#you didn’t ask for a ramble/analysis yet here we are

[signanothername]

Hi! I love your rescue bots art and I was wondering who your favorite bot was?

Hello!! Thank you sm! <333

Ngl the show’s characters are so amazing that it genuinely is hard to say for sure, but I’d say Heatwave!!

Prepare for a ramble >:)

I already have a soft spot for grumpy characters and he falls into that category, but i genuinely love how the writers balanced his character so well that you don’t hate him for his gruffness, he’s that trope of “asshole with a heart of gold™”

The thing is, Heatwave isn’t fully a jerk either, he respects authoritarian figures, gives people credit where it’s due and has a sporting spirit and you can tell he cares deeply about the people he loves, but loves to put on a front (especially when it comes to kids)

He does have a bit of an ego but he knows when to keep it in check (basically doesn’t let his ego get in the way of his rescue work or uses it as an excuse to hurt people’s feelings)

In fact i’d say outta the rescue bots he’s the one who has faith in his family the most when it comes to knowing they can handle themselves, he’s the only one who doesn’t think Dani’s test pilot work is a big deal and explicitly states she knows her job and can handle herself, not that the others’ worries are out of place, it’s just that, for someone like him who’s overprotective, it’s nice to see him have so much faith

We can also see how much of a worrier he is in the “changes” episode, he doesn’t wanna leave the team cause he’s worried about them (and to me, it seems as tho he really doesn’t wanna seperate from them) but i believe that worry is less about him believing they can’t take care of themselves and more tied to his overprotective nature, he was worried they’d get hurt and he wouldn’t be there to protect them

He takes his job seriously both as a rescue bot and as a leader and takes responsibility for any shortcomings or reckless behavior that could’ve endangered people and i actually respect that a lot, cause most hotheaded characters are written in a way that they always think they’re in the right, which Heatwave doesn’t, his character breaks away from that usual writing and you’re presented with a hothead who actually takes responsibility for his actions which is really refreshing to see

The only times we see Heatwave acting recklessly is when he’s sure no one would get hurt, so it’s really funny to see for a hothead like him, cause he actually stops and thinks twice most of the time

All that aside, I do love when he acts like a jerk at times, they’re usually comedy gold moments, that one scene of him making fun of Blades cause of the scoop claw and when Cody gets upset with him, Heatwave literally tells Boulder and Chase “you guys never know when to stop do you?” Like MY MAN THAT WAS MOSTLY ALL YOU DHHDGDGDHHD (we here at signanothername do not condone bullying, we do however find it hilarious /j)

His character contrasts so well with Kade’s too and the two’s relationship is honestly so amazing aaaahxhdhdh

But what i love the most is the fact you can clearly see he grows as the show goes on, most his moments of him being a jerk are at the beginning of the series, later down the line he’s a lot more considerate and gentle, still acts like a jerk sometimes (cause he’s HW come on) but it’s a lot less than when in the beginning of the series

Not only that but how homesick he is and how Earth and Griffin Rock grow on him overtime, he starts very (and I mean VERY) angry, very not on board with staying, hell, he wants to leave in the first episode, but it’s so nice to see his struggle with accepting earth as his new home, and while I wholeheartedly believe everyone struggled through the same thing, they were prepared to look for their peace in their new home, Heatwave wasn’t at peace and he was very vocal about it

That’s why, the episode “Space Bots” is one of my favorites in the entirety of the series, aside the fact it’s a fun and unique episode, it’s the episode Heatwave finally calls Earth “home” and ngl it actually made me tear up a bit

Just THIS SCENE MAN (I love Blades’ big smile at Heatwave at the end, Blades is so proud of HW chhcc)

Obviously to someone who never watched the show the scene seems mundane at best, but to someone very invested in the story and characters? (Cough me cough) it was such a heartwarming scene, Heatwave finally finding some internal peace and calling it home??? 10/10 crying and screaming

Of course, he still struggles, as we clearly see with the Allspark day episode in S3, he refuses to celebrate it cause he doesn’t see himself as part of the community yet, yes he accepted Earth as his new home but there’s still that dissonance between him and the people in Griffin Rock

So it’s genuinely interesting to see his journey towards finally feeling at peace and finding himself among the community he lives with

I love when the bots finally revealed themselves as aliens rather than robots in S4, Heatwave was very apprehensive about it, really scared to do so even when he’s grown fond of the community, so you can imagine my absolute joy at the absolute shock Heatwave displayed when the people of Griffin rock immediately accepted them and were very excited about it

LIKE LOOK AT HIM HE CANT BELIEVE HIS OPTICS

And much, much more I can talk about but we’d be here for days hdhxhdhhd

Anyway I’m done rambling have this Heatwave sketch <3

[blueeofsl]

THIS IS PART 2 OF CASS UPDATE ANALYSIS! Here is part 1 if you haven’t read that yet

~~~~~

Which brings us to Page 7. Donnie is yelling at him. Telling him his flaws that Leo has had since forever. Trying to hold back even more anger than what he is already showing because It’s Leo. He just came back from dying alone in the apocalypse.

Notice in the first panel, the lines in the text bubbles are quite wobbly. This gives us the idea that not only is Donnie yelling, but he’s also showing quite a lot of emotion already. Something that we usually don’t see him doing around others. Maybe he’s even holding back tears.

In the last panel we see tears forming in Leo’s eyes as Donnie is finishing his ramble. He’s surprised to see this emotion from his twin but is showing that he’s listening. Even if his eyes show a hollowness to them (although looking back, its seems this is pretty consistent in Leo’s eyes. Could be me looking to much into it.)

~~~~~

Page 8. “Do you have any idea… how close you were to have nothing left to save?” Harsh, Donnie, harsh. But true.

While his twin was saying this, the frown Leo has turns into a smile. Note that this is the first smile we see from Leo in his new body.

I really like how Cass has shown a large portion of Leo in the first panel too, showing off the fact that yes, he has gone through so much pain and trauma, yet he is still whole. Because of his family saving him in the end. Scars are there, but the wounds (physical) have healed.

We see that he has more of a hopeful expression now.

Donnie asks him if he’s still listening, but Leo is probably more focused on the fact that his call for Donnie to yell at him (from after him being bitten by krang dog) has been finally answered.

~~~~~

Page 9, Leo finally speaks. First thing he says is his twin’s name, like a question. Like he can’t even believe it. There are tears still in his eyes, he’s barely able to hold back his emotions as he lets Donnie continue to talk.

The second panel is so cute though,, Leo’s big smile as he waits for Donnie.

“At least you’re talking.” This must have been a worry for Donnie. I would guess that he has been calculating a lot of risks to bringing back Leo and still has doubts. He continues to take notes in the third panel, when realizing that Leo isn’t immediately acting like his old self, thinking that there is more work to be done to make his twin happy.

But that’s where Leo stops him. As soon as Leo grabs him, Donnie stops what he’s doing. Usually Donnie isn’t the biggest fan of someone getting in the way of his research, but it’s Leo who is reaching out to him. He gives his full attention and puts away the notes.

This is also making me wonder if Donnie was guessing that Leo didn’t want to show so much emotion/talk about what has happened. So he decided to go on to making sure that Leo is okay as quickly as possible.

~~~~~

Page 10 shows a lot of emotions from Leo. Notice that when Leo reaches out this time, he is able to make contact with Donnie and pull his hand towards himself in the first panel. His expressions shows such disbelief and amazement of the fact that he can feel Donnie again.

In the second panel, we finally see those tears starting to fall. He shows so much hope here, his eyes even look fuller (there are bolder, multiple lines), and he perks up again.

But then, in the third and fourth panel, we see that doubt start to set in. Because he’s learned that in the apocalypse, having this sort of hope will make you arrogant, and an easy target for the Krang. This doubt has most likely kept Leo and many other people sane and alive because the range of emotions between being hopeful and being crushed by the results is so large.

In the fourth panel, we see how his mind is trying to crush him, that worry and sort of fear overwhelming him making the tears fall from his face.

~~~~~

Page 11. Theres a moment of silence as Donnie takes a moment to realize the emotions Leo might be going through. In the second panel we see the “twin senses” act up. And he must’ve finally gotten the idea that Leo needs a lot of comfort right now.

So Donnie goes right for the facts, with no flowery words. You’re alive, I’m alive. We’re real.

Leo is turned towards Donnie such that he’s anticipating the worst.

~~~~~

Page 12, Donnie continues to go right to the facts.

Safe. The krang are gone. Imagine hearing that after two decades of fighting a losing battle with the aliens. To suddenly hear that they’re no more.

Donnie has never been the best at comforting, and for a moment in the second panel, im pretty sure he tries to say that.

But instead, in the third panel, he raises his arms up for a hug. Because he knows for a fact that Leo needs some comfort right now.

~~~~~

Page 13, Donnie doesn’t wait for Leo’s self doubt to set in again.

He goes right for the hug, surprising Leo as he slowly goes to hug Donnie back,

As if still fearing that things still aren’t real to him.

We see that Leo’s twin senses act up, and that’s the moment where he starts to really realize that yes this is real. Yes, his twin is hugging him (which by the way, is so rare of him especially in the apocalypse).

The progression of Leo’s expression in these three panels is just,,, so good though. We see those emotional gates start to open, Leo starting to lose his hold.

And yet Donnie still holds onto him.

~~~~~

Page 14. Leo’s emotions finally show. The fear, pain, exhaustion, doubt, everything comes out at once. And it’s so strong that it pushes them both onto the bed.

Donnie lets him cry for as long as he needs here. He holds on and becomes the sort of anchor Leo has been seeking for so long (Leo probably not even knowing how badly he needed this cry). I would guess that this is one of the first times Donnie has seen Leo freely sob in a long, long time. Yet he smiles as he feels Leo cling to him, trusting him enough to let his emotions go. The fact that Leo finally allows himself to share his grief, frustrations, anger, fears, etc. With someone is the first step in the healing journey that cass may show us.

And in the last panel, I think Donnie is even rubbing Leo’s shell in a way of comfort.

~~~~~

Page 15, we see that Donnie is still holding onto Leo just as strongly even after the tears start to stop.

And then comes the joke. Because Leo has just been comforted by Donnie for who knows how long. His voice is probably shaky and raw from the crying, but he’s insistent on going through with the joke. And at least giving back some sort of comfort to his brother.

At the moment though, Donnie has no clue what’s going on. He’s not expecting Leo to crack a joke.

~~~~~

In page 16, we see the result of the joke surprises Donnie into a laugh.

Also notice how tightly Leo is holding onto Donnie’s tank top in panel one oh my god. He probably doesn’t want Donnie to pull away from him just yet because he’s expecting Donnie to criticize him on the joke.

Instead Donnie lets himself relax against Leo as he tries to contain the laughter.

PART 1

PART 2 (here)

PART 3

[laxmiree]

[CN] MLQC Lucien’s Entrapment date translation

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for a date that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

“The artist once hoped to put the butterfly on a glass cover and keep it with him forever. But later, he discovered that even when he let the butterfly go, it flew back to him.”

“It gave him happiness he had never felt or imagined before.”

“I love you.”

“Everything about you, every time you approach me... makes my heart beat excitedly.”

“It makes me fall in love with you again and again... for countless times.”

Translation under cut

(T/N: VERY RECOMMENDED TO HEAR THE VOICE ACTING, ESP THE I LOVE YOU BC IT’S JUST *clenches fist* SO GOOD. BLESS XIA LEI FOR GIVING US THE MOST TENDER, LOVING, AND SEXIEST 我爱你. Anyway I subtitle this date on youtube(turn on CC!) and don’t forget to come back here if you want to read my rambling slash analysis about this date if you want to, I’ll put it on the bottom part of this post-)

[Part 1]

A breeze blew the balcony curtain, and the clear blue sky was intermittently visible through the gap.

The light and shadow of the lamp brushed over the meals on the table and also reflected on Lucien's clear and elegant profile.

I withdrew my gaze and gently rubbed my coffee cup. After a few moments, I couldn't refrain from sneaking another glance at Lucien.

I heard a soft sound of metal touching the porcelain plate. Lucien put down the knife with a faint smile in his voice.

Lucien: Seems like MC has been secretly watching me since this morning.

Lucien: Is there something you want to talk about?

My small movement got busted. I paused a little and calmly denied it.

MC: ...Nothing, I'm just a little curious about your current condition.

MC: After being together for so long, I rarely see you drink as much as you did last night…

[Flashback start]

Some time ago, our work at hand came to an end, and we finally had a chance to relax.

With the intention of unwinding, we arranged a vacation to the city where a classic romance movie was set.

It was Valentine's Day, and romantic decorations could be seen all around the small town. The hotel also sent flowers and local red wine.

After a day of strolling around the old streets, I pulled Lucien to sit on the balcony sofa and enjoy the scenery at night.

The smell of red wine diffuses in the night. Lucien picked up the decanter and swirled it, then poured the wine into the glass.

I took a few sips, and the mellow aroma of the wine spread in my mouth.

I comfortably exhaled, and my tense nerves became relaxed. I saw a book of Spanish poetry on the corner of the table and opened it casually.

After stumbling over a few lines, an unfamiliar phrase caught my attention.

MC: distancia íntima…

I didn't know why I repeated it, and I saw Lucien on the sofa, gazing down at the color of the red wine.

So I gently leaned my head, rested my chin on his shoulder, and dragged the tail notes.

MC: Professor Lucien, I don't quite understand this part.

Lucien put down his glass and glanced over the line of poetry that I pointed to. Then, his gaze fell on my face.

Lucien: It refers to an interpersonal distance of 46 cm, which is also the minimum distance for self-defense.

Lucien: Typically, it is reserved exclusively for family members… or lovers.

Lucien's fingertips fell to my lips, gently wiping away the faint red wine stains. I asked him a follow-up question.

MC: What will happen if we overcome this distance?

Lucien: Then both parties will unconsciously want to share… love.

As Lucien spoke, his face approached mine a little closer. I could almost smell the faint scent of alcohol on his breath.

There seem to be unspoken and heavy emotions between our eyes. I put down the glass, smiling, and hooked Lucien's neck.

MC: What is it?

Lucien bowed his head along with my force. His falling bangs brushed my face.

Lucien: I find that there seems to be something else more worth focusing on… I can't wait for this 'lecture' to be over.

MC: Pfft, why are you getting more and more straightforward?

Lucien: [chuckle] I prefer to describe it as something "uncontrollable" rather than straightforward.

Lucien: I've heard that when your heart feels excited, your words or actions will unconsciously show it.

Lucien: (whisper) Just like right now, when I think that MC is very cute…

A drunken kiss fell on my lips along with his words.

The unfinished poetry book fell to the ground with a thud, but no one bothered to pick it up. I clutched the corner of Lucien's coat and instinctively responded to his kiss.

The moonlight is gentle. Between our intertwined breaths, I heard a vague whisper on my lips.

Lucien: (whispering between the kisses-) ...I love you...

My heart suddenly beat a little faster. I pulled away from Lucien, slightly panting. I want to hear more clearly.

MC: Y-you just said…

My words were interrupted by his lips that were chasing mine. I don't know if it is because of alcohol, but Lucien is a little more irresistible than usual.

As the kiss deepened, I gradually lost my focus. I can only close my eyes and cater to his demands.

But that whispered phrase lightly tickled my heart, with little tickles appearing now and then.

[Flashback ends]

[Part 2]

Lucien: MC?

Lucien's voice came to my ears. I looked back and saw Lucien looking at me with interest.

Lucien: Your ears are red... Did you think of something?

MC: (blushing) ...No, it's probably because the coffee is too hot.

I pretended to blow on the coffee in my cup and spoke in a casual manner.

MC: Speaking of which, do you remember what you said to me on the balcony last night?

Lucien tilted his head and seemed to think seriously for a moment.

Lucien: [chuckle] I can't quite remember.

Lucien: It seems that a lot of things happened and many things were said last night.

Lucien: Which one would MC like to hear? Maybe you can give me a hint?

Lucien's expression reveals a little bit of innocence as if he really can't remember the whisper that brushed through his lips.

I opened my lips, and a jumble of chaotic memories accompanied by hot whispers flashed through my mind.

How does this remind us that at that time we were on-

After a moment of staring at each other, I blushed and changed the subject.

MC: ... N-nothing, let's talk about it later.

(they really did ‘that’ on balcony-)

Lucien didn't ask any more questions, as if he didn't notice anything unusual. But I couldn't help thinking, how can I hear him say those three words again?

My heart skipped a beat when I glanced at the book of poems on the corner of my desk.

When I was flipping through the book last night, I saw that there were quite a few love poems included in the book. Maybe… I can use this to create an opportunity?

Thinking of this, I naturally picked up the poetry book and raised it at Lucien.

MC: I suddenly remembered that I hadn't finished reading this book yet.

MC: How about this… Please teach me to read some poems for the occasion of Valentine's Day, Professor Lucien~

I put a little more emphasis on the word "for the occasion".

Lucien looked at me for a moment, got up like he understood what I meant, and then sat beside me.

As the other side of the sofa sank down, I leaned towards Lucien, watching him take over the poetry book as he carefully selected the titles.

I looked at him expectantly. However, I heard Lucien speak in distress at the next second.

Lucien: There are many masterpieces in this poetry collection. Which one does MC want me to read with you?

...Have I not implied enough?

I was a little stunned, and unconsciously spoke.

MC: It's the kind of confession that says I love you-

I abruptly stopped talking for a moment. My ears flushed a little.

... I'm obviously here to set up the conversation. How come I fell into the trap before Lucien did?

I blinked unconsciously. Lucien rested the poetry collection on his chin and thoughtfully looked at me.

A few moments later, a warm hand fell on my shoulder. Lucien hugged me and brought us closer together.

I could almost smell the faint scent of cedar on him- it was the same scent I had been deeply tainted with from last night.

(heh, 'deeply tainted from last night')

Lucien: There is only one copy of the book, so I will have to ask this classmate to read it with me.

His fingertips stopped at a page of the poetry book as he spoke.

Lucien: Aquite amo (Here I love you)… I think this is the one that you like.

Lucien: Andan días iguales persiguiéndose (Days, all one kind, go chasing each other)…

His low reading voice came like a soft evening breeze passing through the twilight-shrouded pine forest.

I held my breath and subconsciously turned my head to look at Lucien. I belatedly discovered that we were already so close.

His side profile is just a short distance away, as if I can drop a kiss on his jaw by just tilting my head.

Noticing my gaze, Lucien raised his eyes to look at me. His voice filled with a couple of imperceptible laughter.

Lucien: [chuckle] Fellow student, please pay attention.

MC: (blush)...I'm paying attention!

I blushed and looked at the page, but I didn't know where I should focus on.

There was a gentle, meaningful laugh ringing in my ears. Lucien raised his hand and held my fingers.

I felt the soft touch of the paper through my fingertips. He guided me across the paper and landed on one line.

Lucien: I have already read this far.

Lucien: Aquí te amo y en vano te oculta el horizonte.

Lucien: Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain…

The long-awaited words just suddenly came to my ears. My heart beat a little faster, and I instinctively responded to his voice.

MC: Te estoy amando aun entra estas frías cosas (I love you still among these cold things)...

The room echoed with our overlapping voices as we read it to each other. But my eyes gradually began to wander.

I snuck a glance at Lucien, and leaned closer to him. The idea of being "greedy" probes a little bit.

It seems that I want so much more than that.

It would be nice to hear him speak his love... in a straightforward way.

[Part 3]

I pursed my lips in distress.

I know that Lucien won't refuse if I ask him. But a direct request is not as romantic as being unable to restrain your emotions.

But under what circumstances would Lucien say love?

The sound of reading stopped at some point. I belatedly raised my head and met Lucien's gaze.

Lucien: I finished reading the poem that MC wanted to hear. Should I continue?

MC: No~ I want to arrange some other activities.

MC: When traveling, we can't stay just stay in the hotel.

Besides, it is easier to create opportunities in a new environment!

I planned to get up from Lucien's arms, but he caught me by the waist, and I fell back into the embrace behind me.

Lucien's chin gently rested against my shoulder, mimicking my affectionate actions from last night.

Lucien: I have an alternative plan. Would you like to hear it?

Lucien: When I checked in yesterday, the front desk recommended the nearby home gallery and said it would be a good place to visit.

MC: A home gallery?

Lucien: Um, it was converted from a personal residence. The gallery owner changes the theme from time to time and selects paintings for display.

Lucien: The works on display are not those of famous artists. But the personal touch is stronger, and the atmosphere is quiet. The theme in recent days happens to be "lovers".

That sounds like… a good place for creating an opportunity.

I hugged Lucien's arm and nodded with joy.

MC: Well, let's go check it out~

The gallery mentioned by the receptionist wasn't too far from the hotel. Lucien and I strolled along the street, sometimes pausing to look at the roadside scenery.

After about ten minutes, I saw a building with a "Galeria" sign. Curious, I went ahead and pushed the door open.

The room was full of paintings. The elderly owner got up from behind the board and said some words to us with a smile.

Lucien nodded his head in response; I tugged on his sleeve curiously.

Before I said anything, he explained in a low voice.

Lucien: He said that the art exhibition is open, and painting tools are provided to create your own paintings.

Lucien: If you don't mind the surroundings, you can do it in the living room. Or if you don't want to be disturbed, you can also reserve a room. You can decide after the exhibition.

The old man gestured kindly towards the deep corridor in response to his words. Then he sat back at his drawing board and continued to paint.

Not wanting to disturb the old man's work anymore, Lucien and I glanced at each other and lightened our steps in unison.

The daylight flows quietly on the varnished floor, and various portrait paintings hang on the dark vine-patterned walls.

The brush strokes are either smooth or rough, but the faces drawn out are filled with love. I leaned close to the painting frame and carefully examined it.

MC: It seems that not all the portraits here are made by professional artists.

Lucien: Indeed, it is more like a portrait of a lover painted by a visitor on a whim.

I can't help but think of the scene in the movie where the young artist is at a loss as to what to do with his beloved and smile gently.

MC: It is indeed very appropriate to leave this kind of painting for each other in the "holy land of love"~

Lucien: Then, can MC paint a portrait for me?

I blinked in surprise and suddenly thought of something.

Last night, Lucien said that the intimate distance would make people unconsciously want to share their love.

Maybe this can be used to quietly close the distance and create an atmosphere that makes Lucien open his mouth!

Having made up my mind, I nodded with a smile.

MC: Then I'll invite Professor Lucien to be my model this time~

The door of the room was closed silently.

The silence slowly spread, and I could hear the rustling sound of swaying trees from time to time. Lucien looked around and saw the narrow prop bed in the corner.

Lucien: As a model, I have to maintain a pose for a long time… MC, do you mind if I slack off in this way?

As Lucien spoke, he walked around the table and chairs, and sat on the side of the prop bed. I coughed and spun the paintbrush twice.

MC: Sure. So, does Professor Lucien have any ideas about the modeling?

Lucien bent his slender eyebrows.

Lucien: I'll leave it up to the artist to decide.

Lucien: I'm willing to work with you on whatever you need.

Our eyes met for a moment. I held my drawing board and went to stand beside Lucien.

MC: Then I would like you to take a more relaxed pose, Professor Lucien.

As I said that, I pushed Lucien's shoulder. He cooperatively fell back on the pillow and looked at me sincerely.

Lucien: Is this enough?

MC: Let's get a little more relaxed.

MC: I want to portray the way you look when you're at ease~

I explained solemnly and leaned down to unbutton his coat.

MC: ...You should also dress in a way that brings out your sensuality, don't be so tense.

MC: Imagine that you're in the bedroom at home.

His coat fell to the bed sheet, making the atmosphere a little quiet and charming. Lucien looked at me and slightly moved his eyes.

Everything is going as expected. I sat down on the chair beside the bed. And I was beginning to plan how to move forward when I heard Lucien speak.

Lucien: Is this enough for you?

Lucien asked as he lifted his hand and unbuttoned his shirt one by one while I watched.

The collar that was buttoned to the top slowly opens up, and the smooth lines outline the firm shapes, which are gradually hidden behind the bottom of the hem. My ears suddenly turned red.

MC: I-I...

Lucien: I just think it will be more in line with the state that MC wants.

Lucien: (whisper seductively) Or do you need me to relax a bit more?

Lucien's fingertips continued to move down; his tail note was slightly lighter. For some reason, I suddenly felt that the air seemed to heat up a bit.

I quickly averted my gaze and subconsciously tightened my grip on the brush.

MC: No need, this will do!

As I said that, I hurriedly sketched out some lines on the board.

Lucien's soft laugh came to my ears. After the rustling of the fabric, the room returned to silence, with only the rustling sound of the brushes stroking over the canvas remaining.

In addition to wanting to create an opportunity to hear Lucien say those three words, I also wanted to give him this painting as a memento of our Valentine's Day trip.

Dark hair, slender eyebrows… I depicted every emotion stroke by stroke, and the familiar outline gradually emerged on the paper.

It's just that every time I look up, I can see Lucien's smiling eyes.

My face was getting hotter and hotter, and I started to avert my eyes.

The artist's red face when facing the model in the movie came to my mind. I hastily withdrew my gaze and huffed in empathy.

…It turns out that the scene was not exaggerated.

Gazing at the person you like for so long, you really can't control your heartbeat.

I tried my best to maintain my composure and finished most of the painting. Then, Lucien's phone suddenly rang.

He helplessly blinked at me. Before he could say anything, I handed over the phone.

MC: Let's take a look. What if it's news from the research institute~

Lucien took the phone, but his body still remained in the same position as before. He just raised his hand a bit and looked at the message.

The screen's glow shines on his face, sharp and gentle, wonderfully distinguishing between light and dark. Lucien glanced at me, smiled softly, and spoke.

Lucien: Can Miss Artist continue like this?

Realizing this opportunity, I put down my drawing board and got up from my chair.

MC: The angle has changed a bit. Let me correct it.

I said and touched Lucien's cheek, and quietly guided him.

MC: But I didn't expect Professor Lucien to be so calm when he posed in front of me in such a "seductive" way~

Lucien cooperated and tilted his head. His soft bangs brushed against my palm.

Lucien: After all, the job of a model is to work with the creative process.

Lucien: And in the eyes of Miss Artist, now I should be no different from a… butterfly

MC: Now the positions are switched.

I smiled, seeing that Lucien also seemed to have lost in the memory, and then he opened his mouth.

Lucien: The artist once hoped to put the butterfly on a glass cover and keep it with him forever. But later, he discovered that even when he let the butterfly go, it flew back to him.

Lucien: It gave him happiness he had never felt or imagined before.

MC: From the butterfly's perspective, it also reaped the happiness that comes from being willing to stop… The artist and the butterfly are meant to complement each other.

MC: Just like now, you are a "butterfly" that complements me.

Lucien silently looked at me for a moment and bent the corners of his lips.

Lucien: That's right. As you said, painting is a two-way street between the artist and the depicted subject.

Lucien: So, now I will also do my best to assist.

Lucien winked as he talked, and his posture became more relaxed.

I went around in circles and didn't hear the expected response. I pursed my lips and took a roundabout approach to lead him.

MC: Professor Lucien is a very cooperative model. He's probably the ideal partner for any artist~

Lucien: Perhaps. But this kind of close observation is a privilege that belongs only to you.

My heart skipped a beat.

MC: ....Will Professor Lucien have a special feeling when facing the artist like that butterfly?

Lucien: I have.

Lucien said and looked at me.

Lucien: Facing you, I seem to have no way to restrain my heartbeat.

Suddenly, his drunken confessions from last night come to mind, intertwined with his whispers at this moment.

Lucien: (whisper) Just like now. By simply looking at you, I can't help but want to…

Lucien paused.

Amid the accelerated heartbeat, he held my hand that was touching his cheek and slowly rubbed it. The already close distance was shortened again, and my wrist was warmed by the heat of his breath.

Bathed in a faint soft light, he stared at me and spoke softly.

Lucien: (continuing his whisper) So, I'm also a little curious.

