You’re perched on Pope’s bed, back and posture stiff, unsure of how to act. Should you even been inside of his room without asking? What if he didn’t want to makeout with you tonight? Are you taking advantage of him? Does he even want to makeout with you at all? 

What are you talking about? He fingered you. If he can shove his fingers in you, he can definitely push his lips to yours… right?  

You drop yourself dramatically onto his bed with a loud groan, your mind racing. What if? Why? Why not? Will he? Won’t he? It won’t stop. 

“You look like a fish out of water.” His familiar voice has you sitting up, eyes wide in shock. 

“Geez,” you huff, embarrassed by the way you were flopping around in his perfectly made bed. Which is now unmade. “I need you to get louder shoes. Ones that squeak. Or the light up ones so I know when you’re coming.” 

He shrugs, leaning against the shut door of his bedroom. “How else am I supposed to catch you doing weird shit?”

“Haha.” You deadpan. “Where were you? I’ve been waiting here forever.” 

“Handling something.” 

You grin, leaning back on your arms. “Oooooh, did you beat up your brother for me?” It’s a tease. You don’t truly believe he’d get into a fight with his brother over you.

You may joke like you are, but you’re not stupid. The web of odd familial ties in the Cody family are… borderline incestuos. Weird. Confusing. And you don’t doubt that it’s all Janine Cody’s fault. She has a way of making anyone in a room with her feel powerless. You see it with the gardeners she watches over as they work, the way she speaks to her sons, even her lawyer who isn’t around often, but you’ve seen a few times. 

Conversing with the woman feels like she’s ripping your chest open and grabbing at everything she can, inspecting you. As terrible as it makes you feel, you try to push that back on your schedule for Lena until the very last second, even to the point where Lena can’t see the woman from the constant activities you take the little girl to. 

“No.” Is his lacking response. 

You sigh dramatically, “and here I thought you were my knight in shining armor.” 

“I’m not that.” 

“Clearly.” 

The silence isn’t awkward but the way his hands are rubbing at his jeans, tells you that he does believe it to be so. You stand, tugging at your t-shirt to fall over your body. “So, you—” 

“Do you think we can reschedule?” His voice sounds almost shaky. Almost, not quite nervous, more ashamed. He clears his throat, “I don’t think I'm up for—“ 

You nod, immediately feeling the guilt eat away at you. “Of course, Pope.” You take a step back, sitting back down on the bed, afraid to make him feel afraid. “You don’t even have to makeout with me at all. I was only joking. Well… half-joking.” 

He sighs, bothered by your words. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to makeout with you. Just… another day.” 

“I didn’t say that you didn’t—“ 

“Stop talking.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I don’t think I want to makeout with you anymore.” He admits. 

“Jesus.” You cackle, “what’s up your ass?” 

“You.” 

“Oh, baby, I wish I was.” You get up off the bed, making a thrusting motion with your hips, hands out like you’re holding onto somebody. “Get all up in there.” 

He grimaces, “that’s disgusting.” 

“Fine.” You stop, “I’ll leave.” 

“You should.” He agrees. He doesn’t move off the door, still pressed up against it. 

It’s impossible to hold back your grin. “You gonna let me out?” 

He doesn’t speak. His eyes are on you in that intense manner he usually carries. The constipated look, Nicky would say. 

“Hello?” You tease, “anyone in there?” 

“Fuck it…” he breathes low, cutting the distance between you in two steps. His hands are on either side of your face, pulling you into him. And his lips are on yours. 

You don’t spare a second, hands falling to his waist, face tilting to deepen the kiss, noses nudging as you do so. And he delivers on your wish. The kiss is hot and heavy, tongue lapping into your mouth as the back of your knees push against his soft bed. Your hands move from his sides to his chest, then back down to the bottom of his shirt, urging him to remove it. 

He pulls his lips from yours with a loud smack, “no,” he shakes his head, removing your itching fingers from his shirt. “Not that.” 

You groan, leaning your forehead to his chest. “Fine. Can I dry hump you at least?” 

His eyebrows furrow, “are we teenagers?”

