#hes probably a lil better on islands? or at least islands with people on them. at least then his ship is in less danger

[waywardsalt]

linebeck is probably so god damn paranoid all of the time

[sabokunsmalia]

anon's request: Hiii. I feel like w the amount of times I drop I should sign off w an emoji lololl. But anyway I wanted to drop in and say that I hope you’re having a good week and leave a lil request for you. If you could write a fluff w ace or sabo where like they wake up early in the morning and are looking at the reader and reminiscing about their relationship. It kinda hits them that they’re in love and wouldn’t change a thing. Again hope you’re having a good day/week 🤗 hi it's malia: i couldn't decide, both are heavily underrated so doing both was the best decision. i even added luffy because this felt like a beautiful asl brother thing to do, lol. please, take yourself an emoji of the endless list, i would be pretty happy and probably crying happy tears if you were my very first anon. ♥

featuring: flame emperor sabo, portgas d. ace, monkey d. luffy

ʚ flame emperor sabo ɞ

↷ the bright rays of the golden sun forced sabo to wake up from his slumber, totally against his will. he just came back from a three-week mission yesterday, and couldn't wait to spend at least two days by your side without interference. his soft fingertips, protected from the roughness of his mission by the thick leather gloves, caressed the skin along your spine. you were still heavily asleep, face pressed against his naked chest, your warm breath fanning across his skin. you looked beautiful, so peaceful, so different from what kind of moments and things sabo has seen in the past weeks. or better, his entire life since dragon pulled him out of the water. sabo wanted to become the perfect chief of staff, training and working harder than anybody else to keep his position, to make his savior proud. hell, most of his actions were way too risky to be acceptable. but the nobleborn man did not care about his own life as long as the revolutionary army could change the slightest thing in the world, he would be satisfied. until you popped up, your presence stepped in his sight and scolded him for being so careless about his own life.

↷ that night, sabo had to ask you out on a date. he didn’t have much time but he would definitely give you the couple of hours he had off. the sun rays cascaded hues of gold across your unblemished skin the day he took you to a fancy restaurant — confronted with the same image right now, sabo could not stop the trail of memories embedded in his mind. you infiltrated any given space, intoxicated him, and lured him into a paradise. like a siren but with love and a happy ending to it. your body jerked away from his touch ever so slightly when his fingertips grazed over and around your hipbone. a silenced chuckle left his mouth, remembering exactly the night you slept in his room and bed for the first time. oh, your trembling body made it difficult to cuddle properly, the sudden waves of anxiety always pulling you away from sabo's touch and warmth. the little things, he remembered so clearly as if they happened yesterday. the amount of times, he wanted to confess his love but couldn't find the courage to speak his mind. it happened way too often, the small glances you shared across the room, the several ways koala tried to set you two up. god, the poor girl was completely exhausted from dealing with the shyness of two people when it came to adoring someone.

↷ sabo had the slight hope of finding a lover on an island far away. he would not be able to spend much time with them, but it would be worth it to know they are safe. the world nobles and the marine's were a strong enemy, attempting to find the revolutionary army and stop their movement. but when the chief of staff's eyes landed on you, he couldn't stop his heart from beating faster, his head from imagining having you by his side and certainly not himself from falling in love with you utterly fast. his eyes anchored on your sweet face, so calm and relaxed while sleeping, as the memories of the past weeks and months sprawled out in the back of his head. pictures of moments, he would never forget, or dare himself to change. your story together was perfect, and while it was dangerous to share romantic feelings with someone in the same position, sabo would never change the slightest thing.

ʚ monkey d. luffy ɞ

↷ as the captain of a wanted pirate crew, luffy had very few moments to rest and calm down from the constant fights. but when he got the chance to stay in bed longer than usual, the straw hat had his arms wrapped up tightly around your body. you sprawled out on top of him, one leg on each side. cheek pressed against his toned, naked chest while inhaling and exhaling deep breaths. you always begged him to calm down once in a while, and rest from the fighting and the punches, but luffy was very bad at listening. for almost two years, you asked and he denied it with a chuckle and no words. one of his hands reached up, the calloused fingertips which became rougher over the course of time brushed the thin strands of hair out of your face. the corners of your mouth lifted slightly, almost invisible, as you exhaled a deep breath. even in your sleep, you bathed in the softness of luffy's touch. certain little things, luffy picked up over the course of your relationship.

↷ no one around luffy thought he was capable of feeling love for anything else than his occupancy as a pirate. but when the straw hats visited your island, and luffy shared a look with you, it was certain that the boy fell head over heels for your precious self. throughout the events of the past months, you gave luffy enough strength to fight further and stronger. even after losing ace, you were his glimpse of hope. a smile crept its way onto luffy's mouth, remembering the nights, you stayed on deck with him. falling asleep in his arms while watching the wide ocean sway around the thousand sunny. the days, you brought him food when he didn't join the crew for dinner. something which didn't happen before, he would never let a meal get wasted. memories, he carried with him like pictures on a wall. framed with golden ornaments and attached to his heart. moments, luffy used as a reminder to always keep fighting, to stay strong in the worst fights.

↷ his dilated pupils were locked on your statue on him, so small, so beautiful and so admirable. his slender and warm fingers combed through the mess of hair, adoring the way you made him feel safe between the enemies that wanted his head. luffy could agree to many alliances, could laugh at way too many people, yet, most of them wanted to murder the straw hat behind his back. the million little things you've done for him, no matter if the days were good or bad, they pulled luffy deeper into your spell. he fell harder for you with each given day, and while becoming the king of the pirates was his priority task, you quickly changed the placement. the straw hat did not except to experiment love on his journey to the one piece, and yet, luffy would not trade this life for anything else, he would never change any step of your love story and relationship together.

ʚ portgas d. ace ɞ

↷ there was not one calm night on the moby dick since the commanders gathered for an arranged party. music boomed across the deck of the main ship, and spread across the vast ocean. colorful lights, red and blue cascaded through the darkness and announced the ship to any other pirate crews or marine admirals. those feasts were ace's greatest pleasure. he loved drinking booze and eating meals until passing out. but those past days, it was somehow different. seated in the corner, the glass tightly in one of his hands, ace watched his friends and family interact with you. dancing around with marco, and having long conversations with pops or thatch. the night was a long one again, the third in a row and it was no surprise the next morning when you were still asleep. cuddled up in ace's arms while pressing your back further against his naked chest. warmth spread underneath the thick blanket but also from ace's logia devil fruit powers. a walking heater, who watched closely how your chest rose while you inhaled and exhaled.

↷ the second division commander felt the tingling in his right arm, knowing that a couple more minutes could increase the slight pain. but he wouldn't dare himself to wake you up from a much-needed nap. after dancing way too many hours with marco, and even being forced to dance another round with ace by your side, your legs were hurting badly. his unoccupied hand wandered from your hipbone towards your thick thigh. smirking to himself as you carefully pushed yourself further against his body, ace massaged your unblemished and soft skin. he didn't think about taking advantage or doing anything sexual, the shaggy black-haired decided to give you something back. he remembered clearly how many times you decided to massage his tense shoulders and back when he returned from another long mission. standing on the small boat which only worked with his particular devil fruit powers didn't allow him much of a comfortable position. days passed, sometimes even weeks or months while you waited for him and hoped for ace to return well.

↷ over the months of dating, ace reminded himself of the small things you have done for him. it always kept him alive and awake when needed, knowing that returning to you was his greatest desire. he wouldn't want to see your soft face stained by the tears from your eyes. this time, he promised to stay longer by your side, to decline leaving the ship so easily and quickly. his rough fingertips caressed along the skin of your thigh while his eyes drifted over the small statues on the shelf close to the bed. little gifts that ace brought along when he was on a mission far away. you occupied his mind, kept him awake and forced his nightly dreams to enter his days. being in a relationship as a pirate always caused problems, fearing for the well-being of you more than his own. and yet, ace wouldn't change a fact, wouldn't change any steps of the past that you shared together. each return to the moby dick came with new shivers, heavy goosebumps and a quick heartbeat. feelings, ace only got when your face popped into his mind, when you occupied his head.

[moonshynecybin]

Hi! I have been thinking about Marc and the ways he expresses his anger... giving the cold shoulder... the silent treatment if you will (he will speak ABOUT vale but not TO vale let alone WITH vale)... need your input please....

hmm good question.... this got. STUPID long sorry

uhhh marc is, in general, good at keeping his (negative) emotions in check. like i think marc loooooves to think of himself on track as a mature, controlled, and rational dude. above distraction. a killer. a cyborg. idk his dad has talked about how he doesnt really complain much about injury and there's also allll these stories about what a mature kid he was... so i think that when he was young - ESPECIALLY in a racing sense because he was so much younger than most of the people he was competing against - he internalized that in order to do all the stuff he wants to do racing-wise, he reallyyyy has to keep a level head and not well. act his age! and i think that extends to a lot of how he manages his emotions today (at least in a public setting). even in places where im pretty sure hes PISSED (sepang. phillip island 2013.) he just kind of. visibly contains himself. not a confrontational dude in the outright sense he'll clench his jaw and try to work through it.

which is part of what makes his valentino-oriented crazy so interesting. bc people were noticing that marc in 2015 was kind of. being weird. as his and valentino's relationship deteriorated. like they were both outwardly very much like we can keep it on track :) until the big fallout towards the end of the year but uhhhh. well marc has said that vale started pulling back in september of 2014 like he was noticing SOMETHING, and they clashed on track A LOT in 2015, and i think marc sensed vale cooling on him and freaked a lil. hashtag neurotic 22 year old moments. he is my favorite crazy ex girlfriend. like usually he IS good at separating that stuff out and managing his emotions in the racing sense but in assen that year when vale overtook him off track after they made contact he raised a BIG stink with race direction and actually had some uh. not especially chill quotes about it. (it should be noted marc was also flopping for the first time in his motogp career. like in his brain he stopped winning AND vale stopped talking to him he was goin through it) adn all the reporters noticed too they were like. why werent you sucking and fucking in parc ferme. like vale's left turn wrt to spaniard sabotage comes outta nowhere but people WERE noticing that things were changing. i bet marc noticed too. BUT they are not the type of people to talk about these things so they keep it to vague flirting in presscons and escalating on-track tension slash proxy wars waged in race-direction contexts... liek truly you are 22 you are not going to keep your championship title and your hot sports idol bestie is no longer flirting with you on twitter and you COULD just talk to him about that but you'd rather DIE so youre going to ask honda to back you up to race direction about your last race where you DEFINITELY lost bc winning is the ONLY thing thatll make you feel better. even though thatll help convince your hot sports idol that you are engaging in a benedict arnold level betrayal scheme against him. an insane time to be marc marquez. 2015 really kind of is a study on how both of them handle losing: NOT WELL.

and then the thing about sepang is that then the lid is blown clean off and marc spends the ENTIRE race being annoying on purposeeeee. hes so fucking pissed and hurt at valentino that he decides to get under his skin for REALSIES instead of focusing on his race. like idk he probably would have fought hard for the win without the drama that how he works but uh. i think he was being annoying specifically to bite at vale's edges. and part of that is bc marc is naturally and effortlessly annoying. but i think part of it was SPITE. like his team advised him not to speak on anything from that presscon and he didnt, but he can still fuck him over on track. get under his skin. like he cant tell vale to his FACE that he's angry and confused and hurt. but he CAN let him know on that fucking racing line. where he cant be ignored. idk like i cant see marc letting anyone else get under his skin like that.

AND another big ass exception to the marc marquez anger management philosophy is from misano 2019 where vale messes with his qualifying lap. a lovely anon sent me some videos of marc talking to the press and jesus christ i dont think ive ever seen him angrier oh my god. AND the anon also linked the race from that weekend where he won and he celebrated harder than ive seen him celebrate some TITLE wins like he went. notably nuts. the commentators were all like uhhhh. he mustve REALLY wanted to get one over on vale adjfhlkdh... idk if any of this answered your question but his relationship to his emotions fascinates me hes so weirddddd. and its interesting to me that he can shrug off jorge ruining his last race at honda and be friendly but also be like. kind of aloofly pissed at bezz. because of valentino! he can repress the rest of it, but valentino shines through the cracks.

[dearhargrove]

Hii can you do Ethan x Reader where reader grew up with Ethan and his family so she was always close with him and Quinn and they go to the same college and are in Tara’s group but when they go to the party reader gets really drunk and Ethan takes care of her and the next morning reader thanks Ethan and they end up confessing 🫶🫶 (can have slight smut at the end if you want)

Let me care for you

Ethan Landry x fem!reader (but isn't specified I think)

summary You're drunk - your eyes unfocused and mind working at 0.5 speed. But one thing you knew for certain was that Ethan Landry was half-carrying you to your dorm and taking care of you.

word count 1426

warnings swearing, alcohol

a/n this was so cute! I wrote this dead tired and google docs wouldn't spell check, so if there's any errors tell me pls <3 otherwise enjoy! Oh, also: I know I made Ethan a lil more confident than he probably is canonically BUT him and reader have known each other for so long he's just comfortable around her and doesn't second-guess himself! Hope y'all don't mind and I also don't think it's that apparent, anyway

masterlist

navigation

You were drunk. Wasted, even. There were other students surrounding you, dancing and drinking, some you even knew from a random class or seeing them around campus. Well, right now? You weren't seeing anyone - at least not clearly. Your vision was fuzzy from the shots you'd drank pretty much the second you had gotten here with Tara and the rest of the group.

The party was fun and the music was good, the alcohol even better. So far you hadn't thought about your unfinished assignments and essays, you'd left all the stress in your dorm after pregaming with Quinn (and Ethan warily watching).

You were stumbling through the living room and kitchen, trying to decide whether to find another drink or just dance for now. However that decision was made for you when you arrived in the kitchen to see the few people there browse through bottles - all empty.

“Wait, they're out?” You drunkenly slur, glancing at the boy that was standing at the kitchen island next to you. You just barely hear his laugh, “Yeah.”

That's where the conversation had ended in your book, but he turns around and faces you, a grin on his face. “I haven't seen you around here?” You stop in your movements and look at him in your peripheral vision, hoping he'd take the hint and notice your definite disinterest.

He didn't.

“You don't wanna talk to me, princess?” He teases, though even in your drunken state you hear the slight aggravation in his voice. “No, sorry,” you dismiss and turn to leave the kitchen. He yells an insult after you and in turn you hold up your middle finger without looking back. Great, now your good mood is ruined.

Pursing your lips you look around the full hallway and living room, trying to spot at least one or your friends. How did they manage to turn invisible? You frown and stumble along a wall, your hand on it supporting you as you pass by a random couple making out (you don't know if the bile in your throat is from the copious amounts of alcohol you'd drank or these two but you're pretty sure it's the latter).

You don't know if you're imagining it or not but you can hear your name being called in a familiar fashion. You squint your eyes in suspicion and do a quick twirl, surveying the people. You regret that immediately, remembering why exactly you never moved that hastily while intoxicated. “Oh, God…” you lean over and heave, silently begging to whoever would hear you to let you get to a bathroom before vomiting on the floor of this frat house.

You feel a hand appear on your back, casually stroking along it in hopes to calm you down. Your brows crease and you're about to lash out at whoever thought they had the right to be touching you when you see the familiar pair of shoes and recognize the voice.

Ethan!

You look to the side and upwards, seeing the curly hair covered with the dorky cardboard knight helmet from his last minute costume (that you had helped him with!). He has a worried frown on his face and is talking but you don't hear him, focused on his unhappy expression. Who made him upset? Who did you have to have a word with?

You swallow and stabilize yourself on the wall again before straightening up, him copying your movement with his hand now on your shoulder.

With determination to make him happy again you reach out and press your thumb on the frown, trying to smooth it out. “Why is it not- Ethan. No frowning.” You warn when your thumb doesn't do the job.

There's a flicker of surprise on his face and then he laughs, “How much did you have to drink tonight?” It makes you giggle and you shake your head with a finger on your mouth, “It's a secret.”

He raises his eyebrows and then his hands in mock surrender, “Alright, alright. I won't tell anyone. If I hadn't seen you dry heave I wouldn't have had a clue you had something to drink.”

You squint your eyes again but decide to believe him. Then the music you'd ignored faded back in and you groan, really not a fan of the way you could feel the vibration of the bass in your gut (you were a hair's width away from puking, this was not making it any better).

“Hey lovie, let's get you home?” Ethan suggests and puts an arm loosely around your waist. He never held you tightly, always loose enough that you could just slip out of his hold if you wanted to.

You see this as an offer and lean your full body weight against him, mumbling about going home and being happy to see him after wandering around this house, unable to find anyone.

He catches and holds you up with ease, gently guiding you to what you guessed was the front door (could've been a window and you wouldn't have batted an eye) before leading you outside.

Cold, crisp air surrounds you and suddenly you can breathe again, the music only in the background.

“Fresh air is great, isn't it?” He asks with amusement and you manage a glare that makes him grin.

“Alright, I'll help you walk home.”

-

Now, almost an hour later, you're back in your dorm. The small, dimmed lights around the room are turned on and Ethan is busying himself, cleaning (you guessed, he was mainly moving stuff around and then putting it back).

You simply sit on your bed, hands under your thighs and feet swinging as you watch him, only looking away when his quick movements overwhelm your drunk brain.

“Alright, come here. You can't sleep in that,” he finally says, holding a shirt (your favorite!) and sleep shorts in his hands. Instead of complying you cross your arms and eye him up and down, “and why can I not sleep in this?” Your party outfit is… well, a party outfit. Apart from the overall vibe and fit there was definitely some liquor that had burned its way into the fabric.

“Because it smells like tequila and you'll hate me tomorrow if I let you lay in bed with it,” he calmly explains and nonchalantly kneels in front of you to help you take off your shoes.

Your eyes are droopy and teary as well as a dull pulsing at the back of your head. You're almost asleep by now, having been convinced to change and get ready for bed (Ethan had gently but clumsily cleaned off your make up with some wipes and then you'd tiredly brushed your teeth and changed).

But, even now with you already in bed, he was still here, back against Quinn's bed and sitting on the floor.

Cuddled under your blanket you blink tiredly at him, “Eth?” He looks up from his phone and looks at you attentively. You just take him and his cute costume in for a second before a warm smile appears on your face. “Thanks. You don't have to do this but you do anyway…”

You seem to surprise him with that and he puts his phone down, “Nothing to thank me for.” You smile warmly, no strength to phrase how thankful you actually felt.

“I'm glad it's you. Taking care of me.” You admit, the haze of drunkenness fading with the time and water you've chugged. “I'm glad too.”

You're staring into his brown eyes, the light of your desk lamp illuminating them beautifully as he smiles at you, this time a bit more shy.

“Eth?” You mumble and you two just look at each other before he gets up and you lift the blanket. He lays down with his back facing the door and yours facing the wall, a palm coming to rest on your cheek.

“I'm happy you're my best friend.” He says, but there's a slight hesitancy as he says the last thing.

Maybe it was the buzz from the drinks or just the vibe of right now but you lean in and press your mouth to his. You're both too out of it and tired to do more than this, smiles in between short pecks.

It was sweet, no words needed to be exchanged between you to know what this meant.

You would talk about it in the morning with both your heads clear, but for now all you needed was to be cuddled against his chest, his hand lazily stroking along your back.

[theonewhospeaksinweird]

💜🖤(Katakuri Head Canons)💜🖤

💚 = Lime/Lil Spicy

💛 = Lemon

💙 = Sad

❤️ = Angsty (won't do many of these unless prompted)

💜 = Fluff

💔 = Heartbreak (rare unless prompted)

🖤 = Normal

Okay, soo like I have at least 6 story ideas in my drafts, but they're gonna take forever to finish, and I feel I haven't posted much of anything for the few followers that I have, so here is (for once) a short drabble!~

I see these all the time, and my mind is just stuffed with this mochi man, so I gotta relieve some pressure!~ These are gonna be all over the place with how I think things about him are.~ Enjoy!~

<コ:彡ミ☆<コ:彡ミ☆<コ:彡ミ☆<コ:彡ミ☆<コ:彡ミ☆

🍩 I feel that sometimes people display Katakuri as so serious, mister grouchy grr grr all the time, but that's just because we mainly saw him when the Strawhat were literally being terrorists. Like, remember how blushy he got with Brulee after his fight?? (Refer to picture at top) This man is literally a softie inside and out with people he's comfortable with!~

🍩 If the incident with Brulee getting hurt as a child bc of him never happened, he'd be so silly with Daifuku and Oven!~

🍩 Like, he'd still be the most serious one, but they'd basically be like Luffy, Zoro and Sanji, haha!~ (I'm literally feral for fanart of those three doing silly shit together!~ 😭)

🍩 Cue Katakuri and Daifuku fighting 24/7 over stupid shit while Oven laughs on the side, and then Daifuku and Oven bantering like children while Katakuri just disassociates beside them.

🍩 I just imagined Katakuri in that tiny shirt Zoro had on in Water 7 while carrying all his little siblings, HELP-

🍩 This isn't a head canon but the one cover art of Katakuri finding out Luffy's the 5th Emperor and him laughing at it while eating donuts with Brulee and Cracker kills me everyday!~ 🥰 He looks so happy and relaxed with them, and his laugh is "BAHAHAHAHA"!!

🍩That cover art just proves he's the sweetest thing!~ He would TOTALLY fall into Strawhat shenanigans if he meets up with the crew again now that Big Mom is gone!~ Kind of like how Zoro is after the time Skip, reserved but still indulges from time to time.

🍩 On the Big Mom being gone note, he is definitely the new captain of the Big Mom Pirates, which he'd probably rename to the Charlotte Pirates or something to get away from Linlin's shadow.

🍩 I can just see Perospero coming home from Wano, all pissed and aggravated from being punched around like nothing by everybody there, yelling at his siblings to do things.

🍩They all just stare, blank faced, at him before pointing to Katakuri running things saying he's the new captain.

🍩 Peros would be livid, going on about how he's the oldest and how he almost DIED fighting alongside Mama in Wano.

🍩 And all of them are like, "Too bad, so sad, Big Brother Katakuri is better. Skill issue, ig- ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯" And list all the healthy things he's been doing for the islands and family while Peros was gone.

🍩 Katakuri is standing right there, a little flustered at the open compliments, trying to tell them to at least give Peros a chance, but Peros is over it.

🍩 Bro just storms out, claiming he don't want the job no more! Petty af for a few days, grumbling about inefficiencies and punishments for stuff done wrong.

🍩 And Katakuri just shakes his head and says they don't do that anymore because it was hurting someone in the family.

🍩 Eventually, Peros sees all the things he's trying to change not just for the crew, but for how their entire family acts and lives.

🍩 They agree to co-captain just so Katakuri isn't left yet again with everything on his shoulders.

🍩 Katakuri's still busy but his siblings try harder to make him take more breaks, especially Brulee and Cracker.

🍩 It would take a while until he relents, kind of acting like Squidward in that one episode where he keeps coming back to the Krusty Krab thinking SpongeBob is gonna fuck everything up, haha!

🍩 It's not that he doesn't trust his siblings and their capabilities, he's just not used to NOT being needed to hold everything together.

🍩 Once he's relaxed in that aspect, I think he'd slowly come out of his shell and start to go out without his scarf.

🍩 At first it's just in his home, which freaks out his staff into thinking they're gonna die by seeing his full face, and then with some hyping from Brulee, he starts going out without it.

🍩He is absolutely a nervous WRECK walking around feeling so bare without it but the townspeople love him so much and say how handsome he is and how COOL his teeth are that he almost CRIES-

🍩 Like, you can't change my mind on this sappy thought bc remember how the people on Pudding's island were when she went back after the wedding to make the cake?? You can't tell me everyone living in Tottoland doesn't ADORE Katakuri, the man who is always protecting them and kept Big Mom in check the best he could all these years!!

🍩 It's so cute how he tries to pull up a scarf that isn't there when he's trying to hide an emotion, and when he realizes what he did it only makes him flustered! ☺️

🍩 Flampe is disgruntled, maybe even still let down, at this development and tries to trash talk him to her siblings, but for once everyone is like "Shut up, little girl, you're literally slandering your brother who loves you very much, wtf?" And she just shuts down!

🍩 I NEED to believe that Brulee like slapped or punished Flampe somehow when she heard all the things she did and said to Katakuri when he took off his scarf during his fight w/ Luffy! 🙏

🍩 Katakuri isn't mad or anything, just hurt, and tells Flampe that he hopes she can love him again, and finally gives her the pets she wanted but doesn't deserve and that makes her little less bratty

🍩 Katakuri's newfound courage to walk about without his scarf leads to Pudding being less ashamed about her third eye, and MAYBE she starts acting like her normal self with a hint of sadism here and there.

🍩 Secretly, Katakuri fiends for ANY new info on Luffy and his crew, talking about them with Brulee who is the only one willing to listen to his fanboy ass.

🍩 When it's revealed that Big Mom was defeated in Wano, he still thanks Luffy for it even though Kidd and Law are the ones that actually took her down.

🍩 It was a Luffy domino effect, so it counts as a Luffy win, trust 👍

🍩 Obviously, he keeps the black hat that Luffy left on him after his fight, and can't help but laugh every time he sees it sitting on his desk. It's a joy boy affect 🥺

🍩 I know Film Red isn't canon, but I can just imagine the aftermath of that with Brulee now being taken with Sanji like Pudding, and those two just gushing over the Strawhat cook to a disgruntled Katakuri who doesn't like the way they talk about the skirt chasing blonde.

🍩 Mochi man holds some respect for Sanji too since he heard how he refused to poison the cake he helped Pudding make for Mama during her hunger rampage. He saved his sibling's lives and much of their territory from being destroyed.

🍩 Still didn't stop him from rolling his eyes at every squeal over his chivalrous words and actions-

🍩 With Katakuri as the new captain, the Charlotte family actually starts healing and acting like a true family over time.

🍩 Katakuri makes sure that the youngest siblings don't grow up with the same traumas all of them grew up with, reassuring them in their appearances and abilities when he can.

🍩 He's an irredeemable villain to you, but he's my special little princess mochi man 🥰

<コ:彡ミ☆<コ:彡ミ☆<コ:彡ミ☆<コ:彡ミ☆<コ:彡ミ☆

That's all of my random thoughts and ideas for Katakuri and his family!~ I see why people do this, it's fun to just type what comes to mind and not have to make sure it's sensible in a story, haha!~ I might do one for him again but him with an S/O.~ Maybe him and a few other of my favorites.~

There's not enough for him, I swear I've read everything everywhere already, so now I must make everything I want myself.~ It's a curse to always like side characters that are shown to have depth but aren't given the screen time to explore it!~

Ugh, anyways, see you next time, dearies, I appreciate any feedback and interaction!~ Mwah mwah!~

[voidaxolotl]

Sitting here watching Jurrasic Park for the milli-fuckin-th time and have been thinking about ways the parked could've worked if they had, like, at least one person who ran a successful zoo with animals that weren't depressed.

Theres a whole post somewhere about giving the dinosaurs enrichment within their enclosures- like a giant pumpkin full of goats for the t-rex's, puzzles and doors with handles for the raptors, etc- and I can't help but to agree.

If Hammond had been patient and set up at least a year of just watching and researching the creatures they made, on the island were there are no cages and whatnot, then "paid no experience" to get some kind of animal handlers or something who have worked with apex predators- the carnivores in the park would've been too preoccupied with whatever lil toys and games that were made for them to be running at electic fences or noticing that said fences weren't elecrified anymore (like eventually they would've probably noticed? But if you have the big-boi-T-rex busy all day trying to get his lil arms into a giant verson of one of those dog treat things where you coat the inside with peanut butter? Big-boi would be too tired at night to go poke at a fence)

Now yes, the "raptors" (apparently the ones in the movies are closer to Utah raptors, not velocerapters?) could still pose a large problem with those large craniums the movies give them (those girls are sitting like, from well trained dog to tested monkey level of problem solvin). Solution? Don't breed raptor?

Yeah they'd miss out on one of the most popular dinosaur attraction, but the park would totally be safer. (it alsp would of they just, didn't put any of the carnivorous boys on the island but lets be real, that would be asking too mich of a large corporation) If they REALLY want raptors they could probably start with a much larger encloser to let them run around and check out the entire thing, then probably place different mazes with different prizes given to them at the end (maybe not food unless tbey see a human giving saod food to them or they'll associate "escape" or "getting in/out" of something = "food at the end" and end up eating whatever they see on the other side unless they are trained to associate "human" as "food giver" and not food)

But yeah. If Hammond had gotten a research team to go watch the "wild" creations he made for at least a year (if not each creatures life spans), hired trainers, handlers, etc who have worked with apex predators and large herbivors, had paid for larger enclosers and any enrichment for the animls- maybe his park would've held a better chance.

Oh, and firing Henry Wu. That was something the post I referenced earlier added- and I agree. Also, no making up "new dinosaurs" the things you made are already "new dinosaurs" because they're different to fossils and will have a diffierent behavior due to the new ecosystem they have been thrusted into (I believe both Henry and Grant make comments about this? The fact that what was made for the park weren't actually dinosaurs, just creatures we started giving that name to for lack of a better one)

Just make more dino merch if they park starts failing! But lets be real, with the emount of neurodivergent people who hyperfixate on dinosaurs, and the amount of kids that have a dinosaur phase almost right away, Jurassic Park would always have some kind of audience.

Anyways- theres my TED talk-

[starlightshadowsworld]

Danganronpa 3: Future arc episode 1.

Aka Makoto's very, bad horrible day

Thonks.

Okay so we're just gonna jump right into Makoto being arrested.

Fun.

Makoto who just does not give a fuck.

That is not the look of fear.

White haired dude is doing the this is why your arrested thing.

And immediately, vibes are off. Maybe it's cos he's arresting Makoto.

Because Makoto is my boy.

Or because I don't like his hair. It looks... So bad. I can't put it into words but the more I look at it.

Yikes.

Love the snap shot of the tragedy.

Red sky, everyone in Monokuma masks the snap shots of the Remnants causing havoc.

I wasn't prepared for Gundam's snake army.

Which he has, apparently.

Low key thought what is probably a giraffe, was a dinosaur.

And the snake wrapped around him, iconic.

And the lil bit of Nagito bowing to the Warriors of Hope.

... Which makes me realise Komaru and Makoto literally just reunited and now your arresting him.

Booo!!!

Booooooo!!!

"Humanity had one hope against the despairs"

Makoto Naegi.

"The future foundation."

Pfft. Nope.

You don't even get the lenience of not knowing, the game was televised.

Also why do they all have giant ass trench coats, but this one girl has a fur trimmed one?

We were supposed to be coordinated but nooo.

You guys trying to convince me you saved the world and you can't even coordinate a group outfit?

Suuureeee.

I'm sorry but I can't take this serious narration seriously when looking at people with Monokuma masks on.

And a teeny fedora on one side.

It's so silly, I love it.

See, they may be trying to destroy us all but at least they can coordinate.

I do hope we see and hear more of the tragedy. Especially from these guys because we don't know much about it.

I mean our only sources are Junko and Genocider, not the most reliable.

16 remaining.

...thats not gonna last. And I'm glad we're not doing 15 and than a secret 16 student this time.

At least I hope so.

I swear if there's a random 17th student I'm gonna flip the table.

Random dude with a bull head.

And fur coat girl feeding the guy who's head is on her lap food.

Okay than.

I dunno why but I was suprised they had talents like oh yeah that's not just a high school thing is it.

Immediately, suspicious.

Because tf you mean the Director is the former Director of Hope's Peak.

You mean to tell me there are teachers that survived?

Given what happened to Jin Kirigiri I just assumed all the teachers were gone.

... Apparently not....

But the director? How did Izuru not just destroy you? Like you survived? Are you the only one who did?

I was so scared he was gonna be a secret Kirigiri or something.

Also sus that we don't know his talent, unless he doesn't have one.

I'll be honest, the talents are kinda lame. I mean we've got:

Wrestler.

School scout.

Therapist.

Pharmacist.

Boxer.

Confectioner.

Farmer.

Blacksmith.

Housekeeper.

They aren't bad, they are some pretty cool ones but we're coming off detective, gambling queen, soilder.

Like I expect a few normal titles but suprised there was nothing crazy.

... I'm gonna take that back when the Housekeeper goes full Kirumi Tojo and turns out to he president of Japan aren't I?

I guess it makes sense because they were the survivors of humanity united together.

So them having normalish talents make sense but yeah.

I'm actually more suprised everyone was a Hope's peak student or staff member than anything else.

Also we gotta give them a better title than "Former super high school level" because that just sounds sad.

Oh and we're on a completly safe on an island that no one knows about...

Yeah ya'll are fucked.

White haired dude is back.

And we know he's clearly a big deal because he walked up onto the table.

... How high are the ceilings here?

Kyosuke Munakata. He's the vice chairman of the future foundation.

I will say his hair sucks but that tie is interesting.

And suspicious.

No one walks around in all white with a black tie that has a monster on it.

And we get a full look at the Remnants.

Badass.

Also Mikan's nurse hat looks so adorable.

Twogami with the night vision goggles.