Lucien: (still whispering) Now that MC is facing me, what are the thoughts in her heart?

[Part 4]

The church bells rang in the distance, and the birds fluttered their wings and flew past the window.

The shadow of the daylight reflected on Lucien's profile, and the air between us seemed to be stained with lingering and deep affection.

I gazed into Lucien's dark eyes and picked up the painting I was about to finish from the chair.

MC: All I want to express is here.

MC: In that movie, the moment the main character saw the painting, they understood the artist's intention…

MC: So, can you feel my emotions by looking at this?

Lucien looked at the painting. His eyes lingered on every spot as if he was facing a priceless work of art, and there seemed to be some emotions surging in his gaze.

Lucien: Mm, every stroke is full of tenderness and… yearning.

Lucien: Did I get it right?

Seeing his serious expression, I opened my lips hesitantly.

I painted each stroke of the painting with love. How can Lucien didn't feel it…?

Or is my drawing skill so clumsy… that I can't even convey my emotions?

I doubted myself and forcibly raised the corners of my mouth.

MC: It's not wrong, but it's not the right answer either. What I'm trying to express is- ah, just forget it.

I sat back in my chair, feeling a little bit defeated, and sighed unnoticeably.

A very soft sigh came from behind me. Accompanied by the rustling of clothes, I was swept into a warm embrace.

Lucien wrapped me from behind and held the paintbrush together with me.

His faint cedar scent surrounds my body. Lucien leaned close to my cheek and spoke in a low voice.

Lucien: Remember what I told you about "intimate distance"?

Lucien: Within 46 cm, you can feel every subtle change in the breathing and temperature of the person in front of you.

Lucien: For me, you are the only person who can enter this distance.

The brush we hold lands on the canvas. Amidst the rubbing sound caused by the friction of the brush and the canvas, the unrefined half of the face gradually becomes clear.

Lucien immediately put down the paintbrush. He didn't let me go and maintained our hugging position. We looked at the drawing board together.

The canvas shows him lying on the edge of the bed with a faint smile on his face.

However, upon closer look, I find that although the brushwork is more refined later on, something seems to be missing in how the painting subject is portrayed.

I opened my lips but heard Lucien speak.

Lucien: You noticed it too, didn't you?

Lucien: Even I can't paint a true portrait of how I look in your eyes.

Lucien: (whisper) Relaxed, disorganized, and also perhaps a little bit of what you call "playing tricks"… Only in front of you, everything about me will be open without reservation.

Lucien: (whisper) This is a side only you can see… And when I put the brush to the canvas, I can't pour more love into it than you do.

I looked at Lucien, a little stumped for words. In addition to the full attention in his eyes, he also showed a little helpless smile.

Is it possible that he has already understood what I want to express?

So why did he keep avoiding the word "love"? It's like he was trying to bait me to say the word….

I suddenly thought of something and broke free from Lucien's embrace with a little effort.

Then I got up and pressed him down on the chair, unsurely asking him a question.

MC: Your reaction to many things seems to be different than usual today.

MC: …Lucien, are you also planning something?

Lucien: Hmm? 'Also'?

Lucien's voice hid a deeper meaning to it. I opened my mouth and finally admitted with a blushing face.

MC: I admit, I have indeed been trying to bait you to say something to me… What about you?

In the gradual acceleration of my heartbeat, I met with Lucien's gaze.

Lucien: Of course, I… have the same purpose as you.

I blinked in astonishment.

MC: For what reason?

Lucien: For what reason…?

Lucien gently repeated my question, and his warm breath close against my skin.

Lucien: At first, I just thought that the way you worked hard was cute, and I wanted to see more of it. But then I became "greedy" too.

Lucien: Rather than fulfilling your wish, I rather see MC's most instinctive desire for me being revealed in the intimate distance that only belongs to us…

Lucien: Together with the most straightforward expression of love.

Lucien: But looking at it now, it ended up backfired. So, in order to make amends, I'm willing to accept any punishment.

Finally, there is an explanation for this man's various "unromanticism" today. I snorted softly and suddenly thought of something.

MC: But speaking of which, did Professor Lucien remember wrongly?

MC: When we were reading the poem, I was "tricked" into saying I love you first.

Lucien spoke with a voice that was filled with inaudible grievances.

Lucien: But those are the words of the poet, not yours.

Lucien: What I want to hear is a straightforward confession from MC.

I was stunned. I couldn't help laughing when thinking about how I precisely thought the same thing as him. My fingers pulled on Lucien's tie, and I moved closer to him.

Our breathing is gradually intertwined. I asked him a question in a soft voice.

MC: So, is the distance between us now less than 46 centimeters?

Lucien gazed at me and suddenly grabbed my waist.

Lucien: (chuckles, then whispers seductively) I think… It can still be a little closer.

The hands on my waist tightened a little. I leaned over to get close to him and spoke in a teasing manner.

MC: Doesn't Professor Lucien want to take the initiative this time?

Lucien looked as if he was allowing himself to be captured, but his eyes weren't wavering.

Lucien: After all, it's punishment time. So, I'm going to hand over all the initiative to you.

Despite saying these words, his hand did not loosen up in the slightest. Instead, he caressed upward, bringing me closer to him.

I couldn't suppress my laughter. I whispered as I bowed my head.

MC: How cunning.

I kissed Lucien as soon as the words fell.

A slightly cool sensation comes through equally soft lips, and my heart trembles with each restless movement.

I sank into the seemingly passive yet irresistible demands of the person in front of me.

The strength of my body was drained away before I knew it. I half-kneeled, half-sat in his embrace, and couldn't resist closing my eyes.

Entangling, deeply penetrating… The tip of his tongue lightly swept my sensitive upper palate. I shuddered and instinctively wanted to struggle.

But I was firmly confined and had nowhere to escape.

…I don't want to stay away either.

Until every breath that reaches deep into my soul gradually becomes fully tainted with his breath.

I could hear the rustling of the curtains brushing against the window and the sound of people walking in the hallway, but I didn't care about it anymore.

My senses, my everything… All melted in this kiss and the depth of his eyes.

Between our melded breaths, I slightly pulled myself away from Lucien and instinctively opened my mouth to speak.

Lucien: (with the most tender and loving whisper between the kisses) I love you.

MC: (whispering at the very same time as Lucien) I love you.

Coincidentally, our unanimous whispers were intertwined in the air. In just an instant, my heart was filled with happiness, flying like a feather in the warm sunlight.

I raised the corners of my lips and stroked Lucien's cheek.

MC: Is Professor Lucien satisfied with my expression?

Lucien clasped my hand and interlocked our fingers together.

Lucien: (whisper) It's even better than I imagined.

Lucien: (whisper) Everything about you, every time you approach me... makes my heart beat excitedly.

His warm breath brushed against my ear. Lucien tilted his head again and irresistibly chased after my lips.

The spring scenery is deeply reflected in his eyes, and I also saw my figure reflected in them.

After those whispers, I heard him whisper once again.

Lucien: It makes me fall in love with you again and again... for countless times.

[Personal Rambles + Date analysis(?) corner]

I love this date. Personally, I would even say that I like this date better than last month’s SP and SSR. I think it is worth being the one date where it has ‘I love you’ in it. Not just ‘I like you’, or his ‘definition of love’.

There are many things I want to scream about this date- but to keep it simple, I’ll just talk about some parts that I think are really interesting this date.

[Here I love you]

Okay, so the first one is the poem, ‘Here I love you’ by Pablo Neruda. I like this part because their poem exchange reminds me of the scene from Lucien’s Blossoms date where they wittily quoted poems to each other (something that sadly, gets lost in translation:”).

But anyway, back to the topic of my interpretation of how some lines of this poem coincided with parts of the dates and their story in general.

First of all, I love how PG choose this poem that explores love and fear of losing someone you love, which is THE big angst theme for Lucien.

"In that hazy memory, he seems to have lost someone."

—In his dream, he also sat with a girl under a tall tree, painting. He never understood why but when they drew a seedling on the paper, he would draw a glass to cover it.

Until just now, after he experienced the moment of losing the only color in his life, Lucien understood his choice in the dream.

—This is a fear of losing someone again.'  - [R&S Eternity and a day.]

There’s a reason why PG chooses to torture this man by making him believe that MC is dead after chapter 18 [R&S Not Planned On] and making him watch her die again and again in [Main Story S2 chapters 13 and 14]. Because he already lost so much in life, he’s probably the one who fear losing MC the most.

Here I love you. The word here indicates that the poet is the one who stays and waits in one place. Just like Lucien, who is always waiting for her to take him home in S2. He doesn’t mind waiting for her answer no matter how long. It’s also something that’s highlighted in [Dating Reality Show Date]. Where we learn that he was the one who fell at first sight and waited for MC whose love is something that grows with time and his companionship.

This is a port. Here I love you. Just like ships that always come and go in the port, so do people. But ships can always come back to port after they parted. The butterfly can always fly back to the artist even after the artist lets her go. I’ll dive deeper into it in its own section ;)

I love what I do not have. It really reminds me of what MC said in the only color call. Where she said that to love someone is to love them as an individual, and there’s no requirement for a special relationship. You just want the person you love to be happy, not to ‘have’ them :”.

The moon turns its clockwork dream; The biggest stars look at me with your eyes. Lucien will unconsciously reveal his sides that he doesn’t even notice. Only in front of her, he will open up everything about himself without reservation. ‘The biggest star’ is the love in her eyes as she gazes at him as if he’s the only person she can see in this world.

“You noticed it too, didn't you?”

“Even I can't paint a true portrait of how I look in your eyes.”

And the opposite also true, because he too, always gazes at her as if she’s the only person he can see in this world.

The spring scenery is deeply reflected in his eyes, and I also saw my figure reflected in them.

[Distancia Intima]

This one is probably the shortest part ahah, but distancia intima or Intimate Distance is the nearest space around our body and is reserved for an intimate person like a family member or lover.

For Lucien, it’s a space that only belongs to one person. Only in front of her, he can show his most unreserved sides.

But on the other side, it also means that she’s the only important person left in his life. Whether as his ‘family member’ or lover :”...

[Reverse Artist and Butterfly]

OK BUT, this one is definitely an unexpected twist, but pleasant. I love how in the process of confessing ‘I love you’ we get taken back to his very first definition of love, the Artist and Butterfly.

“If you can meet that artist, tell him this for me. That he actually doesn’t love the butterfly, does he?”

“Why do you think that the artist doesn’t love the butterfly? If you love someone, aren’t you supposed to move heaven and earth to tie them to your side?”

“But that is too selfish.”

“Yes, even I find it selfish.”

“But if he doesn’t do that, it’s likely that the artist will lose the butterfly.”

“And then his life will be like how it was before, his whole world would just be black and white.”

“If he really loves the butterfly, then he wouldn’t want to see them suffer, right?”

“Maybe I’m too simple, but for me, genuine love is simply loving that person as an individual, and I wouldn’t need a special relationship with them. I’d just want them to be happy.”

“If you were this butterfly, and there was someone who wanted to confine you to their side so they could keep you together with them forever…”

“Would you be willing?” - [The Only Color Call]

For him at first, to love is to bind someone by his side, but for MC to love is simply loving the person as an individual and wanting them to be happy. It reminds me of the saying ‘If you love someone, set them free. If they come back they're yours; if they don't they never were.’

The artist let the butterfly go, but the butterfly flew back and decided to stay with the artist because it is happy to be by the artist’s side. This happiness is a two-way street because the butterfly’s willingness to stop also brings the artist happiness he never felt before… Their choice of being by each other side is the longest confession of love.

It is even more interesting that this date talks about the identity exchange between the artist and the butterfly. All this time, we usually thought that Lucien is the ‘artist’ while MC is the ‘butterfly’ but it seems that, the reverse also works.

Because Lucien also brings color to MC just like the butterfly to the artist. They color each other’s world.

Perhaps for everyone, the world was monochromatic at the beginning.

With time and encounters, the world gradually became stained with colors, giving value to different people and things.

Slowly, the whole world becomes colorful as it interacts with memory. It also has smells and sounds.

Until the most special existence appeared that makes the color of this world more distinctive.

It's as if the whole picture has been retouched so that everything has a new meaning.

While we quietly shared the cake, I looked at Lucien's face lit by the warm lights.

“Lucien, you’re colorful right now” – Lucien’s 3rd birthday date

-and because MC too, just like the artist, also greedily wants to keep him safe forever. But because she knew that she couldn’t stop Lucien from walking towards his aspiration, all she can do is let him go and try to catch up to him.

Both of them learn to let go as the artist and also choose to stay as the butterfly because it’s what makes them happy.

[我爱你]

From ‘Can you teach me how to love?’ to ‘I love you.’ LOOK AT HOW FAR HE’S GROWN. I can’t believe it’s been days since the date and the PV but I still sob every time I heard him say that. It’s been a long process, even though he’s been declaring his love in his own way, whether it is his wordless declaration of love in S1 chapters 35 and 36. Or the wheat field as the representation of his heart, with the ebbs and flow of the tide as his heartbeat in S2 chapter 34.

I love you is special as the most straightforward way to declare one’s love. I love how on this date these two fools tried to trap each other into confessing but ended up confessing instinctively at the very same time lmao. The situation is really funny, with MC who’s trying her best to create an atmosphere where Lucien would say I love you vs Lucien that knows all along about her plan, even manages to trap MC into confessing first but ends up feeling dissatisfied with the confession because it’s the poet words, not hers (-how childish-).

On this date, both of them ended up becoming greedy, wanting to hear the most direct love confession from each other.

I snuck a glance at Lucien, and leaned closer to him. The idea of being “greedy" probes a little bit.

It seems that I want so much more than that.

It would be nice to hear him speak his love... in a straightforward way.

-

“At first, I just thought that the way you worked hard was cute, and wanted to see more of it. But then I became “greedy” too.”

“Rather than fulfilling your wish, I rather see MC's most instinctive desire for me being revealed in the intimate distance that only belongs to us…”

“Together with the most straightforward expression of love.”

“What I want to hear is a straightforward confession from MC.”

-although both of their plans also end up backfiring as neither of them gets the straightforward love confession from their plans, MC was unhappy, and Lucien ended up taking the initiative to open up the first because he can’t stand seeing her in distress.

“It's not wrong, but it's not the right answer either. What I’m trying to express is- ah, just forget it.”

I sat back in my chair, feeling a little bit defeated, and sighed unnoticeably.

A very soft sigh came from behind me. Accompanied by the rustling of clothes, I was swept into a warm embrace.

It’s interesting sometimes how they sometimes mirror each other, having the same expectation and desires, while also opposing each other on the other occasion, like their belief and the way they see things. But one thing always remains the same, and it’s the fact that they’ll always yearn for each other.

In the end, they learn that they don’t need to go that far. They just need to follow their heart. Because whether when sober or drunk, the heart knows when to beat faster simply by the presence of each other. The most perfect explanation of this mutual eternal heartbeat is ‘I love you’. And he will keep falling in love, again and again, countless times simply by her close proximity or existence alone.

My final words; I’m very, very satisfied with this date~

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello! I really like your analysis and ramblings on episode 7(and everything you write in general)so I wanted to know your thoughts and opinions on something that has been bothering me since I started reading episode 7.

I originally thought that the fact that Yuu came from another world was like a secret between them and Crowley(and Grim), because there were absolutely no signs that I know of that could've hinted at the opposite. So the fact that now it is hinted at that everyone knows about it like it's just regular news just rubs me the wrong way. Like, no one doubted their word? No one was suspicious of them and asked for proof? No one asked any questions about their world ? It feels very out of character for me if they just, took the info at face value without questioning the source.

Idk I just thought it would be important somehow, as it is one of the only things besides mickey and the dreams that make Yuu interesting in any way, as it had so much potential for for world building and character development and potential interactions between them and Yuu, which if I remember by my former interactions with the Fandom, people really like, they want Yuu to be more active and involved.

[Both my analysis masterlist and creative writing masterlists can be found here!]

I find the subplot of Yuu finding a way home to be just that: a subplot. It (and Yuu, by extension) takes a backseat in favor of addressing the struggles of the OB boys; this is why I often hesitate to call Yuu the “main character”, because it doesn’t feel like they are. It feels more like the OB boys are the main characters and that Yuu (due to their minimal involvement) is one of many mob students witnessing their breakdowns. (The only times where Yuu was pretty active in the story was like episodes 3 and 4.) It’s because of this that the sudden shift and focus on Yuu finding a way home early in 7 feels weird and stilted to me.

Yuu discovering a way home in episode 7 feels particularly abrupt because the only other major times when this problem or a potential resolution is brought up is all the way back in the prologue and as a joke in episode 4 when Crowley fucks off for vacation. (I’m not counting the brief dream sequences and meetings with Mickey because we didn’t have context for this as actually being tied to a route home until very recently in 7.) No one (and especially not Yuu, oddly enough) has been making a conscious effort to find them a way home. The situation isn’t treated like the serious problem that it should be for Yuu, most likely because the focus of the narrative is not ON Yuu but on the characters around them and for the meta reason of “it’s a game, we need an excuse to have the player present”.

Yuu being from another world is so scarcely brought up in the main story narrative that I wouldn’t blame anyone for thinking it was a secret between Yuu, Grim, and Crowley. I myself thought this was the case for the longest time too. However, upon a rereading of the text, it seems that it has been mentioned a few times (mainly by the boys in Heartslabyul). As Yuu’s closest companions, Ace and Deuce seem generally aware of their circumstances. Additionally, Trey mentions Yuu being from “a world without magic” in episode 5. Kalim also says Yuu is from another world, but this occurs during an event, which is considered not a part of the main story timeline. In any case, what I’m trying to say that it wasn’t made clear prior to 7 that Yuu being from another world was common knowledge among the student populace; I was under the impression that only Yuu’s closest friends (Ace, Deuce, Grim) and Crowley knew, while everyone else just understood that a student was picked by the Mirror of Darkness yet had no magic so they had to enroll under “special circumstances” with Grim. I guess this information was never that relevant to the plots introduced in each episode, but it would have been a smoother transition if the characters offhandedly mentioned Yuu’s true origins a little more often 💦 or each episode had a little segment where Yuu is making some kind of effort to do their own research to get home??

I do find it odd that now 7 is treating Yuu being from another world like it was common knowledge (for the other first years, for Malleus, etc.) 😅 Like… when did Yuu have the time to tell them (especially since they aren’t super friendly with most characters and don’t seem to spend time with them)?? It couldn’t have been something they overheard from Crowley, since the students were all herded off to their respective dorms to be shown around before Crowley tried to send Yuu home. Yuu didn’t even introduce themselves to Malleus as someone not of this world when they first met in episode 2… It’s also just strange that everyone automatically accepts it??? Ace and Deuce had a hard time believing in Mickey until Yuu showed them a picture of him, so why is everyone else suddenly buying that Yuu is from another world? Okay, maybe people like Kalim would take it at face value but I can’t imagine the more suspicious characters accepting it so readily.

I’m guessing the reason why there wasn’t more focus on this aspect of the main story is that, as I’ve been saying, this is not the central conflict; it’s just the setup to insert Yuu into this world as an easy third party for the players to observe the world/characters and to have everything explained to them. Another thing to consider is that it would be difficult for the writers to have a segment every episode solely dedicated to Yuu unloading their backstory onto the new dorm and then trying to convince them all that it’s true. Again, Yuu is not a “main character” in the traditional sense; if they were and there was significantly more focus put on their way home, they would potentially be competing with the OB boy for the spotlight.

I do wish we had previously seen the NRC boys express a more overt awareness for where Yuu comes from. We are missing that, and it leaves us in a complicated place where 7 feels tonally jarring in sections pertaining to Yuu heading home. I guess it can be easily ignored if you suspend your disbelief and assume Yuu told everyone off-screen (which was probably the case for characters like Trey and Adeuce). Perhaps it was designed this way so people can “fill in the gaps” with their self-inserts of Yuusonas revealing the knowledge in their own ways??? But for those of us that just consume the story straight up, it certainly feels a little “off”.

[arsene-fixates]

Misc. SN character rambling (Gordon Byron)

I very few screenshots for whatever I’m going to ramble about on another character in seekers notes so you’re going to have to take my word for it. This is not an analysis btw i just want to talk about this guy for a bit

There’s this character, Gordon Byron, or Hyperion <- name he picked for himself I will elaborate later.

His family (made up of him, his mother, and his cousin) is a descendant of one of the founders of Darkwood (the city) and though I didn’t read too much into him, I thought his character development was quite interesting

going to be a bit long since i'm running through him as a character, spoilers under the cut

Backstory was that he had run away from home with his beloved that went missing when the curse fell upon the city but returned after realizing that he had responsibilities being the family's heir and such.

He's very quiet as a character, kept to books and nature and is a pretty big romantic but when he came back, and through the story he started getting invested in his family's history, aka. one of the founders named nostromo and his powers etc etc and also taking more initiative to help the city via. paying funds for damages and suggesting new things to keep the townspeople safe

okay to be honest theres some collecting crystal infinity stone level thing going on in the story and there's this section in the plot where gordon and i had to dive underwater to look for a stone tablet depicting one of the missing steps to getting one of the crystals

and some explosion happens and i get shot out of the water, leaving him underwater and the other characters and i are all panicking because the water breathing potion we took had some timing to it and he was about to die or something

but he emerges soon enough, with the gauntlet belonging to the founder equipped in his hand, and you can tell that this power was getting to his head

at this point, i was filling philiah in on the lore and i told her 'i think it would be really profound if he let the power get to him and influence him negatively' and lo and behold.

anyways carrying on, he started really embracing the name hyperion (a pseudonym he made up himself because if i can remember right, all the other founders also had one themselves) and having his own group of specialised guards.

then some attack happened on the city again where ghostly creatures appeared (summoned by the antagonist), and after gordon fought them off, he decided to set a curfew & interrogate all the townspeople because they could be people from a crime organisation (called the shadows) in disguise

cough cough side note, informant was telling me about how his guard kept going trying to capture him and he was frustrated that not only did he have to run from the crime organisation but he also had to run from the guard too lol.

and holy shit theres this section that especially got me where he was asking me for an update on the crystals and i told him it was going alright, letting on a little more detail than i liked and he then asks me to find more of this truth potion for him and then he says this

he slipped a truth potion !!! !! !! !!!! unknowingly!!!!!! to me!! HOLAY MOLAY!!!. and when i went to talk to charlotte, she tells me about how some of the people who took the potion were down with pretty bad illnesses and fevers. THAT IS SO WILD.

he had to be suspended of his role and his guard operations after he nearly endangered the lives of the members of the crime organisation

THERES A LOT OF STUFF THAT HAPPENS INBETWEEN BUT ITS PRETTY BIZZARE BECAUSE HIS ANGER GETS THE BETTER OF HIM (and they really did show that he gets angry easily)

holay molay this guy.

i like what they're doing here, it's really interesting ^_^ LOVE THAT THEY DID ACTUAL BUILD UP INSTEAD OF WHATEVER THEY DID WITH INFORMANT!!!!! love to see what happens to him later because currently the city is going through YET another world ending disaster and i (the seeker) have to save them.

[thekhoei]

i love to joke "john beet wif" yes but have we ever tried to understand his violent behaviors? probably also yes. i have been rambling about this man so much to the point my brain goes nut, but will i ever stop? no

i'd air my views based on James Fallon's The Psychopath Inside, although i can't be sure if John has any "distinct neurological pattern" in his brain that leads to "cold and violent behavior", or if it was purely just lsd and heroin. i haven't finished the book yet to give a full analysis on this issue i brought, so i'd discuss only the surface of the iceberg.

we always hurt our love one, intended or not. we can all agree a toxic environment builds a toxic child. John didnt have that fortune to get a healthy childhood. emotional abuse and neglect from the adults, he grew up to be a rebel against the world. i have been wondering, has this man ever felt like a lone man that is distant from the human world for so long (like The Little Prince). and the answer i give to myself is a yes, and a no.

"He told me later, he didn’t tell me then, he said he’d written it about himself, feeling like he wasn’t going anywhere."

“I thought of myself sitting there, doing nothing and getting nowhere,”

now i'm not sure if anyone has thought this way before, but i love the way Tom Taylor (i came across his article while finding John's (or other Beatles' quote about Nowhere Man)) said that the protagonist was far from alone. change my point of view from here ngl. does the Nowhere Man isolates himself from other people, or the other way around. does John isolates himself, or the other way around. definitely not the second clause. we can't deny that this man has some serious mental illnesses. i know he got some treatment back then, but did it help him get anywhere better? i have no idea. i'd say barely. Nowhere Man to me is about a depressed man who sits alone on a hill, in a room, in nowhere, in a void, in a vast space that surrounded by so many people yet he still can't feel any lighter, although he had planned so many plans, but all of it goes to nowhere. "Isn't he a bit like you and me?" a reflection to himself, and the listeners, us. Nowhere Man is alone, yet "he" is also far from alone. there are so many lone men like "him" in the world, but could "he" know they exist? his break up with the band, his early days with Cyn, Julian (how come i just realize this is literally his mom's name), even during the marriage with Yoko, his friendship with Paul, George, Stuart, and his every other relationships already show the world enough. so much love that he isnt able to respond, that he slowly destroys everything from the inside like a time bomb.

"In the place, where I was born

No-one cared, no-one cared"

there is this quote from one of the greatest writers in my country "Một người đau chân có lúc nào quên được cái chân đau của mình để nghĩ đến một cái gì khác đâu? Khi người ta khổ quá thì người ta chẳng còn nghĩ gì đến ai được nữa. Cái bản tính tốt của người ta bị những nỗi lo lắng, buồn đau ích kỷ che lấp mất..." which means "One with a sore leg can not think for anybody when he is in so much pain. Too many sorrows cover one's eyes from the others' misery. All the kindness are buried within all the grief". not all of us can realize or be aware of our mistreatment towards our love one when we are also in so much despair. one can blindly become a monster to their dearest without acknowledging the uncontrollable and unreasonably strange behaviors. John is no exception in this case. he is enmeshed in a mess he created. he is loved by so many people, so many people are willing to sacrifice themselves just for him, but John still cant love them fairly.

that man is insecure, he admitted so many time. he even wrote a song to ask for help, even though he can directly communicate to someone. communication is a key to a balanced relationship. yet in a society that man is fucking weakling if he talks about his feels and emotions, how could he show his true color. we would have "good night" sang by him if he did. instead that man sabotages himself. John has never been on his right mind.

there was one time where i dreamt of being in the world where The Beatles didnt exist (i love this concept so much, Yesterday's scene where the protagonist meets old John has been haunting me to the point i became him in that dream). its just so wild to ever think if one day The Beatles doesnt exist. so many chances and so many results that are so fascinating even only just a glimpse of those. back to the dream (i go a bit personal here) i was a neighbour kid lives nearby John's house. i would come and play with him and Yoko and little Sean everyday, until one day i didnt see him anymore. days by days i tried to find him with hopes slowly fading. he came back on the day when i thought he had gone forever. i ran towards John and hugged him tightly, to wake up with tears in my eyes. that day i realize i just love John so dearly.

okay this is the point where i goes nut so id stop trying to sound like im a egghead here. i never want to defend John or even want to be his apologist, i used to hate him with all my heart, but choose sympathy to understand this man is to forgive my own self and the others from my own mistakes, and their mistreatment. for i love and im loved, but love is painful. i mean we can all see ourself throughout John's mirror. im so tired of hatred towards Lennon without trying to know him for a bit. to me he is still a beautiful humans. even with so many flaws. i love John the way Paul loves John. i love John the way George loves John. i love John the way Ringo loves John. the way Cynthia loves John, the way Julian forgives John, the way Yoko spends her life with this man, the way May Pang adores him. i love John the way half of the world loves John. i hope that lone astronaut is still having fun across the universe rn.

"John Lennon is a saint and he's heavy-duty, and he's great and I love him. But at the same time, he's such a bastard – but that's the great thing about him, you see?"