You scoff, lifting your head to eye him. “Dry humping is a lost art. I’ve made it my duty to bring it back to light. Think about it. The act is—“

“Shut up.” He groans, annoyed as he grabs your chin and presses his lips to yours again. One of his hands lowers to your waist, down to your hip, and ends at your thigh, gripping your leg high up on his leg. 

“Pope!” You squeal when he drops you onto his bed. “What the fuck?!” 

“What?” He shrugs, not caring. “Swear you told me that you like it when a man manhandles you.” 

“Yeah, I like it when they grope my ass or spin me to push me up against a surface, not throw me like a ragdoll!”

“Miscommunication.” His tone is bored as he grabs your hips, pulling you to lay atop of him, lips meeting yours again. 

You pull from him, sitting up. “Can I take my shirt off?” You ask breathily. 

“W-what? Why?” 

You shrug, “want you to admire my boobs.” 

He looks bewildered, eyes wide and shocked as he looks up at you. “Don’t look so surprised.” You scoff, “I love my boobs. All my friends have seen them.” 

“Wha—“ you tug your shirt off, left in your ugly sports bra. 

“Oh my god, wait!” You cover his eyes with your hands. 

He flinches, but doesn’t push your hands away. “What? What’s wrong?” 

“My bra is ugly.” You groan. “Pretend what you saw was sexy lingerie.” 

He doesn’t speak for a moment, lying back with his eyes covered by your hands. “It wasn’t that bad.” 

“I’ve had this bra since I was a freshman.” 

“… in college?” 

“No.” 

“Okay.” He admits, “that’s kinda gross.” 

You scoff, moving your hand from his eyes to pinch his nose. “It is not. I wash it regularly and I’ve only had to stitch one slit since then. And bras are expensive. You can only talk shit if you buy me new ones.” 

“I will.” 

“Shut up.” 

“I will. What’s your size?” 

“Big as fuck.” 

He scoffs, moving your hand from his eyes, sitting up and moving you to straddle his lap as he sits on the edge of the bed. His big hands are gripping your hips, securing you on him. Without skipping a beat, “take it off.” 

You don’t hesitate to tug the piece off, tits spilling out for him. You hear the way his breath hitches, eyes dancing on your chest. He won’t look away, even when you wiggle on his lap. “Hello? My face is up here.” You sing, desperate to get him to look at you. “You know, this is a lot more than a sloppy makeout. If I were a freaky person, I would say you’re trying to sl—“ 

“Oh, god…” he breathes, moving you off of his lap and getting up off the bed himself. 

You’re scared, watching him carefully as you sit on his bed, tits out. “A-are you okay?” You ask, eyes searching his body for any sign of discomfort. 

“Y-yeah, I’m fine.” He’s turning his body away from you, facing the bedroom door. “You should— you should go.” 

But you’re too concerned to follow his wishes. Instead, you sit up and reach over to him, noticing the way his body is shaking. “Pope…?” You place your hand on his bicep, desperate to help him.

He flinches away, “just go.” 

authors note . . . to my big bitches (me) he can and will toss you around. don’t let no twig man stop u

You sigh, admitting defeat. “Yeah, I am.” You grab the cereal Nicky had picked up specifically for moments like these. “Froot Loops instead?”

She nods, her leg hair bouncing around her. “Yummy.” 

You grab a bowl from the cabinets, along with a spoon, clattering across from where she’s now sitting, having moved to a stool. 

“You should ask my uncle Pope for help.” She speaks with a mouthful of cereal. “He likes to clean.” 

The grin falls to your lips easily at the mention of Pope. “You, Lena Blackwell, are a genius.” You press a kiss to her temple, whipping your phone out. You send him a text that reads, ‘NEED HELP ASAP.’ 

He doesn’t rush downstairs, not like you thought he would. His eyes are immediately on Lena, even with his calmed demeanor, making sure she’s not injured. And then, to you. You’re grinning as you lean against the counter, “funny story, handsome,” you hum. “There was a robbery! Wasn’t there, Lena?” 

