know I’ve always been the one that’s pushed back against us for so long. I know that it’s probably not fair for me to be saying any of this, especially not right now, but I’m tired of fighting it, Lu. I want you. I want us, and I know it’s going to be hard with how crazy our lives are, but I lov-” Luka cuts her off, capturing her lips with his own, pouring every ounce of love, longing, and joy he can into the kiss. It’s like opening the floodgates after years, and built up tension and desperation deeps the kiss. When neither can resist the need to breathe any longer, and they slowly pull away from one another, he stays hovering over her, so close he

can feel her rapid breaths against his kiss bruised lips. Her expression falls and she catches her bottom lip in her teeth again. “I’m scared, Luka,” she whimpers. “What if we hurt each other?” “I’m not,” he whispers, afraid to ruin the moment he’s waited so long for. “I’m willing to do whatever is needed to make sure we work, Marinette.” He pulls back just enough so that he can look her directly in the eyes a little easier. “I think if we’re being honest with ourselves, we’ve been hurting each other but not giving us a chance.” Marinette lets out a shaking breath and nods. Luka presses a soft kiss to her lips before rolling over next to her. She doesn’t hesitate to curl into his side, resting her face against his chest. His arm wraps around her, and he places a soft kiss to her head. Her fingers lightly trace up and down his arm, down his chest, over his torso then back. They stay there in each other's embrace, stealing little kisses, a few giggles and declarations of love until there’s a knock at the door reminding them the rehearsal dinner had started ten minutes ago.

Luka decides to ignore the blatant smirk of a compliment on his sister’s face once the two of them do make it to dinner, hand in hand with matching lovestruck grins.

[ashdumpsterpile]

I know you talk abou st*cky in the interracial ships stuff, but can we talk about st*ny? Iron husbands is literally right there, but I also always sees Rhodey as Tonys moral support only. And ik Tony is very shippable with most characters, but the fact his ship is Rhodey is one of the lowest ships in ao3 (ironstrange, winteriron and god forbid stark*r all had more fics in ao3).. It's pretty telling this side also has racism problems...

I'll go ahead and answer this here, but letting y'all know that I do have a marvel sideblog if you want to hit me up there (@themarvelarchives).

Hey, I'm going to ramble for a good minute.

So after I posted my very incoherent, controversial take on St*cky vs SamBucky, there were a ton of ppl who came onto anon saying that St*cky shippers were racist. I think I only answered a few, but y'all were pretty insistent on it. I personally have not observed that St*cky shippers are so I'm not calling anyone out on that side of the fandom for that.

I also did not call out anyone on this side of the fandom bc that's not what my meta was about. I think I mentioned maybe once or twice in the whole post that there was underlying racist in the fandom, but since you asked, we can talk about it here.

Covert Bigotry In Fandom Spaces.

To understand what's going on in the MCU, we have to first look at what I call "woke-queer" fandom.

So "Woke-Queer" Spaces is the phenomenon where certain fandom members like to call ppl out on their bigotry, while covertly harboring their own queerphobia/racism/etc. An example of this that we're all familiar with is TERFS and how they like to claim that they are progressive and woke, while also claiming that trans women are fake and trans men are sexist.

How this translates to fandom, however, is the hypocrisy that is cancellation and callout culture.

For example, Supernatural in particular is a fandom that likes to call out the writers on their homophobia and racism, and yet, somehow, the fandom is chalk full of homophobia and racism. If you want to read more about this, here is a truly excellent article from the perspective of a queer woman of color.

Moving on, I've also talked in a previous meta post, on the internalized acephobia that exploded in 2019 after Good Omens was released. Rather than reiterate everything I said in that post, I'll just leave it at this: the controversy in the Good Omens fandom can be summed up by the fact that queer audiences are claiming that Ineffable Husbands is the wrong kind of queer. The hypocrisy oozes off the screen, doesn't it?

A final way this viably translates to fandom, is in how the Doctor Who fandom evolved over time.

So Steven Moffat takes over as head writer and showrunner in 2010. It's a new series, a new Doctor, a new Tardis, and new branding. He steps up the action, changes the color grating, and raises the stakes. Women are sexier, the Doctor is smarter (and more of an asshole, but that's another meta post), and every companion comes with their own impossible mystery that makes them Special™.

Series 5-10 got tons of woke points for having lesbian characters, an episode where the Doctor is homoerotic with James Corden, and an underlying trans narrative with the Master's reincarnation. What a lot of people forget, however, is that his series was incredibly sexiest, incredibly lesbian/biphobic, and basically turned the Doctor into everyone's fantasy sex-object.

This, unfortunately, brought out the worst of the fandom. There was RTD Era vs Moffat Era wars exploding in certain corners, TenxRose shippers vs ElevenxRiver shippers.

What does this have to do with covert racism in fandom cultures though?

Hnnngng ok, so back in RTD era's we get Martha Jones, the Actual Best Companion On The Entire Show. Except for the fact, of course, that she is written to be in love with the doctor. She's a brilliant character--smart, sassy, flawed, funny, flirtatious--and her entire plotline is reduced down to a school-girl crush on a white man.

She doesn't do well with fans, they scrap her after one season.

We move on to Donna Noble (The Other Actual Best Companion On The Entire Show) and RTD's era ends with them scraping her too and regenerating David Tennant's Doctor.

It will be five more series (not seasons, SERIES) until Doctor Who will have another black companion--who gets extra points for being gay--only to fall victim to "bury your gays" at the end of the season (but not really bc no one stays dead on Doctor Who).

The fandom's reception of Martha Jones was historically bad. The comparisons to her predecessor, Rose Tyler, were rampant and everyone was finding a reason to hate her.

The fandom's reception to Bill Potts was also historically bad, as everyone was screaming that she was being written for more "woke points" and that they wanted Clara back.

Fandom has a historically bad reputation of being problematic and, I would argue, the majority of it has to do with these toxic undertones of bigotry that slip under the radar. "Woke-queer" spaces, as I call them, are these instances above where spaces that claim to be inclusive of gender/orientation/race are covertly bigoted.

Marvel and Cancelling

Now is an excellent time to talk about the MCU.

Anthony Mackie (Sam Wilson) has recently come under a lot of criticism from fandom members for shutting down shipper speculation.

"The idea of two guys being friends and loving each other in 2021 is a problem because of the exploitation of homosexuality. [...] something as pure and beautiful as homosexuality has been exploited by people who are trying to rationalize themselves."

I can't find the rest of the quote, but Mackie goes on further to say that it was important to him to portray "a sensitive, masculine figure" without insinuating that there was romance involved.

Woke culture lost it's shit. Everyone was suddenly claiming that Mackie was calling them exploitative for shipping a gay ship as a queer audience, which could not have been further from the case.

Mackie actually makes some very excellent points in that sensitivity is not gay/queer. Woke culture loves to rag on Toxic Masculinity, but the minute someone plays a character who is loving and sensitive with no queer narrative in mind, they are immediately canceled.

What Am I On About

Okay, let's actually address what your ask was about, Nonnie. You pointed out--rather truthfully--that it is unfair to call-out racism on one side of the fandom, while ignoring it on the other side.

Well, I've gone back through my St*cky vs. SamBucky analysis (which is incoherent at best, I apologize for that) and I see maybe once instance where I called out fandom members for being racist. Here's what I had to say about racism:

"[...] Iron Husbands is a rarepair, probably because it’s an interracial ship."

"[there is] nothing wrong with shipping two white men, but it does become a problem when you ignore/bash POC/interracial ships to the determinant of your own white ship."

And then there was the post you brought up where I addressed interracial ships in the fandom. That one is probably more relevant to this topic, to be honest, as I actually addressed fandom racism there. I assume that your reason for bringing up Stony is because it's a ship that is more relevant to my side of the fandom, HOWEVER, the reason I highlighted Stucky instead was because I was comparing the fact that they've both been around the same amount of time and are relationships that feature the protagonist and their best friend.

You brought up St*ny in the ask, however, so I'm going to talk about St*ny for a minute.

As someone who never has nor will ship St*ny, it never even occurred to me that some of the problem behind the Iron Husbands tag being so small is because everyone ships the white, boring ship. You brought up a very valid point, but because I was never in that part of the fandom, I can't really speak to any possible underlying racism there, besides what I've already said above.

I would be interested in hearing a St*ony shipper or ex-St*ony shippers thought on this, but sadly I don't know any. If you have any more thoughts regarding this, Nonnie, pls drop back into my inbox.

You do make some excellent points in this ask though, and I would like to talk about racism on my side of the fandom.

So back to Mackie and his Twitter cancellation. Notice that Disney made him address the rumors and not his co-star, Sebastian Stan. Anthony Mackie is put on blast and made to answer fan demands and receives backlash, while Sebastian Stan gets to fly under the rader. This is not, by the way, a criticism of Stan, but instead of the blatant racism Disney has been displaying over the past few years.

How this ties in with the rest of my post has to do with my "woke-queer" spaces bit. The outcry across the MCU fandom over Mackie was swift and unforgiving. He was cancelled on charges of homophobia and bigotry--all the while these same fans turn a blind eye to any queer interpretation of other interracial ships and discourse in their own fandom.

The racism that I'm speaking about, of course, is an almost passive racism. Of course if you don't ship a specific ship for reasons other than their race, it's perfectly fine. It's okay not to ship Iron Husbands or SamBucky or any other interracial fandom ships. However, the distinct lack of shippers in the fandom IS telling because there are people who would ship that exact ship if not for the fact that one of men is black.

I don't have much more to say about this except to thank you for bringing it up and for listening to my long rambling post.

(Feel free to bug me about Tony Stark, MCU ships, MCU Meta and anything you want to talk me about on this blog and @themarvelarchives.)

[rosemaidenvixen]

A Secret’s Worth

Chapter 19: Toby

Ao3

Toby's chest hurt so bad it actually felt like someone was literally stabbing him in the heart. Still he didn't slow down, if anything he pedaled even harder. 

The girls were riding neck and neck with him, in just as much of a hurry to reach their destination.

He shouldn’t have flipped out at Jim yesterday. He shouldn’t have thrown back what he knew about the scars on his ankle just because he was pissed. Now this whole thing was ten times worse and it was all his fault.

It had been so hard, watching Jim go home every day for the past month and forcing himself not to say anything, even when Jim started to look more and more anxious every day. But you know who had it even worse? The guy doing the actual suffering.

Toby had heard the phrase victim blaming before, but he never really got it until now. He’d just been so insanely furious hearing Jim yell at them for lying when he hadn’t said an honest thing to them in months, and when they’d been doing everything they could to help him he hadn’t responded right--

The guy’s mom locked him in the basement and slashed up his ankle; what the hell was the ‘right’ way to act after that?

Now Jim was hurt really bad and he’d had to go to the hospital and he wasn’t in school today and he wasn’t answering his phone--

Toby needed to see if Jim was ok.

A throbbing pain that had nothing to do with the strain of pedaling uphill stabbed through his chest.

Or if not ok, alive and kicking.

He skidded to a stop on Jim’s lawn, stumbling off of his bike and running up to pound on the front door “Jim you’ve got about ten seconds to open this door before I’m breaking it down!”

Ok maybe that was the wrong thing to start off with considering he was there to apologize, but Toby would just add it to the list of things to grovel for forgiveness for after he saw that Jim was alright.

And just when he was about to make good on his threat, a hand grabbed his shoulder and started tugging him away. Toby jerked around to see who it was.

“Don’t try to stop me Darci,”

Her expression was soft in a way that made him feel even worse “I’m not, but Toby, I don't think anyone's home. All the lights are off and the car’s gone,” 

He snapped back around, heart plummeting when he saw that she was right. 

Jim and Dr. Lake weren’t here.

“And your Nana’s watching,”

Toby whirled, spotting Phil, one of Nana’s chess buddies, sitting in his car in their driveway with Nana stepping into the passenger seat. He stood there frozen for a few seconds before darting around Darci and sprinting across the cul de sac.

“Nana, wait! Stop stop stop!”

Phil, clearly startled, stopped the car in the middle of the street, Nana rolling down her window and poking her head out “Toby? What on earth is the matter?”

Besides the fact he didn’t want Nana witnessing him busting into Jim’s house, just because Jim had gone radio silent on them didn’t mean that Nana had stopped talking to Dr. Lake. So there was a chance she knew something they didn’t.

He slowed to a stop, panting “Have-- have you- have you heard what’s going on with Jim?”

Immediately her face shifted from confused to contrite “Oh yes Barbara told me, so sad that he got hurt, but he’s doing much better now,”

Toby heard the girls scurry up behind him.

“Do you know when they’ll be home from the hospital?”

“Didn’t Jim tell you?” Nana glanced at Phil, who took the hint and put the car into park before Nana turned and faced them again “They came home about two hours ago, but left for their spring break trip right away, Barbara and Jim won’t be back for about ten days,”

Toby actually felt his jaw drop open.

“B...But…” Claire stammered “Are they seriously going backpacking in Yosemite with Jim being all busted up?”

“I was surprised to, but Barbara said that Jim really didn’t want to miss their vacation, so they’re going to San Francisco and staying in a hotel instead,” the corners of Nana’s mouth tugged downwards into a frown, eyebrows drawing together “Did Jim not tell you any of this?”

Ok she had clearly picked up on the fact that things weren’t ‘Ok’ between Jim and them, and normally Toby would be trying to reassure Nana that everything really was cool, but right now he was too busy concentrating on not puking. 

They were gone. For ten days. Ten whole days Jim and Dr. Lake would be gone.

Plenty of time for another 'animal attack'. 

After an uncomfortably long silence Nana leaned back in her seat and redid her belt “I need to get to my cardiologist appointment now, but we can talk more when I get back,”

With that she nodded at Phil, who looked incredibly uncomfortable, but restarted the car and pulled away, leaving the four of them alone in the cul de sac, with nothing to do but slowly pick up their bikes and trudge into Toby’s garage. 

They’d screwed up. He’d screwed up. He’d screwed up so freaking bad. Yeah Jim was being a gigantic freaking hypocrite about the lying, but his mom locks him in the basement every other Tuesday. Of course the guy wasn’t acting rationally. 

He could still see the terrified look on Jim’s face while they yelled at him yesterday crystal clear.

And just because Jim was being a hypocrite didn’t mean that it wasn’t a dick move to lie to him about calling CPS.

And what they did yesterday….

Toby swallowed back another wave of nausea. Just thinking about what he’d done was enough to make him sick, he wanted to go back in time and smack some sense into himself.

He’d let his anger win out over everything else and started firing back at Jim, and then the girls had followed his lead. Pushing Jim so far over the edge that he went and started a fight with Psycho Steve of all people, who put him in the freaking hospital. Now Dr. Lake had taken him out of town and he wasn’t answering his phone--

His train of thought flew off the rails and crashed to a halt.

Jim and Dr. Lake were gone, and wouldn’t be back for over a week. Which meant that their house was going to be completely empty for that whole time.

Before the idea had even finished forming Toby knew what he had to do.

Immediately after propping his bike up against the wall Toby strode over to the toolbench and grabbed the items he was looking for. A doorstop, an unraveled wire coat hanger, and the biggest pair of bolt cutters Nana had been able to find at Home Depot.

Darci was the first to notice him “What are you doing with all that?”

“Snooping,”

Now Mary and Claire were looking at him to “What do you mean?”

“Jim and Dr. Lake are gone for spring break, and I think we all know that Jim is going to ignore any texts or messages we send. So I’m going straight to the source, I’m going into their house to get some real answers,”

The girls all shared an uncertain look “Toby…” Claire said slowly “You know that if you break in they won’t be able to use anything you find as evidence, right?”

He wilted a little, but tightened his grip on the bolt cutters at the same time “I know, but this might be the only chance to find out what’s really happening to Jim. And if I can figure that out, maybe I can figure out how to get Jim to let us help him,”

Toby turned and then hesitated, dragging the toe of his shoe on the concrete “I won’t ask you guys to come with me, but I need to do this,”

Knowing that if he waited any longer he was going to chicken out, Toby raised his foot and strode out of the garage, making a beeline for the Lake house. After a few seconds he heard footsteps behind him as the girls started to follow.

And even though he knew he’d do this alone if he had to, it felt really really good that he didn’t have to.

Once he got to Jim’s garage, Toby pulled a trash can up to the door and stood on it. Boosting him up high enough to wedge the door stop between the garage door and the frame, reaching in with the coathanger until he snagged the cord and pulled it down within arm’s reach. Cord in hand, Toby yanked until he felt it give, allowing him to slide up the garage door with ease.

Stepping down and picking up the trash can, Toby turned to go put it back when he saw Claire, Darci, and Mary staring at him with big eyes.

“Toby…” Mary said slowly “How did you know how to do that?”

“Oh, uh…” he felt his face heat up “Nana showed me how when Meow Meow PI got locked in our garage, then she made me promise not to tell anyone….so please don’t tell anyone,”

“We won’t but you are going to have to teach us that one,”

Once the trash can was back in place they headed in, Toby pulling the garage door shut behind them “Where should we start?” Darci whispered, even though it was only the four of them in the deserted house.

Toby glanced around, tool bench, picnic coolers, spare fridge, chest freezer-- He froze, eyes locked on the chest freezer pushed back against the far wall. The one that was always kept padlocked for reasons he’d never questioned until now. The only reason he could think of to keep a freezer locked would be--

He shoved the idea away before a picture could form in his head. 

But now he needed to see for himself to make sure that the thought he was desperately trying not to think about wasn’t true.

“Here,” he strode over, and with only slightly shaking hands, cut the metal U of the latch off with two snaps of the bolt cutters, the unopened lock clattering to the floor. It was actually easier than he thought it would be, of course the bolt cutters were ginormous compared to the latch.

The girls gathered in close as he popped the now empty latch and slowly lifted the lid.

First off there weren’t any dead bodies staring back at them, so that was good. It looked like the freezer was just stuffed with regular plastic grocery packages. But why put a lock on ordinary food? Maybe they really were worried about racoons, those were a menace in this neighborhood. 

Despite that perfectly rational, reasonable explanation, Toby couldn’t shake the feeling that something looked off about the food in front of him, something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

It only took a few more seconds of staring for him to figure it out. He didn’t recognize any of the labels on these packages. And he and Jim had done a lot of grocery shopping together. Jim going on and on about all the subtle differences in flavor between different items and different brands.

That’s how Toby knew with absolute certainty that this stuff wasn’t anything you could buy at any grocery store in Arcadia Oaks. Because in all of their trips shopping together, they’d never bought any of the items in this freezer.

Reaching past him, Claire gingerly picked up something shrink wrapped in blue and yellow plastic “Beef sweetbreads?”

Toby eyed the package suspiciously “Bread doesn’t come from beef,”

“Sweetbreads aren’t bread, they’re organ meat,”

“Ew,”

“Hey they’re actually pretty good when you cook them right,”

Even more curious now, they all started reaching in and rifling through the frozen packages in front of them.

“It looks like this is just a bunch of meat,” Darci said while holding up a bag of beef bones by the corner between her thumb and forefinger.

Mary wrinkled her nose at a package of chicken livers “Yeah, but I’ve never seen Jim cook with any of this stuff,” she peered in Toby’s direction “Have you?”

His mouth went dry, nausea creeping back in “No, I haven’t,”

They kept digging, plastic packs of meat piling up on the floor around them, and the deeper they went the weirder things got. Eventually hitting what looked like whole small animals, cleaned and skinned and sealed in shrink wrap. Toby lifted one of them out, guts squirming in his belly “Guys, what are these?”

Claire leaned over and read off a tiny label on the corner of the package “It says whole rabbit,”

This kept getting freakier and freakier, Jim had never cooked rabbit meat before, let alone roasting them whole. 

Darci and Mary cleared off the rest of the rabbits to uncover a massive package at the bottom, one that would have taken all four of them to lift out, bright red of raw muscle showing clearly against the white of the freezer. But unlike everything else in here, this one had clearly been opened and resealed multiple times, with chunks of meat taken off, proving that someone was taking stuff out of this freezer and using it on a regular basis 

“This one says whole bison leg,” Darci said quietly.

A chill went through him, and not because he was standing in front of an open freezer.

“Oh my god, I just can’t--” Mary darted away, running to the wall farthest away from the freezer and slumping against it, gasping and shaking. Claire immediately ran over and put an arm around her shoulders, leaving Toby and Darci standing in front of the freezer.

“Toby,” Darci’s voice was a monotone, her eyes locked on the frozen leg in front of them “Are you absolutely sure that Jim never cooked with any of this stuff,”

“Positive,”

“Then...what do they do with all this?”

Toby’s stomach shrank in on itself “I don’t know,”

Were they trying to bait racoons or something? It was the only thing Toby could think of, but if they were, why? And he was pretty sure there was a lot cheaper stuff out there they could use for racoon bait. But if they weren’t using it as bait then what they hell were they doing with all this weird meat? And why the lock?

Pulling in a deep breath through her nose, Darci slowly started putting the packages they’d taken out back in the freezer “Ok, we’re not going to find anything else out here, we need to clean up and keep looking,”

Fighting past the painful tightness in his abdomen, Toby grabbed a rabbit and joined her. Claire eventually came over to help them, but Mary stayed far away until the lid of the freezer was shut.