[nimue-hidden-lake]

The MASSIVE Izuann Ramble

More like an analysis but details....

This is an essay about the two I once wrote in a server. I adjusted it a little to make it more suitable to be a a massive essay. This is a long one so sit back and read at your own leisure. I will also reference my own longfic a lot so if curious or wanting more context, I recommend reading it.

I will start by laying down the tropes Izuann follows + a bit of writing development (as in how I changed it before the longfic):

This is just an intro. Here are the relationship charts I made. Apologies for the outdated songs. If it isn't JPop I only know like 5 songs.

Tropes used:

Enemies To Lovers

Childhood Friends (but they have no idea until like later into the story)

So uh can you say it is also Friends To Lovers? Probably... Maybe... I let you be the judge of that.

So the childhood friends thing was only added after I decided to go beyond a Love/Hate dynamic and actually allow this relationship to develop. Originally I intended for those to go the 'I hate you but I also love you' route but you can imagine how terrible of an idea that is. Sure, it is fun writing them argue but that can't be where this stands. Or else one would ask "Why the hell are you two dating!?" I needed more. So I thought of a few more plot points to work on and based the first longfic around those points. This allowed the two to develop and actually get to a healthy relationship.

I debated what approach to take so I think I will just go with a chronological approach here. Meaning we are first going to childhood, some noteworthy stuff to know in between and then jump 10+ years into the future and get to the main story and thus how this dynamic even develops. Thus I will jump in between my own chapters. I am referencing this longfic here. It is fully written by me if you’re wondering. 

Well, kind of. I must first introduce some basics for Nyeli aka Patch. Because he plays an important role throughout this, even in the context of the relationship. As for how a chibi cat-human hybrid exists... For now, don't worry about that. Just accept that he does.

So Nyeli's original name is Patch. Patch has been a name given by Izumi when he was a kid. He found Patch one day inside a cardboard box and took him home, thinking his Mom would not mind. Spoiler, she does. So much so that she made sure to put Patch back out as a stray during a trip overseas and lying to her son about his friend running away which leads to a misunderstanding between Patch and Izumi later down the line. Ann is the one finding Patch and taking him instead, naming him 'Nyeli' which is the new name he goes by.

One could say the name 'Patch' is symbolic- Him helping fix not just his own relationship with Izumi but also his with Ann. Because there is a massive one between the two. Though one could argue that it is subconscious. As for why the name Patch...

That was how he and Patch had met. The name choice was odd for a Japanese kid yet Izumi didn’t know what else to name him. It was a word he had heard in a kid’s show he had been watching at the time and he just loved the sound of it. It was a character’s name most likely and he loved it. Nothing classic Japanese, a unique name for his new friend. He didn’t know what it meant at the time and honestly, the kid had not even cared. Kids do not sweat details after all.

Ok now really with everything out of the way I am getting into the actual relationship... Yeah, long intro here as well but as an overview.

The two technically first meet when they are kids. Izumi's parents both had jobs overseas and took their kid with them of course. They allowed him to roam free for a while yet one could imagine that he has had a hard time due to the language barrier. In fact, he didn't even understand Ann when first meeting them.

That was in a literal sense of course. He had never any idea what she was telling him, not daring to speak after having introduced himself and her being unable to pronounce it. This resulted in her calling him ‘Izuzu’, having given up midway through to pronounce his name. And it became somewhat terrifying to speak when she started talking in this alien language. He didn’t understand her, at all, and didn’t dare to ask. Could he even? Would she understand him? It was like communicating with an alien, another species altogether. 

`

[...]

As for how he met her… He didn’t know. She just walked up to him, greeted him and started to drag him into one game after the other without consent whatsoever. She just took him away and started introducing him to games, or so he assumed. At first he was debating if he should participate yet this girl made sure he stayed one way or another. And to make matters more complicated Patch wanted to stay as well, having fun with whatever the girl came up with.

Little Izumi tried to explain the consequences, what Mama might say if something happened to either of them yet the kitty had been too occupied with the game, being unable to reason with. So, it was two against one in the end and as a kid he let himself drag into whatever game the little girl came up with.

Simply put, it was a relationship what one would expect between kids - Just playing games and having fun. Well, even if it took a while for Izumi.

The three would play games together, whatever Ann came up with, even if it was dangerous. There the two would showcase their contrasts to another - Izumi was a hesitant kid due to not knowing what his mother will say (she will play a role here, I think you can already tell in what way). 

‘Look at your hands! What if you infected yourself with some incurable disease!? Do you want to die!? That’s it! Up to your room! You will stay there! I will hire someone to look after you too!’ 

It would be something she would say and he hated to make Mama worry. She was just looking out, nothing more. So there was no need to make her worry whatsoever.

Ann was a carefree kid from the get go, not even caring if they scraped their knee or something. Heck, Ann may recall Izumi being a bit of a crybaby due to seeing him panic so often.

He had watched her eagerly up until when she suddenly tripped, face plastered onto the hard ground. Out of worry he got up, running over to her and shaking her for some time. At first the girl didn’t want to get up it seems, him almost tearing up as a result. Did she— She didn’t, right? No way! She can’t! She shouldn’t—

But he would hold those tears in when suddenly seeing her head lift up, a bump right in front of it. But instead of crying like he would have she was only laughing it off while rubbing it.

  (from the oneshot Play Date, not in the main story)

One is overly careful, one might argue trapped, and the other is going through life without a care in the world. It is one reason why the two could not even recognize another, given that they had done 180s essentially.  At least at first glance. But both got along just fine despite being unable to literally understand another. This continued until... 

Those were the days Izumi looked back on, more fondly than he liked to admit. The time was short lived as one of his parents had spotted the two, seeing what ‘barbaric game’ he was playing with this girl before being dragged away. It was the last time he ever saw her, unable to tell her what happened. Not like he could talk to her or anything but at least try to say goodbye. Because the rest of the time he had been stuck at home, supervised by one of his parents with a fair scolding. He made them worry and while he believed to understand that they cared it always left a sour taste in his mouth.

Long story short Izumom saw the two, didn't like it and thus removed her son from there. All while also making sure to get rid of Patch as well while at it, having both out of the picture. I went with a headcanon that his parents are overly controlling and would keep their son almost on a leash as well as making decisions for him instead of asking him (it is at least hinted at in PORTRAIT, at least from the bits I read... Take it with a grain of salt as I have not read a fan translation yet). For now we focus on the Mom but know that the father is not innocent either. I had to explain how Izumi is described as 'kind' but then does shit like kidnapping or being overly controlling at points. Thus I went with the explanation that he just doesn't know any better as his mother normalized this behavior, doing it to him and thus aiming to make him dependent on her. This is important later down the line to know when summarizing the last big plotpoint. 

How did that go on Ann's side? Well, not so well as later down the line they saw it as the first 'betrayal'. They are used to people disappearing out of their life, Izumi having turned into the norm. They didn't know his mother was behind this so they understood it as 'He is tried of me and doesn't want to play with me.' When Ann even looks back on everything, they notice that they were all alone anyway.

Back then… What was it all like back then? It was hard for Ann to pinpoint down. Ever since when little they would describe themselves as a ‘misfit’ in one way or another. Maybe as a kid they didn’t let it get to them is all. After all, life seemed easier at the early stages. Worry about the little things in life, focus on playing and just enjoy the time. It was how they lived in the end: Enjoy the moment. Nothing more, nothing less. It may be the inexperience and temporary ignorance, making them not think about such details. That’s why when still a little child, they could ignore these things altogether. 

Sure, almost everyone looked at them weirdly and made fun of them, but back then they could just laugh it off. ‘ Haha, that’s funny~ ’ they would always tell the other kids when they were making a joke at little Ann’s expense… Solely because they did not understand the severity of their words. And it was unlikely that the other kids had understood. Besides, they were too busy being all over the place and playing all sorts of games. Pretend, catch, hide and seek, climbing trees, soccer, drawing nonsense on concrete with chalk— There was no time to think about it. They were having fun. But when thinking back, it was never in a set group like the other kids. They just bounced around,like some ball being thrown. And yet, they did not understand it. It might be because of their lack of understanding when it came to the world. They were so naive that they managed to live a life in ignorance. And maybe that would have been a life for the better.

They wouldn’t mind being alone then if it was just that. Not like there was anyone, really. Even as a kid, when they thought that they had found someone to play with for some time, the boy just vanished— Or rather Izumi vanished. Someone they noticed they had grown close to, at least a little. Sure, he was a bit of a crybaby and seemed to be overwhelmed with Ann at points— Heck, he barely talked (unaware at the time that he could not communicate with them in the same language) but they somehow managed to communicate something. So they had to be close, right? Or so this little, naive kid chose to believe at first.

It was a fun few weeks, sure, but one day he just stopped showing up. What did they think about it back then? Well, it felt like a blow in their face back then once having come to that realization. ‘ Did I scare him? Or was he just bored of me? Or did he never like me to begin with? ’ It hit harder than they would like to admit. They never wanted to admit it. Luckily other kids approached them shortly after and invited them over for a game of jump rope and they accepted. They thought it was forgotten ever since yet it was the first of many blows.

And it only got worse from there. The treatment they received from others back in the day when growing older led them into isolation. Friends came and went, them even being backstabbed despite being promised that they would never leave them. This led them to believe that no relationship, unless family, is eternal. This is also why they have a hard time communicating. The language barrier is an excuse rather than a thing (like they will be talking when under the influence but regular Ann is very hesitant bonding properly with others and for a long while would not call anyone their friend). They are scared to create meaningful bonds, believing they will be shoved aside anyway. And again, while Izumi is not the sole reason for it, he may as well have kickstarted this.

To finish off the childhood section I should note... "Ok how do none of the two notice they are the kids on the playground!?"

In Ann's case it is simple - They forgot for a good while and stopped bothering with it. And the face had slipped their mind until seeing it again.

As for Izumi... Well, the girl looked as follows:

And the girl, she didn’t look like one at all to begin with. At least not like one he usually saw around or what Mama had told him what a girl would be like. If it wasn’t for her voice little Izumi would think that she was a guy actually. Short, brown, messy hair, shorts, a shirt way too big for her and a pair of trainers. No dress, no accessories, not even make up. And she was not scared too from what he saw. She sometimes fell over and scraped her knee but laughed it off rather than crying over it. She loved climbing trees, playing ball or just running around and circles for the heck of it. No dolls, no stuffies. She even got herself dirty and she was never, ever bothered by it. She was odd, to say the least, yet he was jealous all the same.

And even in future he would describe 'the little girl' as the opposite of Ann - Lively, reckless, upbeat, ready to have fun and approach others. Heck, he even sometimes may have imagined what the girl turned out to be nowadays... Not imagining that this would be Ann at first glance (hint at a childhood crush? Maybe... Leave that up to interpretation here).

Ok, this covers just the childhood basics (I am almost an hour in holy-). Next I will move on to the development in the present. Because give it over a decade and the two would meet each other again... Without knowing it at first that is.

“S… Sorry… I…Here to…” They continued stuttering yet he interrupted them from one moment to the next, having raised his own voice: “Speak up, would you!? And how about you try to speak in full sentences! This is pathetic to listen to!”

Hearing this made them nearly grumble. Something rubbed them the wrong way. What the hell was this guy thinking? This was as bad as they heard so far. And it has not even been a minute! Oh great…

They felt one of their hands forming a fist yet they tried to not to let it get to them. Maybe it was just a… Terrible first impression.

“Uhm… I… Can’t talk… Much Japanese…” They responded, very slowly, trying to keep their composure the best way they possibly can.

At most they only got one of his eyebrows rising,  him then scoffing: “Talk? Don’t you mean ‘speak’?” It wouldn’t be something they would usually take offense to but the way he said it, so mockingly… It made their blood boil, almost literally. Especially once he took a closer look, to say the least. He then added however: “Wait… You’re not from here, are you?”

“Yeah.” They nodded yet with somewhat visible annoyance. Yet he decided to ignore it or had not noticed.

“Ok fine, I won’t pick on your poor choice of words.”Oh how generous… “But quit the stuttering, will you? It’s annoying.”

Wha— Less stuttering? Less stuttering!? How!? They had to think about their words here! This guy is an inconsiderate shithead alright!? They made on attempt in hiding it at that point, being beyond furious at that point. “Ugh… If so, how about English?”

Though they would not even wait for an answer, adding: “Hah, no. Whatever. Picking up! You!”

“Huh? Picking me u—” He was about to repeat though would then come to a realization. “Hey, you’re that ‘Wolff’ person, aren’t you?”

They nodded, though somewhat forcefully. “Yeah. I’m Anja–Sophie Wolff. And I—”

“I didn’t ask for your name, did I?”

“Well… No, but—”

A sudden glare from the dimwit in front of them. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you then! Do you know how long I waited here!? Did you even try looking!?”

A grumble escaped their very own lips, more audible than before. They then glared back, massively annoyed. They are getting more and more pissed at this point. Not furious, pissed.

“If you wanna walk and sweat, please. I’ll drive with not you.”

They said it sharp and bluntly, not even resisting by then. No, he is not as bad as they said… He’s worse than they said! That Arschloch!

Needless to say, their 'welcome back' greeting ended in disaster. The two start arguing pretty much right away and do not hide that they hate each other's guts. For a while, them arguing is the norm whenever they come across another. Izumi finds a way to belittle Ann whenever he can (may it be their way of speaking, their clothes or 'not doing their job properly' (they are just pissing him off with the last one)) . Meanwhile they shoot insults at him and cannot stand how he is looking down at them, insulting them in his own way. They are just busy hating each other... Right?

“See what I mean? They’re totally got something going on.”

“I don’t know about that… Secchan is about to try something horrible on Ann–Chan…”

“No no no. You don’t understand! They’re so into it! They won’t notice us!”

A quick sigh from the soft sounding voice. “I mean… I guess the image would be funny. Hmm…”

[...]

“Haha, it’s all good. Are you done flirting now?” This employee then joked, only to be met with two sharp glares at once.

“We’re not flirting you idiot!” The model yelled in pure anger. What the hell was this guy’s deal? The two were clearly fighting over here! How can anyone even think this is flirting, let alone joke about it!?

[...]

“Uh… Just don’t kill each other while I’m gone…” Ritsu threw in, though still half asleep, making it impossible to tell if he was being serious or not.

“Oh, and don’t do that at work!” The employee of course had to say. “If you know what I mean~  Do it while we’re all go–”

“Shut up we won’t!” The two arguing said in perfect sync, the only thing they may agree on for their entire life.

Basically a listing of the oldest clichées in the book - Other characters pointing it out (as in "Yep, they're gonna bang")  and even them talking in sync without noticing. Are they really hating each other or are they just saying that? Is it really that shallow or is there more going on? Well, ask Leo Tsukinaga! ... No, seriously... 

And whenever they screamed Leo couldn’t help but grow curious. It was a few times he even got inspired and started scribbling, their voices serving as his background noise. It was insightful sometimes and some of his latest compositions were based on just them quarreling. Others might be annoyed but he finds it funny and it also makes him somewhat happy. In his eyes, Sena finally found someone who he can be on such open terms with. Even if the relationship is bad, being so honest with each other takes a lot. One might call it naivety but to Leo this was just common sense. If you butt heads so much, you had to be close! Only those close can be so open with one another. There was more going on than everyone would realize! It is simple logic in the composer’s point of view, a logic so flawed for many but to him it made somewhat sense. And besides, one of the employees does not seem to disagree with him either from what he heard! Maybe it was some kind of sixth sense at the time but the way the two argued was different from the tension building up between the members of Knights sometimes. It was such an honest clash of emotions, he couldn’t help but translate their screams and cries into notes, a piece of music, a memory of the moment. It helped him understand it all the better if he were completely honest and that is how he drew the following conclusions.

Basically and also with the things I established ahead... No, this is not a simple hatred. Things are more complicated yet they do not notice that at first. Some people might even argue that the two have something going on yet both get defensive about this. "I hate him/them!" basically and that is how things go for a good while. Though that is changing over time...

I will summarize the plot a little here: Long story short Nyeli is also there and Izumi acts as if he hates Nyeli, thinking it is for the better anyway. Ann at first believes it is Izumi being a shithead as always.

They think not much of it and when Ritsu makes an observation how conflicted Nyeli actually feels about Izumi, portraying him as a 'Black Knight' in his drawings, Ann dismisses it at first. For a while they are blind and prejudiced towards Izumi after all, thinking he is an asshole by default. They are also in disbelief when Sora tells them about 'Izumi's kind color' later on. How can he be kind!? A guy who does not hesitate to be just blunt with his words and talk down on others!? Who treats Nyeli like literal garbage!? They are confused about that, by a great deal.

What convinces them is essentially a nightmare, one could argue it was something they kind of started to pick up on yet didn't want to admit to. At first it manifested in their fear of loneliness. Add that others say that he isn't so bad they start to observe closer to see what others mean. They say nothing, just watch Izumi from time to time interacting with others. And while they are still convinced that he can be a bit annoying they start to slowly catch on. 

Then again, it might only answer why the cat didn’t hate that jerk completely and portrayed him in one of the images. But that was it. They were not much closer to anything else… ‘ Taking pity on the lowest of the low ’, the line haunted them even now. It was all so weird, they didn’t get it. The more they dug up about Izumi, the more confusing of a person he became to them. An Arschloch , they would still not deny that. But at the same time he was… Also not one? Ugh, this was confusing. More than it should have been. It made their head hurt… It led to nothing.

Same goes to the issue with Nyeli, Ritsu having noted that Nyeli behaves very differently when it comes to Izumi as a whole - It's not exactly hate but Nyeli is shallow, almost empty even. He doesn't 'hate' Izumi, that much they learn to admit. The situation isn't that black and white in the end.

As for Izumi during all of this, he is still not fond of Ann.

When it comes to the definition of a brat, there was no one Izumi knew any better than Ann themselves. This little shit felt entitled to everything. Even the smallest thing. They dared to talk back, they dared to raise their voice, they dared to not listen to him. Then again, these would usually just be inconveniences at most and he wouldn't pay much attention to it. They are just a brat who’d need to be disciplined, yet he didn’t have the energy to do that. It was not his job to set them straight. And usually, it would stay just there. An inconvenience, an annoyance… But that’s about it. However, Izumi had taken note of everything happening to him whenever just around Ann. He knew the rage building up had slowly become personal.

At first he just saw them as a nuisance: A mess of a person who cannot do anything right. And he was ready to call them out on that. The way they dress is a mess, they may work a lot yet manage to mess up the fundamental basics (either by accident or on purpose, with him Izumi felt like it was completely on purpose at points) and them trying to speak was a slog to get through. Stuff  which shouldn’t be anything personal to him, especially since Ann seems to try for the most part.

Yeah, nothing to add here. So imagine his annoyance when they try to approach Izumi directly about something regarding Nyeli... They literally chase him down the hall even, not allowing him to escape. In the end he is forced to talk to them regarding Nyeli.

“Fine.... You want to know what me and the cat’s deal is? I’ll tell you.” He responded, trying to stick with his annoyed act. “Will you stop pestering me if I tell you?”

When hearing his response they lifted their head up, a little in surprise. Yeah, he didn’t believe it either. He was listening to their request. Yet they nodded despite this sudden shock.

“And you keep your mouth shut while I’m talking. Ask questions afterwards. Did I make myself clear?”

So basically Izumi tells Ann about how he knew Nyeli and of his true name, Patch, and both stories do not add up. Nyeli looked more as if he was placed as a stray but Izumi claims the kitty ran away from home, insisting on it even. Having this not add up they decide to initiate that the two fix their misunderstanding by forcing them to sit down and bond... This goes horrible at first, who is surprised? NO ONE! Heck, even Izumi is not sure what to say and Nyeli is refusing at first as well. It isn't until having been suggested the 'get to know him again' approach that Izumi manages to break the ice and bond with Nyeli again, reaching a point where one can leave the two alone after a while. While the effort came from the two mainly Ann initiated it at least, allowing the two to bond again.

One issue resolved, another one approaching. Or rather two. This connection now leads to Izumi and Ann hanging out more as well, thanks to Nyeli. And maybe they start growing more fond of another yet none would admit it. Well, Ann says nothing, but Izumi...

"You've got time this Saturday, don't you? Of course you do! Meet me in front of this building at exactly 10 am! And not a second later! If you do, I will make sure that you won't hear the end of it! Be on time!"

Before Ann could even agree Izumi had just dashed right out of their office, feeling that his own face had to be the spitting image of embarrassment. What had he been saying just now? Why was he saying nonsense like that!? 'Meet me in front of this building at 10 am'!? What was he doing!? Inviting that klutz to a date!? No, that wasn't it! The idea would never cross his mind! Then again… What would he even do with them around? He didn't even give them a choice, nor a response. Would they even show up!?

Totally not liking them, not at all. Either way, it is during that time where he comes to some ugly truth again, by this conversation...

“You sounding like Mami— I mean my Mom.” Ann added, unimpressed by this argument yet he decided to ignore it… At first yet he turned back soon enough when hearing one word… He didn’t know but it had just caught his attention right then and there.

“What? Did your Mom pick the meals for you or something?” He asked, almost mocking though that was to mask his curiosity which was met with a sheepish grin.

“Uh… She can cook so… No complaints for meals, heh…”

“Are you serious? And you want to live alone. I can’t believe your parents made you do that…” 

“Made?” They suddenly tilted their head all of a sudden, confused. “No one made me go.”

Hearing that made the male nearly drop onto the table, staring at them wide eyed. “No one… Made you go? Then why are you here?” This was news to him, almost unbelievable. Their mother did not choose for them? Was that even possible!? It sounded so… Surreal.

“Because I want to.” They responded quickly, plain and simple. “Well… Guess we’re here so may as well reveal stuff.”

“Wh… What are you—”

“I like Japan. And stuff from Japan! Want to see it so I went. Uni exchange programm stuff!  Plus Germany can be stinky~”

Basically learning that they are doing this of their own choice. Why is this important? Well, as said before, keep in mind that I established that Izumi heavily depends on his mother and does more of what she tells him to, what he needs to be. So hearing that Ann gets a choice... It gets to him yet he has no idea why at first until he thinks about it... And when noticing that everything just comes crashing down on him and he is so confused that he cannot focus on anything. Knowing no one to turn to he picks Ann yet he himself isn't sure why, and just breaks down. He expects to be shooed away yet they do not do that. Instead they let him inside their home and both talk about what is going on. 

Basically the idea is that Izumi is too confused to continue, wanting to reevaluate what he wants, not what his Mom told him to be. This leads to a temporary retirement from idol activities, 1-2 months, with the agreements with Knights. To catch a break from everything he even considers moving out of the dorms.

“Now what? Heading to Florenz?” They continued asking, somewhat curious and interested. He didn’t understand why, it was still somewhat irritating. But he didn’t hate it. Not anymore.

“It’s an option.” Izumi admitted with a sigh, though it didn’t sit completely right with him, oddly enough. “But the chance of me drowning myself in work there is high. And that’s not exactly the plan, is it?”

“Haha, yeah. Get it. I drown in work too.” They said, stating the absolute obvious. It only made his eyes roll.

“Oh no, I thought the papers on your desk were just for show.” He added with obvious sarcasm, making them nearly glare at him.

“Hey, not funny!”

“I wasn’t being funny.”

What this leads to is essentially him temporarily moving in with Ann after they offered.

“Then mine could do!” They suddenly suggested, sounding almost a little too eager for his liking. But he couldn’t comment on it, more surprised if anything to hear that of all things. He even looked at them, not hiding this thought whatsoever.

“Come again?”

“My place!” Ann repeated, sounding as if they just had a genius idea here. “Not minding at all!”

“Your… Place? That mess? You really expect me to—”

“You don’t have to!” They suddenly huffed with a pout. “Just trying to help. But search or the streets. Hmph!”

Basically the idea is to get a place where he could be away for a while and had no risk to get into too much work also plot but ssh. So the two start living together for a short while (have fun ina crowded one room apartment)

Happy e- No, no. So wrong. No happy end. Because this is where things boil down yet are also the turning point. Basically the childhood thing is found out there, Ann finding out by coincidence by throwing a box over and seeing a picture of Izumi as a kid... Then it all comes back to them and they drop his nickname, 'Izuzu'. And that is where he also notices... Ann is that 'little girl' he remembered.

Thus the first day is awkward, Ann giving Izumi the silent treatment. They insist that it's fine but it clearly isn't. He is somewhat overcome with guilt and tries to apologize yet they tell him not to, saying that this is what they are used to. No need to wo-

“That…” He finally began speaking yet again, them looking right at Izumi to see what his response would be. Ann didn’t expect much, even now, so his next words surprised them. “Sounds pathetic.”

It was as if he was verbally punching them right in the guts and it nearly made them furious… Though for different reasons, something they couldn’t exactly put into words. “Pathetic?”

“Oh you heard me right. So you’re saying that for whatever reason I don’t need to apologize? Because you’re used to this? Is that what I’m hearing?”

They nodded. “Yeah, it’s–”

“Are you serious!? Did I listen to some sorry loner all this time!?” He seemed upset, not an unusual sight for Ann. And yet, this time it had a different undertone, to say the least. “Then why bother with this all to begin with!? You make no sense… Unless you got some savior complex going on.”

[...]

“So, I assume that you need someone to push you around. And since you pushed me around to make up with Patch, I suppose I will push you around a little now!” He continued, determination somewhat written over his face. “So quit saying stuff like that! I’m not gonna leave you by yourself if I can help it!”

Yeah, he's not gonna listen to this. Ann is in disbelief, not believing their ears at that point. They first think that it's a lie but...

They can tell at the same time that it is not, if that makes sense. Or maybe they are hopeful at this moment. Not like he gives them a choice anyway...

“In fact, I guess we have some catching up to do. Are you free tomorrow?”

“Eh? Me!?” They repeated in shock. It has been years since they were asked that. Ok no, technically it was not too long ago, given Izumi dragged them out that one weekend but it didn’t change that this was a surprise. Being asked if they were free, just like that… Such a  simple question shouldn’t make them want to jump up in joy or nearly break out crying but it was too much to handle. It has been a while since anyone asked this of them, anyone who is not family at least. And they were perhaps a little too happy hearing it. “Uni lectures in the morning but… Not a work day I—”

“Hah, guess something like that takes priority. So good enough. Now go to bed!” Izumi suddenly insisted. “The moment you get back here it’ll just be the two of us!”

“Wha— Hah!? Said who!?”

“I said so!” He countered with a sudden grin on his face. “Now hop to it. I don’t wanna drag you around in the afternoon.”

So for a while things become peaceful and not much is going on. Essentially it is all bonding primarily, either between the two or Izumi and Nyeli doing something together. Almost done, great.

First we need to get the confession out of the way... But honestly that boils down to the following - Knights notices that Izumi has grown closer to Ann and even talks about them differently, even seeing them as a 'woman' (the they/them he used before was to indicate that he didn't see them as much actually. She/Her is fine since this Ann doesn't correct anyone about pronouns, even if they themself refuse to identify). At first he tries to deny it but...

When thinking back on some things… Was there a chance? The two were kinda on dates before after all. And ever since seeing more of her, let alone living with her… Things go smoother. He kind of liked it actually, growing fond of her. At first he thought it was just because she was the little girl from years ago and it might play a factor. He would lie if he said it didn’t. But… Even before that… To some degree… Ugh, that’s a headache to think about. Did he seriously start to see her that way now? He wouldn’t know when, he just hated it that Naru–Chan’s outrageous claim could hold some weight. Ugh, not like these feelings would be returned though.

He cannot deny it. And Ann cannot escape it either. Nyeli asks them if they are in love with 'brothnya' (basically Izumi), they do not exactly answer the question. All they say is that 'there is no way that he will like me'. Then that random employee asks them as well.

That had his attention a little. It wasn’t a flatout ‘no’ after all. Hoho~ “Did you just say maybe?”

“Ah— That— Who knows, that’s all!”