The little girl nods with a mouth full of cereal, scooping some more in her spoon. 

“That right?” He asks roughly, unamused. 

You nod, “yes. And you know what’s so horrible? They tried to take the expensive stuff but then they changed their path to the kitchen. And then, they tried to make pancakes.” 

“Tried?” He asks as he makes his way to the countertop, lifting a spoon that’s in a puddle of the white sludge. 

“No. They succeeded because they were really smart and knew how to cook.” You watch as he takes the mess in, carefully moving around the countertop, circling you and Lena. “And then, they took the cooked pancakes and told Lena she could only have Froot Loops. It was sick.” 

Lena nods, speaking with a mouthful of food. “It’s true, uncle pope!” 

Pope shakes his head, grabbing a towel from the sink, ready to get to cleaning. “Lena, don’t follow in her footsteps. Lying is bad.” 

You grin, turning to Lena who’s already watching you, waiting to hear what your argument is. You shake your head at her, silently telling her to forget his words. She’s content with that response, going back to her cereal. 

“It’s not lying. It’s story-telling.” You defend playfully, letting him clean the mess you’ve made. “I’m building up her imagination. She’s going to write best-selling novels.” 

He scoffs, “says the liar.” 

“Not a liar.” Both you and Lena speak at the same time. You two fall into fits of giggles. 

“You’re copying me.” You tease her. 

She grins, “no, you’re copying me.” 

“Nuh-uh.” 

“Yuh-huh.” 

“Children.” Pope chastises, both of you turning to look at him as he’s moving the used plates and utensils into the sink. “Lena, go get ready for bed. You,” his glare isn’t tense as usual but it’s directed to you. “Wash the dishes.” 

You groan as Lena runs off with a giggle to her temporary bedroom. “Come on, it’s not my fault. It’s the robbers.” 

“Yes.” He repeats, “it was the robbers fault but they left and you’re here. Wash.” 

Despite the attitude that you have, you do decide to do it as he does the rest. You two clean in silence. It’s not horrifically awkward but silence means you overthink. And overthinking is bad. You have to keep going or it’ll be too much to handle. 

“Pope?” 

He doesn’t speak, a simple hum tells you to keep going. 

You don’t respond immediately, and you can feel the way he turns to face your back, “what?” His voice seems to be naturally harsh so you don’t flinch or stress over the tone. 

You put the plate down, turning to face him, wiping your wet hands with the dry rag beside the sink. 

You’re not nervous around men often. Most don’t hold a candle to you. To how great you know you can be. To how great you know you are. But Pope isn’t just any man. From the second you saw him three years ago at the grocery store, you know this was it. You knew even then, that Andrew Cody is the guy you’re going to end up with. And yet, you still don’t speak. 

The air is charged with tension. No, not tension. Softer. You can’t quite put your finger on it as you two stand there, barely a few scuffles apart, staring at each other. 

Your breath hitches, itching to say these words out loud. “I really like you.” You admit, a little too easily, because of how intensely you mean them. Wholeheartedly. Irrevocably. In any way to describe how truthful you're being. 

He doesn’t hesitate, “you’re lying.” 

Your eyebrows furrow, a scoff bubbling out of you. “Excuse me?” 

He shrugs, swinging a clean rag over his shoulder, arms crossed as he leans against the countertop. “That’s your hobby, right?” 

Now you’re offended, crossing your arms over your chest as well, “is that why you never take me seriously? You think that, because I like to lie, that my feelings for you are a lie, too?” 

“Would I be wrong to think so?” 

It’s your turn to not hesitate, “yes.” Breathily, “I wanted you the second you walked into the store.” 

“What?” His face scrunches in confusion, in that same cute way that makes you smile. 

“Nothing.” 

“No,” he takes a single step forward. “What store?” 

You wanted to hang this over him longer but you can’t. The excitement is burning through you. You need to tell him just how long he’s been invading your thoughts without even knowing his name. You need to tell him how much worse this need for him has intensified since getting to know him. 

“You really don’t remember me?” 

“Of course I remember you.” He sounds offended by whatever accusation you’re throwing at him. “I think about you all the time.” 