Foreshadowing.

Sonia with the crown 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼yesss.

What are you talking about? You don't look at these murderers with glowing red eyes and think, besties?

Sounds like a you problem.

They officially call Makoto the Ultimate Hope.

So happy, I'd be more happy if they weren't trying to arrest him tho.

"Is he even worthy of that name?"

... If I didn't like you before I sure don't now Munakata.

Don't talk about my boy like that.

Sidenote, I dunno why they keep calling it treason. You guys aren't as far as I know a government or a monarchy.

It's not treason.

Man nothings ever gonna top Makoto showing up late to his own trial.

👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

Asahina!!! And Kyoko!!! With him, yess.

Outfits look great guys.

Maybe that's how you become a future foundation enemy? You just outclass them in the fashion department.

Man I missed these guys.

And yeah... They just arrest Makoto, no rebuttal just accepting he did the crime they're accusing him of and he deserves the punishment.

Love Asahina trying though, that was sweet. It must be hard for these guys too.

And I really like how there's people in the foundation wgo still respect Makoto.

Yeah he betrayed you, you're just doing you're job.

But he's also a colleague, he's someone you've come to know. You still respect him for the things he's done and still like him as a person.

I appreciate that.

... Unfortunately there's also the asshole's who hate him completely.

And fucking beat him to the ground.

And someone tried to throw a knife at Asahina, who's innocent mind you.

...This series is gonna give me anger issues I swear.

That good ol hopes Peak hypocrcy alive and well it seems.

I never thought I'd say this but can we start the killing game?

Please.

They made him bleed the asshole's... And the blood is red.

Kyoko maintaining her image because she knows she has too, while making it clear she is pissed off.

She's immediately characterised correctly.

... Is Chisa the Housekeeper lady with Munakata?

Girl I don't even know you and you deserve better.

Kyoko being Makoto's boss makes so much sense, professionally.

And in her own way telling Asahina she doesn't want her going down with them.

Asahina though, not backing down. I love the friendship between these two.

"We've been through worse."

Ha ha... Don't say it...shhsss

Wait, Chisa taught the Remnants?!

I guess someone would've had to but... What?! You're telling me they allowed her in here?

I appreciate her talking about this, hearing from her you can't kill them with kindness.

Hits harder, because she probably tried to. It must've been hard for her to see her own class destroy the world.

And visually they both look similiar, same green eyes and brown hair.

I wonder if she sees part of her in him. And telling him to quit while he's ahead.

... But Makoto's gonna do it anyway.

Or already has.

I love his answer though, it's so utterly Makoto.

They were people, they weren't born evil and I see hope in them.

... Fine I'll give Munakata a chance but I'm 👀watching you mister.

Hmm let's see, the buildings shaking and there's a bunch of dead bodies in a toilet stall.

Killing game tiiime.

I love the idea of Kyoko abd Asahina just shoving Yasuhiro outside.

Glad he looks the most changed, because he always was the oldest.

Aaand rocket missles.

Man Makoto just getting treated like shit... What would holding him down do? He's already injured.

I get that he's Lucky but it's not always good... As your about to see.

I will say I appreciate Munakata being level headed in the crisis. He might be vice chairman but he's definitely a leader.

Kinda like how Kyoko is Makoto's boss but when it comes to it, Makoto is definitely the leader between them. With Kyoko as his second.

Which is a neat parallel between him and Munakata.

Welp there's the sleeping gas.

And we're waking up disorientated and confused.

With... Bracelets? So at least Makoto got the handcuffs off.

Monokuma's suprise shouldn't make me laugh but here we are.

Makoto looks horrified, poor guy. I think he could've gone his whole life without hearing that again.

Poor boy, got arrested, beat the fuck up, and now relieving the worst experience of his life again.

With all the people who want him dead.

... Fuck man..

I hope the confusion is more what the fuck are you and not what is that?

Because I'm sorry if you don't know what a Monokuma is by now...you're really bad at you're job.

But ohhh boy we really are back in buisness.

"We'll make it a game, you millenials are into that aren't ya."

👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

Makoto, I appreciate the early Hope speech because fuck Monokuma.

But literally everyone but your friends and Chisa maybe want you dead.

...and hun, you know how this works.

Makoto being instantly horrified and pissed off is the Makoto I need more off.

.... And they fucking killed Chisa.

I don't think we've ever had an opening kill? But... Fuck man, I was expecting her to survive.

... Nope... And oh man it's so brutal, the red blood really makes it worse.

And now Munakata's grieving and pissed...

Which means one of the more level headed dudes isn't gonna be anymore.

Man...Games begun.

Monokuma addressing Makoto by name like an old friend just adds to it.

Fuck man we in for a ride.

[mistresspotterhead]

The American Ymbryne- Chap. 1

Alma Peregrine x fem!reader

Warnings: Yelling, slamming hands on a table, being outed (kind of)

Words: 1,900 on the dot

A/N: Wow, this took a lil bit. Alma doesn’t appear until the very end of this chapter, but she’ll be in the next one a lot. Everyone has been so kind, and that has helped a lot <3. Also: Miss Saker indicates the type of bird you are, not your given name. I hope you guys like this. 😊😊😊

Tags: @itsonlydana @evil-feather @merci-bitch @multimilfs @escapetodreamworld @gay-and-sad-tm @multifandomfix @romanottsmaximoff @n0thing-is-real-exe​ @theaudreymere 

(ask if you want to be added/removed)

In a strange way, Cairnholm reminded you of the Chicago loop you and your wards had just fled from. They were both very dreary, cold, and, from what you could tell from those on the ferry, the people would rather be anywhere else. 

“M-miss Saker? I’m cold.” The bundle of talking coats shivered next to you. 

“I know, Astrid. We’re almost there, though.” You sighed and looked out toward the slowly approaching coastline. Your surviving children, Elina, Alexander, Leonard, and, of course, Astrid, all huddled closer to you. You stared at Cairnholm for a while longer, until the ferryman’s voice suddenly called out.

“Alright everyone, ‘ere we are! The… lovely… Cairnholm!” He steered the small ferry over to the somehow smaller docks, and you led your children out.

“Is everyone here? Astrid, Leo, Elina, Alex?” David, Beth-Anne, Lisa, Frankie, June, Stefanie, Josef, Alice, Rosie, Reggie. You suppressed the urge to call out their names as well. 

“Yes, Miss Saker,” they called in long-suffering voices- you were very adamant about attendance. It was good to see something was normal.

“All right then. Leo, can you see where the loop is? And Alex, are there any other peculiars near?” Ah yes, your diviners. It was very lucky for all of you that they were two of those that survived the wight’s invasion of your loop. 

Your Chicago loop near the Art Institute was one of the last surviving loops in America maintained by an Ymbryne, along with your South Side, McKinley Park, and St. Louis loops, though the latter was run mainly by its older wards and reset once a week.

As of a fortnight ago, though, the Art Institute loop was the only one you had. McKinley Park was attacked by Wights and Hollows in December, with South Side following close in early January. Samuel, the sole survivor of McKinley Park, was what Syndrygasti call a Librarian. He could see hollows and alerted you to them when you were traveling to St. Louis for reset. The problem with this, though, was that Sammy was only five years old, and so frequently got distracted.

It wasn’t hard to understand- Illinois in 1975 was very colorful. Sammy was gone now, though, as were all most all of your children. Speaking of… 

“There aren’t any other peculiars on the island, Miss Saker- at least not in this time,” Alex said, startling you out of your thoughts.

“Thank you, dear. How are you faring, Leo? Have you located the loop? I don’t like being out in the open for this long.” For emphasis, Elina gave a giant, chattering shiver that was surely exaggerated.

“Indeed, but it is on the other side of the island, and the night is fast approaching.” 

You looked over and scowled at the sun; if you couldn’t get rest, then why was it allowed to?

“Well then. It looks like we’ll have to go into town.” Immediately, protests arose.

“Aw, no!”

“Come on, Miss Saker! We can make camp out here!”

“Because that sounds comfortable,” Leo deadpanned to Astrid.

“Well, it’s better than town! There probably isn’t even a hotel!”

“Actually, Astrid, that’s where you’re wrong.” Astrid looked shocked at the suggestion that she could ever be incorrect at something. “There is a hotel. It’s called the….” You took out the crumpled guidebook the ferryman had given to each tourist. “Preist Hole. What kind of hotel is called the Priest Hole?” You muttered that last part to yourself. “Anyway, off we go. Come along, single file now.”

Your ducklings dutifully arranged themselves from youngest to oldest, seven-year-old Elina closest to you and sixteen-year-old Leo at the back.

You hoped that the food was at least good.

Nope. Everything on the Preist Hole’s menu was covered with vinegar. You wondered if that was a Welsh thing or a Cairnholm thing. Maybe the owner just liked vinegar. Next to you, Elina was grimacing with every bite. On a whim, you decided to flag the bartender down.

“Hey, Kev, was it?” He grinned widely at you. You gave him a small smile in return.

“Yes, ma’am, that’s me. What can I do for you ‘n yer bunch today?” 

“I was just wondering if you had some fries- sorry, chips- with less vinegar. My youngest is still picky.”

“Hmm. Well, I’ll talk to Arnie ‘n see what he can whip up fer ye. He’s the cook, ye see.”

“Thank you so much, sir.” You attempted a bigger smile, but it still felt forced.

“Naw, it ain’t a problem, really. ‘N please, call me Kev. Sir sounds like I’m fifty- ‘n I’ve still got twenty years ‘fore that,” he chuckled.

“Well then, you must call me y/n.”

“Of course, ma’am- y/n, sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“It’s alright, Kev.” This time, your smile was a small bit genuine- his hesitancy was endearing.

“Yeh. Well, um, I’d better talk teh Arnie now. I’ve kinda been lingering here for a while.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to keep you from work, anyway.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t object if yeh did,” Kev concluded, winking before walking away.

Once he was out of earshot, Astrid started chittering.

“Ooh, was that flirting I saw, Miss Saker?” You rolled your eyes, and Alex guffawed into his water.

“Miss Saker? Flirt with a guy? I think Elina would drink an entire bottle of vinegar before that happened.” You turned your head sharply in his direction, but not before Astrid snapped back at him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You jerk your head toward her now.

“Well, Miss Saker isn’t really the type to, ah, dabble in the male gene pool.” It was like you were watching tennis, really, with all this head-turning.

“That doesn’t make any-”

“ENOUGH!” You stood up, placing your hands on the bar. “This is not a discussion we are having, especially not here and now. Alex, I told you that information in confidence, and I am severely disappointed that you have betrayed that. Astrid, whether or not I am flirting with someone, and really my love life in general, is none of your concern. Do you both understand?”

They nodded, Alex looking especially ashamed of himself.

“Sorry, Miss Saker. It just slipped out.”

You sighed and ignored all the stares you and your wards were getting because of your outburst. 

“Alright, Alex. Just… you can’t share things that people tell you privately.”

“Yes, Miss Saker.” He was quiet after that, poking at his food.

It bothered you that he had shared that information, though it didn’t seem as if the other wards had understood. Of course, Leo was the only one you would expect to, as he was sixteen, but he had been sheltered in your loop his entire life. All of your wards had, really.

Just as you were beginning to sink into your past again, Kev came out with Elina’s new plate of fr- chips.

“Here ye are, little lady. I hope you like these better.” He smiled at Elina, tugging a small one out in return. You both watched expectantly as she took a tentative bite. And another. And another. Until the plate was almost gone, and she was rubbing her stomach in contentment.

“Well, that was fast.”

“It was good, Miss Saker. I wasn’t going to let it cool.” You laughed at the disapproving look on her face.

“Alright, alright. I suppose you have a good point.” You turned to Kev. “Thank you again, sir, for-”

“Kev.”

“...right. Thank you for doing this. How much will it cost?” You were ruffled at his interruption, but he didn’t notice. He pretended to think for a moment.

“Hmm… how much will makin’ a little girl ‘n her mam happy cost? I dunno.” He smiled at you. “It’s on the house. I can see that ye haven’t had such a good day, so….”

“Really? Are you sure? I mean, I have the money….”

“I’m completely sure. It’s good te make someone happy once in a while.”

“Well, I truly do thank you. It also seems that we’ll need a room, if that’s alright?”

“Sure. Room four was just recently vacated. It’s right up here.” He led you up the stairs, the kids trailing behind.

The room was small for five people, but it seemed like a mansion to the children, who only had their old, overcrowded loop to compare it to. There were four rickety beds, though they did seem to be clean, and a barren nightstand next to each of them. 

“Ah… I forgot that this only had four beds. I can get ye another room, or-”

“No, no, this is fine. Thank you for your help, Kev.” You subtly ushered him toward the door.

“Oh- well, if ye need anythi-”

“Yes, of course. Ta, then! Have a nice day!” You shut the door, leaving him very confused.

Alex was wheezing on the floor behind you.

“That… that was absolutely amazing Miss Saker! You are an absolute icon!” 

What in Abaton does that mean? You never could understand the new slang terms that the 1970s held. 

Elina yawned, setting off all the other children and alerting you to their needs.

“Alright then, time for bed.” Immediately, they were completely awake.

“I’m not tired at all, Miss Saker, therefore I shan’t be able to fall asleep.” 

“The fact that your accent is coming out very strongly tells me that you are indeed tired, Leo.” You crossed your arms. “Bed. now.” Your wards slouched, and grudgingly picked out a bed each.

“Miss Saker, where will you sleep tonight?” Astrid asked as you were tucking her covers in.

“On the floor, of course. Now, did you remember to take off your gloves?”

“But it won’t be comfortable! The floor is so hard and cold and dirty and-”

“Your gloves, Astrid.” She was very talkative, even late at night, though you had come to enjoy it. Sometimes.

She took off the gloves that helped control her peculiarity and was about to start chattering again when Elina suddenly spoke up from her bed in the corner.

“I could make you a nest with a spare blanket, Miss Saker?” You gave her one of your very rare genuine smiles.

“That would be lovely, Elina.”

“Wait- how did she know you were going to sleep in bird form?” Alex asked, finally catching on. You smiled again at Elina and kissed her on the forehead.

“She’s made me a little nest before when I fall asleep in my study while in bird form.”

“And that happens often?”

“Surprisingly so. Now, snuggle in and no more talking.” As the children said their goodnights, you finally transformed into your bird form; a stunning saker falcon. You jumped lightly onto Elina’s bed, careful not to hurt her with your razor-sharp talons or accidentally hit her with your wing (which had happened on more than one occasion). 

Though you nestled into the warm bunch of blankets right away, you didn’t fall asleep until much later, and even then, you were restless all night. 

---

Little did you know, in the old manor that you would trek to the next day, a group of peculiars and one very curious ymbryne had observed all of this. Alma LeFay Peregrine set her watch and gave the children a reassuring smile while she pondered what this meant and why her stomach had fluttered when you gave that dazzling smile.

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: VII

Sunflower, my eyes

Want you more than a melody

Let me inside

Wish I could get to know you

Sunflower Vol. 6, Harry Styles

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

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

word count: 26.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because surprises are fun.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not like you have standards.”

“Hey!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s debatable.” Xander corrects. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s the point.” 

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

“Your dick’s probably small, anyways.” 

“Bigger than yours.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

Y/N isn’t lost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a nervous truth hidden underneath her words, and Harry knows it, but that doesn’t stop it from making his skin itch as the casual phrase sinks into his body.  In all his years, however, Harry’s gotten quite good at hiding his emotions, and this is no different.  

Instead of giving a sincere answer, Harry hardens his reply of “F’course I wouldn’t, pet.  Y’can never be too careful.” by letting one jeweled hand drift from Y/N’s hip to her backside, cupping it gently to support her, and taking delight in the way he can feel her body tense beneath his new touch.

It takes Y/N a moment to find her breath again, and when she does, all she can muster is a hum in the back of her throat. “Mhmm.” She sighs, trying her best to refocus on the books lining the shelves in front of her as she climbs higher. “Is that why your hand is grabbing my ass, you pervert?”

“Y’know, that seems to be your favourite nickname for me.” Harry’s smirk deepens as he contracts his hand, squeezing her fleshy backside after she takes another step higher. “I wonder why that is?”

“I wonder.” The flat response echoes from Y/N’s mouth as she pulls another book from the shelf to examine it before replacing it a moment later. “Maybe— and this is just a suggestion, so take it with a grain of salt, but— maybe if you didn’t act like a pervert, you’d get a nicer nickname.”

Although Y/N’s retorts are droll and to the point, Harry can hear the way her heartbeat begins to stutter each time he massages her, and it’s that fluttering rhythm that encourages him to grasp the sides of the ladder with both hands and pull himself up a couple rungs. 

“A nicer nickname, huh?” He breathes in her ear, pressing his chest to her back both to be close to her and to give her more support on the ladder. “Like ‘slut’?” Harry stifles the groan that nearly rolls from his throat when he feels Y/N stiffen. “That’s one of your favourites, isn’t it?”

“I—” Swallowing down the sudden lump in her throat, Y/N grips the sides of the ladder tight between her hands, her skin stretching over her tense knuckles as Harry’s breath begins to hit her neck. “Maybe. I...I suppose.”

Harry laughs quietly as he takes another step up the ladder, keeping himself braced against Y/N as he begins to smear kisses along the side of her neck, mindful of the iron cross that still hangs there. “You suppose?” He repeats, his tone slightly mocking when he hears the mortal shudder. “What about your other favourites?  Y’like when I call you my pretty little plaything, don’t you?”

The honey and lavender fragrance wafting over Harry intensifies as Y/N’s blood pumps faster and faster, the only sound emerging from the human girl being a quiet whimper from the back of her throat.

“There’s another one, though… another nickname…” Letting his teeth gently graze her earlobe, Harry whispers directly in Y/N’s ear, keeping his voice low and throaty as he does so. “It’s on the tip of my tongue, baby...” He suckles sloppily along her pulsing neck, delighting in the taste of her sweet skin in his mouth. “Remind me what it is?”

Already, Y/N’s breathing has grown ragged, and he waits a moment for the aroused girl to form a response, encouraging her with every nip of his teeth.  Just when Harry is about to ask again, she manages to choke out a reply.

“Whore.” She whispers, the embarrassment in her voice overpowered by the lust running through her veins. “I like it when you call me your whore.”

“That’s my good girl.” A satisfied smile tugs at the edge of Harry’s lips as he stamps a gentle kiss to Y/N’s jaw. “That’s another one, too.  My good girl.  And because you’re my good girl…” Harry snakes his right hand from the rung of the ladder to the buttons of Y/N’s overalls, deftly undoing the side snaps and gradually slipping his hand into the space between the denim and her clammy skin. “You’re going to keep looking for your books while I have some fun.”

Y/N lets out a broken gasp as Harry’s fingertips graze over her cotton panties, and her grip on the railing slackens as a rush of heat falls between her legs. 

“Careful, baby.” Harry cautions her, his left hand wrapping around hers and resetting her grasp on the ladder. “Can’t have any fun if you let go, hm?”

“We—” She twists her head to the side, straining to look over her shoulder and towards the entrance as Harry’s digits dance over the dampening spot on her panties. “Someone could walk in, Harry—”

Of course someone could, Harry thinks, but exhibitionism is so much easier to indulge when one has inhuman hearing that can detect the pounding of an approaching heart from fifty feet away.  He doesn’t disclose this information to Y/N, however, for a number of reasons, and instead chooses to scrape his teeth along the shell of her ear once more, his ruby lips soothing the marks instantly. 

“You let me worry about that, alright?” He murmurs lowly, sliding Y/N’s cotton panties to the side and dragging his index and middle finger through her dripping folds, enjoying how she shivers against his chest. “You just focus on finding the book you want and being a good little whore for me, princess.  Let me take care of the rest.”

When Y/N reflects on this moment in bed tonight, her clammy palms twisting around the sheets as she inhabits the memory of Harry’s mint-scented breath swirling around her as he massages two fingers around her throbbing clit with a teasing touch, one specific detail will stick out to her.  She won’t focus on how her heart is pounding so hard that she feels her chest might burst, or how her fingers shake as she reaches for another book on the shelf, per Harry’s quiet but intent instructions.  The thing that Y/N will remember in wonder and— on some level, self consciously— is how quickly the anxiety that spikes through her veins at the possibility of someone walking in and finding the two of them in such a compromising position bleeds into a high like no other.

Y/N likes to entertain the idea that she’s fairly adventurous, and has been open to a lot of things, especially since meeting Harry, but this— allowing him to finger her in a music room at an antique mall, where any customer or employee could discover them— is something so outside of her character that Y/N can’t think straight.  When Harry first slips his long middle finger inside her slick center, the girl nearly collapses, and Harry’s broad chest braced behind her is the only thing that keeps her upright on the ladder.

“Y’like that, doll?” Harry’s hot breath rolls over her neck as he purrs the words, adjusting his grip on the side of the ladder as his other hand skillfully toys with the human in slow and deep strokes. “Filthy little thing, you are, letting me play with you like this.”

The sinful remark draws a mewling moan from Y/N’s mouth as her head dips back onto Harry’s sturdy shoulder, her hands dropping all pretense of searching for a book and clutching the ladder like she normally clutches her sheets, or the headboard of whoever’s bed Harry has tossed her onto. “H-Harry…” She whimpers, her eyelashes fluttering as he circles his thumb around her clit. “Fuck…”

“You pretend to be so sweet, but you and I know the truth, don’t we?” The vampire sponges another kiss along her throat as he delights in the wet sounds his fingers make, which easily become drowned out by the quiet noises of bliss leaving his lover’s mouth. “You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

Y/N nods fervently as she allows her weight to fall back against Harry’s sturdy chest, trusting him to support her as he thrusts another finger inside her. “Anything, H, I—” The desperate proclamation is cut off as Harry curls his digits, bumping against the spot in the pit of her tummy that sets her entire nervous system on fire. “Shit, right there, baby, right there…”

Harry’s smug voice rings in her ear as he slows his stride, dragging his fingers in and out of her hot core at a pace that’s nearly criminal. “Y’don’t need to tell me, I know.” He pushes himself forward again, flushing Y/N between his chest and the ladder with just enough room to continue his activities. “I know what you like, how you like it, where you like it… Know my girl so well.”

As Y/N adjusts to the newly close proximity, the bulge in Harry’s slacks grows more apparent, rubbing against her backside over and over with each plunge of Harry’s fingers.  She lets out a strangled whine at the feeling, carving her teeth into her bottom lip in an effort to keep herself quiet. 

“You feel me, don’t you, minx?” Harry moans into her ear, catching his teeth along the shell before dragging them down her jaw to settle his lips just above her throbbing pulse point. “You feel what you’re doing to me?  How just a single whimper from those pretty lips, and one touch of your soaked cunt makes my cock ache?”

Despite her best efforts, a ragged sob breaks through Y/N’s self-imposed gag order, and her chest heaves within Harry’s tight embrace as her head lolls to the side. “I-I want it.” She pleads, her half-lidded eyes struggling to find Harry’s emerald irises in her haze. 

Those sea glass eyes, darker than she’s ever seen them, widen with fake surprise as his mouth curls into a smirk.  When Harry replies, his normally soothing dulcet voice is filled with insincere mocking. “Oh, you want it, do you?  You want me to fuck you in here?” Dropping his voice to its usual low resonance, Harry growls the next phrase in the human’s ear. “I know you want it, you fucking slut.  But you can’t have it right now.  So if I’m going to let you cum—” The conditional phrase pulls a sound of protest from her throat. “—then you’re going to have to do it around my fingers.” 

The begging girl cries out against his neck as her walls clench around his touch, the stifled pants that she gasps into Harry’s ear urging him to speed up.  Instead of giving her what she wants, Harry curls his fingers inside her, pressing deeper into that spongy spot to elicit another broken whine from her.  When he receives it, however, it’s accompanied by an unexpected blinding burn. 

The iron cross that hangs so delicately around Y/N’s fragile throat has slung to the side in her writhing pleasure, finding its way from her flushed collarbones to the base of Harry’s icy neck.  The vampire grinds his teeth as he feels the brand begin to form, choking back the sound of agony that fights its way out of his mouth.  His left hand clenches around the ladder, his knuckles stretching white as the waxed wood nearly splinters under his palm, while his right hand stutters its pace inside his lover, prodding harshly at her G-spot as a single grunt makes it past the cracks of his teeth.

Harry knows he needs to remove the cross from his skin, but he has no way of doing so without alerting Y/N to his discomfort.  If he lets go of the rung, both of them will tumble off, and Y/N has made it obvious how much she trusts him to keep her safe; that option is hardly an option, Harry thinks, struggling to keep his mind present as he fights through the pain.  The other option— the only one, really— is to retract his fingers from between the mortal’s thighs, feign some excuse as to why, and do his best to keep her from noticing the cross-shaped burn mark on his neck that will surely disappear within a few moments of the iron being removed.  It’ll be jarring, he knows, to pull Y/N from the subspace he can tell she’s beginning to slip into, and Harry hates it, but there’s nothing to be done.  His hand contracts inside her, desperately massaging her walls one last time before he retreats to—

The sharp action drags a mangled whine from Y/N’s throat, the sound more shattered than anything Harry has ever heard from her before, and it pulls Harry’s attention from the charring sensation of the cross branding his skin to the overwhelmed girl in his arms.  As Y/N lets her entire body fall against Harry’s chest, her eyes completely shut as she gives into the pleasure bubbling in her tummy, a realization dawns on Harry, searing him nearly as much as the metal on his inhuman flesh: he can’t let go of her.  He’s in too deep— literally, obvious in the way she tightens around his fingers— and if he were to stop now, Y/N would go into a sensitive daze that he can’t deal with in a public space.  If he lets go of her now, he’ll lose the connection he’s spent the last two months making. She might get over it, given that it’s just an orgasm, but subconsciously, there’s a possibility she could resent him for it. Especially in the extremely delicate phase she’s in at the moment. 

He knows it sounds stupid, but he can’t risk that.  He just can’t.  He’ll take burning agony over that any day. 

When Harry reflects on this moment in bed tonight, his jeweled fingers carefully combing through Y/N’s knotted locks as she shifts in his arms, the bite mark on her neck freshly faded to a light bruise, her chest rising and falling gently with quiet breaths, one specific detail will stick out to him.  He won’t focus on the blinding pleasure of Y/N grinding against his hardened bulge, her body moving of its own accord as she gives in completely to the sensations Harry pulls from her.  He won’t focus on the explicit moans that show she’s given up on attempting to quiet, her voice reverberating in Harry’s mouth as he inhales every desperate breath she exhales.  When Harry reflects on this moment, the thing he’ll remember the most is how the second he accepted his fate— that he’d have to bear the pain in order to keep Y/N happy, and he feels like there’s probably some deeper subliminal message hidden beneath that realization, though he refuses to indulge it— the mortal girl tilts her head to the side and begins to kiss Harry’s neck, soothing the scorched mark with her silky tongue. 

The relief is so sweet that Harry nearly cries out a fractured mewl, letting his head fall forward into Y/N’s shoulder to hide his desperate expression.  She continues to whimper into his skin, smudging kiss after kiss on his marked neck as if she knows how badly he needs it.  Even as her orgasm begins to rise in her belly, consuming her every thought, she continues to suck bruises onto his jugular, dragging her tongue over his cool skin repeatedly after every action.  Although the iron still stings, the sensation of Y/N’s textured tongue swiping over it turns the pain to pleasure, and it’s not long before Harry has himself centered once again, refocused on the task at hand. 

He speeds up the movement of his fingers, focusing on curling them inside her as his thumb rubs quick circles over her throbbing clit.  The sounds bouncing around the room are so lewd that Harry almost wishes someone would walk in, even if only to see how good Harry is capable of making his lover feel. 

“Y’can cum for me, baby.  Cum all over my hand.” He mutters in her ear, his teeth scraping against her fragile skin in desperation. “I know you have it in you.  Show me how good you are.”

Y/N feverishly grinds against his hand, all of her senses overwhelmed by the immortal as she licks across his neck. “So—so close, Harry—I—”

“I know, I know you are.” The vampire soothes her in a tone more gentle than he thought possible, palming her soaking cunt with as much pressure as he thinks she can stand. “Let go for me.  I’ve got you.”

The reassurance is the final thing Y/N needs to fall apart, and once she knows that she can, it happens with an intensity that shocks even her.  When the coil inside her belly snaps, a guttural moan tears from her mouth, and she grasps the pole in front of her as tightly as she can while collapsing back into Harry’s chest. 

“Fuck, there we go, yeah? Shhh, keep it down for me, angel. Don’t wanna have to stop until you beg me to.” 

Her grip on the ladder does nothing to support her, but as Harry’s hushed words ring in her mind, she knows she doesn’t have to worry about that.  Harry’s arms and chest are strong enough to do it for her, allowing her to sink into her pleasure as much as she needs to. 

When Y/N slumps in his arms, her neck finally shifts enough that her cross falls back into its designated position between her collarbones, providing Harry with relief from the scorching pain he’d been beginning to adjust to.  He can feel his skin begin to heal itself the moment the iron leaves it, and with that small fear tamped down, the creature can turn all his attention to the girl in his arms. 

He slowly and carefully retracts his hand from her panties, shushing the weak squeak that rolls from her lips at the motion. “Good girl.” He mumbles into her ear, kissing her temple softly as her breathing begins to regulate itself. “Shh, you’re alright.  Y’did so well for me, darling.”

The comforting praise comes easily to him, and as he continues to hold Y/N as she regains her previous headspace, Harry begins to wonder just how far he’d be able to push her before she reaches her limits.  How far into subspace can she go before she hits the point of no return?  Could Harry successfully guide her there and lead her back?  Could she ever trust him enough to submit fully to his every request, taking solace in the knowledge that he can take care of her as well as— or better, even— she can take care of herself?  Harry wants to think yes, but he can’t dwell on the idea any longer; Y/N’s beginning to shift against him again, and he’ll never be able to earn that wholehearted trust if he doesn’t tend to her now. 

Lifting his hand to his own lips, Harry wraps his tongue around his drenched fingers, lapping at the sweet wetness that coats them down to his rings.  He hums in appreciation, stippling another tender kiss to Y/N’s neck when he retracts his fingers from his mouth. 

“Taste so sweet, y’know that?” He whispers, the question half a test to see how aware Y/N is as her head begins to clear. “C’mere, I want you to taste.”

Y/N lazily tilts her head to the side, a small smile playing on her lips as they meet Harry’s for a slow kiss.  Trailing his fingers down her side, Harry skillfully buttons the side of her overalls again, adjusting the fabric to lie comfortable against her skin.

“How are you feeling, hm?” He murmurs, rubbing his large hand soothingly over her belly as her breathing begins to regulate again. “How was that?”

“I feel…” Y/N struggles to make sense of her swimming head, resting it against Harry’s shoulder as she tries to form a coherent response. “Good.”

Harry sighs with relief, smearing a quick kiss to her cheek as he grins. “Good.  That’s good.” 

With his right hand still wrapped around her middle, he carefully lowers himself and Y/N from the ladder, keeping a tight grip on the girl until he knows her feet are planted firmly on the ground. 

As the afterglow of her climax begins to fade, a heated flush begins to crawl up Y/N’s spine to settle on the apples of her cheeks. “I, um—” The corners of her lips tug upwards with a bashful tone, and she twists around in Harry’s arms to shyly meet his canopy green eyes. “I can’t believe I did that.” 

“You didn’t do anything.  It takes two to tango, pet.  And, honestly…” Harry flashes a boyish simper at her as he yanks her closer to him by her hips. “I think I did most of the work.” 

“That’s true.” A breathless laugh stutters from Y/N’s chest as she curls her hands around Harry’s bulging biceps, steadying herself from the after effects of her orgasm, which are turning her legs to jelly. “I could, um…” She flicks her eyes from the door to the prominent bulge in Harry’s black slacks before capturing his gaze in hers again. “Return the favour?”

Harry snorts as he gives a quick shake of his head, his teeth catching on his bottom lip while he runs his hands down the back of her rumpled shirt. “Not here, baby.  How about we wait until we’re back at my place for you to show me how my sweet girl sucks cock, hm?”

“So it’s alright for you to distract me from my book search to finger me in a public area,” Y/N fakes indignation to distract herself from the ache that’s starting to pulse in her core again at Harry’s proposal. “But the moment I want to suck you off, you say ‘not here’?  What kind of double standard is that?”

Lips twitching in amusement, Harry stifles a laugh as he turns the girl in his arms, pressing her back to his chest once again before wrapping his arms back around her waist. “You’re right.  I distracted you from your book search. How rude of me.” He coos, nodding up to the shelf as he grazes his teeth against her pulse. “Think I see a pretty copy of Sense and Sensibility up there.  Y’think you can reach it, or do you need me to do it, sweetheart?” 

The shuddering of Y/N’s heartbeat contrasts with her heated reply. “I can reach it just fine if you behave yourself.” She shoots back, smacking the hand that’s beginning to wander towards her center again. “Or is that too difficult for you?” 

“It’s extremely difficult when I’m near you.” The reply, while truthful, sends a quiver down Harry’s spine, and he presses a chaste kiss to the human girl’s shoulder before releasing her from his grasp. “I’ll get the book.”