“Um, Toby…” she said, walking back up to join them “How are we going to put the lock back on when you cut it off?”

“Easy,” he walked over to the toolbench and picked up a small bottle “Instant set Gorilla glue,”

And with two quick dabs of glue and Mary holding the pieces for him, the lock and the latch looked nearly as good as new. The latch did look a little funky from where the cutters had gone through, but Toby was pretty sure Jim and Dr. Lake wouldn’t notice it.

Now time to search the rest of the house.

Toby headed through the side door into the main house with the girls just behind him, pausing just inside the hall while he tried to figure out the best place to search first.

“Let’s look in Dr. Lake’s bedroom,”

All three of them slowly turned towards Mary.

“I mean…” her cheeks filled with red “If she’s hiding something chances are it would be in there,”

Claire nodded at that “You’re right, let’s go,”

The girls headed towards the stairs, but Toby hung back. Darci paused at the foot of the stairs, glancing back at him “Everything ok Toby?”

Even knowing what he knew, about the basement and the scars and all the other strange stuff. There was a part of him that still thought of Dr. Lake as….Dr. Lake. His friend’s fun, sometimes goofy mom, the one that took them to theme parks and gave the best presents on birthdays and holidays, who was never too busy to talk and always happy to see him. Going into her room and snooping through all her stuff felt...wrong.

All the girls were looking at him now, seeing what the hold up was.

Toby clenched his jaw and raised his head.

But no matter how bad he felt about it Toby couldn’t let his guilty conscience get in the way. Dr. Lake….Dr. Lake wasn’t who he thought she was, and Jim was in real trouble. This was the only way he could help him. That meant he had to suck it up and follow through.

He’d come this far already.

“Y-- yeah I’m fine, let’s go,” Toby forced his feet to move and followed them up the stairs into the back bedroom. His throat tightening when he saw Mary dive straight into going through her dresser, even as he set aside his tools and got down on his knees to join her. 

They spent nearly two hours going through the room from top to bottom. Searching the closet, every drawer in the dresser, under the bed and in the nightstand, every single nook and cranny in the room, even under the mattress. But they didn’t find anything. Just clothes, jewelry, and books.

Toby glumly replaced the socks back in the drawer he pulled them out of. If there was anything hidden in the house it wasn’t in here. So all they’d managed to accomplish was violating Dr. Lake’s privacy. But if there wasn’t anything in her bedroom then where else would--

“Toby,” Claire spoke up, startling him “Do you know if this house has a crawlspace, or an attic?”

He paused with his hand halfway out of the sock drawer. The Lakes had both a crawlspace and an attic. He’d seen the crawlspace, a small cubby in the basement full of their Christmas decorations, but the attic--

Dr. Lake had only mentioned once that they did have an unfinished attic, even shown him where it was.

And then said that he should never ever go up there.

“Their crawlspace is full of Christmas decorations, but I’ve never seen inside the attic. Dr. Lake said it was off limits,”

That got the girls’ attention.

Mary got to her feet “Where is it?”

“Closet, in the ceiling,”

Immediately they all made a beeline towards the closet, Mary pulling open the doors and revealing the square cut out of the plaster in the ceiling. 

Claire frowned “How is one of us supposed to get up there?”

“I’ll do it guys,” Darci stepped forward, shoulders square and mouth set in a firm line “I’m the tallest, just give me a boost,”

Positioning themselves directly under the hole, Mary and Claire each grabbed one of Darci’s legs and lifted, allowing Darci to push aside the cut out square of ceiling and poke her head into the darkness of the attic beyond.

“A little higher guys, I need to get a good grip to pull myself up,”

Claire and Mary obliged, raising Darci until she was waist deep in the attic, allowing her to kick off from the palms of their hands and vanish into the dark hole. After a few seconds Toby saw a small light, which had to be from Darci’s cellphone, blink on, illuminating the bare wooden beams of the unfinished space. 

“You see anything Darc?” Mary called up at her.

The light bobbed around in the small space above them, ceiling creaking under her as Darci moved around “Nothing so far, there’s a lot of fiberglass insulation so I have to be careful not to…”

All of a sudden the creaks stopped, the light staying frozen in one spot.

“Darci,” Toby forced the strangled word out “What’s going on?”

Things were silent for a few more seconds before they heard her voice again “There’s a box here guys, and it doesn’t look like Christmas decorations,”

With some tricky maneuvering, Darci managed to push the box down the hole, where Toby and Claire caught it. Quickly moving it off to the side so the three of them could catch Darci as she jumped down. Once she managed to untangle herself from them they all turned their attention back to the box.

Toby pushed it out of the closet so there was enough room for all of them to huddle around it. The box was about the size of a microwave, dark metal and surprisingly heavy for its size. It looked like one of those heavy duty water/fire/apocalypse proof boxes, and fortunately it wasn’t locked, meaning they wouldn’t need the bolt cutters. Trembling, terrified of what he might find, Toby popped the latches and lifted the lid. 

Part of him was worried that when they opened it they wouldn’t find anything but boring adult papers, bills and insurance stuff like that, but one look and he knew that wasn’t going to be the case.

Inside were two black bags, a large plastic one and a small felt one, and some kind of weird plastic rectangle. Mary reached in and pulled out the small bag first.

They all watched her tug the drawstrings open, not even daring to breathe as she turned the bag over and dumped the contents out. 

A bunch of loose teeth and a bundle of black hair in a rubber band tumbled onto her hand.

Just when Toby thought this couldn’t get any more confusing “What the hell is all that?”

Claire poked at one of the teeth sitting in Mary’s palm “This looks like stuff from an animal,”

It certainly did. That hair could easily be fur, and those teeth would have been right at home on a bear’s mouth. Big and sharp and clearly from a meat eater.

A locked freezer full of strange meat, animal parts hidden away in the attic. Toby still couldn’t put the pieces together, but it wasn’t shaping up to be anything good.

They spent a good minute staring at them before Mary poured the teeth and hair back in the bag “We aren’t going to learning anything by staring at teeth, let’s keep going,”

Claire grabbed the large bag just as Mary was replacing the small one, setting it in front of her and untying the straps to peer down inside.

Toby crawled closer “What is it? What’s in there?”

“It looks like...bath bombs,”

“What? No way,” Darci scooted up to Claire’s side and glanced down at the open bag “Huh, it does look like bath bombs,”

It took Toby a few seconds to realize they weren’t talking about actual explosives “Bath bombs,” he said incredulously “You mean like those fizzy scented things you put in the tub, those kind of bath bombs?”

Claire got to her feet “Only one way to be sure, follow me guys,,”

They tailed after Claire down the hall into the bathroom, where she promptly started filling the tub. Once there was about a half a foot of water inside she reached into the bag, pulled out a grainy pink ball, and dropped it in the water.

As they gathered in close and watched, a cloud of pink bubbles fizzed up around the sphere, filling the tub with pink foam and the scent of--

“Huh,” Toby sniffed “Roses,”

Mary reached a hand into the water, swirling it around before emerging slightly pink “It looks like they are just bath bombs,”

Ok this was getting really weird. Bath Bombs and animal parts weren’t exactly criminal, but what were they doing locked up in a secret attic box?

For a long time Toby had thought that the curfew and the locking in the basement was because of what Nana told him. That Dr. Lake was so scared of losing Jim she’d started doing some messed up things in order to keep him.

But after learning about the scars he started wondering if that was actually true. And now after seeing the meat and the animal parts and the bath bombs…

It was starting to look like all of this was just scratching the surface of something a lot bigger.

And there was still one more thing to check out.

After draining and rinsing the tub, they all went back to the bedroom and gathered around the box again, where Toby picked up the final item inside it, the plastic rectangle.

He turned it over a few times, trying to figure out exactly what it was when it clicked, filling him with a jolt of exhilaration.

“Guys I think this is some kind of book,”

Books meant data, information. Maybe even the answers behind the bath bombs, teeth, and weird meat.

Mary kneeled down next to him “Can you get it open?”

“I’m trying, but there’s a combination lock, and the thing’s completely sealed so I can’t just bust it open with the bolt cutters without destroying it, and--”

They all jumped as a deafening chime rang through the house.

The doorbell.

Toby’s heart shot up into his throat like lightning, beating hummingbird fast as the bell kept ringing again and again. 

Hearing the sound shattered his focus like a harsh slap, forcing Toby to remember exactly where he was and what he was doing.

He was in someone else’s house.

They’d come in without permission by breaking into the garage. 

They were breaking and entering.

They were committing a crime.

If they got caught it wouldn’t be extra homework or detention they had to deal with.

If they got caught they would get in real trouble.

For the first time Toby knew he wasn’t being melodramatic when he imagined getting arrested and sent to juvie.

Toby shot his head up and saw that the girls had the exact same panicked, horror-stricken looks on their faces that he knew he had on his. From down below the doorbell kept ringing again and again.

The locked book slipped from his hands and fell to the carpet with a dull thunk.

Oh fuck. 

“Guys we need to get out of here now!”

They all simultaneously jumped to their feet, Claire practically throwing the bag of bath bombs back in the box, and after fumbling with it for a few seconds Toby managed to toss the book in after it, Darci slamming the lid shut while muttering ‘oh god’ over and over again.

Frantically dragging the box back towards the closet, they figured out really fast that getting the box up was going to be a lot harder than getting it down, especially considering they were all freaking out. After running around like idiots for a few seconds, they got it together enough to hoist Darci up to the attic again, and then raise the box to where she could grab it and put it back, before dropping down from the attic herself. 

Meanwhile the doorbell continued to ring over and over, each chime practically giving Toby a heart attack, as they raced around the room, replacing items and shutting drawers and removing every trace of their snooping.

“Claire what the hell are you doing!?” Mary hissed.

Toby glanced over to see Claire standing in the doorway staring down the stairs to where the front door was “C’mon Claire we have to hoof it before Jim and Dr. Lake come in!”

“But...why would Jim and Dr. Lake be ringing the doorbell of their own house?”

Toby, Mary, and Darci all stopped dead

Claire was right, if Jim and Dr. Lake were back they’d just come right in without even touching the doorbell. But then who was ringing it? If it was just a salesman or something wouldn’t they leave as soon as they figured out no one was home? Whoever this was had been ringing the doorbell for nearly five minutes with no sign of stopping.

“New plan!” Mary piped up, voice a full octave higher than normal “Sneak out the back, then circle around through the bushes, act like we’re just out walking and see who it is,”

Toby nodded shakily along with Claire and Darci, leave it to Mary to come up with a plan under extreme pressure.

After double checking and making sure they’d gotten rid of all evidence of their break in, Toby grabbed his tools and ran to the stairs “Quick guys, go go go!” 

Not wasting a second the girls scampered down the stairs on light feet, Toby following after, the unrelenting doorbell even louder on the first floor.

They made a beeline for the back door, Toby going out last and locking it behind them. Following them, he ran over to the fence and, in a feat only possible to the insane amount of adrenaline shooting through his veins, hopped it in two bounds and dove into the shrubbery, joining the girls. 

“Everyone ok?” Darci whispered, crouching low in the undergrowth.

“Yeah,”

“Uh huh,”

“Yep,”

It was all Toby could do not to collapse, gasping for breath and quivering all over from equal parts relief and leftover panic. 

They’d gotten away with it. He was pretty sure they’d gotten away with it. No one had seen them and they hadn’t left any evidence behind. Although they hadn’t had time to wipe their fingerprints off of everything, or get rid of their DNA, hopefully Jim and Dr. Lake wouldn’t realize that their house was broken into at all. And even if they did there was no reason for the four of them to be suspects.

They were fine. No one was going to get arrested.

Although now that the adrenaline was starting to fade, Toby was pretty sure he was going to have some wicked bruises from his landing. 

Mary sank lower the the ground, perched on her hands and knees “Keep to the plan guys, let’s sneak around to the other side,”

They all followed her lead, Toby forcing his breathing to slow and become quieter, crawling through the bushes until they emerged on the sidewalk around the corner. Standing and shaking off the leaves and branches, Toby tucking the cutters, hanger, and stopper in a bush to retrieve later. 

“Let’s go,” Mary took the first steps towards Jim’s house. A few months ago Toby would have thought she was completely relaxed about the whole thing, but now he could see just how on edge she was.

Toby walked after her, along with Claire and Darci, trying to be as casual as humanly possible without completely overdoing it. 

Nothing to see here. Just a group of teens out walking around, as teens did. No criminals here.

He had to try especially hard to act normal as they were heading around the corner of the block, breath catching in his chest as Jim’s house, and the mysterious bell ringer came into sight. 

It was some scruffy looking guy, messy looking beard and jeans and a jacket that had certainly seen better days. Not a particularly scary looking guy, but it certainly didn’t look like he was there to sell anything.

Feeling bolder now that they were out in broad daylight and not at risk of being caught mid-felony, Toby came right up to where the front steps met the sidewalk, the girls stepping up next to him, with scruffy standing less than ten feet away. Fidgeting and pressing the bell every ten seconds or so, face crimped in frustration.

Of course this close they should have realized it was inevitable that the mysterious scruffy man was going to notice them.

“Oh hey!” he jogged across the porch towards them, causing them all to shuffle backwards involuntarily “You kids know the people who live here?”

“Why do you want to know?” Mary said warily

“Oh-- I heard from my buddy that CPS has been sniffing around, and Barb took Jim out of the hospital without checking him out yesterday, so I’m trying to see if they’re ok,”

Instantly uneasy, Toby glanced over at the girls, the three of them looking just as tense as he felt. The whole leaving the hospital without being checked out was news to him and definitely not good. But even more alarming was the fact that although this guy apparently knew Jim and Dr. Lake, Toby had no idea who he was. And by the looks of it, neither did Darci, Claire, or Mary.

“So do any of you know when they’ll be back?”

Claire took half a step forward “Sorry but...who are you again?”

“Oh! Well I…” scruffy trailed off, letting out a gusty breath and running hand through his hair “You see I’m--” all of a sudden he cut off and looked over at them sharply, Toby flinching as the man locked eyes with him.

“Toby! Come on, you know me, right bud?”

His heart stopped, blood running cold. From the corners of his vision he could see the girls pull around him protectively “Who are you, how do you know my name?”

“Come on,” the man grinned, as if they were all old buddies “You know me, from back when I used to live here,”

Toby just kept staring at him blankly. Used to live here? The only person he could think of that used to live here was--

No. It couldn’t be.

He looked at him again, really looked, comparing the shape of the jaw, the scraggly beard to the ones from his murky, half faded memories.

“Hang on,” Toby slowly raised a finger to point at the stranger who might not be a stranger “You mean that you’re--”

“That’s right,” he flashed them a smile, painfully familiar now that he could see the resemblance “I’m Jim’s dad,”

[capesandshapes]

Yours (Ladynoir)

Summary:

Marinette is crushed when Lila shows up to lunch with a matebite of her own, insisting that it's from Adrien. The shock finally leads her to make a decision, one which her kitty is hesitant to agree to.

“You’re an alpha,” she said, voice shaking as she crawled closer, admitting the facts that they’d long ignored. “I’m an omega.” “I know,” he replied miserably. “You need to start pulling away, you’re starting to warm up and I can almost scent you.” "Bite me."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cold.

She wasn’t sure if it was her or the slow breezes rolling through Paris that night, lifting stray strands of hair and depositing them in her eyes when she needed them the least. She brushed them away, securing the hair behind her ears as she pulled herself daringly closer to the edge of the rooftop she sat upon, eyes glimpsing momentarily out to the city before her arms wrapped around her knees, pulling them in so that her chin could rest upon them.

Inwardly, she cursed the effects of biology, hot tears biting at the corners of her eyes that likely wouldn’t exist if DNA had assigned her any other role. Alpha or Beta, she could have lived with those, she could have fought through this if it were one of them-- but Omega? Of course she had to be born like this, of course she had to have that building sensation gnawing at her stomach that made actual rational thoughts a haze.

And of course Lila freakin’ Rossi had to claim to receive his mate mark, the telltale purple ring of teeth marks making it undeniable. Adrien wore scent maskers for his own sake, but it made sense that the overwhelming smell of Adrien branded cologne would have been crafted from him.  

What was supposed to be another normal lunch date with Alya had quickly devolved into her walking away alone, Lila repeatedly reassuring Alya that she gets it because, you know,  Omegas are just so emotional sometimes ! Lila might have been a Beta, but she was also a Cancer and that made her extra empathetic.  

Marinette was not a fan of astrology… or Lila. Or, as of half an hour ago, Adrien Agreste.

How could he mate  her ? Out of all the people, why Lila?

Was Marinette really that blind?  

And now she was the last one! Everyone else had already gone around biting each other-- and even if her parents said that things don’t always happen quite as early, Marinette was sick of it! Sick of being alone, sick of shivering in her nest with nothing to hold and no one to hold her-- of waiting again and again for someone to see her--

Of sitting in black and red alone on rooftops alone, because that was the only way she could even hope to escape the pinkened haze that overcame her. At least when she was Ladybug, she could think. At least when she was Ladybug no one gave her pitying looks, smelling the oncoming wave of heat approaching her and noting the perfectly pale and unmarked skin on her neck. At least when she was Ladybug, she was never really alone.

“Hey bug,” a voice from behind greeted her as if on cue. His body easily slid into the space beside her as his arm ran around the small of her back in greeting, head falling against her shoulder as he very clearly took in her miserable expression.

She didn’t speak. There was nothing really left to say, not in this situation. Instead, she let her head slump on top of his, hand finally relinquishing the grip on her knees if only to respond to him.

She was expecting him, though she wouldn’t say it. She always expected him at moments like this. She wouldn’t tell him that, or even admit it to herself but, that was the reason that she came out there half the time.

She knew, and he must have been aware as well, exactly what her partner was. She knew it from the way that one touch never felt enough, the way that he always knew the exact moments she needed him the most, and that desire that kept coming in waves over and over again to just have something-- just a little bit of him-- to keep as her own.

Chat was an Alpha and she was another blushing Omega trying to fight the tides of nature.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked, thumb drawing long, gentle strokes just below her ribs.

“No,” she lied, the hint of a sob immediately betraying her. God she was pathetic, crying over the matebite of a boy that she never had any claim to to begin with.

“Mhm.”

His disbelief was evident, coaxing out of her, as it always did, the truth of her misery. She tried to bite it back, but it came tumbling out as usual, every little thought that she didn’t want anyone to know. “Do you ever feel like we’re falling behind? Like everyone else is onto something and they’re moving on, and you’re just dragging on behind them. Everyone has someone, absolutely everyone now, and here I am just struggling to get by.” Her eyes drifted to his neck, momentarily eyeing the pale, unmarked skin there, “well not everyone, but--”

“You feel alone,” he summarized, voice sounding like he knew about being alone in the seemingly endless ways that she did.

“Very alone,” she confirmed, allowing her knees to fall to the side and her body to slump further into his with a sigh of defeat. “Someday you’re going to have an omega and I’m not going to have this anymore, and I’m going to have to learn to get by. You’re going to be in love and I’ll be happy for you, but miserable at the same time.”

“I’m not going to have an omega,” he laughed, pulling his head out from under hers with a grin. He leaned further into her vision, exaggeratedly rolling his eyes at her. “How would I get the time? I told you, I’m a college student and I plan to be a college student for many years more. There’s no way I can balance that, being a superhero, friends, and work all at the same time. By the second week she’d be wearing turtleneck sweaters around me in case the thought so much as crossed my mind.”

“You say that now…”

“I say that every single time you bring up that ridiculous idea,” Chat shook his head, settling back in beside her. “Besides, I told you, I have a lot to get over before I can so much as think of meeting someone new,” he said pointedly, eyes trained on the city but a hint of a smirk still on his lips.

Right.

“What if it was me,” she began. It was normally a hypothetical statement, one which he responded to with grandiose visions of moonlight nights, well-padded nests, and an insistence that he would wear the mark on his neck as if one of honor. She loved when he responded like that, when he gave her all those fantasies to fixate on later in the night. That night it didn’t feel so hypothetical.

“You’ve gone delirious from heat,” Chat said, his eyes dropping back down to his lap.  

“I’ve not,” she said, though her heart had begun to beat like she was already gone. Too much excitement, too much want. Chat, chat, chat, chat-- how could she ever imagine Adrien at her side when Chat was the one who was always there?

Mating didn’t have to be about love-- but could she deny that she loved him just a little bit?

“Ladybug,” he warned.

She wouldn’t listen to him, wouldn’t let herself be swayed by things such as logic and reason. “Ladybug and Chat Noir, we’re two halves of a whole! It makes sense!” She insisted, grabbing his hands as he began to pull away, hoping that the clarity in her eyes would convince him of how overwhelmingly present she was at that moment. “Chat, I--”

“What about the other guy?” He interrupted, pulling back.

“He has someone,” she replied, the immediately flinched at the way that his eyes widened. Before he could pull away, she lunged forward, face just inches from his as she tried to keep his gaze. “It’s not like that, we’re not like that. I mean maybe I realized because of that but you’re--” She exhaled, hands tightening around his as an overwhelming need to pull closer gnawed at her. No doubt he saw her pupils grow as she looked at him, really looked at him.