“Maybe. So you’re considering it. Of course you are. You seem to actually enjoy being around Sena after all.”

“Never thought I’d see the day…”

“Oh, you should read up on your tropes then.”

“Life isn’t tropey!” She would argue either way. “Anything but tropey!”

“Hey, I’m just throwing it out there. You two just gave off the vibe you know.”

“How!?”

“I already said how. Anyway, anyway… Embrace it! Enjoy your existence as a couple! If none of the higher ups find out, you are in the clear~”

One of her eyelids seemed to twitch at the suggestion yet the redness did not disappear. “W… We… Not…”

“Haha, discuss it first. I’m sure you two will be juuust fine~”

“What—”

“Enough from me though. I have somewhere to be. Won’t be here for a while actually. So… Best of luck! Go get him girl!”

The conversations make the two think yet also say nothing for a few days to another... Until it escalates...

And thus they were silent yet again, finishing up their meals respectively before putting their bowls and chopsticks (or a fork in Ann’s case) down, first facing the table before both turned their heads up to face one another all of a sudden, staring at each other… Wait, she’s red too!? What is the meaning of that!? But old habits die hard because before they knew it they would start yelling at each other again, Ann starting.

“You brought it up!? Meaning!?”

“What do you mean ‘meaning’!? I’m not trying to say anything by that!”

“Then why say that!?”

“Because you’re silent all week!”

“You too! You wanna date suddenly!?”

“Hah!? D… Don’t be ridiculous! It’s nothing like that! I’m not desperate!” Despite being aware he was still denying it verbally… Great… “You point it out so what are you trying to say!? That you want to date me!?”

“Hah!? I… No! Not desperate!” Ann denied however, flushed red. 

“Yeah right! Sounds like to me you fell for me you know!” 

“Me!? You fell!” She countered, as if confident in that statement but also not really. It was rather odd, to say the least. and yet the indication was all too obvious.

“Hah! I won’t admit it if you don’t!”

“Ok fine! I may fell in love! With you!”

“There we go! Because I think so do I!”

It leads to a confession though and things become official! Happy e-

“Why hello there~ Are you my little Izumi’s roommate~?” The voice was an older one, feminine and sounding ever so sweet. Even after having not heard it clearly for a good few months he would never be able to forget this voice, given he had heard the one all his life. He couldn’t move, unable to say anything and the words wouldn’t leave him. Well, he wasn’t talking to anyone at the moment yet his throat felt dry, somewhat. He knew who this was, better than anyone… 

“G… Good morning?” He heard Ann stutter, as if she was overwhelmed by this sudden entrance. Well, who wouldn’t be? It came out of literal nowhere! “Uhm.. By Izumi… Miss, you mean—”

“Hm? Oh right, you don’t know who I am. Silly me, I usually don’t bother with no names~” The woman responded, not stopping with her ever so sweet tone, despite her words. “You should’ve seen my face around already though, shouldn’t you? I was in every fashion magazine known to man~”

“I.. Uhm… Do not read—”

“Then start sweetie. How can you run around in some old rags like that~? No sense for fashion at all, haha~”

Yeah uh... I hope you still remember me mentioning Izumom... She's here, at the end. There's a point to this. Let me introduce you to her as the story puts it!

Sena Kimiko, a woman in her 40s at most. Even then, no one would probably suspect that to be the case at all. She looked very young for her age after all, a standard for the model industry. There was not a single wrinkle in her face and she never had any bags under them either. No scars nor beauty marks. Her face was never tarnished, it was as if she had been blessed with natural beauty. All combined with sparkling, dark blue eyes and long, wavy yet slightly thick silver hair. Her hair especially seemed flawless; no sign of bed hair nor any mess. It was always so clean, in tip top shape, healthy and shining. 

Her body was also something else– A slim figure with a respectable waist and chest. Not too big yet not too small either. Her measurements were just right. Any outfit of her choice will be a perfect fit no matter what. Most would be jealous of it, even other models. She is desired in the industry, her pride lying in her modeling. She is the ideal doll and she is more than aware. She doesn’t shy away from it and makes sure to let everyone know. A woman who sees herself above everyone else, who made something out of herself and her natural beauty. She looks down on just about anyone yet feels like she has every right to do so. After all, she had already proven that she is superior to everyone else.

This is the type of woman Kimiko was and it might be an understatement to say that she fully embraced it. She never knew shame and never saw herself in the wrong. She usually knows better, especially when it comes to her own son. After all, if it were not for her, he would have never started making it as an idol and model. And she truly believes that her son is meant to become a legendary idol like she is… It was his path, wasn’t it? There was no other way, someone who inherited her beauty was always meant to show it off and become a perfect doll, just like she is!

Basically Kimiko has heard that her son is on a hiatus. As she is worried she figured out where he lives now and pays him a visit, just to see how he's doing. She is overbearing and goes to treat him like a little boy. Also she is not exactly holding her tongue either in regards to Ann. But she is just a worried Mo-

No, she ain't. She makes her intentions clear.

“But even then… Are you sure?”

Huh? “Sure of what Mama?” What was she—

“You see… Papa and Mama are worried sick about you Izumi. The last thing we expected from you was to go on a hiatus and disappear from the public eye.”

“Ah— I… I’m sorry for not telling you in advance! You two seem busy lately so—”

“No, it’s fine. Thank you for being so considerate. However, do you really want to stay with her?”

He only looked at his mother, shocked yet irritated. What is she—

“You can always come home, you know, even if only for a short while. After all, we will help you sort things out.”

“I…”

“After all… Mama and Papa know you better than some random, little, barbaric girl. We know what’s best for you.”

She also catches on that the two are dating and needless to say, Kimiko hates it. Yet of course she doesn't say it outright, not towards Izumi at first at least. But she is trying to rig something. And she shows up too much at that home, even uninvited.

And her reaction to Nyeli... Not too good.

Because the moment she had turned her eyes lost all of their life, oddly enough, and her pupils were as dead as they could be. It was all happening so fast, from one moment to the next, yet the next audible thing was a sudden scream from her lips, so loud that it made Nyeli curl his ears so he didn’t have to hear it and close his eyes, tearing up already. He even held them with his nubs, trying to keep them in place. It was probably unbearable for him, not even soft pats could get the cat to calm down. 

It left all of them in a shock, Ann staring at the woman in utter disbelief, mouth gaping open. What was her deal now? What!? How!? Why!? This woman… The nerve… 

“M… Mama!? What’s gotten into you!?” It was a little forced and stuttery but Izumi managed to ask it in the end, the question which had been in their mind right away. Would she answer it though? Of course not. At this very moment it was as if her own son did not exist, or was not present at the very least. 

Instead she stomped over while dashing, getting as close as possible while eyeing Nyeli, even circling around somewhat. Kimiko’s head was moving around like an automatic door, swaying side to side in an unnatural motion. All while her face was devoid of any sort of emotion, her dark blue eyes lacking emotion especially. She didn’t quit it either, eyeing Nyeli as if Ann had been holding a tiny monster in their hands, a creature of some sorts. It took minutes before she backed off, though still looking down at the cat with her gaze. “The brute? What is that doing here?” She asked, no shame, hesitation nor emotion. She was cold, very cold, and direct. No sugarcoating it whatsoever… Brute? Brute!? Did she just call Nyeli a brute!?

Kimiko is basically feeling threatened that she is losing control here, something she makes very obvious. And while Izumi is in denial Ann shows that they despise this woman down to the core.

Their conversation alone together with Kimiko even leads to this line:

“Wenn du mich fragst… Schlampen sollten ihren Mund zum Schwanzlutschen benutzen und ihre Schnauze halten. Mach dich nützlich. Du siehst zumindest so aus, als ob dich Männer ficken wollen.”

Basically Ann calls Kimiko a slut who only has a mouth good for sucking dick and she is only useful for being fucked by guys. Yeah, this is meant to be very vulgar.

The consequences come down and Kimiko is actually close to taking Izumi with her, no questions asked. Though that does not happen because by then Izumi starts to finally realize what his mother is trying, what she wants to push him into. Not to mention that he learns that Nyeli disappearing was her fault and no one else's. This is just a short summary because the conflict is longer but read the longfic I save you that much trouble. What you have to know is that he stands up to his mother and throws her out himself, deciding to no longer listen to her.

Sometime after that Izumi resumes his idol activities yet also secretly dating Ann... 'Secretly' as Knights know too, the bunch caught on asap, yet they keep it a secret in public as well of course. But they are nosy... Arashi especially, she is having a field day here.

Why did I just go through the longfic, somewhat? Because it is essentially the get together story as well as the foundation of everything following up I write with them now. Basically I wanted to outline shortly how these two go from hating each other to being a thing. And I think knowing the entire story adds to how they got where they are now, how it all had gone down. Of course the story covers more than the simple romance but it plays a factor here. I wanted to outline the time where the hatred starts to change and how the two are so close.

With that analysis done... I have more thoughts! Yes, still not done, but close. This is literally just the longfic’s plot.

So, what is next and some other stuff I think about a lot / will write out in near future…

So firstly, of course the constant lingering fear for a while. Sure, the two overcame quite a bit but here's the deal... That doesn't mean that they are free from worries.

Izumi has to constantly worry that his mother just shows up, especially now. Also him having a hint of insecurity maybe, given how he and Ann started out that it is not enough and he could lose them in turn (I wrote a Hanahaki oneshot for a reason, outlining the fear that maybe he doesn't love them or something like that). He doesn't show it a lot of course, not wanting to come off as weak.

Ann themself is constantly in a battle as well, never seeing themself as good enough. Their fear of being left like that is there for some time, either for being a nuisance or for someone better. They believe that they cannot find a reason for him to stay; he will leave eventually. 

This leads into a plotpoint for Part II (yes there will be a second longfic... I am insane, I know) where Ann tries to exhaust themself to the bone to write a movie script themself, even driving insane from it. They want to 'prove their worth'. 

"I… I was scared… That you would… Leave me if I… I failed and… I can't do much else so I… I…"

"Stop with that. No, seriously, stop. So what if you can't write that script?"

"A… Am I tha–"

"Let me finish! Because I am happy for you to get this chance and show your skills off. But here's the thing… You're more than your writing, alright? You've already proven that. And those guys who take it at face value? Screw them. Those who really care will see you for you, no matter who. So even if you hadn't gotten this chance, we would not be disappointed. And by we I mean your parents, Patch, that guy you call your 'brother', Kuma–Kun, the rest of Knights and… Me too. So stop putting yourself down like that, will you?"

They are told that this is bs of course and they are more than a script.

They sure still got some things to work through of course! 

Enough about insecurities!

As for some more fun stuff, or rather calmer... More light hearted stuff to keep in mind or I shall list

Bickering is still here and there of course. Nothing changing there, yet they no longer insult another

Nagging is not uncommon though. Ann is not known for healthy habits so Izumi sure nags a lot there, having to force them to be healthier sometimes. He will also scold them should he catch them up at midnight when in Florenz. Oh yes, he is phoning them up just to yell "GET THE FUCK TO BED!"

They fluster at each other. Ann is a little clingy and touchy (mostly wholesome, though depending on the mood it can be a little more than that), catching Izumi off guard. He sometimes even tries to resist their begging for a hug or other things, solely to not 'spoil them'. He's just embarrassed yet cracks eventually. Of course this is in private, sometimes within the office as well, yet in public it doesn't go too far. As for how he catches them off guard... When he suddenly puts on the charm he literally makes them unable to function, sometimes even running with a beet red face because it is too much for them to handle. No, really, their brain just stops working altogether.

Secret relationship because of what would happen if fans found out an idol is dating someone, that they are unavailable. Some people find out yet keep it a secret as well.

Who is more jealous? Uh... Hard to say, I think it is more circumstantial, maybe even who it is.

A world is shattered when Izumi hears Ann is a fan of Jun Sazanami... I jest not really after they explain that they just like his performance as an idol, being a fan of his like they would be for a musician (if that makes sense) yet it sure led to an interesting conversation.

And that is all! For now. Izuann has necome a bigger beast than anticipated and yeah, I might enjoy the two way too much from a writing perspective. Even if I do not show it lately but I think a longfic of 80k+ words is all the proof needed. And a second one is in the works (currently at the roadmap).

I hope this was fun to read through! Even if it was more of an analysis than a ramble...

[integra1127grimmreaper]

The One That Got Away - Part three

Negan Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 2

Warning: swearing

Honestly, you were so embarrassed by your reaction to the incident between Coach and you, that you truly did not want to have to go and see him after school. You weren't sure how to behave around him after it; your mind surely would be taking a stroll down the streets of perviness yet again if you were to be around him so soon after. But God... you couldn't get the thought of how deliciously wonderful it felt having him so close up against you, the feel of his warm breath that brushed your face as he exhaled heavily while he had held onto you.

Y/B/F/N was right; the man was temptation on long legs, and you weren't sure how long you could hold out on your attraction to him, especially with the last year of school nearing so closely.

You dragged your feet as you made your way to Coach's office; feeling as though you were walking towards your execution, instead of just a normal meeting. Truth was, the only thing that was at risk of being slaughtered, was your teenage hormones. Please don't let him have picked up on anything... you silently begged into the cosmos as you slowly reached out a hand to knock on Coach's door.

"Come on in..." you heard the sexy rasp of his voice call out. "Hey there..." he greets you with that sexy dimpled smile of his as you entered into the room.

"Hi..." you shyly return his greeting, taking a seat on the couch.

"I went over your notes" Coach starts the conversation. "You made a lot of good points on your analysis over practice, and the ideas you jotted down seems good too."

"That's good..." you respond, head lightly bobbing as you mostly stared at the ground. You couldn't make yourself look him in the face.

"You ok?" Coach suddenly asks you.

"I'm fine" you answer a little too quickly.

"You sure about that?" Coach asks again, "the floor must be really fuckin' interesting then..." finally you look up t him then, a look of confusion on your face at his remark. "You've been staring at it the entire time since you got here."

"Sorry about that" you apologize, cheeks slightly pink, "just have a lot on my mind."

"Wanna talk about it?" Coach stares at you with concern.

"Just teenage stuff" you brush it off, "homework, and it being the last year of high school and all... you know, normal teenage stuff."

"And boys, of course" Coach remarks with a smirk, causing you to pull a face of disgust.

"Please don't make me throw up my lunch right here in your office" you remark.

"Not into boys then, I take it" Coach snickers at your reaction.

"Not the one's from here, no..." you reply, "matter of fact, to be blunt; 'boys' annoy the shit out of me."

"So, you're into grown MEN then?" Coach raises a brow, a faint smirk crossing his lips.

"Maybe..." you respond with a faint smirk of your own. Where the sudden courage to admit that titbit of information came from, you sure as hell didn't know.

"What's your age range?" Coach's question catches you off-guard, and your eyes widen in surprise at the somewhat look of interest on his face.

"Uh... I-" you stumble with your words, at a lost to why Coach would suddenly be interested in your taste of men.

Just as you thought your secret was about to be exposed, you're saved by the interruption of someone knocking at the office door. "Sorry, did I interrupt you guys?" Mr Collins, the Math teacher enters into the room.

"Not at all" Coach replies, "we were just going over some planning for the team."

"I could always come back later..." Mr Collins remarks in apology, "it's something I have to go over with you about tomorrow morning's staff meeting."

"It's ok, Sir" you respond, getting up from your seat, a bit hastily than usual. "I really should get going in any case, have a ton of homework to see to. Coach, ok if we continue the meeting tomorrow?"

"Sure..." Coach mutters, eyes narrowed as he studied your body language when you leave his office.

Collins was talking, rambling on about shit Negan really wasn't paying attention much to. Negan's attention was solely focused on the thought of Y/N instead, and the conversation they had been having just before being interrupted.

Never in his life would he have pegged Y/N to be one that was interested in guys that were much older than her. So, when he had asked her exactly how old, Negan would be lying if he said; he wasn't extremely intrigued by what her answer to it was.

Negan would be lying too if he said that he didn't find her extremely HOT! Shit, she was his student, but the truth was that from day one there was something about Y/N that had drew his attention.

She was a firecracker that one; always challenging him with a sweet mischievous smirk, especially whenever she would succeed in rattling his cage.

Negan had gone to extreme lengths to ensure that he never overstepped the boundaries with her, going out of his way to be as mean to her as possible during those first years. Shit, he was quite sure; she, along with the rest of the school probably believed he hated her back in those days.

Now that Negan thought about it, she most definitely thought it to be the truth; because whenever he had made a snarky comment towards her, Y/N would give him one back in tenfold.

Negan would be lying if he said that he didn't find those interactions between the two of them exhilarating, she brought out a fire in him that he never thought someone so young ever could. And the mouth she had on her... Y/N's foul mouth could rival his own at times, Negan was constantly having to reprimand her about it when around other students. Whenever they were alone though, he would let a run it; laughing his ass off at her colourful use of words, because they were the exact ones he would have used in those situations.

Y/N always had something to say about everything and that was what he liked about her the most. But of lately though, Negan had noticed that she was a lot less talkative when around him; she seemed quite timid these days. To be honest; Negan missed how Y/N would bust his balls on a regular basis, he always looked forward to those interactions with her.

Deep in thought at why the sudden change of behaviour in Y/N, Negan is finally snapped out of his thoughts when he realizes that Collins had stopped talking. "Sorry... what was that last part?" Negan stares at him in confusion.

"I said; not to be late for tomorrow's meeting" Collins replies, "it's Kathy's birthday, and there's a small surprise party planned for her during it."

"Oh, yeah..." Negan nods, "sure don't want to fuckin' miss out on the free cake."

Collins shakes his head at Negan's choice of words, "just don't be late."

"Sure..." Negan flashes him a toothy grin.

Once Collins leaves, Negan finds his thoughts wondering back to Y/N yet again. "Fuck. You have to get that girl off your mind" Negan mumbles to himself. It had been so much easier in the earlier years not to go down that path, but with this being Y/N's last year of high school; it was becoming more and more difficult not to think of her in other ways.

She's your fuckin' student! Negan's mind screamed out at him as he thought of how fuckin' incredibly HOT her ass looked whenever she was in those tight gym shorts of hers.

"I know... but she's legal now" Negan debates with the voice of reason in his head. "And it's her last year."

You're fuckin' married, you asshole! His mind yells back at him.

"Yeah, you're right..." Negan lets out a heavy breath in response.

Besides, I'm quite sure that you're not even her type. The voice taunts him in reply. You're way too old for her.

"But she did say that she was into older men" Negan presses the subject further.

She said, MEN, she didn't say how old... The voice reminds him. Now get your ass up and go home to your WIFE!

"Shit. You're right..." Negan sighs out in defeat when he's reminded about that fact.

Deciding to push his inappropriate thoughts about Y/N to the side, Negan gets up from his seat and leaves to go home to his wife.

Part 4

Tags: @neganswoman​

[thewertsearch]

Asks Compilation 18/07

I'm really enjoying Hivebent! It almost feels like a detour into a different story, like the Intermission - although the difference, of course, is that we know this one is plot-relevant. 

The tone is quite different too. Things are kind of ominous - and not just because we know the troll session(s) are doomed. We’re slowly zooming into the culture of a pretty terrible world, and I’m sure there’s a lot more to see.  

I've thought about this, but there are two main issues here:

I like to refer back to previous posts a lot when I’m liveblogging, both for further analysis and to illustrate points. Audio or video reactions are sort of hard to reference - I could do a transcript, but I don’t think it’d be very useful, because

I’m just not very good live, lmao. I’m a lot more comfortable in text, where I can format and edit posts to properly illustrate what I’m trying to say. Live, I tend to ramble - even my text posts have to be cut down a little from my initial reactions. You’re really not missing much; trust me on this.

If the flashes ever get really long - like, if we do a larger one of these, which I’m assuming is a walkaround - I’ll reconsider. I doubt it, though, I’d probably be more likely to split it into multiple posts. I’ll keep it under consideration, though!

Karkat and his friends and everyone they would ever meet thereafter would experience great misfortune on account of the curse unwittingly implemented through Sollux's esoteric MOBIUS DOUBLE REACHAROUND VIRUS.

I think either interpretation makes sense - this sentence is kind of ambiguous, now that I’m looking at it again. Although, if Sollux did know what the virus would do, why would he send it to his friend? 

He knows Karkat is an amateur programmer, which is the worst kind of person to send this too. Karkat can compile and run this code, but he can’t understand it. What the hell, Captor?

I absolutely hate to admit this, but I watched Morbius with my friend a couple of weeks ago. The experience was indescribable, and it’s stuck in my mind ever since.

But my favorite moment will be when John looks directly out of the panel, meeting my eye, and speaks thusly:

I'm wearing ‘cliffnotes-esque’ as a badge of honor from now on. I kind of want to make it my blog header.

Yeah, I try to attach any relevant context to the points I make, just to help me tie things together. As a bonus, it hopefully helps readers out, too!

Oh my god, does this mean Sburb is on a grub? Are all the actual troll computers just... full of insects?  

Was Karkat, like, really confused by the non-biological tape storage in the Veil, or was his Veil just wall-to-wall grubs?

That’s too funny. It’s second only to Kingdom Hearts in weird stream-crossing moments in video games. I’ve never actually played a dating game before, but I gotta give this one a go - I actually think I’ve seen that JaidenAnimations dating game video before, I’ve seen a lot of her stuff. 

It may not be true canon, but maybe this is the legendary semi-canon that I keep hearing about...

Oh I love Undertale - Deltarune too. There is just so much going on in those games, on every level. 

Toby, not to rush you, but you have no idea the things I’d do for Chapter 3 to drop today. 

I actually didn’t catch this! Not that I’ve studied any classics, or anything.

I guess my pronunciation isn’t quite right. I guess it’d be something like ‘saul-ucks cap-ter’?

So he is. I think it’s a pretty safe bet that mental health services on Alternia are somewhat lacking, even more so than on Earth. Do you think trolls even know what therapy is? 

Aw, the poor monsters. 

Shit, I hadn’t thought of this yet - what lusus will my trollsona have? I’m thinking of some sort of insect, but leave it with me. 

[https://4-panel-life.tumblr.com/post/63400990221/before-i-knew-what-homestuck-was-i-was-really this I think 😂 - Cat ] 

Love it. I’d honestly have probably spent the rest of my life confusing the two, if I hadn’t started this blog. As I said, I have no earthy clue what Homestar Runner is about, only that it was a beacon of internet culture in the era before I came online.

I don’t doubt that puns were in play when Hussie was initially naming these Aspects - and those puns may well tie into their symbolism. It’s a pretty good way to get some inspiration when you’re naming things.

But I’m sure there’s more too it - simply because people love these Titles. The system is presumably pretty deep, and the pun is but a single faucet of each Title.

Thank you! Hilariously, it’s actually hotter at home than it was abroad. 

Is anyone else dealing with the heatwave, right now? Holy shit, you guys, even normal summers make me drowsy. This one is something else. 

Always up for some Sylladex analysis. 

We’ve considered this interpretation before. It makes a lot of sense - and it gels with what we already know about Sburb - but I’m still on the fence about it, mostly because it raises the same question that the rest of Sburb’s predestination system does - namely, how it would account for alternate timelines. 

There are ways to handle it - like, maybe each iteration of each person gets their own, personal index - and I do think we’re on the right track with predestination, but I still don’t think we have the whole picture here. 

Everything, Everywhere was a lot of fun - and all the AU and alt-self stuff was very Homestuck. 

Does anyone else wish we'd seen more of the other timelines, though? I know the movie was intentionally centered on one specific iteration of the family, but I'd love to have seen more of what went down in, for example, the Prime Timeline.

Dis* is me when I try to use regexes.

I'm on the for you page? I've fucking made it. Catch me monetizing the shit out of this blog now.

thewertsearch, brought to you by Namco™ High!

[ omg. um.... here it is... humanimals.... drawn by Hussie, I believe a few years before HS...

https://mrcheeze.github.io/andrewhussie/comic.html?comic=humanimals

content warning for... I guess body horror, and weird... human animal people, I don’t even know what description I could give but it’s nightmare fuel xD

it’s not directly plot relevant to HS the way SBAHJ is, I leave it up to your judgement lol - C ]

........

I honestly don’t think I can post these on the blog. Why does the the fact that they’re office clerks make it worse, somehow? The juxtaposition of the casual mood with what we’re seeing is generating a feeling that’s adjacent to, but somehow more harrowing than, the uncanny valley. 

Incredible. I feel like my life has been enriched in a way I can neither understand nor describe.  

Oh right, yeah, the ‘secrets’ in the playable panels! Yeah, I’d actually forgotten about these, thanks for the reminder.

It's been a while since a playable flash, so I need to remember to find the key combination for each of them. if I miss one, remind me!

[differentkettleoffishalltogether]

#1 Fan [Part 1/2]

Summary: Spencer knows he’s seen his new neighbor somewhere before.

A/N: This was a blurb request from my sideblog that got completely out of hand so here she is as a full fic! (We’re gonna pretend like I know how OnlyFans works)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff & Smut 

Warnings/Includes: smut, graphic descriptions of sexual acts, masturbation (male & female), voyeurism(?), please let me know if there’s anything I’ve missed!

Word count: 2.9k

Request: “Blurb about basically the same fic as the other one except she just moved in and he recognizes her as the person he subs to on OF. She’s describing her hot neighbor- and yeah” from @thatsonezesty13​

Masterlist

Read Part 2 Here

The first time Spencer sees her in the lobby grabbing her mail he thinks he’s in a dream. Or maybe he’s seeing things. For a second he’s terrified that he’s having a hyper-realistic, yet somehow mundane, wet dream.

He’s been subscribed to her for a while. To be honest once he’d found her account he didn’t have much of a need to subscribe to anyone else. She was almost tailor made for him, it was sort of scary.

So when he saw her that day, and she smiled at him, giving him a small wave as she passed him in the hall, his heart all but stopped.

That night he checked her page. He compared the pictures of the sweet girl in the hall with the ones in front of him. The photos where she was wearing next to nothing, or sometimes nothing at all. The ones where she had her fingers inside of her panties, or her mouth.

He ended up spiraling that evening, partially forgetting why he was even looking in the first place. Until he was watching videos of her, fucking into herself with a toy until she was squirting onto her bedsheets.

The following morning when he woke up he tried to convince himself that it wasn’t her. How could it be? And if it was, would he have to stop looking? Something felt a bit perverted about that.

So he pushed the thoughts from his head. And that lasted all of 10 seconds because there was a knock on his front door. When he opened it up it was her standing there, the girl from the mailboxes, and the girl from the videos. He knew they were one and the same, who was he kidding?

“Hi!” She sticks out her hand to introduce herself, “I think I saw you the other day, I’ve just moved into the building, Y/N.”

He knows her name already, well he knows her first name, and part of him’s a little surprised it’s not fake.

He takes a moment to consider her hand, he wouldn’t usually shake a strangers hand like this but for some reason he didn’t feel like she was a stranger. The real reason her didn’t want to shake her hand was because of all the things he’d pictured her doing with them. Touching herself, touching him.

But he’s hesitated for too long, so he takes her hand, shaking it gently, “Spencer, Dr. Spencer Reid. Nice to— uh, meet you” he has to force his breaths out or they might not come. Looking at her up close, in person, she was too beautiful. And he already thought that about her pictures.

“Well it’s nice to meet you, I always like to know the folks in my building. And especially you if we’re gonna be neighbors”

“Neighbors?” He tries to stop his eyes from popping out of his head but she doesn’t seem to notice. She just nods happily.

“Yup, I’m right on the other side of that wall” she points to her right and giggles, “knock if you need me” she jokes but Spencer’s breathing stops entirely and he can only nod.

“So um, if you wanted to hang out or anything you know where to find me” she smiles at him and starts to head back to her apartment.

He’s not sure what’s come over him, but it feels like adrenaline is coursing through his entire body as he speaks.

“I’m free right now if you’re not busy?” He asks before she can get too far away but she shakes her head.