You take a step towards him as well. “You do?” 

He rolls his eyes, “don’t let it get to your head.” 

You laugh, “you’re letting it get to yours.” 

“What? It’s not.” 

“Not that one.”  You hum. 

He grabs the towel on his shoulder and covers his crotch as you cackle. “Shut up.” 

You shrug, still grinning. “Helen’s.” You speak the name of the grocery store. It’s a small, family owned grocery store, one where the owners are always over and chitchatting with the customers. A staple in the tight-knit community. 

“That your mother or something?” 

You shake your head, “the grocery store.”

“Okay… you want me to go to Helen’s? What do you need?” 

You groan, eyes shutting momentarily, trying to keep your emotions intact. You open them to his body much closer to yours, closing the distance. His hand is ghosting over your cheek, scared to touch you. “Do it…” your voice is small and desperate. 

It happens so fast. His hands fall to your cheeks, forcing your face up as he pushes you to lean against the sink, knee slotting between your thighs. His nose is nudging against yours, breath heavy against your lips. 

You’ve had his thumb in your mouth and his fingers in you. And not a single kiss. A forehead kiss but you’re not counting that. You need to kiss him. Have to. You’re desperate for it. You try to push your face to his but he holds your face back. “No.” His voice is whiney as he speaks, forehead against yours. “No.” Neither of you pull away. 

The camera linked to the doorway chimes, reading the license plate out loud in its robotic and monotonous voice. A button beeps and a familiar voice is heard as the machine asks to state his name. “Barry Blackwell.” 

He doesn’t fully pull away, not until the front door opens and in comes Baz. 

You clear your throat, fixing your shirt as Pope goes back to cleaning. You smile politely at Baz, “Mr. Blackwell.” You greet. “Welcome.” 

His smile toward you is seen as charming by most. And you don’t hate it, but you don’t care for it. “You can call me Baz.” 

You grimace softly with a laugh, shaking your head. “No… my step-dad tells me to never put my boss at my level.” 

Baz ignores this, turning to his brother, watching him carefully. “You good, bro?” 

Pope nods stiffly, “good.” 

It’s awkward. Pope clearly isn’t good and his brother knows this. You know this. And Baz is about to push, about to ask again, when you jump in. “I’ll show you to your room.” You push off the sink. “It’s right across Lena’s. Come on.” 

Baz nods, grabbing his bags again and following behind you as you lead him out of the kitchen. You don’t turn to look at Pope, scared to see how upset he is. Not for fear, but because the disappointment in his features will make you want to rush back to him in front of their company. 

“This is a really nice place.” Baz chimes as he inspects the walls and furniture around. 

You hum, nodding. “Yeah. Sammy’s parents are really well off.” You tell him. “He’s a stockbroker or something like that, I don’t know, some boring stuff. Mother’s a lawyer.” 

He whistles softly, “fuck. Should’ve picked a different career.” 

You huff a small laugh, opening the door to his bedroom for the next few days. “Property manager isn’t cutting it?” You joke. 

“Not even close.” He drops his bag as she leads him into the sleek and clean room. “They happily married?” 

You smile softly, “very happily.” You answer, unsure of what to say next. “Uhm… it’s late. I’m gonna go put Lena to bed and—“ 

“How is she?” He cuts you off. “Lena? Was she… upset?”

It almost warms you to know that he does care, which gets harder and harder to believe the longer you take care of the little girl. “At first, yeah. But she got over it. She’s having fun here. She picked some fruit with the gardener and Nicky when we got in. We’re thinking of making a pie tomorrow.” 

He lets out a breathy little laugh, nodding as he slumps onto the edge of the bed, taking a much needed seat. You’re slowly sliding back to the door, needing a quick escape. “So, you—“ 

He interrupts you again, “thank you, by the way.” He hums. “Allison’s boyfriend doesn’t want her to watch kids anymore while pregnant. And her mother…” he trails off for a moment. “She doesn’t care for being a mother any longer, clearly. Know you weren’t fond of kids at first, heard J mention it to Nicky. But youre good with her.” 