It was biology, plain and simple. They’d been sidestepping the boundaries of desire through suits and determination, now she was really looking at him and she couldn’t fight back the blood of an omega loudly begging for more.

“You’re an alpha,” she said, voice shaking as she crawled closer, admitting the facts that they’d long ignored. “I’m an omega.”

“I know,” he replied miserably. “You need to start pulling away, you’re starting to warm up and I can almost scent you.”

She was, wasn’t she? She was starting to feel miserably warm, miserably close to the edge of the cliff known as heat-- a place where logical thoughts and awareness went to die. She didn’t want to drop it, to lose herself to desire and have him write it off as a onetime moment of insanity. More than that, she didn’t want him to give in and the moment to be lost to her in the haze of need. “Bite me,” she half commanded, half begged him. A part of her was terrified that he wouldn’t agree, that she was so terrible an omega that he no longer wanted her.

His eyes clenched shut, hands desperately clenching down onto hers as he tried to inhale and gather enough air to hold his breath. Unfortunately, there was too much of her lingering in the air for him not to recognize.  

His eyes snapped open, body jerking back as the scent of vanilla and cinnamon lingered in the air, her wettened eyes staring back at him. She knew from that motion alone, a hint of a sob escaping her as doubt, the kind bred by those awful hormones, began to overtake her. He knew, he knew exactly who she was now.

His hands pulled away from hers and a sob racked her body, the fear of rejection overcoming her. It wouldn’t be because she was Marinette, Chat liked Marinette for who she was, it would be because she’d waited too long. It would be because he’d actually already done the moving on thing, he’d just lied to placate her.  

His body turned to face her wholly and it was worse, so much worse than knowing Adrien had chosen Lila. It was worse than sitting alone, worse than looking at the mark on Alya’s throat and being reassured that it would happen someday, worse than every single time he vanished at an Akuma’s hands and she had to worry whether he would come back or not.

No, with this he would change it all. They’d still work together but there wouldn’t be moments like this. He would pull away, he would--

His lips gently touched the tip of her nose, bringing her back to reality.

“Do you hear me, Marinette?” he said, checking that it was still here, that she was not lost yet. His face was close, far too close, and her lips fell open in awe at the way the gold of his hair caught the moonlight. “I said yes,” he explained, thumb brushing a stray tear from underneath her eye. “Only if you’re here, but yes.” A beautiful smile crossed his lips at her ragged exhale, his forehead brushing against hers. The smell of apple, cheese, and that little bit of sweetness was overwhelming, so much better than the expensive cologne she’d once inhaled. “I need to hear you say it, I’m not going to mark you if you’re gone.”

“I love you,” not at all the words she meant to say but looking at the deep green in front of her, she couldn’t say anything else. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know who was under the mask, or that someday she’d have to explain the mark to someone else. It most certainly did not matter that Lila had Adrien’s mark because, looking at the man in front of her she knew; it was Chat, it was always Chat.

And to him, it was always Marinette.

One bite, and that was all it ever would be.

There was nothing comparable to his responding smile, she was almost disappointed by how suddenly it was taken away when his lips brushed against hers, pressing a tender kiss to the corner of her mouth. Her eyes closed as he moved to her neck, exposing that juncture between throat and shoulder to her so easily. One inhale, the pressure rising in her chest and…

“I love you too, Marinette.”

The world flashed as teeth collided with flesh.

[seijorhi]

Lev pretending to be innocent in front of the reader but is actually her stalker with those cat eyes. He asks help from her and they gradually get closer until he gets her all alone in her apartment under his care

Absolutely! Lev is prime stalker material 👀 poor reader

Lev Haiba x Reader

TW stalking, manipulation

Harmless

“Don’t you think he’s just a little… I don’t know, creepy?” your best friend murmurs in a pointed tone, stirring the sugar into her coffee. 

You bite back a sigh - it’s a conversation you’ve had countless times before and it always ends the same way. You defend Lev, chastise your friend for her paranoia and distrustful nature and eventually she relents with an unconvincing ‘if you say so’. 

“He’s harmless, honestly - Lev wouldn’t hurt a fly and he’s actually very sweet once you get to know him. I don’t know why you’re so against him. He’s a good friend.”

She huffs, taking a slow sip of her drink before she replies. “Well for one, he’s like an overgrown shadow. I swear, every time we’re out together we always seem to just magically run into him, all big and looming, and he’s always staring at you like he wants to gobble you up - just you by the way, he outright ignores the rest of us peasants - it’s like he’s obsessed with you or something, and-”

She keeps talking, but honestly you kind of zone out a little bit. You can’t judge her too harshly. She’s always been protective of you, ever since you guys were kids, you suppose it’s only natural for her to be wary of Lev.

And she’s not wrong per se. You do have the strangest habit of running into Lev around town, but it’s how you met, after all - quite literally running into the 6’5” giant as you were exiting the exact same coffee shop you were currently sitting in.

Spilling your piping hot coffee all over somebody else’s sweater doesn’t usually have the makings of a burgeoning friendship but Lev had been so sweet about the whole thing, blushing and bowing, shooting apology after apology (despite the fact that it was mostly your fault) that you couldn’t help but offer to buy his drink in compensation for ruining his morning - and more importantly his clothes.

Lev, grinning brightly, had agreed with a single condition - that you joined him. And really, after pouring hot coffee all over him, it was the least you could do.

“Hey, are you even paying attention to me?!”

You jerk a little, shaking yourself out of your reverie to find your friend glaring at you. It lacks any real heat though, and she just rolls her eyes and gives a long suffering sigh. “I’m worried about you, Y/N. Didn’t you say that some of your stuff has been going missing lately?”

An old picture of you and some friends on vacation, a necklace you used to wear religiously and you could swear that you’re missing one of your favourite bras and some panties, but… sometimes stuff like that just gets misplaced - it’s not like you’re exactly the tidiest person around. 

Still, you can’t help the way that your brows furrow at her implication, “I said I misplaced some things. Are you honestly suggesting that Lev broke into my apartment to steal that stuff?” you ask with a snicker. The very idea of the silver haired giant sneaking around your tiny apartment is ridiculous!

Your friend’s pointed silence speaks volumes. 

“Oh, come on! He’s just a friend - a little excitable maybe,” and very affectionate, always swallowing you up in tight hugs, fingers constantly seeking out yours - but somehow you don’t think that part will help your case, “but he’s just a big softie.”

She scoffs, folding her arms over her chest. She doesn’t speak for a long moment, but when she does, she reaches across the table to grab your hand in hers, squeezing it lightly. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m being a jealous, judgemental bitch because I don’t like the idea of anyone else coming to steal you away from me,” she smiles self deprecatingly, but there’s an real edge of worry in her eyes that makes your stomach twist, “but you’re the most important thing to me. I don’t want you getting hurt, and I get bad vibes from that guy.” 

You open your mouth to retort, but she just shakes her head, “Just… just promise me you’ll be careful around him, alright?”

Wordlessly, you nod.

As much as you try and dismiss her concerns, as days pass you begin to wonder if maybe she isn’t wrong.

Not about Lev of course - he might be a little over exuberant but you know he doesn’t mean any harm by it - but you think, well… you’re starting to think that maybe somebody’s following you.

At first it’s just the tickling sensation on the back of your neck. When you run to the corner store on your lunch break to pick up a snack for the afternoon a shiver runs down your spine as you get the strangest feeling that somebody’s staring at you - you can feel the weight of their gaze burning into your back, but whenever you turn there’s nobody there.

There’s never anybody there.

But… didn’t you shut the door to your closet before you left for work that morning? You could have sworn that the window to your second storey bedroom was locked.

It comes to a head one night after work. You leave later than you normally would, having lost track of time trying to get some last minute emails off and by the time you actually get out the door it’s already dark outside and it’s pouring down with rain.

You’re halfway home when you get that prickling feeling on your skin, and your gut tightens uncomfortably. Tentatively you slow, shooting a furtive glance over your shoulder. The streets of the city are normally busy at this time of the night, but the rain’s driven people away - there’s not a soul in sight, including any wannabe stalkers.

The tight grip on your heart eases and you force yourself to relax. You’re imagining things now, you think with a shake of your head and a breathless laugh. 

Nobody’s out to get you, you’re fine.

Except the prickling sensation on the back of your neck doesn’t go away, and with every step you take the discomfort in your gut becomes harder and harder to ignore. Fingers flit anxiously at your side, your grip tightening on the handle of your umbrella. The rain’s loud as it crashes around you, but as you turn down the music coming from your headphones you swear that you can hear heavy footfalls behind you.

All it would take is another quick glance to confirm your suspicions. It could just be another person out in the rain trying to make their way home, same as you. It could be all your head, paranoia brought about by your friend’s worries. But fear has clawed its way up your spine - it’s late and you’re tired and scared, rational thought has left the building and you don’t think about any of that before dropping your umbrella and taking off into a sprint.

You don’t look back.

You don’t stop until you're back in the safety of your apartment with the door locked, blinds shut and the deadbolt in place.

You’re still trembling twenty minutes later when there’s a knock at your front door.

Your heart leaps into your throat at the sound, your entire body tensing, and for a single moment you debate not answering the door, but… you let out a sigh, shaking your head. You’re being ridiculous.

A quick glance through the peephole sets your heart at ease. Standing in the hallway dressed in a slightly damp black overcoat, his silvery-grey hair dusted with rain, is Lev. 

Relief floods through you as you quickly work at the locks, flicking open the deadbolt.

“Hey, Lev,” you murmur somewhat sheepishly, stepping back to let him come inside.

His green, catlike eyes light up at the sight of you, and he doesn’t waste a moment before leaning down and enveloping you in a tight hug - never mind his wet coat. You let yourself relax into the embrace - the comforting warmth as he wraps himself around you and strokes your back. “Y/N! I’m so glad you’re home! I know I’m kinda stopping by unannounced and all, but I was just on my way…” he trails off as he pulls back slightly, eyes narrowing as they flicker across your face.

“Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he murmurs, his hands still entwined around your waist.

You smile tightly, biting down on your bottom lip. Should you tell him? There’s still some part of you that thinks maybe it’s all in your head, that you’re working yourself up for no good reason, but what if you’re not? What if there is somebody who’s-

There’s an insistent tug at your waist and your eyes dart back up to find Lev’s frown deepening. “Something’s wrong, tell me.”

A blush finds its way to your cheeks as you carefully unwind yourself from his hold and make your way back further into your living room, “I- you’ll think I’m being stupid I guess, or paranoid, but…”

“But?” he prompts.

You take a deep breath, fingers twisting in front of you, “I think that somebody might be… following me?” you phrase it almost as a question, carefully watching his face for any sign that he might start laughing at you. But he doesn’t - Lev’s features are perfectly blank as he stares back at you, and you rush to fill the sudden heavy silence that falls between the two of you. “I know it sounds insane, but my friend got me worried the other day, and things have been going missing from my place and I’m almost positive that somebody followed me home tonight and-”

“Hey,” he says, quickly stepping forward to close the distance between you. He reaches for your hand with a soft smile and you let him take it, offering a shaking smile back when his thumb smooths over the back of your palm. “I believe you. You don’t need to be scared, I’m here for you.”

You nod, swallowing down your nerves once more. 

“Do you… do you want me to stay tonight? Or at least for a few hours, you just look so fragile and frightened, I hate the thought of leaving you like this.”

Lev’s eyes show nothing but earnest concern as he studies you with a pout, and this time when your lips curl into a smile it's with genuine gratitude for your friend.

You should say no - it’s hardly fair for you to impose on him over something you’re not even sure is real, but… “Actually, that sounds good, if you don’t have plans of course - I don’t want to spoil your night or anything,” you mutter with a blush.

Lev just shakes his head with a soft laugh, “Of course not. You’re my only concern tonight, angel.”

You try not to let the relief show on your face too much. You’ll feel better knowing he’s there with you, and if nothing else you know he’ll take your mind off of things. It’s just what you need tonight - a friend. “Thank you,” you say warmly, dropping his hand so you can make your way back into the kitchen. “I was actually just about to start dinner, have you eaten yet? I was thinking pasta, but let me know if you feel like something else.”

He watches you for a moment as you open the fridge and bend over to rummage inside. “Pasta sounds great,” he calls back, shedding his damp jacket and making his way over to hang it off the coat rack by the front door.

Busy in the kitchen, you’re none the wiser to the soft click of locks turning, the deadbolt sliding back into place.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Satisfied, Part 29

First

Previous

Next

~~~

Marinette smiled as she waved Red Hood off, watching him disappear. She waited a few seconds to make sure he wasn’t coming back before shrugging off her shoes and gloves.

The purple was higher now.

She swallowed thickly.

“Tikki, spots off,” she murmured, hand out to catch the kwami the second she appeared.

Tikki hit her hand, mostly immobile. The only way you could tell the god was still alive was the tiny twitches of her antennae.

She gently set her back in her bag and surrounded her by cookies. She knew they wouldn’t help, the kwami hadn’t used their lucky charm in ages, but she figured she should at least apologize for continuing to use her without an active Plagg.

Marinette dropped onto her bed and stared at the ceiling.

Ultimately, she didn’t trust Robin enough to give him the cat miraculous. Sure, he seemed to be pretty set on the good side, which was a giant plus, but she didn’t know if the two of them could work together without bickering.

She sighed.

Great. Then how could she keep hiding the fact that her costume was disappearing? It was disappearing at a pretty quick rate, the pro gloves and sneakers wouldn’t do much good for long. She supposed she could get a jacket... Oh! A leather jacket. She could say she was taking after her new mentor. Some boots to go along with it... 

She nodded to herself and put in an order to be delivered the next day. So that’s done.

But it was a temporary solution.

She eyed her bag. Tikki was always perfectly quiet, but now she wished that she wasn’t. She wanted her to speak up and say ‘Marinette...’ in that exasperated voice of hers. Tikki always knew how to be rational, she'd know what to do.

But she didn’t say anything, and Marinette was alone.

What could she do? She needed someone to hold Plagg and let out that extra energy to bring balance back, but who could she find on such short notice...?

Her eyes flicked to Adrien’s outfit on its hanger.

She bit the inside of her cheek.

~

The next day she woke to a knock on her door. She groaned and shuffled out of bed, blanket wrapped around her. She walked up and stood on the tips of her toes to peek out and see who was there.

She stumbled back and squeaked. Crap! Crapcrapcrap!

She ran about her apartment to pull on clothes. “SORRY, JUST A MINUTE!” She yelled, which was only met by a bit of laughter.

After managing to pull on clothes she ran to the door and flung it open.

“Adrien!” She chirped, pushing some hair out of her face.

He broke into a grin as he looked her up and down. From the mismatched socks on her feet to the rats nest that was her hair, it was pretty clear that she had just woken up.

“Hard to wake as ever, M’lady,” he teased, leaning against the doorframe.

She gave a small huff. “Whatever. Your outfit is right there.” She motioned vaguely to her closet. She looked down at herself and cringed. “I’m going to... yeah.”

She darted into the bathroom.

When she came out, Adrien was completely dressed. He messed with his tie awkwardly in the mirror.

She frowned quickly fixed it, before pulling him into the middle of the room so she could see the entirety of the outfit. At the moment it was a plain black suit and dark green tie (she didn’t want to do any embroidery only to find she needed to change the dimensions it) but he didn’t comment on it.

“Um... how’s Paris doing without us?” She asked softly, pulling the suit jacket away from his stomach. He was gaining weight, she’d expected that, but she needed to figure out at what rate --.

He sighed. “So that’s why you asked me here...”

She didn’t bother to contradict him, he was right. That was the original reason why she’d accepted his request, she’d wanted to ask after Paris and make sure she hadn’t made the wrong decision by coming here.

When she didn’t answer, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “It’s getting better. The police weren’t prepared for us to up and disappear, so they were a bit out of practice.”

“But everything’s good now?” She asked, pulling a tape measure from her pockets and checking his waist.

“It’s getting there.”

She nodded and pulled away, murmuring to herself and writing down his new size so she could do some calculations later. She pushed herself to her feet and frowned at the tie she had just fixed. It was loose again. Had she messed up somewhere while making it or was he doing it? If so, why --?

It was here where she finally took in her ex-partner. His hair was far messier than she was used to, little tufts sticking up at odd angles. There was less makeup on his face than usual. She’d expected the weight gain, what with less patrols and constant fighting, but it had been more than she’d expected. That could mean...

Marinette looked at Adrien and gave a smile. “Someone took my words to heart, huh?”

His face reddened slightly and he looked away. “Is it that obvious?”

“Well, it took a professional designer a few minutes to piece it together, so I’d say probably not.”

Her eyes found their way to where the miraculous box was hidden. She’d called him here earlier than she usually would to ask him to take back the cat miraculous. She hadn’t expected him to start working on himself so soon, she didn’t want to ruin any progress he was making.

Then she thought of Tikki, curled up and almost completely immobile.

“Marinette...?” He asked quietly, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m fine. I’m happy for you,” she said softly.

“You don’t have to lie to me. I want what’s best for you, I’m your partner, remember?”

She cringed. “I know. That’s why I can’t ask it of you.”

The hand on her shoulder gave her a tiny shake and she let her gaze fall to the floor.

And then he let go, his hand falling to his side lamely.

“I’m going to make your outfit more baggy. It’ll help with covering any weight gain and it goes better with your messy look.”

“Okay,” he said softly.

The silence stretched on and kwami she just wanted him to talk because she knew that if he didn’t she would ask him and --.

“Can I see Plagg again?” He asked.

She looked up at him. Could he hear her thoughts?

Still, she nodded and walked to the miracle box and pulled out the ring. It pulsed with an almost blinding green light and she curled her fingers over it to block some of it out.

Plagg poked his head between her fingers and then gave a small “ADRIEN!”

She looked away as the two embraced, dropping onto her bed as they chatted excitably.

“Look at you! Finally gaining weight, I see? I told you your dad wasn’t feeding you well enough!”

“That was only because he didn’t give me cheese for every meal of the day.”

“And I was right! How could he deprive you of such luxuries? In hindsight only he could have been Hawkmoth!”

Adrien laughed and shook his head, before pulling the kwami close for a kind of hug.

“So! Finally becoming Chat Noir again?”

The blond’s smile lessened slightly. “No, no, I’m not going to. I’ve been using Chat Noir as a way to be myself, but recently I’ve actually been able to do it without him. Besides, Ladybug is doing fine here, from what I’ve seen in papers. It’ll be fine.”

Plagg frowned and looked at Marinette, who had started making the  ‘nononoshutup’ motion with her hands.

“You haven’t told him?”

She groaned and rested her head in her hands.

“Marinette, you haven’t told me something?” He asked.

She didn’t respond, gripping the ring tighter. He’d said it himself, he’d been doing better without the persona. She couldn’t ask him to take it up again, she couldn’t let him go back to the way he was. He was right, they were partners. She wanted what was best for him, too.

“Tikki is getting weaker without the cat miraculous being active.”

Adrien frowned. The bed shifted as he sat down next to her. “Marinette...”

“I’m dealing with it, Adrien, it’s fine.”

“I’ll take it back if you’re suffering.”

Marinette cringed. She wished she was the one suffering, at least then she would be able to get through it. But it was Tikki who was getting weaker, not her.

Was either of their potential suffering greater? Was it fair to let go of one’s happiness for another’s liveliness, or vice versa? Could she even make that decision?

“I’m not suffering, Adrien. And I’ve found someone that I’ve been considering. Robin. I think he could be a fit, I’m scouting him out right now,” she said.

Not a complete lie, at least.

“Are you sure?”

She smiled, choosing to ignore the glare Plagg was sending her way. “Yep. I’d tell you if I needed you, right? We’re partners. Partners communicate.”

“Okay...”

She sat up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Anyways, you’re done here. I’ll get this to you once I’ve finished, okay?”

He looked reluctant to leave, but he gave a small nod. She turned around so he could change and sighed to herself when he set it down on the bed beside her. She turned back around and waved at him. He hugged Plagg and gave Marinette a tiny wave back.

“See you later, kitty.”

“Later, M’lady.”

~~~

I have found out that I have been using ‘parole’ instead of ‘patrol’ this whole time...

Welp, this is it boys, time to pack it up it was fun while it lasted this fic is cancelled--

~

Taglist

@comet-kun @thatonecroc @trippingovermyfeet @swiftie-miraculer13 @nickristus-dreamer @moongoddesskiana @i-am-ironic @indecisive-mess-named-me @thebooki3h @insane-fangirl-of-everything @deepestobservationwombat @theymakeupfairies @fatimaabbasrizvi @clumsy-owl-4178 @fanofalittletoomuch @iamablinkmarvelarmy @nathleigh @lilkymilky @silvergold-swirl @dino-lovingreen-angel @thestressmademedoit @kissa-chan @ladybug-182 @alysrose-starchild @t1dwarrior-of-earth @spyofthenightcourt @rowanrouge @nik-nak-3 @momothefemur @aestheticnpoetic @labschaos @our-preciousss @mochinek0 @eliza-bich @mythogaychic @severelyenchantedwonderland @sashakoi @smolplantmum @bluesimani @tropestropestropes @kitsunebell @keepingupwiththemalfoys @sassakitty @2confused-2doanything @too0bsessedformyowngood @all-mights-asscheeks @demonicbusiness @meg-an-ace

<3

[joonsrack]

Masterpiece | KTH x KNJ

+PAIRING: Kim Taehyung x Kim Namjoon

+GENRE: Oneshot, crack, angst, smidge of smut, College AU, stranger to lover

+WORD COUNT: ~13k

+RATING: 18+

+WARNING: Taehyung has face blindness, NSFW, (very) foul language, overuse of the word penis and it’s synonyms, pinning, misunderstandings, Namjoon is like real’ dumb, a little hanky panky but nothing scandalous.