“I’ve actually gotta head out for a bit but if you’re free tomorrow do you wanna come over and see my place. I’m sure it’s probably the exact same as yours but—”

“Yes!— I mean, um, yeah, that sounds nice, cool” she laughs at him a little, probably at his eagerness, or maybe at the way he’s blushing, he can feel the heat radiating from his cheeks.

“See you then Spencer, Dr. Spencer Reid” she giggles and he’s smitten already.

— —

He’s pretty much counting down the seconds until the following evening. His mind is completely restless, he’s got no idea what to wear or how to act, or what to say.

She was just so pretty, he could barely have a 2 minute conversation with her in the hallway. How was he supposed to hang out with her for an evening.

She slips a note under his door the following afternoon:

I’m on my way out but I should be back around 8! See you then x

He wishes he didn’t stare at the little ‘x’ on the note for quite so long but he couldn’t help it. Even her handwriting was cute.

He doesn’t want to think about why he knows her already but he can’t help it. He decides that he’s not going to look at her page again, taking a cold shower as part of his preparation for that evening before agonizing over what to wear.

He settles on a purple sweater and he already feels like he’s made the wrong call somehow as he’s knocking on her door at 8pm on the dot.

“Well aren’t you punctual” she smiles at him as she pulls open the door. His stomach drops when he realizes that he recognizes the little dress she’s wearing. He’s seen her take it off before. He tries to steady his breathing but it doesn’t work super well so he just waves hello as she ushers him inside.

“I guess you got my note then” she smiles and he smiles back.

“Yeah, your— um— handwriting is really nice” he wants to slap himself in the face. What kind of complement was that?

“Thank you?” she giggles at him, “no ones ever said that before, you’re a bit of an oddball” she points him to the sofa so he sits.

When she comes to sit next to him she’s holding a bottle of wine and two glasses and he has to stop his eyes from bulging out of his head.

“Would you like a glass?” She asks and he nods his head, it probably wasn’t a great idea, but neither was any of this. She hands him a glass of wine and takes the seat next to him on the couch, turning to face him as she tucks her legs up under herself.

“So Spencer Reid, what kind of doctor are you?” she asks as she takes a sip from her own glass.

“I’m—um— I work at the FBI actually, I— I’m a profiler” he’s already conscious that he doesn’t want to bore her by harping on about work, or by rambling like he does right before people usually roll their eyes. But she doesn’t, she leans in.

“That’s so cool, well it sounds like it is anyway? Does that mean you read people or something?” her eyes look like they're after lighting up and she's smiling at him encouraging.

“Y-Yeah? It’s sort of like reading people I guess. We catch killers by getting inside their heads in a way, trying to figure out why they’re doing what they’re doing, and hopefully what they’re gonna do next so that we can stop it. It’s a little more complicated than that, but that’s the gist” he’s smiling now too, the way she’s looking at him makes him feel like he’s actually doing a sort of good job not embarrassing himself.

“So you said my handwriting was nice” she says, gears clearly turning, “Can you read anything about me from that?” she looks like she's challenging him, if he didn’t know better he might call it flirting.

“Well actually graphology—sorry— handwriting analysis has been deemed a pseudoscience by most, the validity of handwriting as evidence in court has always been dubious and many of the techniques used today are the same as those employed in Renaissance England.” he rambles but she’s still engaged when he stops speaking.

“So you’re smart smart, huh?” she smiles at him, and he nods.

“I don’t believe intelligence can be neatly quantified but I do have an IQ of 187” he feels paradoxically stupid saying that, it feels like bragging or something and he already wants to take it back.

“Wow, a doctor with an IQ of 187” she takes a second to mull it over, “What are you doing hanging out with the likes of me?” she jokes, but his eyebrows knit together, he had no idea what she did, other than that thing he knew she did.

“I wouldn't sell yourself short like that, what do you do?” he asks her, at the very least it’ll stop him from spiraling.

“I work in a vintage bookstore, the one two blocks over?” She motions behind her as she tells him, and he knows it well, in fact he spends so much time there that he’s shocked he’d never seen her before.

“You work there? I’m there all the time, how have I never noticed you before?” she chuckles at him.

“I’ve only just started, I just moved in, remember?” and he wants to slap himself again, something about being around such a pretty face slashed that impressive IQ in half.

They spend another while and the rest of the bottle of wine getting to know each other before Spencer has to call it a night. Part of him wished that she was boring, or rude, or hated him, then maybe he’d be able to quell his infatuation. But this just made it worse, now that he knew her, now that he had spoken to her and she was so sweet, so smart, so funny, and still so damn pretty. He was absolutely fucked.

— —

He swears to himself that the wont look at her page again. Now that he knew her and he liked her more than he even did before, it felt like a real invasion. Part of him still felt bad about it in general, like he should've told her right away, been up front. But the moment for that had already passed so this was his next best plan.

Until he returns home the following Friday. He’s exhausted when he crawls into bed but he’s still somehow restless, the gears still turning in is brain. So he does what he always does when he wants to forget about everything else in the world.

His muscle memory opens it up, and he’s on her page before he even realizes he's done it. And she’s posted a few new videos this week. He wishes he had better willpower, or any willpower at all, but he can’t seem to stop himself from clicking on one.

It begins with her kneeling on her bed, wearing lingerie he’d seen before, it was baby pink and it was one of his favorites. She starts by dipping her fingers into her panties, teasing herself as little moans toppled from her lips. Then she started talking.

“I’m gonna tell you guys about a little dream I had last night, well, I’ve been having it all week really” she continues to tease herself a little, her other hand coming up to grab her breast over her soft pink bra as she speaks. Her voice is smooth and perfect, if he only had the audio he’d still be turned on right now.

“It goes like this. I’m lying in this bed right here, doing something a little like this, when there’s a knock at my front door. When I get up to answer it he’s there, with his shaggy brown hair, and his huge doe eyes, and he’s got these lips that are just so fuckin’ pink. I want them all over me. He comes inside and he grabs me with those huge hands of his and he pulls me right into him before he kisses me.” she moans a little as her fingers brush right up against her clit, but Spencer’s vision has almost gone blurry.

He’s not sure he’s even breathing when she starts talking again. “Then I lead him to my bedroom, and I get him out of those clothes. He dresses like an english teacher and I wish I didn’t find it so fuckin’ hot. Sometimes in the fantasy I take his cock in my mouth, I suck him off until he’s whimpering. Other times I can’t wait, I just need him to fuck me right away.” she takes off her panties then, leaving them to one side, while she grabs a toy from her bedside table.

“I like to fuck myself with this, but all week I’ve just been imagining that it’s him. He’s just so pretty, I know his cock has to be too. I want to know what it feels like when he’s buried inside me, so fuckin’ deep” she continues to fuck herself with the toy, and he’s tuned back in now, he’s achingly hard without even noticing, his hand wrapping around his cock as he pictures the other side of that fantasy.

It doesn’t take long before he's releasing, spilling all over his hand in tandem with the video. She takes a moment to relax, steadying out her breathing before she speaks to the camera again.

“I think I have a crush guys” she gasps out, “I moved, and I think I’ve got a crush on my fuckin’ neighbor already”

Not that he needed any more confirmation, but those words hit him like a fucking train.

It’s already midnight, it’s not so late that he couldn’t go over there, but it sort of is late enough that he shouldn’t. He really can’t bring himself to care though, getting out of bed and cleaning himself up he decides to ride this uncharacteristically confident wave as far as it’ll take him.

He’s knocking on her door before he’s had a chance to second guess himself. When she answers she’s in a little robe, it’s ivory and satin, and he recognizes it too. He doesn’t say anything, neither does she. They just look at each other for a little too long, eyes taking each other in. He wants to lean in and kiss her, just like in her fantasy, but he’s not that guy.

“Hi” he breathes out instead, “I know it’s late, sorry, I shouldn’t be here—but I— I just wanna say” he pauses to take in a labored breath, “I like you a lot and I think you’re really pretty and funny and smart and would you wanna go out sometime? With me? Maybe?” he doesn't realize he’s closed this eyes until he’s got to pry them back open.

“Well that’s not how the fantasy was supposed to go” she giggles, her eyelashes fluttering as she looks up at him and the blush that’s steadily spreading up his face and neck.

“What do you— I don’t— what?” he’s stammering, doing a god awful job of playing dumb.

“In my video, you were just supposed to kiss me. This isn’t as sexy but it is a hell of a lot better”

“I don’t— I’m not—” he can’t get a sentence out, he’s got no idea what’s happening right now.

“It’s alright Dr. 187, I know it’s you” some part of him genuinely wants to throw up. Why did he think that would be an innocuous username. He was the stupidest genius alive.

“I’m sorry, I should've told you. I had no idea how, I just never thought— how could I have known you’d move in next door to me? And that you’d be even prettier in person but you’d be so cool too” he’s got to cut himself off before he really starts apologetically rambling.

“Spencer stop. It’s fine. I make that content for people to enjoy, you’ve got nothing to feel guilty about. I made that video because I wanted you to see it, that was intentional.” she reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder, and it’s more comforting than it has any right to be.

“Was that—your fantasy—the uh the video—were you telling the truth?” he can feel his heart absolutely racing in his chest as he waits for the answer. And she breaks out in a huge smile, nodding up at him.

“Every word.” he doesn’t let himself overthink it this time, he just leans right in, pressing his lips to hers. It’s soft and gentle, a sweet kiss rather than a heated one, it’s not just infatuation, there are feelings behind it now. He can feel her lips smiling against his own and his heart’s fit to burst now.

When they break apart she looks giddy with excitement, her hands come down to the little bow that holds her robe closed, toying with the ends of the tie. “I’m actually about to make a video now if you’d like to see behind the scenes?” she asks and his breath gets stuck in his throat.

“Fuck” he rasps, “You’ve got no idea how much I want to do that” he pauses, scolding himself in his head already, “But I think I wanna take you to dinner first, if you still want that?”

She’s grinning at him again, “I still really want that, tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night.”

-- --

Comments, reblogs, and tags are always appreciated, I love you all x

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Read Part 2 Here

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[reidyoulikeabook]

the battery was dead

Ship: GN! Reader x Spencer Reid

Warnings: Mention of case-typical violence (more specifically, a bomb), told from Spencer's perspective and he experiences anxiety about reader having been harmed (they're okay though!), Spencer's self-deprecating thoughts, general mood of anxiety throughout, stressful team situation, big feelings of guilt, very much hurt/comfort.

Word count: 1.6k (i did not intend for this to be this long but it's basically a whole thing)

A/N: This is not what I intended to write today but my brain's on a whole hurt/comfort vibe apparently so here we are: something I wrote all in one go in about half an hour. Oops.

Everybody was in different places when the bomb went off. Spencer was with Derek, in an SUV headed uptown. The explosion was downtown. Where you'd been headed. Alone.

The geographical profile had indicated he wouldn't strike downtown. The geographical profile that he had made. The geographical profile that the team had trusted, that the team had based their assignments off, that had led Hotch to conclude it was safe to send you downtown alone.

"Garcia," Derek answers, putting her on loudspeaker and glancing at Spencer who could be pictured and pasted into the DSM-V as the definition of anxiety right now, "Garcia tell me you can patch everybody through."

"I'm trying," She rambles, her voice pitching upwards, "I'm patching ___ through now I'm trying their cell."

Spencer's leg bounces. It bounces so hard it's a miracle the velocity of it doesn't send Derek veering right across the road. He scratches at his neck. There are no words to be said. No words in any language in the world can describe the fear coursing through his body as he hears Garcia scramble, pressing keys and typing and he's only vaguely aware of Derek's hand coming to rest reassuringly on his bouncing knee, managing to still it just a little bit.

"___ will be fine," He reassures him, "Just fine. I promise. It's not your fault kid, you couldn't have known, how would you have known?"

"It's my job to know."

His tone is bitter, angry, and he feels even worse for it because it's not Derek's fault. Derek is trying to help. Derek is trying to be kind and somehow that's worse because he doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve anybody's kindness right now and he can't get your face out of his mind. How you'd smiled at him before walking out of the door of that precinct and how it might be the last time he ever got to see you smile and it was all his fault. All his fault.

His stomach is in knots. Garcia's practically smacking her precious equipment in her hurry and then the line goes mute.

"Garcia?" Derek asks again, "Garcia are you still there?"

There's a beat of silence and then the background noise returns, "I'm just trying ____'s cell."

What's taking so long? She could have tried by now. He's never known Garcia to be slow at her job and even though it feels like time has stopped. Fractured like a mirror, throwing off pieces, and he's trapped inside a piece that has all of the horror and guilt he's ever felt in his life staring him in the face. But she can work faster than that. Why isn't she working faster than that?

It all becomes clear as he hears her clack again. Then your voice floods the line.

"You've reached SSA ____ ____ of the Behavioural Analysis Unit. Please leave a voicemail, or if you're calling regarding an urgent matter then please direct your calls to SSA Aaron Hotcher at the following number-"

"Maybe she's already on the phone," Derek suggests, cutting over your recital of his number, "Maybe her line's already busy. Right Garcia, is her line already busy?"

"I can't tell."

She's lying. Spencer knows she's lying and it knocks him sick. He practically wrenches the handle to the window off in his quest to get it open. The cold air pours in and he feels worse. He can't allow himself to bask in any feeling of comfort when you're God knows where.

He can't let himself think like that. He blinks hard, shaking his head as if he can physically remove the images from his brain. They flash through, his neurons defying him as they keep picturing you in worse and worse scenarios, and he can't breathe.

"Pull over," He directs Derek, wrenching off his seatbelt before Derek even manages to get the car in park.

Somewhere amidst all of it, Hotch has been patched through.

"We're convening downtown. Our presence has been requested at the crime scene."

Derek is saying something to pacify him. Or he's telling him something. He can't tell because his head is swimming and then Derek is squeezing his shoulder, physically pulling him back into reality.

"Kid. Listen to me. You're not helping anybody getting yourself all worked up like this. We need to focus. We've got to work this through."

He nods. He nods because Derek is right. They do have to work this through. Even though they would be better working this through without him because he's the one who made the profile that was wrong and his contributions clearly can't be trusted and-

"Put your seatbelt on. Talk to me. Let's talk through how it could have gone wrong."

Derek's voice strikes just the right balance between commanding and reassuring. It always does. So he does it. He clips in the seatbelt and starts to ramble, discussing avenues they haven't explored before, suggesting why he could have been wrong. He's never doubted himself like this before, and it's an uncomfortable feeling. What's more uncomfortable is the realisation he's never failed you like this before.

They pull up to the crime scene. Derek scrambles out of the car, but he pauses for a beat. It's only when Emily opens the door, that he's pulled back into reality again.

"Spencer," She says, "Spencer, come on."

There are SUV'S everywhere. They've tried to contain the scene as much as they could but they needed the bomb squad, needed paramedics, needed FBI.

She's walking him somewhere and he's frantically searching around him, frantically trying to orient himself. It doesn't help that it's dark, gone midnight by now, and the street lights were taken out in the initial explosion. Most of the lights come from torches, or headlamps that people are wearing. It's not enough, he can barely make out Emily let alone find your face in the crowd.

And then he hears it. His name. Your voice.

You found him.

"Spencer," You call, and he can't possibly turn around fast enough.

He barely has before you come crashing into his arms, cinching them tightly around him. He practically scoops you off of the ground, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you as close as he can possibly get you to his body, inhaling the familiar scent of your shampoo and there's tears coming out of his eyes, tears of relief and fear and-

"Spencer," You tell him, sniffling, "Spencer you're kind of crushing me."

You let out a little laugh, and he lets out one too. But it's puffy, practically just air. He releases his grip a bit and you lean up, your arms looping around his neck and playing with the baby hairs situated at the nape of it.

"Spence I'm okay, I'm right here," You reassure him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "I'm right here."

You are right here. He can hear the pound of your heart, he can smell your perfume, he can feel you playing with his hair in a way that tickles but is so comforting, so domestic, so reassuring that you still love him despite his fuck up, that he couldn't bring himself to tell you to stop even if he wanted you to.

He doesn't even know he's still crying until he speaks, his voice wavering as it manoveurs past the lump in his throat, "I-Garcia tried calling you. You didn't answer your phone."

"The battery was dead," You tell him, "I plugged it in in the car and next thing I know I'm getting pulled over. I got brought straight here when I told them I was FBI and I tried to borrow somebody's phone to call but they cut off cell reception here in case there was a second bomb."

He swallows. He can't say anything else, can't do anything else. He manages to open his eyes, and you lean up, apparaising him. You thumb at the tears on his cheeks, a kind of softness and love entirely exclusive to you filling your eyes along with a couple of tears. You don't look at him like you're angry. You don't look at him like you're disappointed. You look at him with a kindness he's entirely undeserving of at this moment in time and the thought spurs two more tears out of his eyes.

"What's wrong?" You ask, your voice barely above a whisper, "Spence what's wrong?"

"It was my fault," He chokes, his head dipping a bit, too ashamed to make eye contact, "I made the profile. I was wrong. I sent you here, I-I sent you directly into danger."

"It was a copycat," You tell him, "It was a copycat, he didn't get away in time and got caught up in the blast. Our guy is smarter than that, so they think this guy tried to imitate it. It's not your fault. You couldn't possibly have known, you can't profile a person you don't know exists."

The revelation is like foam on a petrol fire. It quells the pain in his chest, the one that had maliciously licked at him, igniting all his own wounds and insecurities.

It wasn't his fault.

He holds onto you even tighter, burying his face in the crook of your neck, "Thank you. Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being okay."

"I'm always okay," You tell him, your voice nothing but sincere, "I'm always okay because I always have you."

With that, the fire is out. You reluctantly wiggle out of his arms, taking his hand and squeezing it reassuringly. He's not okay yet. Not entirely. It all still feels surreal, and he knows it'll take a long time for his heart to settle down. But you're here. By his side. And that's enough for now.

In fact, with you? That's enough for always.

-

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[yslkook]

good years (1)

mind of mine masterlist

summary: you arrive at hobi’s birthday party, along with some of your other friends. pairing: “badboy” jk x “shy/reserved” oc warnings: alcohol, cursing, excessive use of pet names...bc its me

Being late to events, especially events in honor of your friends, was your least favorite thing. Punctuality was one of your top three favorite things about yourself, and yet here you were- nearly sprinting through the streets in heels because you were an idiot and had gotten the name of the bar wrong.

Instead of the Silver Spoon, you’d ended up at the Silver Tongue. That’s what happens when you don’t check your text messages for confirmation and operate on autopilot. So now, you were about an hour and a half late (as if the absence of the birthday boy and his merry band of friends at the Silver Spoon didn’t tell you enough).

Oh well. 

By the time you arrive about twelve blocks away to the Silver Spoon, you quickly make sure that not a hair is out of place before walking into the bar to try to blend in, as if you’d been there the whole time.

“Hobi!” You chirp, finding your friend in the middle of all of the chaos, “Happy birthday, Hobi-”

Hobi turns to greet you, a big (drunk) smile plastered across his face. “You’re late! Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“Well, I-uh, this is gonna sound dumb, but-”

You’re interrupted by a few of the guys walking into the bar, causing a ruckus and nearly screeching Hobi’s name. At least you’re not the only one who’s late. And you quickly see Sora in your line of sight, entering in behind the guys.

Sora, your best friend of several years since college. She’s been with you since the beginning, taking you under her wing when you were both young and in college. She had brought you out of your shell a bit, inviting you to parties and inviting you to have dinner with her in the dining hall. The slow convenience of college had blossomed into something real, something that could stand the test of time- also known as the test of post-graduate life.

Her friendship was an adventure to say the least.

“Hey,” You beam at her with drinks for both of you in your hands, “Fancy seeing you here-”

“Hey,” She grins, pulling you in for a hug, “Work was so shitty, like, I had to stay late today. Of all days! I can’t wait to have a fuckin’ drink.”

“Yeah, here’s something funny-” But your words are cut off yet again, by the arrival of more friends. It looks like Sora had invited some of her own friends, friends that you weren’t quite sure liked you very much.

But you don’t dwell on that, instead sipping on your drink and settling on people watching. Settings like this unnerve you- being in a place where you’re not quite friendly with everyone in attendance makes you feel self-conscious. It’s easier to just stay in the background, blend into the walls, so as to not upset yourself-

“Hey, you,” Comes a familiar voice to your right. It’s Yoongi, one of your fellow people watcher enthusiasts. He stands next to you, shoulder brushing against yours.

“Hey, you,” You repeat, flashing him a smile and a playful shove to his shoulder, “How have you been? It’s been a while, Yoongi.”

“You’re the one who’s been hiding,” Yoongi teases, “All cooped up at home.”

“So have you! In your studio,” You protest, poking his shoulder.

“I guess I can’t argue there.”

“No, you really can’t,” You say, “So tell me then, what’s new? What’s coming out of the studio these days?”

You enjoy hearing him speak, the way his passion for his craft pouring through his words. He invites you (again) to stop by the studio if you ever want to. You promise to stop by soon, with his favorite snacks. You usually try to stop by his studio at least once a month to catch up with him. He’s also one of your oldest friends, along with Hobi.

“Hey,” Comes another voice to your left this time. It’s a voice you definitely recognize, a voice that makes you tense up immediately.

Jeon Jungkook has always had a way of making you stammer over your words, ever since Yoongi and Hobi had introduced you to him years ago. He’s tall, nearly always dressed in all black, tattoos and piercings coloring his frame, and something sweet and sinful swirls in his dark eyes.

You don’t know if it’s a look that is reserved for you or if he looks at everyone like this, but honestly, your brain short circuits every time he glances your way.

“H-hi,” You mumble, taking a sip of your drink to ease your jumpy nerves. Jungkook only grins at you, his bunny smile a stark contrast to the rest of his aura.

“Been a while, huh?” Jungkook says, voice smooth and sweet like molasses. 

“Y-yeah, been busy,” You mutter. You watch in mild panic as Yoongi walks away, being called away by Namjoon and Taehyung.

“Missed you, baby,” Jungkook winks at you. Somehow, he always gravitates to you at these types of events. Not that you’ll particularly complain- his attention makes you feel warm, even if it’s all for jokes and fun.

As Sora repeatedly has told you.

According to her, he’s the worst- a player, a fuckboy (when he was apparently too old to be one, her words not yours) and this is how he treats any pretty girl. So you don’t take it too seriously, only indulging him a bit and keeping him out of your periphery.

But you won’t deny that his recent use of the pet name might make you swoon a little bit.

“Oh, stop,” You wave him off with heat rising in your cheeks. And he knows it, too, from the self-assured smirk he throws you.

“How’s work been? They got you crunching numbers and all that?” Jungkook asks, ordering himself a beer and a drink for you.

“That’s literally my job, but right now, we just got access to a new database so I’m excited to see what kinds of visualizations and insights we can bring forward. We’re moving forward to proactive analysis, but you know, we’re still a ways away from that, we still react to problems so reactively. Like we’re just putting out fires all the time, it’s kinda tiring but I’m excited-” You cut yourself off at your rambling, sheepishly laughing, “Oh, you should’ve stopped me. I know it’s boring.”

“It��s not boring, not if it’s important to you,” Jungkook shrugs, “Besides, I like hearing you talk.”

“Really? You really wanna hear about the latest and greatest happening in the data world?”

“I wanna hear about anything you have to say, baby,” Jungkook says easily. You squeeze your drink in your hand tightly to ground yourself.

This is why he intimidates you- his affections have only increased in the last few months. It’s like he’s playing a game with you, trying to see how long it takes for you to crack. You don’t know how sincere he is when he turns the charm on- is this how he talks to everyone, or is it just you? 

You like to think it’s just you (because you at least dare to call him a friend of yours), but he could get anyone he sets his eyes on. Rather than spiralling down that train of thought, you bask in his flirtations, his gentle affections hidden under his very many layers of black.

Before you can reply to ask him about the tattoo parlor and about his newly purchased motorcycle, Sora interrupts you both. You’re oblivious to the deadly glare that Jungkook shoots her, and the glare that she shoots right back at him.

She whisks you away, an arm tight around your shoulders. You turn your head and look back at Jungkook apologetically.

This is how it always is, especially for the last few months. As soon as Sora sees Jungkook and you speaking, she’ll immediately do anything to intervene. It’s fucking annoying and Jungkook is beginning to dislike Sora more and more each time he has the misfortune of coming in contact with her. He doesn’t really care about whatever personal vendetta your best friend has for him.

He’s always thought Sora was a conniving woman, full of manipulation and tricks up her sleeve. Ever since Yoongi and Hobi had introduced you to their friend group (and you had brought Sora along as well). His instincts are hardly ever wrong, but he hates to see you spiral with her.

But he’s powerless to stop you from walking away from him. Yet again.

tags: @kookdbean​

[boldlyvoid]

ain't it fun?

summary: reader just needs an NA meeting before they have a meltdown, they end up with the best friend they could ever make.

warnings: Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Drug Addiction, Trauma Bonding, narcotics anonymous meetings, Strangers to Lovers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, meet-cute,

word count: 3.3K

a/n: this is completely self-indulgent and overly personal but i def recommend writing why spencer would love you as a form of therapy

read on ao3

In the blink of an eye, she was up and racing around her apartment. Her mental health was like a teeter-totter, and right now she was on her way to the top. Mania was creeping in; changing from just anxiety-induced butterflied to the feeling that she could jump off a building and survive.

That was never a good time. All she wanted was to either spend all her money, fuck a stranger or get high as shit. It made her legs jumpy and her ears ring and she couldn’t take it anymore. It was all too much.

She threw on a sweater and jeans, her hair was up in a butterfly clip and she hastily threw on her fanny pack full of everything she needed as well as a big coat, and she then left her apartment. She got to the stairs before realizing she actually needed to lock the door.

Her hands shook and she tried to slide the key into the lock, dropping them as her neighbour rushed out of the room and startled her. “Sorry,” she heard him say.

She picked up her keys and turned to look at him, “can you help me? I can’t seem to stop shaking,” she asked as she held her keys towards him.

“yes, sure,” he rushed the words out as he walked towards her, only looking at the keys, never in her eyes. But that was okay, she was never a big fan of eye contact.

He placed her keys back in her hand and took a step back, “are you alright?” he asked.

“No,” she said honestly. “I’m going to find an NA meeting.”

“Do you have one in the area? I haven’t seen you around before?”

She shook her head, surprised that he was also an addict, he didn’t look like he’s ever even smoked weed.

“No, I moved in only a little while ago on a whim, but I think it’s time I got some support,” she said as they started to walk down the hallway together. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Spencer,” he smiled softly. “I’m going to a meeting right now, actually, if you’d like to come? I won’t exactly be anonymous to you, but it’s a good one to go to if you just need one to fill the void until you find your preferred group.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I need.” She smiled at him this time as he held the door open for her. “So, have you lived around here for long?”

“For about a few years now.”

“The building is good then? I was a little hesitant but I needed to get away,” she said, this time holding the door for them to leave the building and turn down the street towards where she knew the subway was.

The moon should be out, she looked up but only sees buildings. It was the one thing she missed the most about not being in the country; seeing the stars and feeling like there was a reason to it all.

“Are you running from someone?” He asks as they start the walk down to the meeting.

“Myself,” she said softly. “I’m on disability and don’t drive and I lived in the middle of nowhere with my parents, well into my 20’s, and I needed a change so my parents surprised me by saving up money for a few month's rent and told me to follow my heart.”

“And you picked Virginia?”

“I stayed in Virginia, just moved into the city. I watch a lot of murder documentaries in my free time, I thought being near Quantico would introduce me to some interesting people, but I have yet to meet anyone from the FBI at all.”

She laughed to herself at how dumb it was that she wanted to meet a profiler like Holden Ford from Mindhunter, “either they are all very good at keeping their jobs secret or Virginia is a very large and densely populated area with a low percentage of FBI agents.”

“Interesting.”

“What?”

“How long have you lived here?” he asked, slowing as he walked so he could look at her.