Y/N tugs the hair tie from her locks, shaking them out before pulling them back again in a neat manner. “You know, I never thought I was one for antiquing, but today was fun.” 

“Well, it doesn’t usually involve getting finger-fucked on a ladder,” Harry states bluntly, glancing over his shoulder with a dimpled smile on his face. “So I’m not really sure if today can be the marker for an average antiquing session.”

Y/N’s face boils at the brazen comment, and she tucks a strand of loose hair that she’d missed behind her ear as she swallows hard. “No.” She replies with a soft and timid laugh, shaking her head gently. “I suppose that’s true.” 

Harry hums in reply as he snags the old copy of the Jane Austen novel from the top shelf, climbing down the ladder effortlessly and landing back on the ground with a soft thud. “But I’m glad you had fun.” Harry steps towards Y/N with a satisfied air, gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger as a teasing smile plays on his ruby lips. “And I’m even more glad we found a replacement for that terrible tapestry of yours.”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she smacks Harry’s hand from her chin before snatching the novel from his hands. “Stop being mean to Amanda!  You’ll hurt her feelings.”

A snort boasts from Harry’s throat as he recalls the day she had told him what she’d named the piece hanging from her wall, and he bends down to scoop up the Monet print while shaking his head impassively, clutching it in one hand as he snakes the other around Y/N’s waist once again. “Well, I hope Amanda doesn’t have feelings, because I’m going to burn her.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Oh yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not, because I’m going to hang her over your bed, just so you can stare at her while you fall asleep each night.” 

Harry groans loudly as he guides his lover from the music room and back to the open space of the antique mall. “Please.  If anything is going over my bed, it’s a mirror, not a college freshman’s poor excuse of an attempt at interior design.” 

Y/N wrinkles her nose at the comment, shaking her head at the crude suggestion. “A mirror?  That better be a joke.”

“It was, but now that I’m thinking about it…”

“You’re disgustingly conceited.” 

“Oh please, you lo—” Harry catches himself just before the word love rolls off his lips.  Though he’s said it before when referring to certain aspects of their sex life (like how he loves the way her mouth feels, or how she loves the way he stretches her out), it just seems oddly repulsive to say at this very moment. Too intimate, almost.

Therefore, the creature bites back the offensive phrase and tugs her closer by the waist, covering up his sudden hesitation with his signature smirk. “You like that idea, don’t you, dove?”

Y/N keeps her face neutral as they pass by an older couple examining a grandfather clock. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Sure you don’t.” Harry laughs sharply, nuzzling his face into the top of Y/N’s hair and pressing a casual kiss to the crown of her head. “Need I remind you that your request for my interior design skills is what started this whole thing?”

“And if you had suggested I mount a mirror over my bed, this whole thing would’ve been over before it even had a chance to start.”

“You say that now, but if you were to see the way my cock looks while it slams into your—”

“Harry!” Y/N hisses, blood rushing to her cheeks as he guides her around a corner stacked with porcelain dolls. 

“Fine. No mirror.” Harry relents, a disappointed sigh falling from his lips as he palms Y/N’s waist closer to himself. “But the tapestry needs to be burned.”

“No.”

“Thrown away.”

“No.”

“Folded up and tucked under the bed?”

“Possibly.  And that’s as good an ending as you’ll get.” 

That night, after Harry has satisfied his craving for both Y/N and the sweet liquid that pumps through her veins, and has settled in for his usual nightly routine of rhythmically caressing her back to lull her into a deep slumber, and as he counts the breaths the mortal sighs between nightfall and sunrise while her soft snoring sings a lullaby to his ears, he can’t help but think that…

That yes, this really is as good an ending as he’ll ever get. 

[ckret2]

Alright let’s talk GVK spoilers!!!

My reactions as best I can remember them!

- love how Kong is humanized from the very first scene, like every time he shows up he’s humanized so much more than other titans are. If that was at the expense of other titans being made likable I wouldn’t enjoy it so much, but like, Godzilla is made pretty lovable over the course of Monsterverse, Mothra is too, and all the titans featured for long are given recognizable emotions that let us see them as more intelligent and feeling than “just” animals; so all of them are made understandable/likable/sympathetic. But of them all, Kong is the only one really humanized. Which makes sense, because like, big monkey! Basically our distant cousin!

- And they kept playing, like, normal songs for him, which cracked me up.

- I really appreciated how you could SEE the titans in this movie. After all the weather effects to hide the titans in KOTM, there was such a clear difference in this one from the very start. Kong in the daylight! Godzilla makes his first attack at night, and even then you can see him much more clearly than you can for most of KOTM! Nice!

- after the Iwi were portrayed as silent stoic witnesses in Skull Island, I really appreciated that they took an Iwi character, made her a main character, and gave her dialogue and a real role to play in the story while also keeping her deaf/mute. I think that was a good way to improve on the way that the Iwi got got sidelined in the last movie while still maintaining the worldbuilding!

- I didn’t appreciate so much that, y’know, they murdered the rest of her people off-screen in order to do it. Couldn’t they have gone “her parents died so she got adopted by a Monarch agent that was close to her family, but like, the rest of her tribe is fine”? Or at the very least “their island got fucked up so they had to be evacuated but like they’re settling in somewhere else”? “They’re living under this island dome with Kong and they know what’s up and Monarch’s keeping them in the loop and they decided they’re chill with their new dome home, but this one girl likes to go on adventures with Monarch”? Something? Did we have to kill them all off? Y’all make up an entire fictional indigenous culture and then murder them off-screen when you don’t need them? Just let them live.

- a few minutes in I was like “hold on, we’ve got two characters that speak sign language, we’ve got a giant gorilla, gorillas learn sign language, is there any reason they can’t teach Kong?” and then later I was like “OOOOOH!!” Humans and titans learning how to communicate with each other has been one of my favorite themes to explore in Monsterverse fanfic so I was absolutely tickled to see it getting explored in canon, too.

- That said I think it’s hilarious that the girl managed to teach Kong to sign without, like... anybody seeing. Kong’s hands are above the tree line and there are cameras everywhere, how did NOBODY with Monarch see him signing.

- Bernie’s weaponized being an annoying coworker to such a degree it can only be called an art, and I really appreciated it.

- Godzilla’s extra chonky in this movie and I dig it. Roomie noted he was extra crocodilian and I dig that too.

- “There’s been no confirmed titan sightings in three years” I don’t buy that for a minute. They’re BIG. Rodan NESTS IN VOLCANOES. They found a MOTHRA EGG. Humans have A SCARILY WELL-FUNDED ORGANIZATION DEDICATED SOLELY TO FOLLOWING TITANS AROUND. Like, most of the lore in GVK that I don’t personally like, I can be like “eh... I can tweak it just a little bit with headcanons to make it work for me...” but NO confirmed titan sightings? You expect me to believe ALL of them moved underground when we’d previously seen them all prefer to live above ground? You expect me to believe that now that they’re all AWAKE, they learned how to HIDE?? Uh-uh. And at the end of KOTM there was stuff in the credits about using titan droppings as biofuel, obviously they’re still walking around up top! Can’t take that from me. Nope.

- Who the FUCK is Ren Serizawa and how is he related to Ishiro Serizawa? IS he related? Maybe they just dropped the surname as another “yeah this is a Godzilla movie for Godzilla fans” easter egg but I have a hard time believing that he can’t be somehow related to the other character with the Very Important Last Name who was so important in the last two Godzilla movies. If he is related I’m sure it’s been explained in a tie-in comic or the novelization or something, I’ll look it up later.

- I had to look up how much weight huge battleships can carry while writing a KOTM fic where Ghidorah hitches a ride on one, and y’all, I had to pull weird gravity-negating magic to get him to ride on that boat. Godzilla and Kong woulda sunk that boat like a rock. All I could think during that scene is “this wouldn’t work and I know that because I DID THE RESEARCH and I wasn’t even getting PAID.” I’ll choose to believe that Monarch gets special heavy duty ships designed to carry titans but nobody mentioned it because it wasn’t relevant to Kong’s journey.

- The bit where they could see where Godzilla was swimming because he’d got half a ship hooked to him that was bobbing around on the surface, didn’t Jaws do something like that with a buoy? It’s been ages since I’ve seen Jaws. Anyway good reference.

- Insert “they’re gonna need a bigger boat” joke

- I LOVED the part where they shut down all the ships to get Godzilla to leave. Both because, one, it’s a spectacular callback to KOTM’s “turn off all the guns so he knows we’re not a threat” that makes it seem like now that’s just what Monarch knows what to do to get G to chill out, and two... we know that Godzilla backs off either when he’s killed his enemy or when his enemy has yielded to him. At the end of KOTM—and the end of GVK—the act of yielding is presented as very ceremonial and uniform across species: everyone lowers anything they’ve got that could be dangerous (claws, fangs, beaks, axes) and bows to show Godzilla they’re not gonna fight. Battleships, obviously, can’t bow, but even without being inducted into whatever secret titan cultural intricacies might be going on, humans have figured out their own way to “bow” to Godzilla: cut all the power, so their ships can’t move and can’t use weapons. I know the movie presented it as “playing dead,” but c’mon, if Godzilla could hear MechaG power up from halfway around the planet then he could hear that Kong’s heart was still beating, and he’s been around enough boats to know humans can turn them off and on when they want. The humans bowed to Godzilla. He accepted that they yielded and left.

- Mark Russell looked like such a dad in this movie, like he’s retired 100% from being a rugged action hero and now he’s just Pure Dad. I like him better when he’s a dad, it’s a good development for him. He got like 3 lines and I’m like “I appreciate this character development.”

- Despite all my qualms about how conspiracy theories and extremist groups are handled in Monsterverse (and WHICH conspiracy theories they decide to reference), I really love Madison and Bernie’s dynamic. The adult man who’s the excitable wide-eyed believer in every BS conspiracy you can possibly imagine; and then the serious, severe Teenage Girl On A Mission who’s hypercompetent because she was raised for five years by a friggin doomsday cult militia; and despite having wildly different personalities they’re just, in total agreement about everything. Handled just a BIT differently (like, leaving out the more gross IRL conspiracies) they would be a wildly fun comedic duo—especially with Josh the Only Sane Man coming along as the hapless sidekick. And they all play off of each other so well! Both in a comedic sense, and in more serious moments—when Bernie talked about his wife, there was a real moment of empathy between him and Madison with very little said. I’d watch an entire movie just about the three of them. I’d watch a TV show.

- On the one hand I wasn’t too much of a fan of KOTM’s “all titans... are inherently In Tune With Nature... nature has a Balance, because that’s a Real Thing and not an anthropocentric concept to describe how we like nature to act, and they automatically restore it... because they’re like, some kinda borderline divinities or something... we should probably be worshipping them...” thing; but, now that it was totally absent in GVK, I sorta miss it. Like I feel like there needs to be a balance, a few humans who are like “i lowkey worship these dudes?” and a few others who are like “they’re cool but like, that’s a lil extreme” and that neither side be presented as Right in how they regard titans’ relationship with nature.

- “All titans come from THE HOLLOW EARTH” nah I don’t buy that it’s silly. Basically, what I object to is the idea that all titans have some sort of intrinsic similarity (they all come from the same hitherto-unknown location; they all are part of the same pack that has the same alpha; they all are fueled/fed by the same energy source; etc) rather than letting them be SEPARATE species whose only unifying traits are “they’re all big enough to fuck everything up everywhere they go” and “they’re big enough that the typically-insurmountable barriers between different biomes (mountain ranges, valleys, long distances with terrible weather) aren’t insurmountable for them, so even if they’re specialized in different environments they still all have to deal with each other pretty often.” I’ll make some exceptions for convergent evolution (i.e., claiming multiple titans developed similar traits that are relatively easy to spontaneously evolve and a prerequisite for a creature to survive at such a large size). But I can’t buy “this big gorilla has more biologically in common with this big crocodile-iguana than he does with, say, gorillas,” or most of the other “all these titans have THIS IN COMMON” claims that Monsterverse makes, including “everyone’s from hollow earth.” So I’m tossing that out the window and substituting my own headcanons. Some might’ve evolved there but some evolved on the surface. Maybe a majority of them like ducking in and out of the hollow earth like some kind of titan shortcut system. Kong’s species, I can buy, IS native to hollow earth, considering that they built a whole-ass society down there with tools and architecture.

- I’m SO curious about the little underground Kong home, the Godzilla motif in the floor, and the axe that appeared to be made with a Godzilla scute. What’s the story there??? We know Godzilla’s species and Kong’s species are ancient rivals. Is it because Kong’s species hunted Godzilla’s to steal their scutes to make weapons, seeing them as a valuable resource the way, like, early humans considered woolly mammoths a valuable resource—thus making that Godzilla on the floor equivalent to cave art of mammoths made by people who hunted them—until the Godzillas got pissed and started fighting back en masse? Or were Godzillas and Kongs already enemies when Kongs decided to start making weapons out of their corpses? Did they use to be allies, fighting together, with Godzillas voluntarily offering shed scutes and/or bones of their deceased members to Kongs, and that place used to be a shared home until they started fighting?

- What about that power source, is it something that was already there that both Kongs and Godzillas started to deliberately harvest for technology/atomic breath? Or did Godzillas automatically channel that stuff and Kongs exploited/borrowed/traded with Godzillas to utilize it too? Or is the power from Godzillas who collaboratively poured a bunch of power into the place thus that Kongs were able to use it too? I doubt Godzilla’s species CREATED all that weird energy but the question remains of whether, like, they channel it FROM underground, or naturally produce the same thing in their own bodies, or what.

- Godzilla using his atomic breath to dig a hole STRAIGHT TO KONG just to KICK HIS ASS is hilarious. How lucky that Hong Kong just HAPPENS to be straight over Kong’s house! Were all the tunnels to the hollow earth made by pissed off Godzillas who wanted to kick monkey ass??

- I loved the aesthetic of the battle scene in Hong Kong, with the brightly colored neon building outlines, VERY cool look. The choreography of the battle scene was great too, especially

- we literally broke into applause when Kong shoved the axe handle in Godzilla’s mouth. Love it, perfect callback, that was the ONE thing from the original King Kong Vs Godzilla I was hoping to see referenced and there it was.

- You could really see a difference in how Kong and Godzilla fought—Kong doing a better job at using tools and the environment, Godzilla fighting more like a reptile. They seemed to emphasize Godzilla’s more animalistic behaviors in this movie to accomplish that contrast—he was down on all fours and moving like a crocodile more often, he was clawing at Kong’s chest—but even though it seemed a bit different of a combat technique it also didn’t seem out of place compared to how he fought in prior movies. And we’ve already seen that if Godzilla’s involved in a fight and one of the combatants knows how to use the environment, it’s typically not gonna be Godzilla. (See: Ghidorah using the reflection in a building’s windows to see what’s behind him, and recognizing a nearby power source and biting it to juice himself up.)

- So many of Godzilla’s enemies seem to have specialized in negating his atomic breath in order to combat him! The MUTOs directly suppress his ability to use it—and it makes sense that that’s an inborn ability they have, since they evolved to use Godzilla’s species as prey. Kong has a weapon that both acts as a shield to absorb the breath and turn it back against Godzilla’s species—they didn’t evolve to counter Godzilla, but they developed tools once a rivalry happened. Ghidorah’s the exception—which makes sense, since he came from space—but even at that we see him using tactics specifically to take into account Godzilla’s most powerful weapon (such as keeping one head on lookout for when he starts glowing so that they know when they need to dodge).

- LOVED the reveal that MechaG was based off of Ghidorah’s brain, it has vibes of both the Kiryu Saga and the way that Heisei MechaG is based off of Mecha-King Ghidorah. Not the most surprising plot twist, since we’d theorized that they might use San to make MechaG, but I wasn’t 100% sure they were gonna go with it until they finally did. Even when I was going “huh, the mecha pilot’s chamber looks weirdly organic” I didn’t make the connection to WHY until the reveal, lol.

- “Ghidorah’s necks are so long that the heads have to communicate with each other telepathically” that’s COMPLETELY WILD but I love it, it follows very well from their prior portrayal as telepathic empaths in Heisei, it lines up with their emphasis on electricity (because BRAINWAVES AND ELECTRICITY, hey ho movie monster pseudo science!), and it very much compliments my own private headcanon that they’ve got some psychic/mind control abilities.

- The movie ended with both “Godzilla won, technically” but also “since they teamed up as equals, the ending doesn’t FEEL like ‘Godzilla wins, Kong loses’ but rather ‘they both won against a common foe’” and since I’m on both Team Godzilla and Team They Should Be Friends, I’m happy with this outcome. Plus since the last time they fought, the Japanese movie company graciously let the American monster win, so it’s only polite that the American movie company graciously let the Japanese monster win.

- There were just a few too many humans in this movie. I was intrigued by Ren but we didn’t get much out of him, but like I guess somebody had to be in the pilot’s seat other than the Apex CEO. Didn’t care for the author of the hollow earth book, I feel like his role was superfluous. Didn’t need the Apex CEO’s daughter there at all, coulda done without her. How about this, combine all three roles. Instead of having a whole-ass author who knows about the hollow earth, just casually reference that Rick from KOTM wrote a book about it since he was the expert, and (since he wasn’t in this movie) say that he tragically died going to explore the hollow earth himself, and that way we’ve got the book with the “titans are from there” theory AND an excuse to share the “humans die when they go underground” info. Now, have Ren be working for Apex as a pilot for Mechagodzilla, but have him be MechaG’s pilot because he’s also a good pilot in general, and can fly those HEAV things. Have Apex send him to Monarch to be like “hey, you guys trust me right, since I’m Ishiro Serizawa’s relative? We at Apex have heard all about your failed hollow earth expedition, and due to Ishiro I’ve got some past ties to Monarch so I’ve got high clearance with y’all, so I could bring over this useful Apex tech that’d let you go underground and use what I know about hollow earth from my past time at Monarch to help guide things.” Once they’ve got the little chunk of energy stuff and go topside, he hustles it straight to Apex and straps into his seat to run MechaG. Bam, you’ve combined “person who knows enough about hollow earth to help the expedition,” “person who represents Apex’s interests and gets the energy,” and “person who pilots MechaG” into one character, in a way that takes three flat/underdeveloped characters and turns them into a single interesting character with a lot going on and some intriguing ties to the rest of the cast.

I think that’s everything?? Hoo.

[zozophoenixxx]

Serotonin Booster :D 🐉

How to train your dragon edition

Here are some things I had forgotten or little details I just noticed on my rewatch, maybe even Unpopular Opinions 🤭👀

✨Race to the Edge✨

SEASON 6

I love how the twins were basically the reason Hiccup figured out that Johan was the spy

NOOO THE WAY GOTHI WENT TO TRY AND STOP STOICK FROM THROWING AWAY HER MEDICINE AND THEN GOT THROWN OFF THE CLIFF WAS SO FUNNY [ep2]

Omg that fight between Hiccup and Stoick in ep2 was crazy whenever Stoick said "I'm talking to the expert in getting duped by Trader Johan" and THEN HICCUP WAS LIKE "but I was only duped for half as long as you were. So what does that make you?"

Awww the way both Toothless and Skull-crusher were trying to get them to talk

And also Astrid being the only one that wasn't caught by the Hunters right away, she's just superior bro

I love how both of them were right - Stoick was right to not trust the merchants and Hiccup was right about Johan's plan

Toothless is actually so strong like he's not only agile and clever, I mean he just flew up to the ballista and crashed against it and destroyed it without using his Plasma Blast 😎🤩

Mala and Dagur fighting over where the Dragon Eye lenses are gonna be hidden is hilarious. Mala is so calm I love it

I got chills when Atali was like "no, Hiccup, this is my island I will defend it"

I really want to know the origin of the Wingmaidens, like where did all these women come from? How come they're still there?

I love Minden and Snotlout's relationship, the way he tried to convince her to not give up AND SHE KISSED HIM!!!

Krogan's Singetail actually cares about him

Never gonna get over Adelaide Kane voicing Mala

Also Snotlout running when the dude had the razorwhip on him LIKE HE WAS LITERALLY FLYING AND HE WAS STILL RUNNING Y'ALL HAVE TO WATCH THAT SCENE I JUST DONT KNOW HOW TO DESCRIBE IT ITS IN EP3

Generations ago Fishlegs's ancestors were dragon hunters

The Loyal Order of Ingerman - decimated the Dramillion dragons, pushing them to the brink of extinction

Grump is amazing I love him

Dramillions - have both a lava blast and a magnesium blast. Omnivores. Still being hunted.

The Hunters were founded by Ingar Ingerman

The Dramillion trying to take the manacle off his tail🥺

And when Fishlegs threw his helmet and THEN THE HAND THING 😭🥺

I love the Dramillions they're so smart they learned how to get rid of the manacles by just looking at what Meatlug and Stormfly were doing 🥺

I just realized that the twins are 19 AND I FIND THAT ABSOLUTELY CRAZY HOW CAN THEY BE THAT OLD

I really wish we knew each of their birthdays like I wanna know which one's older and which one's younger

I feel like for some reason the twins would be the oldest ones then Fishlegs then Astrid then Snotlout and lastly Hiccup. Idk I'm still iffy on this

Most Thorstons don't make it to 19

I love the twins' relationship, they love each other so much that they would rather be alone and not form part of a clan than leave each other alone and the fact that other people know this too? Plsss like the only reason Gruffnut got them back into the fake induction trials was by telling them how bad it'd be for each other to not be part of a clan.

Titanwing Zippleback HOW DO THEY KNOW ITS A TITANWING IT LOOKS THE SAME AS THE OTHER ZIPPLEBACKS

"Ughh, what's the point of winning alone? Being a Thorston means nothing without him. We are one Thorston."

I love them and also technically Ruffnut won the induction trials.

THE LAST LENSE GOSH

Love how Fishlegs cares about global warming

I'm all Snotlout, Toothless and the Triple Stryke reacting to Mala and Dagur- I'm also Mala whenever someone tickles me I'LL KILL U

UGHHH I HATE HOW SNOTLOUT MADE HICCSTRID UNCOMFY FOR HAVING A DIFFERENT RELATIONSHIP

Astrid overthinking 🥺😭

"How would you like your yak cooked?" JSHDHHA

bro I love how both Tuff and Toothless noticed the betrothal necklace

"So want to deliver some scrap metal?" Hiccup baby? Why are you so oblivious?

At least he asked her if she was alright in the armorwing's island 😩

No but if I was Astrid I'd be pissed too, the dude saw a dragon eye lens from far way and didn't notice her betrothal necklace? 🙂😤

No I can't that scene was too harsh to watch, I mean I loved to see Hiccup noticing something was wrong with Astrid but then the way Astrid compared their relationship to Mala and Dagur's and then threw him the betrothal necklace... And the way he caught it too I can't- 😭😞😖😭😓🤧

Seeing the twins trying to capture Mala was hilarious JAHDHDHHSHA

I love how when they're fighting Astrid's still there for him whenever he's expected to have all the answers. She ignored her anger and went over to him and grabbed his hand and that single thing was what gave him confidence in a moment of panic 🥺

"I'm with you"

"I know"

That final Hiccstrid scene in Mi Amore Wing was just too perfect, we have Hiccup grabbing Astrid's hand to bring her outside and talk to her, the sunset in the background, every little thing Hiccup told her about being there for her and loving her with everything he had and that he should've noticed the necklace right away AND THEN THAT KISS WAS JUST AMAZING❗️❗️❗️ it was passionate and sweet and Astrid was blushing and then Fishlegs was all uncomfortable and Mala was like "okaaayyyyy😏" and Dagur like "alrighhtttt👌🏼" ig the only thing I didn't like is that Astrid didn't say I love you back 😭 but it's ok cause yk she does I just wished she had said it.

Baby razorwhips love the water

Tuffnut named the baby razorwhip that bonded with Ruffnut, Wingnutt

Top scenes of Ruff Transition ep7

Tuffnut throwing up in Ruffnut's mouth and Ruffnut throwing up in Wingnutt's mouth just do that he could be fed- seeing the windmaiden's reactions is the best lmao

Hiccup trying to teach Ruffnut how to fly (with his dragon flight suit) and then Ruffnut losing balance but Hiccup helping her regain it BUT we still get overprotective Tuffnut jumping off of Toothless to try and help but all he did was make things worse HIS SCREAM WAS HILARIOUS nonono and the way Toothless tried to help BUT AGAIN MADE THINGS WORSE 😩😮‍💨😂

Ruffnut finally figuring out how to connect with Wingnutt and fighting the dragon hunters and saving Atali was so badass and then Atali riding Barf 😭🤩

Hiccstrid kiss count (approximately) : 6😘

The way he slightly and carefully touches her face to reassure her that he'll be fine

The Singetail's only predator is the Skrill

The Berserkers used to use metal daggers to lure Skrills into traps. The dragon is drawn to it due to its electrical properties

VIGGO JUST DID THE HAND THING THING WITH THE SKRILL WTF

If I could have any dragon it'd be in this order

Skrill - it's so badass and powerful

Nightfury - it's badass, powerful, pretty, strong and fast

Deadly Nadder - it's extremely fast and agile, has multiple attacks and the spikes

Dramillion - has multiple attacks and is very smart

Just realized that ep8 is called Triple Cross because 1st Johan crossed Viggo 2nd Viggo fake crossed Hiccup and 3rd Viggo and Hiccup crossed Johan and Kogan

That episode was basically jusr to show Viggo's arc and the way he changed for the better and learned to respect dragons

That's why the Singetails wouldn't leave in ep9 whenever they were trying tp free the Deathsong- their eggs! They're in that island.

I can't with Hiccup and Astrid sitting together just chilling but with Astrid feeling guilty and Hiccup assuring her that he was also at fault 😭

I love Narrator/Author Snotlout! The titles of the chapters of his book remind me of the ones from Pjo

Stoick and Skullcrusher acting as 1 and being worried about each other 🥺 I love their relationship

Also the way Stoick bats off the shots from the Singetails with his axe just like Astrid. They're both truly warriors

No but Toothless asking for a head scratch from Gobber bc he's worried abt both Hiccup and Stoick🥺

The way Toothless tried to make Hiccup feel better- I mean the man blamed himself for putting Stoick in "his deathbed" it was just so awful seeing Hiccup in that state and the way everyone was trying to make him feel better but it was ultimately Astrid who managed to get through to him😭

I love it when they put scenes of the movies

I love how Astrid always knows what to say without lying

Looks like it's you and me, then.

Always... was that corny or-

Probably. Nice, though.

The way Astrid is so natural at being a leader and putting everyone on their places 🤩

That lil moment they had in ep12 where he holds her face and thanks her for everything and I just love them too much 😭

I love how Spitelout is so happy when he's beating ass, this dude literally goes "I'm sure I've had more fun than this. But at the moment, I can't remember when"

Have I mentioned I love the Dramillions before? I love them way too much they're amazing and the sound they make is so 😩 I love it

The Dramillion is a distant cousin of the Changewing which means the Titanwing Dramillion shares the de-cloaking ability with its subspecies.

Stormfly's spine clone was literally so badass, my girl was surrounded and she finished every single dragon flyer with it. Badass move. Wish we had seen it more throughout the series

It really pissed me off that Hiccup had to choose between getting Tuff, Ruff and Snotlout out of that sinking ship when he could've been following Krogan. Like ofc it was the right decision but that wouldn't have happened if the twins and Snotlout didn't follow Gruff into the ship :/

I love how strong Barf and Belch are! They literally carried the a Titanwing Dramillion on their own.

That scene when they figured out that the Titanwing Dramillion is not the King of Dragons but instead the last piece of the puzzle to get to the King of Dragons

When the Wingmaidens got to the battle it was amazing

Also the way Dagur was so proud that the King of Dragons was a Berserker and how Ruff was so excited to see Wingnutt and Snotlout to see Minden🥺

THEY REALIZED THAT BBYS AREN'T AFFECTED BY THE KING OF DRAGONS BC OF THE BABY RAZORWHIPS

that last Hiccstrid Scene where Hiccup is worried about Astrid's safety- I mean his face 🥺🥺🥺 and she told him that his dad would be proud and that she's proud too and when she was about to leave he held her back and kissed her 😭😭

Ik I said this before but I simp for Astrid as a leader, she's just so natural at it

Also I love how the King of Dragons has ice powers instead of fire

WAIT SO IS THE EGG THAT HICCUP FINDS IN THE FINALE THAT THEY GIVE TO VALKA IS THAT THE KING OF DRAGONS THAT VALKA CARES FOR IN HTTYD2?!!

Valka being friends with the Wingmaidens sits absoluteky right with me

no but the way Toothless hesitated when Hiccup told him to leave him and get the egg

I love how all the dragons arrived to fight the dragon flyers, it was just so poetical to me, the dragons finally getting to fight the people that hurt them 🤩

I FINISHED IT AND NOW I'M SAD!!! I loved the end tho and I'm glad we got to see Shattermaster at Dagur's wedding, also Astrid's outfit change- we love that. And them leaving the edge is just so sad bro 😭but I love how we got to see some "insight" ig u could call it on HTTYD2 😭 also seeing Snotlout and Fishlegs's love for Ruffnut start forming was hilarious

[tigerdrop]

so. this is my attempt at posting a 20k-word-long g/t frenrey RP that kogo and i were doing at the start of this year. its not finished and im not sure when were gonna pick it back up, since we are currently working on co-op game theory instead of a filthy RP that takes place like 100k words down the line of co-op game theory. but ive been sitting on it long enough so here u go

i never really planned on posting this anywhere so its really self-indulgent and not as polished as our usual stuff but look. this is a ludicrous amount of erotica im dropping here. cut me a lil slack

anyway, here it is: Gordon Gets A Xen Bath

Gordon tries to keep moving, but eventually his pace slows to a stop, his legs growing heavier and heavier until he can't bring himself to lift them.

"Okay. Okay," he pants, bending over and bracing his hands on his knees. "I can't fucking do this anymore, man! I'm tapped out! We've been walking all day - or, well, I have, I don't know about you. We can't... can't all be alien god fuckers, floating around or whatever." He pauses to catch his breath. Every muscle in his body aches from the strain of hopping around Xen in the HEV suit. Sure, gravity doesn't have quite as strong a hold here as it did back on Earth, and that makes all that metal easier to lug around, but it seems like time doesn't work the same way, either. Gordon can't tell how long it's been. Feels like days.

Smells like it, too, now that he's got a moment to breathe. He's covered in dirt and slime and congealed alien blood and God know what else.  In short, he needs a fucking break. And Gordon aggressively takes one right then and there, dropping to his feet. What's the rush, anyway? "Like we're ever gonna find out way out of this fucking place," he mutters.

> Benrey watches as Gordon collapses, a pile of metal and smells. Odors. Sweat and dirt and tangled hair. His head tilts to the side but his expression remains flat as he lifts his head and gazes out into the vastness of Xen, before turning back to Gordon and furrowing his brow. They hadn't even gotten far, not really, so it doesn't really make sense that he'd just crumple like this.

> He sniffs, shuffling in a circle on his feet as Gordon bitches behind him--something about never escaping Xen, as if Benrey hadn't traveled from one end to the other to find him in the first place--and chews his lip in deep concentration, trying to think of literally anything that would maybe make the guy stop. Stop with the, uh, whining and whinging and "blah blah, we're not all alien god fuckers" or whatever.

> (Though, well, technically, Gordon was an alien god fucker anymore. Their time back with the space maggots and the gun bugs and that skinny doppelganger had seen them in a couple of situations where Gordon happily fucked an "alien god.")

> But. Wait. No. Mind wandering. Wandering to fun places, places more fun than being lost in Xen (though he's not lost; they'll find their way out eventually), but not anywhere useful. And, for once, he has to think along those boring terms. Being, you know, reliable or whatever.

> What matters is making Gordon go. The hamster wheel in his head turns and turns until the rodent is slung clear off and, with a slow blink, Benrey accepts defeat. Ideas are not his forte when he's actually trying to be helpful. He turns to his human, he tilts his head in the other direction, and he waits for his human to look up at him. Then, he speaks without even waiting for eye contact.

> "So, uh... what can best friend Benrey do to... make you. I dunno. Less dumb?"

> Nailed it. Benrey is getting good at this "empathy" thing.

Gordon drags his gaze up from the ground to Benrey, and immediately scrunches his eyebrows up. "Wow, that was almost nice of you," he says, a touch of genuine surprise in his voice. It doesn't outweigh the disdain, though. "You know what? Just don't do anything. The best thing you can do right now is to stand right there and do absolutely nothing... and let me just... catch my breath."

He hopes against hope that, for once, Benrey will do what he says. Despite all the evidence that suggests otherwise. His internal monologue turns a bit haggard. Well, it's not like there's anything he could do about it, anyway. Even if he was fit as a fiddle, if Benrey wanted to fuck off and get lost, there was no stopping him.