+SUMMARY: 

“So let me recap here, you don’t know his name, his major, his department, his age, his number, nor his face. The only clue you have is this drawing, which basically looks like a textbook example of unrealistic body expectations. You apparently know every nook and cranny of his [REDACTED], but you didn’t have the decency to ask his name? You deserve this.” He cackles, angering Taehyung.

(OR the one where Taehyung has face blindness but that won't stop him from finding love. )

+A/N: Well, it’s been almost a year since I’ve posted anything, and almost as much time since i last wrote anything (except for the occasional guilt writing lmao). So this is me coming back with a vengeance (and the dumbest thing i’ve ever written). This is all thanks to (or to be blamed on) @minloop who put up with my non-stop messaging, gave me some plot ideas, and actually inspired me to finish this in three days. Thank you to my baby @emojihobi​ for the emotional support and the beta reading 💖

+Disclaimer: I got all my info on face blindness from google searches, so please forgive any inaccuracy.

Face blindness has definitely made Taehyung’s life difficult. 

There’s the obvious problem of not being able to recognize your parents. Remember this childhood trauma of holding a random stranger’s hands in the mall, thinking it’s your mother or father? Taehyung had to live through that many, many times; except he wouldn’t realize until said stranger would shake his hand off, or until his parents would swoop in to get him. The fact that he’s never been kidnapped is down to pure luck, really.

Making friends, you guessed it, has also been a challenge. It’s difficult explaining to kids why you ignored them when you saw each other in the hallway. Kids don’t always understand “I didn’t recognize you” as an explanation, especially if you’ve been in the same class since pre-k.

But this? This is a new and unforeseen crisis.

+

 His dorm room is very quiet, which is not unusual since he has a solo room. But he’s pretty sure he went to sleep with a plus one, and said plus one is nowhere to be seen. 

Now, he isn’t a stranger to one-night stands sneaking out after he falls asleep. He likes to take night conquests to his dorm room for this exact reason; He can go right to sleep, while they take themselves out. Easy breezy no string attached-y. That’s usually the way he wants it to be. 

But this time is different. Last night was different. Last night, Taehyung had the best night of his life, hands down. Best bangs of his existence. Bangs plural because they went more than once. How that’s even possible when his teenage years are long gone and days with multiple orgasms are less and less common, he has no idea.

He’s probably ruined for anyone else. Nothing could ever compare to the night he just spent getting his back blown out. 

Now, Taehyung is a sculptor. A very gifted one at that (if his teachers’ praises are anything to go by). Taehyung knows body proportions, knows perfect rations, all that stuff. He knows it on marble bodies, in sketches, in painting. Not on actual human beings.

Until last night.

Last night, he witnessed the body of a god. He scratched at perfect skin, held on to beautifully defined and strong arms, rode perfect thighs. Last night, he shed a tear at the view of some perfect knees. Last night, he realized that art truly imitates nature. 

And that’s not all.

Taehyung can admit he owns a nice dick; it’s decently shaped, the color is nice, and the size is slightly over average. 

But what he witnessed the night before?

The Narcissus of dicks; the most beautiful dick on the planet. The most beautiful dick in history . Probably even prettier than Narcissus’ face himself. (But Taehyung doesn’t know what Narcissus' face looks like, so he’s only assuming.) 

From the perfect red color of its beautifully shaped head to the gracefully intertwined veins leading to a sturdy looking hilt, peppered with well-kept pubic hair, ending in an exquisitely wrinkled ballsack. The girth was over average; big enough to make size queens (such as Taehyung) salivate, but not big enough to scare away enthusiasts. And the length? The dude is lucky he’s a grower and not a show-er, or he would never know peace. Mainly because the likes of Taehyung or Park Jimin would never let him be.

But where is that most perfect penis right now? 

Attached to its perfectly shaped and mysterious owner, probably miles away.

Very problematic, indeed.

+

“So what you’re saying is, you fell asleep, and when you woke up he was gone? Isn’t that how it’s usually supposed to go?” Yoongi sounds disgruntled on the other end of the face call, face half mushed in his pillow, hair disheveled and eyes squinty. It’s not yet 1 pm after all, which is still considered morning for people like Min Yoongi.

“Noooo, not this time.” Taehyung whines,” This time he was supposed to stick around and ask me to marry him in the morning. Isn’t that obvious? We went at it four times for fuck sake, doesn’t that mean anything anymore?”

Jimin chokes on his matcha oatmeal milk latte, eyes going wide. “Four times?! Now that is a monster stamina. He basically squeezed your balls dry.” There’s a pause, then he says to someone off-camera, “It’s rude to stare, ma’am.”

“Stop ruining my morning with your screaming,” Yoongi grunts out, rubbing his eyes. “So what do you want us to do about this?”

Taehyung fumbles around his desk for a moment, looking through his piles of sketches until he finds it, his only clue.

“Do you two know this man?” He asks, pulling out a sketch he did quickly off his memory of the mystery man’s body. He pulls out a second one, this one is a close-up of his perfect penis. He might have gone off tangent with the shading, but he couldn't stop himself, that dick deserves all the shading.

“Jesus fuck.” Yoongi signs.

“Baby, I’m sure you’re aware that if I knew anyone with a body and a dick like that, you would never have been able to put your dirty paws on him.”

Taehyung turns hopeful eyes to Yoongi after glaring at Jimin for a good 10 seconds, but Yoongi only shakes his head no.

“I don’t have a habit of making my friends strip around me, sadly. I wouldn’t be able to tell even if I knew him.”

“You two are useless” Taehyung signs, his body deflating. Yoongi takes offense and hangs up. Or maybe he was going to hang up either way.

“So let me recap here, you don’t know his name, his major, his department, his age, his number, nor his face. The only clue you have is this drawing, which basically looks like a textbook example of unrealistic body expectations. You apparently know every nook and cranny of his penis, but you didn’t have the decency to ask his name? You deserve this.” He cackles, angering Taehyung. 

“I was busy sucking his dick, asshole.” He spits, but Jimin only snorts in answer.

“Good luck finding the owner of Mystery Penis.” He quips back, before hanging up as well.

+

All hope is lost. Never in his life has he despised his face blindness as much as he does right now. Of course, it’s never been easy dealing with it throughout his life. He’s lucky he has two solid friends he can count on. Although Jimin regularly dyes and changes his hairstyle without warning to mess with him. And Yoongi basically has two hours of availability per week, usually arranged around his sleeping schedule. 

But he knows they care for him, and he cares for them. 

He drags his feet to class. He uses ‘class’ lightly; being a third-year means most of his courses are spent in the workshop, working on his graduate exhibition. 

He’s got his trusty overalls on, covered in clay stains. He’s been working with clay for the last few weeks, using the medium for two of his exhibition pieces. 

He greets his teacher at the front desk with a nod, before making his way to his desk. Today’s playlist consists of oldies, and he makes it to his desk just as Lionel Richie’s voice fills the room. 

He snorts, rolling his eyes.

Hello is a classic of sculpting classes. No matter the teacher or the Instructor, they all love to play that song on repeat, and he usually doesn’t pay it any mind. But right now, isn’t there a more perfect song to taunt him?

Lionel Richie asks if it’s him he’s looking for, as he’s pulling his tool out of his bag. He unwraps the plastic wrap from around the latest project he’s been working on, already planning his next move. 

He’s pretty sure the sculpting world is all over that song only because of the music video.

It’s obvious that the whole ‘blind girl sculpting’ thing– 

Oh.

Oh dear god. The music video. 

The music video.

Taehyung has an idea.

His hands move before he can fully realize the plan in his head, rewrapping his project, and getting some new clay from the front of the class.

His teacher looks him up and down in all his frantic and excited glory.

 “A sudden stroke of inspiration?” He questions, sounding curious.

“Something like that.” Taehyung smiles, trying to act inconspicuous. His teacher won’t let him take the clay if it’s not for his graduate exhibition.

He makes it back to his station without any more inquiry and starts to work right away.

Jimin was right, he does know every nook and cranny of that penis. He spent hours getting acquainted with it, and he has an excellent memory (Except for faces, obviously).

All the other students are too busy working on their final projects to notice the massive penis under construction a few feet from them. If anyone asks, Taehyung will proudly answer that it’s a life-sized depiction. But no one is asking, so he simply works on bringing the piece to life. The students in his class rarely talk to him, since he hasn’t gone out of his way to develop any type of relationship with them. It’s easier like that.

Once he’s done, many hours later, he’s alone in the workshop with the sun setting outside.

He ogles proudly at his masterpiece, the erect penis standing tall on his station, truly a creature of beauty. It’s a perfect replica, down to the ballsack wrinkles; down to the cute mole at the hilt. Of course, it’s clay-colored, and it probably won't change since Taehyung hates painting his creations, but he’s absolutely certain that everything else is exactly like the original.

The oven has been preheating for a while, so it’s hot and ready to bake some penis. The only thing left is to leave it to cure for a while. Any ol’ regular penis would have taken less than an hour to cure, but we’re talking about a monster cock here. 

He pops it into the oven, sets a timer, just in time for a knock at the door to pull him out of his penis-induced craze.

“Yo, Tae,” Yoongi’s voice resonates from the door frame.

Taehyung grabs a rag from his station to clean his hand with before making his way to his friend. There’s someone with him, and Yoongi signals at his friend with a lazy wave of his hand. 

“Remember Namjoon?” He asks, but it’s a rhetorical question. Jimin and Yoongi have taken to the habit of identifying the people they’re with, so Taehyung doesn't have to embarrass himself trying to figure it out on his own. That way, they don’t have to explain his condition to every single person that isn’t in his immediate friend circle. 

(Is it even a circle if it’s two people?) 

He sends a nod in Namjoon’s way and gets a wave back, and that’s as far as their exchange goes, as usual. Except today, his whole body language reads nervous and tense. But that’s none of Taehyung’s business.

“We’re going to see some juniors perform in a pub, you want to come with?” Yoongi asks him, and Taehyung knows he means well, but he also knows that Yoongi knows he doesn’t like crowded spaces. 

He and Jimin have tried to get him to go out more, but the only time Taehyung steps foot inside any type of alcohol selling establishment is when he wants to get laid. And there’s only one place he goes to then; that crappy little Bar near campus that’s only frequented by broke students who also want to get laid. 

He doesn’t like anywhere that’s dark where there’s enough people to make him lose sight of his friends. Something about losing his parents at the mall one too many times.

“That sounds nice, but I have to finish this piece I’m working on.” He answers, trying to sound as regretful as he can. It doesn’t really work, judging by Yoongi’s unconvinced humming. 

“Alright, careful when you go back home.” Yoongi finally answers, patting him on the shoulder. 

He starts walking away, but his friend, Namjoon, stays frozen on the spot, facing him. He’s looking at Taehyung in some kind of way, but face blindness makes it hard for him to read other’s expressions. He raises a single eyebrow in interrogation, and that seems to make Namjoon snap out of it. He turns on his heel without as much as a goodbye, which, rude .

“'Kay, bye.” He mutters after him.

But he can’t hold it against him. He knows that ‘Namjoon’ has been a long-time friend of Yoongi and that they’ve spent some time together by association. Taehyung doesn’t go out of his way to get to know new people, so there’s a high chance Namjoon might have tried to approach him with friendship in mind, only to end up frustrated by Taehyung’s lack of interest. Happens all the time. He can’t really help it, reading intentions is not in his toolbox.

He should probably tell Yoongi to share his ‘secret’ with Namjoon. He seems nice enough from what he heard, so he would probably be understanding. It should at least clear up the misunderstanding, and Taehyung might even gain a new friend, who knows?

He makes his way back to his station, works on his actual project while the oven takes care of making his penis nice and hard. 

+

The next morning, he wakes up to ten texts from Jimin, one from Yoongi, and multiple missed calls and voicemail from his workshop teacher.

 Asshole with pink hair:

9:40 am    ur crazy

9:40 am    CRAZY

9:40 am    This is hilarious

9:41 am    That’s why i love u

9:41 am    That is a beautiful dick

9:41 am    Like it was nice on paper, but the 3D version definitely makes me wonder about its  owner

10:26 am  All the student body is buzzing about the mystery penis

10:27 am  It’s on the front page of the school newspaper

10:27 am  omg you dumbass u didnt write your number

10:27 am  you didn't write your number anywhere brb dying of laughter

Hyungie:

11:32 am  You didnt write your infos dumb dumb

Taehyung bangs his head on his pillow, hoping for quick death. How could he forget to write down his infos? How is anyone supposed to contact him?

+

Namjoon has come to learn quickly that university isn’t always the most sanest place on the planet. Cramming, into a single building, that amount of genius with that amount of insanity is bound to create interesting events.

He’s stopped being surprised by most things, might be guilty of doing some of those surprising things from time to time. But today? Today is on a whole new level.

Somehow, his dick is plastered all over the school, in every hallway, on every door. Think Regina George distributing the burn book copy all over school but, multiplied by 50, that’s how many pictures of his dick are distributed around school right now. Not an actual picture of his actual dick, but an actual picture of an actual clay replica, with big bold yellow letters spelling out 'HAVE YOU SEEN THIS PENIS?', and nothing else.

It’s vaguely threatening.

He wishes he couldn’t tell that it’s his penis, then maybe he could laugh with the rest of the student body. But there’s no mistaking it. One look and he knew. The person who printed those flyers made sure to include all the possible angles, too. 

It’s 100% his dick. 

The slight curve is there, the mole is there, everything is there.

The intentions of the maker are unclear, but there’s one thing for sure: he knows exactly who’s behind it. He only knows one sculptor who has seen his penis, and that’s the current bane of his life, Kim Taehyung.

It’s not enough that Taehyung has been completely ignoring his existence before their night of passion together, he’s also been ignoring him after. 

And now this? Plastering his dick all over school? For absolutely no reason? Did he not like the night they spent together? Was this a great big ploy to make fun of him? Is this Taehyung’s way to reject him? To tell him to stay away from him? He knows he’s never been really subtle with his crush, but isn’t this going way too far? 

At least he had the very, very basic decency to forgo his name from the flyers, or Namjoon might have had to run away to the next town. 

Namjoon is not dumb, he knows his ancient Greece lore and what they thought about big dicks.

Taehyung didn’t write this so people would look at the dick, he’s obviously calling him a dick.  And for what, pinning on him for the last year? Can’t a man have a crush in peace?

Maybe he shouldn't have approached Taehyung that night. 

One thing is for sure, Taehyung is sending him a very clear message to stay away from him.

+

He spent a fortune printing all those hands out, and now he has to reprint them all? Taehyung knows very well he can’t afford another round of mass printing. Plus the librarian probably won’t ever let him walk into the library again. She had to come and refill the printer at least three times in the hour he was there. The environmental club was even called on scene by one of the students waiting for his turn at the printer. Talk about a snitch.

He can’t afford to reprint everything, and there’s no way he’ll go around school writing his number by hand.

He listens to the voicemails from his teacher then, uncovering a new hurdle.

The first one goes like this:

"Kim Taehyung I know it’s you, you left that thing on your desk."

Then the second:

"Kim Taehyung, you will take down these handouts right this instant before the Dean can see them, you hear me? He'll put you on probation and my head on a stick."

Taehyung muffles his groans into his pillow. Maybe it’s a good thing he forgot to include his number. He should have thought of that before.

He throws on some clothes, heeding his teacher’s warning. He better get to school quickly.

He texts Yoongi and Jimin to take down as many as they can if they want to see him live for another day. Yoongi doesn’t answer and Jimin only texts back asking if he can keep one for his room.

Some friend circle he’s got there.

He makes it onto campus in under half an hour, and gets to work, taking them down as quickly as he can.

He’s got only a few hallways left to do when someone taps him sharply on the shoulder. He spins around, dreading the moment he comes face to face with the Dean. Not that he could recognize the Dean.

“Are you the Dean?” He stammers in a small voice.

“What? No- you. I swear to god. Just tell me if you hate me that much.” Stranger says, before putting his long leg to good use, striding away from him. He throws a bunched-up flyer on the floor before disappearing down the hallway as quickly as he’s appeared.

Taehyung is stunned for a good minutes, utterly confused

The voice sounds similar, but other than that he has no idea who just spit those words at him. He doesn’t hate anyone, and he doesn't see why anyone would believe he has those kinds of ill feelings towards them.

+

Now that his plan has miserably failed, Taehyung falls into hopelessness once again. He lays in bed, holding his precious sculpture to himself. It’s the only thing he has left from his fateful encounter. Or he thought it was fate, but now he’s wondering if that was life making fun of him. 

Jimin is laying by his side, examining the sketch of the body with clear interest. It’s making Taehyung feel a little possessive. 

“Maybe you should try again in the school gym, no one gets a body like that from not going to the gym. You could say you’re looking for a model or something.”

Taehyung stares at his friend with all the admiration he can muster. 

“I would kiss you so hard right now.”

“We tried that once, remember?”

“Yes, and that’s why I won’t be doing it, but I would, just so you know.”

“Cool.” 

He snatches the sketch out of Jimin’s hands to get to work on the shading, trying to get his drawing as realistic looking as possible. Making a whole body out of clay would take too long, so Taehyung will have to settle for his sketch. 

Once he’s done, some 30 minutes have passed. He whirl around on his desk chair, waving the sketch around successfully, only to stop dead in his tracks. He finds Jimin with his precious sculpture halfway down his throat.

“Jimin!” He exclaims, fuming. “Get your dirty mouth off my penis!”

Jimin startles and chokes in surprise, but then bursts out laughing once the sculpture is safely out of his mouth.

“Sorry, sorry. I was just really curious about the size. You never cease to amaze me.”

Taehyung snatches his precious phallus back, grabbing some tissues to wipe off Jimin's drool.

“If I can’t find him, this is going up my ass, so don’t touch it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jimin grimaces, rearranging himself on the bed. He grabs his phone to waste some time, probably ignoring his other responsibilities as the end of their final semester is quickly approaching. “You want to end up in the emergency room? Just use it to make a mold and replicate it with some silicon at least.” 

Taehyung raises both eyebrows in astonishment.

“Jimin, your genius never ceases to amaze me.”

+

He successfully drags Jimin with him to the campus gym. Normally the prospect of hot sweaty people grunting, in various states of undress would attract Jimin like a bee to honey, but since he’s already banged or broken up with half the people that go there, Taehyung has to keep a firm hold on his friend’s wrist.

“Why do I have to come with you again?” 

“It was your idea, so you’re taking responsibility.”

“I don’t like taking my responsibilities, they suck,” Jimin grumbles, but he stops trying to run away.

The moment they step into the gym, they’re assaulted by the musky smell of sweat and determination. There’s a high volume of people working out, probably wanting to channel their end-of-semester jitters into iron pumping. 

Taehyung spots the front desk, putting his business smile on while reaching into his folder. He hears Jimin greet someone, going off by himself, but Taehyung bears him no mind and heads straight for the Woman working the counter.

“Hi there,” he says, charm on, “ I was wondering if you could help me out,-”

“Yes you can put your flyers up, no you don’t have to pay for it, no we won’t take it down before the end of the semester, yes I do have some tape.” She says without missing a beat, not looking up at him.

“Damn, maybe I’m here because I want to sign up for a membership.” 

She finally looks up from her computer, assessing Taehyung from head to toe.

“No you don’t babe. Here’s the tape.” She says, handing him the tape while blowing a bubble with her pink gum. Multitasking at its finest.

Taehyung doesn’t feel like taking her on a debate, so he gets hold of the roll of tape and gets to work, spotting where other people left their flyers so he can put his right by them. 

He scans the gym once or twice with a quick look, trying to see if, by a stroke of luck, Mystery Man could be there. No one that is shirtless has the body he’s looking for, and he sadly doesn’t have x-ray vision to check the rest. No amount of wishing as a kid made him grow that ability.

He puts up the first flyer, this time containing all his info, and stares at it proudly. He's got a good feeling about this.

Jimin finds him again as he’s putting up his last flyer, sounding excited about something.

“I had no idea Namjoon worked out. He’s got nice arms hidden beneath those sweatshirts.”

“Namjoon? Yoongi’s friend?”

“Yeah! And he changed his hair color, it looks really good on him. A little lighter than he used to have.”

Taehyung nods along, not really pressed to know more. He’s got other fish to fry.

+

Namjoon slowly counts to 30 after seeing Taehyung leave the premises, before he basically sprints to the nearest wall, spotting the flyers Taehyung has put up.

There’s a sketch on it, a sketch of a body. A body that looks strangely like his. He frowns, before reading the caption.