You take the compliment, “thank you. She’s… she’s a really great girl.” You add, “so, can—“ 

Again. “You are too.” You tense at his words. “You’re a great girl.” 

“Oh… uhm…” you wipe your sweaty palms against your bottoms, drying them as best as you can. “Tha-thank y—“ 

You almost want to yell when you’re interrupted again. But you feel relief wash over you when Lena rushes into the room, “daddy!” She jumps into her fathers arms, cheering happily and rambling away about what she did today.

This gives you the chance to slip out of the room, a heavy breath leaving you once you’re in the clear. “Fuck…” you mutter softly, anxious from the too long moment. 

You push off the wall you were leaning against, eyes falling onto Pope’s as he stands at the stairway, watching you with a cup of warm milk at hand. For Lena, of course. He’s watching you carefully, worried. You send him a small smile and walk to your bedroom, embarrassed. 

authors note . . . hiiii sorry for the lag!! hope you guys like it <3

the first day you and samira met was the day you both moved into your first shared apartment. it was a hot morning in august. the two of you had no idea who the other person was. samira had zero faith in the roommate matching system because her last few roommates were the worst. you, on the other hand, were excited to meet your new roommate because the roommates you had during undergrad became some of your closest friends.

when samira first arrived, you were already there, and your family was there helping you move in. samira was already nervous before walking in, but now, nervous was an understatement. seeing such a large group of people, when she expected only one person, made her shoulders tense up a bit.

you immediately introduced yourself with a wide smile, and your entire family followed behind. when your mother introduced herself, she engulfed samira in a bone-crushing hug. for a moment, samira stood frozen, stunned by your family’s openness. she didn’t know how to react to such welcoming strangers, but she managed to give you all a small smile as the tension in her shoulders began to ease a little.

your father noticed samira was alone, so he offered himself and your younger brother to help her unload her car. as they started carrying her things, samira felt a mix of gratitude and awkwardness. she was used to doing things herself and was almost embarrassed by how quickly your family treated her like she was one of their own. when she tried to pick up a heavy box, your father immediately took the box away from her and suggested she should grab one of the lighter boxes so she wouldn't hurt herself. samira had never met people like you and your family before. later on you would tell her that you were raised in the south and almost everyone you knew was like that. it was simple southern hospitality.

later that day, when you were both done unpacking, your family had to leave, but they had a hard time getting out of the apartment because your mother was in full-blown tears.

"my baby's leaving me again." your mother sobbed as your father tried to console her.

"she was a lot worse when i moved into my first dorm." you had whispered to samira.

after many goodbyes and your mother breaking out into tears multiple times, your family finally left.

you and samira were alone, so you decided to order takeout and get to know each other. the two of you talked about undergrad and what your experience was like.

during undergrad, you were involved in extracurricular activities, like charity events with your sorority and community events with the local shelters and boys and girls club. you even ran for your school's royal court and participated in the scholarship pageant of your sorority's brother fraternity.

"i didn't have time for clubs and stuff." samira shrugged.

which was true, samira didn’t have time for extracurricular activities because she was too focused on her studies. the only friends she had during undergrad were the ones from her study group, and they weren’t really her friends. if she wasn’t studying or in class, she was in her dorm resting, and she rarely did that.

"really?" you tilted your head. "i didn't really have a choice. my mom would've flipped if i didn't join her sorority or any other D9 sorority."

as the night went on, you and samira continued learning more about each other. you talked so late that by the time you finally fell asleep, the sun was already peaking through the blinds.

you learned that samira's father died of a heart attack when she was younger, and how his death and racial bias were the reasons she decided to study medicine. in return, you told her your reason for studying medicine was for similar reasons. it was your dream to become a doctor because you believed that people of color deserved to have doctors who looked like them taking care of them. medical racism was real, and you hated it.

days passed, and by the end of your first week living together, you and samira became inseparable. the two of you had similar goals and interests, so you both thought, why not help each other make those goals happen?

during your first two years of med school, you and samira studied together all the time. whether you were in your apartment’s living room, your favorite coffee shop, or the library, you kept each other on track. if one of you got sick, the other helped take care of you and made sure you didn’t fall behind in class. you took care of samira, and samira took care of you.

you brought a side out of samira that she didn’t know she had. you liked going out to bars and parties, but samira didn’t go out much. eventually, you grew tired of samira keeping herself shut up inside the apartment. you were determined to get her to go out.