He can't hold Benrey's stare for long, though. It's-- it's always harder to look him right in the eye like this. Something about the size of him makes it uncomfortable, like he's staring right through Gordon. So he darts his eyes away, scanning his surroundings. The perils of an alien landscape: all the little islands and chunks of earth start to look the same after awhile. Rocks and strange, angry plants and pools of mysterious fluids. He's seen it all. There's a number of all these things and more around him, but the one thing he finds himself wishing for is something to eat. You can't trust anything out here.

"I just want a burger, man," Gordon groans. "Sick of jumping around like I'm playing some kind of platformer. You know, they never tell you how exhausting this shit is! My heart's-- my heart's racing-- like, adrenaline? Hate fucking jumping over these big-ass pits, I'm tellin' you."

Or, failing that, like, a nap. Or a bath. He vocalizes both of these things before burying his head in his hands. Maybe he could get one of those microsleeps going. If he can just calm the fuck down, anyway.

> Food? Nap? Bath?

> Benrey's mouth curls into a jagged smile. Of course Gordon would just need some of that weird, seemingly pointless human stuff. You would think after two grand adventures of dragging this sad sack around and listening to him complain every two meters, he'd have picked up on the human necessities. Things like 'burger" and "bed time" and "smelling like preferred smells, and not the natural smells that are apparently 'bad.'"

> A huge sigh heaves out of Benrey and he watches in amusement as it makes Gordon's hair puff out of his face. Small little tiny man, curled up on a chunk of rock, not able to embiggen and make things easier. It's sad and pathetic, almost as sad and pathetic as Gordon looks, but Benrey knows he's capable of being a good enough guy for the both of them. A real bro. A best friend.

> Because he knows Xen inside and out for some reason. And he's observant. He's seen things and can do the mental math necessary to figure out how to problem solve, sort of. He's spent enough time floating around Xen to figure out what those sparkly puddles do, and he's seen enough of those people back in the Wrong World eat the not-Lamarrs (or, at least the Vorti-bros did, which were close enough).

> And, well, Gordon could literally sleep anywhere. There was dirt for days, lots of rocks to align the spine. Fun nap places. Good for Gordon.

> With a burst of pride and dagger-toothed grin, Benrey propped his elbow on the island where Gordon was whining and held out his hand, palm up and flat, extended as an open invitation.

> "Oh. Uh. That it? That's, uh... that's a cool I can do. Big cool for you."

He stares, eyes narrowed in confusion. "What? What do you mean, that's a-- What are you doing?"

> "I'm doing a cool," Benrey responds. Though his voice is still fairly flat, there is a bite to it, hidden almost completely under his monotone. As if to emphasize the point, he lifts his hand and slaps it back down into the earth once more in a way he thought was light. Judging from the way the ground shook and the island rocked, perhaps not as light as he'd imagined.

> "Gonna, uh... help. Or somethin'. You gettin' on or you gonna be a babyman about it?"

Gordon yelps as the ground shakes around him, even though he's (relatively) safe on the ground. "Jesus, Benrey! Watch it!"

What the hell is he doing? His eyes dart between Benrey's hand and face as the gears struggle to turn. It's been a long fucking day, all right, and Benrey's... Benrey-isms are hard enough to understand at the best of times. This is supposed to help, somehow. So, scratch the burger. And the nap, too, probably. So, does that mean he wants to--

No. That's stupid. He's stupid for thinking it. Gordon steadfastly ignores the way his ears prickle and shakes his head, like a dog ridding itself of water.

"Please tell me you're gonna just carry me the rest of the way," Gordon sighs. It's a visible effort for him to get back to his feet. "Hey, actually, why didn't you just do that from the get-go? You're not even breaking a sweat!"

He complains, sure, but it doesn't stop him from dizzily shuffling forward and stepping on. Better late than never. He'll have plenty of time to chew Benrey out for this once he's out of this alien hellscape and back in his own goddamn bed.

> Benrey blinks.

> Oh. Yeah. He probably could have carried Gordon, huh? The thought never really occurred to him at first because, well, why would it? Was he a bad guy--a bad friend--for believing that his bestest buddy was a capable man? Color him insensitive for actually expecting things of Gordon, but he'd just watched the guy win Space Invaders in real life.

> After that, traipsing through Xen should have been a walk in the park.

> Best not to point that out, though. Gordon may take offense and, for once in his life, he isn't out to make him mad. He's trying to be good, trying to carry that camaraderie they built from Shit World Without Sony Products back to Good World With Heavenly Sword. Highlighting Gordon's stupid human failings would only work to reset the karma he'd worked so hard to build up in their social link. Or, you know, however humans fucking worked.

> Instead, he lets Gordon crawl onto his hand and then turns away, wracking his mind for the last place he saw a good puddle. After all, it made sense to start with a bath, right? Eating while gross would make Gordon complain, and sleeping while gross wouldn't be much better. Drifting past island after island, his head swivels to see if maybe there are some good candidates going forward.

> And there's... really not. Testicle stalks. Pointy rocks. Less pointy rocks. Tit-on-stilts that is aggressively spitting little Lamarrs over the edge of a rock chunk that looks like Swiss cheese. Benrey isn't sure what it's hoping to accomplish, but it's sure as fuck not accomplishing it.

> Then, he sees it, in the distance: A glittering pool of blue that sparks like electricity and glitters like cheap body mist. A strange smell, not unlike Sweet Voice, wafts from its direction. It's certainly one of the Good Smells Humans Like. Gordon will love it.

> Wordlessly, he glides toward it. Gordon's smart. He'll know what he's getting at.

Benrey's not saying anything, which is mildly concerning, but he is looking around like he knows what he's looking for. And when Benrey fucks off, Gordon in tow - held in a grip that's a little looser than he likes - Gordon lets his brain wind down for the first time in... a long while. Flying around Xen like this is nervewracking, yeah, but in a way he's more equipped to handle. Benrey's chest at his back helps. It's solid as a wall and deceptively warm, and if he keeps himself pressed flat against it, he can almost forget about these bottomless pits they're flying over.

He lets Benrey go like that for an indeterminable amount of time. (He may have dozed off a little.) But Gordon comes back to himself once Benrey's velocity changes. Gets a bit more pointed. Eventually, Gordon puzzles out that he's heading for one island in particular, one with a shimmering pool on its surface. Not exactly what the endgame was.

Wait. Gordon's brain chugs. He was looking for... some kind of water? Oh, Christ.

"Wait, were you being serious about the bath thing?" he asks as they approach. "I-- I wasn't being that serious about it! Getting out of here kind of seems like the more important thing!"

> "Huh?"

> The word falls off of Benrey's lips despite the fact he actually heard everything Gordon said. He heard him and even registered him, but he just didn't get him. After all, he's fairly certain that Gordon wants a bath considering it was one of the big things that spewed out of his mouth when he was being all needlessly fussy before, so why isn't he just saying it? Owning up to it?

> Was it because it was a detour? Slowing them down? Or was it just Gordon being whatever-the-hell-Gordon-was?

> Yeah, that had to be it. Gordon just doesn't want to get side-tracked. That's fair, he supposes. Or, at the very least, he assumes that's what a human would consider fair, considering how obsessed with "time" and "schedules" and "fast" they all were.

> "Real quick dip," Benrey promises, hoping to put Gordon's mind at ease; it was a far cry from what he typically did, so he could only hope it landed properly, that he was saying the right things and had the right inflections. "Real fast. Get'cha all nice. Wet. Uh. Soaps and hygiene. You know."

"Oh my God, man, it's gonna be a whole fuckin' production!" Gordon agonizes as Benrey brings them to that strange, glittering watering hole. "Saving the world's kinda time-sensitive, you know? And it's always such a hassle getting in and out of this thing! And-- Okay, hold on, you actually want to-- Okay. Fine. Look, I'm just saying, this is weird even for you, Benrey!"

Soaps. Hygiene. You know. Letting his best frenemy peel him out of his suit so he can scrub him clean, like normal people do. A shiver runs down the back of Gordon's neck. There's gotta be some kind of catch, but honestly, he's having a hard enough time keeping up with events as they're written. If there's some kind of malicious subtext to this whole thing, well, that's not his problem. He's got more important things to worry about, like convincing Benrey that it would be a little more prudent to just keep forging on rather than waste valuable time on a bath.

...Unfortunately, he's close enough to smell whatever it is that wafts off the surface in waves, and it makes Gordon's resolve waver. It's a clean smell, warm and vaguely fruity, with an undercurrent of salinity. Like a shower that's just been used, almost. God, he'd really like that, wouldn't he.

> The words don't really have weight to them anymore. If Benrey had a nickel for every time Gordon called him "weird" or told him he was endangering the world by taking detours, he'd have enough nickels to melt them down and make a big-ass nickel. And, judging from the way even Gordon's mouth wasn't running anymore, it didn't seem like Gordon had put any weight into his own words, either.

> Which was good. Real good. It meant Benrey was doing a nice job of not pressing every one of Gordon's buttons like a kid in an elevator, and being a proper friend. Best friend. More than friend? God, he fucking wished.

> And he'd shut up right in the nick of time, too, because the urge to tease is building up inside of Benrey like pressure in a flaming aerosol can. It's hard not to want to pick at him when Gordon is griping like this, just goading him on with his (strangely cute) bullshit. Benrey mentally pats himself on the back for a job well done as he glides to the edge of the island and leans carefully over the tiny expanse of mottled dirt and glittering water.

> "S'fine. You're fine. S'gonna be fine. Just cleanin' you up, makin' you pretty. Like a good friend. Best friend."

> The water bubbles against the back of his hand as he extends it, dangling Gordon over the surface so he can get a good look at it himself. Maybe, with the proper viewing, he'll realize that this will be a pleasant time all around. Good for him. Fun for Benrey. Bonding experience.

> "Gonna make you, uh, real shiny. Polished.  A, ah, regular... Casa... Casa del Nova."

> With that, he hooks a nail under one of the thigh pieces of the HEV suit and waits, eyes resting on Gordon's face in search of approval. Approval he selfishly hopes comes quick, before reflex takes over and he pops it off regardless.

Gordon peers over the edge of Benrey's hand to look down at the water, where it lies placid and clear and a vivid blue-green. Mysterious bubbles aside. It's... it's like one of those pools at Yellowstone, he thinks dizzily. They look so warm and inviting and then you step in and suddenly your flesh is deciding to melt right off of you. Gordon's stomach swoops unpleasantly.

Then Benrey offhandedly mentions making him pretty, as if he were just trying to sell Gordon on a new restaurant, and it swoops for an entirely different reason. An irritating reason.

"Don't just fucking say things like that," he says hotly, his voice pitching up and cracking from nerves.

But it becomes an afterthought in short order when Gordon feels Benrey's nail tugging at his HEV suit, and he realizes that Benrey's very, very serious about this. Especially when he fixes Gordon with that intent stare. Like he's waiting for something. Permission? It must be, since he's not making any moves to pop off the armor on his thigh. Gordon looks down at Benrey's finger, chipped black paint peeking out from the corners, then back up at Benrey.

Oh, fuck this. He hates when Benrey does this. It's one of those mind games, or something. Make Gordon be the one to make the call, like it's a game of chicken and Benrey's trying to get him to lose. Instead of, you know, not derailing his entire fucking journey in the first place with the suggestion of a bath. One where, well, it does smell really nice. And he can feel the ambient heat from the water from his perch on Benrey's palm. And Benrey's offering to pry him out of his suit and, presumably, do the washing for him. So Gordon doesn't have to move a muscle. Or even think about it.

His face twists and turns its way through a melange of emotions before he decides, fuck it. Even if this is weird, and Benrey's probably playing some kind of 4-dimensional chess, his mind's already sold itself on the idea. So Gordon's tongue darts out to wet his lips, mouth unexpectedly dry.

"I-- Okay-- You know what, fine. We're already here. Just... no, fucking, tricks or jokes or whatever, man. If you leave me on some fucking rock with my dick out, I'm going to kill you," Gordon tells Benrey.

> What Benrey wants to say is that Gordon is being a baby. A bitch, even. There's no reason for him to get all flustered and pissy when they've already done so many things together. Things that only the closest of bros do, like take down a hostile invading force and push their dicks together and make out. But instead, Benrey takes a deep and steady breath as he works his nails deeper under the chassis of the HEV suit and tugs up with a satisfying click as the latches come undone and the thigh piece flops uselessly off of Gordon.

> "Cool."

> He moves onto the next section, eyes narrowing and eyebrows knitting above his nose as he looks down at Gordon and tries to focus. Head empty, aside from trying to figure out how in the hell he's actually supposed to undo all the delicate bits with fingers as big as his human. It was easier when he was small, and he supposes he could be small again, but that would be no fun. Perhaps he could just rip it off of Gordon with his teeth like the top of a sardine can, but it would be even less fun to deal with the little guy yelling at him for hours.

> Getting Gordon's goat was fun and all, but god, did the guy know how to harp on a subject like no other person he'd ever met.

> Instead, Benrey's tongue pokes out between his fangs as he presses the tip of his finger against the inside of Gordon's other thigh and lets his fingernail search for the seam, the latch. He cocks his head like an owl and leans down close enough that Gordon could touch his face, heaving out a huge and uncharacteristically irritated breath. From here, he can smell the musky odor of sweat and dirt and grime and alien goo, and it's strangely nice. Earthy. Very Gordon.

> He'd smelled it before, when he wasn't quite this big, when Gordon was unzipping his suit and climbing into his lap and drool pools at the corner of Benrey's mouth, equal parts saliva and lusty Sweet Voice and--

> Click.

> The other piece of thigh armor falls away. The noise shakes Benrey to his senses.

> "Turn please," he orders mindlessly. His voice is a bit more husky and demanding than it had been a moment before.

Gordon watches as Benrey pops off his armor like it's nothing, like Gordon hasn't spent hours fruitlessly trying to do the same himself. It would have saved him the constant indignity of relying on Benrey to get him in and out of the fucking thing. He tries really hard not to think about the indignity of this, too - Benrey's face so close to his, a hot, irritable breath fanning over him, and fingers at his--

Oh. Gordon jumps a little at the insistent press of a fingertip against his inner thigh, and heat rushes to his face. This part's mildly embarrassing at the best of times, when Benrey's smaller and more human-sized, but now? With fingers much too big for the job? Spreading his legs apart where he sits, rubbing insistently against his inner thigh... He can't help the shaky breath that forces its way out of him.

Jesus Christ, his hands are big, Gordon thinks, mind racing. Sure, yes, he's had this thought before, when Benrey was using them to slap gunships out of the air, but it's a little more pointed when they're prodding him like this. He tenses. Not entertaining these thoughts today, thank you. The whole point of this, presumably, was for a normal, ordinary bath. In a pool of mysterious alien water. With his rival stripping him down and scrubbing him. While he's so big that he could squish Gordon like a bug, if he wanted... or pick Gordon up and maneuver him around, broad fingers all over him, sizing him up. If he wanted.

He comes back to himself when he hears a command. Turn please. Quick and insistent. Gordon's eyes jerk away from where they'd been staring at Benrey's finger.

"Turn? Like, fucking-- God, ow--" Gordon hisses through his teeth as the motion twists one of his aching muscles the wrong way. "I don't even know why I'm doing this. It's not like this was stopping you... You know, I'm starting to think you just like bossing people around for no fucking reason." Despite his bitching, he does as he's told.

> Maybe he does like it. The bossing, that is. Benrey isn't sure. It's one of the few human things he knows--his job back at Black Mesa--and it's one of those things he's good at. Usually. At least now he feels good at it, with Gordon actually listening to him.

> He watches as Gordon turns, head shifting to tilt in the other direction, watching as his human trustingly turns his back to him and displays himself in a way that makes more Sweet Voice seep from between his teeth. He sniffs, he uses the back of his free hand to wipe away a trickle of fluorescent fluid trailing from his lips, and quickly wipes his hands off on his pants. His eyes never leaves Gordon's back.

> Lower back.

> His ass.

> Benrey had told him before that it was a nice one, and it was still true... uh, even if he can't really see it with Gordon sitting and all. He can imagine it in its entirety, though, nice and small, even as he fumbles with the latches on the back of the chest piece. He hardly notices as he clicks it open and the front hits the pad of his palm with an audible slap of metal against skin. He reaches around to pluck it away, the side of his hand brushing against Gordon's front.

> Gordon's heaving chest. His soft midsection. His...

> Benrey shakes his head as if snapping himself out of a trance. An involuntary laugh snorts out of his nose as he leans down, peeking over Gordon's shoulder like a creeping dragon, breath hot against the back of Gordon's neck.

> "Cute."

> And with that, he grabs the next part of Gordon: his arm, raising it up effortlessly like a doll's and carefully searching for the next latch.

Maybe facing away from Benrey wasn't the smartest idea, in retrospect. It feels like he's closer, somehow, his breath coming hotter and faster against Gordon's back. Benrey breathing down his neck should be, like, gross. Creepy. Gordon knows by now that Benrey likes to make a big deal about keeping them clean, but it's not like he knows when Benrey brushed last. It shouldn't smell... like that. Sweet. A distinct chemical note on the underside. Like ketones on his breath, but nothing that Gordon can place for certain.

Sweet Voice, probably. It's muted and subtle. He's not belting it out like he usually does, so Gordon can only guess what Benrey's feeling. Unfortunately, he's all too aware of what he's feeling: goosebumps, pebbling his skin from the neck down. A little frisson. They crawl all the way down his arms and make him shiver.  He can practically feel Benrey's eyes on him, too, all up close and personal. Don't break a sweat, he wills himself, because he knows Benrey's watching him like a hawk.

It doesn't stop a bead from pooling at the back of his hairline, then losing the fight against gravity and slowly trickling down his neck.

Benrey snorts, and Gordon flinches, cursing under his breath. He couldn't even have that, huh. Then Benrey has the audacity to call him cute. And that makes his blood pulse, briefly flashing his skin with heat, before receding just as quickly and leaving a chill in its wake.

"Wh-- Whoa, okay," Gordon starts. His indignant response is temporarily cut off by Benrey lifting his arm between a thumb and forefinger. He offers about as much resistance as a fucking action figure, even creaking a little for good measure, and it's distracting, okay?

After a few moments, though, he regains his bearings. "Shut up, man," he says, flustered. "I'm not even-- Just-- Quit being weird, okay?" Because, frankly, this is weird. He's not used to Benrey being so... accommodating. Helpful. Nice. And he doesn't know what Benrey's endgame is, here. So it just leaves Gordon feeling off-kilter. Uncertain. A little hot in the face.

> Benrey's eyes flick up like a lizard that's spotted its next meal when he hears Gordon's words, conveniently at the same time as he finds the latch with his nail. The armor on his upper arm falls away with a clonk and his fingers move down to the much-easier-to-remove gloves and wrist pieces, which come undone with a light twist and an even lighter yank. But his gaze isn't even looking at what he's doing, instead resting on the back of Gordon's hair, now wet with sweat and the dampness of his own breath.

> His skin is raised up in little bumps, and so are his hackles. Something bright and violet and base, fluorescent, builds at the back of Benrey's tongue, and he swallows it down. He has to focus, keep his composure. Get the other arm with a few quick clicks, fingers now more adventurous than they were before. The pads trail across Gordon's back, the undersuit bunching with his touch, pressing into his side for no reason other than the urge to feel. Then, when the second arm is freed, he remembers he forgot the boots.

> "Not being weird," Benrey protests as he wrangles Gordon in his grip, sighing heavily as he pinches him lightly in his grasp and rolls him in his hand like some kind of trinket. Until they're face to face once again and Gordon is flat on his back in his palm. He takes a moment to idly scratch his chin before reaching for the metal encasing his lower legs and feet.

> "Not weird to, uh, help a bro out. Be a friend. Friends call friends cute. All the time. Every day. S'pre... pre-requi... prere..." He pauses and stills and, then, with unwarranted confidence, forces the word out and continues fiddling. "It's pre-registered to, uh, do that. Yeah."

Blunt fingers at his arm, his back, his sides, prodding and rolling him around - each investigatory touch makes Gordon cognizant of just how much he's holding his breath. Until Benrey manhandles him into laying flat on his back, that is. A startled noise bursts out of him, and then Gordon's looking straight up at Benrey, with nowhere to go to escape him. Even without a hand pinning him down, he can't help but feel like he's stuck in place, anyway.

At least Gordon can sit up on his elbows a little. Less like he's some kind of specimen that way. And he lets Benrey fiddle with the boots, the strange feeling that curls in his stomach easing up on him the longer Benrey messes with something other than his soft, fleshy, vulnerable bits. He lets out a shaky breath of... relief. Let's go with that.

"IIII don't know about that," he says. "I'll be real with you, I'm not the kind of guy who does that... Uh. Well. Except there was that one time in high school? But it kind of weirded her out and she stopped talking to me."

Gordon pauses for a moment, brows wrinkling in thought. Then he shakes himself. "Anyway, that's not even the point. The point is," Gordon emphasizes, feeling like he's trying to present a convincing legal argument to a judge with all the size and breadth of (and possibly, the powers of) some ancient Greek god, "I think you have a, uh, tenuous grasp of what friendship entails, buddy. My friends don't call me cute."

As an afterthought, under his breath, he adds, "Nobody calls me cute." It comes out more bitter than he expects.

> The boots come off, one after another. The shin guards, too. Politely, Benrey scoops up all the miscellaneous pieces piled in his palm between his free fingers and puts them to rest next to the pool of... well, "water." Liquid. Something, though he's hard pressed to tell you exactly what it is. "The Bath."

> He listens as he does so, to Gordon squawking and muttering and saying, well, things. Things that he's not really listening to as he brings his hands back up to Gordon and tries to figure out where the zipper to the bodysuit is. Technically, he knows where it is, but his fingers are huge and the zippy-uppy part is so small, and he's prodding and poking with gentle strokes along Gordon's chest and belly where he saw the seam once-upon-a-time. He feels his nail click against the metal and it's... uh, well, it's aggravating.

> And Benrey isn't used to this kind of aggravation. Fuck's sake, he just wants to see some dic... ah. He just wants to help his best friend get a nice bath and feel better. Because he is a good guy who does good things like kill gun bugs for tiny dudes who can't shoot straight and not drive off with vehicles when Gordon leaves him alone. He's a good guy who doesn't want to be bad and--

> "Uh," he drawls, his mouth moving before he can really catch himself, "fuckin'... maybe people would call you cute if you, uh, weren't such a, uh, mean. So mean about it. Mean to me, just trying to say nices. To my best friend. Being such a good and a cool."

> His voice dies as he misses the zipper again. Fuck. When he speaks again, it darkens.

> "Please unzip suit? Please? Thank-you."

Soon enough Benrey's got him down to that reinforced bodysuit, the last piece of armor sliding off his hand with little resistance. Usually, this is where this process stops: Benrey gets him out of the armor, and Gordon fucks off and does whatever it is he needs to do. Change. Wash up. Sleep. The part where Benrey starts tugging at the fabric in search of the zipper? That's new. And it catches Gordon so unawares that he can't even speak.

That fingertip strokes him, almost, warm even through the black fabric, and a harsh breath whistles through Gordon's nose. It feels him up from his chest to his belly, a warm and insistent pressure. All the words in Gordon's brain get trapped in a mental sieve. In their place is a single, repeating thought:

Oh, God.

Benrey keeps trying, again and again, fingernails scraping uselessly against Gordon's belly. And his eyebrows furrow harder with the effort, frustration evident in his frown. And his fingers. Their grasping grows rough and imprecise and Gordon's trying so hard to bite his lip because there's an ugly noise threatening to punch his way out of him and Benrey's saying something to him that he can barely focus on and then finally, finally, he's giving up and pulling away. Christ.

It takes a moment for his mental fog to clear and for Benrey's words to sink in. Unzip? Himself? Oh, no. Somehow that's worse.

"Can you, like... give me some privacy, maybe?" Gordon complains.

He immediately feels stupid afterward. It trickles down from his scalp like something cold and slimy. So he clears his throat, and admits, begrudging, "I, uh... I'm not trying to be mean. It's been a long fucking day, okay? You're... uh... Well. Thanks. I guess. For trying to be nice."

There's a beat before the silence gets to be too uncomfortable, and Gordon hurriedly follows it up by saying, "Don't take this the wrong way. I think you could still use a few pointers on being 'nice' to 'humans', you know."

> "Wha?"

> In a second, the irritation is gone. Benrey's expression turns flat. He leans in close to Gordon and inhales deeply (yup, still smells like Gordon) and exhales just as hard.

> "I'm nice," he defends, eyes flicking down the pile of HEV parts on the island. "Fuckin', ah, Mother Tuh-ree-sah. You're the one who is bein'--"

> A pause. Nice. He was being nice, and he wasn't going to pick at Gordon. He wasn't going to point out that he was the one being snippy, while he was out here undressing him, and carrying him around, and getting ready to give him a bath, and maybe touch his--

> Wait.

> "Privacy?"

> The word tastes bad, real bad. The kind of bad that makes Benrey want to scrape his tongue off on his teeth. That isn't how they'd played these games before. Is this even still a game, though? Did "nice" contradict "games" too much? He isn't sure and he doesn't even give himself a chance to think about it as he nudges Gordon encouragingly with a finger and the words just start rolling out of his mouth.

> "No? No place to private at, bro. Maybe gonna have to just, ah, suck it up, friend. Besides--"

> Benrey leans forward on the island on his elbow, chin resting in his hand. As his body tilts, Gordon raises higher up due to his shifting of positions.

> "Can't, ah, can't not look. Dinosaurs and, uh, zombies out here. Ghosts. Gotta keep my eye on you. Safe-tee."

Safety. Right. As much as Gordon doesn't want to admit it, Benrey has a point. He's... vulnerable like this. And it would be just his luck that he gets beset by a peeper puppy with his dick hanging out. More to the point, he knows that it's stupid to develop a sense of modesty all of a sudden when Benrey's seen his dick before. It's just, you know, the size. The scrutiny.

Heat lodges itself in Gordon's face and makes a home there as Benrey brings him all the closer. As if to see him better. "Dinosaurs and zombies," he snorts. He can't believe that's the justification Benrey's giving him. And he can't believe he's buying it.

"Just... fucking, okay. Don't stare, at least," Gordon tells him, as if it will help.

The zipper's nestled in the seam at his neck, right in the center. Gordon fishes it out with shaky fingers. And then, slowly, he drags it down his front.

As he does, his flesh starts to spill from the suit in a creamy sliver. He's paler underneath, skin shielded from the sun for so long that his characteristic tan has all but faded. Consequences of running around in a HEV suit in the middle of Bulgaria. The rattle of the zipper rings in Gordon's ears, louder than life. First his chest, then his stomach, prickling with goosebumps in turn as they're revealed.

Finally, he pulls it down to its endpoint, just under his navel. Gordon's face burns with embarrassment.

> That... was easier than Benrey anticipated. Usually there's more resistance or, you know, playing involved whenever he asked Gordon to do something like that. Usually he had something a little more snide to say. Something in the air has changed, though, and he dimly wonders if maybe all of that advice he'd taken from the Resistors (Resistance? Transistors? Alyx, basically) has actually paid off.

> Learning how to human does, in fact, make interacting with Gordon easier.

> His pupils widen as he stares, mouth slightly agape, as more and more of Gordon's skin is revealed to him, a pretty porcelain color that looks incredibly soft and as delicate as a china doll. Usually he's darker, tanner; Benrey didn't know humans could change colors like that, but it's an interesting development and one that requires further investigation.

> So he leans closer, head tilted, watching the zipper come undone. Curiosity grips him as he gingerly reaches up and hooks his nails into the open edges of the suit and tugs, enough to jostle Gordon and peel away the wrapper but not enough to actually knock Gordon off his feet. As he does so, he ignores the sounds of protests, mouth opening wider and lifting in a sharkish grin.

> He's so pale now, but he's just as soft as Benrey remembers. Just as warm. Hair's still in all the right places, muscles in his arms growing visible as Benrey tugs the sleeves down, then the rest, leaving the top half of the bodysuit dangling from around his still-covered waist.

> He waits a moment, drinking in the sight. He could almost see his--

> No. No. No dick thinking, not now. No. He wasn't going to say anything because he was seriously just trying to be nice. And make Gordon shut up. And...

> And...

> "Cute."

> The word comes out while his brain is still arguing with himself. For a moment, he considers apologizing, or trying to pretend he never said it, but ultimately decides to stand by what he said.

> His eyes lift to rest on Gordon's face as he silently doubles down, waiting for a reply.

"Hey, careful," Gordon yelps, caught off-guard by fingers at the edges of his open suit. "You don't have to fucking-- Benrey, I can do this myself!" But there's no fighting him off before Benrey's tugging it down his shoulders, baring him from the waist up.

Impatient. That's the word that comes to mind. Benrey's itching to get him out of this thing, Gordon realizes. If it wasn't already obvious by that insistent scrape of nails against his jumpsuit, or the way Benrey's looking at him now, eyes wide and mouth parted. That heat in Gordon's cheeks crawls down to his chest. He's staring at Gordon like he's hungry, and all the pasty skin being revealed to him may as well be a juicy T-bone steak. Being half-naked ought to be making him pretty chilly in a place like this, but for some reason, it feels way too fucking hot right now.

Thankfully, Benrey stops there, which gives him a moment to get his bearings. On the other hand, Benrey's calling him fucking cute again, and Gordon was having a bad enough time handling that earlier. Now? Jesus, the guy's barely paying attention to him. Mumbling it like it's an afterthought. He doesn't know what it means.

"I-- I'm not fucking cute, dude, we already established this," he insists, doing his level best not to meet Benrey's stare. Gordon folds his arms, irritable and flushed a bright red. "I'm too mean or whatever. I got the picture. You don't have to keep fucking with me."

> Oh, he's changing colors again. Red now, from the tips of his ears down to his chest, and Benrey snorts a laugh. Of course humans can change colors. He'd seen him do this before. A few times actually.

> But he's just turning red, and being snippy, and he's not making a move to take off the rest of the suit. Benrey's eyes flick from Gordon to the water and, with a low chuckle, he decides to take the cue. Which... was a cue, right? He's pretty sure it's a cue, but humans were weird to begin with and Gordon was odder than most.

> Has to be a cue, he decides after a moment of silence wherein Gordon doesn't budge. He grabs the draping top of the suit and gently peels it downwards towards Gordon's feet, watching it pull away from sweaty, dirty skin. Watching it expose dark curls of hair just below his stomach, and watching Gordon's dick spill out into the open air. Benrey's teeth dig into his lips as he watches, even as his hands move clumsily to strip the rest of the rubbery material off of his legs.

> He's touched that before. Wants to touch it again, wants to say something about it. But he can't because apparently it was bad form to say shit about your best bro's average-but-good meat when he wasn't specifically asking, or at least that's what his stupid, skinny doppelganger had said and--

> God. Wait. No. He shakes his head. Best to focus on anything else.

> What else had the Resist-y Squad said? To listen? Humans liked listening? Even when they were being bitchy little drama-snots?

> Then he should... listen, right? But... what had Gordon said? He wasn't actually paying attention. He furrows his brow and his stare intensifies as he tries to piece together enough of the words he did hear to paint a picture. It takes a moment, but soon, it clicks.

> Oh. Yeah. Not cute. Blah, blah. Something, something "mean."

> Benrey's mouth snaps shut as he struggles to tear his eyes away from Gordon's cock, instead keeping a trained eye on his face. His mind is a machine running on fumes with rattling parts, but he struggles through the distraction. He's going to be reassuring. He's a good friend.

> "Uh... yeah? Mean? Cute? You can be both. Bratty little, ah, Gordon Meanman with his nice... cute. Cute little hog."

> The words come out before he can stop them.

> Goddammit.

Oh, God, okay, so none of what he said got through, clearly. He squawks out as much. Gordon's mind spins into overdrive as Benrey manifestly does not let him take care of it himself, instead peeling the jumpsuit clean off his hips and legs and exposing him from top to bottom. His heart thunders in his chest, and he presses his legs tightly together in a futile attempt at modesty.

"My-- my cute little-- Jesus Christ, Benrey, you can not say shit like like that!" Gordon snaps. He jams his hands between his legs to cover himself, humiliation boiling over.

Fucking Benrey. Always saying the worst possible shit, the most embarrassing shit. Gordon thinks this as furiously as he can, because if he acknowledges that there's anything other than purestrain embarrassment and indignation at play, he's gonna snap like a twig. That's all it is. He's a normal guy, and normal guys don't feel their dicks twitch when their best friend calls their dick cute. And... little. That's worse. Much worse.

The thing that Gordon's still failing to understand is why Benrey's still calling him cute. Yeah, it gets his goat, but it's not like Benrey was in the habit of pulling this shit before. And... And Gordon doesn't know why it's getting to him so much, either.

The first time seemed like a prank. A bad joke. The second time, an accident. And the third - fourth - fifth? The times after that, he's not sure anymore. But each time it gets his skin burning hotter and his heart skipping a beat and Gordon's still pissed off but he's not sure exactly why. (Well, in the general sense. This time, it's because Benrey's straight up insulting his dick, thank you.)