“Sculpting student looking for body model. Body must look like this. Call XXX-XXX-XXXX. Food as compensation. ”

Namjoon cannot believe his eyes. Taehyung knows he’s got that exact body type, yet he didn’t ask for his help. If he needed any other confirmation that Taehyung hates him, there’s one right there.

Just what did he do to the man to make him hate him so much? 

Since he’s confronted him in the hallway, Taehyung still hasn’t reached out to him. It would be easy to do. He knows Taehyung has his number, they exchanged it when they first met, so nothing is stopping him. Unless he’s happy with the way things are.

+

Maybe Jimin is not as much of a genius as he thought. By the sixth person that walks in to be a body model, he realizes this is getting expensive in food bribes and studio fees. He has also stopped putting up the pretense of wanting to sketch anyone anymore. 

But this time, It’s one Jung Hoseok who walks in.

“Have we slept together before?” He asks right off the bat, tired of wasting his precious time. It’s his new modus operandi; invite them in, ask the burning question, then send them on their way with the promised food to avoid complaints. 

“I don’t believe so, but maybe we should fix that,” Hoseok answers, taking off his shirt.

“What are you doing?”

“Your flyers have a nude body on it, you made me come to a private studio, isn’t this a nude modeling thing?” Hoseok questions, but doesn’t stop undressing. He’s already reaching for his belt. 

Something tells Taehyung this man would be really sad to be told to put his clothes back on. The way he’s unapologetically getting naked tells Taehyung everything he needs to know. 

“So, why are you asking?” He inquires while posing, everything hanging loose and stuff. “Is that how you get laid? Asking hot dudes to model, then seducing them once they’re naked and vulnerable?”

Jung Hoseok doesn’t seem to be feeling very vulnerable right now, but Taehyung keeps that to himself.

“God no. Jesus that would be sleazy of me.”

“Not as sleazy as asking me if we’ve slept together 5 seconds into our first meeting.” Hoseok points out.

“ Touché. ” He admits, a soft chuckle escaping him.

Hoseok doesn’t press him for an answer, and they spend the next few minutes in silence, the only sound coming from Taehyung's pencil on the thick page of his sketchbook.

Jung Hoseok, standing confidently in front of him in all of his naked glory, has a certain aura around him. The way he holds himself, no hesitation to bare it all, head held high; it's like he never had to hide anything in his life. Like he never knew shame. To the point where it inspires Taehyung to utter the next words:

“I have face blindness.” He starts off, which gets his model’s attention. He keeps his eyes down on his paper to avoid eye contact, feeling rusty when it comes to revealing this part of himself. He continues quickly, “I had a one-night stand with this– perfect greek god. He had the perfect penis, too. Best sex of my life.” He's making good progress on his sketch, Hoseok’s body graceful and easy to put on paper. “I’m trying to find him, but I don’t know anything about him, and I can’t tell people’s faces apart." He chuckles deprecatingly, "The only clue I have is the way his body looks. So I put up this ad for body models hoping he would show up.”

Hoseok breaks his pose to slap his hands together, then pointing at him. “Oh my god, are you the one that plastered the whole school with the penis sculpture a few days ago? Was that your version of a ‘Wanted’ poster?”

Taehyung feels his cheeks warm up.

“Yeah, but I almost lost my diploma over that so let’s not mention it.”

Hoseok laughs with his whole body, clapping his hands together a few more times as if to express his excitement.

“That was the best thing to ever happen on this campus since 1993, thank you for that.”

His statement piques Taehyung's interest.

“What happened in 1993?” He asks, expecting anything but what comes outs of Hoseok's mouth next.

“My mom and dad conceived me in the bathroom of the literature wing.”

Taehyung chortles, surprising even himself with how loud it is.

“Now that’s a conception story worth telling your kids.”

“They didn't tell me; They got caught and got expelled the next day. They framed their expulsion letter, it’s still on display in the kitchen.” Hoseok’s voice is dripping with fondness, betraying his love for his family. “The thing is, I learned how to read at a very early age.”

Taehyung is possessed by another wave of uncontrollable laughter. He wipes a stray tear from his eyes, taking a second to compose himself.

“There, you’re looking a little better now. “

Taehyung looks up at the man, standing there in his birthday suit, going out of his way to cheer him up even though they’re perfect strangers.

(Maybe not so perfect since he’s seen him naked, but still.)

He chuckles again, going back to his sketching.

“Wait does this mean you don’t actually need models right now?”

“Well yeah," Taehyung answers, shrugging his shoulders, "But you looked like you would be really disappointed if I told you to stop undressing, so I just went along with it.”

Hoseok nods his agreement, going back into his original position.

“Good call. Now that we’re here you better get the shading of my calves right. They’re my pride and glory.”

“On it.”

+

Who would have thought that this whole ordeal would have somehow turned into Taehyung making a new friend.

He looks at the contact number in his phone staring back at him. It’s written 'Jung Hoseok' with a little sun emoji. He’s told him everything he needs to know to avoid misunderstandings, and Hoseok left with the promise to always greet him first when they see each other in the hallway. It’s sad that he only met the man in his last stretch before getting his degree, but as they say: better late than never.

He’s excited to get to know Hoseok, but he doesn’t know if he should text him first. He’s feeling a little socially rusty, having not approached anyone with the intention of being friends in a long, long time. Which is why he jumps with glee when he sees he’s got a text notification from his new friend. But then he reads the text, and the glee morphes into unadulterated excitement.

 Jung Hoseok 🌞:

4:56 pm    I think i know who your penis belongs to

4:56 pm    can you send me a picture? I lost the flyers i kept from that time

                                       4:59 pm    You sent a picture

 5:01 pm   Yeah it’s really similar 

5:01 pm    Kim Seokjin, XXX-XXX-XXXX, probably currently working the counter at the campus coffee shop. 

5:02 pm     He’s tall, broad shoulders, awesome dick

Taehyung doesn’t even take the time to text back his thanks; he wraps up his project in a disorderly manner, wiping his hands on his shirt with no care in the world. He throws his backpack on and basically sprint to the coffee shop he usually tends to avoid. The owner is totally an evil capitalist, ripping off students with his overpriced coffee.

He gets there in record time, gasping for air as his poor lungs try to keep up with enough exercise to last him a lifetime.

He’s covered in clay stains, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, clothes in dismay, lungs wheezing, so he should probably expect the next few events that unfold. 

He walks into the coffee shop still out of breath, asks if Kim Seokjin is there to the first employee he sees. This is one of those times where he’s happy he can’t read people’s expressions, because he has a feeling he’s being judged very much right now.

“He… just got off his shift.” The man at the counter answers hesitantly.

“Can you tell me where he went?” And what he was wearing?” Taehyung may be sounding a little desperate, but he doesn’t have the time to care.

“He was still in his uniform, so green, and he went that way.” He indicates with a vague wave of the hand.  

Taehyung starts running again, this time looking even more crazed as he scans his surroundings like a mad man, looking for someone tall with broad shoulders wearing green.

He spots him after running for a few minutes, thanking the heavens that the employee sent him in the right direction. He had every reason not to.

“Kim Seokjin!” He calls out, picking up his pace despite his lungs begging for a break. “Wait!”

He sees the man stop, take one look at him over his admittedly very large shoulders, then start sprinting away from him.

“No! Wait up!” He pushes himself harder than he ever has, his legs and lungs burning under the continuous strain, head feeling a little faint. “Please!” He calls out again in desperation. “Please look at my penis!”

This catches Seokjin’s attention, and he thankfully stops running, turning around as if to wait for him. Taehyung slows down to a jog, then to a complete stop, bending over gasping for air. Once his breathing is finally somewhat back to normal, he straightens up, only to come face to face with a bottle of pepper spray.

“W-wait!” He stutters, falling on his ass. “I swear I’m not a creep!”

“That’s exactly what a creep would say.” Seokjin answers, hovering over him threateningly, aiming the pepper spray directly at Taehyung’s face.

“I swear I just need you to look at my penis.”

This was the wrong thing to say apparently, because Seokjin gives the bottle a good shake as if to activate it. “That doesn’t sound as reassuring as you seem to think.”

“No! Wait!” He pleads again. “Not my penis.” He takes off his backpack, frantically digging through it until he finally pulls out his sculpture.  “ This penis.”

Seokjin doesn’t look totally convinced, but he finally lowers his weapon. “That’s a beautiful cock.” He admits after a moment of staring in silence. 

“Thank you. Is it yours?” 

"I don't remember owning that sculpture."

"Not the sculpture; the Penis."

Seokjin frowns, extending his hand, and Taehyung gingerly deposits his precious sculpture into his palm. The man finally puts away his pepper spray to free both his hands. He examines the penis under every angle, trying out the hold, measuring the testicles with his palm, staring at it long and hard.

Taehyung takes the opportunity to stand back up, keeping his distance this time.

“It does look very similar,” he concludes, hands going to his chin. “But this is not my penis. I don’t have a mole there.”

Taehyung deflates. He still asks, just in case. “So we haven’t slept together?”

Seokjin gives him back his sculpture with a snort. “You don’t look like anything I've ever slept with.” 

Taehyung realizes the state he’s in. He must look ridiculous right now.

“I’m from the sculpting department. I didn’t have the time to clean up. I don’t usually go around looking like I just rolled in the mud.”

“Explains a lot.” Seokjin nods, looking him up and down.

He dusts himself off as best as he can, but he can’t do much more cleaning up than that. He’ll probably have to go back home looking like that.

“So what’s your name?”

Taehyung feels dumb, he didn’t even have the decency to introduce himself before pulling out his penis. His social skills are frankly lacking.

“I’m Kim Taehyung. Sorry about all that, someone told me you could have the original version of this sculpture.”

“I’m flattered. It is pretty similar. Can I ask why you’re going around asking people to look at your– At this penis?” 

Taehyung sighs deeply, looking down at the penis in his hand. He did it once, he can do it again.

“Long story short I had an amazing one-night stand with the owner of this beautiful creature, but I have no idea who he is and the only clue I have is my perfect memory of his penis.”

“Sounds like a proper modern-day Cinderella story. But how come you don’t remember his face?” Seokjin questions, a hint of worry in his voice that would make sense in any other situation than Taehyung’s.

“I…. have face blindness, it’s this whole-”

“Ah, Yes, Prosopagnosia, I heard about that in class.”

“Oh. Well, yeah, so this is my only way of finding him.”

“So the Penis Flyers-”

“Yeah, that was also me. Forgot to write down my info, got caught by my teacher, that was a whole mess.” Taehyung admits, feeling discouraged.

“So now you’re basically going around town asking every man to try on the metaphorical glass shoes.”

“Basically.”

“Maybe don’t start off with ‘please look at my penis’ next time?” Seokjin recommends, which makes sense.

“I’ve been told that asking if we’ve slept together first thing is making me sound sleazy.”

“Yeah well, asking people to look at your penis isn’t better.”

“I’ll take good note of that.”

+

He drags his feet all the way back home.

He sees, pushed in the corner of his room, the material he got to make a mold, and wonders if now is the time to give up.

His exhibition is coming up, this whole thing made him late on his projects, and now he’s certain he’ll never reunite with Mystery Man. Maybe Mystery Man just doesn’t want to be found. Maybe he’s seen all his attempts and has simply steered clear, avoiding him all along. Maybe it’s time for Taehyung to make himself a silicon version and move on. He’s exhausted all his options, he’s out of time, and out of ideas.

He’s reading through the molding instruction, glad that this should be easy since he’s using a sculpture and not an actual living and breathing dick, when he realizes he hasn’t exhausted all his options. There’s still hope.

He jumps in the shower, picks out an outfit befitting of his destination, and goes off with hope in his heart.

+

The Bar isn't too busy, this being the middle of a school week, but there’s still some people going about, sharing drinks and being loud, in total denial of the oncoming train that is the end of a semester

Taehyung spots the barman, beeline for him. 

“Hey, do you know who usually works on Sundays?”

“That would be me.” Mr.Barman says, convincing Taehyung he finally has luck on his side.

Mr.Barman is on the tall side, with nice tattooed arms and wavy over-bleached hair tucked behind his ears. He’s making his forearm bulge seductively by polishing some beer glasses, and if Taehyung wasn’t on a mission to find his possible Mr.Perfect, he would be actively trying to get into his pants. 

“Do you, by any chance, recognize me?”

Mr.Barman doesn’t miss a beat.

“You’re a regular. And you gave me a blowjob once. Why are you asking?”

Well, Taehyung might have many flaws but at least he’s consistent.

“I was wondering if you remembered seeing me a few weeks ago– I was with a dude, about this height, with this body,” he adds, pulling out the sketch. He looks a little crazed, once again. But it’s ok, he’s reaching for straws here. “He had dark hair, but that’s all I can tell you. See, I have face-”

“-Blindness, I know, you cry about it every time you get drunk.”

Hm. And Taehyung thought he was a character full of mystery.

“I do know who you’re talking about. He’s a regular too.”

The irritation Taehyung feels is only momentary, everything melting away with this new bit of information. Someone saw them, someone knows what his Mystery Man looks like. He didn't hallucinate the whole thing. 

“Do you know his name??” He asks, pleading with his eyes. His heart is thumping wildly in his chest, desperation tangible.

“No. And he hasn’t been here since that night.” He says, crushing every hope and dream Taehyung mustered up in the last five seconds. He pauses his polishing, head tilting to the side. “But I do remember his face. I can try and draw him if you want.”

10 minutes later, Taehyung is looking at his disability in the face.

“Wow, you did it. You perfectly illustrated how people with face blindness see others.” Taehyung says, looking down at the drawing Jungkook (he asked for his name) quickly scribbled on a piece of napkin. It looks exactly like how he sees others.

Jungkook being good-natured, only laugh it off. “I can’t do much here, I’m working. But if you give me your number, I can try and do a better sketch once I get home. I’m from the painting department.”

“You would do that for me?” Taehyung asks, feeling deeply moved by Jungkook’s kindness. 

“Sure, it’s good practice for my portrait class anyways. You can take this as a thank you for the blow job.”

Taehyung nods to himself. 

“I do give amazing blowjobs.”

+

Jungkook, like any good art student, does not appreciate being rushed.

After a whole week of being told “it’s not ready yet”, Taehyung stops asking. 

He also wakes up one morning and realizes he only has a few days left before his exhibition.

Not only is he not done with all his pieces, he still hasn’t started studying for his finales which happen to be the week before his exhibition, meaning, the next day.

He pushes aside any thought of Mystery Man (except when he hugs the sculpture at night, heart yearning for the original), and jumps straight into his cramming strategy, which consists of hitting himself with the books until he’s absorbed the material. If he’s not studying, taking a finale, or sleeping, he’s huddled in the workshop with the other students of his department, functioning on coffee and eating various shades of sculpting material for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. This is not what Taehyung expected when he was told that artists live from their arts.

The day before his exhibition, he’s barely feeling human, he’s got dried clay in places clay should never find itself, he doesn’t know words anymore and he has basically forgotten his own name.

No matter how fast he works, he realizes he won’t be able to finish his last pieces in time. He’s wracking his brain for a solution, thinking long and hard about just what he could do, when it hits him. 

The solution is right underneath his nose; 

His penis. It was always his penis. 

He’s supposed to expose pieces that he finds impactful, and if there’s anything that had a big impact on his life in the last few weeks, it’s his sculpture.

He can’t tell his teacher, he’ll categorically refuse. Not after the stunt he pulled with the flyers. Plus he wouldn't understand the cultural reset it was for Taehyung, finding and crafting that beautiful creature.

So he sets to work in secret. It shouldn’t be too hard, he hasn’t printed his labels yet. Plus the students are in charge of installing their own corner, meaning he can wait until the very last moment before the opening to put his penis on display.

He needs to find a name for his sculpture, so he texts his friends for help, but as usual, they are unhelpful.

 Asshole with pink hair:

6:45 pm  ‘ Suck on that’

 Hyungie:

6:45 pm    why are you asking me idk

 Jung Hoseok 🌞 :

6:50 pm   “ Long lost lover”

 He’s glad to see that his new friend will fit right in once he introduces him to everyone. 

He isn’t satisfied with the answer he gets, so he sends more text.

 Kim Seokjin:

7:05 pm  “Is this your penis?”

7:06 pm   Or better yet, “HAVE YOU SEEN THIS PENIS?”

7:06 pm   that way people will understand how current your art is

7:10 pm   Also I didn’t give you this number to chitchat

7:10 pm   after we find out his identity im cutting all ties with you

7:11 pm   Im just feeling invested right now

7:11 pm   that’s all

7:17 pm   Where’s your exhibition again?

Jeon Jungkook barman and artist:

9:56 pm  idk

9:56 pm  im almost done with the portrait btw

9:56 pm  you mind if I use it for my exhibition

9:56 pm  im really proud of it

 So not much more help on that side either.

+

The next day, Taehyung is busy setting up his corner and feeling emotional over his last exhibition.

He’s done with uni. He can go off into the world and live from his art. Or more like, he’ll first find a side job that’ll suck the life out of him, to pay for his art. Then he’ll spend a few years regretting every decision that led him to be an artist, but just as he’s about to give up, his sculptures will be noticed by a mysterious millionaire that’ll commission him thousands of dollars at first. He’ll refer him to his rich friend who will be all over his art and will throw their money at him.

Yeah, it’s a nice pipe dream.

He makes sure all the labels are in place, the lights are hitting his pieces in all the right way, and that no one notices him putting his penis in the middle of his space 30 seconds before they open the doors.

By the time his teacher notices, it’s already too late; the place flooded with friends, family, and even the occasional art critics that the university invited.

It’s not like his penis feels out of place in his setup. Most of his pieces are on the theme of the human body; studies of movement, skin texture, whatnot. If you look at it as a whole, you almost have a whole body. The only thing missing is a face, which is extremely fitting for Taehyung.

The wave of people coming is not preferable for Taehyung, since he doesn’t like crowded places. He’s never been a fan of their exhibition opening nights over the years. He keeps himself busy by trying his best to merge with the wall while people circle his pieces. His friends know he won’t be able to recognize them in the crowd, so they’ll come to him by themselves, he simply has to make himself visible.

“Hey babe,” Jimin says with mirth in his voice, “Is that greek?”

“Yeah” Taehyung answers, fixing his eyes on his most beloved and central piece. 

“I didn’t know you knew greek”

“I don’t, but Google does.”

The Penis is standing directly underneath his own spotlight, looking like a beacon of light, grabbing the envious stares of the people around it.

There’s a little white label by its base:

   Kim Taehyung

πέος, 2021

Red Clay  

(if you recognize this penis, please ask for the artist)

  “ What does it mean?”

“ Penis ”

Jimin hums, crossing his arm over his chest. “I guess I was not expecting anything less.”

Yoongi chooses that moment to appear, whistling his praise.

“So you did work this semester.” He jokes, bobbing his head with approval.

“Har, har.” Like he’s one to talk. He basically spent the last few months becoming one with his bed.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he expects it to be Hoseok or Seokjin telling him they’re here, but instead it’s from Jungkook, and it’s a picture.

A little gasp of surprise escapes him.

His hands shake as he opens up the text app, his heart thumping as the picture loads. He presses on it once it’s ready, taking up the full screen, and Taehyung can finally-... well, Taehyung can’t do anything with that. His case of face blindness is pretty severe, so even drawings are unrecognizable for him. But it’s something! A new clue! He can make a flyer out of this! He can-

“Why do you have a portrait of Namjoon on your phone?”

Time stops.

Yoongi’s voice echoes in his head, mocking him, but also stealing the carpet right from underneath his feet.

Why do you have a portrait of Namjoon on your phone?

A portrait of Namjoon

Namjoon

Namjoon, who stood in front of him silently, that day Yoongi invited him out, probably expecting some kind of reaction from Taehyung.

Namjoon who frequents the campus gym.

Namjoon, who’s tall and broad-shouldered.

Namjoon, who’s been around Taehyung for a while but was never told about his condition. 

Namjoon, who probably thinks Taheyung has been ignoring him all this time.

“Jesus fucking christ, My Mystery Man Is Kim Namjoon.”

Both his friends voice their confusion as Taehyung tries to rip his hair from his head.

“This penis belongs to Kim Namjoon, who doesn’t know I have face blindness, and who probably think I’ve been ignoring him all this fucking time.”

“Holy shit,” Yoongi says at the same time as Park Jimin, that prick, starts cackling uncontrollably. Taehyung always knew he was evil.

“This is- I’m so sorry but- This shouldn't be funny– But I can’t, it’s too funny.” He wheezes out in between laughter. “He was right there, probably confused as hell as to why you were showing his dick to everyone- I’m sorry this is so funny but also so, so sad. You never- oh my god.”

Under the attention of about half the gallery, he wipes the tears from his eyes, body convulsing with laughter.

“What the fuck are you waiting for.” He finally manages to say, taking a deep breath. “Hyung, didn’t you drag him here tonight?”

That seems to snap Yoongi out of his stupor.

“Fuck, yes he’s here, he’s... There!-” He says pointing somewhere, but then his voice dies down. “And now he’s leaving...”