“sami, get up and put this on.” you threw her a dress you had sitting in your closet.

“but-” samira tried to protest.

“no, ‘buts’, i’m not taking no for an answer.”

you got samira to start going out more. the times you would go out, you and samira always looked out for each other. always taking care of each other whenever you were drunk. holding each other’s hair as one of you threw up, and taking care of the next day’s hangover.

as you and samira grew closer, you became more affectionate towards each other. you would hold each other's hands all the time. walking through a crowded bar or party, walking from class to class, or sometimes you would hold hands just to hold hands. during your free time, you cuddled on the couch while watching reruns of your favorite shows. there were times when you would fall asleep in each other's beds and would wake up tangled in each other's arms. you were so affectionate with each other that your classmates thought you were in love.

during your first summer break together, you invited samira to spend time with your family in martha's vineyard. samira had never experienced such a carefree and loving environment before. your grandmother and aunties loved her. your grandfather told her endless stories about his own journey of becoming a successful doctor as a black man in the south. your family cooked constantly, so her belly was always full. by the end of the summer samira was sure she had gained weight from how much food she ate. she got along well with your cousins and younger siblings. samira loved your family, and your family loved her. when the summer was over, all samira could talk about was revisiting with you next year.

your third year felt like it came and went, and by the end of your fourth year, you already had your mind set on doing your residency in psychiatry after falling in love with it, and the same for samira with emergency medicine.

at some point throughout the four years of med school, you had fallen in love with samira. you began to notice her beauty more, to the point where just looking at her made you flustered. her touches began to linger on your skin more. holding her hand or hugging her started to feel intimate for you. her compliments left a lasting impression on your mind for days. you felt that you had to put an end to it, but it was impossible to stop loving someone like her. you weren’t sure when it happened, but you were unconditionally and irrevocably in love with samira mohan.

You and Daniel were sitting side by side on the couch in your living room. He made himself at home ever since he got back from that Dubai interview. The day he came back claiming he was vampire made you think that he had also caught dementia.

That thought was quickly put to rest once he flew across the room faster than what should be humanly possible. He even went so far as to drink from your neck, with your permission, of course. The bloody smile he gave you after the first session was enough to convince you for certain.

It wasn't always easy with Daniel, what with his inability to take criticism in any form (especially regarding how he hunted, the man was lucky no bodies had been found) and his ability to make literally any situation into a shitshow. But there was one thing that he always managed to be: funny. He always managed to make to crack a smile or belt out a laugh so loud the neighbors would bang the walls to tell you to shut up.

But right now he was making you want to choke him out, regardless of what little damage it would cause. You huffed, calendar and pen in hand.

"So you were born in the fifties, right? In the seventeenth century? "

"Haha, very funny. No, it was the sixteenth, get it right. "

You hit him in the shoulder, but it only ended up stinging your hand. As you shook off the pain, Daniel only smirked.

"Okay, now I'm being serious. If your birthday is on the twenty-fourth of April, but your turning is on the twenty-sixth of June…when the hell is your real birthday?! "

Daniel gave you an incredulous look.

"This is seriously what you've got your panties in a twist over? My goddamn birthday? "

"Of course! It's a celebration of life! Er, well I guess in your case, undead life. But it still matters! I wanna keep celebrating every year you’re with me as long as possible. " You took his hand, still as cold as ever. "As much as you make me want to pull my hair out, "

"The feeling's mutual, babe. "

You tsked. "I really do like you. And I think that dedicating a day to celebrate how wonderfully frustrating you are is one of the most important things a person can-mph! "

Daniel crashed his mouth onto yours, silencing your speech about birthdays. He cupped the back of your head to hold you close, and he wrapped one arm around your waist to press your chest to his. You happily reciprocated his sudden burst of affection, but the lack of oxygen made you dizzy. You began patting his back, slowly at first, gradually going faster until you were practically trying to do the hiemlich maneuver with one hand. You think that he was doing it on purpose, too, if his unhurried release of you was any sign.