"Why did I even agree to this," he moans, head hanging between his shoulders. "Everything's always gotta be a big fucking ordeal for Gordon. You know what, just put me down if you're gonna-- gonna make fun of my meat or whatever! I'll get myself a bath and then we can go and forget this ever happened."

> There is something about the way Gordon fusses at him that makes Benrey's heart skip a beat, though it also awakens something in the back of his mind that he's been consciously trying to tamp down. The urge to pick at him grows as large as his smile as he hooks two fingers under Gordon's arms and lifts him up and out of his palm like a claw in a skill crane. Words dance on the tip of his tongue, ones better fit for a schoolyard bully, and he rumbles a dark laugh as he contemplates what to say.

> It seems the crack about his hog got him all worked up in a delicious sort of way, judging from the way he's still bright crimson and his dick seems appreciative of Benrey's attention. He could double down on that. Then again, he was supposed to be nice in this situation, wasn't he? He'd been doing so good up until this point, and he could imagine the Resist-y People would be proud if they could see him now.

> But the reaction. It's... it's good. Seeing Gordon's dick twitch, seeing him bright as a tomato, seeing him sweating and nervously dodging his gaze. All were signs that he was interested, that he may just be thinking the same things Benrey has been trying not to think and... fuck, them's good thoughts. Great thoughts.

> Maybe there's a line to walk between. Play the game and still be "nice." Benrey wets his lips and huffs a sweet-scented laugh into Gordon's face, before gently lowering him into the water. The surface of the pool practically sparks as Gordon's bare feet make contact, and a shimmering azure mist billows into the air.

> "Nuh-uh. Nope," Benrey replies with a pop of the p. "You're, uh, tired. Gonna, y'know, get you sparkly. Clean. Squeaky. Pretty. Make you feel so good you'll, uh, wanna buy BFF necklaces after."

> Once Gordon is nestled in the pool, he leans down close and presses down on his shoulders to urge him into a seated position.

> "'Sides, ah. Not making fun. S'nice. Cute. Fun size."

> Emphasis on "fun," Benrey thinks, and his smile widens.

A tingle effervesces across Gordon's skin as Benrey slowly lowers him into the water, something like carbonation but not quite. For one, bubbles aren't nucleating on him so much as drifting toward the surface, sluggish and small. But the effect is as curiously refreshing as a cold glass of Pepsi.

In contrast, the water itself is warm and clear, and the humidity fogs up his glasses in short order. Makes it hard to see Benrey before he's firmly suggesting that Gordon sit down. With his hand. He's not expecting it, and he sinks to his knees with a splash and a quiet "whoa, shit".

Gordon rights himself, sitting back against the edge of the pool. And he opens his mouth to say-- well, something, you know, there was a lot to unpack in whatever the fuck Benrey just said to him, but he barely gets it out before Benrey's talking over him.

Cute. Fun size.

"Stop, okay, just stop talking about my meat! Can we please move on? Any other topic?" He crosses his arms in front of his face.

This is, it's too fucking much, okay, there's-- it's just-- the word was already starting to crawl under his skin, and he's just an average American male! You're not supposed to say this shit to another dude! And you're not supposed to, fucking, swallow and shudder when you hear that shit, either. Not supposed to like being talked down to like that. By... by such a big guy. Who probably does think he's a fun size right now. Probably wants to...

Gordon splashes his face with water. Then he takes off his glasses after the fact, feeling like an idiot. See, this is why he's got to get Benrey to knock it off. Too much. Gets him lost in his own head. Gets his blood pumping. And the last thing he wants is to embarrass himself by looking a gift horse in the mouth, getting a boner when Benrey's just trying to do him a solid.

Well. At least that's what he's saying he's doing. The jury's still out on that one. But either way, the most likely outcome is that Benrey never lets him live it down, and Gordon doesn't know if he can handle the psychological devastation right now. So.

"Here, look, I'll even... okay, so, what is this stuff, anyway? It feels like I'm taking a bath in a... a hot energy drink. But like, in a good way?" He cups some in his hand and lets it spill through his fingers. "Last time I jumped in this stuff, I think it fixed a bone. Is that normal? Weirdest fucking thing I ever felt, man."

> "I 'unno," Benrey answers honestly. Because, well, he doesn't know what this stuff is. Even if he knows a lot about Xen (and would be hard-pressed to tell you exactly how he knows these things), it's not like he knew much more than "this thing will eat you" and "this thing won't." All he knows is that these pools feel good and smell good and do things that are good, and could more than likely get Gordon clean. Make him have a more agreeable scent than the already agreeable people-odor he's already wearing.

> The Gordon smell. It's... a nice smell.

> "It's water. Uh. Bubbles." Benrey dips his fingertips in the pool to wet them and feels the curious, sparkling sensation around his skin; it's warm and cold and fizzy and, honestly? Yeah, kind of refreshing. Like caffeinated Pop Rocks or something. He dimly wonders what it tastes like, but ultimately decides not to drink the bath water.

> "Doesn't matter. You're thinking a lot. About wrong things. Need to focus on, uh, getting you ready. For the ball. Gordo-rella." He pauses, scowling. That was bad even for him. Quickly, he recovers, as if it never happened. "So, quiet? Please? Relax?"

> With that, Benrey extends one wet finger and presses against Gordon's chest, as carefully as he can, working in the glittering water and scrubbing gingerly at his chest hair. He works his muscles with a care he didn't know he possessed, and then maneuvers to his shoulders. He feels Gordon's muscles loosening underneath his touch and it makes him feel... accomplished.

> But his eyes keep straying down, down into the water where Gordon's dick should be, obscured by bubbles and blue. And he exhales, fighting the urge to press a button, to raise him up and see if it's still twitching in anticipation, wondering if he'll see it break the surface and greet him.

> Benrey's eyes screw shut and his fingers still as he takes a moment to force himself to be, as Gordon would say, "normal." It is a foreign feeling.

> He is not a fan.

"G-Gordo-rella?" Gordon bursts out laughing despite himself. "That's so bad, I know you can do better than that!" And the funny thing is, he does know. Benrey's got jokes. He's... good at making Gordon laugh. Even when he's clearly phoning it in.

The laughter sets him at ease for the first time since they'd set out the day before. And when Benrey reaches out to start scrubbing, Gordon flinches, but does as Benrey suggests and eventually relaxes into it.

Benrey's strangely quiet as he does it. Doesn't make any dumb quips. Doesn't start talking about video games or whatever. So Gordon doesn't feel inclined to break the silence, either. The meaner part of him insists that it's just because he doesn't want to set Benrey off on some dipshit tangent, but the truth is, it's kind of nice. The quiet. Even if it's bordering on surreal. All he can hear is the quiet sound of Benrey washing his skin, dipping his fingers into the water. His breathing, measured but heavy. And the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his chest.

The bath itself isn't half-bad, either. He didn't expect Benrey to be this... careful. Not a word Gordon really associates with the guy. But Benrey's fingers work his muscles in tight circles, slow and firm, washing off however many days of sweat and dirt and blood, and Gordon's finds himself melting a little. Letting his eyes drift shut.

He groans when Benrey works his thumb into his back just right, dislodging a knot in the muscle he wasn't even aware of until it was gone. "Oh my God, how did you do that," Gordon breathes.

> Oh. Oh.

> That noise was a... nice one. A pleasant one. One that makes Benrey hesitate for a second and lose his smile before quickly regaining it and pretending he'd never misplaced it in the first place. And he figures Gordon likely didn't notice--his human can't see without the glasses--so he says nothing as he dips his fingers yet again and massages into Gordon's shoulders, exploring every inch and feeling how bizarre every groove and curve is underneath the pad of his finger.

> It's odd, but not a bad odd. The kind of odd that requires further investigation because, while he's had his hands on Gordon before, this feels different. Better, even, in some ways. Motivated by equal parts curiosity and mounting desire, he continues to glide across Gordon's skin and work his muscles and feel them loosen and pause to take in the rapid thudding of Gordon's tiny, tiny pulse against his skin.

> Benrey swallows the Sweet Voice pooling in the back of his mouth. He gags. He coughs into his shoulder. His voice breaks a bit as his normally flat demeanor begins to falter amid a mob of intrusive thoughts that march right into his brain like little soldiers.

> "Can do it 'cause 'm not human. Got magic fingers. Call now. For $19.99, we'll throw in a second one free," Benrey recites, but his eyes are still looking for a hint of cock. But not just that--

> "Limited time offer. Supplies going fast. Better, uh, pick up that phone."

> -- his chest, bits of leg sticking out of the water, that pretty neck, that long hair--

> "Call in, uh, next fifteen minutes and I'll... uh..."

> --that stomach, slightly soft around the middle, and arms that were too strong for somebody of his persuasion--

> "Uh."

> -- every inch that HEV suit wouldn't let him see. Gordon would look so much better in something more... breezy. Clingy. Revealing.

> "Fuck," he says breathily. Something roils inside him, and a lot of it is unfortunately roiling below the belt. So much for subtlety. So much for "nice."

Benrey keeps scrubbing, keeps rubbing his sore muscles between thumbs and index fingers, and it takes a conscious effort for Gordon not to doze off. Even the prickling of fizzy bubbles against his skin fights an upward battle to keep him awake. It's just, he's been on the go for way too long, now, and days of tension are leaching out of him, and Benrey's, like, weirdly good at this. For once, Gordon doesn't have to be thinking about parallel universes and the end of the fucking world or whatever. Somebody else can do the thinking for him.

And then he starts rambling about magic fingers like he's hosting some kind of infomercial and Gordon's laugh comes easier and harder than it has any right to. But Benrey's trailing off now, distracted. Swearing under his breath. Gordon blinks open his eyes and glances up at him.

Despite his lack of glasses, Benrey's big enough (and close enough) that Gordon can make out most of his expression, even if it's fuzzy and indistinct. His mouth hangs open a little, and his brows are knotted up under the cast shadow of his helmet. Like he's thinking about something.

"Free shipping?" Gordon finishes his joke for him. Benrey must have lost his train of thought again. Gordon's mostly used to it... mostly.

He shrugs and rolls his shoulders from side to side, grunting and making small, quiet noises as he stretches. Man, that feels good. There must be something in the water, even if Benrey was, as usual, unhelpful as to what.

Finally, Gordon decides to tug out the band from his hair, spilling it loose over his shoulders. He snaps it around his wrist for safekeeping, then runs his hands through his hair to shake it out.

"Uh. While we're at it. Think you could get my hair later? Like, I don't know where you got the soap from, but I'm assuming you can just, like, magic up some conditioner or something, too."

> Benrey doesn't know how to tell Gordon he didn't actually have soaps. He said so, but he... he didn't. If not for Gordon pointing out that he could "magic" some up, he might have been really stuck, but with a quick shake of his head to bring himself back to his senses, his face lights up once more with a teasing smile and his tone eases back into his typical taunting monotone.

> "Uh. Yeahs. Soaps and, uh, condo-stuff. Got'cha."

> There is a flash of green as he lifts his hand above him (in a dramatic way that he hopes is as cool and impressive as it looks in his head), and feels something slimy manifest in his hands. Slimy and, well, scented like a Glade plug-in. Like flowers and "summer breezes" and things that are a lot more Earth-y than the Sweet Voice. It's a nice color, too, but one that doesn't match how he feels it should look, because it smells more like blue than it does white and...

> ... You know what? It doesn't matter.

> Benrey dips a fingertip in the soap like a child about to paint and, tongue poking out between his teeth once more, sets to work giving Gordon a once-over yet again. He hopes that maybe Gordon won't notice or point out the fact he hadn't even used soap in the first place, as distracted as he was, and just accept the fact that Benrey is once more rubbing his shoulders, his chest, his arms, his legs. Lifting up limbs and maneuvering them to get into hard-to-reach places. Pushing a little firmer than before to feel for that fluttering pulse.

> God, his own heart is beginning to match it beat for beat.

> "Yeah," Benrey mutters at long last as his tongue darts back into his mouth, "I can. Do that. Get your hair."

> His hair. His hair is so pretty when it's down, already having grown out after he cut it in the Bad Ending World. Silky and nice with bits of gray that make him look like he's as smart as he thinks he is--

> No, no. Nice. Nice. He is grappling with the idea of being nice!

> "Get your hair with, uh, real shit. Good shampoo. Actual soaps and stuff that ain't, uh, the stuff. Your stuff. Head and Shoulders. Make you look real good, real nice. Nice for m--uh."

> He pauses. He snaps his mouth shut. He pauses over Gordon's body and thinks for a moment. He wants to say it, he wants to tease and pick and make Gordon flush bright red and play their stupid goddamn game, but now isn't the time. He doesn't think so, at least? Maybe it is?

> Does Gordon think it is? He hopes so, but he doesn't know how to tell. And, apparently, humans didn't like it when their alien best friends played games they didn't want to play.

> "... Mandatory hair inspection," he recovers. "Black Mesa, uh, protocol. Already fucked up the passport. Don't... don't fuck up hair day."

Blood doesn't so much rush to Gordon's face as it crawls, moving as sluggishly as his mind does, processing this. He knows what Benrey was gonna say before he snapped his mouth shut like a mousetrap. Gordon swore he could even hear the teeth click.

Maybe he didn't actually say it, but Gordon's entire system reacts as though he has, because, fucking, he did! For all intents and purposes! A bright, prickling heat surges down his spine that has nothing to do with the water. Why does he talk like that?! Fucking cooing at him, like Benrey's taking some kind of sick pleasure in teasing him in the most embarrassing way possible... but that's about what Gordon expects at this point.

So why did he stop himself?

When Benrey marshals his voice into something more flat and toneless, Gordon frowns. He's... he's really trying, isn't he. Trying to do something decent without turning it into one of their fucked up little games. Some of the mental furniture rearranges itself in Gordon's head, pictures straightened and doorways unjammed.

Unfortunately, all the dusting and clearing in the world can't change the fact that the foundation in his head is wired to make him a paranoid little fucker. And Benrey's always playing some kind of 4th-dimensional chess with him, anyway, right? He's just being rational. Wary.

That said... he's already here. He might as well relax and deal with the consequences later. Especially when... oh.

Benrey's washing him in earnest, fingers pressing into him and manipulating him. They're all over him, probing him without direction, and now Gordon's not sure if "relaxed" is the best descriptor for himself. There's just, there's a lot of touching happening, and Benrey's hands are so, so big, and Gordon can just make out the tip of Benrey's tongue poking through his teeth and something about that intense focus - on him - makes Gordon's breathing go shallow.

Christ. He can't-- He shouldn't think about this. This is the kind of sick shit that only happens in his head, not in real life. Gordon's just a normal guy with something very wrong with him, and that "something" makes him more prone than most to awful little fantasies, intrusive thoughts.

That's all this is. There's gotta be something wrong with him to want somebody ten times his size to touch him like this, but in, like, a horny way. Like some kind of freakjob doing gross shit with an action figure. Maybe it doesn't make him a bad person. So long as he keeps it to himself. He'll keep all his weird little fantasies right next to his heart, and then he'll die. That's that.

It's almost over, Gordon tells himself furiously, willing his blood to stop rushing to his dick and his stomach to stop coiling with heat. If he can just focus, he can will his boner down before he has to get out of the pool and then Benrey will be none the wiser.

"Okay, first of all, I didn't fuck up the passport," Gordon blusters, in an attempt to power through it. "I never needed one before! If anything, I think you fucked up, man. Never told me about Black Mesa Picture Day or whatever."

> Benrey's fingers do not pause as Gordon fusses at him, but his eyes can't stay focused on his own work. He's too busy watching Gordon's throat bob as he swallows around a lump, or how his blush is darkening and spreading. He's gauging the look in his eyes, looking for any indication that he can go ahead and make it weird, but--even though he's sweating and nervous and fidgety and acting just like he does when they're playing--Benrey is too nervous to make a move.

> And "nervous" wasn't a part of his vocabulary until that Alyx lady and Gordon's own downhill slide made it obvious that he actually had to think human to interact with humans. His human specifically.

> So, even though he sees the signs, he decides to bite his tongue. It is foreign, it is uncomfortable, and it's almost painful to choke down. To redirect his alien brain into more terrestrial channels. To try to figure out what a human person would do in his situation and, barring that, just continuing to do what he was supposed to be doing in the first place.

> Bathing Gordon.

> "Shouldn't have to tell you. S'in the, ah, employee handbook. Welcome packet. Folder. Right next to Warhammer 401k and, uh, ensure-ants."

> He cups a small amount of water in his palm and trickles it over Gordon's body, watching it drain down his form in sparkling rivulets. They trace his contours, weaving into every nook and cranny and crease that Benrey couldn't reach, and he watches them with an intensity that even he can feel. A warmth in his gut, a twitch of his dick. His tongue laps at his lips like a hungry animal; he wants to lick every droplet off of Gordon and explore ever inch of him as thoroughly as the bathwater.

> But... no. No, no. He's normal. He's normal and human and he's being nice, and Gordon hasn't said anything so he's going to close his eyes, huff angrily, and then continue on his merry way.

> "Everyone knows about, uh, Hair Inspection Day. And Passport Inspection. You, ah, you're just... uh."

> Benrey breathes heavily out of his nose as his eyes lock on Gordon yet again. Staring up at him, red-faced. Hair now adhered to his skin from the water. Chest heaving. He reaches out in spite of himself and presses a fingertip to Gordon's torso once more, feeling that rapid pulse and feeling it rise and fall with each breath. Knowing he could make Gordon's heart race faster and really put his lungs to work.

> He wants to feel him pant, wants to hear each heavy breath accompanied with his name and...

> No. God, it's getting so fucking hard to resist the game, but Benrey is good! Good for his best friend! He's learned and he's going to stay good. He's just being nice. He can be nice without being--

> "Missed a spot," Benrey lies as he pulls his finger away. He pretends to rinse Gordon off once more and sputters a cough. "Now, let's get those, ah, locks. Clean and brushed. Shiny. Barbie Girl, Barbie World, am I right?"

Gordon ducks his head instinctively as Benrey douses him with water, shielding his face. There's a huff from above him, and then another, breath hot and heavy on Gordon's neck. The closest comparable experience is... it's like being trapped under some kind of big fucking animal. A bear, maybe, snorting at the nape of his neck before it decides to eat him. Violently.

Cool. He loves thoughts like that. A pleasant reminder that they don't exactly carry fucking risperidone in the aftermath of a fascist takeover.

He shakes his head again to rid himself of it, then looks at Benrey in surprise when he presses a fingertip to his chest. It just rests there, warm and steady. Not pulling or pinching or shoving or any of the things Gordon expects. Gears whir to life in his head. Benrey's being-- he's being kind of fucking weird, but not in the ways Gordon's grown accustomed to, and when he's spent the entirety of their working relationship trying to get his sea legs, it throws him off just as badly when the boat stops rocking.

"I don't know how to tell you this, but it's not just Barbies who have to wash their hair," Gordon snorts at him. "You got me all worried now, man, I don't even know if you know the basics. It's shampoo, then conditioner, okay?"

After a moment, he slicks his hair back out of his face, too. For good measure. "And try not to get it in my eyes, either... Actually, uh, I'm kind of having second thoughts about this. Maybe you should just let me handle it. No offense."

> "Know what I'm doin'. I got hair. Nice hair. Better than... uh, Mr. 2-in-1," Benrey protests, masking the sudden wave of panic that just roiled up inside of him. Just the idea of not touching Gordon is too much, and he inwardly crinkles at the thought of missing his chance to feel his human again. And again. And again. Petting and scrubbing and massaging and imagining what it would be like to get Gordon close enough to his face that he could taste him.

> But... he can't do that. He's not allowed. This isn't The Game. This is A Nice Favor for His Person and, well, he's got to be normal. And chill. And calm. And this is all really too fucking hard.

> However, as long as he plays by the rules, he still gets a chance to touch Gordon, and he supposes that is a small victory. It's what spurs him on to press his thighs together and shift his weight to hide his burgeoning boner behind the Xenian island so that Gordon can't be alarmed or scandalized or angry or accusatory. It's what prompts him to summon from the ether, yet again, a new supply of nice-smelling soaps and an equally pleasant conditioner that still don't match the color his brain tells him they should be.

> And, with fangs pressed into his bottom lip, he dips his finger into the shampoo freshly spawned in his palm and swirls it gently, watching as Gordon regards him with a mixture of curiosity and what he hopes isn't disdain. He's been working so hard to try to not make the guy angry, and he's struggling not to slip.

> Slowly, he drips a dollop of soap onto Gordon's head--towards the back, since he is honestly trying to obey the request not to blind him--followed by a few drops of glittering, warm water. He monitors the way Gordon's expression changes as he presses against his head as gently as he can and begins to work it into a lather.

> It's... nice. It's not the usual rough stuff and bullying he's used to, but there is something undeniably pleasant about watching Gordon melt into his touch as he works, careful and light, his body rocking with the movements in a way that makes Benrey feel both strangely aroused and, well... warm. As warm as the pool of water, all on the inside like a badly heated burrito. It's new, and uncomfortable, but not unwelcome, and he savors it by trying to make the moment stretch.

> From the scalp and downwards, until his finger is stroking the side of Gordon's cheek and reaching under his chin as if trying to tilt his head up for a kiss he was way too big to give. Like a true romantic that he knew, in his gut, he wasn't actually anywhere close to being. But it felt right, and the dazed and pleasant look in Gordon's eyes shatter the alien armor around his heart in one powerful blow.

> Benrey swallows hard and says nothing. He just scrubs and stares. And scrubs. And stares.

> Slow, precise, delicate circles. Enjoying the moment, and buying time as he tries to untangle this utterly alien knot of feelings that is twisting around in his gut. Feelings he isn't sure he understands or particularly wants, but addictive all the same.

"Oh, that's kinda nice, actually," Gordon mumbles distantly, as Benrey starts to lather up his hair.

It's impressive, honestly, just how delicate Benrey's capable of being when he puts his mind to it. The pressure's firm enough that it feels good against his scalp, but he's not being knocked around or given a headache or anything. It's... pleasant. His eyes drift shut again, now that he's pretty sure Benrey's got the hang of it.

That finger slips lower, lower, stroking the side of Gordon's jaw, and Gordon leans into it. Lets him work soap into the underside of his facial hair. (And that's nice, too. It's the kind of thing he figured Benrey would miss.) And if Benrey rubs a bit slower, tilts his head up just a little so that Gordon has to peer up at him through slowly-blinking eyes, well, he's not going to complain.

Benrey's eyes are so big, so close to his and so intently focused that-- that he's sweating a little, just visible at the edge of Gordon's vision. Gordon's heart beats faster, and a strange tension begins to wind itself tight in him. It's like Benrey's trying to scan him. All that attention focused directly on him gins up butterflies in his stomach.

Gordon's suddenly hit by the awareness that nobody's done anything like this for him in a long, long time. Maybe ever. And here he is, letting his frenemy (best frenemy, whispers an annoying little voice that sounds suspiciously like Benrey) scrub him clean. Take care of him. How in the fuck did he end up here? And, more importantly, why is he so comfortable with this? This is the guy who got his arm cut off, not, fucking, not his live-in girlfriend. That broke up with him a couple years ago, citing the fact that he was "a puffed-up MIT asshole". Whatever. Details.

After a long stretch of silence, Gordon breaks it by saying, "I, uh, I think that's good. Yeah. Lemme just..."

And he pushes Benrey's finger away before ducking his head under the water, hoping Benrey doesn't notice the way his voice cracks.

> It... almost feels like he's being spurned when his finger is pushed away. There's a quaver in Gordon's voice and he isn't sure if it's nerves or rejection. In an instant, a long-dormant part of Benrey's brain flares to life, leaving him mentally bouncing theories as to why his person had sounded so off. It could have been that he was having the same sorts of thoughts Benrey had been having the whole time, or it could have been that he had done something wrong. Getting advice on how to handle Gordon came with the unpredictable side effect of giving him a lot to worry about in terms of "boundaries" and "behaving," which he honestly wasn't comfortable or keen on dealing with.

> These insecurities melt away as he watches Gordon duck under the water, however. It creates a hiccup in the system, a blue screen that necessitates a reboot. There's something distracting about the way his back arches forward, muscles moving, head dipping beneath the surface. On his knees, ass lifting up slightly so he has a touch more leverage. Hair floating to the top, and then clinging tightly to his skin as he emerges with a gasp and throws his head back and slicks it out of his face and...

> ... His face is dripping. Sopping. Water trailing from his mouth and down his beard. Running down his temples, his cheeks. Like sweat. Like... something else.

> "Holy shit," Benrey mutters with the barest hint of voice. He pauses, he tries to think of something to say that would mask the fact he's not being "normal," and he's been playing The Game the whole time, regardless of what he's been telling himself. The hamster is running, the gears are whirring, but Windows is still updating and he's at a loss for anything better to say.

> So he doubles down. His voice grows louder.

> "Holy shit."

Gordon winches his eyes shut as he wipes water from them, slinging his hair back out of his face for good measure. God, he can feel how much less greasy it is now, and it's like taking off an itchy sweater for the first time. Makes him breathe a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, man, that's honestly really... uh..."

He slows to a stop, thrown off by Benrey muttering something. Almost inaudible. It gets him to crane his neck to look up at Benrey properly, about to ask, before Benrey says it again. Louder. Okay, yeah, he did catch that right the first time, huh.

Even though he's out of focus, Gordon can still see how wide his eyes are. How slack his face is. He doesn't need the finer details to notice Benrey's hand hovering in midair, like he's been interrupted in the middle of a thought. Staring at him like... like...

Heat crashes over Gordon in a violent wave, from the crown of his head to the pit of his belly. He's not even-- he's not even doing anything. He's sopping wet, and he can't fucking stand the way his hair looks when it's laying flat and slick against his head like this, and he can't exactly hide all the unseemly scars and and stretch marks and soft spots and all the other issues he's poked at in the mirror time and time again. (He had a growth spurt as a teenager, okay, and stretching him out an extra foot and a half so quickly didn't give his skin a lot of time to adapt.)

In short, he feels more naked and exposed now, half-covered by the foamy surface of this shallow pool, than he did when Benrey had him in his palm with his entire dick out. And it makes Gordon fucking throb under the surface of the water.

He's gotta be making fun of me, Gordon desperately tells himself. Defense mechanism. It's not working as well as it usually does, and he subconsciously presses his thighs tighter together.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, suddenly dry despite the water carding down his face.

"What," starts Gordon. But he doesn't know where to take that question, and it dies as quick as it came.

> Game over. It's done. Benrey's used his final life and lost it in a valiant attempt to beat the final boss, but now he's gawking down at Gordon who is gawking right back up at him with a tell-tale look on his face that makes Benrey almost positive that he's playing just as hard. His own breath quickens as once complicated thoughts congeal into something more comfortable, something more streamlined, something more natural.

> Something that Alyx would have been disappointed to hear, especially after how good he had been doing.

> He inhales sharply through his nose and leans in close, the air coming back out at a low laugh as his mouth twists into a hungry grin. A finger extends and he presses it against the side of Gordon's face, an almost loving stroke. He can feel a burst of heat in his cheeks and he knows, glasses or not, that Gordon can probably see how red he's getting. He shifts his legs as he floats beside the island, trying to accommodate a cock that is now frighteningly hard and twitching against his stomach.

> "What 'what?'" Benrey asks, his voice monotonous but still somehow teasing. "Can't a bro, uh, admire his bro? Have a look-see? Look nice. Pretty."

> His finger drops to the water and stirs it a bit, creating a roil of bubbles that send a pleasant, tingling sensation up his hand, his arm. It seems to travel straight to his heart, which is pounding furiously in his chest.

> "You, uh... you good? Need anymore help? Getting clean? Hard to reach places?"

> A pause. He feels his stomach twist into knots. This has never really happened before while playing this game, but it's powerful. Makes him feel desperate. Needy. Makes him feel guilty and he hates it because he never feels guilty.

> As quickly as the mask breaks, he picks up the pieces and puts them back together. He slides it back on. He takes a deep breath, fumbling with his words.

> "Want to, uh... pla... pretty? Want to pretty? Want best friend Benrey to make you, uh, cleaner? Prettier? Help you? Please? Thank-you."

Two paths emerge before Gordon. On the one, well-worn and well-lit, he would tell Benrey, "No thanks, I'm good," and he would tell Benrey to turn around so he can dry off and crawl back into the jumpsuit. And then he would let Benrey fit him in the armor again, trying his best to ignore those fingers on his skin, and later he would duck away and jerk himself raw thinking about it. Swearing at himself. Wishing he could be normal for once in his fucking life and not develop questionable new fantasies about the one guy who's as out of place in this world as he is.

On the other, bracketed by brambles and dark, uncharted woods, Gordon would... He would...

He'd get it through his head that he's not the only little fucking weirdo in this relationship. That Benrey keeps staring at him like that for a reason.

And that Benrey's trying so fucking hard to play nice because... well... Gordon hasn't wrapped his head around that one yet, but he has his suspicions. Some of them more worrying than others. But the point is, Benrey's not taking the bait. He's got Gordon in a highly vulnerable position, and he could be pushing Gordon around if he wanted, playing their little game and driving him up the wall.

But he isn't. He keeps choking it back. It's unsettling. Gordon doesn't know how to handle it. He kind of wishes, in the back of his mind, that Benrey would tack on his 'schoolyard bully' demeanor again. At least that Gordon understands on some level. Push, pull, tussle.

And most unsettling of all is that downright tender way that Benrey drags a finger along his cheek. Anxiety thrums to life in Gordon's blood. No, no, that's not-- This is weird. This is so weird. There's something roiling and ugly churning in his stomach, and he doesn't like it one bit. He's not coping with it, he needs to-- to wrangle this situation, get some control over it, steer it back to familiar territory.

And in doing so, Gordon floors it directly into the woods.

He looks back at Benrey, taking in the hot flush crawling up his skin. The awkward shifting. I'm not the only freak here, Gordon reminds himself, blood pounding in his ears.

So he shifts himself. Sits back, draws his legs up so that his knees peek out of the water. Lets them fall to the sides, just a little. And he says, tucking a strand of wet hair behind his ear,

"What, and you're not even gonna-- That's some low-hanging fruit you're leaving on the vine. Startin' to get worried about you, man. You haven't gone this long without making fun of me in... uh, ever."

> Wait. Was that...?

> Was that admission?

> Benrey's pupils grow wide at the words, and his smile threatens to falter as he feels the cogs creaking inside of his head. Connecting the dots with all the newfound information he has on human people is like doing the advanced science stuff Gordon seemed to believe he was so special for knowing. There's emotional equations, rechecking the data, counter-arguments for every theory he comes up with, but in the end a little lightbulb flickers to life. The lights are on, somebody is home, and by god does that somebody want to play ball already.

> Benrey's finger stills on Gordon's cheek and he feels an uncharacteristic lump grow in his throat as his face grows redder and sweat beads at his brow. That weird emotion that once wrapped itself around its siblings, Worry and Guilt, finally cut itself loose and tangles itself in his stomach. He doesn't like it--it's too warm, and it's not the horny kind of heat that he's used to--but he allows it to stay. It feels like it may turn into something good if he just lets it incubate.

> "Uh, what? Not gonna... huh?"

> Benrey's voice cracks just like Gordon's had a moment before. He pretends it never happened and seamlessly continues.

> "Not gonna, ah, make fun of you. Gonna... gonna pick that fruit, though."

> His finger trails down Gordon's chin, down his neck, across his shoulders, down his chest. It rests dangerously low on his belly, threatening to dip lower. He grins at Gordon, leans in close, and huffs a laugh that's less malicious than it is honestly amused with its own cleverness.

> "Uh, get it? Fruit? Picked? You're, ah, you're the fruit, bro."

> A pause.

> "Laugh, please."

Gordon swallows, hard. The implications hit him like a bowling ball. That somebody's dropping on him. Maybe from an overpass or something. He's spinning out a little, alright, and losing his grip on the metaphor.

Benrey's fingertip leaves goosebumps in its wake, and his breathing goes shallow as the nail lightly catches on the crook of his neck. Lower, lower, slipping just below the surface of the water to rest on his belly, and Gordon thanks every deity he can imagine (and some he can't) that the bubbles hide... well. This, feeling it throb where it lies heavy against his hip.

Despite himself, he does actually laugh when Benrey prompts it. It comes out high and way louder than he intended, but still. Now that's a metaphor he's got a good grasp on, he thinks wildly. Oh, Christ.

"That's-- that's not really what I meant," Gordon tries to argue, but not with very much conviction. "But, uh, ha ha! Great joke! Fucking love jokes, man!"

> Benrey doesn't really hear what Gordon is saying. He does know that tone, though, from times they've played The Game before. It's a tone that speaks of permission, a sort of polite denial without the force. The kind of arguing that Benrey knows he can get away with ignoring because it's not sincere. Game talk. A challenge.

> Their own secret language of want.

> "Thank-you," Benrey purrs when Gordon forces a laugh, and his finger rubs a slow, slow circle into Gordon's stomach. He's sure Gordon notices when it bumps a bit too low, because he can feel something tell-tale just beneath the surface of the water. His grin grows at the realization that he was on the right track, tongue slipping out from between his teeth and running along his lips. A show, given to Gordon.