Taehyung spots the man with a black cap currently walking out the exit with an angry stride. He reacts on instinct, running after his Not So Mysterious Man Anymore.

+

Kim Namjoon is having a very no good, very bad day. 

Not because of school, no. He aced all his finales, he doesn’t even need to get his grades back to know.

Not because of the weather either. No, it’s a beautiful spring day, and there’s a hint of cherry blossom in the air, wrapping the world in a romantic tint.

No, the reason he’s having a very no good very bad day, is because he can’t, for the love of God, get Kim Taehyung out of his head. 

It started with a very interesting dream, clearly drawing inspiration from the night they spent together. It woke him up at the crack of dawn, sweating up bullets and hard as a rock. Finding sleep afterward was nearly impossible, meaning his first precious day of vacation started way too fucking early.

Now music theory never sleeps, so he simply spent his morning trying to forget his dream, channeling all his energy on composing. 

But then Min Yoongi, long-time friend and co-compositor, had to go and ruin his fragile peace of mind by reminding him he had two tickets for the sculpting department exhibition, and Namjoon was obligated to show up. Meaning he would inevitably run into Kim Taehyung; Meaning he would agonize about him all day; Meaning , that he would be thinking about Kim Fucking Taehyung all day.

But it’s ok, because he was finally starting to come to terms with that too. Taehyung would probably ignore him again, and all he needed to do was circle the gallery once and get the fuck out.

But no.

Oh no.

Life had better plans.

Because right into the center of Taehyung's exhibition space, is his very own penis, standing proudly, mocking him.

He can recognize it from the flyers, so he knows instantly that it’s Taehyung’s work. 

He’s stunned by the audacity, wondering once again what he did to draw Taehyung’s ire upon himself. The flyers were not enough, no he had to go and put it on display as his final fuck you to Namjoon. Even wrote 'penis' in greek as a title, confirming Namjoon's theory that this is all a ploy to make fun of him.

Namjoon has had enough, he’s getting the fuck out of there. 

He spins on his heel at the speed of light, taking advantage of every inch of his long legs to walk out as fast as possible. He ignores the call of his name that follows after him, readjusting the cap on his head.

He’s fuming, feeling tears of frustration building up. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s been nothing but respectful of Taehyung. He’s been staying away from him too. 

He doesn’t deserve this.

He makes it a few blocks before his phone starts going off every 5 seconds with incoming texts, forcing him to finally look at it.

 Yoongi Hyung:

6:14 pm   Before anything, know that Taehyung suffers from severe face blindness.

6:14 pm   I know you know what that means you wikipedia rat

6:15 pm   I didn’t tell you cause it’s none of my business who he chooses to tell

6:15 pm   But the dumbass has been trying to find you for weeks using your dick because he had no other way to identify you

6:15 pm   Your pinning hasn't been exactly subtle either

6:16 pm    he ran after you when you left but I bet he’s pleading with the wrong person in the street right now

6:17 pm   Nice dick by the way

 He rereads the series of text to try and make sense of them. Only after the third read, does he finally understand.

Well, shit.

+

“Please Namjoon listen to me, you have to listen to me, I didn't mean to ignore you, I just didn't know it was you!-” Taehyung pleads, holding on to his sleeve.

“Can you please let go of me?!”

His voice sounds a little older than what Taehyung remembers, but he doesn’t have the time to think too much about that. Maybe he’s got a cold or something.

“-I can explain everything if you can just give me two minutes-”

“I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not this kind of person.”

Taehyung isn’t deterred, holding on to him desperately “-Please I swear just two- no, one minute, even one minute is enough-”

Someone clears their throat, tapping him softly on the shoulder. 

“Sorry sir, I believe my friend here is mistaking you for me.”

Now that’s a familiar voice. A voice he recognizes from many occasions. 

Taehyung lets go of his poor unsuspecting victim, taking a step back which is all it takes for them to run away from him.

He finally comes face to face with the source of all his past weeks' torment.

The height is there, the shoulders are there, the body proportions are there, the hair color is completely different, but Jimin did mention he changed it recently. He’s got the black cap on, the one that made Taehyung mistake a perfect stranger on the street for him.

It’s him. He found him. It’s his Mystery Man, his cinderella. He’s got him.

“Namjoon?”

“Yes, that’s me.” He confirms, voice gentle.

“Kim Namjoon.” He repeats, trying the name out on his tongue. His body is filling up with butterflies, and he can’t feel his toes.

“And here I thought you just could never remember my name.”

“I can explain–” He rushes, eager to get rid of the misunderstanding.

“It’s ok, Yoongi told me.”

“And about your penis–”

“Yes, Yoongi told me about that too.” Namjoon cuts him off, the tip of his ears getting pink.

“I’m so sorry– I should have asked your name then. I mean– you made me come four times .”

Namjoon chuckles, catching one of Taehyung’s hands mid flail and holding it with both of his, making his heart jump.

“We’ve basically known each other for years, so maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t. I don’t think I would have appreciated it then.”

“I guess that’s true. I’m still sorry.”

“I’m sorry too, I could have come up to you first. I mean, I’m the one who sneaked out in the morning. I had an 8 am class, by the way. I didn’t leave because I wanted to. But you have my number so… I assumed you would call me. ”

“I have your number...?” It's pretty vague, but it does ring a bell. He's got a blurry memory of time, around their first meeting, when Namjoon and he had exchanged their numbers for Yoongi related reasons. “That’s right, I do have your number. Fuck.”

“Well, I know now this wouldn’t have changed anything for you, since you simply didn't know it was me you were with.” Namjoon snorts, but not unkindly. More at the situation. 

But Taehyung still feels terrible.

“I’m so sorry.” He whines, feeling like burying his face in Namjoon’s chest. But they’re not there yet. “I tend to keep people at a distance to avoid misunderstandings.”

“It’s ok, I get it now. I guess I wish I knew before, but I get it now.”

“Good. I should have told you sooner. I was actually planning on doing it soon if that’s any consolation.”

“It is.” Namjoon murmurs, inching closer to him.

“Cool, cool cool.” Taehyung blurts out nervously.

This is it. This is his chance. Everything that has transpired in the last few weeks is leading up to this moment. 

"So," Namjoon starts when Taehyung has been silent for too long. "Yoongi said you were looking for me... Any particular reasons?"

"Well, yes." He answers but stops. All of this means nothing. It doesn't mean that Namjoon will accept to go out with him. He has no idea how Namjoon feels about him, and he sure as hell cannot tell by his facial expression. He's going in blind, no reason to believe that Namjoon wants to have to do anything with him. For all he knows, Namjoon is only here to settle the misunderstanding, and then be on his way. Maybe he's even mad about the penis flyers.

But then he also remembers that Namjoon is holding his hand right now. It's now or never.

He takes a deep breath for bravery and goes for it.

“Kim Namjoon, can I please take you out on a date?”

Namjoon doesn’t let him second guess himself, word leaving his mouth as fast as a blink.

“Absolutely.”

Apparently, they’ve gathered a crowd because there’s cheerful hooting and shouting erupting around them. But Taehyung pays them no mind as he goes in for a hug, Namjoon meeting him halfway.

“Wait, wait,” Namjoon says, suddenly, taking a step back. “I still don’t know why you put my penis on display at the center of your exhibition.”

Taehyung chuckles, bringing Namjoon back in. 

“Simple, ‘cause it’s a masterpiece.”

+

 2 months later

There’s a knock at the door, which throws Taehyung off. He’s getting ready for his date with Namjoon– their actual first date– and is not expecting anyone. Jimin knows the code, so it can’t be him, unless–

“Hello sir, would you be open to receiving the words of our lord and savior, Jesus Christ?”

“Jimin, I swear to god, I can tell it’s you by your voice. And no one from church would dress like you do, slut.”

Moving in with Jimin is as much a blessing as it is a curse. A blessing because, well, they’re best friends. A curse because his best friend’s favorite hobby is to try and prank him. Taehyung almost misses the time where Jimin was treating his face blindness as a taboo. 

Almost.

The last two months have been a whirlwind of life-changing events for Taehyung. 

First, moving in with Jimin is a pretty big deal. Not only has Taehung been living alone for the last three years, living with someone is sometimes a challenge for him. Wondering why a stranger is standing in your kitchen at 3 am, brain slowed down by sleep and the weak lighting not helping, isn’t always a recipe for success. But he’s slowly getting used to it, and Jimin, as much as he can be a prick, is being patient with him.

The second big event is, well, his current job. Somehow his workshop teacher, even after everything, recommended him for a job at a sculpture academy. He now teaches different types of sculpting medium to children, four nights a week. Pretty sweet gig.

At first, he was going crazy out of his mind worrying about working with children, but four weeks in and he’s feeling confident. He sat down with the kids the first week to explain to them what face blindness is, and although the children were initially confused, they now enjoy switching names with each other for the duration of his classes, to mess with his head.

Jokes on them, Taehyung also called their parents during that first week. So far, none of the children have noticed that their parents have been making them wear certain accessories every time they leave for the academy. Checkmates.

And the last big event, of course, is Namjoon. 

In between moving, his new job, and Namjoon’s own busy schedule, they have yet to go on an actual full-blown date. But they’ve slowly been getting to know each other. They make time to go on quick coffee dates sometimes, and they text none-stop. Namjoon hasn’t seen his new place yet, but they’ve hung out at Namjoon’s plenty of time. 

His boyfriend (he gets giddy thinking about that word) also showed up at the academy a few times to walk him back home (The first time he kept it as a surprise, but he quickly realized Taehyung didn’t like surprises; especially when it means having a tall stranger approach him in the dark without saying anything. Now he texts beforehand.)

“Do you like this outfit? Or should I go with my floral button-up?” He asks Jimin, who’s lounging on his bed after his failed prank attempt. 

“Why are you so stressed? It’s not like it's the first time you two see each other.”

“Because the chances of me getting laid tonight are extremely high and I want to look good.”

“Oh?” Jimin perks up, knowing full well Taehyung and Namjoon have been taking their time to get to know each other. “Should I sleepover at Hobi’s tonight?”

Another new development from the last two months: Jimin and Hoseok’s instant attraction. They’ve been dancing around each other since the exhibition, but it looks like it’s finally getting ‘ sleeping-over-at-each-others-place ’ serious.

“...Good idea,” Taehyung answers, not because he wants the house to himself (though it’s a nice perk), but he likes giving a little push to love sometimes.

His friend circle can finally be called a circle now. Somehow, Hoseok, Seokjin, and Namjoon just naturally fit into his now actually social, social life. Namjoon was the easiest since he already knew Yoongi and Jimin. Hoseok got it easy by becoming Jimin’s more-than-friend, and Seokjin just showed up one day with a video of that time, outside the gallery, when Taehyung thought an older gentleman was Namjoon because of his black cap. 

He looks at the time, curses when he realizes he’s going to be late. He grabs his wallet and puts on his shoes in a rush, and makes it out the door accompanied by Jimin shouting “Don’t you dare fuck on the couch or you’re buying a new one!”

He makes it to the Bar with only a few minutes to spare, and as luck would have it, Jungkook is working. He’s come to recognize his tattooed arm and bleached locks instantly. 

Namjoon would have texted him if he was there, which means he’s cutting it close as well, so he sends a quick ‘here 💖’ text before sitting down at the Bar with a big smile.

“You make me want to puke,” Jungkook says, disgust dripping from his words. 

“Hey now don’t be jealous, I’m sure you’ll find yourself a monster cock as well one day.”

Somehow, he and Jungkook started texting on a semi-regular basis. It’s mostly Jungkook begging Taehyung to introduce him to Seokjin (apparently he’s been crushing on the man since he first saw him at the coffee shop), which Taehyung has to find excuses every time to avoid telling Jungkook the cold, harsh truth.

(“I don’t date men with bleached hair, it ruins my whole aesthetic.” Jin said after the first time Taehyung asked. Which aesthetic he’s talking about, Taehyung has no idea.)

But that also means that Jungkook has heard all about his very fascinating and blooming love story with Namjoon.

“Did you tell Seokjin I said hi?”

“Dude, just go and ask him out. You know where he works, you know where he studies, you even know his birthday, which is really creepy when you two have never talked by the way. Just, go ask him out, he won’t be able to resist you once he actually sees how attractive you are.” He pauses for a second, then adds for safety measure, “But if he reaches in his pocket, just run the other way.”

“What?” 

“Don’t ask, just trust me.” Taehyung has some unpleasant flashbacks of a bottle of pepper spray being waved in front of his face. He shakes his head to try and get rid of the memory.

“And how would you even know that I’m attractive, you don’t actually know what I look like.” Jungkook retorts.

“Shut up, just go and ask him.”

“Just go and ask him what?” A familiar voice asks from behind him, and Taehyung's smile is back full force. He rotates on his chair and jumps into Namjoon’s arms, hearing him groan under the strain of his weight. He can hear Jungkook fake gagging behind him, the actual child.

They share a quick kiss before they both sit down at the bar.

“You’re not seriously thinking about having your date here, are you?”

Taehyung snorts, tempted to mess with Jungkook, but Namjoon is the one to answer.

“No we just wanted to get the evening started with a nice drink, but we have a reservation to an actual fancy restaurant, paid graciously by Taehyung's actual serious adult job.”

“Is it a serious adult job if he had to stop a kid from eating his donut-shaped clay yesterday?”

“Shut up. If you keep being like that I’m going to order the most annoying thing on the menu.”

Jungkook scoffs and walks away, without actually taking their orders.

They both watch him do a big show of ignoring them, answering other customers without turning in their direction.

“Let’s just get out of here.” Namjoon whispers in his ear. “We can go waste time walking around aimlessly, hand in hand.”

“God, you’re so cheesy,” Taehyung mutters, but he actually loves it.

His dating experience before Namjoon amounts to an enormous zero, but it’s not because he’s one of those unattainable, i-don’t-believe-in-love types of people that live rent-free in Hollywood movies. He simply never thought it would be possible to get close to someone romantically with his condition. But since officially meeting Namjoon, he’s been researching, and turns out, he totally can. 

There are even people, artists like him, who've noticed that repeatedly drawing or painting their loved one has made them actually able to remember their face (not 100% of the time, but he’ll take what he can get.). So he’s been sketching, using pictures, trying out different angles. He’s planning on using clay at one point. He’s totally the girl from Lionel Richie’s music video. Which makes Namjoon Lionel Richie.

“Did you know that I was inspired by Lionel Richie’s music video to sculpt your penis?”

Namjoon chuckles under his breath, squeezing Taehyung’s hand just a little bit more. The hot summer air is making their palms sweaty, but they both don’t care. 

“Where is that thing, by the way? It’s been a while since I’ve last seen it.”

“I put it on my bedside table when I moved in and I haven't moved it since. I’m thinking about making it into a lamp. I have to keep it out of reach of Jimin and Hoseok, they both seem a little too interested.”

Namjoon grimaces. Or Taehyung is assuming that’s his grimacing face. 

“Please never let it fall into their hands.”

“I swear on my honor, I shall protect your penis.”

“Thank you, I feel better now. I still can’t believe they put it on the first page of ‘Sculpting Now’. Crazy how all of your friends and the sculpting world know what my dick looks like.

“It’s a masterpiece. If it was mine I would never keep it in my pants, I’d always want to show it off.”

“How are you not in prison right now?”

“I don’t have your dick in my pants, sadly. Did you know that Seokjin almost pepper-sprayed me the first time we met? In retrospect, having a stranger run after you, pleading for you to look at their dick is a good excuse to pull out your pepper spray.”

“Wait, you did what?”

“It was all in the name of love.”

Namjoon shakes his head, probably disappointed in him.

+

Namjoon is utterly enamored. Every time Taehyung recalls a story from when he ran around school trying to find him, he falls a little bit more in love. 

He was so nervous for their first romantic date that he couldn’t eat during the day, but Taehyung is making him feel at ease, as he usually does, so hunger is coming back with a vengeance.

“Should we go to the restaurant now?” He asks, pulling Taehyung along with him. "It's almost time."

“Let’s.” Taehyung agrees readily, “I’m ravenous.”

They quickly make their way to the restaurant, only to find its door closed. There’s a sign in the window reading “Closed for vermin infestation”.

“Oh.” Namjoon says, “Dammit. That’s not good.”

There’s this awkward silence, filled with growling sounds from both their bellies. It’s too late to make reservations anywhere nice, and anywhere else risks being too loud for a romantic Rendez-Vous. Namjoon is scrambling his brain for a solution when Taehyung’s shy voice interrupts.

“Hum, if you want to– Jimin told me he wouldn't be home tonight, so… You want to come over? We can pick up some ramen on the way.”

Taehyung’s face might be neutral, but the blush growing on his cheeks is anything but. Namjoon takes a moment to appreciate the sight that he makes, burning up in embarrassment. Without the blushing, Namjoon would have believed he’s only inviting him for ramen, but the angry red of his cheeks is definitely betraying Taehyung’s intentions.

He nods his agreement, feeling anticipation replace hunger in the pit of his stomach.

+

 Having Namjoon in his space is a new experience. 

The apartment is still messy from their move, boxes lying around, but they’ve managed to make it quite homey. Everything that is necessary to their everyday life has been unboxed, only the odd objects being ignored by Jimin and him.

He puts on some soft music to set a nice mood, and Namjoon is humming along straight away, which is all the approval he needs to feel confident about his music selection. Music Theory graduate approved. 

 He gets to work on the ramen while he directs Namjoon on where to find a cheap bottle of wine and some wine glasses. He sets the table, trying to make it as nice as possible, but it’s really just a pot of bubbling ramen and two bowls with some chopsticks. 

They eat in comfortable silence, the music playing in the background mixing with the sound of their eating.

But then Namjoon dumps the content of his wine glass on his tan-colored pants, and it’s downhill from there.

“Damn it!” He curses, jumping to his feet. He grabs some napkins to try and pat some wine off, but it’s already been absorbed by his fancy suit pants. 

“Quick, take them off,” Taehyung says, not thinking too hard and only reacting to the situation at hand. “Let’s rinse them in the sink.” 

Namjoon complies, taking them off in record time, passing them on to Taehyung like it’s a relay race.

Taehyung deposits them straight in the sink, opening the tap and letting the water hopefully get rid of most of the stain. They both stand there for a minute, staring at the water filling up. 

But then it hits Taehyung that Namjoon’s thighs are currently bare and in his vicinity. He sneaks a quick peek to satisfy his horny brain, but he’s quick to snap his eyes back to the sink to avoid doing anything stupid.

Like, let’s say , dropping to his knees. 

He can feel himself blushing, his cheeks, ears, and neck feeling hot. He knew exactly what he was doing, inviting Namjoon for some ramen, but now that he can act on it, he’s suddenly feeling very shy. 

Plus, not being able to read facial expressions never really impaired his ability to get laid. He used to just– go to the bar, wait until someone would offer him to get out of there, and go for it. 

But this is not a bar, and Namjoon won’t ask him if he wants to get out of there. He has no idea how to tell if Namjoon wants to jump into bed with him. Or not. 

He takes matters into his own hands.

“So, as you know,” He starts, staring intently at the water flowing out of the tap, “this whole face blindness thing– I can’t really read your facial expressions. So in the future, it’ll be hard for me to figure out if you’re angry or happy, or sad, or… or horny. I’ve never done this whole– Romantic relationship thing, but I’m guessing we’re going to have to be really vocal with how we’re feeling, what we want, whatnot.”

He lets his statements hang in the air, staring at the stain that doesn’t seem to want to go away. He’s thinking maybe this will have to be removed professionally. 

But then, Namjoon chooses that moment to drop a soft kiss on his nape.

“Are you asking me, right now, if I want you?” 

Taehyung turns around, letting himself be cornered against the counter. Namjoon has his nicely defined biceps, somehow peeking through his suit vest, on each side of him. He absolutely loves it.

“Yes. I am.”

Namjoon kisses his neck once again, and Taehyung is this close to losing it. 

“I absolutely want you.” His boyfriend finally answers, landing a heavy kiss on his lips, sucking all the air out of Taehyung’s lungs.

 After turning Taehyung’s inside to mush via lips on lips crime, he returns to his assault on Taehyung’s neck, peppering the skin he can reach with sweet kisses, each one sending electricity straight to his groin. 

“Do you want me?” Namjoon questions softly into his ear, making Taehyung's eyes roll back so far he’s scared they’ll never come back. 

“Fuck yes.” He grinds out, voice turning to a whine when Namjoon, emboldened by Taehyung’s enthusiasm, rocks his pelvis into his in a languid motion.

He sees white then, bringing Namjoon’s mouth back to his, smashing their mouths together in a wet and messy kiss.

“How important are your pants?” He inquires in between kisses, enjoying the slow grinding Namjoon has going on. He’s still in his suit pants, but Namjoon only has the thin cotton of his boxer brief as a barrier. Taehyung can clearly feel his monster cock waking up from its slumber. 

“Not very important.” He finally answers, hands letting go of the counter to firmly grab at Taehyung’s ass. 

Taehyung can proudly say he’s got a fat ass, and Namjoon seems to appreciate it if the growl that escapes him is anything to go by.

He gets to work on the buttons of Namjoon’s dress shirt, Namjoon getting the message and taking his vest off by himself. Soon he’s standing there in only his boxer briefs and socks, while Taehyung is still fully dressed.