“2 months.”

“It took you two months to meet the FBI agent across the hall from you.”

“You’re kidding?” she said, stopping on the sidewalk abruptly. “I knew that apartment was calling me for a reason.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but, are you really just coincidentally my neighbour or are you secretly spying on me because you have an evil plan to kill me and my co-workers?” he's completely serious, it's almost scary.

“No offence, Spence, but for a supposed FBI agent that’s a dumb question to ask,” she said, pointing finger guns at him, “you don’t think I’ll give up my cover that easily? Do you?”

He points a finger gun back at her, “technically, I’m a doctor.”

The two of them narrow their eyes at each other, slowly walking in a circle, still facing each other with their make-believe guns trying to hold back smirks. She lowered her ‘weapon’ first. “It’s okay, doctor, don’t worry. I’m not a spy just an idiot with an imagination.”

He giggled softly, “I’ve never felt this comfortable with someone this fast.”

“Well, you are with criminals a lot, right? That would be alarming if you bonded with them,” she said, bumping her shoulder into his as they walked. “But I feel the same. I actually haven’t talked to someone in person in forever.”

“No?”

“I do most of my work and socializing online,” She felt embarrassed, but in today’s day and age, it wasn’t that weird. “I’m not very good outside or with people.”

“If it wasn’t for my job, I don’t think I would go outside very often either. My co-workers are my only friends, they’re more like my family actually.”

“That’s so wonderful to hear, found family is very important,” her smile disappeared as she thought about how alone she was. “Um, can I ask what it is you do at the FBI?”

“Behavioural Analysis.”

“Holy shit," she gasps, knowing way too much about that unit thanks to fucking Netflix, "that’s what the BSU became right? Do you work with the really fucked up shit?” she asked softly.

He laughed, “oh yeah, I really do.”

“Do you share a lot at NA?”

“Kinda, I tend to ramble about facts when I’m nervous so sometimes my short talk becomes more like a ted talk and what was supposed to be just me saying I haven’t relapsed on Dilaudid becomes a lesson on how the human brain works,” he explained, rambling just like he said he would.

She nodded along as he spoke, “funny, that was also my drug of choice.”

“Liquid or oral?”

“Oral. I was given it after I had my appendix out when I was 17. They get you started real young now, big pharma has its hand in everyone's pocket,” she presses her lips together awkwardly, “it was rough.”

He hummed in agreement. “I was held captive by an unsub with multiple personalities. One personality drugged me till I died and the other one brought me back.”

“Spencer, Holy fuck?” she stopped and stared at him so incredibly concerned for someone who just met him. She reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder and looked him in the eyes, “I know I barely know you, but if you need someone to talk I’m literally always across the hall.”

“Thank you,” he smiled softly as he looked back into her eyes. “The meeting is right there across the street, do you want a coffee first? The place beside it is amazing.”

She nodded and he took her hand, looking both ways before J-walking across the street with her to buy her a coffee and a snack. Maybe that would help her stop shaking, he looked like he worried about her and she wasn't used to that at all.

He didn’t talk at this meeting, he sat in the chair beside the group leader, she sat down across from him in the circle so she could focus. When the floor was opened up to new members, Y/N stood at the first chance she got.

“Hi I’m Y/N,” she said, to which she was welcomed by the crowd.

“I’m new to the city and looking for a new home group, not sure if I’ll stay here because I know Spencer outside of here but I really just needed to come today.”

She takes a deep breath as she thinks of how to start it, opting to just explain it and let the rant go where it may.

“I’ve never lived alone before and it’s incredibly hard to occupy my time without drugs. I still smoke weed to help me sleep at night but my addiction is with Dilaudid and then Benadryl a little after having surgery in high school. I don’t know if it’s my trauma, my disability or my Autism, maybe it’s my OCD, I really don’t know, but I just feel so useless and alone and boring and lonely, the drugs used to help but they don’t anymore and I really just don’t want to feel this way anymore.”

They all looked like they understood, small smiles grew all around the circle as she took a lookout at the crowd, “Thank you for letting me get that out.”

Everyone clapped as she sat back down and wiped a tear off her cheek.

The meeting ended shortly after that, Spencer walked from his seat in the circle to where she was sitting, reaching a hand out to help her to her feet. “For the record, I think you’re funny, smart, kind and pretty. And you don’t have to be alone anymore if you don’t want to be.”

She slapped her hand into his and stood up with purpose, “Did we just become best friends?”

“I believe we did.”

The walk home was much like the walk there. They traded facts, they flirted, they laughed, she pushed him into a pole at one point, by accident as they laughed. The two of them stopping to sit at a bus bench, laughing so hard she felt like she would pee her pants right then and there.

By the time they were back on their floor, it was well after midnight. “I don’t think I’ll be able to go back to meetings with you.”

“Oh, why?” he looked disappointed.

“Isn’t rule 13 that you’re not supposed to want to sleep with your group members when you’re healing?”

“Wanting to and doing it are two very different things,” he corrected her as he waited at his own door.

She smirked, “you’re right. Still don’t think I can go back with you, however.”

“I’ll probably have a case tomorrow, they normally take me out of town for at least a week, but when I get back, can I see you?” he asked lightly.

“Knock on my door when you get back,” she said before standing on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “See you.”

“Bye.”

They waved from their doors before departing, excited by something that felt better than drugs.

—

120 hours later there was a light knock at her door, she knows exactly how long it’s been because she’s been counting and looking out the door at every noise for the whole time he’s been gone. Waiting for him like a wife whose husband went off to war, not knowing when their next correspondence would be.

“Coming,” she called, stopping to fluff her hair and straighten her glasses before she opened the door.

“Spencer!”

“Hi,” he said softly.

She took a moment to look him over, a little in shock at what she saw. He was in a plain t-shirt and track pants, he had not one, but two black eyes, bandages on his brow bone and scrapes all along his arms.

“Are you okay?”

“You should see the other guy,” he giggled softly, rolling his eyes.

“Come in, let’s sit you down.” She worried, taking him by the elbow and helping him inside.

“I’m fine, really, I’m used to this.”

“Well I’m not,” she reminded him with a nervous pout, “am I allowed to ask about it or is it classified stuff?”

He sat on the couch and patted a seat beside himself so she would join him. He rested his arm against the back of the chair so that she could slide in beside him.

“Did you hear about the child abduction in Tampa?”

“Yeah? The two boys?”

“I was trying to talk the unsub down and he dropped the gun but he grabbed me as I turned him around and punched me in the face and we fell into the ditch and I luckily managed to flip over him and get his hands behind his back and cuffed faster than I ever have before.”

“You’re amazing,” she whispered.

He laughed, “if I really was, I would have waited for backup before talking to the guy.”

“I’ve always wanted to help other people get justice but not being able to go to school makes it hard to get a job doing anything meaningful,” she whispered, ashamed of the fact she wasn’t successful like most people her age.

“Our technical analyst was hired because she was an amazing hacker, they will hire anyone who is valuable.” He shrugs and watches her face light up at the idea.

“You know what, we have meetings all this week unless there’s an emergency, if you want I can show you around the office?” he offered. “It’s not illegal for you to pass by what I’m working on and notice something I missed.”

“Spencer, I don’t even know your last name and you’re inviting me to your government job? When just last week you asked, not so jokingly, if I was a secret agent trying to kill you and that you’ve been kidnapped before?”

“Doctor Spencer Reid, and what can I say?” he said shyly, “I’m trying to find excuses to see you smile all the time.”

She placed her hand on his cheek, the tips of her fingers lightly resting on his purple and yellow bruised eyes. She leaned in slowly and kissed him on the lips, so gently as if she’s afraid he’ll break or turn into a frog… he was too good to be true.

“You can see me whenever you want, Doctor Spencer Reid…”

He kissed her again, letting his hands roam her back and she trailed her free hand down his chest. She pulled back slightly to throw a leg over him carefully and sit in his lap. Holding his face in her hands now, she peppered kisses over his bruised face.

She stopped to look at him, still holding his face in her hands as his hands now rested on her hips. “I really like you, Spencer.”

“Really?”

She looks at him carefully, analyzing his response and seeing the hurt that rested deep inside of him, “I take it you’re like me?”

“What does that mean?”

“You try to not get too involved with people because no one has ever shown you true genuine interest or love, and you never think you’ll find it anyway so you push away all small acts of kindness, thinking it’s friendly because then you can’t get your hope up, just to have that person drop them?” she explained herself in a whisper.

He nodded, “you get it.”

She kissed his lips again, and then over his cheek and up to his ear, “I do.”

He looked extra sad when she pulled away, she just held his face gently as she mirrored his puppy dog eyes. Communicating with their eyes, she knew he was okay and he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, so she smiled.

“Want to watch a movie?” She asks softly.

He nods, looking behind her to see she doesn’t have a tv in the living room. “How?”

“In my room, the TV is on my dresser if you don’t mind sitting in my bed?”

He shakes his head in a simple no, picking her up and taking her to her room. He knew where it was purely because her apartment was just his but backwards. She laughs, holding onto him tight as she rests her head on his shoulder.

He sets her down gently, watching her move up to the headboard and wait for him. They got under the blankets and she found the remote in the sheet before she cuddled into him.

“You’re really cuddly,” she complimented him as he wrapped an arm around her and held her close. He kissed the top of her head as a thank you.

“I think I’m going to end up falling in love with you, Spencer Reid,” she whispers the words, afraid of them more than his response.

“I beat you to it,” he whispers right back.

She shoots up, turning to look at him with surprise. “How?”

He looks at her like she grew two heads, “what do you mean how?”

“How did you fall in love with me? You don’t even know me?” She’s so confused, no one has ever loved her before and it’s a lot to take in.

“Y/N…” his face drops, his heart physically breaks in front of her. “I don’t know you, you're right. Not all of you, at least. I’m sure you have your hidden doors and locked cupboards but from the outside, I see you’re so beautiful, you’re radiant… your mind is lovely. You’re so kind, you’re so brave, you’re everything I wish I could be as charismatically as you are.”

She’s just swallowing over and over as she shakes her head and breathes through her nose, processing it. She’s breathing deeply then, staring off and she feels like she’s having a new kind of panic attack. A happier one, somehow?

“I don’t like myself, but if you like me I guess I must be pretty nice,” she smiles, accepting his praise and believing him. “Yeah. Thank you, Spencer.”

He smiles then, it’s cute and press-lipped and she swears he almost has dimples. His eyes are like honey and his lips are like roses. She leans in, kissing him and reaching a hand back to cup the nape of his neck.

He doesn’t know it, but he’s the first person she’s kissed in a few years. They’re soft, peck after peck as they hold each other softly, eyes open as they watch each other experience the happiness of finding someone good, finally.

“I uh, I wanted to tell you I’m almost exactly everything you described yourself as in the meeting,” he whispers against her lips, the air touching her skin gently as she absorbs the words.

“What part? My diagnosis or my self-hatred?” She smiles, okay with either really.

“Almost both, I’m pretty hard to be around.”

She shakes her head, “I invited you in for a movie, not a pity party. You can tell me everything you hate right now and then we should just share the good parts okay? Brag about yourself. Tell me what you’re proud of.”

She was really serious, keeping a stern look on her face as she spoke. He nodded, “I’m anxious all the time, I’m always worried because I’ve never had anyone to worry about me. I don’t know how to be a real person really, all I do is drink coffee and solve crimes and I barely sleep. And the only time I was relaxed and okay is when I was on drugs.”

She nodded, “it fucking sucks, doesn’t it? Like why did we get stuck like this, I don't care about peaking in high school but didn’t we deserve some kind of love and support? I’ve never understood if souls and shit are real, why did mine pick this terrible meat suit and awful traumatic path?”

She’s crying because she’s angry and because she’s never said it to anyone before. He cries because she understands. She truly knows.

“I love you,” he announces. “Just because of that.”

Taglist: @blanchardsbk @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria @spookyspence @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @samuel-de-champagne-problems @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @calm-and-doctor

[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. 

[the-bau-quinjet]

Anything for You

So, I got this idea in my head and I wrote it. This is not the first thing I’ve written, but the first that I finished. And the first that I’m posting. Sorry if it sucks. I hope someone out there likes it. Italics indicate past memories.

Summary: This takes place after Maeve. It sort of starts a month before Spencer goes back to work but then skips a year. Reader is the newest member of the BAU. Spencer lashes out when she tries to help him, but he doesn’t realize how much she can relate to his trauma. 

warnings: angst but also a little fluff, typical CM violence (kidnapping, torture, death etc.), dark thoughts about dying, I think that’s it

Word Count: 6218

 It is moments like this that make you rethink every decision that lead you here. You are on the jet on the way back to Quantico after a particularly rough case. The team managed to save the most recent victim, but only to discover three more hidden on the unsubs property. And to make it worse, they were children. Everyone on the team keeps shooting you concerned glances, worried that you might break. It’s only fair. You are still the newbie.

 You started at the BAU one month ago to the day. Your previous position was a desk job, but you were ready to get back into field after two years of endless paperwork. Not that the entire team knows you had been in the field before. Only Hotch knows. You don’t like to talk about it. You had gone so far as to cut Hotch off to prevent him from bringing it up on your first day.

 You are counting down the floors with each beep as the elevator rises to bring you to the floor that houses the Behavioral Analysis Unit. To say you aren’t nervous would be a lie, but that comes with the territory of starting a new job. Especially a job with one of the most elite units of the FBI. It’s hard not to be intimidated.

 The elevator doors slide open, revealing the all too familiar glass doors that lead to the BAU. When you were trying to decide if switching career paths was the right decision, you found yourself staring at these doors far more than you’d care to admit.

 You walk through the doors, immediately heading for Hotch’s office. He told you to meet him there first thing this morning. You knock on the open door to draw his attention.

 “Agent L/N, please come in.” He looks up from the file he has open on his desk.

 “Agent Hotchner, I would just like to thank you again for the position.” You have to stop yourself before you ramble on about how grateful you are for his taking a chance on you.

 “Please, call me Hotch. You’re new ID was just dropped off.” He says, handing you the plastic card to put in your credentials. You take a moment to admire the way your name looks just above the words “Behavioral Analysis Unit” before sliding it into the wallet.

 “I wish we had time for a more thorough welcoming, but we just got a case. I’ll introduce you to the team in the conference room.” He rises from his desk, you following behind him to a room already full of profilers. Of course, you already know of them all, but the introductions are nice nonetheless.

 “L/N, these are SSAs Emily Prentiss, David Rossi, Derek Morgan, and Jennifer Jureau and our technical analyst Penelope Garcia.” You shake hands with each member of the team as there name is called. “Team, this is SSA Y/N L/N. She transferred from violent crimes-” You know he is going to bring up your previous field work, so you cut him off.

 “It’s an honor to meet you all.” You smiled at Hotch, trying your best to get him to move on. Thankfully, you can see in his eye that he understands why you don’t want to relieve your past field experience.

 “Actually, that’s not all. Dr. Reid is on leave at the moment, but you’ll meet him when he returns.” You nod, taking a seat next to Derek. “Garcia, you can start now.”

 The memory fades and you try to ignore the concerned glances from everyone on the jet. Yes, you were the one to find the children in the back shed, but you have techniques to handle this. You’ve always been good at compartmentalizing. It comes with the territory of undercover work.

 You are more concerned with the wellbeing of one Dr. Reid. This is the first case you’ve worked with him, but it still feels like something’s off. Granted, you don’t know why he was on leave or how long it lasted.

 After everyone else is asleep, barring Hotch who is too focused on his reports to pay you any attention, you slide down into the seat across from Spencer. He doesn’t even glance up from his book.

 “Dr. Reid?” You can tell he’s stopped reading at the sound of your voice, but it takes him a moment to actually look up at you. When he does, you can see the sadness in his eyes.

 “L/N. Are you okay?” Of course he would ask you that. You’ve known him for all of 72 hours, but he’s still concerned about you’re wellbeing. The way your heart flutters at the sentiment catches you off guard.

 “Oh, um, I’m fine. I actually wanted to check on you.” He looks startled at that, but you just push forward. “I know we only just met, and I have no idea what you’re going through, but I just thought maybe I could help.” You can see the instant you finished talking that it was a mistake. He is clearly not ready to talk about his demons, especially with a near stranger.

 “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-“ “No, you shouldn’t have.” His words are defensive more than anything. The words of someone who just went through unbelievable pain “You couldn’t possibly help me. Unless, of course, you’ve been kidnapped, tortured, and drugged, shot multiple times, and witnessed the love of your life being murdered in front of you just to name a few. I’m sure you have plenty of experience with that given your work in violent crimes.” The sarcasm is obvious, with violent crimes being a desk job. He mistakes the tears that spring to your eyes as pity rather than understanding. He scoffs, going back to his book while you wander back to your previous seat, trying to control your emotions.

 Spencer doesn’t know about your time undercover. He doesn’t know you experienced all of those things. He doesn’t know about the scars that line your torso or the more prevalent scars on your heart. You try not to take it personally. You’ve had years to deal with your trauma. His is clearly newer. You tell yourself over and over that he’s not angry with you, but with the world. You just happened to be the first available outlet.

 When the others wake up, they assume your red eyes are due to the case. That you are finally breaking down after a month on the job. They offer words of encouragement and promises to be there if you need to talk. They stress how you aren’t alone. They all know how you feel. You simply nod, gathering your things before heading home. You can’t help but think there is one of them who knows exactly what is going through your head. It’s the first time you’ve cried over Cameron in three months, the last time being the anniversary of his death.

 -------

 The next year at the BAU flies by. You actually feel like part of the family, knowing you could talk to any member of the team when you need a friend. Well, almost any member of the team. You and Spencer didn’t click the way everyone thought you would. Ever since the conversation on the plane, you hold back when you’re with him. It’s not that you two avoid each other. You’re just more like coworkers than family. You converse when you need to, but don’t seek each other out.

 Nobody understands why. Hotch especially thought the two of you would become close. You can see why he would think so. From your brief encounters with Spencer, you can tell he’s been through hell. Hotch was probably hopeful the two of you might bond over shared trauma, act as an anchor for each other to know you aren’t alone. Of course that required you to share your trauma with the team, which definitely has not happened.

 It’s not that you don’t trust them. It’s just that the moment hasn’t provided itself yet. First of all, you can’t just casually bring up being kidnapped and tortured for government secrets with your fiancé who was then murdered in front of you. Second of all, something in you says it would crush Spencer. You can tell he clearly still feels bad about what he said to you that day.

 You two hadn’t talked about it. It was a year later, and you still hadn’t talked about it. You would think he forgot, but he does have a rather prolific memory. Everything was fine though. Mostly. He still seemed nervous around you. Or maybe you were projecting. There is something about Dr. Reid…

 “Y/N, can I talk to you?” You were honestly surprised to hear Spencer’s voice saying those six words. Everyone else had already gone home, even Hotch. You just wanted to finish one more file.

 “Of course, what’s up?” You try desperately to sound casual, to pretend like you weren’t just thinking about him. Despite not talking to Spencer all that often, you still have a massive amount of respect for him. Watching him work is incredible. You would expect most people with his intelligence to come off as cocky, but he is somehow still so humble.

 “I just wanted to apologize. For what I said on the jet. I was in a bad place, and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have said those things, you were just trying to help me, and I threw it back in your face. Also, I’m sorry it took me so long to actually apologize. I just felt so awful, I didn’t know how to bring it up and the longer I waited the more nervous I became and” “Spencer,” he looked startled at the sound of his name. Granted, you normally call him Dr. Reid or Reid when you’re feeling more casual, but still. It’s his name, why is he so surprised you’re using it? “You didn’t do anything wrong. Trust me. You were dealing with an amount of grief nobody should have to go through. I shouldn’t have tried to step in without knowing more about the situation. I’m sorry.” This is your chance. Tell him what happened to you. Come clean about it all.

 He just looks so… relieved. As if you had lifted a weight off his shoulder just by telling him you understood he didn’t mean it. Seeing the hope in his eyes, you couldn’t bring yourself to put any of that weight back on him. He had just freed himself, he doesn’t need your problems weighing him back down.

 You can tell he still feels bad, but maybe now the two of you can try to move on. Maybe you’ll actually become friends. Telling him that you have indeed been through all of those things would just bring all that guilt back. For some reason, there is nothing you would rather do than protect Spencer Reid from pain.

 So, you’ve resigned yourself to never telling anyone unless you absolutely had to. You convinced yourself it was a secret you could take to the grave. Nobody needed to know.

 Until one day, they do. And that day happens to be tomorrow.

 --

 “Hello, crime fighters. This one is a doozey.” Penelope walked into the round table room and immediately jumped into the case. “Three heterosexual couples in Plano, Texas have been killed. The details are on your tablets. Be warned, it is not a pretty sight. All the victims were tortured. The men all died of blood loss. The women were drowned after multiple non fatal gunshot wounds and other various forms of torture.” You tensed ever so slightly at the description of the crimes. Hotch shot you a concerned glance, but you waved him off with a slight shake of your head. You zoned out for the rest of Garcia’s description, deciding instead to focus on every detail you could learn from the case files on your tablet.

 “Wheels up in 20.” Hotch’s voice drew you from your focus on the files. “Y/N?” You looked at him from your seat at the table, realizing everyone else had already left. “If this is too much for you, everyone would understand.” You stand, plastering the fakest smile Hotch has ever seen on your face.

 “I appreciate the concern, but there is a job to do. And I intend to do it.” There is no malice behind your words. Only a fierce determination to catch this unsub before he can hurt anyone else.

 “Alright, but Y/N, please. Let me know if you need to talk about it. The whole team is here for you.” You features soften into a genuine smile before you respond.

 “Thank you, Hotch.” And with that, you exit the room. You grab your go bag, meeting the other agents by the elevator.

 The flight to Texas is long enough that the team’s discussion doesn’t prevent everyone from catching up on sleep. While everyone else is resting, preparing to start up again on the ground with fresh eyes, you are pouring over every detail again and again. You just need to know if it’s the same people. The same people who killed your fiancé. The same people who tortured you.

 It was a day like any other. You had just gotten to the bar you were working at as a cover. Cameron was working security, you as a bartender. The mission was supposed to be simple.

 There was a domestic terrorist cell operating just outside of Plano in Addison, TX. The leader was believed to own the very bar you had gotten a job in. You were supposed to gather intelligence, and report back. You weren’t supposed to engage with the terrorist cell. It was a simple mission.

 That day, the day you could never forget, started exactly how you expected it to. The leader was supposed to be meeting with his right hand. You were supposed to learn who or what they were planning to target. You still can’t pinpoint the moment you knew something was wrong.

 Everything was normal when you clocked in. Everything was normal when you served you first few customers. Everything as normal when you walked up to the table hosting the meeting and asked if you could get them anything. Everything was normal until it wasn’t.

 You remember waking up in a warehouse. Cameron was tied to a chair across from you. He was injured, bleeding from a cut in his side. It didn’t look that bad, but there was so much blood. How could such a small cut produce so much blood?

 You had a million questions, but couldn’t form the words to ask them. You’re mouth felt like it was full of cotton. Cameron looked at you as if he knew something you didn’t. You suppose he did, given that he was awake before you. But that’s not what concerned you the most. No, it was the look of pure terror in his eyes. Pure terror, mixed with… resignation? That doesn’t make sense. Why would he be giving up?

 Finally gathering enough strength to speak, you mumble “What happened?”

 “Y/N… they know who we are. I don’t know how they figured it out, but they did. They are going to hurt me to get to you. You can’t let them, okay? Stay strong. Everything will be fine.” His words are rushed. You have a hard time following them, as if the words drift into the air, only to enter your head in a different order.

 Before you have a chance to ask any more questions, you hear a door swing open behind you. You can hear the footsteps, but can’t turn around enough to see who they belong to.

 “Do it.” You know that voice. You know you know it, but you can’t place it.

 A man appears from your left. He stands in front of you, a mask covering his face so you can only see his eyes. “Let’s have some fun.” You’re ready for him to hit you. Or cut you. Or hurt you in any way. What you’re not ready for is him pulling a knife only to walk over to Cameron.

 “No” The word is barely there. You aren’t even sure you said it out loud.

 “Y/N, don’t tell them anything. Okay? I’ll be fine.” Cameron is looking at you with pleading eyes. You both know he’s lying.

 “Your fiancé here is a liar.” The man sneers, dragging his knife down Cameron’s arm. “He will most certainly not be fine.” With that, the man plunges the knife into Cameron’s stomach. A gut wrenching scream leaves his mouth as the man moves the knife around inside his body. You try to control your reaction, but tears instantly spring to your eyes.

 “Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll leave your man alone.” There’s no point. Cameron would never forgive you if you gave up information to the enemy. He’s always been a loyal soldier. Either way, deep down you know he won’t live much longer. He’s lost too much blood. You are going to have to watch the man you love die. He’s going to bleed out in front of you. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

 You are shaken back to reality after the jet has landed. You slowly come to, realizing you must have fallen asleep while you were looking at the files. You can’t get the eyes out of your head now. The last time you had a nightmare was 6 months ago. Although, this was more of a memory than the usual nightmares you have.

 “Y/N/N? You good?” Morgan is looking at you with concern that hasn’t been there since your first month on the job.

 “Yeah, I’m fine. Just groggy.” You try to laugh it off, walking past him and jumping into an SUV. You’re supposed to go with Hotch to the precinct to set up, so you can avoid the rest of the team’s questions for now.

 You bury your head in the files again, trying to discern if anything feels off or if it is all too similar to be a coincidence.

 “Just answer the question. This will all be over.” Cameron is dead. You are staring at his lifeless body as the man tries to torture you to get the answers he wants.

 With all the strength you can muster up, you spit at him. “I didn’t break before and I won’t break now. Do what you want to me. You’ll never get your answers.” “Oh everyone’s got a breaking point. I’ll find yours.” With that, he storms passed you and out of the room.

 You try to inventory the damage he’s done, but it’s hard because he typically drugs you when he leaves. You’re too disoriented to remember everything. You haven’t heard anything else from the first voice, but you finally realized it was the owner of the bar.

 You are just about to drift back into unconsciousness when you hear a loud crash from somewhere in the building. You expect the masked man to come running back into the room, but instead you’re greeted with the face of the terrorist cell leader. He pulls you to your feet, mumbling about how this wasn’t part of the deal.

 You don’t have the energy to protest as he pulls you down hallways and through doors. He bursts into a large open room. It smells like chlorine, but your eyes are too fuzzy to figure out why. The lights just got so much brighter, and you can’t see. You keep slipping on the floor. The third time, you fall to the ground. Everything is wet. He’s kicking you now. No, rolling you. It all feels distant. As if it’s not happening to you, but rather you are watching it happen to someone. Like a movie.

 You hear the splash before you register the water surrounding you. You’re sinking. It’s actually quite warm. Like a comforting blanket tucking you into bed. The sounds of people yelling fade out as the water covers your head. You feel at peace as everything fades to black.

 Suddenly, the peace is gone. You can hear voices. They sound loud, but still distant. Like you are swimming and someone is trying to talk to you from above the water. But the ground is hard now. There’s loud bangs too, but you can’t figure out what they are. There’s no pattern to them, but suddenly they stop. Maybe you’ll never know what they were, oh well. You just want to get back to the peaceful darkness.

 Instead, you feel burning in your lungs and a pounding in your head. It feels like someone is punching you in the ribs. No. No. No. Where’s the peace?

 All at once, the burning liquid is expelled from your lungs and your eyes fly open. You try to spin around, to see what’s happening, but everything hurts. Your lungs are trying to fill with air. Your eyes are trying to adjust to the lights. You head is begging everything to just stop making noise. Then, darkness. It’s not a peaceful transition this time. It’s sudden, as if someone turned everything off.

 “Y/N?” The sound of your name draws you out of the memory again. You turn to see Hotch’s concerned expression. He’s parked the car outside of the station.