> A show he desperately wants Gordon to notice is meant for him. A tech demo. A promise.

> "But, uh... if that ain't what you meant. What did you mean? 'Cause you seem to be enjoyin' this, best friend."

A noise threatens to burst from Gordon's chest when Benrey starts to rub, slow and insistent, and grazes against-- Oh, God. But he clamps his lips tight, and all that escapes him is a harsh puff of air through his nose. He knows now, he knows, and it's written all over his face, a raised eyebrow and a smug smile and the slow, deliberate movement of his tongue over his lower lip.

It's fucking cartoonish, is what it is. Gordon should laugh. Gordon does laugh, again, another nervous little titter that doesn't communicate "amusement" so much as "flustered hysteria".

"I don't know," he blurts out, and it's the most honest thing he's said all day. "Fucking, God, I'm not-- This isn't what it looks like, okay, you just-- you keep looking at me like that, and I don't know what your fucking game is, man!"

He can't look at Benrey, not right now, not when he knows Benrey's looking at him like that, and so he looks down and oh, no, that's a bad idea. Because Benrey's still drawing tight little circles into his skin, unnervingly gentle. And so Gordon's eyes keep darting around, finding nowhere suitable to land.

At least Benrey's taking the bait. He's not doing that weird sappy shit anymore, and Gordon's in more familiar territory: the push and pull. The teasing. So he pulls harder, in hopes that Benrey will knock it off for good.

"If anybody's 'enjoying this', it's you, buddy! I'm just a, uh, innocent bystander, you know?"

> He doesn't sound convincing. There's fractures in his voice, and his words are stumbling like they fell down the stairs. He's looking everywhere but at Benrey, his face red and his eyes nervously darting from thing to thing to thing. But, in the end, they always come back to him, in one way or another.

> It's tells like this that let Benrey know that he's playing. The Game is afoot, he's been given the go-ahead. It's time to take the ball and run.

> "Uh-huh. Sure. Innocent. Lessee what you're hidin', bro."

> And with that, Benrey removes his finger from Gordon's stomach, instead parting his fingers into a V-shape and hooking Gordon underneath his arms. It's like a claw in a skill crane and, with a snort, he lifts Gordon out of the water. Naked, wet, and standing at attention from the looks of it; his human apparently had been playing along a lot longer than Benrey knew. He watches Gordon dangling a few feet from the pool at the end of his hand and smirks.

> But there's something different now, isn't there? Something Benrey sees in his human that makes that weird feeling he's been fighting twirl and twist. He's barely even noticing Gordon's boner more than he's looking at the way his hair is clinging to his face, and the way his eyes are flicking up at him expectantly, and how warm and small and cute he looks. He looks delicate and handsome and he wants to touch him, but he wants to touch all of him, and his heart is thumping so hard he starts to worry because... fuck. Is he dying? Is Gordon killing him just by being cute?

> Benrey swallows hard. He hopes his expression didn't falter. He broadens his grin in case it did, until the muscles in his cheeks honestly hurt. And he inhales deeply and forces a mocking laugh and squeezes his fingers around Gordon gently in an attempt to further mock him.

> "I 'unno, bro. Looks like you're, uh... you're carrying without a permit. That's... uh, an infract... fracta... infection. You're a bad boy, aren't'cha?"

Gordon yelps as those fingers hook under his arms and drag him out of the water. Oh, God, his legs are kicking out from underneath him, and his hands scrabble at Benrey's, and Benrey's just smirking at him all up close and personal and he's fucked, he's really, really fucked. His fucking dick bobs in the air like-- like-- he doesn't know, he doesn't have a simile for this! Gordon's never been in this situation before! But bob it does, until he comes to a stop right in front of Benrey's face.

"It's infraction, dude!" Gordon snaps, his mind jumping to the least important thing Benrey said. "Fucking 'infraction'! And I don't-- I don't know what you expect when you're all, fucking--"

He's cut off by a gasp when Benrey squeezes him, just a little. Makes Gordon keenly aware of those big fingers. He can just... he can do whatever he fucking wants, huh? Pick Gordon up like it's nothing? Wrap those fingers around him, so big and hot and rough against his skin, and move all his limbs around just like he was doing earlier and--

And--

Gordon blinks, coming back to himself. Face hot. Mouth dry. And Benrey's grin looks impossibly wider.

"You know," he finishes weakly.

> "Maybe I do," Benrey responds, jostling Gordon lightly. "Maybe I don't. Maybe you should tell me, bro. When I'm all fuckin' what?"

> He lifts Gordon higher, and closer. Really gets a good look at him, leaning in and running his tongue along his jagged teeth. Like a predator, like something that wants to swallow Gordon whole, though that's the last thing on his mind. He wants to taste Gordon, that's for sure, but there's... there's more to it.

> He wants to reel him in. Follow this weird feeling. Press his lips against Gordon and--

> Benrey inhales sharply through his nose. Gordon smells positively delicious. Like something fruity and sweet and earthly. And he looks delicious, too, all soft and supple and soaked to the bone, smooth skin glistening in the alien lights.

> His dick twitches, straining against his pants. He's so hard it hurts. He wonders if Gordon can see, but can't imagine he can miss it.

> "C'mon," he teases, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Tell me what I am, bro. Tell best friend Benrey what's on your mind. Bonding experience. Bros being bros."

He wrenches his eyes shut, breath coming harder and faster despite his efforts to control it. When Benrey fucking talks like that, he can't help it, okay? All-- all smug and condescending and all the shit that should get under his skin-- and does, yeah, it drives him up the wall, but. But. There must be something wrong with him, Gordon thinks desperately. Something warped in the fabric of his mind that makes a shiver race down his spine.

Then he feels warm breath puffing against his face, and he opens his eyes again. Just in time to see a broad tongue run across sharp, sharp teeth. A naked suggestion. Gordon's mouth falls open a little and hangs there, stunned speechless.

Until Benrey mutters, c'mooon, voice low and heated in a way that goes straight to Gordon's belly. And his dick twitches in the open air, fully visible this time. Fuck.

"You're," he starts, staring at his own fingertips, where they're digging into Benrey's hand.

God, this is humiliating! And he should, he should tell Benrey to fuck off and put him down, but he doesn't. That same warp in his fabric goes all the way down to his autonomic nervous system. Heart racing, blood pumping, pupils dilating and sweat beading and every other unconscious reaction he can't wrangle into submission.

Because he wants to be wrangled into submission.

Okay, Christ! He gets it! He doesn't need the color commentary from his own fucking brain!

Gordon takes a deep breath to steel himself, and then he starts again, choked and hesitant, "When you're... God, fucking, touching me and breathing on me and shit, man! Like you'd be doing any better if you had somebody's big fucking hands all over you! Okay?"

As soon as the words leave him, a fresh wave of embarrassment crests and crashes over him. Stupid, stupid, he shouldn't have said it.

> Oh. Well. That was new. Usually, there's a bit more arguing, a bit more resistance, a bit more of Benrey getting called things like "weirdo" and "freak" before they have a good "haha" about it and touch dicks. But Gordon is being so earnest and honest and talking about how he's touching him, about big hands, about doing this same thing to Benrey (sort of talking about it, anyway), and...

> ... And Benrey feels... wanted? Was that the word? Wanted?

> Yeah. He feels wanted.

> And that foreign, alien, hot-cold emotion twisting inside of him balloons and explodes, and there is a sudden, pulse-pounding sensation of want and warmth that courses through his body like a poison. He can feel drool pooling under his tongue and he swallows hard, his smile fading into something more earnest as he tries to maintain a mocking, bullying stare. Tries to keep his head in the game.

> Their game.

> "Oh. You, uh. You like it when I breathe on you? Fuckin'... secret alien power. Uh, blow dryer." He pauses and chuckles. "Heh. Blow."

> He inches Gordon closer to his face, and the closer he brings him, the more he can feel the little bit of warmth radiating off of him. Welcoming him. Blazing hot, like he is on the inside, and flushed so red he looked burned. And that warm, weird, unwelcome emotion surges again as he lets out a sigh and sits Gordon in his palm, plopping him down unceremoniously like a captured bug.

> Only he's not watching him with a childlike curiosity. He's really examining him, trying to wiggle the wrench out of the gears in his brain. With some effort, he pops it loose, and the words pour out of his mouth without any restraint.

> "Bet'cha you'd like it if I, uh... dried you off. Gentle breeze. Pick a scent. Have eight exciting flavors. Blue. Watermelon. Other blue. Tropical, uh, kiss."

> Even he isn't sure why he stressed that last word. The weird emotion spoke for him.

> His mouth snaps shut.

> Awkward.

Whatever Gordon was expecting, it wasn't "being dropped buck-naked onto Benrey's palm". His legs splay out in front of him, and he instinctively tries to draw his knees up. Doesn't change the fact that he's got his boner out in front of God and everybody.

"Was that supposed to be a joke?" Despite himself, he bursts out laughing. He does his best to choke it back down. "You really, uh, gotta work on your dirty talk, man."

Gordon doesn't manage to catch himself before he all but admits that, yeah, that was dirty talk. This is a situation where Benrey should be trying to talk dirty to him. It's breaking the rules a little. Breaking kayfabe. But it's hard to resist bringing it up when Benrey's trying to get him hot by talking about blowing on him like a spoonful of soup.

Then he actually thinks about what Benrey said. Tropical kiss. That's not-- that's not anything. That's not real. Benrey's just talking about kissing him, in whatever weird fucking roundabout way he usually does. A small part of him softens. It's... almost cute. If he were inclined to ever describe Benrey that way. Which he isn't.

But Gordon plays along anyway. "What are you talking about? Scents? Dude, I smelled your breath earlier, and lemme tell you, it wasn't any kind of fucking tropical kiss."

> "Uh, no. S'one of the other flavors," Benrey responds indignantly, façade breaking for a moment. "That flavor was, uh... Glade Plug-in."

> As he speaks, he reels Gordon in closer, sitting in his palm and still sopping wet. He looks so small, so delicate, so... cute, and the thought makes his heart flutter again. It grabs his tongue and twists it into an awkward knot that takes a moment to untie. He works fast, hoping to save face. Get back in the game.

> But it's hard. Harder than before, and as Gordon stares at him expectantly, he's suddenly floundering. While he is externally stiff, flat, and monotonous, on the inside he is scrambling to pick up his scattered index cards during a speech. He wants to play, but he wants to taste. He wants to stroke Gordon's head as much as his dick and he doesn't know why. He wants to say something naughty and nice all at the same time and...

> "Lemme, uh. Demo. Demon-stray-shun," Benrey says, interrupting his own thoughts. "Tropical kiss. Free sample. Here we go."

> And with that, he brings Gordon to his mouth. He presses the smaller man into his lips, a small and chaste kiss being planted in the first place he can reach: Gordon's throat. Only it's... not just his throat. It's basically his whole shoulder, and throat, and beneath his jaw. He practically envelops him, could literally swallow him if he wanted to, but pulls away and snorts a laugh as though this spontaneous act was premeditated as a joke.

> He sounds unconvincing.

> Even more so when he chuckles, "See? Coconut. Sea breeze. Lime. Seagulls. All the classic smells."

Lips press against Gordon's skin before he's fully prepared for it, and he lets out a surprised little sound. Jaw and throat alike find themselves enveloped, a heat and softness and moisture the likes of which he's never felt quite like this. And then it's over. Gordon's still left dizzily processing this as Benrey draws back.

"Did you just kiss me?" Gordon asks, stupidly. He touches a hand to his jaw, where there's a hint of moisture lingering.

The longer Gordon thinks about it, the more disoriented he becomes. Benrey's never kissed him like that before. All, fucking, sweet and tender. Those aren't words in his vocab. Like, yeah, sure, they've kissed before, but only in frantic, snarling bursts. This is strange and new.

But... at the same time... that's not all it is, is it. At this scale, chasteness is impossible. Gordon's so small in his hand, wet and splayed like some kind of foal, and those hands could wrap around every inch of him at once just to touch him. Lips, kissing wide swathes of skin. Hot breaths of air forced through Benrey's nose and spurring the hairs on the back of Gordon's neck to stand up. The unpleasant realization that Benrey is very, very big, and could probably just swallow Gordon whole if he so chose. You know. Normal things to worry about.

But he doesn't. He just lets Gordon go with a kiss. And Gordon flushes up to his ears, still a little dumbstruck.

> That was... new. That wasn't like the lust-fueled, rushed kisses he'd given Gordon while trying to get fingers around his cock, but it wasn't bad. It was something that scratched an itch he didn't know he had, something that made his lips tingle, something that milked an incredibly good feeling out of that foreign emotion swirling inside of him. It's intoxicating in a way human substances never could quite pull off, and Benrey feels an addiction already forming.

> It takes him a moment to realize that Gordon has spoken. It's just a tiny sound to his colossal ears, one he nearly misses from the full-body throb of lust and affection. It's not just his dick anymore. His heart is thundering against every bone, every inch of skin, and he feels almost overwhelmed. Again, like he's dying. This is new, it's intense.

> He wets his lips and furrows his brow, and with a surprising amount of clarity, rattles, "Yeah... uh. I guess I did, huh?"

> His tongue continues to run over his lips. His teeth. His eyes dart to Gordon. He's struggling to play the game properly, but there's a sudden bout of nerves involved. He can't help but wonder if this is how Gordon feels all the time, and the realization clonks him like a clawhammer.

> If this is how Gordon feels all the time, then no wonder he's always such a mess. It's latching onto his jaw and holding it shut like an invisible muzzle, it's pumping him full of drugs that don't exist, it's making him feel small despite being absolutely batshit levels of huge. And, it feels like he's learning... god, what had Alyx called it? Empathy? He's not sure how much he likes it, but it mingles well with the now-welcome warmth following the kiss in a way that feels positively, cathartically self-destructive.

> Benrey coughs. He doesn't laugh. He doesn't tease. He looks to Gordon with an intensity even he's surprised he can pull off.

> "You, uh. Like it? Wan' another one? I got, uh, plenty. Warehouses full. Best Friend Special. BOGO."

Gordon watches Benrey's tongue slide over his teeth like it's in slow motion, a reminder of what lies just underneath the surface. And he freezes under the intensity of Benrey's stare, anticipatory sweat beading on his forehead.

"What, you mean you want to..." He trails off with a nervous laugh. "C'mon, man, put me down! I know you get a kick out of, fucking, making fun of me or whatever, but I don't know what you're getting out of this!"

> Unfortunately, Benrey knows exactly what he was getting out of this. A feeling, strong and tingly that's now full of a primal need that he understands quite a bit better. And, beyond that, he was getting permission. Full permission in every movement Gordon made, every lilt of his voice, every glance up at him that was filled with a hunger that his human never got quite got the hang of voicing. It's a look that Benrey knows good and well, though, from the other time they've played their little games.

> He says nothing. He just smiles, moves Gordon to his mouth again, and pushes his lips gently against his collar bone, though it stretches down to his chest. He can feel Gordon's nipple brush against the corner of his lip, hair brushing against his mouth, the taste of the strange, glittering water and skin as he parts his lips and rumbles a laugh into Gordon.

> He pulls away. He maneuvers his human. He presses his mouth against him again, brushing his stomach with a feather-light kiss that nearly encompasses his dick. He can feel it pressing against him, feel it twitch as he pokes a tongue out between his teeth and presses the very tip into his soft flesh.

> His eyes angle up to Gordon's in a silent bid for a sign. The lick intensifies, nimbly avoiding the cock poking at the very corner of his mouth.

> He continues to say nothing. He has a feeling he doesn't have to. Gordon isn't the only one who can get away with communicating silent intent in their back-and-forth.

Of course Benrey's not gonna answer him. Of course Benrey's just gonna grin at him - like an asshole - and kiss him again, lips soft against his chest. Right over his heart. It's cartoonish, is what it is. And, unfortunately, it's also more ticklish than Gordon expects, and he snorts aloud.

"What are you doing? You're being weird, dude."

When Benrey laughs back at him, his huffed breath ruffles Gordon's body hair, and it just makes that whole "sensitivity" problem worse. Gordon tries to choke down a giggle and fails. Despite himself, it's... it's nice. He almost feels light-headed.

And then Benrey's doing it again, a soft kiss against his middle, shifting him bodily into position, and Gordon laughs again, shoving at his face. Playful. Roughhousing. Their usual.

And again. "That-- That tickles, man, c'mon!"

And again, hot against his belly. Mouth parted. Benrey's chin grazes his dick, which he'd all but forgotten about in his reflexive urge to kick Benrey away. A peal of laughter bleeds into a gasp. All the worse when Gordon feels the wet-hot tip of a tongue push into his skin.

Oh God. It feels just like he thought it would. In that dream, that fucking dream, the one he can't get out of his mind. The one that's made Gordon look twice every time Benrey grins at him, teeth sharp and glossy. He freezes, afraid even to breathe too heavily and press himself all the more against Benrey's tongue.

"What are you doing," he asks again, this time less of a playful rebuff and more of a high squeak. Then it's hotter, wetter, more of the broad side of Benrey's tongue flattening against him, and his dick twitches, hard.

Fuck.

> Alyx would be disappointed, Benrey thinks. He was doing so good and playing so nice, and now he's licking a hot, wet stripe across Gordon's belly, feeling the hairs and skin against his tongue, teeth barely grazing against sensitive flesh. But, he knows things she doesn't and will never know, about the game and the language that he and Gordon have built. He squeaks in defiance, but with a tone that shows only polite refusal: Oh, I couldn't possibly, but if you insist.

> Gordon isn't pressing against his face. He isn't pushing him away. He isn't snarling and cursing, and he hasn't made any move to extricate himself. He's parting his legs invitingly, his voice is getting higher in want and anticipation, and his dick is so hard. As hard as Benrey's, to be honest, and twitching almost as if its beckoning.

> "What'm I doing?" Benrey purrs, and he can see Gordon's body tremble at the way it rumbles through him. "M'helpin'. S'what best friends do."

> With that, his jaw opens wide, his tongue slithering out and the tip dipping lower. Low enough to catch his cock, his legs, the entire bottom of his stomach. It presses hard against Gordon and then creeps upward before coiling up politely behind Benrey's jagged smile. Drool pools at the corner of his lips and he swipes it away with his spare hand.

> He opens his mouth and dives back in again, the faintest hint of flesh and salt and soap and glittering, sweet Xen water dancing across his tongue. It fills him with another burst of primal want, though it's watching the flush on Gordon grow deeper that satiates that other, newer beast nesting inside of him.

Hot, wet, sinuous, pressing against his belly like a snake, making him gasp and jerk instinctively - Gordon's head spins on contact. And Benrey's eyes keep flicking up to meet his, like he's gauging Gordon's reaction. Looking for the go-ahead. Like-- Like they haven't been playing this fucking game for hours, glorified foreplay, you know, like he hadn't let Benrey practically feel him up behind the bleachers while he was (is) stripped down to nothing.

When Gordon's legs jerk open, though, he doesn't snap them closed again. He lets them fall open, leaving room for Benrey's face. If he wanted. To put his face anywhere around there. It's embarrassing as soon as the thought hits his conscious mind, and Gordon burns a bright red down to his shoulders.

"I-I don't know if this is what every 'best friend' is supposed to d-- oh-- oh God, Benrey--"

His voice pitches up, raw and hoarse, as Benrey's tongue flattens itself against his thighs and dick. No more games. Just what this was always building up to, this whole time, if Gordon had just paid a little more attention, pushed his glasses back up on his nose and seen the hunger in Benrey's eyes. And the full knowledge of it cracks over his skull like an egg.

His chest heaves desperately to catch his breath, but it's so much, he can't--

He can't--

Benrey's going back for more, licking him in slow, deliberate strokes and chuffing like a big cat against him, and Gordon can't fucking think. His hands clench at Benrey's, then, finding that inadequate, at his own face. His hair.

"Benrey," he chokes out again. "You're gonna-- oh-- you just gave me a bath and you're gonna get me all fuckin' nasty again, man!"

It comes out as a whine that belies just how fucking stupid he sounds.

> "I'll, uh, just bathe you again. No biggie."

> Benrey's voice is low, dismissive. There is a dark and teasing chuckle hidden just under the surface, as much of a predator as the rest of him. Waiting for a moment to strike, to snag his prey and drag it beneath the surface. But not now, not now.

> Benrey likes to play with his food.

> His alien tongue is strangely dexterous, encircling Gordon's thighs and tracing wet lines into the crease where they met his body. Faint trails of Sweet Voice-tainted saliva leave visible marks of where he's been, allowing Gordon to ogle at exactly when Benrey is doing to him even after he's moved on. Even after he's moved from one leg to the other, to his belly, to his cock.

> His own aches as he flattens his tongue against his dick and licks upwards, like an animal lapping water. His tongue curls delicately and folds back into his mouth, scraping against pointed teeth before emerging again. Hungry, tasting, teasing and growing faster, more deliberate. The taste of Gordon swirl in his mouth and he feels a heat building in his belly so hot and dangerous that it almost makes him feel ill.

> And it intensifies with every squeak Gordon makes, every pant that falls out of his mouth. It drives him onward, a leopard on the prowl, gradually cornering its next meal. His own breath is becoming ragged, his mind a messy whorl of emotions and thoughts that make time seem as though it hardly matters. He's long forgotten how long he's been teasing, eyes nearly crossed to focus on Gordon. Benrey has long been lost in the sounds he makes, the way he writhes.

> It's almost like divine inspiration when it strikes him that he should maybe push him a bit harder.

> Delicately, and uncharacteristically slow, he rolls his tongue back into his mouth. He parts his lips and fits them around Gordon's length. He can't suck, not at this size, but he hums in satisfaction, the vibrations pulsing straight from him and into his human.

> If he wasn't so afraid of doing damage, he'd have smiled.

"We don't have time to--" Gordon breaks off in a moan, that compulsive need to worry stopped in its tracks by Benrey's tongue.

He shivers from his neck down to his toes when it worms around his thighs, digging into those sensitive creases in his skin. Something like a laugh bubbles out of him, but it's also something like a whimper, with a hint of a plea.

"You can't," he gasps, fighting for breath, "you can't do this to me, man, you don't even-- ah! Fuck! Don't even know!"

Gordon turns his face to the side and buries a noise into Benrey's hand. Makes it easier to cope when Benrey licks up to his chest and swirls his tongue, his own breath loud and hot around it. Tasting everywhere he can get to.  Benrey just keeps going, salivating and groaning for the sheer thrill of it, and it makes heat pulse off Gordon's skin in waves.

Faster, harder, enveloping him in ways he had only dreamed possible, something only he can do - Benrey - just for him, he doesn't do this shit with anyone else, how could he. Gordon squirms and gasps in his grip, legs straining to arch into that wet heat.

Agony creeps into his voice, low and haggard. "Benrey," he whines, "how are you so fucking... good at this, why are you even--"

He doesn't get to finish that thought before Benrey's lips wrap around him, and he hums, smug as a cat that's gotten the cream, and Gordon cries out so hard that some winged thing bursts out from a nearby outcropping. How is-- Why is he-- what does he even get out of this, he thinks wildly, brain desperately clinging to neuroticism even in the face of sexual obliteration.

> Every time Gordon shifts his weight, whines, looks away, says a word, Benrey feels that warm, weird emotion surge through him in a way that defies explanation. A feeling he thinks he can now identify, but is hesitant to verbalize, lest he somehow break the rules. But, it's so much stronger than before, especially after everything they'd been through, especially with the way Gordon is finally saying what he really means. Instead of snapping that he's being weird, he's whimpering praise and the words hang crookedly in his head like paintings in a forgotten room.

> "Benrey, how are you so fucking... good at this?"

> The boner he'd been ignoring for what seemed like millennia is now aching, and he pushes his hips against the side of the island and grinds upwards in hopes of finding something resembling relief. Unsurprisingly, what he finds is a crotch full of rocks, and he winces even as he continues to lavish Gordon with attention, breath hot out of his nose as he continues to hum and mouth at his dick. As he unfurls his tongue once more and presses it against his entire body and pushes Gordon against the palm of his hand, something akin to a wet hug. As the tip once again finds Gordon's cock and greedily laps at it, mesmerized by how prominent it is compared to the rest of his soft body.

> There is no give. Just hardness, sinking into the sensitive muscle.

> As he continues on--gently sucking on entire hands, tracing circles into the wet skin of his stomach, tasting the inside of his thighs while grazing his junk with the side of his tongue--he grunts. He feels his hips rocking just out of Gordon's sight. He clenches his free hand when its not in use pulling Gordon's legs apart for easier access or fiddling with his arm to get access to his fingers.

> It's instinctual, and impossible to ignore. He aches, and he knows Gordon can see he's losing himself to this as much as his prey.

> He waits to see if Gordon will have anything to say about it.

Gordon grabs desperately at Benrey's face, a nasal noise forced out of him on every exhale. It's more than a blowjob, it's, it's Benrey humming through his entire fucking body, okay? He can feel it down to his bones, and the inside of Benrey's mouth is achingly warm and so, so wet, and Benrey just keeps mouthing at him, tongue unfurling behind his teeth to lap up Gordon's length in a hot stripe.

It's... it's good. It's so good. Gordon closes his eyes tight and moans aloud.

Benrey moans, too, as his lips part from Gordon's dick to envelop his fingers instead. He pants through his nose and shuffles awkwardly, and the uncomfortable motion gets Gordon to open his eyes again. And he really looks, this time.

Oh.

He's hard.

Benrey's hard, and he's rocking his hips forward into the barren earth. And he's got his hands on Gordon instead of himself. Thumbing his chest and spreading him open. The burden of that knowledge makes Gordon pant like a dog.

"Oh my God," he warbles, voice cracking as Benrey draws patterns into his stomach with his tongue, "are you-- are you not gonna--"

Gordon slaps his hands over his mouth, suddenly regretting his words. No, he's not going to ask if Benrey's gonna touch his own dick, Jesus Christ. That's none of his business. What does he even care, anyway. It's not like he wants to see it. Not like he's curious about how big it would look once Benrey whipped it out. Gordon's aware of the general, you know, size and girth, proportionally, but it looks so much bigger down there, even in the confines of his work pants. It's not really fair.

And then Benrey grunts against him and flicks the tip of his tongue against his dick even faster, and Gordon can't stop the agonized whine that forces its way out of him.

> Benrey's tongue rolls up Gordon's body yet again, and again, and again. It envelops his dick, his thighs, his stomach, and everything in between. He watches, he waits, and eventually he hears Gordon's voice small and broken from his palm. It is enough to make him recoil, to open the floodgates in his mind. That warm feeling floods the inside of his skull and drowns out every thought out but lust, who is gasping for air defiantly.

> "Huh?"

> Benrey pauses, looking down at Gordon--soaked and slimy and oh-so-small--laying with his legs parted, his face flushed, his eyes locked on the very prominent erection straining against his pants. His own trail down to it and he smirks as the weight of Gordon's almost-question hits him.

> "Oh... huh? Wha? Touch myself? Is, uh, is that what you were gonna say?"

> He leans down over Gordon, tongue sticking out between sharp teeth but frustratingly distant from his body. The hand he'd once used to manhandle his human pulled away, fingers slipping into his waistband behind his belt. He sneers, but there is no actual malice behind it. Feigned mockery, just to make Gordon grow brighter. Redder.

> "You... seem to like the idea. You, uh. You... you wanna see? That what you want? Wanna see best friend Benrey's massive hog? Wanna... wanna touch it?"

> A pause, a laugh.

> "Want me to touch it? Seems you like the idea. I can do it. Just, uh, gotta say so."

Gordon mumbles a quiet plea into his hands, begging for some higher power to-- to do something. He doesn't know what. All he knows is that Benrey's sticking his tongue between his teeth, now, looking at him as if he's some problem to be solved or some piece of furniture to wrangle into place. Instead of keeping that tongue right where he had it. Gordon squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath through his nose. He's not disappointed, actually. That would involve caring about what Benrey was doing at all. Which he doesn't.

"You can... you can do whatever you want, man. It's your life," he says, not meeting Benrey's eyes.

Not like he wants to... oh, God. That's Benrey's hand in his pants, isn't it? Slipping under the waistband before Gordon’s even finished his sentence. A sound escapes him that he really wishes wouldn't. He’s really into this, huh, Gordon thinks distantly, just as surprised by the realization as he has been all the previous times he’s figured out that, yes, Benrey actually is pretty hot for him. Like he’s still waiting for the Band-Aid to be ripped off, even now. Even after Benrey’s sucked his dick in a fucking dumpster. (You take what you can get.)

And-- And there it is, huh. Larger than life. Gordon swallows, a little intimidated. Then he wants to curse himself out for feeling intimidated by Benrey’s dick. Freud would have a field day with him.

[mypoisonedvine]

Double Take | Charles Blackwood x reader (with a special guest...)

summary: Charles Blackwood and Bucky Barnes are twins, adopted by different families.  For the first time, Bucky has something that Charles wants: a girlfriend.  And what’s the point of having a twin if you can’t use it to switch places at least once?

warnings: smut (dub con), loss of virginity, lots of little manipulative things from our classic manipulator charles, infidelity, daddy kink, innocence kink, praise kink, corruption kink, (slightly?), a lil degradation but not really

word count: 4.7k 

Charles Blackwood was definitely not jealous of James Barnes.  Charles had been adopted by a more affluent family than James had; he’d never wanted for anything, while James had grown up in a more traditional suburban environment.  The few times they’d met throughout their childhood, Charles had always been shocked at the way the Barnes family lived.  Hand-me-down toys, no television, and not even a nanny or maid!  

And yet, James didn’t seem to mind.  He’d always been a little dim-witted, Charles figured.  Didn’t he see how well Charles lived and wish that he’d been the one adopted by the Blackwoods?  

No, James was just fine being a Barnes, apparently.  What Charles really could never get his head around was how much they all talked to each other.  Mrs. Barnes asked him more questions in that one afternoon visit than Mrs. Blackwood had probably his whole life.  Mr. Barnes was more excited about Charles’ high marks in school than Mr. Blackwood could even dream of.  

It was all rather peculiar.  Who were these people and from where did they get their bottomless energy, their incessant peppiness?

That was why Charles had stopped visiting them as soon as he was old enough to decide not to.  They’d never been close anyways, and him and his twin had never really gotten along.  Yes, it was odd to know someone who looked so like him but who was so terminally different, but after a while it just became a fact of life for the both of them.  

He’d heard that twins often looked less alike as they got older, so Charles hadn’t expected to see an exact double of himself that day on the street.  For just a moment, the shock was just as strong as it would’ve been if he’d never known he’d had a twin, simply because he spent so little time thinking about it.  But there he was-- Bucky, as he’d heard he went by now, looking like a spitting image in the rearview mirror of Charles’ car, walking down the sidewalk arm-in-arm with a young woman.

You were laughing at something he’d said, your head tossing back as you reached up to shyly cover your smile with your free hand.

And now Charles understood why his brother was never jealous of him.  Sure, Bucky hadn’t had the quality of belongings or opportunities that Charles had, but it was clear that he’d acquired something money can’t buy.

Charles Blackwood was truly and properly jealous of James Barnes.  And he didn’t care for it one bit.  Thankfully, as always, he had a plan.

~

“Bucky, hey!” you called out as you saw your boyfriend across the park.  He didn’t turn at first and you wondered if he hadn’t heard you, but then he did.  

His smile was a little different, somehow, but it still melted you instantly.  He opened his arms and you ran to him, nearly knocking him down with the force of your hug.

“I know it’s barely been a week but I’ve missed you terribly,” you admitted, holding him tightly.  

“I’ve missed you too, darling, more than you could know,” he replied as his hands slipped around your waist.

“Your hair… you’ve done something different with it,” you noticed as you pulled back from the embrace.

“Oh, this?” he smiled, reaching up to touch it.  “Yeah, I think they reformulated my hairspray.”

“I didn’t know you used hairspray!” you giggled.

He shrugged.  “I figure my secret is safe with you.”

“You know, I thought it was sort of romantic that you asked me out with a letter at my door!” you remembered.  “Did you have somebody else write it for you?  I hope you won’t be offended, but I’m confident your handwriting isn’t that nice.”

“Sometimes a phone call is too impersonal,” he explained.  “And I’ve been working on my cursive.”

“Regardless, it was sweet,” you smiled shyly, “you know, old-fashioned-- in a good way.”

“Seems like a nice way of saying that you think I’m behind the times,” he accused with a smirk.

“No!” you denied.  “Being a gentleman never goes out of style.”

“Oh,” he chuckled, a strange sparkle in his eye, “I’m no gentleman at all, my dear.”

~

It was a wonderful date; a walk in the park at first, then a quick stop for some ice cream.  You could’ve sworn he spent more time watching you lick your cone than he did eating his, but you paid it no mind.  If anything, it made you feel oddly excited-- and beautiful.  

You stopped briefly as you passed by a jeweler on the street, admiring a beautiful necklace on display.

“Do you like it?” he asked from behind you, and you could just see his reflection above yours in the glass.

“Who wouldn’t?” you chuckled.  “It’s lovely.”