It’s kind of hot. 

They slow it down a little, Taehyung pushing Namjoon away so he can take a good look at him. 

The light of the kitchen falls almost gracefully over Namjoon’s defined chest, creating shadows that chisel out his muscles even more. It’s a sight to behold. 

He drags his hands down Namjoon's body, teasing a nipple as he goes with a flick of the thumb, mapping out his taut stomach with the tip of his finger, then coming back up to hold onto his strong shoulders.

“You know, I’m like, really good at massages. I feel like this is something you should know.”

Seems like this is all the time Namjoon will allow him away from him. He reels him back in with an arm around his waist, the other taking hold of one of Taehyung’s hands and bringing it to his mouth. He nips at his fingers, maintaining eye contact while he uses his tongue to soothe the sting.

How he’s even real is beyond Taehyung.

“Do you need help undressing?” Namjoon teases, reaching for his belt.

“Let me close the tap and we can move this to my room.” 

Namjoon doesn’t give him a response, only cages him once again against the counter, plastering the full length of his warm body to his. He reaches behind Taehyung and moments later, the soft ambiance music is the only thing they can hear again. 

Taehyung leads him to his bedroom, taking off his vest as they go. Somehow Namjoon already got his belt buckle, so he unceremoniously drops his pants to the floor, then jumps on his bed.

“Welcome to my room. That’s my desk, that’s my bedside table, that’s a replica of your penis, but I heard the original is planning on making an appearance tonight. This is my bed. Hope you enjoyed the tour.” He finally gets to the final button, looking up eagerly as he sends his shirt off to the side, wondering what’s taking Namjoon so long to get on the goddamn bed.

He finds his lover completely captivated by his penis duplicate.

“You’ve got the same one in your pants, you know. Get you your ass over here.” 

“Sorry I was just thinking… it’s crazy how similar you made it only from your memory.”

“Excuse me?” Taehyung objects, crossing his arms over his chest. “They’re not just similar, they’re identical.” 

“Only one way to check, is there?” Namjoon taunts, before finally, finally getting rid of his briefs, releasing the Kraken. 

Except he also grabs hold of the sculpture, bringing it close so he can do a side-by-side comparison. 

“You’re right, it is identical. How did you even manage that?” He says, awe in his voice. “Have you ever used it on yours–” 

Namjoon loses his train of thought as he takes in the sight of Taehyung, laying in bed completely naked, pumping himself at a leisurely pace and looking very unimpressed. 

“No, I haven’t. But if you don’t get into bed in the next 5 seconds I just might consider it.”

Namjoon doesn’t have to be told twice.

[emily-the-fae]

Sound of a Heartbeat

Part 4. Negotiations, Exortions and Stories of the Past

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 5 - Part 6

Surprisingly, this story continues to move further for me.

Back to the characters where we left them in the previous part - with some heated arguments and intimate talks.

Pairing: Dracula x OC

Warnings: none, apart from lung diseases, wounds and Adrian being a total sweetheart

Next morning Shari woke up to sounds of footsteps and hushed speech. Straight away she knew the upcoming conversation will have to be one hell of a diplomatic achievement – how do you explain your sudden desire to leave to a group of half vampire, speaker and a vampire hunter who were most probably fighting for your life during the last three days. Trevor would be completely furious. Better stand next to Sypha when presenting the decision, just in case he suddenly has the wish to use his whip. You never know how the Belmont reacts, though possibly Shari could still drag it through without making a big fuss – Lisa was definitely right about one thing: she has made a habit of negotiating her way with people, especially the ones that were apprehensive or disliked her. Truth to say, nine out of ten were either of the two.

- And don't forget, you are our healer, how are we...!?

- And don't forget, you are our healer, how are we...!?

- So far I wasn't so much required, you guys can carry on perfectly well without me.

- I'm still not sure if it is a good idea, Shari, if you want to get some rest by leaving... It may only be more dangerous for you, - Sypha argued.

- Don’t you even think of supporting her! She took a few years off our lifespans with this incident! We can’t just let you…

- No, wait, you don't get it, I...

- Shari!

- Stop bossing me around, Trevor, I am not a child! I have not finished.

- Trevor, please calm down, she is neither under your command, nor your sibling. If she wants to leave, it is her choice, - Adrian stepped in, clearly annoyed with the three.

- See? I can perfectly… - Shari tried to pick up.

- Shari, - Adrian interrupted. – Can I speak with you privately?

The healer was genuinely startled for a moment. She turned to look Adrian in the eyes – probably for the first time since the incident – trying to estimate his emotions and plan her defense strategy. She was never scared of him – or at least she never showed that he scared her sometimes, because surely being sane and realistic she could not ignore the obvious danger presented by those sharp fangs and golden eyes. Still Shari was used to considering him a friend, his malevolent side almost unable to turn against her.

Now she was startled and – honestly – slightly scared. For a moment she thought she saw it in his eyes that he looked right through her: that he perhaps watched her and Lisa or sensed her thoughts or some other vampire telepathy kind of thing. That maybe he thought she was a traitor.

Then he smiled warmly and nodded his head to the side, gesturing for her to follow him away from Trevor and Sypha – and Shari straight away knew whatever it was, he was ready to be on her side.

- Are you sure you need this resting? I mean clearly you do, you are paler than father when he wakes up, but still… Sari, I know you are stronger than you look, but a witch traveling alone during such a time doesn’t seem the brightest idea to me, - Adrian spoke quickly and quietly, for others not to hear their discussion. Shari felt ashamed for how it continued to surprise her that he sounded genuinely concerned.

- Adrian, I’ll be fine. I swear. I just… I don’t feel well…for, let’s say, various reasons, not only the attack. It just suddenly occurred to me that since your father seems to be watching and purposefully slowing you down, it may be a good decision for me to…

- To not stick around and lower the risk of encountering him or strong specifically directed demons? – she nodded in response. – Well, I can get that… And Shari, - he suddenly took her hand, his tone turning uncharacteristically warm. – I’m sorry.

- You don’t have to. We already spoke about…

- Not about that. About your disease. I’m so sorry. If only I knew how to help you – I could have known the way, you know, I once had the access to knowledge that could have… I’m so sorry for you.

They stood in silence for a few moments. Shari found herself unable to look into his eyes, staring at the ground.

- For how long have you known? – she rasped, barely recognizing her own quiet voice.

- Almost as soon as we met… Shari, I…

- Don’t. It’s alright, Adrian, I just didn’t realize you knew and this struck me a little…

- Do you know where you will be heading? – if she ever was grateful to him for anything – though she was grateful for plenty of things to be fair – it was his ability to catch onto the atmosphere and change the topic when it is very much needed.

- I… yeah sure, of course I do, I have a rough plan of what to do. Thanks, - she coughed dryly a few times, still refusing to lookup and meet his gaze.

- Shari?

- Yes.

- Promise me you will be fine. Not to be dramatic, but I… have gotten used to you quite a lot.

Shari chuckled.

- Will do my best, - she finally looked up at him and saw the half-vampire smile broadly. – I’ve gotten pretty used to you too, you overgrown puppy, - they stood in silence for some time.

- Almost forgot, one last thing before we face the storm of unacceptance named Trevor, - he blurted out, when she moved tostep away and turn back to the campsite.

- Yes?

Adrian did not say a word – he simply opened his arms and Shari fell into the embrace without even thinking. She felt utterly childish for being this familiar with him. She also felt it was nice to have someone to turn to when feeling torn and exhausted without having to explain the whirlwind of emotion in your head.

Shari shouldn’t have been surprised that it was Adrian who let her go with such ease. He knew he could trust her decisions, he always did. She was somewhat flattered by the way he treated her as an advisor and assistant even though she was no way as knowledgeable as him; the half-vampire always showed that he believed she had an own analyzed perspective of things, that she wouldn’t be reckless. This time though his trust in her rationality might have failed him. Any way it was, he openly supported her decision and expressed the hope that she would be able to catch up with them in some time.

Shari knew Trevor thought Dracula hypnotized her into surrender and laughed at it to herself. If only he had a clue that it was the human Dracula's wife who controlled her.

In the end of that emotionally exhausting morning they finally parted ways: the trio went in the direction of the closest town, hesitant to leave their friend, but unwillingly agreeing it should be done for greater good; Shari stayed at the campsite with Rodo for a bit longer, motivating it with the need of rest. Adrian threw a concerned glance in her direction, but said nothing. The vampire felt there was something wrong, but decided to let it slide, since he had already supported her decision; if she said she needed rest, then so be it.

In fact, although Shari did tell him she had a rough plan of further action, in reality she had little to no ideas in which direction to move and absolutely no wish of discussing it with thin air in front of her disbelieving friends: they would definitely not see Lisa and they would definitely think she was hallucinating after the attack. To be fair, she could never herself be sure if that wasn't exactly the case. Maybe she was talking to an imaginary friend. However, since she had already decided to believe in the ghost's existence, she had to play along that assumption.

Lisa didn’t leave her waiting and appeared as soon as they were left alone, Shari sitting by the campfire a little lost and a little tired; a victorious smile played on the ghost's lips, as she sat by the fire next to the girl. Rodo made no sign of noticing their guest, only slightly shaking his furry head and letting out a jawn.

- What? - asked Shari, annoyed by the constant attention of the ghost. She took the cattle off the fire and set it aside to cool down a bit. She needed something warm to drink if she wanted to keep her blood and lungs inside her body.

- We have to move out, - Lisa smiled, now more gently, watching the human's movements.

- It would be nice if I knew where we went, - replied Shari, slowly looking around, taking in the little amount of her personal belongings lying about - there wouldn't be much packing when she would have finally decided to pick herself off the ground.

- I'll guide you.

- What if you disappear?

- I won't.

- What if I don't want to go? What if you only tell me that you are leading me to the castle, while in reality you will lead me to Dracula? That is actually most probably what is going to happen, - Shari finally expressed her greatest worry and doubt. She could not just trust Lisa, she wanted to, but couldn't bring herself to do so. The woman was most probably still here because of them - Dracula and Adrian - so her greatest concern would be to stop their fight in any way possible in order to finally peacefully leave them, not care about some girl getting hurt in the process.

- I believe you will just have to trust me. I have told you already, I only want to stop this war with as little blood as possible, especially when it comes to Adrian’s or Vlad-I meant Dracula’s blood. You will be of very little help to me if I simply spend time leading you to your death. Besides, I shall remind you, that your illness is not exactly leading you to a happy life, so you decided trusting me on that one, - Lisa winked at her and stood up; Shari clenched her teeth: well, that was a very good point, but definitely a blow-below-the-waist strategy. - We should move out, the sooner we start - the quicker we'll be there.

- You know, you're like an older sister that I never wished to have, - Shari huffed in annoyance, but finished her tea quickly and proceeded to pack. The fact that she was annoyed didn't cancel the fact that Lisa was right. She had to move out.

***

The day trip was completely uneventful. The few villages they had passed didn't show any signs of having been attacked, but Lisa still made Shari keep away from them - maybe it was for the best, people were very unsafe these days, the fear made them aggressive to any newcomers. Especially to ones possessing magical powers and followed by black wolf-demons. Going alone to such a village could be suicidal.

It was only at the age of ten, that Shari found out she had it in her. That one trait that made people wish your head on a pike no matter how you behave. Animals weren't just "friendly" with her, no-no, friendly is one understandable thing, especially with a little child. However, "friendly" is definitely not the most accurate description of the behaviour of the large black wolf that almost attacked her one day on the edge of the woods, stopping in mid-jump as the girl turned to face it - next picture: the wolf rolling on the ground before her like and ordinary dog demanding bellyrubs. The animals would not simply like her, they would obey her as if she spoke to them directly. She had no idea where the power came from and so preferred to think she was born into her witchcraft. Her mother insisted upon it too, saying that poor old gramma was the same odd thing in her youth. At least that was what Shari remembered her saying when they did discuss her little problem. That was until she turned sixteen – until she suddenly was separate from her family and out on her own. Until the first time the people wanted to get her burned. First of many more to come.She had learned to control herself and make use of herself, never expressing anything people would see as dark wizardry, nothing even seemingly malevolent, working for the local healer, helping out as much as she could and learning some things here or there by herself about herbs and illnesses - not a study, barely a child's curiosity.

Then it was a year of particularly poor crops after an awfully dry summer, Shari sensed it was coming before she ever knew why it was so - the villagers had no other way of dealing with such misfortunes. They placed all the blame on the odd girl who learned to cure wounds and diseases and spoke to the wild animals as she pleased. Burning witches was a very common sacrifice, after all.

The night before the burning was the night she ran. She knew they would come for her, so she escaped before they could get her, left her home to set to travel into unknown. And never truly stopped running ever since.

Lisa pitied her for that, even though Shari tried to brush it off as nothing. She was a witch after all and turned to be quite a good thief, quite some reason for the other humans to hate her already, even though she couldn't say theft pleased her herself - she was surviving the way she could: moving about and healing didn't ever buy her enough bread or material. The longest she ever stayed in a town was three months - then the cycle had to start over.

Lisa understood her reasoning for that quite well. At first she wanted to argue that staying longer might have bought Shari some trust, but held her tongue - she wasn't one to give that sort of advice, not now, not after everything that happened to her exactly for staying a little too long.

When they finally stopped for the night, Shari was almost falling - her legs unwilling to carry her anymore - and bending over in loud wet coughs, feeling the taste of her own blood in her mouth and suffocating in attempts to hold back from even more coughing. The freezing weather and bloodloss, even compensated with Sypha's magic, were not going to make this journey easier for her. Shari felt the feather light caress of the ghost's hand on her back and breathed in deeply, trying to calm her heartrate.

There was pain in her ribs now too - she was scratched quite badly a few days ago by one of the attacking demons. They were fighting off several of the things and one jumped her from behind: neither she nor Rodo had noticed it before. Shari succeeded in turning to face it, making the demon bounce off her and back away as soon as she made eye contact - these things were usually not much harder to control than wolves, especially with Rodo at her side. Unfortunately, before she managed to kick it off completely, the demon had left an unpleasant scratch across her ribcage, making her fall to the ground and lose the mental contact - the beast jumped back on her in a matter of seconds and for a moment Shari thought that would be her end. Only by luck Adrian was swift enough to protect her, fighting the thing away and aiding her to recover later - the sharp claws left three deep gashes on her skin and the girl had to spend a long time tending to herself after the fight, hoping the wound would not get infected with whatever those things could carry on their paws.

The wound had been nicely bandaged before, all was going well, but apparently Dracula's attack had erased that bit of responsibility from her memory and now Shari suddenly faced yet another problem: rebandaging was not only desirable, but very much a necessity by the time she dropped to the ground, settling for the night. The soaked and dried blood on the old bands now scratched and tore at the healing wound, causing her pain.

- ‘T is okay, - she told the ghost, quickly going to sit down on the ground. Removing the band did not take much time as well as putting on a new one-not when she was used to doing it anyways, but removing a part of her clothes let the cold bite her even more in the process, so when she was finished, she was freezing to the bone, so she wrapped herself in whatever warm cloths she had left and pressed closer to Rodo, to keep at least some body heat to herself. They decided to make no fires, as Shari was now mostly defenseless and the girl already felt how much she would regret parting ways with her friends. Lisa's care and Rodo's warm side couldn't do much to keep away the cold and her lungs were almost screaming in protest. She looked at Lisa's pitiful apologetic face and whispered: - I'm already used to it, - no you aren't, this is getting worse by second and you desperately need a fire.

- You have to fall asleep quickly. Tomorrow we'll start off at dusk, - Shari lay between Rodo's back and a large tree trunk; Lisa sat next to her head, looking down at the tired healer.

- I wish it was just as easy for me to move as it is for you, - Shari whispered sleepily.

- Trust me, you don't, - both laughed.

- How much is there left? Of the way?

- If you're lucky - and persistent, we may be there by tomorrow night, - Lisa answered reassuringly.

- Really? That's so fast... Too fast, to be fair. I thought the castle was hard to catch, - she stared back at Lisa.

- Parts of it yes, it moves as a whole. But there are stable parts - that one particular entrance was the one I used when I first found him. It was very hard to track - not many know about it, it's kind of in magically protected grounds or something - nobody has the incentive to go there, - the ghost explained.

- But you had, - Shari smirked.

- Of course I had.

- I wonder how he hadn’t killed you straight away.

- Oh, but he wanted to. He tried to frighten me – told me he would drink my blood, all that classical stuff.

- So what did you do?

- Told him his manners needed repolishing.

Pause. Shari chuckled. Then snorted. Then laughed out loud.

- And he did not murder you for such an offense?

- I believe he wanted to for a moment, but was too startled to act… And then it sort of…happened. I believe it was a big “why not” for both of us, until we suddenly saw something deeper to it, - Lisa smiled to herself, seemingly diving through memories.

- Sounds a little like me meeting Adrian for the first time – God knows I saw those large fangs and yellow eyes straight away, I knew very well what he was, just couldn’t…

- Can’t beware the dark, when it’s choice between stepping in or watching someone suffer?

- Something of the kind. My self-preservation goes way below. I called him in when I saw him bleeding out by the edge of the town – half expected him to drain me as soon as I bandaged him and when he… well, as you can see, didn’t… We just talked. He stayed over for a week gaining strength, not attempting to eat me – I guess that was the first out of the only two occasions when someone I have helped did not try to accuse me of devilish business in one way or another and just accepted the help. Of course he had to be not human.

- The second time that happened was with Rodo, wasn’t it? Humans don’t tend to be overly grateful.

Both chuckled.

- Adrian seems quite attached to you, - Lisa turned to Shari. – Thanks for that. For accepting him. I was always worried that he will have a hard time fitting in…pretty much anywhere, being what he is. So thank you.

- No need to. He is nice, your son. Feels like having a friend for once.

Pause. Shari shrugged and sighed.

- Tomorrow, you said, right? Though I can't say that I'm exactly lucky, so your prediction about the time is probably too optimistic, we are bound to have some struggle tomorrow,- she huffed, turning to her side and snuggling to Rodo's furry back.

- The castle shouldn't be so far away, it is quite close to Tragoviste, shouldn't have taken us long, - Lisa explained. - And you are lucky, sunshine - remember? You survived Dracula's bite. That mark on your neck is your lucky ticket now, - Lisa winked and lay back against the tree trunk. Shari wanted to think of a witty reply, but was interrupted by another violent fit of cough and decided to let it go. The healer cuddled into Rodo’s warm side and fell into uneasy sleep, hoping that the morning would bring at least some relief.

[the-ghost-king]

Interestingly enough the fandom isn't always rational with their criticism. Take Percy and Rachel for instance. A perfectly healthy cute and functional relationship dynamic, but people really hated it because it got in the way of Percy/Annabeth.

I think it can also come down to the fact that not all situations are exactly equal if that makes sense. If you have a character dynamic in couple A, that often playfully bully of fight with eachother that's a different dynamic than relationship B, where one person has trauma resulting from bullying and the other parter behaves in roughly the same way as couple A do. In that case the behavior may be seen as inappropriate. Not that this example has anything to do with the ships at hand, but I think a long form meta examining the different paralleling issues from both relationships and their validity would be easier.

Also I haven't seen anything about about Nico/Will being called toxic. Yikes, what are people saying exactly, because I don't doubt a lot of people might be projecting unconcious bias.

Oh absolutely, I may seem young but I remember the Rachel vs Annabeth ship wars all too well... I do not want to go back 😅

The rest is under a read more though, I got a little carried away talking! Also this isn't my best post on the issue by far so please feel free to check out the tags I mention later on!

(AN: I use nblm alongside mlm in this post because some nblm individuals will consider their attraction to men as gay, or queer, while others will not and those individuals are often closely connected to mlm experiences and they also deserve to talk about their thoughts and feelings if they wish. I am aware nonbinary people are not a monolith and not all nonbinary people will categorize themselves or their attraction this way, it's up to nonbinary individuals reading this to determine where they fall on what)

As for Solangelo being toxic some of the conversations revolve around the ableist nature of the ship, this is definitely most obviously a dynamic in BoO, and it's a more than fair point about the ship I don't have anything negative to say there in the slightest!

(The above parallels with the idea that Will is introduced as a "healer character" for the "sad gay kid", which is a fair criticism as well but one that's often left rather one sided, because while that is true- if it's a way Nico likes being treated (watched closely for injuries and cared for) then it's not wrong, and in ToN Will is seen overstepping Nico's boundaries which causes a healthy argument about Will doing so and he stops, so if Nico doesn't tell Will "no" or some variation he's obviously not horribly uncomfortable with the situation, or from the way it would be interpreted alongside previous text, there's fair reason to think he likes it)

The thing with Solangelo I see often is "Nico is still processing trauma, and internalized homophobia and isn't ready for a relationship" which is a huge misunderstanding on how trauma and internalized homophobia work as a whole, because the experiences can be different for everyone. You can absolutely date someone while processing internalized homophobia, you may struggle with certain things but it is absolutely doable for some people. And trauma is such a varied thing, and it's not like he's solely relying on Will either, he is seeing Dionysus for therapy and getting the help he needs! Your life doesn't have to go on hold for therapy no matter how much trauma you are sorting through! (Not disclosing my medical history or anything but I have struggled with both things and my life didn't stop for me to deal with them, I made new friends, went on dates, etc- it is possible depending on the person so the very narrow view of "this is unhealthy" and "this is impossible" rubs me wrong when it's treated as fact over opinion, because it's an opinion).