You gasped, lips swollen and bitten from his attack. Panting, you tried to wriggle free, saying, "Damn it, Daniel! At least warn me before you try and smother me! "

Grinning, pleased as a cat, he just said, "Sorry, babe, but the way you started talking about celebrating me got me all excited. "

You scrunched your face, "That's so gross! I'm just trying to be a good partner and figure out your birthday date and you're thinking about sex?! "

He raised his palms up in an attempt to placate you. "Yeah, yeah. Would a sorry make it better, baby? "

"Boy, bye. "

You managed to maneuver your way out of his grip. Two can play at the game that he was clearly goading you in.

"Aw, babe! Come back! I was just messing with you! "

All he got in response was a middle finger. He barked out a laugh and got his lick back via ass smack when you were leaning to pick up the laundry basket.

—

Since you didn't get a clear answer from your infuriating boyfriend, you settled on a two-for-one celebration. To save money and prevent Daniel's ego from inflating to the size of Jupiter, you figured out just the thing that you knew Daniel would love.

As he slept and between hunts you gathered the supplies you needed to make this birthday the best day ever. Or at least a close second. You assumed that his daughters held a special place in his heart, despite their no contact status.

One of his favorite things about you, according to Daniel, was your unwavering commitment. You rarely pried about his past, and readily accepted his vampiric status, much to his surprise.

"If I'm being honest, sweetheart, I was expecting you to up and leave. Any other person would. "

"Danny. You have no idea how much of an improvement this is for me. "

It was mostly a joke, but you really saw him as no different as when he was a human. You thought your willingness to stay despite his Parkinson's diagnosis was enough to get the point across. It pissed you off to think that he assumed you were staying out of obligation. But hopefully this present would convince him once and for all.

You almost jumped out of your skin when you heard Daniel slam the door to your home closed.

"Hang on a second! Don't come any closer! "

"Why? Are you naked? "

"Damn it, Daniel, just stay away for a second! " You placed the finishing touches on the wall, and fixed your appearance.

"Alright, you're good to come in now! "

Daniel emerged with a confused expression that gradually shifted into one of mild surprise.

On the walls you had placed paper bats and decorated a banner that spelled out 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY DANNY!'. And in the middle of the room was his coffin (bought with the payout from Dubai) with a new painted elements. There were gothic swirls that wrapped around and around the lid in a gold film that took you ages to perfect. It was a miracle that you managed to discover a YouTube tutorial for this specific decoration.

You sat on the couch next to his coffin in his favorite t-shirt and a pair of red and black plaid pajama pants. It was his go-to sleepwear attire that you joked made him look like he was ten years older than he actually was. And on your lap was a large, dark leather covered book.

"C'mon Daniel, let me show you something I've been working on. " You softly patted the spot next to you. It took him a second, his attention still captivated by the (admittedly shitty) addition to his place of rest. To put off the possibility of being lectured, you stood and guided him to sit. You placed the heavy book into his hands.

"What's all this? "

"Remember when I asked about your birthday? Well, consider this a double celebration. I hope you like it. " By the time you finished, you sounded a little sheepish. Not that you were embarrassed for putting this much effort into a one day celebration. It was mostly Daniel's reaction that you were preparing for.

He opened the book. On the inside you had written, 'For my Daniel. May your career last as long as your marriages'. That got a chuckle out of him. As he flipped through the pages, you saw a sparkle in his eyes that you never thought he was capable of.

You had foraged and scrounged for weeks, but you managed to fill thirty pages worth of Daniel's career in a scrapbook. From newspaper clippings to magazine covers and candid shots of him in public, you scrapbooked the shit out of his career. He lingered on the little passages you wrote on every other page. Most of them were cheeky comments, but you made sure to leave a handful of genuine compliments, just in case he thought you really hated him.