“Do you want it?” he pressed, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder.  You turned around, giving him a confused look.  

“I mean, sure,” you furrowed your brow, “but… I wasn’t really expecting anything…”

“Let me buy it for you,” he offered.

“F-for Christmas?”

“For now,” he corrected.  “For fun.  Because you deserve it.”

“Deserve it?” you blinked, trying to comprehend his words.  “It’s twenty dollars, Bucky.  It’s more expensive than anything I own.”

“That’s a shame,” he frowned.

“What would I even wear it with?!”

“You could wear it with a feed bag with holes cut for your arms, and you’d still look ravishing,” he dismissed.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but--”

He stopped you, stepping closer and slipping his hands onto your back with a smile.  “Darling, you deserve to be spoiled.  Is it so crazy that I want to see my best girl wearing only the best things?  Now wait here while I pop inside and buy it.”

You barely had time to protest before he’d stepped in the door, the little bell ringing as he waved down the jeweler.  Sure enough, you saw him reach in to the window display to take the necklace out, pulling off the tag while Bucky wrote a check.  You didn’t even know Bucky had a checking account, let alone one with enough in it to buy you such an extravagant gift… not that you were going to complain.  No, you just blushed and smiled nervously, pulling your hair up and out of the way so your boyfriend could put the necklace on you.  His fingers brushing against the back of your neck made your eyes flutter shut as you felt like you could melt into it.

“How does it look on me?” you asked shyly as you turned around, letting your hand trail down the chain.

“Sparkles almost as much as your eyes,” he grinned.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” you murmured.

“Don’t worry about that,” he purred.  “I should probably take you home soon, right?”

“R-right,” you agreed, wishing the date wouldn’t have to end so soon.  “But maybe we should wait longer.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, my mom and sister won’t be home for another few hours,” you explained, “so we might as well kill some time so I can meet them when they get back.”

“Or,” he suggested, “we could go there now, and I’ll keep you company until they get back…”

You liked that idea, but felt guilt pang in your gut.  And yet, you suddenly didn’t know how to say no to him while you were wearing his expensive gift around your neck.  So, hand-in-hand, you walked back to your house.

~

“You’ve seen the living room before,” you remembered, “but I don’t think you’ve seen the kitchen.”

“It’s a little small, isn’t it?” he noticed as he looked around.

“Yeah, but it’s comfortable,” you shrugged.  “And it’s home.”

“What about your bedroom?” 

You froze.  It was already a bit risky to let him in at all-- if the neighbors had seen, they would certainly talk.  But you cared so much more of what Bucky thought of you than what they did.

“I don’t mean to be too forward,” he chuckled.  “It’s just, don’t you think somebody’s bedroom says a lot about them?”

“You’re right,” you nodded, “and I didn’t think it was forward.  I just worry sometimes…”

“I know,” he smiled, “it’s endearing.”

You led him down the hall and around the corner to your bedroom.  “Now I’m worrying that it’s a little girlish,” you admitted as you opened the door and revealed the pink, frilly visage of your room.  

“It’s perfect,” he denied.  “Innocent and adorable, just like you.”

“Do you remember when you won this for me at Coney Island?” you beamed, picking up a small stuffed rabbit from your bed.  “I’ve slept with it every night--”

You stopped as you turned around to find him standing right in front of you, his face much more serious than before.  You looked down suddenly, afraid his gaze would pierce right through you; his finger slipped under your chin, gently pulling up your face until you looked at him.

“Bucky…” you mumbled, a little surprised.  He said nothing, his hand trailing down over your neck, toying with the chain of your new necklace briefly, before running along the neckline of your dress.

Your body tensed, even as a paradoxical warmth was spreading between your legs.  The way he touched you made you feel nervous, excited, guilty, and desperate all at once.

You’d wanted Bucky to touch you like this for a while now, but you’d known it was better that you didn’t.  As much as you didn’t understand why he was suddenly interested in doing something you both knew was wrong, you weren’t exactly complaining either.

Suddenly he kissed you, and it was so different from every other time he’d done it.  His tongue slipped into your mouth and you let out a little moan of surprise; his teeth grazed your lip and it made you feel wonderfully dizzy.

“You are so beautiful,” he cooed as his kisses trailed to your neck.  You could barely contain your moans then, your head falling back as you melted into his arms.  “So shy,” he continued, “so precious.”

You pressed your body closer to his, loving the way his hard, muscular form complemented your softer curves.  You felt him smile against your skin, giving a playful bite to your collarbone which made you yelp a little.

“I’ve wanted you ever since I first saw you,” he whispered as he pulled you closer.  “Knew I had to make you mine.”

He pulled back and you looked up at him with wide eyes.  “Really?”

“Of course,” he chuckled, “don’t you want me?”

“Yes,” you answered quickly.  “I’m already yours, Bucky.”

His face shifted suddenly.  “Don’t call me that,” he frowned.  

“Wh-?” you began to ask, but he anticipated it.

“Call me ‘daddy,’” he smiled.

You gasped a little, feeling heat burn from under the skin of your cheeks.  “I- I don’t know… it’s a little strange, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s perfectly normal,” he soothed, but you found it difficult to relax as you felt his fingers trailing down your back, and then fiddling with the buttons of your dress. “Not all the time, of course.  Just… when we’re doing something special.  Something secret.”

You breathed out shakily as your dress fell to the floor, leaving you only in your undergarments.  You might have worn nicer ones if you’d realized what would be happening, but he didn’t seem to mind the plainness of them as he let out a low groan, tracing the line of your bra over your chest.

You instinctively began to wrap your arms over yourself but he gently pried them away.  “Let me look at you, darling.  You’re gorgeous.”

He sat down on the bed and motioned for you to sit beside him, and you awkwardly obeyed.  

You jumped when he touched you again-- this time tickling your thigh with the tips of his fingers-- and you chewed your lip as you tried to look away.

“You know what I want to do, don’t you?” he asked you darkly.

“I don’t know if I’m ready--” you murmured, even though you felt your body reacting so positively to the way his fingers moved up your leg.  His touch left goosebumps in its wake, and you felt your back arch without having meant to do it.

“Don’t you love me?” he pressed, and his voice was sad but his gaze never moved from where his hand was now wrapping around your inner thigh.  

“Of course I do,” you promised.

“I just want to show you how much I love you,” he explained, “that’s all.  I’ll make you feel so good, darling.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that but then he leaned in and placed an aggressive, wet kiss to your neck, teeth grazing over your pulse point, which made your heart race wildly.

“Ohh, Bucky,” you moaned softly.

He tutted disapprovingly as he suddenly pushed your legs apart.  “Try it again.”

His pointer finger drew a delicate line along your panties, right between your lips, and you shivered.  “D-daddy,” you finally stuttered out.  You felt him grin against the slickened skin of your neck.

“Such a good girl,” he praised, and you felt your chest warm with his compliment.

His hands wrapped around your waist and they felt so strong and hot-- not as rough as you’d imagined, but masculine nonetheless.

He gently pushed you back to lay on the bed, rubbing you through your panties as you gasped.  His eyes watched you with a smoldering intensity as you squirmed and whined at the strange sensations his fingers were bringing you.  

You shivered when those fingers pulled the fabric aside, finally touching your swollen and sensitive folds.  Honestly, you’d been expecting more of a reaction, but instead he instantly pushed his middle finger into your opening; he touched you like he knew exactly what he was doing, and though you weren’t sure how he knew what he was doing, you were too focused on how good it felt to care.  He slipped a second finger in and your head fell back onto your pillow.

“O-oh, god, daddy,” you whimpered, your legs quivering a bit as pleasure jolted your body.

“You like how I’m making you feel?” he presumed with a smirk.

“Yes,” you gasped, unintentionally kicking your legs with joy, “yes, yes, yes, I do.”

He leaned in to kiss you again, trapping your mouth in his.  His fingers twisted inside you, putting pressure against your walls just as his thumb brushed over your clit.  Your muscles tightened around him, and he shut his eyes as he let out a low groan.

“I think you’re ready for me, baby,” he decided, his fingers slipping out of you suddenly and instead fumbling with the buckle of his belt.

“D-daddy,” you stammered, jolted from your bliss to shock and confusion.

“Oh, you’re so perfect,” he praised, “I know you’re a little scared.  It’ll be good, I promise.  I could never hurt you.”

He must have sensed that you weren’t quite convinced as you began to move back on the bed slightly.

“You trust me, don’t you?” he asked, his voice deepening while you watched him take his hard cock from his trousers.  You nodded, but the size of it… intimidated you, to say the least.

Before you could slide back again, he caged you in with strong hands above your shoulders.

“Darling, say that you trust me,” he demanded.

“I trust you,” you assured, looking up at him and wondering when his eyes got so dark.

He reached down to spread your legs for him once more, but never looked away from your face.

“Say that you love me,” he requested, quieter yet firmer.

“I love you,” you answered, but the moment the words had left your lips, he pushed his hips forward and forced his cock into you.  You were wet but it didn’t make it an easy fit at all; you cried out and instantly grabbed his shoulders tightly, your whole body clenching with the pain.

"Shh," he soothed, but the way he kissed you was rough and strong and dominating.  He pulled back and slammed forward again, making you whimper into his mouth.

"It hurts," you whined as you turned your face away, wincing when the way he pulled you closer only heightened the sting.

"Oh, I know, but you're doing so well darling," he praised, "you're taking me so well.  It'll feel so good soon, if you're just a little more patient for me.  Can you do that?"

You nodded, and he stilled inside you bringing some relief.  "Say it properly, please," he requested.

"Yes, daddy," you answered shyly. 

He smiled and kissed you quickly before thrusting again, a little slower.  

The pain was starting to dull as you felt pleasure overtaking it, pleasure unlike anything you’d felt before.  You felt so full in a strange but addictive way.  You bit your lip as moans started to pour from your lips.

“Don’t get quiet for my sake,” he encouraged, “I wanna hear you, darling.  I want you to show me how good I make you feel.”

“D-does it feel good for you?” you asked nervously.  He grinned and leaned back to run his hands over your legs, and even kiss the inside of them a few times.  

“Darling,” he growled, “you feel incredible.  You’re everything I dreamed you’d be.”

You sighed with relief, though it turned to a gasp as he began to move faster.  His cock massaged your walls so perfectly, and you felt pressure building inside you as the pleasure turned from relaxed to searing.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he noticed.

“Y-yes,” you admitted, feeling your face burn.  You felt guilty for liking it so much.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, “it’s supposed to feel good.  All good girls love their daddy’s cocks.  You love it, don’t you?”

You moaned as you nodded, that pressure getting stronger until you were worried you would get light-headed.  “I… I feel funny,” you stammered.

“You’re about to come, darling,” he explained.  “It’s a good thing.  It feels good.”

“Okay,” you mumbled, trusting him even though you were a little afraid of what would happen when you came.

"Go ahead, come on my cock.  I know you're so close.  Come for me."

You were wondering what you would have to do to obey him, but then you realized all you would have to do was let his pleasure wash over you-- and now, there was nothing you could do to stop it.

“I-I’m coming, daddy!” you yelped, and all at once that coil of energy snapped inside you.  Your whole body tensed and jolted involuntarily, moans getting louder until it almost sounded like screaming.  You hoped he knew that these were good screams, and you weren’t in pain.

He seemed to, because he kept going, fucking into you harder and rougher.  “Fuck, you like that baby?  You like how I feel inside you?”

“I do,” you nodded quickly, “feels so good…”

You started to feel sort of sleepy and confused, your head heavy from the exhausting pleasure of having just come.  He smiled down at you, admiring your fucked-out expression as you gave in completely to your body’s needs.

“Such a perfect little cunt,” he growled, the filthiness of the word only barely registering in your fuzzy brain.  “You get even wetter when you come, darling, and so fucking tight… god I never wanna stop.”

“Don’t ever stop,” you begged, “you feel good, daddy.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” he warned, “you’re so delicate, you couldn’t take it.  You’ll be begging me to stop by the time I’m done, darling.  Gonna ruin this needy little hole.”

His words made you feel nervous and confused, but oddly aroused.  That coil was tightening again, already.  You wanted more; you weren’t sure you could ever get enough.

“Daddy, I-- I’m gonna come again, if you don’t stop,” you admitted sheepishly, looking down to watch the way his cock disappeared into your body.  You could hear how wet you were each time he thrusted forward, and it was shameful but addictive.

“Look at you,” he purred, “you love it.  You were made for my fuckin’ cock, darling.”

He leaned down and kissed you again, his thrusts changing from fast and reckless to slow but deep.  He pulled back languidly only to slam home harder every time, making you cry out against his lips.

He reached down to hook your legs in his arms, pushing them back until you were bent into a strange position-- when he moved again, his cock brushed against something so deep inside you that you worried there would be none of you left.

You winced and gurgled from the feeling-- it wasn’t quite painful, but it was close to it, along with incredibly intense.  “Oh, daddy,” you gasped.

“You didn’t even know somebody could fuck you like this,” he posited.  “You didn’t even know you could feel this good.”

You nodded breathlessly, your body shaking and shivering underneath him.  This time when you came, it seemed to never end.  He just kept going and you were sure you would stay suspended in this pleasure forever so long as he didn’t stop.

“Fuck, you’re coming, aren’t you?” he growled.

You nodded again.

“I’m close too, darling,” he admitted.  “Beg me to come.  I know you want it inside you.  Ask me nicely.”

“D-daddy,” you moaned, too lost in it to remember how dangerous this was, “I want you to come… I want it inside me…”

“Fuck, I know you do,” he groaned, his head falling back as his thrusts became more erratic.  “Gonna fill up this wet little pussy, gonna claim you with my come-- you’re mine forever, darling.”

“Yours,” you gasped, “all yours, daddy.”

“Fuck!” he cried suddenly, his voice breaking as he pushed as deep into you as possible.  You could feel his cock flexing against your walls, pushing you to your absolute limits, as he came.

You both laid there, nearly frozen still, as your breathing began to slow down a bit.  He moaned when he pulled his softening cock out of you, and took a moment to watch his come leak out of your hole before falling limp beside you.

You blinked to clear your spotty vision; you were sure you were experiencing a pleasure-induced hallucination, or maybe the force of it was just making you see double… because how was your boyfriend in bed with you, and simultaneously standing at the door?

Bucky’s arms wrapped around you slowly, holding you to him, and it was the way the other Bucky weakly called your name that made you know it was the one in bed with you that was the impostor.  He called your name as if he couldn’t believe it was you he was looking at; you understood the feeling.

“Bucky, I--” you started, with no idea what to say.  “What’s going on?”

Bucky’s shock shifted to anger, and you tried to struggle against the arms holding you back but it was fruitless.

“Charles,” Bucky hissed.  “This is… how could you?”

“The difference between you and I,” the voice behind you, just like his, began to explain, “was never money, or random chance.  We had the same opportunities…”

His fingers traced over your thigh and you shuddered.

“...I just knew how to take them.”

“I didn’t know,” you tried to explain, “I thought it was you--”

The other man-- Charles, as Bucky had called him-- clamped a hand over your mouth.

“Your girlfriend’s a bit of a whore, James.  I mean, sort of a tough nut to crack but damn, once you get inside--”

“Shut up,” Bucky seethed.  “Stop talking.”

“You heard her call me ‘daddy’, right?” Charles laughed.

Bucky tightened his jaw, silently answering the question.

“You heard her beg me for more?  Beg me to come inside?” Charles continued.

Bucky stormed across the room, jumping on top of the both of you to wrap his hands around Charles’ neck. 

“Me!” Bucky yelped, “she thought it was me!”

“Still could be,” Charles managed to grumble out through the pressure on his throat.  

Bucky’s face shifted, anger turning to something… else.  Shock, maybe, but it was more than that.  He looked at you, eyes fierce and wild.

His hands relaxed from Charles’ throat, who coughed a little as he caught his breath.

“Do you love me?” Bucky asked you quickly as he moved off of Charles and hovered over you.

“O-of course,” you stammered, tears welling in your eyes.

He leaned back to undo his belt, and Charles laughed.  “Don’t let my come get in the way or anything.”

“I won’t,” Bucky growled before roughly thrusting his cock into you.  Your head fell back but he was already fucking you hard and rough.  His body was the same as Charles’ but he felt completely different.  He fucked you with so much anger and ferocity, and as sick as it made you feel, it felt good, too.

“Bucky,” you gasped, “s-slow down…”

It fell on deaf ears as he grabbed your hips and pulled them up so every thrust was as deep as possible.  You felt like putty in his hands, and you loved it.  Though you didn’t know why, you wanted him to use you.  You wanted him to make you his again, the way you’d been before, erase everything that had happened with you and this… stranger laying beside you.  Who, by the way, was watching the whole ordeal with a raised eyebrow, seemingly more curious than jealous.

Bucky leaned down until his whole body was covering yours, and you wrapped your arms around his wide, muscular back.

“You feel… so good…” he whispered huskily against your ear, and you heard the strain in his voice.  “I can’t last…”

“It’s okay,” you soothed, “I want you to feel good, Bucky; I want you to come.”

“Not until you do,” he said with determination in spite of the way his whole body was shaking, “not until you know that you need me.”

You could only respond with broken moans as he reached down and rubbed your bundle of nerves with his thumb.  He watched the way you cried out and struggled underneath him, the pleasure so intense that your body could barely take it.

“Bucky, please!” you sobbed, not exactly sure what you were asking for, but he kept going, moaning loudly and reaching up to hold onto your headboard even as his own thrusting slammed his knuckles into your wall.

He made a noise that made your heart twist-- something like a whimper and a growl all at once-- and you knew he was coming, but he didn’t stop.  Even when he looked like he was going to hurt himself, even when sweat rolled down his brow and made his hair cling to his face, he didn’t stop.  You came undone all at once, feeling your walls tighten so hard that you were afraid they’d cramp up or something.  Tears burned your eyes from the sheer force of it; your fingers dug into his back through his clothes.

Finally, he let himself slow down to a stop.  You sighed, still feeling little aftershocks reverberate in your body.

“Charles, 2; James, 1,” Charles mumbled to himself as he sat up, patting his twin on the back.  “Good try, though.”

Bucky shoved him off, so hard that he rolled off your bed and onto the floor with a thud.  You wanted to check that he was okay but Bucky grabbed your jaw and kissed you deeply.  When he pulled out, you could feel the rush of warm, sticky come as it left your body.  You felt blissfully disgusting, filthily beautiful.

“Bucky, I didn’t know,” you attempted to explain through your panting breaths, “I never would’ve-- I thought it was you--”

“I know,” he shook his head.  “I know.  It’s okay.”

You could tell that it wasn’t okay.  He was devastated, it was all over his face.  This wasn’t how you wanted any of this to go.  

“Can I ask you something strange?” Bucky requested.

“Of course,” you agreed quickly.

“Where did you get that necklace?”

Charles’ face popped out from across the edge of your bed, painted with a prideful grin.

[bumblesimagines]

The Oldest Pogue

Request: Yes or No

Heads up for most of these Outer Banks fic I'll probably do the mini intro lol they're fun. Btw timelines a lil weird. Takes place in ep 1 but have the party the day after they find the boat and all that. Idk Shoupe's first name so imma just call him Shoupe or dad. Idk what grade everyone is in but imma assume that the Pogues and Sarah (+ Topper) are sophomores/juniors since they're 16

~

"Then there's (Y/N) Shoupe, better known as Mama Pogue or (N/N). We got lucky with (Y/N) since he's the deputy's son. He's the definition of a mom friend, always taking care of us. We'd probably starve to death without his meals. Though we would never admit it, we all had crushes on him when we first met him."

(Y/N) entered the house, glancing at a passed out JJ. He chuckled, shaking his head as John B stepped out of his room.

"Morning, sweetie." (Y/N) greeted playfully, setting down groceries.

"Sorry I couldn't join you guys yesterday." (Y/N) started putting the things away and began making some lunch for the boys. John B shrugged.

"It's fine, you'll make it up to us with food." John B replied with a grin. (Y/N) chuckled, nodding.

"Where'd you go?" (Y/N) asked. John B sat at the table, glancing at JJ.

"Motel.. Found a sunken boat and a key in it so we went to the motel. Had to dodge your dad. He took money from a potential crime scene." John B told him. (Y/N) sighed.

"What do you want me to do? He already says half of our conversations are 'political'. He doesn't like that I'm hanging out with a bunch of idiots." (Y/N) said as Kiara and Pope entered.

"Ouch." Kiara grinned, glancing at JJ as he stirred. "Did you tell him about the gun and money?"

"Gun?"

"I was getting to that, Kie." John B sighed. "JJ took the gun."

"Jesus.. A gun? Underaged with an unregistered gun and no license?" (Y/N) stared at them. "Do you know how much trouble you'll get into?!"

"I tried to tell them, (N/N)." Pope said. (Y/N) pinched the bridge of his nose, putting the two plates of burgers before approaching the half asleep male.

"JJ, a gun? Really? Of all things?" (Y/N) stared at him. "Huh?" JJ looked at him, drool coming out the side of his mouth. A swift smack to the back of his head woke him up.

"Jesus, what the fuck?" JJ huffed, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head. "Come eat breakfast, JJ." John B called.

"What the hell am I gonna do with you four?" (Y/N) asked, sighing softly. JJ stood, chuckling.

"Love us." He replied, going to the table and sitting down.

"Please don't play with a gun." (Y/N) looked at him. JJ nodded, raising his hands. "Promise, Mama Pogue."

"Swear on Cheesecake?" (Y/N) cocked a brow.

"Cheesecake?" Kiara furrowed her brows.

"I swear.. I swear on Cheesecake that I won't play with the gun." JJ gave a nod. (Y/N) nodded, crossing his arms.

"Who's Cheescake?" Pope asked. "A fish we caught." JJ replied, mouth full.

"Gross." Kiara cringed, giggling.

"Eat with your mouth closed." (Y/N) called. JJ swallowed and nodded.

"Yes, mom." JJ replied, grinning. (Y/N) shook his head, running his hand through his hair.

"How's everyone after Agatha?" Pope asked.

"I mean.. People have been calling the department left and right. The power will probably be out for a while." (Y/N) shrugged.

"Bet those kooks will have power in no time." JJ mumbled, shaking his head.

"Can't believe the one day I don't hang out with you guys, JJ gets a fucking gun." (Y/N) sighed, shaking his head.

"Also! John B and Pope surfed the surge." Kiara said.

"You did what?!"

"Way to snitch on us, Kie." Pope mumbled. Kiara shrugged.

"It's called payback." Kiara replied with a chuckle.

"If it took down a boat, it probably could've taken you along with it." (Y/N) placed his hands on his hips. JJ mimicked him, earning another smack on the head.

"Come on, we're having a party at the boneyard." John B said.

(Y/N) laughed as he won the drinking competition. JJ laughed, high fiving him. Kiara noticed the JJ held onto (Y/N)'s hand for a little longer than needed.

"What would daddy say if he saw you drinking?" JJ asked, getting another cup. The two headed over to John B. (Y/N) laughed.

"What's he gonna do? Ground me? Lock me up for drinking?" (Y/N) questioned. JJ shrugged, grinning as he offered John B a cup but noticed Sarah Cameron and offered it to her instead.

"Sarah, can I interest you in a tasty Milawaukee beverage?" JJ asked. (Y/N) shot him a look, glancing at Topper.

"No, thanks." Sarah smiled, shaking her head.

"Come on. Is it not fancy enough for you?" JJ asked.

"No, we were just leaving-"

"You know what? I'll take it." Topper cut in. (Y/N) and John B shared a look.

"Let it go, JJ-"

"No, no, I'll have it." Topper cut (Y/N) off.

"That's nice, Topper but I didn't ask you. Now, if you said pretty please, maybe, but you didn't. So, Sarah-" Topper knocked the drink out of JJ's hands which in turn made JJ grab him by the shirt.

"JJ!" (Y/N) grabbed him as John B and Pope came in, pushing him away as well.

"Dirty Pogues!" Topper shouted. (Y/N) looked at John B.

"John B, don't you dare-" John B turned around, shoving Topper back. Sarah tried to cut in but Topper punched John B. The fight caught the attention of everyone else. Topper kicked John B while he was on the ground.

"Hey, John B, don't make me down you like your old man, alright?" Topper said.

"This dumb fucking blonde." (Y/N) whispered, pinching the bridge of his nose. A fight quickly broke out, the two fighting in the waves and sand as the crowd chanted. (Y/N) watched them, trying to get them to stop.

"Topper, stop!" Sarah shouted, trying to stop her boyfriend from drowning John B. (Y/N) quickly stepped in, grabbing him by the back of his shirt and pulling him back, punching him. John B coughed behind him, head spinning.

"You wanna go, Shoupe?" Topper asked. (Y/N) went to respond but a gun was pressed to the side of Topper's head, the safety clicking.

"JJ-"

"Your move, broski." JJ stared at Topper. Most of the teens on the beach ran while Sarah and the other Pogues tried to get JJ to put the gun away.

"We're good! We're good!" Topper repeated.

"(N/N), Kie, check your psycho friend!" Sarah watched, panicked and worried for her boyfriends life.

"Okay, everyone, listen up! Get the hell off our side of the island!" JJ shouted, shooting two rounds into the air. Pope and Kiara shouted at JJ while (Y/N) quickly rushed to John B's side as he collapsed.

"My dad's gonna kill me." (Y/N) whispered, dragging John B out of the water.

"Help me!" (Y/N) called, getting the others attention. JJ and Pope rushed over, helping (Y/N) carry John B to the van.

"Is he okay?" Kiara asked as she drove.

"Yeah, he's breathing." (Y/N) replied, staring down at the male. John B coughed but didn't open his eyes.

"He might have a killer headache tomorrow but other than that, he should be fine." (Y/N) said.

"I can't believe you were so stupid! Taking the gun out on a kook?!" Pope stared at JJ. The two got into an argument, Kiara jumping in as well.

"Enough! JJ did it to help stop Topper from hurting me and John B. Yes, he could've done it another way and handled it better but at the end of the day, he was trying to help." (Y/N) looked at them.

"You always take his side." Pope mumbled.

"It's cause he loves me." JJ grinned.

"You're my least favourite child." (Y/N) mumbled. JJ chuckled. "Admit it. I'm your favourite." JJ cooed. (Y/N) flipped him off. They got to John B's place, getting him in bed. (Y/N) got on his dirt bike and rode off, heading home.

"Can't wait to hear this lecture." (Y/N) mumbled, parking his bike and heading inside. He entered the kitchen, starting up dinner. (Y/N) made his dad's favourite, hoping it would please him. (Y/N) heard the door open and clothes, his dad entering in uniform.

"Hey, dad." (Y/N) greeted, placing the plates of food down. He sat, shooting his dad a smile.

"Got a call not long ago. Some kid had a gun." Shoupe said, sitting down. (Y/N) hummed.

"Did you find out who it was?" (Y/N) asked. Shoupe shook his head.

"No.. But from eyewitnesses, there was a fight and I heard you were involved." Shoupe said.

"Dad, you know I'm not the violent type." (Y/N) continued to eat. "But I did punch Topper for trying to drown John B." (Y/N) said quickly.

"Thank you for being honest." Shoupe said, sighing deeply. He put his fork down and looked at his son.

"(Y/N).. I don't want these kids to ruin the possibility of you going to culinary school." Shoupe said. (Y/N) sighed, looking away. "And they will if you keep running with them."

"Dad, I'm gonna be a senior next year. I have my whole life ahead. I could enter culinary school whenever I want or feel like it." (Y/N) said. Shoupe sighed and nodded.

"I know.. I just don't want you getting stuck here. I want you to have an early start." Shoupe said. "I'll be accepting of you.. No matter what." Shoupe assured.

"Thanks, dad. Anything new today?" (Y/N) asked. He thought back onto what John B told him.

"Nope." Shoupe shook his head. (Y/N) hummed, nodding. He stood, washing the plates and heading off to bed. He hoped the following days would be better.

[rafecameron]

Hospital For Souls

Summary: Rafe decides that instead of the usual halloween parties the kooks would attend this year the perfect way to celebrate the spooky evening would be to explore the abandoned building he found the week before. This is for @bricksatanakinswindow​ spooky writing challenge!

Pairing: Kooks x Reader (a lil Topper x Reader)

Word Count: 4.5K

A/N: Okay so I’ve never written anything scary before so this probably sucks ass and isn’t even scary. But that being said I have tagged people who have asked to be tagged in my work but if you don’t want to read anything horror related please don’t feel the need to, I won't be offended! Also the first half is proof read and the rest isn’t bc lazy.

*GIF is mine*

“Rafe where are we going?” You ask with an exasperated sigh, every time you asked your best friend for any kind of hint to where you were going he’d simply tell you you’re almost there.

“Yeah man we’ve been walking for ages.” Topper complains from beside you.

“Look, we’re almost there okay?” Rafe turns to shoot you all a glare, “Just stop asking!”

You let out a groan but shut up as you follow after him, sharing an annoyed look with the two boys beside you. Rafe had driven you all out to the cut as soon as it started to get dark, parked up in the middle of nowhere, and insisted you all follow him into the trees. If you didn’t know him any better you’d think he was going to murder the three of you and bury you out here. But the backpack slung over his shoulder wasn’t big enough to hold a shovel so you were sure you would be okay.

Deep inside the tree’s you finally come to a stop outside a building. From the front it looks no bigger than your house, but you can see that it goes a lot further back. The windows are boarded up, graffiti littering the exterior of the building.

“What the hell is this place?” Kelce asks as Rafe heads up the crumbling stone steps.

Rafe simply shrugs, “No idea.”

“Great explanation.” You roll your eyes waiting at the bottom of the steps with Topper, “How did you find it?”

“Yeah, what the hell were you doing out here?” Topper questions.

“I found it after getting into an argument with my dad. Drove out here, got out the car to smoke and just found it.” He says, like walking through the woods in the cut alone to smoke was a totally normal thing to do.

He pulls out what look like bolt cutters from his bag and starts attacking the chains on the doors, you raise a trimmed brow and turn to give Topper a ‘what the hell??’ look.

“Uh, Rafe? What are you doing?” You ask.

“Trying to get inside.” He says through gritted teeth as he squeezes the chain between the blades.

Kelce stands with his arms crossed, back leaning against the wall watching his friend fight with the metal, “Why would we want to go inside?” He asks.

“To look around?” Rafe poses it as a question, letting out a whoop when the chain finally breaks in two, “Unless you’re scared?” He turns to you with a challenging grin.

“Scared? No.” You shake your head, “Doesn’t mean I want to go in there. We’ll probably fall through the floor or something.”

“Yeah I’m with y/n on this one, doesn’t exactly look like it’s had a safety check in a good couple of years.” Topper tilts his head to look up at his friends on the steps.

“Fine, stay here then, if you’re scared.” Rafe taunts before disappearing inside, Kelce hot on his heels with a laugh.

“Seriously?” You groan. You share a look with the boy beside you before letting out a sigh and starting up the steps.

The inside was pitch black, you could barely see a hand in front of your face let alone where you were walking.

“Guys?” Topper calls out, you feel his hand brush against your arm as he tries to feel his way around.

You’re suddenly blinded by a bright light, causing you to stumble back into something hard, “What the hell?” You shout covering your eyes as Rafe laughs from behind the light.

“Figured we’d need these.” He says chucking the torch at you, you fumbled to catch it, rubbing your lower back which had hit the cabinet behind you.

“You’re an asshole.” You grumble.

You shine the light down at the floor in front of you, it’s covered in years worth of dust, clouds of it floating up into the air as your friends distrubed it. You point the torch around the room, looking at the array of abandoned furniture, none of it giving off any indication as to what this building used to be.

“I’m so glad this is where we’re spending our Saturday night.” Topper comments, tapping his torch against his palm to get it working.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Rafe asks, his voice far away as he heads deeper into the building.

“Since when were you the adventurous type?” You call after him.

The rooms smelt musty and old, the building itself seemed older than any other on the island you had seen. The doors were thick and wooden, the cement of the walls starting to crack and crumble due to years of neglect. You couldn’t help but turn your nose up at the entire evening. You would have much rather spent the night at a party getting stupidly drunk, like you were sure every other teen on the island was.

“Where did they even go?” You mutter mostly to yourself, Rafe and Kelce had disappeared down the dark hallway and you could no longer see the light from their flashlights.

“Do you want to wait outside?” Topper asks, sounding half bored and half scared.

You considered it, already sick of breathing in the polluted air but ultimately you shook your head, “It’s dark, one of them could fall and hurt themselves.”

Topper nods and follows you through the cluttered hallway. You shine your light into each room, illuminating its contents but not seeing your friends anywhere.

“I think this was a school or something.” Topper comments, his light landing on chairs and desks spread around one of the rooms, a blackboard propped against the wall still had squiggles of chalk on it.

“Maybe.” You murmur.

You weren’t sure if this really was a school or if people had used this place as a dumping ground for old furniture before finally abandoning it. Either way, you didn’t care. You just wanted to find your friends and get out of there. You were admittedly starting to get a little creeped out. You’d never been in a place so deathly quiet before. It was almost as if even your breathing and footsteps had been muted. In a place where you expected to hear echoes you were met with nothing but silence. It was eerie.