 You take a few deep breaths before speaking, trying to prepare yourself for what you never wanted to have to do. “I have to tell them.” Hotch nods with a grim expression on his face.

 “The team won’t judge you for keeping it a secret. We’ll all be there for you.” He tries to smile, but it’s more of a grimace. He’s too worried about you.

 “I know. It’s not me I’m worried about.” For the first time since you met him, Aaron Hotchner looks confused. It’s actually kind of funny. Although, your laughing sounds more delirious than amused.

 “Hotch, my first case with Spencer, do you remember it?” You shudder at the memory.

 “Of course. It was hard on both of you.” Your smile feels weak, even to you.

 “Well, I tried to check on him. I had only just met him, but he looked so sad. I wanted to take his pain away.” You can feel the tears coming, but you can’t figure out why. “He said unless I had been kidnapped, tortured, and drugged, shot multiple times, and witnessed the murder of the love of my life there was nothing I could do to help him.”

 You can’t bring yourself to look at Hotch. His worrisome expression will just make you feel worse.

 “You didn’t tell him.” The realization is evident in the lilt of his voice. Turning toward him, you try to explain, but he cuts you off. “He was listing trauma you’ve both experienced, and you didn’t tell him.”

 “Of course not, he would’ve felt so guilty! He already feels so guilty and he has no idea. We talked it out, you know. We were actually becoming friends, although it was hard to see from an outside perspective.”

 “You had me fooled. The two of you barely talk.” Hotch looks incredulous. You’ve never seen so many emotions on his face in one day, let alone one conversation.

 “I know. It’s still new. Honestly, it happened yesterday.” Hotch actually chuckles at that. “I think he still feels bad that my first impression was him yelling at me. He’s going to feel so guilty, and I just wanted to keep that pain away from him. He doesn’t need my emotional baggage on top of his own.” You can’t read the expression on his face anymore. You can tell he’s thinking something, though he doesn’t intend to share.

 “It’ll all work out in the end, Y/N. Reid is stronger than he looks. He’s been through a lot, but so have you. Let’s go catch this son of a bitch.” And the two of you exit the car as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.

 Your nerves build waiting for the rest of the team at the station. Spencer and Derek are last to arrive. You were hoping to have a few more minutes to figure out how to tell them all about the worst moments of your life, but alas the time has come.

 Hotch clears his throat to get everyone’s attention. The conversations about theories die out as all eyes turn to him. “Y/N has a theory to share.”

 That’s one way to put it. Before you can back out, you jump right in.

 “The unsub was a for-hire torturer. I think he left the business and started killing for fun. A sadist. He enjoys the psychological torture of killing the one person you love more than anyone.” You can’t bring yourself to say another word. Spencer looks grief stricken. Everyone else is looking at you in confusion, except Hotch who is looking at you with sorrow. You can’t decide which is worse.

 “What makes you say that?” Derek is the first one to speak. He clearly doesn’t understand why you came to that conclusion. Plus, he’s probably confused that Hotch had to introduce your theory rather than just include it in the brainstorming.

 “Before I worked in violent crimes, I worked in the National Security division. I focused on domestic terrorism. We had a mission go wrong. It was supposed to be a simple, just gathering intel. Something went wrong and two agents were abducted.” You unconsciously decided to depersonalize the story. It’s something Hotch quickly caught on to, but what can he do about it? You just need to get the words out.

 “They were a couple. Engaged. The man, he died from three precise wounds to the abdomen. He bled out while his fiancé was forced to watch.” You’re grateful when Emily interrupts.

 “Did the woman drown?” The woman. You.

 “No. Well, yes. She was dead for 3 minutes when they found her. The cell leader dumped her into a pool in the building she was being held in. They caught him trying to flee the building. When they questioned him about a partner, he said he hired someone to torture the couple to get information. He didn’t know where he went. I think that’s the unsub.”

 Instantly, the team is theorizing. You stay quiet, listening. Where could he have hidden for this long? Were there more crimes in other states? Can Garcia look through unsolved double homicides that fit the signature? Before long, Derek asks the question you’ve been dreading.

 “Can we interview the agent who survived?” You’re grateful that he’s looking at Hotch when he asks. Spencer, though, his eyes haven’t left you since you started speaking. He knows. You know he knows because you can see the weight bearing down on him. You tear your eyes away from him when Hotch clears his throat to get your attention.

 “Y/N, can we interview the agent?” His tone is gentle. Hotch knows what he’s asking. Are you ready to tell them the truth? To share this pain with all of us?

 “Yes. You can interview her.” You are visibly tense, but Morgan is just confused about the interaction. Why would Hotch need to ask you for permission? Why does he sound like someone just kicked his puppy?

 “Great, when can she get here?” Of course, Morgan would ask the next logical question.

 “She’s already here.” Your voice is quiet. He almost doesn’t hear you.

 “What? Where?” He knows he’s missing something. It’ll only take him a few more seconds to put it together, but you save him the trouble.

 “Right here.” You gesture to yourself, eyes flitting between Spencer’s and the ground. The rest of the team didn’t hear you. They were still working out theories as you, Morgan, Hotch, and Spencer converse in cryptic sentences and brief eye contact. Spencer is frozen in place. Hotch was stressed for you. It’s never easy to share past trauma, let alone when you feel like you don’t have a choice.

 The realization hits Morgan so fast he almost falls to the ground. He rushes to you, pulling you into the tightest bear hug you have ever experienced. Morgan has become like an older brother to you. He always jokes about how he would beat up anyone who hurt you. You always joke right back about doing the same for him. He told you about Carl Buford a few months ago. It was also on a case. You would’ve told him everything then, but you didn’t want him to feel like you thought the two were comparable or that his trauma was somehow less important just because you’d been through some bad shit too.

 His actions drew the attention of Rossi, JJ, and Emily though. You weren’t an overly emotional person usually. Undercover work made you good at compartmentalizing, so you never really sought out someone to comfort you. The sight of you in tears, wrapped in Morgan’s arms threw them for a loop. You normally waited until you got home to go through your routine to decompress. It was easier that way. But right now, the thought of even looking at Spencer was enough to bring tears to your eyes. You just couldn’t stop thinking about him. It felt weird, to be sharing such an intimate part of your life with everyone and still be thinking about him. You had moved on from it all though. You knew how to deal with it. Of course, you still love Cameron, but you talk about everything in therapy once a week so you won’t break down like this.

 You see JJ look to Spencer for an explanation, but he’s too busy looking at you with more pain in his eyes than should be possible. He knows how it feels to see someone you love die right in front of you. He knows how it feels to try and move on from being drugged and tortured. He knows how it feels to be alone in it all. What he doesn’t know is how it feels to try and help someone through that grief only to have your own thrown back in your face. That’s what he did to you. Albeit, unintentionally but he did that. And it is so clear that he feels awful. You wish you could talk to him, but Morgan is pulling you into a different conference room for a cognitive interview that you somehow agreed to in your state of shock.

 Hotch explains the situation to Rossi, Emily, and JJ. Spencer’s guilt only pushes further down on him when he hears it all again.

 He stares at the room you’re in through the class doors of the conference room. He hasn’t moved in the ten minutes you’ve been gone. He expected JJ to talk to him first, but he was surprised to find Hotch instead.

 “Y/N told me in the car that she was scared to share that story.” Hotch starts slow, trying to ease Spencer out of his own head.

 “I would be too. It’s a painful memory to relive.” Spencer responds with a familiar tightness in his chest.

 “She wasn’t worried about herself though.” Spencer’s head jerks up to meet Hotch’s stare.

 “What do you mean? Who else would she be worried for?”

 “You.” Hotch says it as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. You being worried about him when you share your darkest memories.

 “Me?” Spencer practically falls out of his chair in an effort to sit up straighter. “Why would she worry about me?” Despite his genius IQ, he can’t fathom why you would worry about him in this scenario. If roles were reversed and he had to tell the story of watching Maeve die, he wouldn’t be worried about you. He slowly comes to the conclusion that he would be worried about you though. Now that he knows you’ve been through something similar, he would worry about you anytime it was brought up. Anytime anything remotely similar was brought up.

 “She told me what you said to her on the jet after your first case together.” Spencer falls into himself at the memory, his guilt pushing his shoulders down. “She said you still feel guilty about it. That hearing the things she has been through would push all that guilt back to the surface. More than anything, she wanted to protect you from more pain.” Hotch seems to know more than he’s saying, but Spencer is too shocked to profile him.

 “But, I, how would, but…” Spencer is muttering the beginning of every thought running through his head, but he can’t seem to form a complete sentence. “Why?”

 “You’ll have to ask her.”

 --

 Between your cognitive interview and Garcia’s sleuthing, the team find the unsub rather quickly. You stay at the station when the team goes to catch him. You try to protest, but Hotch, Morgan, and Emily stare you down until you concede. Really though, it was the concerned look from Spencer that convinced you to sit down and wait. The case wraps up quickly after that. The masked man ended up being Kyle Beckett. A classic sadist.

 It brings you more closure than you would have imagined to know he will be locked up for the rest of his life. You spent a lot of time in therapy trying to cope with the fact that he was never caught. And now, it’s over. You’re also extremely grateful you didn’t have to face him, although you would never admit that you were actually glad to stay behind. They can all tell though. They are profilers after all.

 You can’t help but feel a sense of déjà vu at all the stares you’re getting on the jet. It’s as if time itself was rewound to a year ago. You feel like the newbie again. Getting ready to have a heart to heart with Spencer. You’d be blind not to notice the parallels of the two situations when Spencer slides into the seat next to you on the jet after everyone else falls asleep.

 The silence is comforting at first, but quickly becomes unbearable.

 “Hi” You have a sleepy smile on your face when you say it. You are unbelievably exhausted after everything that happened. Too tired to fully conceal the emotions you know you have been denying. You’re always happy when you talk to him, even if the occurrences are a bit far and few between compared to other members of the team. “You look sad.”

 His mouth actually twitches upward at that statement, which you count as a win in your book. “You’ve been through hell on this case, and you’re still worried about me.” You can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s too good at hiding his thoughts inside that big beautiful brain.

 “I’ve always worried about you. Ever since I met you. You just looked so sad and I wanted to make it stop.” You aren’t thinking before you speak anymore. Probably why Spencer suddenly looks so surprised.

 “Is that why you didn’t want to tell me?” Now it’s your turn to look confused. How did he know that? “I may have talked to Hotch earlier…” It takes longer than you’d care to admit for you to understand what exactly Hotch told him. But still, you’re too tired to be bothered.

 “I’m sorry if that was weird for you. It’s just, after we talked about it I thought maybe we could eventually be friends or something. I didn’t want you to be sad again. I know what it feels like to be sad. I also know what it feels like to be sad again when you realize someone else is sad for that same reason.” You must actually be exhausted because it feels like you’re talking in riddles. “Sorry, that doesn’t make sense. I just mean, I didn’t want you to feel bad about it again. I didn’t want you to feel more pain” You’ve started leaning toward him, about ready to pass out.

 “You’re incredible. You truly are amazing. I don’t think a day will go by where I don’t feel awful for what I said to you, but maybe with enough time I can make it up to you.”

 “I would like that.” You smile brightly as you look into his eyes. They seem sad still, but there is a brightness there that wasn’t there before.

 Spencer doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he lets you lay down in his lap as you drift off, the soothing feeling of his hands in your hair lulling you to sleep.

 You wake up as the jet touches down. The memories of your conversation with Spencer bring a smile to your face. He looks down smiling when you shift in his lap.

 “Thank you” You’re not surprised he still feels like he needs to thank you.

 “I would do anything for you Spencer Reid.” You get up to collect your belongings, turning back only when you realize he hasn’t moved from his spot on the couch.

 “Spence, let’s go.” Spence. He likes the sound of that. Maybe, just maybe the two of you will be okay. 

[psychovigilantewrites]

Chapter 14 - A Different Point of View

Summary:  Things that happened that you weren't aware of.

Word count: 9,163 words

A/N: Thank you for being so patient with me. I struggled with this chapter due to its nature. I had to further dive into Bruce and Dick's character that I wasn't too familiar with.2020 was a very tough year for me. I lost lots, learned lots. And I thought that the quarantine would mean I would write more. But I was wrong. Life hit me hard, and I stopped doing a lot of things I used to enjoy.Despite being virtually absent last year, you guys stuck by me anyway. Thank you. I love you all for that.Special thanks to my two beta readers. You know who you are. Here it goes.

(i recommend you guys read previous chapters to refresh coz I had to lol)

Ao3

Masterlist

The roles that people played were false- a mere necessity for their career or survival. Everyone was playing a role, whether it was of their own accord or not.

Bruce Wayne was a role- superficial, fake, yet vital to Gotham. Batman, on the other hand, was a completely different role, born out of exigence and a sense of justice.

Dick Grayson, however, genuinely enjoyed playing his role.

Nightwing felt right to him. Being a police officer felt right to him. And especially, if not ultimately, being an older brother.

He listened to the dial tone of his phone, which rung for a few seconds before you finally picked up.

“Hey,” Dick heard your voice, the usual chirp absent that day.

Dick frowned to himself. Bruce was right about you being troubled after all.

“Hey, sis!” he forced the concern out of his voice. “You busy?”

“Nah, I’m just going over some old case files. What’s up?”

Dick leaned back into his sofa. Aside from the traffic blaring outside, the silence in his apartment made it easier for him to concentrate on analysing your speech patterns.

“Can’t I call just to ask how you’re doing?” he teased, easing into the conversation.

Everyone had always told him how he was natural at talking.

“You already called last week…”

Dick smiled to himself. He could already picture your narrowed eyes regarding him with suspicion.

It was good that you were always on your feet, but it was becoming borderline unhealthy. It reminded him of Jason and how he was always so guarded .

He pushed the memory away.

“I can’t call you again?” he rolled his eyes at no one.

“Bruce put you up to this,” you accused.

That’s because he’s worried about you, kid.

If only you knew how much Bruce had changed for you. Dick was glad that you were being loved by Bruce, yet he still couldn't help but feel slightly bitter that he never got that kind of treatment from his father- not the same treatment he gave you.

But he would rather die than admit his selfish thoughts to anyone.

“Yeah,” he conceded, “He was worried about you after last night.”

“I’m fine, Dick,” you insisted.

How many times has he heard those very same words from Jason?

“Well, if you’re not, then you can talk to me,” he offered.

A short pause.

Your response would be what differentiated you from his late brother.

“Actually, yeah,” you admitted.

There it was. No matter how stupid he knew it was for even comparing the two of you, he found that he always had to remind himself not to.

“How did you deal with it? Did it affect you?”

Dick told you his own experience with gore and dead bodies, how he overcame it, how he coped. There was silence after, and he just somehow knew what you were going to ask next.

“How did, uh, he deal with it?”

Your voice came in a whisper, hesitation evidently clear.

Dick was expecting it, but his heart still sank. He knew how everyone acted when Jason was brought up in conversation- he was guilty of reacting as well. He also knew how you were smart enough to avoid that topic.

It had been years. They should all have moved on, because Dick knew that they were also hurting you.

“He came to me as well.” Dick recalled Jason’s hesitant voice over the phone, never directly saying what was wrong, just rambling about things other than what was really going on in his head.

“Then he gradually called less and less when he learned how to deal with it himself.”

The day Dick noticed it, he was happy for Jason, but a small part of him was saddened that his little brother no longer needed him.

“I’ll have to look for that cognitive therapy, then. Thank you for calling, Dick. Talking to you helped.”

Did it really? He noticed your voice had changed again. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone on about Jason like that.

“No problem, kid. Call me if you need to talk, okay?”

The familiar beep left him isolated with his thoughts, wondering if you would trail in Jason's footsteps.

When will the day come when you eventually stop calling altogether?

***

He felt indebted to his city- the city he loved. The city he hated. The city that robbed him of his childhood.

He felt indebted to his family- the family he would give up everything for, the family he couldn’t stop hurting.

And he was sorry. God, he was sorry.

Sorry for everything he’s said and done- or didn’t do. But he still couldn’t stop. Because he didn’t know how.

Yet, no matter how much he claimed to love his family, the problem with Bruce Wayne was that he always expected them to be the people he wanted them to be.

Never like himself, though. No, he would never want them to turn out like him.

“That’s an order. Stay-”

The silence that followed the click in his ear represented the first time you had ever disobeyed a direct order.

It was a little late on your side. Dick and Jason had begun to disobey him within their first six months in uniform. But you had always been obedient- which made it easier for Bruce to trust you in the field.

This first time came as an unexpected and unwelcome surprise. And Bruce was…

Disappointed.

He grit his teeth when he saw you on the ground with the warehouse burning behind you. If he had just been a few seconds late, would you be in the fire, too?

“I almost had him.”

Bruce didn’t miss the wince of pain as you got up to your feet.

He had heard those exact words before countless times from J- no.

Bruce shoved that thought away.

“He would have gotten away, and we wouldn’t have known who it was that did this,” you argued, brows drawn together in a frown, mouth downturned. Your respiratory rate was high, and you were having trouble breathing.

When did you grow so tall? So confident?

Bruce silently pointed to the active security camera he noticed the minute he arrived and saw your expression fall- only for a second.

“I still think I made the right decision,” you insisted.

“You disobeyed a direct order.” He hated his own voice. The way he spoke sounded too militant.

“I acted how I saw fit,” you continued, “You always say to follow my instincts-”

“Not if your instincts contradict my orders.” He regretted his words the moment they left his mouth. He thought he had changed. But no, Bruce was still a dictator.

“Wow. Just- wow.”

He could see the little twitches of annoyance within the disbelief on your face. He understood it completely.

You were walking away, clutching onto your side and weakly limping to your bike, adamant on not seeking his help.

He hated seeing you injured, in pain. It was his fault. If only he was faster, he could have stopped Red Hood from beating you up. If only he predicted it sooner, if only-

“I’ll be heading back now.”

He missed what you had said before that.

“Robin,” Bruce forced out, “Have Alfred check your injuries.”

He should have been there.

When you drove away, he lingered at the crime scene.

Bruce flipped a switch in his helmet, and his lense changed. Non-organic material lighted up bright white. He noticed a fractured piece of shrapnel lying on the ground, less than a centimeter long.

He picked it up and placed it into a test tube from his belt. Switching his view to normal, he saw that it was red, maybe made from fiberglass. He could only deduce that it was a piece of Red Hood’s helmet.

Despite Bruce’s frustrations at you for disobeying him, he felt a swell of pride. You probably landed a hit hard enough to crack the helmet just a little bit that you yourself probably didn’t even realise it.

He shone a UV light on it. A small portion of it glowed.

Bruce had always been numb when he played investigator so that he would remain impartial and objective. That was true justice.

But when he pocketed the evidence and sped to the Batmobile, he felt something he had never felt before.

Against all logic and rationality, he found himself dreading to uncover who the blood belonged to.

***

Bruce never drank his sorrows away. It was dangerous, too easy to develop an addiction to. He could have easily drowned in alcohol at any given chance, like when he thought of his parents, or when he thought-no, knew- he wasn’t enough.

But no, he only restricted his drinking for leisurely activities. He was disciplined. It was the reason why he was who he was.

However, in that moment, staring at the results of the DNA analysis after hours of anxious waiting, he wished he allowed himself a drink.

Not because he was distraught, not because he was in grief- but because he just didn’t know what to feel.

It wasn’t numbness. It was just plain confusion, an internal tornado of emotions whirling inside him all at once.

Footsteps.

He tapped on a button once, immediately closing the window of the test results displayed on the screen.

Composing himself, he clicked on another pending case to pretend he wasn’t on the verge of a breakdown. It’s just another role.

“Master Bruce.”

Why was he still up at this hour?

“Yes, Alfred,” he turned to meet the butler’s tired eyes- just as tired as his own.

Tired because of him.

Alfred was always up because of him. Because Bruce was a disease, constantly burdening others, dragging them down, keeping them up at night.

“I made some sandwiches. They’re light. Please do eat them,” he set the tray on the cluttered desk, simply pushing aside the numerous stacks of papers.

“Go to bed, Alfred,” he told him. Alfred was too old to be up at this hour. And whose fault is that?

“In due time,” he responded calmly, “What of the blood results, if I may ask?”

“Inconclusive,” Bruce lied.

“I see.”

Suspicion shrouded Alfred’s voice.

“How are her injuries?” Bruce asked, the pain finally creeping in, seeping into his bones.

“I commend you for asking about your daughter’s injuries after only four whole hours of staring at the screen, Master Bruce. You would definitely win father of the year.”

“I was occupied,” he sighed, “Please.”

“Her injuries are only superficial,” Alfred said, “Surface contusions at most.”

He still hurt her.

“Thank you, Alfred. Now go to bed.”

“It was only a little more than two decades ago when I was telling you the same,” he grumbled away.

Bruce made sure Alfred was gone before pulling up the results on the screen again, the glaring ‘MATCH’ sign staring angrily back at him as if it were shouting at Bruce, yelling in rage.

And Bruce understood completely. He had failed Jason Todd. He had betrayed him. And now he was back, vengeful, and full of resentment.

But that didn’t matter to Bruce.

Because despite it all, his son was alive.

In the end, that was all that mattered.

***

What did my son do to my daughter?

Bruce watched in horror as you lay unconscious on the hospital bed, hooked to the IV bag. He couldn’t stop staring at the bruises littering your neck.

Bruises that were far too small and evenly shaped to be the effect of a mere throttling.

He knew how the people close to him viewed him. He knew they thought he was strong, unforgiving, cold, emotionless. Especially when they put him side by side with Clark.

But he forced himself to be those things, because if he didn’t, he would have broken down years ago.

He was used to it. The pain. The darkness.

But this time, he felt like he was being crushed.

He felt like he was hanging on by a thread- no. A delicate strand of thin, brittle hair.

“It’s okay, doctor,” you had said, “I know what you’re going to ask me. No, my genitalia does not hurt. He didn’t do anything to me.”

He felt a wave of relief crash over him.

Jason wasn’t that far gone, then.

But as Bruce looked at your neck again, he still couldn’t help but feel nausea crawling into his core.

He still touched her.

Jim left after his questioning, and you drifted to sleep. He went over to you and looked down at your face, taking everything in.

Since when did you look so mature? When did you get so beautiful?

He couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle. Even in sleep you had your eyebrows tugged down, as if you were angry that you had to go to bed. He didn’t know why he never saw that small part of you that shouted rebellion despite you almost always following his orders.

He realised that when he watched you sleep, you looked a bit like- no. Don’t ever compare the two.

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to your forehead, trying to convey all of his feelings to you.

He was sorry. So god damned sorry for dragging you into this, for hurting you, for pulling you down to the depths with him.

Hoping you didn’t feel the teardrop that fell to your forehead, he quickly wiped it away before leaving for his press statement.

***

“Master Bruce, please!”

Another crash.

Alfred’s plea snapped him out of his blinding fury, his crushing pain.

He was standing at the hallway near the Manor entrance, glass and broken wood shattered at his feet, feeling the walls closing in and narrowing as Alfred looked at him in alarm.

“I-I’m sorry, Alfred. I-” he stammered, feeling like the small, helpless boy who watched his parents die before him.

He remembered the time when he was little, only a couple of months after the tragedy. He had done the exact same thing, taking out his anger and anguish by destroying things, triggered by something he had long forgotten about.

At that time, Alfred had held him closely in his arms as he stained the butler’s suit with his snot and tears. Again, a burden to the man who raised him.

This time, he refused the old man’s offer of comfort, walking past to descend to the cold darkness of the cave he was so familiar with.

Bruce didn’t usually drink his sorrows away, but this time, he did.

***

Dick wasn’t a good person. He was far from it.

Case in example, it was the first time he saw you after your kidnapping.

He meant to come sooner, he really did. But he was just so busy in Bludhaven, he couldn’t spare any time to rush over the moment he heard his sister was hurt. He tried to justify it in his head by thinking that you were probably handling it fine.

But he was just trying to make himself feel better.

What a great brother he was.

“So, why are you obsessing over violent crimes?” he asked, trying to keep his voice from breaking.

Desensitization was one thing when you worked in that field, but obsession was a whole other problem. And he didn’t want to see his sister walk down that path.

“A lunatic just kidnapped me a couple weeks ago, Dick, maybe this is my coping mechanism,” you huffed, giving him your signature eye roll.

A lot of things start with just a coping mechanism, kid.

Dick knew it about it all too well. The people he brought in on an almost daily basis, high as kites. The accident last week on the highway at three in the morning, two innocent lives taken because of a drunk man who had started drinking three years ago to cope with his mother’s loss.

The man downstairs in the cold cave, who was just a little boy when his parents died, now living with the trauma while going out night after night to beat up criminals, sleeping only three hours a day at most.

“I don’t want your pity, Dick,” you huffed, “I’m fine.”

Yeah, you were. And that was what worried Dick the most.

“I know you are,” he tried to smile, “Which is why I don’t think this is your coping mechanism.”

You talked to Dick about Red Hood, sharing your concerns about him. This is what made you, you. Opening up to him, offering your thoughts and feelings. It was something he never had with Bruce or Jason. The both of them were similar in that sense.

“He won’t tell me either,” Dick huffed, “It’s always been like that with him. No matter how hard I try to get closer to him, sometimes it feels like he’s getting further away.”

It was the same with Jason as well. Did everyone he cared about just end up running away from him?

“I can relate to that,” you sighed.

“But I have a feeling that he will tell you eventually,” Dick tried to comfort you, “It seems too important not to.”

Dick knew better. Bruce had always excluded information from him, whether it was important or not.

“And,” Dick hurriedly tried to change the subject, “I heard from Alfred that you’re not talking to Bruce. May I ask why?”

“So that’s why you’re here,” you eyed him suspiciously. . “I came to check up on you,” he stated, “I’m sorry I couldn’t come here right after, but my little sister did just get kidnapped.”

When are you going to stop putting your guard up around me, kid?

“I told you, I’m fine,” you insisted.

“Then you’re fine enough to tell me why you haven’t been talking to Bruce,” Dick pushed, “I won’t judge. I’ve had my fair share of cold shoulders and fights with him too. I know first hand how frustrating he can be. So come on, tell.”

He saw you hesitate for just a moment, before conceding.

“We fought,” you began, “It was when I got back from the hospital. He wouldn’t tell me who Red Hood was. And he- he called me ‘Jason’.”

Ah, fucking hell, Bruce.

“Jesus,” he whispered, “What did he say exactly?”

“‘Back down, Jason’,” your voice cracked.

Dick saw the way Bruce spiraled after Jason’s death, and he would never tell you this, but deep down he was against Bruce adopting you so soon after. He thought that Bruce was using you to fill up the hole he too felt with Jason’s absence.

You were so like him, yet so different. Still, Bruce must have been really distracted if he could slip as badly as he did.

Dick would ask later.

“Now that’s something I haven’t heard in years,” Dick chuckled humorlessly.

Jason arguing with Bruce about using excessive force. Jason sneaking out to go for patrols whenever he was grounded. Hell, even Jason stealing whiskey from the cabinet at the age of fifteen.

He could still remember it so clearly. Jason with his dark hair poking into his eyes that were full of fury, cheeks puffed up and red as he pouted angrily at Bruce for making him stay at the Manor on nights Bruce insisted on going alone.

Dick tried to shove the past away. He knew he was making you even sadder.

“Has Bruce made any attempts to reconcile?” Dick remembered the conversation he was having with you.

“Yeah, but I’m still mad at him,” you pouted.

“And you have every right to be,” Dick nodded, “But Bruce, well, you know Bruce. He keeps these things to himself, but obviously he’s still hurting.”

You have know idea how much he’s hurting, Little Wing.

You avoided Dick’s eyes, looking down at your fumbling thumbs as the room became silent.

“I’m seeing someone,” you changed the subject.

“You are?”

Interesting.

“Yeah,” you blushed, “It’s still very new, and we’re not official yet or anything. But we’re definitely testing the waters.”

“That’s great,” Dick grinned, “Who is he? Tell me the deets. Spill the tea.”