You leaned against him, wrapping an arm around his and pressing your cheek to his shoulder. You made sure to point out the especially difficult to procure clippings ('I had no clue you even wrote about this! ' 'It took me soo freaking long to get a good quality picture of this, you have no clue. ') to highlight how much care you put into it.

At the very end of the scrapbook you had written another small note. You unhooked yourself from him, secondhand embarassment settling in as Daniel read your words.

'Dear Daniel, you really are one hell of a journalist. The Pulitzers speak for themselves, but piecing together your career made me appreciate your knack for storytelling and writing. I hope that this wasn't too tacky of a gift, and I hope you continue writing until you have to fake your death and go under a pseudonym or something. I love you! xoxo'

You really regretted not scratching or whiting out the 'xoxo' part. But just as you were about to shut the book yourself, Daniel beat you to it. He must've sensed that you were getting embarrassed.

He turned to you and said, “This has to be the first time someone has actually done their research on me. All anybody else cares to do nowadays is a quick Google search and call it day. "

He cups your chin and tilts it so that you have no choice but to look at him as he continued. "And for your information, I like the xoxo. Don't ever think of crossing something like that out again. " At your stunned silence, he lightly shook your head side to side and asked,

"Is anybody up there? Specifically a cutie who has a real talent for heartfelt gifts? I'd like to give them a thank you, if you don't mind. "

You whined and stretched out the syllables of his name at his teasing remark.

"I knew you'd tease me about this! That's it, I'm not doing anything like this ever again, you hear me-! "

Once again, the creature of habit Daniel had become with you, he pulled you in for another breathtaking, languid kiss. Thankfully, he had the decency to allow you a few seconds of air in between biting your lips and teasing the tip of your tongue with his.

"Danny…there's still blood on your shirt..mm ah.. don't get it on my cushions, please. "

At the mention of bodily fluids, Daniel became much more cheeky.

"Oh babe, I don't think blood is the thing you should be worried about getting on your sofa. "

As soon as he said those words, a hand crept into the waistband of your pajama pants, right over the area of your arousal. He gingerly laid you against the armrest of the couch before he continued his movements.

He palmed in between your legs, still barely giving you a chance to breathe, but this time the lack of oxygen was intoxicating. The combined sensation of Daniel's tongue in your mouth and his fingers caressing your source of pleasure drew moans from your throat. Noises Daniel happily swallowed, and even seemed to be driven by, if the hardness pressing against your thigh was any indication.

You only grew louder once he sped up his movements, eagerly matching the pace with which he stroked you at the same time as he grinded against your leg. And just on the precipce of your release, he stopped moving entirely. You nearly sobbed, but your worries of a delayed orgasm was stopped when he whispered with a grin,

"Don't cry, baby. You gave me some real good presents, I think it's only fair that you get at least one in return. "

"OhmyGod, yes! Yes, please, Danny, I need you Ineedyouplease-! "

He shushed you quietly, pecking you softly on the lips as he released himself from the confines of his pants. He murmured a quiet 'you gonna let me in, baby? ' as he placed himself right against your lower region. You responded with nod and an eager buck of your hips. You could've sworn that his eyes changed color the moment he slid into you, but it was the last thing on your mind in the moment.

"Fuck, I love the way you look right now. " He groaned. You could only respond with a broken moan. Luckily, with how good of a mood he was in, he went at a much slower pace than he would have normally started with. The feeling of him pulling out and pushing back in, allowing you to feel every single inch of him drove you crazy. It was embarassing how quickly you felt yourself unravel, but thankfully Daniel picked up on it and began stimulating your lower area once more.

You came with a loud cry and Daniel's voice murmuring words of encouragement floating in your head. You weren't the most lucid, but even you could feel the slight pinprick of fangs entering your shoulder. It was a habit from his human years, one that signaled his release and in addition, an excuse to feed from you.

You cradled the back of his head as he tentatively licked the small droplets of blood from your body. His moans reverbrated on your skin and you smiled.

This was definitely a successful birthday.