“Guys?” You call out, “C’mon we’re gonna get lost in here!”

You shoot a worried glance to Topper at the lack of reply from your friends, already concerned something had happened to one of them.

“They’re trying to fuck with us.” Topper grumbles and although you agree it’s likely, you had known Rafe your whole life after all, you were still worried about one of them falling and breaking their neck in the dark.

It wasn’t until you had been searching for at least another five minutes that you hear Rafe’s voice calling you from a distance.

“Get over here!” He calls, a light appearing down the bottom of the hallway.

You huff out and hurry towards the light, Topper close on your heels. As you get closer the light disappears inside a room and as you round the doorway you find Rafe and Kelce standing in front of a table, lights pointed down at the surface.

“What?” You snap, annoyed that no in fact one of them had not been dying, they had just been ignoring your calls.

“Check this out.” Kelce waves his light across the table for emphasis and you peek over his shoulder.

“What the fuck is that?” You frown.

“A spirit board.” Rafe answers, “Are you stupid?”

You punch him on the shoulder, “Hard to see under all the grime.” You huff, “Really, it’s fascinating, can we go now?”

“You don’t wanna try it out?” Rafe asks and even Kelce snaps his head up at that.

“No, I definitely don’t want to try it out. Can we just go? It’s freezing in here.” You cross your arms over your chest, rubbing your hands against your cold arms.

“Don’t be wimps, c’mon.” Rafe picks up the board, blowing the dust off before placing it back down.

“Rafe, we’re not playing that stupid thing.” Topper tells him.

“Don’t be a pussy Top.” Rafe picks up the plachette from the floor and places it in the middle of the board.

“I’d rather be a pussy than possessed.” Topper holds his hands up with a nervous laugh, “I’m not touching that thing.”

“You really believe that crap?” Kelce asks, switching his torch to his left hand as he reached out for the wooden item.

“Believe it or not, I’m not risking it.” Topper shrugs.

“I’m with Top, I’m not touching that thing. Besides, it’s filthy.” You wrinkle your nose as your friends place their fingers on it.

“Ask it something.” Rafe instructs Kelce.

“What the fuck am I supposed to ask?” Kelce frowns up at him.

“I don’t know man. Whatever they ask in those horror movies.” Rafe shrugs, looking down at the plachette expectantly as he waits for Kelce to speak.

“Uh, alright.” Kelce rolls his shoulders and clears his throat, “Uh, is there anybody here?”

All four sets of eyes sit on the plachette, waiting to see if it does anything. A few moments pass and Rafe nudges Kelce with his elbow.

“Ask something else.” He says.

“Like what? I’m guessing the answer to that one was ‘no’” Kelce rolls his eyes.

“I guess there’s no one here then, lets go.” You grab Toppers elbow as you make to turn around.

“Hold up,” Rafe twists his head to look over his shoulder, “Let’s just try again. Ask again.”

“Why can’t you ask? I don’t want no ghosts following me home.” Rafe shoots Kelce a glare and the boy lets out a sigh, “Alright, fine. Is there anybody here?” He asks again.

You glance around the room while the boys play with their board, the table, board and two metal chairs are the only pieces of furniture in the room. The set up seems strange, like someone used this room for the sole purpose of communicating with the board.

“It just fucking moved!” Rafe calls out causing you to snap your eyes back to the board.

“It’s still in the same place.” You comment.

“No it definitely just moved!” Rafe argues, eyes glued to the wooden shape.

“Rafe, can we just-” You cut yourself off as you watch the object slide across the board slowly, the movements jittery as it makes it’s way to stop on the ‘YES’ at the top of the board. “Okay, which one of you moved that?”

“I didn’t do it.” Kelce holds his hands up, “I swear.” He looks over at Rafe with a raised brow.

“Well I didn’t do it, put your hand back on it.” Rafe tells him, his eyes flashing with excitement as he looks back to the table.

The plachette starts moving again, slowly and uncertainly it makes its way across the board. It moves to the left and down, coming to a stop over the letter ‘O’ for a few seconds before moving again. To the right this time it stops on the letter ‘U’ before shuffling the tiniest but to the left to stop on ‘T’.

“Out?” Topper asks, worry knitting his brows together.

You just let out a laugh and roll your eyes, “Very funny, ha ha, you got us. Let’s go.” You clap your hands together in mock applause.

“We didn’t fucking move it!” Rafe protests, “We didn’t even ask it anything!”

“Well I don’t believe you! I know you’re trying to fuck with us Rafe, it isn’t going to work!” You place your hands on your hips, glaring at the boy looking over his shoulder at you.

He quickly drops his fingers from the board, holding them next to his shoulders, “I didn’t fucking move it.” He says adamantly.

Kelce copies his movements, removing his hands as he stared down at the bored, “You had to have moved it, because I didn’t.”

“Of course he moved it.” You sigh.

But a squeal is quick to leave your lips as the plachette flies off of the board unaided and hits the wall to the left, both boys in front of the board suddenly jump backwards.

“Fuck this!” Topper spins on his heel and hurries out of the room, you not far behind him.

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.” You mutter to yourself as you run after Topper, the sound of footsteps behind you telling you your two other friends weren’t far behind.

“Did you fucking see that?” Rafe calls, excitement evident in his tone.

“Yes we fucking saw it why do you think we’re running?” Topper calls back out of breath.

Your flashlights danced across the ground as you all sprinted through the hallways, you weren’t entirely sure Topper was leading you the right way but right now you didn’t care. As long as you were far away from that room you were okay.

You only came to a halt when you were all out of breath, your hands rest against your knees as you suck deep gulps of air into your lungs.

“What the fuck was that?” You pant out.

Part of you wanted to accuse Rafe of trying to scare you all but you knew he’d never be able to pull off something like that, he wouldn’t have the patience to set it up. You could feel your body shaking with adrenaline after your unexpected run, your heart was beating out of your chest.

Topper was leaning against the wall, head tilted back to meet the cold wall as he watched his two friends by the window.

“Did we run the right way?” Kelce asks as he peers through the window, “I can’t see anything out there.”

“I wasn’t really concentrating where I was going, I just wanted to get away from whatever that thing was.” Topper points a shaky finger in the direction they had just come from.

As he did a bang emitted from down the hallway, you couldn’t see what it was but it sounded like something had fallen over.

“Well either that thing is following us or there’s two of the fuckers,” Kelce shakes his head, “I gotta get out of here. Black people always die first in horror movies and I ain’t about to be murdered by some dead motherfucker.”

Kelce starts to head off down the hallway, and although you hadn’t been taking much notice of your surroundings you were sure you didn’t recognise this hallway.

“Kelce I think that’s the wrong way.” You call out to him but his figure keeps getting smaller.

“You wanna go back that way then be my guest!” He calls without turning around.

“He kind of has a point.” Topper shrugs and motions for you to go in front of him.

“I can’t believe you’re all freaking out,” Rafe shakes his head as he follows behind Topper, “It’s fucking exciting!”

“It is not exciting!” You snap out.

“Are you scared y/n?” He teases.

“Yes I am fucking scared! There’s like, a fucking poltergeist or something in here throwing shit around!” You shiver at the thought, “I’ve seen way too many horror movies to know how this stuff ends.”

You try your best to keep up with the boy in front of you but he’s practically running at this point and you weren’t sure you had enough energy left after your other sprint.

“Kelce slow down!” You call out to him, “We need to figure out where we’re going.”

“Well it’s gotta be this way, it’s not back that way is it?” He calls back, continuing at his fast pace.

“I’ll go get him.” Rafe says with a roll of his eyes.

He pushes past you and Topper and hurried into the darkness to pull his friend back. You stop walking, turning to Topper with an anxious look.

“I don’t think this is the right way. We could have easily gotten turned around when we were running.” You sigh and run your fingers through your hair.

“Hey, it’s fine,” Topper says though you can tell by the look on his face he’s feeling a million things and fine isn’t one of them, “we’ll find the way out.”

He places his hands on your hips, mostly to comfort himself with some physical touch rather than to calm you down. He rubs circles into your hips and you nod your head quickly.

“Yeah, I know. Why did someone think it was a good idea to board up the windows.” You groan out.

Topper lets out a chuckle, “To stop idiots like us from getting in?” He suggests.

You laugh softly before resting your forehead against his chest. His heart was beating rapidly and you were sure yours was no different. You stood like that for a couple of minutes before you finally pulled yourself away from his grip.

“Where are they?” You ask chewing on your lower lip, “Don’t tell me they’ve run off again.”

“C’mon, let’s go find them.” Topper holds his hand out to you and you gladly take it.

He leads the way down the hallway, searching desperately for any sign of light from the other twos torches.

“I can’t believe them.” You mutter to yourself.

You jump into Toppers side as you hear a bang from one of the rooms beside you. You don’t dare check inside to see if it’s your friends and instead hurry your feet along the floor to the end of the hallway.

“I don’t like this.” You whisper out to your friend.

“Me neither.” Topper replies, “But I’ll look after you.” He reassures you with a squeeze of the hand.

You offer him a small smile, allowing him to pull you down the left corridor. You couldn’t believe Rafe and Kelce had disappeared again.

“If we find the way out we’re leaving without them.” You glare ahead of you.

Topper laughs lightly, “You wouldn't do that,” he replies before whipping his head round, “did you hear that? Rafe?”

You squeeze onto his hand as you hear shuffling behind you like someone was walking without picking their feet up properly. You wait a few seconds but get no reply.

“I don’t think that’s Rafe.” You tug on his hand as you start to walk backwards.

Topper spins around pulling you into the nearest room and shutting the door behind you both. He leans his back against it in case anything tries to get through while you pace in front of him, fingers pulling at the roots of your hair.

“This can’t be real.” You mumble.

You pull out your phone to try and call your friends but you had no signal, big surprise. You push it into your pocket in frustration and let out a groan. The room Topper had pulled you into had no furniture at all, the only thing breaking up the dull walls was a door in the far corner. You slowly make your way over to it, a shaky hand reaching for the handle as you try to gather the courage to pull it open. You decide to do it like a plaster, you grab the handle and rip the door back, letting out the breath you had been holding when nothing jumped out at you.

“It’s another corridor Top,” you call looking over your shoulder.

Topper runs across the room, pushing you into the hallway and pulling the door shut behind you, “Okay, good. Now we’re really lost.”

“There’s got to be an exit around here somewhere. A fire exit or something.” You take hold of his hand again, urging him to take the lead and start walking.

The corridor seemed to go on forever. Thick doors lined the walls either side of you, each one pushed wide open but you didn’t dare turn your head and look into any of the rooms. You didn’t want to see anything that would give you worse nightmares than you knew you’d already be having.

As opposed to when you first entered the building nowhere was silent now. You were fully aware of every sound surrounding you. Every little creak of the floor, every bang from a random room and every footstep that sounded above you. You tried to convince yourself they were being made by your friends but you figured even they wouldn’t be stupid enough to go upstairs to find an exit.

“Topper, I’m getting really scared now,” You admit as the door behind you sways as though in a breeze coming from nowhere, “I just want to be at home. I don’t want to be here and I don’t want to walk back through the woods.”

Topper squeezes your hand, looking back at you over his shoulder, he tried his best to put on a brave face, “We will be home soon, y/n.” He reassures you.

You find yourself becoming more and more distressed as every corridor you turn down looks exactly like the previous one. None of them showed signs of harbouring exits and you were sure you would be in here forever. The bangs from behind you were getting louder and the footsteps from above never stopped, like whatever it was was following your exact path. Topper’s torch had once again stopped working and you gladly passed yours over to him, your free hand now also gripping onto Toppers as well.

In horror movies everyone always has such a will to survive. They run and they fight and you imagined that’s what it would be like in real life. But all you wanted to do was curl into a ball on the floor and not move again. You had no fight in you. No will to run up and down the hallways screaming and begging for help. You just wanted to sit and cry and hope that by the time morning came you could find your way out. But Topper wouldn’t let you and you wouldn’t expect him to wait around for you while you sat and had a breakdown.

“Hey, what’s that?” Topper comments, his light dancing across a door which looked suspiciously like the fire exit doors at your school. You allow him to drag you over to it at a jogging pace and you almost cried when he pushed it open and fresh air blew onto your face. You both tumbled out the door, the steps beneath you almost completely disintegrated. Out into the trees you want to fall to your knees and cry happy tears but you can’t.

“Which way do you think?” Topper asks shining his torch to the left and the right. You were at a random part of the building, the trees much closer to the exterior now and you had no clue which was to go.

“Well, if we follow the building we have to make it back to the entrance eventually, right?” You suggest biting your lower lip lightly.

Topper nods in agreement and heads off to the left. You ignore the sound of the boards banging against the windows, it was just the wind, the wind that was nonexistent.

The building seemed to go on forever and you thought you were lucky to have not been lost in there for much longer than you were.

“What if they’re not out yet?” You ask.

“We’ll wait for them.” Topper replies.

“And what if they’re not out by morning?” You question again.

“I don’t know, y/n,” Topper sighs, “Do you want to go in and find them?”

You quickly shake your head. You would rather sit outside all day and wait for them than go back inside and risk getting lost again. Luckily this one thing had gone right for you tonight and you had walked in the right direction, the entrance soon coming into sight. The second lucky thing was that Rafe and Kelce were sat on the wall along the stairs, legs swinging.

“I see you guys were looking for us.” Topper calls out causing the boys heads to snap up.

“I see you were too.” Rafe calls back.

As you get closer to the boys you let go of Toppers hand and hurry over to them, “You’re not possessed, right?” You ask, tiptoeing up to look them both in the eyes with a glare.

Once you were certain neither were possessed you turned to Rafe and pushed him in the chest causing him to topple backwards off the wall, “Asshole!” you snap out.

“What the hell y/n?” Rafe pops up over the wall with a glare, “Are you trying to break my neck?”

“Yes, actually. It’s the least you deserve after taking us in there!” You reply stepping forward to shove him again but Topper holds you back.

“Look let’s not fight, okay? Let's just get back to the car and get out of here before whatever is in there comes out here.” Topper decides for you all, you don’t protest when he takes your hand for the third time tonight. The touch comforting even outside of the building, you definitely needed it walking through the pitch black trees.

Every snap of a twig or rustle of leaves had you snapping your head round, certain something was following the four of you. Rafe constantly told you to calm down, while Kelce would rub your shoulder comfortingly. The only one seemingly unaffected by the nights events was Rafe but you couldn’t tell if he truly didn’t care or if he was putting on a brave face. Knowing Rafe it could be either of them.

You let out a groan of relief when Rafe’s truck comes back into view, running over to it with your hand still clutching onto Toppers. You crawled into the back seat, eagerly buckling yourself in and ready to get back into figure eight and away from this place forever. The pogues could have the creepy haunted building, you wanted nothing more to do with it.

The drive back was silent, Rafe humming along to the radio like nothing had happened, Kelce staring blankly out of the window and your and Topper clutching onto each other in the back. You decided to go back to Rafe’s, Rafe wanted to party and honestly the rest of you just didn’t want to be alone.

Inside Rafe’s living room you curled up onto the corner of the couch, gladly accepting the glass of whiskey the host offered you, gulping half of it down in one go and slowly feeling your body stop shaking. The more the four of you drank the more the conversation started flowing again, the alcohol helping the night feel a little less real.

You were sipping on your fourth whiskey when the sound of glass smashing behind you caused you to jump out of your skin. You spun round on the couch, noticing a picture laying face down on the floor surrounded in glass, one that had just been hanging on the wall perfectly fine.

You share a look with your friends, horror written across their features - Rafe included. Whatever you had found in that building had decided to follow you home.

@rudyypankow​ @joshy-obx​ @topperthornton​ @starlightstarkey​ @rafej-cambanks​

[housamo-side-blog-2]

HARUMO EXPOSED.

This is a story about Harumo.. 

{SPLASH OF WATER} 

Harumo:...bloo...bloooo..blo...blah.......*gasp for air*. 

You gasp for air, as you have just made a jump from 10 feet,

Shiro: Harumo, you just jump from 10 feet,are you okay? 

Harumo: Yeah,im okay. 

Shiro; Thank goodness,you landed with perfect form, if not, then you would have just felt the most painful slap in history. 

Kengo: Is it really that painful, i bet i could take it on. 

Shiro: Coming from you loudmouth,

Kengo: Its true, I’ve felt way more painful punches that those pathetic slaps,right partner? 

Harumo: Ahh, yeah, i guess? 

{Lil Salomon appears} 

Lil Salomon: Hello Master!,...Whoah!, you”re in the sea, care to explain you’re wherabouts? 

Harumo: Wanna take a dip? 

Lil Salomon: I’ll pass, i was checking in on you.

Harumo: Well thats a surprise... 

Lil Salomon: You see,  I have a very personal project that i want to complete, so i was just checking, if you’re in need of me, 

Harumo: I think we’re good for now. 

Lil Salomon: Oh good, well then, see you later then! 

Harumo: Hey wait Sal-.. 

Your question goes unanswered, to brush your curiosity, you float on your back, and met the piercing gaze of the sun, with its brightness, you close your eyes and just float,.....

COMPLETELY UNAWARE OF SOMETHING IS OFF.!

 ????: HARUMO WAKE UP ! 

Harumo: ....What is it you Guuuuuuuuuuuuuyyyyyysssssss! 

Shiro:*BLUSHING* AGYO AND KIJIMUNA  DON’T LOOK FOR THE LOVE OF YOG-SOTHOTH! 

Agyo and Kijimuna: HEY, WHAT GIVES?!

Kengo: HAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAH! 

Ryota: *BLUSHING LIKE A TOMATO*

Moritaka:*BLUSHING* Harumo? 

Shino:.*BLUSHING*..THA--UGH--.. FILIAL ONE! HOW DARE YOU LOOK !

Moritaka: PLEASE FORGIVE ME! 

Toji: *blushing* Uhhhmmmmm.....

Harumo:*BLUSHING*AHHHHHHHH!!! WHERE ......ARE .....MY TRUUUUUNNNNNNNKKKKKSSSSS?!

{CAW,,,CAW,,,}

{END SCENE}

*Yesterday* 

{SUMMONERS SAFEHOUSE} 

The safehouse is the the place where guildmates attend to conduct their guild activities, strategy meetings and also. 

EVERYONE: AIR CONDITIONING! 

Thats right, today is an usual very hot for Tokyo today, and according to the broadcast its only going to get more and more hot tomorrow, And due to the intense heat, classes today are suspended as most school don’t have air conditioning,luckily, 

EVERYONE: THANK YOU SHIRO! 

Shiro: All right, i understand all your feelings but, hold out on the touching. 

Ryota and Harumo: YOU’RE THE BEST SHIRO!

Shiro: O,,Well,, Thank you Harumo. im glad you say that. 

Kengo: So much for holding out on the touching.

Shiro: What was that?!  

Toji: Purchasing an AC is a wise choice Shiro Motoori, if not, we’re probably boiled eggs already.

Agyo and Moritaka: AHHHHHHHHHH!! SO COOOOOLLLL! 

The two fluffy fured Canis therians sit infront of the the lifesaving air conditioner in a proper sitting position.

Shiro: Its a good thing, i bought it,just incase if their is a heat wave, Agyo and Moritaka would be alright. 

Ryota: Oh yeah, Canis Therians are probably the most affected in this heat wave, i hope they are okay. 

Agyo: This is much more better that waving fans around in the Land of Wa,  

Moritaka: Yes, When there is a hot day, we would just sit under a tree.

Moritaka: Though i have to say, its not the least effective during this intenese heat. 

Harumo: .....Wait a sec...i get the feeling somethings off. 

Shiro: Really?!, what is it?

Harumo: Hmmmmmmmmm......

{Hexagram flashes} 

Lil Salomon: Hello Master, cooling down i see. 

Harumo: Hey Lil Salomon,

Ryota: Hello, Lil Salomon, how are you doing?!

Lil Salomon: Hello to you too, Ryota, im doing fine, thank you for asking. 

Harumo: He said Hello to you too Ryota and he’s doing fine. 

Ryota: Yay! 

Kengo: Hey, whats with the yay Ryota? 

Ryota: Lil Salomon showed up. 

Kengo: You mean that invisible guy.....Hey Salomon guy, 

Toji: Who are you all taiking to? 

Moritaka: Everyone, what seems to the commotion.

Agyo: And who are you all taiking to? 

Harumo: Oh yeah, i haven’t introduced you to everyone yet. 

Lil Salomon: Well, it seems i to make an entrance. 

The floating gray fured butler,fixes his tie and dust off his butler his uniform to prepare his long awaited introduction to the rest of the Summoners. 

Harumo: Lil Salomon, everyone can’t see you. 

Lil Salomon:....AHHHHHH!, i EVEN DUST OFF MY SUIT, 

Again, only the one wearing Salomon”s ring can see the small butler that accompanies you everyday. 

Toji: So... who are we going to meet again? 

Harumo: Everyone, i would like to introduce Lil Salomon here. 

Moritaka, Toji and Agyo: .........

Harumo: He’s the first friend that i met ever since i arrived in Shinjuku Central Park, and he’s my butler. 

You put your hand under Lil Salomon, to help them see where he is,even though they can’t see his form, 

Lil Salomon: Its a pleasure to meet you Toji, Agyo and Moritaka, Thank you for protecting my Master in times of trouble.

Harumo:{ Relays what Lil Salomon said} 

Agyo: You mean?.....HE IS A GHOST?! 

Moritaka: Agyo, i think thats not it, maybe Harumo is the only that can see him. 

Moritaka: That amazing!, to think you have a butler on your own. 

Lil Salomon: Thank you Moritaka, i have to keep my master safe, even though he always go to trouble. 

Toji: Huh, that explains some questions. 

Lil Salomon: Oh.. Master, i should inform you about Kijimuna, you promised to take him to the safehouse to meet everybody. 

Harumo:............I TOTALLY FORGOT!

EVERYBODY: AHHH!. 

Shiro and Kengo: Harumo, whats wrong?! 

Harumo: I totally forgot about Kijimuna, {Remembers about Kijimuna} 

EVERYBODY: KIJI...MUNA? 

Harumo: He’s my friend that i met during the time i was stranded on a deserted island. 

Everybody:...Eh?

Harumo:......

Everybody: WHHHHHHAAAAAATTTTTTTT?! 

Shiro: You were stranded?!

Ryota: Deserted island? 

Everybody: ALONE?! 

The news comes a shock to them, to know that they’re friend,the one that saved them, was stranded on a island in the middle of nowhere, everybody is still processing your crazy trip, but what would they think if you told them about your other out of this world adventures. 

Shiro: When..did this happened? 

Toji: How did you get out of there? 

Ryota: More importantly, how did you get there. 

Harumo: Guys, calm down...{If i told them about the rest, they surely will go crazy}...uhm...anyway i better go pick up Kijimuna.He’s with Mr Triton, so it shouldn’t be far. 

Shiro: We are going to have a taik with you later. 

Harumo: Uh...O-okay Shiro.. See you all later.

Shiro: This explains a lot of questions. 

Kengo: What do you mean. 

Shiro: Do you not notice Harumo suddenly disappearing all of a sudden? like that time with the treasure hunt in Nakano.

Toji: I forgot to tell about that time, Shiro Motoori. 

Ryota: What do you mean? 

Toji: Remember the day we were discussing about the treasure hunt that was famous in Nagoya. 

Shiro: I thought they were only rumors. 

Toji: Yeah well, We have an exam that time, and i heard Harumo mumbling about something. 

Ryota: What did they say.? 

{FLASHBACK} 

Harumo: Something about a treasure ship.....

Toji: Hmmmm. 

Harumo: Didn’t we go sailing that time.... .. I wonder how everyone is doing?

[END FLASHBACK}

Toji: Then after school, They went to Nakano. i don’t the rest of the details after that. but it sounds like they have some other accquaintances, 

Shiro: I see... hmmm.... when Harumo first arrived. we have been making a lot of friends with other people lately. 

Ryota: Yeah, They are the reason how i met Maria and led us to Daikanyama Academy. 

Kengo: Yeah, same goes for me. and also Claude is way over heels for them. 

Kengo: Back in the war,

Shiro; War? 

Kengo: It was like a war that time, The three main guilds of Tokyo, for the first time fought side by side, i was shocked to see the Tycoons lending a hand. 

Shiro: And the reason for their unity, was Harumo.. 

Ryota: Yeah.. we all saw them. Harumo never backs down whenever he sees someone hurt. 

Kengo: You got that right, during our first fight back in the Coloseum, They never gave up and..{Remembers what they said}... They said im their friend.. 

Shiro: After that, you never have absent again. what made you change your mind. You were always so stubborn. 

Kengo: Shut up nerd!, I-its because!,,,i ....wanted to be with them. 

Ryota: Guys!, I think the reason we’re all here, .Its because of Harumo. 

Shiro: None, of this wouldn’t have happened if Harumo weren’t here. 

Kengo: Because of them. I got to fight much more stronger opponents! 

Ryota: They are also the reason why have friends! 

Agyo: Harumo is also the reason, how i have found my purpose, 

Shiro; Harumo made big changes in the people they have come across with. even to us. ..

Shiro: Right. Toji? 

Toji: Do not misunderstand Shiro Motoori, the only reason i stick with Harumo, is because i swore to protect them, nothing more nothing less. 

Ryota: They are also the reason we met you! 

Toji: Tha--...*sigh* fine,say what you wish, 

{Door opens} 

Harumo: Hey guys, im back! 

Shiro: Welcome back Harumo!,...where’s Kijimuna?

Ryota: Come on!, i want to him too! 

Agyo: I wonder if he is my age? 

Kijimuna: HELLO EVERYONE, NICE TO MEET YOU ALL! ...are they your friends Harumo? 

Harumo: Yep, Everyone, I would like you all to meet Kijimuna, he was the first person that i met when i was stranded on his island. 

Agyo: He’s taller than me! 

Ryota: You’re so cute!, i wanna hug him already! 

Kijimuna: Yay!, HUGS! 

Ryota and Kijimuna: HAHAHA! 

Shiro: Hahahaha.... Hello Kijimuna, my name is Shiro Motoori. Nice to meet you.. 

Kengo: The names, Kengo Takabushi, sup there little fella. 

Moritaka: I pleasure it is to meet you Kijimuna. My name is Moritaka Shino Inuzuka!

Agyo: And my name Agyo, im the protector of this place. 

Kijimuna: WHOAH !, you’re a protector?, like me? 

Agyo: You’re also a protector? 

Kijimuna: Yep, i protect the Banyan Tree that has been growing on my island for years......Oh sorry,... Its a pleasure to meet you all.! 

Everybody: PLEASURE TO MEET YOU TOO ! 

Shiro: Wait.. you mean...you have been alone in your island for how many years exactly?..

Kijimuna:*counting his fingers* More than these! 

Everyone: Wha?!. 

Agyo: You have been a protector for so long? 

Kijimuna: Yep, Then i met Harumo. who washed up on the beach side of my island! and then i we met a lot of new people! 

Shiro: I see.. 

Moritaka: Thats most impressive,to be able to protect something from a young age is most astounding! 

Kijimuna:  No one ever shows up,so there’s not a whole lot of protecting. 

Kijimuna: You see. {Tells his life story before Harumo appeared} 

Kijimuna: And thats when i met Harumo. and after that. i’ve became friends with so many different people and it was fun everyday in the island! 

Ryota: *sobbing* whaaaa! 

Harumo: R-Ryota?, are you okay?

Ryota: To be alone for so many years! WHAAAA!, *HUGS KIJIMUNA*

Kijimuna: O-okay.. calm down.. Ohhh how about we play together!..sound fun?

Ryota: *Sobbing* y-yeah okay. 

Shiro: He was all alone for so many years.. 

Kijimuna: Do you wanna play too Uhmm...Agyo? is it? 

Agyo: Playing is for little kids! 

Harumo: You’re also a kid...

Agyo: Im not! 

Kijimuna: *giggling* 

Agyo: Are you making fun of me?! 

Harumo: I think you two are going to get along really well.Since you both are protectors.  

Kijimuna: *Extends his hand* i hope we could be great friends Agyo! 

Agyo:......*Extends his paw* Y-Yeah!, I think so too! 

Harumo and Ryota: AWWWWWW! SO CUTTEEEE! 

And so,Kijimuna finally have friends that he could have a bond with,even in this hot day, the warmth of these ordeal, makes the room both cool and comfortable.

OR IS IT.....

{A LIMO DRIVES BY INFRONT OF THE SAFEHOUSE} 

Agyo: Hmm.. Hey.guys i sense someone in our territory. 

Harumo: I wonder who could it be? 

Agyo: Its a long,black car and....oh someone got out of it. 

Shiro: A limousine? 

Ryota: WHOAH!, Only rich people get to ride those! 

Kengo: I have a bad feeling about this.. 

Moritaka: Why would someone come here all of a sudden? 

Toji: {Could they be after Harumo?.}

The driver of the car immediately went out with an umbrella opened as if to protect the important person sitting in the backsit. however the driver of the seat is non other than..

Harumo: Xolotl?! 

Shiro: That means..

Kijimuna: Hey...is there something wrong..? 

Harumo: That means Hakumen! 

Xolotl the loyal servant to one of the excecutive members of the Tycoons, His Master is the owner of the famous Casino, that is blowing millions, with its extraegance. 

Hakumen:HMMM....So.. this is the safe house of my liege?

Xolotl: Yes,Mistress Hakumen, according to one our sources,their safehouse is located here. 

Hakumen: Oh.. i see.

Harumo:*Opens the door* Hakumen?!, 

Hakumen: Oh...MY LIEGE?! 

The nine tailed fox quickly went to her beloved liege in a dust, 

Harumo: W-what brings you here Hakumen?.

Hakumen: Well..you see.. its pretty hot today ...and im throwing a grand party at my resort!, 

Harumo: Wow!, You own a resort?! 

Hakumen: Off course i do!, who do you think for?...Ahem. my liege its pretty boring since the guests will be members of the Guild and some other a-accquaintences that i invited. and i would love to personally invite you and your guild to this party.. 

Harumo: Hmmmm....

Shiro: If i may interrupt....

Harumo: Shiro...

Hakumen: And who are you supposed to be? 

Shiro: Im Shiro Motoori, the adviser of the Summoners, Pleasure to meet you. 

Hakumen: Oh.. i see...so my liege will you come? 

Shiro: Forgive my rudeness, but,do you have an ulterior motive for inviting Harumo? 

Hakumen: Hahah!, Well, Sorry to burst your bubble,but i have no plot to accomplish, My only wish is for beloved Liege!, to attend my party..

Shiro:Hm...

Harumo: Okay, we’ll definitely go! 

Shiro: H-Harumo.. what if she has something planned? 

Harumo: She wouldn’t come here in this intense heat, just to plan something bad, i think this is sincere. so lets give her a chance.. 

Hakumen: OHHHH,, The way my liege cares for me!, is so loving, that makes want you now even more!. 

Harumo: We’ll come Hakumen!, Count on it! 

Hakumen: Very well my liege, the party starts tomorrow, i’LL have the men in the entrance know your coming. 

Harumo: Okay, its settled, we’ll be there Hakumen.. 

Hakumen: I’LL be waiting my liege! 

Hakumen, goes back to her limo and drove off. 

Harumo: ..Welp.. Looks like we got a party to attend to! 

Shiro: Im still skeptical about her.

Ryota: Harumo,Shiro!, what happened?, what did she say? 

Harumo: *explains to them* 

Toji: You invited you outta the blue, Im agree with Shiro Motoori, this sounds fishy.

Ryota: C’mon guys, We don’t normally get invited to this types of parties and also i want try their food! 

Kengo: You just wanna eat their food don’t cha! 

Agyo and Kijimuna: Hey,whats going on!

Ryota: We’re going to a party! 

Agyo and Kijimuna: Really?!, with lots of delicious food and fun games! 

Harumo: I don’t think they have games, but their pool could be super fun.. 

Ryota: All right... We’re going to a party, try fancy delicious food and a have pool party!..Oh man!,, im so excited! 

Kengo: Even though, Its cold here, I nice outing in the pool is much more enjoyable than doing nothing than sitting here in the cold. 

Moritaka: Indeed,, this is going to be so much more fun than i imagined it to be.. 

What will happen in the party hosted by the foxy vixen Mistress Hakumen, is there a hidden plot in it or is there something instore for Harumo find out in the next part! 

OKAY, THATS GOING TO BE IT FOR FIRST PART OF THIS STORY RIGHT HERE, AND THE FAMILIAR FACE PT 2, IM CURRENTLY WORKING ON IT, DON’T WORRY, AND AS ALWAYS LIKE IF YOU LOVE IT AND IF YOU READ IT BUT DIDN’T LIKE IT THEN YOU LIKE SO THATS FOR TODAY AND THANK YOU ALL FOR READING.THANK YOU VERY MUCH.....

Self-proclaimed writer: THANK YOU FOR READING EVERYONE..

Harumo: THANK YOU ALL FOR READING EVERYONE..