He sort of loved gossip. It wasn’t a secret.

“I met him in the library a while back,” you excitedly said, “We exchanged numbers. Started texting, meeting up from time to time. He’s really cute.”

Ah, young love. What Dick would give to be at that age again.

“I bet he is,” Dick teased.

“What’s with that face?” you laughed, “He is! He’s slightly older, and he’s got this sexy bad boy look, you know?”

“I thought you liked the nerdy types?” Dick responded. He saw a picture of you and your classmates on your Instagram. Typical prep school kids.

“I never had a type, you ass!” . “You’re right. I thought you were completely uninterested in boys,” he wondered out loud, “Is he nice, at least?”

“Yeah he is,” you smiled to yourself, “He didn’t know I was Wayne until 2 weeks ago. Before that, we were mainly texting. Now we’re meeting up more. I feel like I can be myself with him. I don’t know, there’s just something about him that makes me trust him.”

So you still have some of your walls up with me, but you trust a stranger? Who is this guy?

“I’m not going to tell him anything!” you quickly added, “I’m not stupid. I know I shouldn’t trust someone I just met. It’s not about the confidential stuff. It’s the little things like how I feel, and my problems, and just- stuff, you know?”

The thought didn’t even cross his mind. Dick trusted you enough with their secret, just as how Bruce did.

“I get it,” Dick tried to rationalise, “You don’t know what it is about the person, but you feel like the two of you just click, am I right?”

It had been like that with Barbara. It had been like that with Kory.

Now Dick was alone, and deep down he knew that they saw him as how he truly was. Selfish.

“Exactly,” you smiled, “Been with anyone like that before?”

“One or two,” he brushed it off, “People like that- whom you just click with- they’re hard to come by. You should see where this leads. Who knows, maybe he’s one of those that would stick around, huh?”

What he would give to have at least one person who would stick with him.

After he met with Gordon, Dick went to the cave to see Bruce who was, of course, facing the computers.

“I know what you’re going to say,” his father’s voice echoed without even turning to look at him.

“Then you know how much you’ve hurt her?” he crossed his arms.

Bruce did turn around to face him, and Dick suddenly felt a tightness in his chest.

He knew that Bruce hardly ever slept, but this was different. He looked disheveled, his complexion pale, his eyes more bloodshot and the dark circles even more prominent.

Alfred did say how badly Bruce took the kidnapping, finding him passed out on the cave floor with an empty bottle of scotch in his hand, but he thought that Bruce would have gotten himself together by now. It was surprising to see him that way, and Dick felt… Uncomfortable.

Something was wrong, and it wasn’t just the kidnapping, nor his fight with you.

“You found out something,” Dick narrowed his eyes, “Something important. What is it?”

He caught a flash of guilt in Bruce’s eyes. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

“Bruce,” Dick groaned, “This is why you keep on hurting her.”

Hurting us.

“I’m protecting everyone.”

“You can’t use that excuse with me anymore,” he sighed, “I don’t need your protection. So tell me.”

“No.”

That was his final word, and he knew that Bruce would never budge.

“Fine,” he let out a breath, “Did you know that she’s seeing someone?”

Bruce frowned.

Which made Dick frown. Since when did Bruce miss things? What the fuck was going on with him?

“Name?”

“Dunno. Didn’t ask. And no, don’t you dare,” Dick pointed an accusatory finger at him, “Do not do a background check on him. She deserves privacy. Hell, don’t even bring it up. You have no right to go poking into her relationships.”

Dick was being defensive, but that was because he was trying to convince himself as well, which was why he didn’t ask you for a name. He knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.

“I wasn’t going to,” Bruce reassured, “She… She deserves a life. A normal life. Not this- not-”

Dick knew then he had to leave, because Bruce’s voice breaking meant he was far from okay, and he knew that Bruce hated to show his vulnerability to anyone.

“Bruce,” Dick said, this time softly, “You’re not alone, you know. I’ve been with you since the beginning, and I’m still with you now.”

And with that, Bruce turned his back towards him again, silently going back to his goddamned computers.

“He’s been that way ever since the kidnapping,” Alfred informed him when he walked up to the manor.

“I don’t think it’s just the kidnapping, Alf,” he frowned at the butler, “There’s something more to it. Did he figure out who Red Hood is?”

“Perhaps,” Alfred pursed his lips, “But he refuses to tell me.”

“That means we know him personally,” Dick theorised, “Who the hell could it be that he’s so adamant on keeping it a secret?”

“I do not know Master Dick, but it can’t be anyone good if he’s got Master Bruce drinking during the day.”

***

Bruce knew that he was wrong to call you by his dead son’s name.

But his dead son was supposed to stay dead instead of haunting him with that glaring red bat across his chest, and having that thought in his head all the time, he slipped up.

He prided himself with his contingency plans and detective skills and preparations, but no amount of time could ever prepare him for when he found out his dead son had sexually assaulted his daughter.

You seemed to have dealt with it surprisingly well, exceeding his expectations. In fact, Bruce thought it was a bit odd that you weren’t as affected by it.

And then he saw it.

He saw what he thought was the internalized anger you felt finally bursting through the seams of your tightly lidded emotions.

And he wasn’t prepared for it.

Bruce didn’t think you had it in you, or else he would never have made you Robin.

But there you were on the ground, beating a man beyond recognition.

He couldn’t dread this moment because he never saw it coming. Not from you. Never from you.

He hurriedly ripped you off the man, flinging you away with force.

Pulse was present, but weak. Flail chest. It took him only a few seconds to observe the damage you did to the man’s face. It didn’t look good.

“Stay back,” he growled at you when you came close.

He couldn’t look at you. He didn’t want to.

“I-I didn’t mean to,” he heard you whisper.

“Call an ambulance,” he ordered.

There was no other choice. He had to take the fall for you.

“NOW!” he snarled at you again. In the background, you were on the phone, but Bruce’s thoughts were elsewhere, calculating what needs to be done.

You moved-

“Leave. I’ll deal with this.” You needed to go. You couldn’t be here when the ambulance and police arrived.

“Batman-”

“I said leave,” he snapped. He couldn’t even hear your voice.

He waited for the ambulance to come before leaving, making sure they saw him escape. Making sure he would be the one the media would attack.

And while he drove back to the Cave, he decided to give his son a call.

“Bruce?”

“Dick,” he sighed. He knew he had always been unfair to his eldest, giving him so much pressure to perform, pushing him to be his best- and ultimately away. He knew that he never showed it, but he was proud of Dick. He always had been from the very beginning.

“What’s wrong?”

It wasn’t a surprise that Dick picked up immediately that something was wrong. If it wasn’t for the fact that calling him out of the blue was what gave it away, Bruce himself trained Dick.

“She- she crossed the line tonight,” he tried to explain, “Jerome Miller. She attacked him. The damage she’s done to him is irreversible. I suspect he will be in a vegetative state for the rest of his life.”

“Jesus,” Dick breathed from over the line, “Why didn’t you stop her?”

“I wasn’t there,” he grit. He thought he could trust you.

But deep down Bruce knew that it was all his fault after all. Who was he to act so righteous when he was the reason your parents died?

“I don’t know if she’ll talk to me, Bruce,” Dick sighed, “Not about something like this. She’s probably beating herself up over this already.”

“As she should.”

“Bruce.”

“Please,” Bruce asked, “I’m worried. She isn’t herself and I can’t blame her for it, but the chances of her talking to you are much higher than if I were to try.”

“I’ll try,” Dick agreed.

“Report to me after.”

“Bruce, we’ve talked about this,” Dick grumbled, “I am under no obligation to report to you. I’m doing this for her. Not you.”

He was trying not to go back to the man he was before, but sometimes he couldn’t help it.

They’re your children, not your soldiers.

He had to remind himself time and time again. It was easier to be just a father to you as compared to Dick and Jason, yet even then he made slips.

“I know,” he apologised. “Thank you.”

Click.

And then Bruce was alone again.

***

Bruce watched you from the corner of his eye when you came back. He noticed that you had put more effort into dressing up when you left the house that day.

There was a slight bounce to your step and a small smile that played on your lips.

Dick was right after all. There was someone you were seeing.

But no, he couldn’t look into it. In fact, it would be hypocritical of him if he did. Dick had many girlfriends and flings, and Bruce didn’t want to know about any of them. Mainly because Dick was his first, and the thought of a boy he raised maturing and having relationships made him feel confused about parenthood.

Not that many of them lasted too long anyway.

Jason was a little different. While Dick had girls lining up after him all the time, Jason was much more subtle about the girls he liked, and that made Bruce more curious- but not enough to investigate.

He thought about when Barbara had caught Jason looking at her, making him turn red. He wondered if Jason would like you.

A tight squeeze in his chest.

He didn’t let his mind linger there.

Bruce felt obligated to protect you, which tempted him to investigate the boy you were seeing. It could be a trap, it could be someone using you for fame and money, or something even more sinister. Hell, it could be Jason himself after that stunt he pulled off.

But there was no evidence, and Bruce wanted to be a father to you this time instead of Batman the mentor. So Bruce would have to trust you on this one.

***

There was something holding Bruce back from telling everyone the truth about Jason.

And because he is who he is, Bruce knew what it was.

Guilt. He blamed himself for what had happened, and telling others about it meant owning up to his mistakes. Bruce never ran away from his fears and feelings despite what others might think. On the contrary, he held to them very strongly, using them as a motivation to fight head on.

This time, though, he felt more self destructive- the worst he had ever felt since he carried Jason’s corpse from the rubble- and so he tried to delay the inevitable.

But time was running out. He had enough time to wallow in self pity. It was time to pull himself together, and the first step began with Alfred.

The Cave was colder than usual that night, air thin and darker despite the illumination he had provided. Bruce was slumped in his usual wheeled chair, cowl resting on the desk after patrol, the weight of his suit almost crushing him in his weakened mental state.

“Alfred,” Bruce sighed, “Please, take a seat. I have something to tell you.”

“I assume this is about the identity of one criminal who has been terrorizing your daughter?” Alfred retorted, sitting down anyway.

“Yes,” Bruce nodded, “This… This won’t be easy, Alfred. I suggest you prepare for the worst.”

“And the worst being..?”

Bruce wheeled himself closer to the butler, leaning forward. “It’s Jason.”

Alfred merely blinked. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid my ears have caught up to my age. I must have misheard you, because for a moment, I thought you said that Red Hood is Jason.”

“You didn’t mishear me, Alfred. It’s him.”

Bruce saw the confusion in Alfred’s eyes, the frantic search for reason. “Our Jason? Jason Todd?”

“Yes, Alfred.”

And then, Bruce felt it. The pain he had been suffering with for weeks spreading to the man who raised him. Alfred clutched his chest with one hand, the other clenching tightly over the armrest of his chair, his breathing quickened.

“Impossible,” he whispered, “Jason died. How?”

“There was an event regarding The League and Superboy punching reality. I won’t get into details, but I suspect that was what caused the initial resurrection. The restoration, however. We know of someone who has been continuously restored time and time again.”

“Ra’s Al Ghul,” Alfred concluded, “But why? Why on Earth would he restore Jason?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce frowned, “But it is an almost perfect revenge plan. I would like to entertain the idea that he has brainwashed Jason into thinking we are the enemy, but I can’t put it past him to develop a hatred for me. I… betrayed him.”

“Master Bruce, this is not your fault,” Alfred rose to his feet, “If it is indeed Jason, we can still help. I have faith in the boy.”

“Me too, Alfred. Me too.”

Bruce didn’t miss the sob that echoed faintly through the cave when Alfred ascended back up.

***

As if in slow motion, he saw every change of emotion on Dick’s face. The way he blinked once in confusion, the surprise approaching as he widened his eyes, and then his eyebrows stitching together in a deep frown, his lips downturning and nose flaring in anger.

Bruce saw the punch coming, but he did not do anything to counter it. Gladly, he took the right hook Dick gave him, appreciating the sting that radiated from his cheekbone to his jaw.

“How long have you known?” his son shook in anger.

“Dick-”

“HOW LONG, BRUCE?!” Dick roared, fists clenched, voice echoing in the cave.

“Since the night he blew up the warehouse,” Bruce replied.

“Jesus, fuck,” Dick ran his fingers through his hair, “Jesus, Bruce. That was over a month ago.”

“I know.”

“We-” he choked on his words, “We deserved to know.”

“I know.”

“So why the fuck didn’t you say anything?!” he slammed his fists on the desk. Bruce caught a few drops of tears that fell to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce apologised, and meant it. But he just couldn’t bring himself to say anything more.

“You’re sorry?” Dick looked at him with eyes far too cold than he knew, “He was my brother, Bruce. He told me things he never told anyone else. We shared secrets and jokes. We went to the same diner once a week to catch up. He asked for my help and I asked for his. And then he died. Just like that, because you couldn’t keep him on a leash. And now he’s back, and you knew it was him, and you’re just sorry?”

Dick’s eyes were wet and red, and filled with contempt. Bruce couldn’t blame him. He hated himself, too.

“Does she know?” he whispered, “Does she know that the man who attacked her is your son, and is my brother?”

Like always, he pushed the pain away efficiently, logically, objectively.

“Yes,” he confirmed, “I told her this afternoon.”

“And she’s not angry?”

“If she was, she did not show it,” Bruce described, “In fact, she looked… Worried.”

“Of fucking course she would be worried,” he snarled, “She’s worried that she’s going to be irrelevant to you now the dead Robin is back.”

“She’s not,” Bruce growled at that, “She’s not his replacement. She never was.”

“Does she know that, Bruce?” Dick snickered, “Did you finally get over yourself and tell her that? Because the last fucking time I spoke to her, you called her Jason.”

Bruce didn’t know how to respond to that. He was good at smiling at the cameras and making speeches and charming an audience, but he was never good with words, real words that described his true feelings to the ones he cared for the most.

“I’m sorry,” he simply said, now numb to everything throughout years and years of practice. “I promise, I will bring him back. Will you help me?”

“What can I do that you can’t?” Dick scoffed.

“You knew him, Dick,” Bruce said, “You knew him in ways I never did. I can predict his movements, but to accurately guess what his motivations are- you knew him better than I did.”

“Fine,” Dick conceded, “But I’m not forgiving you for this, Bruce. I swear, you’re going to pay for all the secrets you’ve kept from us, be it by my hand or someone else’s.”

***

“Did you know that your daughter went out last night to see a boy while we were patrolling?” Dick brought up.

He was looking at Bruce’s back, as he always was.

Bruce was on the computers, going through hours upon hours of security footage and traffic cams for Red Hood- for Jason.

It was difficult for him to put the two together. Jason had always been his little brother. Young, naive, inexperienced. And now that same person was the leader of the underground.

It was definitely difficult.

“Alfred mentioned she went out, but I didn’t know it was to meet a boy,” Bruce replied without glancing his way.

“Well, she lied to me about it at first,” Dick sank in a chair, looking at his nails. “Got pretty defensive when I brought it up. Even tried to deflect by using Jason against me.”

Dick knew you meant to hurt him with your words, and it worked.

He was definitely surprised that you would stoop that low because he always saw you as a sweet, kind girl.

People change. That’s what happens when you stick with Batman.

But Dick didn’t expect you to change so fast.

“She… used Jason against you?”

Bruce finally turned towards him, the ever constant frown a little bit deeper that moment.

“Yeah,” Dick straightened, “It was the first time she’s ever spoken to me that way.”

“What did she say exactly?”

“That I was distracting myself by using humor as a coping mechanism, and that I should come to terms with the fact that it was my brother who kidnapped and sexually assaulted her,” he repeated bitterly.

“What did you say to her that she responded that way?” Bruce asked.

“I was just making fun of her boyfriend,” Dick shrugged, “Why? Do you think she’s hiding something?”

At first, Dick thought that you were genuinely angry at the both of them because you were right- Jason did kidnap you. Jason did do those things to you. And Jason was supposed to be under both Bruce and Dick’s responsibility.

Dick didn’t blame you for it, because he would have probably been angry if the situation was reversed.

It was one of the mistakes he always made as Robin when Bruce was teaching him how to accurately deduce by reading people. Never assume that someone’s motivations would be the same as your own.

“She hid that she has… someone from me. There must be a reason why.”

“Or she knows how you are and would rather not have your nose in her business, Bruce. She did find out about that tracker you put in her necklace. How did she even react to it?”

Bruce had done the same with both Dick and Jason while they were Robin, though it didn’t come disguised as a pretty, shiny piece of metal.

On the contrary, during Dick’s Robin days, Bruce had hid it behind his third molar while he was unconscious. He only found out after a year, when he was held hostage by a mercenary who wanted to use him to lure Batman. Said mercenary had detected the tracking device and pulled it out along with the tooth.

It made him increasingly more hostile towards Batman and his never ending need for control, but at least it saved him a trip to the dentist.

From what Dick knew, Jason died with his tracker on him.

Bruce had said that it was all done in the name of safety.

But would you tell Jason the same thing now?

“I apologised and never replaced the one Red Hood damaged. I thought that would have been sufficient for her to trust me again.”

Dick let out a bark of laughter at that, but it was void of any humor. “Only you would think that not replacing her damn tracker would make her trust you. No wonder she hasn’t told you anything.”

It was probably best not to mention that you were now also sexually active.

“Do you think she’s hiding something important?” Bruce asked.

“Are you actually asking for my opinion?” Dick smirked, “No, but it’s too soon to tell, anyway. Relax, Bruce. It’s like you forgot what it was like to be young and in love.”

That was obviously a joke. Bruce grew out of his childhood the moment he saw his parents getting killed in that alley.

As for being in love, did Bruce ever allow himself that?

***

“What did you say she called herself?” Nightwing asked softly.

The poor girl was scared out of her mind to the point where Dick found it difficult to extract important information from her ramblings.

Well, that’s what happens when someone makes you kill a person.

It was difficult, so difficult, to face the fact that it was Jason behind all of that.

“I t-think, V,” the witness- Elena- stuttered. “She with him. But try to stop him.”

Behind him, he felt Batman pause. He was walking around the club and analysing evidence while listening to the conversation.

“She tried to stop him? Him as in Red Hood?” Dick frowned.

“Yes,” Elena looked down and rubbed her arms.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but,” Dick tried, “You told me they were partners.”

“Yes, but she try to stop him,” she repeated, “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Dick offered a smile, “Thank you very much. You’ve been a huge help.”

“Am I going to prison?” she looked at him with big, wet eyes.

“We’ll make sure you won’t,” Dick assured, “You’ll get the best defense team in Gotham.”

“You can do that?” she asked, hope in her voice.

“It’s the least we could do,” Dick answered, a sad smile playing on his lips.

He’s our responsibility.

“Thank you,” she gave a watery laugh, “Even prison better than with him, I want to be free.”

Dick heard footsteps approaching. As he turned around, Gordon entered the crime scene, followed by his team.

“Of course you’re here first,” he sighed at Batman.

“Gordon.”

“You might have to speak to the police again, okay?” Dick told Elena who was suddenly nervous again by the presence of so many people. “I’ll make sure they know you’re innocent. Gordon is the only one you can trust, okay?”

She nodded, her gaze turning downwards.

“Gordon,” he approached the aging man. He was used to talking with Gordon in Batman’s stead, even when he was Robin, and remembered feeling proud of himself whenever he finished speaking to Gordon regarding cases without Batman having to add anything.

“Nightwing,” he blinked, “It’s been a while.”

“Desperate times calls for desperate backups,” he grinned, “Anyway, the girl. She’s a victim of Victor Ibenescu’s human trafficking trade. Romanian, only thirteen when she was kidnapped. She was forced to shoot Victor by Red Hood.”

“This Red Hood likes his poetic justice,” Gordon snickered.

“It’s still first degree murder, or at least, that’s how the law would make it seem,” Dick reminded him, “But I assure you she’s innocent. Red Hood threatened to kill and rape her if she didn’t shoot.”

That was a lie, on both his part and Elena’s. Judging by the way she averted her eyes and touched her own arm, Dick could tell that she wasn’t telling the whole truth about being threatened by Red Hood- but he also knew that he couldn’t expose her and get into more trouble.

He wanted to let out a tired sigh, but that would give him away in front of Gordon and the other officers. He still needed to maintain his air of hopefulness, and he couldn’t seem like he was troubled by his thoughts.

Time to meet Bruce back at the cave and watch the surveillance footage.

***

“He’s got a partner now,” Dick voiced out his findings, “Since when did Red Hood partner up?”

Bruce’s frown was deep as he stared at the screen.

Dick pursed his lips. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Whether this is Red Hood or Jason?” Bruce hummed, “This definitely does not seem like anything Red Hood would do. He’s always tried to separate himself from others because it furthers his authoritarian agenda. He does not get friendly with people because people are disposable to him.”

“So you think this is Jason, then?” Dick concluded, “Well, Jason never had much of a problem working with others in the past, and he made some friends. He wasn’t the type to be hostile to people.”

“He did have trust issues,” Bruce pointed out, “At the very beginning.”

“Yes, and he kept a lot of things to himself,” Dick agreed, “But he did have friends.”

“Special friends,” Bruce added, “Friends who gained his respect and trust. So the question is- who is this girl and how did she manage to gain his trust?”

“Hey, play it back again,” Dick said, “Those moves.”

Bruce played the security tape, showing the mysterious girl and Red Hood taking down Victor’s men.

“Arnis,” Bruce pointed out.

“It’s a little different.”

“She has incorporated silat in as well. Low stance,” Bruce observed. “She’s skilled, but not polished. It could be anyone.”

There was something familiar about the girl that Dick couldn’t pinpoint. Dick usually had strong intuition- a gut feeling that enabled him to know which facts to focus on during an investigation, or a strong ability to see through people.

But the problem was that it wasn’t solid proof or evidence, something Batman heavily focused on. It was a gut feeling that told him he knew who the girl was.

“Do you think it’s-” he broke off without completing his sentence. There was nothing to back his claims.

“She has no reason or motive to work with Jason,” Bruce shot the idea down, “He’s hurt her. And… She wouldn’t betray me like that.”

“She’s been keeping secrets, Bruce,” Dick reminded, hating the fact that this time it was him who was suspicious.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

Because he never would have thought that Jason was capable of torture and murder, either.

Why didn’t he come to me?

“As you clearly pointed out prior to this,” Bruce grit, “She has her reasons as to why she’s keeping secrets. And it is most probably because of me. All of you kept secrets. But this time, I’d like to let her keep hers.”

It was sweet, seeing Bruce that way.

“Is it guilt?” Dick asked.

“It’s repentance.”

Dick hated playing the bad guy.

Because he wasn’t supposed to be. He was the one people looked up to for inspiration, he was the light to Batman’s darkness, he was the smiles and charms and laughter.

He wasn’t the one who would accuse his little sister of fraternizing with the- was Jason the enemy?

Shit. Jason had messed with his senses. Dick’s head was chaotic, his emotions causing him to tense up.

Was he wrong? Was he just like Bruce? Was he jumping to conclusions just because Alfred told him you were out? Should he investigate this Carter you said you were with?

No. I’m not Bruce.

And now, you were looking at him with angry eyes, betrayed and appalled by his accusation.

*** Large.

That was the first thing that came to Dick’s mind when he saw his little brother.

The last time Dick saw him, he was much shorter, and definitely not as bulky.

And the last time Dick saw Jason, he was giving him a hug goodbye, complaining that Dick had messed up his hair.

And now, Jason was aiming a gun at him.

The gunshot didn’t hurt nearly as much as the thought that Jason had indeed shot him. Did Jason hate him that much?

You’re almost as guilty as he is, Jason’s voice echoed in his head.

“Bruce,” he gasped in the comms, “I’m down. They got away.”

“I heard a gunshot,” the deep voice in his ear spoke.

“Yeah, Jason shot my leg,” Dick winced, “Didn’t hit bone but I think it nicked my artery.”

“There are children here,” Batman said, “I was right. He’s sabotaging the Powers’. Gordon should be here soon. You control your bleeding.”

Dick nodded to himself and took a deep breath before plunging his finger into the gunshot wound to keep himself from bleeding out.

***

“...suspects that the crime lord only known as Red Hood and an unidentified female were behind the home invasion. Maria and Joseph Powers were left in a gruesome state according to reports, but their only child Carrie Powers was unharmed. The authorities are not sure what Red Hood’s motive was, but more will be elaborated during Commissioner Gordon’s public address later this afternoon...”

Dick heard you close the door.

“You didn’t come home last night,” he lowered the volume of the television.

“Uh, yeah,” you answered.

Dick looked over at you. You seemed tired, eyes swollen and red from crying, wearing an oversized t-shirt that he didn’t recognize.

“I was at-”

“Carter’s?” he finished your sentence for you.

“Yeah,” you nodded, sitting down next to him on the sofa.

Dick frowned to himself. Your arms were crossed, you were avoiding eye contact, your body was angled away from him.

“You heard about the Powers’?” he turned his gaze towards the television.

“I saw the news on the way here,” you monotoned.

You smelled like a different shampoo. It was familiar, but Dick couldn’t remember where he had smelled it before.

“So you know that-”

“Yes, Jason did it,” you said rigidly.

“Along with-”

“His partner.”

Ah, now he remembered the smell. Jason’s favorite shampoo. He used to make fun of him for choosing one that was called what it was called. He didn’t really care about it, Dick kept his hair soft and fluffy with multiple women’s hair products. He just liked to rile Jason up because he was so defensive about it.

And with that, Dick let out a long, disappointed sigh.

“Bruce is in the cave. I suggest that you think long and hard about what to tell him,” Dick offered you a soft smile, “But no matter what you choose to say, you’ll always be my sister, and I’ll always love you no matter what, okay?”

You gave him a look of shock, and then realised that he had figured it out.

“I’m sorry, Dick,” you lips trembled, your eyes started brimming with tears.

“No, kid. I’m sorry,” he replied, “Go.”

You nodded and left.

Despite being right all along, he didn’t feel any sense of achievement. Dick couldn’t help but partly blame himself. For being so absent, for being neglectful, for being a bad brother.

Dick wasn’t perfect, but like hell would he stop trying to be.

***

For years Bruce had tried to stop feeling guilty for being relieved whenever someone else takes care of a problem he couldn’t solve- especially when it involved murder.

Bruce had tried to take down the Powers for almost a decade, and everytime he got close, there was always another obstacle in the way. It was difficult to expose the rich and powerful without resorting to violence, without resorting to breaking his principles.

So Bruce was ready to stop himself from internally celebrating their deaths. This time, however, he wasn’t as pleased. Because this time, it was Jason who brutally murdered two people. Jason, who was supposed to be under his care and responsibility.

“Bruce?” he heard your timid, small voice from behind him. “I have to tell you something.”

And there it was.

Bruce turned around and looked straight at you, piercing your eyes with his own as he waited on your confession.

A minute passed.

“I’m V,” you struggled to speak, “I’ve been meeting up with Jason for a few months now. I didn’t know he was Red Hood until you told me. But when you did tell me, I chose to confront him and team up with him anyway.”

Bruce didn’t say anything.

“He- he’s not a bad person, Bruce,” you justified, “He’s just really hurt. He needs help.”

You were telling Bruce things he already knew.

“I- I fell in love with him,” you continued, “And I let my feelings cloud my judgement and betrayed your trust. At first I thought that he was onto something, that his… methods were better than yours. And I was angry that you kept secrets from me. But after last night- after what I saw- I couldn’t- I couldn’t stay.”

Bruce clenched his jaw.

He suspected it. Dick suspected it. But for your sake, the both of them chose to put their trust in you. He had tried so hard to change from his old ways. He learned his lesson with both Dick and Jason.

He didn’t want you to go through the same thing they did.

So, he chose to blindly trust you anyway, hoping that he wasn’t right.

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” you were sobbing now, “I’m so sorry. Please, say something.”

After another minute of watching you break down in front of him, Bruce finally spoke up.

“Hang up your colors. You’re no longer my Robin.”