There's also constant discussions about how fandom (in current) fetishizes both Nico and Will, which I, and other mlm and nblm have spoken our own thoughts on multiple times to be largely ignored by the biggest perpetrators of this "they're overly fetishized narrative". There's also fairly consistent discussion of how fandom treats Nico and reduces him to uwu small gay boy, which more often than not seems to mean "effeminate" rather than actually harmful stereotyping (yes queer men are allowed to be "girly" especially considering there is some canon text that could be interpreted with that meaning, if there wasn't a plausible way to determine canon that way I wouldn't care if people were going after others feminizing Nico a bit- but the issue is again, fact and feeling aren't the same and fandom seem to conflate the two rather often).

(Some of that ties into nonbinary Nico head canons which are common as of current, and that argument quickly becomes transphobic is people don't watch themselves... Even without bringing nonbinary Nico into the equation, headcanoning Nico as femme isn't bad or wrong, and to say otherwise becomes gender policing which is bad).

There's also this weird obsession with there being a "correct way" to ship mlm ships (specifically solangelo), which when considering it's not mlm or nblm saying those things, it becomes really uncomfortable. Especially because the wording of some posts is less "hey this is homophobic" and comes off more like people are more upset at seeing an mlm couple than at the fact that they're being shipped poorly.

All of this in combination with the constant, talking over of queer guys (specifically mlm and nblm) comes off really messed up, and yeah homophobic.

It's not something that can be pinned down to one specific thing but rather a series of smaller microagressions (which in sure most of are intended in good faith but are being filled with subconscious bias) that build up over time- which is why my concern is that solangelo is facing harsher criticism/different treatment that percabeth simply for being a queer ship.

I can't be 100% sure on that like I said, because that's something that is hard to gain tangible evidence for, or maybe even impossible :/

If there wasn't so many other small things going on alongside the harsher criticism of solangelo, I would honestly just ignore it... But the weird policing of "how to ship solangelo" while proclaiming it's "overly fetishized" all while speaking over a not insignificant number of mlm and nblm who have agreed with certain opinions, or taken time to write their own (+ some of the rhetoric that can be found on he blogs of people commonly expressing these opinions) is super uncomfortable and definitely homophobic... Even if they were treating the ship kind of weird, but treating the queer guys talking about it well and actually listening (because the current solangelo fandom probably has the highest proportion of queer guys in comparison to any other fandom I've been in with an mlm ship as of right now) I wouldn't be so bothered... But sadly that's not the case..

(I'd also like to note out of my posts criticizing the current conversations happening around the issue my post saying "listen to mlm voices" got a lot more notes than some of the other ones, which I can't say is specifically anything, because like solangelo perhaps being treated unfairly to percabeth, I am willing to acknowledge there might not be an issue- but it's weird how often mlm and nblm's posts on "listen to us" will be uplifted but never any actual criticism... Just a thought)

I detail things a little closer and in more detail in some of my posts tagged #fandom homophobia, #mlm fetishism, and #gender policing in fandom, it's not a full or comprehensive list (I've only really started speaking up in the last month or so), and it is largely solangelo specific. However I am always interested in listening to the voices of other queer guys about the issues and hearing out their thoughts as well (people aren't a monolith and I'm interested in trying to be as nuanced as possible!) and I acknowledge that although I am mlm and am going to be a little better at recognizing issues and calling them out (although I like every person am not perfect of course)

So yeah! That's a bit of the current ongoings, again not a full comprehensive list, and definitely not my best explanation ever but I think the point gets across well enough? Definitely check out my other tags if you're interested in more, there's also definitely more posts I need to make on some of the things I've seen (maybe not all of them so solangelo fandom specific, and maybe some of them even more solangelo fandom specific) but it's rather slow work in progress!

[dustjacketmusings]

The Intervention Scene: Pretty Much A Rant

I've seen a lot of really great discourse in the fandom around whether the intervention was controlling/abusive or necessary tough love. The thing is... Nesta absolutely needed an intervention. And this was an intervention. Feyre said approximately the right things at approximately the right time with approximately the right amount of structure for this to be successful. My problem is all of the approximates. It's really not clear why there was an intervention in the first place, and all of the actions following it undercut the message, or literally any message.

I charted them all out because this mess is living rent free in my brain. So here are the possible reasons why there could have been an intervention, and why the intervention itself or following actions made it fall so very flat for me.

Nesta is depressed. This is absolutely true. We see from Nesta's perspective that she is slowly killing herself. But following conversations with other characters make it clear that how Nesta sees herself is not how Cassian and other others see her. Do Feyre and Cassian know that Nesta is depressed? I honestly have no idea. And if that's the reason why they intervened... why did it take until Chapter 12 for anyone to ask how she was doing? Like - putting a depressed person in bootcamp and then never asking them how they feel, while systematically shutting down any time they want to vent is the worst idea I've ever heard. Even if Cassian is excused (maybe he didn't get the memo), Feyre could have checked up on her more. I wouldn't send my very depressed sister away without status updates more frequently than Feyre does. She also, pointedly, does not take Cassian aside to remind him to treat her sister with kindness. This is not even to say that the bootcamp aspect of this is extreme. If she is just depressed, why does she need to train so vigorously that she needs a strict diet? Exercise first -> battle formations later. The weird focus on training still makes no sense to me. I understand expecting training to help, but Cassian really does shut down any time she tries to talk about her feelings.

Nesta is alcoholic. This is pretty realistic and the structure of the intervention mimics this cause the closest. This looks like the intervention from the family of an addict. The problem is... Nesta has no problems with alcohol. She's fine after two days, never has a relapse, and suffers no ill effects. If that's the case, was she in danger of being an alcoholic in the first place? There also isn't really a plan for when she gets out of here. Eventually she'll be able to climb the stairs and even though she has no money, an addict will go to desperate measures to get alcohol. It's never brought up or addressed. The training aspect of bootcamp seems extra extreme for this scenario because... why would she need to train at all? It's just detoxing, really.

Nesta is not eating enough and arguably has an eating disorder. This one infuriates me after the breakfast scene. I cannot come up with words to explain how absolutely stupid it is to take someone with a suspected eating disorder and then control what they eat, while ignoring their requests for different food. Additionally... TRAINING. Why would you physically exhaust someone who's not eating? They'll just train and not eat and then they're worse off. And also this would be way better if anyone ever referenced THAT SHE WAS EATING. "Cassian... make sure she eats something" would have made Feyre so much more sympathetic. Ugh its just the worst! Because they notice that she's lost weight (while still fitting in her leathers perfectly, because that's possible), and then totally ignore her positive attempts to eat food.

Nesta is a sex addict. This is also argueable true. But I'm again unclear how training and mandatory service are supposed to help a sex addict other than keeping them busy. And, of course, she has a ton of sex with Cassian all the time. So if this is the issue, its incredibly problematic and never solved. They just stuck her in bootcamp while also feeding her addiction. There is literally no reason for the controlling aspects.

Nesta is spending too much of Feyre's money. Yeah this is true. Sorry Nesta but its absolutely within Feyre's right to cut her off. That being said... bootcamp? "You spent too much of my money so I'm going to control almost every aspect of your day and kick you out of your apartment" ??? I don't think I need to say how extreme of a response this is. This motivation would work really well if she was just doing library services. "You spent too much money without contributing so now you have to contribute at this library. Since you can't winnow or fly and everyone else has actual jobs (it's my headcannon that they have actual jobs and can't just taxi service) you need to live there too. Cassian will also be there because he lives there and to make sure you comply." Feyre could just say she's going to pay back her debt so she has to work at the library for XX time. OR the libary now funds her allowance (but that gives her way too much freedom). But training? We'll revisit in a few months? Revisit what?

Nesta is embarrassing Feyre as High Lady. This one is tricky, because on the one hand, fuck Feyre for this comment. On the other hand, Feyre is now an important public official and her sister does reflect on her. (Do not get me started on how Feyre not being able to "control" her sister implies shes unfit to be High Lady. The fact that she used the word "control" implies that she's unfit to be High Lady, not Nesta's behavior. You don't control your subjects but - ugh, I got started) Lets assume for a second that this is valid. If Nesta is embarrassing Feyre in public wouldn't the rational response to have someone... tell her what is appropriate behavior in public? Say, someone very good with presenting a public face... like Mor??? Who also conveniently has a few days off from being a politician????? Bootcamp to become a strong warrior is... not relevant? Wtf? Have they never met a warrior who is totally compentent on the battlefield and an epic embarrassment otherwise (that sounds kind of like Cassian tbh...). There is an arguement to be made that Nesta already knows how to do this (she's actually decent at politics) so her embarrassing Feyre must be on purpose. It's still a gross oversight to say "You're behaving incorrectly but I'm not going to tell you what was incorrect, go fix it". UNLESS:

They want to control Nesta. This one makes an UNCOMFORTABLE amount of sense. They didn't tell her what to fix. She's just going off and "they'll revisit in a few months" to check on her progress. See how moldable she is maybe? Controlling every aspect of her life in a place she can't escape on her own? check. BUT because this book makes no sense, they manage to fuck this up too. Why did they train at Windhaven?? Look, I'm not saying that anyone should control someone's life until they break down and become a shell of their former self, but if someone were to do that, it's in private. Arguably, Windhaven, where there was civil unrest less than a year ago, is full of people who ABSOLUTELY need to believe that Nesta is under the control of the IC (or at least on the same side). So why would they take her there on the first day, when she is most full of defiance? (They're idiots, moving on) Cassian's comments about how Nesta was embarrassing him in front of other people were hilariously a joke because he put them in front of other people to begin with. (Even if they didn't want to control her, why windhaven? Like... oh look there's the High Lady's sister who is an absolute weakling and garbage at throwing a punch. This reflects so well on the inner circle. what????)

The problem is that SJM took all of these reasons and put them in a blender to give some frankenstein motivation. In the end there was too much going on so she achieved none of it. It feels almost like a successful intervention, until you look a little closer, and then everything falls apart.

[zhansww]

I’ve been wondering how exactly the misunderstanding of my last rambling post came to be and I think it’s cuz of one of two things; cuz I didn’t make it clear what I consider the word “queer” to mean or cuz I didn’t make it clear that the post itself was my own, subjective opinion. I’m not sure how consistent I’ve been with tagging it but I kinda differentiate between (what I think are) rational opinions I have vs emotional ones. The latter ones are obviously subjective and should not be taken as me, lecturing anyone or implying that everyone should feel the same. You either share the same sentiment or you don’t, there’s nothing wrong with it either way. And if my words in those posts seem hostile/condescending, it’s cuz I don’t feel the need to censor any of my subjective views/feelings. What I do think is important and what I try to pay attention to is not to let the negative emotions that certain things evoke in me control my actions. When I see something that I disapprove of in any way, I don’t hijack that post or report it. If my emotional reaction is particular strong, I’ll vent about it in my own post, not theirs. I considered this to be the decent thing to do but I’ve been told by at least one kind, respectful and open-minded person that I am actively making people’s lives worse with those posts, that my words are violent and that my behavior is that of an “unhinged monster” (the irony here is not lost on me). So I’ve been reflecting and I think the next time I feel a particular strong, negative emotion that makes me want to vent, I’ll put a disclaimer beforehand. And now, let me just actually clarify what my point was of that post. I believe that yz is real so I obviously do not assume they are straight. If they are indeed together, then they are queer - i.e. not straight - but that’s literally it. I have no theories or thoughts about what their specific orientation might be and I won’t ever speculate about that either. I wouldn’t mind knowing but unfortunately, they can’t be openly together right now but when they someday are, they’ll hopefully also feel safe and loved enough to share something like that with us. I know for a fact that figuring out your sexuality is a confusing and intimate process which is why I am opposed to speculating about it. I consider it to be too intrusive. But again; that is my subjective opinion based on my own experiences. I do not expect everyone to share this sentiment. One person said that I should expect such speculation and that might be true, maybe I should expect it but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Seeing certain bxg get mad at solos for assuming yz are straight but then turn around and assume they are [insert any specific sexuality except het] is hypocritical and disappointing in my opinion. I think it’s perfectly fine to have such emotional opinions as long as you don’t let those emotions cloud your judgement and lead to you, reacting in a way that is unreasonable and possibly harmful. I also think that everyone should be willing to have their rational opinions questioned but when it comes to an emotional opinion, it doesn’t have to make sense and it’s probably not gonna change either. To give another example; I hk disapprove of yz r/p/f. And that’s not me, saying it is inherently wrong and that no one should do it. In fact, you could try to make a case about how I should like it and approve of it but it wouldn’t make me change my mind precisely because this opinion is not based on logic but just on emotion. And again, as long my emotional reaction to something doesn’t lead to unreasonable actions, then the emotion itself is alright to have. And like I already said, I thought it was okay to vent those emotions in my safe space but apparently, it isn’t. No one should take those posts personally or like I’m talking to them or lecturing them. I thought that this was all obvious but since I got told otherwise, I will be more concise from now on.

You know, when someone starts a “discussion” by insulting you (implicitly or not), that’s usually a clear sign that they’re not even trying to understand you. I’ve seen at least one person reblog the reblogs and seemingly take some kind of vicious pleasure in seeing someone else sh-t on me. Something like that leads me to think that they already had a negative impression of me to begin with which is why their minds gladly misunderstood me and jumped to the worst possible conclusion. They also all seemed to either ignore my explanations or seemed intent on misunderstanding me, no matter what. To be clear, I don’t blame them entirely for it because I could have expressed my point better but for them to immediately think their misunderstanding is the right one - instead of asking me to explain myself perhaps - is also wrong. Mind you, I don’t expect those people to see or care about this post. The main reason I’m trying to clarify myself is for myself. I said I’ll try to be more concise in expressing my views (regardless of whether it’s a subjective one or not) from now on and I thought I should let this be the start of that. There was one reply in particular that ... affected me a lot harder than I thought anything could. I think it’s cuz my depression already makes me feel like I’m a waste of space 24/7. One thing I take comfort in, though, is the fact that, at the very least, the only one who’s hurting because of it is me, no one else. At least I don’t hurt others. But I got told otherwise. I got called an unhinged monster. The unhinged part is true but also being a monster... it made me feel like I’m less than a waste of space. Like, let’s say if normal people always feel like a 1, I always feel like a 0. Getting insulted like that made me feel like a -1. Instead of feeling like a read newspaper, that’s just waiting to get thrown in the trash, that insult made me feel like I’m the asbestos in the house, something that is actively harmful and you need to get rid of. Does that make sense? Anyway... I engaged in “discussions” despite my better judgement and now, I have to pay the price for it so I also decided that I won’t do that again. Hopefully, there won’t even be any more misunderstandings but if there are and someone hijacks my posts and insults and/or willfully misunderstands me, I will just block them. For my own sanity. And for the record, if there’s something in this or any of my subjective/emotional posts that can be misunderstood, that I didn’t make clear enough; please feel free to ask me about it. Please don’t immediately think the worst of me. And when it comes to my more objective/rational opinions, I am always open for discussions as long as we can remain respectful throughout.

I would also like to express my gratitude to anyone who reached out. I’m not sure if the damage can be undone to be honest (it doesn’t feel like it right now) but anyone who offered words of advice, understanding, support or kindness helped soften it. I cannot express how grateful and appreciative I am for it all, any replies or private messages. You helped make me feel less shitty and I thank you so so much. I’m definitely gonna save all the mental health advice cuz I really did not know how to deal with that overwhelming desire to... stop existing in that moment and I want to keep it in mind if (or when) I get affected this badly by something again. I intend to also reply to the messages privately ofc but for now, please accept all of my love and gratitude~

I’m gonna put the rest - which is more personal - under a cut and also tw cuz I’ll elaborate on my mental health/depression. This isn’t exactly something I want to share tbh but I think I shouldn’t shy away from it either. And I feel like I need to explain myself, just for anyone who cares to know.

—

If you compare life to walking on a path, then I at some point - I don’t even remember when - stopped walking and starting digging a hole for myself. It musta been years ago. Right now, that hole is so deep that I have no idea how to get out of it on my own, much less how to move forward. I think I always knew that there must be something wrong with me mentally. This isn’t something that is being talked about in my family, though, so I never extensively thought about it. Not until earlier this year, when my sister told me that she thinks I’m sick and I should see a therapist. My immediate reaction was to reject the idea but I really couldn’t do that for long. As of right now, I have been tentatively diagnosed (not sure if that’s what you call it in English) with depression but I haven’t actually found a permanent therapist and therefore also not started therapy yet. I have no idea what exactly is wrong with me and this not-knowing makes it somehow worse. I haven’t been properly functioning for the past two days - ever since I got called unhinged monster - cuz those words are burned into my brain by now and keep repeating themselves. It feels like my mind was given another weapon to slowly k-ll me with. It keeps reminding me that that’s what I am and then I start trembling and my breathing gets weird and it’s harder than usual for me to distract myself. And this is all so overwhelming for me, I have truly no idea how to deal with any of it. I don’t even know if I named it right, if it really is called a “depressive episode”. I’m hoping I’ll get to find out what exactly is wrong with me and how I can cope with it once I find a therapist. My lack of knowledge regarding what I myself am going through makes it all very confusing and difficult. Another reason why I kind of organized my thoughts and wrote them all down here is cuz I hope it will help me somehow, make my mind stop letting those really bad thoughts in. But in that moment when I felt especially f-cked up, any words of advice or kindness helped. I hope everyone who reached out knows that. Just... thank you. So damn much.

[bigskydreaming]

princeescaluswords

I stare at you, accusingly. ;) So you liked it when Scott asked Stiles "Why did you think you couldn't tell me?" and the Sheriff asked Stiles "Did you really feel like you couldn't tell me?" I'm mostly kidding, but that writing choice still oppresses me from time to time. Feel free to ignore.

LOLOL, touché. No, obviously there are always going to be exceptions to every sweeping generalization, and its entirely possible for actual self-assessment to turn up no potential answer to ‘why did they feel they couldn’t tell me” because the answer IS irrational on the part of the other person....with irrational not being used as an indictment of them but simply an awareness of the fact that people experiencing mental, emotional or physical distress don’t always make choices based in rationality.

BUT the trick of it is......even if you didn’t actually do anything to make the other person feel they couldn’t trust or confide in you.....because the answer is simply that they weren’t viewing things from a fully rational or healthy state of mind at the time...... “why didn’t you tell me” STILL isn’t going to be a remotely helpful question to ask them because the answer is STILL going to be ‘cuz I wasn’t thinking rationally’.....whereas again, even when the answer to either question is just that the other person wasn’t operating at peak mindset....the person occupying the role of support system is STILL going to be better positioned to ultimately recognize that’s the real reason....and so they’re STILL best served by interrogating themselves first over the situation as to why it exists and how to change it for the better, rather than like....trying to position the person in need of supporting as like....the one who needs to explain themselves here, even when chances are they CAN’T because there simply ISN’T a fully rational explanation.

And this is why I both hate the writers for writing that line for Scott but also the fandom’s limited interpretation of it, because like....the situation is both exactly as I’m describing and a little more complex at the same time. In one sense, Stiles’ paranoia and distress over the whole situation are eminently understandable.....but the show and fandom’s interpretation failed by not acknowledging that with everything that had been happening AROUND the revelation of Donovan’s death in the Scott and Stiles fight, like....Scott HIMSELF was not remotely in a sound or stable emotional or mental place and was actively coping with and processing various traumatic situations himself at the exact same time, even as he took in the information he was given here, in the limited fashion in which it was doled out to him.

And then too I do think something that the SHOW should have made a point to acknowledge at other points, in order to ‘set the record straight’ so to speak, even though I DONT think it should have been on Stiles himself to ever recognize this himself, without help, BECAUSE I agree he had every right and reason to be irrational at the time.....is that again, Season 3B was an entire season arc dedicated to establishing the precedent that Scott not only is okay with the idea of killing in self-defense, he is perfectly willing to live with the knowledge that prioritizing Stiles’ life in that case inevitably led to other deaths before the nogitsune was finally defeated....and he STILL CHOSE TO DISREGARD ANY POSSIBILITY OF JUST LETTING STILES DIE OR CHOOSING HIS DEATH TO MINIMIZE HARM.

So like, the answer to that question between Scott and Stiles was STILL that Stiles wasn’t seeing things clearly due to his own trauma, and thus shouldn’t be held accountable for not recognizing the precedent Scott had established in 3B, BUT that Scott was as well valid for being confused that Stiles would think he wouldn’t understand him killing in defense of his own life, since Scott very clearly remembered the ramifications of him choosing to preserve Stiles’ life at all costs in 3B.

So where the show failed was by never having anyone ELSE, BEYOND just the two of them, weigh in on that and point that little detail out to BOTH of them, because BOTH of them were operating from states of ongoing trauma and subsequent irrationality and skewed perspectives throughout like, the entirety of Season 5 pretty much.